Glory Falls
8 Years Old
DADDY’S ALWAYS WORKING.
His head is bent over the Bible. It takes him all week to get ready for his Sunday sermons, and Mama says leave him be ‘cause Daddy does the most important work in the world. He shepherds God’s flock.
“Baaaaaaa,” I say softly from the door to his study.
I’m Daddy’s favorite sheep, and when I need him, all I have to say is . . .
“Baaaaaaa.” Louder now ‘cause Mama says Daddy gets lost in the Word sometimes. Daddy says that’s the only place where he’s found. He looks up from his work, frown disappearing as soon as he spots me in the door.
“Look at you, baby girl.” His dark eyes—Cocoa Puff brown—smile at me over the rims of his reading glasses. “I thought the recital wasn’t for a few days. You’re already dressed up.”
I pluck at the layers of the lavender tutu, fluffy as cotton candy, and wriggle my toes in my new ballet slippers.
“I wanted you to see.” My feet shuffle me quickly over to his big, messy desk.
He motions for me to scoot the last few inches forward and sit on his lap, running his hand over the long braids hanging down to my waist.
“Prettiest little thing in Glory Falls.” He kisses my forehead like he does every night before bed. “You’re gonna dance for Daddy at this fancy recital?”
“Yes, sir.” I nod and lean back, hoping he won’t make me go just yet. Sometimes if I sit real quiet, he’ll let me stay while he studies. I hold my breath until he turns back to the Bible, tucking our legs under the desk.
Yellow and pink highlight the thick columns of words on the pages. I want to ask him what he’s working on, but stay quiet because I want to stay.
“I know you want to know, little preacher girl, so go ahead and ask.”
“Why do you call me ‘little preacher girl’?” I smile, flashing the little hole where my front tooth used to be. “I’m gonna be a dancer.”
“Last week it was a singer.”
“I gonna be both! Like Cher.”
A laugh shakes in his chest at my back.
“Your Aunt Ruthie oughta be whooped for making you watch them old tapes. Cher, of all people. Anybody as interested in sermons as you are oughta be a preacher.”
I could tell him that it’s not so much the sermons that interest me as it is him. Spending time with him. Being his favorite sheep, but I don’t. He loves to think of me as his little preacher. And it’s true that the sermons interest me, just not as much as Daddy does.
“What’s this one about?” I point to a line of scripture tucked in the middle of one column, circled and highlighted and surrounded by stars. “Deep calls out to deep. What’s that mean?”
“One of my favorites. That’s about . . . well, it’s like . . .” He looks down at me, his eyebrows pulling together. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Mama says you make the hard stuff easy, Daddy.”
Everybody knows he’s the best preacher in town. People squeeze into Glory Falls Baptist’s wooden pews every Sunday to hear him.
“She does, does she? Well, I try.” His face lights up in that way Mama says tells you he’s on to something. “It means that God has a way of connecting the deepest parts of Himself with the deepest parts of us. We try to run. We let things get in the way, but His love is so deep that it can get past everything to reach us.”
His voice drops off and I hear him swallow.
“Even when we make mistakes and we try to hide, his love has a way of finding us.”
“Can people love like that?” I look up at him, past his strong chin and nose that was broken once in a fight before he met the Lord, and straight in the eyes. “I mean, can people love you no matter what? In the deep calls out to deep kinda way?”
Daddy tilts his head, his eyes squinching at the corners, a little bit of a smile on his face.
“Well, we’re made in His image, so I guess we can, baby girl.”
“That’s how you love me?” The thought makes me smile and my heart feels all big and warm behind the tight stretch of my leotard.
“Absolutely.” He tugs one of my braids.
“And Mama? That’s how you love Mama?”
It’s quiet behind me for a few seconds ‘til Daddy clears his throat.
“There’s all kinds of love. I have a real special kind for your mama.”
“But it’s not the deep calls out to deep kind?” My lip starts trembling for no reason, and I think I might cry if he doesn’t love my mama that way. “You don’t love her like that?”
“’Course I do,” he finally says, so low I almost don’t hear him.
I look up and over my shoulder, unsure for the first time in my life that he’s telling me the truth, but he looks like Daddy. I lean into his neck and sniff. Smells like Daddy, and Daddy always tells the truth.
“It’s like that song they taught us in Sunday school,” I tell him.
“What song? How’s it go?” His voice isn’t low anymore. It teases me the way I’m used to. “Why don’t you sing it for me?”
I know he knows. He just always wants me to sing.
“Your love goes past the heart,” I sing, barely remembering the melody, but knowing the words for sure. “Your love goes to the deepest part. Your love, Your love, Your love, Your love. Your love goes all the way down to my soul.”
“Yep. That’s it.” He brushes my bangs back. “You’ll be in the choir soon, baby girl, and—”
“Excuse me, Pastor,” a soft voice comes from the door. Daddy’s secretary, Carla, stands there, holding a stack of folders. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need, um . . . your signature.”
“Of course.” Daddy slides back from the desk and sets me on my feet, patting my shoulders. “We got some work to do. You go on now, baby girl. Come get me when dinner’s done.”
“But, Daddy, I—”
“You heard your father, Kai.” Carla walks over to the desk, plopping the folders into a pile. “You hurry on now. We got work to do.”
I look up and over the skirt, just short of her knees, past the blonde hair around her shoulders to meet her blue eyes. She helps Daddy. He says he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. Indispensable. That’s what he calls her, so I should like anyone who helps my daddy like that
But I don’t. I don’t like Carla at all.
“Kai, come on now,” Mama says from the hall. “Let your daddy work. Come help me snap these peas.”
I walk slowly past Carla, looking her up and down like I’ve seen Aunt Ruthie do a few times. I don’t think Aunt Ruthie likes Carla either.
“You staying for dinner, Carla?” Mama asks, the smile on her face she always has for everyone. Even Carla.
“Um, I’m not sure.” Carla’s eyes go to Daddy. He shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Maybe next time.”
Mama frowns a little, too, asking Daddy questions with just her eyes the way I’ve seen her do when she doesn’t want me to know what they’re talking about.
“Well, there’s plenty and you’re always welcome.” Mama takes my hand once I make it into the hall outside the study. I don’t want to leave, so I look for something else that will give me a few more minutes before Daddy goes back to work.
“Mama, Daddy thinks I’m gonna be a preacher,” I say loud enough for him to hear, grinning up at her and then over at Daddy, but I’ve already lost his attention. He and Carla are working, their heads close together over the stack of papers she brought. Mama leans down to whisper in my ear.
“We know he’s wrong, though.” She pulls back, her dark, tilted eyes warm and smiling. Making me smile back. “We both know what you’re gonna be when you grow up, Kai Anne.”
“What am I gonna be, Mama?” I whisper, even though Daddy and Carla don’t seem to be paying us much mind.
She kisses my nose and pats my bottom, leading me toward the kitchen and the peas that need snapping.
“Baby, you’re gonna be a star.”