Whisper Town (14 page)

Floyd and Evelene sidled around Jeb and ducked inside. “Sorry, Reverend. Maybe after a day of drying, the paint will hide
the damage.”

Jeb rang the church bell and greeted each church member, craning his neck to see Fern. She strode up behind the Honeysacks.
This time she held Myrtle. “I told Lucky to go up front and sit with the other girls. She’s too young to be playing nursemaid
every minute of the day. I think we need to talk about getting her some studies to do too. Do you know, can she read?”

Jeb shook another hand. “I don’t know. But maybe it’s best Lucky and Myrtle stay on the back pew. I don’t want to drag you
into any of this, Fern.”

“I go where you go, Reverend.” She carried Myrtle into the hall, right into a group of women. Jeb watched as each woman addressed
Fern politely and then excused herself to join her husband and children.

“Reverend, I heard that girl from Tempest’s Bog laid into Stanley Pella’s boy late Wednesday,” said Sam.

“Lucky is not from Tempest’s Bog. She’s from Hope. Apparently the Pella boy provoked Lucky and Angel. I don’t recall your
anger the last time Angel laid into a boy from school.”

“The Pellas are society in Hope, Reverend. They won’t take to this matter lightly. I’m surprised you haven’t already been
paid a visit from Stanley and Deborah. They’re sending their son down here as a banking apprentice. It’s not likely they want
to get him back damaged by a loose-lipped Nigra.”

“Lucky has a sense of passion, Sam, I’ll give her that. But she’s far from loose-lipped. She’s got a pretty mean right hook
for a girl too. Even you have to admit that.”

“You can make light, Reverend, all you want. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Pella is Horace Mills’s apprentice. If he has issues, he’ll let me know,” said Jeb. “But I doubt he’ll get involved in the
petty wars of a bunch of college sophomores. Even his nephew backed out of the issue and encouraged Frank to do the same.”
That had seemed strange to Jeb. But when he questioned Lucky about Pella’s backing down, she had shrugged and called him a
coward.

Jeb saw a group of churchmen gathered at the front. He excused himself to Sam, and as he moved around several families, he
saw they were addressing Lucky. She stood, head bowed, and started working her way around the seated families on the second
pew from the front.

Jeb stopped her halfway down the aisle and asked, “Where are you going? What did they say to you?”

“Nothing, Reverend. Don’t cause no trouble,” she said.

“I’ve a right to know what they said.”

“They asked me if I had gotten lost finding my place in the church. When I said, ‘I’m not lost,’ they told me that I’d better
find my place and be quick about it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going back to the parsonage. I’ll take Myrtle and leave.”

“You’re not leaving, Lucky,” said Jeb. He led her to Fern’s pew. Fern scooted down and patted the seat next to her.

Lucky let out a sigh and sat next to Fern.

Jeb took the platform and called the meeting to order. “Morning. I was about to open in prayer. But before I do that, I’d
like to ask you something. This church has a motto written on it out front. At least it did before all of that whitewash covered
it. It said, ‘All who are weary, come home.’ That word ‘all’ means a whole lot of things. I’ll leave that for you to ponder.”
He took a breath and continued. “But before I pray, I want to see a show of hands. Lucky is helping me care for a baby that
no one wanted. She lives with us. If that is a problem, well, I know how to find the door. I’ve been shown it enough times.”

A few laughed quietly.

“I’d like a show of hands this morning. If you’d like for me to resign as your minister, I’ll do it now.”

Fern’s eyes were moist and her head shook slightly as if to beg him to stop.

“Then one of you can come forward and lead in a prayer to Christ our Savior. But knowing that my family has grown to include
two more children that are in some ways not like me, but in many ways a whole lot like me, how would you have it? Show of
hands; who wishes for me to remain in the pulpit?”

Will and Freda raised their hands along with Fern. Several other hands came up. Will stood and counted. He turned and said
to Jeb, “Reverend, you have a majority of members who want you to remain as our shepherd. Can we please have that prayer now?
My soul is needy.”

Jeb bowed his head. The congregation was silent except for the sound of a whimpering baby. Lucky rocked Myrtle slowly, forward
and back, never looking up.

Election Day had a sense of change in the climate, like October giving way to November and autumn to winter. Fern took a turn
between two of her classes to drive downtown and vote at the library.

The line into the voter booths was not so long. She bought herself a Coke at Fidel’s and crossed the street to join the voting
line.

“Fern, you look radiant as always.” Oz Mills was dropping off mail for his uncle at Honeysack’s General Store.

