The Devil in Pew Number Seven Part 9

Make it look like an accident.

There's $100,000 in it for you if you succeed.

As before, Mr. Watts was the mastermind who preferred to leave the dirty work to others. He peeled five one-hundred-dollar bills from his wad of cash and placed the crisp bills on the table. You know, just a little gift to whet Roger's appet.i.te for the big payday. Something to show he meant business.

Roger s.n.a.t.c.hed up the money and tucked the cash into his pocket. Intrigued by the plan, Roger wasn't entirely ready to act. This, after all, was a really big deal with serious consequences. Mr. Watts was asking him to kill the popular pastor, and he wanted to know what would happen if he were somehow implicated in the death. Roger wasn't a wealthy man. If he faced charges, he wouldn't be able to hire a good lawyer to keep him from life in prison.

Mr. Watts told Roger not to worry, saying, "If you make it look like an accident,51 I don't think you'll be caught. But if you are, there is plenty of money, plenty of it, for your defense and for doing that for me." With a pat on the back as Roger turned to leave, Mr. Watts said he'd be in touch. For reasons unknown, Mr. Watts had second thoughts and never activated his plan. I don't think you'll be caught. But if you are, there is plenty of money, plenty of it, for your defense and for doing that for me." With a pat on the back as Roger turned to leave, Mr. Watts said he'd be in touch. For reasons unknown, Mr. Watts had second thoughts and never activated his plan.

Instead, on Wednesday night, October 13, shortly after our family received a death threat, Mr. Watts and Bud Sellers ignited yet another bomb in our driveway. This, the seventh powerful explosion, could be heard two miles away. At the time, sixty people were gathered in the church for the midweek service; the other youngsters and I were meeting at Aunt Pat's house two doors away from the church. An armed paris.h.i.+oner stood guard to ensure our safety. We, too, were shaken by the blast.

While a contingent of police and ATF agents cordoned off the area to investigate the explosion, Daddy spoke with the press. Daddy was grateful to report that n.o.body had been physically harmed-although there was a close call. Upon hearing a shotgun go off, a member of the congregation stepped outside to patrol the area. Not seeing any reason for alarm, he returned. Had he remained outside, he could have been injured by the blast. Daddy admitted, "We're all sort of shaken,"52 but reiterated that he had no plans to quit. "We just intend to carry on and take more precautions when we have night services." but reiterated that he had no plans to quit. "We just intend to carry on and take more precautions when we have night services."

I don't know whether Mr. Watts read the paper and noticed Daddy's public refusal to quit. If he had, that might explain why five days later, on October 18, Mr. Watts struck for the eighth time. There was no way he'd let this country preacher beat him. If Daddy refused to go, then Mr. Watts would just have to turn up the heat by detonating an explosion in the field behind our house. Although we weren't spending nights at the parsonage, I believe Mr. Watts was trying to drive home the point that he was still dead serious: We would leave Sellerstown walking, crawling, dead, or alive.

Three weeks later, on November 10, 1976, gunshots pierced the otherwise peaceful evening and shattered the security light illuminating the church lawn. Minutes later, Mr. Watts and his sidekick Bud Sellers struck again, igniting a bomb that exploded during the middle of our Wednesday night church service.

Billy Sellers, one of Daddy's loyal and dear friends, narrowly escaped harm. Speaking to the press, Billy said, "I was sitting on the back pew [when] a shotgun blast was heard. I walked outside to see53 what it was and didn't notice that the light had been shot out. If I had, I might have wandered outside to check it out and might have been blown up when the dynamite exploded. I went back in the church, and the dynamite exploded just as I got back inside." what it was and didn't notice that the light had been shot out. If I had, I might have wandered outside to check it out and might have been blown up when the dynamite exploded. I went back in the church, and the dynamite exploded just as I got back inside."

Following the blast, three men from the church, E. J. Sellers, Billy Sellers, and Barry McKee, rushed outside and searched the fields around the church property. They found and caught a man, Wayne Tedder, a friend of Mr. Watts, hiding in a nearby field with a shotgun in his hand. The gun was the weapon used to shoot out the night-light on the church grounds. The suspect, who owed Mr. Watts some money, was held until the police arrived.

