Excerpt of Three Rivers by Tiffany Quay Tyson

Bobby was eleven when he answered the call of the Lord.
It was summertime and hot then, as it was now. They
worshipped in a small, old church while a new sanctuary
was built. The congregation looked to that new sanctuary
with as much reverence as they looked toward God. When
Pastor Tuttle announced they would worship in the new
church the very next week, Bobby sprinted up the aisle to
dedicate his soul, determined to be the first body dunked
in the new baptismal pool.

For the past year, the church had contracted with a
nearby hotel to use its pool once a month for baptisms.
It was awkward when guests in town for reunions or
weddings came down on Sunday mornings to swim off their
Saturday night hangovers. Before that, they’d done all
their baptisms in the Tallahatchie River. That’s where
Melody was dunked, where she felt the cool squish of mud
between her toes, where she ate sour cream cake and fried
chicken while the sun and a warm breeze dried her hair.
It was perfect until little Johnny McPherson was bit by a
water moccasin at his baptism. Plenty of folks said
Johnny was an evil child and the devil had come back in
that old familiar form to claim his soul. That Johnny
survived and went on to brag about his brush with death
just reinforced the gossip. Most people, though, knew you
could enter snake-infested waters only so many times
without getting bit. Those people began raising money for
a new sanctuary, snake-free baptismal pool included.

On the morning of the baptism, every seat was filled.
People who showed up for church only at Christmas and
Easter were there, wearing their finest clothes. The new
sanctuary was spectacular with gleaming polished oak
pews. The choir wore new rich purple robes with gold
embroidery around the neck and arms. Melody, Bobby, and
Mama sat in the third row. Melody’s father could not be
lured to church for any reason. When the choir rose to
sing “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” Bobby slipped
through a side door behind the choir loft. Pastor Tuttle
followed. The choir sang on and on. When they finished,
Pastor Tuttle emerged clad in dark robes. He stepped down
into the pool. A soft light emanated from the water and
shone on his face. A microphone was attached to one side
of the pool, and Pastor Tuttle took it in his hands.
“Friends and family in the Lord.” His voice boomed,
magnified by the microphone and tiles. When Bobby
appeared behind the pastor, poised to step down into the
water, Melody put a fist to her mouth. She was overcome
with the beauty of her little brother, and not for the
first time. Pastor Tuttle stepped to one side and offered
his hand to Bobby. Bobby smiled, turned his head left and
right, drawing out the moment for full effect. He looked
heavenward, then reached down to take the pastor’s hand.
That was when it all went wrong.

The microphone slipped from the pastor’s hand and
splashed into the water. Pastor Tuttle yelped, and
disappeared. Bobby’s beautiful face contorted. His neck
snapped back like someone having a seizure. Melody’s
mother broke the stunned silence, screaming, “Let go. Let
go! Let go!” She didn’t need a microphone to be heard.
Bobby jerked, spasmed, fell back onto the hard tile
steps. Time passed, though Melody would never know how
much, and the sound of a bleating ambulance grew louder
until it was deafening. Sunshine poured down the aisle of
the church as a pair of paramedics rushed in.

The congregation remained in the pews, some standing,
some slumping forward, but Melody’s mother moved. She
sprinted through the door Bobby had entered earlier and
reappeared in the baptismal pool, where she sank down on
the top step and pulled Bobby onto her lap. Her skirt, a
beautiful linen the color of butter pecan ice cream,
gaped open, revealing a glimpse of her lavender silk
panties, a disturbing detail that would remain vivid in
Melody’s memory for the rest of her life. Mama stroked
Bobby’s hair and seemed to speak to him, though he didn’t
respond. One of the paramedics appeared and reached for
Bobby. Mama reared her head back and hissed. The
paramedic stumbled, nearly fell into the water. He looked
confused. “Mama,” Melody said, her voice too soft to be
heard. She spoke up. “Mama, you have to let him go. Let
them take him.” Mama’s lips kept moving; her hands
stroked Bobby’s face. It was too much, too intimate a
display for church, no matter how dire the situation.
Melody’s face went hot. “Please.” She appealed to the
paramedic. “Please help my little brother.” The paramedic
locked eyes with her and she saw that he was scared and
very young, but he nodded and pried Bobby from Mama’s
grasp, checked for a pulse, put his mouth on Bobby’s
mouth, until Bobby’s hands fluttered around the man’s
face. He lifted Bobby, carried him into the main
sanctuary, placed him on a stretcher, and wheeled him
down the aisle. A second stretcher carried Pastor Tuttle,
who was still and gray and obviously dead. Finally, they
came back for Melody’s mother, who twitched and cried out
some sort of gibberish. No one came for Melody, who was
left to wonder what would happen next.

From THREE RIVERS by Tiffany Quay Tyson, on sale July 21,
2015, from Thomas Dunne Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s
Press, LLC.