But by then, when Keyes did look from the rifle to her, Lorna’s eyes as well as her mind were closed.
He rose, leaned the rifle against the wall, left the room, and walked into the darkened hallway. As he reached the stairs and started down, Bethia stepped out of the shadows.
In her hand she held a large pair of scissors. She looked toward the stairway to make sure Keyes was out of sight.
Then Bethia walked toward the bedroom where Lorna lay sleeping.
Both Caleb and Joseph looked up from their chairs as Keyes reached the bottom of the stairway. Caleb held his pipe, and Joseph, the handle of his teacup.
“She’s sleeping,” Keyes said.
“Good,” Caleb nodded.
“Caleb, how is Deliverance?”
“She’s in her room for a change, instead of out there in the shed.”
“Is she . . . has she spoken since . . . since we left the church?”
“Spoken? M’boy, she’s not exactly chattering away without taking a breath, but she’s more than holding her own in the word department, and her voice is gaining strength with every word she speaks.”
“Good.”
“She does want to talk to you, Jon, to thank you properly . . . for what you . . . well, we are all beholden to you for ridding us of that monster . . .”
“Please, Caleb . . . no more of that.”
“Just as you say.”
“Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“What did you do with his . . . “
“Moon’s body?”
Keyes nodded.
“Buried it by the cemetery pond, but not too close to the others.”
“I’d like to go up there.”
“What for?”
“Is there a marker?” Keyes did not answer the question.
“Yes, but not a cross. Just a wooden plaque with his name.”
“I’ll go up tomorrow.”
“If you like.”
“Reverend,” Joseph set the cup of tea on the table, “would you want me to go over there with you?”
“No, thank you, Joseph, I’ll go alone. Caleb, about Lorna . . .”
“Yes, m’boy?”
The long sharp scissors in Bethia’s hand moved closer to the sleeping Lorna. Moonlight filtered through the open window and framed her face as the scissors traveled closer, much closer. Bethia’s other hand reached down and carefully took up a long lock of Lorna’s hair, and with the scissors, she clipped off the lock. Bethia paused a moment more, glanced down at Lorna, then looked across the yard where Deliverance was holding her cat and walking toward the unlit shed.
“Caleb, she’s not getting any better, worse, if anything. I’m worried. I wish there were a doctor here . . . or near here.”
Caleb silently shook his head before speaking.
“The best medicine in the world for her is you. If what you say is true, the worst thing would be for her to travel across that brutal desert in a bumpy wagon.”
“If we traveled in the cool of the night . . .”
“You might end up even worse . . . without landmarks to guide you . . . get lost at night and end up heaven knows where?”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
“Caleb is a wise old party, Reverend, a wise old party,” Joseph nodded.
“I’m sorry she was there today . . . to see what happened . . . it was just too much. She’s never seen anyone killed before . . . and certainly not by her husband, a minister . . . too much.”
“I know, m’boy.”
Keyes held up his “gun hand.”
It quivered.
“Even during the war . . . not like this . . . but then, it was my duty, my obligation to . . .”
“In a way this, too, was your obligation . . .”
“To Deliverance?”
“To decency . . . and against a godless monster who had to be destroyed. You did the only thing a man like you could do. The right thing. Jon, in spite of our belief, if anyone of us was that close to that gun we would have done the same thing . . . at least I hope so.”
“So do I, Caleb.”
“Reverend,” Joseph lifted his cup, “would you like some tea?”
“Tea! Never mind the tea, Joseph,” Caleb rose and went to the sideboard. “What he needs . . . what we all need is a jigger of brandy. A double jigger.”
Caleb reached for the bottle.
Deliverance reached out and took the lock of Lorna’s hair from Bethia’s hand.
“Thank you, Bethia.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Deliverance.”
Deliverance looked down on the table at the wax image of Lorna, then at the lock of her hair in her palm and smiled at Bethia.
“Yes . . . this will do nicely.”
All three men sipped the brandy from their snifters.
“There is no bracer quite so bracing as a serene swallow of brandy. Care for a refill, Jon?”
“No, thank you.”
“Jon, now that things are . . . different . . . here in San Melas. Different for all of us, we want you to reconsider making this your home. We will see that you are amply rewarded . . . in all ways, a house of your own, the new church. Without you we wouldn’t have . . . well, will you, Jon?”
“I don’t think so . . .”
Keyes noticed that Deliverance had entered and stood by the back door.
“. . . I think it’s best I . . . that we leave all this behind, as soon as possible. I know Lorna does.”
“But you will stay until the church is in shape for you to preach the first sermon?”
Keyes hesitated.
Deliverance took a step forward.
“Please.”
CHAPTER 43
Keyes entered the dark bedroom, silently walked to the bedside table, struck a match and lit the candle.
