The Devil in Pew Number Seven Part 8

With our toes in the black dirt, fearful that we might be caught trespa.s.sing, we worked quickly to identify any signs of a grave. The creaking and groaning of the aging structure freaked us out. Still, we inched forward, studying the earthen floor just inside of the door. Before our eyes fully adjusted to the dim light, I walked into an overhead cobweb straining under the weight of dust. My heart catapulted into my throat. I stifled a scream, wanting to appear brave to impress Missy, even though I had been ready to leave before we had arrived. At the same time, I just had to know whether or not my Tina was buried here. We pressed further into the near darkness.

Afraid of being discovered, we retraced our footsteps after several fruitless minutes of searching in the shadows. I knew that, even if we had found Tina's final resting place, there was no way I could confront the man who had robbed me of one of the sweetest parts of my life.

With the barn being our only clue as to where Tina might have been buried, we gave up the chase. In my heart I accepted the fact that Mr. Watts's barn marked Tina's gravesite. I looked back one last time as Missy and I zipped down the dirt road. I knew I had to find a way to forgive Mr. Watts for yet another transgression.

The summer marred by Tina's death was also the summer I got "married" several times. When I was in my girlie mood, I'd wrap a towel around my head like a make-believe wedding veil, pick some of Momma's best flowers-which always got me into a heap of trouble-and then set out to find Billy Wayne, my five-year-old groom-to-be. I think Billy Wayne played along with my fantasy wedding plans because he had a crush on me, as I had on him.

Sometimes we'd pretend to get married in my backyard. Other times I'd find Billy Wayne playing at his house and would conduct the ceremony there. Anywhere was fine with me. But the most fun was when I'd drag him to church, where we'd find Daddy working and ask him to marry me and Billy Wayne. Trying not to laugh during this solemn moment, Daddy would pick up a hymnbook-pretending it was a Bible-and then go through a ceremony with us.

One day when Daddy got to the "You may now kiss the bride" part, I looked over at Billy Wayne's freckled face and said, "Billy Wayne, take that sucker out of your mouth so you can kiss me!"

Billy's eyebrows shot up so high, they almost collided with the top of his head. His eyes exploded into two round saucers of fear. Having played along with this ridiculous playdate long enough, he shook his head left to right as if to say no and then ran out of the church as if the devil were in hot pursuit. I called after him, "Wait, Billy Wayne, wait! Come back here this instant!"

I don't think his cold feet at the altar stopped me from asking him to marry me the next day. My grandmother thought the fact that I wanted to get married all the time was so cute that she took the time to make a miniature wedding dress with a veil for me. Now that I had the real thing, I put Momma's towels back and got married in style.

As I continued to grieve the loss of Tina, Daddy tried to comfort me with the thought that there would be an armed night guard watching our home. Although I never told him, I had developed a habit of lying on my right side in bed to give me an easy view of my room. I knew that if I rolled over and faced the wall, I'd be giving an intruder the advantage of a surprise attack.

I knew I had to be prepared for anything.

The uncertainty of not knowing if and when we'd be struck with another bombing was bad enough, but not being able to get immediate relief by looking around to be sure no one was standing in my room terrified me. Making matters worse, my imagination worked overtime after Tina's death. Having concocted so many scary "what if" scenarios, I found myself wrestling with the same question every night: Will I be here in the morning?

Then again, I knew the violence Mr. Watts planned could hit us while I was awake, too. It had happened during December while we were enjoying Christmas with friends. And, it occurred again on September 16, 1975. I remember that rainy night all too well. My grandparents on Daddy's side were visiting us from Alabama, so I was allowed to stay up late. Huddled around the television, laughing and enjoying one another's company, we were oblivious to the impending blast.

At 9:20 p.m., about an hour before the night guard arrived, a fourth explosion rattled our home. The dynamite, attached to a pole six feet above ground, was set in the soybean field behind our home. Thankfully, we were physically unharmed, although the bomb ripped up a ten-foot square of the field.

