Then Came the Thunder

by Rachael Huszar

  She gave a small laugh, and looked down at the floor. “And for my, um, outburst last night and for how sharp and rude I’ve been to you, I apologize. You didn’t deserve it. Seeing how hard you’ve been working to help us figure this out . . . I have to revise my earlier sentiment. I trust you, Samuel Brooks. You’re a good soul.”

  Sam felt a crushing weight on his chest and the courage he’d been building up was steadily leaking through the cracks. “Jessalyn?”

  “Hm?” She had just set her foot on the first step.

  He had to tell her. But he couldn’t. Not after that. “Uh. Never mind. It’s nothing,” he said softly.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. It can wait.”

  “All right. Good night, Samuel.”

  “Good night.” He watched as she climbed the stairs to her room and felt his chance to come clean disappear behind the door with her.

  18

  JESSALYN WRAPPED HER FINGERS AROUND the mug of steaming coffee and let the warmth seep into her skin. The early morning air outside was already heavy with damp heat that wouldn’t dry out until the sun rose. The humidity slipped into the house through the doorframe and floorboards.

  The door to the spare room creaked open, and Samuel emerged, yawning.

  “Seems like you were the restless one last night,” said Jessalyn. Sleep hadn’t come easily for her, either, after the events and discoveries of the day before. She’d heard noises coming from downstairs well into the night.

  Samuel rubbed his hand across his cheek and brow with a groan. “I didn’t disturb you, did I?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was awake anyway. Too much to think about. Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Jessalyn took a second mug from the shelf and passed it to Samuel after filling it. He took a long sip, leaning against the kitchen table. “Are you ready for . . . whatever we’re about to do today?” he asked.

  “I suppose I am,” Jessalyn said. “I just want to know, once and for all, what’s going on. It feels like the lies are getting deeper and deeper, and I can’t stand it. If the only way to figure it out is to chase after Ebenezer, I’ll do it.” It finally felt like this was something she could do for Three Willows. Something she could give back. Maybe other women weren’t up to uncovering mysteries, but Jessalyn was. She could do it for Amos.

  “Well. There you go.” Samuel stared into his coffee mug, not offering any more.

  He hadn’t seemed his usual self after returning from the ranches, and even now, something felt different. Even after just a handful of days, she’d been growing accustomed to his half-grin and easy jokes. She’d hated them before and missed them now. Jessalyn thought back to last night, and how Samuel definitely had had something on his mind.

  “Last night,” she finally said, “it seemed like there was something you wanted to tell me? Would now be . . .” she trailed off.

  Samuel took a deep breath, and looked at her. “Jessalyn . . . I need—”

  “Sam! Miss Joy!”

  A yell came from outside, nearly loud enough to shake the windows.

  Lilah.

  Samuel set his mug down. There was a strange expression on his face, almost a combination of relief and pain. “We can put that on pause for Hurricane Lilah. Let’s go.”

  Jessalyn nodded and followed him outside.

  Lilah was astride her horse, who was stepping back and forth in the dirt, sending up puffs of dust.

  “Lilah, please,” said Jessalyn. “You’ll wake the whole town.”

  “No time to be calm, it’s worse than we thought.”

  “What are you talking about, kid?” asked Samuel.

  Lilah bent down. “I asked Gracie last night, and she told me that when Mayor Carson does these mountain trips, he usually leaves at dawn.”

  “That’s not so strange,” Jessalyn said. “It’s a full day’s travel to the summit, if he intends to go that far.”

  Lilah shook her head vigorously. “That’s not all. When he goes, Mamie Piper and Reverend Finley always go with him.”

  “All the Founders?”

  “Mm hm. They’re up to something, I just know it. If I’d come back last night, maybe we could have started earlier to head them off. But Mama was being a real warden, and this morning was the first chance I had to sneak out.”

  Jessalyn couldn’t decide whether to reprimand Lilah for defying her mother, or congratulate her. “All right,” she said. “I guess we should go get Roger.”

