Both Mae and Lil simultaneously turned, answering, “No!”
Mae softened the response. “You just watch.”
“Git away from the meat! Sonny would do this if you asked him to.”
“‘Sonny’ is the reason I’m out here at this unmerciful hour,” Mae groused. She intended to give Tom a piece of her mind tomorrow morning. Lil might be grateful for his generosity, but right now Mae would give twenty dollars to be asleep in her warm bed. The cold moon climbed higher.
She watched as Lil took three big slop feeders from the back of her wagon to hold the meat. Mae figured they could wrap up the bounty and distribute it tomorrow, but she didn’t know where. The store didn’t have capacity for this amount of fresh meat. Maybe Lil intended to keep it.
“Are you taking the meat home?”
“When would I eat all of it?”
“You wanted it.”
“I didn’t want to see it go to waste. There’s bound to be folks who could use it.”
The dogs milled about as Mae wielded her knife. “Jeremy would like to have one of these big roasts.” Shooing the pesky animals aside, she glanced at Pauline, who was now trying to move a couple of steaks to the feeders. “Sit down, Pauline. You’re getting your lovely new robe messy.” Blood splattered the front of the garment. Mae grew faint when she thought of how much Tom had spent on the frivolous piece of clothing.
“Git away from the meat! Go!” Wiping her sticky fingers down the front of her robe Pauline smiled. “It’s a purty thing, isn’t it? Sonny bought it for me. He was always a thoughtful child.”
Lil glanced up. “You remember him?”
Reseating herself on the rail, Pauline smiled as she spread her fingers toward the fire. “No, but a man’s bound to be good if he’d pay nineteen dollars for this piece of junk.”
Lil turned to Mae. “Make her go home.”
“I can’t make her do anything, Lil.”
“She’s gonna die of exposure, and these dogs are slowing us down. They are even getting away with some of the meat!”
“She’ll get cold enough that she’ll leave.”
“Where’s Esau?” Pauline asked.
“In his shelter.” Lil dropped a steak in a makeshift pan.
“What shelter?”
Lil continued to slice meat. “The one I built for him, old woman.”
“Lil,” Mae rebuked.
“Well, she gets on my nerves.”
“Be kind.”
“Why?” Pauline asked.
Mae sighed. “Why what?”
“Why is he in the shelter?”
“He belongs there. It’s cold out, and he has to take care of his skin.”
“Humph. Why does it get dark so much?”
Lifting her head, Mae frowned. “What?”
“When did they change the time? I eat breakfast and it’s dark. Then I eat dinner and it’s dark again. That’s all I do. Eat in the dark.”
“You get up too early,” Lil said.
“I get up when I wake up.”
“That’s earlier than most folks.”
“Why, I suppose it’s not. When the good Lord opens my eyes, I get up.”
“You don’t have to get up the moment your eyes open.” Mae sliced a piece of loin. “I’ve noticed your lamp burning at all hours.”
“Then you must be up.”
“No. I happen to wake up and look out the window.” Mae straightened. This situation was beginning to try her fortitude. Fortunately, they were nearly finished. “If you don’t mind, Lil, I’ll take Pauline and the dogs home before she freezes to the rail.”
“Mind? I’d give you a—”
Mae cut off the not-so-patient response. “Thanks. Do you want me to come back?”
Lil continued her work. “No need. I’ll be done soon.”
Pauline peered up at Mae, toothless. “I suppose it’s time to eat again?”
She glanced at the night’s clear winter sky. “By the moon’s location, I’d say it’s close to midnight.”
Pauline whistled. “It’s past my bedtime—or it’s time to get up. I’m not sure which.”
Saying goodbye to her friend, Mae wrapped her arm around the woman’s thin shoulders, sheltering her as much as she could from the cold wind that had sprung up. She turned and whistled for the dogs to follow. Pauline’s lovely new housecoat was ruined. Mae would try to get the bloodstains out of the fabric, but she doubted she’d have much success. Tom Curtis was a generous man, but he needed to choose his purchases for his aunt more wisely. “It’s past my bedtime too.”
