Beth Hoffman Saving CeeCee Honeycut (epub) i

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.” She grinned and sashayed out of my room.Grateful that she’d finally left, I scooted off the bed and closed the door behind her.Momma started wearing those tattered old prom dresses several days a week.The more she wore them, the more of a spectacle she became in our town.Even the nicest of our neighbors couldn’t stop themselves from standing in their front yards bug-eyed and slack-jawed whenever she’d parade down the sidewalk in a rustle of taffeta.And who could blame them? With a neighbor like Momma, who needed TV?In school I was the skinny girl who had a crown-wearing, lipstick-smeared lunatic for a mother.Nobody talked to me unless they wanted an answer to a test question, and nobody sat with me at the lunch table—well, nobody except Oscar Wolper, who smelled like dirty socks and bore a shocking resemblance to Mr.Potato Head.After a while I didn’t pay much attention to my classmates.It didn’t matter what they said about my mother or what kinds of faces they made.I’d just walk in, take my seat, and keep my eyes glued to the blackboard.Besides, I always knew a smile would be waiting for me every Sunday.TwoFor as far back as my memory would take me, I had spent Sunday mornings with our elderly neighbor Mrs.Gertrude Odell.At eight o’clock I’d go down to the kitchen and watch for her porch light to go on; it was our signal that she was ready for me.The minute I’d see that light, I’d run out the door, across the yard, and up the back steps of her little brick house.Always she’d greet me with a smile, still with her thin white hair wound in itty-bitty pin curls, still wearing her nightgown and flowery snap-front robe that was frayed at the cuffs.“Good morning, honey,” she’d say as I stepped into her kitchen.“It’s a beautiful day that just got more beautiful.”Whether it was sunny, rainy, or even if a foot of snow had fallen overnight, to Mrs.Odell, every day was a beauty.I think she was just happy to have woken up on the top side of the earth.Mrs.Odell lived alone.She’d had a husband once, but he died a long time ago.We helped each other a lot: she made my school lunch each morning, and I pulled weeds in her garden and helped her lift things that were heavy.Our Sunday breakfasts were my favorite thing in the whole world.While I gathered silverware and set our places at the white enamel-top table that sat by the kitchen window, she’d shuffle across the green linoleum floor in a pair of broken-down, grandma-style shoes with mismatched laces and grill up a stack of pancakes.We’d sit down and have ourselves a feast while we listened to a church station on the radio.Mrs.Odell loved choir singing, and she’d tune in early so we wouldn’t miss it.Most times we’d catch the tail end of the day’s sermon, loudly delivered by an angry-sounding preacher.Every week it was like he was giving his listeners a big, finger-pointing reprimand.One Sunday while licking maple syrup off my fingers, I looked at Mrs.Odell.“Why is that preacher so upset? He always sounds real mad.”She took a sip of tea and thought for a moment.“Well, now that you mention it, he does sound a little crabby.Maybe he’s tired of reminding people to be kind to each other.”“Are all preachers crabby?” I said, taking a bite of my pancakes.Mrs.Odell chuckled.“I don’t know if I’d say they’re all crabby, but I think some do have a tendency to speak a little too forceful at times.”“Well, what I don’t understand is why people get all dressed up and drive to church so they can sit there and get scolded.Seems to me it’d be a whole lot easier for them to just stay home in their pj’s, eat pancakes, and get yelled at over the radio.”Mrs.Odell laughed so hard she cried.But I was serious.On my way home from school the following Friday, I heard the echo of a sharp whack-whack-whack rise above the trees.Up ahead, a man was hammering a sign into the ground in front of a local church.The sign was advertising a weekend fund-raising festival, and printed in bright red letters at the bottom were the words COME JOIN THE FUN—EVERYONE WELCOME.When I arrived home, I made up my mind that I’d go down there on Saturday morning and see for myself what all this church stuff was about.Before leaving the house the next morning, I put on a pair of old sunglasses and tied a scarf around my head.Thanks to Momma’s antics, even the adults in our town looked at me with something that was a cross between disgust and pity, so I tried to disguise myself whenever I ventured into town.The festival was a swarm of activity, and I sunk into the shadows of the trees to watch.My first impression was that pies seemed to help people be kind to one another a whole lot better than any mean-talking preacher [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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