“Praise the Lord!” added Covey and closed the Bible with a heavy thump. “Now then, Fred, lead us in song.”
Amelia heard the choked gasp behind her. She could feel the struggle that cut off the panting breath. Waiting was unbearable.
“You, Fred!” The command jerked a cry from the shadows. A memory flashed across Amelia’s mind. Sid Green lashing his half-crazed horse, which had fallen in the ditch—Tom grabbing the whip and knocking Sid down.
Then a strained voice began to quiver. It missed several beats at first but gathered strength until Amelia knew it was a boy behind her, singing. In a moment, from Covey’s twisted mouth there came uneven, off-key notes, then Lucy’s reed-like treble sounded. From the shadows the music picked up, strange and wild and haunting. At first Amelia thought this was an unfamiliar chant, then she recognized the rolling words:
“O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeem’s praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace.”
When the music died away Covey fell on his knees, his face lifted beside the oil lamp. His words poured forth with a passion and fervor which pounded like hammers in the stifling gloom. He groveled in shameless nakedness, turning all the hideousness of his fear upon their bowed heads. Then he rose, face shining and picking up a heavy, many-pronged cowhide from the corner, drove the shuffling figures out into the gray morning. Amelia remembered the cold: she had shivered in the hallway.
The only slave left to help her sister was a slow, silent creature who now moved toward the kitchen.