For the Hangtown group OBIE, chapters 7 & 8 OBIE Chapter 7 THE PATTY CREEK BAPTIST CHURCH I overslept a little the following morning. When I did wake up, I lay under the covers for several minutes, recalling the events of the previous day and contemplating ways of nonchalantly approaching my folks in regard to my plans for church. I was cautiously optimistic that their permission could be had, but it wouldn’t be cheap nor easy. When I eventually stuck my head out from under the covers Christoph, who was normally the late riser, was already dressed and gone. I slipped on my socks before stepping onto the cold hardwood floor and then sprinted for the chifforobe to collect my trousers and a flannel shirt. I could see my breath as I pulled on my work boots. The Franklin stove was stone cold. No use to loiter there. I completed the chores quickly and set my sights on the kitchen and a nice warm cook stove. With a little luck, I could thaw out my backside and sneak a piece of bacon too! As I passed the mudroom by the pantry, I met Christoph shivering in his drawers. Christoph had commandeered a kettle of hot water from the kitchen and was midway through the thirty second dousing, which in his mind passed for a sponge bath. With the exception of the semi-monthly occasion of an actual hot bath in the galvanized tub on the back porch, bathing was an unpleasant ritual that was performed only by necessity and under duress. Mother was a stickler for good hygiene and even though there had been occasions when we were able to outrun Mother, Mother knew where we lived. As soon as Christoph had met his obligation, I stripped down, grabbed a fresh washcloth and followed suit. That ordeal over with, I ran back to my room, donned my Sunday shirt and new boots and headed back for the kitchen. As I passed the pantry, several of the younger children were paying their dues with what was left of the kettle of hot water. Being deep in thought, I lacked the attentiveness that the situation demanded. Suddenly a barrage of ringing wet washcloths interrupted my meditation, lambasting me alongside the head and rendering me momentarily senseless. Despite the fact that this unprovoked assault momentarily fouled my normally sweet disposition, there was little I could do in retaliation. The precedent had long been established and I should have been more alert. I was, nonetheless, seriously considering retribution when my attention was diverted suddenly by the smell of breakfast. The women folk were hard at work as I entered the kitchen. Sunday breakfast was a big event and required plenty of time and preparation. Kathleen and Maggie rose at the crack of dawn in order to have the old cast-iron range fired up and the oven heated to a temperature sufficient to produce golden brown biscuits. Mother was mixing hot cake batter in a large blue bowl and Maggie was slicing bacon. Father and Uncle Gus were sitting near the fire sipping their coffee. “How was the square dance?” Father asked as I entered the room. Mother eyed me curiously and Father emphasized his inquiry with a look reminiscent of his parting glare as he left me at the festival the previous evening. “Pretty good.” I responded cautiously. “What time did you get home?” Was his next query? “Pretty late.” I replied. “Pretty late I guess!” exclaimed Mother and assaulted her batter with an increased vigor. “Less than an hour until we need to leave for church,” Father observed suggestively. “Are you ready?” “About church,” I said hesitantly. Father and Mother both eyed me suspiciously. “I’ve been invited to attend church with the Kinney’s.” This comment was followed by a long, disquieting silence. Uncle Gus studied me curiously for a moment and then smiled quietly into his cup while we both waited for the other shoe to drop. Mother stirred her batter slowly and deliberately and asked, “Do the Kinney’s attend the little Catholic church west of town?” “No Mother,” I replied casually. “The Kinney’s attend the little Baptist church down by Patty Creek.” Well, it got unholy quiet now. My folks were both stupefied and speechless and I just starred at the floor and strained my ears to hear if I was still breathing. Eventually Uncle Gus broke the silence, “The Kinney’s are good Christian folks and I know the pastor down at Patty Creek. That’s where Argyle attends services. I think it would be a good experience for the boy. Obadiah needs some new friends. He’d have fun with the Kinney kids and it’ll be healthy for them to have a good influence like Obadiah.” I