Chapter Thirty-one
Annie felt as if she were trying to sleep at the OK Corral.
Throughout much of the night, she was jolted awake by sounds of gunfire and men caterwauling in the streets.
The first time, she shook Sam. "Sam, what is that?"
"Just some drovers shooting up the town on their way home," he mumbled sleepily. "Go back to sleep."
"Sleep? How can I sleep through the din?"
Her answer was a soft snore as Sam rolled away from her.
For the next couple of hours, every time Annie drifted back to sleep, the shooting and hollering started up again. At one point she sat bolt upright at the sound of a woman's exuberant yell, followed by more staccato bursts of gunfire.
She shook Sam once more. "Sam! I think I heard a female this time!"
"Sugar, can't we get some sleep?" he mumbled irritably. "You plumb wore me out."
"I wore you out?" she demanded, exasperated. "Now wait just a minute, Sam Noble. Whose idea was—"
Annie gave up as another snore curtailed her words. She continued to lie there restively, wondering about the woman's voice she'd heard. She flipped about at each new sound, until finally the clamor abated and she fell into a fitful slumber.
***
"Well, good morning folks!" called Dolly Dumble. "Don't you two look handsome in your Sunday black. Come right in and have some coffee, sausage, and grits."
When Annie and Sam stepped into the kitchen, she spotted two grizzled old-timers in overalls and homespun shirts sipping coffee at the table, and Dolly Dumble standing at the iron stove, an apron protecting her Sunday-best black silk dress. Sam at once strode over to the table and pulled out a chair for Annie.
He flashed a grin at the landlady. "Why, thank you kindly, Sister Dolly. That shore smells good. I reckon my wife could use some of that strong coffee."
Dolly flashed a compassionate look at Annie. "You ain't ailin', I hope?"
"Oh, no," Annie replied, taking her seat. "It's just that I didn't sleep very well last night."
"Oh, my."
Studying the woman's crestfallen expression, Annie quickly reassured her. "Oh, the room is fine and the bed was very comfortable. It was just all those cowboys raising"—she paused, catching herself as Sam cocked an eyebrow—"er, such an unholy clamor that kept me awake throughout much of the night."
"Oh, I know," commiserated Dolly, heading over to the table with a tin coffeepot. "Saturday nights in Rowdyville is noisier than blasting day at a mine, but we've been putting up with the ruckus so long, I reckon we've gotten used to it by now." She paused. "By the way, folks, these are two of your neighbors, Zach Cramer and Seth Gibbons."
"Pleased to meet you," Sam told the men.
The one named Zach, who possessed a narrow, leathery face and a chest-length beard, inclined his head toward Dolly. "This here the preacher fellar and his wife you been tellin' us about?" he inquired in a nasal twang.
"They are, indeed," Dolly said, returning to the stove.
The old-timer nodded in turn at Sam and Annie. "Welcome to Rowdyville, Reverend, ma'am. We kin use your kind in these parts—ain't that right, Seth?"
"Shore is," agreed Seth, who could have passed for Zach's twin.
"I'm playing the piano for the reverend this morning at church over at the saloon," Dolly called proudly from the stove. "You boys had best put on your go-to-meetin' clothes and come on over."
The codgers glanced at each other, then nodded in unison. "Shore will, Dolly," said Seth.
Dolly ambled back over in a rustle of silk skirts, placing bowls of grits before Annie and Sam. "I reckon I'll say the grace now," he announced.
The small group bowed their heads as Sam briefly intoned the blessing. He looked up and grinned at Dolly. "Looks good, ma'am."
"Thank you."
As Dolly moved away, Annie smiled encouragingly at the two geezers. "You know, this may sound strange, but . . . did either of you hear a woman yelling last night? It sounded like she was galloping through town, hollering and shooting off a gun."
"That woulda been Rotten Rosie," answered Zach.
Annie and Sam caught each other's eye; then he asked, "Who is she?"
"Oh, a little filly that's been givin' Royce Rowdy a rough ride for a couple years now," answered Seth, and both men guffawed.
"Why, she's a murderess and a thief!" declared Dolly, returning to the table with a plate of sausages. "Rustling cattle, robbing the bank, killing Bart Cutter, even if the man was a low-down dog."
