XLII

When he tossed Jesus over three weeks ago, Brother Pruitt fell into a deep funk. In fact, he didn't know which came first, but he bet on his unfaithfulness. The boo hags had come again. He didn't even leave the tent most of the time, which was pitched behind the Whitesport Salon. He battled with terrible demons and sulked gravely. He thumbed the handle of his pistol. He was drunk on Sunday. The Darlings of Strangetown would pass by his tent in the evenings and hear him raving and kicking like the fitful sleep of a dog. His beard grew long. He'd shake open the flaps to his tent in the morning, stark naked half the time. The sun would cast harsh beams into his squinting eyes. No one paid him any mind, so he'd skulk off back into his cot besides which a rifled-through Bible sat open to 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13. Evander Pruitt loved everyone, but in these terrible hours, he did not love himself.

It was out on the endless prairie where the farms were burning, spinning coils of black into the sky that were circled by the buzzards. They had chased Old Pap's army all the way across Missouri into Kansas. These rebels had been a miserable lot. They wore rags, their pockets stuffed with ammunition and molded bread. The lucky ones had shoes. They ate the land up like locusts. Starving themselves, they robbed what little was left on any farmstead they encountered, no matter if the inhabitants were secesh or Unionist. Every man they encountered they either shot or conscripted. Evander and his troop of Jayhawker Unionists snapped and hounded at the rebel column that moved through the land like an evil menace upon the Earth. They were galled by the dead that was left dribbling in its wake, both soldiers and civilians.

Once, they had caught up with a straggling column of Johnny Rebs that were sacking a homestead near Mine Creek, Kansas. They dismounted and fanned out into a crescent overlooking the farm from a wooded ridge. They heard the shrieking of a woman and the wail of a child. There were gunshots and it went silent. They swooped in on the farm and in a sharp spasm of violence they killed every Johnny Reb. Nine of them. They scalped every one of them, and then dragged their bodies to a pig sty and threw them in for the hogs to finish. Their mules weren't worth saving so they shot them too. When Evander walked into the farmhouse, he stumbled back out and vomited. Then they brought out the woman and the child and buried them.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or the sword? As it is written: for your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered...

Amen.

The mother and the child. The Madonna and the Messiah. The bottle and the rope.

As all this was tormenting his mind, he was suddenly awoken by the ringing of a bell. It was his bell, which was hung from the outside pole of his tent. He rang it on Sundays to call the wicked to Christ. Who the hell is ringing my goddam bell?

Oh! I's sorry mistuh. I thought I's supposed to summon you by the rangin of this bell here.

Brother Pruitt sat up in his bed rubbing his eyes and grasped for his spectacles. Finding these he saw in his doorway a large black man. He wore a linen work shirt and denims and a wide-brimmed straw hat. His face looked like darkened copper in the morning light.

Who the hell are you?

Oh! Sir, my's name is Jonas Jackson, but all my friends call me Big Jim Crow. I reckon you can too.

Evander sensed he was missing something, so he straightened himself somewhat and beckoned the man to enter. As he did so, Evander washed his face from an enamel basin and ignored the signs of a creeping hangover.

Well, he said. I didn't think anyone besides a bunch of street urchins would ring my bell. I'm sorry. What can I help you with, sir?

Big Jim removed is hat and seemed uncertain how to start.

Well sir, Big Jim proceeded. I've been watching you, and some of the other preachers too. I've been looking to be baptized, and I thought I'd ask you to wash me in the Holy Spirit, sir. If you'll have me, of course.

The request did not confuse Brother Pruitt, but the circumstances had. He had just been thinking about hanging himself again. He might have gone through with it this time too, he thought. He searched Big Jim's eyes for something, maybe a sign. But all he saw was just the eyes of another man. What were his demons, he wondered? Did he have boo hags too? It did not matter. In that moment, there were two men searching for Jesus in one another.

For where two or three are gathered in My Name, there am I in the midst of them.

They spoke at length where Evander Pruitt learned of Jonas Jackson's yearning, his hunger for the Bread and Water of Life. The Saving Grace. The redemption of one man's Soul manifest in a world of sin in a universe of suffering. And when he heard all this, agreed to baptize Big Jim Crow in the Holy Spirit. And bye and bye, this had been done, and Big Jim Crow was cleansed of his Original Sin even if the country he lived in could never be cleansed of its own. And Brother Pruitt lived yet to continue serving the Lord.