Establishing Witness

By Joan Spilman

the halfwit is dead, the church folk are assembled and the pump organ is wheezing out hymns. in short, the stage is set for vernie lee hurlow, grandmother of the “poor little thing” laid out in her living room, to declare her revelation, one she has been carrying for fifteen years. she alone knows the reason behind this tragedy. but where is the preacher? vernie needs an ordained minister to establish her story of divine providence and the mystery therein.

set in appalachia, this story follows vernie through a circuitous route of faith, disbelief, and wrong directions, until the real witness is revealed.

“establishing witness” won the mikrokosmos fiction award, judged by janet peery, whose award statement reads as follows: “for its resonant and powerful storytelling, its ambition and vision and wisdom, textural depth, integrity to form, its adept characterization of grandma vernie, and attention to the realized consequences of doing wrong things that seem so right, but most of all for its allegiance to the idea expressed by flannery o’connor’s mother’s neighbor lady, who said, when trying to figure out o’connor’s fiction, “that just goes to show what some people will go on and do,” the winner of this year’s mikrokosmos fiction prize is `establishing witness.’”

joan spilman is a west virginia-born writer of adult and juvenile fiction. she received an mfa in fiction from wichita state university, where she was awarded the fiction fellowship. her ya novel, sansablatt head, is already available on kindle. her novel "this will never stop", which follows four generations of appalachian women, will be available soon. she has published in many journals, including carriage house review, the laurel review, short story and southern humanities review. "this will never stop was a finalist for the santa fe writers’ project award.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joan Spilman
• Release date: Oct 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310044618

Book preview

Establishing Witness

By

Joan Spilman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Joan Spilman

All Rights Reserved.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Establishing Witness

And as for the prophet, and the priest, and the people, that shall say, The burden of the Lord, I will even punish that man and his house.

The prophet, Jeremiah

Establishing Witness

Grandma Vernie sat in the porch swing and looked down the road for the Methodist preacher. Sprawled lengthwise beside her was Nida Ruth, her twelve-year-old granddaughter with thick auburn plaits and gold wire spectacles. The child snored gently, her head pushed up against Vernie’s forearm, her mouth opened slightly to reveal an upper row of widely spaced teeth. Vernie glanced down at her in half pride, half exasperation. She had called Nida Ruth out to help her watch for the preacher — she was old and sometimes the sun blinded her— only to have her fall asleep five minutes into the vigil. Occasionally, the motion from the swing or the wind in the ivy would disturb her and she would shift and stir but she would never open her eyes. Instead she would ask, in a clear, high voice meant to let Vernie know she had never really left her surroundings, Seen any sign of him yet? and her grandma would answer, ‘No, miss, no sign at all."

The preacher wasn’t coming now. He probably didn’t have the nerve. They had been expecting him since one and now it was a quarter past four and he still hadn’t come. All of the church people and most of the neighbors had been on time. Then the funeral should have started but it hadn’t. They had waited close to an hour for the preacher during which time the women sat clustered and chatting while the men stepped out to smoke on both the side porches. At exactly three minutes past two, Vernie had nodded to Essie McClure to start the playing. Essie had had to play ‘O, for a Closer Walk with Thee’, through three times before they had got quiet enough to listen. Brother Bob Yarwood had done a fine job, but it wasn’t the same as having a preacher. Even if the boy had been half-witted, he still should have had a preacher.

A funeral with no preacher, she said slowly, shaking her head. I never thought I’d live to see the day.

I know jus’ what you mean, mumbled the child