Tucker’s Grove (5 page)

Smiling, he lifted his hands and called out once more. The canvas tent was old when he
’
d purchased it second-hand, patched and stained
—
by no means was this an adequate house of wo
r
ship. Now that Jerome knew
with all his soul that this was the place…
now that all the people in the revival tent listened to whatever he had to say, he called them together and he made his request.

“
I must ask something of you, my friends. This ground has been consecrated with all o
ur prayers. Now, I require your help, your wood, your tools, your labor, and your love. We will build a church here, and then we will establish a town.”

During their journey west and north through Wisconsin, at the edge of a river that drained into the Mi
ssissippi, Jerome had found the ancient symbol-bedecked urn that changed his life.

He and Mollie had stopped for the night in a small village where flatboats delivered cargo downriver and brought new su
p
plies back upstream. There, they met a man with clum
py brown hair and three fingers missing on the left hand. His face was weathered and more deeply tanned than could be explained by any Midwestern summer, and his eyes had a distant stare, f
o
cused on memories rather than the landscape, as if he had already
seen more than his share of wonders and nightmares.

The man struck up a conversation with Jerome, but did not i
n
troduce himself. He explained how he had traveled the Ancient World looking for oddities and treasures.

Interested in the man
’
s experiences, Jer
ome said, “
Pharaoh held the Israelites in Egypt. In ancient times.”

“
Egypt is an ancient place full of dead things. I
’
d heard r
u
mors that there were so many treasure-filled tombs scattered across the desert that a man could simply walk along and pick up go
ld and jewels. There are tombs, all right. The entire land is like a skeleton.”

Jerome knew about wealthy Europeans, gentleman archaeol
o
gists, who explored Egypt and returned with mummies and art
i
facts, telling ludicrous tales of curses and the revenge of
ancient gods. Jerome knew all such stories to be false, of course, because he had read the Bible
—
carefully
—
several times.

The man held up his left hand, showing the three stumps of his fingers. “
A jackal did this. Bit them clean off, when I tried to retri
eve a demon jar from a tomb.”

“
What
’
s a demon jar?”
Mollie asked. The man looked at her, surprised that she had spoken.

Jerome had no patience for those who didn
’
t respect his wife. “
What
’
s a demon jar?”
he repeated.

The man opened the large trunk that he
ld his belongings and moved a rolled rug and some cloth aside to extract an ivory-pale urn made of ancient clay; it looked as if it had been cast from liquefied bone. Its surface was stippled with indecipherable wri
t
ing, odd designs, one of which Jerome re
cognized as the Star of David; another, prominent in the center, was unmistakably the Cross.

“
Moses wasn
’
t God
’
s only prophet in Egypt,”
the man said soberly. “
This jar was created by one such holy man as a vessel to capture and hold the demons that filled
the land.”
He lifted the lid of the urn and gazed into its dark interior. “
It
’
s empty now
—
either the demons have escaped over the years, or it was never used. But you can tell by the symbols that it must be a s
a
cred relic.”

Mollie was more skeptical. “
If
this was created in ancient Egypt or Sumeria, that was many years before Christ died for our sins. How could it carry the symbol of the Cross?”

The man regarded Mollie with no small amount of annoyance. “
And what is it, ma
’
am, that a prophet
does
? Why, he
proph
e
sies
! He knows the future. Wouldn
’
t God
’
s chosen know about the impending arrival of God
’
s son?”
He turned back to Jerome. “
If you are a preacher, and if you are truly guided by the Holy Spirit, then you must already know how to cast out demons.”

In
fact, Jerome didn
’
t, though he
’
d always thought about it.

“
Any preacher can
cast out
demons,”
the man continued. “
But then what? They are freed from one host and sent to wander the world, where they continue to wreak havoc. With this urn, ho
w
ever”—
the man
patted the rough clay surface
—“
you not only withdraw demons from the possessed, you will also imprison them, seal them in this jar, where they can cause no further harm.”

The man sounded tired and disappointed. “
To be honest, I have no use for this relic.
I am not a holy man.”
With a smile he extended it toward Jerome. “
Take this as my gift. It is better off in your hands, since you can do God
’
s work with it.”
Suddenly embarrassed or shy, the stranger added, “
However, if you could spare some coins, I need
to buy passage back home. Thieves in Constantinople took my last money, and I have had to beg my way, working for passage across the sea, on riverboats down the Ohio, then across country, finally to here. My mother has co
n
sumption, you see. I am trying to
get home so I can be with her before she dies.”

Jerome felt the earnestness in the man
’
s voice, and he knew how much good work he could do with this demon jar.

“
Whatever you think the jar is worth…”
The man left the idea hanging.

