Nazareth's Song

by Patricia Hickman

  “It ain’t angels, Momma,” said Beck. “Angels don’t hate nobody.”

  “I don’t feel hate from this town, Beck. Not anymore,” said Telulah. She’d had a strange dream in the night. She and the boys were driving through Nazareth and they passed a tall building. Suddenly mud dumped onto them from above. As they looked up, they could see the church people hurling dirt their way, covering everything they owned with muck and hissing at them with venomous sayings.

  But there had been one man standing in the middle of them all. He had the kindest eyes and was the only one not dropping mud onto their heads. He looked on them with so many emotions, Telulah had to count them—pity, love, remorse, and shame at the way the others behaved.

  Telulah had smiled at him and when she did, she saw him for who he really was.

  “Don’t be mad at these churchfolk, boys. They have no idea what they’re doing.”

  After passing around a loaf of bread and making the boys say grace, she listened to the singing and organ chording and hummed along, even though she was not sure of the words.

  She knew that did not matter to God.

  Jeb shook hands with every person in attendance that morning. The sun had finally warmed the front porch enough that Jeb could stand outside and make room for those departing for home. He stopped Will Honeysack and said quietly, “Could you ask Bryce’s campaign committee to stop politicking out on the church lawn, Will? I know it’s election week, but today is the Sabbath.”

  Will laughed and agreed the campaign should stop at the front gates of the church. “Best message you ever preached, Jeb. I wish Gracie could have heard it. He’d be proud—and even prouder of the crowd you brought in this morning. The offering’s three times higher than last week’s. Good thing; I heard we’re missing a bell.”

  Jeb voiced to Will a thought that had come to him this morning before he delivered the sermon. “I got us an idea on how we could help your nephew.”

  “Don’t say? That boy needs help. A man ought to be horsewhipped for taking advantage of a young man’s trust in these hard times.”

  “I got me a little cash, and I was thinking that if I bought up those chicks of his, I could raise them out in a barn on Ivey Long’s place. I figure folks could use a good laying hen or a stewing hen every now and then. Ivey’s got a barn with nothing in it at all, and if I pay him a little, he might let me keep chickens in it.”

  “That’s generous of you. You sure you want the whole lot of them, Reverend? He’d need at least twenty for the load.”

  Jeb liked the price. “Tell him I’ll take them. He can find me at the church most days. I’ll take him out to Long’s barn.” Jeb made a note to himself to remember to talk with Ivey. Then he dug out the cash and handed it to Will.

  “You’ll be like a savior to that boy, Reverend Jeb.” Will shook his hand before he handed the offering plate off to Jeb.

  Jeb watched Will as he headed out to corral Bryce’s supporters and quell their enthusiasm for election week. He felt good about his poultry idea. A bunch of chicks at such a low price would soon turn a nice profit over the winter. With some lights and electricity, he could come up with a way to keep the barn warm. What few chicks he did lose would matter little, being bought at such a low price. But better than that, he’d be able to help out the nephew of a good friend. The idea was God sent, in his opinion.

  Jeb felt the weight of the offering basket in his hands.

  “I put a little extra in there, as promised,” said Horace from beside him. He had Amy on his arm and several lumbermen waiting to speak with him about the coming work.

  “Mr. Mills, I’d like to speak with you sometime,” said Jeb. He still wanted to get it straight with Mills that he could no longer act as deliveryman for the bank. He would rather come up with his own means for making extra money, like the poultry deal.

  “Sure thing, Reverend. Set it up with Mona. Better than that, let’s break bread together.” He looked at his wife, and she told Jeb she’d have him and the Welbys over that very week for supper one night. “How about Friday?” she asked.

  Jeb acknowledged Amy’s invitation. Behind them came Winona.

  “Make it Tuesday, Momma. Best get our time in now before Reverend Nubey’s dance card fills up for the week.” Winona rested one hand on Jeb’s arm. “I really took to heart your message this morning. It made me think and reflect on a few matters. See you Tuesday?” She sounded eager.

