Bound by Blood and Brimstone (6 page)

damnation. By the time service concluded, I didn’t feel edified at all.

Before the church yard was cleared, Momma had shoved us to the jeep in a mad dash to

get home so she could help Wonnie finish dinner preparations. The preacher had been invited.

To be more precise, he’d invited himself. An important matter was to be discussed, and I wasn’t

looking forward to an afternoon spent indoors in my starched dress, listening to adults.

Back home in the kitchen I asked Momma if she and Wonnie needed help getting dinner

on the table. Wonnie was making her venison stew with fresh herbs and gritted cornbread. She

stood at the stove over a steaming pot, her thick hair slung over one shoulder in a single braid of

black and white.

Even after nearly a century of living, she moved with an easy grace. The skin of her face

and hands was brown and sun-weathered, but not shriveled. Her vision was still clear, her mind,

sharp and full. She wore a strand of beads at her throat and a blouse as blue as the October sky. I

walked over and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Umm, that smells so good, Grandma,” I said, inhaling appreciatively. “I’m starving.”

She turned from the bubbling pot, favoring me with her steady gaze. “Running Deer,” she

said softly, a reference to the childhood nickname she’d given me. “Set the table, child.” Then,

giving my arm a gentle squeeze, she turned her attention once again to the stove.

When Reese finally got around to the point of his visit, we were on second helpings.

“You know, William, I’ve been around these parts for quite a while now. Long enough to

understand the natives, you might say.” This ended with an attempt at a smile which didn’t quite

make it. The corners of his mouth jerked up, but none of it reached his eyes.

He cleared his throat. “One thing I’ve learned...” He trailed off, casting an uneasy glance

in Momma’s direction.

“What’s that, Preacher?” Daddy pushed his plate aside and gave a final swipe with his

napkin. Reese had his attention.

“William, I believe in shooting straight from the hip, speaking your mind, if you will.”

He paused long enough to cast his eyes again at Momma, who was busy buttering a slice of

cornbread. “People around here aren’t so willing to look the other way anymore. They’re

becoming more aware of evil in their midst.”

Reese forked up a mouthful of stew, chewed thoughtfully, and reached for his glass.

Daddy sat motionless and silent, his expression bland. “The Holy Spirit is being poured out in

this county, William,” Reese continued. “It’s making people bolder, less tolerant.”

Dropping his eyes to his plate, he shoved meat chunks around his plate. Everyone but

Wonnie had stopped eating. Momma and Daddy exchanged a look I couldn’t read.

“What’s this got to do with me and my family?” Daddy asked. His voice was low and

controlled, but an undercurrent of tension could be detected. Reese’s head was bowed, his lips

moving silently. I wondered if he was praying, talking to himself, or if he’d lost his marbles.

Suddenly, his head snapped up and he glared at Daddy.

“It has to do with the devil, William. I’m talking about pagan rites, witchcraft, idols.

They’re abominations, all of them.”

“I don’t understand,” Daddy said tightly. Momma’s cheeks were flushed, her chest

heaving. I knew that underneath her ladylike manners lay a spine of steel. Momma wasn’t happy

about the way this visit was going, and she was about to let this fat-necked man know it.

“What, what, what are you talking about?” she stammered.

Reese dropped his fork with a clatter. “I’m talking about this sorceress you’re harboring

in your back yard!” he declared. “I’m talking about the wrath of God that’s coming when people

finally get fed up with the devil and his works!” His face was red, beads of sweat dotting his

forehead.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, his voice dropped and adopted a wheedling

tone. “Mona, William, I’m coming to you as a Brother in Christ. I’m trying to tell you for your

own good and for the sake of your little girls, cast this witch from your midst before somebody

decides to take the Lord’s vengeance in his own hands.”

Time ceased as the room seemed to be holding its breath. Dimly, I was aware of the hot

blood pounding my temples as my thoughts spun.
He’s talking about Wonnie! Our Wonnie!

Calling her a witch!

Abruptly, mad laughter erupted from Momma, like the broken cackling of a sick hen.

“You, you can’t be serious,” she managed. “Why, this is 1956, for heaven’s sake, not the Dark

Ages. This is some sort of joke, right?”

Daddy stopped her with his palm on her waving arm. “He’s not joking, Mona,” he said.

Oh, make him shut his ugly mouth, Daddy
, I prayed.
Don’t let him say any more about Wonnie.

“But William,” Momma blurted out, unable to stop her protest. “Wonnie Dean, a

sorceress? With her harmless herbs and tonics? When I lost Angel, I would’ve died if not for

her!”

“Listen to me, both of you,” Reese cut in. “There’s nothing harmless about it. It’s wrong,

all of it, and God will not be mocked!” His voice raised again, his breath coming fast. “Keep this

evil from your household and from the people of this county, or so help me, someone could get

hurt!”

I glanced at Wonnie, who’d never spoken or even looked up from her plate. I sensed a

pressure building deep within me, an eruption on the way, as if I were on the verge of flying

apart into millions of fragments.

Suddenly, Daddy was standing, dinner forgotten. His eyes had turned hard and glittered

with dangerous light. “I don’t believe you understand, Preacher. For that, maybe we can

overlook the things you’ve said. My grandmother’s nearly a hundred years old and from a time

we’ve forgotten. She’s brought many babies into the world, and as long as I live, she’ll be

honored in my home, as I’ve been taught. If people have a problem with her, they need to keep

their distance.”

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Reese quoted. “Those in league with the devil will

burn with him in hell forever.” At those words, my fragile control cracked. I didn’t even

remember getting to my feet.

“What’s the matter with you? All of you! You sit here, talking about my great

grandmother like she’s not even in the room, like she doesn’t even have feelings! She’s never

hurt anybody, not once in her life! AND SHE’S SMARTER THAN YOU, YOU BUG-EYED

BULLFROG!”

