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This jar was created by one such holy man as a vessel to capture and hold the demons that filled the land.” He lifted the lid of the urn and gazed into its dark interior. “ It ’ s empty now — either the demons have escaped over the years, or it was never used. But you can tell by the symbols that it must be a s a cred relic.”
    Mollie was more skeptical. “ If this was created in ancient Egypt or Sumeria, that was many years before Christ died for our sins. How could it carry the symbol of the Cross?”
    The man regarded Mollie with no small amount of annoyance. “ And what is it, ma ’ am, that a prophet does ? Why, he proph e sies ! He knows the future. Wouldn ’ t God ’ s chosen know about the impending arrival of God ’ s son?” He turned back to Jerome. “ If you are a preacher, and if you are truly guided by the Holy Spirit, then you must already know how to cast out demons.”
    In fact, Jerome didn ’ t, though he ’ d always thought about it.
    “ Any preacher can cast out demons,” the man continued. “ But then what? They are freed from one host and sent to wander the world, where they continue to wreak havoc. With this urn, ho w ever”— the man patted the rough clay surface —“ you not only withdraw demons from the possessed, you will also imprison them, seal them in this jar, where they can cause no further harm.”
    The man sounded tired and disappointed. “ To be honest, I have no use for this relic. I am not a holy man.” With a smile he extended it toward Jerome. “ Take this as my gift. It is better off in your hands, since you can do God ’ s work with it.” Suddenly embarrassed or shy, the stranger added, “ However, if you could spare some coins, I need to buy passage back home. Thieves in Constantinople took my last money, and I have had to beg my way, working for passage across the sea, on riverboats down the Ohio, then across country, finally to here. My mother has co n sumption, you see. I am trying to get home so I can be with her before she dies.”
    Jerome felt the earnestness in the man ’ s voice, and he knew how much good work he could do with this demon jar.
    “ Whatever you think the jar is worth…” The man left the idea hanging.
    Mollie shot her husband a sharp glare as Jerome opened his money-pouch and withdrew far more coins than they could spare. Jerome was sure, though, that once he began casting out demons, grateful parishioners would quickly contribute to the offering plate.
    “ How do I use it?” Jerome asked.
    The man regarded him earnestly. “ You ’ ll know. God will show you.”
     
    Late at night, under a buttery-yellow moon, Mollie found J e rome within the framework structure of the nearly completed church. The glass windowpanes had not yet been installed, but the walls were finished and the roof partially covered. The smell of mingled sawdust and sweat hung in the air, aromas of sweet pine and devoted labor. For the past month, people volunteered their time, several days a week, to finish the great work.
    In the large window opening that would soon be filled with beautiful stained glass panels shipped all the way from Chicago, Mollie could look down the hillside to the silver-lit fields and the small cluster of new buildings, the embryo of the town that he r husband had coaxed into existence.
    The altar was completed first, covered with an embroidered, lace-edged cloth — a gift from three farmers ’ wives who had worked their fingers sore to finish it. In the center of the altar lay the large old Bible next to the pale demon jar. Jerome had held regular services here as soon as the framework was erected, and he had packed away his tattered old revival tent for good. He e x pected his brother Clancy to bring their parents any time now.
    Now he knelt before the altar i n the dark. Unlit candles stood in freshly lathed wooden stands. As Mollie entered the skeletal church, her soft step creaked the new-laid pine floorboards, but he did