Sanctuary (16 page)

But today, the sheriff wrapped his arms—thick as some men's legs—around the woman's shoulders, and she sagged against him, hiding her face and her sobs in her hands.

He helped her through the gate of the Finney property and down along the alley toward her own backyard. That course took him almost within touching distance of Judd, and Judd shrank into the shadows, not breathing.

But the sheriff didn't seem to notice, his attention focused on the woman. At first Judd thought the sheriff was speaking to the woman so softly that only she could understand, but he wasn't speaking. Instead, he was murmuring, making the reassuring noises one might make to a frightened horse.

When the two reached the gate to the woman's backyard, the sheriff stopped and nodded to Doc Wilson and the others, silent and waiting. They slipped away, quiet as clouds.

The air eased out of Judd's lungs, but he didn't move until the alley and the backyard were empty.

Judd drifted up the alley, his mind sifting through what he had just seen. But again and again the image of Mordecai tickling Mrs. Finney's neck with a feather bumped in the boy's mind. The preacher's words that day nagged at Judd: “She deserves one more good laugh before she goes.”

Judd squatted in the alley, watching a long trail of ants move mindlessly toward their nest at the edge of the alley. Judd picked up one of the tiny creatures. The ant twisted and squirmed in his fingers, jaws raging helplessly at the huge creature who held it.

Judd dropped the ant and sighed. It was time to go see the preacher.

Judd squatted in the shadow of a cottonwood, hidden behind a bush. Sheriff Timothy was inside. Judd had seen him move past the window, heard the clang of steel against steel as doors opened and closed inside. And now a waitress from the Silver Dollar Saloon stood in front of the jail door. She listed just a bit from the weight of the basket she was carrying, and she shifted it to her other hand before knocking at the door.

A panel in the jail's steel door opened with a click, and a moment later the sheriff invited the waitress inside. The smell of sausage and eggs and biscuits wafted to Judd, and his belly rumbled.

The door swung open again, and the waitress stepped out, leaving the basket and dishes to be picked up later, but still she walked as though she were carrying a heavy burden.

Judd waited until the woman disappeared. He shuddered, then stood, hesitating before leaving the safety of the shadow. He drew a deep breath and crossed the road to the jail, rapping tentatively on the door.

The door opened, and Sheriff Timothy blocked the entrance. “He said you'd be here this morning.”

Timothy waved Judd in and stepped over to his desk, rummaging through the papers on it. He picked one up and handed it to Judd.

“Trial starts Monday. This is a subpoena. You've been called as a witness for the prosecution. Report here about a quarter to eight, and I'll take you over.”

Judd's eyes were wide with fright, and he was shaking his head.

“No choice, boy. You do what the judge says or he'll hold you in contempt and put you in jail. Neither of us would like that.”

“The preacher's eating breakfast now, but I'll take you back.” Timothy cocked his head and asked, “You got a gun or a knife?”

Judd shook his head, and Timothy nodded. The sheriff took a ring of keys from a peg on the wall and slipped one into the heavy wooden door leading to the cells. The door slid open on well-oiled hinges, and Judd and the sheriff stepped through.

Mordecai was standing near the door to his cell, his smile lighting the room.

“Judd, I'm so glad you decided to come. I have a lot to talk to you about.” Turning his attention to the sheriff, Mordecai asked, “Suppose you could leave the cell door open if I promise not to escape?”

Timothy nodded. “I'll leave the other door open, too. When you're ready to go, Judd, just come on out.”

Judd, his eyes focused on the floor, nodded.

The sheriff stepped out of the cell block, and Mordecai waved Judd into the cell.

“Never known you not to be hungry,” Mordecai said. “I wasn't hungry this morning, so I've got eggs and hash browns and sausage and toast.

“Sit down and help yourself.”

Judd shook his head, and Mordecai's voice dropped.

“Go ahead, boy. It's a shame to waste food when so many people are hungry.”

Judd was famished. He sat on the bed, the metal jail tray on his lap, and ate the eggs and toast, eyeing the link sausage. He tried hard to eat slowly, to postpone what he had to say, but the taste of the eggs and potatoes and buttered toast pulled him through the meal.