I was crying, trembling, nerve endings jangling. Through the drumbeat throbbing in my

head, I heard Lorrie Beth whimpering and Momma pleading with everyone to calm down. Reese

mumbled something about sparing the rod and spoiling the child.

Somehow, through the fog threatening to descend on me, I heard Wonnie’s voice. I

turned to find her on her feet by her chair, her small chin thrust out, her black eyes riveted on

Reese. As if on cue, all talking ceased. She alone had the floor.

“I know all about your kind, white man. Many winters ago, your government said my

people had to give up their lands, their Great Spirit. Like cattle, you herded them with guns to

their heads and made them march west. They were starved and barefoot. Your soldiers shot them

when they fell. My grandson honors me because I am old, and it is right to do this. Tell your

county people they need not fear me. The Evil One you speak of will not be found in me, but he

is close.”

Ignoring the row of stunned faces, she pivoted and left the room, her back ramrod

straight, her head erect. In the shocked silence that fell, the spell was finally broken. Daddy led

Reese to the front room where they spoke quietly for several minutes. Surprisingly, I saw them

shake hands.

As Reese stepped on the porch, I heard him say, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you

and Mona to miss any church services after this, William. People might think you’re being

influenced. No telling what that could lead to.”

That night, flopping about on my mattress, the unending questions tormented me. Why

would anyone have a problem with Wonnie? Why didn’t Momma and Daddy just throw Reese

out of the house and find another church? What did Wonnie Dean mean about the Evil One

being close? Finally, weary to the bone, I rolled over and prayed. I asked God to take Reese

Watkins away from Silver Rock Creek and our family.

I was in fifth grade that autumn when Reese Watkins made me cry over Wonnie.

Apparently, Miss Hacker decided I could read well enough after all and allowed me to skip

fourth grade. They called it “double promoting.”

Lorrie Beth, having decided she hated school, had been held back in third grade for the

second time. I knew Caleb and Sue Lee Jacobs had everything to do with the way she felt about

school. She clung to the hope that if Caleb and Sue Lee passed on to another grade, they might

have an attack of amnesia and forget about her. It was an empty hope. Tormenting my sister

seemed to be what they were born to do.

Accustomed to adoration from the cradle, Lorrie Beth was confused and heart-broken

over their unrelenting intimidation and vicious pranks. “Why do they hate me so much?” she

wailed on too many occasions to count. “I try so hard to be nice to everybody!”

“They’re too stupid to know about nice,” I said. “Just stay away from them.” I tried not to

let it bother me, as I was fairly decent with my fists, but being Lorrie Beth’s bodyguard wasn’t

my idea of a life’s calling. Truth be told, it was an outright pain in the butt at times.

Maybe if my head hadn’t been so muddled with worrying over those goons on that May

morning after my tenth birthday, I could’ve spared myself some agony. I could’ve gone straight

to Wonnie for the full story and been done with it. Instead, my mind was focused on Lorrie Beth

and the approaching end of the school year, and I hardly noticed the small stain on my cotton

panties when I visited the outhouse during morning recess. Distracted by the need for haste, I

thought I’d scratched myself on the rough toilet seat. Then I promptly forgot it.

Recess was the only time of day I was free to mingle, and I wanted to use that time to

chat with some of the girls in my section. As I slammed the outhouse door behind me, I heard

giggling nearby. A group of them were standing by the coal bin.

As I sidled up to them, Callie Stanford said, “It doesn’t surprise me at all. Rose Hughes is

no different than her slut sister, Charlotte.” Callie was in seventh grade, which made her an

authority on most topics, and everybody knew she was going to California after high school to

become a movie star.

“I mean, what else can be expected from a Hughes?” she demanded.

I knew Rose Hughes, who was in ninth grade at Silver Rock Creek High School. She’d

been one of the prettiest girls in school, with elfin features and a sheaf of golden hair that draped

her shoulders like a silk shawl. “What is it? What’s going on with Rose Hughes?” I asked, in

what I hoped was a casual voice.

Jennie Spencer turned wide eyes on me. “You mean you don’t know? Everybody in town

is talking about it. Folks say her family might have to move because of it. Her daddy can’t hold

his head up in the courthouse; he might even lose his jailor’s job!” She said this with the same

glee of a child waiting to see the county fair for the first time.

“So what is it everybody’s talking about?” I hated like anything to let on that I was too

stupid to know what everyone else did.

“About her being a whore just like her sister,” Callie replied in an icy tone, lifting her

chin slightly.

“Oh, is that all,” I said, trying to sound bored. I had no clue what was so bad about being

a whore, since I didn’t know what it meant to be one.

Callie snorted. “Is that
all?
She’s going to have a baby,
that’s
all! And just like Charlotte,

she’ll probably give
hers
away, too.”

“Yeah, those Hughes women are all alike,” Molly Harris interjected. Molly was an eighth

grader, practically an adult. “Their momma’s the same way. I heard she had a little boy she gave

away before they moved here!”

“Well, maybe she gave it to somebody who really needed or wanted a little boy,” I

offered, not sure why I felt the need to defend this Hughes woman.

Callie tossed her curls and glared at me. “Well, if she didn’t want a baby to
keep,
she

shouldn’t have done what it takes to make one! And
that’s
what makes them all whores!”

I wasn’t about to disagree with her. I sensed that Callie would’ve punched Rose Hughes

out cold if she’d been unlucky enough to be standing there. The best tactic, I decided, was to

play along.

“Yeah, people shouldn’t do what it takes to make a baby if they don’t want one.”

Something in my tone must’ve given me away. Like a cat ready to pounce, Callie wheeled on me