by Chuck Buda
“What about your name?” James rushed on.
“What about my name?”
“You told us you don’t go by your Christian name because you are just a Preacher. Maybe the rest of the town has fallen for your lies but I haven’t. Men who come to town with no name are usually hiding from someone or something.” James panted as he spoke. “What are you hiding from?”
Preacher held up his hands in surrender. He slowly nodded his head at James. “You’re right, James. I am hiding from something. I have been for a very long time.” Sarah hung on every word as she stared into his eyes. Even Carson stared at him, still holding a vial of blood in the air like he was looking at it. But he wasn’t. He was waiting for Preacher’s story too.
“When I was a boy, my mother fell ill. She got something the doctor had never seen before. He prescribed all kinds of tinctures and ointments. None of them worked.” He bit his lip and stifled a phony trembling lip. “She suffered greatly, over a long period of time. So I did the only thing a young boy who loved his mama could do.” He wiped away tears which didn’t exist. “I made a deal with the Lord to sacrifice myself for her. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer any longer.”
Preacher glanced up. Sarah cried quietly. Her hand against her lips to silence her sorrow. Tears ran down Carson’s cheeks. He blinked and new rivulets streamed over his face. James was stoic.
“I offered my soul to the Lord so my mama could die quickly. Peacefully.” He paused for effect, scrunching up his blanket in his hand. “She finally passed. And I became the Lord’s servant. To this day, I do what he commands of me.”
James shifted his feet. “And what about the strange words inside your Bible?”
Preacher dabbed at more fake tears. “Those words are a foreign tongue. I can’t read them or speak them. The Bible was given to me by one of the elders. He had traveled the world and collected their language in his book.” Preacher lifted the Bible to James and Sarah for them to inspect.
Sarah glanced at the words and then sat next to Preacher on the bed. She draped her arm around his shoulder to comfort him. Carson climbed onto Sarah’s lap and place his hand on Preacher’s arm. It was his own method of comforting the Preacher.
James glared at the threesome on the bed. Preacher read the fire beneath his gaze. He sensed the hostility brewing within James’ heart.
He had survived another attack. And now he didn’t need to hide the blood or the Bible any longer. They bought the tale. But not James.
Preacher met James’ eyes. He had defeated the boy. For now.
Bigger battles were yet to come.
Chapter 34
Marshal Kaden Holder was tired. He usually went home to sleep but decided to sleep in his desk chair tonight. The late excursion with James followed by the questioning of Preacher kept him at work late. The thought of going home and awakening his wife didn’t appeal to him. Mrs. Holder was a sweet woman. But certain things brought out the Irish temper in her. One was cuss words. The other was interrupting her sleep schedule.
He dozed in and out for a few hours. The fitful sleep was partially due to the discomfort provided by the old wooden chair. The rest was caused by his mind. It tried to figure out what happened to Miss Lark. Marshal Holder was great at his job. The job wasn’t as kind to him. Once a problem arose, his brain worked tirelessly to resolve it, regardless of how much rest his body required.
The Marshal gave up. He pulled out a cigar and tucked it in between his lips. The taste of the moist leaves combated the pasty taste of sleep in his mouth. He struck a match against the bottom of the chair. The flame cast a flickering image of the darkened office around him. His eyes grazed the empty jail cells across the room. Then the room turned black when he blew the match out.
He sucked on the cigar while the dim glow of the lit end warmed his face. The Marshal wasn’t afraid of sitting in the dark. Actually, he preferred it. He found that his senses were more attuned to the surroundings when he didn’t need to rely on visual cues. It accentuated his thinking, which was a welcome state at this point.
The Marshal blew out several rings of smoke. The rings were invisible to the naked eye in the black room. But he knew they were drifting there. He had practiced making the rings of smoke since he started smoking at age nine.
As he tilted his head back to breathe in the aroma of tobacco, footsteps neared on the porch boards outside. He stiffened and rested his hand on the shiny Colt tucked in his holster. The Marshal was an ace shot and he would kill whoever tried to break in and attack him.
