Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen by Susan Gregg Gilmore Read Free Book Online Page B

gets under your skin. But you, Catherine Grace Cline, must love your enemies, all of your enemies, especially the ones that test you the most—even the ones wearing big bows in their hair.”
    “But she called Martha—”
    “Catherine Grace, I don't care what she called your sister.”
    “But Martha Ann was scared—”
    “Catherine Grace, that doesn't change what you did. I expect you to be better than that. I expect you to set an example for the others to follow. You are the preacher's daughter and with that comes a certain amount of responsibility, like it or not. Now I'm sorry, but you have to be punished.” He hesitated a moment before delivering my sentence, as if he didn't want to hear it himself. “I've given this a lot of thought, Catherine Grace, and you cannot go to the Dairy Queen for the rest of the summer. It is off-limits till the first of September.”
    My daddy had never done anything like this before. The worst he'd ever done was smack me on the bottom once when I grabbed Martha Ann's Raggedy Ann doll while we were standing in the checkout line at the Dollar General Store. She had been cranky all afternoon, and Daddy's nerves were already frayed. But I started crying so hard, more from the embarrassment than from the sting his hand left on my backside, that we had to leave our basket on the counter and go home without the toilet paper and toothpaste we had come to buy. He apologized later that night for spanking me. He said he knew the good book advised pulling out the rod once in a while, but it just didn't feel right striking one of his little girls. He said he'd never do that again.
    But Daddy knew that taking the Dairy Queen away from me was worse than any spanking. I couldn't remember a time when going to the Dairy Queen wasn't part of my weekly routine. Mama had taken me every Saturday, after all her chores were done. We would sit there on that picnic table and eat our ice cream. We always left Martha Ann at home with Daddy or Gloria Jean because that was our special time. Then when I was old enough to walk there on my own, I started taking Martha Ann myself. Daddy knew it was where I went to reflect on the week gone by and get ready for the week to come. He had no right to take that away from me.
    “Daddy, that's not fair,” I screamed. “I hate being the preacher's daughter. I hate being your daughter. I don't care what anybody in this stinking, rotten town thinks. I don't want to be an example. Everybody in this town is stupid anyway. They're all stupid for staying here.” And then I screamed even louder, “I hate Emma Sue Huckstep. I wish she had drowned in that damn lake.”
    I couldn't believe I had said all of that out loud, not even stopping to take a breath.
    “Catherine Grace, you better get to your room before I get my belt.”
    Daddy had never used his belt for anything but holding up his pants. And even though I really didn't think he would do it, I knew I had pushed him too far. I ran into my room and slammed the door, my last desperate act of defiance. I threw myself across my bed and cried and cried until a big wet spot had formed on my pillow. I hated my daddy for being so unfair. I hated Emma Sue and her stupid-looking bow. I hated Martha Ann for being afraid of the water. I hated my mama for drowning and making Martha Ann such a scaredy cat. And I hated John the Baptist for starting this whole baptism thing in the first place. Only eight hours earlier I was freed and forgiven from a lifetime of sin, and now I hated everybody, even the people I loved the most.
    I woke up the next morning to find Martha Ann nestled against my back. She couldn't stand it when I was upset, and she probably figured sneaking in when I was asleep was the safest time to make amends.
    “I'm not mad at you, I never really was,” I said, without even rolling over to look her in the face.
    “I'm sorry Daddy got so mad at you. It's all my fault. If I wasn't such a . . . well, maybe he'll change