Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

  "Even when your father was alive there was no one to help the people but you." He lifted his hand to forestall her argument. "He might have done the things he was trained to do, but nothing more. He wasn't worthy of the name reverend, and I ought to know. You 're the heart and soul of this parish."

  "That's not true."

  "Ah, Jo, you are a saint in a pretty woman's body."

  His voice slid over her; his words flowed through her. Pretty. Woman. Body. Three simple combinations of letters that were anything but simple.

  "I'm no saint and only one woman. There's too much for me to do and a lot that I can't do at all. I was wondering..."Jo took a deep breath and blurted the idea that had haunted her all night, along with the memories of him. "I was wondering if you could help."

  The slight smile that had been on his face since he'd called her a pretty woman disappeared. "No."

  "But—"

  "No!"

  Fear flared in his eyes, and Jo was unable to stop herself from reaching out and putting her fingers over his lips. "Hush," she murmured. "Just listen."

  Above her hand, his eyes narrowed. Then his lips moved against her fingers; his breath brushed her palm. His answer was as garbled as her brain.

  She jerked her hand away. "What?"

  "All right. Talk." He didn't look happy about it.

  Her mind went blank. What had seemed a perfectly good idea in the middle of a long lonely night now loomed impossible. She'd hoped if she brought him back to the job he'd once been called to, perhaps he would find again what he'd found in it once before.

  Jo sent up a fervent prayer that the words to convince him would come. "You—you married Sullivan and Eden." She held up one finger. "Then Lily and Rico." She waved two fingers like a banner.

  "I was available. But you've got the circuit preacher comin' through. He can marry folks."

  "He's so late he might be dead. What could it hurt for you to marry a few couples that have been waiting? If we wait too long, we'll be able to baptize their firstborn at the wedding. And by the by, there are a few babies in need of baptizing."

  "As well as a few folks that need burying I suppose?"

  "Well, not burying. We had to do that right away. But a blessing would be nice."

  "Jo, I can't bless any graves."

  "You had to have learned that. It's one of the main things that reverends do."

  "I didn't mean I couldn't, I meant I shouldn't. I'm a lot of things, but I've tried really hard not to be a hypocrite."

  "I don't understand."

  "There is no God, Jo. I can't stand over a grave and say that there is. I can't baptize a baby in the name of a Lord that isn't."

  The conviction in his voice sent a chill through Jo's heart. She'd been so certain that deep down he believed. But looking into his eyes now she wasn't sure, and that scared her. What if she never reached him? What if he was doomed for eternity?

  "You're wrong," she lashed out. "There is a God, and I'll prove it to you."

  "Go ahead and try."

  He crossed his arms and peered at her expectantly. Jo opened her mouth, then closed it again and frowned.

  "That's what I thought," he murmured, and left her alone by the river.

  Jo wanted to call out for him to stop, but she had nothing more to say. How could she demonstrate the existence of God whose very essence was comprised of faith?

  Jo sank down on the sandy bank. Faith. A belief in what could not be seen, the knowledge of that which could not be proved.

  The breeze stirred her hair; springtime brushed her cheek. But no answer came on the breath of the wind.

  She was not up to this, and if she failed, Nate would suffer. She'd give her soul for his, but she didn't think such bargains were allowed.

  Chapter 12

  After his argument with Jo, Nate began to dodge her. The things he'd begun to feel whenever she was near were dangerous for them both.

  But after a week of avoiding her, he started to believe she was avoiding him. He saw Jo rarely, and not if she saw him first. He couldn't count the number of times he caught a glimpse of her ducking into a building just ahead of him.

  Arguing over God had been foolish. The truth would come out eventually, and what harm could there be for folks to believe there was a better place ahead? The one right here and now certainly held little appeal.

  Unlike his friends, Nate had no gainful employment. Even Cash spent most of his time in Rock Creek tinkering with Rogue's Palace. Nothing laborious. Cash did not believe in breaking a sweat for anyone, not even himself. Nate could have given him a hand, but he figured it was best to stay clear of saloons.

