Micah had thought about skipping these meetings. His mother would never know, and he could be out running with his friends. He raised his bowed head slightly, peering through slits in his eyes. There he saw the reason he was still seated in the pew—Mary Jo Gentry. She had just turned eighteen, a woman, and was the most beautiful creature Micah had ever seen. Her pale skin and simple white dress gave her the look of an angel. Her silky, black hair and dark, brown eyes, however, hinted at something quite different, making Micah’s heart thunder in his chest every time she was near.
Mary Jo knew something of what he felt, having caught him staring at her often enough. And twice, he had seen her looking back. He thought she might have been smiling, but whether the expression was from interest or amusement, he wasn’t sure. And once, she had spoken to him, saying something about how she liked his green eyes. He now thought of them as his best feature. But that had been three months ago, and with the end of the school year, he saw her rarely now, maybe once or twice a week. He had to do something soon, lest her father share the good news of her impending marriage before he had even talked to her.
But when? These services were informal, the Holy Spirit moving people in different ways. Some confessed their sins; others spoke in tongues; still others spun until they dropped to the floor in dizzy exhaustion. But Micah didn’t think Brother Gentry, Mary Jo’s father, would believe he had been moved by the Lord to ask his daughter for a date. And besides, he didn’t have the courage. It was a problem he needed to solve and quickly.
The din in the room hit new levels, and Micah pulled his thoughts back to the present. It didn’t take long to spot the reason for the commotion. Brother Gentry and another man he didn’t know had just removed two rattlesnakes from a wicker basket and placed them on the floor. These were followed by two more, then another pair, the group of six forming a tangle of twisting bodies, flicking tongues, and venomous fangs. Brother Gentry raised a hand. “Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy. And nothing shall by any means hurt you.”
Micah recognized the words from the Bible, as well as the ritual that was about to unfold. Some in the crowd would be moved to handle these reptiles, to take them up, to hold them over their head as they danced and sang. But while he had seen snake handling before, the practice wasn’t common. It was opposed in the courts, and its practitioners were persecuted by their neighbors. There was no announcement in the church bulletin when it was to occur, only whispered rumors around the dinner table, out in the fields, or on backcountry lanes. And in this church at least, it was saved for special occasions. Micah, however, had no idea what that might be in mid-July.
After a few minutes during which four people took up the snakes, Brother Gentry raised his hand for quiet. “Most of you know, but Mary Jo here ….” He raised a hand to his daughter. “Well, she’s full growed now. Time she witnessed. Time she followed in my footsteps.” He held out a rattlesnake.
Micah’s eyes darted around the room, searching for a face that reflected the shock he felt. He found none. Most of the congregation were nodding; some were perhaps praying for her safety, but no one opposed Brother Gentry. And while the church recognized every man as equal, children weren’t men. No one would listen to him.
Micah took a breath, trying to slow his heart, quell the flutter in his gut. Rattlesnake bites, while painful, were seldom fatal. A reduction in a hand’s dexterity or even the loss of a finger was more likely. Brother Gentry’s missing digit on his right hand was evidence of that. But why would a man risk his only daughter? In fact, his only family. There was no Mrs. Gentry for as long as he had known them.
Mary Jo raised a trembling hand toward the snake. Micah squeezed his eyes closed. His thoughts in the dark, however, were worse; all he could see in his mind was her lying on the floor, writhing in agony. He opened his eyes a slit and dropped his head as if looking directly at the sight might burn his retinas.
As her hand came within inches of the snake, it struck, burying its fangs at the base of her thumb. Mary Jo jerked her hand back, crying out with pain, and dropped into one of the chairs lining the wall. The background noise of the room increased. The congregation was shifting uneasily, whispering concerns to their neighbors. Brother Gentry raised a hand. “The will of God,” he said over the murmuring in the room. “It’s His will.” He turned to his daughter. “Let Him guide you in this hour of your need.”
