by Ralph Cotton
“Then why are you even asking about him?” Ellis persisted.
“Randall—” Heady stopped and corrected himself. “That is, he, the man you’re talking about, befriended me,” said Heady. “Even though he had troubles of his own, he wet my back and helped me make it through those first hours after my whipping—the hours where a man can swallow his own tongue and die from the pain.” His eyes grew distant and hollow. “He was my friend. I never had a friend. But he was one. And if he’s alive I just want to know it, that’s all.”
“That’s really touching,” said Ellis, deliberately goading him, “but you don’t deserve a friend like Randall. Look at you. You’re licking the hands of the man who stole Randall’s wife. Sent men out to track him down and kill him.” Ellis shook his head slowly. “You call that being a friend?”
“You don’t know nothing,” said Heady.
Ellis saw that his words were getting to the young man, just what he’d hoped to do. Maybe if he could spark some kind of fire in Heady, he could make him snap out of the trance he seemed to be in.
“Maybe I know more than you think I know,” said Ellis. “I know a low, sniveling coward when I see one!”
Heady’s eyes grew fiery. He jumped up from the floor and sprang over to the latched door. Shaking the door violently, he shouted through a small barred panel, “Brother Searcy! Brother Edmunds! Somebody, please let me out!”
Ellis watched coolly, in spite of the pain in his maimed hand. Heady continued shaking the door until Searcy walked up, looked through the barred panel and laughed, saying, “All right, Brother, settle down. I’ll let you out.” He held up the key to the door and said, “But first, what is it you want to tell me?”
Heady gave Ellis a cold stare and said to Searcy through the door, “God is good! Father is good! God is good! Father is good!”
Ellis stared coldly back at him, unyielding, seeing tears glisten in Heady’s troubled eyes.
In the back room of the Mosely house, Randall Turner had tried to get up off the bed every hour on the hour for the past day. But he’d been too weak and unsteady to do so. Finally, with Callie’s help, he’d stood up on wobbly legs and walked about the room with his arm looped over her shoulders. “I hope we’re not doing something that’s going to make you worse,” Callie said, seeing the pallor of his face and his sunken eyes.
“I’ve got to get mended fast, ma’am,” he replied. “My wife is waiting for me.”
“I’m afraid your wife must think you’re dead, Mr. Turner,” Callie said as gently as she could.
“I know she does, ma’am. All the more reason for me to get to her, ma’am,” Randall said with determination in his strained voice. “I’ve got to let her know otherwise. She needs me.”
“But she needs you alive,” said Callie. “Don’t overdo it.” She walked him back to the bed and helped him sit down on the edge. He touched his fingertips carefully to the fresh bandage atop his head.
“Another day is all I can give it,” Randall said. “I’ve got to be over my dizziness and able to ride by tomorrow morning. That’s all there is to it.”
Callie shook her head in exasperation and said, “I’ll fix you a bowl of hot stew and some fresh bread. You lie down and take it easy. We’ll see about tomorrow when it gets here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Randall said, still sitting up limp and unsteady as she left the room.
In the other room, Callie wondered about CC Ellis as she dipped stew from an iron kettle hanging in the hearth. She filled a bowl for Randall and set it on a serving tray atop the table. She knew that Ellis should have been back by now if all had gone smoothly and Jessup had no tricks up his sleeve. With a long knife, she sliced bread from a fresh loaf she had baked earlier and laid a slice beside the bowl of stew. But for now there was nothing she could do besides wait and hope that Ellis would show up before dark and tell her things were all right.
She had just picked up the tray and headed for the back room when Dillard burst into the house, saying, “Mother! One of Jessup’s men is coming! He’s almost here!”
“Oh no!” she said. “Dillard, quickly go tell Mr. Turner to stay in the room and keep quiet!”
She hurriedly set the tray back on the table, took the bowl and poured the stew back into the pot, laid the slice of bread back into the breadbox and put the serving tray out of sight.
No sooner had she cleared things away than she heard a voice call from the front yard, “Hello the house.”