By the time she got Pauline home, cleaned up, and tucked in warmly, it was well after two a.m. before Mae crawled between the sheets in Dale’s bed behind the store. Stirring, Jeremy lifted his head from his pallet and called into the bedroom. “Mae, you tired?”
“Mae’s really tired.” Stretching out, she wiggled her cold feet under the blanket. Her soft bed and warm covers felt like a small part of heaven. The wind howled around the eaves, but she was safe and secure. She could only pray that Lil was home and in her own bed as well.
“I left a plate of food for you in the warming oven.”
“Thank you, darling, but I’m too tired to eat.” She was too tired to move.
“I talked to Mr. Curtis tonight when I took Dale’s supper to him.”
“Oh?”
“He told me he’d put me to work.”
“That’s nice. Did Mr. Curtis assign you a job?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jeremy yawned and laid his head back on his pillow. “I wanted to do a man’s work, but he said I would be the best at carrying water and keeping the dogs away, and he didn’t want anyone else to do it except me.”
“That’s very nice. Not every man is good with animals like you are.” Poor darling. God, please allow him one day to do a man’s work. I’m not asking for a miracle. Just a life of purpose that fulfills his needs. Jeremy will never be like other men, but he is gifted in so many ways.
“I work very hard,” his sleepy voice drifted to her. “I’m gonna fry fourteen chickens for the workers’ dinner on Monday.”
She closed her eyes. “Oh, Jeremy.” That meant he’d wring fourteen chickens’ necks, heat boiling water, pluck feathers, dress and cut up all those birds, and then fry the meat in order to help. If that wasn’t a man’s work, she didn’t know what would be. “I’m sure the workers will deeply appreciate your efforts.”
When she looked in the living room, she saw that the boy was already fast asleep. She’d wanted to tell him that Pauline was trying to build a large pen to contain the animals and soon that job might be easier, but there would be time tomorrow.
Pauline building a pen? She smothered a chuckle. That should be interesting.
Fifteen
Sunday morning dawned with a hint of snow in the air, yet as the sun peeked over the distant hills Tom was pleased that seventeen men turned out before church to sign up to repair track. Dale stood on the General Store’s front steps and silently registered each name in a log book.
This morning the store owner wore a suit, white shirt, and tie. Tom had heard him get up earlier than usual, and then he’d left the house before the first pot of coffee boiled. Taking a second glance, Tom noticed that nearly every man in the crowd looked to be in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.
“Where’s Mae?”
Shrugging, Dale handed him the roster.
Fisk stepped up to Tom. “She sent word she was running late this morning, but she’ll be at church.”
“Thanks.” Tom skimmed the names on the list. Then he looked up to survey his crew. Young men and old stood quietly before him, and in a moment he decided they would do. “It should only take a few days to lay a temporary track. We’ll come off the original one below the accident site and bypass the wreckage. Later the railroad will send a crew to restore the original line. Fisk, are you sure you can spare the time?”
The blacksmith nodded. “Won’t have much to do without tha
t train coming through.”
A farmer stepped up. “We’ll all work as long as needed, Mr. Curtis. Without that train, Dwadlo’s locked down tight as a corset.”
“The task will be backbreaking,” Tom warned. “We’ll work through rain, snow, and whatever else comes our way.” The warning didn’t faze them. Everyone’s head bobbed, and the men’s faces reflected determined understanding.
“Looks like you’re all dressed for Sunday services. The supplies won’t arrive until sometime tomorrow anyway. Go on to church. I know it’s the Lord’s Day and I respect that. We’ll start clearing wreckage first thing in the morning. I want to thank all of you for coming, and I look forward to working with you at first light.”
The crowd began to disperse when he saw a woman approaching him. “Something I can do for you, ma’am?”
“Yes, I believe you can. I’m Mrs. Crowley, the town’s seamstress. May I speak to you privately?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s a girl in Pine Grove getting married in two weeks. She’s expecting a rather large herring order to arrive for her reception.”
