“Dead,” Addie said. “I saw him at the hall. I thought he was asleep, but his eyes were open and . . . he was dead. I’m sure Eleazar has killed him.”
“But why?” Sophia said finally. “Why bring him here, only to kill him?”
“I’m going to find out,” Preacher said, rising. “Addie? Stay with Sophia and watch over her. I’ll return as soon as I have answers.”
PREACHER
When Preacher said he was going to get answers, he didn’t mean to find out why Rene had been murdered and what was “inside” Charlie Browning. The first step was confirming that what Addie said of Rene was true. Not that he suspected her of lying. She’d never do so on such a grand scale.
No, Addie believed what she said to be true. While he could not take her claims as truth, he had been a teacher long enough to know that you did not doubt a child to her face. Few things eroded her confidence more—or were more likely to turn her against you. You accepted the truth of what she said and quietly investigated on your own. As he was doing now.
When he arrived at the community hall, Doc Adams was coming out. Preacher stopped on the road, behind a cluster of people. Through the open door, he could catch a glimpse of Eleazar with the mayor and Dobbs.
Another meeting. He wouldn’t be welcome there. He watched Doc Adams hurry away, fending off questions from those gathered outside. Of the other council members, the doctor would be most likely to speak to Preacher, but he was clearly on a mission. Preacher was too—a mission that involved finding answers, not asking for them.
Once the doctor had left, Preacher retreated two houses over and cut through to the forest. He came out behind the community hall and entered through the back door. As he walked through the kitchen, he could hear Dobbs shouting about something, but the walls were too thick to allow him to hear more than angry, unintelligible words. By the time he opened the door into the back room, the dispute was already over, the voices low again.
He slipped through the doorway and—
There was Rene. Preacher had been so caught up in the voices that he’d forgotten why he was really here. One glance in Rene’s direction and he knew Addie was right. The man was dead. Still, despite what his eyes told him, he had to check.
He pulled off his boots and crossed the floor silently. When he reached the old man, he put his fingers to his neck and then checked for breathing, and the whole time, a voice in his head was saying, The man’s eyes are open. He has bruises around his neck. His skin is cold. Do you have to question everything? Yes, apparently, he did. So he checked, and he confirmed that Rene was indeed deceased.
As Sophia had said, why bring the old man here on foot, a difficult journey, only to kill him? There was something missing here.
Preacher stood there, puzzling it out, until he remembered that the men were still talking in the next room. He ought to have been listening in. When he got to the door, though, he could hear the mayor and Dobbs leaving. Preacher left quickly and ducked through the kitchen doorway as Eleazar walked into the back room.
“Now, what am I going to do with this?” Eleazar mused aloud. “I ought to have had the blacksmith carry it out back to the woods.” He sighed and crossed the room, and Preacher could hear him lifting the old man, testing the weight.
“Let’s get this over with,” Eleazar muttered.
Preacher hurried out the back door.
* * *
When Preacher got to the road, there was no sign of Dobbs and Browning. He asked those gathered which way they’d gone. They pointed, but the two men were already out of sight. Had they gone into a house? Gone home? No one seemed to know. They were all waiting for Eleazar.
Preacher caught sight of Doc Adams at the far end of the road. He started that way but didn’t get far before someone hurried out to stop him. Maybelle Greene, a widow whose two children had both survived the outbreak. He’d have liked to see that as the grace of God, but it probably had more to do with her having been ten miles away visiting her sister at the time.
“Preacher,” Maybelle said as she hurried up to him. “I heard what they’re saying. Is it true? That man brought Charlie Browning back?”
“Seems so.”
She stopped, her face clouding as she looked both ways. No one was nearby, but she still leaned in as she said, “I ought to be happy. Thanking God for his mercy. But . . .” She looked up at him. “They say it’s God’s work, but I can’t quite reckon that. Why would God take our children, then send this man to bring some back? Why not just take fewer? Or none at all?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Along with “Why would God take them at all?” but few dared ask that one. In his heart, Preacher believed that God simply didn’t concern Himself in the daily affairs of man. He’d given them the tools they needed to survive—the intelligence to discover things like the causes and cures of disease. It was up to them to use those tools against forces of nature that sought to keep the population in check. It was not a popular answer. So instead, he’d babble about God’s plan and God’s wisdom and the book of Job and such.
To Maybelle, he only said, “This man—Eleazar—claims to do God’s work.”
“Does he truly do it?” Maybelle asked, her dark eyes searching his.
“I hope so,” he murmured. “But that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
She nodded, seeming satisfied. As he took his leave, he saw Doc Adams coming out of the house down the road.
Preacher broke into a run, garnering a few askance looks from passersby. He reached the doctor as he still stood on the porch, talking to the Osbournes, who’d lost a child three days past. When the Osbournes saw Preacher, he expected them to want to talk, seek spiritual guidance. Surely Doc Adams had been there about their child. But they caught one glimpse of him and immediately withdrew, cutting the conversation short and closing the door.
The doctor saw Preacher then and went still.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Preacher said.
“I’m very busy.” Doc Adams started to scurry off. “I can speak to you later—”
Preacher swung into his path. “I’ll only take a few moments of your time. Were you telling the Osbournes that their daughter can’t be returned?”
