by R. R. Irvine
“It’s always the same, isn’t it?” she said as she sat down. “Men sending women out of the room. ‘For your own good,’ they tell us. ‘Or we can’t speak freely in front of you, we can’t swear.’ What do they think we are, breakable like china?”
“Women never left the room when I asked them to,” Martin said.
“My husband sent me out of the room just before he died. It was for my own good, the nurse told me later. He didn’t want me to see him suffering.” She shook her head. “It was a betrayal.”
15
“THAT’S SOME woman downstairs,” Martin said, slipping into bed beside Traveler.
Traveler moved over in the cramped bed until he was against the wall. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re paying for both rooms.”
“There’s no use dirtying the sheets and making extra work for her.”
“Let’s hope we’re not making trouble for her by just being in her house.”
“I have a feeling she can take care of herself.”
Traveler rose up on one elbow and stared at his father. “You always did like widows.”
“It’s not me she has her eyes on.”
“You’re imagining things.”
Martin shook his head. “Our luck with women had to change someday. Your luck this time.”
“Turn off the light.”
“Two wise men like us in search of a messiah need all the light they can get.”
“Kill the light.”
The moment it was dark the phone rang downstairs.
“This time of night it has to be for us,” Martin said.
A moment later Traveler heard Ruth Holcomb on the stairs. Halfway up, she called, “Mr. Traveler, a phone call for you.”
“Which one?” Martin asked.
“He says his name is Barney Chester. He’s calling from Salt Lake and asked for Moroni Traveler.”
“I’ll be right there.” Traveler climbed over the end of the bed and turned on the light. Since he hadn’t brought either pajamas or a robe, he slipped on yesterday’s jeans and shirt and went downstairs barefooted.
Ruth, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and a freshly scrubbed look, showed him to the phone on the kitchen wall next to the sink before returning to her sofa bed. She caught him admiring her bare calves before he picked up the receiver and said, “Is something wrong, Barney?”
“You’re damn right. Bill and Charlie are driving me crazy.”
“I’m three hundred miles away,” Traveler reminded him.
“They said you gave them the money, Mo. They bought one of those backyard wading pools, brought it into my lobby and inflated the damned thing.”
“That was eating money I gave them.”
“The next thing I knew, they filled it with water and started dunking themselves. One baptism for each of their dead relatives, or so they said. I think they’d been smoking some of Charlie’s medicine, because they’d stripped naked and the water was ice cold.”
Traveler sighed. “How did you know where to find me, Barney?”
“I got the marshal’s office from information. He gave me this number.”
“This is a private residence,” Traveler said, glancing at Ruth apologetically. He was sorry to see that those firm legs of hers were now covered by a comforter.
Chester said, “They slopped so much water around that I slipped on the floor and damn near killed myself when I tried to throw them out. Nephi Bates called the cops, figuring I was dead, then tried to get Bill and Charlie arrested for sacrilege.”
“You must have hit your head, Barney, because there’s nothing I can do from here.”
“I have few enough tenants in my building as it is. If I lose any more, I won’t be able to pay the taxes.”
“All right. Put them on the phone and I’ll talk to them.”
“You’re right, Mo. That’s what I should have done. But I was in pain. I wasn’t thinking straight when I let them go. My head’s still throbbing.”
Traveler stretched the phone cord to its limit to sit at the kitchen table. There, he was out of Ruth’s line of sight, though he could still see her reflection in the glass panel of a pioneer breakfront. She was sitting up against the back of the sofa, arms folded across her breasts, the picture of impatience. “Barney, I can hear it coming like a freight train. What did you do?”
“It’s their own fault, Moroni. They ran out of relatives to baptize, and that’s when Charlie said they ought to go on a mission to Indian reservations. There, he said, they’d find plenty of souls in need of raising. So I gave them the money to make the trip.”
“Where, Barney?”
“That’s why I’m calling you this time of night. I couldn’t send them to the middle of nowhere, could I?”
Traveler groaned.
“You’ve got to understand, Mo. I had to get them out of here. Even then, it took me and Nephi an hour to mop the floor after we got that damned pool drained and deflated.”
“Answer the question, Barney.”
“You’re in Fire Creek, right? Southern Utah. A prime area for Indian sites, Charlie says.”
“Charlie’s a Navajo in case you haven’t noticed. The nearest reservation here is Shivwits.”
“He says there are souls all over that area in need of raising and that you and Martin are destined to help them.”
“We’re working, Barney.”
“They’re on the bus right now. It arrives in St. George at midnight.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Traveler covered the receiver with his hand. “Mrs. Holcomb, how long will it take me to drive to St. George at this time of night?”
“Four or five hours, at least, maybe six. Myself, I wouldn’t try it in the dark.”
Traveler relayed the information to Chester.
“Sorry, Moroni. I didn’t know you were with a woman.”
“Do they have enough money for a hotel?”
“The pool took everything they had, Bill told me. I bought them a couple of sandwiches for the trip and gave them ten bucks spending money, but that’s all I could manage other than the bus tickets.”