Micah watched, doubting his senses as Mary Jo reached out again and took the snake from her father. She raised it above her head. “Glory to Him who has made us all,” she said, then handed the serpent back. She slumped, seeming to melt into her chair. A ragged chorus of hallelujahs and “praise be to God” swept through the church.
Even halfway across the room, Micah could see the pain on Mary Jo’s face. And while no one would believe he had been moved by God to ask her out, none would question him comforting her. He stood and walked across the room. As he approached, he could see a drop of blood on the hand she cradled in her lap. Her thumb had swollen to the size of her father’s. The sheen of sweat on her forehead magnified the pallor of her skin.
Micah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, now glad his mom made him carry one. Mary Jo looked up and took the offering with a smile and a “thank you.” After a few moments carefully dabbing at the wound, she held out the cloth.
“You can keep it,” said Micah. He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. She held his stare. “Why?” he asked after a moment.
“Like my pa said, to follow in his footsteps.”
“But …,” Micah said softly, searching for the words. “You share his belief? In snake handling?”
She stood. He looked down into her deep, brown eyes.
“I share his belief in witnessing our faith—as should you, Micah.” She paused, biting on her lip. She stepped closer, causing her to tip her head back even more. Her eyes were deep, dark pools of brown. Micah felt like he did when he stood on a cliff—like he might be pulled over the edge at any moment.
“If you let them,” she said, her voice soft, “people will open their hearts and minds to you. I feel it. I feel it in you, Micah.”
The drop of adrenaline that had given him the courage to walk across the room after the snake struck now became a flood. Was she saying she would open her heart to him? He couldn’t think, the soft whispering of the voice in his head was drowned by the roar of his pounding heart. The room closed in around him. The temperature soared. He had to say something.
“Your hand … thumb—I hope it’s better soon,” Micah stammered, turning almost before he finished the words. He retreated to the safety of his chair across the room, sat, and bowed his head. For once, he actually prayed. “Lord, give me the courage to tell this woman how I feel. And Lord, show me the way to take her from this life. She deserves better.”
It was a prayer never to be answered. Two weeks later, Mary Jo Gentry and her father moved from the area, and Micah Eastin never saw her again. Her words, however, would live in his mind forever.
5:37 PM – A Downtown St. Louis Hotel
The night breeze felt cold, and Dr. James Conroy, Jr. pulled his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. His hotel balcony had a single chair and a small table. He placed a glass of wine on the latter before approaching the rail. To his right, he could just make out a corner of Busch Stadium. The St. Louis arch was to his left.
“Probably spectacular from the top,” he muttered to himself. But he’d never been that comfortable with heights; the third floor was fine.
Conroy turned from the view, took a sip of wine, and dropped into the chair. He was tired, bone tired. At least tomorrow, it would all be over. It was a comforting thought and at the same time, a terrifying one. Could he really end it all? But then, he had to.
Truth be told, six months ago might have been better for his finale. Conroy knew what it took to prop himself up for each performance. He was not the showman he once was, although he was stil
l good. He still got their minds churning with memories, their eyes moist with pain, and their tongues belting out cheers. And it was important work. Since childhood, he’d had a personal stake in his message, and now, it was more important than ever. But tomorrow, his nights on stage and his days living out of a suitcase ended.
Through the open door to his room, Conroy caught the sound of his phone. He carried his wine inside to where his dinner sat, untouched, going cold. After a glance at the phone’s screen, he answered. “Hi. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“How are you doing?” asked the woman, her voice soft, her tone sad.
Conroy released a long breath. “About like you’d expect. I wish you were here.” There was no response save the soft sound of shallow breathing. “I know you can’t be,” said Conroy after a moment. “But I can still wish for it.”
“No more than I,” said the woman. “You know it’s breaking my heart, not being there for you. Should we ….”