“No, I was telling them that she can.”
“For three hundred dollars.”
Doc Adams tried to pass. “You ought to speak to the mayor—”
“He’s gone.”
The doctor paused. “Gone?”
“He left with Mr. Dobbs. On some task, it seems. So . . . three hundred dollars is the price of a child’s life?”
“Yes, and the Osbournes will pay. We will make sure everyone can pay. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Three hundred and what else?”
Preacher hadn’t honestly expected any “else”—it was an arrow fired wild—but when he saw the other man’s expression, he knew that arrow had struck home.
“I heard there was something more,” Preacher said. “Something you aren’t telling the families.”
Doc Adams’s face went bright red. He blustered, asking who’d told Preacher and insisting it was merely rumor, people talking, that there was no other price. Finally, when he seemed to see that Preacher wasn’t going to back down, he started down the street.
“I have work to do,” he said. “Other families to inform of the wondrous news.”
“And families to tell that they will not have their children returned. You yourself admitted they cannot all be returned. Has Mayor Browning set you on that task as well? Deliver the good news and the bad?”
“It was not the mayor—”
Doc Adams clipped his words short and kept moving, shoulders hunched, as if against the cold, but there was no more than a light breeze.
Preacher strode up beside him. “So it was Eleazar who sent you on this mission. Then he sent the mayor and Dobbs on another, one that ill suited you.”
Doc Adams glanced over, eyes narrowing, then quickly looked away. “I
don’t know what—”
“I was there. Outside. You left. They kept talking. Arguing, even. Then Browning and Dobbs left. Eleazar wanted to discuss something with them out of your earshot. I’m sure you know it. He sent you away, just as the mayor sent me away when I balked. What did you balk at, doctor?”
The doctor’s expression told Preacher he had not balked. Not openly.
“He knew you would,” Preacher said. “That’s why he sent you off before the subject was raised. Because, like me, you are a fellow of conscience and—”
Doc Adams spun on him. “Good God, man. Do you never stop? You’re like a hound with a bone. Leave it be.”
“I will not. I’ll ask until I have answers. What’s the other cost? What else must we pay for our children’s return?”
The doctor turned and resumed walking.
“The old man’s dead, you know,” Preacher said.
Doc Adams glanced back.
“Rene. Eleazar’s assistant. He’s dead.”
Again, it was the expression that gave the doctor away. Preacher had expected shock. He didn’t see it.
He’s not surprised. He’s not horrified. He knew, and however it happened, this man—this good man—has no compunctions about it. How is that possible?
The cost.
When the idea hit, Preacher brushed it aside. It was as wildly fantastical as Addie’s claims of demons and possession. And yet it clung there, like a burr, prickling his mind as he caught up and walked alongside the silent doctor.
“That’s the price, isn’t it? To return life, you must give life.”
The older man’s shoulders slumped and when he looked over, it was with an expression Preacher saw each week . . . in the face of a parishioner at confession.
“Yes,” Doc Adams said. “That is the price. But the old man gave his life willingly. He volunteered.”
“And now you need to find a volunteer for each child? Is that what you said to the Osbournes?”
“No, I was told not to tell them.”
“Then how does Eleazar expect to get volunteers, if no one knows they’re needed? He requires . . .” Preacher trailed off. “That’s what they were discussing without you. How to fulfill that part of the bargain. And whatever Eleazar suggested, he knew you would not countenance it. That’s why he sent you off.”
Doc Adams shifted. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I know, which is why I need to find the mayor and Dobbs.”
Preacher took off before the doctor could say another word.
ADDIE
Addie had been anxious when Preacher set off in search of answers. Now, almost two hours later, she paced the house, glancing out the windows, stepping onto the porch, and peering down the street. At first, Sophia would tell her to rest, find something to occupy her, not to worry about Preacher. The last few times she’d gone outside, though, she’d come back in to find Sophia standing inside the doorway, waiting for a report. Addie would say she could not see him and Sophia would deflate, only to rouse herself with assurances that Preacher was fine, he could look after himself.
Finally, as the second hour drew to a close, Addie said, “I want to go look for him.”
Sophia said nothing, which Addie knew meant she wished to say yes but knew she oughtn’t.
“I’ll be quick,” Addie said. “He’s probably down at the hall, talking to the mayor and Eleazar. I’ll find him, and then I’ll come straight back.”
Sophia nodded. Addie gathered her things and went.
* * *
Preacher was not in town. Neither was Mayor Browning nor Mr. Dobbs. As Addie learned, Preacher had been asking after them, and someone had last seen Dobbs and Browning heading into the woods, and Preacher had gone off in pursuit.
Addie followed. They’d taken the main trail out of town, which made tracking difficult. She looked for small signs—a broken twig, a boot print in damp ground—and kept her ears attuned. She was no more than a quarter mile from town when she heard Browning and Dobbs returning. She snuck into the forest to watch as they passed. Soon she saw them, trudging along, faces grim, not speaking. There was a purpling bruise on the mayor’s jaw. She stared at that, then began drawing back farther to let them pass, when she spotted something on Dobbs’s boots. They were light brown, tanned leather . . . and one was speckled red.
