Prayers the Devil Answers by Sharyn McCrumb

themselves. Most of us were born that way. We weren’t shy; at least most of us would claim we aren’t. We can be just as helpful and friendly as anybody else when you meet us in church or at a community gathering. It is just that we don’t need a lot of people around us all the time, and we tend to think that socializing is just as much hard work as chopping firewood. When it comes to strangers, my family is as elusive as deer.
    We don’t have any use for charity either. We never want anybody to think we are asking for anything. We fend for ourselves, and I expect that because of this most of us are particular about who we help in times of trouble. If we know you well, and if you are an honest, hardworking fellow who has fallen on hard times through some misfortune, I reckon most of us would give you whatever help you need. We have no use for shiftless people who want a handout instead of a job, though; and we downright hate those slick fellers who try to float through life on their good looks or their oily friendliness, forever trying to charm people into making life easy for them. As far as the Solitary McCourrys are concerned, being obnoxious is a graveoffense. We don’t ingratiate ourselves with other people, for fear of being thought pushy or scheming. We called ourselves honorable, but Albert always said we were mostly proud, and maybe he was right about that.
    When I first started keeping company with Albert as a young girl, some of the nosy old biddies in the community tried to warn him that he had taken up with one of the Solitary McCourrys, as if he hadn’t known that all along. He didn’t mind. Up the mountain my kinfolks’ proud and chilly ways didn’t matter much, because from one generation to the next people came to expect it. They knew the Solitary McCourrys didn’t intend to offend anybody with their remoteness; it was just that the family was made that way.
    When we were newlyweds all those years ago, Albert and I could not have foreseen that one day we would be pent up in a valley town among strangers. Here people judge you by what they see, without knowing anything about the ways of your family. But, for good or ill, here we were.
    It hadn’t been so bad when Albert worked at the railroad yard, or even when he got hired on as a deputy sheriff. None of Albert’s friends seemed to mind that I kept to myself. In fact, most of them thought I behaved just as a woman ought to: quiet, polite, and never troubling anybody with opinions. Maybe the women found me as hard to talk to as I did them, but I tried to be pleasant, and since we had two boys to raise, nobody could fault me for sticking close to home. There are others around here who could do with a lesson from me, judging by the number of catty old gossips, wayward young wives, and contentious shrews there are in town.
    With George and Eddie and a husband to look after, I always kept busy—cooking, sewing, scrubbing, canning the summer pole beans and tomatoes—all of which gave me the perfect excuse to stay home.
    Life changed for me when the high sheriff got shot trying to catch a nest of moonshiners in the woods, but his term had almostexpired anyhow, and Albert made up his mind to put his name on the ballot for sheriff in the upcoming election. I don’t think anybody else much wanted it, anyhow, seeing as how poor Buck Tyler had been the second sheriff in a row to get killed in the line of duty by lawbreakers. Everyone agreed that his death was a tragedy, but some said it was an unnecessary one. People said that with the whole country going bankrupt, you could hardly call it a crime if some poor fellows made whisky, just trying to get enough money to feed their families. It was better than begging, wasn’t it? And whether it was a crime was a matter of opinion too. All it meant was that the moonshine still operators had not paid the government a tax on their whisky. There were a lot of folks