Women were still weeping over the graves at
Gettysburg when my grandpa came to Walesburg. Nobody ever quite figured out
where he came from or why he came. He just showed up one night in a blue-serge
store-bought suit and eased his way into Jere Higham's place. Grandpa walked
quietly to the end of the bar and put down his Bible. He didn't have to call
for silence, because it followed him through the long smoky room like a hound
dog.
Grandpa cleared his throat and began to
speak. “Boys, I'm you’re new preacher,” he said, “and I aim to give my first
sermon right here.”
A couple of General Lee's men still in
uniform, began to laugh. Grandpa didn't even glance that way. He just reached
under his long coat and pulled out two long-barreled cavalry pistols and
slapped them on the bar.
“Either I speak,” he said, “or these do!”
This 1956 short-story by Mr. Brown is a mini-marvel. He
is also the author of Addie Pray, which became the charming Oscar-winning
film, Paper Moon about a 11-year-old con artist and her older partner.
The story feels like a Southern shaggy dog story, that
morphs into one of tough-minded faith, and right before one suspects that it
may turn mawkish ala a lesser episode of The Waltons, Mr. Brown kicks
his moral into high gear and leaves us with both a fine story and a firm sense of
the kind of boot-strappin’ faith that likely sustained many of pioneer spirit.
Damned, well done.
I will now be tracking down more of Mr. Brown’s work.
