Part 9 (2/2)
”What's that?”
”Pray.”
Robert went blank. Hadn't he just warned the a.s.shole? But he only let go of Matt's hand and watched him leave, wondering if he'd ever see him again.
He drank three pots of coffee that afternoon. Unable to move, barely capable of a thought, he was reduced to one function: pouring java. At first the waitress made a stab at small talk, but soon gave up. By late afternoon his head-if not his sight-cleared enough for him to consider returning home. He realized that Veronica and Jennifer had long ago returned from their Sat.u.r.day antiquing. He inched from his booth, laid a crisp ten dollar bill on the table and tried not to stumble on his way out.
He took the back roads. Outside his home, he heard laughter. He inserted the key and it stopped.
They were on the living room couch, his girls, and they looked up from a game of Checkers. The instant they saw him their smiles vanished. Veronica dropped a captured piece on the floor and stood.
Chapter Eleven: On the Steps of the Inn.
1.
Nathaniel Durham burst through the batwing doors of Cheney's Saloon at just after nine that morning. William followed as the preacher screamed for John. Durham was looking up at the second floor, where, the innkeeper had overheard more than once, a few of the friendlier tenement girls might be found after dark.
Downstairs bore none of the scars of a long night. The tables were clean, the chairs overturned atop them, their legs shooting into the air. The floor looked to have been swept. Stools rested seat-down on the bar top.
William followed Durham's eyes. The preacher had been in opposition to a bar operating in Tempest. He'd wailed Sunday after Sunday, and on that Holy Day the town's people shouted their solidarity. But on Monday, things always changed. After a long day's labor, the citizens cried out for a saloon; the same folks who sang 'Amen!' on Sundays wailed for whiskey on Mondays.
The Reverend screamed for John again and this time the floorboards began to creak. Soon, John Cheney appeared over the railing that enclosed the second floor. He was s.h.i.+rtless; he wore only a pair of riveted Levi's. He yawned, leaned over the whitewashed railing and asked, ”And what can I do for you so early in the morning?”
”Taylor's cattle are dead,” said Nathaniel.
The consternation on Chaney's face changed to concern. He waited for more.
”William checked in a family of strangers last night. They asked about Daniel.”
”And what does Daniel have to do with dead cattle over at Taylor's?”
”Gather some men and bring them to the church,” said Durham. He glanced back at William, who followed him out.
Although the front doors stood open, the church was stifling. Forty or more men pressed together in the pews. All stared up at the pulpit, behind which stood Reverend Nathaniel Durham.
His every mannerism, vocal or otherwise, served to create a rhythm. He used his voice and body language as either a sledgehammer or a scalpel, s.h.i.+fting his attack in response to att.i.tudes: When faces grew pallid, he drove harder, pounding his fist into his open palm, raising his voice an octave; when brows gathered he stepped from behind the pulpit and searched the faces for doubt. He didn't wish to stir intellects, but a collection of fears as old as the dawn of time. He spoke of witches and demons and ancient curses of the blood, and when he finished the men leapt up, shouting, pumping their fists into the fetid air above them.
Durham watched. And smiled.
They marched on Main Street, stopping before the inn. As one, they looked toward the second floor, screamed for the strangers to show themselves, to come down to give an account of last night.
Durham laid a hand on William's shoulder. ”Let's part this sea,” he said. To the innkeeper's amazement the men stepped aside without a word from either of them. None turned, none even seemed to notice, they simply moved.
Soon he and the preacher stood at their front. Durham lifted his arms, and everyone fell silent. ”We know who you are!” he shouted. ”Come down!”
2.
Sarah parted the drapes. ”Ma! Pa!”
Papa moved her out of the way and looked down. He turned. Sarah's parents said nothing. Then Papa nodded and started for the door, slowly, his arms flattened by his side.
As Sarah watched him leave, her eye began to twitch.
3.
When the man appeared in the inn's doorway, William leaned toward Durham, whispering, ”That's him.” His action reminded him for a moment of Judas kissing Jesus's cheek.
Durham stepped forward, lifted his foot, set it on the steps, claiming ground. ”You look tired, man,” he shouted, seemingly more for the benefit of the crowd behind him. The farmers and shopkeepers held axes and shotguns. A nervous laughter spread among them.
The man nodded.
”Tired and nervous,” said Durham.
Again, the man nodded.
”You must have had a very busy evening,” the preacher said, and the men t.i.ttered.
In a weak voice, the man answered, ”My family and I traveled heavily yesterday. But we slept last night.”
”Are you sure you didn't visit Daniel?”
”Have I done something wrong, sir?” asked the man, then he turned his attention to the crowd and stepped forward, looking over the preacher. ”Have I? Have you come here to accuse me?”
The mob waited.
Nathaniel stepped forward. ”Get your family down here and do it now.”
The man back up, clenched his teeth. ”I will not,” he said.
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