Nazareth's Song (22 page)

“Like when you decided to stop conning everyone and be who you said you was?”

Jeb was silent for a moment and then answered quietly, “Same thing.”

“You ever want to go back to your old ways, Jeb?”

“All the time.”

“But you don’t do it.”

“It would be like stepping back into my past. That’s the place that almost done me in. I want to go away from it, not back to it.”

“What if you make a decision and you think it’s taking you forward, but instead you go two steps backward?”

“It happens. Once I realize it was a mistake, I turn around and go in the direction that leads me ahead.”

“Things aren’t always clear, though. Like the way Reverend Gracie talks about hearing from God. How does he know it’s not just his own voice, and not God’s, telling him how to live?”

“Some men, great men of God, live their whole lives never knowing for sure if they’re hearing God’s voice. But they have one thing to guide them.”

“You’re fixing to preach again.”

“Jesus left me something of his to read. I learn things that teach me how to live and how to tell if I’m making the right decision or not. When I get away from that and start making up my answers as I go along, then I get in trouble.”

“Do you hate yourself for it?”

“Sometimes. Then I get up and go again.”

“The good preachers don’t stumble, do they, Jeb?”

“Same as everyone else.”

“But sometimes you have to live with the trouble you caused the rest of your life.” She spoke like a second wind had come into her and she was awake and ready to talk. “Like you and Fern Coulter.”

“Angel, it’s late. We have to get up and get the truck running again. Don’t start with Fern Coulter at midnight.”

“Kids in school say you spend your time running after Miss Coulter while Winona Mills spends her time running after you.”

Jeb didn’t answer. He rolled over and pulled the window shade down to keep the moonlight from striking him square in the face and closed his eyes. When he finally heard Angel’s steady breathing, he sat up and went outside for a walk. He could not sleep with women in his head.

A boy not much older than Angel helped Jeb roll the truck the rest of the way into the filling station. The patch over his pocket said “Ralph,” even though the station owner called him “Coffee.” Jeb figured it might have something to do with the color of his teeth. But Coffee could patch a tire faster than a cat on grease, and as he worked he talked to Jeb about how most of the businesses outside Malvern had been hit hard in the last year or so. He just kept patching tires, he said, and pumping gas, and somehow he had helped keep food on his momma’s table. He talked of how his uncle was wounded in World War I and had never been right since. The whole time he talked, a bone-skinny cat wound around Jeb’s feet.

“Anyplace to pick up breakfast around here?” asked Jeb.

“All the restaurants around here closed, the last one six months ago. They’s a farmer up the road toward Hot Springs. He’ll sell you all the apples you can eat and some bread.”

“I’m sick of apples,” said Angel. “They sell them on every corner in Nazareth and all over Little Rock. You’d think the whole world’s gone crazy on apples.”

“Take these,” said Coffee. He handed a grease-stained brown sack to Angel.

Angel looked into the bag. “Biscuits. I’m sorry to be complaining and carrying on so much. I can’t take your breakfast.”

“My old lady makes too many as it is. She’s trying to fatten me up and marry me off.”

Angel handed Jeb a biscuit and ate one herself.

Angel talked all the way from Malvern through the roads that led away to Hot Springs and then as they rolled along getting closer to Nazareth. Jeb finally saw a roadside café busy with automobiles pulling in and out of the parking lot. He pulled in and they found a place at the bar to eat. Angel ordered a hamburger and a Coke.

“Best burger I’ve had in a while,” said Jeb after a moment.

“I want to know why you’re all of a sudden Mr. Moneybags. You tipped that boy that fixed your tire a whole dollar. You just the big tipper now, ain’t you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re running liquor, but that would be crazy. People can get their whiskey now in the store.”

“I told you I was working for the bank. That should be enough. Nothing wrong with running papers for the bank.” Jeb salted his potatoes.

“Depends on the kind of papers you’re running.”

“Bank papers.”

“Things Mr. Mills don’t want to handle himself, like foreclosing on people and stuff like that.”

“Or offers that they want to make to help people out of their troubles.”

“What people?”

“Waitress, could you fill this girl’s glass again so she’ll stop running off at the mouth?” Jeb let out a sigh that drew the eyes of people seated on either side of them.

