Fallen Angels

by Patricia Hickman

  “Mrs. Honeysack likes us. You listen to anything she says and you'll know we got us a goldmine in this church business. Didn't you see Barbara Stanwyck in The Miracle Worker? There that poor woman's daddy was kicked out of his church and died of a broken heart. Next thing you know, she's dressing like a girl from California, all diamonds and furs and preaching for the Lord. They's money to be had, Jeb Nubey, in God's work. You let me give you all the hows and how-tos on this religion business and we'll make us a wad and then split town—split everything. Fifty-fifty. We go our way. You go yours. You think that sheriff is going to come looking for you when folks is bowing to you and three kids is calling you Daddy?”

  “Ain't you afraid of nothing, Biggest? Like, being struck by lightning for one thing. Another thing, you aiding a murderer, don't that bother you none? That you might get thrown into the pokey?”

  “I know that last night nothing came together for me, for us. Now everything is fitting like a puzzle come together and you want to throw it away. You know what I'm holding here in my hand?”

  Jeb counted sacks of sugar and flour.

  “This here is a letter. I got it a while ago from Mrs. Honeysack who brought us the mail. It is addressed by Reverend Gracie, namely you. They thought your letter arrived late and just gave it back to us—that right there is a sign. This letter from Reverend Gracie says he is months from being here in Nazareth. We're safe, Jeb. We got us a hiding place, a lunch ticket, and you even got income. You know about income, don't you? Folks is giving us things like we're the royal family. Never in my life have I ever heard tell of such things. I know you got the con in you and can smell pay dirt when you strike it. You run off in the night and that deputy sheriff, he'll find you and you'll be out breaking rocks—in chains. You stay here and you'll have these people eating out of your hand.”

  Jeb dwelled on everything she said. “Then I got to put up with you.”

  “I'll keep looking for Claudia. You got my word. I don't want to be tied to you neither.”

  “We have to keep calling him Daddy?” asked Willie. Angel waited for Jeb to answer.

  “Not only you going to call me Daddy, you going to do what I say.” Jeb put back the flour and sugar in the homemade pantry cabinet.

  “What we do is our own business—you ain't the boss! Let's just get things straight.”

  “You take your brother and sister and that frilly dress off to your beds. I need some time to think.”

  “Or some time to drink,” said Angel.

  “That don't mean nothing to you. What I do ain't none of your concern.”

  “People see us fighting and they'll suspect. They see you drinkin’ … now that's a whole new kettle of fish. They'll know we're cons for sure. You supposed to be a kind man and temperate, like my grandma said.” Angel shook Ida May who had already fallen asleep with her head on the soft chair arm.

  He still wasn't buying the whole preacher seam, but said, “They's different kinds of preachers. Maybe I'm the hard-nosed kind. I got to be true to my own self or I'll come across as a big fat phony. You kids don't mind what I say and folks sure as all get out won't think you're mine. Let's have us a little practice maneuver. All three of you—get to bed! I don't want none of your lip, neither.”

  “Maybe I'll just get me a helping of Freda's beans. You think you can just snap your fingers and I'll go running off with my tail tucked, you wrong about that!” Angel minced to the table, her on-loan shoe heels slightly too tall for a girl with a gangly gait.

  “You want this con of yours to work, Biggest. You march your prissy self past that table and on into that little princess bed of yours. Otherwise, give me two minutes and I'll be out the door jackrabbit fast. You can explain my absence to the good people of Nazareth in the morning. They'll have you checked in to the closest sanatorium.”

  “Why you think they'd put me in the sanatorium?”

  Ida May kept asking, “What's the sanatorium?”

  “You're dead weight, Biggest. A nice family, they'd take your cute little sister, figure she's still young, not yet ruint. Your brother would fit nicely behind some old farmer's plow. But you, you're too old to raise. Too thin boned to work. All the children's homes is full. It's the sanatorium for you.”

  “Willie, Ida May, get to bed now!” Angel scuttled into the bedroom with the three matching hand-cut beds.

  “Good night, Biggest.”

  She slammed the door.

