Authors: Judith Pella
They kept talking until the sun began to set and then Zack built a fire. I t was a chilly spring night, but at least it wasn’t raining. I n these parts spring was as unpredictable as a young mule—sun and rain constantly exchanging places, though rain usually won out. But he liked this region well enough. The rain made it unbelievably green. Summers were warm and winters cold with some snow, but nothing like he remembered from his childhood in Kansas. Yes, it was nice country here. He wouldn’t mind staying awhile, but, of course, that was impossible now.
Zack ate a little food he had in his saddlebag and offered some to William. The man didn’t want any. I nstead, he told Zack he could have what was in his saddlebags, too.
Later, Zack finally was able to get hold of the chestnut’s reins and brought both horses closer to the camp. Then William said he’d had a carpetbag on the back of his saddle that had fallen off during the spill. Zack searched the area before it got too dark, finally found it, and brought it back.
“My Bible is in there,” William said. “C-could you read to me from it? Maybe . . . the Twenty-third Psalm.”I t was becoming more difficult for the man to talk.
Zack fished the black leather-bound book from the carpetbag and, with the minister’s help, found the passage and began to read by the light of the fire. He read one psalm after another for about an hour until his voice got raw. As he read, his thoughts focused not on the words coming from his mouth but rather on what he would do next. He thought about moneymaking schemes, about San Francisco, even about Darla and finding her again and how he’d get back at her.
After he quit reading, a deep silence descended upon the men. Zack never much liked silence, and he was tired of his thoughts. For a while he busied himself with makingL ocklin comfortable. He got William’s bedroll and laid it over him when he began to shiver, and when that wasn’t enough, he spread his own over William, as well.
“I’m so cold,” William murmured.
Zack was cold, too, but said nothing and tossed another branch on the fire. To get his mind off his morose thoughts, off the cold seeping into his bones, and off the nearby chill of death, he started talking.
“You been a minister long?” he asked. “You don’t look old enough.”
“Just out of the seminary. Worked as an assistant pastor in Boston for a while. What do you do, Zack?”
“I drift. Find whatever work interests me.I’ve’ve done it all. Cowhand, bartender, seaman, stevedore, hotel clerk—I’ll be honest with you, William, some of the stuff I’ve’ve done ain’t always been legal.” He didn’t know why he added that, but there was a certain temptation to be totally honest with a person you knew you would never see again, at least not in this life.
“I guess you’ve had a hard life,” William said.
“Is that an excuse to break the law?”
“No, of course not. Do you regret the things you’ve done?”
“Not everything. Maybe some. I don’t think I’m’m a bad person.”
“I don’t think you are, either. You didn’t have to stay here with me.”
“If our places were changed, and I was lying there like you . . . well,I’d be mighty afraid to die.”
William smiled. “I was afraid when I first fell, before you came along.I didn’t want to die just as I was starting a new life, but now I see it is God’s will. Maybe it is easier to accept . . . not that I have much of a choice in the matter.” William tried to chuckle at his jest, but it came out as an unsettling gurgling sound.
“Doesn’t it make you mad?” Zack asked.
“God has used me as He would, and now He is ready to take me home.I don’t know why, but I know He must have a good reason for it, a righteous purpose.” William’s voice trailed away. There was another long span of silence.
Zack lay back on the hard ground and started to nod off. Then he heard his name.
“Zack! Zack!”
At first he thought it was his dreams. His ma was calling him; Darla was calling him, begging his forgiveness; Beau Cutter was calling and pointing a gun at him. Finally, there was something like a burning bush emitting his name in heavenly tones. That’s what finally pulled him from sleep.I t scared him awake!
It wasL ocklin calling him. Zack went to the prostrate form.
The man was trembling uncontrollably. Zack noted that the fire was down to embers. He realized he’d done more than nod off. He must have slept for a few hours. The sky was already lightening in the east. He tossed another branch onto the fire and then turned back to his patient.
“That’ll help,” he said as the fire shot up a nice flame.
“Zack, I’m afraid!” Locklin said.
“I’m here with you,” Zack replied, though he didn’t think that would be much comfort. It was all he had to offer.