wanted to hug Uncle Gus awful bad right then, but I just kept still and tried to sneak a peek at Dad. Dad took a big drink of coffee, smoothed his mustache and then looked thoughtfully at Uncle Gus for a moment. “Well Mother.” He said. “We brought Obadiah thousands of miles to begin a new life. I guess it’s probably time we let him live it.” Mother wasn’t happy, but she just held her tongue and whipped that helpless batter to a froth! That morning we had the lightest, fluffiest hot cakes you’ve ever seen. Everyone mentioned it. Little else was said. Lidge was waiting for me out front when we pulled up at Patty Creek. It takes three or four stout rigs to haul all the Camps to Sunday meeting. By the time you get all eighteen of us decked out, dolled up and seated, we’re a sight to behold. It’s downright inspirational! When Lidge saw the whole bunch of us pull up at the church, his eyes got big as saucers. He sprang to attention like he’d just seen old George Warshington hisself! There are about fifty saintly souls in the Patty creek congregation, give or take a few backslid pretenders, and every soul had his nose against the window. The whole place steamed up something fierce! They were all fired up and ready to share the Good News. You know those were some mighty disappointed Christians when I sashayed up all by my lonesome and the rest of the regiment waved and headed out. Lidge met me at the door all lit up like a lamp peddler and shook my hand like he meant it, not one of those dainty finger squeezing jobs like you get from city folk. Lidge took a holt, got a good grip, and bore down! I knew right off that Lidge and I was pards. When we stepped into the church, I got the same treatment from the whole outfit. By the time I found a seat, I’d met the preacher and the entire congregation. I guess they don’t get to entertain many Catholics down at Patty Creek. I pretty well cornered the market. As if that wasn’t blessing enough, there were just two seats left in the pew with the Kinney’s. Lidge took his place at the end of the row, and I, after considerable squirming, managed to squeeze in right between Lidge and Mariah. Mariah smiled coyly and patted me gingerly on the knee. It was early yet to know for sure and certain, but I was beginning to believe that becoming a Baptist might not be half bad. They didn’t hold much stock in lots of pomp and circumstance like they do at a good Catholic shindig, but those Baptists sure do sing some rousing songs! The preacher knew the whole book by heart, and he preached Jesus crucified and risen, just like he’d seen the whole thing hisself. The festivities got louder and happier as time went on, till folks were shouting halleluiah and the whole church was howling like a blustery March wind. The spirit filled that building till I couldn’t keep my seat; my throat swelled and I couldn’t get my breath. Then Mariah took my hand in hers, the tears streamed down my face, and hand in hand we headed for the front. Those Baptists shouted, “Glory!” We kneeled before the Lord; the spirit moved and two young souls were saved. Well I don’t know how it happened and my folk’s will have a cow! But I’m a member and a deacon at the Patty Creek General Baptist Church of God. OBIE Chapter 8 THE ABYSS After the morning service at Patty Creek, we hiked up the hill to the Kinney’s. Lidge assisted Mrs. Kinney, Mariah and I followed, Laura carried the baby, and the youngsters rode drag on the herd of toddlers. Laura had prepared a pot of son-of-a-gun-stew prior to leaving for church and as we entered the Kinney home the whole atmosphere was permeated with the delightful aroma of stewed bacon and simmering potatoes. Mrs. Kinney brought a large pan of flaky, whole-wheat biscuits out of the oven and Lidge asked the blessing on our meal. The scene was reminiscent of the biblical account of the loaves and the fishes. I couldn’t see how one pot of stew could feed so many people. Somehow it did. Lidge, Mariah and I filled our bowls, grabbed a biscuit and adjourned to the porch to visit. Lidge and I chattered excitedly about the church service and I became gradually aware that Mariah seemed strangely subdued. I remained silent until I had Lidge’s attention and then nodded in Mariah’s’ direction to indicate my concern for her silence. Lidge nodded understandingly, “She’s just nervous about being baptized next Sunday.” He said. “She’s scared of the water.” Mariah looked up shyly and nodded in affirmation of her brothers’ observation. I was amazed at his insight