  Night crept into Nazareth with crickets grating against tense silence. Jeb pushed himself back in the rocker left on the front porch of the parsonage. The storm had cleaned the night air squeaky fresh, leaving behind only a few bluish clouds in the sky. A transparent halo ringed the moon. An owl perched out on a pine limb screeched twice until Jeb came close to blocking the bird off its roost with a pine cone. He reached into his pocket for his flask. Then he felt a prickly feeling, like the hairs of his head standing up on his neck. What if the good Mrs. Honeysack returned to remind him of one more tedious detail? Or, as the word spread that the Grade family had finally arrived, what would happen if more church people chanced by to pay a visit? He made a circular motion on the cap of the flask, as though he anointed it. His tongue pushed to one side of his mouth, parched, deprived. He wondered how a parson went seven days without a drink. Or did he sneak out into the woodland to steal a taste? But then it came to Jeb that the minister might run into trouble if he was so much as caught buying a pint or two of the good stuff.

  Jeb's lips pruned. Thoughts of spending one more day as the town holy man gathered into his insides, congregating, bantering and milling in whispers about the destiny placed on Jeb Nubey. Another day as Reverend Grade meant visiting the feeble, the elderly, listening to songs of elbow's complaint and gout. Once the visitation had wound down then Sunday would roll around. People would gather in the Church in the Dell with expectant grimaces, scrutiny making their eyes shine like the mad. Jeb had not called on higher powers before. It made him itch to consider it.

  He had to leave before Sunday. He didn't know what kind of church to expect. Some congregations meld coolly into their pews, nursing silent, inward pain—biding the time until the final amen. He'd heard tell of how others heated up, roiling in a lather of brimstone-scalded judgment before marching away into the community to warn the sinners of their coming doom.

  Searching back in the soft tendons of his childhood memories, he tried to recall the traditions of church. Jeb's mother had dragged him by the ear every Sunday until she was too sick to bother. He'd seldom paid attention to her prayers… until she got sick. Then he would've walked over coals if the Power from on high would just let her live. He figured it was him that caused the final curtain to drop on Pearl Nubey's life. Jeb felt cool metal against his lips. Something soothed his brow, like the young fingers of the sweet, plump girl in Texarkana, and then he tasted gin. He allowed it to slip over his uneven lower teeth and down-the velvet length of whiskey-weakened tongue. Martyrs needed their sedative. He drank until his eyes turned back beneath red sun-parched lids, a calling toward sleep seeping through him.

  His hand fell limp in his lap. Slumber drew him into rivers that swept over him, baptizing-him in gin and fire. A bad sort of music faded in and out then turned into a grating rhythm as irritating as the clanking of chains and ankle irons.

  “Angel, what's a sanatorium?” Ida May breathed out the words on her soft pillow. She wound her pointer finger around the lacey, embroidered edges of the pillowcase as though she stroked harp strings.

  Angel could see the church ladies’ handiwork all around the room—knitted dolls with pink and turquoise skirts. Plaid curtains with hand-sewn tie-backs. Embroidery tipping every gingerly sewn edge like delicate fingernails dipped in color. No one color dominated the room, but each item fought for attention. Loops of gold draped the plaid curtain; white and pink doilies battled a tablecloth of pale green. The Scottish monkey lolled next to a poodle made of dyed cotton bolls, all toys made from ragbags and dresses that co
uld take no more mending.

  “Angel, you hear me?” Ida May whispered.

  “A sanatorium is a place where people rest. So let's play sanatorium, how about?” Angel rolled over and felt the fringe of the handmade quilt tickle her nose. It smelled of mothballs and something sweet.

  “I'm tard. You two be quiet or I'll holler for Jeb,” said Willie. “Nice to have a man around the house again.”

  “Don't get used to him, Willie. I have a feeling he won't be around no longer than Lana. People like that drift in, drift out. One day, they just gone. Nobody ever hears from them again.” Angel listened for Willie's reply but heard only the soft sawing of his snores.

  Ida May made a soft moan, turned to press her face into the pillow as though she expected it to kiss her good night.

  Angel ran her hand across her sister's fingertips and watched out the window until the stars turned to a hazy glass. She closed her eyes and prayed that God would tie Jeb to his bed until morning.

