The Calling Dream

Chapter 3-2

I told Momma what I was going to do, and she made a bunch of cookies for me to take over. She boxed them up with a dish towel over them, and I headed off for the Clark place. Even with high boots, my feet got wet, so by the time I got there, my toes were aching and throbbing. The wind stung my cheeks like a swarm of wasps, and I know my face must have been the color of a Santa suit. When I knocked, Sister Clark came to the door, took a quick look at me, and said, “Lord have mercy, child. What are you doing out in this mess? Get in here!”

She tugged on my sleeve at the shoulder, and I entered the house to a wave of toasty warm air. They had a big, potbellied black stove in the middle of their living room hooked up to a brick flu on the east side of their house. Sister Clark kept a pan of water on top of the stove all the time to keep the wood heat from drying the air too much. Plus, it added a little humidity and warmed the air.

I handed her the box of cookies and said, “Momma made you some cookies—molasses, I think.”

“I love molasses cookies.” She beamed. “Look, Cecil, Brother Ronnie brought us some cookies.”

Brother Clark had already gotten up from his chair and had come across the room to greet me. “It’s good to see you, Brother Ronnie.” He smiled as he reached out to shake my hand. “Take your coat off. Sit down, and stay a spell.”

“Well, if you don’t mind,” I said, “I would like to do a little more than take my coat off. My socks got a little wet on the walk over here. Do you mind if I dry them out by the stove while I sit?”

“Oh, get out of those wet clothes,” Sister Clark commanded. “I’ll hang your coat up behind the stove to dry, and we can set your boots back there to dry as well.”

I did as I was ordered, and Sister Clark, obviously prepared for similar situations, hung my socks with clothes pins on a wire that was strung between two nails behind the stove pipe. We all sat down around the stove after that. The bottom third of my jeans were also wet, but I just scooted up near the stove to give them a chance to dry a little. Sister Clark said, “It sure was nice of your momma to think of us during this storm and send you over here with some cookies.”

“Well, truth be told, Sister Clark,” I said, “I did have an ulterior motive for coming over. I was hoping you might allow me to use your phone again. I don’t even know if you have gotten the bill yet for all the calls I made around the time of Teddy’s funeral, but I want to pay you for every bit of it.”

“Now, we are not going to worry about calls around a tragedy,” Brother Clark spoke firmly. “Neighbors pitch in to help neighbors during times like that. If you have personal calls to make otherwise, when there ain’t no emergency, we might let you pay for those.”

“Well, I know it has got to turn into a hassle being one of the few people around who has a phone,” I said. “I’m sure people around are pressing you all the time for the use of it when they don’t take steps to get one of their own.”

“Oh, it’s not too bad,” Brother Clark responded. “Most folks are pretty courteous about it and only ask to use it when there is an urgency. Only time it really bothers us is when people we don’t even know have found out we have a telephone and come knocking on the door. I started telling those folks it’s two dollars a call, so now they don’t come around much no more.” He chuckled and sat back in his chair. “I know that’s a little high, but if they want to pay it, I get a little cash, and if they don’t, then they can go on and find somebody else with a telephone.”

“Well, sir,” I began my plea, “I need to call all the way to Memphis, and I am more than willing to pay you two dollars.”

“Memphis?” Sister Clark blurted. “Why would you want to call all the way to Memphis?” Then she caught herself. “Oh—oh, is this about that woman that came up for the revival and said she was with a broadcast ministry? Ronnie, word has gotten out all over about that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said shyly. “I have decided to go ahead and follow up on that.”

“We knew you would come around, and there is absolutely no way we are gonna let you pay for that phone call. It is on us and happy to do it.” Sister Clark beamed. “As much as we would miss you and hate to lose you, we have been praying for the Lord to lead you to greater things. I hate to say it, Ronnie, but God gave you a gift that your Daddy ain’t ever gonna have. You have got a calling of the Lord, and you need to spread that as far and wide as you can.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know what to say,” I responded. “Not I, but the Father through me. I’m gonna try to keep my ego out of it. I’m gonna try to keep myself humble.”