Catching Wayne Tedder red-handed was encouraging. And yet, Daddy's fragile nerves were rattled, pus.h.i.+ng him closer to yet another mental breakdown. He wasn't alone. The effect of the bombing unnerved the entire community. Robert Sellers said, "This thing's got to come to a close.54 Little children are scared to death, running around shaking, and the people are getting tired of this thing. You can't even so much as rest in [Sellerstown]." Eddie Sellers agreed, adding, "You have to leave home to get a nap. It's gettin' so we expect it every night." Little children are scared to death, running around shaking, and the people are getting tired of this thing. You can't even so much as rest in [Sellerstown]." Eddie Sellers agreed, adding, "You have to leave home to get a nap. It's gettin' so we expect it every night."

The pressure was on.

We weren't the only ones feeling the heat.

Mr. Watts, having initiated four bombings in as many months that summer and fall, knew the law and an organized citizen patrol were watching Sellerstown like hawks. Special Agent Charles Mercer was asking tough questions and pursuing every lead. One misstep and Mr. Watts would be exposed-and he knew it. Needing to do something to divert unwanted attention from himself, Mr. Watts devised a plan. He just needed to call in a favor from one of his minions to carry it out.

On Thanksgiving Day, November 25, 1976, police answered a call for help at the residence of Mr. Watts, who reported that someone had taken several shots at his house. The bullets from a high-powered rifle had penetrated the exterior wall just below his front window. What Mr. Watts failed to report55 was that he had paid a man to shoot at his home in order to make himself look like a victim, the same way he had mailed himself a threatening letter. was that he had paid a man to shoot at his home in order to make himself look like a victim, the same way he had mailed himself a threatening letter.

Recognizing that entertaining guests in the trailer at Christmastime wasn't an option due to s.p.a.ce limitations, my parents decided to move back to the parsonage just after Thanksgiving. I had mixed emotions upon hearing that news. Although I was happy to be home, I had felt safe in the trailer and wanted to feel the same level of comfort in my own bedroom. And yet knowing that Mr. Watts was, once again, pacing outside my window, watching us through his thick, eye-distorting gla.s.ses, I found falling asleep a challenge.

I was okay being home during the day, mind you. Mr. Watts never attacked us in broad daylight. But when the sun went down, my fears soared. Getting into bed was next to impossible. How could I close my eyes and fall asleep with the knowledge that Mr. Watts, a man who hated us, just might choose to a.s.sault us in the dead of night?

Momma didn't seem to share my anxiety. I watched her display a strength and confidence that prompted me to ask, "Momma, what are we gonna do if there's another bombing? What if I die?"

Stroking my hair, offering me a tender smile, she'd say, "Honey, it's okay. You know why? Because to die is to be together with Jesus where n.o.body can hurt you."

In my mind I understood her point: If the worst thing happened-namely, that I was to die in my sleep-I'd be okay because I'd be in heaven. But getting my heart to go along with what I knew in my head seemed as impossible as climbing Mount Everest.

Much to my surprise, for several precious weeks after moving home, Mr. Watts left us alone. For a short time, it looked as if we'd be able to enjoy Christmas without a further incident.

Now that that would have been quite the gift. would have been quite the gift.

On Sunday night, December 12, 1976, a cold rain and thick fog moved in, yet it failed to put a damper on the congregation's attendance. Every seat in the sanctuary was filled as Daddy preached on the topic of fighting the good fight of faith. His text was 1Timothy6. Midway into his message, the building shook as Mr. Watts bombarded us with his tenth destructive device.

Ten bombs in two-and-a-half years.

Six targeting our home.

Four aimed at the church.

Daddy could only take so much. For the next two weeks, he was hospitalized for mental distress. Our Christmas was ruined.

Our loved ones begged us to leave. Grandma Welch called Momma weekly, trying to convince her to move away, whether that was home to Bogalusa-or Mobile-or just about anywhere but Sellerstown. Grandma was beside herself, fearing that the attacks would never end. On the other hand, the church yearned for us to stay. My parents, torn between the pleas of the family and the call they felt upon their lives to this community, believed the situation had to get better.