  “No need. I brought him.”

  As if on cue, a wheezing figure rounded the corner of the school and approached Jessalyn’s house. He stopped about ten feet from the group and doubled over, placing his hands on his knees. “I am . . . all up to speed . . . let us . . . sally forth . . .” Deep gasps punctuated his speech.

  “Catch your breath, there, Preach,” Samuel said, holding back a laugh.

  Roger looked up, his face flushed and sweaty. “I do have . . . a proper title . . . you know.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that,” said Samuel, patting Roger on the back. “Nicknames are a mark of solidarity.”

  “I don’t remember desiring any sort of fraternity with you.”

  Samuel smiled, unfazed. “Nothing left for it now. Shall we head out? Jessalyn, you’ll ride with me. Lilah, can Buccaneer take you and the right honorable, good, pure, and most true, revered Reverend Roger Shaw?”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not a problem!” said Lilah, ignoring Roger completely. She held her arm down towards him. “Up you get, Preach.”

  Roger stood up straight, setting his glasses back on his nose and giving Buccaneer an uneasy glance. “Must I?”

  “What, you gonna walk the whole way there?” said Lilah, lifting an eyebrow.

  “As someone with very little affinity for horses, I’d prefer it.”

  Lilah snorted. “You’re serious? You’re totally winded from jogging across town. I think my sister Emmy has more stamina than you. And she’s two.”

  As sorry as Jessalyn felt for Roger, the others did have a point. “Roger, time is of the essence,” she said.

  Roger heaved a weary sigh. “ ‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’ ”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Jessalyn.

  “Literally.” Samuel pointed up towards the heavens.

  Jessalyn couldn’t help but smile.

  19

  AFTER SEVERAL HOURS OF TRAVEL, they finally reached the base of the mountains. Sam had only seen them from a distance in town, and didn’t think he’d be making the journey to them so soon. The sun was past its noon zenith, and Sam could feel the heat on the back of his neck. Surely the others could, too, but no one complained.

  There was a trail of sorts, earth flattened down by previous travelers, and the path was wide enough that they could still ride side by side as they ascended. They hadn’t spoken much, all lost in their own thoughts as they rode on.

  The view of the plains they had crossed spread out beneath them. At this distance, Three Willows was still visible, but looked so small.

  Sam and Sinbad had ridden across almost half the country together, but never with another passenger before. Sam sat straighter than he usually would, acutely aware of Jessalyn behind him, her hands resting on his hips.

  Jessalyn let out a small sigh.

  “Something on your mind?” Sam asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

  “Nothing much. I just haven’t been up this way in a long time.”

  “That’s right,” Lilah said softly. “Amos really liked the mountains, didn’t he?”

  “He did. We used to come up here a lot. Not far, mind. But Amos liked being able to see out over the whole town. It made him proud, I think.”

  “I’m sure he still is. Of course,” said Roger.

  If fate was determined to be this cruel, Sa
m didn’t much like their chances of uncovering the mayor’s secrets. Sam was no believer of ghosts, but this had to be what being haunted felt like. He wished Saint Joy would just leave him be. Just for one more day. “Let’s keep going,” was all he managed to say.

  After a while, the sound of flipping pages joined the crunching steps of the horses. Roger had taken out a small notebook and was holding it close to his face, studying the pages.

  “What’re you reading back there, Preach?” asked Lilah.

  “I’m, uh, reviewing my own personal notes,” he said.

  “Notes on what?”

  Roger paused. “Hmm. I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” He cleared his throat. “One of my duties during my apprenticeship here is to converse with the people of Three Willows, outside of the church’s walls, and I’ve found myself rather taken with some of the stories and customs I’ve observed.”

  “Stories?” said Jessalyn.

  “Oh, yes. Whether myths and lore from before our time, or learned from other peoples, legends we’ve set into motion, tall tales, mere rumors, modern parables, the list goes on. And the topics are quite diverse.”