“Marshal? You in there?”
The Marshal rolled his eyes. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Zane from the saloon. If Zane was looking for him then chances were good that somebody was misbehaving at the bar and he didn’t feel like dealing with drunken stupidity at the moment. He knew Zane could handle things on his own. Rarely did the bruiser require backup.
“I know you’re there. I can see the cigar burning.”
The Marshal cussed under his breath. It never occurred to him the man would stick his face up against the glass to look in. He hoped to stay quiet and let Zane give up before heading back to the saloon. Now he was stuck. And he was aggravated by the disturbance.
He slid his chair back on squeaky legs and approached the door. “What you want, Zane? I’m busy.”
“Uh, I need you to come see something.”
The Marshal scratched his dark mustache and removed the cigar from his lips. “Unless it’s a big set of titties from the brothel, I ain’t fixin’ to open this door.”
“Please. I found something you’re gonna wanna see. I promise it’s important. Not as fun as a big set of titties though.”
Marshal Holder exhaled and unlocked the door. Zane was a big man, one of the few who could actually stand eye to eye with him. But he was just a kid. The Marshal had a good twenty years on him.
“It’s late, Zane. I’ve been up all night chasing down that Miss Lark woman...”
Zane cut off the Marshal. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Marshal Holder knew the visit wasn’t going to end happily. If Zane came knocking this time of night about a missing person, then chances were good their missing person was found. Seeing how Miss Lark wasn’t standing behind Zane, the Marshal was experienced enough to know she was dead.
“Let’s go then.” He lowered the brim of his hat and locked the office door behind him.
The men walked in silence across town. When they arrived at the saloon, Zane cut a turn around the alley way instead of heading inside. The Marshal half expected her body to be left in a bedroom upstairs in the brothel. Some women were raped and left behind in unoccupied rooms when folks weren’t paying attention. They turned the corner and ended up behind the saloon.
Huge barrels all askew littered the back of the building. Trash and broken bottles lay all around in the dirt. Zane stepped aside and pointed a few feet to the right. The Marshal made out the shape of two legs sprawled underneath a few barrels. He glanced at Zane who stared nervously back at him.
Marshal Holder crouched down and shoved one of the barrels over. It rolled noisily away, revealing a dead woman. It was Miss Lark.
The Marshal choked back some bile. He had seen many dead bodies in his career. People who had been shot or stabbed or died of old age. Nothing like this. He was horrified by the scene. The Marshal doubted Preacher could have been involved in such a heinous act as this.
Eleanor’s eyes were gone. Hollowed out sockets stared back at him. Her lips were peeled back like they had been scalded away, revealing grinning teeth. The rest of the body appeared intact. No signs of blood anywhere. He picked up one of her hands and dropped it immediately. Marshal Holder waved Zane closer.
“Gimme some dang-gum light, will ya?”
Zane hesitated for a moment, probably unwilling to see more than he had already. The Marshal shot him a look and Zane struck up a match, holding it closer to Miss Lark’s body.
The Marshal lifted the hand again and t
urned it over. The palm and fingers were burned down to the bones. Charred pieces of flesh clung to sinew which hadn’t finished burning off. The woman’s long fingernails jutting out past the bony tips sent chills down his spine. He quickly checked her other hand and found the same pattern.
“What the hell did that, Marshal? That’s beyond evil, right there.”
Marshal Holder stood up and brushed his hands off on this pants. He chewed the end of his cigar harder, bringing juice from the leaves to his gums. Smoke drifted from the corners of his mouth and his nostrils. He turned to Zane with a concerned expression.
“It’s the work of the devil.”
Chapter 35
James was groggy. It had been a long night following a longer day. He stared at Eleanor’s bed. The blanket and pillow remained untouched and pristine. Carson was curled up in a ball under his blanket. One bare foot jutted out from the lumpy mountain of blanket. James smiled. He nudged the mattress. Carson poked his head over the covers. Then lowered his head down to the pillow.
