by Chuck Buda
Only Eleanor’s.
He fumbled the vial out of the drawer. It hit the wooden floor and rolled toward the door. As it neared the ray of light squeaking under his bedroom door, Preacher panicked the vial would roll under. Exposing his dark secrets. What if someone heard it roll into the hallway? Worse, what if someone happened by at the precise time when the vial rolled underneath? He quaked with fear at such an occurrence. Preacher lunged across the floor and grasped the vial just as it reached the door frame. The light shining underneath the door exposed his pale white fingers and the vial, slippery with his sweat.
Preacher rested his burning forehead on the cool floor. His body contorted as if he had fallen from the roof of a building. He brought the vial to his lips with shaky hands. He used his teeth to bite the cap off the vial. Spitting the lid across the room, Preacher downed the blood. It burned in his throat as it went down.
He twitched and shook. His body racked with pain and suffering.
Then it slowly abated. He felt the itching and the burning subside as the blood worked its way into his stomach, signaling an end to his trial. He panted, relieved the worst might soon be over.
Preacher climbed into the bed and lay in the cool dampness of his sweat. It felt refreshing, giving him the chills like his fever had broken. Preacher scrunched up his knees to his chest again. He held himself tight.
And cried.
Chapter 31
Preacher heard the knocks. They sounded distant. Far off. He wasn’t sure if he had dreamed about the knocking sound or if it had been real, part of the waking world. He lifted his head from a puddle of drool upon his pillow. Preacher looked around the dark room with one eye open as he realized he had drifted off to sleep.
The knocking was closer than he had thought. It was his bedroom door that echoed the pounding knuckles.
“Just a minute.” The words came out like a croak. His mouth was dry and hollow feeling. He staggered to the door, leaning against the solid wood before summoning the strength to open it.
The light of the candles burned his eyes. Preacher held up a shaky hand before his face to shield the brightness. “What is it?”
James stood in the doorway.
“Marshal’s here. Wants to ask you a few questions.”
Preacher licked his lips but his tongue was dry. It felt like a splintered board rubbed along his flesh. “It’s late. Can’t it wait until morning? I’m not feeling well.”
“It can’t wait, Preacher.” The deep voice thundered from the chapel down the hall.
Preacher’s eyes adjusted just enough to pick up a smirk on James’ face. James stepped aside and used his hat to usher Preacher to the chapel. He shuffled his bare feet to carry his body to the Marshal. It felt like he walked under water and his head was heavy. As he rounded the corner, Preacher saw Marshal standing in the center aisle. His thumbs were hooked in his gun belt.
“What can I do for you, Marshal? I apologize for my appearance. Apparently, I have come down with something.” He rubbed his eyes to remove the sleepy fog.
“Have a seat, Preacher.”
He stared at the Marshal, trying to figure out what was going on. “Your tone suggests I’m in trouble. Did I do something wrong?” He shot a look at James.
“We’ll see.” Marshal sat in the pew next to Preacher.
Preacher giggled. He stopped himself when he realized it might reveal his guilt or nervousness. The image of Eleanor flashed before his eyes.
“James, here, has been searching far and wide for Miss Lark. He called on me for help. And we’ve been everywhere. But still no sign of the woman.” Marshal pushed his hat back on his head. His dark eyes scoured Preacher’s face.
“You know where she is?” James interrupted. He stood over Preacher from the pew in front of him. Preacher didn’t appreciate the accusatory tone or the expression upon his face.
“I...I have no idea. I’ve been sick. In bed. For hours.” He lowered his head to his hands. It relieved the throbbing in his skull. It also helped support his case about Eleanor.
“When was the last time you saw Miss Lark?” Marshal Holder leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He dug under his fingernails with a sidelong glance at Preacher.
“Uh, let me think.” Preacher rubbed his forehead. He squinted his eyes and took labored breaths. He hoped the Marshal would buy it. Even though he truly felt like crap. “Uh, I guess...this morning?”
“You sure?”
“Yes, this morning. Sorry. My head is a bit cloudy.” He slumped in the pew and stared at James. It irritated him how James stood over him at the moment. He made a mental note to make sure James suffered a slow, painful death.
“Any idea where she went to?” Marshal tweaked his mustache. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. His eyes never left Preacher’s face.
“She...wanted to prepare for Bible lessons. I hired her as the new schoolmaster for our church.” Preacher nodded toward James for confirmation. James nodded back at Marshal. “She could have gone any number of places to prepare.”
“Then why can’t we find her? She ain’t anywhere and I find that strange.” James raised his voice at him. He made sure to emphasize the word ‘strange’ which further irritated Preacher.
“You’re welcome to look around if you wish. You might find many things here, but I assure you Eleanor is not here.” He glared at James when he spoke about finding things. He hoped James got the hint about snooping through his room. Maybe if James worried about getting in trouble himself, he might back off.
“If you’ve been sick in bed, like you claim, then how would you know Miss Lark ain’t here? You sound pretty sure she ain’t around.” Marshal Holder turned his knees toward Preacher. His lips pursed as he watched Preacher carefully.