  He'd resolved to keep from drinking as long as he could. It was foolish to try and please Jo when she wasn't even around to notice, but Nate hadn't been anything but foolish for quite a long time now.

  He went nights without rest, then slept like a dead man all day. He was able to keep from thinking of Angela by thinking of Jo instead. Which only made him lonelier than he'd been since his wife died.

  For lack of something better to do, and because the exercise seemed to keep his mind off the whiskey and tire him enough to sleep, Nate walked the streets of Rock Creek. The folks treated him like royalty. He'd never really noticed that they ignored him before. Or at least he thought they had. He could count on his fingers the number of times he'd ventured into town during the day.

  After a week of handshakes and back slaps, Nate kind of missed being ignored. He didn't feel he'd done anything special, but no one else seemed to agree.

  In fact, when he'd mentioned to Reese that he'd been scared half to death at the time, some hero, Reese had merely shaken his head and said, "Courage is measured in the amount of fear a man ignores to do what he must, not in the lack of fear he feels in the first place."

  When put like that, Nate figured he was brave enough to be a general in the next war.

  One afternoon, Nate went to the river. He'd taken to sitting there whenever the craving for a drink became too strong. The wind whistling through the trees, the water gurgling over the rocks, the sun burning on his back made him forget for a few seconds at a time that there was no whiskey to be had this far from town.

  He hadn't been out of Rock Creek five minutes when a shuffle turned his attention from a bobbing leaf to the sight of Carrie Salvatore sliding down the river bank.

  "Are you supposed to be down here alone?"

  "I'm not alone. You're here."

  She'd always been a bit of a smart mouth. How could Rico's daughter be anything else, even if she was adopted? Before Rico had gotten hold of her, she'd had a foul mouth, too, courtesy of the grandfather who'd taken care of her until he died. Old man Brown had been a regular genius when it came to cursing.

  "What if I hadn't been here?"

  "I followed you."

  Nate raised his eyebrows. The girl was getting almost as good as her father at sneaking about.

  She approached, a barefoot eleven-year-old, with braids in her hair and a box in her hands. She placed the box at his feet like an offering.

  "What's in there?"

  "Gizzard."

  "Isn't that your–"

  Her lip trembled. "My lizard."

  "Does he like it in the box?"

  "He's—" Her breath hitched. "He's—"A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  Aw, hell, Nate thought.

  He knew what was coming even before she wailed, "Dead!"

  Nate knelt and took the top off the box. Yep, dead all right. Rico hadn't picked a very healthy lizard this go-round.

  Carrie was howling loud enough to wake the dead. Her sadness tore at Nate's heart. Frantic, he tried to think of a way to make her stop.

  "Um... uh... well, you know, maybe you should put your friend back where he sleeps."

  Her wails stopped. She took a deep, snuffling, watery breath. "Why? So Daddy can catch me another one?"

  "You know about that?"

  She rolled her eyes. "I've always known a
bout that."

  "But you let him continue?"

  "Is that a sin?"

  Nate blinked. "Sin?"

  "Fiona says you're a preacher man. So I wanna know, is it a sin for me to pretend I don't know that this Gizzard is the third Gizzard?"

  "Hmm," Nate stalled.

  "Daddy only does it because he loves me, and he doesn't want to see me sad. So I cry in secret and pretend I don't notice anything funny. Like I can't tell the difference between one lizard and another," she mumbled with all the disdain of eleven going on twenty-five. "But is that lyin'? I'm not sure. And I really, really don't want to go to hell." Her eyes went wide. "Oops. Not supposed to say that any more."

  "I... well... um..."

  "Is it or isn't it?" she demanded. "You ought to know."

  "Yeah, I ought to." Nate sighed. "It's kind of a lie."

  Carrie's shoulders slumped. "That's what Millie said. Johnny too. A lie by position."

  Nate's lips twitched. "You mean omission?"

  "Okay."

  She was so darned cute and earnest, Nate was possessed by an overwhelming urge to brighten her world. Suddenly he understood why Rico had sneaked out at the crack of dawn to go lizard hunting.