“I’m in a hurry,” she said. “I’m just in town to vote. I have a class in thirty minutes.”

“I guess I’ve lost you to that preacher. You know you gave up the best man for one who’s likely to be run out of town.”

“Oz, you’ve never been right about Jeb Nubey. Why try now?”

“Fern, I’m not a biased type. But I know that I have a place, and girls like Lucky Blessed have a place and she’s stepping
into places where she’s not likely to make friends. You’re blind to what’s going on. I understand. Let me tell you something
for the sake of your reputation, though. It’s all over town your color is changing. You keep going in that direction and even
I won’t be able to take you back.”

Fern slapped Oz across the cheek.

He backed away. “You’re all class.”

Fern walked away from him, regretting she had slapped him. When she asked the woman in front of her how fast the voting line
was moving, the woman said, “I’ve been wanting to do that to my old man for thirty years. Go get him, sister!”

Fern hung her head.

“What do you mean, you quit? You’re all Myrtle has for food, Belinda.” Jeb’s stance on the porch left a three-yard gap between
himself and Belinda, who stood holding her car door open.

“Lucky gives her a bottle. I’ve seen her do it.”

“Doc Forrester says a baby has to have mother’s milk or else get sick,” said Jeb.

“She’s a good ten weeks old. She’s thriving. I can’t come anymore.”

“Who told you you couldn’t come, Belinda?”

“I’m thinking of moving to Hot Springs. I won’t be able to drop by anymore.”

“You’ve family in Hot Springs?”

“Reverend, I’ve got to go. The baby’s fussing and he’s had me up all night. I’m at wits’ end.”

“This is kind of sudden.”

“I told you I was sorry as can be, Reverend.”

“Someone’s said something to you.”

“I had my car broken into. Someone threw in an ugly picture of you and a black baby.”

“May I see it?”

“I threw it away, burned it. I was scared out of my wits. I can’t take on that kind of trouble, Reverend. I felt funny all
along nursing that kid. Then that big girl come along and she gives me the creeps, like she’s watching everything I do. If
I didn’t know better, I’d say she was kin.”

“Myrtle’s kin?”

“I can’t prove nothing. But I have to let this job go.” She squeezed behind the wheel. “I’ve packed and left that house. I
owe some rent, so keep it under your hat that you saw me. I’m starting new somewhere. Say a prayer for ol’ Belinda when you
think of it.” Belinda drove away.

Lucky came out into the yard, holding Myrtle. “I’m glad she’s gone. She was a ho if ever I saw one.”

J
EB AND FERN WALKED BEHIND THE CROWDS
that had gathered up and down Front Street for the town parade. Armistice Day brought out the veterans of the Great War in
full military regalia. Several clowns showed up and passed out balloons. Jeb stopped in Honeysack’s to order new strings for
his banjo. Then he and Fern headed out into the street.

“The mayor’s set up the platform near the courthouse,” said Fern. “I’ll bet they’ll have you join the veterans over there.
I’m glad they’ve asked you to start the ceremony with prayer. I’m proud of you, Jeb.”

“I’d do anything to impress you,” he said. “Even stand next to a mayor whose politics I can’t agree with. Here comes the high-school
band.”

The band passed with thundering drums and most of the brass section on key.

“We’d better make our way to the reviewing stand,” said Fern. “This parade is never much longer than a chorus or two of ‘The
Star-Spangled Banner.’”

Jeb led Fern across the street between the last row of the Stanton High Band and the color guard.

He squeezed through a lemonade stand and a hot dog vendor until he spotted the mayor of Nazareth shaking hands with a retired
lieutenant. “Mayor Fabrey, I’m glad I found you.” Jeb pulled out his prayer in writing. “I kept it short like you asked.”

“Oh, Reverend N-Nubey.” He stammered over his words and then gestured for Jeb to follow him behind the platform.

Jeb read his expression, a haggard look. “Is there something wrong, Pony?” he asked.

“These are hard times, Reverend. You’re one of the finest men of the cloth I’ve ever known, but I’ve got to calm things down
around here. My office is getting complaints.”

Jeb thought of the small room in front of Pony Fabrey’s house that substituted for a mayoral office. A priest pulled back
the canvas from up front and said, “The parade’s coming to an end, Pony. Want me to begin?”

“One moment, Father,” said Mayor Fabrey.

“You’ve replaced me with a priest from out of town?”

