Blood of the Earth

by Faith Hunter

  “Damn it, Nell!” he answered.

  I said, “My brothers and Esther’s intended have been hunting for Esther. They’re getting ready to check Jackson’s house and the old punishment house. Then they’re going to check on the Stubbins farm, to see what’s going on there. I’ll call back if I get intel.” I thumbed the call off and made sure the ringtone was off, but I left the phone itself on. I placed it in Sam’s hand. “If you find the girls and get in trouble, punch the word SEND. That’ll redial that number. Tell the man who answers who you are and what’s going on. Federal officers will come.” Sam looked oddly amused as he pocketed the cell.

  Daddy countermanded what I had said. “Don’t call in outsiders unless you have to. Rescue Esther. If you see churchwomen that have been abused, but they ain’t in immediate harm or bodily danger, get out and get back to me as per your training. Them rescues we’ll handle as a family, us and our crowd. Iffen it’s outsiders, leave ’em be but call your sister’s police officer. Don’t be messing with evidence.” Sam raced off and Daddy handed me my coat, saying, “We’ll make a fuss at the devotions ourselves.” He looked at his wives, a severe set to his mouth. “I believe that an accusation against Joshua Purdy would be appropriate today. And it may come to an accusation against Preacher Jack.”

  Sam sent his younger brothers off to gather forces. Daddy sent others of his sons with messages to the Peays, Cohens, and Adens, warning that there would be “stringent verbal debate” at devotions. To his sons, he added, “And iffen there’s trouble at the church, get back here and institute the safety measures. Understood?”

  A dozen voices said, “Yes, sir!”

  Having no idea what was about to happen, I picked up my basket and walked with my family to the chapel.

  * * *

  The chapel was on the far side of the compound from the Nicholson house, a cold walk in the gray light of dawn. The white clapboard building was centered in a ring of green grass and oak trees, and blooming, perennial fall flowers, many of which I had planted long ago and still flourished, testament to my gift with plants. The steeple was tall and narrow, mounted with a weathered wooden cross. Electric lights burned from within, through the clear panes of glass, some appearing irregular, and with air bubbles in them from when they had been hand-blown over a century ago. At one time, this building had been as much my home as anyplace on Earth. Now, after all the shattering revelations, I didn’t know what to think about home or family or safety. Why did my family stay here?

  Walking behind Daddy and Mama Carmel, one arm through Mama’s and the other through Mama Grace’s, surrounded by young’uns and effectively hidden by the family, I climbed the steps to the church and entered. The interior walls were still white-painted wallboard, the pews hand-shaped oak that had been treated recently, and was shiny, unlike my memories of them, seating as many as four hundred worshipers. The dais at the front placed the preacher three steps higher than the congregation, with a fancy carved wood podium. The floors were wood as well, and our feet were loud as we entered the church and Daddy led us to the Nicholson pews. My great-grandfather had shaped four of the pews, and his name was carved into the olive branch on the armrests. Every family had contributed at least one pew, and the family names were similarly carved. Daddy stood aside and we filed in.

  I strained over Mama’s shoulder to see the two pews that were carved with the words WELCOMED GUESTS, but they were empty. I sat and Mama pulled a scarf from a pocket and slid it over my head and around my shoulders, hiding who I was. I set my basket on the floor and stared at my hands, fisted in my lap, thinking about the family history. My own history. If I had known the truth, would I have built a life on my own when John died, or would I have gone back into the church and the safety of the Nicholsons, and been remarried at the behest of my daddy into some other home? Would I have young’uns by now, my own family? Would I have given up my land to the ownership of a man? I wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it.

  Mud pushed against Mama Grace and me, wriggled herself onto the bench beside me, and wrapped an arm around my waist. All by itself, my arm went around her and I pulled her tight.

  “Welcome one and all to morning devotions. Welcome the day with thanksgiving.” It was Jackie, his voice unable to boom as his daddy’s had, unable to make the rafters shake with hellfire and damnation and politics couched in Biblical sayings, but strong just the same, thanks to the microphone, ringing in the vaulted space. I tuned Jackie out and kept my eyes downcast through the Bible reading and the hour-long service, wondering if Sam and my brothers had found and rescued Esther.