“You’ve done so much for me. I hate to ask something else.”
“What do you want, William?”
“C-could you t-tell them what happened to me? They’ll wonder. . . .”
“Who’s that? Your folks?”
“It’s only my father left and a brother, but I’m not close to them. I t was my mother’s death last year that freed me to come west. . . .” He paused to catch his breath, coming in fits and starts now. “Someone should notify them. Also, the folks at my new church. I t isn’t far, and you are heading in that direction.”
“Sure, I can do that.” Zack thought he could just write a letter, but he wasn’t about to disappoint a dying man.
“Maintown is where I was to stay . . . arrangements made. Calvin Newcomb would know.”
“Where’s Maintown? Never heard of it.”
“Not . . . surprised. Backwater town . . . all the hamlets around there are, except for St. Helens.”
“I’ll find it.”
“Thank you. God will bless you for this . . . I know.”
Locklin was quiet for a while except for the rattle of his breathing. Zack could not help thinking a backwater town was just what he was looking for. The only problem was that a stranger would stand out in a small village. That’s why he’d been heading for the larger town of St. Helens, though it was more likely Cutter might eventually look for him there, or word of his presence there might somehow get back to Cutter.
Suddenly he realized he no longer heard L ocklin’s rattled breathing. He leaned close and could feel no puffs of air from the man’s nose, nor was his chest rising and falling. He pressed his ear against Locklin’s chest and could not hear a heartbeat.
So it was over for the minister. Poor unlucky sot. To die so young just as he was starting a new life, and for no good reason. Just because he’d bought a skittish horse. To die alone with no friends around—that was the worst. Probably how I ’ll die, Zack thought bitterly.
But he was not a man to entertain bitterness and melancholy for long. He jumped up and began gathering more wood for the fire.L ast night he’d found some coffee and a pot in Locklin’s saddlebag. He could use a nice strong cup of the brew right now. While he was fixing it, he began to wonder what he should do next.
The idea came to him as naturally as breathing. Thinking up schemes was what he did best. He would not stick out as a stranger in a small village if he came with a purpose—if, for instance, he was the new circuit rider.
“You’re crazy, Zacchaeus Hartley!” he said aloud, as if hoping the sound would punch some sense into him.
Yet he grew certain it was a perfect ruse.L ocklin had mentioned that the people on his circuit were all strangers and knew nothing about the minister except that he was young and green. I t would excuse any of Zack’s failings as a minister. Zack had been to church often enough as a kid to draw upon that knowledge to get him by. He could do it, for a couple of months at least, until his trail had grown cold.I t wouldn’t earn him much money, but that wasn’t as important right now as getting Cutter off his back.
He turned to the minister’s body. Now that the sun was up, he saw that death had indeed taken the man. His face was pale almost to the point of grayness.
“Listen here, L ocklin,” Zack said to the body, “I don’t mean you no disrespect, okay?I’m’m desperate, and I don’t see where this’ll hurt anyone. I promise in a couple of months I ’ll write your father a letter, and I ’ll let the people on your circuit know, too, about what happened to you. I’m’m just going to borrow your identity for a while, not steal it.”
Feeling like the worst criminal but not deterred, he searched through the man’s pockets. He found a wallet with a few dollars in it. He told himself that if he used the money, he would replace it all when he could and send it toL ocklin’s father. He also took L ocklin’s boots because his own were old and beat up and he figured a minister would have newer ones like L ocklin was wearing.
His next task was to bury the man, for he couldn’t ride into town with a body. That would raise too many questions. He found a place secluded among some brush and loosened the soil with his knife.L uckily, it hadn’t rained in the last couple of days, so it wasn’t too muddy. Then he cut a stout branch, sharpened the end with his knife, and used it to finish the hole. He made it deep enough so that no animals would disturb William Locklin’s eternal rest.
When he finished the grave, tossing the last bit of earth over it, he fashioned a marker from branches. He put no name on it, of course, but he would draw a detailed map of the grave’s location so it could be found again later if anyone wanted to pay their respects.
