young lady.” Owen scooped the berries into the dustbin. “I expected more out of you. Your mother working so hard to make the day nice, and what do you do? Ungrateful, that’s what I say.”
Tears welled in Daisy’s eyes, and Owen immediately regretted his impatience. Words of apology circled his mouth, but reprimand fell into line ahead of them. “Outside, both of you, while you still can.”
That was the moment he couldn’t bear. The shame of it consumed him. The last time he’d ever see his daughter whole, and he’d turned away from her to tend to Grace. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” was all he’d said as he guided his wife toward their bedroom.
* * *
Up ahead in the mine, Owen heard Davyd Leas, one of the elders from Providence Christian, leading some of the men in prayer as he did every morning before they started their shift in earnest.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .”
Owen walked past the men and onto the gangway, refusing to acknowledge any God who would take his child.
CHAPTER NINE
THE FIRST WEEK OF OCTOBER, Stanley suggested they go downtown. He liked to spend time over at the Wholesale District on lower Lackawanna Avenue, where men of all sorts, Welsh, Irish, Italian, Pole, Negro, even the Turks, loaded up their wagons with the produce, meats, and dry goods they’d sell in their own neighborhood stores. It always thrilled him to meander through the maze of vendors whose accents were as thick as their cigars.
Halfway to their destination, Stanley paused in front of a large white sign, lettered in black. “Do your part to lead souls to Christ,” he read aloud. “I wonder what that’s about.”
“Probably some message from the holy rollers.” Violet didn’t exactly know what a holy roller was, but she’d often heard her mother use the expression when discussing the “goings on” in other people’s churches. “Look!” she yelled, pointing to a sign on the next corner. “There’s another one.”
The pair ran to the end of the block, and Violet read this time. “How many persons are going to be steered to the straight and narrow path?”
“Twenty-nine!” Stanley hollered, and laughed at his own joke. When Violet looked at him annoyed, he added, “It’s as good a number as any.” Stanley stood back for a moment and examined the barren piece of property, a full city block in size. “They’re on all four corners.”
Violet nodded, and they headed to the third sign. “Future home of Scranton’s largest tabernacle,” she read out of turn.
“Holy rollers must be building a church,” Stanley said. “Hey, what is a holy—”
Violet ran toward the fourth corner before Stanley could finish his question.
“Wait up, so I can read!” Stanley sprinted and the two arrived together in front of the last sign. “Reverend William A. Sunday,” he paused a moment to catch his breath, “the world’s greatest evangelist, will begin his siege on Scranton, March 1, 1914. Will you join his army?” Stanley stood, amazed. “Well, isn’t that something?”
“What?”
“Billy Sunday.”
“Who’s he?” Violet asked.
“Only one of the best outfielders to ever play baseball.” Stanley shook his head. “Girls! Come on.” He tugged on Violet’s arm. “Let’s get to town while there’s still time.”
Once they arrived at the Wholesale District, Stanley looked at Violet and said, “I have a better idea.” He turned onto Wyoming Avenue.
“Not another one.” Violet winced but followed. “Do I need to remind you of what happened the last time you had an idea?”
Stanley stopped in the middle of the block, pointed to a sign, and grinned. “A minstrel show. Sounds promising.”
“How do you figure?” Violet knew better than to go inside Poli’s Theatre. To begin with, she didn’t have the money for a ticket any more than Stanley did. They’d have to sneak in. Just as important, according to the sign on the easel out front, dancing would be “the highlight of the performance.” Violet knew full well that Providence Christian Church did not tolerate dancing of any kind, and she was sure that included, the “Shim Sham Shimmy” and the “Buck-and-Wing,” whatever they were, and she told Stanley just that. “How about a game of Nipsey instead?” she suggested. “We can get sticks down by the creek. See who can hit them the farthest.”
“I think you’re yellow,” Stanley said. “Who woulda thunk it?”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Prove it.”
Violet pushed ahead of Stanley, held her breath, and slipped in the side door. After taking a moment for her eyes to adjust, she glanced up and screamed at the oddest-looking colored man she had ever seen. His dark face glistened like wet paint. Skin, the same color as her own, circled his eyes and bright red mouth. He stretched his arm forward and plucked a cowboy hat from a rack to the right of Violet.
“Watch where you’re going, kid.” He placed the hat on his head and disappeared through a door labeled, Backstage.
Violet turned to leave.
Stanley opened another door, this one marked, Theatre, and pushed her through. Both of them froze at the sights before them. Electric lights, velvet curtains, and signs pointing to indoor comfort stations, one for Ladies and one for Gentlemen. Neither of them had ever seen anything so fine in their lives, and they paused to take it in. Stanley pointed to the columns surrounding the stage decorated with garlands of plaster vines and flowers.
A burgundy-jacketed usher started toward them, his brazen buttons catching the reflection of the lights. Stanley yanked Violet by the arm, and into a curtained alcove. They watched as the usher made the turn away from them toward the Gentlemen’s arrow.
“I want to go home,” Violet muttered.
“Not a chance,” Stanley said, leading them toward two vacant seats.
As soon as the curtain opened, Violet closed her eyes. She may have been obligated to stay for Stanley’s sake, but she didn’t have to watch the show. Maybe if she kept her eyes shut, she could escape damnation. She imagined being at home, sitting in the kitchen by herself. She looked around and saw the stove, the table, the sink, and the motto hanging above it. Rules for Today. The needlepoint words hit her like the back of her mother’s hand.
Do nothing that you would not want to be doing
when Jesus comes.
Say nothing that you would not want to be saying
