But just then the floorboards creaked. Leah walked into the dining room too asleep to know where she was. One hand rubbed an eye, the other her hair.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Ellen said. She offered a look to Tom that said their discussion was over, at least for now. They did not agree on much, but they did when it came to arguing in front of Leah.
“Hi, M-Mommy.”
Tom walked over and picked Leah up—she was nine now, but she would always be his little girl—and gave her the kiss on the cheek he’d been saving for Ellen. “How’d you sleep, little girl?”
“Good, Puh-Pops,” she said, though the deep yawn that followed said otherwise. “M-Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Coming right up. Have a seat. Tom, help me?”
Tom followed Ellen into the kitchen and asked, “Milk or juice, Leah?” He turned for her answer. There was only an empty space where Leah had stood. “Where’d she go?”
Ellen shrugged and grabbed the pan of eggs. The floorboards in the hallway creaked again, this time followed by a thump, thump, thump that made Tom peek around the corner and furrow his brow.
Leah returned dragging a small blue-and-yellow plastic chair. Tom recognized it as one belonging to the play set they’d bought years ago for Leah’s Barbie-doll-and-teddy-bear tea parties. Leah had deemed such activities childish as her ninth birthday neared, so the table and chairs—along with the Barbies and teddies—had been banished to the back of her closet. Yet now there the chair was again, recalled for duty.
The chair went in the empty spot at the table. Leah stepped back, bowed, and swept her hand in a wide arc that began behind her head and ended at the blue-and-yellow seat. She straightened and took her accustomed place across from Ellen’s chair.
“What are you doing, Leah-boo?” Tom asked.
Leah yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Huh, Puh-Pops?”
“What’s the chair for?”
“Oh, th-that. It’s f-for my fruh-friend.”
“Your what?” The silverware was still in his hands. For a moment Tom forgot where the forks and knives belonged.
“My fruh-friend.” Leah yawned again, then added, “He w-wants to sit w-with us.”
He heard a chuckle from the kitchen. Tom placed the utensils and gave the plastic chair a wide berth.
Ellen brought breakfast to the table one pan at a time. She swept four links of sausage onto Tom’s plate, two onto hers. She paused at the empty place, spatula in one hand and pan in the other, and said, “Should I fix a plate for your friend?”
Tom said, “I don’t think that’s necessary, Ellen,” and gave her a look that said she should know better. But she didn’t, Tom knew that. Part of it was revenge for his actions the day before. A bigger part was that while his life was governed by facts, the former Ellen Bosserman had chosen to dwell under possibilities. It was always Who? and What? with him. With her, it was always What if?
Ellen looked at Leah and raised her eyebrows.
The plastic chair didn’t answer Leah’s look. For a few odd seconds, no one spoke. Then she said, “He’s nuh-not hungry right n-now, M-Mommy, but he wants me to suh-say thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Ellen fetched the eggs and ignored her husband’s stares. The three sat down to eat.
Tom said, “So tell me about your friend, Leah. What’s his name?”
Leah paused with a forkful of eggs halfway between the plate and her mouth and looked toward the empty chair. “I tuh-told you yesterday, remember? He’s the R-rainbow M-man.”
“The rainbow man,” Ellen repeated. She cut her eyes to Tom and smirked. “That’s a great name. Is that because he’s made of rainbows?”
“Nuh-no,” she said, trying the bite again.
“When did he show up?” Tom asked her. He heard his voice go flat and felt his left palm resting against his chin—Counselor Mode. Ellen kicked him beneath the table.
“A little buh-bit before you c-came to get muh-me,” she said. Bits of egg fell from her mouth. She took three more bites in quick succession. “You know, right b-before Mr. Buh-Barney gave me the easel.”
“Does he talk to you?”
Leah said no, and Tom thought that a small victory. But then she added, “He m-mostly suh-sings. Remember me telling you thuh-that yesterday, Puh-Pops? Before you got m-mad at the puh-preacher because you luh-love too much?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s right.” He smiled at Ellen and then Leah, thankful his daughter had just explained his craziness the day before in a way he could not.