He was about to turn away but knew the least he must do for this man was to say some “words” over his grave. He searched his mind for things he’d heard in the past.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes . . .” He shook his head. That didn’t sound right, nor was it very comforting. Finally, a bit lamely, he said, “God is love.”
“You better get used to the lingo,” he told himself, “if you are determined to go through with this fool thing.”
He made himself look through L ocklin’s carpetbag.I t didn’t feel right, but he decided he should dress more likeL ocklin. His own clothing was too worn and “lived in.” He foundL ocklin had two extra suits of clothing. One was a black broadcloth Sunday suit. The other was an outfit similar to the one L ock-lin had been wearing. Zack stripped down to his union suit and then slipped on Locklin’s “cowboy” outfit. The shirt and pants were a bit tight. L ocklin had been more slightly built, but luckily Zack had lost a few pounds since he’d been on the run from Cutter. Next he found shaving gear in the carpetbag and put it to use shaving off his mustache. He’d been wearing it for several years because he thought it made him look older and kind of mysterious, but it was best to alter his appearance in case Cutter had circulated a description of him. Besides, a minister shouldn’t look mysterious. He also took the razor to his hair, cropping it up to the nape of his neck and then shaping the sideburns, as well. He’d gotten pretty deft with a razor—he’d rarely been able to afford a barber.
He stood back from the tiny mirror to get the full effect of his new look. He thought he could pass very well as a minister. His brown hair and eyes and tanned skin were a far cry from L ocklin’s pale hair and face, but that shouldn’t matter to a bunch of strangers.
Zack rolled up his own clothes with his boots and stuffed them into the carpetbag. When he finished with this scheme, he would walk away in his own clothes. He could not even begin to imagine just how naive that notion was.
Ellie enjoyed gardening almost as much as stitching. Though normally she didn’t like getting dirty, there was something quite satisfying about digging in the rich soil, planting seeds, anticipating the harvest of fruits and vegetables and flowers.
Today she was working alone. Mama had Maggie in the house doing the spring cleaning—hauling out rugs and ticking and beating them, scrubbing floors, cleaning out cupboards. However, it was just about time for lunch, so they might be preparing that now. Dad had come in from the field a few minutes ago. Ellie had a few more weeds to pull and then she would take a break also.
It was the end of May, and the rain had finally let up. The sun was showing its face more frequently, doing the newly planted garden great good. Shoots of carrots and radishes were already sprouting. When Ellie had plucked the last weed, she took the pile to a wheelbarrow and dumped it in with the rest, then brushing the dirt from her hands, she headed in.
As she turned the corner of the front yard she saw a rider approach. She could tell instantly he was a stranger, and suddenly she was more self-conscious of her old dirt-stained dress than she would have had the rider been a well-known neighbor. She brushed at the blue checkered gingham to loosen some of the caked garden earth.
“Hello, miss,” the rider said.
“Hello,” Ellie replied.
“This here the Newcomb place?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Calvin Newcomb?”
“That’s my father.”
“I was told to ask for him.” The rider dismounted his chestnut mare. “Is he home?”
“I’ll go get him.”
“Thank you very kindly.”
Ellie was too polite to succumb to her curiosity and question the man. If it had been Maggie, she would have found out everything: Who are you? What do you want with my dad? What’s your name? They didn’t often get strangers up this way. Maintown was off the beaten track from anywhere. But it was possible the fellow had come to work in the sawmill or the lumber camp, which had recently started up again after its winter lull. He looked the type—young and strong. But he was dressed too nicely. Most of the lumbermen were rowdy types, and Dad was adamant that his daughters stay far away from the mill. And they never went to the camps.If the mill workers were as handsome as this stranger—
“Miss?” the man said. “Something wrong?”
Pink infused Ellie’s cheeks as she realized she’d lingered a bit too long in her musings. “Oh no. I’m’m sorry. We don’t get a lot of strangers up here.I’ll be right back.”
“I think your pa will be expecting me,” the man said. “Tell him it’s the new minister.”
“The minister? Oh . . . my . . .” She felt the pink deepen and burn. She groaned inwardly. He was going to think her a complete dolt. “Please come with me,” she said, trying to salvage what poise she had left.