Page 32 of Brimstone Hollow

“Yes. Right there in the recliner.”

“Does the recliner seem like a weird place for him to have been?” I ask.

She looks off across the manicured lawn and toward the bushes bursting with blue flowers, and says, “No, honey. It’s just what he did before.”

“What do you mean?”

“A bad bite. It was a copperhead, I think. He put that snake right back in its box and then just rode it out in that recliner, praying to the Lord to save him.”

“And he got better?”

“That’s right,” she says. “He said the Lord’s power healed him. But this time, I called the police station as soon as I saw—well, it wasabundantlyclear that the man was dead. I actually smelled his bodythroughthe door. You ever been around a decaying corpse, you never forget that smell.”

I nod, a few select experiences coming to mind.

Thelma continues, “Then I called Will and he got there about the same time as the police. But, honestly, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. I saw the black wounds on his neck and up high on his cheek. My cousin Jimmy got bit by a snake when we were kids and that bite was just the same. Went black and shiny and swelled up. Snakebites are nasty-bad. Poor Jimmy lost his arm but Brother Ezra… Well, I can’t deny I never liked the snakes.”

“So, why did you go to a snake-handling church?”

Thelma exhales sharply, her hands flying up beside her head like this is the most exasperating possible question I could’ve asked.

“First of all, Brother Ezra might’ve handled some snakes, but I wouldn’t call it a snake-handling church. He mostly did that in his tent revivals out of town. But, either way, I was a member of the church long before Ezra King ever showed his face. Then, some years ago, Ezra came to Mount Zion and he married that pretty Darcy girl—what was her name?”

“Maggie,” I say.

“That’s right, Magdalene Darcy. She’d grown up in First Christian, but after she and Ezra got together, they started coming over to Redeemer. Ezra had a bad gambling problem back then and it was through God that he saw his way to live right. I can’t deny his testimony waspowerful.So, when Brother George—that was the preacher then—he was getting older and needed a hand, Ezra started teaching Sunday school and, boy, he wasrealpopular. Especially with the younger folks. He was a looker; I can tell you that. And thatvoice. Anyway, not long after that, Brother George up and died. Fatal stroke. We all agreed to start a search for a new preacher, one we all liked. But, in the meantime, Ezra stepped in and everyone loved him. He was a big hit.”

“So Brother George never—”

“Handled snakes?” She shakes her head solemnly. “No, honey, he sure didn’t. And Ezra didn’t at first either. But, by and by, he got more confident. He never was one to holler—that’s what people always seem to expect when they think of traditional preachers—but I think he neverhadto shout. People always just listened to him. I remember when he first brought those snakes out. A pair of copperheads. He wouldn’t let anyone else touch them. It was almost like… almost more like they were props and we were all watching a performer rather than a preacher. But it was a big hit with some people.”

“Not his wife, apparently,” I say.

“No, honey. Though—again, if I’m being completely honest—” She pauses to take a long drink of her tea, then smacks her lips and says, “Ithink the snakes were only the last straw for Magdalene Darcy, if you know what I mean.”

She gives me a knowing look, suggestive of something tawdry.

“He was cheating?” I ask.

“Well, now, he was always popular,” she says with a little smirk, clearly reveling in the gossip. “Especially with the younger folks, like I said. Especially with the youngerwomen.”

She bats at a fly and says, “But he was handsome. He was charismatic. And thatvoice. It was really something else. He could’ve charmed the whiskers off a cat with pipes like that.”

“So, why the snakes?”

“I’ve always wondered,” she says quietly. “I really have. But I think they sort of proved his point.”

“His point?”

“That he really was as powerful as he seemed. That his faith really did protect him from evil. Though, of course, I guess it didn’t save him in the end. And it’s a damn shame. He’d started talking about retirement, said he was just a couple years off from hanging it all up. I hate to see it happen like that. A woman I used to work with retired and made all these plans and then two weeks later had an aneurysm, can you believe it? Anyway, Ezra made a big ol’ fuss about wanting to retire in quiet contemplation, but, if you ask me, I think he just wanted to stop getting up early on Sundays.”

“Do you feel like Ezra wasn’t as devout as everyone believed?” I ask her.

“Well, I couldn’t say. Only God knows what’s in a man’s heart. And I know we’ll all mourn his passing, but, you know, I do think maybe it’s time for a change. I only hope poor Will is up to the challenge, bless his heart.”

“I saw him this morning. He was in Ezra’s house, milking the snakes.”

She shakes her head, frowning disgustedly.