Nazareth's Song

by Patricia Hickman

Fern, who usually spent every Sunday buttoning dresses for Angel and Ida May, took her seat behind the Mills family. She looked crisp as clothesline laundry and as aloof as if they’d never met for coffee that week at Beulah’s.

  Angel brought Willie and Ida May in alone now, mothering them into the church even though Willie despised her nagging at him.

  Jeb knew the way the churchwomen stared and whispered would prove more than a coincidence. All the gazes drifted from Gracie to him and then back again to the minister.

  Gracie did not have to quiet the congregation. The roomful of people fell silent when he took the platform. He bowed his head. A ripple of shuffling followed, and then every head surrendered to the morning prayer. He prayed for Church in the Dell as if he had to keep the devil from the door, his moderate pitch rising and falling. Sun trickled through the eastern windows and across the bowed heads. Particles of dust danced like gold dust in the light, drawn up toward the windows, lifting like God might walk in at any moment upon the light beams.

  Gracie wiped his brow. A pale whiteness around the eyes hinted at his illness.

  When Gracie spoke of Jeb’s dedication to his education as a minister, Fern studiously turned her head and stared out the window as though what was outside was infinitely more interesting than what was in front of her. By the time the minister expounded upon Jeb’s scholarly devotion to theology, Fern was smoothing her skirt and thumbing through her Bible—anything to show she wasn’t the least bit interested in what Reverend Gracie was saying at the moment. Jeb imagined how he might look out over the congregation every Sunday at a face that refused to acknowledge his existence.

  He glanced over at the Welby children. For some reason Angel could not take her eyes off Gracie’s oldest girl, Emily, as though her strange mix of jealousy and admiration were interfering with her validation in the eyes of the churchgoers. Since Gracie had rightfully taken the pulpit, Angel had somehow got lost in knowing her place at Church in Dell. She was no longer the minister’s eldest girl and had aimed her lostness and jealousy at Emily Gracie.

  “After a full year of study as my apprentice, I’m happy to introduce Reverend Jeb Nubey and ask your kind attention as he brings the morning’s sermon,” Gracie finally introduced him.

  Before Jeb had made his way to the lectern, Gracie gave him a firm pat on the back. He wanted to turn and follow Gracie off the platform. The lectern was too thin to hide behind. When he placed the Bible open faced in front of him, his notes spilled out onto the floor. He knelt to retrieve them and found he could not shuffle the cards back into any sense of the original order.

  When Jeb gave the concluding prayer he felt as though his feet were nailed to the floor. Not a soul whispered so much as an amen when he finished. But before he could gather his notes and disappear through the rear exit, he felt Gracie grasp the back of his arm and stand beside him.

  He thanked Jeb for his wonderful delivery of the morning’s message and then said, “For the sake of order, I would like to quell the speculation about my health. For those of you who have already expressed concern to me this morning, I thank you. I can’t think of any better place to be but in Nazareth during my time of need. Your compassion for me and my children has not gone unnoticed. I love you all beyond words.” His voice broke for the first time since he had divulged his illness to Jeb. “But God did not intend for our bodies to go on forever. A good friend and family member has made the way for me to see a doctor in Cincinnati in the coming months, maybe sooner.” He waited for the muttering to fade. “I promise not to abandon the pulpit at Church in the Dell until you have found confidence in my replacement.”

  Jeb would have liked to leap from the platform and depart without leaving a single track in the sawdust. Gracie, without warning, said the thing that Jeb felt should not be said for months: “I submit my resignation to you but will stay on for the weeks it takes to prepare your new minister for service. Before reacting, I urge you to take this matter first to God in prayer.”

  Jeb studied reactions. But it seemed he found none. He could not decipher the congregation’s assessment of his preaching or Gracie’s announcement. Except from Gracie’s children. Emily had a stoic look, but her eyes were damp around the lashes. Emily’s self-assurance had always deflated Angel, he knew. The instant she was no longer “the pastor’s daughter” but instead the con man’s conspirator, something had been taken from Angel. Even though the Gracies’ kind of community standing never belonged to her in the first place, her resentment toward Jeb had worsened. Throughout the following months Angel’s attention had wandered back to Emily every Sunday morning, like a street child who watched a family through snowflaked windows. She wanted what Emily had—the understood respect that came from being a pastor’s daughter.

