Authors: Alice Duncan
“Nick?
You didn’t do anything you’re ashamed to tell me about, did you?”
Junius’ normally sunny expression soured slightly.
Nick
exploded. “Hell, no! I fell asleep on the damned bed, and she left
me there to sleep.”
“Ah.
Well, that was right nice of her. You’ve been workin’ mighty hard
lately.”
Nice
of her, my hind leg
, Nick thought bitterly. She cheated. He might
have figured she would, since she was a woman, and all women were sneaks
and cheats.
“You
want to go to church with me?”
“Church?”
Nick looked at Junius as if he suspected the man of having lost his
mind overnight.
“Sure!
Miss Eulalie will be there, and if we sit near her, we’ll be able
to hear her sing. She’s sure got a pretty voice.”
She
had that, all right. And a pretty everything else. Nick had planned
to explore it in depth the previous evening, but had been foiled, damn
it.
In
spite of himself, he offered a prayer of forgiveness for having blasphemed
on the Sabbath. Then he cursed himself as a damned fool, and prayed
again. He began to think of himself as hopeless.
“Come
on, Nicky, change into a clean shirt and put on your Sunday suit, and
let’s go hear Huffington huff.” Junius considered Reverend Huffington
a little pompous, although he liked a good hellfire-and-damnation sermon
as well as the next man.
Nick
sat at the kitchen table, reached for one of Mrs. Johnson’s cinnamon
buns, and scowled at his uncle. “Huffington’s an ass.” Once more,
he winced inside, although he stopped himself from asking for forgiveness
this time. “Yeah, that he is,” Junius agreed amiably. He, too, reached
for a bun. Nick suspected it wasn’t his first. “But it’s Sunday,
Nicky. Gotta thank the good Lord for lettin’ us live another day,
I reckon.”
This
particular Sunday morning, Nick saw no reason to thank anyone for anything,
but he didn’t say so. What he said was, “Good bun.” Had lots of
cinnamon on it, and Nick liked cinnamon.
Junius
nudged Nick’s elbow. “Quit chawin’ and get dressed, Nicky.”
Nick
heaved a huge sigh and stood, stuffing the last of the bun into his
mouth. “Aw, hell, I reckon it can’t hurt.” And, as an added benefit,
he’d get to see Eulalie and maybe walk her home or something. He’d
be damned—
forgive me, Father
—if he’d let her get away again.
“Mebbe
Miss Eulalie would like to come for dinner today after church, Nicky,”
Junius said. “Got me a brisket smokin’ in the barrel out back, and
Mrs. Johnson give me a mess of Swiss chard. I got some taters from the
Loveladys’ store, and I can’t think of a better dinner than that,
with a mess of pinto beans to go with it all.”
Hmm.
Maybe his uncle had a good idea there. “Brisket’ll be ready at noon?”
“Noon
or thereabouts. I ‘spect the preacher’ll get a late start this morning,
seeing as how he got to bed late last night.” Junius winked at his
nephew. “And I don’t think he was just sippin’ cider out of that
glass he was suckin’ on all evening.”
“Huffington
was drinking booze?” Nick asked incredulously as he headed to his
bedroom to change.
“Wouldn’t
surprise me none. The fellow likes a nip now and then.”
“I’ll
be damned.”
“You
surely will be if you keep talkin’ like that on a Sunday, Nicky Taggart.”
Shit.
*
* * * *
Eulalie
was trying not to drown out the rest of the congregation as they sang
Washed in the Blood of the Lamb
, not one of her favorite hymns since
the notion of being washed in anyone’s blood disgusted her, when she
saw Nick and Junius walk through the side entrance of the church. Junius
looked like one of God’s more hard-working angels, what with his cheerful
demeanor and his muscles. Nick looked like he wanted to kill something.
Eulalie suspected herself.
She
kept singing. Even when Nick and Junius spotted her, standing with the
Johnsons, hymnal in hand, and made a beeline to their little group,
her soprano didn’t wobble or squeak. She knew she should have taken
a seat closer to the center of the church. She was too vulnerable here
on the aisle.
Ah,
well. She’d known ever since she and Nick struck their bargain that
she’d have to face the music, so to speak, eventually. And, really,
the notion excited her in a way that seemed out of place in church—not
that God hadn’t created the process to begin with when He created
people, so to consider lust a sin was disingenuous at the very least.
That
being the case, and because she knew her time had come, she smiled at
both men and moved over to give them room. Naturally, Nick shoved himself
into the pew—if a few rough-hewn logs could be termed a pew—ahead
of his uncle. Because there weren’t sufficient hymnals to go around,
even though the congregation was extremely small, Eulalie offered to
share hers with Nick. He grunted and took it from her, holding it so
she could read the words and music. His hands looked odd holding the
book, probably because they were so large and callused, more suited
to handling a bellows and sledgehammer than a book of holy songs.
Junius
sang as he did everything else: with great gusto. He had a nice, if
untrained, bass voice. Nick didn’t sing at all. He just stood there
beside her, rather like a lowering mountain, holding the book. Eulalie
wondered if he didn’t like to sing, or if he was embarrassed to sing—some
men were silly like that—or if he had a lousy voice. She’d like
to find out. An image of Nick and herself singing in the evening while
Patsy played the piano flitted through her head, but it was so absurd
she thrust it away almost instantly.
The
song ended, and everyone sat. Nick snapped the book shut and held it
as he might have held a tool, on his knee next to his hat. Out of the
corner of her eye, Eulalie saw that he’d tidied himself up for church
and wore clean trousers, a white shirt, and a tie, vest and jacket.
He’d also bathed and washed his hair, which was slicked back from
his forehead. All in all, Nick looked quite respectable and very handsome.
She almost wished she hadn’t noticed the last characteristic.
