Last Words

Thomas E. Jordan

October 2005

"No," Daniel said, incredulously.

Jeremiah turned to face Daniel. "And he also learned that it wasn't the only time he'd been down there for her company."

"You don't think he used our offerings to . . . , " Daniel's voice trailed off, his mind struggling to place this new information and what it meant in it's proper place.

"I'm sure he only used his moonshine money for such as that, Daniel," Samuel said. "The Devil's money for the Devil's work."

They worked silently a few minutes more, the level of fill in the hole steadily growing. As the first shovel of the final layer hit the ground, Jeremiah spoke. "Of course, we don't know what else he might have been doing. That's just what we've happened to find out about." Jeremiah leaned his shovel against the cart and retrieved the mason jar. After wiping the sweat away from his face with his shirt sleeve, he took a deep drink. With a smack of his lips, he passed it to Samuel.

Samuel laid his shovel aside and savored a mouthful of the liquid before handing it back.

Jeremiah tossed the jar to Buchanan. "He tell you anything before he died that needs to come out?"

Buchanan held the jar up and looked through the remaining clear liquid at the others. "I don't know what you see in this stuff," he said. "I look into it and all I can see is the Devil's mischief." With that he parted the lid from the brim and poured it out on the ground. Slowly he screwed the lid back on before pitching it back to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah cradled it like a long lost child. "Why'd you want to do that for?" he asked. "That was probably the best hooch the Reverend ever made. And you just poured it out like . . . . like . . . ." He dropped the jar balling his fists as he took a step towards Buchanan.

Daniel stepped in front of Jeremiah and blocked him from moving any closer to the Parson. "Calm down now, Jeremiah," he said, straining to make his voice firm despite the fact he didn't enjoy the full conviction of his actions. "He was only doing what he thought was right. And you know how people like that never take the time to think those things through."

"You saw what he did!" Jeremiah shook his head as he backed down a step. "That was from the Reverend's last batch and he just dumped it out." Seeing it was safe to move out of harm's way, Daniel stepped back to lean against the cart. "You just don't do something like that with something special," added Jeremiah.

Samuel rested a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder. "Easy now, Jeremiah. Don't get so worked up over it. Just think for a minute. Chances are pretty good the Reverend really didn't make that batch, you know."

"What'da you mean?" Jeremiah asked, looking Samuel squarely in the eye.

"Well, now think about it. Just how many batches did the reverend really run off that were actually worth drinking?" Samuel looked towards the Sheriff. "And how many batches you think he passed off as his own were actually seized evidence he'd bought off you after you were through with the trial?"

"He could have finally gotten it all right for once," Jeremiah said, turning back to the cart and picking up his spade. "It could have been something like a gift from God since he was going away."

"I don't think he did," said the Sheriff in a quiet, level voice.

Daniel sat on the ground and rested his shovel back against his shoulder. He motioned for Buchanan to join him. "They have a few more things that need to be said before we can finish here," he told the Parson.

Buchanan shrugged his shoulders and settled where Daniel had indicated as he loosened his tie.

"So you're saying that not only was the man a poor moonshine maker, but he was a liar and criminal as well?" Jeremiah asked.

The Sheriff stood and brushed cuttings from his pants. "You couldn't say much that was good about the man's product, but you sure had to admire his determination to keep working at it."

"That's not so. He wouldn't-"

"He did. After every trial he'd come by my office and give me a dollar a pint for what I was duly sworn to dispose of." The Sheriff looked around to make sure they were alone. "I'm not sure now is the proper time, but since he's gone, if any of you boys'd like to take up his slack, I'll be having another batch to sell off after court week after next."

Jeremiah started deflating. "I just wanted something good to remember about him."

"Well, if that's all you're after," Daniel called from where he and Buchanan were sitting. He pointed towards Buchanan with his thumb. "You can give thanks to the Reverend there for getting us the Parson here."

"That's right," Samuel added. "If it wasn't for the Reverend's "church business," we'd probably have Tom Porter trying to run the church right now."

Jeremiah nodded. "Maybe you're right there. Never did completely trust that man."

"I've met Tom Porter," Buchanan said. 'He seemed like a pretty sincere man to me."

"I think he has a bit of wanting to be a snake handler in him waiting for a chance to come out," replied Jeremiah.

"Well, there you have it," Daniel said. "The Reverend knew his time was about up, so he sends the call down to the Bible College and they send us this man," he points towards Buchanan, "to protect us from the likes of Porter and his ilk."

Daniel grins as he sees it all sewed up in a neat package. "Sure he's young and has some rough edges, but I'm sure that if we give him a little time, they'll smooth down to suit everybody after he's been with us for a bit."

Everyone around the grave agreed as they looked at Buchanan.

