Black Noon

by Andrew J. Fenady

  She was on the ground not far from the stump. Keyes held her head, doing his best to soothe her, while Caleb, Joseph, Bethia, and Deliverance stood nearby.

  This time the voices she heard were familiar.

  “She must ’a been walking in her sleep, Reverend,” said Joseph.

  “No . . . No,” she responded. “I wasn’t asleep. I was awake, and I saw them . . .”

  “Lorna, it’s my fault. You were disturbed by my dream . . . then you fell asleep . . . you . . .”

  “No! I tell you, I saw them . . .”

  “Them?” Caleb questioned. “What was it you think you saw?”

  “There were four of them . . . with candles and robes . . . with masks like animals . . . a wolf, a goat . . .”

  “My dear,” there was compassion in Caleb’s voice, “you’re still suffering the effects from the sun . . . playing tricks on your mind.”

  “No. There was the dead body of... by the stump. Look by the stump and you’ll see,” she pointed.

  They all moved closer to the stump, including Lorna. All but Deliverance.

  Nothing there.

  Not even the oilcloth.

  The group looked at each other, then at Lorna.

  Silence.

  Until Caleb took a step.

  “Mrs. Keyes, it’s been a trying day for all of us.”

  “Lorna . . .” Keyes whispered.

  “Don’t look at me like that! I saw it. Just as sure as I’m standing here now . . .

  “Jonathon,” Lorna pleaded, “I swear to you . . . I did see it . . . it wasn’t a dream. Say that you believe me.”

  “All right, dear,” he nodded slightly, “I believe you. Now, let’s get you away from here.”

  Keyes lifted her up in his arms and started to carry her.

  “Yes,” Caleb said, “everything will look brighter in the morning.”

  “That’s so,” Joseph quoted, “‘we shall awake to righteousness.’”

  As Keyes carried Lorna toward the house, Caleb glanced at Deliverance, her face cool, calm . . . cryptic.

  CHAPTER 31

  Midmorning the next day, while Lorna was still asleep, Keyes walked outside onto the porch where Caleb and Joseph were standing.

  Even before he could greet them, Keyes noticed that both men had a concerned look on their faces as they stared at something or someone in the distance.

  Keyes immediately determined the object of their anxiety.

  Moon, on horseback at the rim of the hill on the edge of town.

  “How long has he been there?” Keyes asked.

  “Don’t know,” Caleb replied, “we just came out here . . . and there he was, but the others must have seen him. The street is deserted.”

  “Yes,” Keyes nodded. “Do you think he’ll come in?”

  “Don’t know, Jon. But that rifle of yours . . . don’t you think you ought to . . .”

  “No, Caleb. If he saw the rifle it would be a challenge to him . . . an invitation to dare me to use it.”

  “But . . .” Before Caleb continued, Moon had turned with his horse and disappeared over the other side of the rise.

  “Still the cat with the mice,” Caleb took a deep breath and wiped at his face. “But how long before he? . . . I don’t know what.”

  There was a momentary silence as the three men continued to look toward the rise to make sure that Moon hadn’t changed his mind and decided to come back.

  “Well,” Caleb said, “it appears that we’ve gotten a reprieve, at least for the time being.” He pointed to the chairs on the porch. “Why don’t we sit down and breathe easy for a while?”

  “Good idea, Caleb,” Joseph nodded and moved to his rocker.

  Keyes and Caleb went to two of the other chairs.

  “Caleb,” Keyes said, “I want to ask you . . .”

  “Something about what happened last night? Caleb was lighting his pipe.

  “No. Not right now . . . about what we just saw.”

  “Moon?”

  “That’s right, Moon. I’ve been wondering about a few things . . .”

  “Such as?”

  “When did you first see Moon? How did he come to grip the town in terror? Has he killed? Where does he live? Does he take supplies? Food? Anything else?”

  “I can answer some of those questions, Jon, not necessarily in that order . . .”

