take a place in a home of her own. Emma’s father makes the announcement at the breakfast table, as she peruses her daily list of chores, which includes cutting flourishing chard from the garden, hanging and beating rugs from the house for cleaning, and washing the family’s car.
“I have arranged a sitting for you, Emma,” her father says, buttering a piece of toast. “Saturday evening. Five o’clock. If it is God’s will, he will sit with you at church the next morning.”
Emma knows what a sitting is. It’s a pre-arranged date under her father’s supervision. She wants to vomit.
“A sitting?” she asks. “Whom will I be sitting with?”
“David Samuels,” her father says.
“I don’t know who that is father. Why should I have a sitting with someone I don’t know.”
“He’s the preacher’s son. David’s father leads the Henegar Pentecostal Church.”
“Of course,” Emma says.
“Will I recognize him when I see him?”
“I don’t think so,” Emma’s father says. “He was home schooled, like you. He’s worked in the church since he was a child. He is training under his father to be a preacher. He will become an assistant in the summer, his father says, and he is ready for a wife so he can serve God.”
“How old is this David Samuels?” Emma says.
“About your age,” her father says. “Two years older I think. But he’s a fine young man of God I understand. We shall see. But that’s what his father says.
“I’ve known his father most of my life. He’s a little bit liberal for my liking. They don’t handle snakes any more. But they still speak in tongues, and have Sacred Harp singings. And maybe, in time, I can teach David a thing or two.”
“I don’t want a sitting,” Emma says. “I don’t want it, Father. What if I say no?”
“Or you defying me, Emma?” her father says, raising his voice. “Are you defying God?”
Emma doesn’t want to pull up her dress for another spanking. She doesn't want the licks, and she doesn't want to give her father the gratification.
“No, father. I am not defying you.”
“So this David Samuels will be here to meet me on Saturday at 5 o’clock in the evening?”
“Yes. You shall make some cookies that afternoon. Time them to be ready at five minutes before five. You can pull them out of the oven and the smell will win him over. Start making a fresh pot of coffee when he knocks on the door. Your mother will come and get you. Then bring the coffee and cookies out on a tray. It should be done before you even sit.
“And wear your white dress,” he father says.
“Yes father.”
Saturday arrives, and Emma is finishing the cookies just before five in the afternoon as her father instructed. She’s wearing a white dress, covered at the moment by her apron -- one her mother gave her years ago that has the words “Bless This House” adorned on it. She had mixed up peanut butter dough, plopped droplets down on a greased baking sheet, and is now sliding them into the oven. Her father walks into the kitchen as she shuts the oven door.
“Let me get a look at you,” he says.
She turns to face him, looking down at his feet.
He clasps her chin and lifts it up so that her eyes are facing his.
She shudders at the touch.
“You are almost a grownup,” her father says. “God has blessed you with a beauty and obedience. Let’s make this work. There aren’t many good eggs to pick from on Sand Mountain. You crack one. Not many left.”
Emma doesn’t respond.
“Keep the apron on until you see him,” her father says. “Come out of the kitchen with the tray of cookies and coffee wearing the apron. Take the apron off after you put the tray down. He’ll see that you are good in the kitchen. That you know what to do with the good things God gives us.
“Then, when you take the apron off, he’ll see that God blessed you as a beautiful child of his. But when you sit down, sit to his right. Understand?”
“Yes, father,”
“I have arranged a sitting for you, Emma,” her father says, buttering a piece of toast. “Saturday evening. Five o’clock. If it is God’s will, he will sit with you at church the next morning.”
Emma knows what a sitting is. It’s a pre-arranged date under her father’s supervision. She wants to vomit.
“A sitting?” she asks. “Whom will I be sitting with?”
“David Samuels,” her father says.
“I don’t know who that is father. Why should I have a sitting with someone I don’t know.”
“He’s the preacher’s son. David’s father leads the Henegar Pentecostal Church.”
“Of course,” Emma says.
“Will I recognize him when I see him?”
“I don’t think so,” Emma’s father says. “He was home schooled, like you. He’s worked in the church since he was a child. He is training under his father to be a preacher. He will become an assistant in the summer, his father says, and he is ready for a wife so he can serve God.”
“How old is this David Samuels?” Emma says.
“About your age,” her father says. “Two years older I think. But he’s a fine young man of God I understand. We shall see. But that’s what his father says.
“I’ve known his father most of my life. He’s a little bit liberal for my liking. They don’t handle snakes any more. But they still speak in tongues, and have Sacred Harp singings. And maybe, in time, I can teach David a thing or two.”
“I don’t want a sitting,” Emma says. “I don’t want it, Father. What if I say no?”
“Or you defying me, Emma?” her father says, raising his voice. “Are you defying God?”
Emma doesn’t want to pull up her dress for another spanking. She doesn't want the licks, and she doesn't want to give her father the gratification.
“No, father. I am not defying you.”
“So this David Samuels will be here to meet me on Saturday at 5 o’clock in the evening?”
“Yes. You shall make some cookies that afternoon. Time them to be ready at five minutes before five. You can pull them out of the oven and the smell will win him over. Start making a fresh pot of coffee when he knocks on the door. Your mother will come and get you. Then bring the coffee and cookies out on a tray. It should be done before you even sit.
“And wear your white dress,” he father says.
“Yes father.”
Saturday arrives, and Emma is finishing the cookies just before five in the afternoon as her father instructed. She’s wearing a white dress, covered at the moment by her apron -- one her mother gave her years ago that has the words “Bless This House” adorned on it. She had mixed up peanut butter dough, plopped droplets down on a greased baking sheet, and is now sliding them into the oven. Her father walks into the kitchen as she shuts the oven door.
“Let me get a look at you,” he says.
She turns to face him, looking down at his feet.
He clasps her chin and lifts it up so that her eyes are facing his.
She shudders at the touch.
“You are almost a grownup,” her father says. “God has blessed you with a beauty and obedience. Let’s make this work. There aren’t many good eggs to pick from on Sand Mountain. You crack one. Not many left.”
Emma doesn’t respond.
“Keep the apron on until you see him,” her father says. “Come out of the kitchen with the tray of cookies and coffee wearing the apron. Take the apron off after you put the tray down. He’ll see that you are good in the kitchen. That you know what to do with the good things God gives us.
“Then, when you take the apron off, he’ll see that God blessed you as a beautiful child of his. But when you sit down, sit to his right. Understand?”
“Yes, father,”
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