Casewell thought Longbourne’s eyes were too bright, his handshake too eager.
“I ain’t been healed that I know about,” Dad rasped. “I reckon somebody’s been pulling your leg.”
“You’ll forgive me, brother, if I have to determine what has happened to you on my own. If you have been touched by evil, what you say can’t be trusted.”
Dad did seem to perk up at that. “Evil?” he cried out. “I reckon so. Evil has took up residence in my body, and it will be the death of me. Why you’ve come to see it now, I don’t know.”
“Did the witch Perla Long lay hands on you?” Longbourne asked.
“I don’t know no witch.” Dad hitched himself up a little higher on his pillow.
“I have heard that Perla came here and laid hands on you, prayed over you, and claimed a healing.”
“You’re a fool, man, and forever more full of crap.” Dad wasn’t quite yelling, but he spoke louder than Casewell thought he could. “Perla Long is a good woman and a good mother.”
Longbourne shot a dark look at Casewell. “I see that she has infiltrated the whole family. Evil is an insidious thing.”
Dad reached out and clamped a hand down on Longbourne’s arm. The preacher winced. “Speak plain, man. Tell me what you’ve come here for, so I can send you packing.”
“I have come to ferret out the devil,” Longbourne said. “I have come to undo the spell that witch has cast on you and your family. Do not forfeit your soul just for the comforts of this world. She is a harlot, a blasphemer, and a sinner. Beg my forgiveness, and perhaps you can yet be saved.”
Casewell could see the skin of Longbourne’s arm twisting under his father’s hand. Longbourne seemed determined to stand it but grimaced and tried to shift his arm away. John only gripped tighter.
“Your forgiveness is little more than the dust kicked up by a dog,” he said. “I have asked the Lord’s forgiveness for a lifetime of sin, and He has granted it to me. He has spoken to me—not through the likes of you—but through the child of that woman you call ‘harlot.’ The good Lord has seen fit to show me His ways through the simple love of a child who does not have a man to call father. She has accomplished what you never could.”
Beads of sweat stood out on Longbourne’s upper lip. He licked at them and tried to shift his arm. He finally could stand it no longer. “You are hurting me, Brother John,” he said. “Release my arm.”
Dad flung Longbourne’s arm from his grasp. “You’re not worth hurting,” he spat out. “You’re not worth the air you breathe.” He fell back against his pillows, clearly exhausted. He looked toward Casewell standing at the foot of the bed, his face a mass of confusion. “Son?”
Casewell felt tears spring to his eyes. “Yes?” he whispered.
“I need to tell you something. There’s something I need you to know.” John’s eyes tracked back and forth, as though he was looking for something moving through the air that he couldn’t pin down.
Casewell realized he was holding his breath. He sensed that whatever his father wanted to say was important. But then Dad grimaced and closed his eyes.
Neither of the men noticed Pastor Longbourne easing toward the door. He was poised for flight before he spoke. “I have seen enough to know that evil has gained a strong foothold in this place,” he said. “I will root it out.” And with that, the preacher fled.
Casewell felt a momentary chill, wondering what Longbourne would do.
On Monday Frank came by the store as folks were lining up for the day’s meal. Casewell saw him and stepped over to greet the older man. He could almost forget that Frank used to be the town drunk. Especially now that he knew he traveled with Buffalo Bill.
“I’ve come with good news.” Frank grinned broadly. “I went to see Angie and Liza the other day, and they told me what happened all those years ago to drive us apart.” The smile faded but didn’t disappear completely. “I had to own my part in all that mess. My playing one sister against the other was where things started to go wrong. I reckon I didn’t deserve either one of those fine ladies. I played with fire in them days, and I sure enough got burnt. I didn’t mean for them to get burnt, too.” He sighed and looked wistful. Then the smile broke out full force once again.