And the devil in pew number seven remained committed to his crusade to drive us from Sellerstown . . . "crawling or walking, dead or alive."

Chapter 10

Black Thursday.

The visitor came.56 In the spring of 1977, Daddy was home when a sharp knock on the front door echoed through the house. There was nothing unusual about guests stopping by the parsonage unannounced. In a way, our home doubled as his office. People with church or personal business often dropped by for an impromptu meeting. Although Daddy didn't recognize the caller, he greeted the man with a warm handshake and invited him into the den.

By all outward appearances, the man looked as normal as anyone you'd meet on the street, although the look in his eyes had the intensity of a hawk. He wore no mask, nor was he dressed in a white, hooded robe. And while he didn't sport the white cross encircled in red, the symbol of the Ku Klux Klan, the man introduced himself as the personal bodyguard of the Grand Wizard of North Carolina.

As they took their seats, the man explained the reason for his visit. With his commanding knowledge of the facts, he demonstrated that he and the Klan were fully aware of the events unfolding in Sellerstown. The Klan felt that the constant persecution we were suffering was wrong, and furthermore, he said everybody knew who was behind these attacks.

I'm sure Daddy must have felt a degree of inner conflict as he listened. On one hand, the harsh prejudices and practices of the Klan were the polar opposite of the love of Jesus he preached, not to mention the saving love that defined his life. And yet Daddy must have felt some degree of gratefulness that this outsider cared about our situation.

But the man didn't come to just offer sympathy.

He came with a radical offer to help.

Before stating his proposition, the man said, "Mr. Watts is never coming to justice." Evidently, he knew about Mr. Watts's connections within the "good old boy" political system. He must have known that someone as powerful as Mr. Watts could pull whatever strings were necessary to evade a conviction forever. But the Klan, as he was quick to point out, had contacts and manpower. Sitting a few feet from Daddy, the man leaned forward and laid out his proposal.

"We're ready to take him out," he said without a hint of sarcasm. There was nothing in his body language-no wink, no smirk-nothing to indicate the offer was a joke. This man was dead serious. "n.o.body has to know," he said, adding, "Just give us permission, and it can all be over once and for all."

The thought that there would be no more bombings, shootings, home invasions, threatening phone calls, midnight stalking, or interruptions in church must have been appealing to Daddy on some level. The idea that he and his family would finally be safe from the resident madman was almost too good to imagine. How different his life would be if Mr. Watts wasn't in the picture! If he just gave the word, the cloud of fear that followed him every waking hour would be gone.

But to have the man "taken out"?

Killed?

I can't say for certain, but I wouldn't be surprised if Daddy, weighing this extreme proposal, pictured in his mind's eye the temptation of Jesus by Satan. While alone, hungry, and vulnerable after a forty-day fast, Jesus was tempted by the devil, who promised Him the world if Jesus would simply bow down and wors.h.i.+p him. Just as Jesus resisted the temptation to take a shortcut to glory, Daddy would have no part in killing Mr. Watts.

"I appreciate this," Daddy said after a moment to process his thoughts. "But that's not the way we do things. Yes, we're frustrated. Yes, the process is taking its toll on us and on the community. But we're dependent on G.o.d to take care of Mr. Watts for us."

Spring gave way to summer without another explosion rocking our world. In fact, Mr. Watts took a break from his string of bombings in 1977. The reasons for his cease-fire are unknown. Perhaps the reason for his restraint was the ever-watchful eye of Special Agent Charles Mercer, who left no stone unturned in his investigation. Or perhaps it was the $10,000 reward offered by Agent Mercer for information linking Mr. Watts to the bombings.

It might have had to do with the fact that Mr. Watts was having difficulty leveraging his wealth to buy off the police. On one occasion, for example, Mr. Watts initiated a ninety-minute casual conversation with Deputy James Coleman and County Police Chief Jesse Barker. Mr. Watts spent most of the time describing how much money he had ama.s.sed and wanted these officers to know he was "well off."57 Without offering a bribe outright, the implication had to have been clear. Evidently, they didn't take the bait. Without offering a bribe outright, the implication had to have been clear. Evidently, they didn't take the bait.