“Herring? As in fish?”
She nodded. “Will the train be running by then?”
Closing the log book, he met her gaze. “If the supplies get here on time, and the weather holds so we can work, then yes. She’ll have her fish.”
“Herring,” the lady whispered. “She’s very sensitive about the word.”
“Fine. Herring.” As the woman turned and walked away, Tom headed back to Mae’s place to wash up, shave, and put on some clean clothes. There wasn’t much he could do until after the morning services. He needed to thank God that, though the accident had caused a few injuries, costly repairs for the railroad, and a bit of a headache for him, lives had been spared.
When he walked into the kitchen, he found Dale seated at the breakfast table, fork and knife in hand.
“We’re having oatmeal this morning.” Tom had stopped asking for preferences and now merely made statements. He took the resulting grunt as a positive sign and tied Dale’s bib around his neck. Dale dropped his fork and picked up a spoon.
The men ate in silence with only an occasional noise from Dale to indicate when he needed more coffee, cream, or milk for his porridge.
When Tom was through, he carried his bowl to the sink and then walked back and stripped off Dale’s bib. And he wondered why no one wanted to assume Pauline’s care. The woman could at least wait on herself.
“I’m going to church this morning.” He dumped Dale’s bowl in the wash pan.
Dale lifted a hand to acknowledge the statement.
He supposed by Dale’s clothing that’s where he was headed as well, but he didn’t volunteer his destination. “I’ll see you later.”
Dale nodded, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
Meals had turned out to be less of a problem than he’d expected. Because Jeremy took care of providing Dale with lunch and supper, Tom didn’t have to cook anything but breakfast, which was a good thing. He didn’t know how to make anything but oatmeal.
Slipping on a heavy jacket, he nodded a goodbye to his housemate and left. Tom’s mother had been the churchgoer in his family, but she’d tried to instill God’s Word in him. He didn’t get to church often, but he and God had long talks on his travels, talks that strengthened his faith. One day he planned to settle down, take a wife, and sit in a long pew with her and his kids. And if God blessed the union, they would have three boys and a couple of girls sitting with them.
The crisp, early morning air made him feel alive as he walked the short distance to the country-style building. Already buggies and buckboards lined the churchyard. The wintery landscape made a pretty sight with its drifts of earlier snow still white and piled deep. Most of the snow had melted off in flat-lying areas. He paused at the bottom of the steps. Time had passed quickly. A week ago he’d sat on a bench outside the General Store and waited for services to let out, thinking he’d be long gone before now. But here he was, heading into church and looking forward to sitting with Mae Wilkey, who definitely was no Mrs. Grundy.
Inside he counted nine rows of simple wooden pews. The benches were old but well cared for. He spotted Mae, Jeremy, and Jake already seated on the front row. Because Jake was on one side of Mae and Jeremy on the other, sitting next to her would be impossible. Tom took a seat in the row behind them.
Mae turned to welcome him with a smile. “It’s so nice that you could join us today. Would you like to sit with us?”
He nodded a greeting but remained where he was. She looked pretty in an emerald green dress and matching hat. As beautiful as she was, she also looked tired with dark circles under her eyes. The accident had taken more of a toll on her than he first thought, and he decided he was going to make sure she rested this afternoon.
He turned toward the door and watched as the pews started to fill. Fisk came in and took a seat beside him. Tom spotted the farmer whose dead bull he’d bought sitting three rows back.
The next time the front door opened, in waltzed Pauline wearing a housecoat. He took a double take. Was that the one he bought her? It was—the exact housecoat he’d bought her yesterday. Blood and dirt were smeared all over the front. He had a hard time making out the original color.
Fisk snorted. “Holy smokes. She’s finally done it. She’s killed someone!”