Traveler checked the kitchen clock. It was closer to eleven than ten. “I can’t be in St. George before dawn.”
“They’ll wait in the depot until you get there.”
“Can you imagine Bill and Charlie in small-town Utah?” Traveler said. “Chances are they’ll get themselves tarred and feathered.”
“St. George has grown. California money has come in.”
“What were they wearing?”
“The usual. Bill in his robe and Charlie in his disciple outfit.”
Which translated as a buckskin shirt, jeans, a cowboy hat and boots, and a medicine bag bulging with Charlie’s own spiritual mixture. Martin claimed it was mostly tobacco spiked with marijuana and peyote. Whatever it was, Traveler had hallucinated for hours following an accidental sip of Charlie’s so-called mulled wine.
“What about the sandwich boards?” Traveler asked.
“Give me some credit, Mo. I locked them up for safekeeping. I hope you’re not mad at me.”
“You wouldn’t want me to lie, would you?”
“Okay, Mo. I got pissed off and lost my head. But we can’t leave Bill and Charlie stranded.”
“We?”
“You’re closer to St. George than I am.”
“That’s the first sense you’ve made,” Traveler said and hung up.
Ruth appeared in the kitchen doorway. “If you’re going to make that drive, I’d better fix you some strong Postum.”
Mormon coffee, Traveler thought, but kept it to himself. The Word of Wisdom: no caffeine, no tobacco, but no mention of wife count.
“That’ll be fine,” he said and went upstairs to get dressed.
When Martin heard the reason for Chester’s call, he offered to make the drive himself. “While I’m gone,” he added, “you’d have some time alone with the widow Holcomb.”
“Your night vision isn’t what it used to be.”
“My eyes are good enough to spot a good-looking woman. I hope you’ve noticed those legs of hers.”
Traveler concentrated on his shoelaces.
“Rounded calves,” Martin rhapsodized, “heavy but not fat, with trim ankles. Imagine them wrapped around you.”
“That’s not going to make sleeping any easier. Besides, I thought you liked bony women.”
“That’s your hang-up, not mine.”
“Kary was stick thin.”
“And what about your last girlfriend, Claire.”
“She wasn’t bony when I met her.”
“So tell Ruth you need a navigator and take her with you to St. George.”
“Some date that would be, taking her to meet Bill and Charlie.”
“Take my advice,” Martin said. “As soon as you get to St. George, buy them bus tickets and send them back to Barney.”
“I think Barney’s at the end of his rope.”
“You can’t bring them here, not while we’re working.”
“I’ll call you from St. George,” Traveler said.
“Postum’s ready,” Ruth called from the bottom of the stairs.
Martin got out of bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and headed for the stairs, “Not to worry. I’ll keep the widow company while you’re gone.”
16
BRIGHAM YOUNG ordered St. George colonized in 1861 as a southern outpost against invasion from California. Still fresh in his mind was the religious persecution and murder that had driven him and his people out of Nauvoo, Illinois, sending them on a forced march across the continent in 1847. What he hadn’t counted on in St. George was the building of the interstate a century later, and with it a flood of cash-rich Californians in search of condominiums and a mild winter climate.
But these days, tourists migrated farther north in August. As for Traveler, he started sweating the moment the sun rose. Too much truck-stop coffee and no sleep made his hand shake as he switched on the Jeep’s air conditioner. He cruised the streets looking for the bus terminal. What he found eventually was a drop-off point in front of the Ramada, with only a bus bench to mark the spot. The bench was occupied by a uniformed doorman reading a newspaper. At Traveler’s approach, he folded his paper and stood up to open the door.
Traveler waved him back to his seat. “I’m looking for a couple of friends who were dropped off here last night.”
“The Salt Lake bus?”
Traveler nodded.
“I wasn’t on duty myself, but I heard about it from one of the cops who cruise by here late every night for a look-see.”
Traveler swallowed a groan.
“You have to understand. This is a bus stop only, an accommodation. If people don’t want to stay at the hotel, we encourage them to move on.”
“Where did my friends move to?”
Deliberately, the man raised his wrist to peer at his watch. Traveler recognized the request and handed him a five-dollar bill.
“After they left here, they were picked up in the local cemetery, the cop told me. Skunk drunk, he said.”
“Where are they now?”
“Where else, jail.”
******
The duty sergeant at the police building smiled politely. “Bail has been set at twelve hundred and fifty dollars apiece. They didn’t look like the kind who’d have friends or it would have been higher.”
“What have they been charged with?” Traveler asked.
The policeman’s smile broadened. “Bail would have to be in cash, you understand, no checks.”
“Is there a bail bondsman in town?”
“Not one who’d touch those two.”
“You still haven’t told me the charge.”
“For twenty-five hundred you can take them away and not come back. It would be better that way, actually. If we have to go to trial, the newspaper will raise hell about desecrating the cemetery. If that happens, who knows what kind of sentence they might get. People get pretty damned upset having their ancestors pissed on.”
“Bill and Charlie aren’t that crazy.”
The sergeant shrugged. “That’s what the report says. Also they were in possession of an illegal substance.”