She smoothed her apron down in front and stepped into the open doorway. The big hound stepped in close beside her and growled low. “Yes, can I help you?” she called out to Brother Paul, who sat looking all about the front yard.
“Good day to you, ma’am. I’m Brother Paul Chapin, from the Community of Believers.” He raised his hat courteously and lowered it back into place. “Father Jessup sent me to make Sure all is well out here. We caught the man who has been imposing himself on you. Father said to let you know that you won’t be bothered by him again.”
“That man didn’t impose himself here, Mr. Chapin,” said Callie. “He is a family friend! A very good friend of my husband!”
As if he hadn’t heard her, Brother Paul said, “It turns out the man’s name is CC Ellis. He is one of those long riders we hear so much about these days.” He swung down from his horse and took a grass sack from behind his saddle. “But you won’t have to worry about me bothering you again, ma’am.”
Callie looked at the bag in his hand, horrified at what might be inside it. “What—what’s in that?” she asked, the expression on her face causing Brother Paul to wonder what terrible image she had conjured up in her mind.
“Why, it’s supplies, ma’am,” said Brother Paul, walking over to the porch, reaching up and setting the bag at her feet. “Father is concerned that you and the boy might be under a hardship out here, your husband being gone.”
Callie had expected something gruesome to come rolling out of the sack at her feet. She almost sighed in relief when Brother Paul pulled open the sack and showed her a modest mound of dried beans, corn meal, coffee and sugar. “Thank your Father for me, but tell him my child and I are doing well on our own, and we need no help. My husband will return most any day now.”
“If Father Jessup may say so, Mrs. Mosely,” said Brother Paul, “he feels that your husband is dead. In which case, Father cannot bear to see you and the boy do without. Indeed, he shudders at the thought of the two of you being alone out here, and he wonders if you might both be better off in Paradise, where he and the rest of us Believers can see to your needs properly.”
Callie said, “Let’s get right down to some straight talk, Brother Paul. We both know what Malcom Jessup is after…and he’s not going to get it. I know all about his wives and how he got them. I think it’s disgusting. I think he is disgusting! Now you can turn around, go back to Paradise and tell him I said so!”
But instead of Brother Paul backing off, he stepped up onto the porch, then walked past her and into the house. But he stopped inside the door, facing Tic who stood with his teeth bared and his eyes shining widely, ready to lunge. “Whoa now, big fellow,” Brother Paul said, his hand going to the gun under his coat. The bristled-up hound stood with his front paws wide apart, bracing himself, a growl rolling up from deep inside him.
“Don’t shoot my dog!” Dillard shouted, running in and throwing himself down beside Tic and looping his arms around the dog’s neck, making it impossible for Brother Paul to shoot the animal without hitting the boy. “Get out of here!” Dillard screamed at him.
“Yes, do get out of here!” Callie joined in. “How dare you come into my home without being invited!”
“I’m supposed to check this place out good for Father Jessup, ma’am,” Brother Paul said.
“Get out,” shouted Callie, “before we turn this dog loose on you!” She spoke loud enough for Randall Turner to hear her from the other room; but she prayed he would not think things were out of control and try
to come in. The shape he was in, Brother Paul could easily kill him.
Brother Paul only hesitated for a second. “All right then. Everything seems to be in order in here.” He backed away and out the door. Once he was on the porch, Tic settled down and stopped growling. “I still have to check the barn, ma’am,” Brother Paul said.
“Check the barn for what?” Callie asked, outraged. “I don’t want you here! Please leave!”
“I have to check it, ma’am, for your own safety and the boy’s.” He stepped down from the porch, up into his saddle and set his horse trotting quickly over to the barn.
Callie hurried along to catch up to him, but he was off his horse and inside the barn before she could make it to the front door.
“Unlatch this door!” she cried out, pounding the door with her fists, Brother Paul having laid the big timber latch in place from inside.
“I’ll only be a minute, Mrs. Mosely,” said Brother Paul. “Just long enough to check this horse.”
“Stay away from that horse. He doesn’t need checking,” Callie screamed. “He’s fine!”
“Uh-oh, just as I thought,” said Brother Paul. “His leg is broken.”
