Sweet Everlasting (7 page)

“You’ve got to tie the boat of your soul up in the Lord’s harbor,” he advised, striding and gesturing, punching the air with his fists. “Tie up your soul in His
harbor. Tie
up your
soul
in the Lord’s
harbor!
” A dutiful echo went up from the crowd. “Oh, hallelujah!” the reverend rejoiced, and they repeated that, too. “Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise, with healing in his wings. With
healing
in his wings, I say.
Healing
in his
wings
!”

He recounted the story of Lazarus with many colorful additions, then the stories of the blind man, the palsied man, and the leper, all healed because they had faith. “So I’m saying to you today, come forth! Come forth like Lazarus from the tomb, bound hand and foot with grave clothes. With God’s blessed help I will lay my hands upon your affliction, and the scales will drop from your eyes, the obstacles from your ears, and you’ll see and hear the fullness of the Lord’s power and mercy through signs and wonders. Come! Come! Who’ll feel the Lord’s power and mercy with me now? Come!” Nobody seemed to want to come. “Come forth, I’m telling you, just as the master bid his servant, Bring in hither the poor and the maimed and the halt and the blind, so I say unto you, bring hither your—”

“Hey, Reverend! We got us here one o’ the halt!”

Ty turned to see three big strapping fellows trying to drag the boy named Broom, Carrie Wiggins’s friend, through the throng toward the platform. They had him by his skinny arms, one on each side and one in back, shoving him forward with rough blows between his scrawny shoulder blades. “No!” he yelled, “I ain’t, I don’t wanna!” and even from here Tyler could see the spittle flying out of his mouth and the panic in his eyes.

“Look at that,” Stoneman grumbled. “Why don’t they leave that poor half-wit be?”

Tyler recognized Eugene Starkey as the one in back, the one poking Broom along like a mule driver. He’d paid a visit to the office a few weeks ago, boasting and swaggering to hide his nervousness, scared to death he had syphilis. He hadn’t—and his relief had been so profound that he’d listened to the requisite lecture on conscientious sexual hygiene without a single smart-aleck remark.

All at once Broom wrenched his arms free. Flailing and jerking, he spun to face his surprised attackers. “I ain’t gonna!” he shouted, spraying them with spit. Spinning again, he dashed away, bony knees high-kicking, elbows churning. It was a ludicrous sight, and the crowd appreciated it. Laughter erupted all along his crazy, helter-skelter path, and followed him to the edge of the field and into the sheltering pine trees of the neighboring woods.

“Rascally sons of bitches,” Stoneman swore.

But Broom’s reluctant example seemed to have loosened restraint and uncapped inhibitions, because a moment later a short line of infirm believers began to gather at one side of the wooden platform. First up was a white-haired lady with a cane. Stoneman cackled and rocked on his toes. “Mabel Snowmaker,” he confided, elbowing Tyler in the ribs. “Blind as a bat from cataracts. This should be good.”

“And the blind man cried out, ‘Thou son of David, have mercy on me!’ And the Lord said, ‘Believe ye that I am able to do this?’ And the blind man said, ‘Yea, Lord, I believe it!’ Say hallelujah.”

“Hallelujah!” the reverend’s flock complied.

“Do you believe?” he demanded, standing behind Mabel Snowmaker with his hands over her eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” she said in a low, strained voice.

The reverend wasn’t convinced. “Say hallelujah.
Do you believe?””

“Hallelujah. I believe.”

“‘Do you believe?”

“I believe!”

“Oh righteous God, this woman
believes
! Now lift the scales from her eyes and let her see Thy light and Thy power and Thy glory! Pray with me, people! Do you believe? Shout hallelujah!”

The shout went up, and Reverend Ewing took his hands from Mabel’s eyes and held his hands up to heaven. “Praise the Lord! Thank Him and shout hallelujah! Great God, it’s a miracle!”

People were on their feet, yelling and praising and thanking the Lord for the miracle. Mabel Snowmaker smiled uncertainly and stared up at the sky. “A miracle,” she echoed, hopeful.

“A miracle!” thundered the reverend. He snatched her cane from her hand and heaved it far, far out into the crowd. A roar of approval went up at the theatrical, perfectly timed gesture. “The Lord’s vouchsafed a miracle! Praise Jesus on your knees and give thanks to Him for this powerful gift! Go in peace, and never stop praising the Lord for His signs and wonders!”

