Heaven's Crooked Finger

by Hank Early

  “She’ll die,” the midwife I’d later come to know as Granny said. At the time, this woman had no name to me other than “the midwife.” She’d delivered all of us, and Daddy told how she had once been a good Christian woman but had gone weak in the mind over the course of her long life and forgotten the fear of hell and the power of God to put you there.

  “Leave me be, woman,” he said. “I’ll not have you corrupt my boys with that kind of talk.”

  “What talk?” the old woman said. “Just the truth. I’ve seen it before. She needs a doctor. She’ll die before the night is out.”

  “Leave,” Daddy said again, and his voice was deep and forceful, the way he spoke when he was calling out demons.

  “I’ll take that child with me,” the old woman said.

  Daddy slapped her, and she fell to the muddy ground. “You’ve done enough, woman.”

  Daddy held the naked child up again, and the rain beat against her tiny body as he asked for some mercy from the sky.

  “Fetch an umbrella,” Daddy said. “Get her out of here.”

  I didn’t want to leave Aida, but I knew better than to argue with Daddy, so I went into the house and found the one and only umbrella we owned. When I came back out, the old woman nodded at me and took my arm. Together, we worked our way up across Houston’s Pass and up the mountain to the little cabin where she lived, where I would live just a few short years later. She said nothing until we stood in front of her house.

  Only then did she turn and face me. “When you go back, your sister will be dead. You should mourn her, but all isn’t lost. It’s the only chance your father may have.”

  I remember being utterly confused by her words. How could Aida’s death be a chance for my father? I should have asked her, but instead I just helped her up the two steps to her darkened house and held the door as she disappeared inside and from my life for what I assumed would be forever. After all, if Daddy forbade her to come around, that was final. His word carried the weight of law in the mountains. How could I have known I would run to her years later because she was the only person I could think of who would not judge me?

  She’d been right about Aida. When I came back, the house was completely dark. The rain had stopped, and there was only silence.

  Inside, I found Lester sitting beside Mama on the couch, where she’d delivered just a few hours earlier.

  “Where’s Aida?” I asked.

  A remnant of lighting flashed, and the windows filled with a brilliance that blinded me momentarily.

  “Where’s Aida and Daddy?” No one answered me.

  Later, I would discover she’d died only a few minutes after I’d left. At first, Daddy wouldn’t accept it. He screamed to the heavens, begging God to fix it, but when it became apparent he was wasting his breath, he took a shovel from the shed and started up the mountain with the dead child.

  He didn’t come back that night, nor the next day, until my mother sent me to find him. When I did locate him, he was in that graveyard.

  Six years later, I’d recognized the little rock Daddy had laid atop of her grave. I wondered then if spirits could linger or if they just dissipated into nothingness upon death. Once, I’d believed in Daddy’s versions of heaven and hell, but after the snakebite, I couldn’t bring myself to believe in much of anything anymore.

  A branch broke somewhere behind me. I spun around, nearly losing my balance and falling into the creek.

  “Who’s there?” I said. My voice sounded weak, scared. This was it. This was the thing I’d felt earlier. It was here.

  I clenched my fists, ready to fight whatever creature might appear.

  Then I heard a high, musical laugh, so light and silky smooth it might have just been the creek water against the grooved rocks.

  It came again, followed by a voice that sent a shiver running from my scalp all the way to the tips of my toes. Maggie.

  I saw her clearly as she stepped from the shadows and into a beam of moonlight. I swear the white dress she wore was so sheer, it might as well have been gossamer. Her whole body revealed itself to me in a glimpse of visual perfection I would never forget.

  “Earl?” she said.

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  She stepped closer. I felt good. Dangerously good.

  I had no idea why she was here with me, but I did have enough sense to know that Lester would have already made his proposal. “Congratulations,” I told her, my voice stiff and harsh, betraying the jealousy I harbored.

  Her face was difficult to read. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look particularly sad either. That would come later. Right then, she just looked like an alien to my seventeen-year-old eyes.

  “You and Lester, right?” I said, beginning to worry I might have given his secret away. Maybe he’d taken ill or they’d gotten their signals crossed. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that she might have said no—until she actually told me she did.

  “Lester and me are finished,” she said. She stepped even closer.

  “Finished? You’ve been dating for, what—a year?”

  She shrugged, and one of the straps of her dress slipped down her shoulder. “I lost track.”

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “I came to see you. I hope that’s okay.”

  I felt the tingle again, and this time it was deeper, that same itch I’d tried and failed to scratch with the snake.

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  Except it wasn’t fine. And I already knew exactly what was up. She moved closer to me still, and I did not back away.

  To this very day, I wished so badly that I had.

  18

  Mary woke me up the next morning with a knock on the church door. Goose sat up and woofed loudly. Rufus cursed. I patted Goose’s head and peeled his bandage back to get a look at the bite. Mary’s friend had shaved the hair around it and told me to watch closely for signs of infection. It looked good.

  The knocking came again, this time more insistent.

  “You gonna get that?” Rufus said.

  “Yep.” I glanced over at Rufus. He was wearing nothing but an old pair of ragged tighty-whities. “You might want to put some clothes on.”

