Hoodoo

March 15, 1947

“Reverend, I think we have a problem.” The Sheriff stood in the parsonage kitchen with the look of someone trying to save the life of a drowning dog that had just bitten him. He sat down at the kitchen table, making the chair groan under his bulk, some of which poked between his shirt buttons.

“It seems a number of the boys coming back from the war are finding that their wives have had a bit too much spiritual counseling. One of them is expecting the Holy Spirit itself about six months from now,” the Sheriff said.

He paused, watching the preacher and his wife. Then he continued, “And it must be, cause Billy Ray just got back three weeks ago. His wife’s confessed that maybe you had a hand in it.”

The Sheriff watched panic build on the preachers face and fire smoldering in his wife’s eyes. “Him and six or seven other boys that just got to talking and seems all of them are thinking their wives been getting help on some earthly matters while they were overseas. There’s a bunch on the way over here now. I just came to warn you, that it might behoove you to leave town. Sho as hell save me the paper work of filing reports and investigatin’ your murder.”

The preacher’s wife stood at the stove. Her temper looked about as hot as the frying pan in front of her. “Thomas, you bastard. You promised you’d change. Swore up and down you wouldn’t do this again if we got another church.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Sheriff, this is false, I tell you, it’s bearing false witness. The Lord knows I’m innocent,” the preacher said.

“Well, Reverend, the Lord may know you’re innocent, I reckon you can take that up with Him. But if you want that to happen later rather than this afternoon, you’d better git. Don’t worry about your job none, because me and the rest of the Deacons agree, you ain’t got a job here no more.”

The preacher’s wife picked up the small frying pan from the stove and threw it at her husband. The pan missed the Reverend’s head by a quarter of an inch and landed on the floor, skidding, leaving a hot butter trail.

“It’s not true,” the preacher said.

“That’s what you said the last two times, you weasel.” She yelled, “Get out of my house. You adulterous, fornicating bastard!”

Reverend Thomas Vaughn wasn’t a fool. He could see his minutes in the community were numbered about the same as his fingers. He grabbed his preaching coat and went through the back door. The sound of the screen door slamming would be the last thing heard of him in this part of the state.

He took the Model A, which came with the job, as did the parsonage, and headed away from town. Stopping for gas two miles down the road, the news of his problems hadn’t reached them yet, and the attendants were happy to charge it to the church as they usually did. With a full tank of gas, the preacher headed south.

Two months later, the preacher hadn’t heard anything from the church, his wife or his kids. Nor did he contact them. He’d traded the car and his name in Milledgeville the day after he’d left town. He found work at odd jobs on the way south, but never stayed longer than a week, and sometimes only overnight if anyone started asking too many questions.

In a small town where he’d stopped to get gas and a sandwich, he overheard two men taking about a preacher that just died so he joined the conversation. A day later, Reverend Tim Vader pulled up to the newly named Richardson Methodist Chapel in his battered, but well-running Chevrolet. He’d traded the church’s Model A in Milledgeville on the way south.

The Reverend Vader was to preach a trial sermon and lead the Sunday services. This was a circuit preaching job, only the first and third Sundays. The pay was barely enough to live on, but there was a small house that would serve as a parsonage, as well as twenty-two acres of good farm land that came with the job. He’d had enough rough living since that unpleasantness north of Atlanta. He was fully repented and forgiven by his Lord, he was sure.

When Reverend Vader walked into the tiny church, the Deacons stood to greet him. They shook hands all around, then sat to talk.

“We’re very happy you’ve agreed to preach for us. We’ve felt like a ship without a rudder since Pastor Richardson was called home to Jesus this past spring,” one of the Deacons said.

“I’m happy to help out in any way I can,” the Reverend said.

“Reverend Tim, can you tell my friends here a bit about yourself?” Frank said.

Frank Coleman was the head Deacon and the owner of the farm Tim had been working on. Frank had filled in preaching most Sundays since Pastor Richardson had passed away. The other Deacons also picked up the ministering needs of the community.

“I’m working on my Doctor of Divinity at the University of Georgia,” Reverend Tim began. He had attended two semesters at UGA, but was put on academic probation and never returned. “I’ve been preaching at May’s Chapel in North Augusta until they had to close,” Reverend Vader said. This part was true. He failed to mention the churches between May’s Chapel and here. “I’d rather let my preaching speak for itself and we can see how that works out.”

The congregation was beginning to gather. They expected a full house today since word had gotten around there was the possibility of a new preacher. Mr. Frank and Tim shared the dais. Mr. Frank led the service, making the announcements and other opening bits of the service. He introduced Tim. No matter what else, Tim was an excellent preacher. He captured fire, and empathized with the congregation. Today, he began with a humorous story to put everyone at ease. The congregation chuckled, although it seemed that half of them didn’t get the joke.