“What? You’re crazy! You’re lying!” Callie shouted, still pounding heavily on the big wooden door. “There’s nothing wrong with that horse’s—”
A single shot from Brother Paul’s gun silenced her. The weight of the horse falling caused the ground to jar slightly. Callie clenched her fists and shouted, “Damn you!” In her rage she turned and ran to the house for the shotgun.
But before she could get back outside with the loaded shotgun, she heard Brother Paul call out from outside the barn, “If that’s all I can do for you, I’ll take leave now. No need thanking me for taking care of the horse for you. I trust you had no plans for going anywhere, did you?”
Callie ran out on the porch for a shot at him, but only managed to get the shotgun up for an aim when she saw Brother Paul disappear out of sight around the barn. “There went our last horse,” she said aloud to herself, slumping down to the ground.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” said Randall, walking up behind her, using a fireplace poker for a cane. “I’ll bring you back some horses once I finish with Jessup and get Delphia back from him. Jessup knew what he was doing, sending that man out here. He’s starting to put pressure on you. He wants to make sure you know you’re trapped with no way to leave.”
Callie looked at Randall Turner, his face ashen, his lips trembling from being on his feet too long. “How on earth will you even get to Paradise without a horse under you?”
“I’ll be walking, ma’am,” Randall said with unwavering determination, “first thing come morning.”
“Walking to Paradise…” Callie felt tears fall from her eyes as hopelessness fell upon her shoulders like a heavy shroud. “I hope to God you get her back, Randall,” she sobbed. “And I hope to God she realizes what a good man she has in you.”
“I’m nothing, ma’am,” Randall said humbly. “But my Delphia is everything. I’ve got to get her back.” He turned and hobbled unsteadily back to the house.
From the woods along the creekbank, Brother Paul sat watching from his saddle. He smiled to himself, seeing the large bandage covering most of Randall Turner’s head, and the effort it took for him to make it up the three wooden steps and into the house.
Brother Paul waited a moment longer, deciding how to best deal with the woman’s shotgun. Then he drew the big pistol from under his coat and nudged his horse forward.
Chapter 21
Callie stood stunned for a moment when she first heard the sound of rapid hoofbeats racing across the front yard. Randall had gone on into the back room only moments earlier, and she had no doubt that by now he was asleep, the excitement having worn him down in his weakened condition. Snatching the shotgun up once again, she called out to Dillard, “Keep Tic in there with you, Dillard! Don’t come out!”
Hearing the horse’s hooves pound around the corner of the house as if circling it, Callie ran out the front door with the shotgun up in front of her.
“I’ll take that, ma’am!” Brother Paul said, stepping out from beside the front door, where he’d stood flat against the front of the house. He grabbed the shotgun from her hands with ease and pulled her against his chest. “Now kindly tell your son that if he lets that hound loose on me, I will kill it.”
“What do you want?” Callie asked, trembling in fear, but hoping to dissuade the man from coming in and killing poor Randall in his sleep.
“You know what I want!” said Brother Paul. “I saw him. Now I’m going to finish the job for Father.”
Callie cried out, “Randall, look out!” But Brother Paul’s big hand clasped over her mouth, muffling her words and the scream that followed. He shoved his way inside the front door, hearing the big hound barking fiercely beyond a closed door. He shoved Callie away from him, saying, “Remember what I said. Keep that dog away from me!”
Holding on to her shotgun, Brother Paul went to the door to Randall’s room and kicked it open, his pistol out at arm’s length, ready for the kill. But when his eyes fell upon the empty bed, then the open window, he smiled, turned and hurried back toward the front door. Running out the front door, he called back to Callie almost in glee, “He won’t get away! Not in the shape he’s in.”
Callie saw him stop abruptly just outside the doorway. He rocked back and forth on his heels making a strange gurgling sound from deep in his chest. She saw his pistol and her shotgun both fall to the porch as his big hands collapsed down to his sides.
“Oh my God!” Callie gasped, seeing him turn around toward her, with the blade of a scythe buried deep in his throat just below his Adam’s apple. Blood sprayed from around the curved blade. Brother Paul stood rigid for a moment longer, a look of shock and disbelief in his wide eyes. Then he fell facedown, his weight shoving the tip of the blade out the back of his neck.