  I was happier than a bluebird in spring that my family would have saved my sister even if I hadn’t come. The Nicholsons were nothing like the people I had thought them to be. They were practically heroes. And yet I worried until Jackie’s final prayer.

  As he intoned, eyes closed and hands uplifted, from the corner of my eye, I saw Sam, Amos, and Rufus, walk down the aisle, all three carrying shotguns, all three silent. They took positions that looked carefully planned and choreographed, Sam standing beside Daddy, passing him a shotgun. That made four weapons in the house of God, five counting my revolver. The two half sibs went to the front of the church and took up places on opposite sides of the rows of pews.

  Sam whispered into Daddy’s ear, the words too low to hear. I glanced back and saw two other men. One was Caleb Campbell, Priss’ husband. Fredi and Priss were in the Campbell pew behind me, faces pinched and white, holding hands. A tremor of fear racked through me at the number of unprotected men, women, and children, all in danger.

  At the back of the church stood Elder Aden and Sister Erasmus, both faces uncompromising and austere. And Esther stood beside them, pale and drawn and bruised. There were bandages on her lower arms, with blood seeping through. Jedidiah Whisnut stood with her, holding her close beneath his arm, fury on his face so strong I thought he might explode, but his shotgun was nowhere in sight and I remembered Daddy saying to keep Jedidiah from causing more trouble. Sam might have taken the weapon.

  But no one had taken mine. The heat of anger licked through me like wildfire, and I slipped my hand into my breadbasket, onto the gun, my hand on the grip, rage a low vibration in me. Jackie finished his prayer, saying, “Amen, brothers and sisters!”

  At which point, my daddy stood and said, “Preacher, elders, deacons. I bring unto you a conundrum, a difficulty, and a sin that must be rooted out. An accusation to be judged by the elders and the deacons, as according to Scripture.”

  Jackie’s eyes landed on the back of the church. Likely on Esther. He shouted, “Perhaps this evening’s devotional might—”

  “This will not be shelved!” my daddy shouted, his voice overpowering Jackie’s.

  A babble broke out among the families, and Old Man Campbell called, “I second Deacon Nicholson’s right to speak to the congregation.”

  Elder Aden’s distinctive, high voice piped up, “Where there be sin, it must be rooted out!”

  A voice I didn’t remember from my childhood said, “Has the scriptural methodology for settling of disputes been addressed?”

  Keeping my head low, I darted my eyes around, taking in the congregation’s expressions, trying to read body language. Trying to evaluate where the weapons were likely to be, besides those carried by my brothers and the Campbells. I knew next to nothing about paramilitary tactics, but from a hunter’s point of view, if I had wanted to box in the exits and the podium both, I’d have put people just where my family had taken places, cornering them and cutting off anyone’s retreat. And Elder Aden stood betwixt the congregation and the back door, boxing everyone in perfectly.

  My daddy bellowed, “I call accusations against Joshua Purdy, who did lay hands upon my daughter the widder-woman Nell Nicholson Ingram, with intent to abuse her honor and her body, such actions bein’ without consent of her family and approval of her church, and against her will.”

>   The congregation went dead silent at the words and I dropped my head lower. This was not what I had expected.

  Into the shocked silence Joshua shouted, “I call that lies. The woman did entice me into her bed! She is wicked and evil and has called upon demons to defend her!”

  “You keep silent until you are allowed to speak, Joshua Purdy,” Daddy said, his voice a growl I had never heard before. Daddy closed his shotgun with a kerclunk-snap and stepped out of the Nicholson pew. He lifted the shotgun and pointed it at the Purdy pew, where Joshua’s voice had come from. “Iffen you open your mouth again, boy, I will personally and with great satisfaction knock out your’n teeth. And I contend that this church will allow such action as just and good punishment for your evil.”

