Chapter 8

Cassie

After we were done eating, dessert and all, Mama and I went to wash the dishes and the men stayed out on the patio to talk some more. I don't know what they talked about, but they couldn't have gotten very serious, because with the amount of paper plates and plastic ware that we'd had for the barbecue there weren't a lot of dishes to wash, mostly the utensils from the cooking. We were done in 15 or 20 minutes and Mama and I went back out to see if the men wanted anything, which they didn't. Daddy looked at us and asked us to sit down, and then he asked Mr. Madison, one of the men, to fill us in.

"Well," the old man said, he must have been nearly 70 I think, "we've been talking about how to take some of the administration load off of Brother Hudson's shoulders so that he can be more a pastor and less a manager. We've had some starting points in the Bible, and we've mainly worked on how to apply the Scripture in our situation." He paused, and wiggled his false teeth in his mouth, which he'd been doing for years whenever he was thinking. I don't think he ever knew he did it, but I sure did. "What we've decided, as a plan to take to the church, is to dissolve our current deacon body, and choose new deacons who'll have responsibility for the administrative things. They'll take care of the food pantry, and the Widows' and Orphans' Ministry, and a lot of other things that either Brother Hudson's had to handle, or just haven't gotten done because no one was doing them."

"Why are you telling us this?" Mama asked.

"Because," Daddy said, "you're going to find out anyway, and after you've served so well feeding us, we all think you deserve a little return on your work. We really do appreciate what you've done – not just the cooking, Cassie," he said to me, "but the serving and the washing up and everything else you did to allow us to talk."

Mama got the look on her face that I knew meant she was proud and humble at the same time and determined not to let any of it show. "It was our privilege, Jason," she said.

"And it was our privilege to let y'all in on things a bit early," Yirmeyah said. "I won't try to speak for these other men, but where I'm from—" it sounded almost like he said whur A'm fuhm "—we figure gratitude's pretty important. And we are grateful."

I felt myself blushing. It seemed like ever since I'd quit flirting at Yirmeyah he'd been treating me even more like a woman – a grown woman, a lady, I guess. And the more he did it the more I realized how little I'd earned that kind of treatment, sort of throwing myself in his way and trying to knock his eyes out with my clothes and makeup and all. It embarrassed me to know that after the way I'd acted he still thought I was worthy of respect, and it humbled me too, and I guess true humility was something I hadn't really learned before he came to Hopeful Church.

I looked up and saw Yirmeyah looking at me, with an amused and affectionate expression on his face, at least I thought it was affectionate though I wasn't sure. "Thinkin' deep thoughts, Miss Cassie?" he asked.

"No, not really," I said, almost whispering. He'd caught me at my reflections and that embarrassed me even more, but I wasn't about to admit it to him, not in front of everyone else anyway.

Then I thought of a question. "Yirmeyah," I asked, being careful with the name, for though I had learned how to say it the word still wasn't easy for me, "why do you call me 'Miss Cassie?'"

"It's how we are in Texas, and all in the south, I guess." There was another Texas phrase I hadn't heard before; I would have said all through the south or all over the south. "When we like a woman, and we're on friendly terms with her, but we still want to show respect, we say 'Miss Whoever.' There was a lady in my church in Cisco. She must have been, oh, 80 or so, and she was the kindest and gentlest old lady. But you didn't want ever to get her mad, 'cause she'd fix you with that old eye of hers and make you wish the ground'd swaller you up." His voice was getting more Texas almost by the word, as he warmed up to his story. "We all called her Miss Ettie. I don't think anyone ever called her Mrs. Sullivan except for one guy who actually was from El Paso and just visited sometimes."

"Did anyone ever call her just plain Ettie?" one of the men asked. I looked and it was Jonah Morgan, who was maybe the richest man in the church though I wasn't at all sure how much money he really had. But he drove a big Cadillac and got a new one every year and he had the finest suits and his wife wore real diamonds.

Yirmeyah laughed. "There was one person who did. Miss Ettie had a maiden sister named Julietta, and she always just said 'Ettie, ' and Miss Ettie called her sister 'Julie.'"

"And what did you call her?" I asked, surprising myself because I hadn't intended to say anything at all.

"She went to another church, so we all called her Miss Ormond. None of us knew her well enough to get more familiar."

Daddy held up a hand at this point. "I think we're getting just a little off the track here."

Yirmeyah laughed again, and I liked the sound of it. He was young, and you could tell it by his voice as well as his looks, but he sounded mature too, and I enjoyed hearing that youthful maturity in the pure joyfulness of his laugh. "I guess we done lit out after a whole flock o' rabbits," he said, sounding as Texas as I'd ever heard him. Then he sobered up a bit, and when he spoke again his accent and speech were back to normal – normal for him, that is. "We do want to be sure we've got ourselves all on the correct plan, here."