Mollie shot her husband a
sharp glare as Jerome opened his money-pouch and withdrew far more coins than they could spare. Jerome was sure, though, that once he began casting out demons, grateful parishioners would quickly contribute to the offering plate.

“
How do I use it?”
Jerome
asked.

The man regarded him earnestly. “
You
’
ll know. God will show you.”

Late at night, under a buttery-yellow moon, Mollie found J
e
rome within the framework structure of the nearly completed church. The glass windowpanes had not yet been installed, but
the walls were finished and the roof partially covered. The smell of mingled sawdust and sweat hung in the air, aromas of sweet pine and devoted labor. For the past month, people volunteered their time, several days a week, to finish the great work.

In the large window opening that would soon be filled with beautiful stained glass panels shipped all the way from Chicago, Mollie could look down the hillside to the silver-lit fields and the small cluster of new buildings, the embryo of the town that he
r
husband had coaxed into existence.

The altar was completed first, covered with an embroidered, lace-edged cloth
—
a gift from three farmers
’
wives who had worked their fingers sore to finish it. In the center of the altar lay the large old Bible next to the
pale demon jar. Jerome had held regular services here as soon as the framework was erected, and he had packed away his tattered old revival tent for good. He e
x
pected his brother Clancy to bring their parents any time now.

Now he knelt before the altar i
n the dark. Unlit candles stood in freshly lathed wooden stands. As Mollie entered the skeletal church, her soft step creaked the new-laid pine floorboards, but he did not stop his prayer. Eyes half shut, he pulled out his knife, touched the razor-edged t
i
p to his thumb, then sliced. The blood looked like black molasses as it welled up.

Mollie stood behind him, bowing her head, not interrupting the sacred ceremony. Jerome extended his thumb and pressed the warm wetness to the cross symbol that stood out in
sharp relief among the other designs. The ancient jar seemed to draw the blood and drink it greedily.

“
God will protect us from demons,”
Jerome muttered. “
God will contain them inside here.”

It wasn
’
t exactly a recitation from the Scriptures, but the d
e
mo
ns could hear him. Trapped in their jar, they would be afraid.

The Scripture had a long tradition of blood sacrifice: Just as Abraham had been willing to make a blood sacrifice of his son Isaac, just as Moses marked the lintels of the Jews with lambs
’
blo
od so that the Angel of Death would pass over their homes, just as God had demanded the blood of his own son Jesus to save humanity. So Jerome was willing to give up a small amount of his blood to strengthen the demon jar, to keep the evil things i
n
side.

H
e regained his feet, turned to his wife. “
Every demon I
’
ve removed and imprisoned is one less soldier that Satan has for the Final Battle. Not only am I making my new town a pure and holy place, I am aiding the whole world.”

Mollie, though, was concerned.
“
All the times in the Bible where a godly man casts out demons, he never tries to
collect
them. He never keeps them like old coins in a purse. And what happens when the vessel is full? Do you know how much evil it can contain? I
’
m worried about what that j
ar really does.”

“
Why, it imprisons demons, Mollie.”
Jerome leaned closer in the deep shadows of the unfinished church. “
And when we bless this new house of worship, when my congregation comes from miles around, they will join together and make a similar s
acrifice. We
’
ll purge this area of all sins and evil thoughts. This land, this town of Tucker
’
s Grove, will become a new Eden.”
His eyes were shining in the moonlight. “
Yes, I
’
m sure, Mollie. I
’
m sure of our future, I
’
m sure of this place, and I
’
m sure of
my mission. Not a shred of doubt.”

“
That
’
s all I wanted to know,”
Mollie said with a smile, “
b
e
cause I have news for you as well, joyous news.”
She took his hand and a smear of blood went down the front of her palm. “
I
’
m pregnant, Jerome. I
’
ll have our fir
st child in your new town.”

When the church was finished
—
when all the siding had been painted white, the black shingles laid down, the bell installed in the steeple that perched like a triumphant hand raised toward Heaven
—
it was time for a great celebrati
on. The three men who had delivered the stained-glass window from Chicago stayed for the festivities; Jerome hoped they would remain permanently, since the town needed glaziers.

Jerome felt that he had lived his entire life for this day. His clothes were f
reshly laundered, his hair combed, his beard trimmed. Mollie had sewn herself a fine new dress from a bolt of pink fabric she
’
d purchased at the general store in Bartonville. She left the waistline loose, because now the curve of her belly was becoming no
t
iceable. Jerome thought she looked radiant.

The bell pealed out a shrill, melodic tone as two young farm boys took turns yanking the rope to set up a clangor that rang from horizon to horizon. The people streamed in: more men, women, and families than Jero
me had thought lived in the area. They came to dedicate the church they
’
d helped to build. Though Jerome had not yet secured a piano to lead the music, they would sing familiar hymns in unison. That was all a church really needed.