  Now, Angel righted herself as though she’d been asked to draw a straw.

  “When will you go?” Doris Jolly asked from the second pew.

  “If it weren’t for God’s gift of an apprentice, I’d not know what to do,” said Gracie. “Reverend Nubey has kindly accepted the chance to stand behind this pulpit. When Reverend Nubey and all of you feel he is ready, I will make my departure. If you support him and embrace him as I have, you’ll not be sorry.”

  No one said a word.

  Fern Coulter tucked her handbag under her arm and slipped out the back door. Emily Gracie pushed past her brother and sister and ran out behind Fern.

  Angel studied the churchfolks’ cold reaction, and then, deflated at their lack of popularity, withdrew her approval as quickly as she had given it. She looked at Jeb as though he had robbed a bank.

  A delegation of men, farmers, and shop owners from downtown disappeared into the parsonage with Philemon Gracie. That quickly arranged meeting left Jeb in the midst of all the curious women.

  While the other ladies clustered in the sunlight of the open front door, Evelene Whittington, the sovereign of the downtown Woolworth’s, approached Jeb first. “I know you’ve been hard at the books this past year. Not a lot of young men want to fool with church matters, what with the country being in such a bad shape. Let me be the first to say that if Reverend Gracie has to go, welcome, Reverend Nubey. God’s will be done, I say.”

  Two other women moved in behind Evelene as Jeb accepted her hand. “Your words mean a lot to me, Mrs. Whittington.”

  Mellie Fogarty, Ida May’s substitute aunt, told Jeb, “Beats all the way you took in these child-ern like they’s your own. Don’t know how you get by these days, but the Lord will provide, as they say. Glad to know little Idy May will still be traipsing through these church doors every Sunday. I’d have thought you’d have sent them off to parts unknown by now. But no, not you, Mr. Nubey. Or do we call you ‘Reverend’ now?”

  Florence Bernard reached between Evelene and Mellie with her large-boned hands. They felt warm as she clasped his fingers. “I don’t know what the men is up to, but we ladies welcome you, Reverend.” She said “Reverend” with more ease than the other two. “That was the best sermon I’ve heard you preach ever!”

  Florence’s friend Josie kept a yard or two of distance, as did the other women who watched the door of the parsonage through the open back door. Josie and Fern had spent many a Saturday blowing on cups of coffee at Beulah’s café. Beulah, who never had come to church until now, talked with Josie. Both of them chatted and paused to glance at Jeb and then out the back door. He was glad to see any alteration in the community’s paradigm bring Beulah to church, even if led by the scent of gossip.

  Maybe he had done some good already.

  The men spilled out into the yard between the parsonage and church. Jeb could not tell by Gracie’s stride if he came bearing good news or bad. Before reaching the back door of the church, Gracie caught his eye and gestured for Jeb to meet them all outside. He excused himself through the clusters of restless women.

  Gracie smiled at Jeb. “They agreed to consider you as their minister.”

  Jeb repeated the words “agreed to consider” and t
hen read the worst into its context.

  Horace Mills’s fingers came to his lips as though accustomed to nursing a cigar. He never made eye contact with Jeb.

  “Can you tell if they want me or not?” asked Jeb.

  “Trust in God,” said Will Honeysack. He looked more worried about Gracie than Jeb right now.

  While the men disbursed to collect their kith and kin, Horace said so no one else could hear, “I hope you know I keep close tabs on these matters. I don’t throw my money away on lost causes.”

  Jeb watched him meet up with his wife and Winona. Winona smiled better than her daddy.

  6

  The old Long house had a strange kind of Saturday pall. The week had flown past, each day another day closer to Gracie’s eventual departure. While the minister still fluctuated on his departure date, he reminded Jeb daily of his pending obligation.

