Nazareth's Song by Patricia Hickman

front of Honeysack’s store. For the time being, the milk truck seemed protection enough. Jeb ran between the truck and store and into the alley. Will met him at the rear exit.
    “Hurry, come inside before you get clubbed,” said Will.
    Freda kept pacing behind the display of canned chili while their clerk, Val, locked up the day’s cash in a safe in the back storage room.
    “They’re burning down the whole town, Will!” Val’s voice quivered. “This’ll give Nazareth a black eye for shore!”
    Deputy Maynard ran past the storefront and then disappeared behind the milk truck. A pistol shot rang out in the street, and Freda screamed and escaped into the storage room.
    “Maynard’s shot off his gun, Freda! Nobody’s firing back. Just a cop-firing-in-the-air kind of thing, you know, to try and scare off the old boys.” Will cracked open the storage room door. Val crouched under a table wearing a World War I soldier’s helmet. “Val, you all right?”
    “You’d better take cover, Will!” Val had dragged a heavy sack under the table with him and made several attempts to build a barricade with twenty pounds of chicken feed.
    “What if they set fire to our place, Reverend Jeb?” Freda was near hysteria.
    “I think I should take her home, Reverend,” said Will. “Not going to do any business around here anyway.”
    Jeb nodded. “The barbershop appears to be the next to go. They could be working their way up Waddle. Any guess as to what set them off?”
    “Asa Hopper, is all I know. A big lot of men is mad about losing their land. Hopper’s family bought that land sometime back around the middle of the last century. Says he’ll not lose it now after all this time. They need a body to blame, I reckon, for this Depression.” Will pulled a string on the last light to extinguish it. “But if it’s food they want, I’d be surprised if they burned my place. Coming in and taking what they want might be the next thing on their minds.”
    “Let’s get Freda and Val out to your Ford, Will. No use taking a beating over canned beans. Maybe if you get on out of here and let them have it, they’ll not set fire to your place.” Jeb coaxed Freda out of the storage room. A loud explosion outside sent Val reeling out of the room. It sounded like someone had lit a stick of dynamite and tossed it onto Front Street. He crawled over the chicken feed and followed Freda out the back way.
    “Can’t let them take from my store without paying, Jeb! It’s the principle,” said Will. He handed the keys to Val. “Please see the missus home, Val, if you will. You’re welcome to stay on our couch tonight. Freda will see you get fed.”
    Freda argued with Will, but finally gave up and headed for the Ford. “Reverend, you keep an eye on my Will.”
    Jeb said, “If you could take a drive past my place to check on the Welby youngens, I’d appreciate it, Val.” He waited for Val to take Freda out of earshot before he said, “Didn’t want your wife to know, Will, but that mob is on its way here. Let’s you and me slip out the back.”
    Val gave Jeb and Will a nervous wave and drove with Freda down the alley and away from the mob. He still wore the green helmet of the American Expeditionary Force. World War I had been over for years.
    Political hopeful Bryce threw his campaigning signs into the back of his pickup after a day of stumping in the next county. He was packing up to head away from the mob. When Jeb tapped on his window, he threw his hands up over his face and yelled, “Don’t shoot, Mister!”
    “It’s me, Bryce. Jeb Nubey. You still got that tin thing you been politicking into every Saturday?” Jeb had hunkered down in the alley and crawled out to the walk, where he’d spotted Bryce.
    “It’s all put away, Reverend. You needing a ride out of town, I’ll give it to you. But I’m not sticking around with things this hot. If they’d burn old Mills in effigy, they’d not think a minute about lighting fire