  Amy smiled next to Winona. Their smiles mirrored their approval of him.

  “Tuesday, then,” Jeb answered.

  Fern Coulter brought up the rear and handed Ida May off to Jeb in her usual fashion. “I could not get Angel to come to save my soul, Jeb. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but you’d think she woke up this morning in a whole new world.”

  “Whatever it is, Fern, you can be sure I’m somehow the cause. That girl can stay mad at me longer than any woman I know.”

  He froze. Fern raked her fingers through her hair, pursed her lips, and then glanced away. She cleared her throat and, choosing to avoid discussing her own grudge with him, said, “She’s a kid, Jeb. Give her a day or two, and she’ll forget whatever it is she thinks you’ve done.”

  She lingered longer than usual, silent. When Ida May ran to join a group of girls, she let out a breath and said, “I think I need to make some things right myself, Jeb. I know it’s hard to follow in Philemon Gracie’s footsteps.” Her voice softened. “But you’ve exceeded everyone’s expectations. I mean, just look at what’s happened on one Sunday.” She was more relaxed than she had been all year. “I’ve seen men here today who haven’t shadowed a church door since they were boys.” She swallowed and then continued. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s time I had a little crow with my Sunday dinner. I’d like to ask you to forgive me, Jeb. I can’t go on treating you like you’re the worst man on earth when you’re clearly one of the best.”

  Jeb withheld the urge to throw his arms around her. Instead, he touched her shoulder in as companionable a way as he could manage. He said, “You were right to call me the worst man on earth. I’ll never measure up to Philemon Gracie. But I can grow too, Fern.”

  “Now I feel worse.” She laughed, then returned his gesture by allowing her hand to pat his.

  “I’m not meaning to make you feel bad, Fern.” He delved further. “Do you finally forgive me?”

  “I really do, Jeb.” Fern shook her head as if to break the brief spell between them and took a step back. She snapped closed her handbag and then smiled. “Good things are going to come of all this. I’d best be going.”

  Jeb watched her leave. She gave him one last smile as she walked out chatting with three of her students. He did not know what to do now except let her go and feel satisfied with the acceptance of him she had offered. At least he could see her across the church and feel something besides hatred staring back at him. A grain of hopefulness was as good a start as any.

  “They sure like you as the new preacher, Jeb.” Willie ran up the steps, reveling in the attention showered on him by everyone, including some of the girls from school.

  “Enjoy it while you can, Willie Boy. Jesus was popular too, just before they crucified him.”

  “You always got to spoil our fun, Jeb. I’m going to ask every girl in the church to go steady with me by the week’s end. This is the life!”

  20

  Election Day brought every taxpaying citizen of Nazareth into town to vote at the library. The news had circulated about the Church in the Dell outlaw-turned-preacher. Young women waved at Jeb from the library steps. He tipped his hat to them as he walked around another “Bryce for Senate” sign on the library lawn. He tucked his voting stub into his pocket and headed for the jailhouse. Out front, Deputy George Maynard gabbed with some of the boys who had come into town to vote and gossip about the state police transport of Asa Hopper.

  The Nazareth jail, built stone by stone by a group of town founders desperate for a place to keep off
enders in the late 1800s, had seen at least two coats of paint the last fifty years. The painted brick in the alleyway had taken to peeling, revealing an old World War I advertisement that asked the locals to support the war.

  Jeb could see Asa pacing back and forth inside the jailhouse, one cell away from where he himself had been locked up a year ago. Someone had given Asa a pack of smokes. He lit one by another, awaiting his ride to Cummins Prison Farm—the place known by lifetime offenders as The Jungle. Not many men had come through Cummins unmarked by stories of torture.

  Maynard excused himself and disappeared inside the jailhouse office. Jeb heard the deputy call out Asa’s name, followed by the familiar wham of the clanking jail doors. Jeb met Deputy Maynard at the front door. “Asa going down to the farm today?” he asked.

