Free [Troublesome Creek 01] - Troublesome Creek by Jan Watson

dreadful time. Brothers and sisters, let us recite the Twenty-third Psalm, David’s gift of solace to us. ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’ Amen and amen.”
    In conclusion, the preacher stooped to gather a handful of grave dirt, nodding for the pallbearers to lower the casket into the vault.
    The men held tight to the rope—Daniel could hear the whir as it slid through their hands—and let the weight of the coffin aid its descent until it reached bottom, six feet down.
    Brother Nathan stepped forward. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.” He released a stream of red-clay soil from his hand. It was so quiet the mourners could hear the pebbly dirt ping off the nailheads that secured the top of the casket. It seemed even the squirrels and jays had stopped their raucous chatter in honor of the dead.
    “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Sleep here all night, sister,” each person intoned as they, in turn, sprinkled dirt into the dark hole and bade their sister in Christ a last good-bye.
    Every eye followed Emilee as she carried the baby to the edge of her mother’s grave. She’d dressed the infant in a long yellow gown with fanciful embroidery around its hem and a little knit bonnet. Dipping her free hand into a small reed basket, Emilee scattered its contents around the grave’s opening. Tiny white blossoms fell like snow onto the raw red earth, emphasizing the gaping wound.
    The baby began to cry, a mournful long-noted wail that brought tears to the eyes of each assembled there.
    Suddenly Will appeared out of the shadows. Some ladies gasped at the sight of him, for his shoulder-length dark hair and bushy brown beard had turned white in the course of one night. He held out his arms to Emilee, and she cautiously handed Laura Grace over. Then he did the oddest thing. Holding the baby in one arm, he began to unbutton his shirt. Emilee stepped forward, but Granny put out a hand to hold her back. Will tucked the infant next to his skin, then buttoned the shirt around her. As he placed his hand against the bundle of his daughter, she quieted and cried no more. Will stopped before Daniel and grasped his shoulder before vanishing again, swallowed up by the anonymous forest, baby and all.
    Turning his attention back to his task, Daniel picked up his shovel and began to pitch dirt into the grave.
    The people murmured among themselves as they gathered up their Bibles and church fans and began to straggle off down the mountain. They would gather at Daniel’s for a noonday meal prepared by the women of the church. He knew the past couple of days had taxed their spirits. The fellowship of breaking bread would help to salve their sorrow.
    Snatches of comments drifted to Daniel as he worked—“Strangest thing I ever seen. . . . Poor little young’un. . . . Did you see Will’s hair? White as snow. . . . I’ve heard of it. . . . It were the shock. . . . Brother Nathan done a good. . . .”
    Finally, after what seemed like hours, Daniel finished, and all that was left in this world of Julie Brown was the little hump of dirt at his feet.

CHAPTER 6
     
    “Daniel, you have got to say something to him,” Emilee fretted. “This just can’t go on.”
    Man, Daniel thought, am I between the bull and the barn door. On the one hand, he understood Emilee’s concerns; he had some of his own. On the other, he couldn’t bring himself to chastise Will for his bizarre behavior. It had been