The Gambler
“. . . effectual fervent prayer . . .”
Jas. 5.16
Sylvander Leaf knew more about the history of Roseville than any man living, which
was scarcely surprising given that he had recently celebrated his ninety-eighth birthday
in fine style at a local hostelry, along with his sons and grandsons, and their wives
and children, his cronies from the Meadowglade retirement home, and certain sisters
from the home who enjoyed Southern-style hospitality.
When Professor Coraline Lauder, the founder and president of the Roseville Historical
Society, arrived with her tape recorder, Leaf was watching a television newscast.
Coraline recognised the tall, distinguished-looking man standing alongside the United
States President, his hand resting in a familiar manner on the President’s shoulder
as they shared a joke.
“Well now,” said Leaf, “There’s Dr Atherton Grainge. Greatest Preacher in the land.
Roseville’s most distinguished son, for sure.
“Fact is, Professor Lauder, I recall his grandfather, Ainsley Grainge, who was also
a big-time Preacher. Preacher Grainge they called him in the old days. Before he
got saved and became a Preacher, he was a professional gambler out West. I remember
him when I was a youngster. You want to hear about the Grainge family? Okay, let’s
go sit on the verandah.”
Leaf took a pipe and tobacco pouch from the table by his bed. He produced a stoneware
bottle and two glasses.
“Come on, Crocket,” said Leaf.
Crocket, a battle-scarred ginger tom, followed Leaf onto the verandah and stretched
out on his lap.
“I’ll take a shot of this corn whisky while I talk. My son Talbot makes it himself,
same as I used to and my old dad before that. Family tradition. You want to try some?
Go right ahead. Some of the sisters here appreciate it too. Say it keeps ’em young.
It sure works for me. Heh, heh, heh.”
Leaf filled his pipe and lit it. It smelt of burning molasses and tarry rope, tinged
with rum. Coraline Lauder switched on the tape recorder and opened her notebook.
Interesting thing, Leaf said, is how preaching runs in the Grainge family. Goes back
five generations I know of, and I recall Preacher Grainge saying it was a tradition
that stretched back to a distant ancestor in England who was burned at the stake
for preaching without the authority of the church.
Strange thing is none of them set out to be Preachers. They all started out in life
real bad. Another curious thing is that they all had fancy-sounding names that started
with the letter A.
The first Grainge to come to America was Aylmer Grainge, who was the captain of a
slave vessel, the Marguerite. He must’ve been a real mean customer because on one
voyage his crew mutinied and threw him overboard, off the East Coast of Africa. Aylmer
made it to shore, but the black folks didn’t take kindly to slavers. They anointed
him with honey and pegged him out on the ground by an anthill.
Well, the sun was hot and the ants were frisky little beggars and began to eat Aylmer
alive. Aylmer called on the Almighty and got saved. The Almighty told Aylmer he was
to become a Preacher. He began preaching right away and he must have been convincing,
because the black folks got converted and set him free. Aylmer Grainge became big
in the abolitionist movement and preached the length and breadth of England.
His son, Abernethy Grainge, was another bad character in his youth. He was jailed
in England for embezzlement. When he came to America, he was strung up by some irate
ranchers for rustling cattle. The rope broke when they whipped up his horse from
under him, so they horsewhipped him and sliced off his ears instead.
Abernethy Grainge called on the Almighty when he felt the rope tightening round his
neck and got saved. He became a travelling Preacher out West. Wore his hair long
to cover his missing ears, which made him popular among the Indians. He married a
Shoshone woman, Dancing Moon.
Their son was Ainsley Grainge, who was a professional gambler from the time he turned
fourteen. He was the one we called Preacher Grainge —the grandfather of Dr Atherton
Grainge.
The story goes that Ainsley Grainge was down in RiverStone playing cards in a saloon.
He was winning hand after hand. It was said Grainge had the power to make cards do
anything he wanted, even without touching them.
A fellow called Bart Kennett accused Grainge of cheating and went for his gun. Grainge
drew and plugged him through the forehead. He was so fast no one saw him do it —
it was like the gun just appeared in his hand.
Marshall McGavin wasn’t too pleased about it but there was nothing he could do because
Bart Kennett had drawn first, so he just ordered Grainge to get out of town before
there was any more trouble.
Grainge was riding out of RiverStone when he was shot in the back by Bart Kennett’s
brother. They brought him in to Doc Griffin and the Doc told the undertaker to fetch
a coffin because sure as hell Grainge was going to die. They could hear the gurgling
in his chest, which meant his lungs were filling with blood.
Grainge’s breathing stopped and they started making him ready for the coffin. Then
they saw his chest move and his eyes flickered open. Said they’d never seen such
a look of terror in a man’s eyes.