When he stopped eating there was still a knot in his stomach, brought on, he thought, by the aroma of the sausage still lying on his plate. He wrapped the links in his handkerchief and put them in his shirt pocket.

“For your grandmother?” Mordecai asked, and when Judd nodded, the preacher smiled. “You'll do all right.”

Judd sat silently on the bed, staring at the floor, and then he spoke. “Mrs. Finney died. A neighbor said she had her ‘last laugh' about the moose call just like you said.”

“She was a good woman,” Mordecai replied.

“How did you know about her last laugh?”

“Judd, she was old and tired. She could have gone any time.”

Judd looked at the preacher, staring into his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have to tell you something.” He took a deep breath and let it go, hissing between his teeth.

He continued, “I was the one who told the sheriff you rustled the cattle. I thought the people would be blamed if I didn't. I thought we would all go to jail.”

Judd sighed, and his voice broke. “I wanted the money, too. And I thought that maybe Jack was right, that you were working with Mr. Newcombe. I thought you had sold us for money, so it wouldn't matter if I sold you.”

Judd looked up at the preacher, a sheen of tears on his face.

“But that isn't true, is it? You aren't working with Mr. Newcombe.”

The preacher sat on the bed and put an arm around Judd.

“No, that isn't true.”

“Then I have done a terrible thing.” Judd's voice was coming between sobs. “And the sheriff gave me a piece of paper that says I have to be in court Monday, or the judge will hold me in contempt and put me in jail. I didn't know they put you in jail for contempt.”

Mordecai hugged Judd, tears running down his face and dripping into the boy's hair.

Thirteen

The Reverend Eli crawled from the galvanized tub, stepping to a towel spread on the kitchen floor. He stood there naked, water dripping from his body, arms raised in prayer.

“Father, cleanse me for this battle which is about to ensue. Wash away the filth of earth and mankind, and let me shine with the light of my special purity.” He was breathing deeply and his thoughts turned to Naomi Parkman, but he shook his head. He must focus his whole being on the task before him today.

He dressed slowly and carefully, donning his best black suit and starched shirt, running a cloth again over his shoes, buffing them until they shone like a black mirror. Then he set his freshly brushed, flat-brimmed black hat on his head, straightening it in the mirror.

He smoothed his coat over his chest and hips and smiled at the image. He was ready.

Puffs of dust marked the Reverend's steps as he crossed the street, ignoring traffic and passersby. The Elder Jackson stopped his wagon to let the Reverend pass, cursing under his breath after his Christian act went unnoticed.

The Reverend sought shade as he walked toward the jail, preferring it to the hot June sun. When he reached the sheriff's office, he knocked impatiently. The panel in the door clicked open, and Deputy Abner peeked out, rushing to open the door when he saw who was waiting.

The deputy's mind was scurrying even faster than his feet. Abner knew that one word from the Reverend's pulpit would do his campaign for sheriff a lot of good.

“Sheriff Timothy's out having coffee at the Silver Dollar. Seems like whenever anything's happening, he's down there,” Abner said, pausing to watch his visitor's reaction as the Reverend stepped in.

When the Reverend did not respond, Abner worried that the Reverend would take the comment wrong. He had a tendency to look on the dark side of things. Probably some verse or another in the Bible about not telling tales about your boss when you're running for his job, and that damn Reverend knew the good book by rote.

Abner was angry at himself for mouthing off like that about the sheriff. On the other hand, what made the Reverend so high and mighty? What the hell made the Reverend think he could pick Sanctuary's sheriff?

Abner's growing rancor poked out of his voice. “Well, what can I do for you,
Reverend?
”

“I came to see this man they call preacher.”

“He's got a visitor right now.”

“I'll take care of that,” the Reverend said, leaving Abner fuming in his wake.

Mordecai and Judd were sitting on the cot, Mordecai with his arm around Judd's shoulders.

The Reverend's lip curled. “I'm not surprised to find a heathen with you.”

