rocked the earth to sleep,” said Ida May.
“Lights up the sky at night almost,” said Willie. “Like morning at midnight. Dog it, Ida May, you make me wish for winter.”
Myrtle let out a sigh as gentle as a dropped thread.
That was when the glass broke, the small one at the top of the door, and shattered into triangles on the welcome rug.
“Get down!” Jeb yelled. “Facedown, all of you!” He crouched low and ran for his hunting rifle. He dragged it from under his
bed and had to load it. He could hear Ida May crying and Angel trying to hush her. Myrtle wailed louder than the both of them.
By the time he reached the parlor and peeked through the window curtains beside the front door, he could see nothing at all.
“Someone shot out our winder glass!” Willie told him. “Look at the hole in the wall. Went clean through to the kitchen.”
“What if that would have hit one of us?” asked Angel. She reached out and touched a shard of broken glass but didn’t pick
it up.
Jeb threw open the door and pointed the rifle straight out into the darkness. He could see car lights cascading over the woods
and back up the road. He jumped in his truck to follow it, but by the time the old truck engine had cranked and rattled out
to the main road in front of the church, not an automobile or human was in sight.
Angel peered through the open door holding Myrtle against her shoulder, jiggling her to try and comfort her. It made Myrtle’s
cry sound rhythmic and it bounced off the night air like a distress signal.
When Jeb returned to the house, he saw a note dropped on the top step of the porch. He picked it up and read it to himself.
It said, “Get rid of it!”
Angel woke up and, seeing Jeb still up and reading, joined him on the sofa. Myrtle slept between them, her face smashed into
the blanket as though she were melting. “The baby’s not safe. We can’t keep her here, Jeb.”
“I’ve never tried so hard to get rid of something.”
“You’re sure no one in Tempest’s Bog wants her?”
“It’s not safe to leave her in Tempest’s Bog.”
“It’s not safe here.”
“I’d almost think someone is messing with me. You know, like hanging out in the woods, watching to see what I do next. But
who would do that?”
“God maybe.”
“Tomorrow night is Wednesday church meeting. I’ll give a call from the pulpit to see if anyone wants to help out this orphan
baby. Kindness has surely not gone out of style.”
“Kindness is for your own kind, that’s what it seems like,” said Angel.
“Myrtle sure carries a world of trouble with her wherever she goes.”
“It don’t make sense.”
Jeb stroked Myrtle’s head. She was soft to the touch, like mink. “I suppose I could bring my things in here and sleep next
to her. It’d be a shame to move her. She’s sleeping so good.”
“You go to bed, Jeb. I’ll sleep next to her.”
Jeb checked the front-door locks again and the cloth taping up the broken window. “I’d rather you be in your own bed, Angel.
I’ll keep watch for Myrtle tonight.”
Jeb left Myrtle with Belinda an hour before the Wednesday-night service.
The sun had gone and left only the pale residue of tarnished sky, the only light left besides the clouded-over moon. Jeb lit
lanterns around the church and then swept the floor and the large rug donated last summer by Florence Bernard.
The chapel was chilled, so he stuffed some of the firewood into the potbellied stove. Will had chopped and stacked the wood
on the far wall Monday afternoon to save Jeb the work. The wood kindled fast. The stove helped take the bite out of the air.
He heard a couple of car doors slam, so he left his notes on the lectern and went to the entrance to greet the early arrivals.
The door opened. Oz Mills bristled past.
“Evening, Oz,” said Jeb. Behind Oz walked three young men, fellows Jeb had seen hanging out at the bank drumming up work.
“Haven’t seen you in church in a
“Lights up the sky at night almost,” said Willie. “Like morning at midnight. Dog it, Ida May, you make me wish for winter.”
Myrtle let out a sigh as gentle as a dropped thread.
That was when the glass broke, the small one at the top of the door, and shattered into triangles on the welcome rug.
“Get down!” Jeb yelled. “Facedown, all of you!” He crouched low and ran for his hunting rifle. He dragged it from under his
bed and had to load it. He could hear Ida May crying and Angel trying to hush her. Myrtle wailed louder than the both of them.
By the time he reached the parlor and peeked through the window curtains beside the front door, he could see nothing at all.
“Someone shot out our winder glass!” Willie told him. “Look at the hole in the wall. Went clean through to the kitchen.”
“What if that would have hit one of us?” asked Angel. She reached out and touched a shard of broken glass but didn’t pick
it up.
Jeb threw open the door and pointed the rifle straight out into the darkness. He could see car lights cascading over the woods
and back up the road. He jumped in his truck to follow it, but by the time the old truck engine had cranked and rattled out
to the main road in front of the church, not an automobile or human was in sight.
Angel peered through the open door holding Myrtle against her shoulder, jiggling her to try and comfort her. It made Myrtle’s
cry sound rhythmic and it bounced off the night air like a distress signal.
When Jeb returned to the house, he saw a note dropped on the top step of the porch. He picked it up and read it to himself.
It said, “Get rid of it!”
Angel woke up and, seeing Jeb still up and reading, joined him on the sofa. Myrtle slept between them, her face smashed into
the blanket as though she were melting. “The baby’s not safe. We can’t keep her here, Jeb.”
“I’ve never tried so hard to get rid of something.”
“You’re sure no one in Tempest’s Bog wants her?”
“It’s not safe to leave her in Tempest’s Bog.”
“It’s not safe here.”
“I’d almost think someone is messing with me. You know, like hanging out in the woods, watching to see what I do next. But
who would do that?”
“God maybe.”
“Tomorrow night is Wednesday church meeting. I’ll give a call from the pulpit to see if anyone wants to help out this orphan
baby. Kindness has surely not gone out of style.”
“Kindness is for your own kind, that’s what it seems like,” said Angel.
“Myrtle sure carries a world of trouble with her wherever she goes.”
“It don’t make sense.”
Jeb stroked Myrtle’s head. She was soft to the touch, like mink. “I suppose I could bring my things in here and sleep next
to her. It’d be a shame to move her. She’s sleeping so good.”
“You go to bed, Jeb. I’ll sleep next to her.”
Jeb checked the front-door locks again and the cloth taping up the broken window. “I’d rather you be in your own bed, Angel.
I’ll keep watch for Myrtle tonight.”
Jeb left Myrtle with Belinda an hour before the Wednesday-night service.
The sun had gone and left only the pale residue of tarnished sky, the only light left besides the clouded-over moon. Jeb lit
lanterns around the church and then swept the floor and the large rug donated last summer by Florence Bernard.
The chapel was chilled, so he stuffed some of the firewood into the potbellied stove. Will had chopped and stacked the wood
on the far wall Monday afternoon to save Jeb the work. The wood kindled fast. The stove helped take the bite out of the air.
He heard a couple of car doors slam, so he left his notes on the lectern and went to the entrance to greet the early arrivals.
The door opened. Oz Mills bristled past.
“Evening, Oz,” said Jeb. Behind Oz walked three young men, fellows Jeb had seen hanging out at the bank drumming up work.
“Haven’t seen you in church in a
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