“No harm.” Viola chuckled under her breath, and for a brief moment we stared at each other across the room. I heard a small bird flap its wings against the wind right outside the window. How could I communicate that I was not, did not want to be the holy and pious dictator of a pastor they had been used to for all their lives, that my very presence had nothing to do with my condemnation of their way of life, that I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the still her husband Lucius had out in the woods behind the house, or how she, he, and her mother sold all sorts of regulated beverages illegally from their kitchen, or that the last time they had been to church was to funeralize Margurette’s husband twenty years ago. There was no way to say: I have not come here to judge you. To say: I want to introduce a new way of approaching Christian faith, a way of caring for people. I don’t want to be a watchdog of sin, an inquisitor who binds his people with rules and regulations and thou shalts and thou shalt nots. But looking at those eyes so full of past hurt and past rejection and past accusation, I could only smile and let be what was.

“No a thank you.”

Viola returned with four bottles of pills and capsules and two cans of beer. She opened one can with a crisp pop, handing it to her mother. The other she gave to Miss Sarah, who quickly opened it, took a brief gulp, and thrust it under the chair, as if to hide it from me. Viola gave her mother each dose, one or two or three pills, Miss Margurette downing them with a swig of beer and finally reclining. She lay there quiet and as still as the bed. A warm breeze troubled the curtains and she gave me a wink, took a deep long breath, and sighed.

Place: First Baptist Church of Tims Creek.

Time: 1:35 P.M., Sunday, June 10, 1983.

Scores of people mill around on the church grounds. HORACE, wearing a suit, stands at the door to the side entrance, apparently nervous. Two elderly men slowly step out the door. They are talking. They speak to HORACE, and he respectfully speaks back, nodding. Finally JIMMY comes out, clad in a blue-and-white minister’s robe, talking with MRS. CHRISTOPHER. HORACE looks up at him, but does not smile or speak.

MRS. CHRISTOPHER: . . . and such a good sermon today. I declare. We’re just glad. Glad to have you here, Jimmy—oh, I guess I should call you Reverend Greene these days. (Giggles.)

JIMMY: Oh, Mrs. Christopher, you’ve known me all my life as Jimmy. No reason to change my name now.

MRS. CHRISTOPHER: Well, I’m glad. Just glad. And I know Jonnie Mae is proud. Just proud.

JIMMY: That she is.