“Jonathon,” she whispered.
“I . . . I thought you were asleep.”
“I was, while you were . . . downstairs. Jonathon . . .”
“Yes, my dear?”
“They’ve asked you to stay.”
Silence.
“Haven’t they?”
“Yes,” Keyes nodded.
“Do you want to stay?”
“We’ve promised Reverend Mason.”
“I asked you, do you want to stay . . . and what else have they promised you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you saved Deliverance’s life. What other inducements did they offer you?”
“Lorna, have you forgotten? They saved our lives. Caleb’s opened his home to us . . . taken care of you . . .”
“Some care . . .” she turned her face toward the window and the yard.
“It’s not their fault that there’s not a doctor here, any more than there’s not a minister . . .”
“Yes . . . no doctor, no minister . . .”
“. . . and they’ve treated me like a son.”
“I know.”
“Then what is it?”
“I told you before. This . . . it’s as if they were from another time . . . another world.”
“Caleb explained that. Look, when settlers come from the old country they bring their language and customs with them. Well, these people are from New England. That’s why they seem so strange out here.”
“I suppose.”
“And Lorna, I’ve been able to help them . . .”
“By killing Moon?”
“Lorna, you don’t know how much I’ve suffered . . . and probably will for the rest of my life . . . for that. If I had to do it over, I don’t know what, well . . . I just don’t know . . . but it’s done. I know that if he were coming after you . . . I know what I’d do.”
“I know that, too, Jon,” her face was uneasy. She did not look at her husband.
Keyes sat on the chair near the bed.
“They’re really fond of me . . . of us . . . and they need us.”
He leaned closer.
“Caleb said
they’d build us a house . . . pay us more than we could ever hope to get in Saguaro.”
“We weren’t going to Saguaro for the money.” It came out fast and harsh.
“I know, Lorna.”
He paused.
“I’m sorry . . . and you’re right about that.”
“We’ve sent Reverend Mason a letter telling him we’re on our way,” another pause, “but are we, Jonathon?”
Keyes rubbed his palm across his face and looked around.
“You . . . don’t want to stay here, do you?”
“‘Wither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people . . . ’”
The look in Keyes’s eyes changed, he smiled, then kissed her and finished the quotation.
“‘. . . shall be my people.’ Lorna, we’re going to Saguaro. Just as soon as you’re strong enough.”
Her face brightened. She was much relieved.
She had won.
“I’m feeling better already.”
“A week or so . . . I’ll make sure Mr. Hawkins has the wagon ready. We’ve still got a stretch of desert to cross.”
“Just thinking about it,” Lorna smiled, “makes me thirsty.”
“Would you like a nice drink of water?”
“You know, Jonathon, I think I would at that.”
Keyes rose from the chair.
“Then my darling bride, your husband will get you a very nice drink of water.”
He made his way to the dresser, picked up a glass from the tray, then poured from the pitcher into the glass until it was just more than half full. He glanced toward the mirror. But it became more than a glance as he stared at the image.
The agonized man struggled to move his tortured body, his racked arms outward toward Keyes . . . his hollow eyes trying desperately to convey what he had no voice to say, his bleeding body writhing, struggling to pitch forward.
Keyes instinctively flung the glass out toward the mirror splashing the image away, but striking the mirror a hard blow.
But neither the glass, nor the mirror broke.
“Jonathon!” Lorna’s head braced up from the pillow. “What happened?”
Keyes inhaled and tried to regain his composure. He managed to pour more water from the pitcher into the glass. Barely managed.
“I . . . accidentally hit the mirror.”
“Did it break?”
Keyes was afraid to look back into the mirror. He turned toward Lorna and tried to smile.
“No. No, Lorna. The mirror’s all right.”
“Well,” she smiled, “at least we’re not in for seven years bad luck.”
Deliverance’s fingers moved away from the wax image of Lorna—the wax image now fitted with the lock of Lorna’s own hair.
The cat, poised nearby on the bench, purred.
Deliverance looked at the cat, smiled, and nodded, then turned back and reached out with both hands toward the wax replica of Lorna Keyes.
CHAPTER 44
The next morning Keyes tried several times in vain to awaken Lorna, but each time, without opening her eyes, she pushed his hands away and faced the other direction.
Keyes decided it was wiser to let her sleep; besides, he had little, or no other choice.
Her face, what he could see of it was anything but tranquil, as if struggling against some unseen enemy.
Also, he had something on his mind he wanted to attend to . . . and this was as good a time as any.
“Would you care for breakfast now, Reverend?”
“No, thank you, Bethia.”
He looked at the dishes on the table.
“I see the others have already eaten.”
“Yes, sir. Deliverance is working in the shed and Joseph and Mr. Hobbs are at the church site.”
