Anne Tyler - Saint Maybe

“Excuse me?”

But she shrugged and picked at a cuticle.

“And even young as you are, you can still bear witness,” Reverend Emmett said. “You can live in such a way that people will ask, ‘Who are those children? And what is the secret of their joy?’ That’s what ‘bearing witness’ means, in our faith — not empty words or proselytizing. Those cigarette smokers and coffee addicts and sugar fiends in their big expensive churches, contributing to the Carpet Fund and sipping their communion wine which we all know is an artificial stimulant—‘Why are those children so blessed? ’ they’ll ask. For you are blessed, my little ones. Someday you’ll appreciate that. You’re luckier than you realize, growing up in a church that cares for you so.”

Then he took a small brown bottle out of his trouser pocket and said it came from Kenny Larson’s doctor. He said all the campers had to have eardrops before they went in Sister Myra’s pool again.

Next came Crafts, where they made framed scripture plaques from drinking straws. And after that, Song Time, where they sang, “I’ve got the peace-that-passeth-understanding down in my heart, down in my heart …” as fast as possible in hopes that someone’s tongue would get twisted, but nobody’s did. And then Afternoon Swim, the longest single, period of the day. Thomas thought maybe Sister Myra had lost all her zip by then and just let them go on swimming because it was easiest. During their nap she had changed back into her skirt and blouse (probably for Reverend Emmett’s visit, even though clothes were not supposed to matter), and she didn’t bother getting into her swimsuit again but sat on a chair next to the pool with her skirt pulled up above her knees and her face tipped back to catch the sun. Still, you couldn’t put a thing past her. “No dunking allowed, Dermott Kyle!” she called, although Dermott was barely beginning to move in Mindy’s direction and Sister Myra’s eyes were closed. Her face was so freckled that it had a spattered look, as if someone had thrown handfuls of beige spangles at her.

Thomas knew how to swim — Ian had taught him last summer — but he hated getting his head wet. He swam straining out of the water, his arms flailing wildly and splashing too much. Agatha swam a slow, steady breast-stroke like an old person. Her gaze was fixed and her chin stayed just under the surface, so that she looked obstinate. Dermott Kyle, naturally, was wonderful at every stroke there was and also claimed to be able to dive, although he couldn’t prove it because Sister Myra didn’t have a diving board.

In the baby pool, Sister Audrey stood ankle-deep and bent over with her hands in the water. Johnny Larson was emptying a sprinkling can on top of Percy’s head. Daphne was … Thomas couldn’t see Daphne. He waded toward the edge of his own pool to check, and that’s when he realized that the thing in Sister Audrey’s hands was Daphne’s little blue-flowered body.

Later, he couldn’t remember how he got out of the water so fast. It almost seemed he was lifted straight up. Then he was running, with the sharp, stubbly grass pricking his bare feet, and then he was flying through the air as level as a Frisbee and belly flopping into the baby pool where Daphne lay on her stomach, smiling, making splashy little pretend-swim motions while Sister Audrey supported her.

He grabbed hold of Daphne anyway. (It seemed he’d been wound with a key and had to follow through with this.) He struggled to his feet, staggering a bit, hanging onto her even though she squirmed and protested. “You leave her alone,” he told Sister Audrey. Sister Audrey stared at him; her mouth was partway open. Thomas hauled Daphne out of the pool, dumped her in a heap, brushed off his hands all businesslike, and then strode back to the big pool.

As soon as he was in the water, the others crowded around him asking, “What’d she do? What happened?” Sister Myra looked confused. (For once, she had missed something.) Thomas said, “I just don’t like her messing with my little sister, is all.” He set his jaw and gazed beyond them, over toward the baby pool. Sister Audrey was standing on dry ground now. She was concentrating on stepping back into her flip-flops, and something about her lowered head and her meek, blind smile made Thomas’s stomach all at once start hurting. He turned away. “Boy, you were out of here,” Dermott Kyle said admiringly.

“Oh, well, you do what you got to do,” Thomas told him.

Toweled dry and dressed, their swimsuits hanging on the line outdoors and their hair still damp, they gathered for Devotions. Sister Myra said, “Dear Lord, thank You for this day of fellowship and listen now to our silent prayers,” and then she left a long, long space afterward. Silent prayers were sort of like Afternoon Swim; you had the feeling she was too worn out to make the effort anymore. Everyone was worn out. Still, Thomas tried. He bowed his head and closed his eyes and prayed for his mother in heaven. He knew she was up there, watching over him. And he knew his prayers were being heard. Hadn’t he prayed for Ian not to go to Vietnam that time? And the draft notice came anyhow and Thomas had blamed God, but then the doctors found out Ian had an extra heartbeat that had never been heard before and never given a moment’s trouble since, and Thomas knew his prayer had been answered. He’d stood up at Public Amending the following Sunday and confessed how he had doubted, but everyone was so happy about Ian that they just smiled at him while he spoke. He had felt he was surrounded by loving feelings. Afterward, Reverend Emmett said he thought Thomas had not really sinned, just shown his ignorance; and he was confident it would never happen again. And sure enough, it hadn’t.

“In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen,” Sister Myra said.

They all rustled and jostled and pushed each other, glad to be moving again.

It was Agatha’s turn to sit in front, but Ian said they should all three sit in back because he was picking up Cicely on the way home. “She’s coming for supper,” he told them. “It’s a state occasion: Aunt Claudia’s birthday. Remember?”

No, they hadn’t remembered, even though they’d spent last evening making a birthday card. Daphne said, “Oh, goody,” because that meant all the cousins would be there. Thomas and Agatha were glad, too — especially on account of Cicely. They both thought Cicely was as pretty as a movie star.

Ian asked Daphne what the day’s Bible verse had been. Daphne said, “Um …” and looked down into her lap. She was sitting in the middle, with her legs sticking straight out in front of her and the lawn mower resting across her knees.

“Agatha?” Ian called back, turning onto Charles Street.

Agatha sighed. “As the hart panteth after the water brooks,” she said flatly, “so panteth my soul after Thee, O God.”

She mumbled the word “God,” so she almost didn’t say it at all, but Ian appeared not to notice. “Good for you,” he said. “And what did Reverend Emmett talk about?”

Agatha didn’t answer, so Thomas spoke up instead. “Juice,” he said.

“Juice?”

“How we get juice for the soul and juice for the body, both at once, in Bible camp.”

“Well, that’s very true,” Ian said.

“It’s very dumb,” Agatha said.

“Pardon?”

“Besides,” she said, “isn’t ‘juice’ a bad word?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It just has that sound to it, somehow, like maybe it could be.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said. They had reached a red light, and he was able to glance over his shoulder at her. “Juice? What?”

“And that pool is full of germs; I think everybody pees in it,” Agatha said. “And Sister Audrey makes the sandwiches so far ahead they’re all dried out before we get to eat them. And anyhow, what’s she doing in a children’s camp? A person who’d put a baby in a Dempster Dumpster!”