Mabel went, hands outstretched, feet shuffling. At the platform’s edge, son Todd managed to catch her before she tripped, saving her from a headlong pitch into the front row. Friends took her from there, and she got back to her seat without mishap.

Next came an elderly gentleman with lumbago, then a boy with a limp, then a girl with “galloping consumption”—bronchitis, Ty and Stoneman agreed—followed by a man who swore he had “the plague.” Reverend Ewing cured them all, masterfully and with great dispatch. The crowd was delighted, and no one in it more so than Stoneman. Tyler was surprised, therefore, when the doctor suddenly stood up straight and started to swear. Following his gaze, Ty saw Spring Mueller and another girl trying to hustle an obviously unwilling Carrie Wiggins toward the stage. People around them clapped approvingly and made way. Carrie shook her head in speechless misery, hanging back, looking ready to weep. But unlike Broom she didn’t fight; Tyler didn’t know if it was because of pride or embarrassment or inertia, but she let Spring and her friend bundle her through the crush toward the platform. Even from this distance, he saw the subtle malice at her expense in the girls’ giggling excitement.

“Damn it to hell. Wiggins ought to stop this,” Stoneman bristled. “Look at him.”

“Where?”

“There. See him? Resembles an ape.”

Ty saw him, sitting on a blanket and hugging his knees, big and black-haired and balding. The expression on his wide, pockmarked face looked more like dread than hope. “Does he believe in this business?” Ty asked curiously.

“Hell, yes, he swallows it whole. Superstitious bastard, religious as hell. Except when he’s drunk and raving, that is.”

Tyler might have pointed out that religion and superstition weren’t always the same thing, but at that moment son Todd and his father got hold of Carrie and pulled her up on the wooden platform.

“What ails this child of God?” inquired the reverend, pulling on her hands and drawing her toward stage center.

“She’s dumb,” Spring called out from the aisle.

“She can’t say a single word,” her girlfriend amplified.

Reverend Ewing looked thrilled. “ ‘They brought Him to a dumb man, possessed with a devil,’ ” he cried rapturously. “ ‘And the multitudes marveled, saying it was never so seen in Israel.’ ” Carrie was pushing futilely against his shoulders, straining away from him as far as she could, but he had one hand around the back of her neck and one hand on her throat. In profile, they looked like a man and woman battling each other to the death.

“Child, where’s your faith? Do you believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? Do you
believe
it?”

Carrie nodded, and hauled on the grip he had on her throat. She was nearly the same height as the reverend, but about seventy pounds lighter. In a swift, unexpected move, he pushed her in front of him and held her by her hair, so that she faced his gaping, wide-eyed congregation head-on. Her shawl slipped off one shoulder; she stood straight and tall and quaking in a patched dress, hatless, bright hair blown awry by the wind. Tyler’s hands clenched into murderous fists.

“Don’t.” Stoneman grabbed his arm and held fast. “You’ll just make it worse. I don’t think this’ll last long.”

“Pray with me! Lift your voices up to the Lord for this poor mute girl. She has faith, she believes! Jesus, we beseech You, cast the devil out so that she might speak Your name and praise You. For he that believeth in You, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whoever liveth and believeth in You shall never die. Believest thou this?” The crowd answered with heartfelt yeas. “Believest thou this?” He gave Carrie a violent shake. Her eyes glittered; she tried to nod.

“She believes! Let us pray!” He pushed her down to her knees. Standing behind her, big hands wrapped around her shoulders, he began to pray in earnest. It went on and on, and every minute Tyler thought he would stop it, rush the stage, and put an end to this ridiculous travesty. Again and again he wavered. Was Stoneman right, would he only make it worse? He couldn’t decide, and his indecision tortured him. He glanced back at her stepfather. He’d covered his head with his hands and buried it between his knees; he was either in deep distress or lost in fervent prayer.

“Will she speak?” Reverend Ewing beseeched the multitude. “Lift up your voices for her! Will she speak?” “Yes!” they chanted in answer. He roared out the question again—again—again. Each time, louder and louder, they returned a rousing affirmation.

Stoneman had Ty by the arm again. “Don’t. Leave it,” he warned. “It’s better, I think—”

Reverend Ewing released Carrie and held up his arms for silence. Immediately a hushed, expectant stillness descended. Quiet now, dramatically calm, the reverend asked, “Is your faith strong enough? The Lord is waiting. Heal thyself now, woman.” Suddenly he shouted out one word. “Speak!”

