Bleeding Kansas

by Sara Paretsky

  Robbie’s shoulders twitched with nervousness. “I invited her to come tomorrow night, Pastor, to our Christ-Teen service.”

  Nabo and Arnie exchanged significant glances, but Robbie was too tense to pay attention.

  “That’s excellent, young man. You bring her along.”

  “If she gets her father’s permission, sir. I don’t know for sure that she’ll be with me.”

  “If she knows enough to ask for parental guidance, then we know she has the humility to follow a Christian path if we show it to her.” Pastor clapped Robbie heavily on the shoulder. “Why don’t you phone her now and persuade her to join you?”

  Robbie laughed, a nervous reflex, because the idea of Lara believing that she needed anyone’s permission to do half the stuff she thought up was pretty ludicrous. Still, she did seem to respect Jim Grellier, so maybe Pastor was right.

  He hurried to the kitchen to use the phone. Myra hovered behind him, listening so blatantly he almost handed the receiver to her.

  Lara was startled to hear from him. Their relationship had been so secretive before that he’d never actually called her. “Where were you today? Are you all right? Did you get my e-mail? Elaine Logan came to our house last night, and my dad is pretty pissed off at me.”

  “Yeah, she was here, too. She spray-painted Nassie.” He spoke quickly, almost in a whisper, trying to keep Myra from hearing him. “I can’t talk much right now, but Pastor Nabo is here. He wants to know if you’re going to come to our Christ-Teen service tomorrow.”

  “Why did you talk to him about us?” she cried.

  “I didn’t, Eddie, he saw, and—I’ll explain it all when I see you tomorrow, it’s too long to do right now. Can you come?”

  “I guess,” she said, remembering her earlier plan, to sneak off without telling Jim. Now that she was actually faced with the prospect, it didn’t sound so attractive. “But I’m warning you, Robbie, if your pastor tries to convert me or something I’m leaving.”

  Next day at school, Robbie and Lara figured it didn’t matter who saw them together, so they huddled in a corner of the cafeteria at lunch. His arms tight around her, Robbie explained what Elaine had done and how he’d had to stay home on Tuesday to finish cleaning the heifer. All around them, students were roaring with laughter, comparing costumes, talking about what parties they would attend, all except for Amber Ruesselmann, who looked at Lara with a kind of sick misery. Robbie and Lara didn’t notice her or the rest of the clamor-filled room.

  “All this commotion with Elaine, plus me scrubbing Nassie for hours, it’s got Nassie all upset and she won’t even eat,” Robbie said. “My dad is looking like death, worrying that we’ll lose our specialness. He’s made so many people mad at him in the valley that he’s afraid folks like your father will laugh at him.”

  “My dad doesn’t do that kind of thing.” Lara bristled.

  “No, of course not. But Dad and Nanny do, so they imagine everyone else acts the same.”

  The bell rang for fourth period. The two went to their separate classes, and only met again in the Salvation Bible Church assembly room that evening.

  Fifty-One

  A CHRISTIAN SERVICE

  FROM PASTOR NABO’S SERMON

  The choice is clear between the rule of Satan and the rule of God. The Bible tells us to choose life. God himself said, “I have set before you today life and Good and death and Evil.” And He said—the inerrant Word of the Living God said—“Therefore, choose life.”

  We have chosen Good. As Christ’s people, sanctified in the Blood of the Lamb, the Blood of Salvation, we have chosen Good. But we live in the midst of Evil, and it is hard sometimes to cleave to the Good. Sometimes the two are so closely twined together that we can’t easily tell them apart. And we say, “Evil, be thou my Good,” and hope that that will make it so. It is one of Satan’s oldest, cleverest tricks, to dress himself up in attractive clothes and make us think he’s an Angel of Light.

  We were given a miracle, a chance to make history, in Kansas. The nation and the world laugh at us. “What is the matter with Kansas?” liberals ask. We have a chance to say, “Nothing’s the matter with Kansas, generation of vipers. Everything’s right with Kansas. What’s the matter is, you have turned your backs on the truth of the risen Lord.”

  Our miracle hangs in the balance now because the boy who helped bring her into our lives has let Satan trick him, has let Satan dress up in fine clothes and look like Good to him.

