The Pilgrim Song (18 page)

“How do you do, Dorcas and Jeff,” Hannah said. Her father greeted them as well, and then Hannah said, “Is your church the one we saw on Main Street?”

“Yes. It’s at the end of Main Street. I hope you’ll feel free to come and worship with us.”

“Indeed we will, Reverend Crutchfield.”

Crutchfield shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of unpleasant news.”

Lewis blinked with surprise. “What could that be?”

“It’s your son, Joshua. I’m afraid he’s got himself into a little trouble.”

Hannah felt a start of fear. “What sort of trouble, Reverend?”

“Well, the fact is he bought some illegal alcohol. Bootleg, as it’s called, and he was arrested. I’m afraid he’s in jail.”

Hannah stared at the tall man, unable to speak. It was Lewis who said, “Will he be tried?”

“Not if you pay his fine. It’s a rather common offense around here,” Crutchfield assured him. “The fine will probably be around twenty or twenty-five dollars, depending on the mood of Judge Garrity.”

“Dad, you’ve got to go, but the truck’s in town.”

“That’s why I came,” Crutchfield said. “I knew you wouldn’t have any way to get to town. So I came to drive you in.”

“That’s very kind of you, Reverend,” Lewis said. “Would you give me a few moments?”

“Of course,” Crutchfield replied. “Come, children, we’ll go outside and wait in the car.” Before he left, he turned to Hannah. “Miss Winslow, I’m sorry to be a bearer of ill tidings, but I felt it would be better if I did come.”

“I’m sorry we had to meet under such conditions. Joshua’s lost his way, and he needs your prayers—as do we all.”

The smile that lit Crutchfield’s face made him look much younger. It warmed his entire countenance. “I’ll do that,” he said, “and I’ll look forward to seeing you at church tomorrow.”

****

Joshua looked up when his name was called. The jailer was unlocking the door. “Come on, Winslow, somebody’s paid your fine. I think it’s your old man.”

Joshua got to his feet and put on his coat. He pulled his hat down square on his head, dreading what was to come. He followed the jailer out of the musty jail. As he stepped into the outer office, he saw his father standing there, displeasure in his eyes. “Come along, Joshua, your fine’s paid.”

The jailer, a huge man with a belly that overhung his belt, grinned. “You better watch out where you buy that bootleg liquor from, boy. It’ll get you in trouble. That stuff you bought could have made you blind.”

“Come along, Joshua.”

Joshua followed his father out and saw that the truck was pulled up in front of the jail. Several people along the walks glanced their way. Some of them grinned, and one of them whispered loudly enough, “Well, the Yankee boy got himself out of jail. How about that.”

The comment made Josh angry, but his father said sharply, “Get in the truck!”

Joshua climbed inside, and his father started the engine and drove away. “What were you thinking of?” he said as soon as they were clear of town. “Don’t you have any sense at all, Joshua? You know that it’s against the law to buy liquor.”

Joshua Winslow wanted to lash out, but he felt completely stupid. He kept his jaw clenched tight, not answering. What could he say? He had come to town merely to buy supplies for the family, but the craving for whiskey had overtaken him,
and he had stupidly approached a man on the street and asked where he could buy some whiskey. The man had sold it to him himself but then had immediately shown him a badge and arrested him. Joshua would not soon forget the broad humor that everyone had shown and the remarks about Yankees being pretty stupid to try to buy bootleg from a deputy.

As he sat there, the truck jolting over the roughness of the road, he tried to think of a way to escape. There was nowhere to go, no one he could turn to, and life seemed to close in about him. The craving for alcohol was still consuming him, and he knew that somehow he would find some, no matter what it cost. In jail he had overheard talk about the former occupants of their house—the Cundiffs—being bootleggers. He had heard they were living somewhere close by, and he had a little money.
They won’t turn me in,
he thought.
I’ve got to have something to drink!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sunday Service

The next morning, Hannah set herself to the task of persuading the family to attend church. She was only partially successful. Joshua said flatly, “I’m not going, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.” He stalked out of the house after breakfast and disappeared into the woods, walking toward the river. Hannah stared after him, afraid that something terrible was happening to her brother. He had completely changed from the man he used to be, and it frightened her to think of what lay ahead for him.