“He sings, huh?” Ellen asked. “That must be pretty. What’s he sing about?”
Another bite, another look at the empty seat.
“Lots of stu-huff. Secret stu-huff, mostly. Like puh-painting Mr. Buh-Barney that p-picture. I’m going to p-paint more too.”
“He’s singing to you now?” Tom asked. He got another kick and removed the palm from his chin.
“Yuh-yes,” Leah said.
Ellen asked, “What’s he saying?”
“What’s going to huh-h-happen.”
“What’s going to happen?” Tom asked.
“I only nuh-know s-some.” Leah finished the last bite, pushed her plate aside, and let out a gratified sigh. “That sure was g-g-good, M-Mommy. I think I’m gonna g-go get dressed.”
Leah pushed back her chair and rose. The floorboards creaked as she made her way back to her bedroom. The yellow-and-blue plastic chair remained at the table. Tom considered the possibility that Leah had left it behind intentionally.
“I don’t like this, Ellen,” Tom said.
Ellen sipped her milk and sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with having an imaginary friend, Tom. Everyone’s had one. I had one. It was a little rabbit dressed up like a fairy princess.”
Tom’s palm went to his chin. “Really?”
“Analyze me all you want, big guy. You’re stuck with me.”
He rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, happy that they were talking about something other than Reverend Goggins. “Fine. But I never had an imaginary friend.”
“Oh, come on.”
Tom shook his head. “Never.”
“Not even a little rabbit dressed up like Sigmund Freud?”
“Cute and funny, that’s you,” he said, and for the first time that morning, Tom Norcross smiled.
Leah called from her bedroom, “He c-can hear you, you nuh-know. Don’t be duh-dillydallying. You both should g-get dressed too.”
Ellen laughed, Tom shook his head. And then Leah added two words that would have been prophetic had they not been such an understatement.
“It’s guh-gonna be a b-big day.”
2
Standing on the large carpeted podium with Bible in hand, watching the sunshine bestowing fresh life to old accounts through stained glass—the suited men tall and steeled, the hatted women fanning themselves with folded bulletins—hearing the claps and the amens and seeing heads nod and hands raised, comforting the wounded, preaching the Word, feeling the Spirit a-loose. This was Reggie’s favorite time. The town may have had their eyes on the coming annual carnival, but to Reggie the carnival came every Sunday.
“Faith,” he called out in his preaching voice, and the congregation amened again. “Faith is what we need. Faith is what God calls us to wield. The Book says it is ‘the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’”
Yes, called the crowd.
“Faith is our defense against the darkness of this world, from the suffering, the sickness, the hurt, and the torment. Faith is the means by which we are able to withstand the evil day. ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all . . .’” Reggie lifted his hands in the air and walked from one end of the stage to the other, looking fi
rst to the choir behind him, then to Lila McKinney at the organ beside him, and finally to the congregation before him. “‘. . . having done all . . .’” Their hands skyward, their lips praising. “‘. . . to stand.’”
And then a thunder of claps that tingled Reggie’s cheeks. Lila fingered four quick notes of hallelujah. Praise the Lord, the people said, and Reggie knew he had reached the tender places inside them, because applause and nods and amens meant agreement, but praise the Lord meant just that.
In the back row, Barney Moore raised his hands as if to embrace heaven itself. He’d exchanged his usual overalls for a blue suit and tie. Mabel was parked beside him in the aisle. Her eyes were bright this day, her grin brighter. Praise God. Reggie prayed the ailing woman could still understand his Sunday words—any words—but the only comprehension she showed was when Lila played the organ that was once Mabel’s own in brighter times.
Even from the stage, Reggie could see her fingers mimic the notes. Mabel had always loved her hymns and sang them still, as much as she was able. The offertory that morning had been “Worthy of Worship,” one of her favorites. Mabel had fingered the keys in her mind along with Lila and moved her mouth to the words. Worthy of rev’rence, worthy of fear, sang the congregation. I love you, I love you, I love you, mouthed Mabel. Reggie prayed as he walked—Bless the Moores, Jesus, bless them and let them see Your face. He knew Barney and Mabel had wrestled against the powers and principalities, knew they were trying to remain upright, trying to—
“Stand.”