  “Been a long time in the making. Shame to see a once-good family turn to ruin.” Maynard stepped aside to clear the way as the state police prepared to escort Hopper out of town. Jeb heard the sound of chains scraping the jailhouse floor. He held out his Bible and said, “I’m the prisoner’s minister. I’d like to have a word with him.”

  George Maynard nodded at the state boys. They allowed Jeb to pass. When Jeb made eye contact with Asa, the farmer lunged at him. The state police wrestled him to the floor while George said, “Maybe it’s best you don’t see Asa, Reverend. He’s still testy about his wife signing away their land.”

  “Asa, I need to talk to you,” Jeb pleaded.

  Asa calmed himself and succumbed to the cops. “I’ll let him talk, but only for a minute.”

  The policemen backed away but kept their weapons drawn.

  “You’ve got some nerve, Preacher!” Asa shot back at Jeb.

  Jeb breathed in and out and then said, “Telulah told me that the bank took your place for little to nothing.”

  “I had a deal in the works, a way to get government money to raise timber on my place. When I told Mills about it, he up and pulled together his henchmen to seal the deal for their own pockets. They stole from me and my kin. Why else would I go off and get drunk, half out of my mind?” He calmed and the cops released his arms. “What would you do, Reverend?”

  “Not try and burn down half the town, Asa.”

  Asa slumped onto the bench inside the cell. He dropped his face in his hands and fell silent as stones.

  “But I want you to know that I didn’t know all the details of the deal. It was my fault I put my trust in the bank without reading all the fine print. That’s why I came here today. To apologize.”

  Maynard cleared his throat and disappeared into the jailhouse office.

  Asa shook his finger at Jeb. “You was paid off, and the whole town knows it!”

  The cops lifted their gun barrels, cautious.

  “I can’t tell you that I wasn’t paid for a delivery, but I thought it was a deal to help your wife out of her financial spot. I was trying to help,” said Jeb. He thought his honesty might thread together a bridge of understanding. But it only seemed to make matters worse.

  “I’ve you to thank for helping my family lose everything, then. Preachers is no different than bankers or lawyers. You all on the lam! Let’s go, boys.” Asa stood and moved gingerly through the jailhouse and toward the police car that would take him to Cummins.

  Jeb watched Asa Hopper taken out of town in chains. For one full day he had taken the helm of the pastorate and led one man into ruin. In spite of Sunday’s tide of jubilation, it seemed to him that tending a flock had so far brought nothing but sadness into the lives of others. When he had decided to follow in Gracie’s legitimate footsteps, the life of a preacher had seemed noble. To Asa, he had been neither gallant nor helpful, and he was only just out of the gate.

  Asa was gone and with him went Jeb’s soul. He could not elicit a decent thought as to how he might get it back.

  Jeb could not find a good story in any of the books from his own small collection that might be usable fodder for his next Sunday sermon, let alone Sunday night and Wednesday evening. He decided to go back and pay a visit to the town library, the one building untouched by the riot fires on the block near the barbershop. He was cheered to find Fern’s automobile parked out front amid all the others. By now school had let out, and the library had become the hangout for the high school students who were not slurping malteds at Fidel’s, as well as the men and women still filing in and out to vote.

  The library’s musty aroma reminded Jeb of Fern’s house, a cottage on Long’s Pond that flowered inside with book collections and old college papers that lay in stacks on top of her bookcases. She was not like other women who kept their places like something to be shown off. Instead, Fern used every room for a place to study first one thing and then another. She had law books and science books, many from which she pulled tidbits to add to what the school textbooks meagerly fed her students.

  He did not see her readily, and he needed to make short work of his research, so he meandered around the voters’ tables and made his way to the quiet rear of the library, where he found a shelf labeled “Biographies.” Several of the titles sounded familiar, so he pulled out a few and carried them in a stack to the only vacant table along the wall.

  The first three biographies offered no charitable tales, but the fourth was the story of a man who had spent every cent he had to build a monument for the woman he loved. Jeb scrawled down the story’s gist in his notebook and was about to leave when he heard Fern’s voice. It warmed him to no end. She chattered away out of sight one aisle away and appeared to be deep in conversation with an old college friend who had come through town. Jeb heard the woman thank Fern for meeting her on short notice. He read a sentence twice and then gave his interest over to eavesdropping. Listening to her intelligent voice made him smile.

