Nazareth's Song (29 page)

She turned at the last second and held the church door open. “I guess you want to tell me why not.”

“I’m not a learned man,” he whispered just above the sound of an icicle falling outside onto the porch. He was a complete fool now.

Fern took two quick breaths. She waited at the door, confusion causing her brows to furrow. Then her eyes widened and she shook her head as if arguing with someone. She left and the door slammed behind her.

Jeb pondered the minutes that had just passed. It seemed to him that over the last few weeks, every choice that had seemed right had curdled like turned milk. Right and wrong, up and down, yes and no all seemed to carry the same weight until he tossed one or the other at the feet of the person whose life he was affecting. It seemed to him that God kept handing him the white ball or the black ball to cast into the box of fate. Every choice he dropped had fallen through space, black and menacing, fatefully hateful. Systematically, he was squashing every life that had loved him, and every time he did, his own got a little smaller. While elevating himself in the eyes of so many, he was left more miserable than the day before.

He heard Fern’s engine turn over. Then he looked at his feet to see if any bullet holes riveted his boots. After all, his habit of shooting himself in the foot had become his new sideline.

Jeb found the longer he rubbed down the pews the madder he got, so he took a drive into town to have coffee and find a place to soothe the ocean that stormed his thoughts. To his good pleasure, he found Hayes Jernigan sipping coffee at Beulah’s when he took a stool at the bar. The lumbermill owner asked Jeb to join him. “I need some good company, Hayes,” said Jeb.

“You sound troubled, Parson.” Hayes held out his cup to allow Beulah to fill it and give him a smile.

“Just when I think I’ve learned all there is to learn about women, I find out I’m still in grammar school.”

Hayes let out a laugh that drew the attention of some of the other lumbermen parked against the far wall. When they returned to their mumbling, Hayes said, “Women are like a good herd of cattle. You inspect them for good proportion and healthy eyes and teeth. But somehow, as the years pass, you start to find out just how little some of the heifers pass muster.”

“Molly know you’re comparing her to a cow, Hayes?” Beulah asked, miffed.

“All I know is that women want you to know all the rules about them, but they don’t want to tell you. You have to play this guessing game. Then you get all those womanly rules figured out in your mind and blam!” Jeb slammed his fist against the counter and made Beulah flinch. “They up and change the rules on you.”

A few of the lumbermen clapped and then held up their empty coffee cups to Beulah. She threw down her wiping towel and disappeared into the back.

“Looks like you up and gave the whole morning crew a coffee break, Hayes,” said Jeb.

“We’re having a meeting. When they saw you come in, Tuck Haw said I’d better give you the lowdown on what’s going on at the bank.”

Beulah brought Jeb his coffee and a biscuit but wouldn’t look at either of them.

“I knew that to take on this bigger job with Ace Timber, I’d need some new equipment and some working capital to pay my boys until we knock out this first job. The Hoppers had the best timber woods, thick and pretty, but hardwoods need better blades than we’ve been using making barrels.”

Jeb tried not to flinch when Hayes said “Hopper.”

“So I knew the bank would have no problem making me the loan for the expansion of the mill’s business. But Mills, he put me off for several days. I was beginning to worry when he sent for me. When I come in, he danced around prettier than a burley-cue girl, using all kinds of words, like he thought I would be too stupid to understand.”

Jeb pushed aside the biscuit.

“But bottom line is this: Ace Timber wants a piece of the Jernigan Mills pie. A big piece, if you catch my drift. They’re willing to front us the money directly—for a share of the company.”

“Stockholders are not a bad idea,” said Jeb.

“Fifty-one percent is the piece of the pie they’re asking. Don’t they call that ‘controlling innerst’ or some such?”

Jeb did not know how to answer.

“Tuck Haw, he says his brother’s wife’s cousin—they got a place in Texas—says that Ace Timber took over an operation not far from Texarkana. All the men that had been laid off were put back on the line, but at half pay. You do that to our men and they won’t be able to pay the landlord, let alone put grub on the table.”

“Half pay is slave wages, Hayes. You and I know that. Did you say that to Mills?” asked Jeb.

“Mills says he is only passing along the offer, that he don’t know nothing about the hiring practices of Ace Timber. He told me not to jump to conclusions.”

