A Land More Kind Than Home by Wiley Cash Page A

Chambliss, but I knew he was standing there in the door and greeting folks and shaking their hands as they went inside. Mama had brought some pens and pencils and some drawing paper with her in a little folder, and she picked it up off the dash and handed it to me.
    â€œHere you go,” she said. “I want you to stay in the truck, and make sure to keep the windows down so you don’t get too hot. You can open the door if you need to, but I want you to stay inside here.”
    â€œIs Stump staying out here too?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” she said. “He’s coming inside for the service.” She opened her door and stepped down from the truck. She waved her hand at Stump, and he climbed down too.
    â€œI want to go with y’all,” I said. “I don’t want to wait out here.”
    â€œWell, you’re going to have to tonight. Maybe you can go with us next Sunday morning.”
    â€œBut I want to go tonight,” I said. I tried to stop my voice from sounding scared. I can stop this , I thought. I can stop it from happening again. What happened this morning . I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I knew my voice probably sounded like I might start crying, no matter how hard I was trying not to. I couldn’t keep my mind from picturing what I’d seen them doing to Stump that morning. Mama just stood there with the truck door open, and she looked over the hood toward the front of the church like she was thinking about whether or not she should let me go with them.
    â€œI don’t think so,” she finally said. “Not tonight, but maybe next Sunday.” She slammed the door shut and took Stump’s hand. They walked around the back of the truck to the other side. Mama looked into my window. It was open about halfway. “Stay inside the truck,” she said. “Service shouldn’t last too long.”
    â€œPlease let me go too,” I said.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Come on, Christopher.” They turned and walked toward the front of the building. I watched them go, and then I rolled my window all the way down and got up on my knees and hollered after them.
    â€œWait!” I yelled. Mama stopped and turned around and looked at me. She held on to Stump’s hand and he stood right behind her, and behind him I could see across the road where the path began that led down to the river. I looked at Mama and thought about what all I could tell her that would keep Stump from having to go in there again: that me and Joe Bill had seen what they’d already done to him that morning, that it was me and not Stump who’d hollered out her name when those men started piling on top of him, that Stump hadn’t ever said a single word in his life and probably never would. I knew that earlier that morning in church Stump would’ve screamed for them to stop if he’d been able to, and I knew that if I would just open my mouth and say what all I’d seen I could make sure nobody would try to hurt him again.
    But I was too scared to say any of those things, and I just stayed there in the truck with the window down and stared out at Mama. My fingers closed tight around the door of the truck, and I felt that little bit of splinter where it was still stuck down in my palm.
    â€œWhat is it?” she said like she’d lost all her patience with me.
    â€œCan I go too?” I asked again. “Please.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “Stay in the truck. We’ll see you when we let out. It shouldn’t be long.” I sat back down on my butt and watched them as they walked away and got in line in front of the church. The people in line in front of them turned around, and a woman hugged Mama and a man looked down and said something to Stump. Some other folks got in line behind them, and after a while I couldn’t see them and I knew they’d gone inside.
    The sun sunk down behind the trees in back of the church,