  5

  Jeb allowed Evelene and Mellie to treat the Welby children to an ice-cream soda inside Fidel's Drugstore while he worked out the details of the mule and wagon with the banker.

  “The mule, she's ten hands high and likes a good race so just watch yourself around other folks in wagons. Not too many on the road except for Ivey Long, who thinks automobiles are of the devil.” Horace Mills ran his hand along the mule's flank. “I call her Bell. The kids gave her that name when she was a colt. We had to put a bell on her to find her when she ran off.”

  Jeb cocked his head and said, “She ran off?”

  “That was long before she was broke. No need to worry about her now. She's a good wagon mule. I hated to see her put out to pasture with so many good years left in her.”

  “But you decided to sell her.” Jeb studied her coat and her joints.

  “The missus wanted an automobile. After that, every woman in town wanted her husband to buy one. I don't do much farming what with the bank to run and all. My brother, Freddie, he started a bank up in Hope. We learned it from our daddy. It runs in our blood, I guess you could say.”

  A black Ford truck motored past. A heavy-faced woman leaned forward in the passenger seat and smiled, her features stretched tight and shining. She lifted a hand that gripped a basket of honey jars and waved. The man seated next to her yelled, “Welcome, Preacher Grade!” The back of the truck carried six children, the boys shirtless, the girls wearing clothes that were either too large for their slight frames or too small. All of the children waved and called out just as their daddy had done.

  The banker lowered his tone. His eyes moved back and forth as though someone might hear. “That's the Wolvertons. Poor as church mice. Good stock. Just fallen on bad times like the rest of the country. Lost their place to foreclosure. What's a banker to do?”

  The Wolvertons greeted Jeb as minister. He returned the wave, a knot in his throat.

  “Everything I owned was in the truck, Mr. Mills. You're sure you don't mind waiting for the money?” Jeb rubbed his palms against his trousers. An uneasiness traveled up his back while a bead of sweat trickled down and seeped into his borrowed shirt. Bankers made him skittish. Every citizen of Nazareth seemed to have appeared out of shops and automobiles to take a gander at him and the Welbys. Two young women with a bit of tease in their gaits smiled at him. He tipped his hat.

  “Don't you give this transaction a second thought, Reverend. Will Honeysack is the head deacon of Church in the Dell. If he guarantees you're good for it, I believe it. He and his wife started that store out of the back of a wagon and built it up to the fine establishment it is today. You ought to count yourself fortunate to have Will as your deacon. His heart is as good as his money.”

  “Mr. Mills, I want to be sure I'm understanding you. Are you saying Mr. Honeysack is signing for me? He didn't tell me that if it's so.”

  “Signing on the dotted line. But we'll need your John Hancock, too. Just drop by the bank tomorrow, Thursday, and I'll have the papers drawn up.”

  A gnawing pang ate at Jeb's insides. He felt an inward drawing, as though something sucked him under.

  “You all should enjoy living in Millwood Hollow. Good fishing and lots of land for a little hunting if you're of a mind.”

  “Church in the Dell's in Millwood Hollow?”

  “That's what the old-timers have always called the place, even after a church was built on it. Wealthy man named Millwood bought it for his bride. When she died, he up and sold a big part of it, then gave some of it to be built for a church—Mrs. Millwood would have wanted it that way. Little history lesson. I've kept you too long.”

  “I guess I should be going now.” He took the reins loosely and climbed onto the wagon and seated himself. He snapped the mule's flank with the tip of the rein.

  The banker laughed. “You forget something, Reverend?”

  Jeb had not shopped in any of the stores because he didn't need to purchase anything at all, not soap or bread or even a can of lard what with all of the pantry being stocked. “I don't think so, Mr. Mills. Why do you ask?”

  Mills lifted his broad chin and glanced inside Fidel's. “You forgot your children.”

  Jeb climbed down from the wagon. His face blazed red. “My apologies.”

  “No need to apologize. It's hard for us men to remember such things. Must be difficult for you since your wife passed on.” Mills excused himself with his white straw hat in his hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mills.” Jeb tapped on the window glass of Fidel's.

