Sanctuary Among Strangers

by Josie Finch

  Joseph's heart jumped in his throat and he shrank back into the shadows, fist clenched around the dull metal of his pistol.

  But the deputy grunted, crossed his legs again on the back of the chair, and settled down. On the third snore, Joseph rushed toward the door.

  He held his breath against the cold as he slipped out, closing the door behind him. He kept his pistol clenched in his grip at his side as he walked steadily down the block. His eyes had to adjust to the outside darkness—there were still a couple hours left before first light of the day. The silence that followed his footsteps was unnerving. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he anticipated the jailhouse door clamoring open at any moment. But there was no sound, no commotion. There was also no other sounds typical of town—no stray alley cats, no bustle of early morning chores. Just the cold, quiet winter and Joseph walked on. He couldn’t believe he had just broken a man out of jail by walking out the front door.

  As Joseph made it closer to the mercantile, he holstered his six shooter and picked up his pace. The back alley was dark, but when he broke away from the last house, the night sky opened up above, filled with bright stars and moonlight.

  Joseph couldn’t see the cluster of trees across the field but he knew they were out there. He chanced one last look behind him, seeing nothing but the sleeping town. He ran out into the field.

  Moving his muscles after hours of being tense and nervous felt amazing. The cold was a relief as Joseph could feel the sweat on his brow.

  There was not much snow in the field. Dead grass crinkled under his footfalls and Joseph said another prayer of gratitude that they would not be leaving behind many obvious footprints that could be followed.

  As his eyes continued to adjust to the night, Joseph felt relief when the details of the grove of trees became clearer in his sight. He made Warren’s outline among the thicket. He was leaning against the trunk of a bent tree. Joseph could see the puffs of smoke from his breath. Warren held Belle’s reins in one hand and was petting her neck with the other. Warren looked up when he heard Joseph’s footsteps approaching.

  Joseph wasn’t sure what proper etiquette was for greeting someone you had just broken out of jail. But he found his words flowed easily, as though they were already old friends.

  “I think she likes you,” Joseph said in way of greeting.

  Warren smiled, but in his exhaustion it looked more like a grimace. “She did a good job. Was there any trouble?”

  “No. I don’t think anyone will follow us. But we should get going. If anyone does follow us, they’ll be able to track some prints until we get to the road. The sooner we get out of here the better.” Joseph let the concern show on his face. “But you don’t look so well. I think you are more severely hurt than you are letting on.”

  Warren shook his head, finally catching his breath. “I’ll be okay. The ride was a little… bumpy. I went too fast because I was nervous. But I’ll be fine.”

  Joseph thought a moment then turned to his saddlebag. He procured the food he had left, wrapped in the cheesecloth, and presented it to Warren. “It’s not much, but you should eat this.”

  “You’ve already given me so much, I can’t—”

  Joseph held the parcel up and dropped it, forcing Warren to catch it. Joseph added playfully, “I almost gave you my horse, never to be seen, ever again. I am much more prepared to depart from my leftovers. Besides,” Joseph tapped the bridge of his own nose to illustrate his point, “You need it to heal up.”

  Warren’s look of gratitude pierced through the moonlight. He carefully unwrapped the parcel and leaned back against the tree to eat. Watching Warren eat so ravenously made Joseph’s mind flash to obscene thoughts, so he took a step back and turned to look over the field.

  The night was full of glittering stars, reflected in the shimmer over the dead grass and decayed leaves that were frosted in the early morning.

  Joseph had enough sense to realize there was something Warren hadn’t told him yet. Joseph wanted to earn the trust Warren would need to tell him the truth. Whatever it was, it was something important. Joseph felt that much. He was also touched by the lengths Warren was going through to help his family. Dropping everything to rescue his sister’s baby and raise the child himself was an honorable endeavor. Joseph did believe that part of the story, and it made him want to help Warren even more.

  Joseph sighed inwardly. There was also the spark of physical attraction. In Joseph’s experience, that never helped any situation. Joseph knew he would need a lot of patience, trust, and faith to make the right decisions. He hoped he would be strong enough.