  He cursed again and stood. He stumbled over to a pile of clothes draped over Daddy’s old lectern. He shrugged on a pair of overalls but didn’t bother with a shirt.

  I slipped down the aisle and out into the small gathering space. I slid the latch off the door and pulled it open.

  “This is where you’re staying?”

  I smiled. “It’s home.”

  “Invite her in,” Rufus called.

  “Is that your friend?”

  I nodded and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “He’s a little bit of a sight, but I promise he’s harmless.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Come on in.”

  She stepped inside. “This was the old church?”

  “Yep, it’s where Brother RJ made his name by pretending to have that special pipeline to the Lord. Welcome to the Holy Flame. The only church where a man—and occasionally even a woman—can find salvation.”

  “Wait, the only church?”

  “Daddy believed if you didn’t go here, you were destined for hell. It didn’t matter if you were Billy Graham or the Pope, you were lost.”

  “Jesus,” she said.

  “You can say that again.”

  She shot me a look that seemed to suggest she wasn’t a fan of the way I was making light of it all. But I didn’t care. It was one of the only ways I could deal with the past. The other options—withdrawal and bitterness—had not served me well.

  Rufus stepped out into the gathering space. “I smell an angel,” he said.

  I sighed, sure Mary would be offended, but she smiled broadly. “Well, thank you, sir. It’s just a little soap and some lavender-scented lotion.”

  “It’s just about the best thing I’ve smelled all day,” he said. He held out his hand.
“I’m Rufus.”

  “Mary,” she said. I was surprised to see she didn’t seem put off by his appearance or his pervy old-man ways. “Earl says you’ve had some trouble out here?”

  “I have, but I think he may have taken care of it for me.”

  She glanced my way, another nearly unreadable expression. It might have been irritation, or it might have been amusement. Either way, I liked it, which was beginning to be a trend.

  “Well, I brought you something. It’s what we call a burner phone. It’s a cell phone with some minutes already programmed in. I’ve added my direct line to the contacts. If you have any more problems—that Earl can’t handle—call me immediately. You shouldn’t have to put up with those assholes.”

  Rufus smiled so big, it looked like his lips might split. “Oooh, I like you,” he said. “I like you a lot.”

  “Thanks,” Mary said brightly. “You mind looking after Goose today?”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ll be working in the cemetery most of the day. We can look out after each other. I’ve even got an old leash around here somewhere. He’ll help me branch out. Maybe we’ll take a walk.”

  We took Mary’s Tahoe and drove over to Small Mountain. Following the GPS in the dash, we arrived at a cluster of mobile homes situated on the side of a hill. It looked like several of them were in danger of tumbling down the side of the mountain if not for some strategically placed rocks that had helped maintain a tenuous balance.

  “According to the records I pulled, nearly all of these trailers are owned by a DeWalt. You got a preference?”

  I took off my Braves cap and scratched my unkempt hair. I examined each of the trailers until I found one littered with empty beer cans. It was also missing a window, and the pickup sitting in front looked like it had been there since time out of mind. “There,” I said.

  “Interesting choice. I’d love to know why you picked the absolute roughest looking place.”

  “Yeah, I can tell you’re not from around here. There’s a lot that’s changed in thirty years, but I can guarantee one thing hasn’t.”

  “And that is?”

  “Your church types are going to typically keep a neater house. Especially Holy Flame members. It was always one of Daddy’s things: idle hands are the devil’s playthings, a clean house helps keep a clean mind, all that bull crap.”

  “Gotcha. But why do we need to avoid church members? If you think there’s some connection between what happened to your father and McCauley, the church folks might know best.”

  “They would know best. But the problem is those folks won’t talk. Unless things have changed since Daddy’s death, we won’t get a damned thing out of them.”

  “So what you’re saying is that your father’s church—now your brother’s church—is essentially a cult?”

  I’d thought about that a lot over the years and once even went as far as signing up for a class at a community college about cults. I dropped out after the first one caused me to think of the old days pretty much constantly, and at that point in my life, it was just easier to let it go. So that was what I did. I let it go and stopped trying to decide.

  “I’m no expert, but I think you’re on the right track. Whatever you call it, the church I came up in was seriously messed up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I waved her off. “Let’s go in.”

  “No, seriously, that sucks you had to grow up like that. Granny told me a little bit about what happened.”

  I clenched my jaw tightly. I did not want to do this.

  “She doesn’t really know much about it,” I said. I tried to keep my voice even and low—I didn’t want to be an asshole to Mary. I’d been an asshole to so many people over the years and ruined relationships because of how defensive the subject made me. I refused to let that happen with Mary.

  “Well, she knows a little about it. I mean, she gave you a place to live after it happened.”

  “I think that came out wrong before,” I said. “Can we just go inside now?”

  She nodded. “Sure. No problem. Sorry if I overstepped—”

  I didn’t hear the rest. I climbed out and slammed the Tahoe door before she could finish.

  Why couldn’t I talk about it?

  I sucked in a deep breath of mountain air and tried to clear my head. I heard Mary get out on the other side.

