I presume that this’ll find its way to you if I set it by the grave. It’s how you reached me, after all.

I see him. I know he’s yours. Every Sunday. He’s here every Sunday, a dark shadow against the back wall of the church.

He bows his head alongside everyone else, recites the verses and sings the hymns, as if he’s any other worshipper before the auspices of the divine. But he never looks people in the eyes. His hands quiver and his feet tap when he thinks no one’s watching him. He tries to strike up conversations with the other worshippers and his face freezes whenever they disparage him, that smile turning to a grimace.

Why is he here? What more do you want to take from us? When I realized what he was, I assumed he’d be coming straight to me. Made the rest of the family stay in the cellar for the night while I stayed above with a borrowed rifle. But he never came. It’s been weeks and the only thing I’ve caught him doing is crippling a cow that only had a few more years left in her. I pray that he’ll just go away at some point but he’s still here every Sunday. Sometimes I wonder whether I should provoke him, just to end the waiting. Sneak that passage from Second Kings into the sermon, perhaps, see if he cracks, just a little.

I don’t even think it would work. The town’s been against him since the moment he stepped in and he hasn’t cracked. It seems impossible to shake him, always with that that half-glare, half-gawk, half-smile in his eyes. Like a rabbit plotting against the hawk swooping down to catch it. His father’s influence, I’m certain.

It would be easier if he was just a threat. Easier to rally the faithful against a clear and obvious demon. And yet he heals the sick, even if it’s through African hokum. He mends those who would gladly kill him, with no clear reward. My son…I was ready to let him die to spare him from a fate worse than death, but when he got his hands on my own flesh and blood…he just fixed him. Abraham with the sickle to his son’s throat, ignorant of the ram nearby. Caiaphas sending soldiers to arrest the Messiah, who restores an ear to one of his captors. I knew better than this, and yet, here I am. My God - My God - forgives such slights. My wife lacks a divine capacity for forgiveness, but she too forgave me, after two weeks and much introspection on my part. But forgiveness doesn’t change the facts. I did what I did.

I want to believe it was all a gambit to trick me into lowering my guard, but it was my children who brought Charlie to him; he didn’t do anything except heal him. I suppose I should congratulate you. You raised a child better than yourself and better than me. Where does this goodwill to all men come from? Not from his father, certainly not from you.

The worst thing is that him having a kindly soul doesn’t change anything. He’s still here, on your orders. As flawed as I am here, this is still my town and these are my parishioners, and I have kept their souls at peace through the struggles, through the war, through the loosing of the slaves. These people are fine. I was fine. I left you in an unmarked hole out in the fields and moved on with my life. And now your colored boy is going to linger here, gaining everyone’s trust, until you decide I need to die, or the town needs to be burnt to the ground, or your corpse needs to be paraded down the main road, or whatever else you want. I know that’s what’s going to happen because that’s the same thing you did. I see what he’s doing to that frog. I saw what he did to my cow. Not everyone here will accept ‘repairs’ as easily as Fry, and if he slips up and shows how gruesome he really is, they’ll find a rope and find a tree and he’ll be out of my hair. Lincoln didn’t take that away.

Until he does make that fatal mistake…I’ll just sit and watch and pray. It’s difficult to find a competent doctor out here, after all, and as long as he’s here, he may as well serve as guard against consumption and fracture. No need to sully my soul yet again because of you and yours. But I’m keeping that rifle ready. Whatever his goal here, if you gave it to him, I’ll shoot him dead if he gets anywhere near it.