  “The order doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you know about him.”

  “Well,” Caleb took a deep draw from his pipe, “sometime ago he was first seen watching the men working the mine—watching from a distance.

  “He appears from out of the desert and disappears back into it.

  “Never has he asked for food or supplies of any kind. Not even a drink of water. Only for gold. Where, or how, he spends it we don’t know . . . only that he rides into town on that same horse, with those same guns . . . and that same look . . . often directed at Deliverance.

  “It began at a church service when Reverend Joyner was still our minister. In the midst of that service there was gunfire . . . Three times—gunfire that shot the flames out of three of the candles on the altar.

  “Everyone recoiled and turned to see Moon striding down the aisle with a smoking gun in one hand, and, of all things, a rusty horseshoe in the other.

  “He stopped near the altar and turned to face the congregation. Without speaking at first, he holstered the gun, then with both hands, unbent the horseshoe with little effort . . . straightened it out, then let it drop on the altar.

  “‘My name is Moon,’ he hissed, ‘and you’ve just seen a small sample of what I can do. What no one else among you can.’

  “He paused and waited for a reaction.

  “It came from Sam Hawkins, who was the biggest and strongest among us. Sam rose from his pew and approached the altar . . . and Moon. Without speaking, Sam took the horseshoe from the altar while Reverend Joyner, Moon, and the rest of us watched.

  “The blacksmith squeezed with both hands and bent the horseshoe until both ends were touching each other.

  “Sam started to take a step toward Moon, but before he had barely moved Moon backhanded him a stunning blow to the face, then pounded a fist into Sam’s chest and the other fist into the side of his jaw, knocking him to the floor. As Sam struggled to get up, a shot rang out and tore into Sam’s sleeve.

  “‘The next one’s in your chest, strong boy, if you try anything.’

  “Moon faced the congregation.

  “‘Now, who’s the Boss Man around here?’

  “I could see and feel the eyes of the congregation turning toward me.

  “I rose slowly and faced Moon.

  “‘I’m the mayor of San Melas,’ I said.

  “‘All right, Mr. Boss Man, here’s how it’s going to be from now on. Listen, all of you because I’m only going to say it once.’

  “The look on his face, and what he had done was more than enough to make us listen.

  “‘You’ve all heard of tithing. I suppose you even tithe to this church. From now on you’re all going to do a little more tithing . . . to me. But instead of ten percent it’s going to be fifty. Half of whatever you take out of that mine at the end of the month . . . from now on . . . every month.’

  “Moon started to walk, not fast, not slow, down the aisle, but after a few steps he stopped where I was still standing.

  “At first I thought he was looking at me. But his eyes were fixed on Deliverance, who sat beside me.

  “‘And as for you, Angel Face, they’d better keep that gold coming . . . and on time.’

  “His meaning was clear . . . and it still is.”

  Caleb emptied the dead residue of his pipe against the palm of his hand and let it sprinkle to the porch floor.

  “That’s how it happened, Reverend,” Joseph said, “every bit of it and right in our church . . .”

  “Well,” Keyes looked at Caleb, “I appreciate your telling me. I only wish . . .”

  “You don�
��t have to say anything more, m’boy. We know how you feel . . . and appreciate what you’ve already done. And now, how is Lorna this morning? Did she get over that dream last night?”

  “She was still asleep. I’ll go up and see her now.”

  “You do that, Jon . . . and let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  “Thank you, Caleb,” Keyes rose, and as he did, he noticed that the citizens of San Melas, who had earlier taken cover, were beginning to come back onto the street.

  CHAPTER 32

  When Keyes entered the bedroom Lorna was still sleeping and intermittently murmuring words in a chant-like rhythm, indistinguishable words that Keyes had never heard before. He listened for a few seconds then gave up trying to decipher them.

  Keyes thought it best to let her sleep. He moved to the dresser, looked at the Bible, picked it up, and randomly opened it.