Their investigation wasn't for sale.

The yearlong suspension of hostilities-at least those involving guns, home invasions, and bombs-was a welcomed relief. However, Mr. Watts still sat in pew number seven each Sunday morning making faces at Daddy. He tried his best to cause a distraction by coughing, sucking his teeth, squirming in his seat, and tapping his watch.

To an outsider, the actions of Mr. Watts during church might have appeared eccentric at worst, the ludicrous yet harmless actions of someone who wasn't right in the head. But to those who knew the man, it was evident that Mr. Watts wasn't a changed man. He still paced at night. He still glared at us with a smoldering disdain that, like hot lava, would inevitably surface.

Somewhere, somehow, he'd strike again.

It was just a matter of time.

Even so, as the months rolled on without an attack, life, at least for me, settled down into a more peaceful, uneventful rhythm. I rode motorcycles with Missy, played in our secret fort in the woods, and occasionally hung out with Billy Wayne. Admittedly, now that I had finished first grade, I discovered Billy Wayne had cooties. He was, after all, a boy, and all boys had that dreaded disease, which is why I stopped trying to marry him. No longer in a hurry to get to the altar, having lost the interest in sealing our "vows" with a kiss, I was open to new ways to pa.s.s the time.

One hot, summer afternoon, Daddy was working around the house, and Momma was taking a nap with Daniel. I was bored, which can be dangerous when you are seven years old and the adults are preoccupied. Spying the yellow school bus used to pick up people for church, I got a crazy idea. Don't ask me where the thought came from or why such a notion struck me as okay. It just did.

I decided it would be fun to make mud pies on every seat of that bus. It would be my own giant kitchen on wheels with plenty of room for all the pretend flavors I could cook up. Retrieving the water hose from the side of the house, I got busy creating fresh mud pies on Becky's Bakery Bus. With the care of a pastry chef, I carried the mud to each seat, shaped it into a pie, and then cut it into individual servings with my knife-a stick. As I worked, I decided two pies per seat sounded about right.

You know, one for each pa.s.senger.

Just as I was finis.h.i.+ng my preparations, Daddy came by to see why I had been so quiet for so long. When he approached, I was standing outside the bus, proud of my accomplishment. He looked at me, the water hose, and the mud on my hands, s.h.i.+rt, and shorts. Then his eyes drifted toward the open door of the bus. Without saying a word, he walked up the stairs and into the bus to find out what I had been up to. I tagged along behind, waiting for his words of praise.

As he walked down the aisle, studying each seat without comment, I began to realize what I wasn't wasn't hearing. There was no "Wow, Bec, this is great!" or "Your mud pies sure look yummy." Instead, Ireceived the what-in-the-world-have-you-done look followed by a speech explaining why my bakery wasn't such a good idea. He didn't need to raise his voice for me to get the picture that he was displeased with my handiwork. hearing. There was no "Wow, Bec, this is great!" or "Your mud pies sure look yummy." Instead, Ireceived the what-in-the-world-have-you-done look followed by a speech explaining why my bakery wasn't such a good idea. He didn't need to raise his voice for me to get the picture that he was displeased with my handiwork.

While I had experienced a string of horrors at the hands of Mr. Watts, I realize now that the thing I feared most in life was the thought that I might do something to cause my father to stop loving me. Ithink Daddy sensed this. And although I was sent inside to clean up while he took the hose to spray down the interior of the bus, he never gave me the impression that his love for me had been dampened.

I was his little girl, and he still loved me.

For her part, Momma, the practical joker in the family, wasn't too happy to see me coming into her "germ free" house covered in mud. Like a drill sergeant, she marched me down the hall to the bathroom for a good fingernail scrubbing and bath. And yet, like Daddy, I didn't get the sense that she loved me less for making such a mess. I was grateful that neither of my parents held a grudge or chose to shame me for what I had done. Their unconditional love for me outweighed my childish choices.