  Pastor Nabo’s voice clanged like a fire-engine bell. Lara could hardly bear it. Instead of the dance that Robbie had promised—him on guitar, Chris Greynard on drums, with canned music on an iPod for later in the evening so Robbie could dance with Lara—she was in the middle of a nightmare.

  The church complex anchored one end of a giant mall near Clinton Lake. Lara had driven past it many times but never been inside. Some impulse made her park on the street when she got there instead of in the mall. If she wanted to flee, she could jump into her truck and go.

  She saw Arnie’s truck in front of the church but couldn’t see Robbie. She was already a little nervous about coming into town for the dance without telling her father. Legally, she shouldn’t even be driving alone at night until she turned sixteen.

  Pastor Nabo was standing in front of the entrance to the Assembly Building, where the church held events ranging from revival meetings to basketball tournaments for the Northeast Kansas Christian League. He was smiling toothily at people coming up to the church, assuring them they were in the right place for Christ-Teen Night.

  When Lara crossed the street and stood looking uncertainly for Robbie, the pastor walked over to her. “You’re the little Grellier girl, are you?”

  Lara was rattled. “I’m not a little girl. I’m Lara Grellier. Is Robbie here?”

  The pastor smiled at her sadly. “No, you’re not a little girl. You are a very misguided young lady. Let’s go inside and work on that, shall we? Brother Ruesselman? Brother Greynard?”

  Amber Ruesselmann’s and Chris Greynard’s fathers sprang forward from the shadows and put their arms around her. Lara shouted in protest. She tried to break free, but they dragged her inside, pushed her through the throng of spectators and into the center of the assembly room, where they thrust her onto a chair. Once she was seated, other men set up a triangle of velvet ropes around her to separate her from the spectators. Robbie was in one corner of the triangle, about fifteen feet from her, and Elaine Logan was in the other corner, with Junior Schapen and two other husky men standing over her in the third corner.

  Spotlights were trained on Lara, on Robbie, and on Elaine. Lara took her cell phone from her jeans jacket to call Jim. He’d be at the wellness center on Kentucky Street, starting the group therapy session with Susan. Lara hoped he had his phone turned on. Before she could press the SPEED DIAL number, Mr. Ruesselmann snatched her phone away and put it in his pocket.

  “You’ll get it back at the end of the service.”

  “But what about the dance?” Lara cried.

  “We’re doing things a little different this year, Lara,” Mr. Greynard said. “You’ll be fine. This ceremony will be a big help to you.”

  Lara felt shocked, disoriented, helpless. When Mr. Greynard leaned over to fasten a lapel mike to her jacket, she shrank away with a gasp that was suddenly amplified throughout the room.

  A dozen or so men were inside the triangle with her, Robbie, and Elaine. Lara recognized Arnie but didn’t know the others, besides Mr. Greynard and Amber’s father. Myra Schapen stood near the front of the crowd, pressing against the velvet ropes, her face glistening with anticipation.

  Elaine was belligerent. She hadn’t had a drink for two days. She’d been placed in a cell with a bunk that she couldn’t climb into, so she’d spent the night on the floor, and now she’d been brought to the church by a group of gloating hooligans. She didn’t hide her opinion of them, as they frog-marched her into the assembly room and pushed her onto a chair—far too smal
l for her buttocks—but Junior and his cohorts only laughed and wrenched her arms farther behind her. She shut up, eyeing them malevolently, biding her time.

  Finally, the crowd finished filing into the room. The overhead lights were dimmed, the spotlights were switched from the three seated in the triangle to Pastor Nabo.

  “We thank you, Lord Jesus, for the gift of healing, for the gift of tongues, for the gift of casting out demons. Satan is in our midst now. Do we want him here?”

  His voice was horribly amplified by his lapel mike. Lara put her hands over her ears but couldn’t drown the sound.

  “No!” roared the crowd.

  “I said, do we want him here?” the pastor repeated, louder. And, once again, the crowd roared back, even more loudly.

  “I said, DO WE WANT HIM HERE?”

  “NO,” the audience screamed, people beside themselves with excitement, joy, frenzy.