  “I’m so sorry that you and I don’t have more time together. Once I have these books checked out we can go to my place for a quick bite,” said Fern to the woman. “How I wish you could stay the night.”

  The friend asked Fern about her classes this year and then said, “Whatever happened to that preacher fellow you once told me about. Jed or some such, right?”

  “Jeb Nubey. He’s finally made it into the pulpit. Our town minister has taken ill, and Jeb’s assumed his duties. He’s done remarkably well,” said Fern.

  Jeb pushed aside his books and decided to appear around the corner so that Fern could introduce her remarkable minister to her dearly loved friend. Before he could do so, the young woman commented, “Now is this the learned man you once were telling me about?”

  “Learned? Dear me, no. I don’t think I’d ever call him learned.” Fern hesitated and then said, “Or if I did, I was wrong. Maybe it was Reverend Gracie I was calling ‘learned.’”

  Her silly little laugh suddenly annoyed Jeb.

  “He came out of Texarkana. A cotton picker, actually. Truth be told, a convict.”

  “And you almost married this man?”

  “Lenora, keep your voice down. This library has too many wags wandering around in it today. Besides, you must be mixing him up with someone else. I never said we’d marry. Did I? If I did, I was speaking out of turn. Jeb Nubey’s nothing more than an acquaintance. Here’s what I was looking for. Let’s take these books to the front and then we can go to my place.”

  Jeb did not move from his chair until he heard the women’s voices fade away. The library had fallen silent except for a high school senior troubled with a head cold. Jeb picked up his notes and left the library, making certain Fern was nowhere in sight. It was a good thing he had not yet invited her to supper before the Wednesday prayer meeting. He would not want to bore her silly with his unlearned ways.

  Come Tuesday, Jeb woke up to a new resolve. He had been waiting for a woman who would never recognize him for anything but his sow’s-ear past. Fern Coulter thought of him in the same light she regarded a stray pup—a nice feller to scratch around the ears, but not one allowed to linger around her doorstep too long for fear of fleas.

  To
night at the Millses’ dinner party, he would acknowledge Winona’s attentive signals and invite her to dinner Friday night. But first he’d find a way to discuss Asa’s accusation with Horace. If Horace had used him to swindle the Hoppers out of their land, matters would have to be rectified. But the Millses were a reasonable lot, he decided. No one in town had sided with Asa except Jeb, and it had gotten him nothing but trouble.

  Jeb dawdled around the house working on his sermon for most of the day. When the afternoon shadows crept up to the porch steps, he made certain Angel had started a meal of hot bread and soup for Willie and Ida May and then headed off to town. Angel had yet to come around in regard to the Hoppers. Jeb had decided to stay out of her arguments and keep her busy with other things. Eventually, she would see that he had nothing but the best of intentions where the Hoppers were concerned.

  He swung by Honeysack’s to pick up a bottle of men’s aftershave and found that Freda was selling bouquets—the last flowers of the season, her sign said. She helped Jeb select the freshest bouquet for Amy Mills and sold him a small bottle of aftershave that smelled like something Oz Mills would wear. Jeb used the back room to slather up with the good-smelling stuff and then bid the Honeysacks a good evening.

  “Must be an important date,” said Will.

  Jeb thanked them for the flowers and cologne and plowed through the doorway. In his haste to arrive promptly at the Mills house for dinner, he almost knocked down someone coming down the street. Fern Coulter’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Pardon me,” he apologized and then backed away, more interested in being certain he had not crushed the flowers.

  Fern found the matter more humorous than he did. She straightened her hat and sniffed the air. “What’s that you’re wearing?”

  “Aftershave. Is my tie straight?” he asked, aloof. He made every effort to look as though his mind were elsewhere, not at all concerned that she had found him on his way to the Mills house.