Do Unto Others

She hated that library and I’d already warned her to stay away. But somehow she got a key.” I paused. Tamma Hufnagel stared at the grass, shaking her head. She knelt by the letter box, carefully pulling her skirt around her legs so I didn’t even see a flash of calf. “I’ve made a mess,” she said, and began gathering the letters. I knelt next to her and helped her pick the little plastic vowels and consonants out of the lawn. I offered a palmful to her; she took the letters from my hand, touching the plastic extrusions on the letters and not me. I thought I’d made her uncomfortable when I touched her. She sorted the letters into the box. “I don’t know who would have wanted to kill her.” She shrugged. “Yes, she was difficult sometimes. I think she believed she had been specially touched by the Lord.” She looked skyward, but no answer was forthcoming on the accuracy of her statement. “I really didn’t know her well. What was your relationship like with her?” I tried to sound conversational rather than interrogative. She glanced at me, ran a thin tongue over thin lips, then went back to putting letters into the board, MAKING PEACE w. “We got along okay. She was a woman of… strong convictions. She had very definite opinions about the church. About God.” She searched for a letter in her palm. “And about morality.” “Did you ever disagree with her?” “Well, of course we did. It is Adam’s church, after all.” She shrugged. “She liked to be in charge of everything: the rummage sale, the bake sale, the tent revival in the summer-” “The book burnings,” I added in a miffed tone. Tamma paused. “You know that Adam and I didn’t agree with her about her attitude toward the library. Well, not entirely. We don’t approve of every book you keep, but that’s neither here nor there. We certainly didn’t want to see the place shut down.

Remember at the library board meetings, Adam tried for compromise regarding your views and Beta’s views.” “I appreciate that, Mrs.

Hufnagel.” It took every fiber of my being not to disclose what I thought about censorship and her holier-than-thou attitude. I wondered again what sin she’d committed in Beta’s eyes. I was tempted to mention the list, but I decided not to. Let Junebug do that. “I wonder, did you ever see my mother with Miz Harcher?” “Your mother?”

The question surprised her. She gave me a long, cautious look. “No, not that I remember. Your family’s not Baptist, are y’all?” There was disapproval in her voice, but I ignored it. She decided to be forgiving, since my mother was losing her mind. “You know, we have a healing service on Tuesday nights. You could bring your mother and see if Adam could help. And we’ll add her to our prayer list.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or say thank you. Mama had always taught us that saying thank you was as automatic a response as breathing, even when faced with the impossible. If Adam Hufnagel could drive the neurological demons from my mother’s mind, I’d drag her down here, let Brother Adam lay hands on her, and dance with a snake in my mouth. I decided on politeness. Medicine hadn’t done much yet for Mama; and including her on the prayer list was kind of Tamma. “Thanks. Maybe we will come.” “Prayer heals, Jordy.” We were now on first names. “Acts of God do happen here.” “Really?” I asked. “And have they happened to you? Have they made you free of sin?” Tamma Hufnagel stared at me.

There is a look of defiance people who are terrified can muster. And she did. I thought she wasn’t used to being challenged. Probably most of Brother Adam’s flock wouldn’t say boo to her; being the preacher’s wife made her untouchable. Her mouth set into a thin frown. “Of course not. We’re sinners from birth. Only Jesus offers us a chance at redemption.” “Miz Harcher doesn’t seem to have believed much in the redemption side of the equation,” I observed dryly. “All I ever heard from her was the judgment, the fire, the eternal damnation. I never heard once about the rewards to follow for good behavior.” I paused and realized I needed to keep my tongue in check. Tamma Hufnagel looked at me like I was a pagan dancer for Dionysus, come to town to set up a temple and do a little drunken shimmy. I paused and thought.

If she decided I was getting uppity, she might respond the way most fundamentalists do; with a torrent of words to tell you why you’re wrong and why they’re right. When she spoke, her voice cut with an unexpected edge. “You nonbelievers think you know everything. Well, you don’t.” “I’m not a nonbeliever. I’m a good Episcopalian. And I can’t know anything when people don’t answer questions,” I retorted.