His mother appeared to be sleeping soundly. Her face was peaceful and relaxed. James was glad she got rest because he thought she had been grouchy since they came to Dodge City. Then again, he reminded himself, who hasn’t been grouchy since we got here?
James pulled on his dungarees and slipped his feet into the cold boots. He tugged his shirt on and fastened his belt. Carson heard him get dressed and followed James’ lead. Carson didn’t say a word. He just busied himself with his clothing, oblivious of the clump of hair standing straight out on the side of his head.
They left the ministry quietly so as not to disturb his mother. As they rounded the corner to the chapel, James saw Preacher’s door was open. He glanced inside. The bed was made and the room was empty. James felt relieved. After yesterday, he wasn’t in the mood to cross paths with Preacher anytime soon. He wanted some time to mull over the facts and let his anger dissipate. He also needed to find Eleanor without missing work at the Trading Post.
“Good morning, James. Carson.”
The hair on the back of James’ neck shot up. Preacher was in the chapel, standing in front of the altar. He hadn’t noticed the man since the morning light was still dim.
Carson waved at Preacher without opening his mouth. Carson rarely spoke before eating or drinking something in the morning. He used to complain his mouth felt sticky and smelled bad whenever he woke up.
James chose to nod at Preacher rather than speak to him. He feared his temper would get the best of him and he didn’t want to start the day on a sour note. James grabbed Carson’s collar and dragged him toward the door.
As James stepped outside into the chill dawn air, Marshal Kaden Holder approached. James didn’t like the sight of the Marshal coming his way at this hour of the morning. But he figured he could again solicit the Marshal’s help in searching for Eleanor.
“Morning, James.”
“Morning.” James felt his senses on high alert. The Marshal looked too business-like and somber to be offering his help. James thought his knees buckled for a second.
“Mind if I come in for a second?” The Marshal hooked his thumbs in his belt. The dark mustache was extra ominous looking today.
James stepped aside to allow the Marshal passage. He closed the door and followed the large man toward the pews. Preacher grinned and made his way over to greet the Marshal. James wanted to choke Preacher to death just seeing him in the same space.
The Marshal looked grave. He removed his hat. James was surprised to find the man’s hair was much lighter than the Mexican-style mustache on his face. He wondered if the man used hot tar or something to paint the facial hair. It was such a stark difference from the rest of his hair.
Marshal Holder cleared his throat. “Sit down, men.” Carson smiled at being called a man. After the three of them sat in a pew, the Marshal began talking.
“I’m afraid I bring bad news this morning. Miss Lark showed up late last night.”
“Where is she?” James sprang to his feet. He was glad the Marshal found her. The part about the bad news started to sink in though. James let his legs give way and he slumped down to the pew.
“I’m sorry, James. She’s gone.”
James was devastated. Could it be true? Eleanor was dead? How could it be when he had just seen her a day ago? It seemed as if years had gone by in between now and their last conversation. He tried to reconcile the fact that he would never see her again. Her smile. Those eyes. Her kisses.
James broke down. He pitched forward and dropped his head in his hands. The tears were hot and came fast. James didn’t even bother worrying that others would see him crying.
Carson looked between the Marshal and James. It must have taken him a few minutes to comprehend what had happened. Either that or it was a delayed reaction. He started to cry, too.
Preacher muttered something about holding a memorial service tonight in the chapel. James heard the man speak but paid no attention to the words. He was heart-broken. All he could remember was the last time he spoke with Eleanor. It had been an argument. He imagined her laughing at him from heaven since he messed up any chance for a happy memory of her.
“How? What happened?” James whined through his tears.
“Don’t know, exactly. We found her behind the saloon. Like nothing I ever seen before.”
James stood up. He stopped crying as he felt his temper welling up inside. “What do you mean?”