“I...I assume she isn’t here and that’s why you are putting me through this inquiry.” Preacher quickly covered his tracks in case he had slipped up.
Marshal Holder stared at Preacher for several moments in silence. He seemed to contemplate Preacher’s explanation. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. “Sorry for the intrusion, Preacher. Hope you feel better.”
“That’s it? You’re just gonna walk away?” James scrambled across the aisle to plead his case as the Marshal headed for the door. Preacher grinned to himself as he kept his head low.
“James, the man is sick and I don’t see any indication he is hiding anything.”
“But that’s what he does. He hides stuff. You said it yourself how strange it was that he was involved with missing people twice in a few days. Ain’t that something?” James glanced over his shoulder at Preacher. He enjoyed witnessing the panic in James’ voice. He’ll panic even more shortly, Preacher whispered.
“Sorry, James. We’ll start again in the morning if you like. Have a good night.” Marshal Holder tipped his hat and left the chapel.
James spun around on his heels. “I know something is going on and I’m going to find out about it.”
Preacher smiled and stood to face James. “You heard the Marshal, James. He didn’t find any indication I’m hiding anything. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to return to bed seeing how I’m feeling ill. Good night.” He turned to head to his room before James could continue the conversation.
Sarah and Carson stood at the corner of the hallway.
Preacher did his best to hide his surprise at their presence. His mind worked hard to review the conversation to see if he had said anything that might damage their opinion of him. They both looked worried. Scared, maybe? Preacher coughed into his hand and shuffled past them as he entered his bedroom.
Chapter 32
“What’s going on, James?” Sarah hugged Carson as she asked for an explanation.
“Nothing.” James didn’t want to get into it with his mother. He knew she had feelings for Preacher and she wouldn’t understand him. He wondered why she didn’t question more, especially since Eleanor hadn’t come home tonight.
“It must be somethin
g. The Marshal doesn’t come barging into people’s homes in the middle of the night if it’s nothing.”
He exhaled loudly, frustrated with her questioning. “This isn’t our home, mother. And it’s not the middle of the night.” He pushed past them on his way to the ministry.
“You know what I mean, James. And it’s late enough. We’re all in our bedclothes and half asleep.” She sat Carson down on the cot next to James.
He struggled to remove his boots. His eyes kept wandering to Eleanor’s cot. It was empty and the blanket was still pristine, just the way it had been since she last made her bed. James hoped his mother would drop the talk and let him try to get some rest. He knew it was wishful thinking.
“You might as well explain since we heard what you were saying.”
James stuck his tongue inside his cheek as he paused before responding. “How long where you listening?”
“Long enough to know you blamed Preacher for Eleanor’s absence.” Her words held more judgment than her tone.
“Where is she, mother? Where is Eleanor? I’ve been all over town. Hell, I even searched the villages on the outskirts.”
“Watch your mouth, young man.” Sarah’s forehead wrinkled up with displeasure at his cussing.
“Sorry. But you don’t think it’s strange Eleanor is missing? You ain’t worried about her at all?” He was exasperated at his mother’s lack of conscious. He stole a look at Carson, who periodically buried his head in his mother’s bosom.
“Of course, it’s strange, James. But you can’t worry when she’s only been away for part of the day.” She wrinkled her nose. “She’s probably gone off and found a man. Good riddance.” Sarah muttered the last part under her breath.
“I know you don’t approve of her and me. And I know we haven’t been getting along lately. But do you really think Eleanor got this morning and ran off to bed with some guy?”
Sarah clasped her hands over Carson’s ears. He giggled. James was surprised at Carson’s reaction. He didn’t think his little friend knew about sexual relations but maybe he had been wrong.
“James. Watch. Your. Mouth.” Sarah clenched her hands tighter. Carson struggled to remove them from his head.
“Everything has been weird since we got here. You and me have been fighting. You and Eleanor have been fighting. Me and Carson. And the one person who has been around us all? Preacher.” James stabbed his finger across the air at his mother.
“What would Preacher stand to gain, coming in between us? He took us in out of the kindness of his heart. He fed us too. If it weren’t for Preacher we would be living in blankets under the stars right now.” She busied herself to tuck Carson into his bed. Carson fought her each step of the way. He seemed more interested in listening to their argument than sleeping.
“I’m not sure what he wants. But I’ll tell you what I do know. He’s got blood in his room?”
“Blood?” Sarah gasped with her hand on her chest. Carson muttered, “Ew,” and buried his face in the pillow.
“Yeah. Blood. Little vials of blood stacked up in his night stand. Ain’t that something?” James hoped his sarcasm stung his mother’s feelings because he had had enough of her defending Preacher.
“Why would he have blood? And what were you doing sneaking around in his things?”
“I had to know. The man is a...a...unknown of sorts.”
Sarah tsked away his accusation.
“Did you know that most people in town avoid Preacher because he is strange? And did you know not one person knows who he really is or where he came from? Just showed up one day and told everyone the same story about his name being Preacher. Nothing else.”
