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Show in my father's house/ 14 to cry for vengeance upon the wicked." Then there was much kissing and hugging before my father could make his way to the green Hudson, black grip in hand, and drive away with Aunt Helga as he did every day but Sunday. I stood in the yard with my mother, waving until they turned onto the highway, out of sight. Later that morning, I found my mother breaking bread into bits. "Why are you fixing the sacrament on Saturday?" I asked. She laughed. "This isn't for sacrament. It's stuffing. Brother Musser is coming for dinner tonight. He has something very important to say to us." Brother Musser was the leader of our group which had members all over the West. Everybody loved him and looked to him as the final authority on any matter. Many people believed he was a prophet. All day the preparations for dinner went on. The folding doors between the white house parlor and dining room were thrown open to form one giant room stretching the length of the house. My father returned from his office before noon and set long planks on sawhorses that the mothers covered with various-shaped tablecloths. Aunt Gerda's pink dishes and red goblets crowded against Aunt LaVona's wedgewood. All the mothers bustled in the vast high-ceilinged kitchen, bumping hips and elbows. They shooed me outside. Outdoors, the day shimmered cold and bright, with wild |
