Crown of Thorns (Nick Barrett Charleston series)

by Sigmund Brouwer

  For me, the platform of the evidence of science meant I only needed to take small step of faith to believe this universe was designed by an incomprehensible power beyond the natural. But as I well knew and well know, there is a big difference between the relatively simple choice of acknowledging God’s existence and the much more difficult choice of trying to reach for him. Or attempting to understand who he is, what he expects from us, and how we should relate to him.

  Questions of the soul and of God, of course, do not belong within the realm of science. Neither do they belong to politics, but the sad state of wars and terrorism fought in his name shows that the answers to these questions can be debated endlessly and murderously.

  Even within peaceful societies, God’s image can be distorted ferociously.

  Especially with men like Shepherd Isaiah Sullivan claiming to speak on God’s behalf.

  **

  Including the lengthy sermon, it had taken two hours of church service to reach the moment of Holy Chastisement. Two hours of watching and listening to Shepherd Isaiah when I was simply curious to find Timothy Larrabee among the congregation.

  I had arrived just before the service began and crunched across rocks through a parking lot filled with pickup trucks. At first—except for the gated entrance to a gravel parking lot—this could have been no different from any other small country church on a hot summer Sunday in the South. On the outside, this was a beautiful white building built a hundred years earlier—a small and simple building with a small and simple steeple, the background of tall oaks making it a perfect picture for nostalgic postcards. Among the trees in the background were mobile homes—all identical—as if the church guarded the entrance to a large trailer park.

  The building’s interior reflected a peaceful tradition, perhaps because it had been here long before the mobile homes. The church had stained-glass windows. Dark, beech-stained pews with hymnals tucked in the back of each. Ceiling fans. An organ at the front. Scuffed, worn, hardwood flooring.

  At first glance the congregation of about two hundred also seemed straight from a Norman Rockwell painting. Until a closer look showed that things were off just enough to verge on eerie.

  The women in the congregation were dressed identically, each in a long gray dress. Each wore her hair hanging straight and unstyled beneath a gray scarf. No makeup. This blandness, and the lack of animation in their faces, took away any individuality as effectively as if each was wearing a veil. All of the men wore black suits. Most were bearded. And there were no children seated with the congregation. On my way inside I’d seen the women herding them into classrooms at the back of the small church, while the men stood just inside the front entrance engaged in hushed conversations.

  It wasn’t until I’d taken my seat that I noticed how much I was marked as a stranger because of my navy blue suit. And as I’d looked around, I’d noticed many looking back at me. Not the women. They stared straight ahead. But the men.

  Shepherd Isaiah’s eyes had fallen on me many times during the service. I felt as obvious as a porcupine on a dance floor. I wondered if he followed Charlestonian society closely enough to absorb the newspaper articles that had appeared months earlier about my family and me. Disappearance, murder, embezzlement, abandonment, and high society—the past that was a millstone around my neck. I told myself, however, it was unlikely he would remember my face from the articles.

  Still, I was uncomfortable here. Not from the heat, but from a sixth sense I could not articulate. Or push aside.

  And then came the Holy Chastisement.

  **

  The prechurch preparation had been part of Retha’s plan. The hardest part had been going through Billy Lee’s clothes in his bedroom at the end of the trailer, knowing what she was going to do with those clothes, a knowledge that weighed all the more heavily because Billy Lee was so close she could reach out and touch his perfect but weakened little body. She was glad the hum and clatter of the air conditioner drowned out her sniffles as she decided what would be the best outfit to select. If Elder Mason or Junior happened to wake early and walk in . . .

  As Retha had gone through Billy Lee’s clothing, each tiny shirt, each tiny pair of pants, brought her vivid memories. There was a blue Nike T-shirt and matching Nike ball cap that had fit him perfectly, and he’d been wearing it the first day he walked across the kitchen without falling. The red shorts that showed his chubby legs and let her kiss the backs of his calves until he giggled. And the cowboy shirt she’d bought Billy Lee for Christmas, knowing at the time it was too big, but Wal-Mart had put it on special. What made it saddest for her was the knowledge that if things went wrong, she might never see him grow into it.

