Dixon ducked as he stepped through the door and into the soddy. The foul smell of puss and vomit slapped him. He pasted a smile on his face and set his focus on Joab’s agony-filled eyes.
Nathaniel and Barty stood. A rare show of respect.
He gave them each a quick nod. Last he saw them, their words of comfort were more like words of scorn. “You two back?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Black’s in no condition to come.” Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck and lowered himself to the crate on which he had been sitting. “Joab, he’s— well, he seems confused.”
Dixon studied his friend. Two days since the fire, and the puss around the burns seemed worse than ever. He pulled his Stetson off and rolled it through his fingers. Would Joab survive?
“I’ve done nothing to deserve this.” Joab croaked. He lifted his hand as if to extend it, but it dropped to the mat. “I only wish God would answer me.”
Dixon filled his lungs with the foul air. God did not answer mere men, at least not the God he knew. But then, Joab was a far better man than he. So why wouldn’t God answer him?
Cold, damp, and dark. Dixon scanned the room. Two boots lay cast in the corner.
He took a step toward them. One boot had lost its silver tip. Could this be the boot that left the track by what was once the Blacks house? If so, then why had Joab been there? And if he had spilled the kerosene on the tip Dixon discovered there, could the fire have been an accident?
With his pulse racing, Dixon reached into his pocket. He wrapped his fingers around the tip. Did he really want to acknowledge what might be—the possibility that Joab started his own fire? But for what reason? No. Such a thing was too absurd.
He ran his index finger along the edge of the tip, as though his finger was his eyes. The edge had two indents. He glared at the boot in the corner. Its tip had one indent. His finger stopped. He held his breath and drew the tip from his pocket.
Barty’s feet shuffled.
Joab moaned.
Nathaniel coughed.
Dixon opened his hand. He stared at the tip. It was different.
A breath whooshed from him, and the expanse it left filled with guilt. He closed his eyes. How could he have doubted his friend?
“Joab, why would you expect God to answer you?” Nathaniel’s voice rumbled over Dixon’s spine like a wagon on a rutted road, jogging him out of his compunction.
He turned to see Nathaniel stand. Surely the man would not verbally attack Joab again.
Nathaniel’s face twitched around hollow, black eyes. “You can’t be justified with God.”
The words hit Dixon like the kick of a mule. He gripped his Stetson. “You dare to condemn him?” He took a deep breath and then another. “I do not profess to be a Christian. I thought I had no opinion of God, but I’ve seen a bit of life. I know that there is a spirit in man.” Dixon lowered his hard gaze on Nathaniel. “And I know some have more understanding than others.” He’d better gain control of himself, or he’d throttle Nathaniel. “I do not know why Joab has gone through this, but certainly he does not deserve to be condemned.”
The other man’s back stiffened.
Dixon huffed. “I’m sure he is not perfectly innocent of wrong doing. What man is? But does anyone have the right to assume they know what God thinks and feels about another?” Dixon ran his hand over his face. “Can anyone know the mind of God? For sure, I don’t.”
The creases around Nathaniel’s eyes deepened as his gaze grew cold as ice.
Dixon ran his right thumb and finger across his eyes as though trying to remove the frost from Nathaniel’s look. “There’s nothing left for me to do here. Joab, I find no solid evidence to hold anyone accountable for the atrocities you’ve endured. I’m sorry, friend.” Never had he felt more defeated. It was as though the world turned inside out. And indeed it had. But at some point he had to admit it. He had to come to terms with his own inabilities. And who could fight against Providence? Nonetheless, his stomach accused him of giving up without a fight.
“I do not deny that there is a God greater than man.” Dixon stepped toward the door and placed his hand on the latch. “There is no one I know who has lived a better life than Joab, but as for God? Who can truly know Him?”
His tense muscles quivered. Why could he not escape the feeling of guilt that surrounded him? It taunted him, threatening to reveal the truth he buried deep inside him. It loomed over him like a dark cloud ready to unleash its fury on the land.
But he was not dirt to be stirred by a wild wind—by the finger of God. Nor would he let this talk of God change his course in life. No, God had nothing to do with him. This God, whom so many feared, let his mother die. He let Joab’s son get killed, and let bad men like Louis Riel—that treasonous murderer—go free. How could a person call a God like that just?
He pulled the door open.
Abbadon’s hand stretched for it.
Dixon froze. Why would Abbadon, a slimy good-for-nothing evil man, be here? No good could come of this.