  Warren’s voice brought Joseph out of his thoughts and he turned toward him in the moonlight.

  “Thank you again. For everything,” Warren said.

  “If I can be honest… You’re helping me as much as I’m helping you,” Joseph said. Before Warren could ask for any further details, he continued, “We should get out of here. We’ve been awfully lucky tonight.” Joseph took the empty cheesecloth from Warren and pocketed it. “We might be in for a rough journey to Cunard. We’ll go as fast as we can and scavenge for some food along the way. We’ll rest for a while this morning at a homestead—two miles up then about four miles north off the trail. I don’t think anyone will think to follow us there.” Joseph sighed. “And even if they did think to follow us there, few would volunteer to make the trip.”

  “I trust you,” Warren answered simply.

  Despite the cold, Joseph felt warmth flourish over his body. He shifted and continued. “You can ride. We won’t go much faster than a walking pace. I’ll lead Belle in case she gets ancy.”

  Warren didn’t argue, but he didn’t look very enthusiastic to get back in the saddle. Joseph held the reins as Warren mounted, and Joseph saw just how obtuse and stiff his movements were. Joseph could see there was an injury that Warren wasn’t telling him about. Even though he barely knew this man, Joseph felt very defensive toward him and vengeful toward the ones who hurt him.

  When Warren was settled in well enough, Joseph moved around and loosened a blanket from the roll on his saddle.

  “I’ll be warm moving, but you’ll be colder up there. This should help.”

  Joseph could see the glint of Warren’s grin in the moonlight as he took the offering.

  “Your horse, your food, and now a blanket. Have you given me everything but your heart?”

  “It’s yours,” Joseph said, realizing only a moment later he had spoken his words out loud.

  “I can only offer you my own in exchange to repay you,” Warren answered as he wrapped the blanket over his head and around his shoulders.

  Joseph kept his mouth shut before he could say anything else. The comment had been innocent enough, and he intended to keep things that way.

  He grabbed the reins and set a steady course toward the run down road out of town. At that moment Joseph knew he was leaving behind much more than just White Spring and his circuit as a traveling pastor. The life he had been living was over, and these were his first steps in a new one.

  Chapter Five

  Warren wasn’t the best on horseback even when he wasn’t nine months great with child. Pastor Ellis didn’t say anything about how poorly Warren was riding, but he was keeping a slow pace on his behalf. This made Warren nervous about getting caught but the pastor didn’t seem worried.

  They were criminals on the run and still Pastor Ellis had offered him his heart on top of his blanket. If Warren hadn’t know any better he would think the pastor really was part angel to be so kind to a stranger. That or there was something mutual in the feeling Warren was having toward the other man. Even though with the throbbing pain in his face, the cold, and his worry about if the baby was going to be all right, Warren couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that there might be.

  Warren shook his head to clear it and forced himself to focus on staying in the saddle as the slow miles of cold ground passed beneath them.

  After a tim
e, a pale strip of light heralded the new day on the horizon. But instead of bringing Warren relief, the sunrise brought dread.

  “It’ll be easier to track us in the daylight,” Warren commented warily.

  Pastor Ellis glanced up. They hadn’t been talking on the journey, and he seemed happy Warren had said something.

  “I’m not concerned,” he answered lightly. “I know White Spring in the winter. Everyone sleeps in. Sheriff said he’d be in by nine, but it won’t be a minute before noon, I’d bet on it.”

  Warren couldn’t be certain if Pastor Ellis was just saying all this to make him feel better. But he spoke with a certainty that very few could fake. Though if anyone could fake certainty, a pastor topped the list.

  “Besides,” Pastor Ellis added gently, “We're almost there.”

  The reassuring tone made Warren relax. This man certainly had a good voice for a pastor. Gentle, steady, and soothing. Warren imagined that Pastor Ellis was not the most comfortable giving sermons but would captivate the congregation all the same. Being a circuit pastor, Warren surmised Pastor Ellis was best one on one. He had likely had turned bedsides and kitchen tables into altars as he guided scattered souls across the plains one at a time. He was a strong man and certainly capable of leading. Warren wondered why Pastor Ellis had not settled down to peach in a small town. Warren couldn't be sure, but from what he could, tell Pastor Ellis was not a new traveler. His saddle set up with all the necessary supplies and the way he knew the trails, Warren surmised the pastor had likely been alone for a long while.