  Sam furrowed his brow. It seemed Roger’s list of passions extended beyond questionable literature. “Do all clergymen have the same eclectic taste as you, Preach? Or are you an odd duck?” he teased.

  Lilah snorted.

  “There are some,” Roger said with a huff, “such as Reverend Finley and . . . others, who attempt to construe every step I take without a Bible in my hand as some . . . blasphemous trek towards the pits of hell. I am allowed interests, Mister Brooks. And besides, it is my personal view that if we wish to attract people to the church, we cannot treat it as some . . . ivory tower. Talking to others, hearing about their beliefs and understandings, it feels much more real to me. It gives me a better picture.”

  “That’s very open minded of you, Roger,” said Jessalyn.

  “Thank you, Miss Joy.” Roger went on, “As I was saying, after seeing that skull in the mayor’s office, I couldn’t stop thinking about the designs carved into it. I felt like I’d seen them before. And it occurred to me. I had.” Roger flipped to a new page. “Around the property lines of the ranches, you often see lone posts with this particular glyph carved on them.” He leaned forward around Lilah to pass her the book. “Are you familiar, Miss Lilah?”

  “Definitely.” Lilah took the book and held it in Sam’s direction. “Remember, Sam? The good luck symbol?”

  “Sure do,” Sam said. The pages of the preacher’s notebook were covered in similar symbols and haphazardly scratched notes. “Does it mean anything to you, Roger?”

  “When asked, most of the ranchers believe it to be a mark of luck or protection. This spiral, in other cultures, often signifies wind or storms. These angled protrusions could be symbolic of wings. And the fact that we found the marks carved on some sort of bird skull . . .”

  “What are you getting at, Roger?” asked Jessalyn.

  “I’m starting to wonder if Mayor Carson might be involved in something spiritual.”

  “A spiritual bird?” Lilah asked.

  “Of that, I’m not sure. A relic, a symbol . . . it seems to be the makings of some kind of ritual, but not any I’m familiar with. Something outside of Christianity.”

  The way Roger had got there made sense, but it was still a stretch. Sam couldn’t imagine the buttoned-up mustachioed mayor dabbling in anything dangerous. “It sounds kinda farfetched,” he said.

  “Of course, it does,” said Roger. “Wholly unbelievable.”

  “But it’s still a good clue. You’ve got a sharp mind, Preach. We don’t know what to expect. Gotta be prepared for absolutely anything.” Even if his motive had been to defend Jessalyn’s honor, Roger had proved himself quite useful to their investigation.

  “Speaking of storms, don’t you think it’s been getting darker?” asked Jessalyn.

  Sam stared up at the sky. Large, angry looking clouds were starting to cover up the sun. He held up his hand. Faintly, so faintly he wasn’t sure he felt it at first, came a cold drop of water. Heck. He really was all out of luck. “Looks like we’ll be bringing home the rain.”

  “We’re about halfway,” Lilah said hopefully. “Maybe it will pass.”

  The rain came heavy and fast. Each drop made a large splash against Sam’s skin and his clothes were soaked. They drummed against the brim of his hat in an endless drone. He couldn’t tell if the vibrations he felt in his teeth were from the noise or the cold that came with it. The smell of wet rock and sage hung everywhere. The path had grown too narrow for the horses to travel side by side. Trying to press on through this would get dangerous. What they needed was some shelter. Sam squinted through the gray blur of the rain. A few thin trees swayed in the wind, their trunks straining against a large outcropping of rock. Very large. And with space underneath.

  “I don’t trust the horses on the loose dirt and mud,” he called over his shoulder so the others could hear. “Let’s take cover over at that rock for now until the worst is over.”

  “Right!” Lilah yelled back.

  Sam steered Sinbad off the mountain path and towards the rock. Sweet relief came once they were underneath the overhang, as the spattering of the rain ceased and the pouring roar softened. Sam dismounted and held out his hand to Jessalyn. Once she was on her feet, she tried sorting out her drenched skirt, without much success.