“Peyote is legal for Indians.”
“The big guy says he’s some kind of prophet. We get too many of them around here as it is.”
Traveler clenched his teeth. The banks didn’t open for another two hours. Even when they did, he wasn’t certain he had leeway enough on his credit cards to raise twenty-five hundred. If necessary, he’d use the church card that Josiah Ellsworth had provided.
“I’d like to speak with them,” he said.
“Normally I’d say no at this time of the morning, but I know your name and figure you’re good for the money. I don’t want you to think we’re a bunch of rednecks when you see your friends. They got banged up resisting arrest, pure and simple.”
Viewed through the bars of the cell, Bill had one eye swollen shut and two fingers of his right hand taped together in a makeshift splint. One sleeve of his prophet’s robe hung in shreds, the other was missing entirely. Charlie looked untouched except for his missing medicine bag.
“We were baptizing the dead,” Bill said as soon as the duty sergeant moved out of earshot.
“By pissing on them?”
“It was only beer, Moroni. I swear it.”
Traveler looked to Charlie, who nodded. “Right out of the bottle, no kidneys involved.”
“We didn’t have any sacramental wine,” Bill said. “So I blessed the beer. An impromptu baptism in God’s name, what’s the harm in that?”
“They want twenty-five hundred for the two of you.”
“Not to worry, Mo,” Bill said. “Our religious freedom is at stake. They won’t dare bring us to trial.”
“You should have waited for me at the bus stop.”
“They ran us off.”
“All the way to the cemetery?” Traveler said.
“We had money enough for a couple of beers. After that . . .” Bill shrugged.
Charlie said, “We were looking for a place to sleep. How were we to know they patrolled the cemetery.”
“As soon as the banks open, I’ll get some money,” Traveler said. “After that, I’m putting you on the next bus back to Salt Lake.”
Bill shook his head. “Charlie and I have been talking. He must visit his ancestors, he says. He must go back to the reservation. He must seek his roots.”
“And you, Bill?”
Bill looked at Charlie who folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
“In the end,” Bill said, “we must all make such journeys alone. Until he reaches his destination, I will stay with him, making certain that God provides.”
“I’m the one doing the providing,” Traveler said.
“God is working through you, Moroni.”
“Where will you go if I bail you out?”
Charlie opened his eyes. “Eventually the Navajo reservation over in San Juan County.”
“That’s on the other side of the state.”
“For now, we will go with you to the Shivwits reservation near Fire Creek.”
Traveler stepped back from the bars. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’m going to need a new robe for the trip,” Bill called after him.
Traveler used a pay phone outside the police station to call Ruth Holcomb’s number, apologizing immediately for waking her so early.
“We’ve been up for hours,” she said. “Martin and I had breakfast, then went for a walk while it was still cool.”
“Could I speak with him, please.”
“He’s gone off with Jason Thurgood.”
“What?”
“Relax, Mr. Traveler. If you’re worried about your father running into trouble, don’t.”
“I should be there backing him up.”
“Being with Jason is as good as having an armed escort around here,” Ruth said.
“Jason heard you were in town asking questions about him, and no, I wasn’t the one who told him. So he dropped by to supply the answers, as he put it. He and your father got along so well, Martin took him up on the offer to visit a sick shepherd up in the hills.”
Traveler didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do except make threats. “If you see Thurgood, tell him I’m holding him personally responsible for my father’s safety.”
“I’m sure he knows that already,” Ruth said, “what with word about you all over town.”
“When my father gets back, tell him that I’m going to stop off in Parowan.”
“To see Karl Cederlof?”
Traveler sighed. “Yes.”
“Moroni’s Children ran him out of town when they decided to squat on his land.”
“What else should I know?”
“That you’ll have to hurry if you want to get back here by dinnertime. I’m making one of your father’s favorites, pineapple upside-down cake. By the way, I took a call for you. Someone named Tanner. He said he was a friend of yours and told me to tell you that he’d call again.”
“I asked him to leave a message.”
“I offered to take one, but he said what he had to say was too complicated and, to use his words, ‘strictly confidential.’ ”
17
FROM ST. George, with Bill and Charlie smelling of disinfectant as they slept in the backseat, Traveler headed north on I-15, backtracking through Cedar City to the old highway, 143. There he turned east to Parowan, seat of Iron County, which was tucked against the base of the Hurricane Cliffs.
Known as the Mother of the South, Parowan stood at the edge of the Dixie National Forest, at an altitude of six thousand feet. It looked too small to be a county seat. The population, according to the city limits sign, was 1,836. Traveler figured 1,500 was more like it.
Karl Cederlof lived behind a chain-link fence topped by rolled razor wire. Traveler parked well back from a gate that was secured with a heavy chain and padlock. Sunk into concrete next to the gate was a six-inch iron post, curved at the top to hold a brass bell.
The house was like everything else in town, built of pink adobe reaped from the red soil. A good-size screened porch had been added, along with iron grilles that covered the two front windows and a sturdy-looking metal storm door. Bill and Charlie woke up the moment Traveler opened the car door.