"But, Dolly, I hear tell Rosie's helped out that poor starvin' white trash over in Shantytown," put in Zach.
Taking her place, Dolly harrumphed and shook open her napkin. "I hear that, too, but I don't believe it. Why, it's downright sinful, a woman wearing trousers and shootin' off a gun like a man. Rosie should follow the fine example of a good Christian woman like Mrs. Prophet here."
"Oh, yes, you wouldn't catch Mrs. Prophet dead riding a horse or shooting off a gun," commented Sam.
Annie had to give him credit for containing the laughter she could see bubbling up in his eyes.
***
Hearing the strains of "The Old Rugged Cross" spilling forth in a saloon that reeked of sour beer and stale tobacco was an experience Annie would not soon forget.
By 11:00 A.M., half of the chairs lined up in rows near the small stage had been filled with an odd assortment of Rowdyville's citizenry. Sitting at the back, holding a brass bowl that Dolly had contributed as a collection plate, Annie had a good view of their ragtag "congregation." In the row directly in front of her sat their fellow boarders, Zach and Seth, both of whom wore respectable brown suits. Nearby several drunkards, who had appeared mainly because they thought the saloon had opened early, sat snoring in their chairs with their hats in their laps. Various prospectors, gamblers, and sodbusters had made more of a stab at respectability, showing up clean-shaven, in an assortment of suits, from threadbare to elegant. Even a few prostitutes had trudged downstairs, garbed in unusually drab dresses and minus their trademark rouge and feathers, though Annie had to wonder if the soiled doves weren't here mainly out of curiosity rather than out of a true desire for repentance.
She drew little comfort from the motley crew. Indeed, a sense of uneasiness gripped her as she noted the stare of a small, dark Spaniard who sat a few seats beyond her wearing a black jacket, matching trousers, and a large sombrero. The man possessed beady dark eyes and a thin black mustache that he nervously toyed with. Ever since he had arrived ten minutes ago, he had been gazing at Annie in an intent manner that made her uncomfortable, although he was far from the only man in the seamy establishment who had tossed a leer her way!
Clearly, Sam had his work cut out for him.
At least a few well-bred types were present, including a couple of small families and a merchant or two. Glancing behind her, Annie smiled at a young mother in ragged overalls, and the woman acknowledged her overture with a nod. Although the pale, blond creature looked younger than Annie, she had three children with her, a boy and girl who appeared to be around four and five, and a baby girl around eighteen months of age.
Noting that the baby's face was flushed and her nose running, Annie offered the woman her handkerchief. At first the mother hesitated; then she accepted the lace-edged square of linen with a stiff smile.
Turning toward the front, Annie said a silent prayer that she and Sam would be able to pull off this charade. From all appearances, her lover was handling the stress much better than she was. Looking every bit the sober revivalist observing his flock, Sam stood near the stage in his fine black suit, his Bible in hand, his expression proud and pious. If he felt the least bit daunted about perpetrating this fraud, he betrayed no outward sign. Annie had to admire his bravado.
Just as the discordant strains of the hymn ended, the saloon doors swung open and Royce Rowdy strode in, wearing an impeccable brown suit. He was followed by half a dozen drovers in clean white shirts and dark pants, as well as a couple of Mexicans dressed similarly to the Spaniard seated near Annie.
Passing Annie, Rowdy paused, removed his hat, and dipped into a mocking bow. "Mrs. Prophet."
Although her heart hammered with renewed fear that Rowdy might have recognized her, Annie nodded back demurely. "Mr. Rowdy."
Rowdy headed for the front of the saloon and paused before Sam. "Well, Reverend Prophet," he greeted. "Looks like you've got a right fine turnout. You ready to begin?"
"With you here, Mr. Rowdy, I'd be right honored," Sam returned cordially.
While the newcomers seated themselves, Sam hopped up on the stage and raised a hand. His deep voice boomed out. "Brothers and sisters, we have gathered here to hear the Word and to repent of our sins. Praise the Lord, Amen!"
"Amen!" shouted several worshipers.
"Let us all stand and sing praises to the heavens," he continued solemnly.