  Sam’s deep voice said, “I call accusations against Ernest Jackson Jr. for taking action meaning mischief upon my sister the widder-woman Nell Nicholson Ingram, to issue orders to bring harm upon her home, said action being taken with shotguns that did damage to her home, windows, outer walls, and that did require intermediation by the law enforcement Senior Special Agent Rick LaFleur with PsyLED in order to protect her.

  “I call accusation against Jackson Jr. for laying hands upon my sister Esther Nicholson, stealing her away after dark last night, against her will and the will of her father who had given her into the keeping of her affianced as according to her will and to church law. And in so doing, causing bodily harm from stealth attack upon her affianced, Jedidiah Whisnut.

  “And I call Jackie to account for the pain and suffering my sister Esther did suffer at his hands.”

  Following his words, there were whispers through the church that sounded like bees attacking. I had tilted my eyes to Sam in surprise as he spoke. He sounded like a lawyer. And for him to say all that, Sam had to have spoken to Rick. He had called the PsyLED agent on the cell I’d given him. Or he had answered the phone when Rick called.

  Sam went on. “By all these actions did Joshua Purdy and Ernest Jackson Jr. bring shame upon this church, actions being in contradiction of the law of the land and against the law of the church and of Scripture. And then did Jackson Jr. and his cohorts lie about the situations and events, despite the earlier questions and the facts of clear evidence.”

  The babble became louder at the accusation against the preacher.

  Jackson lowered a hand into the podium, into an open space where the big church Bible was kept, a nook that was big enough to hold a weapon too.

  Sam pointed his shotgun at Jackie and said, simply, “Don’t.” Jackie didn’t draw a gun or shoot anyone. Slowly he stood upright and placed both hands on the podium where they could be seen. His dark hair hung around his sweaty face, the curled tips sticking to his heated skin.

  My chest hurt with fear and my lungs ached to draw breath, but something like pride welled up in me. My hands clenched painfully, as the congregational method of settling disputes continued. Mud clasped my elbow tightly.

  “Last,” my brother said, “I do bring accusations against the preacher, Jackson Jr., for abuse of his concubines, Havilah and Henrietta Sanders, who were just discovered shackled in the new punishment room in his home. I have evidence that they have been beaten and bitten and hurt, and are in dire condition, like unto death.”

  A woman’s voice piped up, “I told you not to let that man have our girls!”

  “Shut up, woman,” a man said. I recognized Brother Sanders’ tenor voice, raised in anger and embarrassment.

  “I will not shut up.”

  I didn’t turn around but heard a scuffle in the back of the church and a resounding smack. “I’ll hit you again if you try to stop me, husband,” the woman said. And I realized Mrs. Sanders had hit her husband, not the other way around. It was sinful, but I felt a flame of delight ignite in my heart. “I’m going to see my babies,” she said.

  Sam said, “Mrs. Sanders. I have called an ambulance. They’ll meet you there. One of the Campbell brothers will see you safely to the preacher’s house.” Sam turned to me and even with my head down, I could feel him looking at me. He sounded like Daddy when he said, “And I’ve called the police.” The church went silent at that, and I tilted my head so Sam could see my smile. He gave me one back and it lightened my heart.

  “The church will address the second complaint first,” Elder Aden said. “Where were Nell Ingram’s family during said confrontation on the Ingram land?” he asked.

  “We’uns was on church property,” Daddy said. “We’uns was not properly informed about an action against Nell. Nor was we’uns allowed opportunity to attend such action with the church leaders as witnesses.”

  “Are there witnesses?” Elder Aden asked.

  “None of the church that will speak truth,” Daddy said. “But there were law enforcement officers there, police who saw those involved.”

  “Is there evidence?”

  “There is evidence of damage to the house, such damage being repaired by widder-woman Ingram’s insurance policy,” Daddy said.

  “Witnesses!” Jackie shouted. “I claim legal right to question witnesses.”

  “Is the policeman willing to testify to the damage and the culprits?” Elder Aden asked.

