The trestle table could have served forty guests easily. This evening a smaller party was dining there. At the far end sat Abraham Metcalf in a high-backed armchair. On either side of him were eight children, the boys on one side of the table and the girls across from them. Instead of chairs, the children were seated on rows of benches. The boys were all dressed alike in black pants, white dress shirts, and black ties. The girls wore shapeless grey smocks. Aside from the grouping by gender, they also appeared to be arranged in age order with the oldest girl and boy sitting closest to Metcalf while the younger ones took the places below. They ranged in age somewhere from early teen to toddler. On the girls’ side of the table, in the place farthest from Abraham sat a woman. She might have been thirty. Her long hair was braided and coiled around her head like a beehive. She wore a simple gray cotton dress which was covered by a white apron. Though she wore no makeup, she was very pretty. At the moment, she was also very frightened.
Abraham was leaning forward over the table and glaring at one of the younger boys. Unaware that a visitor had entered the room, he continued to address the child. “Silas, I’ve warned you before about this behavior.”
The boy squirmed in his chair, afraid to meet Abraham’s gaze. He was about seven.
“Father, he didn’t mean—” the woman pleaded.
“Silence!” Abraham commanded. “He knows his sin. Look at me, boy!”
The child stared down at the floor.
“I said look at me,” the old man thundered and stood up. He rested his hands on either side of his dinner plate and leaned over the table. “Now, Silas!”
Quaking with fear, the boy complied.
“What is the greatest of all sins?”
“Disobedience,” the boy squeaked.
“What did you say?”
“Disobedience, sir,” this time the voice was louder.
“Disobedience is the greatest of all sins. The first of all sins.” Abraham jabbed his index finger in the air for emphasis. “It is the reason that the human race lost paradise.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy whispered.
“Do you wish to burn in hell?”
“No, sir.”
“You are risking your immortal soul, boy. Your immortal soul!”
The child gulped but said nothing.
“If I hear one more report of your bad behavior, just one more…” He paused for effect. “Then I will have no choice but to pronounce judgment.”
The woman at the end of the table was twisting her napkin into knots. Her agonized gaze shifted back and forth from the boy to Abraham.
“Yes, sir,” the boy said meekly. “I understand, sir.”
Somewhat mollified by the child’s abject submission, Abraham sat back down to resume his meal. The other children and the woman took their cue from him. They were about to do likewise when Leroy interjected himself into the scene.
“How y’all doin’ this evening?” he asked pleasantly.
Metcalf looked up in surprise, aware for the first time that he had a visitor. “Mr. Hunt? Who let you in here?”
Leroy pointed behind him to the youth quaking in the open doorway. “That nice young feller over there.”
“Y… y… you told us to let you know the m… m…minute Mr. Hunt arrived, sir. I… w…w… would never dream of interrupting your d… d… dinner otherwise.”
Metcalf scowled at the teenager for a moment. “You might at least have announced your presence.”
“S… sorry, sir. I didn’t want to break into your ch… ch… chastisement.”
“Enough!” Metcalf barked. “You may go.”
The teenager fled, shutting the double doors behind him.
Leroy advanced into the room. He doffed his hat, his eyes fastened on the woman. “You must be the missus. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. My name’s Leroy Hunt.”
The woman nodded nervously, casting her eyes downward. She said nothing.
Hunt surveyed the other occupants of the table. “These all your young ‘uns? What do I count here… five, six, seven, eight? My, my, you surely are a busy lady.”
The woman now looked panic-stricken and turned toward Metcalf in mute appeal.
“Martha, take the children and go. I have business to discuss with this man.”
Wordlessly, noiselessly, the woman and children slipped from the room like so many ghosts. They left their dinners uneaten.
Leroy dropped his hat on the table, walked up to the woman’s plate, and helped himself to a chicken leg. He looked questioningly at Metcalf. “OK if I help myself? I’ve had me a long night, and it’s a shame to see all these fine vittles go to waste.”
Metcalf watched him eat, his face expressionless. Ignoring the question, he asked one of his own. “Do you have it?”
Leroy tossed the chicken bone back on the plate, fastidiously wiped his fingers on a napkin, and then advanced to the head of the table where Metcalf sat.
Reaching inside his coat pocket, he produced the stone ruler. “Yessir, I do.” He laid it in front of the older man’s plate.
In a rare show of pleasure, Metcalf smiled. “Excellent! This is the Lord’s doing. Praise be!”
Hunt’s expression was sour. “Beggin’ to differ, boss, but it wasn’t the Lord’s doin’. It was mine. I don’t recollect him bein’ anywhere around when I nicked the thing.”
Smoothly Metcalf replied, “You are the Lord’s instrument, Mr. Hunt.”
Leroy grimaced. “That bein’ the case, your Lord must be mighty hard up for tools.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways…” Metcalf trailed off. He picked up the ruler, examining its intricate symbols with keen interest.
Leroy watched him for a few moments. “You call that doodad a key?”
Metcalf nodded.
“Strange shape for a key. What’s it unlock if you don’t mind me askin’?”
Metcalf was lost in contemplation of the object. “Someday you’ll know. Someday the whole world will know.”
“Guess I’ll wait then.”
The older man frowned as a thought struck him. “You didn’t have any trouble this time, did you?”
“Nope.” Hunt put his hands in
