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Show in my father's house/ 20 Even after Brother Musser admonished the people to fit with the world without giving up their convictions -- "we must not make a mockery of the Lord's work," he said -- that faction wore fundamentalist Mormonism like a badge: severe buns, long skirts, faces scrubbed and plain, persisting in old-fashioned dress even for their children. And now two of the men sat at our table, grimacing and shifting in their chairs as my father and Brother Musser joked with the mothers and children. Aunt Sarah leaned toward my mother and muttered that one of the men had tested the window-sills for dust. "Can you believe how smug?" Aunt Sarah said. My mother rolled her eyes and nodded. "Don't worry," Aunt Sarah whispered. "I wiped the sills just before they came. Remember -- cleanliness is next to godliness!" She winked and the two women smiled behind their hands. After dessert, my father and uncles stood in a half-circle near the piano and sang choral arrangements of Brother Musser's favorite hymns. Then, after some quiet talk, a few giggles and coughs, Brother Musser stood. His moustache was stained red at the tips and one of his hands was pinched against his body, trembling. I wondered why only half of his mouth moved as he spoke. "This trouble of authority has gone on long enough, brethren," he declared. "It's time to get the matter settled." |