  "Regardless of your kind of lie, you aren't going to hell for it."

  "No?" A smiled wreathed her face. "You're sure?"

  "Yep."

  Considering hell was here on earth for all those who deserved it, Carrie had little to be concerned about.

  "Good. I don't wanna be in hell when Johnny and Daddy and Mama are in heaven."

  "Maybe you oughta worry about life right here and now and forget about what comes after."

  She wrinkled her nose. "You sure are a strange kind of preacher man."

  "I hear that a lot." He leaned down, picked up the box full of dead lizard and held it out to her.

  Carrie shook her head. "You keep it."

  "What for?"

  "The funeral. When you wanna do it?"

  Nate almost dropped the box. "Funeral? For a lizard?"

  "He's got a soul, just like you and me."

  "He does?"

  Her lip trembled. "Doesn't he?"

  Nate rubbed his forehead. He was beginning to get a headache, and he hadn't even had the pleasure of a drink first. "I don't know, Carrie."

  "Well, it can't hurt to bury him proper. I don't know what Daddy did with my other lizards. They just disappeared." The seriousness of her expression belonged on an adult, not a child. "It preys on my mind."

  "Maybe you should wait for the circuit preacher to come through."

  Carrie sniffed, then cast a dubious glance at the box in Nate's hand. "I don't think we should wait that long."

  Nate followed her gaze. Even taking into account that he was dead, Gizzard didn't look so good.

  "Besides, that travelin' preacher's mouth is always pinched up like he just ate a worm. He preaches hellfire. Scares the sh—" She cleared her throat. "He scares all the little ones. Mama don't like him. Nobody does. But everyone likes you."

  "Everyone?"

  "They do now anyway. They're all talking about how you saved the others from the Comanches. Even people who thought you were worthless before think you might be worth somethin' now."

  Nate hadn't realized the folks of Rock Creek believed him worthless.

  "Fiona always thought you were special, and that's good enough for me." Carrie reached out and put her hand on Nate's arm. "You've got gentle eyes like my Gizzard. He'd have liked you. Please, won't you bury him and say some nice words? He was a very good lizard."

  Nate should say no, but he couldn't quite get the word out. After all, how often was a man compared favorably to a very good lizard?

  One thing Nate still missed from his former life was helping people. He'd been good at it. He'd stayed with his friends after the war because they helped people, too. Might be with a gun and not a prayer, but the principle was still the same.

  Mostly.

  Carrie stared at him with hope in her eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that, and Nate hadn't disappointed them. He could bury a lizard. He could say a few good words. How hard could it be?

  He found out a few hours later.

  They'd decided to bury Gizzard, the third, just before sunset next to the sunny rock where he'd liked to nap. Nate had come early and dug a hole. Since he'd managed to convince Carrie that Gizzard would much rather spend the afternoon with her, and therefore avoided carrying a dead lizard around for the day, all he had to do now was wait for the guest of honor.

  Before he'd had a chance to take a rest on Gizzard's rock, a parade of children marched over the hill and into the river valley. Led by Carrie, holding Gizzard's coffin in front of her like an offering to some ancient god, every little face proved suitably solemn.

  Nate recognized the children of his friends. The rest he'd seen about town. From the size of the crowd, Nate figured every resident of Reese's schoolroom, and then some, must be in attendance.

  He glanced at Carrie. "What is this?"

  "The funeral procession."

  "Who gave you that idea?"

  "Johnny."

  Nate glanced at the tall, lanky, silent young man who had come to Rock Creek with Lily. Originally from New Orleans and christened Jean Baptiste, Johnny had no doubt seen plenty of funeral processions through the streets of that fair town. In New Orleans people did such things up right.

  "Gizzard deserves to go out in style." Carrie's voice brooked no argument. She handed Nate the makeshift coffin.

  He quickly deposited the lizard, box and all, in the hole. From the number of flies visiting Gizzard, they'd best get this funeral moving.

  The children formed a circle and gazed at Nate expectantly. He froze. What did one say about a lizard, even a very good one? He thought about that so long, the natives got restless.

