iously scared to death, either of Alex, or of her husband’s reprisal should he find out she had been in their home.
Alex tried to reassure her by calmly stating, “I just want to talk to you. I accidentally discovered that your name was Wanda Gail Burton.”
“Not anymore. Not since I found Jesus.”
“Tell me about that. When was it?”
“The summer after I graduated. A bunch of us—”
“Your sisters?”
She nodded. “And some friends. We all piled into somebody’s car and drove to Midland. We were looking for fun,” she said, casting her eyes downward. “We saw this big tent set up in a cow pasture on the outskirts of town. There was a revival going on. We thought we’d go, see what it was about. We went on a lark, you know, to poke fun at the people and to laugh at the gospel.”
She made a grimace of remorse. “It all seemed real funny, ’cause we’d been drinking and smoking pot somebody had brought back from Eagle Pass.” She folded her hands together and offered up a brief prayer of repentance.
“What happened? Did you have a religious experience that night?”
She confirmed Alex’s guess by briskly nodding her head. “There was this young preacher there. After the singing and praying, he took the microphone.” Her eyes assumed a dreamy aspect as she was transported back. “I don’t even remember what he preached on. His voice alone put me in a trance. I remember feeling his energy pouring through me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”
Her vision cleared. “The others had had enough and wanted to leave. I told them to go on and pick me up later. I wanted to stay. When he was finished preaching, I went down to the altar with dozens of others. He laid his hands on my head and prayed for my deliverance from sin.” Misty-eyed, she announced, “I gave my heart to Jesus and to Fergus Plummet that same night.”
“How soon after that were you married?”
“Two days.”
Alex didn’t know a delicate way to approach her next question. Out of deference to the woman’s Christian conversion, she addressed her by her married name. “Mrs. Plummet, you and your sisters…” She paused, wet her lips. “I’ve heard…”
“I know what you’ve heard. We were harlots.”
Alex didn’t approve of her harsh, condemning estimation of herself and tried to soften it. “I know that you dated a lot of men.”
Wanda began to twist the towel again. “I confessed all my transgressions to Fergus. He forgave me, just like God did. He embraced me in love, in spite of my wickedness.”
Alex had a more jaundiced opinion of the preacher’s largess. He had probably wanted a wife who felt privileged that he had so unselfishly forgiven her, one who would consider his grace equal to God’s.
God forgot sins; Alex doubted that Fergus Plummet did. He probably kept scrupulous accounts of transgressions and used Wanda Gail’s past as a tool to keep her under his thumb. He surely made her life miserable with constant reminders of how lucky she was to have his forgiveness.
It was apparent, however, that whatever had happened to Wanda Gail in that revival tent had been profound and irreversible. Her decision that night to create a different life for herself had withstood twenty-five years. For that, she had earned Alex’s admiration.
“Two of the boys you dated in high school were Reede Lambert and Junior Minton.”
“Yes,” Wanda said with a reflective smile, “they were the two best-looking, most popular boys in school. All the girls wanted to date them.”
“Including Stacey Wallace?”
“The only boy she could ever see was Junior Minton. It was kind of pitiful, you know, because Stacey was so crazy about him and he was stuck on Celina.”
“And Celina belonged to Reede.”
“Well, sure. Reede was, and still is, basically good. He didn’t treat me and my sisters like trash, even though that’s what we were. He was always nice about… well, you know, whenever he took us out. He always said thank you afterward.”
Alex smiled sickly.
“Liked to have drove him plumb nuts when Celina got married. Then, when she died…” She sighed sympathetically. “He acts kinda mean sometimes now, but down deep, he’s still good.” She averted her head. “I know he doesn’t like Fergus, but he still treated me nice yesterday.”
This woman and Reede were former lovers. Alex looked at her closely. It was impossible to envision Wanda Gail in the throes of ecstasy with any man, but especially with Reede.
Her face retained enough of its former prettiness for Alex to have recognized her picture in the yearbook, but her skin was loose, her throat flabby. The full, teased hairdo she’d been sporting in the class photo had been replaced by the severe and unflattering bun. The eyes that had been dramatically enhanced with cosmetics for the picture wore no makeup at all now. Her waist had thickened to match the dimensions of her bust and hips, which, when she was a teenager, must have been voluptuous.