The Blessed and the Damned (Righteous Series #4)

by Michael Wallace

  Krantz shrugged, but couldn’t quite disguise the pain that crossed his face. “Someone had to take the fall.”

  “What about Fayer?” Jacob asked. Agent Fayer was walking back by herself to the black cars that lined the road.

  “Demoted. Thirty days’ suspension. She still has her job, though. Technically, I made the call. It was my fault.”

  “Really? I always thought she was the senior member of your partnership.”

  “No, it was me. I was smart enough to stay out of her way most of the time is all. It would be easier if I could blame this on her, but the truth is, I was too anxious to run back to Utah and help Eliza. I talked Fayer into it. She argued for me, of course—Fayer’s loyal as hell—but it just made things worse for her without helping my case at all.”

  “I bet they would have forgiven you if we’d caught him in time.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they would have. Results matter. We didn’t, though. People were dying at Zarahemla and we couldn’t be reached.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jacob asked.

  “With my life? I don’t know. This is the only thing I ever wanted to do.” He gave a wry smile. “Once I figured out there wasn’t much demand for a professional hammer thrower. Probably go back to SoCal. Maybe local law enforcement.”

  Eliza was talking to Fernie maybe twenty feet away. She looked in their direction, and something occurred to Jacob. “Why don’t you join us?”

  Krantz started. “What?”

  “My sister likes you, Steve. And it’s obvious you’re madly in love with her. Eliza said she’s moving back from Salt Lake. You could stay in Blister Creek.”

  “I can’t stay here. I’m not one of you, and I don’t know the first thing about ranching.”

  “Blister Creek doesn’t have a police force—the church has always enforced the rules or called in the sheriff to deal with outsiders—but I’m not going to do that anymore. We need a cop and probably a constable, too, or whatever you’d call it. The job is yours if you want it.”

  His initial startled look gave way to a thoughtful expression, but after a few seconds he shook his head. “I’m still not one of you. I’m not LDS like Fayer—I’m not even Catholic, not really.”

  “What do you think Eliza believes?”

  “I don’t know. I know she doesn’t want to be some guy’s third wife. I also know she doesn’t want to move into the real world—I mean the outside world. She’s happy with her own people. As far as what she believes, well…” He stopped, frowned. “Jacob, she scares me a little bit. I’m not sure I—what I mean is that…” His voice trailed off.

  “So you don’t like her, after all.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Krantz said hastily. “I just don’t think she’d want me—I don’t know.”

  “If you want to know what she wants, why don’t you ask her?”

  Krantz looked at him. “And you’re giving your permission?”

  “Eliza doesn’t need or want my permission. But I’ll give you my support. When Eliza tells me what she wants, I’ll do battle with anyone who says otherwise.”

  He took Krantz’s hand. Even with a friendly grip, the man’s squeeze fell just short of painful. Krantz left Jacob and started walking toward Eliza, but his sister had turned to say something to David and Miriam as they approached from the gravesite. Suddenly faced with the prospect of muscling into the conversation, Krantz faltered, then veered off in another direction, his sunburned face turning even redder.

  Jacob laughed. This was going to be fun to watch.

  * * *

  Miriam’s heart was pounding as she knelt next to David at the altar in the sealing room of the temple. She felt silly in the white gown with its green apron and the veil, and was still trying to digest everything that had happened in the initiatory and endowment earlier. This was different than anything she’d experienced since joining the church last year and it confused her. It also felt ridiculous to have David lead her through the veil as if he were some kind of expert, when he’d taken out his endowments only a few minutes before she had.

  Jacob officiated the marriage. “Brother David, do you take Sister Miriam by the right hand and receive her unto yourself to be your lawful and wedded wife for time and all eternity, with a covenant and promise that you will observe and keep all the laws, rites, and ordinances pertaining to this Holy Order of Matrimony in the New and Everlasting Covenant, and this you do in the presence of God, angels, and these witnesses of your own free will and choice?”

