Home Fires

18

Only God is in a position to look down on anyone.

—Westwood United Methodist

On Sunday, the News and Observer carried an in-depth report on the three burned churches: their histories, their significance in the black community, and how their congregations planned to cope with the loss.

Overall, the tone was upbeat. The Reverend Ralph Freeman explained that while the circumstances of Balm of Gilead’s destruction were deplorable and much more precipitous than expected, the onetime service station was never slated to be saved once they vacated. “It has more than fulfilled its purpose and we assumed that Shop-Mark would simply bulldoze it when they began clearing the lot to build. In the meantime, we have an old-fashioned revival tent set up on our new site and we’d like to invite everyone reading this to put down their newspapers and come join us this morning to praise God for His goodness and everlasting mercy.”

The N&O thoughtfully included directions to Balm of Gilead’s new location and a schedule of services. It also re-capped how Leon Starling had once owned the old store and the land it sat on and how his grandson Charles was now charged with arson.

Like Balm of Gilead, Mount Olive was also finding mixed blessings in the fire. Previously, Reverend Anthony Ligon had been an enthusiastic, if diplomatic, advocate for expansion and he was almost ebullient when interviewed. He did his share of obligatory tongue-clicking, especially when it came to the tragic death of Arthur Hunt, whom they had buried Friday in a graveside ceremony, but his satisfaction came through more clearly than he perhaps intended.

“Our insurance policy covers replacement costs, not a set monetary value, so our fellowship hall with its Sunday School rooms will be re-sited. This gives us enough space to extend our sanctuary straight back and to double our seating capacity without damaging the basic integrity of the original sanctuary any more than the fire has already destroyed. From the outside it will look very much as it looked before the fire, except that the whole building will be somewhat longer.”

The Historical Society had pledged to help find artisans to duplicate the dentil moldings and etched-glass windows. “We appreciate that this is a functioning church with modern concerns,” said their spokeswoman, “but it is also such a historically important structure that we naturally want to do everything in our power to help preserve its architectural features. The slave gallery has been unsafe to use these last few years. We hope to raise funds to replace the old wooden supports with steel reinforcements.”

Mr. Ligon confessed himself overwhelmed by the generosity of so many. “We’ve already been blessed with enough donations that we’re hoping to begin clearing away the rubble this week. In the meantime, we’re grateful to the County Commissioners and to the County Board of Education for giving us the use of West Colleton High’s gymnasium on Sunday mornings. With God’s help, we’ll be back in our restored sanctuary before school starts again.”

By contrast, the Reverend Byantha Williams sounded like the ill-tempered fairy godmother who crashed Sleeping Beauty’s christening. While Burning Heart of God Holiness Tabernacle would be getting a pro rata share of any unrestricted donations designated to help “the three burned churches,” it was not getting much sympathetic charity from the immediate neighborhood.

Sister Williams had neither the warm humanitarianism of a Ralph Freeman nor the political tact of an Anthony Ligon. Over the years, she had taken too much delight in pointing out the motes in the eyes of her fellow Christians—their sins of the flesh and their sins of the spirit. Their reluctance to come to her aid now only confirmed her sour view of them.

“You get back what you give,” says Maidie.

There was no insurance on either the church or her small house trailer and the county had already warned her that she could not put another trailer back on the premises without a modern septic system. The old outhouse’s proximity to the nearby branch was unacceptable, they said.

“God tempers the wind to His shorn sheep,” she responded defiantly. “He will not lay on us burdens too heavy to bear. The sinner may not want to hear His message, but we will deliver it even louder. God has called me to call sinners to His holy cross and while there is breath in my body, I will not deny Him though the whole world denies me thrice before the cock crows three times.”

The reporter seemed a little confused at this point, but put quotation marks around everything as if to deny his part in the confusion.

He reported that Burning Heart of God had been given the temporary use of an empty storefront in Cotton Grove (we later learned that Grace King Avery had persuaded a former student to make the offer) and that Sister Williams and her cats were living in the rooms behind it for the time being.

The article concluded by predicting that all three churches would rise, phoenix-like, from their ashes.

“Humph,” said Maidie.

“Two out of three wouldn’t be bad,” said Daddy.

That evening, A.K. stopped by in his pickup on the way home after serving the second of his three weekends and asked if I wanted to go out for a pizza if I wasn’t doing anything.

“Sure,” I said, putting aside the case files that needed my attention and wondering what was up.

