Spencerville

to Keith and he said, “If I were you, I’d get my butt back to Washington. Fast.”
    “Don’t forget to tell Baxter what I said.”
    “You can count on that, smart guy.” Ward turned and left.
    So, Keith thought, they knew he’d come from Washington, which was no surprise. He wondered what else they knew about him. But it didn’t really matter, if he was leaving, though Cliff Baxter was inadvertently going out of his way to keep Keith Landry from doing that.
    Pastor Wilkes said, “Do you have a minute?”
    Keith considered, then said, “Yes.”
    Wilkes motioned Keith to follow him, and they walked toward the parsonage. Keith recalled that the last time he’d been in the parsonage, when he was eighteen, he’d gotten a lecture from Pastor Wilkes on the temptations of the world outside Spencer County, specifically the temptations of alcohol and sex at college. A lot of good it did him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    T he parsonage was an old white clapboard structure built at the same time, and in the same style, as the hundred-year-old church.
    Inside, Wilkes led Keith to the small sitting room and indicated a sagging armchair. Keith sat, and Wilkes sat opposite him in a rocker. Wilkes said, “I’ve got some sherry.”
    “No, thank you.” Keith looked at Wilkes in the dim light. Keith had seen him a few times at weddings and funerals over the years, but it had been at least seven years since the last time. The man seemed to have shrunk and shriveled a little more each time.
    Wilkes asked, “Why were the police here?”
    “Writing down license numbers.”
    Wilkes nodded. He didn’t say anything for a while, then looked at Keith. “You’re George and Alma’s boy.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Did I baptize you?”
    “That’s what they tell me.”
    Wilkes smiled and said, “Did I marry you?”
    “No. sir. I’ve never married.”
    “That’s right. You went off to the Army, then worked for the government.”
    “I went to college first. Bowling Green. You warned me about loose college women.”
    “Did it do any good?”
    “Not a bit.”
    Wilkes again smiled, then asked, “Are you back to stay?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Why’d you come back at all?”
    “To look after the house.”
    “Is that all?”
    Keith considered, then replied, “I’d rather not lie, so I’d rather not say.”
    “Well, I heard a rumor about why you’re back, but I don’t spread gossip, so I won’t tell you what I heard.”
    Keith didn’t reply.
    Wilkes asked, “How’re your folks?”
    Keith filled him in on the family and added, “How is Mrs. Wilkes?”
    “The Lord saw fit to call her home.”
    Keith realized that the standard response of “I’m sorry” wasn’t appropriate to that statement, so he said, “She was a fine woman.”
    “Indeed she was.”
    Keith asked, “Why didn’t you attend the meeting?”
    “I don’t mix religion and politics. Too many young preachers do that today, and they make half the congregation mad.”
    “Yes, but there
is
social injustice in the world, and the churches can help.”
    “We do. I preach love and charity, grace and good deeds. If people listened, there wouldn’t be any social injustice.”
    “But they can’t listen if they don’t come, and even when they come, they don’t listen.”
    “Some come, some don’t. Some listen, some don’t. I can do no more.”
    “You know, Pastor, I saw Lutheran ministers in Dresden organize those marches you saw on TV. They helped bring down the communist government. Same with the Catholic priests in Poland.”
    “God bless them. They followed their conscience.” He added, “If it will make you feel better, I can tell you I’d die for my faith with no hesitation.”
    “Hopefully, that’s not required.”
    “You never know.”
    “But you did let those people use your church. And you did run the police off.”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Do you know what that meeting is about?” Keith asked.
    “I do.”
    “Do you approve?”
    “To the extent that nothing illegal or violent is discussed, I do.” He added, “You know, it’s an old rural tradition to use churches as meeting places. Goes back to a time when the church was the only rural building big enough to hold a lot of people, and town was too far away by horse and buggy. St. James has seen all types of political and patriotic rallies going back to the Spanish-American War. I don’t own the place, I’m just God’s steward.”
    “Yes, but you’d keep the local Klan