Fallen Angels by Patricia Hickman Page B

to put a bell on her to find her when she ran off.”
    Jeb cocked his head and said, “She ran off?”
    “That was long before she was broke. No need to worry about her now. She's a good wagon mule. I hated to see her put out to pasture with so many good years left in her.”
    “But you decided to sell her.” Jeb studied her coat and her joints.
    “The missus wanted an automobile. After that, every woman in town wanted her husband to buy one. I don't do much farming what with the bank to run and all. My brother, Freddie, he started a bank up in Hope. We learned it from our daddy. It runs in our blood, I guess you could say.”
    A black Ford truck motored past. A heavy-faced woman leaned forward in the passenger seat and smiled, her features stretched tight and shining. She lifted a hand that gripped a basket of honey jars and waved. The man seated next to her yelled, “Welcome, Preacher Grade!” The back of the truck carried six children, the boys shirtless, the girls wearing clothes that were either too large for their slight frames or too small. All of the children waved and called out just as their daddy had done.
    The banker lowered his tone. His eyes moved back and forth as though someone might hear. “That's the Wolvertons. Poor as church mice. Good stock. Just fallen on bad times like the rest of the country. Lost their place to foreclosure. What's a banker to do?”
    The Wolvertons greeted Jeb as minister. He returned the wave, a knot in his throat.
    “Everything I owned was in the truck, Mr. Mills. You're sure you don't mind waiting for the money?” Jeb rubbed his palms against his trousers. An uneasiness traveled up his back while a bead of sweat trickled down and seeped into his borrowed shirt. Bankers made him skittish. Every citizen of Nazareth seemed to have appeared out of shops and automobiles to take a gander at him and the Welbys. Two young women with a bit of tease in their gaits smiled at him. He tipped his hat.
    “Don't you give this transaction a second thought, Reverend. Will Honeysack is the head deacon of Church in the Dell. If he guarantees you're good for it, I believe it. He and his wife started that store out of the back of a wagon and built it up to the fine establishment it is today. You ought to count yourself fortunate to have Will as your deacon. His heart is as good as his money.”
    “Mr. Mills, I want to be sure I'm understanding you. Are you saying Mr. Honeysack is signing for me? He didn't tell me that if it's so.”
    “Signing on the dotted line. But we'll need your John Hancock, too. Just drop by the bank tomorrow, Thursday, and I'll have the papers drawn up.”
    A gnawing pang ate at Jeb's insides. He felt an inward drawing, as though something sucked him under.
    “You all should enjoy living in Millwood Hollow. Good fishing and lots of land for a little hunting if you're of a mind.”
    “Church in the Dell's in Millwood Hollow?”
    “That's what the old-timers have always called the place, even after a church was built on it. Wealthy man named Millwood bought it for his bride. When she died, he up and sold a big part of it, then gave some of it to be built for a church—Mrs. Millwood would have wanted it that way. Little history lesson. I've kept you too long.”
    “I guess I should be going now.” He took the reins loosely and climbed onto the wagon and seated himself. He snapped the mule's flank with the tip of the rein.
    The banker laughed. “You forget something, Reverend?”
    Jeb had not shopped in any of the stores because he didn't need to purchase anything at all, not soap or bread or even a can of lard what with all of the pantry being stocked. “I don't think so, Mr. Mills. Why do you ask?”
    Mills lifted his broad chin and glanced inside Fidel's. “You forgot your children.”
    Jeb climbed down from the wagon. His face blazed red. “My apologies.”
    “No need to apologize. It's hard for us men to remember such things. Must be difficult for you