He let that word hang in the air and took another lap around the stage. His steps were confident, big. The Grandersons sat in the middle on the right side of the congregation. Reggie winked at Allie, who winked back. Brent Spicer, head of the deacons, sat beside them with his own family and his usual scowl. Mayor Wallis and his wife, Gloria, sat in the front pew, Trevor Morgan beside them. The newspaper editor had exchanged his notebook and pen for the King James. Reggie thought it would serve Trev well if he did that more often.
“This is a hard world.”
The crowd nodded.
“This is a hard world and these are tough times. And what do we need, friends? Do we need some more government stimulus?”
No, the people said.
“No sir, we do not. It is by faith that the great deeds of God can flow, it is by faith that the devil can be vanquished, it is by faith that the hardness of this life can be overcome. We do not need government stimulus, friends, we need faith stimulus.”
Amen, called the crowd, amen and praise the Lord, the Spirit alighting itself upon the gathering in a wave that stood many up and left others slumped in their pews. Reggie walked up and back, hands raised, chin high, big, like a general rallying his troops, Reggie’s town, God’s town.
“Who will give a witness today?” he asked. Reggie pointed his worn Bible outward to the crowd like a sword unsheathed. A Bible that is falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn’t, he often said. “Who will stand today and tell of the power of God?”
“I’ll stand, Reggie,” Barney called from the back. “I’ll speak on the Power.”
The electricity in the air still moved, though now it came in swirls rather than waves. The congregation turned to the back of the church. What came next was an awkward silence as people decided for themselves whether to look upon Barney with pity or look away from him in embarrassment. What could he say of the power of God? He might as well have asked to speak on how to split the atom.
Reggie waved him forward. “You come on up here, Brother Moore. You come right here and give your testimony.”
Barney gripped the pew in front of him and eased himself into the aisle. People settled back into their seats as he bent over and whispered something in Mabel’s ear. Dozens of church bulletins waved in the hot air like tiny white windshield wipers. A hum settled over the multitude as Barney reached the stage. He smiled at Reggie, then turned toward the townspeople and gathered his words.
“God is real,” he said.
The congregation politely applauded. Reggie said, “Amen.”
“No,” Barney said. He held up his hands to quiet the people. “I mean He’s real. I been sittin’ in that back row there since I was a young’un. Been taught all my life the Lord’s a-walkin’ with me. Knew it in my head, but not in my heart. I reckoned He’s real enough to talk to, but not real enough that I expect Him to heed. But He inclined His ear last night, that’s what I come up here to say. And then He declared.”
Someone said, Hallelujah. Reggie thought it was Lila at the organ.
“That’s right,” Barney said, “He declared. Y’all know the troubles me an’ Mabel been through. Been tough on us. We tried to keep at it, but we kept gettin’ knocked down.”
Many in the congregation—Reggie thought it was more than half—looked away.
“Well, God just stood us back up.” He turned to Reggie again. Reggie saw the man’s face was red. Barney’s voice halted. His words came in spurts. “Preacher, me an’ you’s friends. I gotta confess what’s been full on my heart. Those nights you been watchin’ over Mabel whilst I’m out? I did more than run over to the pharmacy and drive around town. I’d drive on over to Camden too.”
Reggie nodded as if to say, That’s okay, Barney, don’t you worry about that one bit. Barney turned back to the front.
“You see, I been callin’ on the Lord for a long while, but there weren’t no answer. So I figured I’d strike out on my own.”
Barney paused and lowered his head. Reggie took a step closer. He meant to say that we all stumble in life, we all limp and need to lean on the Lord.
But then Barney said, “So I started playin’ the lotto.”
Reggie’s knees weakened. The congregation murmured amongst themselves. Deacon Spicer rose halfway up out of his place in the pew and then settled, unsure whether he’d heard right.