  Jeb studied for the sermon he would preach the Sunday after tomorrow. The week had passed without too much gossip reaching his ears. But even as he felt the calm tide of his coming responsibility settling into place, Angel had not stopped rattling his cage over how everyone in town knew him to be something other than a man of the cloth. Her words followed on his heels like the scent of skunk.

  With only one more week left to prepare, the afternoon crept over him like an invasion of grasshoppers silently eating away the day. Tomorrow afternoon, he and Gracie would pore over his message and remove the weak spots. But it seemed to Jeb the whole sermon buckled in the middle like the old bridge over Millwood Creek. He gave up and went inside.

  The Foley bunch had invited Willie to a picture show downtown, leaving Ida May to pout alone on the front porch. Angel waited at the kitchen entry, holding her most recent letter from Little Rock. Jeb finally said, “Letter from Aunt Kate?”

  “Momma’s not well.”

  “At least she finally told you, Angel.”

  “She’s in the nervous hospital. Wonder why they call it that. Like we’s all going to believe they’s all these nervous people sitting around waiting to do somethin’ like get called up to sing in church or some such. Instead, that’s where they put a body whose house don’t go all the way to the roof, if you catch my drift. Aunt Kate says Momma mentioned my name not long ago and that encouraged her. Mentioned my name? What’s that supposed to mean anyway, like she just happened to think about me? Besides, this just proves Aunt Kate’s not been telling me everything. If I was there, I’d give her a piece of my mind.”

  “That’d be punishment enough.” Jeb escaped to his room, only to have Angel follow.

  “Who are you to poke fun, anyway? Somebody’s got to get sick or die to make space for you.”

  “You act like I don’t have plans for the future, Angel, like I’m still drifting around. But I got big plans. Jeb Nubey’s moving up in the world. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous? That’s a big laugh. You’re still nothing but a stray cat hanging on the screen door of life, Jeb Nubey! Last time I checked, nobody’s jealous of strays.”

  Anxious to change the subject, Jeb splashed some cologne he’d splurged on at the Woolworth’s onto his hands and then his neck. “You’re not dragging me into another of your fights, Biggest. I got better fish to fry.”

  She sniffed. “That would explain the smell. I’ve smelt cow patties less potent. What’s that you’re slapping on, anyway?”

  “I’ll have you know this men’s smellum is sold even in Hot Springs. You don’t know anything about what the upper crust is using, so you may as well give up trying.”

  “Upper crust, hah! The day you turn into upper crust, is the day Wolvertons’ hogs sprout wings.”

  “I don’t expect you to elevate your thinking just because things are changing for the better for me.” He returned to the kitchen and gathered up his sermon notes.

  “Life don’t have no elevators, Jeb Nubey; I have news for you.” Angel tossed aside her letter and returned to the stove. “If we hear from Daddy, Aunt Kate says I should tell him to send money. Like I’m going to hear from Daddy! Seems like ever since Uncle Wayne left, money’s all Aunt Kate ever talks about.”

  “I guess if you got it, you don’t think about it.” Jeb put away his Bible and picked up a copy of Augustine’s writings. It had been in a stack of books Fern had given to Gracie to give to Jeb when his internship commenced.

  “If I were taking care of Momma, she’d be well.”

  “Did your Aunt Kate ask you to come?” Before Jeb could find his place again in the book, Angel said, “I think I should quit school and get a job. If I could get my own place, Momma could live with me. ”

  “Girls like you can’t find jobs no better than cleaning houses. You want to do that the rest of your life, then quit school!”

  “Maybe I should and maybe I will!”

  “You always get like this when you want something.”

  “I see how you look sometimes if we get into a fight or don’t seem to have enough food to go around at supper. I know when I’m not wanted.”

  “I saw you eyeing that dress in the Woolworth’s. This is a new dress fight, ain’t it?”

  “You don’t hear nothing that I say. Momma’s sick because she don’t have real care, not the kind that I can give.”

  “There you go again, acting like you’re going to haul off and leave. Funny how it always happens after Woolworth’s opens a new box of goods.”

  “You think I’m talking about dresses? You lost your mind or something?”

  “Maybe I’m not the best provider. But I’ve seen people in worse situations than us. We got this roof over our head. No one’s making us live out of a cardboard box.”