“Does Asa know about this deal you give to his wife?”

“I should have dropped you off in Little Rock and drove away.”

“I knew it.”

“The Hoppers are in trouble, Angel. They missed their payments on their place for too long. Banks can’t stay in business if people don’t pay their bills. Mills wants to help them out of their troubles, but whenever he tries, those Hopper boys pull a gun on him. How Christian is that?”

“Hopper boys don’t claim to be Christian. So are they going to get to keep their land?”

“They’re going to get to pay off their bills and have some to live on. It’s better than starvation. Asa may go to prison for what he did downtown. What will Telulah do then, with those boys still living at home and all their land half blown away?”

She turned away.

Angel said little during the rest of the meal and the last hour of the drive into Nazareth. Jeb decided to stop by the church and let Gracie know they had returned home early. But when they pulled into the churchyard, several families were gathered on the lawn. Fern Coulter, pale as pearls, came running up to the truck.

“Jeb, thank God you’re back! Reverend Gracie collapsed this morning. They just took him to Hot Springs to a bigger hospital. He was so worried he’d not be able to talk to you again. Can you go to Hot Springs tonight?” she asked.

“Angel, I’ll take you to the house with your brother and sister. I want you home in your own bed tonight.” Jeb let out a sigh. He felt like his soul had just been washed out from under him.

18

S
t. Joseph’s Mercy Hospital was lit up on every floor, no doubt a quiet hive for the Sisters of Mercy who doted on the infirm. Jeb checked in with the nun seated at the front desk. She arranged a vase of daisies with one hand while telling a nervous husband where he might find his wife, who had gone into labor in a nearby Hot Springs grocery store.

Jeb told the sister of his clergy status, just as he had heard Gracie do on occasion. She informed him that because of hospital rules about pastoral duties he could call on Gracie past visiting hours. Jeb climbed a staircase that smelled of paint and disinfectant. When he opened the door out onto the second floor he heard a girl’s voice scolding someone. He found Emily Gracie standing over Agatha, begging her to finish her arithmetic problems even though she would not be in school the next morning. It was like trying to bring dust to life. Agatha curled up in a chair with her sweater pulled over the bottom half of her thin frame for a blanket.

“Jeb!” Philip called out when he saw Jeb coming down the hall.

“Philip, you don’t call him that. It’s Reverend Nubey now,” said Emily. She extended her hand to Jeb and smiled, tired and too worn out to care whether or not Philip minded his Ps and Qs. She looked thirty instead of fourteen.

“Emily, I heard about your daddy and came as fast as I could,” said Jeb.

“He’s better. Or he says he’s better,” said Agatha.

“Let me take you to him.” Emily handed the pencil to Agatha. “Finish in the morning.”

Philip collapsed on the rug, tired of their arguing.

“Where will all of you sleep tonight?” Jeb asked Emily.

“The Sisters of Mercy have a room in their convent. When my father told one of them about us, she wouldn’t hear of us staying in a motel room tonight.”

“She had crossed eyes,” said Philip. “And a mustache.”

“Don’t pay him any attention, Reverend,” said Emily. She led Jeb down the hallway and into the room, where they found Gracie with eyes almost closed. His lids lifted at the sight of Jeb. He tried to say something but could only whisper.

“I’ll do the talking this time,” said Jeb. Gracie’s pallor made him look as though someone had let every drop of blood from him.

“Dad, the sister that’s taking us to the room for the night is getting off her shift now.” She kissed Philemon on the cheek and squeezed his hand. “I love you. Sleep well.”

Gracie held her hand for a moment and then let her slip out of the room.

“I shouldn’t have gone to Little Rock. It was a wasted trip, and you needed me here.” Jeb took the chair next to the bed.

Gracie slipped his hand around Jeb’s and hoarsely said, “No, the little girl needed to see her mother. How was Mrs. Welby?”

“Insane. I brought Angel home.”

“After all this wait, you were right to take her. It was best she see for herself that her mother is not well. You’ll find her more settled, no doubt, now that she can stop wondering and guessing about her mother’s condition.”

“I’ve never known Angel to settle down because of anything. But she is different. I see that in her now. Something has changed. I hope you’re right.”

