He seemed too nervous to.
Or afraid.
EIGHT
Clint was impressed with the food and the steak. As he ate, though, he watched the people around them. He and Joe were the center of attention, but not openly. Rather than stares, they were getting furtive looks. Some of the people quickly finished their meals and left. New diners came in, but while some were seated, others seemed to change their mind and leave when they saw Father Joe and Clint.
Clint had experienced this before, some people preferring not to be around him, just in case there was some shooting, but he didn’t think that he was the cause, here. He wasn’t the reason folks were leaving; it was Father Joe, who seemed oblivious to the whole matter.
Father Joe talked incessantly during dinner about his plans for his “parish.”
“Eventually,” he said at one point, “we’ll even have a bigger church built.”
“But this one is brand new,” Clint said.
“Yes, it is,” Father Joe said, “and it suits my needs at the moment, but if my plans pan out, we will be needing a larger place to assemble.”
“Then what would you do with this one?”
“Probably turn it into a chapel.”
“Well,” Clint said, pushing his plate away, “you seem to have everything pretty well mapped out.”
“I do.” He emulated Clint and pushed his plate away. “And I’ll make sure everything goes according to plan.”
Mrs. Colton put in an appearance, chattering nervously still.
“Was everything satisfactory?” she asked. Clint wondered what she’d do if they said it hadn’t been.
“It was wonderful, Mrs. Colton,” Clint said quickly. “Very good.”
“Yes,” Father Joe said, “an excellent meal, Mrs. Colton.”
She seemed visibly relieved.
“Wonderful!” she said. “Did you leave room for pie?”
“Oh, yes,” Father Joe said. “Definitely pie.”
“And more coffee,” Clint said.
“I made apple, peach, and blueberry.”
“I’ll take peach,” Clint said. Father Joe chose to have apple.
“Comin’ right up,” she said.
As she returned to the kitchen, Father Joe—for the first time since they’d arrived—sat back in his chair and looked around.
“See anybody you know?” Clint asked.
“I may be fairly new to Griggsville,” Father Joe said, “but I know the people I need to know. For instance, the mayor was here earlier.”
“Was he? And you didn’t speak to him? He didn’t acknowledge you?”
“Oh, he and his wife left early.”
“And that didn’t bother you?”
“What, that he and some other people left when you and I arrived? It’s like you pointed out, Clint. They respect what I represent.”
“Which is God.”
Clint had noticed that several diners had come in and again, upon seeing him and Father Joe at their table, had turned and left.
“Yes,” Father Joe went on, “and if they’re uncomfortable with the condition their souls are in, then they don’t want to talk to me. So they look away, or leave.” He shrugged. “That is their problem.”
They finished up their pie and coffee, and by the time they were done, the rest of the diners had virtually cleared out.
When they’d finished eating, they complimented Mrs. Colton, who seemed very happy with their praise, but Clint thought she was probably just happy that they were leaving.
“She’s an attractive window,” Father Joe said as they left. “Too bad.”
“About what?”
“I doubt she’ll find a suitable husband in this town,” the vicar said.
“Do you think she’s looking for a husband?” Clint asked.
“Probably not.”
“What about you?” Clint asked. “Are you looking for a wife?”
“I’m ordained, Clint,” Father Joe said. “I’m not a preacher, who can take a wife.”
“Oh, I see,” Clint said. “Vow of chastity and all that?”
“Exactly.”
“I guess that’s one reason why I’ll have to remain a sinner,” Clint said.
“Not somethin’ to joke about, Clint,” Father Joe said. “Shouldn’t joke about your immortal soul at all.”
NINE
In his room Clint kept trying to read, but found he could not concentrate. His thoughts kept going back to Joe Holloway, who was now Father Joe. He was afraid that the only difference between the two might be their collars, and their weapon of choice.
Joe Holloway was a gunman, a fast gun for hire who had killed many men—most of them face to face. No one had ever come close to beating him to the draw.
Father Joe seemed to be wielding his Bible with as much deadly accuracy as his gun. He had people in town afraid of him, and that was something he was used to.
Joe Holloway may have thought that as Father Joe he was a changed man, but Clint was not sure of that. Father Joe may have thought that people were afraid of him because he represented God, but the fact was they were afraid of him.
That was nothing new. Joe Holloway was used to being feared. So used to it that, even in his new life, he would depend on it.
Clint rose the next morning and dressed for a wedding, putting on his last clean shirt. He strapped his gun on, knowing he’d be the only man in church wearing one.
He found a small café across the street to have a quick breakfast, and then walked to the church for the wedding.
Adele Whittington looked at herself in the mirror. She and her family could not afford a wedding dress. Even if they could have, they would have had to ride to Clarksville or beyond to have one made. She did, however, have a veil, and she now regarded herself through it.