We drove out to a pizza place near the interchange.

“Everything’s cool as far as jail’s concerned, isn’t it?” I asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “No problem. It’s not how I’d want to spend my life, but I can take one more weekend. What’s going to happen with Charles and Raymond, though? They’re in without bail. Will this count as their jail time?”

I assured him that if they were found guilty, they’d not be worrying about a few weekends in jail. “Assuming they don’t get the death penalty, they’ll be in a federal pen down in Atlanta and that’s no stroll on the beach.”

“Death penalty? You shitting me?”

I quickly briefed him on current laws and A.K. looked shaken as he held the door open for me.

The restaurant interior smelled of olive oil and hot yeasty dough. Even though he’d invited me, I had no illusions as to who’d be paying. We slid into a booth with padded red leather benches. He opted for the buffet; I ordered a salad (no dressing) and a slice with sausage and anchovies.

“The thing is,” he said when he’d returned from the buffet stand loaded down with slices of pepperoni and green pepper pizza, “I don’t think they did it.”

“Charles Starling made threats,” I reminded him, “and they don’t have alibis.”

“Aw, Charles.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “All front, no sides. He and Raymond can both be jerks—”

“So why do you hang with them?” I asked.

“Raymond helped us barn tobacco last summer. He’s okay. After Cathy and I broke up, he and Charles were tight and they weren’t seeing anybody either.”

“And Charles can pass for twenty-one at convenience stores?”

He gave a shamefaced nod. “Least he can at places where they don’t look at your ID too close.”

“Closely,” I said automatically.

“Closely,” he echoed, accustomed to his mother’s corrections.

“Anyhow, the point is, Raymond didn’t burn down any churches and neither did Charles. I got a chance to talk to Raymond today and he swore they didn’t do it. They were at Charles’s trailer when Mount Olive went up. From eight-thirty on.”

“Unfortunately, no one saw them.” I bit into my pizza slice. The crust was just as I liked it, and the anchovies went nicely with the mozzarella and tomato sauce.

“How can you eat them salty things?” A.K. grimaced at my enjoyment. “Anyhow somebody did see them. Somebody came over to borrow a backpack from Charles around nine o’clock.”

“Why didn’t this somebody come forward?”

“ ’Cause he borrowed the backpack to go to some bass fishing tournament up in Massachusetts.”

“Why didn’t they speak up about it? Or tell Reid? He’s Raymond’s attorney.”

“Thing is, Charles knows the guy’s name is Jerry and his girlfriend’s Bobbie Jean and he lives four trailers over, but he doesn’t know either of their last names or where in Massachusetts they was going fishing.” A.K. twirled a string of melted mozzarella. “Were going fishing. And Charles didn’t want to say anything till Jerry got back because Bobbie Jean was going with him.”

“And?”

“And, well, it seems that Bobbie Jean’s husband said he’d kill Jerry if he caught him messing around her again and Bobbie Jean sort of told her husband she was going to see her sister in Massachusetts and he doesn’t know Jerry was going, too.”

He popped the cheese in his mouth and looked around to see if the waiters had set out another pizza on the hot bar. This early in the evening, there weren’t enough customers to merit a steady stream of fresh choices and he made do with two lukewarm slices of sausage and mushrooms.

“So, anyhow, Raymond’s getting a little worried that what if Jerry comes back and Bobbie Jean’s husband gets to him before he can come down to the police station and say they were there. So Raymond and me, we thought maybe you could tell Dwight and he could put out an APB or something and get to Jerry first.”

I shook my head. “That’s not going to happen, honey. In the first place, Dwight doesn’t have jurisdiction here. It’s a federal offense, not state. In the second place, it’s Raymond’s responsibility to tell Reid and then Reid will probably try to contact this Jerry, leave word at the trailer park for when he comes back.”

“They didn’t know whether the tournament was this weekend or next.”

When I shook my head in amusement, A.K. said huffily, “Well, jeez, Deb’rah. It’s not like they knew they were going to need an alibi. Nobody thinks like that. Can you prove where you were between nine-thirty and ten o’clock last Sunday night?”

“As a matter of fact, I can,” I said, remembering the long phone call Kidd and I had shared about then, he in New Bern, me lying across the bed with a report on DNA testing.

A.K. cut his eyes at me. “You gonna marry that game warden guy?”

I smiled. “I’ll talk to Reid tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, but you still didn’t answer my question.”

“No comment,” I said and signalled for our check.