Perhaps the scariest part was the timing of the bomb and the knowledge that the law hadn't been able to stop the attacks. As Daddy told the press, "You can see how closely they are watching us.37 If they can find one hour of darkness when there is not a watch, they'll hit us. We've had every agency you can get. These people are still at large." If they can find one hour of darkness when there is not a watch, they'll hit us. We've had every agency you can get. These people are still at large."

Having experienced a taste of Mr. Watts's wrath, Daddy's parents tried to get him to resign and move home. No doubt that was part of Mr. Watts's revised strategy. If the church wouldn't release their controversial pastor, maybe Daddy's kin would apply enough pressure to break Daddy's resolve if Mr. Watts struck while they were guests in our home. In spite of their pleas to leave, Daddy didn't feel released from his calling to Sellerstown-and said so. He would stay and fight the good fight on his knees.

Knowing Daddy's mother, my grandma Erma Ruth Nichols, as I did, I knew that pacifist approach wouldn't sit well with her. Frankly, Iwas surprised she didn't grab a frying pan and go over to Mr. Watts's house, knock on his door, and let him have it. That was the way she had expressed herself before she found Jesus. Grandma was a strong woman, so strong she gave birth to seven children at home without the benefit of anesthesia-except for when she gave birth to Daddy, who weighed more than eleven pounds. If Daddy wouldn't leave, Grandma was the sort of woman who believed he should do whatever was necessary to protect our home.

On the other hand, when it came to retaliating for this fourth bombing in a year, I remember my grandfather, William Franklin Nichols, arguing, "That man's not worth the powder or lead it would take to kill him. He's worthless. Don't waste a bullet on him. He's nothing more than a sorry good-for-nothing anyway."

Not that Daddy would consider revenge-killing or otherwise. Daddy had faced that fork in the road before. Thanks to his friends who restrained him from taking matters in his own hands after the third bombing, he didn't want to risk being sent to jail himself. Instead, Daddy wanted to lead the Sellerstown community with a life that exhibited biblical forgiveness, not vigilante justice.

I'm sure Daddy imagined that our prayers would be answered and that Mr. Watts would wave the flag of surrender. Or that at least we'd wake up one day and see a For Sale sign in the front yard of Mr. Watts's house, indicating he was fed up and was moving on since we had no plans to surrender. Neither option materialized. It's probably a good thing that Daddy didn't know what Mr. Watts had planned next.

Chapter 9

Hearing Voices.

The voices of despair beckoned.

Spewing nothing but falsehood, a chorus of ominous voices began to haunt Daddy day and night. The sinister utterances, which harmonized with the agenda of h.e.l.l itself, resonated within his head and told him he would be destroyed. His mission was over. He was a failure. He would never win. These champions of fear and paranoia, like weeds threatening to choke off the life of every good thing around them, said he would lose everything he had worked for in Sellerstown.

He yearned to silence the voices.

In his heart, Daddy knew they were all lies.

And while they were nothing but vacuous fabrications from the pit to be ignored, as the voices persisted, so did Daddy's spiral into a depression. He would walk through the house confessing out loud the words of 2 Timothy 1:7, "For G.o.d hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." Nevertheless, he became obsessed with each car that pa.s.sed by the parsonage. Every time one approached or he heard footsteps outside, he would race to the windows to see what mischief might be imminent. If we happened to be gathered in a room at night with the lights on when Daddy heard these sounds outside, he would hush everyone. He'd ask us to turn off the lights, stay away from the windows, and remain quiet until he checked out the situation.

After all, the question haunting Daddy wasn't if if Mr. Watts would strike again. The question was, Mr. Watts would strike again. The question was, when when would the next attack occur? Night after night, as the deep orange sun sank into the horizon, Daddy dreaded the ominous feeling that tonight might just be the night when a string of anonymous midnight callers would waken him from his sleep . . . or that his home would be bombed again . . . or that one of his children or his wife would be harmed. would the next attack occur? Night after night, as the deep orange sun sank into the horizon, Daddy dreaded the ominous feeling that tonight might just be the night when a string of anonymous midnight callers would waken him from his sleep . . . or that his home would be bombed again . . . or that one of his children or his wife would be harmed.