  “Shall we call him out?”

  All around Lara came cries of “Yes, yes!” “Do it!” “Do it in Jesus’ name, hallelujah!” “Praise Jesus!”

  Lara couldn’t make out individual faces, or voices amid the roar. All she could see was part of Pastor Nabo’s face, where the spotlight hit it, and the shadows of Robbie and Elaine in their corners. The yelling was so loud that it filled Lara’s whole body. The chair she was sitting on seemed to rock, as if she were aboard an old sailing ship in the middle of an Atlantic storm.

  “Guide us. Guide us to the source of the possession, to the home Satan has built in this living, breathing body. Guide us there, take us there, Holy Spirit, before this soul is snatched away forever to the lakes of fire, the storms of brimstone, that await all of Satan’s friends.”

  Pastor Nabo went down on his knees. “Help me, Jesus. Come to me, Jesus. Send your Spirit down on me.”

  The elders formed a circle around him and placed their hands in the air over his head. “Come, come, Jesus. We call on your Spirit, even as you have told us to do. Send us the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Deliverance, the Spirit of Healing. Bring it into the body and spirit of Brother Nabo!”

  “Bring it, send it, give it.” The cries came from the audience.

  “Guide me, Spirit. Help me, all you angels and archangels. Bring me to Satan’s source!” Pastor Nabo got to his feet. The elders parted so that he could move around inside the triangular barricade.

  With his eyes shut, he held his right hand in the air: “This arm is my lightning rod!” he thundered. “Come down, my lightning rod, O Blessed Spirit, fill me, electrify me!”

  He held out his left arm straight in front of him as he walked around the velvet triangle, facing outward to the crowd. “My divining rod, bring me to the source of Satan! Is he there? Is he anywhere in this room? Help me, help me, Christians. Help me, my sisters, my brothers! If you feel the devil near you, send him forward. Jesus, I feel Ashmed close at hand. Bring me to him, bring me to him, Jesus!”

  The crowd pressed closer to the velvet triangle. People moaned and took up the chant: “Lead him, help us, save us.” Pastor Nabo turned around and began walking toward Lara. A second spotlight was directed at Lara. When the pastor touched her head with his outstretched hand, she screamed and twisted away.

  “Ashmed! Ashmed! Are you in this girl? Speak to me!”

  Lara stuffed her fingers in her ears. She was crying. She didn’t want this horrible man to see her so upset. Her fear, and her anger at her fear, made her cry harder.

  “Ashmed! Ashmed! I feel you in her, demon of lust, demon of horrible carnality, demon who gets between the legs of girls and ties them to lust, who makes the juices run down their legs, so that they entice good Christian boys out of the path of virtue, speak to me!”

  “Shut up!” Lara screamed. “You dirty old man, shut up! Shut up!” The mike Mr. Greynard had attached to her jacket collar carried her voice across the assembly room.

  “Now you’ve revealed yourself, Ashmed! Now you’ve made yourself clear. I command you in the name of the living God, leave this girl, leave her, leave her! She’s despoiling a good Christian boy, but it isn’t young Lara who’s doing it, Ashmed, it’s you. Lara, call on Jesus, call on His saving grace now, and the demon will leave you!”

  “This is a terrible show. I’ve seen better by old men with the d.t.’s down by the river,” Elaine Logan called. Her mike carried her words around the room.

  “Ashmed, is that your controller speaking? Is that the demon Beelzebub speaking?”

  “It’s me, Elaine Logan, talking, you bag of farts. So shut up and end this dreary performance.”

  Pastor Nabo left Lara, who was crying and shaking, and walked over to Elaine. Mr. Ruesselmann took Nabo’s place over Lara, leaning down so that his face was inches from hers, urging her to accept Jesus. The pastor, his eyes still shut, held his left hand over Elaine’s head. “Beelzebub, Beelzebub! Pay attention to me now, for I am working in the service of Christ Jesus!”

  “Amen, praise Jesus,” Amber Ruesselmann screamed from the front of the crowd. “I accept Jesus as my living God.”

  The second spotlight finally left Lara for Elaine. In its light, Lara could see the faces of the people nearest her. They looked greedy, as though, at a word from the pastor, they would surge past the ropes and devour Lara. Myra Schapen was gloating, rejoicing in the humiliation of the Grellier family.

