Better Off Without Her (Book One of the Western Serial Killer series)

by Hestand, Rita

  The priest shook his head with a frown, "For that I must tell your fathers. I cannot believe you would do such a thing, and from the church too." The priest's voice hardened and his face scrunched into a wadded frown.

  "Oh please, do not tell our fathers, they will be angry and beat us…Padre." A spastic sob shook the boy who spoke up.

  The priest nodded, "That is as it should be…you took from the church, from God himself. It is a sin to take from God what is his…You will be punished."

  One of the boys seemed particularly afraid though, his voice held his sorrows. "Please Padre, I will earn the money to buy back the candles…please do not tell our fathers."

  "I cannot afford to replace the candles. It will take you some time, and you would have to go somewhere else to find them. For there are no more here to be found. It will be weeks before the next shipment to the dry goods store. I have already looked into the matter. It cannot be done. How will I light the church without candles? The church must close at night. All because of you boys."

  "We'll find some…we promise…"

  "Then find them before dark…or I must tell your fathers."

  The children ran off in many directions and Victor stared after them. Knowing they would be punished hurt Victor. They were small children; they did not need to be punished. For they had admitted their wrongdoing. They had been willing to find more candles. This priest was not as he seemed. They would punish them for such a small thing. And what of the forgiveness he had spoken of? Victor did not understand people.

  Victor felt the old rage building inside him. The uncharitable remarks of the priest enraged Victor. As violent emotions took over once more, Victor acknowledged his anger with a fist that drove into the adobe brick of the building like a cannonball. It was a good feeling; it meant he was still alive.

  Trembling with his own hysteria, he plunged his anger inward. He would wait; if the boys returned with candles then all would be well. If not, he would have to take care of it for them.

  He would viciously vindicate them if needed.

  The day wore on, and the church remained dark, the priest came out to look for the boys, but they never came.

  He shook his head in dismay. "Their fathers must be told…" he grunted and went back inside, shaking his head. Victor watched as the priest lit a torch and carried it through the church.

  Victor wondered where the children went. He was worried about them. He didn't see any of them.

  He walked all about the town, and there was no sign of children.

  As the congregation came to the church that night the priest turned them away. "I'm sorry but the children stole the candles and I cannot light the church. Go home and speak to your children as they have sinned against God himself."

  The angry parents marched away.

  Victor watched.

  The priest should not have done it. He could have used the torch. It wasn't fair. Now the children would suffer at the hands of their parents. And the priest did not forgive them.

  Victor felt the rage building inside him, tried to simmer himself.

  But the church was strange to him and even after the priest had told him the story about the man dying on the cross for him, Victor had cried and felt sad and yet in his lunacy he didn't understand it. Now he didn't know what to do.

  The priest must be punished, but the church was a strange place and Victor didn't want to go back inside. Something deep and dark within him kept him from the place.

  He slumped to the ground to try to think. His mind was tired.

  It was hard to think. The priest had confused him with his words. He spoke of forgiveness and yet he did not forgive the children. They confessed their wrong, and the priest still did not listen.

  Finally a little before dawn the priest came out of the church and tended his garden in the back of the church. Victor spotted him. He moved toward him.

  "Who is there…" the priest called knowing it was too early for a parishioner.

  "You…you threatened the children…"Victor said in his screeching voice as he stalked the priest.

  "You've come back. Good there is much I must teach you." The priest's face was full of worry."Please, tell me your name."

  "You told their fathers…." Victor's eyes widened and bulged.

  The priest's face turned red, whether from embarrassment or fear was not known. "It was for their own good. They sinned. They stole..." the priest insisted his voice going in and out of a pattern. "The young must be taught, right from wrong."

  "But you said God forgives. You said that man…died for our sins…" Victor repeated his words, not sure what he was saying, trying to make sense of nonsense.