  Change the subject, Earl.

  “So,” I said, trying to be casual, friendly, “who should lead this thing?”

  Mary’s face was noticeably neutral, and I feared she was trying to hide her true feelings of irritation at my prickliness. “It’s your show,” she said.

  “Sure thing.”

  I knocked on the door.

  It swung open an instant later, and we both stepped back. A man dressed in a tank top and a pair of tight pink briefs, carrying an oversized can of Colt 45, lurched from the trailer and knocked me aside. He stumbled down the hill, losing his balance twice before righting himself and leaning over, hands on knees, legs spread. He heaved once. Twice. Good Lord. He just kept vomiting.

  I turned away and saw Mary was holding her nose and looking up at the clear sky.

  A voice called from inside the trailer. “Shut the goddamn door! I ain’t trying to cool the whole damned mountain!”

  I looked over at the man—who I now noticed was at least my age if not older. He’d stopped vomiting, which was good, but then he did something even more nauseating: he lifted the can of Colt 45, took a big swig, and swished it around his mouth for a good fifteen seconds. For a moment, I thought he was going to redeem himself and spit it out, but the thought of wasting any must have been too much. With a shrug, he swallowed it all down.

  “Ugh,” Mary said. “Like I said, your show.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” I said.

  He held up a finger while he swished some more around. He swallowed it again and turned to face us.

  “Who are you?”

  I looked at Mary. She just shook her head and looked right back.

  “Sheriff’s office,” I said.

  The man drained the rest of the can and tossed it against the trailer. “They got coloreds at the sheriff’s office now?”

  I glanced at Mary. She was surprisingly cool about the slur. I felt just the opposite.

  “I’m going to ask you to rephrase that,” I said.

  He belched loudly. “There. Rephrased. Now get off my property unless you got some kind of warrant.”

  “We just have a few questions, sir.” Mary’s voice was pleasant and professional. I couldn’t help but admire her grace. I decided to take a cue from her and attempt to keep my temper under control.

  But I knew there wouldn’t be much I could do if he insulted her again.

  “What’s this about?”

  “We’re trying to find out about a woman named Allison. Allison DeWalt.”

  Everything about the man changed in an instant. I’d heard of sobering news, but I’d always just figured it was an expression. In this case, it was the best way to describe his transformation. At the very mention of the name, he no longer seemed drunk.

  “Sir?” Mary said. “Do you know that name?”

  “This some kind of joke?”

  “No, sir.”

  He shook his head and seemed to notice suddenly that he was standing in what passed for his front yard wearing nothing but a dirty wife-beater and a pair of pink briefs. “Goddamnit,” he said. “Yeah, we’re going to talk. We’re going to talk for damned sure. Wait your asses right here. I’m going to put on some clothes.”

  He brushed passed me again, this time his gait steady, and when he bumped my shoulder, it was clearly done with purpose.

  I let it go. Always easier to let slights go when they were directed at me. What did I care if he bumped my shoulder? But he was damn sure going to leave Mary alone.

  When he went inside, he shut the door, and I looked over at Mary. Her eyes widened just a bit, and I had to chuckle a little. “Welcome to th
e Fingers.”

  When he came back, he was wearing a pair of jeans and some boots. A small woman stood behind him in the doorway, peering at us from the darkened trailer.

  “I swear,” he said. “If this is some kind of joke, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”

  I glanced at Mary. She shrugged. “Man,” I said, “we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You said it was about Allison, right?”

  “That’s right. Did you know her?”

  “Hell, yes, I knew her. She was my sister.”

  “Okay, that’s a good start,” I said. “Can we come in and talk?”

  The woman had straight black hair that reached the rise of her hips. She scowled at us and jabbed a finger in my face. “You ain’t stepping foot in my house until we get a goddamn apology.”

  “Ma’am,” I said, “we haven’t done anything that warrants an apology.”

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “You haven’t done nothing? You haven’t done nothing? Goddamn, that’s the problem. It’s been seventeen years, and now you want to talk?”

  A quick glance at Mary made it clear she was just as confused as I was.

  “Seventeen years,” the woman said. “We couldn’t get you out here then. We called and called. Went to the damned office. All those times, and it was always the same thing.”

  “Darlin’,” the man said. He put a hand gently on her shoulder, but the woman shrugged it off.

  “Don’t even ‘darlin’’ me, Wyatt. You know as well as I do that it ain’t right.”

  He nodded and put his hand down.

  “Okay,” Mary said, “I think I get it.”

  We all waited.

  “You’re disappointed in the way the sheriff’s office handled your sister’s suicide.”

  The small woman stepped forward and thrust her chest into Mary’s. “Say suicide again. Say it one more time. I’ll rip you apart!”

  Mary stepped back as I reached forward to grab the woman. She screamed and flailed at me wildly. I pushed her away and into her husband. He nearly knocked her over in his zeal to hit me. Luckily his first swing missed.

  And even more luck: the crack that nearly blew out my eardrum when Mary fired not one, but two shots into the sky was enough to throw my retaliation off. My punch landed harmlessly against the doorframe. Otherwise, I would have smashed his nose all to hell.