Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen by Susan Gregg Gilmore Page B

starched, white cotton sheets that had a big pink
H
monogrammed on the edge.
    Everybody was excited, patting Hank on the shoulders and chatting about the props and costumes and who should be Mary and who should be Joseph and if anybody in town had a live baby we could borrow for the performance. Hank reminded us that we needed to be humble and right-minded in making all these decisions. Then he closed our meeting with a word of prayer just like he always did.
    “Lord, thank you for bringing your children together tonight for fellowship. We praise you for all you've given us, and please guide us as we prepare for our Christmas pageant. Touch Johnny Blanchard with your healing power ’cause his mama says he has mono, and uh, you better go ahead and touch Lucy Mills while you're at it. And, one more thing, we know you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, but if you could lead the Ringgold Tigers to victory Friday night, well, we'd love to win one before the end of the season. In your name we pray, Amen.”
    I know the Lord works in mysterious ways. I'd seen it for myself like when Daddy healed Ruthie Morgan's dying grandmother simply by laying his hands on her head and praying for one mighty long time. I couldn't make out a single word he said, but the Lord must have heard him, because the very next morning, she was sitting up in bed eating scrambled eggs and fried ham.
    But even that miracle couldn't prepare me for what happened next. Shelley Hatfield, undeniably the most beautiful girl in Ringgold, and undoubtedly the most obvious choice for Mary, said, “I think Catherine Grace Cline should be Mary and, Hank, of course, you should be Joseph.”
    I figured every girl in that room was hoping to be Hank's Mary, especially Shelley Hatfield. I was planning on working behind the curtain, organizing props, turning on lights, anything but being Hank's fiancée knocked up by the Holy Spirit himself.
    Martha Ann opened her mouth in disbelief. “You, Mary. Wait till Gloria Jean hears this,” she said leaning into my ear.
    Being the preacher's daughter had never really been an advantage, at least not as far as I could tell. My mama was gone and that stupid golden egg never did end up in my basket, and not one of those Sword Drill medals ever found its way around my neck. You'd think I'd have at least one pin for perfect attendance since my daddy had dragged me to church every single Sunday in those stupid, patent-leather Mary Janes. Nope, not that either, because I'd usually get some juicy head cold in the middle of February that would keep me in bed one Sunday out of the year. And now Mary, the one thing I
didn't
want,
didn't
need, was mine. Everyone else seemed equally amazed by Shelley's suggestion, and in the awkward moment of silence that followed, Hank searched my face looking for some sort of approval.
    The very next day, I was standing in front of my locker putting away my composition notebook, when Joseph himself came up and grabbed me by the arm. “Catherine Grace, you know we need to start practicing as soon as possible. There's only four weeks before the holiday celebration, and I've got football practice almost every afternoon. So I was thinking maybe I could come over to your house on Saturday, and we could start figuring out what we're going to do.”
    “Fine, Hank, we'll work around your very busy schedule because I'm not really doing much of anything with my life, and I'm sure it is so time consuming trying to win one football game,” I shot back, wondering myself why I was acting like such a sharp-tongued jerk.
    “Catherine Grace, that is not what I meant, but if you're going to act like this, well, I might just leave your ass in that stable with the other donkeys, where apparently it belongs.”
    I stared at Hank in disbelief. I couldn't believe Mr. Perfect had said that to me, the preacher's daughter, of all people. Hank Blankenship was human after all. We both burst out laughing. And in that