  What she finally decided on was the ugly starched dress shirt and black pants that Junior’s grandmother had given them for Billy Lee to wear to church. Retha would be happy to see those clothes go. Billy Lee had always fought against them, crying up a storm because of the rough, uncomfortable material. Because of that, Retha hated these pants and shirt as much as Billy Lee did, and hated it worse that she couldn’t explain to Billy Lee how there wasn’t much choice when it came to pleasing Junior’s grandmother, who would watch every Sunday morning to see what Billy Lee wore.

  The next hardest part had been dressing the Wal-Mart doll in those hated clothes. Her tears had been so bad that Retha could hardly see what she was doing as she pulled the pants over the doll’s legs and the shirt down over its head. All she kept thinking was it should be Billy Lee she was dressing, that if he weren’t sick, today would be like every other day when she could lean down and breathe in Billy Lee’s baby smell, rub her face against the soft skin of his little man belly, letting him grab her hair with those tiny, perfect fingers, listening to him giggle as she tickled him with her nose.

  She got through dressing the doll simply because she had no other choice.

  After sneaking outside to hide the doll, she had gone back into the trailer to make breakfast for Elder Mason and Junior.

  **

  A Holy Chastisement.

  Retha first thought Shepherd Isaiah had meant to call her forward as the sinner and jezebel. Until he’d called Betty Crenshaw. Which meant that Elder Mason had convinced Shepherd Isaiah not to let it be known that one of the Chosen had been unable to control a family member. When Betty Crenshaw was dragged to the front, Retha turned her head away from the spectacle. Halfway up the steps, Betty’s husband pinned her arms to her sides and forced her to crouch.

  There’d been whispers that Betty was going astray. Not that Retha cared. Many of the women who whispered against her were hypocrites anyway. Like those who found a way to cut their hair although Shepherd Isaiah instructed that his interpretation of Paul’s New Testament words made it clear that scissors should never destroy a woman’s crowning glory. These were the women who got around that firm rule by covering their heads with layer after layer of hair spray until the strands were so brittle that they could break their hair by hand.

  “We beseech thee!” Shepherd Isaiah roared, now fully converted from gentle man of God to a man of godly wrath. “Forgive us of our sins!”

  He nodded at Elder Jeremiah. Elder Jeremiah brought his paddle down on Betty Crenshaw’s rump.

  Retha dug into her purse. Watches, like any other jewelry for women, were not permitted by Shepherd Isaiah. She’d hidden a cheap plastic watch among the diapers and baby food packed into her purse. She found it by feel, brought it near the top of her purse, and glanced at it.

  It was time. This was when Doreen was supposed to arrive. At the end of the service. With people milling around the church and different trucks moving through the parking lot. With the gate open as it was every Sunday morning—Junior had once explained to Retha that Shepherd Isaiah wouldn’t be eligible to apply for tax exemption as a religious organization unless the church appeared open for public attendance.

  But in making her plans—calling Doreen and speaking in

  a whisper on the telephone early th
is morning—Retha had not expected a Holy Chastisement.

  Worse, during a Holy Chastisement, Shepherd Isaiah expected the voyeurlike fascination shared by nearly everyone in the congregation and would notice immediately those who did not remain in attendance.

  “Junior!” she hissed to her husband. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  “Now?”

  “It’s a woman’s thing,” Retha said. He never questioned her on woman’s things. He was terrified by the mysteries of the female body.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  In a way, the Holy Chastisement was a blessing. All eyes and ears—except for Shepherd Isaiah, who noticed one of his sheep leave the flock—were on the spectacle before the pulpit. Retha slipped out, leaving her purse behind. She’d chosen a spot near the back of the church for this very reason, glad that Elder Mason sat at the front with the rest of the Elders.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” Shepherd Isaiah’s voice followed her as he called again and again and then added the name of Jesus, using the drawn-out syllables as an incantation.

