Free The Ballad of Lucy Whipple by Karen Cushman Page B

years! So Clyde went and hugged Flapjack right there at Flat Camp in front of the whole crew. Thought old Flapjack would bust a gut."
    Jimmy slapped his knee and shouted, "That ain't nothin'. In a voice loud enough to wake snakes, he told Leo Mack he loved him! We was hootin' and whistlin', but ole Clyde stood there grinnin' like a possum eatin' a yellow jacket. Said nothing we could do or say would stop him from loving Leo. Gol durn, pardon me, ma'am, if Crazy wasn't so durned big, Leo would have pitched him in the water."
    The Gent said Brother Clyde wanted nothing more than to preach to the miners, but they hid when they heard him coming, so he'd just stand there and preach to the trees. "I said to him, 'Clyde,' I said, 'you'd do a blame sight better if you worked that hard at mining,' but he just laughed and said he
was
mining, mining for souls."
    As I peddled my pies—mock apple made of crackers and a bit of cider vinegar until summer brought real fruit—I bumped into Clyde now and again, riding that tiny mule. Clyde called the mule Apostle because the mule, like the Apostles, was wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.
    Somehow Clyde was picking up pinches of gold dust here and there, and after a week or so those pinches amounted to a bit. He came back, dumped it into Mama's lap, and said, "Might this be eighteen dollars and twenty cents, ma'am? I'm mighty tired of sleeping with my mule."
    "Looks to be, Brother Claymore," said Mama, softening a little toward a boarder with gold. "I will get it weighed at the store. Go wipe your boots." Although Mr. Scatter had been accused from time to time of dampening his hands when weighing gold so some of the dust would stick to his fingers, he had the only scales in town. Gold was sixteen dollars an ounce, or about a dollar a pinch, but the scales were the only way to be sure.
    So we were joined at suppers by Brother Clyde. One night the Gent asked him what kind of church he was minister of.
    "Well now," he replied, "that's an interesting story. The Lord called me to serve Him, thank you, Lord, but He didn't tell me how. So I just started out preaching the benefits of prunes and proverbs until someone asked me that very same question, what kind of church was I a minister of. 'Well sir,' I replied, 'that I can't rightly say, but I know what kind of minister I am. I am a minister who has little taste for sects and isms, for being on my knees, for preaching indoors to those who already believe and behave. I believe in love, turning the other cheek, Heaven and Hell, the power of God, and being a brother to all of like belief So I became founder of the Free and Independent Church of Christ's Brethren, and its bishop and only minister."
    "You ever preach to wild Indians or get chased by pirates or redcoats?" Butte asked, his mouth full of potato. Everyone laughed. Seemed like my educating wasn't doing Butte too much good.
    "No, I can't say so, young fella, though I been treed by grizzlies and run out of town by unbelievers, and I been beset by boils, rashes, ulcers, and the rheumatics. But as long as I was doing God's work, all was well."
    He looked sad for a minute and then continued, in a voice much softer than his usual boom, "Now I'm thinking about packing up and moving on. Back to New Hampshire. There are always groups who need toting back east, so I'd get my way paid." Suddenly I was very interested.
    Brother Clyde went on. "Don't know what else to do. I can't say I've done very well as a preacher. No converts, no followers. I thought to be having a prayer meeting by this time, but not a body around here will come. The good Lord doesn't need a spiritual father with no children, a shepherd without sheep, who labors long in the vineyards but grows no grapes."
    The boarders all looked down at their plates. Feeling sorry for the man was one thing, but getting religion for his sake was more than they planned on. I, however, had a masterpiece of an idea. //Brother Clyde were to lead a