  In that moment, Warren realized he didn’t even know Pastor Ellis’s first name. After all they had been through, Warren couldn’t just keep calling him Pastor Ellis. Besides, that sounded far too formal for someone so caring and non-judgmental.

  But before he could ask, a dilapidated homestead came into view. Something about the lavender in the sunrise made Warren think perhaps he had succumbed to his exhaustion and was dreaming. The house and outbuildings were ragged and crumbling, but that only served to make the homestead look a little magical and otherworldly.

  As they got closer, Warren could see several small chickens skittering about the yard. A rain barrel sat near the house and someone had painted Black-eyed Susan’s onto the side of it. The once bright canary yellow had faded and crackled, but the image still caught Warren’s eye like a glint of hope in the bareness of winter.

  Pastor Ellis slowed his mare to a halt and she shook her fringe of mane from her eyes.

  “So,” Warren ventured, “this is our sanctuary, then?”

  “Yes,” Pastor Ellis answered.

  “No offense, but… why exactly will no one think to follow us here?”

  “Well,” the Pastor sighed, “Everyone in the surrounding towns are convinced a witch and warlock live here. Story goes, anyone that travels this vein of the trail to White Spring dies within days from being cursed.” The lilt in his voice was satirically serious, like he was telling a ghost story to a child. “The people that live here practice black magic and dance naked in the moonlight.”

  Warren pulled the blanket from his head and draped it down his shoulders. “Still sound like better people than deputy sunshine back there in White Spring.”

  “Yes.” Pastor Ellis gave another sad sigh and his voice returned to his usual demeanor. “The people who live on this homestead are just a very old, isolated couple.” He took the blanket from Warren, folded it and strapped it back on place on his saddle. “Leta and Vann Anderson. They’re in their nineties, at least. I check in on them when I ride through.” He shrugged. “True enough, they don’t care for the Bible much, but they always give me a place to sleep.” Pastor Ellis gestured. “Shall we?”

  Warren nodded. They didn’t have a choice. But he trusted the pastor.

  Warren shifted his weight to his right to dismount from the saddle but before his left foot met the ground, a pain shot through the leg that was supporting his weight. Between the tension he had been holding over the long ride and the fact he wasn’t used to being pregnant, his muscles weren’t working the way he was used to. Fortunately Pastor Ellis was standing close by and managed to catch Warren as his leg buckled and he stumbled. Warren caught Pastor Ellis’s hand in his but still couldn’t catch his balance. The pastor’s arm wrapped around Warren’s body strong enough to steady him while still being gentle. Surely Pastor Ellis was keeping in mind the idea that highwaymen had beat Warren up and he was in pain. But in the stumble, the oversized coat Warren was wearing came open and the pastor grabbed Warren’s waist beneath it. There was no way Warren could hide the swell of his abdomen. Warren felt the pastor’s hand pause just under his stretched navel, below a tear in his shirt, before Warren could step away. Warren caught the concern in the pastor’s eyes as their gazes locked.

  Pastor Ellis’s lips parted, but just as quickly he closed his mouth. Warren knew Pastor Ellis had noticed his swollen stomach, but he wasn’t going to make Warren explain. For that Warren felt extreme gratitude.

  Fortunately, the moment was interrupted by a creak as the front door on the dilapidated house swung open.

  An old woman stepped from the doorway. She held a cane made from a tall, gnarled branch—a precious sort of thing to find on the prairie. At first Warren thought it was a walking stick but he saw she wasn’t using it to lean her weight on. Instead she was using it to shoo away chickens in her path and feel out the ground before her.

  Pastor Ellis approached her and she turned her ear toward the sound of his soft footsteps.

  “Leta,” Pastor Ellis said as he met her. He held her one small, wrinkled hand in two of his steady ones.