Sarah’s expression soured with the new information. “It’s strange, indeed. But it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Eleanor.” She furrowed her brow. “Although the blood in the night stand is creepy.”
James wanted to slam the point home. “Did you know I overheard the Marshal speaking with Gunderson at the Trading Post? Apparently, some church lady went missing and her husband swore it was Preacher who took her. The man brought the Marshal, right here to the church, to question Preacher about it. While we were sleeping the other night.”
He watched his mother. She just sat on the bed and blinked. James felt relieved that he might have gotten through to her for once. Carson lay in bed with the blanket pulled up to his eyes.
“I’m waiting for all the excuses you’re about to conjure up on his behalf.”
“Don’t be fresh, James. I’m trying to take all of this in. These are very serious accusations you are making. And involving the Marshal too.” She shook her head as she tried to process what James told her.
“I think it’s very serious when someone doesn’t come home. And nobody else has seen her or heard from her all day.” James shoved his legs under the blanket and lay back. Tucking his hands behind his head, James stared at the ceiling. He knew it would be difficult to sleep tonight. His temper was running hot and he was frustrated with his own loved ones not believing him. He felt all alone.
“James.” Sarah’s voice was quiet, almost soothing. “I know things have been hard on you since we left Wichita. Maybe we should listen to Preacher and do more praying. More of the Lord’s work.”
James immediately shot up out of his bed. He was beside himself that his mother could look him in the face and ask him to forgive and forget in light of all the things he had brought up. James searched for words before he started lashing out and breaking things or worse. Fighting Preacher.
After a moment of glaring at his mother, James stomped through the ministry.
“Where are you going?”
James halted his stride and turned around. “Come with me, mother.”
Chapter 33
Preacher felt much better since the Marshal left. He was tired but at least the illness had passed. His head still felt like a melon and some weakness lingered in his limbs. But for the most part, he was better.
He was grateful Sarah let him go to his room without explanation. His head would have exploded if he had to undergo another inquisition immediately after the one he suffered with the Marshal.
It was James’ fault.
Preacher felt the butterflies in his stomach. It was a familiar feeling. One he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. The scared excitement of a fist fight. He recalled the time when Butch had pushed him around in the fields, in front of the other children. Preacher was humiliated. And he lost control. He challenged Butch to a fight to settle things once and for all. Butch agreed. As Preacher prepared himself for the confrontation, he had the same sensation in his belly. Once the first punch was thrown, the feeling disappeared.
He was going to throw the first punch.
Preacher reminded himself, technically, James threw the first punch. His accusations and betrayal. Involving the Marshal and now Sarah. And Carson. James started this fight. But Preacher intended to end it.
He heard bits and pieces of the conversation in the ministry. When voices raised, Preacher was able to make out the general topic. Him. James continued to make his case. The blessed Sarah defended his honor. He smiled to himself. At least he had won over three of the four. He promised himself to dispose of Sarah with respect. James would not deserve the same treatment.
Preacher heard the ministry door open and feet stomping down the hallway to his room. He knew the debate wasn’t over. There was nothing he could do to avoid it. He steeled himself for James’ wrath. Deny everything and demand proof. Wiser words had never been spoken.
Preacher went to the door when James pounded his fist on it.
“It’s late, James. Can’t we get some rest tonight?” Preacher made himself look weak and sickly.
“No. I know there is something wrong with you and I am going to prove it. Right now.” James pushed his way into the bedroom.
“Of course something is wrong with me, James. I’m ill.” Preacher slumped upon his bed and dabbed at his forehead as if he were feeling fo
r his temperature.
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” James hovered over the bed. He pointed his hand at the night stand. “Show them. Now.”
Preacher raised his eyes to James in a sad display of sickness. He slowly nodded and sat up on his bed. Preacher glanced at Sarah. She watched him with curiosity. Carson was expressionless, clutching Sarah’s nightgown. He slid the drawer open.
“See. Exactly like I told you.” James shouted triumphantly. He grinned with pride as he had exposed Preacher’s dirty secret.
“My God, Preacher. Why do you have blood in your drawer?” Sarah looked horrified. She stepped closer, never taking her eyes off the hidden treasure in his night stand.
Preacher exhaled. He fumbled through a fake cough to drum up more sympathy. “I can explain this morbid collection.”
James stood defiantly with his hands upon his hips. Preacher saw the look of triumph in James’ eyes. Preacher couldn’t wait to pull the rug out from under him.
“These vials hold the blood of saints. Well, not real saints. But men of the cloth I have had the fortune of being tutored by. Older holy men. When they died, I asked for a keepsake so they would always remain with me in spirit. Morbid, I know. It was the only thing that got me through those sorrowful times.” He glanced at James whose mouth was agape.
“Oh, that is so sweet. But couldn’t you have taken some of their hair instead?” Sarah appeared ambivalent about his mementos. But her voice was empathetic. Carson ran over and picked up a vial. He turned it over in his fingers, inspecting the crimson contents closely.
Preacher warmed inside. It felt good to cut James in half. He struggled to contain his enjoyment and continued to act weak and sickly.
