Preacher's Justice (14 page)

Closing the file, Blanton returned it to the drawer from which it had come. “I have no intention of honoring them,” he said cryptically. “Unless, of course, you force me to honor them. As I said earlier, you are the man with the gun, and I never argue with a man who is holding a gun on me.”

Preacher stared at Blanton, so angry with the fat man that his temple began to throb. Blanton was a quick learner. He had already learned how to play Preacher against himself. By saying that the only way he would honor the drafts would be for Preacher to force him to do so, he meant that he was inviting Preacher to take the deed by force. That was something Preacher had already said he would not do, because a deed taken by force, even in exchange for valid bank drafts, would be reported to the sheriff as soon as Preacher left.

“Very well, I will find a bank to honor it, and I'll bring cash.”

Despite the wounded nose, Blanton actually allowed a smile to play across his face. He believed that he was in control now. This was business, and nobody was better at business than Klyce Blanton.

“You go find a bank, Mr. Preacher, or Coopersmith . . . whatever you are calling yourself,” Blanton said. “But when you do find one, understand this. I want the money in gold coin. I'm not interested in paper.”

“Why not? I know that you deal in paper money,” Preacher said.

“It is my option to ask for payment to be rendered in gold,” Blanton said. “And that is what I intend to do, unless you force me to do otherwise.” Blanton continued to play the hand he had been dealt. He knew, now, that Preacher wasn't going to force him into any deal that might later compromise the transaction. “So, if you want your papa's loan back, you are going to have bring me six hundred twenty dollars in gold,” Blanton said. He snorted what might have been a chuckle. “You can bring me the seven dollars in paper money.”

“I'll be back,” Preacher said as he left the office.

Blanton followed Preacher to the door of his office, then stood there and watched as Preacher left the bank.

“You two worthless pieces of shit can get up now,” Blanton said dismissively, speaking to his bodyguards, who were still sitting on the floor over in the corner of his office.

The two men stood and retrieved their guns.

“I'm going after the son of a bitch,” Colby said, starting toward the door. “I'll teach him to treat me this way.”

“No,” Blanton said, holding his hand out to stop him. “You and McDougal follow him, but don't do anything until he gets the money.”

“Then what?” Colby asked.

“I don't want him to make it back to the bank with it.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“I don't want him to make it back to the bank with the money,” Blanton said again, this time more pointedly than before.

“All right,” Colby said.

Preacher had no intention of letting Blanton take the farm away from his father. If the bank demanded cash money in order to retire the debt, then Preacher would come up with the cash. Whatever it took to get control of the farm returned to his father, Preacher intended to do.

The first requirement would be to find a bank that would honor the drafts from the River Bank of St. Louis. That in itself should not be hard, though it might be somewhat more difficult to find a bank that would pay in gold coin, rather than paper money.

This was Preacher's original home place, but he had grown to adulthood somewhere else. Because of that, he really knew very little about this area. In order to find a bank that would meet all the requirements, he would have to have help from someone, and he knew exactly who that someone would be. He walked down the street to visit with his brother-in-law.

Preacher thought his brother-in-law's establishment would be closed at this time of the morning, so he was surprised to see that Vaughan Roberts had already opened the Riverman's Inn for business. When he stepped inside, Vaughan looked up at him from behind the bar. Vaughan smiled, and called a greeting.

“Good morning, brother-in-law.”

“Good morning,” Preacher replied. He looked around the Inn, and saw that there were several people sitting at the tables.

“I wouldn't have expected you to have this many customers at this time of day,” Preacher said. “Seems a little early to be drinking, doesn't it?”

Vaughan chuckled. “Not if you're drinking coffee,” he replied.

“Coffee?”

“In the afternoon and at night, we are what some may call a tavern. But you notice we call it an inn, not a tavern, so we open in the morning and have quite a brisk breakfast trade. A lot of men, especially the bachelors, come in here for coffee and strudel. Your sister makes the best strudel in the county, and has proven it by winning prizes at the county fair.”

“I didn't know that about her,” Preacher said. “Actually, I'm ashamed to say, I know nothing about her, or any of the rest of my family.”

“You have a wonderful family, I'm happy to say.”

“Tell me about them,” Preacher said. “Last night, I'm afraid that all I did was fill everybody in on where I've been and what I've done for the last fifteen years.”

“All right, I'll start with your sister Betty. She was a schoolteacher until she got married, and she was a very good one. But as I'm sure you know, the school board has a strict rule against teachers being married so when she and Jim got hitched, she had to give up her job. There were a lot of disappointed families in the area, families whose older sons or daughters had been in Miss Coopersmith's class, and who wanted their younger children to have her as well.

