The preacher draped a scarf over Daisy’s neck. For the first time in hours, she was warm. Even so, she kept her eye on the open door. She wished she knew where Campbell was. Was he safe out there on the river? If only she knew.
“Roll out the prayer rug, Berniece.” The preacher took Daisy’s cold hands in his warm ones, making her tingle. Oh God, how she missed Campbell. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the RV was bathed in soft light from six pillar candles, flames sputtering from the breeze from the open door. She sat up, letting her eyes rest on the preacher. His soft brown eyes tended hers, caressed them, enveloped them, and held her captivated. The corners of his eyes crinkled with delight and softness and warmth and she smiled.
He reached for a leather-bound and worn Bible hung with colored ribbons. Like Mom’s. He reached for her hand, then trailed fingertips up and down her arm.
“I’m okay here,” she said, cautious. Mom’s preacher never made her feel like this.
“Lay the prayer rug under her feet, Marcy. We are not here to put the fear of God into you, my daughter,” the preacher cooed, “but instead to show you only wonder, peace, and gratitude. Is that all right with you?”
“Can I have a biscuit?” Daisy asked, handing over her empty bowl of soup.
“We can do this any way you want,” the preacher said with a gentle voice, a velvet voice. They rolled out a little rug near her feet. Their voices were easy, gentle on her senses.
“Our God is not an angry God,” the preacher recited, and Daisy was glad for that. Not like the minister at Mom’s church who loved that hellfire stuff. He used to make the whole congregation gasp and tremble.
“Biscuit?” Daisy asked. “Please?”
“The Lord Jesus Christ knew this full well, how deceptive and wicked men’s hearts are,” the preacher said.
“I haven’t had anything but this soup all day. Could you please hand me just one biscuit?”
The preacher frowned. “Not now. Can’t you wait five more minutes?”
“Oh gosh, I’ve waited all day. Nothing since breakfast,” she paused. “I’ll be a much better parishioner if my stomach isn’t rumbling so much.” She’d fool them.
“At the very gates of Heaven, sinners are turned away,” the preacher recited. “Seems like a simple enough request. Marcy?”
Daisy popped half of the biscuit into her mouth.
“Better now?” Marcy murmured. They surrounded her.
“Have any sins to confess, my daughter?”
“Not that I can think of.” Daisy wolfed down the rest of the biscuit.
“Everyone has sins.” Marcy patted her on the hand.
Daisy pushed back, but Marcy’s hand was stronger.
“It’s so much easier if you just confess,” Berniece murmured, patting her on the shoulder. “You’ll feel so much better.”
Daisy recoiled from their hands. People at Mom’s church knew better than to come that close. “Don’t touch me. Please, don’t touch me.”
They retracted their hands in unison, and gave each other a knowing look.
Just like the blue-rinse set at Mom’s Chapel of the Ascension.
“When God comes into your heart, it will change your life forever,” the preacher said.
“Well, you know, I’ve been down this road before. Didn’t work for me then and doesn’t really work for me now,” Daisy said.
“I told you she was a hard case, Cornelius,” Berniece huffed.
“Leave this to me,” the preacher cooed. “Feeling better, Daisy? Warm? Not so hungry anymore?”
Daisy nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Then listen for a few minutes. Can you do that? And help us, now?”
His eyes were like stars, dancing, pulling her in. How could she disappoint him? Church had certainly given Mom a lot of comfort. Maybe she’d been right after all. A little bit anyway? Would Mom have gone around the bend without them? Daisy wasn’t so sure.
“They should never have touched you,” the preacher reported.
“Damn right,” Daisy answered, standing up, her legs vibrating with tension. Mom had looked so sad when they’d taken her away.
“The Lord will protect you.”
“Protect me? Ha! That’s what they said about my mother and look what they did to her!”
“Oh dear,” Berniece muttered.
“That must’ve been terrible for you.” The preacher’s voice was soothing. “How old were you?”
