These High, Green Hills (11 page)

“When we turn from our sin, and have the blessed forgiveness of the Almighty, then we can ask Him to run things, and let Him be in charge. But boys howdy, folks don’t want to hear that, either.

“Nossir, they like to keep control, even if their little boat’s pitchin‘ around in the storm and takin’ on water and about to be swamped.”

Preacher Greer took a long swallow of his cold drink.

“I got to chasing rabbits there for a minute. You asked how it went.

“Wellsir, you know how you stick a seed in the ground and you squat down and look where you planted it, and you get up and walk around a little bit, waiting for something to happen, and the rain falls and the sun shines, and you water that seed some more ... and still nothing pokes up. So after a while, you’re tempted to go off and lay down under a tree, and plumb quit on that seed.

“Week after week, I was preaching the living redemption of our Savior, and I look out and see dead faces and stony hearts. A rough life had killed back their feelin’s like a hard freeze on a peach crop.

“Some nights I’d go home and cry like a baby for the way they were hangin‘ on to their hurt.

“But I plowed on. One evenin‘, we preached the Word where it tells us the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ.

“We told how Christ died for us out of love, which is mighty hard to understand, saved or unsaved.

“Then, we preached that noble verse from Revelation that makes me shiver to hear it—‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock! If any man hears my voice and opens the door, I’ll come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.’

“I said the Lord Jesus will knock and keep knocking ‘til you let Him come in and make you a new creature. He’ll never break down the door. Nossir, the Lord is a gentleman. He waits to be
invited
.”

The bell jingled, and a customer walked in. “Brother Greer, I need a box of oatmeal!”

“Comin‘ up,” said Absalom, leaving his guest.

The rector noted the slowness of the old man’s gait as he walked toward the shelves. He hadn’t seen that last year and felt troubled by it. Deep down, he expected the people he loved to live forever, no matter how many funerals he had performed during his years as a priest.

Absalom rejoined the rector and sat again.

“My brother, I was in deep prayer as I preached, that the Holy Ghost would knock through the crust on every heart along that creek—but I have to tell you, my own heart was sinking, for it looked like the vineyard wasn’t givin‘ off a single grape.”

“I hear you.”

“That’s the way it was goin‘ when I noticed a young girl sitting on a limb of that big tree by the water.

“Usually, a good many young ‘uns would sit up there for the preaching, but somebody had put a board across some rocks that evenin’, and all the young ‘uns but her was sitting on the board. I pay a good bit of attention to young ’uns, having been one myself, but I’d never spotted Lacey Turner before.

“You talk about listening! Her eyes like to bored a hole in me. If a preacher had a congregation to sit up and take notice like that, he’d be a happy man. It seemed like every word the Holy Ghost put in my mouth was something she craved to hear. I got the feeling my words were like arrows, shooting straight at that long-legged, barefooted girl, but still missing the souls on the ground.

“Wellsir, that young ‘un slid off that limb and landed on her feet right in front of me, blam!

“Strikin‘ the ground like that kicked the dust up around her feet. I looked at that dust and looked at that girl, and I knew the Lord was about to do a work.

“She said, ‘I’m sorry for th’ bad I’ve done, and I want to git saved.‘ It was as matter-of-fact a thing as you’d ever want to hear.

“Well, the young ‘uns on the board, they started in laughing, but that girl, she stood there like a rock, you should have seen her face! She was meaning business.

“I said, ‘What would you be repenting of?’ And she said, ‘Bein’ generally mean and hatin‘ ever’body.‘ ”

“My brother, that’s as strong an answer as you’re likely to get from anybody, anywhere.

“I said, ‘Do you want to be forgiven of meanness and hatred?’ and she squared back her shoulders and said, ‘That’s what I jumped down here for.’

“I said, ‘Well, jump in here and say a prayer with me and turn your heart over to Jesus.’ And we both went down on our knees right there by the water, saying those words that’s changed the lives of so many lost and hurting souls.

“ ‘Lord Jesus,’ she prayed in behind me, ‘I know I’m a sinner. I believe You died for my sins. Right now, I turn from my sins and receive You as my personal Lord and Savior. Amen.’

“Wellsir, I looked up and half the crowd had moved over to that big tree and was going down on their knees, one by one, and oh, law, the Holy Ghost got to working like you never saw, softening hearts and convicting souls ‘til it nearly snatched the hair off my head.

“We stayed kneeling right there, and I led first one and then another in that little prayer, and before you know it, brand-new people were getting up off their knees and leaping for joy!

“Oh, you know the lightness that comes with having your sins forgiven! It’s a lightness that fills you from one end to the other and runs through your soul like healing balm.”

The rector could feel the smile stretching across his face.

“My brother, I scrambled down the bank to that creek, and that little handful swarmed down over rocks and roots, some crying, some whooping for joy, and we baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost ‘til I was sopping wet from head to toe.

The old preacher was silent, then he smiled. “I’ve never seen anything to top it.”

