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Authors: Jan Watson

BOOK: [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek
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Everyone watched, mesmerized, as a half-grown black bear lumbered up to the tree. Snuffling and snorting his hunger, the bear stuck his paw into the hollow sycamore, not more than a foot below the angry swarm. He licked his fingers, then grubbed farther into the hole, his arm stuck up to his shoulder. He pulled out a hefty chunk of caramel-colored honeycomb and settled on his rump with a soft
woof
to chew on the waxy treat. Aggravated, he swatted at the bees who buzzed his ears, only to become trapped in his sticky paw.
It was a funny sight. The bees working incessantly above, making food for their winter stores, as the bear helped himself from below, plump and lazy, living off the industry of others, storing fat for his winter hibernation.
The family’s chance for escape came after the bees had had enough of the nuisance and began to settle on the bruin’s thick black pelt, landing painful stings on his shoulders and back, until he stood and trained his unblinking chocolate gaze on them for a long, frightening moment. Finally he loped off to content himself by wallowing in the cool creek, his long tongue savoring the honey on his chestnut-colored snout.
Not a word was spoken until, nearly a mile from the bee tree, Willy asked, “Daddy, why didn’t you shoot that bear?”
“The bear just wanted some honey,” Daniel chimed in. “You wouldn’t ever shoot him, would you, Daddy?”
Daddy stopped, his rifle pointed at the ground. “Well, little Dan, I don’t reckon so. My daddy taught me that God gave us the animals of the field and forest to sustain our bodies, so I kill only what I want to eat, and bear’s a little too gamy for my taste. Now shake a leg. I’m hankering to get to that camp meeting. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like that.”
 
Willy and Daniel talked about the bear all through the supper that Grace had waiting for her family when they got back. She hurried them along, so they would have time to change into the clean clothes she’d laid out on the bed for them. Her family wouldn’t go to church looking like ragamuffins even if it was outdoors.
Grace was thankful camp meetings didn’t happen often; she didn’t really like them. Church should be orderly and respectful, not emotional like these tended to be. She didn’t approve of all that hand waving and tongue talking, but maybe they’d get a good sermon out of it anyway.
CHAPTER 19
 
The smell of woodsmoke permeated the air as the buggy drew close to the field where the brush-arbor meeting was in progress. A large canvas tent, surrounded by slat-sided wagons and big-wheeled buggies, was staked in a newly mown meadow. A bonfire crackled and popped, enticing hungry mosquitoes away from the crowd and lighting up the darkening sky. Will helped the ladies from the buggy and reminded the boys to mind their p’s and q’s, then escorted his family to the service.
As they entered the open-air tent they could see at the far end a good-size platform with a roof constructed from fresh cedar boughs and heavy ropes of grapevine. It made a beautiful chapel, where the preacher and his deacons sat on horsehair chairs that had been provided from someone’s parlor.
They found seating in the last row of backless split-log benches. Will and the twins moved to stand behind the long seat so there would be places for other latecomers. Many men and boys stood outside the tent, where the murmuring of the crowd mingled with the rough burr of cicadas and the shrill call of katydids.
Just as the edge of night deepened the shadow of the forest beyond the meadow, the six deacons lit the bull’s-eye lanterns that hung from cords along the sides of the tent. A yellow glow lit the preacher when he took center stage. He was a tall, thin man whose rusty black suit drooped from his lanky frame as if he had survived a grave illness. A large black Bible hung from his bony hand, and he took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow as he surveyed the congregation.
He stood stock-still for long minutes until everyone was quiet. A hush as solemn and deep as the grave descended as his black eyes swiveled here and there. As if he were too weary for words, his head dropped to his chest, and he began to weave . . . swaying . . . swaying . . . as supple as a willow blown by a quick, hot wind. Every eye was on him when at last his head snapped up and a wail escaped his throat. With a loud moaning voice, he called for God to send down the Holy Spirit to anoint himself and the others gathered there.
“Send the cleansing fire, dear Lord, to burn away the stench of these sinners assembled here. For I know that the very sight of sin offends You as it offends me. They are not worthy—no, not one! We need the signs. Oh, Jesus, pray send the signs. As You revealed Your broken self to the eleven apostles, as You gave to them the signs of faith—demon driving, tongue talking. Glory!
Hallelujah! Poison drinking, sick healing, snake handling . . . ain’t that right, Brother Neace?”
 