Addie crept hunched over through the undergrowth, until she was close enough to see the glistening specks. More on his trouser leg. Blood. There was no doubt of it.
Addie tried to inhale but couldn’t force the air into her chest. Her heart pounded too hard.
Mr. Dobbs is speckled with blood. Preacher is missing. Preacher, who dared argue against their plan. Dared suggest it was not the work of God.
She held herself still until they were gone. Then she dashed onto the path and broke into a run.
* * *
Addie tore along the path, convinced she would at any moment stumble over Preacher’s dead body. She did not, which only made her more panicked, certain it was out there in the forest, where she would not find it, where scavengers would feast—
She took deep, shuddering breaths to calm herself, then began retracing her steps along the path, slower now, searching for any sign that someone had left the path. When she reached the first fork, she heard something. She stopped, eyes squeezed shut as she listened. Then she tore down the secondary path, branches whipping her face, until—
“Addie?”
Preacher’s voice. Preacher’s footfalls, pounding along the path. Then he was there, standing in front of her. No blood to be seen.
“Addie? Are you all right? Is it Sophia? Is she—?”
“Sophia is well.” She bent, catching her breath. “All is well.”
She hiccuped a laugh. All is well? Charlie is possessed by some demon monster. All is not well. But right now, it is. Preacher is fine. Unharmed.
Preacher came over, face drawn in concern, hand resting on her arm as she found her breath.
“It’s all right,” she said. “We were only worried about you. Me and Sophia.”
“Sophia and I,” Preacher said.
Addie burst out with a real laugh then. No matter how dire the situation, he could not fail to correct her grammar, as gently as if they were at the supper table, saying grace.
When she laughed, Preacher gave a crooked smile and shook his head, murmuring an apology before saying, “Well, you’ve found me. And I did not find what I was looking for.”
“The mayor and Mr. Dobbs? I saw them a ways back. Returning to town.”
“They’ve finished their mission then,” he whispered beneath his breath.
“What mission?”
He looked startled, as if he had not meant to speak aloud. “They were out here for something. I know not what. Come. Let’s go back to town.”
As they began to walk, Addie thought about the blood on Dobbs’s boot. He had not hurt Preacher, but he had hurt something. Some animal? She recalled stories of dark magic, with animals sacrificed to the Devil.
“Perhaps we ought to find where they’ve been,” she said.
“That’s what I was trying to do.”
“No, you were trying to find where they were. I can track where they’ve been.”
He hesitated. “All right then. I don’t want to leave Sophia for long, but if we can discover what they were doing, we ought to.”
PREACHER
Addie was indeed able to track where the mayor and blacksmith had gone. And when she found out, Preacher wished to God she hadn’t. He wished he hadn’t asked. Wished he’d found this on his own, before she’d arrived. A merciful God would have made sure of that.
She’d tracked Dobbs’s and Browning’s footsteps back to where they’d left the main trail. It had taken time, but she’d eventually determined that they’d taken a secondary one, little more than a half-cleared path through the trees. Preacher had not known where the trail led. Addie had. He was certain of it. But it was not until they
saw the cabin ahead and he said, “What’s that?” that she said, “Timothy James’s place.”
Timothy James. An odd creature, like most who made their living in the forest. Preacher had heard whispers about Timothy James, that he’d come here fleeing the Mounties, that he’d been caught with a little girl. Preacher had been furious—if there was a man like that in their midst, they ought to warn the children. But Dobbs said it wasn’t true. Timothy James was merely odd. Preacher had always wondered if Mr. Dobbs’s reluctance to drive the man out had anything to do with the fact that he brought in good furs and he accepted less than market rates for them.
Now, seeing that cabin ahead, Preacher knew where Browning and Dobbs had been going. What they’d done there. He’d told Addie to wait while he ran ahead.
He found Timothy James behind his cabin. Lying on the ground. Rope burns around his neck. His shirt covered in blood.
“He must have fought.”
It was Addie’s voice. Preacher wheeled to see her standing there, looking down at the body.
“They tried to hang him,” she said. “Or strangle him. Like Rene. But he fought and they had to stab him.”
She stated it as a matter of fact, and for a moment, he was frozen there, unable to react. Her thin face was hard and empty, her eyes empty, too. He’d seen that look on her once before. That horrible day two years ago, when Addie had shown up on Preacher’s doorstep in her nightgown, her feet bare and bloodied and filthy from the two-mile walk.
Something’s wrong with my parents, she’d said.
They’d gone back, Preacher and Dobbs and Doc Adams. Rode on the horses, Addie with Preacher, dressed in someone else’s clothes, her thin arms wrapped around him. They’d gone back to her parents’ cabin, expecting they’d taken ill, and instead found . . .
Preacher swallowed, remembering what they’d found. Remembering Addie beside him, her face as empty as this, hollow and dead, looking at the terrible bodies of her parents.
Preacher strode over, took her by the shoulders, and did what he’d done two years ago—turned her away from the sight and bustled her off. She let him take her around the cabin, then dug in her heels and stopped.
Four Summoner’s Tales Page 6