Mordecai cocked his head and stared at the Reverend Eli for a moment. “You'd best be going,” he whispered to Judd. “Come back and see me tomorrow.”

Judd darted from the cell and ran to the back door of the jail rather than pass within arm's reach of that man clad in black. He slipped the bolt in the door and fled into the alley.

“What can I do for you?” Mordecai asked.

The Reverend sneered. “That's the question, isn't it?”

“Maybe you can make yourself a little plainer.”

“You know what I mean.”

The preacher swept his arm around the empty cell. “As you can see, I'm a busy man. I don't have much time for guessing games.”

“I have fasted for three days,” the Reverend said.

“Good for you.”

The Reverend's face wrinkled in conjecture.

Mordecai continued, “If I'm expected to play a role in this little drama, you ought to fill me in all my part.”

“Your role is no secret to you. If you choose not to tempt me, I must assume that you realize I cannot be tempted, that I am my Father's son.”

“Yes,” Mordecai whispered. “You are your father's son. Your father was a drunkard and a wastrel who bedded both you and your sisters when you were but children.”

“No!”
The Reverend's denial reverberated through the jail as though it had been beaten on a drum. His eyes were wide and rolling, and his head shaking in disavowal. “No! That man was not my father.”

“And you are visiting the sins of your father on the children of your congregations.”

The Reverend's face blanched white.

“You came here to be tempted, Reverend, so I'll tempt you. Drop to your knees now and pray to God for the forgiveness of your sins. Ask Him to forgive you your hubris and intemperance and intolerance. Ask Him to make well all those you have corrupted with your hate and lust. Ask Him how you may serve His purpose on Earth and not your own. And then beg forgiveness of Judd and his people, the people of your congregation, the people of Sanctuary, and all the people you have touched with your special brand of evil. Throw yourself on the mercy of man and God.”

“Do that, Brother Eli, and I will pray with you for God's forgiveness, and perhaps He will make you whole again.”

The Reverend Eli recoiled from Mordecai's words. He staggered back as though he had been struck a killing blow. He came to rest against the jail wall, where he squirmed, as if trying to force himself through it, to escape Mordecai's eyes.

Then, as Mordecai watched, the Reverend Eli began to change. His face was pressed in profile against the wall, but he stared at Mordecai from the corner of his eye. Color rushed back into his face until it glowed a dull red, hot with the fires that burned within. Sweat trickled down his face and dropped off his chin, the sparse fat of his body rendering with the heat.

When he spoke, his voice was low and contained and deadly.

“You are subtle, deceiver, much more subtle than the last time we met. But you cannot promise me salvation. Salvation is not yours to give.”

“I did not promise—”

“Oh, you're subtle, Satan—subtle in the ways that you would confuse me, but I have denied your temptations once again. I have proven myself stronger than you.”

The Reverend's eyes were wide, staring. “And now you will face me in the Holocaust, and I will defeat you and sit in judgment upon your kind. Expect no mercy from me, Satan. Expect only hellfire and the pain of burning forever without the respite of death. I will put you on a spit and watch you roast.”

Spittle was now dripping from the corners of the Reverend's mouth.

“Once you have been convicted of rusding, no one will ever believe you. They will join me and march against your army of evil, and I will TRIUMPH!”

That word boomed through the jail until it seemed that the windows rattled with it.

Deputy Abner, obviously shaken, suddenly appeared at the door.

“Uh, Reverend, it might be a good idea if you were to go now. The sheriff's coming, and … well … you know how he is.”

The Reverend Eli turned his wild, terrible eyes on the deputy, and Abner flinched.

“The reckoning will come soon enough,” the Reverend said, “for those who oppose me.” He marched through the door.

He would speak to his congregation Sunday, warn them of the evil among them. He would set fire to their faith, build a conflagration big enough to burn this blasphemer's soul.

By Monday when the trial was due to begin, the so-called preacher would know what it was to face the wrath of the righteous.

Fourteen

The crowd converged on the courthouse before eight o'clock, little knots of people braiding together as neatly and orderly as macramé.