Whether Daddy cared to admit it, the campaign of terror was taking a heavy emotional toll. Although Daddy refused to abandon the church, his nerves were shot. During the fall of 1975, the voices of discouragement reverberating in his head battled for dominion over his heart. Daddy found himself fighting a depression so severe that, rather than lingering after church services to greet and visit with wors.h.i.+pers, he'd slip out the side door and take refuge at home. Daddy even stopped visiting door to door, as had been his custom over the years. Instead, he remained in bed for hours day after day.

What he needed were words of peace and comfort-not the voice of confusion. What he longed for was G.o.d's a.s.surance that all would be well with his soul, that his family would be safe, and that the persecution would come to a swift and just ending. With the determination of a drowning man clinging to a life preserver, Daddy clung to the words of Psalm 28:1-4, in which King David, no stranger to persecution, wrote, Unto thee will I cry, O LORD my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit. Hear the voice of my supplications, when I cry unto thee, when I lift up my hands toward thy holy oracle. Draw me not away with the wicked, and with the workers of iniquity, my rock; be not silent to me: lest, if thou be silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit. Hear the voice of my supplications, when I cry unto thee, when I lift up my hands toward thy holy oracle. Draw me not away with the wicked, and with the workers of iniquity, which speak peace to their neighbours, but mischief is in their hearts. which speak peace to their neighbours, but mischief is in their hearts. Give them according to their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their endeavours: give them after the work of their hands; render to them their desert. (emphasis added) Give them according to their deeds, and according to the wickedness of their endeavours: give them after the work of their hands; render to them their desert. (emphasis added) Daddy had reason to hope that, indeed, everything would work out. He was encouraged to witness ATF Agent Charles Mercer digging deep into the case, like a hound dog on the hunt of truth. He was heartened on September 30, 1975, two weeks after the fourth bombing, when Agent Mercer served a federal warrant to search the home of Mr. Watts.

Perhaps the end was in sight.

Perhaps Mr. Watts would be brought to justice.

However, Daddy's disposition darkened when Agent Mercer, following the search of Mr. Watts's property, told the press, "The search warrant is merely a tool38 that we work with, and by no means does it reflect an accusation on anyone." Daddy was convinced Mr. Watts was behind the two years of oppression. How, then, could Agent Mercer downplay Mr. Watts as a suspect? Why was it taking so long to gather the evidence proving his guilt? How much longer would Daddy have to fight the good fight under a constant cloud of fear? that we work with, and by no means does it reflect an accusation on anyone." Daddy was convinced Mr. Watts was behind the two years of oppression. How, then, could Agent Mercer downplay Mr. Watts as a suspect? Why was it taking so long to gather the evidence proving his guilt? How much longer would Daddy have to fight the good fight under a constant cloud of fear?

Like a pendulum swinging back and forth on a grandfather clock, Daddy's mood swings that fall were as regular as time itself. One minute he was trapped in the doldrums; the next minute hope abounded. At one moment, Mr. Watts appeared to have the upper hand. The next moment, progress would be made on the case, giving Daddy the strength to press on.

For instance, because the drama in Sellerstown39 had been so widely reported and had so horrified most residents, North Carolina congressman Charlie Rose requested a summary of the acts of terror directed at our home and church from the FBI and ATF agents. This was good news. Perhaps there was enough pressure building on the case that it would be resolved sooner rather than later . . . if only Daddy could squelch the voices predicting defeat. had been so widely reported and had so horrified most residents, North Carolina congressman Charlie Rose requested a summary of the acts of terror directed at our home and church from the FBI and ATF agents. This was good news. Perhaps there was enough pressure building on the case that it would be resolved sooner rather than later . . . if only Daddy could squelch the voices predicting defeat.

Meanwhile, there was more good news to brighten Daddy's outlook. An aide to then-governor Jim Holshouser gathered newspaper clippings from which he determined that action was needed. On October 16, 1975, the governor publicly offered40 a $2,500 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for these acts of terrorism in his state. a $2,500 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for these acts of terrorism in his state.