“Thank you . . . I’ll go over and see . . . how the church is coming along.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And Bethia, would you please look in at Mrs. Keyes from time to time, and see if she’ll have something to eat. She’s asleep now.”
“Don’t you worry, Reverend. I’ll be glad to.”
The construction activity at the church site had resumed full bore.
Measuring, marking, sawing, lifting, placing, and hammering.
Joseph, Jacob, Hawkins, Bryant, and all the other able-bodied men, some of the women, and even the young ones, contributed their share of the work. All but Caleb Hobbs, who had assumed an even more supervisory attitude aboard a tree-shaded chair and puffed contentedly on his pipe.
At the sight of Keyes all work ceased as the citizens clapped and cheered at his appearance but resumed as he held up a hand, smiled, and signaled for them to stop.
“Morning, m’boy. Did you get a good sleep?”
“On and off, Caleb, on and off.”
Caleb leaned in a little closer and asked in a confidential tone, “Did you get a chance to talk to Mrs. Keyes about our conversation last night?”
“I did . . . and I . . . we are extremely grateful for your generous offer . . . but we’ve decided to fulfill our promise to Reverend Mason and continue to Saguaro.”
“Well, I’m sorry for us, but if that’s what you’ve decided, so be it.”
“I hoped you’d understand.”
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, deeply disappointed, but whatever you think is best for you . . . and maybe someday you’ll change your mind and come back to us. Consider it an open invitation.”
“Thank you, Caleb and there is just one more thing . . .”
“Name it.”
“The cross.”
“What cross?”
Keyes pointed to the cross in the ground in front of the construction site.
“What about it?”
“I’m going to the cemetery and, well, he was killed . . . he died practically in the shadow of that cross. You mentioned there was none . . . only a marker at his grave. Do you mind if I take it and place it there?”
“Not at all. You do what you think is right, m’boy.”
Keyes stood among the mounds and markers in the sunbaked cemetery with the rough-hewn cross in his hands.
The day was as still and static as the mute inhabitants of this place of lasting slumber.
He moved, slowly walking through the rows of heaped earth, looking for one particular marker.
He saw it, some distance from the rest, near a lily pond. A wooden tablet with the lone legend:
MOON
Keyes approached and forced the sharp end of the cross into the ground at the base of the marker.
He stood silently looking at the cross, reached into the pocket of the light jacket he wore, started to slip out the Bible, but changed his mind and let it rest in the pocket.
He clasped his hands in front of him and spoke just above a whisper.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Keyes raised his hand upward, then back toward the grave, his voice somewhat louder as he spoke to the man he had killed.
“There must be some good in every man. Maybe in that life to come we can all find, and live, the other side of the coin.
“In this life the wrong side of the coin came up, but in the next, you may get the chance to make up for what you’ve done . . . and after the final days of judgment, find forgiveness and atonement.”
He paused and drew a breath.
“May we both—may we all make up for our tr
espasses and find the true path to forgiveness and righteousness.
“May the lion lie down with the sheep and find peace from the valley of darkness into the green garden of goodness.”
His throat was dry, his face and neck dry from the radiant heat of the sun. He turned from the grave and walked toward the pond as a frog leaped from the water onto the grass and disappeared into a thicket.
Keyes moved to the water’s edge, sat alongside the pond, withdrew the red scarf from a pocket, and while the water was still wavering from the frog’s departure, he dipped the cloth into the pond, let it soak, then applied it to his neck and face. He held it there for how long he did not know.
He turned and looked into the now stilled pond—saw his own reflection—and hers. He spoke her name.
“Deliverance.”
“Yes, Jon,” she smiled, “do you mind if I sit beside you? I wanted to talk to you.”
“No, of course not. How did you know where to find me?”
In response, her voice was almost mystical.
“I have my ways.”
“Yes. I guess you have.”
She sat. Close.
A little too close, Keyes thought. He almost started to move away, but decided to stay and absorb the exotic fragrance of her nearby body.
As warm as the day was, she seemed as cool as an autumn breeze, as refreshing as a spring rain.
“I understand that you’ve decided against our invitation . . . that you’re not going to stay.”
“We’ll be leaving just as soon as the wagon is ready. Lorna is anxious . . .”
“Lorna is sick, sicker than she’ll admit.”
“I know, but staying here doesn’t seem to help . . . she doesn’t want to stay any longer.”
“Do you?”
He didn’t answer. But there was no doubt about the conflict within, drawing him in opposite directions.
“But you will stay,” her face came ever so slightly nearer to his, “at least for the first sermon? You promised, Jon.”
“Yes, and I do think she’ll agree to that.”
“So do I,” Deliverance smiled, “and maybe after that, she’ll change her mind.”
Black Noon Page 14
