The Front Porch Prophet

“John Robert, at times like these it is a comfort to know the Lord,” he said, his tone reasonable and compassionate. “Come. Pray with me.” He held out his hand to the elder Longstreet. The room held no sound. A.J. looked at the Reverend Doctor with respect, amazed at the obvious level of commitment and belief shown by his actions. A.J. knew it would do him no good, but Jensen certainly seemed to have the courage of his convictions, a rarity worthy of note. After a long silence, John Robert spoke.

“Reverend, Mama thought a lot of you, and you seem to be a well-meaning man. It is not my place to interfere with what you need to do. In her instructions, she said you knew all the arrangements. I leave all that to you. Please take care of your business.” John Robert rose and began to depart.

“You need to know God,” said Jenson McCarthy quietly and sincerely to John Robert’s retreating back.

“I know Him,” came the reply. “I just don’t care for His company.” The screen door squeaked as John Robert left. After an uncomfortable silence, the Reverend Doctor turned to A.J. He looked pained and sad.

The remainder of the visit was anti-climatic. Reverend McCarthy led them in prayer, and the invocation seemed to restore him somewhat, but he was still not quite himself. A.J. wanted to tell him to not take it so hard, that it was impossible for a mere mortal to put John Robert on his knees. But the opportunity did not present itself, and A.J. did not press. They briefly discussed the arrangements for the following day over a cup of coffee.

“A.J., I apologize,” Jensen McCarthy said on his way out. “I picked a poor time to try to convert an unbeliever. I owe an apology to John Robert.” He spoke in a subdued tone. A.J. thought that Jensen looked like he could use a couple of belts, but it was impolite to offer. For that matter, he could have used a swallow himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Reverend. We all know that John Robert has his ways, and Granmama knew it, too.” A.J. paused. “You’re wrong about one thing, though. He’s not an unbeliever.” John Robert’s hatred was sustained by his belief. A.J. was surprised the Reverend Doctor had not understood. He seemed sharper than that.

“That went well,” he said to Maggie after the preacher had gone.

“I thought so,” she said, smiling ruefully.

“Next time you get married, maybe you ought to shoot for normal people.”

“Maybe,” she replied, coming over and holding him. They were still for a while, holding one another while Granmama slept the long sleep.

“This is too weird for me,” said A.J. “Do you know I don’t even feel sad? I don’t feel anything. I’m just as screwed up as John Robert.”

“You’re sad,” she said with concern in her voice. “I can tell.” She held him a little longer.

The ritual that followed resembled an Irish wake, although the only Irish present were third and fourth generation, and no consumption of alcohol was evident except for the occasional nip Eugene secured in the yard. Friends and neighbors began to drop by to express their regard, and by dark it was standing room only. Food was brought by all of the female mourners, and the kitchen and dining room were filled to capacity with hams, fried chicken, potato salad, and an uncountable array of side dishes, pies, and cakes. Everyone commented on how good Granmama looked, which A.J. considered nonsense, because she was dead. But the observations were well meant, and there isn’t all that much that could be said about a dead body. Granmama had covered the subject at length in her final instructions, and A.J. smiled when he remembered her words on the notebook paper:

I don’t want the whole town to see me when I’m dead, but I don’t suppose that it’s decent to have a closed coffin unless there has been an accident or afire. But you mark my words on this. I do not want Estelle Chastain throwing herself all over me and having a fit. She tends to do that. You remember what she did at Bonnie Cotton’s funeral. She got in there with Bonnie, and they had a time getting her out. What they should have done was just nail her up, since she always said she was so close to Bonnie, although Bonnie remembered it differently.

So A.J. nodded and shook hands as the town filed past, but he kept a close eye on Estelle to make sure she behaved herself. She did, mostly, and A.J. was quick to escort her out for a medicinal dose of potato salad on the one occasion she seemed to be working herself into a state.