by D M Barrett
As the preacher walked in the door, Jack Wright exclaimed, “Preacher, you’ve got to talk to Henry Wooden. He called twice and he’s getting hostile to me!”
The preacher pointed toward the phone. Jack Wright nodded for him to use the store’s phone.
“Miss Sarah, Can you get me Lucy Wooden, Mr. Henry Wooden’s wife . . . That’s right. I want Miss Lucy not Henry,” the preacher instructed.
The butler for the Woodens entered their large parlor and announced that Pastor Thomas P. Mann was on the phone. Henry Wooden pointed toward the parlor phone suggesting that he would take it there.
“He’s asking for Mrs. Wooden,” the butler announced.
“Mrs. Wooden? Mrs. Wooden?” Mr. Henry Wooden asked successively.
“He asked specifically for Mrs. Lucy Wooden,” the butler assured him.
Mrs. Wooden moved to the phone and picked up the receiver. She waited for the butler to hang up the office phone before she answered.
“Brother Mann, this is such a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“I was not aware of this weekend’s festivities. Of course we’ll be there for the show . . . I would love to tour that shop . . . I believe there are definitely several possibilities for both of us . . . you are welcome, and we’ll see you at 11:00 am tomorrow in Ferguson,” Mrs. Wooden said as she hung up the phone.
“I need to talk to that preacher on some serious business. Didn’t he ask for me?” Mr. Wooden inquired.
“Your name didn’t come up,” Mrs. Lucy said dryly.
“Why did you tell him that we’d be in Ferguson tomorrow?” Mr. Wooden asked.
“Because the preacher and I have business to discuss, and we’re attending the Friday Frolics at the Bluebird Café. On Saturday, I’m inspecting the Ferguson clothing manufacturing business and their products. We’ll go to Brother Mann’s church service on Sunday too,” she replied.
“Is there anything else?” Henry Wooden said with slight sarcasm.
“Yes, bring your checkbook. We’re making a big fat donation to Community Church,” she instructed.
“I’ve got to have a long talk with that preacher,” Mr. Wooden thought to himself.
Mrs. Wooden soon left the parlor for the upstairs, with the butler accompanying her, to pack belongings for the trip. Henry Wooden headed for his office, closed the door, and asked the operator to connect him to Discount Grocery in Ferguson.
Unfortunately, the Ferguson exchange was being installed in the store and all lines were unavailable. It was just another Thursday frustration for Henry Wooden.
“Now preacher, Henry Wooden is going to be fit to be tied. You talked to his wife about business. You didn’t talk to him, and you knew these lines would be down till the middle of the afternoon,” Jack Wright remarked.
“The prophet Isaiah said, ‘But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength,’” the preacher replied.
“That’s good because he’ll be worn out from all that hell-raising he’s gonna be doing until you return his call,” the storekeeper said.
“It’s time for some manna and quail,” the preacher said somewhat ignoring Jack Wright.
“What does that mean?” Mr. Wright inquired.
“Fried chicken, hot biscuits and gravy at the Bluebird Café, and the preacher’s paying.”
“I feel it in my soul right now,” Jack Wright said as he grabbed the closed sign to put on the front door.
When the pair arrived at the Bluebird, the preacher noticed the local school teacher for the small Ferguson school, Miss Patricia Stoner. She motioned for the two men to join her at her table.
“Are you enjoying your summer off, Miss Stoner?” the preacher queried.
“I haven’t spent much time in Ferguson this summer. I’ve been taking some advanced classes at Middle Tennessee State Teacher’s College in Murfreesboro,” Miss Stoner reported.
“Has that been exciting?” Jack Wright asked.
“I hate to admit it, but the most exciting thing is that I met a journalism graduate, and we’ve been dating,” she said with a smile.
“I apologize for being nosey, but do you have any plans yet?” the preacher inquired.
“He graduated last semester and he’s been looking for a job. He decided on finding an old printing press and he's trying to set up a newspaper in Watertown. He wants to call it the Watertown Weekly Journal,” Miss Stoner explained.