  “Oh, pastor,” she said. “Good morning. I see you’ve brought company.”

  Pastor Ellis was speechless for a moment and looked back toward Warren, frowning. He turned back to the old woman.

  “Well, yes, I have. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “We don’t mind.” She called over her shoulder. “Father! Git out here!”

  An old man shuffled out of the house. He had a long beard, wiry limbs, and kept one hand deep in a sagging vest pocket.

  “Yes, Mother, what’re you on about?”

  “Father, look, the pastor’s arrived, here. And over there he brought with him a man and a little girl. I can see them.”

  “Mother, you haven’t seen anything since 1854. It’s a man and a horse.”

  “I know the difference ‘tween a person and a horse,” she bantered back. “I heard the horse. I saw the man and the girl.”

  The old man scowled. "Oh, mother. You're blinder than a bat on a new moon. It’s two men. The pastor… and a young ‘un in an ugly coat.”

  Warren didn’t know how Leta knew there was, in fact, a little girl traveling with them—she just hadn’t been born yet. Regardless, he didn’t need any more attention brought to it than had already come about. He took the comment about his coat and went with it.

  “It’s ugly, but it’s warm,” Warren said lightly, hoping to sound friendly as he joined the others. “My name’s Warren, and Pastor Ellis is helping me out for a little while. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Leta turned toward his voice. “Warren. I knew a Warren, in the country school. Always first to sign my dance card but he married Bertha Pumpernell.”

  “Mother, you’re 102 years this spring. Anyone you knew in school is long gone. Ain’t no pastor gon’ sign your dance card. And yer too old for the other one.”

  “I’ll try the horse, then,” she huffed.

  The old man waved his hand and muttered under his breath as he shuffled out to the yard.

  Leta ignored him and patted Pastor Ellis’s shoulder. “Haven’t gathered the eggs for breakfast yet.”

  “You needn’t worry about that, but, I hope it’s not imposing to ask that we need a place to sleep. We’ve been riding all night.”

  “Of course, child. Your stall is always open.” She gave a toothless grin. “And full of fresh straw.”

  Warr
en glanced to the barn. He had to admit sleeping on straw in a barn with Pastor Ellis was far better than sleeping alone in a jail cell.

  Or alone anywhere else for that matter, Warren thought before he could stop himself.

  Warren sighed inwardly. He wondered if there was anything he could do to stop such thoughts from entering his mind. The man he was lusting after was a pastor after all.

  The old man rounded the corner of the house sprinkling chicken feed from a bucket.

  “Cats will be happy you’re here,” the old man muttered to Warren as he shuffled by. Warren didn’t ask why.

  Pastor Ellis had retrieved his mare and Warren followed as he led her to the barn.

  As they walked away, Warren chanced a look over his shoulder to see Leta. He focused until he was sure he saw it—the shimmer that only angels had. Though it was faint, Leta had it. Warren could tell she was only a very small part angel. Perhaps her great-grandmother or great-grandfather had been full Fallen angel. She likely never knew anything about the traces of angelic blood that coursed through her veins. But Warren knew that was why Leta could see him and Leona-Pearl even though she was blind—she could sense the parts of them that were angelic.

  Knowing this brought him comfort. He took it as a sign that he and Pastor Ellis were on the right path.

  *

  When Warren woke up he was warm, sunk into a pile of straw with a blanket and three cats on top of him.

  Warren barely remembered coming into the barn. Flashes of getting the mare set up in the stall, hanging the tack, and feeding her sparked in his mind. Pastor Ellis had set out the single bedroll so they both had enough to keep them covered. Pastor Ellis had hung his coat up but Warren wrapped his protectively around him to sleep in. Warren had wanted to lay awake and enjoy the warmth and comfort of sleeping next to another person—albeit while covered in hay and cats. But he had been too exhausted and had fallen asleep immediately.

  When Warren woke up, he saw Pastor Ellis’s coat was gone from the hook where he had hung it next to Belle’s bridle. Bright sunlight shined through the one window in the barn wall.