Copper stared transfixed as one of the deacons behind the preacher nodded. She dared to glance behind her. Willy stood behind Daddy, peeping at the stage through the crook of Daddy’s arm. Daniel was on Daddy’s other side, quietly taking it all in. Mam’s face looked disapproving, as if she’d stepped in something.
Suddenly the preacher’s black eyes swirled in their sockets before he dropped to his knees and leaned backward, his body a tortuous
V
, his black slicked-back hair sweeping the floor while his head jerked back and forth. “As You revealed Yourself to the eleven before You went to glory to sit at God’s right hand, reveal Yourself to these blasphemers. Save them from hellfire.”
He shot to his feet in one fluid motion and looked intently across the crowd. Unexpectedly, the sunken-cheeked preacher man began a slow dance across the roughly constructed stage. He took a little hop-step, hop-step, stroll . . . hop-step, hop-step, stroll . . . his unpolished black boots beating out a rhythm until all of a sudden he leaped from the raised platform to place his hand upon the forehead of a sickly girl whose mother had thrust her to the front of the gathering. The narrow-faced girl stood trembling before the wild-eyed preacher.
“This here gal has a host of demons,” he cried. “Lord God, as You beheld Satan in the lightning falling from the sky, behold this gal, a sinner, and cast out the evil from her heart.”
Every person held his breath as the preacher and girl stood, locked in place, until the girl swooned and collapsed in the sawdust-covered ground at the minister’s feet.
“Do you feel it?” the preacher called to the congregation. “The very air is a-swooshing and a-twirling around us. It’s filled with the hot fire of hell as the devil and his henchmen flee this anointed place. Get thee behind me, Satan! Thank You, Jesus. Praise You, Lord.”
The preacher began to hum and twirl in tight circles while several women shouted “Glory!” and others raised their arms, hands reaching for the sky, and swayed to the strange music of the night. A barefoot man dressed only in dirty bib overalls commenced to barking and running up and down the aisle before he crashed backward, thudding like a cut tree felled by the clergy’s mighty hand.
In Copper’s opinion, the crowning touch this hot summer night came at the very end of the service when the deacons carried a polished wooden box to the center of the stage. Kneeling, Deacon Neace pried open the lid, reached inside, and slowly withdrew a three-foot-long diamondback rattler. The lantern light glistened on the snake’s rippling skin, revealing dark diamonds with light centers bordered by rows of yellow scales. Copper heard a sudden intake of breath as the audience gasped in surprise. She had seen rattlers before but never one this big.
Feeling a push from behind, she scooted over as much as she could on the packed bench so Willy could squirm his way in. He sat beside her and buried his head in Mam’s lap. When Copper glanced around to see about Daniel, his eyes were glued to the stage.
Brother Neace, a look of rapture on his face, held the serpent aloft draped from his right hand. The snake writhed in the air, and its black forked tongue darted in and out. Its tail twitched rhythmically, making a sound like corncobs rubbed together, a dreaded sound they all recognized for its imminent danger. The deacon took no notice, just held the viper higher. He opened his mouth, and a mystifying musical language began to fill the tent.
“Tongue,” a woman beside Copper murmured. “He’s talking tongue.”
The other deacons, one by one, also took up serpents from the box and formed a circle around Deacon Neace. Emboldened by the Spirit, they began to testify as they tossed the snakes back and forth. The congregation was on its feet—some singing, some shouting—awestruck at what they were witnessing . . . the awe-some power of faith.
Packed shoulder to shoulder in the crowd, Copper could feel Mam stiffen. She saw Daddy place his hand on her shoulder as if to keep her from fleeing. For one thing, Mam despised snakes. Copper was always having to grab a hoe and chop one up if it dared to pick Mam’s yard to sun itself in. For another, Copper knew Mam did not believe such goings-on as tongue talking had anything to do with worship. She could only imagine what Mam would say about taking up serpents. Copper tucked her hand into the bend of Mam’s elbow and heard her sigh of relief when the benediction ended and the crowd was released into the muggy night.
Copper walked behind her parents, listening to them talk, trying to come to terms with what she’d witnessed. “Will,” she heard Mam say, “surely you wouldn’t have brought us if you’d known there’d be snakes.”
“I had no idea, Grace. I didn’t even know what was in that box until he pulled that rattler out. I’ve never in my life seen anything like that.”
Willy clutched Mam’s skirt tail. “I didn’t like that scary preacher,” he said. “Did you, Daniel? Daniel?”
Mam’s heavy skirt fanned out as she twirled around, nearly sending Willy aloft. “Oh, my heavens,” she cried in alarm. “We’ve lost Daniel!”
“Grace, calm down,” Daddy soothed. “He can’t have gotten far. Come on, Willy. We’ll go find your brother.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Daddy,” Willy replied breathlessly, “I’d druther not go back in there with them snakes. Whew—they just about scared me silly.”
Copper could see by Willy’s pale face that he wasn’t kidding. He looked just as scared as Mam.
“Then you wait with your mother,” Daddy told him. “Copper and I’ll find Daniel and be back directly.”
Copper followed her father as he shouldered his way through the crowd. “Copper, you go around this side of the tent, and I’ll take the other.”
Copper was already searching. She thought Daniel was probably hiding somewhere. If Willy had admitted his fear, then Daniel, the more sensitive of the two, must be terrified. She longed to find him and gather him in her arms. She made her way to the front, pausing to look under each bench and calling his name as she went. Finally as she approached the makeshift stage, she spied him standing before the platform in rapt attention, watching as the deacons packed the undulating, knotted reptiles back into the wooden box.
“Wait, Sissy.” Daniel shrugged off Copper’s hand. “I need to see this.”
They were close enough to hear the warning
whir
of the big diamondback’s tail as Deacon Neace held it aloft one more time before sliding it down the length of his arm and swinging it gently into the open box.
“Boy,” the deacon called, “do you want to take a gander at these vipers?”
“Thank you, no.” Copper grabbed Daniel’s arm as he started up the rough-hewn steps. “Come on. There’s Daddy.”

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