  "Yes, yes of course I did…but the children disobeyed. They have to be punished or they will do more next time…" the priest insisted. "You don't understand…"

  "You can't hurt the children…" Victor lashed out at him. The priest dodged him at first.

  The priest backed up, seeing the wild look in Victor's eye seemed to intimidate him. He moved toward the back door of the church, his hands behind him.

  Victor lunged and gripped the priest by the neck. It was a chubby neck and hard to hold, but Victor let his thumbs go inside the flesh and mesh with it. Fresh blood oozed from the priest's mouth. He tried to speak, but couldn't. He was heavy to lift, but Victor managed to just pick him up off the ground. The priest struggled, and his last words hit Victor as strange.

  "God forgive you…" The priest barely managed.

  But the priest was dead now and Victor let him slide to the ground easily. He looked at the man and shook his head. "You shouldn't have told their parents…."

  Then Victor left, quietly as he always did. He didn't take a finger this time. He had slowly loosened all the fingers in his pockets now and there were no more.

  Victor was upset inside himself. This man…in robes…had told him someone died for his sin…why did he not die for the children's sin? He didn't understand it, couldn't. And he felt more lost than ever now. It seemed to Victor that people talked in riddles.

  Confusion joined ignorance.

  This time someone spotted Victor leaving though and followed, shouting obscenities as he rode away. He'd never been caught doing his deeds and it surprised him that people were so mad. He looked over his shoulder and saw a congregation of people running behind him to catch him.

  He heard them shouting angrily. "He killed the priest. Come on…we must catch him."

  Victor kept up the pace until he was out of site. The angry mob had disappeared in the cold dust of daylight.

  The weather was colder and snow began to fall before the day was over. Victor's coat was very thin now and didn't provide much warmth. He needed to find shelter. But where?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Victor rode for what seemed like hours. He was numb in the saddle, he couldn't feel his feet, and his arms barely could move. Still, the Indian staring at him in the distance had him on alert.

  The warrior approached him slowly. He stared for a long while. Victor noted the warrior had no coat, only a buffalo skin to warm him. Silently he wished he had one too. It was the last thought he had for a long time.

  Two days later, Victor woke up in a Kiowa Apache camp. He was snuggled in a buffalo robe and laid by a fire inside a tepee. He glanced around him, and saw an old squaw sitting not far away. She looked at him and gave a toothless grin.

  Victor saw no derision in her glance though. She was no threat.

  He closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into the blanket.

  The warmth and security only lasted until the tall warrior came in and checked him. He nodded and pushed Victor to sit up. He glanced at him and sat up.

  Neither seemed to understand the other, and this left Victor feeling almost like part of this tribe. At last he did not have to talk, copy, or repeat. He was accepted as he was. They neither looked at him as bad, nor good, white nor Indian. They simply accepted him.

  He was glad.

  Days pa
ssed and when the Indians wanted him to do something they nudged him and he understood the work they wanted him to do. He spent much time moving rocks out of dirt for them. He fished for them, and gathered things and helped make bows and arrows. And for once he was satisfied. He could live here, he thought. These people were almost kind.

  By day he labored for them and they treated him decently, by night he slept near a warm fire and he gained a sense of security living here in the wilds.

  He wondered if he had found a new home, for they did not make fun of him, they did not rebuke him for his strange voice, nor turn away from his ugliness as most did.

  When the warrior bathed in the river, he was shocked and he wasn't about to go in, but they drug him in and laughed at the big splash he made. Victor rarely bathed and to jump in without clothes on was unheard of, but they pulled every stitch of his off. While the Indian maidens washed his clothes and hung them to dry. Then the maidens joined him and helped him clean his body. Victor found it strange, but he did rebel. When he came out they gave him a blanket to cover himself. The water was freezing and his teeth shattered like the tail of a rattler.

  He was free to roam about when his chores were done. And a few times he went on raids of the white people. Victor didn't hesitate to bring back a scalp like his warrior friend had. He had learned the art well and he felt compassion with these people.