  “You holding up, Preach?” asked Lilah, as Roger gingerly slid off her horse.

  “Yes,” he said, catching his breath. “Horse travel is . . . less terrifying than I expected.”

  “Buccaneer’s a good boy. Real smart. And fast.”

  Roger eyed the horse. “May I . . . how do I . . . touch it?”

  Lilah laughed. “Like this, here.” She took his hand in hers and guided it up to Buccaneer’s neck, petting slowly.

  Sam smiled, and he heard a soft giggle next to him. “And how are you doing?” he said to Jessalyn.

  “Fine, fine. In spite of the rain, I’ve really missed the scenery up here. Seeing how tall the pine trees are getting, remembering the little hidden paths through the range. I suppose ‘nostalgic’ isn’t the right word, but still. There are a lot of pleasant memories.”

  Jessalyn looked almost wistful, the way she had sounded when talking about Amos and the mountains. Sam noticed for the first time. The tightness that used to restrain her every movement and word, it all seemed to be gone, now. Maybe memories of her husband were no longer torturing her. Maybe exploding at Sam had helped to unburden her. He wished he could feel that same peace. He wished it wouldn’t come with such a price. Just a few more moments with that smile on her face.

  Selfish. Coward.

  The words stung, as if his own thoughts had slapped him. He’d delayed and delayed again in telling her the truth, holding onto a hope that had faded with each passing day. There was never going to be a “right time” to tell her this, he knew that now. He had to tell her everything, everything he knew and had seen. She was owed that. Sam closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Jessalyn . . . while we have a moment, could we talk? There’s . . . something I have to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  Roger yelped in surprise as Buccaneer tossed his mane, causing Lilah to double over laughing.

  “Um, this way.”

  Sam led Jessalyn to the other end of their cover, out of earshot of the others. Rain fell off the edge in thin, steady streams, almost like a curtain.

  Jessalyn looked at him, concerned. “You’ve been trying to tell me something for almost a day now. It seems important.”

  It was. Oh, it was. “I’m afraid I . . . I have a confession,” he said, stumbling and halting over the right words.

  “Good thing we’re traveling with a preacher.”

  “Jessalyn, please. I need you to listen.”

  “All right, all right, I’m listening.”

  “I
t’s about Amos.”

  The levity leaked from Jessalyn’s face almost instantly. “What do you mean?”

  Sam forced himself to look her in the eye. “I . . . I knew him.”

  “Samuel. What do you mean?” Her tone was flat.

  “Back when I told you I landed in jail, north of the territory?” Sam swallowed hard. “I was recruited by the First Regiment New Mexico Volunteer Infantry.”

  Jessalyn’s eyes widened. “That was Amos’s regiment.” She shook her head. “A coincidence, it doesn’t mean you knew him—”

  “But I did, Jessalyn. I knew him very well.”

  “No,” Jessalyn insisted. “No, no. I have his letters. I’ve read all his letters, he wrote me about everyone. He never mentioned anyone named Sam.”

  “How about a man called ‘Joker’ ? He ever write you about him?”

  One look was all it took to tell him that the answer was yes, he certainly had.

  “You . . . you?” Jessalyn breathed. “You’re Joker?”

  “I was Joker. He was Saint Joy. We rarely used our real names. It was dumb.” Sam scraped the heel of his boot along the rock.

  Jessalyn gripped her left hand, hard. “So . . . were you there when he—?”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Sam answered quickly. Because this was the worst part. “Those men that fill you up with hatred? The ones that deserted at the eleventh hour? One of them was me.”

  She backed away. “No. Stop it. This is too much, why are you telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me when you met me?” Her voice sounded panicked.

  “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t connect your Amos to the Amos I knew until yesterday.”

  “How could you not—” Jessalyn trailed off, her mouth open in disbelief and anger. “How many ‘Amos Joys’ could you possibly know?”

  “You didn’t talk about him until I asked. And he . . . he never told me your name.”

  “That’s a weak answer, Samuel, and you know it.”