“Today, I’d like to take my sermon from Luke 13:1–5; Mark 6:12; and Acts 3:19. Let us talk about bending to modern times and how that can lead us astray. How should we repent?” Tim’s voice resonated through the small chapel. He stood tall behind the pulpit. His hair was black, with no grey showing, but he parted it low on the left side and kept it long there and combed over the increasing bald spot. His favorite pomade, Brylcreem kept it in place. His suit, including the vest was a dark grey.

Afterwards, Tim shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the congregation on the way out. The Deacons hung back and were the last to leave.

Mr. Frank said, “Reverend, we’d like to have you stay.”

“I’d be honored, Mr. Frank.”

Mr. Frank’s brother, Luke added, “I have a few minutes while Bessy goes home to get dinner ready. We could take a look at the house you’ll be staying in. You’re welcome to join us for dinner.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Luke. I’d like that.” Tim held his stomach in an attempt to stifle a growl. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.

Luke shut the church doors and locked them.

“I reckon you’ll need these.” He handed Tim the keys. “The key to the house is also on that ring. Pastor Richardson lived in town, so he rented it. There’s a colored family down the road that you can get to clean for you. They clean the church when we can afford it.”

Luke opened the door to the house. Four rooms: a living room and bedroom in the front of the house, dining room kitchen in the back. The back porch had a table and a bowl for washing. The kitchen had a wood stove and a sink under the pump. The dining room had a small table, with four chairs around it. The living room had a desk and chair and two arm chairs. There was a wood stove against the corner for heat. The bedroom had a double bed and a dresser with a mirror.

“When the power company gets the wires strung down this road you’ll have electricity for lights and a water pump,” Luke said.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Luke opened the door. “Come in, Selena.” “Pleased to meet you, Reverend.”

Tim smiled. “I’m happy to meet you, too.”

“Selena, could you give the Reverend a hand getting this house cleaned up? It’s been sitting a while, and I reckon it could use a pretty good scrubbing all over.”

Selena looked around. “Mr. Luke, it sure is a mess. I’m busy as I can be with Mr. Charles and his house, but my daughter here, Sally, she could get to it. Look like it might take three or four days, what with washing and scrubbing.”

Selena ran her hand over the wall and held her fingers out to show the dirt on them. “Come here, Sally, say hello to the new Reverend.”

Sally had remained outside on the back porch while her mother went in. She now entered the house and stood behind her mother. She kept head down and didn’t look at the men.

“Hello. Nice to meet you, Reverend.”

“Sally, can you clean up this mess for the Reverend? Whole house needs a good scrubbing”

“Yes, ma’am, I can do that good.”

“Okay, then it’s all set. She’ll be here tomorrow morning at eight. Is that alright with y’all?”

“That’s fine with me,” Tim said. He took a long look at Sally, trying not to be obvious. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream in it, not coal black like her mother’s. Her face was unblemished, and there seemed to be no visible pores. The girl’s hair was medium length and formed a halo around her head. She was dressed in a simple cotton dress of bright yellow, and her figure was that of a very well grown woman. They had probably just come from church, and this was the best thing Sally owned, no doubt.

After Selena and Sally left, Luke said, “You can follow me to the house and we’ll have a nice dinner. Don’t need to lock up, nothing worth stealing in here, and ain’t nobody around here to steal it.”

Tim woke up just before six according to his Big Ben alarm clock. He’d wound it and set it, guessing at the time based on when he left Luke Coleman’s house. The sun had more to do with daily living than clocks.

Tim put on his blue chambray shirt and his coveralls. He put on his other pair of socks, then walked out to the kitchen.

Mrs. Coleman had wrapped up some of last night’s dinner for him. He retrieved two rolls from the warming cabinet above the stove. He sat down at the table to eat. The rolls were still fresh, and she’d taken the time to stick a pat of butter in each. He wanted a cup of coffee, but didn’t have kindling or firewood ready to build a fire in the stove to make it.

He finished eating and took his work boots to the porch, sitting on the top step to put them on. After lacing the boots, Tim stopped to look around and marveled at the world. His firm belief that God had created this for him to enjoy always filled him at times like these. The sun was above the horizon but still behind the trees, leaving vast shadows on the dirt surrounding the house. From where he sat he could just see the church — his new church — through the narrow patch of woods separating the two pieces of land. Tim marveled at the sprawling oak tree that rooted beside the church, covering an area three times the size of the church.