“Mills has the town’s best interests at heart, Hayes. Don’t you worry none. I’ll go down to the bank this afternoon and meet with him. We’ll get this straightened out.” Jeb patted Hayes’s shoulder.

“I told the boys you’d be on our side. They have this idea that you’re in Mills’s back pocket. But you’re not crooked like some say. I know that about you.”

“Who says that, Hayes? I want those rumors to stop!” Jeb slammed his hand against the counter. This time all the lumbermen fell quiet, like stilled spindles. Jeb spun around and came onto the floor. He wanted to tell the lumbermen that he was a man of honor, that he had not aided a pack of rich scoundrels in offing with a poor family’s inheritance. But it seemed his words lately had the wrong effect on matters. He decided it was best to allow his actions to speak for him. “You boys don’t worry yourselves over this Ace Timber matter.”

Tuck Haw’s gaze lifted above the others. Jeb could not tell if Tuck was glowering or giving him the thumbs-up. He left Beulah’s and headed for the bank.

Afternoon light bled slowly onto the floor of Horace Mills’s office. The clock on the wall had a tinny sound, ticking off the seconds like the timer on a detonator. Mona had led Jeb directly into Horace’s private office and left him sitting for a quarter hour, waiting to meet with the banker, who had been tied up all morning in an unnamed meeting. Just as Jeb had twisted a second window tassel into a braided tangle, Horace burst into the study, blustery, apologetic, and muttering under his breath.

Jeb lifted from his seat by the window and sat in the chair that faced Mills head on. “I should apologize to you, Mr. Mills. You weren’t expecting me. I should know in times like this that bankers keep a tight calendar.”

“Reverend, as always, I’m glad to see you. It’s good for a banker’s soul to stop and break bread with those who don’t spend their living spinning deals.” He held out a dish. “Have a candy?”

“Mr. Mills, I’ll cut to the chase. I just came from Beulah’s where the lumbermen from Jernigan’s operation were holding a meeting.”

“And you think I’m involved in some scandal to skim profits from the town lumber industry.”

“I’d never say something like that,” said Jeb.

“But you thought as much. Jeb, you should know that lumbermen are a different breed of men. They’re tough—love to live by the sweat of the brow—and they look out for one another. A kind of brotherhood, if you will. I expect them to ask questions about the winds of change that have blown into Nazareth of late. It’s their right and privilege. They have to look out for kith and kin, so to speak, and protect their own interests. But their clannish ways might cause them to sniff down the wrong trunk or peep into a hole that has nothing more in it than harmless rainwater. You catch my meaning, I’m sure.”

Jeb reached into the candy dish.

“Not too many years ago, I met up with the man who started Ace Timber. He was a fine man, a man of means. But he sat me down, lit me up a really fine, fine stogie, and shared his story with me. He was an orphan boy, brought up in a foundlings’ home. Never heard tell of such harsh surroundings as was told to me by him. But that boy had enough pluck about him to go off and learn the lumber trade. He saved every dime until he could buy into a little sawmill operation up in Houston. From there, he kept reinvesting his profits and buying up more and more operations until he had his own company. While other mills floundered when the Depression hit—and it hit the lumber industry like a stack of dynamite—his operation survived. That boy was the fellow you met that night at Amy’s party. Fellow by the name of Jefferson Watts.”

Jeb nodded. “So he’s the owner of Ace Timber? Land partners with those two railroad men?”

“I swear, Reverend, you do pay attention.”

“What interest does the railroad have in Nazareth? The railroads passed up Nazareth for another town back in the turn of the century, I hear,” said Jeb.

“Men like Watts, Lepinski, and Steele are entrepreneurs. They deal in deals; they’re the kingpins of deals. So they find men of like minds and invest together. It’s over your head, I’m sure. Preachers don’t have to worry about such things.”

“Money deals, no, Mr. Mills, I don’t get involved. But human folk, they’re my business. Those lumbermen, also my business.”

“I understand. I ask your cooperation in the matter in helping to quell any insurgencies from the Jernigan camp. You are a peacemaker, Reverend, and this town knows it. Heaven’s bestowed upon you a fine way of massaging troubled hearts into harmony. Harmony is essential to the makings of a successful town.”

“I don’t know what to make of your use of the word ‘massage,’ Mr. Mills.”