Junius
was also clean and tidy, but there was something about Junius that made
him seem rather like a restrained madman even under the most favorable
of conditions. Not that he was one—a madman, that is. But he had a
certain quality of unearthly innocence and humor about him that set
him apart from the rest of the world, and he always looked as if he
might explode into song or dance or laughter at the drop of a hat.
Or
maybe Eulalie was spinning fantasies. Wouldn’t be the first time.
She’d made a hero out of Edward, hadn’t she?
Good
Lord, where had that thought sprung from? Edward
had
been a hero.
Just because he wasn’t big and strong and … Eulalie gave herself
a mental shake and told herself to stop thinking.
Since
she couldn’t trust her thoughts this Sunday morning, she tried her
best to concentrate on what the people in front of the congregation
were saying. There were a small herd of them, from the Sunday-school
superintendent, Mr. Vallens; to the lay speaker, Mr. Whittaker; to the
lady in charge of tidying the sanctuary, Mrs. Martin.
It
wasn’t the first time Eulalie had been struck by the resiliency of
the human spirit. Fancy people coming all the way out to this frontier
in the middle of nowhere and creating something resembling civilization
out of absolutely nothing. Amazing. For instance, Mrs. Martin was every
bit as fussy about her duties to the church as old Mrs. Perkins in the
Episcopal Church had been back home in New York.
And
Mr. Huffington delivered a most rousing sermon. It was a little too
full of hellfire and damnation to suit Eulalie’s taste, but there
wasn’t much to choose from out here, and she understood that Baptists
were always prone to condemn their fellows. When she bowed her head
in prayer, she cast a peep out of the corner of her eye at Nick, who
was doing the same at her. Instantly she closed her eyes completely
and felt herself flush. Blast!
What
this church needed was a choir, Eulalie decided when the prayer concluded
on a dolorous “Amen.” Glancing around the congregation, she had
a brilliant idea. After Patsy arrived—tomorrow, thank God—she and
Patsy ought to organize a choir. That would take Patsy’s mind off
her problems and help to solidify their standing as righteous citizens
in the community. It might also provide a little decent music in church
on Sundays. Slanting a glance at Nick, she wondered if he’d be willing
to sing with them. She was pretty sure she could count on Junius.
The
notion of starting a church choir kept her entertained through the remainder
of the church service, and when the congregation sang the closing hymn,
Come Thou Fount of Many Blessings
, she’d almost got over being
nervous about what was to come. As soon as she turned to exit the pew
and bumped into Nick’s broad back, her fate came back to her with
a crunch.
“I
beg your pardon, Nick,” she stammered, slapping a hand to her hat
so it wouldn’t fall off.
He
eyed her over his shoulder. “Think nothing of it.”
She
thought he was being sarcastic, but couldn’t tell for sure. Not that
it mattered. She donned her brightest smile and proceeded to greet her
neighbors and friends as they all filed out of the church. Mrs. Johnson
was hot on her heels, followed by her five children.
Junius
caught her eye as they milled toward the front door. “Hope you can
come to dinner with us today, Miss Eulalie. I’ve got a brisket smokin’
outside and everything’s ready.”
“Why,
thank you, Mr. Taggart. How kind.”
“Figgered
you’d need a day or two to get settled before you’re able to do
much cookin’.”
“Thank
you. I’d be delighted to join you two gentlemen for dinner.”
Junius
gave her a beaming smile. Nick frowned. He would.
At
the front door, Mr. Huffington smiled his flock out onto the street,
shaking hands and slapping backs and acting generally like a politician,
although Eulalie hadn’t been told if he had any political aspirations.
“Good
to see you, Nick. Junius,” the minister said, smiling at the two men
who, Eulalie gathered, were not regular church attendees.
“Gotta
thank the Lord sometimes, Huff,” Junius said genially.
“All
the time’s better,” said Mr. Huffington with the barest hint of
reproof in his voice.
Nick
said, “Huh,” and turned on Eulalie.
She
wasn’t quite ready for him yet. Holding out her hand to Mr. Huffington
and doing her best to ignore Nick, she smiled sweetly and said, “Thank
you for a most interesting sermon, Mr. Huffington. It was … um …
quite rousing.” Lord, she wished she’d thought her speech through
before delivering it.
“Thank
you so much, Miss Gibb,” the reverend said, gushing slightly. He didn’t
release her hand. “I try to deliver a moving message.”
“It
was moving, all right,” grumbled Nick, eyeing their clasped hands.
“And now
we’re
going to be moving.”
Eulalie
retrieved her hand, using slightly more force than was usually required.
“Actually, Mr. Huffington, before I go, I wanted to ask you a question.”
Nick
heaved an aggrieved sigh. Eulalie shot him a repressive look. For heaven’s
sake, anyone would think he was her husband, the way he was trying to
direct her life. Eulalie didn’t appreciate him for it. The man was
supposed to
protect
her, not order her around.
“I
will be thrilled to answer any question you might propound, Miss Gibb,”
Mr. Huffington assured her.
Was
he making sheep’s eyes at her? Egad. Maybe Nick had a point. However,
that was neither here nor there. “Have you ever considered forming
a choir, Mr. Huffington? I should be very happy to help organize an
effort in that regard if you believe your congregation would support
it.”
“A
choir?”
Eulalie
was surprised to find herself suddenly flanked by two matrons of the
church. She blinked at them, hoping she hadn’t done something wrong.
“Er … yes.”
“A
choir?”
Good
Lord, here were two more women, one of whom, Mrs. Fanning, elbowed her
way past Nick to get at Eulalie. Mrs. Fanning was probably the only
female in Rio Peñasco with the bulk to do so.
“What’s
this about a choir?” Mrs. Johnson appeared, leading her string of
children. “We’ve been needing a choir for a coon’s age.”