“How will that affect your career?” the preacher queried.
“I have applied for a teaching job there in Watertown. If things work out, he’ll run the newspaper and I’ll teach in the Watertown School System. We’ll be married as soon as things are finalized,” she said.
“Looks like we may lose a good teacher and you may gain a good husband,” Jack Wright opined.
“Yes, it’s kind of bittersweet. But yes,” Miss Stoner replied.
“We’ll be praying that things will work out in the best possible way,” the preacher offered.
“Thank you so much, Brother Mann. I’ve got to get back to the school and work on my classes. I’m off until Monday. Then, it’s back to Murfreesboro for another couple weeks,” she responded.
“One more thing, Miss Stoner, what’s your sweetheart’s name?” the preacher asked.
“It’s Louis. He’s Louis Barrett from near Statesville, in Wilson County, Tennessee,” she said.
Both men stood as the teacher rose from her chair. The preacher put his hand on her lunch check and thereby indicated that he was paying for her meal. She gave them a goodbye wave and made her way to the door.
Doris returned to their table with two plates of fried chicken, gravy, and fresh vegetables. The preacher knew what was coming.
She asked very loudly, “How many biscuits can you eat?”
“Forty-nine and a ham of meat,” all the customers yelled.
“They’ll never forget that White Lily flour advertisement and that song,” the preacher lamented.
“That’s what you get for being in the music business,” Jack Wright teased.
“But of course,” the preacher replied.
* * *
On their after-lunch walk back to discount store, Jack Wright insisted that the preacher phone Henry Wooden. He seemed very agitated about the situation.
“Now preacher, you can do as you please, but I’ve got a dog in this fight,” Jack Wright said.
“Whatever are you talking about, Jack?” the preacher inquired.
“Henry Wooden gives me good prices on everything I buy. They are better than any other wholesaler and it’s at least as cheap as he sells things to the chain stores,” the storekeeper explained.
“How does that affect me?” the preacher asked with a puzzled look.
“You’ve ignored his calls, started talking business with his wife, and you’ve invited her up for the weekend. This is worse that a quart fruit jar of liquor under my counter and a couple sips a month with that Lewis girl,” Jack Wright said firmly.
“When we get to the store, I will call Henry Wooden and make sure everything is fine. I’ll tell him you threatened to beat me until I called. By the way, I don’t have anything going with Lucy Wooden. I couldn’t afford her even if she was single,” the preacher assured him.
Once inside the store, Jack Wright pointed to the phone. The exchange was in place and Mable King was manning the switchboard.
The preacher yelled to the back of the store and asked Miss Mable to place a call to Mr. Henry Wooden in Lebanon.
“You need to stop being such a hillbilly, preacher. You should ring that phone and tell Miss Mable what you need. We’re big time now,” Jack Wright instructed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the preacher said with slight sarcasm while he waited for Mr. Wooden to get to the phone.
“Mr. Wooden, this is Preacher Mann . . . Yes, he’s reminded me several times. Please don’t raise his prices. Yes, I’m interested but I don’t have any money . . . I spent it on widows and orphans and the poor
, the rest I wasted foolishly . . . I can give you a receipt for a $500 church donation . . . Ok, here’s a deal: you donate the printing press to the church, and I’ll cut you in for a piece of Miss Lucy’s deal . . . lucrative? Are you kidding? It’s got higher margins than moonshine whiskey . . . It’s highly confidential, but I’ll tell you tomorrow afternoon before the Friday Frolics . . . Provided the printing press gets here before you do. Thank you, Brother Wooden,” the preacher concluded.
“Oh my goodness,” Jack Wright exclaimed.
“You are a busybody, Jack Wright,” the preacher said accusingly.
“I may be a busybody but I’m not a gossip. What happens in this store stays in this store,” he replied.
“That's better,” the preacher said with a furrowed brow.
“You’re getting that press so Miss Stoner’s fiancé will put his newspaper in Ferguson and not Watertown. She’ll stay in Ferguson and teach school, too,” Jack Wright exclaimed.