“Betty's husband, Jim, publishes a newspaper, and even the governor has read and commented on some of his editorials. There are some who think Jim should run for office, but he insists that he can do more good as a newspaperman by, in his words, ‘being the watchdog of the public.'

“Your brother Morgan, like your father, is a farmer. He works hard, is honest in his dealings with others, and there is no finer man in the county. His wife, Ann, happens to be my first cousin, so if I tell you what a wonderful person she is, you'll just say I'm being prejudiced.”

“No, I would say who has a clearer idea than you,” Preacher replied. “Thank you for filling me in on all of them, Vaughan. But I must say that, after seeing how well they all turned out, it's clear to me that I am the black sheep of the family,” Preacher said. He was only half-jesting when he made the comment.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Vaughan said.

“I know they were all shocked to see me just drop in out of the blue the way I did.”

“They may have been shocked—who wouldn't be to have you suddenly show up after such a long time. But I'll tell you this. I know they were all very happy to see you,” Vaughan said. “Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you, that would be good. And one of my sister's pastries,” he added with a smile. “I left the house before breakfast this morning.”

A moment later, Vaughan served him.

Preacher took a bite of his sister's strudel. “Ummm, tell Tess this is very good.”

“You can tell me yourself,” Tess said, appearing in the door from the kitchen. She was wearing an apron upon which there was a light dusting of flour. An errant strand of hair hung down across her eyes, and when she brushed it back, she left a smudge of flour on her cheek.

“All right, I will tell you,” Preacher said. “This is very good.”

“Thank you,” Tess replied. Then, in a more troubled tone of voice, she asked, “Arthur, what are you doing here? You aren't leaving again so soon, are you?”

“Not just yet,” Preacher said.

“I'm glad to hear that. And don't think I'm not happy to see you, but I think you should spend more time with Mama and Papa.”

“I will,” Preacher said. “It's just that I had some business to take care of with Klyce Blanton.”

“Klyce Blanton? You are doing business with that disagreeable man?” Tess asked. “Has Papa told you about the loan on the farm?”

“Yes.”

“Everything was going just fine until Blanton bought the bank and began foreclosing on all the farmers. Why did he have to go sticking his nose into everyone else's business?”

“Some people are just that way, I suppose. But I do think that Blanton will be more careful about where he sticks his nose from now on,” Preacher said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, I was just making conversation.”

“What kind of business did you have with Klyce Blanton?” Tess asked.

“Mortgage business,” Preacher said, without being more specific. “Vaughan, if you were going to use a bank other than Blanton's bank . . .”

“I do use a bank other than his,” Vaughan replied quickly.

“You do? You mean there is another bank in town? Which one? Where is it?”

Vaughan shook his head. “No, I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. It's not in Portsmouth. The bank I use now is the Ohio Bank for Savings, over in Alexandria.”

“Alexandria? Yes, I remember passing it on the way here. It's about ten miles downriver, isn't it?”

“Yes. Alexandria isn't as large as Portsmouth, but it does have a good bank. In fact, since Klyce Blanton bought out the bank here in Portsmouth and turned a good bank into a bad one, a lot of our local folks are doing their business over in Alexandria.”

“Who is the head of the bank over there? Do you know him personally?”

“Yes, I do know him. His name is Burt Rowe. He's a good man.”

“Arthur, if you are going to go over there to try and arrange a loan for Papa, I can tell you right now it won't do you any good. Vaughan had a new loan all set up, but Papa wouldn't do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Papa says you can't borrow yourself out of debt.”

“Yes, well, he is probably right. But that's not what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I plan to pay off Pa's note so that he has the farm free and clear.”

Tess gasped. “Arthur! You have enough money to do that?”

“Yes, and I have it with me. But it's not in cash. It's all in bank drafts.”

“Bank drafts are fine,” Vaughan said. “Why bother to go over to Alexandria with them? Blanton is the one who is holding the note. Why don't you just do business directly with him?”

“Well, like I said, Blanton and I had a brief discussion about that very thing this morning,” Preacher replied. “He says he won't honor the drafts, and it is his right not to do so.”

“I guess I'm not all that surprised that he won't do it,” Vaughan said. “I have believed all along that Blanton isn't really interested in having the note paid off. What he actually wants is the land. He's got his hands on several thousand acres of prime bottomland right now, and your father's land is as good as any piece of land in the entire county. It may be the best land in the county. I'm sure Blanton is just itching to add your pa's land to his holdings.”

“Well, he may want Pa's land, but he's not going to get it,” Preacher said.

“Arthur, does Papa know you are doing this?” Tess asked.