“We talked and maybe fussed a little until Liza got to giggling about three old folks wrangling over a love triangle—that’s what she called it, love triangle—and then I reckon we all began to see the humor in the thing. Before you knew it, we were laughing fit to bust. Can you imagine? Three wrinkled, white-headed old folks tangled up over who loved whom and which one lied first and who was more wrong all those years ago.
“Well, we decided we might as well be friends. We shook on it and then had us a fine dinner of green beans and peas out of the cellar. There’s nothing like being forgiven to add a tang to your dinner.”
Casewell clapped Frank on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear you worked it out,” he said. “All three of you are mighty fine folks. I’m glad you can be friends.”
“That’s not all my news. I went ahead and bought the Rexroad place. Old man Rexroad’s daughter has no interest in coming back to Wise, and with the drought and all, she didn’t figure on ever getting the place sold. I made her a fair offer, and she snapped it up.”
Robert joined them in time to hear this last piece of news. “Well, that calls for a celebration. Soon as I run across a fatted calf, we’ll have us a feast.”
“Robert, I have a proposal for you,” Frank said. “I’ve got quite a collection of books I’ve gathered over the years. Seems a shame to leave them in boxes out there at the house. I was thinking, since you have some empty shelves around here”—he waved a hand at the sparse store shelves—“we could start us up a lending library.”
“Why, that’s a fine idea,” Robert said. “And I ’spect Delilah would enjoy being the head librarian. She always has had a love for the printed word.”
“Excellent.” Frank rubbed his hands together. “Casewell, what say you and Robert come on out to the house after you finish up here, and we’ll start loading up books.”
The three men continued to talk about plans for the library, clearing shelves and rearranging things as the hungry crowd swelled and then thinned out to nothing. Delilah was thrilled when they shared their plan and immediately began wiping down shelves and planning how she would keep a record of who checked out which books.
Emily came by to pick up dinner just as Perla finished serving the last guest. Emily and Perla cleaned up the kitchen area together, and when they finished, they offered to help with the lending library.
“Oh, but I suppose I can’t,” Emily said. “I need to take John and Sadie their dinner. He probably won’t feel like eating, but that child will be hungry.”
Perla jumped in. “Emily, you stay. I’ll take dinner and then Sadie and I can walk home. You don’t really need my help here, and I’m guessing it’ll be nice for you to get out of the house for a little while.”
Emily smiled, allowing some of the fear and worry she now lived with each day to show in her eyes. “It would be a nice distraction. If you’ll just stay until John falls asleep, he should be fine.”
“I’d be glad to. I’m beginning to feel a real kinship for John. Maybe it’s the way he’s gotten so attached to Sadie. You have a good time setting up the library here.”
When Perla got to the Phillipses’ house, she found John already sleeping. Sadie sat at the foot of his fancy new bed, playing quietly with her dolls. It occurred to Perla that leaving a child alone with a dying man might not be the wisest plan, but then Sadie put her mind at ease. The child crept out of the bedroom and led her mother into the sitting room.
“Mr. John fell asleep and Ms. Emily went for supper,” Sadie whispered. “Mr. John needs his rest. He said to wake him up if there’s an emergency, but there wasn’t one.” She nodded her head for emphasis and went to climb onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m hungry.”
; Perla smiled and sat down to eat with her daughter. It was nice enjoying the quiet of the kitchen in someone else’s house. There were no dishes to wash, no meals to plan, nothing to do but listen to her child’s prattling and John’s light snoring from the other room. It was the picture of peace.
As they ate, Perla noticed Sadie’s eyes getting heavy. She still took an afternoon nap most days, and Perla suspected there hadn’t been one that day. Finally Sadie’s spoon clattered to the table, and her head nearly fell into her bowl. Perla scooped her up and carried her to Casewell’s old room, where she placed the child on a narrow twin bed with a quilt folded at the foot. Perla supposed she ought to go to the house, but she was too tired to carry Sadie and hated to wake her sufficiently to walk. Casewell would eventually bring Emily home, and then she was sure he would take them to the Thorntons’.