Twenty-two, and considered by her mother and father—especially her father—to be an old maid. Her mother was only thirty-nine, still a lovely woman despite the hardships of being married to Bill Whittington, who was fifty-five. Whittington was a stubborn man who refused to believe the ground when it told him nothing would grow. He worked his hands to the bone, and those of his wife, to prove the ground wrong.
Now he was giving his daughter to a man who ran a hardware store, and had no ambitions beyond that. Adele looked at her hands. At least she wouldn’t be working them to the bone in an attempt to prove the ground wrong.
Her mother came in and stood behind her, hands on her shoulder.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“Not as beautiful as you, Mother.”
“Oh, my,” her mother said, “if only you could see yourself as I do.”
“If I’m so beautiful, why is this the only marriage proposal I’ve ever had?”
“My dear,” her mother said, “if we lived in Saint Louis, or Abilene, or Denver, you would have your pick. You’d have a hundred suitors.”
“But we don’t live there, Mother,” she said. “We live here.”
Debra Whittington gripped her daughter’s shoulders tightly.
“It’s time to go,” she said. “Everybody’s waiting at the church.”
Adele got to her feet, turned, and hugged her mother.
“Your groom waits,” Debra said softly.
Clint got to the church, saw that every pew was taken. However, there did not seem to be the mood of general elation usually felt at weddings.
He walked down the aisle, saw the vacant looks on the faces of some of the attendees as they stared down. Others looked up at him as he went by, expressionless. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were attending a funeral, not a wedding.
He walked to the door of Father Joe’s office and knocked.
“Come!”
He opened the door and went in. The vicar was seated at his desk.
“You made it,” Father Joe said.
“I said I would.”
The vicar was dressed in black, his white collar almost gleaming.
�
�The bride and groom aren’t here yet,” he said.
“What time is the wedding supposed to be?”
“Eight thirty.”
“It’s eight twenty-five.”
“I know,” Father Joe said. He stood up. “We better go out and wait.”
Clint opened the door for him.
TEN
As they stepped out, what had been a church humming with soft conversation suddenly became quiet. Father Joe came through the door, then turned and looked at Clint.
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to leave that gun behind?” he asked.
“Come on, Joe,” Clint said.
“I didn’t think so.”
Father Joe stepped to the pulpit as Clint stood off to the side. At that point the bride appeared at the door with her father and mother.
Clint couldn’t see her face through her veil, but if she looked anything like her mother, she was beautiful. The mother looked hardly old enough to have a daughter who was getting married.
The father had the look of a grizzled farmer, used to having his hands in the ground. He had a permanent scowl on his face, which seemed to be a series not of wrinkles, but of seams.
Debra Whittington looked down the aisle and saw Father Joe standing at the pulpit. Off to the vicar’s left was a man wearing a gun.
“Who the hell is that?” her husband asked gruffly.
“Never mind, Bill. This is your daughter’s wedding. Don’t start anything.”
“I ain’t gonna start nothin’.”
“Then walk her down the aisle and give her away,” Debra said.
“Yeah? To who? Ain’t nobody up there to give her to.”
Debra realized her husband was right. There was no groom waiting.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’s not coming,” Adele said from behind her veil.
“Of course he is,” Debra said. “He loves you. Just wait here and I will talk to the vicar.”
She walked down the aisle to join Father Joe at the podium.
“Father, where is Dan?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning,” Father Joe said. “Haven’t you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “The bride and groom are not supposed to see each other before the wedding. Did you speak to him yesterday?”
“I did, but only briefly. He seemed… a bit agitated.”
“Agitated? About what?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Whittington,” Father Joe said. “He didn’t say.”
“B-But… he should be here.”
“You are correct,” Father Joe said, “he should be.”
“Can’t we send someone to his hardware store to look for him?” she asked.
“I can certainly ask someone to do that,” Father Joe said.
“I can do it,” Clint offered.
“No,” Father Joe said, “I have someone I can send, Clint.”
The vicar stepped down from the pulpit and approached a man in the first pew. He spoke to him, and the man rose and left the church.
“I’ve sent Gabriel to see if Dan is at his store,” he told Debra. “Would you and your daughter like to wait in my office?”
“Yes, thank you, Vicar.”
Debra went back up the aisle to get her daughter and bring her into the vicar’s office. Her husband left the church and paced back and forth in front.
Clint joined Father Joe in the office with the bride-to-be and her mother.
Adele Whittington sat with her head bowed, still covered by her veil.
“This can’t be happening,” Debra said.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Father Joe told her. “He’s just late.”
“I can’t have my daughter embarrassed this way,” Debra said.
Clint felt bad for the mother and the daughter, but didn’t know what he could do to help, so he simply remained silent.
They waited several minutes until there was a knock on the door—a second door, one that led directly to the outside.
“Ah, that will be Gabriel,” Father Joe said. He rode and opened the door. He spoke briefly to Gabriel so that the other could not hear, then closed the door with the man still on the outside.