“What difference does that make? The church made her crazy! They took her to the mental hospital. All she could do was mutter verses from Mark. She died last year. Hardly anyone went to her funeral. What kind of a God would take my mother away?”
“Sister,” the preacher said. “The Lord doesn’t want to hurt you. We’re just trying to save lives here.”
“Didn’t do such a good job with Mom,” Daisy declared, feeling smug. Bunch of charlatans. What the hell did they know?
“Things happen,” the preacher said, his voice honey, molten gold, beseeching her. “If you are standing on the right hand of God, you will be fine.” He took a breath. “Maybe He wanted your mom to come home.”
“I needed her.”
“Of course you did. I know how much you loved her.”
“I should never have let her get so involved.”
“The Shepherd looks over all his sheep, and he watches over your mother, and he’s watching over you too. He loves you.”
“Right. A righteous God does not take mothers from children.”
“It’s not a question we can ever answer,” the preacher replied. “My daughter, all my daughters, please, can we pray with Daisy? Give your sister here some comfort?”
Marcy and Berniece came around Daisy and, without touching her, sat with her. She could feel their heartbeats in unison with hers.
“It wasn’t your fault, Daisy. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Put your faith in the Lord, sister, and you will be watched over.”
She sniffed and closed her eyes a second. Could it be true? Not her fault? How could he be so sure? She was sure, wasn’t she? Hadn’t she tried? Hadn’t she done everything? Tried to forbid her to go to any more meetings? And still she went.
“The Lord loves you, Daisy, and forgives you,” the preacher intoned.
Somehow Daisy was on the floor. How did that happen? Forgive? Me? God forgives me? But if it wasn’t my fault, what would He forgive me for? Her knees hurt. She pushed herself up on the couch again, relieved no one kept her down. The breeze through the open door was freezing.
“Having faith doesn’t mean anything but comfort from those who love you. Through good times and bad. We will never leave you the way your mother left you,” the preacher murmured.
“Could you please close the door?”
“Let us pray for Daisy.”
“Amen.” Berniece and Marcy rejoined.
“You’re loved, my daughter. No one here wants to give you anything but love.”
Could it be true? It couldn’t be. How could she be so confused? Everything was so messed up.
“God, come and ease Daisy’s pain,” the preacher prayed.
Daisy’s eyes spilled with tears, a gasp erupting from her throat. The preacher’s hands were on hers. She held on tight. She felt as if she’d been touched by grace.
“We are here, Daisy. Marcy, Berniece, myself, God—we are all together. No one is lonely, cold, tired, or hungry anymore.”
Daisy hugged Berniece, then Marcy.
“We are all sinners. Yet we are in the family of the Lord.”
Daisy leaned her head on Berniece’s shoulder and felt her arm around her.
“Sister Daisy. Is there anything you want to ask Him?”
Daisy sat up with a start. Something was wrong. “Campbell? He’s . . . my fiancé.” She started crying again. “He’s lost. Out on the river. He was supposed to be here by three,” she said. “Oh God, you’ve got save him!”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” t
he preacher said.
Daisy sniffed. “I couldn’t stand it, if . . . if . . .”
“He’s in a cozy tent, missing you,” the preacher whispered. “I promise.” He put his hand on her knee.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Just wait and see. Don’t you trust in Him? That He is watching over Campbell just the way He is watching over you? Don’t you feel comfort?”
Daisy wanted to believe. She had to believe. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Now are you ready to make God your savior? My daughter, Daisy, we all love you. You have entered the Kingdom of Heaven and you have been saved.”
Daisy blinked back tears.
“We’re here, Daisy, watching over you, like your mother is, like Campbell is. God has brought us all together. Now, will you pray with us, Daisy? Pray for your mother’s soul. Pray for Campbell?”
“Please keep him safe,” she said, and bowed her head.
A few minutes later, she opened her eyes; the door was closed, and she felt like she was home with Mom. Comforted. Watched over. Not lonely anymore.
“Marcy, make up some of that chamomile tea. Berniece, give me a hand here, please.” The preacher wrapped a blanket around Daisy. “We thank you, God, for our new sister here. Oh dear, she is still so cold. Warm up the stove again, Berniece.”