"That'd be a nice thing to have happen, Daniel," Buchanan said. Sensing it was time to leave, he climbed to his feet and looked towards his borrowed horse. "But I only came back here to comfort an old man in his final days and see him safely into the ground with the proper words said over him." Buchanan took a small step away from the group. "Nobody ever said anything about my staying here. In fact, I've already got my bag packed to leave. It's sitting on the foot of my bed right now waiting for me back at the Reverend's place."

"That's your place now, Parson," Samuel said.

"Yep," Jeremiah added, "You've already made yourself at home here. Even stayed and preached at the revival for us."

"I was only doing my Christian duty. Next week I'm supposed to be preaching the Sunday service at Dardanelle. They're looking for a preacher there and I'm planning on it being me."

"You could miss that visit," the Sheriff said, not looking up from the last bit of his carving. "Lots of things a fellow could be held for in the county jail until the judge comes by in a couple of weeks."

Jeremiah slapped his leg. "Then I guess it's settled. At the revival tonight we'll vote at keeping the Parson here on to replace the Reverend." Jeremiah smiled, sweetly. "And I promise it's a vote you'll not lose."

"And just what makes you think I'd want to trade a congregation of quiet Methodists down in Dardanelle for some pack of wild backwoods Pentecostal holy rollers like yourselves?" Buchanan was having a hard time keeping his words from running together. He was in a situation that called for fast talking and it was wasn't happening quick enough to save him.

Jeremiah put the empty jar back under the cart's seat. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Parson," he said. "You may not see the workings of his plan right now, but somewhere down the line, when he wants you to know it, you'll see it."

"And it'll all make sense," Daniel added, nodding his head.

"Guess this means you're going to be living with us for a bit." Samuel offered his hand to Buchanan. "You're going to enjoy being with us so much."

In a daze Buchanan took it. Samuel was long pumping the Parson's arm slow letting go of his hand.

The Sheriff folded his pocket knife and patted Buchanan on the back as started out of the cemetery. "I'll drive by tomorrow morning to pick you up. We'll run down to Clarksville and pick up your things." A hint of a smile crossed his lips as he stopped at the gate and looked back at Buchanan. "We have so many quaint, interesting customs for you to learn about. Such as how we like to have the man who preaches the funeral over our old preacher be the one who replaces him."

"You don't mean-"

"It's a lifetime job," Jeremiah said. "How long you last at it is entirely up to you."

Daniel climbed to his feet and picked up his shovel. "You ready to finish the job now?

"I guess so." Jeremiah sunk his shovel into the remaining pile on the cart. Before lifting his scoop, he turned back to Buchanan. "You never did answer our question."

"What question was that?" Buchanan asked, still dazed by the turn of events. In the back of his mind he wondered just how long it would be before they'd be digging a hole next to the Reverend for him.

He suddenly began to see why so many of those old backwoods preachers were such firebrands. Their only release from their situation seemed to be getting somebody worked up enough against them to run them off or take their lives.

He wondered just what he could do that'd make that happen for him. Maybe have an altar call at next week's baptism. No, he thought, something like that'd be expected of him. Then it dawned on him, he'd have an altar call at his first wedding. That'd stir them up into wanting to get rid of him soon enough. At least he hoped it would.

"While you were with the Reverend before he died, did he tell you anything you want to mention here before we finish?" Jeremiah asked.

Buchanan thought for a second. "Well, I guess you could say the Reverend unburdened his soul to me of a number of things before he passed on."

The three stopped everything and looked at Buchanan.

"He said Mrs. Lincoln couldn't make gravy worth eating if her life depended on it. So, if she invited me over for dinner, I was to keep on my guard about eating it.

"He told me to keep an eye out for the Widow McDonald. Said she liked her men young and in the prime of life. And no doubt it'd only be a matter of time before she'd be sitting her hat for me if I stayed around here very long."

Jeremiah held his shovel of soil over the grave. "Anything more to add?"

Buchanan pursed his lips as he thought hard for a second. "Just that he told me to keep a firm hand on you men. He didn't know for sure just what you'd be trying to pull, but he said to be on the lookout for it."

Jeremiah moved his wrist and allowed the final shovel of dirt to land on the grave. "I don't have any idea whatsoever about what you're talking about," he said.

Buchanan looked the older man firmly in the eye. "We'll find out when I go to leave after next week's baptizing."

Samuel tossed his shovel onto the cart with the other tools and moved to lead the mule away. "That's if you'll be trying to leave."

"We'll see then," replied Buchanan.

As they all walked away, Jeremiah looked back over his shoulder. "You know, for all his faults, the Reverend there wasn't all that bad of a man."

"True." Then Buchanan added, "Hard to ask for anything better to be said about you when it's your time to leave, I guess."

Samuel nodded. "Especially when all the bad that's ever going to be said about you has already been mentioned."

"Amen," said Buchanan.

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