and I had to admire his sagacity. “Well that’s nothing to worry about Mariah.” I said. “It only lasts a minute.” “This won’t be no Catholic sprinkling!” Lidge piped up. “This is a Baptist service. They’re gonna give her a real good dunkin’, in the swimming hole, head and all!” “Have you been Baptized Obadiah?” Mariah enquired expectantly. “I’ve been sprinkled.” I answered. “But I’ve not been dunked.” Mariah looked at me imploringly with those huge brown eyes and asked, “Would you be baptized with me on Sunday?” I tried to back water, but I was already in too deep. “Well sure.” I said. I forced a smile on the outside but inside I’m thinking, how in the world will I ever face Mom and Dad? By the time my folks are finished with me, I won’t need Baptizing at all. I’ll just need an epitaph. Here lies Obie, cold and dead. He should have gone to mass instead! After lunch, we took our bowls back in the house. The younger children had already gone out back to play and Mrs. Kinney asked Laura to run and see what they were in to. The three of us decided to tag along. The Kinney home is terraced into the side of a deep ravine and at the bottom of the ravine is an immense blackberry patch. The tangled thicket achieves six to eight feet in height and sprawls for sixty feet across the gully and as far as the eye can see up and down the ravine. A wet weather stream meanders through the middle and here and there Spruce trees pierce the dense canopy of briars, competing for the sunshine and littering the ravine floor with a luxurious carpet of dry needles. Several of the evergreens sport tree-forts assembled from lumber the children have salvaged from the wreckage of an abandoned barn. A network of paths and tunnels connect the forts with each other and the outer banks. The balmy fall afternoon was almost summer-like and between the sounds of children at play, frogs sang from the creek bank and a pair of mourning doves cooed a melancholy refrain in the distance. A well-traveled trail formed several switchbacks during its’ decent down the steep bank and ended abruptly at a small clearing just inside the thicket. From this point on, the four of us would have to crawl on our hands and knees. Earlier in the season, our efforts might have been rewarded with a bounty of juicy blackberries. The berries were long gone, but the sharp thorns remained, camouflaged by the thick purple foliage of an extended Indian summer. Despite our best efforts, the thorns snatched at our clothes and periodically resulted in a “Youch!” and a grimace, as a determined thorn found it’s mark and pierced somebody’s hide. As we approached one of the spruce trees, half a dozen of the Kinney kids paused and observed our approach with first suspicion and then delight. At the ripe ol’ age of thirteen, Laura is too old and much too busy to devote much time to child’s play. The youngsters considered this intrusion of adolescents a real treat and several little ones latched onto Laura’s skirt as we entered their hideout. “Tell us a story Laura. Please! Please!” “Tell us about the ghosts.” “Not now!” Said Laura feigning annoyance but obviously pleased by the attention. The kids continued their clamor, eventually weakening their elder sibling’s resolve. “Alright! Alright!” Laura acquiesced, collapsing onto a bed of needles at the base of a towering Spruce. “Once upon a time there was a spooky old ghost dressed all in black.” That’s as far as she got. The littlest Kinney had a question. “If ghosts are just spirit,” She asked musingly, “why do they need clothes at all?” “Good question.” admitted Laura contemplatively. This line of thought piqued the children’s curiosity, resulting in several additional questions. “If ghosts wear clothes,” asked another, “do they have to warsh ‘em? Do ghosts get ring around the collar?” This resulted in an outburst of exuberant laughter, exacerbated by youthful enthusiasm. Lidge perked up and his face shone with recognition of his opportunity to participate. “I wonder,” he said, grinning with anticipation, “If ghosts get lint in their belly-buttons.” “Ghosts don’t have bellybuttons silly!” chimed the twins in unison and the entire hollow rang with squeals of laughter. In the middle of this jocularity, the briars rustled and in stepped two more youngsters. Mick and Sid O’Meara had overheard the ruckus from across the hollow and come to investigate the cause of all the merriment. Mick seemed to sense the jovial mood of the assembly almost immediately. He sprawled on the ground, rested his