6

Father Nowicki whispered his morning prayers while he vested for the Tuesday Mass. Weekday Masses were sparsely attended. The nuns, along with the regular group of elderly women saying their rosaries, occupied the front pews, while old Thomas Mazurek was in his usual place in the rear left pew. Regina Grosecki was, as always, seated next to him. A few others were scattered throughout the sanctuary.

“It’s time, Peter,” he said to his altar server. They went to the altar, genuflected, and started the Mass.

“Introibo ad altare Dei,” the pastor began.

Nowicki recited the ancient Latin words. He led the congregation through the Confiteor, Kyrie (which is Greek, not Latin), and Gloria. He read the day’s Epistle and Gospel. Then the Creed was recited, followed by the Offertory and Sanctus.

The most sacred part of the Mass was reached, the Consecration, where bread and wine would be transfigured into the Body and Blood of Christ. Nowicki bowed over the sacred Host.

“Qui pridie quam pateretur, accepit panem in sanctas ac venerabilis manus suas, et elevates oculis in coelum ad te Deum Patrem suum omnipotentem tibi gratias agens…”

Jack Taylor and three of his men burst through the church doors, pistols drawn. While his men covered the parishioners, Taylor aimed his sixgun at the center of the cross embroidered on the back of the pastor’s robes.

“That’s right. Say your prayers, priest!” Taylor shouted. “’Cause I’m gonna send you straight to Hell!”

Nowicki didn’t turn his head. He continued the prayer.

“…benedixit, fregit, diditque discipilus suis, dicens: Accipite, et manducate ex hoc omnes:

“HOC EST ENIM CORPUS MEUM.”

He lifted the Host in veneration. Taylor thumbed back the hammer of his Colt.

Nowicki lowered the Host and genuflected. Taylor fired. The bullet went over the pastor’s head and into the wall, directly under the crucifix.

Not even flinching at the shot, Father Nowicki spoke the words of Consecration over the chalice.

“Simili, modo postquam coenatum est, accipiens et huc praeclarum Calicem in…”

“Turn around and look at me, Nowicki!” Taylor

screamed. He again thumbed back the hammer of his gun.

“.. .sanctas ac venerabilis manus suas, item tibi…”

A flurry of gunfire sounded outside. The church doors were again flung open. Two men, one wearing a silver star on silver circle badge, rushed inside, guns at the ready. Taylor’s men turned to confront them, but thought better of shooting, facing those leveled Colts.

“Drop your gun, Mister!” the badge-wearing Ranger ordered.

“I’m gonna kill this priest!” Taylor screeched.

“…gratias agens, benedixit, deditque disciples suis,…”

Nowicki continued the prayer.

“…dicens: Accepite, et bibite ex eo omnes:”

The Ranger thumbed back his Colt’s hammer, unwilling to fire lest his bullet hit the pastor or altar boy rather than Taylor. Nowicki continued the act of consecrating the wine into the Blood of Christ.

“HIC EST ENIM CALIX SANGUINIS MEI, NOVI ET AETERNI TESTAMENTI: MYSTERIUM FIDEI: QUI PRO VOBIS ET PRO MULTIS EFFUNDETUR IN REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM.”

“Haec quotiescumque feceritis, in mei memoriam facietis.”

Taylor squeezed the trigger just as Nowicki lifted the chalice. A ray of sunshine burst through the stained glass window above the altar, reflecting off the upraised chalice directly into the rancher’s eyes. Blinded, Taylor dropped the pistol to shield his eyes. His bullet plowed into the floor.

The badge-wearing Ranger rushed up to Taylor and jabbed his gun into the rancher’s back.

“You’re under arrest, Mister. Outside!” he ordered. He and his partner hustled Taylor and his men out of the church.

“Undi et momores, Domini…”

Nowicki continued the Mass.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Once the Mass was concluded, Father Nowicki and the congregants headed outside, where a small crowd had gathered. Ranger Frank Czajkowski hurried up to the pastor. The badge-wearing Ranger was at Czajkowski’s side. Three other Rangers guarded several prisoners, two of whom were wounded. Monte Harding lay at the bottom of the rectory steps, killed by a Ranger bullet in his chest. Father Jankowski was praying over the dead man.

“Father, are you all right?” Czajkowski asked.

“I’m fine, Frank,” Nowicki replied.

“I’d like you to meet my sergeant, Jim Huggins,” Czajkowski introduced.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Sergeant. And I’m very grateful. Thank you.”

The priest and the Ranger shook hands.

“Father, you’re either the bravest man I’ve ever met, or the most foolhardy,” Huggins stated. “Standing there at that altar calm as could be rather’n ducking for cover.”

“I put my faith in the Lord,” Nowicki answered.

“I have faith in the Lord too, Father,” Czajkowski retorted, “but when you’re up against a man like Jack Taylor, you’d also better put some faith in the Texas Rangers.”

“What did I tell you, Father?” Regina broke in. “You need the Rangers to handle a swinia like Taylor.”

“I don’t even want to know what swinia means,” Huggins chuckled.

“I can tell you, but it’s not polite,” Nowicki responded, also laughing.

“Anyway, Father, Frank’s tellin’ it to you straight. So’s the lady,” Huggins agreed. “We were lucky to get here in

time. If you ever need us again, please don’t wait so long to ask for our help.”

“You’re right. That’s good advice,” the pastor conceded. “However, I don’t believe we’ll require the Rangers’ assistance henceforth.”

Father Nowicki looked toward the body of Harding.

“What happened out here?”

“Taylor’s men tried to stop us from reaching the church,” Huggins explained. “We had to shoot it out. The one we killed was about to plug your associate. I realize you men of the cloth don’t like killing, but sometimes it can’t be avoided.”

“I know.” Nowicki sighed. “It’s terrible what greed will do to a person. If Jack Taylor had accepted our offer to share water rights none of this would have happened.”

“You can’t reason with some hombres,” Huggins observed. “Well, you won’t have to worry about Taylor any longer. He’s facing a long jail term.”

“And now things should settle down,” Czajkowski added. “Is there anything we can do for you right now, Father?”

“Once you get the prisoners to Sheriff Musgrave and they’re locked up, perhaps you’ll return here?” the pastor suggested. “We’ll celebrate a special Mass at noon, thanking God for protecting us. We’ll also pray for his blessing and protection for you Rangers.”

“We’ll do that,” Huggins promised.

Once the Rangers, taking Harding’s body and their prisoners, departed, Fathers Nowicki, Jankowski, and many of their parishioners filed back into the church. They would spend the rest of the morning in silent prayer.