Sashaying down the row of pews, Pauline paused beside the one Tom was sitting in. He couldn’t believe the way she looked standing in the aisle, as if she’d just survived a massacre in her nightclothes. She lingered for a moment, smiling, and he wasn’t sure if she was happy or just plain loco.
“Do you mind if your ol’ auntie sits with you this morning?”
What could he say? He couldn’t very well tell her go home and clean up. What had she done? “No, ma’am.” He and Fisk switched places, both scooting down a little to allow her access to the pew. Pauline sat down beside him. Mae’s horrified look caught his attention.
She mouthed, “Take her out of the room!”
“Take her out?” Tom mouthed back. How would it look if he up and jerked the elderly woman out of the pew and carried her outside? He’d have the whole town in an uproar.
Pauline preened, as if she were dressed in her Sunday best. He, and he assumed everyone else in the church, was mystified. He hoped the preacher wouldn’t pass out when he set eyes on Pauline.
The pianist struck the first chord, and the congregation rose to sing the opening hymn. Pauline’s voice could be heard above the others as she joined in the singing. Tom’s mind whirled. Where had all that blood come from? It looked as if she had killed something or someone, and he did not want to think about what or who. He’d seen cleaner butchers after a hard day’s work.
When the congregation sat down, Dale walked up to the pulpit. When the store owner faced the congregation and opened his Bible, Tom was the one who nearly passed out. He narrowed his eyes and fixed them on the man he’d yet to hear a peep out of. Was he the preacher? His answer came fast and loud.
“The LOORDDA is good!”
“The Lord is good,” the members repeated.
“The LOORDDA is faithful.”
“The Lord is faithful.”
Tom fixed on the Goliath voice coming from the man who hadn’t spoken a word to him in a week. He was the pastor? Why hadn’t Mae mentioned the fact?
Dale merged straight into the sermon, a blistering lecture that soon had Tom on the edge of his seat.
“The fires of hellla will consume you!” The little man who never talked now had plenty to say. Sweat pooled on his forehead and ran down his cheeks. The stove in the back of the room pumped out heat. “Turn away from your evil ways!
“The Loordda is good! He will not fail youuu!” Dale turned in a half circle. “Matthew seven, verses thirteen and fourteen, exhorts us to ‘enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and m
any there be which go in thereat: because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’”
The farmer Tom purchased the bull from settled deeper into his pew, head nodding. Stomping his foot, Dale bent closer to the floor. “Turn from your evil ways! Now—today—before the Loordda sends His wrath upon you!” Tom glanced over to see sweat rolling down Fisk’s temples. Mae lightly touched a handkerchief to her pale cheeks. He wasn’t sure if the woodstove was making it hot in the small building or if the heat was due to the pure energy Dale was pouring into his sermon. All he knew was that he was starting to feel a little warm under the collar too.
“Turn!”
Tom started, his eyes fixed on the man he’d tied a bib on that very morning.
“Turn from your ways least Sataaan gets a holt on you!”
Two hours of a pulpit-pounding, sweat-inducing message followed. When the service concluded, Tom stepped out of the church he’d entered thinking he knew about the Lord and had come to give his thanks to Him. Now he was nursing a gut-gripping uncertainly that he was doomed to burn in an eternal pit of fire before the next hour was over. Heaven was real. Hell was real. Tom had just never heard the facts enforced so emphatically.
Had he read the same Bible Dale spoke from for the last two hours? Was that even the same Dale who sat at his breakfast table? He’d never see the man in the same light again.
The pastor stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking hands with each and every parishioner. When Tom filed by, Dale grunted, grabbed his hand, and gave him a firm shake.
Tom nodded and walked away, completely at a loss for words. How could he describe Dale’s dual personality? The man had certainly fooled him. He would never have imagined the little guy was capable of such conflicting traits.
Pauline emerged right behind him, and as soon as she let go of Dale’s hand she slipped her bony arm through his. The wind caught the bloody robe and ruffled the soiled fabric. “Now, Tom…that is your name, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He studied her for a moment, and he knew he had to ask. “How did you get your new robe so dirty?”
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