Nazareth's Song Read Online Free Page A
himself. He figured Hayes’s churchgoing wife had more to do with the lumberyard owner hiring him than he had admitted. Jeb had hated how first one man downtown and then another always kept bringing up the past. But Hayes had kept his opinions to himself for the most part. After several months Jeb had finally felt a friendship forming between them. But Hayes’s letting him go said that business priorities had finally overridden camaraderie.
“Wish I had more work for you, Jeb.”
With what Hayes might have paid him over the next two weeks, Jeb could’ve stretched out beans and corn bread for that long. Now he would be back at the general store by Monday, most likely, delivering seed to farmers again.
Hayes walked him out to the truck. “I ain’t seen a banjo around these parts in a while. I had a cousin who could play like the devil.”
“My momma once said it was of the devil. After she died, I felt bad every time I picked it up. Only reason I got it is because my brother, Charlie, sent it to me. Seems a shame to hide it in the attic.”
“I’d like to hear you do another tune sometime. I like good fiddling and banjo playing. Makes me forget my troubles for a bit. Maybe it is of the devil, but I like the sound of it.”
Hayes heard a dinner bell ring and glanced up toward his office. His wife, Molly, waved a brown bag of something fatty from the grassless path to the office. Hayes told her to wait inside. “You drop by and tell us how you’re doing from time to time, Jeb.”
Jeb left him to tend to his meal.
The road from the mill to downtown Nazareth wound for miles, with rocks spitting out from under the tires like vipers. If he had turned right at the crossroads, he would be headed toward Hope. He had driven the kids there in July to buy a watermelon. Willie had eaten it until the bottom half of his face was stained red.
The thought of sending that boy and his sisters to places unknown quickened Jeb’s anxiety.
He headed straight and aimed for downtown Nazareth. He had to meet Reverend Gracie at the bank. Gracie intended to let Horace Mills, the banker, know of the upcoming transfer of the pastorate to Jeb, maybe by Christmas or even sooner. Mills and his wife had at times been the sole support of Church in the Dell, other than the families who tithed from their pantry or henhouse when cash had become such a rarity. Gracie had often sought advice from Mills about financial matters.
Jeb parked alongside the walk that ran in front of the bank and pulled out a fountain pen given to him by Freda Honeysack from the general store. She had called it a good-faith gift when he had begun his apprenticeship with Gracie. Through the glass of the bank’s windows, he saw the back of Philemon Gracie’s head colored like frost. He had arrived early and taken a chair to wait on Jeb. When he saw him he waved him inside.
Jeb had never known Reverend Gracie to cater to anyone, let alone Mills. But he had always shown his appreciation. Still, Jeb remembered how Horace Mills had changed toward him when he’d told him how sorry he was for the scam. Horace had not taken much stock in Jeb’s conversion, paying him as much mind as he would that lumberyard dog.
“I hate to bother the banker on his busiest day,” Jeb said now.
“Mr. Mills has supported Church in the Dell when no one else could. Better that we tell him about the change rather than surprise him.”
Mills’s office door opened and then stopped partway as though it had a spring weighting it from inside. A muffled voice, low like a man keeping secrets, followed the drawling door.
Asa Hopper appeared. His anger drew up his elongated jaw and turned his face pink as pickled eggs. Behind him came a tall young man who looked to be the oldest Hopper boy, skinny with a face that looked stepped on. Hopper leaned back inside the office and yelled something critical and then closed the door. The boy lagged behind, mumbling monotonous echoes to his father’s
“Wish I had more work for you, Jeb.”
With what Hayes might have paid him over the next two weeks, Jeb could’ve stretched out beans and corn bread for that long. Now he would be back at the general store by Monday, most likely, delivering seed to farmers again.
Hayes walked him out to the truck. “I ain’t seen a banjo around these parts in a while. I had a cousin who could play like the devil.”
“My momma once said it was of the devil. After she died, I felt bad every time I picked it up. Only reason I got it is because my brother, Charlie, sent it to me. Seems a shame to hide it in the attic.”
“I’d like to hear you do another tune sometime. I like good fiddling and banjo playing. Makes me forget my troubles for a bit. Maybe it is of the devil, but I like the sound of it.”
Hayes heard a dinner bell ring and glanced up toward his office. His wife, Molly, waved a brown bag of something fatty from the grassless path to the office. Hayes told her to wait inside. “You drop by and tell us how you’re doing from time to time, Jeb.”
Jeb left him to tend to his meal.
The road from the mill to downtown Nazareth wound for miles, with rocks spitting out from under the tires like vipers. If he had turned right at the crossroads, he would be headed toward Hope. He had driven the kids there in July to buy a watermelon. Willie had eaten it until the bottom half of his face was stained red.
The thought of sending that boy and his sisters to places unknown quickened Jeb’s anxiety.
He headed straight and aimed for downtown Nazareth. He had to meet Reverend Gracie at the bank. Gracie intended to let Horace Mills, the banker, know of the upcoming transfer of the pastorate to Jeb, maybe by Christmas or even sooner. Mills and his wife had at times been the sole support of Church in the Dell, other than the families who tithed from their pantry or henhouse when cash had become such a rarity. Gracie had often sought advice from Mills about financial matters.
Jeb parked alongside the walk that ran in front of the bank and pulled out a fountain pen given to him by Freda Honeysack from the general store. She had called it a good-faith gift when he had begun his apprenticeship with Gracie. Through the glass of the bank’s windows, he saw the back of Philemon Gracie’s head colored like frost. He had arrived early and taken a chair to wait on Jeb. When he saw him he waved him inside.
Jeb had never known Reverend Gracie to cater to anyone, let alone Mills. But he had always shown his appreciation. Still, Jeb remembered how Horace Mills had changed toward him when he’d told him how sorry he was for the scam. Horace had not taken much stock in Jeb’s conversion, paying him as much mind as he would that lumberyard dog.
“I hate to bother the banker on his busiest day,” Jeb said now.
“Mr. Mills has supported Church in the Dell when no one else could. Better that we tell him about the change rather than surprise him.”
Mills’s office door opened and then stopped partway as though it had a spring weighting it from inside. A muffled voice, low like a man keeping secrets, followed the drawling door.
Asa Hopper appeared. His anger drew up his elongated jaw and turned his face pink as pickled eggs. Behind him came a tall young man who looked to be the oldest Hopper boy, skinny with a face that looked stepped on. Hopper leaned back inside the office and yelled something critical and then closed the door. The boy lagged behind, mumbling monotonous echoes to his father’s