  For once, Victor felt something he had never had…a quiet happiness within himself.

  He fit here. And he'd die here, he decided, for there was nowhere else to go.

  But he was wrong again. Two weeks after the bath, the Kiowa's traded him to the Comanche. At first, the Comanche tested him, his bravery, and his fears. But Frank must have passed the test when he warred with them openly, even learning how to scalp. Now he was at home. For the Comanche killed without remorse, unlike the Kiowa's. Victor understood this.

  And now he was finally at last home, and he knew it. He fit these Indians, and he was bound to stay.

  ***

  Meanwhile back at Mobetiee a posse was being formed and Wesley was going to lead it. The four of them took a couple of rooms at the hotel and wanted Pepper to stay in town, since they had a large posse ready to go after Victor. Everyone agreed that a priest killer must die, without regret. However, the sheriff was waiting on some kind of legal paper so they were held over for a day or two.

  When a tall, rather rounded woman with a feather in her hat stepped off the stage, she spotted Pepper right away. She smiled, and then politely asked if she would carry her baggage up the stairs. Pepper shrugged rolled her eyes and did it.

  As they entered the room in the hotel though, the woman became quite friendly.

  "You lived here long?" She asked in a deep southern voice.

  "No ma'am, just passin' through…"

  "Really, I took you as a local. My mistake. So what was all the ruckus about down in the street, when the stage pulled up? Looked like a mounted posse or something." She took her hat off and placed it on the bureau.

  "It was. They're after a killer…a very dangerous one, in fact."

  "Oh, who did he kill?"

  "The priest….here." Pepper informed her. "And many others."

  "A priest, Good heavens. That's insane, killing a man of the cloth. Why would anyone do such a thing?"

  Pepper shrugged and watched the lady with all her refinery about her, perfumes and feathers and hats of all nature. "This man they are chasin' ain't right in the head. He thinks…well…he thinks that some people are hurting the children. So he kills them. In fact, most of his victims have been women…up till now."

  "Oh my," the woman clutched her chest. "I hope they catch him. They certainly had enough men."

  "We've been after him a long time…." Pepper exclaimed backing toward the door now.

  "We? You mean you rode with them?"

  "Yes ma'am. He killed my Pa, and I was wantin' to see justice done." Pepper explained.

  "But you’re a—woman, so to speak."

  Pepper blushed trying not to take offense to this woman of the east. "Yes ma'am, but he killed my Pa."

  The woman stared at her for a long moment, "You are quite an unusual lady. What's your name?"

  "Pepper Hardy." She answered, clearing her throat.

  "Well, Pepper I hope we'll be good friends…"

  "Yes ma'am…" and she left the room. Pepper had never met such a grand lady before. The woman dressed in great finery and wore her hair up fancy like. Pepper was impressed.

  ***

  Pepper was just returning to her room when John T. came to her room, "Pepper," he began, seeing the raised brow at him being here. "You ain't mad, are ya?"

  "I came a long ways to see this done, now you want me to just hang back and let you men do all the work. I'm not anxious to get killed John T. but…"

  John T. came up to her, and put his arms around her. "Look, we don't want you hurt. We got a town of men to go with us now. It isn't like before. There's no need of you getting yourself into this. We'll handle it…" He cajoled, as his lips touched her forehead. "These people want justice just as much as you or I. We'll get him, I'm confident of that now."

  "I don't want to let you go out there, alone…" she cried.

  "I won't be alone, for crying out loud. There is a whole town of people with us." John T. exclaimed.

  "What if you don't come back…" she cried.

  "I will…" he insisted this time turning her around so he could kiss her on the mouth this time. He made a strange sound in his throat when he turned loose.

  "I'd rather be here with you…but you know I gotta go."

  "I could be a widow, before I become your wife…" she announced between sultry kisses.

  John T. pulled out of her arms for a second. "What if we get married before we go?"

  "Married…you'd do that?" Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  "I would….would you?"