  "Hey!" Carrie whispered, loudly. "We've got to get home for supper."

  "This is just like church," a redheaded, gap-toothed little boy complained.

  "Naw, it's worse," sneered a freckle-faced girl. "At least in church they say somethin' for you to pretend you're listenin' to."

  "Hush!" Fiona snapped. "He do good. Just wait 'n see." She turned a smile of complete trust and cherubic innocence Nate's way. "G' ahead, Unca Nate."

  Great, now he had to say something. Nate cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, of course. Here is the earthly body of Gizzard—"

  "Salvatore," Carrie interjected.

  "Gizzard Salvatore."

  Nate had a hard time not laughing at the thought of what Rico's stuffy, superior father would say if he knew the precious name of Salvatore was being applied to a lizard. Remembering Adriano Salvatore, Nate figured he wouldn't be too happy to find it applied to Carrie, Johnny, or Lily either.

  "He was a good lizard, a faithful friend." The children nodded. Fiona beamed. Nate warmed to his subject. "His heart was pure; his love was true. He's sorry to be gone. But the memory of Gizzard lying on his rock in the sun will remain in our hearts forever."

  Nate paused. Now what? He couldn't very well bless a lizard, commit his body to heaven, and say they'd all meet again soon. But Carrie was looking at him expectantly; Fiona, too. They knew something else was needed to make the burial complete. Nate thought back to all the funerals he'd officiated at, as well as the ones he'd attended. There had to be something he could do that wasn't hypocritical but gave comfort to the ones left behind.

  As if in answer to a prayer—but he knew better—the perfect idea popped into Nate's head. He picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it atop the box. "Good-bye, Gizzard."

  Carrie bent and tossed in her own handful. "I'll miss ya."

  Each child did the same until the small grave was nearly filled. Then some of them drifted home, while others hung back.

  "That was the best funeral." Carrie hugged him, hard and quick. "Not too short, not too long. I'll come to you for all my lizard funerals from now on."

  "Thanks,
" Nate muttered.

  "Reverend Lang?"

  Nate jolted. No one had called him that since... since... Kentucky—a lifetime ago.

  A small group of children stared at him with wide eyes. The redheaded boy stepped forward and crooked his finger. Nate bent down and the child whispered in his ear. "I stole a piece of candy. What should I do?"

  Nate frowned and straightened. "Give it back."

  "Ate it already."

  "Pay for it."

  "Aw, shoot. I knew you were goin' to say that." With a long-suffering sigh, the child scurried toward town.

  A dark-eyed blond girl beckoned. Nate lowered his ear once more. "I kicked my sister under the table and said the dog did it."

  Nate choked. "Don't do that any more."

  "Okay!" She skipped on home.

  The confessions continued.

  "I cheated at marbles."

  "I threw a stone at a cat."

  "I pinched my brother."

  His answer was always the same. "Stop doing that."

  Was no one explaining right and wrong in this town? Nate did notice none of his friends' children had questions about improper behavior. But that any child would ask the dissolute Nate Lang such things made him want to run away and never come back.

  At last he was alone. Or at least he thought he was. When he turned to mount the hill, he discovered Cash awaited him at the top.

  "What in hell was that?" Cash demanded when Nate reached his side.

  "What?"

  "I followed the urchin parade, Rev. I watched the whole sorry mess."

  Together they walked toward Rock Creek. "I thought I did a mighty fine job for my first lizard funeral."

  "Lizard funeral? Next thing I know you'll be marrying snakes and baptizing fish. What's gotten into you?"

  Nate wasn't sure. That the children had come to him with their problems disturbed him. That he'd been able to answer and comfort reminded him of happier days. Even the lizard funeral, odd as it was, had made him feel useful. Perhaps too much alcohol had pickled his brain.

  The two of them reached town, and Nate's gaze was drawn to the rectory. No sign of her. He sighed.

  "That's it," Cash snapped. "We've got a job. Get your things."

  With nothing better to do, Nate followed his friend out of town.