It seems the bullet had gone right through his lungs and come out at his chest. Busted
a lot of ribs. Doc Griffin patched him up as best as he could but said it would be
a miracle if he survived.
There was no hospital in those days, but there was a girl at the whorehouse called
Maxine who looked after Grainge while he mended. She gave him a Bible to read and
that was how he got saved.
Grainge wanted to marry her but she turned him down, no matter how many times he
asked her. She was a real pretty lady. Ever after that, Grainge would not hear a
bad word said against whores. He was a true gentleman in that respect.
After Grainge recovered, he came to Roseville, bought a piece of land just out of
town and built the church. It’s still there, as you know — prettiest little church
you’ll ever see, with a steeple and a white picket fence all around it. Grainge sawed
and dressed all the timber himself. Even carved the collection plate. He was real
clever with his hands, the Preacher.
Grainge started to preach in the church every Sunday. Now he’d always been a quiet
man who never spoke much, but when he got in that pulpit he was a powerful orator.
He used to say that after he was shot, he looked down into Hell and saw and heard
things that were too fearful for him to describe. Wasn’t till he read the Good Book
that he learned there was a way out.
Well, a lot of folks who came to hear him preach got saved and joined his church.
My own Ma and Pa got saved, and used to take us youngsters to his church every Sunday.
One Sunday, a man named Clem Lightfoot came to see Preacher Grainge. If ever there
was a loser in life, it was Clem. He was a drunkard and a gambler to boot. It was
said he was the only man who’d never won a bet in his life. Clem had a pig farm he’d
inherited from his father but it was his wife and kids who ran the farm and they
didn’t make a good living from it.
Clem had been drinking and playing cards with Will Harding, who owned a cattle ranch
out of town. Clem had lost everything — his money, his horse, his saddle, his gun.
He’d ended up betting his pig farm and lost that as well to Will.
Clem looked terrible that morning. He was white and shaking and you could smell the
whisky coming out of the pores of his skin.
“What can I do for you, Clem?” asked Preacher Grainge.
“You’ve got to help me, Preacher” said Clem. “When I start to drink liquor, I just
can’t stop. When I gamble, I can’t stop. I’ve lost everything I had. My wife and
kids have walked out on me. I got nothing more to live for. I might as well borrow
a rope and hang myself off of a tree.”
“Let me tell you this,” said Preacher Grainge. “If a man wants a drink and a game
of cards, that’s his business and no one’s got a right to tell him otherwise. But
if the drink and cards want a man, that’s different, because they want everything
a man has got, including his immortal soul. That’s what happened to you.
“There’s a way out, Clem. Only one way. You come into the church and I’ll pray for
you.”
Preacher Grainge took Clem into the church and locked the door behind him. The folks
heard Preacher Grainge start to pray for Clem. There was terrible hollering and cussing,
like a bunch of madmen trying to get out of the church. There was voices that said
“let us go into the hogs.”
Preacher Grainge said: “I ain’t gonna let you go into the hogs. I command you to
go the Place of Divine Appointment.”
The cussing got quieter, then there was a loud scream like Clem was being torn apart.
After that, it was quiet.
Preacher Grainge unlocked the door of the church and led Clem out. Clem looked a
different man. There was a smile on his face and even the smell of whisky had gone
from him.
Preacher Grainge said to Clem: “You’ve been set free from liquor and gambling. They
will have no power over your life unless you choose to ask them back in. If you do
that, they will come back with seven times more power than before, and your latter
state will be worse than the first. You must be vigilant, Clem. Read the Word of
God every day and come to church every Sunday.”
Well, Clem stopped drinking and came to church every Sunday like Preacher Grainge
had told him. His wife refused to go back him though, because he’d lost the farm.
She and the young ones stayed with her Ma and Pa back in town.
A year went by and Preacher Grainge must’ve seen that Clem had repented of his old
life because he said it was time for restoration to be made.
One Sunday after church, Preacher Grainge rode out to Will Harding’s ranch. Will
was the only man in town who’d never been to the Preacher’s church. Will wasn’t bad,
you understand, but he had no time for church or Preachers.
It had been mighty hot that summer. No rain for three months. The ground was parched
and cracking open and Will’s cattle looked in real bad shape.
Will was sitting on a rocking chair out on his verandah. There was an empty chair
beside him. He was smoking a cigar and it was like he’d been waiting for the Preacher
to show up.
“I reckon I know why you’re here,” said Will. “You want to persuade me to give Clem
Lightfoot his farm back.”
“Well,” said Preacher Grainge. “I guess you won it fairly but I can’t help thinking
it’s a bad thing to gamble with a man for his means of livelihood.”