  "Oh John T. that's— so romantic…" Pepper cried. "Yes…let's do it…"

  "Okay, let me go tell everyone we'll be headin' out a little later than we figured." John T. smiled. "Hey…in case I haven't said it lately, I love you."

  "I love you too…." She cried as he closed the door between them.

  Pepper couldn't stand not telling anyone, so she opened the door and ran down the hall to Mrs. Rutherford's room and banged on her door. "We're getting married" She blurted as she swept through the room starry eyed. "…can you believe it?"

  The older woman stood up from her bedside and smiled, then gathered Pepper to her like a daughter and cried. "I'm so happy for you dear….But who are you marryin'?"

  "Oh…that's right, you haven't met him…his name's John T., he's an ex-ranger. He's with the posse."

  "How long have you known him?"

  Pepper grimaced a bit, and then she smiled. "I guess you might say not long, and yet it seems an eternity. Like I said I rode with these men for a while now. I know them as gentlemen. And I'd trust all of them."

  "Why are you so in love with this cowboy?"

  Pepper twisted her head, wondering why anyone would ask such a question,

  "Because…when he looks at me, his eyes sparkle. When he kisses me…my heart nearly stops, and because he's a good man. A very good man. He's out to kill Victor Frank, the man that killed his Ma and my Pa."

  "And what if he doesn't come back, have you thought of that?" Mrs. Rutherford raised a brow.

  "Yes ma'am. I been thinkin' on that all along. But if we get married, I'll be his wife and he'll know I loved him. That's somethin' for him to take with him, if he don't…" she blinked, trying to force a tear away.

  "You love him that much…do you?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  "Well, then, we must have a proper wedding for you…"

  Pepper frowned, uneasy knowing a proper wedding in her book was one thing, and one in Mrs. Rutherford was different. She felt her cheeks pink. "Well I…wish…we could. But I…I…really don't know what I'll wear. I don't have a dr
ess…" Pepper looked about her. "I wasn't prepared for a wedding."

  "You don't fret about that. I'll fetch Miss Hattie Mae up here, and she'll have you something in no time." Mrs. Rutherford promised.

  "Who's Hattie Mae?"

  "A lady I just met across the street who mended my dress for me that was torn on the stage. She is so fast I couldn't believe she had it done before I walked out of the store."

  "But…I don't have money to pay for no dress…" Pepper fretted and paced the room.

  "Nonsense, it'll be her wedding gift to ya…now hush. You let me handle things and we'll see you get the best wedding in Mobetiee… "

  John T. flew down the stairs two at a time, until he almost bumped into Wesley.

  "Hey boy, where you flyin' off to?"

  John T. Turned a little red, and bowed his head. "You're not gonna believe this, but well, we're getting married…"

  "What?" Wesley bent closer to hear him.

  "We're getting married before we go…" John T. announced.

  Wesley rose up with a hardy laugh and slapped him on the back. "All right. That's wonderful news."

  Rascal slapped him too. "Good boy…."

  Antonio smiled, and extended his hand. "She's a treasure…"

  John T. was still red faced though. "Can we go first thing in the morning? I'd like to marry her and have a night with her before we go….I mean seein' as how…"

  "Why shore son, Victor Frank ain't goin' too far in this weather anyways. Besides the Sheriff's getting' some legal document that makes it all right if we kill the man dead. He took my sworn statement and Rascals and said he'd be telegraphin' for the witness." Wesley hollered.

  Once it was announced the whole town wanted to buy John T. a drink and all sorts of merriment went up.

  The women of the town all congregated in Mrs. Rutherford room and before too long they had a dress whipped up for Pepper. She didn't know half these women, but they were all so nice. Everyone wished her well.

  Hattie Mae brought a dress that was gorgeous over for Pepper to try on. She tried the dress on, and after a few adjustments, it fit perfectly. It was of silk ivory and it had a matching veil to go with it. Pepper's eyes were big and round. "How did you….."