They even laughed about my amateur cooking later.

The unconditional love my parents displayed toward me was just a reflection of the kind of people they were. Their Christlike love was also the primary reason why they were persistent in forgiving Mr. Watts, even though they had been under fire year after year. Indeed, Daddy and Momma were cherished by the folks in Sellerstown because my parents extended grace and kindness-without judgment or shame-to all with whom they came in contact.

Their commitment to the church remained rock solid, much to the puzzlement and dismay of my grandparents. The weekly disruptions instigated by Mr. Watts in church, along with the ongoing late-night, anonymous phone calls to our home, kept all of us on edge. They viewed Mr. Watts like a hot-spring geyser; his disdain for us bubbled beneath the surface from a deep well of hatred. They feared his rage would eventually reach critical ma.s.s and, without warning, explode.

On Monday, March 20, 1978, just days before Easter, Grandma Welch called Momma, begging my parents to leave Sellerstown and return to the safety of their hometown. Grandma, trying to sound optimistic, said Daddy could always start a new church plant or help with an existing, struggling church. She told Momma, "Please get out of there.58 I can't take it anymore. I'm worried sick. Your daddy and I will pay your moving expenses." I can't take it anymore. I'm worried sick. Your daddy and I will pay your moving expenses."

Momma put her foot down. Sellerstown was the only home Daniel, now three, and I had ever known. For the better part of a decade they had grown deep roots in the rich soil of Sellerstown. Momma and Daddy loved their home, their church, and the farming community. Picking up to settle somewhere else wasn't an option. In no uncertain terms she told Grandma Welch, "Mother, I will live and die here. We are not leaving!"

You see, Momma had just told Grandma Welch that she had taken a dear friend, Sue Williams, under her protective wing and wasn't about to abandon someone in need. Grandma viewed this as an unwelcome development and a new danger to our family. Momma saw offering shelter to Sue as a ministry opportunity. Sue, a pet.i.te woman with a shy, graceful smile, was one of Momma's closest confidants from church. They had formed a sisterhood over the years; Sue leaned on Momma's shoulder during the breakup of her first marriage, and Sue had been there to support Momma during the threats and a.s.saults on our home. Like an extended member of our family, Sue had vacationed with us on several occasions, including the Cherokee trip when I'd panicked at the staged train robbery.

Their friends.h.i.+p was a gift to each other.

And now, Sue was in dire straits.

Just days before Grandma's call, Sue stopped by our house to see Momma. Sue was desperate. She told Momma that her husband, Harris Williams, a thirty-five-year-old alcoholic given to drunken rages, was physically abusing her again. This time she barely escaped. Momma knew about Harris and his previous trouble with the law. She was well aware of his criminal record,59 which included a conviction and imprisonment for a.s.saulting Sue. which included a conviction and imprisonment for a.s.saulting Sue.

Whenever Harris would become violent, he was quick to express sorrow that he had hurt Sue. While sorry, he apparently was unwilling or unable to shape up. Even Daddy had reached out to Harris on several occasions in hopes that Harris would be receptive to the life-changing power of Jesus. His words must have fallen on deaf ears.

As Sue poured out her heart to Momma, it was clear that Harris had fallen back into his old pattern of hard drinking and subsequent bad behavior. The last few days living with him had been unbearable-several nights before Sue came to see Momma, Harris had threatened her again.

She, in turn, went to Harris's probation officer on the morning of March 23 and asked him to take out a warrant against her husband. Like tossing gasoline on a fire, her request made matters worse for Sue. When Harris learned she had called the law on him, his rage intensified and he made additional threats. Sue had nowhere to turn-except to Momma. Upon hearing the details of Sue's plight, Momma didn't hesitate to invite Sue to move in with us. She told Sue to bring a few things along with her baby, since Sue had made arrangements with her ex-husband to take care of her other sons. We'd find a way to shelter them for as long as was necessary.

This was no casual suggestion. There was an urgency to Momma's invitation. An insistence. An awareness that Sue was in grave danger, probably more than she fully recognized at the time. Momma said our home would be a temporary refuge until Sue could get things straightened out. I'd say that was ironic, considering how the parsonage had been the focal point of ten recent violent attacks.

