Read Online The Boy Orator by Tracy Daugherty - Free Book Online Page B

it.”
    â€œThings haven’t turned out so bad, have they?”
    â€œNot so bad.” She kissed his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
    â€œBetter this evening,” Andrew said. “You? You look tired.”
    â€œA bit.”
    â€œTake a rest tonight, Annie.”
    â€œThere’s a few more bills to pay before bed.” Her back screamed. She stood up straight.
    â€œAnnie?”
    â€œIt’ll pass.” Fiercely, she pressed her palms into her hips. Each week, she prayed for the torment to cease—the same misery she’d felt after Harry was born, recurring now month after month. She knew she shouldn’t pray selfishly; there were much bigger favors to ask of the Lord, said Father McCartney, than one’s own personal comfort. “Catholics are under attack here, daily,” he often reminded his congregation, “so it’s incumbent upon us to put the community first,” and she knew this was true.
    In ‘98, right after she and Andrew had crossed the river, a Baptist preacher stumped the countryside with seven “rescued nuns.” The incident proved to Annie Mae how welcome her faith was locally. The women testified to being tortured by evil priests in the convent, forced to learn “devil’s words” and curses. The preacher damned Rome’s growing influence. A day or two later, an enterprising journalist exposed the “nuns” as Oklahoma City prostitutes, and a mob with lighted torches ran the revivalists into Texas. Still, most folks here were willing to believe the worst of Irish immigrants. They carried a “European virus,” according to some of the papers, “harmful to our homegrown way of life.” Father McCartney said Catholic merchants frequently changed their names and hid their beliefs so sales wouldn’t suffer.
    Annie Mae wasn’t about to worship in secret. She proudly joined a Catholic temperance league, and was one of the few women who attended town meetings of the Friends of Irish Freedom. Each week she cheered speakers who disdained the British Empire. “Sinn Fein!” she shouted with her fellows, celebrating a hopeful new movement in Belfast. “Rehabilitate Ireland from within!”
    She liked her new life, her Indian friends, and the church. She liked sitting with her family in the sanctuary. Her only regret these days was letting Andrew take Harry on the road. Irish politics, an ocean away, was one thing. Local wrangles, seething with high tern pers and swift retribution, were a different matter entirely. Just last month, a Socialist organizer had been hanged in Panther Run, south of Walters. She hadn’t slept for days after that.
    Her men were home now, though, regaining their strength. She kissed Andrew’s cheek, adjusted the quilt on his arms. “I’m so happy to see you improving,” she said.
    He held her hand. “Maybe tomorrow I can ride into town, talk to the fellows from the Osage mines, set up a sale.”
    â€œLet’s not rush things,” she said, but she felt the stress in her back unwind for the first time in weeks. She watched Harry gesture and declaim in the shadows of the mule pen. Usually he was her shy little boy, quiet and polite, she thought, but when it came to politics he’d talk to any waking creature. Durn him, she told herself. Along with his father’s ideas, he’d inherited Andrew’s sentimental streak. Both her men thought the planet was theirs for the changing. “Harry, time to wash up for bed!”
    Later, as she blew out the lamps, raising a drifting, dusky smell in the house, she heard him whisper through his window to the yard, “Good night, brothers! Stay brave!”
    A FEW DAYS AFTER Harry’s trip into Walters, Warren Stargell showed up with Zeke Cash and a case of corn liquor.
    Before Annie Mae could object to anything, Zeke told Harry, “Run get your mama’s Bible. Psalms