  His eyes fell on a passage from the Book of Samuel.

  Then said David to the Philistine, “Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts . . .”

  Then

  And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth.

  Keyes closed the worn Bible and wondered to himself . . . was it meant to be that he was David and Moon the Philistine? Was his rifle the stone . . . and he the defender of his hosts . . . in spite of his vow?

  And what was real and what was delusion?

  With mounting trepidation he straightened, looked into the mirror, and with sublime relief saw the reflection of himself.

  But his eyes continued their gaze, as if he were trying to look beyond the mirror, back to the time he lay in the battlefield hospital, hearing familiar and strange voices, sometimes real and at other times unreal, while suspended between two worlds . . . from the effect of his wound.

  And what about Lorna and last night? What had she heard and seen?

  Was it all real . . . or an illusion?

  A mirror of the mind.

  In a way she had been wounded. Wounded by the effects of the desert and the scorching sun, without food and water, lying near death in a delirium . . . between two regions of the universe . . . perhaps it was like that last night . . . he didn’t know—but he had to find out.

  Maybe the answer was in the yard down below.

  Then he heard her voice.

  “Jonathon . . .”

  “Yes, Lorna. I’m here.”

  He turned. Lorna was still in bed, sitting up.

  “You do believe me, don’t you, Jonathon?”

  “What?”

  “I said,” she spoke slowly with a voice in need of reassurance, “you do believe that I saw something out there last night . . . that I wasn’t dreaming?”

  Keyes came across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He took her hand and held it tenderly.

  “Yes . . . I do.”

  “Thank you, Jonathon. That’s very important to me.”

  “And you’re very important to me—the most important thing in the world.”

  He kissed her.

  “This morning . . . do you remember all that happened last night?”

  “How could I forget? The sounds . . . the voices . . . the masked figures with candles . . . their chant . . . that cat . . . the dead owl . . . it was all there . . . it was. Jonathon, this is important too . . .”

  “What?”

  “We . . .” she touched his face . . . “we won’t be here much longer, will we?”

  “No.”

  “There is something about this town. These people. Don’t you think so?”

  He pulled back slightly.

  “No. No, I don’t. Why Caleb is as . . .”

  “Not Caleb.”

  “Then who?”

  She brought him closer again.

  “Never mind. I just want to . . .”

  Her words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  The door opened as Keyes pulled away, and Bethia entered carrying a tray.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bethia said, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “That’s all right, Bethia,” Keyes motioned, “come in.”

  “I brought something for the missus, thought she might need some nourishment after . . . her ordeal last night.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, Bethia,” Keyes said.

  Bethia placed the tray in front of Lorna.

  “Thank you,” Lorna nodded, then turned to her husband. “Jonathon, would you bring me some paper and your pen from the desk?”

  “What?”

  “I want to write Reverend Mason a letter in Saguaro . . . to tell him that we’ll be delayed just a little longer.”

  “Good idea,” Keyes smiled. “He’ll be glad to hear from us.”

  “I’ll fetch ’em, ma’am,” Bethia said.

  “Thank you, Bethia,” Keyes responded, then turned to Lorna. “I’m . . . I’m going out, dear. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Very well, Jonathon . . . and please, do make it soon.”

  As he left the room, Bethia moved toward the desk.

  “Feelin’ better this mornin’, ma’am?”

  “I . . . I think so.”

  “Good. Eat your breakfast, ma’am. It’ll give you strength . . . and I’ll bring you what you need to write that letter.”

  CHAPTER 33

  There were some doubts, some questions in Keyes’s mind. Doubts that had to be dispelled, questions that had to be answered.

  Last night in the darkness, the confusion, and with Lorna’s condition, it was neither the time nor place to look for those answers.

  In the light of day, and in reflection of those events, Keyes thought a closer look around the yard might bring to surface the truth about what did and did not happen; whether, as Caleb and the others presumed, Lorna was walking in her sleep and dreamed of voices, images, and a dead owl—or whether it was all something else—something strange, inexplicable, improbable, but possible.

