Nagle, Missouri
Sunlight was fading into shadow by the time Pete and Frank rode into town. The journey was a stark contrast to the one that had brought them across the state line into Kansas, and Frank savored every last moment of it. The air was heavier than it had been on the plains. All of the heat clinging to his sweaty face like slick moss was soothed whenever a breeze came in to brush against his cheek having recently skimmed the top of the Missouri River. Gnats and flies darted past his eyes, only to be swept away by an idle hand.
“This is the place,” Pete said while nodding toward a sign nailed to a tree. Written on that weathered plank was the name of the town and the most recent guess as to how many resided there. “Probably too late to have a word with that knife maker, but we should be able to find something to eat.”
“I’m starving,” Frank said enthusiastically. “Besides, even if the shops were still open, it’d be a better idea to pay your friend a visit tomorrow afternoon or late morning. He’ll be more willing to talk then.”
Pete looked over at him and asked, “Do you know this man?”
“No, but I’ve paid plenty of visits to folks at odd hours.” Frank tapped the starched collar of his black shirt. “They always start off on their guard because they assume they’re getting bad news. More often than not, they’re right. When I visited a member of my congregation for supper or to shoot the breeze, it was during the civilized hours of the day. When someone died or had fallen terribly ill, it was usually very late or very early. Let’s not start off on the wrong foot with this fellow. Besides, it’s not like we were going to talk to him and ride back to meet Nate tonight anyway.”
“You could always change into another shirt,” Pete offered. “Folks might not be so nervous if they were talking to someone other than a preacher.”
“Strangers showing up will only put him on his guard more. What’s the matter? You don’t want to share a meal with me?”
Pete started to say something but shut his mouth and faced forward without making a sound.
Frank recognized such mannerisms from plenty of folks who came in to confess to him several times in a row before they got around to admitting any wrongdoing. Perhaps Pete would change his mind or perhaps he wouldn’t. For the moment, Frank decided to play along and pretend the conversation hadn’t ended with an unanswered question.
Nagle was a town that felt as if it had sprung up as a natural growth along the banks of the river. Instead of straight streets and ordered districts, it followed the flow of the water with a scattering of shops, small houses and a mill. The scent of cooking fires and baked bread still lingered in the air after most of the town had had its supper. Frank couldn’t help but tug on his reins when he approached a small restaurant with its doors propped open.
“We’re movin’ along,” Pete said.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Yep.”
“Then let’s eat,” Frank pleaded.
After moving a few yards past the place, Pete steered his horse to go off the main path and around the inviting building. Before Frank could wonder if he should follow, Pete returned while shaking his head. “Not this place.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no view of the river.”
“It’ll be too dark to see anything anyway.”
But Pete wasn’t about to budge. “If you’re somewhere close to a river or ocean, always eat somewhere with a view of the water. They’ll either have delicious fish on the menu or a specialty that’s good enough to make up for the fact that they don’t serve fish.”
Frank thought about that for a moment. “I suppose that makes some kind of sense.”
“Course it does. I spotted another place just down the way. We’ll go there and put my theory to the test.”
As long as it meant moving closer to a hot meal, Frank wasn’t about to protest.
The Miller’s Stone was a little place run by a large family. Fortunately for the town’s newest arrivals, the mother and daughter of that family were night owls and didn’t mind putting together a heaping plate of supper for them. The younger of the two women brought a basket of biscuits and a pitcher of water. She returned soon after with the main course which consisted of shepherd’s pie and a bowl of greens.
“It ain’t fish,” Frank said, “but it sure beats another night of cool ham and old beans.”
Since his mouth was already stuffed full, Pete just nodded.
The cook emerged from the kitchen, untying her apron and using it to wipe her hands. She looked every bit like the pretty, fair-haired girl who’d brought the plates to the table with a few more years behind her. If their similarities persisted, the daughter’s future husband would be a very lucky man indeed. “It’s been a while since this town has seen the likes of you!” she said.
Frank dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and stood up to greet the woman. “Doesn’t a town as fine as this one have a man of the cloth?”
The woman blinked and said, “Of course it does. I meant him! Come here, Pietro!”
Pete stood up as well so he could be wrapped up in an exuberant hug. “Hello, Diana.”
“Were you going to come along, eat my food and not pay your respects?”
“Didn’t want to put you out, is all.”
Holding him at arm’s length, the woman shook her head and said, “Put me out? Listen to you. Such nonsense. Who’s your friend?”
“This here is Frank . . .”
Seeing the vacant look on Pete’s face shift slowly toward embarrassment, Frank stretched out his hand and put on a smile that members of his congregation back home got to see every Sunday morning. “Frank Waverly, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
“My, my,” Diana said with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I never would have thought Pete would keep company with a man of the cloth. Especially such a handsome one.”
“The good Lord isn’t the only one who works in mysterious ways.”
She laughed a bit more than the little joke deserved before saying, “It’s good to see you, Pete, and very nice to meet you, Frank.”
“Likewise,” Frank said.
“I’ll just tend to your desserts.”
“We didn’t order no—”
“And you didn’t have to, Pietro,” she said quickly. “I’ll have them ready by the time you’re finished with the shepherd’s pie.”
“I look forward to it.” Frank beamed.
As Diana headed for the kitchen, Pete grumbled, “All right, rein it in.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the sort to be on friendly terms with someone like that,” Frank mused.
“Why? You don’t think folks like me?”
“It’s not that. I just thought you didn’t like many folks.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Pete shrugged. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
Using his fork to pick at some of the pie’s flaky crust and then dip it into a bit of gravy that had spilled out from the middle, Frank asked, “How many times have we ridden together?”
“I dunno. Three. Four, maybe? I worked with Nate plenty of times more than that, but you were off preaching or some such.”
“Even so, I would’ve thought that might have been enough for you to recall my last name.”
“I see what I need to see,” Pete told him. “There’s plenty I need to remember, so I only keep what needs to be kept. You’re Frank the Preacher. That’s always been good enough for me.”
Frank smirked and nodded amicably. “I suppose that seems reasonable. Besides, we’ve never really spent much time together even when Nate was around.”
Looking up from the loaded fork that was poised less than two inches from his mouth, Pete asked, “You’re not getting all . . . sentimental on me, are you?”
“A man in my line of work does sometimes drift toward sentiment, but that’s not a bad thing.”
Judging by the distasteful expression on Pete’s face, he didn’t exactly share that opinion.
“How did you and Nate come to work together, anyway?” Frank asked.
“It was some years ago up in the Dakota Territories. He’d been tracking down these killers seeking refuge among the Injuns and came up short for the better part of three weeks. The men who hired him got tired of waiting, so they hired me. I went up there and found those killers in three days. When Nate stepped up to me, I thought he might take a swing on account of me getting paid when he didn’t see a cent off’a that job. Instead, he offered me a different job with him. Things worked out and I haven’t been able to shake him since.”
“Hmmm. A very interesting story.”
“If you say so.”
In Frank’s experience, now would have been the time when someone involved in this conversation would have asked how he’d met their common acquaintance. Instead, Pete kept his head down to create a shorter path between his mouth and the plate in front of him.
After a few more minutes of silence, Diana’s pretty daughter walked over to ask, “Are you about ready for dessert?”
“Yes!” both men replied in hasty unison.