  “Yes,” David said.

  “Sister Miriam, do you take Brother David by the right hand and give yourself to him to be his lawful and wedded wife, and for him to be your lawful and wedded husband, for time and all eternity, with a covenant and promise that you will observe and keep all the laws, rites, and ordinances pertaining to this Holy Order of Matrimony in the New and Everlasting Covenant, and this you do in the presence of God, angels, and these witnesses of your own free will and choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “By virtue of the Holy Priesthood and the authority vested in me, I pronounce you, David and Miriam, legally and lawfully husband and wife for time and all eternity.”

  Jacob sealed upon them their blessings, and then it was done—David and Miriam were married. She felt stunned, almost dizzy as they stood up.

  David leaned in to kiss her. His lips lingered and sent an electric thrill down her spine. Too soon, the others interrupted with hugs, handshakes, and slaps on the back.

  They filed out of the sealing room, but Jacob held up Miriam and David after the others had left. “I know what all that giving and receiving says, but as far as I’m concerned, it goes both ways. And I can see you’re in love. When times get tough, remember how you feel right now.”

  David let out an exaggerated sigh, although he couldn’t manage to wipe away the grin. “That’s the goofiest thing you’ve ever said.”

  Jacob shrugged. “It seemed like the time to say something.”

  “Are you done yet? I’d like to get out of here to spend some time with my bride.”

  “Oh, really? Anything special planned?”

  Miriam felt herself flush. She had once stood naked over the dead body of a drug lord while her fellow FBI agents searched the man’s beach house, but felt every bit the blushing, virginal bride now.

  Jacob smiled. “Oh, that. Why, now that you mention it, I believe that it’s my duty to sit down with you and explain a few things. Have you ever wondered about the lambs that appear in the fields every spring? Where they come from? When a daddy sheep and a mommy sheep love each other very much—”

  “Are you done?” David said with a groan.

  “Almost, but not quite. I am a doctor, you know. It’s my job to understand these things. Besides, I’m just stalling, you know.” He glanced at his watch. “There, that should do it.”

  “Do what?” Miriam asked, confused.

  “Send you off in style, of course.”

  Light dawned on David’s face. “The car!” He rushed from the room.

  Miriam started to follow, but Jacob took her by the arm to slow her down. “I told them not to go crazy. Some rice, tin cans on the bumper, that sort of thing. It’s not the time for big celebrations anyway.”

  “He’ll grumble a bit,” Miriam said, “but secretly he’ll be glad someone cared enough to prank him.”

  “Thank you, Miriam.”

  “Thank you for what?” She raised an eyebrow. “For taking him off your hands?”

  He didn’t answer, just gave an enigmatic smile before asking, “Do you think he’s out of the woods?”

  “You know what they say, once an addict, always an addict. But there’s a difference now. Something has changed and he sees what we have. You’ve given him a chance to belong, and that’s all he ever wanted. Ever since that night on the porch with your father—”

  “I haven’t given him anything,” Jacob interrupted before she could bring up the blessing. “That’s all
your doing. You brought him back. Now why don’t you go after him and show him what he’ll lose if he ever backslides? Unless you really do need a lesson about where those lambs come from…”

  “I think we’ll manage, thanks.”

  * * *

  “It’s not exactly a wedding suite,” David said as he came into the room and locked the door behind him, muffling the noise that penetrated every inch of the Christianson house. “I can hear two of my little sisters—”

  He caught his breath as he looked around the room. Miriam had spent the twenty minutes since she’d retreated into the upstairs apartment of the Christianson house preparing for her husband’s arrival. She’d lit candles in the windowsill and on the dresser, with rose petals strewn about the furniture and across the floor. Fernie had given her a bowl of strawberries and some Belgian chocolates, and Eliza had brought up sparkling grape juice—no champagne for a Blister Creek wedding—which chilled in a bucket of ice in one corner.