The Marshal glanced over James’ shoulder at Carson. He tugged James a few feet to the side and whispered. “Her eyes were gone. And her hands. They were burned to the bone. Nothing else.” James smelled the tobacco and coffee on the Marshal’s breath.
“What could have done something like that? Was it a predator?”
The Marshal shook his head. “Nah, animals would leave a bigger mess. Besides, her innards weren’t touched. Animals would go to town on your guts before anything else. And those burns... Like she touched a blazing fire. Long enough to take all the flesh off. Scary thought.”
James was beside himself. If it wasn’t animals then they were looking for her killer. He spun around to face Preacher. Had the man been in his room all night? Asleep like James? Or had he sneaked out and finished her off? His gut swirled, sensing Preacher’s involvement. But he had not proof. Yet.
Preacher stared back at James. He realized Preacher hadn’t shed a tear. The man sat still. Listening. Not a reaction showing in his body or his expression. James tried to look through Preacher’s eyes. The only thing staring back at him was cold darkness.
Chapter 36
James issued a fake smile at Gunderson as he entered the back room of the Trading Post. His eyes still burned from crying over Eleanor’s death.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gunderson flicked something small he rolled between his fingers.
James was confused. He stopped walking and looked around, trying to figure out what Gunderson meant.
“Where’s your shadow?” Gunderson chuckled at his own joke about Carson.
James sighed and stared at his boots. “He ain’t come to work today.”
“Is he sick?”
James shook his head. “No. He’s too upset to work on account of Eleanor’s death.” He saw Gunderson’s face droop upon hearing the news. “Marshal found her body behind the saloon last night.”
James continued on to his work station. He knew the sausage wasn’t going to stuff itself.
“Oh, James. I’m so sorry.” Gunderson placed his enormous hand on James’ shoulder. The pungent smell body odor wafted from the fingers directly to James’ nose.
He battled the tears which threatened to resurface. James had been embarrassed enough for crying in front of the Marshal, and Preacher for that matter. He didn’t want to add Gunderson to the list of men who thought he was a baby. James tied the apron around his waist and lifted the bin of raw meat.
“What are you doing here? You should be there to comfort Carson. And your mother.
” Gunderson followed James around the table. “How about you? Are you holding up?”
James nodded unconvincingly. “I need to work. It helps me think.”
Gunderson stared at James. He watched James work the meat through the grinder. Chunks of ground meat spit out the back end of the device, landing in an empty bin waiting on the other side.
“Well, I won’t bother you.” Gunderson began to leave James to his work. He stopped and faced James. “I still think you should go home and mourn with everyone else. It’s not healthy to bury things inside. I won’t be upset if you change your mind and leave.”
“Who else will prepare the wursts if I go?”
Gunderson chuckled. “It’s only sausage, boy.” He rubbed his hands together and left the room.
James cranked the handle on the grinder. His frustration rose and he turned the handle faster and faster. The meat spewed out the back end so quickly, it filled the bin within minutes. He paused to replace the full bin with an empty one. He saw two dimples in the ground beef. They resembled eye sockets and James immediately imagined Eleanor’s vacant face. The raw sinews behind the eyes exposed for all to see. James wondered what it felt like to have your own eyes taken from your skull. He hoped to God she was already dead when the mutilation occurred. The thought of Eleanor suffering through such abuse made him shudder.
He started to cry again.
His mind worked over the Marshal’s description of her hands. Burned down to the bone. How could that happen? Wouldn’t the rest of her body burn too? At least her arms would, right? He thought over and over about the malicious attack on his first love. Each time he pictured her beauty and the first time he saw her, helping Eleanor carry her materials to the schoolhouse, the vision would be replaced with horrific images of her death.
James punched the stack of meat with his bare knuckles. It hurt his hand but he repeated the abuse several times. He was angry with himself for squandering precious time with Eleanor. He had only known her for a brief period and yet she had made a huge impact on his life. James spent more time thinking about responsibility and providing for her and finding a home for her and his family. He had so many plans for the two of them. But he had never communicated those plans with her.
