Page 6 of Turn That River Red

The voices in the Reverend Gunner’s office go quiet. Chairs scrape against the linoleum.

“We weren’t expecting anyone like that,” I say.

“I know. That’s what I was saying.” Mrs. Harrison drops her voice a little. “He showed up at the gate early this morning. Said he goes where God directs him, then insisted on seeing the Reverend.”

I turn back to the shut door, and something tightens in my chest right it swings open.

Reverend Gunner stands in the doorway, bearing down on me. “Mercy,” he says. “I see you’ve pulled yourself together.”

I don’t say anything, just tighten my fingers around the coffee tray.

“That’s good. It’s unbecoming for a helpmeet to be hysterical. Come, I want you to meet someone.”

I found Raul’s corpse in a river!I scream inside my head. Of course I was hysterical. All day yesterday, I couldn’t stop crying. I want to cry now, but I’m holding back my tears because I don’t want Reverend Gunner to discipline me.

I’m a helpmeet. It’s important that I be helpful.

Reverend Gunner guides me inside his office, shuts the door, and takes his coffee. “Pastor,” he says. “This is the woman I was telling you about. The one who—found the body.”

A tall, rangy man rises up and turns toward me, the sun from the window behind him casting him in a golden halo. He’s older—not as old as Reverend Gunner, but in his early forties at least—and roughly handsome, with dark hair slicked back from his face and salt and pepper stubble across his jaw. His intense brown eyes burn straight through me.

A fire-and-brimstone preacher if I ever saw one.

“This must be Mercy,” he says, never taking his eyes off of me. “I heard you’ve experienced some suffering these last twenty-four hours.”

I nod cautiously and set the empty coffee tray down on the little table in the corner. I’m wary of handsome men. Handsome men make Reverend Gunner jealous, and when he gets jealous, my life gets significantly harder. It doesn’t even matter if I’m attracted to them or not. It doesn’t matter if they’re kind, like Raul, or a fellow preacher, like this man, who looks at me like he’s rooting around in my soul to dig out my sins.

I’m Reverend Gunner’s helpmeet, and if another man looks at me, I’m the one who suffers.

“Answer him, Mercy,” Reverend Gunner says sharply.

I swallow back my worry and my grief. “Yes, sir. I—something terrible happened yesterday morning?—”

“I know.” Pastor Echeverría gives me a gentle smile. “I felt it. An immense darkness coming from this place.”

I stiffen and slip a glance over to Reverend Gunner. But he’s watching us approvingly.

“God led Pastor Echeverría here,” Reverend Gunner says. “Right when we needed him most.”

I turn back to Pastor Echeverría, who nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “That’s what I do,” he says. “That’s my calling. I go where I’m needed.” He moves closer to me, his movements easy and graceful, and then stops beside the table, placing one hand beside the tray. My eyes drop down to it, to his strong, graceful fingers. Organist’s fingers, as Mrs. Harrison would say. “Reverend Gunner tells me you knew the deceased.”

My whole body goes stiff, and for a moment all I see is Raul. Raul grinning at me as I hand him a bottle of cold water, Raul walking across the campus with the other soldiers, Raul surrounded by cold black water.

“Y-yes,” I spit out, because I can feel Reverend Gunnerstaring at me. “Yes, of course. I know everyone in the congregation. I?—”

My words lodge in my throat, and my eyes prickle with tears. I clutch at my dress and try desperately to blink them back, because if Reverend Gunner sees me crying in front of one of his guests, his punishment will be quick and furious. “You’re a reflection of me, Mercy,” he said to me last night, curled up beside me in bed. “We have to show the congregation that we’re stronger than the devil.”

I fumble in my skirt pocket for the rag of Kleenex I shoved in there this morning. But Pastor Echeverría offers me a handkerchief instead. Aclothone, bleached clean, with a delicateAEembroidered in the corner.

“Take it,” he says softly.

I glance at Reverend Gunner for permission, anxiety knotting my stomach. He gives me a sharp nod even though his frown cuts deep lines into his face. I snatch the handkerchief away from Pastor Echeverría and press it against my eyes, catching the tears just before they fall

“It’s all right to cry,” Pastor Echeverría says gently. “It’s a terrible crime, what happened, and it’s terrible that you had to be one to discover it.”

I dab at my eyes again, sniffling. My heart feels like it’s twisting in my chest, and I suddenly taste the cold, steely water in the back of my throat, and I see Raul’s empty eyes, his mouth twisted in fear. And although Reverend Gunner is still sitting behind his desk, watching me, Pastor Echeverría makes me feel safe. Reverend Gunner might punish me later, when we’re alone, but he won’t do it here.

“Raul was my friend,” I say primly, staring down at the handkerchief crumpled in my fist.

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