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that day. Mother turned and slapped her face. Father taught them a new
     song that night at bedtime.
Red, brown, yellow, black, and white, they’re all precious in God’s sight.
    Bethie was supposed to be Hannah’s polyester twin. So after the slanteye crisis, Mother taught them that neither was white.
     Neither was Filipino. They were both simply children of the King.
    But sometimes, even the King’s kids keep to their own. Whites to their sad organ solos. Blacks to their boom-kick. And her
     family, a whole different type, kept to a capella hymns sung in lawn chairs by a mosquito-filled marsh.
    The preaching started. There was no lecture and no peaceful devotional. There was only a
hallelujah
shout, as the preacher paced around the stage yelling out a message with jumpy rhythms. Hannah closed her eyes so she could
     listen without the distraction of his pacing, or the women down front waving their hands in ecstasy. He was speaking of redemption
     and forgiveness. Of a holy table, where mercy is served. Hannah smiled. Her father would have enjoyed this sermon.
    People started to stand. Some raised their hands and swayed back and forth in time with the preacher’s pacing across the stage.
     The woman in front of Hannah started a high-pitched mumble, her volume gradually building. The preacher ignored her, even
     as others began to join the woman in their own private conversations.
    Something about her shoulders, even through that lemon-yellow dress, seemed familiar. And as her head jerked back, and her
     eyes rolled to heaven, Hannah realized it was Cora. Broken syllables spilled from her tongue. A mystery chant to heaven.
    Hannah ran. Pushed her way out of the pew and through the front doors. And as the door closed behind her, she saw Bethie.
     On her feet, hands waving in the air.
    It wasn’t the words, or lack of words, that sent her running. Even the shrill pitch and trembling bodies seemed almost safe.
     But the thing that didn’t, the thing that sent her running to that live oak, was the boldness. That someone would have a private
     conversation with God in the middle of church. Claim access to his ear with mystery words invented for the two of them. It
     seemed greedy somehow.
    Later, Cora told her it was little tongues of fire being poured over them by the Holy Ghost. But no matter how many times Hannah returned to that church, no matter how much she envied Bethie the ecstasy, the mystery was never revealed to her.

IV
    When the sisters arrived home from church, they saw Mother had prepared a picnic. She carried a basket with ham salad sandwiches,
     peaches, and little square brownies wrapped in foil. Father drove them to the beach, and they carried their lunch close to
     the water. He wore swimming trunks and a T-shirt, not being bound by the same rules of modesty. After they ate he waded in
     deep, while the girls dipped their toes in the water. Hannah was jealous of how he looked like everyone else, swimming and
     floating in cool water on a ninety-degree day. While she sat dying in polyester.
    “Ours is a different pleasure, daughter,” Mother said softly, guessing Hannah’s thoughts. “And it will be your time to enjoy
     it soon, too. You are sixteen. Only two years from graduating. Not long, and you’ll be a woman.”
    “You said I was a woman when I was thirteen.”
    She shook her head and grabbed Hannah’s hands. “No. It’s becoming a wife, having a husband to care for and later a child.
     Your
own
precious child. My grandchild.”
    Mother glowed when she said it. Her face lit up like the sun that beat down on them. And her mouth paused to linger and enjoy
     the sweetness of the words
my grandchild.
But it meant little to Hannah.
    “Father said I’d meet my husband at college.”
    “College,” Mother groaned, as she rolled her eyes. “Not a single other girl we know plans for such nonsense. It will fill
     your head with discontentment. Bethie doesn’t want to go. You were raised the same