A Land More Kind Than Home
Page 26
It started on the Sunday somebody got to the church early and tore that old newspaper off the windows. I never found out who’d done it; I didn’t ask, and nobody ever volunteered to say it was them. But I could see through the windows of my church for the first time in more than ten years, and from inside the church I could turn and see the world that had been kept out for just as long. The river across the road still ran under the bridge toward downtown Marshall, and I knew from there that it still ran clear on to Tennessee. It was the same world that we’d left behind, and it was a good thing to see it again.
That next Sunday I brought the children into the church for Sunday school for the first time in years. We held it in the back of the church while the adults held theirs down toward the front. I took the children outside during the service, but some of them wanted to stay in the church with their parents, and that was just fine with me.
A good many folks left the church after what happened to Carson Chambliss, and I reckon just as many stayed away after hearing about it. But others came, slowly: young folks mostly, people who’d moved in from outside of Madison County and hadn’t had time to hear a word, good or bad, about the little church out by the river. Jess came back to us too.
Jimmy Hall brings him down for church just about every Sunday now, but he never comes with him. He’s more like his son than his grandson in that respect, and while Jess is inside the church or out by the river Jimmy sits out in his truck and smokes cigarettes and reads the newspaper. But that’s all right with me. He don’t ever have to step a foot inside this church if he doesn’t want to. It’s enough for me to know that he’s out there if Jess needs him. I think it’s enough for Jess too.
This is a good place now, without no snake boxes, no musty smells of shed skin, no noisy rattles kicking up from places you can’t see. At times I thought we’d been cast out into the wilderness, led there by a false prophet who was blind to any will except his own. Although a couple of folks take turns preaching and leading the service, we still don’t have a full-time pastor. The Israelites had a Moses to lead them out of the wilderness. We’re still waiting on ours.
But in the Old Testament, when God’s chosen people called out, “Save us, Lord!” He heard them, and they were saved. He was there for them because they believed. We still believe.
I think the good Lord has it in His plan to save us too.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I WISH TO THANK THE FOLLOWING PEOPLE FOR THEIR CONTRIBUTIONS to this book and my writing life:
Nat Sobel, Judith Weber, and all the amazing people at Sobel Weber Associates, Inc. Nat, thank you for finding me three years ago; thank you even more for remembering me two years later. Your guidance has been invaluable. David Highfill, Jessica Williams, and everyone at William Morrow. David, when I heard North Carolina in your voice I knew I was in good hands. Thank you for loving this book and its people as much as I do.
The incredible teachers who encouraged my writing: Carol Lowry, Cynthia Furr, Jeff Rackham, and David Hopes.
My Louisiana family: Ernest and Dianne Gaines—Dr. Gaines, what so many great writers have been for you, you have been for me; Reggie Scott Young, my professor, mentor, and friend—from the workshop where I drafted the story that became this novel to the day of its publication, you’ve walked every step of this journey with me.
My West Virginia family: the administration, faculty, staff, and students of Bethany College, a wonderful place to live and work. All of our dear, lifelong friends in the town of Bethany: John and Robyn Cole, J. G. Cole, Brooke and Shawn Deal, Larry and Carol Grimes, Bill and Jill Hicks, Liz Langemak, Kimberly Lawless and Harald Menz, Harry Sanford and Chatman Neely, and Walt Turner. We can’t imagine a better place with better people. Thank you for making a place for us and letting us be a part of your lives.
The best friends I could ask for: my grad school buddies Brian Sullivan, Patrick Crerand, and Michael Jauchen—we spent a lot of late nights on the deck talking about writing and the writers we love. I can’t express how much your friendship, advice, and insight have meant to me. My oldest friends: Thomas Murphy and Whitney Braddy. Thomas: holy man, wingman, guide. We’ve been friends for more than fifteen years, and never once have you let me down or gotten me lost. Whit—the only real doctor I know—too much fun and too many memories to scratch the surface here. Chuck Walker: my big brother and voice of reason. Marc Baldwin: soul brother and creative life force. Thanks for putting this to music.
My entire family: the Brady and Sgambati clans for allowing me to whisk Mallory away to the wilds of West Virginia. My mom and dad, Sandi and Roger Cash, for always, always loving, supporting, and encouraging me. I hope you’re half as proud to be my parents as I am to be your son. My sister, Jada, a brave woman, a wonderful parent, and a confidante who’s always protected me. My brother, Cliff, the best and hardest-working man I know: comedian, environmentalist, saint.
Dear, sweet Mallory, my wife, best friend, and first reader. I began this novel the year we met, and I finished it the year we married; it’s yours as much as it’s mine. This would not have happened if not for your love, patience, and steadfast faith. I’m so proud of who you are and what you’ve done, and I’m amazed at what we’ve become.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WILEY CASH is from western North Carolina. He has a Ph.D. in English from the University of Louisiana–Lafayette and teaches English at Bethany College. He lives with his wife in West Virginia. This is his first novel.
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CREDITS
COVER DESIGN BY MARY SCHUCK
COVER DESIGN PHOTOGRAPH BY CLAIRE MORGAN/TREVILLION IMAGES
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A LAND MORE KIND THAN HOME. Copyright © 2012 by Wiley Cash. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-208814-7
ISBN 978-0-06-219678-1 (international edition)
EPub Edition © MAY 2012 ISBN 9780062088246
Epub Edition © APRIL 2012 ISBN 9780062196774 (international edition)
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