Lewis protested the idea of going to church, but Hannah simply overrode his arguments, and when the time came to leave, he was dressed and ready. He wore a dark brown suit, wrinkled from being packed in a trunk, and his hair needed cutting, but there was no time for that.

Jenny knew it was better not to argue. She was wearing a dark blue wool dress and an expensive wool coat she had bought before the stock market crash in October. The fur-lined cap on her head was probably more than she needed on this pleasant day, and although she looked very nice, discontent marred her features.

Hannah glanced at Kat, relieved that she was not wearing her old tomboy clothes. The girl had on a maroon dress, a pair of sturdy boots, and a heavy wool coat with fur on the collar and around the wrists.

“All right, we’re ready,” Hannah announced. She herself was wearing a simple dress with an old-fashioned cut and
the overcoat she had owned for three years. She picked up her Bible and started out of the house, and when she stepped out, she was surprised to see Clint leaning against the truck. He was freshly shaven and was wearing the suit she had bought him back in New York. A flush of pleasure rose to her cheeks, and her eyes brightened. “You’re going with us, Clint?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He opened the door of the truck and said, “Why don’t you drive, Mr. Winslow. I’ll get in the back.”

“I’ll ride in back with Clint,” Kat piped up, and before Hannah could protest, Kat scooted around and opened the back gate of the truck and leaped up in it. Clint followed her, and Jenny and Hannah got in the front. Lewis cranked the truck, then got inside. There was no heater in the truck, and rusty holes in the floorboards let in the cool air, so before they were halfway to Summerdale, Hannah’s feet were like blocks of ice.

Lewis drove into the town center and noted that people were walking toward the Baptist church at the end of Main Street. He parked the truck, got out, and walked around to let the women out. Clint jumped out of the back and then turned around to help Kat out. He glanced at the church and smiled to himself.
First thing you know,
he thought,
I’ll be getting religion. Wouldn’t hurt me, I guess.

The party made their way to the church, a tall, narrow white building with a high steeple and long stained-glass windows along the sides. As the family stepped inside, the warmth was welcome to Hannah. Two men were standing in the spacious foyer greeting those who came in. One of them, a big handsome man with black hair and black eyes, came over to the Winslow family and nodded. “Good morning. Good to see you.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said.

“Why don’t you hang your coats on that rack right over there.”

To Hannah’s surprise, Clint spoke to him. “Hello, good to see you again.”

“Why, it’s Clint, ain’t that right?”

“That’s right, and you’re Jude Tanner.”

“I remember. I worked on the part for your truck.”

Tanner was wearing a mauve suit that was pinched tight across his big shoulders. He had a pleasant smile and fine teeth. “Plenty of seats left this morning.” He winked at Clint.

The group turned and went to the doors that led into the sanctuary. It was not as large as the church they were used to, but the ceiling was very high, giving it an illusion of spaciousness. The stained-glass windows turned the pale morning sunlight into shafts of green, crimson, and violet. The walnut pews were smooth, and a dark runner over the pine floor muffled the sound of their footsteps as they walked down to take their seats. The back pews were all occupied, so they had no choice but to go down to within five rows of the front. Hannah felt that everyone’s gaze was directed at her and her family. She turned into one of the pews, and the family followed. She was seated next to Jenny with the rest of the family on their left.

Jenny sat next to a large woman who had watched them enter, and now the woman leaned over and whispered, “Good morning. It’s so good to have you. My name is Ellen Flemming.”

“I’m glad to know you. I’m Jennifer Winslow.”

“That’s my husband—Potter Flemming. He’s the mayor.” Ellen Flemming waited for some sort of reaction, but Jenny simply nodded, not overly impressed with Summerdale’s bigwigs.

“You’re new in town, are you?”

“Yes, we’re living in my mother’s old home place.”

“Oh, indeed! Yes, I’ve heard about you. I believe it was your brother who was arrested for buying bootleg whiskey.”

Jenny froze and turned away, but her silence and body language did not trouble Mrs. Flemming. The big woman just kept talking, chattering on now about various members of the church. “Have you met our pastor? Poor fellow. His
wife died a little over a year ago. A sweet woman she was but too easy on those children. They’re really a handful.” She looked over toward a boy and girl across the aisle and shook her head. “A sad case. They need a touch of the stick is what they need.” Without taking a breath, she went on, “Brother Crutchfield needs to marry again. He can’t control those children. Lord knows I’ve tried to help him the best I can. They are several widows in our congregation. Right over there. You see that woman in the brown dress?”

