The Sweetest Hallelujah. Elaine Hussey

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СКАЧАТЬ look that said We’re going to have a come-to-Jesus talk, Betty Jewel’s reasons for the ad drained of all plausibility—Queen losing her health, Sudie’s husband, Wayne, losing his job and Sudie sitting on Betty Jewel’s front porch, crying a river of fear, and Saint … Lord Jesus, the idea of Saint’s sorry ass in charge of Billie was enough to drive anybody crazy.

      “Not yet, Merry Lynn. I think the cancer likes to get beauty before brains.”

      “That’s not funny, missy!”

      “Both of you just hush up. There’s no need for any of this.” Sudie’s quiet voice reminded Betty Jewel of the hymn, “There is a Balm in Gilead.” In her white blouse that always smelled of starch and sunshine, she might be one of God’s earth angels, a placid, plain woman put down in Shakerag to keep volatile, broken-to-pieces Merry Lynn from self-destructing and to ease the storm-tossed mind of a dying woman who didn’t know where to turn. “God forbid Betty Jewel’s name is called, but if it is, I’ll help Queen raise Billie like she was one of my own.”

      “What makes you think you’d be better than me? Good God, Sudie, you’ve got seven kids already.”

      Betty Jewel wrapped her hand around the harmonica in her pocket and held on. Two years ago this kind of sparring would have had all three of them laughing so hard they’d have to hold on to each other for support. Today she couldn’t unearth normal if she got a spade and dug all the way to China.

      “I can count, Merry Lynn,” Sudie said. “And if Queen hears you taking the Lord’s name in vain, she’ll whip your sassy butt with a willow switch.”

      “Queen knows I don’t have any truck with the Almighty. If He’s watching over His children, why was my Alice murdered? How come somebody took her off to the woods and did those unspeakable things, those …” Merry Lynn covered her face with her hands, a mother whose sorrow was so deep she’d mired in it years ago and never found her way out.

      “If you start bawling in front of Betty Jewel in her condition, I’m gonna be the one whipping your tail.”

      “What condition?” In one of those mercurial changes she was famous for, Merry Lynn wiped her tears and turned her fierce attention to Sudie.

      Betty Jewel held on to the harmonica. It was time for a come-to-Jesus meeting of her own.

      “I’m dying, Merry Lynn.” Betty Jewel lifted her chin a notch and dared her to deny it. “And it’s high time you face it.” She didn’t miss the way Sudie put on her mask of denial. “You, too, Sudie.”

      “There’s going to be a miracle.” When it came to faith, Sudie was just one notch below Queen.

      “Lord knows, Queen’s prayed hard enough. But if my mama can’t call down a miracle, nobody can.”

      “Shut up! Both of you just shut up!” Merry Lynn sprang off the couch, lean and wild and fierce, a black alley cat with claws bared. “You’re not going to die. I can’t stand any more dying!”

      Making soothing noises the way you would to a baby screaming with nightmares, Sudie put her arms around Merry Lynn. “Of course, she’s not going to die. She’s going to get better, that’s all. We’ll find a doctor up in Memphis.”

      If they’d just let Betty Jewel talk about it. If they’d just quit denying the truth that had been staring them in the face since Christmas. She was so weak she’d had to quit her cleaning job at the Holiday Inn, and her blue dress didn’t touch her anywhere now except the shoulders. She looked like a willow twig wearing a pillowcase.

      And cold. Lord, she was cold all the time. While Sudie waged a battle to save Merry Lynn’s sanity, Betty Jewel sank into a rocking chair, pulled Queen’s hand-knit afghan over her knees and listened to her mama in the kitchen taking refuge in the old hymns—“Rock of Ages” and “I’ll Fly Away.”

      Betty Jewel wished she could fly away. She’d fly backward to a time when she had it all—her health, her future. Love.

      Thinking about what might have been hurt so bad she turned her focus elsewhere. The clock. She could hear the too-loud ticking of the big mahogany clock Queen kept on top of the TV.

      And the sound of Merry Lynn’s sobs. She was crying quietly now, saying, “I can’t stand it,” over and over.

      “It’s all right. I’m taking you home.” Sudie herded Merry Lynn toward the door. “Betty Jewel, you rest up, then you call in a retraction to that stupid ad. And if you don’t, I will. If anybody has to take Billie, it’s gonna be me. You hear me now?”

      “Loud and clear, Boss.”

      In spite of the fact that plain, petite Sudie looked as if she wouldn’t say boo to a cat, she’d always been the leader in their circle. The three B’s, they’d called themselves—brains, Betty Jewel; beauty, Merry Lynn and boss, Sudie. They let themselves out, and Betty Jewel thought she ought to get up and check on Billie, but she didn’t have the strength to walk to the window. Snatches of her mama’s song floated down the hall. Queen was singing “Dwelling in Beulah Land” now, an old hymn that promised the downtrodden some blessed relief.

      What relief was there when your meager savings were running out and the only income you had was from the three people in Shakerag who could afford piano lessons and the pies your ancient mama sold at Tiny Jim’s?

      Betty Jewel leaned her head back, drifting on the melody to a better time, a sweeter place.

      Suddenly the phone rang, jerking Betty Jewel upright.

      Queen hollered from down the hall. “You want me to get that, baby?”

      “I’ll get it, Mama.” The afghan slid to the floor, but Betty Jewel didn’t stop to pick it up for fear she’d miss the caller. The phone was perched on a faux maple telephone table by the couch. She was so out of breath when she got there she could barely speak.

      “Betty Jewel?”

      “Oh, my god.”

      “Betty Jewel, is that you?”

      She should tell him, No. She should jerk the phone jack out of the wall, then sit back down in her rocking chair and pretend that Saint Hughes was not on the other end of the line, his voice as seductive as dark honey drizzled over yeast-rising bread.

      But he was there waiting, and suddenly she was faced with a new horror. He wanted something from her, and he wouldn’t give up. He’d keep calling and calling, and maybe get Billie. And then … She couldn’t let her mind go there.

      “What do you want?” She didn’t dare say his name, didn’t dare chance that Queen would hear.

      “I want to talk, that’s all. Just talk.”

      Betty Jewel’s worst nightmare was coming true. The Saint was trying to weasel back into her life, and she was plunged into a new kind of hell. In the kitchen Queen was singing “Amazing Grace,” but all Betty Jewel could think about was taking a gun and blowing Saint to Kingdom Come.

      “I have nothing to say to you.”

      “Well, I got plenty to say to you. You still my wife.”

      “Are СКАЧАТЬ