chin on his hands and offered a yarn of his own. “You should have seen what happened at our house! There’s a big old alligator turtle in our pond. The McCauley’s cow was standing belly deep, cooling off the other day, when that old snapper swum up and bit the end right out of one of her spickets!” The kids all groaned and grabbed their chests. The response was spontaneous and only served to encourage the storyteller. “‘Fore we could get a tourniquet on her,” he continued, “that ol’ cow leaked out three buckets of buttermilk!” “Oh, go on!” said Laura. “That’s nothin’!” announced Lidge. “We had a big ol’ wolf trap set at our pond, trying to catch a darned ol’ coon. One of them big snappers got caught by the neck. ‘Fore we could drag him out and give him what fore, that rascal chewed his head off and got clean away! A couple of days later he come dragging up the hill, fit as a fiddle and carrying his head in his mouth!” At that moment a distant “Helluuu” echoed from the hill in the direction of the O’Meara place. “Skedaddle!” whispered Sid. “That’s Ted.” Mick and Sid vanished into the thicket as muffled voices became audible at the edge of the hollow. Laura and the little Kinney’s made tracks for higher ground too. Evidently Ted runs with a gang of area roughnecks and the whole bunch run roughshod over the entire neighborhood. “That’s Ted and those other ruffians,” said Lidge. “We don’t want them to see us either.” “Come on.” Whispered Mariah and she headed up the trail toward home. As we reached the edge of the briar patch, Ted and his friends were closing fast. I figured this was all in good fun, but I still had a knot on my head from my first encounter with Ted and his red-haired sister. I got the impression that there was an element of real risk in these games. Both Lidge and Mariah seemed serious about getting out of sight. We were still a hundred yards from the Kinney place at the top of the hill, when we rounded a bend and the trail forked. “This way.” panted Lidge as he took the right fork. Seconds later the three of us stood humped over and gasping for breath at the door of a ramshackle ol’ outhouse. At the sound of hurried footsteps close behind, we crowded into the tiny refuge and Lidge bolted the door. It was pitch black inside, the atmosphere was close and stifling, and the odor was exceedingly unpleasant! I desperately wanted to hold my breath, but we were all breathing too heavily for that. I stepped up onto the business seat to help ease the crowding and Lidge braced himself and leaned against the door. As I stood up on the bench my head hit a rafter, the heat was oppressive, I was all but smothered in a veil of cobwebs, and an indignant wasp began buzzing threateningly around my ears. I started to speak to Mariah, but she laid her finger against my lips and said “shhhh!” Her finger was only against my lips for an instant, but somehow her touch left me warm all over. As I stood straddling that outhouse seat and crouching to avoid that pesky wasp my face was just inches from the top of Mariah’s head. I could feel the warmth from her body and smell her long lustrous hair. I pretended to lose my balance as an excuse to lay my hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at me very briefly and then ever so gently she laid her hand on mine. I held my breath, my pulse quickened, and Ted and the band of ruffians arrived outside the door. There were muffled voices and stifled chuckling, and then in unison they counted “one, two, three,” and leaned heavily into the side of that board and batten john. Our fragile refuge listed dangerously to starboard, that ornery wasp planted his rapier-like stinger deep into the lobe of my ear, and both my feet, new boots and all, slipped into that big black hole! Seconds later Lidge threw open the outhouse door, Ted and the ruffians let out with war whoops as they disappeared down the path, and the blinding light of day rushed in on a sad and sorry spectacle. That dreadful abyss had engulfed me right up to the armpits, my ribcage was stuck tight as a cork in its’ terrible jaws, and a powerful aroma brought evidence, I was stuck knee-deep in that holes’ contents. Abandon hope all ye who enter here! The bowels of the beast made a hideous sucking sound as Lidge and Mariah laboriously extricated me from my predicament. My clenched toes clung desperately to my left boot and that Godless pit claimed the other! To be continued…
Posted on: Fri, 05 Dec 2014 23:50:33 +0000
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