But it wasn't long before the internal voices forecasting Daddy's doom renewed their strength. Their fiendish chant soared once again, this time just after 7 p.m. on November 6, 1975. That's when Mr. Watts initiated a fifth explosion.41 While our house was unharmed, the foundations undergirding Daddy's heart began to crumble. Maybe the voices were right. Maybe he or his family wouldn't make it out of Sellerstown unharmed. Maybe he should quit. While our house was unharmed, the foundations undergirding Daddy's heart began to crumble. Maybe the voices were right. Maybe he or his family wouldn't make it out of Sellerstown unharmed. Maybe he should quit.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this attack was the fact that a hired armed guard, Leo Duncan, was on patrol when the detonation took place. Worse, Mr. Watts was speaking to Leo Duncan in his driveway at the precise moment of the blast. Evidently Mr. Watts had lured Leo away from his post, leaving our home unguarded long enough to strike again.

Momma was a strong woman.

A steel magnolia before the phrase was coined.

She was graceful yet strong on the outside, soft and tender on the inside. And yet she found it difficult to watch her husband struggling to hold it together in the wake of the fifth bombing. She, too, was reaching the end of herself and needed an oasis to recharge from the front lines. Although she didn't want to be apart from the love of her life, Momma knew the love they shared could stand the distance. After celebrating Daddy's birthday on November 11, 1975, Momma packed the car and took Danny and me to Bogalusa to be with her family.

At age five, I had no say in the matter.

Granted, being with my grandparents was always a highlight. And yet, I was such a Daddy's girl that being apart from him bothered me almost as much as if I'd lost my right arm. Driving away from home that afternoon, knowing that I wouldn't hear Daddy's voice in the morning or smell his aftershave when I wrapped my arms around his neck, a gray cloud of sadness settled on me. I'm sure the feelings were mutual.

Momma thought this was for the best, so off we went.

On November 13, 1975, two days after Daddy's birthday, he received a real gift of encouragement. A federal grand jury was a.s.sembled42 in Raleigh, North Carolina, to explore the preliminary evidence gathered in the case. Subpoenas for eight people were issued, including orders for Horry Watts, Bud Sellers, Wayne Tedder, and Daddy to appear before the grand jury. in Raleigh, North Carolina, to explore the preliminary evidence gathered in the case. Subpoenas for eight people were issued, including orders for Horry Watts, Bud Sellers, Wayne Tedder, and Daddy to appear before the grand jury.

Under normal circ.u.mstances, this should have muzzled the persistent voices inside of Daddy's mind. However, his yo-yoing between hope-that the case would be resolved-and despair-that Mr. Watts was too slick, too skilled, too adept at evading justice-began to catch up with Daddy. And no doubt, after Momma, Danny, and I left Daddy at home, he probably stayed up all night, sitting in a chair near the window to monitor the street.

I'm sure he must have thought that any restraint Mr. Watts exercised while the family was home-which wasn't much-would evaporate the moment we were gone. With Daddy home alone, he probably figured there was nothing stopping Mr. Watts from unleas.h.i.+ng his full fury. That, of course, would explain why Daddy didn't sleep at night and, instead, slept so much during the daytime.

On Sunday, November 16, 1975, a highway patrolman found Daddy incoherent and slumped over the steering wheel of his wrecked car. He had crashed in Newton Grove, North Carolina, some eighty miles away from home. After preaching at our church in the morning, Daddy had been scheduled to speak at another church's Sunday night service. He never made it. No doubt Daddy had fallen asleep at the wheel. The accident required Daddy to be transported by ambulance to Columbus County Hospital, where he was treated in the emergency room. Daddy was to appear before the grand jury the following morning. Due to the personal crisis, he never had a chance to testify.

Several days later, Momma sensed something was wrong with Daddy's mental state. The unsettling experience happened during a phone call she placed to him from Bogalusa that week. Danny was sick, and Momma had asked Daddy to pray for their son. But when Daddy began his prayer, he started to pray for someone unrelated to the need at hand. He sounded incoherent, confused.