  I nodded and Daddy said, “Yes.”

  “Good enough. I see Esther Nicholson in the back of the church. Can you speak to the charges laid, girl?” Esther must have nodded because Elder Aden continued. “Did Jackson Jr. abuse you unto dishonor? Let the record show she nodded yes. Did he abuse you with fists and teeth and threats? Let the record show she nodded yes. Did he bite you? Let the record show that she nodded yes. Anything you want to add Esther?”

  I heard soft discussion in the back of the church and Jedidiah said, “My Esther said the preacher done drank her blood. Like he’s some kinda blood-drinking vampire.”

  The entire church went silent as the members digested that revelation.

  “Are there other complaints to be stated by the Nicholson family?” Elder Aden asked, his voice heavy. When Daddy said no, Elder Aden said, “Are there complaints and accusations from others in the congregation?”

  The unknown voice said again, “Has the scriptural methodology for settling of disputes been addressed?”

  “That will be addressed after the litany of complaints have been laid bare,” Aden said. This time his voice came from a different location, and I saw that the old man had moved to the front of the church, to the side of the pulpit at an angle across from my armed brothers. He appeared to be unarmed, but his jacket hung far too large on his aged, bony shoulders; he could have been carrying a cannon and I wouldn’t have noticed it.

  From the back of the church a woman said, “Women are not chattel to be bought and sold or to be used as weapons. They are to be reverenced and given respect.” It was Sister Erasmus, her distinctive, coarse voice taking up the accusations. “It is common knowledge among the womenfolk that Jackson Jr. has done evil to women. I can name half a dozen women who will provide spoken testimony against him. But their complaints have fallen on the deaf ears of the current deacons. I ask you, when did we fall so low? When did it become acceptable for menfolk to mistreat womenfolk? And when did Jackie start biting women? And why? Why is he drinking their blood like some kind of vampire? Has he become possessed by Satan? Have all our deacons become possessed?”

  Elder Aden said, “Hang on there, wife. Are the complaints brought by the Nicholson clan all stated and have all been made public?”

  “All Nicholson complaints have been stated before the church,” Daddy said.

  “We will first address the issues of violence against the widder-woman Mrs. Ingram. Miss Nicholson, Jedidiah, have yourselves a seat, unless there’s need for immediate medical intervention? No? Good.” In the silence of the church, I heard them sitting. Quoting the voice from the back of the church, Aden asked, “Has the scriptural methodology for settling of disputes been addr
essed?”

  With not a hint of church accent in his voice, Daddy said, “The issue with my daughter has been addressed privately several times over the years. She is owed compensation for her prolonged abuse and compensation for her insurance deductible and compensation for any premiums that increase due to the destruction of property.”

  “I second the requirement for compensation,” Caleb Campbell said. “I call for a voice vote.”

  Aden said, “All in favor?”

  There was a firm, if scattered group of ayes.

  “All against?”

  The nays were much fewer and farther between. I’d be getting church money. I had never considered such a thing. And I had never heard such a fast and choreographed dispute. When I snuck a glance at Jackie, his face was flushed with turmoil, as if he might have a stroke on the spot.

  “The ayes carry,” Aden said. “Compensation and damages for Nell Ingram’s house to be discussed at next meeting of the elders and the deacons, after devotionals tonight, said compensation to come from the Jackson and Purdy coffers and not the church coffers. As to the other accusation of the evil done to Esther Nicholson? Is there evidence?” Two seconds later Elder Aden said, “Did Jackie do all that? Let the record show that there are bruises and wounds upon the face and arms of Esther Nicholson. Are there other wounds?” he asked her. “Other wounds are present, such wounds to be addressed by medical professionals. Compensation?”

  I frowned. They were going to give her money for her pain? Money? Jackie need to be in jail. Or his blood in my hands.

  Daddy looked back and questioned, “Sufficient to provide for you for ten years?” He faced the front of the church again and said, “Ten years. And my daughters and my family shall make accusations to the police,” Daddy said.