The Front Porch Prophet Read Free

Purdue. The inheritance had passed over Eugene’s father and on to Eugene because of a difference of opinion regarding a choice of brides.
    When Eugene’s father, Johnny Mack, returned from the Big War back in 1946, he had in tow a beautiful French woman, Angelique, and her young son, Jacques. A.R. Purdue was charmed by Angelique and took right to little Jackie—
Jacques
was a bit too European for his taste—but all hell broke loose when he discovered that both newcomers bore the
Purdue
surname. He had been under the mistaken impression Angelique was a souvenir of sorts, along the lines of a Luger or a bayonet, but prettier.
    “Did you think I just walked around France till I found one I wanted?” Johnny Mack asked, amazed at his father’s crystalline stupidity.
    “What about that boy?” A.R. demanded, pointing at the child like he was a sack of meal. “Is he yours?”
    “He is now,” Johnny Mack replied, looking at his father with disdain.
    So Johnny Mack and Angelique set up housekeeping in the face of significant opposition. A.R. continued to rant and rave and pitch a general fit over the audacity his son had exhibited by marrying a damn foreigner, and a Catholic damn foreigner at that. These ongoing tirades caused Johnny Mack’s mother to take to her bed with a case of nerves destined to last for years. The newlyweds ignored the histrionics and plowed ahead undaunted, and Johnny Mack figured that sooner or later A.R. would come the long way around to reason. He was quite surprised at the eventual reading of the will to discover the old man never had.
    Regarding the relationship between Johnny Mack and his younger son, Eugene, the inheritance of the mountain was almost the straw that broke the camel’s back. Almost, but not quite. They had not gotten along for some time and took opposing views on most issues. Johnny Mack was stern and pious, and had imposed harsh discipline throughout Eugene’s formative years. Eugene, on the other hand, held nothing sacred, and he took particular delight in antagonizing his father. Still, they eventually might have struck an uneasy truce for the sake of Angel, formerly known as Angelique, whom they both loved. They might have, but the week after Eugene inherited the mountain, his cannabis harvest was found curing up in the rafters of the well house of the Hog Liver Road Primitive Baptist Church. Johnny Mack was a deacon out at the church, and the incident proved to be a religious liability to him.
    “What in hell were you thinking?” Johnny Mack growled around the unlit cigar clamped in his jaw. He had given up smoking and cussing as a younger man after accepting the Almighty into his bosom, but the well house incident had caused him to backslide. “You were raised up better than this!” he continued. “W.P. is running around like a damn fool telling everyone that he has been touched by the hand of the Holy Spirit!” He was referring to W.P. Poteet, unpaid janitor and unofficial watchman at the church. W.P. had discovered Eugene’s marijuana when he went into the well house to get his lawn mower, with which he intended to touch up a few graves. The unfortunate combination of W.P.’s agricultural background, poor eyesight, and lack of mental acuity had led him to assume some local farmer was drying a cash crop of burley up in the rafters. Since he had not enjoyed a
good fresh
smoke in about forty years, he tamped his pipe and fired up. Sweet Baby Jesus had revealed Himself shortly thereafter.
    “I can’t help it if W.P. is a damn fool,” Eugene had replied coolly. “And what raising I got was Angel’s doing, not yours. Before you get too holy, I know about that half gallon of bourbon you have stashed in the stove. It would be a damn shame if the brethren found out about it!” The threat was clear. He was referring to the church’s potbellied wood heater, used for warmth on cold mornings and as a liquor cabinet by Johnny Mack during more temperate weather.