“I know,” Barney said. “I weren’t proud of it. Y’all gotta see I didn’t have no possibilities. Me an’ Mabel, we was done. I lost my faith, but the Lord took pity on my sin. I thought He was cruel, but He’s pardonin’ instead.”
Barney reached into his suit pocket and produced a square slip of paper. He held it up like a shining light in a dark place.
“I got this’un here last night,” he said. “Brought it home in shame like I always did, an’ then I watched the TV right at eleven. And, well . . .” His voice cracked. Tears spilled out onto his cheeks like tiny rivers of fire lit by the sunlight through the stained glass windows.
Reggie thought of how Barney had looked the day before in his shop and how Allie swore she’d tell no one of his sorrows.
“It’s a dad-gummed holy miracle,” Barney stammered. “I got the windfall. All two hundred fifty million of it.”
Reggie wasn’t sure if the room hummed or if the sound was just in his head. Barney held up his ticket to craning necks. Hands could not get to mouths fast enough to silence shrieks and gasps. Many stood, driven to their feet not by the Spirit but by sheer marvel. Allie Granderson stood atop her pew, holding on to Marshall with one hand and Mary with the other.
“I love you,” Mabel called out.
Barney’s other arm mimicked the one in the air as he tried to calm the swell.
“I know a lotta y’all were over at the old Fox place yesterd’y for little Leah Norcross’s birthday. Her folks were kindly enough to ask me to build her an easel, since Leah likes to draw.” Barney put the lottery ticket back in his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Reggie didn’t have to watch him open it to know what it was.
“This here’s what she gave me. Her an’ Allie brought it down to me last evenin’.”
Now more people stood. Voices grew louder. For the first time in Reggie’s ministry, he felt the moment was bigger than himself.
“Leah said ’twas what I needed, an’ I needed it just then. I was in an awful spell, cryin’ over Mabel. I do that a lot. I’m just scared I’m gonna lose her. But then
I left to go to the pharmacy and to Camden, and I knowed what Leah meant. I’m a-standin’ in front of y’all not to brag about what the Lord done with me—I’m here to say what the Lord did through that young’un. He done touched her with the magic, just like he did to Andy Sommerville and Sheriff Barnett. I know that because these here numbers that I won by are in little Leah’s picture. She drawed them all beforehand.”
Now it was a frenzy. Allie Granderson shouted, “Oh Emm GEE!” Congregants left their pews and hastened to the front as if Reggie had made an altar call. Allie followed them and then, realizing that Mabel had been left alone, walked to the back to keep her company. She put one hand on Mabel’s shoulder and rose to her tiptoes, trying to see.
Reggie grabbed Barney’s arm and gently pulled the old man to himself. “What have you done, Barney? This isn’t the Lord’s doing. You have to know that.”
Barney looked at Reggie as if the preacher spoke in another language. The crowd pushed in, asking to see the ticket, wanting to see the painting. Barney pulled the piece of paper from his pocket again and lined it up with Leah’s picture. He pointed to the 23 on the ticket and then to the clouds Leah had painted. The people moved closer, straining to see. Trevor Morgan had left his Bible on his pew and taken his notebook and pen with him. Later, after the bad had happened and before the worst had come, Reggie would remember that sight. He would remember that more than anything else. Mayor Wallis stood beside Barney. His arm was around the old man as if he were the prodigal son.
“Please, everyone,” Reggie said. He used his preaching voice, hoping that would shepherd his flock back to their places. “Return to your seats.”
Reggie Goggins’s mind was full of many thoughts in that moment—that the Spirit had been quenched by sin and curiosity, that Deacon Spicer was well on his way to throwing Barney out of church, that Mabel was once more in front of the organ in her broken mind—but the one thought that outweighed them all was that he was being ignored in his own church.
“What’s this?” Barney asked. “It ain’t there no more. Why ain’t the number there?” He went through the other numbers and let his finger dangle over the painting. “Ain’t none of them there no more.”
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