  In the hallway, Retha hurried past the ladies’ room to the nursery. Where, among all the other young children playing under the care of three teenage girls, Billy Lee was wrapped in a blanket and lying in a corner, almost comatose.

  Retha nodded at the girls. “Time to feed my boy,” she said. “And I left the bottles out in the truck.”

  Retha lifted Billy Lee. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead. He didn’t stir. Billy Lee didn’t have much hair, but that didn’t bother Retha at all. His fat little face was perfect to her.

  None of the girls questioned Retha as she bundled Billy Lee outside into the hallway. She’d been counting on that. If there were other mothers in the nursery, they would have wondered why Retha didn’t get the bottles from the truck and bring them in. Much easier than taking a baby out. But all married women were required to sit in the congregation during worship services.

  Holding Billy Lee, Retha half ran to the back door of the church building.

  That’s where Doreen, her sister-in-law had promised to be waiting to take Billy Lee.

  **

  I can’t say I noticed Retha leave. I did not know her then. Among all the other women in gray in the church, she would have been invisible to me that morning. And my head was bowed to allow me to stare at the floor as Elder Jeremiah brought his paddle down again and again and again on the helpless woman at the front.

  I could not escape Shepherd Isaiah’s voice. Nor the shiver that came with the sensation that he was speaking profanely.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” Now filled with godly wrath, he kept a hypnotic cadence.

  Out of the two hundred or so adults in the congregation, half were calling out loud amens. Most of them were men, but a few were apparently spiteful women. The woman at the front sobbed, a noise audible only between the mighty thumps of the paddle when Shepherd Isaiah drew breath to call upon the name of Jesus.

  “We beseech thee! Banish Satan this morning! Make this woman pure again that she may behold thy face!”

  I kept my head bowed, feeling shame that as a temporary member of this congregation, I was part of this woman’s humiliation.

  **

  Retha stood in the sun behind the church.

  Doreen had not arrived! Maybe Doreen’s long-haul trucking husband—Retha’s older brother who had not moved into the compound when her parents decided to join the church—had returned and she hadn’t been able to get away.

  Retha strained to hear a truck engine, praying Doreen was only late, although Retha had made her promise to get there at the exact time. Above Retha’s frantic whispered prayer, only the high-pitched wail of cicadas in the July heat broke the silence.

  What was she going to do? Billy Lee needed a doctor.

  She thought of that man in the black Jeep who’d stepped toward the church as Junior pulled up in the truck. He wasn’t part of this church; Retha knew that. People didn’t become part of the church without a swearing-in ceremony, pledging allegiance to Shepherd Isaiah and Jesus. But people sometimes stopped in by accident. Or out of curiosity.

  Retha knew time was slipping away. Betty seemed the type to break easy. Once the Holy Chastisement ended and Betty begged forgiveness, she would be baptized again into the presence of God. Then a final hymn.

  Retha carried Billy Lee toward the side of the building where Junior’s truck and the Jeep were parked. She told herself it was to look for Doreen and be ready to get the doll out of Junior’s truck. But Retha knew she was fooling herself. If Doreen was going to be here, she would have already arrived.

  As she walked, she prayed to Jesus again. Retha was careful to thank Jesus first that Billy Lee was still breathing. She also thanked Jesus for getting her this far in her plan, although Doreen hadn’t showed up when she promised.

  “And dear Jesus,” Retha said, eyes closed tight, unaware that she’d gone from a whisper to full voice. “I pray that you keep a close watch over Billy Lee. I pray that you let a good doctor take care of him and that he gets better real soon and doesn’t die.”

  Retha thought over what she had to pray next. Thought about the Elders and what she’d heard whispered about them. She couldn’t help herself when she began to cry. “Dear Jesus,” she said, tasting the salt of her tears as she found courage to continue. “I pray that if something bad happens to me, someday you will find a way to let Billy Lee know how much I love him—and that I always will.”