Will called his son Elmer to bring a jar of whisky. “I heard you were a big drinking
man at one time,” said Will. “Story is you could drink a quart of whisky and still
be as sober as a judge. What say we take a glass or two and talk it over. Never did
like to drink on my own.”
“Thankyou for the invitation,” said Preacher Grainge. “I don’t take strong drink
on account of a vow I made to the Almighty, but I’ll be pleased with glass of water
instead.”
“I guess I have to respect that, Preacher,’ said Will.
He told Elmer to bring the Preacher a jug of water, and they sat on the verandah,
not saying much, just looking out at the burned up grass.
“They tell me,“ said Will, “that you’re a handy man with a gun? I used to be pretty
good too.”
Will got Elmer to set up a row of bottles on a fence rail. He drew his gun and fired
off six shots. He hit three bottles.
“If you can better’n that, Preacher, I’ll give Clem back his farm.”
“I’m right sorry, Will,” said Preacher Grainge, “but those days are behind me, even
though I could outshoot you. The Good Book tells me the weapons of my warfare are
not carnal but they are mighty through God, even to the pulling down of strongholds.”
Will looked disappointed because he wanted to see if the Preacher was as fast on
the draw as everyone had said.
He took out a pack of playing cards.
“How about a hand of poker, Preacher? I’ll play you for Clem’s farm.”
Preacher Grainge looked at the cards and his hands started to itch. Maybe it was
the biggest temptation he had to wrestle with, being so good at handling them.
“I’m sorry Will Harding, but I’m under a vow not to touch cards. Nothing wrong with
those little bits of paper, you understand, but in my case they cost a man his life.”
“I heard about that,” said Will. “Guess I understand what you mean.”
Will Harding sat back in his chair sipping his whisky and seemed to be thinking what
to say next.
“It sure is hot,” said the Preacher, mopping his brow. “I guess you could do with
some rain.”
“We sure could,” says Will. “In fact, if the drought doesn’t break pretty soon, I’m
going to start losing cattle. I hear, Preacher, that the Indians, when they need
rain, go to their medicine man at Black Rock. He does a dance and a chant to the
rain god and more often than not it does rain. Maybe I’ll go see the medicine man.”
My guess is he said this to stir up the Preacher because Preacher Grainge, even though
he had Indian blood in him, was dead against any kind of sorcery and divination.
“I believe in the Lord God who is above all principalities and powers and the elemental
spirits of the universe,” the Preacher said.
“Well, if it ain’t right to ask the medicine man, why ain’t it right to ask the Almighty
for rain?” said Will. “The Almighty must know we need it.”
“If we ask for anything with faith, believing it will be done, it will be done,”
says the Preacher. “And those are not my words, that’s what it says in my Book here.”
And he pointed to his Bible.
“You believe that?” says Will Harding.
“I sure do,” says the Preacher. “I’ve never known it to fail.”
“Well,” says Will, “I sure need some rain. And not just me, neither. Can’t say I
believe or disbelieve in the Book but I’m open to be persuaded.”
Preacher Grainge thought for a bit, then he stepped down off the verandah and walked
away from the ranch house. Will saw him kneeling down, then standing up, and walking
about with his hands raised above his head. His voice was rising and falling, and
Will guessed he was praying in a powerful way.
Preacher Grainge came back and sat down on Will’s verandah. He drank another glass
of water.
Then Will noticed it was getting colder. He looked over towards the mountains, and
sure enough, there were some dark clouds gathering.
“Hallelujah,” said the Preacher, quietly.
The wind rose, and in half an hour there were clouds over the prairie. Then there
was thunder and lightning and the clouds just opened up and the rain fell. Torrential
rain. Never seen anything like it.
Will went pale as a ghost. He went inside his house and came out with some papers.
“These are the title deeds to Clem’s farm. To tell the truth, Preacher, I never felt
right about keeping them. Guess I just wanted that Clem should learn a lesson. Hope
he won’t have no hard feelings over it.”
Preacher Grainge put the papers in his pocket and shook Will’s hand. He opened his
saddle bag and took out this long oilskin coat and put it on. He had a big umbrella,
too, that he unfolded and held over his head as he rode back into town.
They were strange things to carry in a saddle bag in the middle of the hottest summer
we ever had in these parts. Preacher Grainge was the only person that didn’t get
soaked to the skin that day. Not that folks minded, they were just pleased to see
the long drought ended.
When the story got out about the Preacher praying for rain, there were some who said
he must’ve known the rain was coming before he went out to Will’s place. But we didn’t
have no wirelesses in those days, not even the telegraph, and there was no weather
forecasts like you have nowadays.