There were signs of what might have been a woodpile beside a shed attached to the small barn, so Tim got up and walked over. The door was ajar. He pushed on the door to let in some light. He checked inside under the sill and over the door for snakes. Not seeing any sign of snakes he stepped in. He saw a few splits of wood, a box of kindling and, in the corner, or forgotten, an axe, a maul, and a wedge. He didn’t see a crosscut saw, but the wood looked to be stove-length already. He picked up four pieces of wood and a handful of kindling, and headed back to the house, setting the wood next to the stove.

After finding some old newspaper, he lit a fire and watched it catch. He could finally make coffee. He filled a kettle and placed it on the stove. There was a knock on the door. “Reverend?” a girl’s voice asked.”Yes, I’m here, come on in.” Tim struggled to remember the cleaning girl’s name. “Good morning. I’m glad you could make it, I need help badly from the look of this place.”

“Yes, Sir. I can see that, for sure. I reckon I should start with the kitchen and give it a quick once over so you can eat in here. Then give your bedroom a real good going over. I can air the bedding and all, and make sure there ain’t nothing living in there that shouldn’t be.”

“That sounds like a real good idea, Susan.”

“It’s Sally, Reverend.”

“Oh, yes, sorry.” Sally headed for the bedroom. As she walked past the Reverend, he had a chance to study her carefully for the first time. Her hair was tied in a red scarf. Her shoes were, low thin-soled, and cheap. She wore a pair of dungarees that were obviously for a man, but fit her snugly through the hips. The hips. Not large, but well shaped. Her blouse was light cotton and just a little small for her body, with a bit of a pucker between the buttons over her breasts. Tim felt the familiar tug in his pants.

“I’m going to run these sheets up to the house and wash them, Reverend.” Sally stuffed the sheets in the pillow case. “You got any other washing needs doing?”

Tim went to his suitcase and handed her two more shirts, a pair of work pants, and two sets of underwear. “If you would please. I haven’t had a chance to do any washing in quite a while,” he said.

Sally held the pillow case open for the clothes. She said nothing about the odor that the Reverend gave off; she was used to men who were less than well scrubbed. “Sure thing. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Tim watched her walk to the road. He admired the way she walked with a purpose and a swing in her step. He then went to the outhouse to relieve himself. His relief took two forms. When he was finished, he prayed, like he always did. “Lord, forgive me for spilling my seed on the ground.”

The house cleaning continued for the week, except for Wednesday afternoon when Sally went with her mother to clean the church for the evening service. On Saturday morning, the women did the same thing for the Sunday service. This particular Saturday morning, Luke Coleman’s delivery truck arrived with a mimeograph machine and a typewriter. The Reverend, Mrs. Mason, the church secretary, Selena, and Sally were there.

Reverend Tim was surprised with the new office equipment.

“What are we going to do with that?” Mrs. Mason asked.

Luke told her,”Why you can print the bulletin and the newsletter.”

“But don’t they have to be typed?” Mrs Mason asked.

“Why, sure, here’s the typewriter.”

“But, I can’t type.” Mrs Mason looked distraught.

“I can.” Sally said, then blushed at her outburst amidst the white people around.

“Where you learn to type? You’re barely know about cleaning a church, yet.” Mr. Coleman looked a bit shocked.

“We got typewriters at the school, and we got a mimeograph machine, too.” “I’ll believe a colored girl can do that when I see it.” Mrs. Mason said.

“Well, let’s see her type.” Reverend Tim suggested.

Sally took a piece of paper and fed it into the typewriter, then set the margins and tabs. Tim handed her his sermon for Sunday, handwritten in a notebook. Sally typed thirty-five words a minute.

About halfway down the page, she stopped.”Reverend, isn’t Ephesians spelt E -P -H -E -S -I -A -N -S?” she asked.

“Why, yes it is,” the Reverend said.

“Thank you, I just couldn’t quite make out you’re writin’ on that one. That’s what you got here,” Sally said, realizing her mistake in correcting him. She continued typing until the page was done, rolled the platen up, removed the paper, and handed it to Tim.

He read it over, then pronounced it perfect. He failed to mention several other spelling errors she corrected.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself another job.” The Reverend smiled at her.

Mr. Coleman cleared his throat. “Of course, Gloria will continue to be the secretary and supervise the child. And take care of the offerings.”

“Yes,” Tim said. “Sally, do you think we can put together a Bulletin for tomorrow’s service?”

“I reckon we can, Reverend. If you know what you want to put in there.”

Sally worked with Reverend Tim for another six weeks. One Saturday, she arrived early at the church. When she walked into the office, Tim was in his chair with his pants off, masturbating. She was so stunned she didn’t move.