“Now that you’re here on business, though, I think it’s time to help you with the church’s fund-raising efforts.” Mills reached into his desk and pulled out a long envelope.

Jeb rubbed his eyes and temple and then said, “Mr. Mills, I think it’s in the church’s best interest that I no longer make deliveries for the bank. I know I should have told you before now. These hard times make for surly parishioners. The one thing Philemon Gracie tried to teach me is to stay out of town politics and mind those interests that might bring conflict.”

“Conflict, Reverend? I assure you there is no conflict involved. Consider yourself the bearer of good tidings to the hurting families of Nazareth. They need suffer no longer through this whiplash of a Depression.”

“I want to know the name of the family.” Jeb stated it as quietly as he could manage.

“Bluetooth. Injun family. Leastways, the husband’s Injun. Old man ran off and left her. Same old story, same as what’s happened to so many good families in Nazareth and every other town in the county.”

“Is that a bank foreclosure, Mr. Mills?”

“Offer, Reverend, to prevent foreclosure.”

Jeb came to his feet. “I will not do it, Mr. Mills.” He backed out of Horace Mills’s office. “The last time I did this, I didn’t sleep for weeks. Maybe you have a right to foreclose on those that aren’t making their payments, but I can’t let you use the office of the clergy to
massage
your way into deals. Not for any amount of money.”

Jeb did not stop walking until he came to a stop in the middle of Main. A Ford drove around him, came down on the horn, and left him in a cloud of road silt.

By now Angel would be walking Willie and Ida May home from school. Jeb imagined how Angel would be worrying over how she would tell her brother and sister of this new family from Pine Bluff that would take them in. She would paint Jeb in dark colors, hateful terms that made him out to be a louse.

He thought of what had just transpired in the bank president’s office. At least this time Angel would be only half right. He had shed the louse title, if only for a night.

24

A
deep cold had seeped into Nazareth by Friday night, coating every stick and tree in a hoary rime. The hollow blued like the veils of some ice queen, and nothing remained of November except the meager meals planned by the local families for Thanksgiving.

When Jeb arrived at the Mills estate to pick up Winona, he could smell potatoes and peas simmering in pots generous with butter.

Winona appeared at the door, dressed in blue and some feathered headgear that made her face look soft and round. “I’m not ashamed to say I’ve changed outfits three times waiting for tonight to come,” she said.

Jeb remembered how he had left matters with Horace, but only said, “Is your momma or daddy about?”

“Sitting down to dinner, but let’s go. The walls start to close in on me when I’ve been here too long.” When Jeb lingered, she gave him a pleading look until he turned and escorted her to her automobile.

“My friends have been to this restaurant in Hope. They tell me good things about it.” He opened the door for her on the passenger side.

The drive from Nazareth to Hope was so quiet that Jeb finally decided to query her. “I stopped by the bank this week to pay your daddy a visit.”

Winona shuddered and pulled her fur around her shoulders, saying how she wondered if she would ever be warm again.

“Business, of course. Your daddy didn’t mention it?”

“Bank business, Jeb? You want to talk about bank business on a night when we can shoot for the moon and get away from everything that corrals us day after day?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When we leave behind this shabby old town tonight, Jeb, let’s make a vow, you know, like a pact between us. You’ll be you tonight—not Reverend Nubey, but Jeb. And I’m not the daughter of the town banker. Just Winona.”

Jeb sighed. “We are who we are, Winona.”

“Not tonight.” The tension in her tone made her stop and gather her thoughts. “I want to tell you that I’ve been jealous of Fern Coulter for a long time. But not in the way you imagine. I envy her knowing you as a scoundrel. I want to know that side of you.”

“I’ve left him behind, for good.”

“Then bring him back. For me, tonight, Jeb.” She leaned across the seat and brought her face close to his. “I can be bad too.”

Jeb smelled her perfume and considered what he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “I tried the bad-guy life. I don’t recommend it.”

He drove them across Marvelous Crossing Bridge. When they left behind the lake, he could see the slightest glimmer of moon on a distant pond. Long’s Pond. A light, faintly yellow, shone beyond the pond, and he realized Fern was home. He imagined her sitting alone at her kitchen table eating a bowl of warmed-over soup, and it saddened him.