“He’s my second cousin. It has nothing to do with matters. Listen, Reverend, come Fourth of July this will all be blown over
and you’ll be back where you belong opening the ceremonies.”

“This is because of Lucky Blessed, isn’t it?” asked Jeb.

Fern came to Jeb’s side. “Don’t let the bullies run our parade, Mayor,” she said.

“Miss Coulter. Lovely to see you,” said Fabrey.

“Mayor, we’ve got to commence.” Sam Patton stuck his head around the corner. When he saw Jeb, he drew back.

“Sam Patton’s in on this?” said Jeb. “He’s one of our board members.”

“Sam had nothing to do with it, Reverend. I’ve got to go.” He stepped up the back way onto the platform.

Fern had not let go of Jeb’s hand the entire time that Fabrey spoke. “This is wrong, Jeb. We can’t let them do this.”

“Let’s go find the kids and take our picnic inside. It’s too cold out here.”

“If you kids are too cold, you don’t have to stay out on my porch,” said Fern. The porch was screened around the perimeter.
“My daddy put those picnic tables together last year. May as well make use of them.”

“Miss Coulter made chicken, Jeb,” said Willie. “And tater salad.”

“I’ll fix the tea,” said Angel. “Seems funny having a picnic in November.” She joined Fern in the kitchen. “Jeb, you want
yours sugared or not.”

“Sweet like everyone else,” he said.

“I’m not going to let those men ruin my day,” said Fern.

“It’s getting kind of hard at school,” said Angel. “Kids are calling us names, bad names like they call Lucky. It seems like
someone’s messing with us, don’t it?”

“How you mean?” asked Jeb.

“A baby on the doorstep. Then another teenage girl gets dropped off. It’s odd, ain’t it?”

“More like an act of God,” said Fern. “I can’t imagine what would have happened to that little baby if she’d been dropped
off on someone else’s porch.”

Lucky came inside. “Too cold for my blood. I’ll take my chicken inside if it’s all right with you, Miss Coulter.”

“Lucky, what would your folks say if Myrtle had been dropped off on their porch?” Jeb asked.

Lucky shrugged.

“Can you say why they sent you away?” asked Fern. “If that’s too personal, never mind.”

“My father kicked me out. He gets mad about things. My mother said I should go to my sister Jewel’s house. Only Jewel couldn’t
take me in, said she could barely feed herself. She keep men around anyway. I don’t like none of the ones I met. They use
my sister. That’s the way I feel about it anyway. I talked to Reverend Williamson about it and he said he would work on the
matter. A week passes and then he comes and takes me from Jewel’s and brings me here. That’s all I can say about it.”

“Your sister don’t mind you living with white people?”

“Jewel don’t think like that, like who staying with who. Long’s she don’t have to pay more bills than she got on her own,
nothing matters to her. At least nothing about me matters to her. She too much like Daddy, all mad about something all the
time.”

“Who is Reverend Williamson?” asked Fern.

“He the preacher of Mount Zion in Hope. I wish I had him for a daddy. But he old. His wife is getting on in her years. His
daughter lives with them and takes care of her six. They got too many in that house like we do here.”

The snow finally came, but it was a thin, icy layer that sugared the lanes turning to slush in open roadways and forming slick
patches in the shade. The frigid wind turned the temperature too cold for the children to want to remain outside. A wet snow
is what Fern called it, when the mixture of sleet and snow had sent them running for coats and some borrowed blankets for
the cold truck ride home.

Jeb affixed new locks onto the church’s doors, both on the front and back exits, once he had considered the assault on the
building.

He could see Willie pass by the front parsonage window on occasion as if he hoped for the snow to turn into mounds of good
sledding snow, which it didn’t.

He yanked on the rear door’s padlock, careful for the sleet that had already iced the porch, and in the turning away, he saw
a movement at the wood’s edge about sixty yards from the parsonage. The shadow might have been a dark bleeding of shade from
woods to house with the hour of the day waning; but the movement, quick as a sprinter, left him with the impression of a man
watching the house. Not wanting to start his quarry, Jeb made a casual move in the direction of the church’s west side and
performed the utilitarian gesture of moving a shovel from the side of the church to the shed that sat out a good twenty-five
feet from the corner. He fumbled with the shed door’s latch to stretch the task into a good two minutes of fiddling-around
time. The metal had rusted and he took the time to closely examine the corresponding pieces that no longer snapped closed.
He hammered the metal, causing orange dust particles to sprinkle the white ground with metal cinnamon. That chore gave him
the slight view of the woods he needed.