Grandma Welch wasn't the only person concerned about our safety. On Wednesday afternoon, March 22, Momma, who had been making some extra cash selling houseware gifts, stopped by Aunt Pat's house to deliver her order. For a few minutes the two lingered on Aunt Pat's front porch to talk. Aware that Sue was now living with us, Aunt Pat said, "You know, Ramona, I'm not sure how safe60 it is to have Sue in your house with Harris's problems." it is to have Sue in your house with Harris's problems."

Momma acknowledged her concern but said she felt led to help Sue any way she could. After all, Momma lived by the words of Jesus in Matthew 25 when He said, "For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in. . . . Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me" (NIV). In Momma's view, supporting Sue in this small way was really an opportunity to serve the Lord.

Maybe it was the caring nudge of Aunt Pat suggesting we'd be safer without Sue living in the parsonage. Perhaps it was the desperate plea from her mother to move to the safety of their home. Whatever the reason, that same evening during the midweek church service, Momma felt compelled to take a public stand against anxiety and fretting over what might might happen to her and her family in Sellerstown. happen to her and her family in Sellerstown.

With a bright, beaming smile that seemed to chase the shadow of fear from the sanctuary, she read Psalm 91: I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my G.o.d; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler. . . . Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. . . . Because thou hast made the LORD, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

Before concluding her comments, Momma told the congregation, "I believe G.o.d will protect my family. All of us should have faith that G.o.d will do His His perfect will in our lives. Besides, what He allows to happen is out of our hands." With that, she took her seat. perfect will in our lives. Besides, what He allows to happen is out of our hands." With that, she took her seat.

It would be the last time Momma spoke in church.

The events which were about to unfold the following night would change our lives forever.

By all indications, Thursday, March 23, 1978, would be an exciting day. Lunch box in hand, I headed off to school, antic.i.p.ating the celebration of Easter just around the corner. Being as fond of candy as I was, having an insatiable sweet tooth, I couldn't wait for the Easter egg hunts to begin. Toss in plates br.i.m.m.i.n.g with homemade goodies and the chance to dye our eggs with colorful splashes of creativity, and I was eager for Easter to arrive.

As I left home, I knew Momma would be busy during the day preparing the special music for church, and Daddy would linger at his desk perfecting his Easter Sunday sermon. When I returned home, Momma had a fresh-baked pie cooling on the kitchen counter; the aroma of dinner simmering on the stovetop filled the air. About five o'clock, we took our places around the dinner table.

Sue and her baby joined us for supper in what was to be the unofficial beginning of our Easter celebration. Although Sue was on edge because of the threats from her husband, she did her best to enter into the joy of the occasion.

Daddy, seated at the head of the table, glanced at Momma and shared a smile that seemed to say, "Thanks, honey, for all of your hard work." Daddy was poised to give thanks for the meal as Momma, standing beside her chair, finished filling my Charlie Brown gla.s.s with iced tea. In order to make room on the table, I took the tea pitcher and placed it on the counter by the sink.

I returned to my seat, but before I could sit down, I heard someone yank the screen door open by the carport. It wasn't surprising when guests arrived unannounced since we lived with an open-door policy. Friends often stopped by for a visit-even during mealtimes. Momma and I exchanged a quick look, expectant, wondering who was coming into the house.

I immediately recognized the visitor.

Harris Williams.

He had caught us completely off guard while we were relaxed and in the middle of family time. At age seven, I had had my share of trauma. Almost out of instinct, the caution in my heart caused it to collide with my chest. I cannot say why. Something about his sudden appearance didn't feel right. He appeared tired, yet focused, a man on a mission. In the silence, the room felt as if a force for evil had violated its four walls.

Sue, with her baby sitting on her lap, sat closest to the intruder. A look of shock and panic crossed her face. Even though he hadn't said a word, Sue knew Harris's demeanor was not a humble one. He hadn't stopped by to mend fences with her. He wasn't there to seek forgiveness for the most recent beating.