Seventh Son

Then, suddenly, Papa didn't have no trouble talking at all. Papa just gave up saying the hard thing, and Alvin Junior felt let down, like when somebody said uncle before they even got throwed. But he knew, the minute he thought about it, that his papa wouldn't give up like that lessen it was some terrible force stopping him from speaking up. Papa was a strong man, not a bit cowardly. And seeing Papa beat down like that, well, it made the boy afraid. Little Alvin knew that Mama and Papa were talking about him, and even though he didn't understand half what they said, he knew that Papa was saying somebody wanted Alvin Junior dead, and when Papa tried to tell his real proof, the thing that made him know, something stopped his mouth and kept him still.

Alvin Junior knew without a word being said that whatever it was stopped Papa's mouth, it was the plain opposite of the shining light that had filled Alvin and the Shining Man tonight. There was something that wanted Alvin to be strong and good. And there was something else that wanted Alvin dead. Whatever the good thing was, it could bring visions, it could show him his terrible sin and teach him how to be shut of it forever. But the bad thing, it had the power to shut Papa's mouth, to beat down the strongest, best man Al Junior ever knew or heard of. And that made Al afraid.

When Papa went on with his arguments, his seventh son knew that he wasn't using the proof that counted. “Not devils, not angels,” said Papa, “it's the elements of the universe, don't you see that he's an offense against nature? There's power in him like you nor I can't even guess. So much power that one part of nature itself can't bear it– so much power that he protects hisself even when he don't know he's doing it.”

“If there's so much power in being seventh son of a seventh son, then where's your power, Alvin Miller? You're a seventh son– that ain't nothing, supposedly, but I don't see you doodlebugging or–”

“You don't know what I do–”

“I know what you don't do. I know that you don't believe–”

“I believe in every true thing–”

“I know that every other man is down at the commons building that fine church, except for you–”

“That preacher is a fool–”

“Don't you ever think that maybe God is using your precious seventh son to try to wake you up and call you to repentance?”

“Oh, is that the kind of God you believe in? The kind what tries to kill little boys so their papas will go to meeting?”

“The Lord has saved your boy, as a sign to you of his loving and compassionate nature–”

“The love and compassion that let my Vigor die–”

“But someday his patience will run out–”

“And then he'll murder another of my sons.”

She slapped his face. Alvin Junior saw it with his own eyes. And it wasn't the offhand kind of cuffing she gave her sons when they lipped or loafed around. It was a slap that like to took his face off, and he fell over to sprawl on the floor.

“I'll tell you this, Alvin Miller.” Her voice was so cold it burned. “If that church is finished, and there's none of your handiwork in it, then you will cease to be my husband and I will cease to be your wife.”

If there were more words, Alvin Junior didn't hear them. He was up in his bed a-trembling that such a terrible thought could be thought, not to mention being spoke out loud. He had been afraid so many times tonight, afraid of pain, afraid of dying when A

In the morning he thought maybe it was all a dream, it had to be a dream. But there were new stains on the floor at the foot of his bed, where the blood of the Shining Man had dripped, so that wasn't a dream. And his parents' quarrel, that wasn't no dream neither. Papa stopped him after breakfast and told him, “You stay up here with me today, Al.”

The look on Mama's face told him plain as day that what was said last night was still meant today.

“I want to help on the church,” Alvin Junior said. “I ain't afraid of no ridgebeams.”

“You're going to stay here with me, today. You're going to help me build something.” Papa swallowed, and stopped himself from looking at Mama. “That church is going to need an altar, and I figure we can build a right nice one that can go inside that church as soon as the roof is on and the walls are up.” Papa looked at Mama and smiled a smile that sent a shiver up Alvin Junior's back. “You think that preacher'll like it?”

That took Mama back, it was plain. But she wasn't the kind to back off from a wrestling match just because the other guy got one throw, Alvin Junior knew that much. “What can the boy do?” she asked. “He ain't no carpenter.”

“He's got a good eye,” said Papa. “If he can patch and tool leather, he can put some crosses onto the altar. Make it look good.”

“Measure's a better whittler,” said Mama.

“Then I'll have the boy burn the crosses in.” Papa put his hand on Alvin Junior's head. “Even if he sits here all day and reads in the Bible, this boy ain't going down to that church till the last pew is in.”

Papa's voice sounded hard enough to carve his words in stone. Mama looked at Alvin Junior and then at Alvin Senior. Finally she turned her back and started filling the basket with di

Alvin Junior went outside to where Measure was hitching the team and Wastenot and Wantnot were loading roof shakes onto the wagon for the church.

“You aim to stand inside the church again?” asked Wantnot.

“We can drop logs down on you, and you can split them into shakes with your head,” said Wastenot.

“Ain't going,” said Alvin Junior.

Wastenot and Wantnot exchanged identical knowing looks.

“Well, too bad,” said Measure. “But when Mama and Papa get cold, the whole Wobbish Valley has a snowstorm.” He winked at Alvin Junior, just the way he had last night, when it got him in so much trouble.

That wink made Alvin figure he could ask Measure a question that he wouldn't normally speak right out. He walked over closer, so his voice wouldn't carry to the others. Measure caught on to what Alvin wanted, and he squatted down right there by the wagon wheel, to hear what Alvin had to say.

“Measure, if Mama believes in God and Papa doesn't, how do I know which one is right?”

“I think Pa believes in God,” said Measure.

“But if he don't. That's what I'm asking. How do I know about things like that, when Mama says one thing and Papa says another?”

Measure started to answer something easy, but he stopped himself– Alvin could see in his face how he made up his mind to say something serious. Something true, instead of something easy. “Al, I got to tell you, I wisht I knew. Sometimes I figure ain't nobody knows nothing.”

“Papa says you know what you see with your eyes. Mama says you know what you feel in your heart.”

“What do you say?”

“How do I know, Measure? I'm only six.”

“I'm twenty-two, Alvin, I'm a growed man, and I still don't know. I reckon Ma and Pa don't know, neither.”

“Well, if they don't know, how come they get so mad about it?”

“Oh, that's what it means to be married. You fight all the time, but you never fight about what you think you're fighting about.”

“What are they really fighting about?”

Alvin could see just the opposite thing this time. Measure thought of telling the truth, but he changed his mind. Stood up tall and tousled Alvin's hair. That was a sure sip to Alvin Junior that a grown-up was going to lie to him, the way they always lied to children, as if children weren't reliable enough to be trusted with the truth. “Oh, I reckon they just quarrel to hear theirselfs talk.”