In the startled silence Carrie raised her chin. Her face was a white mask of anguish. She opened her mouth, and there was an airless, breathless moment of suspense. Then she dropped her head in defeat, and from the congregation rose a spontaneous wail of disappointment.

Reverend Ewing stepped away from her in haste. “Your faith has failed you,” he chided reproachfully. “The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it, but wounds, and bruises, and putrifying sores—”

Carrie scrambled to her feet. The reverend made a move to stop her, but she sidestepped him. She saw his son at one end of the platform, and she whirled, and dashed for the other. A roar went up from the mob, and for a wild second Tyler thought they would try to catch her, drag her back and wring more “faith” out of her. But they leaned away from her panicked flight and let her go. She ran on a mad diagonal toward the pine woods fifty yards away—the same escape route Broom had used half an hour ago.

Stoneman was saying something, but Tyler didn’t hear because he was already striding away, shouldering through a knot of snickering young boys, stepping carefully to avoid treading on anybody. But he kept Carrie in sight, and made a straight path for the opening in the thicket at the edge of the woods through which she’d disappeared. Once out of the crowd, he broke into a run, or as much of one as he could manage nowadays on his bad leg. He reached the edge of the field and ducked into the trees. In the sudden dimness he could see nothing but black, blowing branches and dense undergrowth. There was a path of sorts; he trotted along it, limping, trying to see ahead through the coarse tangle. He paused to cup his hands and shout, “Carrie, it’s Dr. Wilkes! Carrie!” Silence. He felt foolish when he realized he was waiting for her to answer. He started running again.

The woods ended abruptly. Rounding the last turn in the path, he saw her in silhouette against a dry hillside pasture, yellow in the fading sun and dotted with dark clumps of juniper. She was standing stock still; something in her posture made him halt when he was still a dozen paces away.

In a too-casual voice, he greeted her. “Carrie, hello. I’m glad you stopped.” She made no movement, no gesture. He started toward her slowly, limping, holding her gaze. “I haven’t seen you in quite a while.” Beside her, parallel to the path, the long, rotting trunk of a beech tree made a perfect seat. He kept coming. She didn’t move, but her eyes darkened with every step he took. He made a gesture toward the fallen tree with his hand—to indicate his destination. When he was six feet away, he realized she was going to bolt.

Immediately he put an extra hitch in his gait. “Mind giving me a hand?” he muttered, not looking at her. “Sorry—leg still gives out on me every now and then. Damn nuisance.” He was hobbling like an old man, probably overdoing it.

But it worked. She rushed toward him and took hold of his forearm, guiding him toward the log. With an exaggerated groan, he sat. Even kneaded his thigh with both hands. It really did ache; he wasn’t a complete humbug. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her standing over him uncertainly, twisting her hands. He smiled at her. “Think I should’ve let the reverend take a crack at me, too?”

A long army of emotions paraded across her finely molded features: dismay and embarrassment, surprise, relief—and finally, miraculously, amusement. Tyler sat back and grinned at her, conscious of an immense feeling of relief. “Are you all right, Carrie? Really? Good, I’m glad. Would you like to sit down?”

The idea seemed to intrigue, not frighten her. She considered it in her forthright, guileless way. Presently she gave a little nod, gathered her skirts, and settled beside him.

Her face was almost serene now, but he would see faint trails on her cheeks where tears had recently dried. He spoke tentatively, unsure of his ground—for if she had any faith at all in a man like Ewing’s power to heal, then he had no right to shake it. At the same time, he felt a compulsion to comfort her.

“You know, I don’t think he really cured anybody back there. Not permanently, anyway. I suppose such things are possible, but something tells me Reverend Ewing’s not the man for the job.” Although she didn’t look away, for once he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Of course, some people might say I’m prejudiced,” he pointed out, trying to make her smile. “Some might say I’m just trying to keep the reverend from horning in on my territory.” She did smile, but he could tell it was an effort in politeness. “Carrie,” he said gently, “are you very disappointed?”

She shook her head. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulled out a stubby pencil and a cheap, dog-eared notebook. She scribbled something and handed the notebook to him.
No, for I knew it wouldn’t work.
Taking the notebook back, she wrote something else, crossed part of it out, and wrote again.
I was embarrassed.