After the call, convinced that Daddy was suffering a much deeper depression than she had imagined, Momma left Danny and me with her mother and traveled back to Sellerstown with Daddy's sisters Aunt Dot and Aunt Martha. The three women packed up Daddy, planning to whisk him away to his parents' home in Mobile, Alabama.

As they loaded Daddy and his luggage in the car, Mr. Watts strolled into his front yard. Like a vulture antic.i.p.ating the death of a wounded animal, Mr. Watts smiled and gloated and all but rejoiced at the broken man he saw across the street that afternoon.

In a moment of brutal honesty, Aunt Dot confessed to me years later what she was feeling as Mr. Watts appeared to relish Daddy's broken condition. She said, "I've never been a violent person,43 but at that moment I wished I had been able to put my hands on a gun and make Mr. Watts pay for what he had done to my brother." Mustering their willpower, the women ignored Mr. Watts as they finished packing the car. but at that moment I wished I had been able to put my hands on a gun and make Mr. Watts pay for what he had done to my brother." Mustering their willpower, the women ignored Mr. Watts as they finished packing the car.

On November 20, 1975, Daddy was admitted to the University of South Alabama Medical Center. After submitting Daddy to a heavy battery of physical and psychological tests, the doctors were convinced of two things. Medically speaking, Daddy's heart had been damaged from stress. In their view, any other man would have had a heart attack from such extreme pressure. The second prognosis was that Daddy had had a complete nervous breakdown and was exhausted.

He needed immediate bed rest.

He needed prayer. He needed a break from the voices.

The doctors wanted to offer hope yet remain realistic about the extent of his condition. They told Momma, "It will take at least three weeks to come around,44 and then he will not be out of the woods." Momma told the doctors she was shocked that this had happened to a man who had been a tower of strength for his family and for the church. In their professional opinion, Momma said, "They told me this is what happens when the base of the tower crumbles." and then he will not be out of the woods." Momma told the doctors she was shocked that this had happened to a man who had been a tower of strength for his family and for the church. In their professional opinion, Momma said, "They told me this is what happens when the base of the tower crumbles."

Daddy, heavily sedated, was admitted to Charter Hospital, the psychiatric wing of the University of South Alabama Medical Center, where he stayed for six weeks until his insurance ran out. Because of Mr. Watts, three holidays were stolen from us due to Daddy's breakdown. Hospitalized, sedated, and alone, Daddy missed Danny's first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's celebrations. Rather than experience the joy and happiness that I had enjoyed, my brother's childhood, although he was just nine months at the time, was shortchanged.

For their part, the church showered us with thoughtful expressions of love and faithful prayers. Upwards of sixty get-well and Christmas cards poured in as the church family prayed for our quick return. One child sent Daddy a Humpty Dumpty card in which she wrote, "My prayers will always be with you. And you mean everything everything to me." to me."

Ironically, even Mr. Watts signed and mailed a get-well card in which he'd expressed hope that Daddy would experience "more happiness than you have ever known!" Whether he wrote that out of guilt or a twisted attempt to deflect criticism, I don't know. Somehow, receiving a card from Mr. Watts felt about as appropriate as someone bringing a beer keg to one of our church picnics.

When Daddy was strong enough to return to Sellerstown, he still wasn't operating at full capacity. His bullet-riddled car, the one he had wrecked several months prior, needed far too many repairs. Since we didn't have the money, the generous church family voted to purchase Daddy a new 1976 Buick45-which drove Mr. Watts mad. They also approved, and paid for, a single-wide trailer. This home away from home was placed on the farm of James Sellers out in the Beaver Dam community, just a few miles away.

The church leaders.h.i.+p wanted to give us a refuge at night, well away from Mr. Watts's immediate scrutiny, while the lawmen did their job. Even better, this new location was adjacent to a neighbor who had excellent guard dogs. Any attempt by Mr. Watts or his men to approach the trailer with ill intent would arouse a round of barking loud enough to raise the dead.

