Free The Devil in Pew Number Seven by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo

problems.
    As they soon learned, there was more trouble afoot. When Momma attempted to use the faucet, instead of watching a clean flow of water spilling into the sink, she witnessed an oily substance oozing from the tap. The water and fuel tanks didn’t share plumbing. No pipes had burst, causing seepage between the tanks. Puzzled by the water-and-oil mixture, Daddy ascertained this had not been an accident. Someone had intentionally spiked our water pump with fuel oil.
    No heat, no water, no phone.
    But why? Why would anyone attack our home?
    A quick survey of our few valuables indicated that nothing had been stolen. This, then, was an act designed to frighten us. Whoever had done this must have known we were scheduled to be out of town.
    Did that mean we had been watched? If so, by whom and for how long? Were we being watched now? Should Daddy and Momma call the law from Aunt Pat’s house? Or would involving the police bring unwanted attention to the church? Did this break-in have anything to do with the threatening phone call or unsigned letters?
    Repairing the damage was the easy part.
    Getting answers was a bit trickier.
    Anticipating what might be next, impossible.

Chapter 5
    Under Siege
    The fog lingered.
    On the evening of Saturday, August 17, 1974, a light rain shower swept across the southern region of North Carolina, moving west to east. The rainfall traveled from Fayetteville through Sellerstown and then continued east to Wilmington before sailing out to an unknown destination over the Atlantic Ocean.
    The procession of thunderclaps, noisier than the crashing cymbals of a marching band, announced the parade of inclement weather washing over Sellerstown. The restless and moonless sky soon lost its booming voice. In the storm’s wake a pale gray fog, accompanied by a gentle mist, settled in for the night around our one-story, redbrick house.
    I was four years old at the time.
    It’s not that I have an extraordinary memory about weather patterns on any given day during my childhood. Nor was I some sort of child prodigy who thrived on all things meteorological. Even today, while I’ll consult the Weather Channel, I’m not an avid viewer. True, I happen to be interested in storm patterns since tornadoes are a reality in Tennessee, where we live.
    However, I’m not sure I could tell you what the weather was like last Saturday, let alone a Saturday decades ago. Aside from figuring out how to dress my kids for school, I don’t typically study the forecast. There is, however, a very good reason why I can report what the weather was like on that night in August.
    I checked.
    I researched that date for a compelling reason.
    I wanted to learn everything I could about the last night before my innocent world was completely—and forever—turned upside down. Hiding behind the blanket of darkness, lurking in the misty shadows of fog, an evil so black, so devoid of compassion, planned to execute its diabolical attack against our family.
    While the weatherman had predicted the weather with surprising accuracy, he would have had no idea about the tornado of hate gathering strength nearby. Nor could he have foreseen the vortex of rage that would soon sweep down upon us, hurling everything we held dear, most of which had nothing to do with earthly possessions, to the wind. We were targeted by a madman who, in mere hours, was ready to pull the trigger.
    Literally.
    * * *
    At the time, unaware of the hostilities about to befall us, we were happily engaged in the routine business of family life on a Saturday night. With a well-worn Bible opened to his text, Daddy sat at his desk in the corner of our family room. He prayed and pored over his sermon notes like an honors student cramming for a final exam. Three pine shelves fastened to the wall, sagging under the weight of thick biblical reference books, were within arm’s reach above his head. While Daddy never went to seminary, he had been changed by Calvary and wanted to be