Free My One Hundred Adventures by Polly Horvath Page A

until she gets to her sermon and then she makes references to jail and being threatened with dinner from the Bluebird Café and Jesus and his crown of thorns, none of which makes sense thrown together like that unless you happen to know about the incident with the balloons. She mixes the two up so that it sounds as if Jesus had supper at the Bluebird Café. I imagine him signing a picture for their wall like the other local celebrities. H. K. Thomson’s picture hangs in there. My mother’s picture does not.
    People are beginning to purse their lips and look uncomfortable. You can tell that the ones who don’t know about Nellie’s brief jail time think she is rambling in a disturbing way. There is a sense of relief when it is time to pray for the sick.
    We pray for Mrs. Nasters and Mrs. Parks again. Mrs. Nasters is getting worse but Mrs. Parks is getting better. I have the terrible thought that maybe my prayer tipped the balance, the extra prayer for Mrs. Parks, that is, the omission of the prayer for Mrs. Nasters. My mind wanders along worrying about this. And I realize that we have been so busy that none of us has checked up again on Mrs. Parks since our adventure with her. This seems a little mean. You don’t want to be the type of person who only shows up during a crisis. As if you are just hunting for excitement. I decide I will go visit her today. And also Mrs. Nasters because I owe her that much. Even though she may think it peculiar since I don’t know her very well.
    I am passing behind H. K. Thomson and my mother as we exit the church, hoping to slide out under cover of their bulk, but Nellie Phipps grabs my hand purportedly to shake it and draws me near and whispers in my ear. “Not so fast. We got Bibles to give away, don’t forget.”
    â€œOh, Nellie, not after last week,” I say. She doesn’t know what terrible thing has happened and I cannot tell her in front of all these people.
    â€œChild, especially after last week. I’ve got your spiritual health to tend to. Now, don’t fret about sending me to jail. That was just a blip. Go tell your mother you’ll be gone all day. I got a route all picked out.”
    I do not know what to do. I can’t say no to a grown-up, especially a preacher. I am counting on my mother to save me. I snag her as she is inviting Caroline to Sunday dinner. I can’t tell if Caroline has understood my mother. Her hair is all wild and her eyes are looking crazy and angry. My mother appears distracted as I tell her that I am going to deliver Bibles while my eyes plead with her to say that I can’t. But before she can say anything, H. K. Thomson says, “Come along, Felicity. It looks as if Jane is going to be busy and Caroline has other plans for supper,” and shepherds her away.
    I stand openmouthed with Nellie’s hand still gripping mine. She holds it with her right, which forces her to shake hands with her left. It puts her so out of balance she cannot kiss any babies. I think the mothers look glad.
    Caroline is the last person to depart. She has been sitting in the corner of a pew staring at nothing. Nellie putters around the church putting things away but she is keeping a sharp eye on me at all times as if I am an untethered horse. Finally, she signals that she is ready to go and we march to the parking lot. The Bibles are already in the back of the station wagon. I am hungry for lunch and wonder if we will stop for ice cream again and if we will be back in time for me to visit Mrs. Parks and Mrs. Nasters, because I can’t see them during the week. I will be babysitting.
    â€œStealing a balloon to deliver Bibles is not the same as regular stealing,” says Nellie as we drive down the road.
    I don’t say anything. I don’t want to talk any more about positive and negative energies and how I am making mistakes.
    Then Nellie’s face clears as if she has thought of something new.