“I’m working on it but I’ve got to locate that Barrett boy in the Statesville area and get him up here without Miss Stoner knowing – yet,” the preacher explained.
“I’ll work on that with Miss Mable. We’ll get him here by noon tomorrow or I’ll buy you lunch for a week,” Jack Wright boasted.
“Well, I hope your money is safe,” the preacher said.
The phone rang and Jack Wright answered it, “Preacher Mann’s office. This is Jack Wright, the church secretary. Hang on while I get him.”
“Very funny,” the preacher said as he took the phone from the storekeeper’s hand.
“Anna Mae Crowder? Really? When? . . . Is this for general knowledge or confidential? I see . . . just Jack Wright . . . He says ‘what happens in the store, stays in the store . . . No doubt . . . I’ll put it in pencil on my calendar and ink it in when she tells me. . . Goodbye,” the preacher concluded.
“Give it up preacher. What’s the doctor got going with Anna Mae Crowder?” Jack Wright asked excitedly.
“It’s confidential. I can’t be discussing the doctor’s business,” the preacher said wryly.
“Now I know that you told him you’d tell me because I answered the phone and listened to your side of the conversation,” Jack argued.
“He’s asked her to marry him. She said yes. They are looking at a small wedding at Miss Rosie’s the week before Labor Day,” the preacher reported.
“What else?” Jack asked.
“What do you mean, what else?” the preacher retorted.
“Is she pregnant?” Jack asked with wide eyes.
“You’re incorrigible. That’s none of your business. That’s none of anyone’s business,” the preacher shamed him.
“We’ll know in time. We’ll know in a few months,” Jack Wright said.
“You are worse than a busybody. You are a budding gossip!” the preacher said accusingly.
“I’m going to do my morning studying this afternoon after missing it this morning because of the storm. You are doing detective work and finding Louis Barrett, the journalist,” the preacher said.
“Take your leave preacher. I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be knocking on your door double early tomorrow. Do your morning studying in the wee hours,” Jack Wright instructed.
“Jack, if you and Miss Mable have any difficulties, keep in mind what that old-time gospel song, ‘Jesus On The Main Line’ says:”
“I know Jesus is on the mainline
Tell him what you want
Jesus is on that mainline
Tell him what you want
Jesus is on that mainline
Tell him what you want
Call him up and tell him what you want.”
* * *
Friday morning found the preacher at Miss Rosie’s enjoying sausage, eggs, gravy, grits and biscuits in somewhat biblical proportions. In fact, Miss Rosie warned him that if he kept eating like that, he’d be back at Miss Ruby’s getting his pants let out.
The preacher used Miss Rosie’s phone to call the Discount Grocery. Mable reported that Louis Barrett had been located and was on the Mountain Excursion to look at the printing press and discuss a newspaper in Ferguson.
When the preacher asked about the press, she informed him that it had arrived and that the driver, Jack Wright, Finis Martin, John Norris, and Lee Bell were unloading it at one of the empty storefronts on East Main Street. She suggested that the preacher stay at Miss Rosie’s and greet Mr. & Mrs. Wooden.
Not letting any grass grow under his feet the preacher decided to revisit the Harriman Bank and talk to George Hickman. He hopped in his old truck and made a beeline for the bank.
As he opened the door, he heard George Hickman say, “Come in Brother Mann. Come on in.”
“Does this mean that I should grab my wallet?” the preacher inquired with a smile.
“Certainly not, brother. I see that you’re wearing your new suit today. Do you have important business? It’s not Sunday yet,” the banker teased.
“I’m meeting Mr. & Mrs. Henry Wooden. They are here for the weekend’s festivities. I’m talking to them about wholesaling Miss Ruby’s ready-to-wear to some of the large stores in Nashville and beyond,” the preacher explained.
“That is delicious. That is just delicious,” George Hickman gloated.
“Indeed it is. I have to give you the credit for using the PDP,” the preacher said with slight flattery.
“I just decided that something is better than nothing and like old Columbus, I took a chance,” the banker explained.