Perla went into the kitchen and rinsed the two bowls she and Sadie had used. John’s dinner had gone into the Frigidaire. She would warm it up when he woke. Walking into the sitting room, Perla eased herself onto the sofa and folded her hands in her lap. She tried to remember the last time she just sat down and did nothing. She leaned her head against the curved back of the sofa and examined the light fixture in the ceiling. There was a cobweb there that Perla suspected wouldn’t have lasted long before John’s illness. Now she was amazed that Emily got anything done beyond caring for her husband. She closed her eyes for just a moment and was startled awake by the door opening and footsteps coming though the kitchen.
“Emily?” she called out. “Sadie and I are still here. Can . . .” she trailed off as she realized it wasn’t Emily or Casewell standing in the kitchen doorway.
Pastor Longbourne let his eyes run up and down the length of Perla. There was something in his look that made her feel she’d been caught doing something unseemly in public.
“Why, Pastor,” she said, “you must be here to see John. I’ll wake him for you.”
Perla began to rise but Longbourne stepped forward with his hand out to still her. “No need,” he said. “I am here to speak to you.”
“How did you know . . .?” Perla felt weak.
“Your movements are no secret to me, witch.” Longbourne curled his lip. “You think you have won the people of Wise over with your sorcery, but I am not so easily swayed.”
“I’m not a witch,” Perla whispered.
Longbourne moved to stand over her on the low sofa. She tried to stand but he leaned forward to push her back down. “Stay where you are,” he said. “You need not rise on my account.” His smile was grotesque, and Perla realized she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She tried to tell herself she had nothing to be afraid of, but deep inside something cried out, “Run!”
Before Perla could attempt to move again, Longbourne stepped forward and pushed one leg between her knees. She was so astonished, she barely resisted. There was no question of standing now.
“You need to be broken, witch,” he said. “You need to be cleansed from all unrighteousness.”
Perla didn’t know what to do. She felt certain that this was not a man who could be reasoned with. Words hardly seemed appropriate at this point, but what else could she do?
“We are all sinners,” she said, wishing her voice wasn’t quivering.
“Yes,” roared Longbourne, “and you are the worst among us. Repent. Repent or die.”
Perla felt a shiver make its way up her spine. Almost involuntarily she tried to shift sideways, away from the man. He jammed his leg further between her knees and clamped a hand down on her thigh. Perla began to shake in earnest.
Longbourne’s eyes were like hot coals burning into her. He reached down with his free hand and began to push the hem of her skirt up her leg. “You must repent, harlot,” he grated out. “And I will help drive the demons from your body.”
Tears began to run down Perla’s face. She struggled, but Longbourne’s grip was like a vise, and she was afraid to cry out. She was afraid to wake her daughter and expose her to this horrible scene. She closed her eyes and tried to pray.
And then, as though God had heard her prayer, Longbourne staggered sideways and went down on the floor at Perla’s feet. As he fell he tore the hem of her skirt, exposing her left leg. Perla clutched the torn fabric and looked wildly around the room. John stood nearby, holding a stick of firewood and panting as though he’d been running.
“You all right?” he asked.
Perla nodded and looked down at the fallen pastor. There was a skinned place on his head that oozed blood. He wadded the piece of skirt that had come away in his hand and pressed it to his skull. His eyes were full of hate.
“Preacher, I reckon you’d best go,” John said.
Longbourne crawled a little ways and used an armchair to pull himself up. “I don’t know what you think you saw, John Phillips, but you had no call to hit me.” He spoke slowly, as though the blow to his head had made it hard to formulate the right words.
“I saw someone who claims to be a man of God trying to take advantage of a young woman who has committed no worse sin than caring for the people around her.”
“That’s a lie,” spat Longbourne. “I’d like to see you convince my flock that I would do such a thing.” He flung the blood-soaked rag to the floor and pressed his own handkerchief to his head. “And I imagine this wound will show them how I was attacked by a madman who probably was out of his mind with illness.” Longbourne smirked.