  For nearly half an hour Keyes had gone over the same ground that Lorna had walked last night, with no visible evidence to confirm Lorna’s version of the events.

  Once again he walked and looked around, surveying the area, then stopped. His eyes came to rest on the empty stump. He reflected for less than a minute, then proceeded toward it. About a yard from the stump he studied the ground, looked closer . . . noticed something, took another couple of steps . . . stooped to one knee . . . extended his hand and brought some substance up from the ground.

  On his fingers there were definite traces of wax.

  Then as he noticed something else, he turned and rose at the sound of Caleb’s voice.

  “Good morning, Jon.”

  “Morning, Caleb.”

  Caleb puffed from his pipe and glanced toward the shed.

  “If you were going to pay Deliverance a visit, she’s not here. Went to the Bryants’ store to pick up another supply of wax.”

  “No, that’s not why I came out here . . . It’s about what happened last night . . .”

  “Don’t you believe she was sleepwalking?”

  “If she was, so were some other people.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Keyes held up his hand.

  “Wax . . . from candles.”

  “Oh, that?” Caleb smiled, “Well, of course.”

  “Lorna said there were candles . . .”

  “Jon, I know what Lorna said, but there’s a simple explanation. I’m sure you’ll find some of it around the yard.”

  Caleb pointed toward the shed.

  “You can see that Deliverance’s shed is close by.”

  “Yes,” Keyes nodded, “I know.”

  “She often gives the children wax to play with.”

  “Then maybe they were playing right here last night, maybe . . .”

  Caleb shrugged good-naturedly.

  “No, Jon
. We’re very strict about our young ones. They all say their prayers and go to sleep in their beds very early every night.”

  “There was something else I noticed just as you came up.”

  “Something else?”

  Keyes reached close to the stump and lifted two flossy objects.

  “Feathers,” he said.

  “Of course,” Caleb pointed to the sky. “Birds fly around here all the time.”

  “Maybe this bird was an owl . . . a dead owl.”

  “And maybe you’re letting your imagination run a little wild. As I said, all of this can be explained.”

  “Maybe . . . and by the way, where’s Joseph? Usually he’s right by your side.”

  “Joseph is helping Deliverance with the wax and other supplies from the Bryants’ store—and Jon, Deliverance was close by, in the shed last night. If anything was going on out here she would have been aware of it—voices, lit candles.”

  “Evidently, she wasn’t aware of Lorna.”

  “Jon, you’ve got to relax some while you can. I think a great deal of Lorna. She’s a fine girl. But I honestly think she’s still affected by that terrible ordeal in the desert. And in some ways, maybe you are, too.”

  “Maybe,” Keyes nodded, then looked at the wax and feathers in his hand.

  “Do you feel better, Lorna?” Keyes asked after entering the bedroom.

  “I feel better,” she smiled, “now that you’re back. Where did you go, Jon?”

  “Not far, just out to the yard where you . . . where we were last night.”

  “By the shed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Deliverance there? Did you see her?”

  “No. Only Caleb,” Keyes paused, then walked closer and sat on the edge of the bed. “About what you said happened last night . . .”

  “Said! . . . Said! It did happen! A little while ago you said you believed me. Now, after your visit down there with Caleb, have you changed your mind? Do you think it was a mad dream, my husband? Is that what you’re going to tell me now?”

  “No, Lorna, anything but . . .”

  “It began with those voices . . .”

  “I know about voices . . . That’s what I was going to say—when I was in that hospital after Yellow Tavern, but not knowing where I was, from time to time I heard voices, strange and unfamiliar, until out of that battlefield haze the voices became familiar . . . I could definitely distinguish the voices of Reverend Mason and General Custer, voices that lifted me out of a void and into this world, and I could understand what they were saying . . . I, I remember every word . . .”