Jenny looked over to see a thin woman wearing a plain brown dress. She was distinctly unattractive, and Jenny was surprised to hear that she was Ellen Flemming’s choice for the pastor.

“She’s a widow, and her poor husband got killed in a railroad accident three years ago. She’s got two girls, and she’d make the pastor a fine wife.” Mrs. Flemming nodded firmly, as though the idea was settled in her mind. “She’s the president of the W.M.U.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t know? Why, it’s the Women’s Missionary Union!” She seemed scandalized that Jenny would not know this information. “But Pastor Crutchfield is a little too liberal for our part of the country. He’s not from here, you know.”

“Oh, indeed, where is he from?”

“Oh, someplace north. Ohio, I believe. In any case, he wants to start working among the black children of the county. That’s not his place—” She broke off, for the pastor’s children had gotten into a vociferous argument over who would hold the songbook.

Jenny watched them and shook her head.
At least the woman is right about one thing—those children do need discipline.

As Mrs. Flemming continued to enlighten Jenny on the pastor’s flaws, Hannah examined the building. The front was occupied by a raised platform with a massive walnut pulpit in the center. There were four chairs, two on each side of the
pulpit, heavily carved of golden oak and upholstered with dark red fabric that matched the carpet. Behind these were a rail with a curtain and three rows of pews for the choir. They were empty right now, but even as Hannah watched, the door opened, and two men walked out. One was Devoe Crutchfield, the minister, and the other was a silver-haired man with a look of someone who knew his own importance. The choir piled in as the silver-haired man stood behind the pulpit and the pastor moved quietly to take a seat in one of the chairs. Mrs. Flemming leaned across Jenny to tell Hannah that the man was none other than Millington Wheeler, the president of the bank. He served as the congregation’s song leader and choir director.

Hannah saw Crutchfield’s eyes pick out her family, and interest quickened in his expression. He nodded slightly, and involuntarily she nodded back at him.

The song leader said, “Please stand for the singing of the doxology.”

With a shuffling of feet, everyone stood. Hannah noted two children wedged in between two women in the third row. One of the women reached over and plumped the boy, who looked about six, on the head. He protested the blow at once. The blond girl next to him was wiggling impatiently, and Hannah wondered why they were so close to the front. They would have been better off at the rear, she thought.

After the congregation sang the doxology, the bank president led them in a short, businesslike prayer.

The choir anthem was next, followed by the offering, announcements, and a special song, a rendition of “The Ninety and Nine” by a man with a high tenor voice.

When Devoe Crutchfield rose to come to the pulpit, Hannah noticed that he was not a graceful man. He appeared almost disjointed. His homely face reminded her once again of a young Abraham Lincoln. His black hair fell down over his forehead, and she noticed that he needed a haircut.

The preacher read his text, which was taken from John,
chapter fifteen. He read a longer passage, then read the ninth verse slowly and with emphasis. “As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you.” He bowed his head and prayed, then began to preach. Hannah sat quietly, her eyes fixed on the preacher, leaning forward slightly.

She was impressed by the sermon. It was very simple, the points clear: Jesus loved His people first without any change, second without any end, and third without any limitations.

“You need not fear death,” he was saying, “for His love will not cease then. Christ will go with you even down to the grave. And He loves without any limitation—the same immeasurable love Jesus bestows upon His chosen ones. The whole heart of Christ is dedicated to His people, for He loved us and gave himself for us. . . .”

Crutchfield’s homely face glowed as he spoke of the love of God, and when he came to the end of his sermon, Hannah felt warm and at peace. He smiled and looked much younger as he said, “We think that God loves people like
us
the most, but that’s not so. He doesn’t love us any better in America than He loves the Eskimo, or the cannibals in Africa, the Germans, or sinners like Mary Magdalene full of the devil.” Hannah noticed this did not go over well with some of the congregation. There was a stirring, and she understood the reason. Most congregations wanted to think they were God’s favorites, but Devoe Crutchfield did not believe this. He closed the Bible and said quietly, “A man or a woman can go wrong in a great many ways.” He hesitated and looked over his congregation before adding, “But if you have love in your heart, God delights in it.”