Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

Isaiah was to preach the morning of the retirement party. He invited Clara to attend, even threatened to come and get her himself if she didn’t come with me. I was of two minds, at least two minds, knowing how unpredictable Clara was, but thinking it’d be as good a time as any to introduce Jeremiah to the congregation, since he was already a Christian boy. When Clara said they’d be there, I went up to Ragapoo City and bought him a nice outfit out of my own pocket. Clara let me. She had money since the state bought a section of McCracken land, but she was saving every penny now for Jeremiah. I was nervous helping get him dressed on Sunday morning, even more when Clara came down wearing a dress I hadn’t seen for over fifteen years. It was black and fit her snug and just the way she wore it at her trial; she had a red handkerchief at her throat.

The ones in church ahead of us fell silent when we were ushered down near the sanctuary, Clara holding Jeremiah out in front of her like he was a little king. I don’t remember much about myself, except that I was wearing my good suit.

When Isaiah stepped up to the pulpit, he was carrying a bundle of letters. He made a little bow toward Pastor, who sat in his usual place aside so the pulpit didn’t block him from the congregation’s view, and said he had in hand the tributes of a grateful parish, which he’d present to Pastor by and by. I guess he said how grateful he was to all of us for promising to call him, and I know he did mention Mary Toomey by name. She was on the other side of the aisle from us. I saw heads turning her way, but I didn’t look and Clara didn’t look, I don’t think even at Jeremiah, just straight at Isaiah.

Then he told us what brought him to Webbtown.

He’d been preaching in a town he’d never heard of in the mountains to the south, and a woman stood up and told him of her terrible pain — she’d lost a son to murder and his name was Reuben White. Isaiah told us how he was able to help her and her family heal a wound festering a whole generation. They didn’t expect any peace in this world unless they got revenge. That’s what they lived for. I think this is what he said: “With God’s help I persuaded her family, one by one, to bring their anger to Jesus, and their suffering, and let go of their bitterness.” And I know he said this: “Shall I tell you the Lord’s message to me? He told me there was healing to be done in the town they moved away from, a whole town that needed healing but needed first to tell its sins and sorrow.” He preached for maybe an hour, straight out of the Bible, things we’d never heard just that way before. Even Jeremiah seemed to listen. Clara seemed dead alive, if you know what I mean, frozen.

But he wound up thanking us again and saying he was going to preach this coming week at River Junction, starting a new tour. “I thought I had the makings of a pastor,” he said, “but I’m only an evangelist trying to make straight the way of the Lord.”

The party went on, but neither Clara nor Big Mary stayed for it. It turned out to be a pretty good welcome to Parson Barnes, asking him and Faith to unpack.

I went back after taking Clara and Jeremiah home. The only thing Clara said that I remember, “I ain’t going up to River Junction.” She kept saying it now and then for the next day or so.

Finally I said, “Well, maybe River Junction will come down to you.”

“Better not,” she said, and then brightened up. “It won’t be coming down to Big Mary, will it?”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t like that “Better not.”

Then as I was going home that night, and I hadn’t been home much lately — home was getting to be where Jeremiah was and maybe needing me — as I was going out the door she called me back. “I want you to take Pa’s shotgun with you, Hank. And you’d better hide it somewhere good in case I ever ask for it back.”

Blood in the Water by Janice Law

Author of nearly a dozen mystery novels, historical novels, and many short stories, Janice Law is also an academic, and is therefore able to pursue fiction writing only in her spare time. Ms. Law’s work has included ventures into science fiction, but she always returns to the mystery field, where she continues to write about the series character she launched in 1975, Anna Peters. The following tale is a nonseries work with an ironic twist.

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