Admittedly, our getaway was not a secret. Nor did it stop Mr. Watts from hara.s.sing us. I remember watching him drive past the trailer, slowing his car to glare through the winds.h.i.+eld, just to let us know he knew where we were living. He was livid that the church spent money on this shelter for us. Aside from the cost, he had to be miffed that he could no longer keep tabs on us during his nightly prowling.

I remember as evening approached, we'd pack up as if we were going on vacation and return to that little haven, make dinner, and then settle in for the night. The next day we'd return to the parsonage to conduct our lives and the church business. For me, the novelty of living in our new "home" wore off pretty fast. In my view, it wasn't fair that Mr. Watts got to stay in his house with his personal things while we lived like gypsies out of suitcases.

There was such an injustice to it.

Didn't we have a right to live in peace like other families? Shouldn't we, too, be able to lay our heads down on our own beds and feel safe through the night? I admit I was was sleeping better. For that, I was thankful. sleeping better. For that, I was thankful.

The phone rang. As Daddy had done numerous times before, he reached for the receiver not knowing whether a friend or foe would be on the other end of the line. It was just as likely to be a call for help from one of the paris.h.i.+oners as it might be another crank call.

"h.e.l.lo?"

When the caller spoke, his words were m.u.f.fled as if smothered in fabric. Once again Daddy strained to understand what was being said. As before, without identifying himself, the anonymous man groused, "You're a thorn in a friend of mine's side46 . . . and the best thing you can do is leave the community." . . . and the best thing you can do is leave the community."

Daddy waited. Would there be more to the threat this time? When the caller fell silent, Daddy said, "G.o.d bless you, son."

The phone went dead.

Mr. Watts, Roger Williams, and Charles "Wayne" Tedder were huddled in the house directly across the street from the parsonage. The phone from which the call had been made sat on the table between them. Mr. Watts, the owner of the residence, had asked Roger to make the call and insisted that Roger cover the mouthpiece with a handkerchief as he spoke. Wayne watched as Roger did as he was told.

Wayne, like Roger, was another one of Mr. Watts's brute squad who took frequent trips on the wrong side of the law. Much of Wayne's life had been a c.o.c.ktail of bad judgments and even worse behavior, mixed with a history of pill popping and heavy alcohol consumption. Wayne was willing to do whatever Mr. Watts required, primarily due to his own indebtedness to the man.

Like a wayward fly, Wayne was stuck in Mr. Watts's web with little chance of escape, and he knew it. At one point Wayne privately confessed to Roger, his cohort in crime, a desire to stop taking orders from Mr. Watts, saying, "I've just got to get out47 of it. My nerves won't take any more." of it. My nerves won't take any more."

After the call was finished, Mr. Watts retrieved the handkerchief, tucked it into his pocket, and then withdrew a twenty-dollar bill. Even though it was payment for services rendered, when Mr. Watts "asked" for something to be done, Roger knew Mr. Watts was not the sort of man to be crossed. The last thing Roger needed was to be in his crosshairs. Handing the cash to Roger, Mr. Watts said, "You're a good ole boy,48 and we're going to get along just fine." and we're going to get along just fine."

Mr. Watts, like a seasoned military commander in the heat of the battle, was directing a private war against the young Navy veteran turned pastor. This call was just the latest maneuver to provoke and unsettle us. All that was left for Mr. Watts to do was to watch. And wait.

And, if necessary, strike again.

By G.o.d's grace, from November of 1975 until August of 1976, the better part of a year, we savored what amounted to a cease-fire. Though our family continued to receive occasional threats over the phone, there were no more bombings. No shootings. No cut phone lines. To be candid, I'm not sure how Daddy or Momma would have coped had there been a string of attacks during that year. G.o.d knew what we could handle. The Good Shepherd knew we needed that season of refreshment to restore our souls in green pastures.

Daddy had been welcomed back by a church eager to be reunited with their beloved pastor, and he returned to the business at hand as best he could. For her part, Momma resumed her work with the Spiritualaires, an eleven-piece music and singing group she founded in 1970, not long after she and Daddy began to serve in Sellerstown. Although Momma stopped traveling with the band after Danny was born, she was actively involved in rehearsing and arranging their music.

