Gap Creek by Robert Morgan Page A

biscuit.
    “How did your husband die?” Mr. Pendergast said, his mouth full of chicken.
    Ma Richards looked at Mr. Pendergast like he was accusing her of something. She spread the molasses careful and then took a bite of the biscuit. “Died setting on the porch,” she said. “He was helping me to churn and just pitched forward into the yard. The churn spilled all over the place and chickens run to peck the clabber.”
    “Died of a stroke?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “Died of a stroke or a heart attack,” Ma Richards said.
    “Must have eat wrong,” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “He eat what I fixed him,” Ma said, “which was plain, wholesome fare.”
    “I had a warning that Pa was going to die,” Hank said.
    “What kind of warning?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “My brother Russ and me was setting on the milkgap waiting for Pa to come back from mill,” Hank said. “It was getting late, where the air has got gold in it, and it was time for Pa to be home. We was looking down across the pasture and I seen Pa coming up the slope. Except he wasn’t wearing overalls, but a new suit of clothes. And I thought, He must have been to town and bought a new suit.”
    “Was you dreaming?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “Russ seen him too,” Hank said. “If it was a dream we was both dreaming it. We watched Pa walk across the pasture, and when he got close enough to speak I was going to say how come you have got a new suit. But just when I opened my mouth he was gone.”
    “Where did he go?” I said.
    “He just disappeared,” Hank said. “Both Russ and me had seen him, and then he just vanished in the evening air.”
    “And you never seen him again?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “We looked around all over the place,” Hank said. “And after a few minutes we seen Pa coming across the pasture again. Except this time he was wearing his overalls and his old black hat and carrying the sack of corn on his shoulder.”
    “And he didn’t know nothing about the suit of clothes?” I said.
    “We asked him about the suit, and he thought we was just fooling him,” Hank said.
    “And you never did explain it?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “We never could figure it out,” Hank said. “But a few weeks later Pa died all of a sudden. It was a portent, but we didn’t know how to cipher it.”
    “The Lord sends us a warning,” Ma said, “but we ain’t listening.”
    “There was a portent before Pa died,” Hank said, “and one after.”
    “What do you mean after?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “Uncle Calvin seen Pa after he died,” Hank said.
    “How could he see him?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “After Pa was dead and buried, Uncle Calvin seen him in church at Sunday service, setting in his usual seat,” Hank said. “He was setting in the Amen Corner and he was singing like he always did.”
    “Did he speak to him?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “After the service he was gone,” Hank said. “Except Uncle Calvin seen him there the next Sunday, and the next. But after three Sundays he didn’t see him again.”
    “It was a sign,” Ma Richards said.
    “A sign of what?” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “A sign of how much he hated to leave us, even to be with the Lord,” Ma said. “It was a sign he will always be watching over us.” Ma took her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eye. Then she replaced the handkerchief and begun to butter another biscuit.
    “I think the dead are watching us all the time,” Mr. Pendergast said.
    “Of course they are,” Ma Richards said. “That’s why we should be careful what we do and what we say. They are with the Lord and watching over us. At least some are with the Lord.”
    “We don’t know a tenth of what there is to know,” Mr. Pendergast said. “Why we don’t even know a sixth.”
    The kitchen was so hot I had to go outside. I went out to the back porch to get the pie I’d put there to cool. Soon as I opened the door I felt the cold wind. It was good to get out of the kitchen, but I