“No,” said Conroy, not waiting to hear the rest. They had been through this, again and again. They had decided and to retread that same ground served no purpose except to increase the pain. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” He paused a beat. “At least, I’m getting some great coverage. The crowds? Unbelievable. The group on Monday was hanging on every word.”
The woman sighed. “I know. You make them feel the pain they’ve buried. You wake their minds to what is only common sense.” Her voice trailed off, Conroy straining to hear the last of her words.
“And Monday will probably be nothing compared to tomorrow.” Conroy tried to sound upbeat. “With the way Sister Constance has them worked up, they’ll be eating out of my hand.”
He obviously failed, the sound of soft sobs coming over the line. “I have to go,” said the woman after a moment. “Can I call back? It will be late.”
Conroy wanted to say no, save the woman additional pain. But he couldn’t. He needed to hear her voice. “Please. I won’t be sleeping anyway.”
“I love you, Jimmy,” came the voice on the phone. She disconnected without waiting for him to respond in kind.
Conroy looked around the empty room, his gaze coming to rest on his uneaten meal. The spicy smell of the curry, usually one of his favorite dinners now made him nauseous. He placed the cover back on the dish and set his tray in the hall. When he returned to his room, he pulled a new bottle of wine from a sack, opened it, and poured himself another glass.
It was going to be a long night, aided only by the alcohol that was starting to dull his senses.
6:58 PM – An Apartment in the Central West End
Nicole ran a hand across the small, mahogany dining table, adjusting the placement of a fork by a fraction of an inch. Then, she turned one of the plates slightly. Perhaps its decoration had been slightly misaligned, assuming there was a correct orientation. I wasn’t certain, having seen this dinnerware only once in the last six months. She stepped back from the table, folded her arms across her chest, and nodded. A dishtowel was riding on her shoulder, ready to do battle against any speck of dust brave enough to show itself. None were. She removed the cloth and wrung it in her hands. “Have you opened the wine to breathe?”
Yes, for the third time.
What I said, however, was limited to, “I opened it about an hour ago. Should be ready when we are.”
“Yeah, you already told me that, didn’t you?” I just smiled in reply.
Obviously, Nicole was anxious for her dinner guest to arrive, and I wondered if a similar flurry preceded my visits when we first started dating. I doubted it, but then, I didn’t have Dr. Laura Greenwood’s reputation. And after studying the scientist’s background a bit on my own, I fully understood Nicole’s butterflies. I even shared a few. Although working quietly to solidify her protocol, the woman was on the cusp of greatness.
“Want me to get that?” I asked when I heard a knock at the door.
“I will,” replied Nicole, as she detoured to the kitchen to deposit the dishtowel on her way to the door. “Laura,” she said, as she opened it. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” said Greenwood, as she stepped inside.
She gave Nicole a quick hug, which admittedly, surprised me. It wasn’t the closeness—I had clients who had become friends—but the rapidity with which it had developed. But then, they shared an interest in an extremely complex technology that few others would even understand. I knew I’d never keep up if they started talking about work.
“I didn’t hear you pull up,” said Nicole.
“I’m about a half-block away. I could have gotten closer, but I just took the first spot I saw after I reached your block.” Greenwood handed Nicole a bottle of wine.
“Thanks. I know you said you were bringing wine, but I took the liberty of opening a bottle of Chianti we already had. Or actually, Sam did.” Nicole took a half-step to the side and turned to me. “Laura, this is my fiancé, Sam Price. Or, if you want him to answer, you should call him Doc, like all his friends. Sam, this is Dr. Laura Greenwood.”
“Dr. Greenwood,” I said.
She shook the hand I extended. “We’ll have none of this formality. If I’m a friend who calls you Doc, then it’s Laura.”
“Laura it is,” I replied.
“Do you want a glass of wine before dinner?” asked Nicole. “Or we can eat now.”
“If it’s the same to you, let’s eat. I’m famished.”
