Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(68)

“I don’t know…” Olivia moaned, buckling under the weight of uncertainty. “What if I make a mistake? What if I look into some policeman’s eye and imagine I see the light of God, when it’s nothing more than the reflection of a light bulb?”

“Hmm.” Canasta hesitated a moment then said, “Most women’s got a built-in ability for this, but if you got doubts, practice up by looking in your Pastor’s eye. A man of God has most always got the light.”

“Pastor?”

“Pastor, Preacher, Minister, whatever.” Canasta waited for a bit, then hearing no response, asked, “You been going to Sunday services, ain’t you?”

“No,” Olivia answered hesitantly. “I’ve had intentions of…”

“Well, no wonder you got all these troubles. Land sakes, Sugar, if you ain’t on speaking terms with the Lord, what right you got to ask Him to help out?”

Olivia could see the merit in such thinking. It was the same as having a neighbor who snubs you, walks by week after week pretending you don’t exist, acts like you’re a person they have no cause to bother with; then one day they knock on your door looking to borrow a shaker of salt. She’d never intended to snub God, in fact, she’d said a number of prayers in the past two days—most were requests for Him to send help. She was by no means Godless, it was simply that she’d been so wound up in the everyday problems of her life, she’d been too busy to pay Him a call. “I suppose you’re right,” she answered solemnly, “I’ve no right to expect an answer to my prayers, when…”

“I never said, He wouldn’t help out; but I’m fairly certain that church-going people get shuffled to the front of the line when He’s passing out favors.”

“Well then, I’m just plain out of luck.”

“No you ain’t,” Canasta said. “But quick as you can, get yourself to services and sit right up front, in the first pew. When the choir gets to singing you and that boy sing out loud as you can, so the Lord’s certain to take notice.”

“You really think such a thing would work?”

“Sugar, I’d swear to it.”

“Let’s see,” Olivia mumbled, thinking out loud, “there’s a Methodist Church on the corner, and a block down there’s a Baptist, then over on Grant Street, a Catholic Church…they’re all reasonably close by; which one do you think He’s more likely to listen to?”

Canasta laughed out loud. “It don’t make a bean of difference,” she finally said, “the Lord listens in all those places. They’re just different slices of the same pie.”

Fortunately, the next three days were rather uneventful. Ethan rode his new bicycle back and forth to school; then came home and ran errands for the neighbors. At night he did his homework with no argument and then worked on piecing the Baltimore Orioles jigsaw puzzle back together. Olivia kept a close eye on him at all times. She had his arrival home from school timed to the minute and usually found some reason or another to be standing in the lobby or outside on the walkway to greet him. Wherever he went—whether it was the store, the playground, or circling the block on his bike—she stood at the window and watched. A fistful of fear had taken hold of her heart—it was the fear of Cobb grabbing the boy if she lost sight of him for even a moment.

On Sunday morning, she woke Ethan early. “You’ve got to dress for church,” she said and handed him the brand new suit she’d bought. Olivia was already dressed with white gloves and a yellow felt hat.

“But,” Ethan moaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “I ain’t had no breakfast.”

“We’ll go to the Pancake Palace, after we’ve finished praying,” she answered.

Taking no chances, Olivia first took him to the eight o’clock mass at the Catholic Church, where, because they were a bit late, they had to sit five rows back. With so much being said in Latin, and not knowing exactly when to kneel, stand or sit, she lost track of what was happening a few times, but once the hymnal was opened, not only the Lord God but also half of Wyattsville could hear her voice. Afterwards they went to the ten o’clock service at the Baptist church, where they were able to get a seat smack in the center of the first pew. Lastly, they hurried over to the Methodist Church, and although they arrived just moments before the eleven o’clock service started, they were able to sit right up front. Olivia sang louder than any other member of the congregation and Ethan, with a look of pure pleasure on his face, matched her note for note. By the time they arrived at the Pancake Palace, they’d worked up such an appetite that both of them ordered the fat boy special—ten pancakes, stacked alongside a pile of sausages, ham and bacon.

“You sure you want the special?” the waitress asked Ethan, “…it’s an awful lot of food for a little fella like you.”

“I’m sure, ma’am,” he answered, “I been singing real loud!”

That afternoon Olivia felt somewhat less worried about Ethan and permitted him to take Dog over to the park, which was a full five blocks away. When started out the door, she warned him, “Don’t stay longer than an hour and be real careful.” Later that afternoon, he was also permitted to ride his bicycle over to Liggett’s Drug Store so he could fetch a bottle of cough medicine for Walter Krause.