But Daisy wasn’t listening. She was imagining she was standing on the shore, in the morning, watching Campbell come toward her, in his canoe, his hair flowing in a breeze, unsure how she was going to tell him she’d found a home with the Lord.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Monday, earlier that day on the river
E.B. AND LAURA
“You’re married?” Laura spat. E.B. had been decent, useful, kind. Of course he was married.
“I was . . . I am . . . I mean,” he mumbled, “Berniece . . . it was her idea. She walked out on me.”
Laura picked up a couple of rocks and pitched them into the river. “Same shit, different day.”
“I haven’t filed, yes, that’s true,” E.B. muttered. “Haven’t been sure. It’s been two months.”
“Save it.” Laura stared at the river, embarrassed. When would she ever learn?
“I’m not that way.”
“Right.” Hadn’t she even wondered once why he was being so kind? “Seems simple enough to me. You make googly eyes at me, you flirt with me, you kiss me, you’re married. What’s different about you? I see that shit every night, E.B.”
“Hey, wait a sec. I’m a farmer. I go to town twice a week.
Who am I supposed to flirt with, the checkers at the Park ’N’ Shop, the little old ladies at the welcome center?” He stood next to her, staring at the river, feeling her disappointment. “It’s been a long time since I kissed a woman I liked.”
“I’ve heard it all before.” From the men at the club, trying to pull her aside after a show. Those others at the stage door, leering at her. Goddamn Harry. The friggin’ thugs. She jumped up and ran down the shore. As long as she kept running, no one could tear her apart.
“Slow down.” E.B. followed her for a bit, then stopped. “I don’t think Berniece is coming back.”
Laura heard a plaintive tone in his voice she needed to ignore. She charged up a hill and scrambled over a pile of rocks. It couldn’t be true; it would never be true. No decent man, ever, now or in the future. The only men who wanted her were the unavailable kind. Or the ones who tried to force themselves on her.
E.B. leaned on the rocks, below her, poised to follow.
“Stay there,” Laura said. She needed time to think.
He waited.
“So, I’m supposed to trust you? Now? Why?”
“Laura,” E.B.’s voice echoed across empty canyons. “You have every right to be angry. Listen to my side of the story. Then judge.”
She crouched under the shade of a cottonwood tree. “This better be good.”
“Berniece and I.” He took a breath. “We’ve known each other since high school. There aren’t that many women in these parts. Our families thought it would work out. And it did, for a while. That is, until she found the Lord.”
“Don’t come any closer.” All that sweet talk. Why should she believe him?
Suddenly the leaves overhead started rustling. The wind picked up enough so that she started to worry about branches falling. She moved back toward the beach. E.B. kept his distance, which was a relief.
“I thought you were a churchgoer.” Laura turned to face him. “I knew it.”
“Was. I was. She is. Hell, she’s so involved she lives with the church.” He held very still.
“You string me along, the whole time knowing you’ll be seeing her.”
“What? I’m not seeing Berniece. What are you talking about?”
“Your wife. Yes,” Laura said. “That’s right, they said tomorrow. Coal Banks Landing—isn’t that where we’re going?” Laura would tell Stella everything, down to the same old piece-ofshit ending. The wind started to whip up waves on the river.
“Too much time in the sun and you’re delirious,” E.B. muttered. “Come on, let’s get going while we still can. We’ve got to catch up with Campbell this afternoon.”
“Tomorrow night at Coal Banks. Should be kind of cozy, don’t you think, you, me, and Berniece?”
E.B. stepped too hard into the canoe, making it wobble. “Maybe it’s not them.”
Laura climbed in and pulled back on her paddle, hard. “Think I’m making this up?”
E.B. placed both hands on the gunwales as thunder cracked opened the sky. “Jesus,” he said suddenly. “We gotta get moving.”
Laura looked at his eyes, then glanced up at the darkening sky. Wind shot down the river, making whitecaps. “We going out in that?”