“I’m afraid,” he said, turning to the others, “that Gabriel didn’t find Mr. Carter at his store. In fact, he says the store was open, and deserted, and he wasn’t in his rooms above.”
He looked at Clint. They realized that was the way Clint had found the store, and it remained so overnight.
Dan Carter was missing.
ELEVEN
Clint and Father Joe walked over to the hardware store themselves, stopping along the way to get the sheriff. He checked the store, the storeroom, and Carter’s rooms upstairs.
“Nothin’,” Sheriff Bricker said. “Don’t even look like there was a struggle.”
“Odd,” Father Joe said.
“Maybe,” Bricker said, “he just got cold feet. Changed his mind.”
“Why disappear, though?” Clint asked.
“Well, you don’t know the old man, Ben Whittington. He’ll kill Carter for this, if we find him.”
Clint and Father Joe exchanged a glance.
“I guess we’ll have to tell everyone the wedding’s off,” Clint said.
“I better do a mass,” Father Joe said. “Might as well, while I have everybody in the church.”
“That poor girl,” the sheriff said. “I wouldn’t wanna be the one to tell her and her parents.”
“Don’t worry, Sheriff,” Father Joe said. “That’s my job.”
They walked back to the church together.
“I don’t believe this!” Ben Whittington exploded. “I’ll kill ’im.”
“You’ll have to find him first, Ben,” the sheriff said.
“That’s your job, Bricker!”
“Not me,” the lawman said. “Dan Turner ain’t broke any laws, he just didn’t show up for his wedding. Seems to me that’s a problem for the father of the bride.”
“I better go inside and tell the ladies,” Father Joe said, “and then the congregation.”
“You gonna tell all those people my Adele’s been left at the altar?”
“What else can I tell them?” Father Joe asked.
“I’ll be humiliated!”
“What about your daughter, Mr. Whittington?” Clint asked. “Don’t you think she’s the one who’ll be humiliated?”
“Ah!” Whittington said. “Go ahead and tell ’em whatever ya want! I need a drink.”
He stalked away to the saloon.
Father Joe made a deal with Clint.
“I’ll talk to the parishioners, get them to stay for a mass,” he said. “Can you talk to the ladies, tell them what we found?”
“We didn’t find anything.”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, okay,” Clint said.
“I’ll go into the church,” Father Joe said. “You use the back door to the office.”
“Is it unlocked?”
“Here.” Father Joe gave him a key. “I’ll see you after mass.”
“How long will that take?”
“An hour.”
“What am I supposed to do with the two women?” Clint said. “Keep ’em in your office?”
“Take them somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Get them something to drink.”
“The saloon?”
“That is a place that sells drinks,” Father Joe said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“All right,” Clint said. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but all right.”
Father Joe slapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re a good friend, Clint.”
“Yeah.”
Clint went around behind the church to the back door and used the key to open it. He startled both women as he entered.
“Where is Father Joe?” Debra asked.
“He’s in the church starting a mass.”
“Then you didn’t…”
“Didn’t find Dan.”
Adele had removed her veil. Clint saw that she was every bit as lovely as her mother—or would be when she reached that age. She also looked calm—very calm.
“And my husband?” Debra asked.
“I think he went to the saloon.”
Debra looked at her daughter.
“I’m sorry, dear.”
Adele shrugged.
“Why don’t we go over to the saloon and have a drink?” Clint said. “You can join your husband there.”
“Sure,” Debra said. “Why not? There’s not much that can be done here, is there?”
TWELVE
Clint entered the saloon with the two women and directed them to the bar. Eddie was cleaning the top of the bar with a rag.
“We’re not open yet.”
“Come here,” Clint said, grabbing the front of Eddie’s shirt and pulling him to the other end of the bar. “This young woman has just been left at the altar. She and her mother deserve a drink, don’t you think?”
“Sure, sure, Mr. Adams,” Eddie said.
“Bring them some brandy, and me a beer.”
“Comin’ up.”
Clint rejoined the women and Eddie came over with their drinks.
“Where’s the father of the bride?” Clint asked him.
“Huh?”
“Whittington,” Clint said. “He headed over here for a drink a little while ago.”
“I only just opened the door when you got here,” Eddie said. “If he knocked, I didn’t hear him.”
“Okay, forget it,” Clint said.
“I’m sorry about your wedding, Adele,” the barman said.
She smiled at him and said, “Thanks, Eddie.”
“Go away!” Debra told him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t take it out on him,” Clint said.
She glared at him. “I don’t want him near my daughter.”
“Because he’s a bartender.”
Clint looked at Eddie, cleaning the other end of the bar. He looked to be a few years older than Adele, but a lot younger than Dan Carter. He was starting to get the picture.
“What’s wrong with being a bartender?” Clint asked. “It’s a good job.”
The Vicar of St. James Page 3