Preacher Boy
The rain had stopped by the time Eddie Rinehart arrived home at a little after five o’clock. Thirteen years old and a freshman at Southwest High School, he planned to become a preacher of the Gospel and lead souls to the Lord. His tall, stocky frame, blond hair, blue eyes, and light complexion gave him an Aryan look. Momma Rinehart said he had pure and innocent eyes just like Jesus.
The minute he entered the living room, Harry jumped up and told him about the streetcar accident that happened a block up the street from their house. “And wouldn’t you know it was our dipstick brother here that caused it by puttin’ rocks on the tracks,” he said, pointing his finger at Mark Allen.
“That true, Mark Allen?” Eddie said.
“No, it’s not. Harry’s full of crap as usual,” Mark Allen said.
“Is that you, Eddie?” Momma called out from the kitchen.
“Yes, Momma,” Eddie said.
Momma came into the living room. “It’s late. Where’ve you been?”
Eddie chose his words carefully. “I’ve been up at the church, talkin’ to Brother Whittle.” He didn’t want to add that he had been with a girl, especially when the girl was Rosie Oaks or Waldo Rosie as everyone in the neighborhood called her because of her reputation for being sexually promiscuous.
Eddie had overheard Momma tell Papa one evening that Mrs. Baker next door had caught Rosie and Herbie Willig one afternoon last summer in the weeds behind her house with their pants down. Eddie didn’t believe it, but he knew Momma did.
Momma had told Eddie and his brothers to stay away from Rosie because she was steeped in sin and debauchery and headed for the fires of hell along with the prostitutes who worked for May Pratt in her saloon in Dodson.
Eddie also knew that Momma worried about his interest in girls. More than once Papa had said to her with a chuckle, “Eddie’s interested in two things, girls and preaching the Gospel, and one of these days, that combination is bound to git him into one hell of a lot of trouble.”
Despite his concern, Eddie told Momma the truth. “On the way home from school, I met Rosie Oaks in Waldo at Katz Drugstore while waitin’ for the Dodson streetcar. We went over to the church, Momma. She wanted to talk to Brother Whittle and see if he could do somethin’ to stop people in the neighborhood from tellin’ lies about her.”
Mark Allen and Harry snickered.
Fanny Louise, the youngest of the Rinehart siblings, came into the living room.
“You go back to your room, Fanny Louise,” Momma said.
“Why, Momma?”
“B’cause I don’t want you to hear any of this.”
Fanny Louise turned and headed back to her bedroom. “I don’t see why I have to leave. I can hear everythin’ from my room anyway.”
“You better not be listenin’, young lady,” Momma called out and turned her attention back to Eddie. “Where’s Rosie now?”
Eddie hesitated before answering, worried that if he told Momma any more, she might think he and Rosie had done something sinful together. “She’s at home, Momma,” he said.
Mark Allen and Harry looked at Eddie with smirks on their faces.
“Did you walk her home?” Momma said.
“Yes.”
“And did you stay for a while?”
Yes, but only for a little while.”
“Were her parents there?”
“No, no one was in the house except us. We talked in her basement playroom about Jesus and what it means to be saved. She got us some milk and cookies from the kitchen.”
Harry and Mark Allen roared with laughter.
Harry folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head. “Do go on, Eddie. Tell Momma what happened after milk and cookies,” he said with a big grin. “And don’t leave anythin’ out, you nasty, filthy, wicked, sinful preacher boy.”
Eddie glared at Harry. He wanted to forget what the Bible said about brotherly love and punch Harry in the nose. “Nothin’ happened, Momma. I swear!” he said.
“I believe you, Eddie,” Momma said.
Harry put his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t have believed me if I had come home after bein’ with Rosie and told you that nothin’ happened,” he said, glaring at Momma.
That’s true,” Momma said. “When you take Brother Whittle and the Word of God seriously, Harry Wayne Rinehart, maybe I’ll trust you in the same way as I trust Eddie.”
Harry frowned.
Eddie beamed, proud that he had handled a delicate situation without upsetting Momma. And he was delighted that she had taken his side against Mark Allen and Harry, especially Harry.
“Harry, you take the dirty clothes out of the hamper in your bedroom and put them in the basement next to the worshin’ machine. It’s worsh day tomorrow,” Momma said. “And Mark Allen, you and Eddie go set the table for supper.”
Harry stomped off in the direction of his bedroom.
As Eddie put the silverware next to each plate around the table, he thought about what he had not told Momma. Through their clothing, he had felt Rosie’s warm breasts massage his chest as he kissed her for the first time. He had never been so aroused nor felt so sinful, and yet, he loved the feeling, almost as much as he loved reading the Bible and the thought of one day preaching the Gospel and saving souls for the Lord.
“If you caused that streetcar wreck, Mark Allen, you’d better stop lyin’, confess your sins, and then fall down on your knees and ask the Lord for forgiveness,” Eddie said when they had finished setting the table.
“Go suck on an egg, Eddie. I didn’t do it,” Mark Allen said. “How many times do I gotta say it?”
“Well, it probably ain’t gonna make no difference anyway. People are gonna treat you like you’re guilty whether you are or not. Bein’ accused in this neighborhood is the same as bein’ guilty,” Eddie said, then added, “Maybe the Lord has chosen you to suffer the consequences of the lie for a higher purpose.”
“Why in the hell would He do that?”
“I don’t know, but sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“That sounds like some fool thing Brother Whittle would say up at Momma’s church—a lot of talk that don’t make a lick of sense.”
“It’s in the Bible. And don’t mock a man of the Gospel, Mark Allen. The Lord will just make things tougher on you if you do.”
“Bullshit!” Mark Allen whispered. “And don’t you concern yourself about me. You’ve got your own problems to worry about. And you can lie to Momma about Rosie Oaks all you want. But I know you. You may like preaching about Jesus, but you also like nasty girls like Rosie Oaks. And if you ain’t got into her pants yet, it’s just a question of time. When it happens and Momma finds out, I’d like to hear you preach your way out of that.”
Copyright © 2024 Frank Zahn. Published in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Number 75, May 2025, https://adelaidemagazine.org/preacher-boy.