There were some who said Preacher Grainge had the spirit of Elijah. Old Elijah prayed
and the heavens were shut up and there was drought. He prayed again and the heavens
were opened. The power was in the prayer. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous
man availeth much, as the Good Book says.
Well, Clem Lightfoot was real pleased to get his pig farm back, and a little later
his wife came back to live with him and brought the children with her. Clem was as
good as his word and never went back to liquor or gambling. Became a deacon in the
Preacher’s church. Lightfoots still own the smallgoods company in Roseville. Aileen
Lightfoot plays the organ at the new church in town.
Will Harding was never persuaded by what he saw that afternoon. Didn’t like to talk
about it, probably because he just didn’t have an answer for it one way or the other.
Just kind of sat on the fence, if you know what I mean. But he gave up gambling and
cussing after that. Still enjoyed a drink with the boys, though.
Preacher Grainge was a much respected man but, true to the pattern, his son Allingham
was a sore trial to the folks round here. The Preacher and his sweet lady wife never
could control their boy. He was a hell-raiser from the day he was born. Drinking,
thieving, fighting, womanising . . . you name it, Allingham did it.
After a stretch in jail, Allingham decided on a regular career. He saw the opportunity
when the Volstead Act was passed in 1920 and became a bootlegger. Built up a big
business empire shipping booze in from Mexico. He also expanded into the construction
industry.
Somehow he won a contract to built a jail for the government. It had to be closed
a few years later. Not enough cement in the concrete, as I recall. Heh, heh, heh.
When Prohibition ended, Allingham went to Nevada and built a casino. That was when
his luck turned. First, the casino burned down. Then his car was blown up with dynamite
— and Allingham was inside the car. They said it was a direct order from the Magon
Mob, who were after control of all the casinos in the state.
Allingham must have called on the Almighty when he heard the dynamite going off,
because he got saved. He was a little deaf after the explosion but he used to say
it was easier to hear what the Almighty was telling him. Blessing in disguise, you
might say.
Allingham Grainge became a Preacher and he was real big in the nineteen-thirties
and forties, even better known than his dad before him. Had his own radio station.
Founded the Grainge Bible College, which is still going strong and turning out some
powerful preachers, like the Reverend Bob Clement, Pastor Kleinfeld, Mike Smiler
. . . whole crowd of them.
Which brings me to his son, Dr Atherton Grainge. There was a lady from Time magazine
down here the other day asking me about Dr Grainge. Seems they’re going to do a cover
story on him.
It’s true, Miss Lauder, it ain’t easy being the son of a famous Preacher. Atherton
was high-spirited, that’s for sure. You heard about the time the courthouse in Roseville
got burned down? Atherton had gone up on the roof to let off fireworks. Thought he’d
shoot a few skyrockets down a ventilation shaft. He was eight years old at the time.
Couldn’t sit down for a week after that. Heh, heh, heh. Roseville was due for a new
courthouse anyway.
Atherton got expelled from high school when he was fifteen and disappeared from Roseville.
Some folk were mighty pleased to see him go, I can tell you. Only person who believed
he was any good was Miss Edwina Kray, who taught him English and history. She’s retired
now, of course, and lives in New York. Very fine lady.
Well, it turned out later that young Atherton had forged a birth certificate and
college diploma and joined the United States Airforce. He became a pilot and few
years later crashed his airplane over North Vietnam. Got captured by the Viet Cong.
They fixed up some elaborate torture for him. Something with bamboo stakes, I recall.
No doubt about it, the Grainges had a powerful talent for getting on the wrong side
of folks.
Must have done him some good though, because he called on the Almighty and got saved
that night. Got the call to become a Preacher. Had to learn to preach in Vietnamese
real quick. Must’ve inherited the talent from his father, who had the gift of tongues.
He converted some of the Viet Cong, and they let him escape. It seems like the Almighty
has a purpose for the Grainges as Preachers.
People don’t like to remember Vietnam now, Miss Lauder, but there ain’t too many
folk in Roseville who were awarded a Purple Heart. And there ain’t many people round
here with doctorates from Princeton, Oxford and the Sorbonne. And there ain’t too
many who are close buddies of the President. Some folks believe Dr Grainge should
run for President himself, one day. Heh, heh, heh.
A gurgling sound issued from Leaf’s pipe. He tapped the ash onto a dahlia bed. Crocket,
who had been listening to the narrative with half-closed eyes, spotted what looked
like a lizard and sprang into the flower bed to investigate.
Coraline Lauder saw the tape had come to an end and switched off the cassette recorder.
“I could tell you some more about Dr Grainge, Professor Lauder, if you’re interested.
There was the time when . . .”
“I’d like to hear about that too, Mr Leaf,” said Coraline Lauder, and she slipped
a new tape into the recorder.