  A sob escaped Retha as she bent her head to kiss Billy Lee’s forehead. A tear fell on his tiny nose—the nose that she often stared at for minutes at a time, marveling at its perfection. She wiped the tear away with a fingertip, forcing herself to look directly at Billy Lee’s sweet face so she would never forget what might be her last time with him.

  At that moment, her resolve nearly failed. Holding him so close to her breast, it was like she was cradling him to feed him. Biting her lower lip and sniffling back her tears, she held him to her face.

  “Good-bye, Billy Lee,” she said. “No one will ever love you more than me.”

  She found the courage and opened the unlocked passenger of the Jeep. She set Billy Lee on the floor and covered his face with the edges of the blanket so that he wouldn’t have to stare at the sun.

  Then Retha heard the final hymn, “Amazing Grace,” begin inside the church. Betty had confessed her sins, and now the congregation was singing on her behalf.

  Amazing grace! how sweet the sound—

  That saved a wretch like me . . .

  Retha forced herself to close the door to the Jeep. She still had things to do if she was ever going to hold Billy Lee again, and only three verses left to get it done.

  **

  As I spoke to Shepherd Isaiah following the service, I had no idea then that my short conversation would cause yet another death as part of the Larrabee legacy.

  “I have clients who send me looking for antiques,” I explained in answer to his question about my reason for attending his service. This was not a lie, of course. Glennifer and Elaine would find it amusing, though, that I had referred to them as clients. “As you might guess, given the history of this state, antiques can be found anywhere in the low country. Pieces of your stained-glass windows, for example, could have been done by the great craftsman Louis Comfort Tiffany. I was curious enough to want to see them firsthand, and it was a good excuse to attend this church on such a fine Sunday morning.”

  Had Shepherd Isaiah stood any closer, his bearded chin would have bumped my forehead, such was his size. He looked more imposing now that he again wore his black suit jacket. More frightening was the man directly behind him, Elder Jeremiah. Taller and heavier and staring at me with unblinking focus. I understood why Bingo had been so intimidated.

  Moments before, Shepherd Isaiah had concluded the service with a prayer, walked down the aisle to organ music, and positioned himself at the back
of the church to shake hands with every person leaving. It felt like an inspection.

  “Antiques,” Shepherd Isaiah echoed. It did not matter to him that the line of men and women behind me had come to a complete stop as he continued our conversation. “Hidden treasure. Finding value in what others regard as useless. Son, that sounds like an interesting business.”

  He had a deep radio voice and an interesting drawl and a unique choice of words. Like he’d been born backwoods but had worked at losing it by keeping some of that cadence out of his voice and speaking formally. The effect was of a bad actor playing a part in a bad movie portraying the South a hundred years earlier.

  “Yes sir,” I said. I thought of this conversation reaching Timothy Larrabee. “Although I believe it would be unfair to offer far less than what a piece is worth.” I tried to look past him for an older man with white hair and a cane. Timothy Larrabee.

  He spoke again. “And our stained-glass windows?”

  “Beautiful,” I said, shifting my weight from my real foot to my plastic foot. “But I doubt they’re Tiffany’s craftsmanship. However, I am always willing to broker an antiques deal. For anyone at anytime.”

  “Sounds like we work a similar trade. I’m always willing to broker souls on behalf of Jesus. For anyone at anytime. And it isn’t that different from the antique business. After all, Jesus looks for the hidden treasure within you, and no matter what your sin, finds value in what others regard as useless. I wish you the best.”

  “Actually, I had a more specific reason for attending this service than just examining the stained-glass windows. I’m here to see if Timothy Larrabee is still interested in a painting he recently attempted to purchase. If you could be kind enough to point him out to me . . .”

  There it was. My purpose for this visit. Out in the open. Of course, I did not know then the truth behind the painting or I would have been more careful. Much more careful.

  “Brother Larrabee?” Shepherd Isaiah’s tone sharpened. Elder Jeremiah behind him actually took a half step closer to me. “How did you know he was a member of this congregation?”