“Oh, look at me!” she exclaimed as she got up and headed for the kitchen. “I’m not being much of a hostess. Would you like something to drink, Brother Ronnie, a glass of tea, cup of coffee? The kids even brought us some cola for Christmas if you would like to have one.”

“No, ma’am,” I said, resisting the urge to accept a cola since it was something I dearly loved and was a rare treat in those days. “That’s your Christmas gift. You need to keep that and enjoy it yourself, but I would take a cup of coffee though, if you have some made.”

“Come on with me,” she said, “You can go ahead and call that lady over in Memphis.”

Their phone was mounted on the kitchen wall by the table. I suppose that made it convenient to sit at the table and talk. I followed her into the kitchen.

“Go ahead and make your call, Brother Ronnie,” she went on. “You can do that while I put the coffee on.”

“No need to make a pot just for me,” I said. “A glass of water would be fine.”

“Nonsense,” she scolded. “I might like to have a cup too, on a cold day like this.”

“Cecil!” she called into the living room.

“Yes, my dear,” he called back.

“Don’t you think you would like to have a cup of coffee?” she half- shouted.

“That sounds wonderful,” he called back. “It’ll make them cookies taste even better.”

“Go ahead and make your call, Brother Ronnie,” she demanded, again motioning to the phone. Then she turned around and busied herself with making the coffee.

I pulled the card out of my pocket half trembling, part of me terrified for what I might be getting myself into, and part of me determined to do it. I first picked up the receiver to make sure no one was on the party line. Then I heard two women talking. I wasn’t surprised, really. Calling up a friend on a snowy day was one way to pass the time, and everybody in those days had party lines with several people sharing the same main line. I simply hung the receiver gently back on the hook and decided to wait.

Sister Clark saw me hang up the phone. “Someone on the line?” she asked, and without giving me a chance to answer, she asked, “Who is it? Is that Sheila Johnson on there?”

“I don’t know, Sister,” I said.

Sister Clark already had the coffee on the stove to perk. She came across the room and picked up the receiver. “Hello? Hello? Who’s on the line, please?”

I heard a tinny jabber softly coming from the receiver. Then Sister Clark said, “Well, Sheila, I hate to interrupt, but the Dennison boy walked all the way over here so he could use the phone. Would you mind postponing your call for a few minutes while he makes his call? I can call you back when he’s done, if you like.”

There was more jabber on the line, and then Sister Clark said, “Thank you both. You’re sweeties. I’ll be sure and give you a call back when he’s done.” She hung up the phone then turned to me and said, “Give it a second.”

“I hate to interrupt,” I said.

“Oh, that ain’t nothing,” Sister Clark replied. “Sheila and her friend Madge get on there and do little else but gossip. Ain’t right by the Lord, but they do it. They tie that line up more than anybody else on the party, talking about who has done what. I know they listen sometimes too. See if they can get some snoop on something private so they can gossip about it. Most other folks on the party line have got to interrupt them if they want to get a call in anyway, and you can’t receive a call as long as they are on the line neither. Some of us have talked about setting up a call schedule so we can get a little equal sharing of the line. Gonna have to get with everybody and talk about that sometime. In the meantime, go ahead and make your call now. I’ll check the coffee.”

I picked up the receiver again, and this time there was a dial tone. I nervously dialed the operator then gave her the number on the business card and waited. In those days you couldn’t dial long distance direct. You had to wait for an operator to connect you. So long distance calls could be expensive. After the operator made the connection, I heard the phone ring several times and thought surely there would be no answer, when I heard the line click, and the voice said, “This is Wanda Moore. May I help you?”

“Ah…um…Miss Moore?” I found myself trembling. This was more frightening than I thought it was going to be. Suddenly, I found myself realizing that my whole way of life would change with this phone call. I would be giving up everything familiar to me, and no matter what I might have imagined, everything out there was unknown.

“Yes?”

“Ah…this is Ronnie…ah…this is Pastor Ronald Dennison.” My hand was trembling. I sat down. “You came to hear me speak at our revival in Ravenden, Arkansas, last year.”

“Yes! Yes, Pastor Dennison. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I replied into the line. Then I found myself saying, “Well, no, actually, I’m not fine. My brother died a few weeks ago, a little before Christmas.”