  But David didn’t look at the candles or the flowers or even the chocolates. Instead, he stared at Miriam with a hungry expression. “Wow, you look good. I mean, wow!”

  Miriam arched her back and let the black lace camisole ride up to show her sleek belly. She ran her finger along the lacy edge of her panties, then bit her lip and held his gaze. He stared, his breathing growing heavy.

  Below, some kid raced down the hall, laughing, pursued by other, thundering footprints. Miriam simply smiled and pushed Play on the CD player that sat on the nightstand. Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor started up and blunted the noise.

  “There,” she said. “That takes care of that distraction. Now, are you just going to stand there gawking?”

  He came over and she grabbed him by the tie and yanked him onto the bed, rolled him onto his back and straddled his waist, and then pinned his arms down. “Now, Brother David, what are you going to do about that?”

  “I think I’m quite helpless.”

  “Of course you are.” Miriam nibbled at his ear while unbuttoning his shirt. She ran her fingers through his dark, curly hair.

  “We’re not young and naïve. It would be silly for us to pretend we’ve never done this before and fumble around for the next three weeks trying to figure out how to make it good. So I figure I’ll tell you what I like and you can tell me what you like.”

  “What I like is what you’re doing right now.”

  “Oh, so you like someone to be in charge.”

  “I like it when you’re in charge. How about that?”

  She pinned his arms with her hands, then kissed him on the neck, then the mouth, and then lower, onto his bare chest, which rose and fell as David’s breathing quickened. Too many months of self-denial, too many weeks wanting to feel David’s naked body had sapped her self-control. There would be time for slow lovemaking later.

  “Take your clothes off,” she said in a thick voice. “I want you now.”

  * * *

  Much later, exhausted, the music ended and the candles burning down, they sat listening to the heartbeat of the Christianson house—the children, the women talking outside the window, the doors of a car slamming, the vehicle driving off and then returning, the sound of hooves as someone rode in from the ranch.

  “David,” she said, hesitant and afraid. “I think I killed your father.”

  He stirred. “What do you mean?”

  “I think it was my bullet. Kimball twisted as I fired, and my bullet went over his shoulder and…and I was overconfident, if I’d aimed lower…”

  “Shh,” he said. “You didn’t kill my father. Elder Kimball killed him. To a lesser extent my father did it himself. If he hadn’t been so blasted sure that God saved him for some great purpose, he wouldn’t have done what he did. That fool, I had a lot of things left to say to him. Things I needed him to say to me.”

  She wrapped her arms tighter around him and stroked his face with her fingers.

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes, and then he asked, “Did we really choose this?”

  “Have any better ideas?”

  “We could move to the city and make a go of it on our own. You’re adaptable and confident—I’m sure someone would hire you in two seconds. I’m willing to work, too. Or I could go to college, like Jacob did. We’d be poor, but we could make it work.”

  “I’m sure we could.”

  “And then it would be just the two of us, at least for a while.”

  She raised herself on one elbow. “Is that what you want, David?”

  He hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head. “I want to follow Jacob. I don’t know where, but I’d rather be standing by my brother’s side, taking a chance, than out in the world. How about we take Jacob up on his offer and build a house right out there, on the other side of the greenhouses?”

  “You know what?” Miriam said, feeling a sudden warmth. “That turns me on.” She rose up and wiggled under the sheets until she was straddling him again.

  He laughed. “I married a fundamentalist Mormon, and she has turned me into her sex slave. No, I did not see that coming.”

  “I think you like it.”

  “Maybe I do, but do you know something?”

  “What’s that?” Miriam asked.

  “Here’s what.” He rose up and flipped her onto her back, then pinned her with the weight of his body. “It’s my turn. What do you think about that?”

