and hide. She was a little bit too much like the starling. Her mother was mentally disturbed and Alice guessed that everybody else must know too.
Alice glued her attention back on the Rev as he made his way to the last line of Psalm 23: “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
He stepped away from the lectern again.
“We understand ‘dwell’ to mean ‘to take up residence in a place, to abide there, to be at home there.’ We think of a place that is stationary and permanent. One who dwells is the opposite of a nomad. Dwellers are the opposite of Seekers. Seekers are unsettled: they do not know where they are going from one moment to the next. They are restless. Seekers are lost in lives of bootless desperation, never satisfied with the green pastures that God offers them, always wanting more: more money, more entertainment, even more knowledge.”
Alice sensed that the Rev was looking straight at her. He knew she was a big achiever in school, and he knew how hungry she was for success. He knew she was a Seeker! She felt cornered by his admonitions. She was one of the restless and unsatisfied ones who was outside the fold, a wayward sheep, living a life of bootless desperation. A life of futility. A life as empty as her mother’s hopeless declarations.
The defensive shield of Alice’s critical mind left her. She felt exposed. She felt pummeled by the sermon. She was not one of God’s people as Rev. Prunesma had described them. Not only was she not at peace with the wackos sitting around her, she was not at peace with her parents. And she was not at peace in the presence of the Lord. She was not in his green pastures of contentment. I wish I were stupid, she thought. I wish I could obey every order given to me without asking any questions.
Some farmers were leaving church without going downstairs to the community room for coffee. Were they Seekers too? Were they feeling what she was feeling? Restless outcasts, all of us? Or was it that their farms were in as much trouble as the Krayenbraaks’ and they didn’t want to hear that awful question, “How are things going?” Her father wasn’t moving toward the basement either, but he was probably concerned about Agnes and Aldah—wherever they were.
3
Alice walked out into the parking lot behind church to look for her family. Instead of seeing them, she saw Lydia Laats, her best friend at Midwest Christian. Beautiful Lydia. Witty Lydia. Smart Lydia—and Alice’s only academic competition. The attraction was mutual. They sought each other out, especially when they were in school. To be in each other’s company was to be free from what both of them saw as the shallowness of so many of the other students. Alone together, they could talk about what they were reading without some airhead saying, “Geez, get a life.”
“Hey!” said Alice.
“Hey!” said Lydia.
They flung their arms around each other, Alice’s arms around Lydia’s shoulders and Lydia’s around Alice’s waist; then Lydia put her hands on Alice’s arms and held her away from herself. “Look at you, look at you,” said Lydia. “You look fabulous in that blouse and skirt. Blue is your color, girl. And your hair. I love it down like that.”
“Thank you,” said Alice, “but look at you!”
Lydia was about six inches shorter than Alice, but Alice always thought she was better proportioned with her larger breasts and more prominent hips—and she had a sophisticated European look about her, which should have been no surprise because her parents were born in Holland and lived in Canada before moving to Dutch Center when Lydia was a little girl. She was wearing a dark dress that had long triangles of bright colors shooting up from the hem and narrowing toward her waist. A delicate gold chain around her neck. Small teardrop gold earrings, dark eyeliner, and dark pink lipstick. Lydia didn’t get this look from studying the way other people dressed in Dutch Center.
“You’re the one who looks fabulous,” said Alice.
Lydia’s head turned. “Talk about looks, look at those two,” she said.
Two young men across the parking lot were staring at them. Strangers: no doubt early-arrival new students at Redemption College. Alice tried to read their thoughts, wondering if they were staring at her or Lydia, or both of them.
Alice had liked what she saw when she examined herself in the mirror before leaving the farm for church, and now it was more than a slight pleasure to be stared at by living creatures besides hungry steers or a resentful mother.
The two young men saw that they had gotten Lydia and Alice’s attention and shot them big toothy grins. They were both blond and handsome, but their grins looked practiced, if not just plain lewd.
“Here they come,” said Lydia. “You get the taller one.”
They approached at a quick pace, arms swinging and grins getting bigger. These two were more than confident, they were cocky: big-city boys ready to show their stuff to the small-town and country girls. They made Alice feel like a piece of divinity in a candy bowl.
The cuter one with the dimpled chin spoke first. “Hi there.”
The taller, athletic one with big teeth was right behind him: “Wow, you’re something.”
He was looking at Alice when he said that.
The two stopped only a few feet from Alice and Lydia and flung out the lasso of their smirky smiles, but it was the noose of their aroma that caught Alice’s breath short—something so sickeningly sweet that both Lydia and Alice’s nostrils flared in defense.
“Good grief,” said Lydia, “have you guys been at the cologne sample table at Walmart?”
The big-city boys, or whoever they were, withered like thistles under a good blast of 2,4-D. It felt great to see how Lydia had nailed them, but Alice was just a bit disappointed that she couldn’t hear what complimenting line might have erupted from their lips. The whole awkward scene with these wannabe Romeos was saved by the voice of Rev. Prunesma, who bounced across the parking lot with the whole Vang family following him.
“Alice and Lydia,” said the Rev, “I want you to meet the Vangs.”
“Nice meeting you,” said big teeth as the two walked away.
“Meeting us?” said Lydia, but the Rev was already upon them with the three newcomers.
“Hi! It’s you!” said Mai.
“You’ve already met?” said the Rev.
“Sort of,” said Alice.
Actually, Alice had known more than she had let on when she had met them at the scene of Ben Van Doods’s slaughtering pen. Alice knew the Vangs were living in a small house across the street from their church and that they were something of a church missionary project. They had come to Dutch Center because Mai had gotten a scholarship to Redemption College. The son, Nickson, would be going to Midwest Christian High School where Alice and Lydia went. Alice knew very little about the Hmong other than that they supposedly had a big thing about family—and that America owed them gratitude for taking sides against the Communists during the Vietnam War.
The Vangs and the Rev were within hand-shaking distance when Alice noticed the bumper sticker on a van a few feet away: “If You’re Not Dutch, You’re Not Much!”
Alice felt the sharp edge of the Rev’s sermon cutting into her again—and then she felt resentment. How would this stodgy Dweller handle the little bumper-sticker message to their guests? Some missionary project: to slap them with an insult right from the get-go.
The Rev saw the bumper sticker too, but Alice had already covered for him by standing in front of it and putting her legs together. Lydia picked up on what Alice was doing and sidled close beside her.
The Rev wore his big missionary smile, his glad-tidings smile, his everything-is-beautiful-in-its-own-way smile. His huge cheeks mushroomed with good will.
Before the Rev could say anything, Mai held out her hand toward Lydia. “Hi, I’m Mai,” she said.