Virtually every weekend the group was booked to conduct "sings" at churches throughout North Carolina and the neighboring states. With the men dressed in red jackets, white s.h.i.+rts, and blue ties, and the women sporting handmade navy blue and white dresses, the Spiritualaires was, in many ways, one of the pioneer music groups to debut on the contemporary Christian music scene.

To facilitate their heavy travel schedule, James Tyree made arrangements to purchase a 1948 Greyhound Silverside bus. The oil-burning tan and white bus was nicknamed "Old Lizzy" because it was older than anybody on the bus. He had the exterior of the aging bus painted with the band's name accented with a series of musical notes.

Week after week, the singers, often with their children in tow, would load the electric organ, piano, drums, and lead and ba.s.s guitars and then pray they'd make it to the next location. The Spiritualaires relied upon love offerings rather than tickets, and the group recorded two alb.u.ms that were sold at their events. After each concert, they took the opportunity to offer an altar call for those who needed prayer or wanted to invite Jesus into their hearts.

Early in their music ministry, Daddy would travel with the band on occasion-a practice he had to quit due to stress and the need to prepare for his sermons on Sat.u.r.day. Even though Daddy no longer accompanied the band, he remained supportive of their musical outreach-as long as the team was back at their posts on Wednesday night and both services on Sunday.

The unifying nature of the Spiritualaires was yet another reason the church family remained united in the face of Mr. Watts's persecution. They lived together, sang together, and experienced a precious bond of friends.h.i.+p. Ironically, the Spiritualaires had rerecorded Dottie Rambo's song, "One More Valley," which promised that after enduring "one more valley, one more hill49 . . . you can lay down your heavy load." Little did they know that in the summer of 1976, Daddy and Momma would be entering the valley of the shadow of death with a series of attacks that would further test their resolve and faith. . . . you can lay down your heavy load." Little did they know that in the summer of 1976, Daddy and Momma would be entering the valley of the shadow of death with a series of attacks that would further test their resolve and faith.

August 1, 1976, was an insufferably hot Sunday in Sellerstown, with temperatures topping ninety-one degrees. The sweet, robust smell of tobacco leaves drying in the nearby barns, carried on the wings of a gentle breeze, filled the air. People arriving for the evening service found s.p.a.ces to park their cars on the gra.s.sy front yard of the church. We didn't have a paved parking lot; the casualness of leaving vehicles on the natural gra.s.s just seemed to fit the intimate, welcoming feeling wors.h.i.+pers enjoyed.

Inside the sanctuary, Momma was stationed at the organ and played a medley of favorite hymns as the faithful packed the church. Trading looks with Daddy as the clock inched toward 7 p.m., she transitioned into the call to wors.h.i.+p to start the service. When Daddy took to the pulpit, he seemed to preach with a renewed strength of purpose. He was in his element, teaching the Word of G.o.d to those eager to learn.

That evening, Mr. Watts returned to his old tricks,50 igniting the sixth explosion across the street from the parsonage. I think the blast was his way of letting the church community know that he hadn't given up-not by a long shot. By detonating this bomb while church was in session, he wanted everyone to know he was still in control and a force to be reckoned with. igniting the sixth explosion across the street from the parsonage. I think the blast was his way of letting the church community know that he hadn't given up-not by a long shot. By detonating this bomb while church was in session, he wanted everyone to know he was still in control and a force to be reckoned with.

A month later, in early September, when his series of threatening letters, shootings, and bombings had still failed to drive us away, Mr. Watts waved the promise of a pile of cash under the nose of one of his henchmen. Roger Williams was summoned to the home of Mr. Watts. Facing the former county commissioner, Roger listened as Mr. Watts vented. Mr. Watts groused once again that Daddy was a thorn in his side. "I've tried so hard to scare him out but it don't seem like he'll leave," Mr. Watts said, adding, "We've done everything we know to do."

That's when Mr. Watts presented Roger with a tempting offer to make some serious cash.

The deal was simple.

Use your car to run the pastor over.