other of them said, “Joey, for goodness’ sake, quit whining.”
THE MAN ON THE STAGE looked a little like Grandpa Wilmer, Frank thought, except that he hopped around and shouted and threw his arms in the air like there was something really worrying him and he didn’t know what to do about it. Grandpa Wilmer wasn’t like that.Grandpa Wilmer never raised his voice, even when something bad happened, like that time last summer when the yearling bull put his horn through a knothole in the side of the barn and they couldn’t get him out and he broke his neck right there. That had been when they were up there for the threshing, and Frank didn’t think he would ever forget it. It was a Devon bull (Papa told him that), red all over with white horns, not like the browny shorthorns Papa had, a beautiful bull, hanging against the side of the barn by its horn, dead. Dead like May Liz was a month later.
The man on the stage stepped back, and other people in white robes, with books in their hands, sang a few songs. There wasn’t much sun in this place, and there were so many people that it made Frank feel like he wanted to jump up and down, just jump up and down, but that man, the giant who had told him absolutely to be quiet because he was watching, was watching—he was three rows behind and four or five people over, right at the end, so if Frank made noise that man could get up and come get him and drag him out. Frank grabbed the edge of the bench and held it tight, and that kept him from jumping up and down. Right next to him, Joey was crying. He wasn’t making any noise, but the tears were running down and his eyes were closed. Frank was glad that at least he himself wasn’t doing that.
IT WAS INDEED as Rosanna had expected it to be, crowded and a little frightening, but everyone was friendly, and Rosanna felt it—she felt herself disconnect from the irritations of the boys and, for that matter, Walter. She knew Walter hadn’t wanted to come—ninety-some miles and two nights leaving the farm in the charge of Ragnar and Irma. It made Walter nervous. But when Rosanna said, “Then I’ll go by myself,” even though she hadn’t yet learned to drive the car, that made him even more nervous, so he agreed to come for the two evenings and the one day, as long as they got up before five and came straight home Monday morning. What Rosanna said, in order to mask her hopes, had been “Well, it’ll be nice to get away for once. Even if it’s only to Mason City.” And it was. The country wasn’t terribly different from their own, but it was fun to go through the towns, if just for the names—Eldora, Steamboat Rock, Ackley—and the signs pointing to places like Swaledale that she knew she wouldnever see. Yes, they were probably just like Denby, but the names were enlivening.
She had thought it would be harsh and scary, since Billy Sunday was known for his hellfire sermons. But most of the people she eavesdropped on had come more than once. Not only did they know what to expect, they were already saved. Coming again and again, Rosanna realized, was like having an account at the bank. Everyone said once was enough forever, but twice would be more secure, and so on. Hearing the hellfire sermon amounted to hearing about what would happen to others, not oneself. Rosanna thought that was what accounted for the crowd’s unexpected good mood. It was so simple, not at all the hard and empty road that Catholics would have you believe.
She was neatly dressed, with her hair netted in a bun and a plain hat. She had already made up her mind on her own to give up vanity. Considering the quiet life she now led, it wasn’t very difficult. Only this time, when she knew she was going out in public, did her resolution give her trouble. She had prettier dresses and nicer ways of doing her hair and more attractive hats, but that was over for her. And it was a small price to pay. So it was that no one looked at her in this big crowd. That had
THE MAN ON THE STAGE looked a little like Grandpa Wilmer, Frank thought, except that he hopped around and shouted and threw his arms in the air like there was something really worrying him and he didn’t know what to do about it. Grandpa Wilmer wasn’t like that.Grandpa Wilmer never raised his voice, even when something bad happened, like that time last summer when the yearling bull put his horn through a knothole in the side of the barn and they couldn’t get him out and he broke his neck right there. That had been when they were up there for the threshing, and Frank didn’t think he would ever forget it. It was a Devon bull (Papa told him that), red all over with white horns, not like the browny shorthorns Papa had, a beautiful bull, hanging against the side of the barn by its horn, dead. Dead like May Liz was a month later.
The man on the stage stepped back, and other people in white robes, with books in their hands, sang a few songs. There wasn’t much sun in this place, and there were so many people that it made Frank feel like he wanted to jump up and down, just jump up and down, but that man, the giant who had told him absolutely to be quiet because he was watching, was watching—he was three rows behind and four or five people over, right at the end, so if Frank made noise that man could get up and come get him and drag him out. Frank grabbed the edge of the bench and held it tight, and that kept him from jumping up and down. Right next to him, Joey was crying. He wasn’t making any noise, but the tears were running down and his eyes were closed. Frank was glad that at least he himself wasn’t doing that.
IT WAS INDEED as Rosanna had expected it to be, crowded and a little frightening, but everyone was friendly, and Rosanna felt it—she felt herself disconnect from the irritations of the boys and, for that matter, Walter. She knew Walter hadn’t wanted to come—ninety-some miles and two nights leaving the farm in the charge of Ragnar and Irma. It made Walter nervous. But when Rosanna said, “Then I’ll go by myself,” even though she hadn’t yet learned to drive the car, that made him even more nervous, so he agreed to come for the two evenings and the one day, as long as they got up before five and came straight home Monday morning. What Rosanna said, in order to mask her hopes, had been “Well, it’ll be nice to get away for once. Even if it’s only to Mason City.” And it was. The country wasn’t terribly different from their own, but it was fun to go through the towns, if just for the names—Eldora, Steamboat Rock, Ackley—and the signs pointing to places like Swaledale that she knew she wouldnever see. Yes, they were probably just like Denby, but the names were enlivening.
She had thought it would be harsh and scary, since Billy Sunday was known for his hellfire sermons. But most of the people she eavesdropped on had come more than once. Not only did they know what to expect, they were already saved. Coming again and again, Rosanna realized, was like having an account at the bank. Everyone said once was enough forever, but twice would be more secure, and so on. Hearing the hellfire sermon amounted to hearing about what would happen to others, not oneself. Rosanna thought that was what accounted for the crowd’s unexpected good mood. It was so simple, not at all the hard and empty road that Catholics would have you believe.
She was neatly dressed, with her hair netted in a bun and a plain hat. She had already made up her mind on her own to give up vanity. Considering the quiet life she now led, it wasn’t very difficult. Only this time, when she knew she was going out in public, did her resolution give her trouble. She had prettier dresses and nicer ways of doing her hair and more attractive hats, but that was over for her. And it was a small price to pay. So it was that no one looked at her in this big crowd. That had
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