Sam led the congregation in several rousing hymns— "Bringing in the Sheaves," "Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus," and "Shall We Gather at the River." Watching him swing his arms in time, hearing his deep, zealous baritone voice boom out, Annie actually found herself caught up in the fervor of the moment. Even some of the drunkards around her had stirred and were joining in the refrain. Sam really was pulling off the masquerade, she realized with awe. He projected as convincing an image as any television evangelist she'd ever seen.
"Be seated, my children," he said when the last hymn ended. "Hear the Word—and heed it. Let us pray."
Sam launched into a long supplication, beseeching God to forgive his errant children before the day of judgment sealed their fates. His sermon followed along this same theme.
"Brothers and Sisters," he intoned ominously, "hear the gospel according to Isaiah 13: 'Howl ye; for the day of the Lord is at hand . . . And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity; and I will cause the arrogancy of the proud to cease, and will lay low the haughtiness of the terrible.'"
Closing the Bible, Sam gazed sternly at the congregation. "I'm here, brothers and sisters, to tell you it's not too late. You need not perish, like the great city of Babylon, laid waste by its own corruption. The kingdom of God is at hand—be saved before His judgment comes."
"Amen!" shouted several worshipers in unison.
Annie had to admire Sam as he continued to mesmerize the crowd, beseeching all to repent and graphically outlining the consequences for those who failed to embrace salvation. Every eye in the congregation was riveted on him, with many a grimace or gasp following his bleak oratory on the infernal reaches; even Royce Rowdy and the mysterious Spaniard seemed suitably sobered by Sam's ghastly descriptions of hell. One poor fellow—a perpetual drunkard, judging by his jaundiced features and bloodshot eyes—sobbed openly, and loudly blew his nose.
The sermon ended on another long, fervent prayer. Then Sam smiled at Annie. "Now I'll ask Sister Rebecca to come forward to take up the collection. And any of you that's ready to be saved, now's the time to walk up the straight and narrow path that leads to redemption."
Feeling self-conscious, Annie rose with her bowl as Dolly launched into the soft strains of "Whispering Hope." She passed Royce Rowdy, who grinned and loudly tossed in a ten-dollar gold piece, then by his drovers who deposited smaller coins. The Spaniard sneered at her and declined to contribute; Zach, Seth, and the prostitutes gave modest amounts.
Annie hadn't the heart to extend the plate to the young mother, but as she was heading back for the aisle the woman stood and proudly dropped two nickels into the bowl. Annie flashed her another smile and received a second proud nod. Turning toward the front, she watched two drovers shuffle up to kneel before the stage. Sam at once slipped to his knees, laid a hand on each cowboy's shoulder, plaintively prayed over the two, and pronounced them forgiven. After the smiling men returned to their seats, the sobbing drunkard stumbled forth, followed by two whimpering prostitutes.
Observing the vignettes of atonement, Annie was beginning to feel like the worst charlatan. After all of the "saved" resumed their seats, she took Sam the collection plate and slanted him a chiding glance. Appearing unperturbed, he accepted the offering and pronounced the benediction. The worshipers stood; a few shuffled out while others lingered to visit. Annie noted that the young mother and her charges had been among the first to slip away, although the woman had placed Annie's handkerchief on her chair. Picking it up, she felt a twinge of disappointment, since she had hoped to meet the woman and her children.
She returned to Sam's side to see Royce Rowdy shaking his hand. "Splendid sermon, Reverend, if I do say so myself."
"Thank you, Mr. Rowdy."
"You have quite a talent for describing the bottomless pit," Rowdy continued, his expression sly.
Sam drew himself up with pride. "Are you aiming to avoid the lake of hell, Brother Rowdy?"
Rowdy threw back his head and laughed. "Why, of course." He winked at Annie. "I ain't hankering to be pit-roasted by Beelzebub. Nossir. Tell me, Reverend, could me and you have us a word later?"
"I'm always available to anyone in my flock."
Rowdy clapped Sam across the shoulder. "I'll count on it, then, preacher."
Watching Rowdy stride away with his entourage, Annie sidled closer to Sam. The man's evil wink had made her skin crawl. "Why do you suppose he wants to meet with you alone?"
Sam's attempted reply was curtailed as Dolly, Zach, and Seth all came forward to gush about his sermon.