“Nor I,” said the rector.

Absalom got up and set his empty bottle in a crate.

“You can baptize anywhere you’ve got water,” he said, “but to my way of thinking, you can’t beat a creek. It’s the way ol‘ John did it—out in the open, plain and simple.

“Only one thing nags me,” he told the rector. “Who’s goin‘ to disciple those children of God?

“What’s goin‘ to become of Lacey Turner, as pert and smart a young ’un as you’ll ever see, with a daddy that’s beat her all her life, and a mama sick to death with a blood ailment?

“I can’t keep goin‘ back in there. My arthritis won’t hardly let me get down the bank from the main road.”

The old man shook his head. “It grieves me, brother, it grieves me.”

The knot in the rector’s throat was sizable. “I don’t know right now what we can do,” he said, “but we’ll do something. You can count on it.”

They walked out to the porch and looked across the pasture and up to the hills. The sun was disappearing behind a ridge.

“How’s Sadie?” asked Absalom.

“Never better, I think. She has a heart like yours.”

“Well ...” said the old preacher, gazing at the hills. They stood on the porch for a moment, silent.

Absalom Greer had passed a torch, and Father Tim had taken it. The only problem was, he had no idea what to do with it.

He was fixing dinner as Dooley stood at the kitchen door, staring into the yard. Cynthia looked up from setting the table and walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

“What is it, Dools?”

“Nothin‘.”

“Why won’t you talk to us, be with your family for the two days you’ve got left of your school break?”

Dooley turned around and they saw that his face was white with anger. “You’re not my family. I don’t have a family.”

He stalked from the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

On Saturday, Cynthia popped through the hedge for an early call from her editor, so he hot-footed it to the Grill, with Barnabas on the red leash. Advent was coming up, and still no snow, or promise of snow. Perhaps they would have a white Christmas—but, God forbid, not a blizzard like the one that paralyzed them last winter.

He took his cup off the hook at the counter and poured his own coffee. “Poached,” he said to Percy, who was flipping bacon on the grill. Percy frowned. He had never liked doing poached, which he considered too time-consuming.

In the rear booth, Mule was reading the paper, printed on the
Muse
presses overhead. “How’d we get th‘ pleasure of your company this morning?”

“I lost the pleasure of my wife’s company,” said the rector.

“I know th‘ feelin’. Fancy was up doin‘ highlights and a perm at six-thirty.” He folded the
Muse
and laid it on the table. “You see J.C.’s story?”

“ ‘Getting to Know Your MPD,’ I think he called it.”

“He drove around in a squad car for a couple of days, gathering material.”

“Very readable,” said the rector. “Well done. Anybody seen the new police officer?”

“You mean th‘ woman?”

“Right.”

“Fills out ‘er uniform pretty good. She was in here before you, picked up a coffee with cream and sugar. Forty, if she’s a day. Name’s Adele Lynwood.”

“Where’s J.C.?” wondered Father Tim.

“Gettin‘ barbered. I saw him leggin’ it up th‘ steps to Joe Ivey an hour ago. Speakin’ of which, you’re lookin‘ a little lank around th’ collar.”

“Always drumming up business for Fancy. If she did as much for your real estate interests, you’d be rolling in dough.”

“I call it like I see it, and you could use a trim.”

“Man!” said J.C., sliding into the booth. “He shaved me for boot camp.”

“That’s Joe’s deal,” said Mule. “Take it all off at one whack. Fancy’s of the new school. She believes in trimmin‘ a little at a time. More natural.”

“And more money,” said J.C., wiping his face with a paper napkin. “Six bucks here, six bucks there. Joe gives you fifteen dollars’ worth for five.”

“And sends you out needin‘ a hat to keep your head warm,” said Mule.

Given the surprised, newly hatched look of J. C. Hogan, the rector thought he might dodge Joe Ivey this time and step over to Fancy’s himself.

“Good story,” said the rector. “One of the best in some time. I didn’t know the chief played minor league baseball.”

“Nobody else did, except his mama and daddy, and maybe his wife.”

“Journalism at its best!” announced Mule.

Percy poured a round of coffee and eyed J.C. “What’ll it be?”

“Give me a bowl of Wheaties, skim milk, a cup of yogurt, and dry toast ... whole wheat.”

There was a stunned silence. “Call nine-one-one!” said Mule.

Percy dug a finger in his ear. “Am I goin‘ deef?”

“And snap to it,” said J.C. “I could eat a horse.”

Mule blew on his coffee. “You’ll have to drink a saucer of grease to let your stomach know it’s you.”

“Why didn’t you come to the Feast?” asked the rector.

“Too much carryin‘ on.”

“You could use a little carrying on, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” said J.C.

One thing he could say for his collar—it never earned him any respect at the Grill.

After breakfast, he walked out with Mule and untied Barnabas from the bench.

“I don’t get it,” said the Realtor. “Clean tie. Haircut ...”

“Dry toast. Skim milk ...” mused the rector, shaking his head.