  “Oh, really?” She gave him an insolent look. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jacob climbed from the saddle of his horse and studied the woman building a chicken coop next to the cabin at Yellow Flats. She wore a short-sleeved shirt—the kind that no saint would ever wear since it couldn’t conceal the temple undergarments—beneath a pair of overalls. She certainly seemed to know what she was doing as she hammered away, humming some song under her breath.

  Rebecca had already repaired the windows of the house itself, and patched the chinks between the wood planks with fresh mud. Cans of paint sat on a tarp alongside the house, along with brushes and rollers.

  “Pretty ambitious,” he said.

  Rebecca whirled around, startled. He’d assumed she had simply ignored him as he’d ridden up, but now he realized that she hadn’t heard him, had been too engrossed in her work to hear the clopping hooves or the heavy breathing of the horse.

  “If you sent help from the big house I wouldn’t refuse it.”

  Jacob tied the horse to the porch railing, which sagged from dry rot. He grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the saddlebag and came back around. Rebecca was back at work. Jacob joined her. For a time there was no sound but banging hammers.

  At last he said, “I’d bring workers, but we’ve got enough to do without helping squatters.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “You tell me,” Jacob said. “How long have you been living out here?”

  “Since the funeral.”

  “Almost a month, then. When were you going to ask my permission to move into a house on my land?”

  Rebecca hammered in the last nail on the board she was fixing into place on the side of the coop, then stood to face him. She removed her hat and wiped sweat from her forehead. “Are you telling me to leave?”

  “No. Doesn’t seem much demand for this old dump. Not when there are plenty of places in town with electricity, running water. Pavement, for that matter.”

  “Exactly, so why do you care? The roof needs fixing, the walls need to be patched and painted. I’ve got to tear out the porch and figure out what to do about the chimney before it collapses. I guess the pump still works, but other than that, you’d be better off sending a bulldozer and knocking it over. You don’t need the house, so does it matter if someone squats on the land?”

  “There’s always the land. My father still grazed cattle this way.”

  “You still can.”

  “The old farmland, then,” Jacob said.

  “What old farmland? The i
rrigation ditches filled in with silt fifty years ago, and the raised beds washed away in a flood probably before you were born. There are fruit trees, but they haven’t been pruned in decades. Nobody wants this place, either the house or the land.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except me,” she said.

  So why did she want it, then? If anything, she was understating the work. The cabin had sat in decay since 1969, when Great-Great-Grandmother Cowley died at the age of ninety-seven. Baked by the sun in summer and covered in blowing drifts of snow during winter, only the aridity of the desert had kept it from collapsing on itself. What would it take to get it livable? And never mind the structure, there was no plumbing, no electricity, no air-conditioning, and no heating system except for an old fireplace. Which would need serious work or it would burn down the cabin the first time someone lit a fire.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I like it out here. It’s like living in the nineteenth century. Like it was in the days of the first settlement.”

  “That’s a reason to visit, not to move in. And if you want to live out here, this place in particular, you could haul an old trailer out and it would be cheaper.”

  “Do you know how Blister Creek got its start?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “They were polygs fleeing from the federal government. Bunch of persecution in those days. Then, a few years later, when Salt Lake made it clear they were serious about abandoning polygamy, our people had to choose between admitting everything they’d fought for was a waste of time, or telling themselves the LDS Church had fallen into apostasy. They decided it was apostasy.”

  “That’s about ten percent of the story. The warm and fuzzy ten percent.”

  “What’s so warm and fuzzy about it?” he asked.

  Rebecca tore off her gloves and laid them with the hammer on top of the pile of lumber. She set off for the house, and he found himself studying the supplies and wondering how much work it took simply getting all this stuff out here by horseback.

  She returned with a book. It had a leather cover, battered and frayed around the edges, and at first he thought it was an old copy of the Doctrine and Covenants. Maybe she was going to quote Section 132 at him, the part where the Lord told Joseph Smith about the eternal principle of plural marriage. But when she handed it over he saw that it wasn’t scriptures at all, but an ancient diary.