“Yes! Any minute now! Get moving! Paddle hard!” Dark clouds that had been hanging over distant cliffs were now overhead, banking over the river and growing thicker all the time. “It looks like it might hail.”
Pings of water peppered the river, making circles grow.
“Faster! Faster!” he cried.
She could feel him paddling behind her, speeding up, faster and faster as she matched him stroke for stroke as he steered them into the main current, into the whitecaps. The temperature dropped about ten degrees. Her whole body shivered with the cold. She glanced at the shore as it sped by. It cooled off even more.
In a minute marsh grasses bent nearly double as gusts of wind ripped across the water. The wind shifted again, this time into their faces.
“Come on!” he shouted over the wind.
Rain was coming harder now, dampening her shirt and covering the river. “Hurry! Hail out here can kill you.”
Her hands, wet on the shaft, twisted when she took a stroke. Tightening her grip and getting down on her knees, she helped him power through another bend.
“Hole-in-the-Wall campground shouldn’t be far,” he called, his voice fading in the howling and rising wind.
Laura kept her head down and concentrated on her stroke. The boat felt like a part of her now. Heavy rain poured down the back of her neck and under the thin fabric of her shirt. Thunder rattled overhead. Lightning cracked in front of the canoe, illuminating very briefly some shelters on a bluff. The black clouds and rain came back obliterating everything. She pulled harder into a darkness, unaware of which way to go.
The canoe slammed into shore. Hail opened above them like machine-gun fire.
“Run!” E.B. shouted. “They’re some shelters up there. Run like hell!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Monday, afternoon
Hole-in-the-Wall Campground
E.B. AND LAURA
Laura charged up narrow paths overgrown with weeds while rain and hail pelted her head and shoulders, growing harder with each minute. At the top of the bluff she ducked inside a three-sided log shelter. Grateful to be under cover, she watched ice balls hit and bounce off the ground, while the rattling over her head sounded like machin
e-gun fire. Where was E.B.? She was about to head back outside to find him when she heard the sound of pounding feet cracking ice.
He was breathing hard and soaking wet when he barged in.
“I stopped to get Tucker’s stuff. Change quickly. Hypothermia’s no joke in cattle country. I’ll turn my back. The hail should be over in a minute or two.”
They stood at the open wall, staring at the storm. The wind blew up, bending little sapling trees so their tops touched the ground. Hail pummeled the clearing, blowing up splatters of mud and ice. Booms cracked overhead.
Digging into the plastic bag, Laura noticed only enough clothing for one. “E.B., you wear the clothes this time; I’m all right.”
He lifted a strip of marsh grass off her arm. “I’m used to it. This is still your turn. Go on, go change.” He stared at the forks of lightning fracturing the sky. “Hope this hail doesn’t ruin the crop,” he shouted over the din. “Last year we lost everything.”
“It’s like the sky’s splitting apart,” Laura said, mesmerized by the storm.
“Hells bells. The insurance company will double my premiums if it lasts much longer.”
Laura turned to the back of the shelter, peeled off her clothes, pulled Tucker’s stinky sweatshirt on, and hid her underwear behind one of the benches. The hoodie was as big and dry and soft as her bed at home. She searched the bag for more clothes. E.B. was still in his wet things. Now what? All she found was the old sleeping bag.
“We were lucky.” He paced back and forth across the open doorway. “Hail as big as this can dent cars and give you one hell of a headache.” As if on cue, several chunks of ice, the size of golf balls, bounced inside the shelter and came to rest at his feet. “Between the hail, the locusts, too much or too little rain, it’s a miracle we have any crops at all. And this stuff is small. I’ve seen them as big as my fist.”
“What would we have done if we hadn’t found the shelter?” Laura asked above the din.
“Crouch down in the mud with the canoe upside down on top of us and pray.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God,” she said.
“Warmer now?” he asked a second later. The rain and hail stopped. Sunlight illuminated the ground, making mist rise from the cool, wet earth.
Montana Rhapsody Page 19
