Free A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash

raise her voice.
    â€œWhat happened?” she asked, but before I could even answer, Pastor Chambliss walked over through the crowd and stopped right in front of us. He looked down at me, and then he reached out with those smooth, pink fingers and lifted up my hand to get a good look at it. He held it there like he wasn’t going to let it go.
    â€œWell, look here,” he said. “The good Lord can heal with one hand and harm with the other.” He smiled. “That’s the power of an awesome God.”
    One of those women standing by us said, “Amen.”
    I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it tight and I couldn’t get it free. He looked over at Stump and reached out to touch him too, but Stump moved closer to Mama like he was trying to get away from him. Pastor Chambliss smiled.
    â€œY’all coming back for the evening service?” he asked Mama.
    â€œI reckon we can,” she said.
    â€œYou should,” he said. He let go of my hand and nodded toward Stump. “And bring this one with you. The Lord ain’t finished with him yet.”
    â€œN OW, TELL ME AGAIN ,” M AMA SAID . S HE BACKED D ADDY ’ S TRUCK out of the parking space and pulled out onto the road. The truck shook just a little bit when she put her foot on the gas pedal to get us going. Stump sat in between us and stared straight ahead like we weren’t even sitting there in the truck with him. I kept the hand with that splinter in it propped up on my knee so nothing would hit it. It had already started to turn red, but at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.
    â€œWhat do you want me to tell you?” I asked her. It was hot inside the truck, and Mama rolled her window down and the air came in and blew some crumpled-up papers around on the dashboard. I thought about rolling my window down too, but I didn’t want all that wind in my face.
    â€œI want you to tell me again about how you got that big old splinter,” she said. “I want you to tell me one more time how you done it.”
    I looked in the side mirror just before we went around the curve up toward the highway. I could see the church in the mirror behind us, and there was still a bunch of people standing around outside in the parking lot. I saw Mr. Gene Thompson talking to some folks out by the road, and I swear I saw him turn his head like he was watching us drive off toward the highway.
    â€œMe and Joe Bill were skipping rocks after Sunday school,” I said. “Right after Mr. Thompson came and got Stump. I found an old board and was hitting rocks like baseballs. Joe Bill was pitching. I wasn’t holding it tight enough, and it slipped a little in my hand and that’s how I got it.”
    Mama looked at my hand, and then she looked back at the road. I heard her sigh.
    â€œThat board must’ve been awfully dry and rotten for it to have given you that kind of splinter.”
    â€œIt was,” I said. She was quiet for a second and I tried to close my fingers again, but the blood had started to scab up and get real stiff and it was even harder to make a fist than it was before.
    â€œJess,” Mama said.
    â€œYes, ma’am?”
    â€œAre you telling me the truth?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œIf I call Joe Bill’s mama and ask her to talk to him about it, you think he’s going to tell her the same story about that bat?”
    â€œIt wasn’t a bat,” I said.
    â€œYou know what I mean,” Mama said. “Is Joe Bill going to remember it just like you told it to me?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I said, but I knew he wouldn’t tell it like that because he didn’t know nothing about what I’d told her. I knew that if I told the truth about how I’d gotten that splinter then I’d have to tell the truth about what I saw them doing to Stump, and then I might’ve found myself telling her about how the rain barrel got broken and