  Angel started pacing and shaking her head.

  “I’ve been looking for extra work, in case you hadn’t noticed. One of these days that lumbermill’s going to need another hand again, and I’ve got my name in for it. All the other mills have gone out because no one is building right now. But everybody needs barrels, and now, due to Hayes Jernigan’s know-how, we got the best stave mill between here and Texas. Besides all that, I’ll soon have some income as the new preacher. Least I should.” He stopped to consider the matter. “Come to think of it, maybe I need to bring that up with Gracie.” He came back to his original thought, let out a breath, and said, “Keep your mind on school, Angel, and stop worrying about how you look all the time.”

  “Are we talking about me or you?”

  Jeb shrugged. Angel was complicated. Like Fern. “Can we talk about dinner?”

  Jeb slaughtered a rabbit out in the woods away from Ida May’s sight. The critter squealed like a girl and then fell limp over his hand. He skinned it and left the pelt to dry on a stump while Angel dressed and cut up the rabbit and stewed it an hour before adding the soup. By nightfall, the stew and hot bread were ready for supper just as Jeb turned on The Grand Old Opry.

  The headlights of the Foleys’ DeSoto shone through the trees as the car rattled up near the front porch. Willie leaped out of the car and nearly fell onto the stone steps before running across the porch and into the living room.

  “They’s a riot downtown, Jeb!”

  Jeb turned off the radio. “Anyone hurt? You all right, Willie Boy?”

  Willie could not get his breath. Mrs. Foley eased onto the front porch holding her handbag against her thin stomach. She called out to Jeb, “We’re all fine, Reverend. But someone’s goin’ to get hurt. They set fire to a likeness of Banker Mills. Not a good likeness, neither, come to think of it. Just some straw man with a sign around its neck that said ‘Rich Old Mills.’ Wonder who’d do such a thing? It’s looking bad down there; talk goin’ around like they’s goin’ to set fire to downtown. I hope they don’t burn down Honeysack’s place. Supposed to be a good sale tomorrow on quiltin’ goods.”

  Jeb thanked Mrs. Foley for dropping Willie by and then jerked on his boots.

  “You’re going downtown, Jeb? Now?” Angel held a pan of corn bread with two stained
mitts.

  “Somebody’s going to get hurt. It’s best I go see about things.”

  Willie tried to follow him back out the front door.

  “Not you, Willie Boy! Back inside with you. Your sister’s got supper fixed. You stay behind, keep an eye on the girls, and have your dinner.”

  “Beck Hopper said something like this might happen,” said Angel.

  Jeb’s eyes darted to meet Angel’s. She started to turn away, but before she could, Jeb said, “Things like that are best not kept a secret, Angel.” Jeb did not like the fact she had been hanging around with the Hopper boy anyway. His daddy was getting a bad reputation of late for starting fights.

  “He didn’t say exactly, just that people was tired of seeing their kids go hungry, and someone was going to do something about it. Beck don’t see his daddy as mean like the rest of us do. Kind of like he’s blind to his daddy’s ways. I kind of see his side of it.”

  Angel called Ida May to the table and sent Willie to wash up. She wrapped two pieces of corn bread in a napkin and handed them to Jeb. “Eat these on the way and we’ll save stew for later.”

  Even before the truck could reach the main street of downtown Nazareth, the intensity of the fire could be seen—red and billowing black smoke from one of the buildings, although Jeb was not certain about what building had caught fire. Several screaming women with babies or older children in tow ran down the street away from the mob of men lining Front Street. Jeb slowed and parked several blocks down the street to keep the Ford away from the fire.

  One building on Waddle had been torched. Several men who had been in the middle of a shave and haircut at Lincoln’s Barbershop waited bewildered on the corner of Waddle and Front, their bodies still swathed in the barber’s white capes. The barber, Hal Lincoln, tried to pass out buckets of water to the patrons to help him douse the front of his shop. Too stunned, the men watched mesmerized as the flames reached the old warehouse next to the barbershop.

  Tom Plummer ran past Jeb’s truck.

  “Tom, has the whole town gone crazy?” Jeb opened the truck door.