Free When the Tide Ebbs: An epic 1930's love story (A Grave Encounter) by Kay Chandler

man my daughter appears to be so fond of.”
    My face burned. Panic engulfed me. How was I supposed to respond to such a statement?
    I breathed easier, when it appeared he wasn’t expecting a reply.
    He glanced around. “Where’s my beautiful daughter?”
    Like a dimwit, I stammered, “She’s gone to get a couple of knacks for the suts.” I slapped myself on the side of the head. “What I meant to say sir, is that Zann went to get sacks for the nuts.” I grimaced, expecting him to laugh in my face. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch.
    “Fine, fine. That’s just fine,” he said. “Supper should be ready soon. Would you care to stay and eat with us? Dora—my wife—she always fixes enough to feed the countryside. We’d be most pleased to have you join us.”
    I wiped beads of sweat from my upper lip. “Thank you sir. That’s mighty kind of you, but I reckon I need to be getting home as soon as I can pick up enough pecans for a pie.”
    “Take more than enough for a pie. Christmas is just around the corner and if you don’t have pecan trees on your place, I’m sure your mother will be mighty proud to have you bring home a good ten pounds or more. Women folks can think of a hundred different ways to use pecans during the holidays.”
    I nodded. He was right. Mama would be right proud if I stuck around long enough to load up a sack.
    Parson Pruitt said, “They’re Stewarts, you know. My Dora is partial to Stewarts.”
    At first, I assumed the Stewarts were friends of the Pruitts, until I realized he was referring to the type of pecans. I suppose the following silence was no longer than a couple of seconds, though it seemed much longer. What could be taking Zann so long? I shuffled my feet and tried to think of something insightful to say, but my brain had taken leave of absence.
    The parson spoke first. “You have a fine name, Hezekiah. I suppose you were named after the King of Judah?”
    He waited for my response.
    My mind raced. History wasn’t my favorite subject, yet I’d always made good marks. But in all my years of schooling, I couldn’t recall studying about the King of Judah.
    His brow raised. “Are you familiar with the story of Hezekiah in the Bible?”
    I sheepishly shook my head and figured I was losing points with Zann’s father, by admitting I didn’t have a clue.
    He stroked his chin. “Well, there’s a very interesting story in the Good Book about a time when King Hezekiah was dying and he prayed and asked God to lengthen his days.”
    I waited, but he out-waited me. I finally mumbled, “So what happened?”
    His smile was warm. Not accusing, as I’d imagined. “God answered.”
    I couldn’t believe I stood here carrying on a Biblical conversation with a parson. Why didn’t Zann come on? Was she watching out the window and laughing?
    An uncomfortable silence followed. At least uncomfortable on my end.
    Then, he said, “God heard Hezekiah’s prayer and saw his tears, and God allowed him to live twelve more years.” The Parson’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t it rich to know that we have a God who hears our prayers and answers our tears?”
    Now, he had my attention. Questions, which I’d never considered before, popped in my head, but I would’ve cut off my tongue before allowing myself to be suckered in by a preacher. Even so, I did want to know what he meant by ‘God answers our tears.’ Was he serious? How many tears would I have to shed before God would answer mine? I looked across the road and breathed a sigh when I saw Zann approaching.
    “Here comes my daughter now. I’d stay and help you two, but I need to gather a little wood before supper.” He turned to walk away. When he reached the road, he looked over his shoulder and yelled, “The invitation for supper still stands. If not tonight, maybe one night soon. It was a pleasure meeting you, Hezekiah.”
    I threw up my hand and uttered a weak thank-you. Conflicting thoughts fought for space in my head. The