  Angel was engaged in conversation with Evelene Whittington, who had introduced her to two other women. Jeb pushed open the door.

  Evelene, eternally affable, gestured for Jeb to join the circle. “Here's our new minister himself, lathes. Reverend Gracie, I'd like you to meet Florence Bernard and Josie Hipps.”

  Florence had a wide face, big-boned, with a long neck that jutted out at an angle like a wild game bird—something red at the throat. “Nice to meet you, Reverend. We've been listening so long to Barney Hewlett's Bible readings we have forgotten what good preaching sounds like.”

  The pang grew to nausea inside of Jeb. He shook Florence's extended hand.

  Josie had a fair complexion with a spattering of freckles across her nose that caused her eyes to stand out like a child's. “Reverend, I'm bringing your dinner over tonight. I hope six is a good time. Bill don't like to drive me around too late after dark.”

  “Six is fine, ma'am. But don't think you have to cook for us. We've been making do for a long time on our own.” The lie sounded natural to Jeb. “We” and “our” came out of him with the fluidity of a natural father of three. While the falsehood settled itself inside of him, the nausea subsided. The back of his throat burned only faintly, tasting of fear.

  “Of course we'll cook for you,” said Josie. “Making do is not the way to bring up kids. They need a hot meal and fresh milk. Especially this little Ida May.”

  Ida May closed her eyes in ecstasy as she swallowed the last gulp of ice-cream soda.

  “I guess we'll be going now. Nice to meet you ladies,” said Jeb.

  “See you Sunday.” Evelene smiled out from far-set eyes, confident of every word she spoke as though each was a pearl.

  “Sunday, then.” Jeb poured out a breath so hard Angel warned him with a glance. He was done tired out over her nitpickin’, and ignored her. He opened the drugstore door behind him. “We got us a wagon, anyway, kids. May as well take a ride in it, see how she rides.”

  Willie and Ida May ran to pet me mule. Angel, who wore another of Evelene's collection, of frocks from her niece, teetered past Jeb in stockings white and soft like jasmine, nothing like the bare-legged, mud-toed vagabond who'd stowed away in the back of his truck.

  “You got ice cream on your nose, Biggest,” said Jeb.

  Angel rubbed the stain of chocolate with the back of her hand but walked around him as though he were the doorman. “Your oldest girl is blooming into quite a lovely woman,” sa
id Josie. “Better watch or she'll be turning heads in the shake of a stick.”

  “Good day, ladies.” Jeb allowed the door to swing closed behind him.

  Angel clambered on board the wagon seat with a box the size of which might hold one of Mrs. Honeysack's pies.

  Jeb took a seat next to her while Willie helped Ida May onto a bench seat in the wagon.

  “We're about to roll. Everyone hold on tight.” Jeb stung Bell's flanks with the rein. The mule danced for a split second then moved forward. “Mrs. Whittington must have given you another gift.” He gestured toward the box in Angel's grasp.

  “It's for you. I told her your Bible got stole with everything else. You can't preach without a Bible,” said Angel.

  “I can't preach no way.” Jeb tipped his new hat to another family who blew on the horn.

  “It ain't hard, Jeb. You just stand up and talk at people. I never seen no one who could talk like you. Best of my memory, I never seen you when you wasn't talking.” Angel opened the box. “She gave us a nice one. Leather. Gold letters. Words of Jesus in red. My granny told me it's the sign of a good one if the words of Jesus are in red.”

  “You think I can talk, but what you think I plan to talk about anyway? Picking cotton? I can talk about that until sundown.” He studied the scars on his fingertips. If the banker had noticed his rough hands, he had not said. “Or trouble-making women. I have known a few of them.”

  “I guess I'll have to tell you everything to do. You just talk on things like the Holy Ghost, getting baptized, and the Father and Jesus. Then just fill in with some ‘a-has’ and ‘hally-lu-yers.’ Stuff like that.” Angel pulled the satin marker out of the Bible.

  “I don't know nothing about no Holy Ghost, nor the Father, nor Jesus.” Jeb tapped a fingertip for each member of the trinity.

  “It's all in here,” said Angel, relaxed. “You just read it and then talk about it.”