“I can’t go back, Jeb. Church in the Dell will have to get along without me.”

“Don’t think about Church in the Dell right now, Gracie. We want you well.”

“How do you feel about taking the platform after all?”

“I still have that Sunday message simmering in me. That will do for this week. As for the remaining fifty-one Sundays, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You’ll do a fine job. I’m proud of you.”

“I’d rather see you up there than me, Gracie. Without you around, I think sometimes I’ll lose my way.”

Gracie’s fingers fiddled with something inside the neck of his gown. “May as well get this over and done with, I guess. I’ve been saving something for you. It’s a gift someone once gave to me.” Gracie pulled a chain out from around his neck. He opened the fastener and slid off what looked to be some sort of charm.

Jeb took it. He turned it over and said, “It’s a gold key.”

“My father gave it to me at my ordination. It was no large ceremony, mind you. The elders of our church encircled me and laid hands on me after I graduated college. Read the inscription. I don’t think I wore it off too badly with worry.”

Jeb held it up to the dim hospital light. “It says, ‘Do Not Lay Down Your Plow.’”

“My father was so proud I had entered the ministry that he wanted to buy me something. He couldn’t afford much, and having been a farmer his whole life, he was at a loss for what the key should say. But it meant the world to me. ‘Do Not Lay Down Your Plow.’ The Scriptures say that, of course, or close to that. But to him it meant that once I had my course set for the ministry I should endeavor to keep plowing ahead, around the stones, through hard soil, and even in drought. He had done so for years as a farmer. Now he wanted me to continue as he had done, but in a different kind of field.

“My wife and I knew many hard fields. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to plow ground for the first time. It isn’t the same as digging up last year’s field. You don’t know what’s beneath the surface, or even if you’ve found the best soil. That’s what it’s like when you start that very first church. Church in the Dell has its stones and times of drought. But it’s a field plowed long before we came. You’ll do well, Jeb. Of this I am certain.”

Jeb tried to hand the key back to him.

“I want you to keep it. Here, take this chain and wear it around your neck as I have, if you want. Whenever you feel as though you want to give up, pull it out and read it as a reminder that the man with his hands on the plow is the man most likely to reap a harvest. I know this church has a few thorns in the bunch. But if you practice at feeding them, God’s Spirit will fill in where you think you’ve failed.”

Jeb read the key again and then placed it back on the chain and around his neck. He did not want to burden a sick minister with his own list of complaints. But the fear that he would not have Gracie around to make him rewrite a lousy sermon or reword a didactic phrase sickened him. “I love you, Philemon. You’re going to be well again.” He slipped the key inside his shirt. “I won’t put down the plow. I swear it to you on my life.”

Jeb checked into a room down the street from St. Joe’s and visited Philemon twice a day until Saturday. He visited him once more before he headed for home. Philemon prayed for him and for the Sunday message. Jeb felt for the first time in over a year that he might be ready for the task. Or at least he did when he read the confidence in Gracie’s eyes.

The sky had bloomed early that morning but froze in the distant landscape with November bringing an early wintry cold. The few berries left unpicked in the wooded jungles of ivy and oak lay in ice-coated bondage on the vines. The truck slid up over an icy hill and then skidded down into a winding turn of road. Jeb squeezed against the brake, easing the old Ford back and forth until it found its bearing again on the sludged-over highways. He knew when he had arrived at the town limits; every tree of substantial size had been papered with election flyers. Come Monday, the whole town would be out voting and dodging campaigners on the way to the mill or town.

Jeb arrived home in time for a late biscuit and bacon breakfast and then realized he could not shake Angel’s insistent accusations against his bank delivery to the Hoppers. He counted out his bills and found a place to hide them in a tin box beneath a loose board. Before the school bell rang he wanted to know exactly how Telulah Hopper and her family would fare after they had signed the bank’s offer.

First Jeb drove toward the bank. He sat outside in the truck, deciding whether or not Mills would consider his inquiry as intrusive. He had finally stepped outside the truck and almost walked through the front door when he heard Winona’s voice coming from inside. Before he could reach for the door handle a politician slapped a paper fan with “Vote for Bryce” emblazoned across the back into his hand.