In Brother Paul’s place stood Randall, looking unsteady, but with his arms poised, his fists clenched. Breathing hard, he looked down at the dead man. Behind him, in the yard, Brother Paul’s horse had made a complete circle around the house and come to halt at the hitch rail. Randall looked at the horse, then back at Callie.
“There’s a horse,” Randall said in a labored voice. “You and the boy take it and get as far from here as you can.”
Callie came forward, stepped over the body in the doorway and helped Randall down into a wooden porch chair. Behind her, Dillard and Tic ventured out from the other room, Dillard clutching the hound by its leather collar. The two stared at the dead man on the floor in a widening puddle of blood.
“We’re not taking the horse, Mr. Turner,” Callie said, looking closely at the bandage on Randall’s head to make sure the wound had not started bleeding.
“You’ve got to, ma’am,” Randall said, his voice sounding exhausted.
“No, I don’t have to,” said Callie. “We’ll use the horse to drag his body away. But then you’re taking the horse. Otherwise you’ll never make it to Paradise.”
Randall nodded, grateful that Callie had made the decision for him. “We’ll come back for you, ma’am. Delphia and me won’t forget about you.”
“I know you won’t, Mr. Turner,” Callie said softly.
* * *
In Reverend Jessup’s large family house, Delphia Turner stood naked in the bathing room, washing herself with a soft cloth. She had spent the night with Jessup and it seemed that no amount of soap and water could cleanse him from her skin. She stared grimly at the suds on her inner forearm, down to her wrist, and at the pale blue veins carrying her lifeblood just beneath her skin. Her thoughts frightened her, yet they offered her peace. She remained engrossed in her thoughts until behind her a kindly voice said, “There you are, Delphia.”
Turning, she saw two other wives step into the bathing room with her. They slipped off their gingham dresses and joined her. “Here, Delphia, let us help you,” said one, pulling a
wooden stool from the wall, centering it beneath the water stem, where a pull chain hung down from a large copper holding tank.
“Thank you, Anne,” Delphia replied. She sat down and cradled the beginnings of a rounding belly in her hands. “Do you suppose he will soon leave me alone, once I’ve grown large with child?”
The two women gave one another a look. “With my first child, Father stopped calling on me of a night when I reached the fourth month,” said Anne, the younger of the two. She gathered Delphia’s hair atop her head and pinned it in place. “But I was fourteen then.” She reflected for a moment. “With my other five children, I believe he continued laying with me a little longer. But since then the Lord has had him take on more wives.” She passed a faint smile to the other woman. “I get more time to myself. What about you, Lydia?”
The other woman took a thick bar of soap and the cloth from Delphia’s hand. She dipped them into a pail of warm water and began gently washing Delphia’s shoulders and back. “Father seldom pesters me anymore.” She shrugged. “I turned thirty. That is much too old for Father Jessup’s tastes.” Having spoke, she glanced around as if to make sure no one had heard her.
“I can’t bare the thought of giving birth to his child,” said Delphia.
“You’ll be all right, dear Delphia,” said Anne, also picking up a cloth and lathering it with a bar of soap. “You’ve been through a lot. But time is the healer of all wounds. You’ll soon overcome the past. Your future will be busy with your children, with joining the rest of us in making a good home for Father and all our offspring.”
Delphia felt tears well up at the thought. “I’m afraid of what I might do to myself and this baby when I’m alone,” she confessed.
“Come now. You mustn’t talk like that,” Anne coaxed, washing her breasts gently, raising her arms and washing under them. “Life will get better for you here. You have to be willing to let it.” Her hands caressed and soothed and cleansed in rhythm to her consoling voice.
While Anne attended to the front of her, Lydia hummed soft and soothingly as she washed Delphia’s back, her shoulders, her neck, in the same slow rhythm. “Yes, you must let things take their course,” Lydia said, ceasing her humming long enough to speak. “Soon Father will tire of you in this regard…the way he has the rest of us.”