It took Tim a few seconds to realize that his fantasy was standing before him. As Sally started to move away, Tim stood and grabbed her arm, twisting and forcing her to the floor. He pulled her cotton dress up to her waist and ripped off her underpants. He was between her legs and inside her before she’d managed to land a dozen blows on his face. Since he was already well on his way with his fantasy when she had arrived, he was finished in less than a minute.

Tim got up, went to his chair, and put on his pants. Sally recovered from her shock and began to get up and leave. “Sally, ain’t no call to be telling anyone about this. Nobody gonna believe the preacher had the colored girl, and nobody’d take your word over mine. You still want your job, don’t you?” Tim said.

Sally thought of the family’s food. With the pay she had been bringing home, they were no longer hungry. She realized he had a point about anyone taking her word over his.

“Yes, Reverend, I need my job, but I think I deserve a raise.”

Tim agreed, and Sally got a dollar more a week.

Sally kept quiet about the rape. A week after the first time, the Reverend Tim forced himself on her again. She fought less this time. Then he raped her several times a week and she learned not to resist, just let him have his way. The rape never lasted long. Six weeks after the first time, Sally felt the change in her body. She had missed her period. She was sick three mornings in a row. Her mother looked closely at her and knew. Selena confronted her, wanting to know which of the young bucks had been messing about with her and Sally said none of them. Her mother pressed and Sally confessed the whole thing.

Sally’s mother was silent for a few minutes, different expressions passing over her face. Then she went to the cupboard and got a small cup with a lid. She gave it to Sally with instructions on how to use it. Sally was repulsed by the idea, but agreed to do it. She placed the cup in her apron pocket.

Two days later, Tim called Sally into his office. She recognized the look. Before he could stand, she knelt down before him, unbuttoning his pants.

“You just sit there, Reverend, I going to show you a colored girl’s trick.”

Sally slipped the cup from her apron and held it between his legs, out of sight. She released him from his pants, knowing it wouldn’t take long to finish him off.

The Reverend was faster than ever before, probably because of the novelty of the act. Sally captured his seed and then bent between his legs and spit it in the cup. She slipped the cup into her apron..

The next night, Selena mixed the contents of the cup with several herbs and ground bones according to an ancient recipe just after midnight. She said words over the mixture that she’d learned in childhood that would summon the spirit. She took the mixture and walked through the moonlit field to the Reverend’s car. With more words, she sprinkled the mixture in a semi-circle around the car. Then she went home. Her work was done.

Tim woke from a troubled sleep. The Big Ben alarm clock on the small table beside the bed read quarter to twelve, with its glow-in-the-dark hands. The ticking of the second hand was a comfort to Tim each night when he went to bed.

Something called to him, deep within, but making no outward sound. He thought perhaps he was finally getting his call from Jesus or the Angel. It was long overdue, he’d been a preacher for ten years and the Holy Spirit had never talked to him directly. He was excited. He rose out of bed, and left the house.

Tim noticed some black markings, like ash, surrounding his car., Two lines led from the front of the car toward the road. Tim got in the car anyway, and drove toward the river that was calling him. He sat in the driver’s seat and held the wheel, stepped on the pedals, shifted the gears. But he had the feeling of being a passenger. Of his destination, he was still unsure. Only that he must go.

A full moon illuminated the road and surrounding fields. There was no need for headlights as the car moved down the dirt road between the fields of cotton, then onto the paved road toward the bridge at Ogeechee River.

The light seemed to surround the car, the edges of the road were aglow. Cotton balls in the fields reflected the light, lit as if there was a bulb within each one. If someone had been standing beside the road as the car passed, they would have not heard anything. The car seemed to move in silence. The occupant looked straight ahead, never glancing to the side to see the light that carried the car along.

The road ran straight for the last half a mile to the bridge and Tim could see the edge of the road glowing all the way there. He sat, trancelike, behind the wheel. As the car slowed at the bridge, Tim was unaware of the glowing circle that surrounded the bridge

Floating above the road was a shape. Tim recognized the shape as Sally. There was a bright orb in her belly. Figures, she gets herself knocked up. Just like all of them, he thought. No morals. No real belief in Jesus.

Sally’s apparition beckoned the Reverend to get out of the car and come closer. He did. The Holy Spirit had commanded him. He walked to the spirit floating above the bridge and, when the spirit pointed to the side, he didn’t hesitate. He stepped to the edge and jumped.

The water covered him and he felt baptized in his Lord. He knew he was going to sit at the right hand of God forever. There was a stinging sensation on his arm and two on his leg, but that didn’t matter. He was free.

The Reverend’s body was found about two hundred yards downstream from where they found his car blocking the bridge in the morning. His cause of death was listed as snake bites from cottonmouth moccasins. No one knew why he’d gone swimming that night.

This story originally appeared in “The Oddville Press”

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