“Did the Lord give you conviction?” the preacher asked.
“No, I got that from my empty pocket,” Mr. Hickman chuckled.
“No doubt,” the preacher responded.
“I have another proposition for you, Brother Hickman,” the preacher said.
“Now I’m holding my wallet tightly,” the banker replied.
“I need to rent that old storefront up from Miss Ruby’s place on East Main Street,” the preacher said.
“What’s it going to be?” George Hickman inquired.
“It will be home to our new weekly newspaper: The Mountain Gazette,” the preacher inquired.
“What are you offering?” the banker asked sheepishly.
“I need a PDP deal. We need free rent for six months and $25 a month for the next six months,” the preacher suggested.
“What about a printing press? You gotta have a press or there’s no newspaper,” the banker replied.
“Henry Wooden is donating the press. It’s already set up in that storefront,” the preacher explained.
“I’ll agree to the Preacher Development Plan deal. But I know you have something else up your sleeve. You don’t give up that easily,” the banker said.
“You will buy a full-page ad every week in the newspaper for the first six months for $2 a week,” the preacher explained.
“I knew it. I knew you’d get me somehow,” the banker exclaimed.
“You should make the main office pay for it. The train will carry The Mountain Gazette to Knoxville, Nashville, and parts in between every week. It’s a good deal – a very good deal,” the preacher suggested.
“Who do I make out the lease and the first month’s advertising check to?” the banker asked.
“Make it out to Louis Barrett,” the preacher instructed.
“Who’s that?” George Hickman asked.
“That’s the editor-in-chief and Miss Stoner’s soon-to-be husband,” the preacher reported.
“That’s damn fine business,” George Hickman said.
“I expect to get it signed and back to you today,” the preacher promised.
The preacher made his way to his truck and drove toward Miss Rosie’s. He saw the train in his rearview mirror but knew that he’d be there before the train could get to Ferguson station and get unloaded.
The preacher greeted the Woodens at the train stop and helped them get their bags to Miss Rosie’s parlor. He excused himself to let them get settle
d and hurried to get back to the stop to find Mr. Barrett.
When the preacher reached the whistle stop, a tall, thin, blond young man in his twenties said, “Porter, could you tell me where I might find either Mr. Jack Wright or Brother Thomas Mann?”
“I’m Tom Mann. That’s Jack Wright’s Discount Grocery down there,” the preacher said pointing to the store.
“Let’s get you settled at Miss Rosie’s and then we’ll do some business,” the preacher explained.
“Well . . . er . . . I didn’t plan on a night in a hotel,” the impecunious young man stated.
“Your accommodations including breakfast and dinner are covered for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. You’ll have some time to spend with Miss Stoner before the two of you board the train again on Monday,” the preacher explained.
“How is that being done? Who is paying for it?” Louis Barrett asked.
“It’s part of the PDP. If you like our business proposition, that will be great. If you choose to pass and set up a newspaper elsewhere, we’ll bid you farewell and say Godspeed,” the preacher explained.
“This is a small bag. I can carry it. Let’s work the deal,” Mr. Barrett said excitedly.
Suffice it to say that it turned out to be a great weekend. Ferguson kept its teacher and picked up a newspaper and editor.
The Woodens were impressed with Miss Ruby’s operation and agreed to wholesale her quilts and ready-to-wear clothing, as well as provide a credit line for fabric and notions she would need.
Sunday’s collection plate found a $100 check from Lucy Wooden and a $100 check from Henry Wooden. The preacher thought about the applicability of that old biblical admonition, “let not thy left hand know what thy right doeth.”
13. Sacred Ground (Part I)
In retrospect, the beginning of the week was relatively calm following the town’s momentous three-day weekend. There had been two new businesses opened: The Mountain Gazette and Miss Ruby’s Ready-To-Wear, and three very large donations from the Wooden family: a $500 printing press and checks to Community Church for $100 each individually from Lucy and Henry Wooden.
The preacher believed on Wednesday that Ferguson would finish the week uneventfully. He had no clue that this was simply the calm before the storm.