The news had circulated about the Church in the Dell outlaw-turned-preacher. Young women waved at Jeb from the library steps. He tipped his hat to them as he walked around another “Bryce for Senate” sign on the library lawn. He tucked his voting stub into his pocket and headed for the jailhouse. Out front, Deputy George Maynard gabbed with some of the boys who had come into town to vote and gossip about the state police transport of Asa Hopper.The Nazareth jail, built stone by stone by a group of town founders desperate for a place to keep offenders in the late 1800s, had seen at least two coats of paint the last fifty years. The painted brick in the alleyway had taken to peeling, revealing an old World War I advertisement that asked the locals to support the war.Jeb could see Asa pacing back and forth inside the jailhouse, one cell away from where he himself had been locked up a year ago. Someone had given Asa a pack of smokes. He lit one by another, awaiting his ride to Cummins Prison Farm—the place known by lifetime offenders as The Jungle.