“No. And don't you tell him until it's already done. I'm afraid he would try to stop me.”

“You are right about that. He absolutely would try to stop you,” Tess said. “Papa is a proud man who won't accept a handout from anybody. Not even one of his own children.”

“Believe me, Tess, when I tell you that this isn't a handout,” Preacher said. “The way I look at it, this is just payment for all the hurt I've caused Ma and Pa . . . that I've caused all of you . . . over the years. I'm hoping that once it's done, Pa will look at it that way too.”

Tess smiled. “He will,” she said. “I'll talk to Betty and Morgan, and we'll make certain he sees it that way.”

“Thanks.”

Tess leaned across the counter and put her hand on Preacher's. He could smell the scent of cinnamon and the aroma of flour and brown sugar. For just a moment, it caused him to recall his youth. Many times over the past several years, on those long, lonely nights in the mountains, he would sometimes think of his family, and he couldn't think of his mother without recalling that homey aroma. It seemed right and good now that his sister would be carrying that on.

“You're a good man, Arthur,” Tess said. “I was very young when you left, and I'm afraid I don't remember you all that clearly now. I've often wondered where you went and how you turned out. I'm glad you came back, just so we would know what a good man you really are.”

Preacher chuckled self-consciously. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not a saint, Tess,” he said. “I've done things that I wouldn't want Ma or Pa, or even you or Betty or Morgan, to know about.”

“You went out on your own when you were twelve years old, Arthur,” Tess said. “I've no doubt that you had to do some things to survive. But survive you have, and here you are today, offering to pay off the farm for Papa. Whatever you may have had to do in the past, you are a good man today, and I love you for it.”

“Thank you, Tess. I appreciate that coming from you.”

The scene of familial affection was interrupted by the boisterous entry of a customer.

“Woo-hoo,” the customer said loudly, coming into the inn laughing and slapping himself on the knees.

“Good morning, Ed,” Vaughan said. “What's gotten into you this early in the day?”

“Vaughan, pour me a cup of coffee and bring out one of your wife's strudels, and I'll tell you the funniest thing I've heard in a long time,” Ed said, taking a seat at the bar.

Vaughan poured the cup of coffee, then set a precut piece of strudel in front of him. “All right, Ed, just what is this funny story?” he asked.

“You know that fella that bought out the bank? The high-and-mighty Klyce Blanton?”

“Yes, of course I know him,” Vaughan said. “He is so disagreeable, he has made himself known all over town.”

“Yes, sir, that's the one, all right. But you just wait till you hear what just happened to him.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying something happened to Klyce Blanton?” Vaughan asked, glancing with some apprehension toward Preacher.

“It sure did, and Cleetus Butrum seen it all happen, so, according to him, this is the gospel truth.”

“What did happen?”

“Blanton got his comeuppance, that's what happened,” Ed said. He took a bite of the strudel. “Ummm, Mrs. Roberts, every strudel I have here is better than the one I had the day before. How do you do that?”

“I just follow the same recipe my mama and grandmother used,” Tess said. “Tell us what happened to Klyce Blanton.”

By now both Tess and Vaughan were staring at Preacher, who seemed to find something interesting to study in his coffee.

“It seems like some feller come into the bank this mornin' to discuss somethin' with Blanton. Well, I reckon the discussion didn't go to the feller's likin', so he took out his knife, then without so much as a by your leave, took him a slice out of the side of Blanton's nose.” Ed laughed. “Just like that,” he said.

“What do you mean when you say he took him a slice? Are you saying this man cut part of Blanton's nose off?” Vaughan asked.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Ed clarified. He put his finger alongside his nose, then made a cutting motion. “He just sliced right through it. Leastwise, that's what Cleetus is sayin'.”

“And Cleetus is saying that all this took place in the bank?” Vaughan asked.

“Yes, in the bank. Right there in Blanton's office, accordin' to Cleetus,” Ed said. He took another swallow of coffee, enjoying his moment of being the center of all attention.

“What about Colby and McDougal?” Vaughan asked. “They don't strike me as being the kind of men who would just stand there and watch all that happen without doing something about it. I thought they never left his side. Where were they when this was all going on?”

“Well, sir, accordin' to Cleetus, they was right there in the bank at the time and seen everything that happened.”

“They saw it, but they didn't try to stop it?”

“Oh, yeah, they tried,” Ed replied with a chuckle. “That's the best part,” he said. “They did try, but accordin' to Cleetus, this here fella handled the two of 'em like they was no more'n babies. Had 'em both sittin' on the floor, he did, starin' at the wall, like the way teachers sometimes do with their dunces.”