Nicole turned into the area of her apartment that served as both living and dining room, the latter at the far end of the space. But before she reached the table, Greenwood took a detour to look at one of the pictures on the wall.
“This is interesting,” she said. “All the layers and the different materials. Some text, paper with geometric designs, and even a few mechanical things like that small gear.” Greenwood turned to look at Nicole. “It’s like a photograph that’s been double exposed. Except instead of just two or three exposures, it’s dozens and in all different kinds of materials. Really interesting.”
I too had studied that picture from time to time. And each time, something new jumped out at me. “I swear it changes as the light varies throughout the day. What you see now will look different tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t doubt that at all,” responded Greenwood, as she turned back to the wall. “Oh, my, you’re the artist, Nicole?”
“Art is sort of a love-hate thing with me. I love the creativity, but I have to battle my engineering side to get there. I’m always fighting the urge to pick up a ruler or a compass, to make every shape and angle perfect. To just let feelings guide my hand? That’s tough.”
“Well, the creative side won this time.” Greenwood stepped back and let her gaze travel across the work again. She turned back to Nicole. “But I’ve made you stand there long enough with that bottle in your hands.” Greenwood took the remaining half-dozen steps to the table. “Where would you like me to sit?”
“On the end,” said Nicole, gesturing. She turned to me. “Sam, do you mind if I take the other end? It puts me closer to the kitchen.”
“Sure.” I took a position behind a chair between the women.
Greenwood pulled out her chair but then looked at Nicole, her eyes narrowing somewhat dramatically. “So, you call him Sam?” she said. “Does that mean you’re not friends?”
A flicker of a frown crossed Nicole’s face, and then she smirked. “Well, I thought about calling him Doc, but then, with my degree, wouldn’t he have to call me master?”
Greenwood chuckled. “I see your point.”
“I’ll get the salad,” Nicole said. “Sam, you want to grab the wine?”
I followed Nicole through the swinging door between the kitchen and dining area. She retrieved the salad and the dressing from the refrigerator and started toward a cabinet to get a bowl. She seemed to be floating around the room, her earlier nervousness only a memory. I grabbed her arm.
“Sam,” she whispered in feigned impatience, leaning a
shoulder against my chest.
I bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She turned toward me, perhaps to reciprocate, perhaps to continue my lesson on proper decorum during a dinner party. But she did neither. Rather, her eyes went wide, staring at the door. I turned to find Greenwood standing there.
“Sorry, just wanted to know if I could help.”
Nicole was a bit flustered but quickly recovered. “If you want to get the rolls and butter, I think we’ll have everything for the first course.”
I grabbed the wine and glasses. After placing them on the table, I propped the swinging door open. “Less temptation for me to misbehave,” I said, although preventing the inevitable collision was more the reason.
My admiration for Greenwood had been growing since her arrival. Had she been condescending, aloof, self-centered, or any of the other traits that might go with prestige and wealth, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But the way she was making herself at home, kidding Nicole, complimenting her artwork? She felt like “real people.” And when she winked at my quip, my appreciation of the woman grew again.
After we seated ourselves and started eating, Greenwood and Nicole shared a few moments talking about work. But before long, Greenwood declared an end to shop talk, saying, “Your engagement? I think you told me, Nicole, but it’s recent, right?”
“Technically, three weeks ago today,” replied Nicole. “We just got away to tell our folks this last weekend.”
“Ah, the third anniversary,” said Greenwood. Even though I was seated to her side, I could still see the twinkle in her eye. “Probably a bit soon for questions like where are you going to live.”
“I’d love something like what you have,” I said. “Nicole mentioned your place out of town, although it’ll be quite a while before we could afford anything like that.”
“Yeah, I love my little place in the country. It’s not big. A little over twenty acres, but there’s plenty of room for me.” She paused a moment, looking into the distance. “I like the lady-farmer routine, but I have to admit, I miss Florida, too. I’ve been back here for nearly ten years, but I still think of my home there from time to time.”
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