  Lara wanted to leave, to race home to the safety of her father’s farm, but when she tried to slide out of her chair Mr. Ruesselmann grabbed her and forced her to remain seated. She darted a look at Robbie. Under the harsh white spotlight, he looked sick himself. Anger built in Lara against him. How could he have brought her to this disgusting place? How could he belong to a church that treated people like this?

  Most of all, she was upset with herself. How could she have done this, come to this awful service, without talking to her father? She hadn’t even left a note for him, she’d been so sure she’d be home before him. No one could help her. She couldn’t bring herself to pray, because it seemed as though Pastor Nabo had taken over Jesus. Chip, Chip, she begged in her head. Do something—anything!

  “Jesus’ power and glory fill my heart,” Pastor Nabo exulted. “His power sends me here to cast you forth from this woman. Beelzebub, Demon Alcohol, Demon Gluttony, in the Holy Name of Jesus I cast you out! Leave this woman and leave this place!”

  “Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on, too!” Elaine yelled, her amplified voice booming from the rafters. “I’d rather do a year in the can than listen to your hypocritical ranting.”

  “Yes, Beelzebub, wrestle with me!” Nabo called, his eyes still shut. “I defy you, Beelzebub, I defy you in Jesus’ name. Confess the foul acts you’ve committed on this woman’s body and through this woman’s body! Confess! You brought her low; you plied her with alcohol. And then you defaced God’s holy heifer. You, Beelzebub, confess it to me now! You tampered with the Lord’s anointed, but God’s power is greater than yours! The sheriff arrested this woman, but he didn’t realize that she was the blind instrument of your will. Come to Jesus, Elaine. Cast out Beelzebub and the sin of drunkenness. Jesus forgives you, for you know not what you did. It was the devil working through you.”

  “The fuck, you say.” Elaine got to her feet. “I knew just what I was doing. Myra Schapen is a murderess. She set the bunkhouse on fire. I watched her sneak up to the bunkhouse in the dark. I saw her light her fuse and laugh when the wood caught fire. She killed my beautiful baby, she made him die. I heard his screams, I saw his beautiful black hair on fire. Now I’d like to hear her screams.”

  Before the pastor and the elders realized what she was doing, Elaine lumbered over to the barrier. She pushed through the velvet rope, dragging it and the metal stand it was attached to with her as she marched up to Myra Schapen.

  “You’ve done more evil in your life than any other person in this room, Myra Schapen. More than me, for damn sure, let alone Farmer Jones’s little girl, even if she did screw around in the hayloft. You’re old, Myra, the f
ires of hell must be licking away at your dried-up old bush. I’m tired of you getting a free ride while I pay for your sins. You go suck on Pastor Fish Breath’s dick there. Let him breathe on you. Maybe you’ll have an orgasm.”

  Elaine twisted Myra’s nose so hard that the older woman yelped. The crowd was briefly stunned. They moved aside as Elaine muscled through them to the exit. It was only when she opened the assembly-room door that Junior Schapen gave a loud bellow.

  “Stop her! She can’t leave. The judge gave my daddy custody over her. Stop her!”

  Junior’s outcry electrified the spectators. People turned away from the pastor and began a stampede for the doors. So many were trying to get to the exit at the same time that for a moment they were wedged in the doors, unable to move.

  Junior tried bulling his way through the crowd, but they were packed too tightly for him to do anything except bruise the people right in front of him. When the crowd suddenly moved forward, the surge from behind knocked him over.

  Pastor Nabo tried to shout the crowd into quiet. “We need to stay calm. We need to stay here with Jesus’ healing power raining down on us. Return to your places. Let Brother Schapen and his son catch up with this tormented woman, so we can remove the stain of Satan from her!”

  The emotion in the room had been running too high. The mob needed an outlet. They ignored him, pressing forward to the exits, yelling, screaming, calling out for their children, calling out for Jesus.

  Lara crouched by her chair, hoping it might protect her if the crowd trampled through what was left of the velvet triangle. They parted around the ropes, like stampeding cattle around a tree.