John bent down, grimacing with pain, and retrieved the discarded bit of cloth. “I’m thinking this bit of the lady’s frock soaked in your blood will be a little harder to explain,” he said.
Longbourne paled and took a step forward as though he would snatch the bit of evidence from John’s hand. But he froze when he heard Casewell and Emily coming in through the kitchen door.
“Perla, are you still here?” Emily called. She appeared in the doorway and stopped so suddenly that Casewell bumped into her. “Why, John, what in the world are you doing out of bed? And Pastor—are you injured?”
———
Casewell quickly took stock of the situation. “Mother, Perla is crying and I think Dad needs to sit. Let’s ease on in here and get everyone situated so we can hear what’s happening.” Casewell guided his mother to a seat beside Perla. He snatched up a dish towel and folded it to make a compress for Pastor Longbourne, who took it and began edging toward the front door.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said. “Probably need to get this little cut on my head looked at. I’ll be praying for—”
Casewell planted himself between Longbourne and the door. “I think you should stay,” he said. “Never know when someone’s going to need some pastoral counseling.”
Dad collapsed into an armchair. Soaked in sweat, he panted like a man who’d just run a race. “Son, that man is evil. I say we let him go.” Longbourne looked hopeful. “I say we let him go a long, long way from here with the promise that he will never attempt to lead a church again.”
“Hold on, now,” protested Longbourne. “All you got against me is the word of a harlot and a dying man. John Phillips, you ain’t never been one to make friends around here, and I ain’t the first to call that woman there ‘witch.’ You’re acting awful high and mighty, considering what little you got to go on.”
Casewell thought the preacher sounded a lot less educated all of a sudden. “Longbourne, it’s pretty clear to me what happened here, and I’ll be speaking to the elders about it before the sun sets.”
“You!” Longbourne said the word like he was expelling something disgusting from his mouth. “You’ve been stepping out with that slut. You, I can do battle with.”
Casewell doubted Longbourne would survive the battle, but he did not relish the idea of dragging what he feared had happened out into the public eye. He looked from Perla clutching her torn dress to Longbourne and considered what to do next. And then his mother took care of everything.
“Pastor Longbourne,” she said, standing, “I kn
ew your wife well before she passed. She confided in me and told me things she felt she couldn’t share with another soul. I swore to her that I would never break her confidence. But I see that the evil you forced her to live with is still in you, and I believe she would forgive me for sharing her secrets now. I see what you tried to do here today, and while the good Lord can forgive and forget, I doubt the people of Wise will be quite so willing. I beg you, Pastor, leave this place and try to find your way back to our Savior. He is the only hope for your soul.”
“Lies,” Longbourne whispered, backing into the corner of the room. “How can I stand against all of these lies?”
Mom moved toward him and held out her hand. “There is no standing,” she said. “You have already fallen. Now, please go.”
Longbourne circled her as though coming into contact with that outstretched hand was more than he could bear. He darted through the kitchen and banged out the back door.
“He could still try to turn the people against us,” Casewell said.
“I don’t think so.” Mom’s voice was laced with sorrow. “I don’t think we’ll ever see him again.”
16
THE NEXT DAY CASEWELL GOT WORD that there would be an impromptu meeting of the elders at the church that afternoon. He walked in just behind Steve Cutright, who grabbed Casewell’s arm as he passed through the door.
“I hear the preacher done run off with that Perla Long,” he said. Casewell stiffened and freed his arm.
“I think you’ll find you heard wrong,” he said, moving forward to join the other men gathered in the front pews.
Casewell and Steve were the last to arrive. Robert called the meeting to order by clapping his hands and offering a prayer.
“Now, there are rumors aplenty about why we’ve come together this afternoon. Let me clear it all up for you. Pastor Longbourne has left town. Alone,” he added, shooting a look at Steve. “He spoke nary a word to anyone, just left a note, which I will now read to you. It’s short if not sweet.
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