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Deacon Ezekiel Culpepper strummed his guitar in time with the piano, trying his best to drown out Miss Parson’s off key playing. The congregation sang as if nothing was amiss. Every year Reverend Pete promised the church he was going to replace her and every year he failed. The rumor was the Reverend was sweet on Miss Parson, but ‘Zeke’ knew different. A young girl up Atlanta way had the pastor’s attention. It was Miss Parson’s Sunday dinners that won her a place at the ivory keys.
After the final verse of Amazing Grace Zeke placed his guitar back in the worn case then took up a collection plate. He passed the brass plate to the thin, brown skinned coverall wearing man seated at the end of pew, sharing a friendly smile and nod. He repeated the gesture again as he worked his way toward the front of Piney Grove A.M.E. Church, collecting tithes for the latest service. The plate was heavy; Reverend Pete delivered a fine sermon full of fire and hope. He lingered at one pew, staring into the pretty brown eyes of Pauline Rose.
“You lookin’ fine today, Deacon Culpepper,’ she said.
“You, too, Miss Rose,” he answered.
Reverend Pete cleared his throat, interrupting their brief moment of mutual admiration. Ezekiel finished the collection then passed the plate on to the other ushers. He strolled to the back of the church, nodding slightly at Miss Rose as he passed by. Reverend Pete blessed the offerings then delivered a hasty benediction. With that the congregation came to their feet, socializing as they slowly made their way to the church doors.
Ezekiel waited at the steps, helping the ladies climb down. As usual, Pauline was the last to come. He held her hand as she descended then accompanied her to her wagon.
“You look like springtime in that dress, Miss Rose,” he said.
“Hush up, Zeke. I wear this same dress every Sunday.”
“Then it’s spring every Sunday.”
They stopped before Pauline’s wagon. Zeke helped her up then checked the horse’s bridle.
“I’m cooking a nice dinner today,” she said. “Roast beef, snap beans, red rice and cornbread. Sure would be nice to share it with someone.”
Zeke grimaced. Spending the day with Pauline would be the perfect way to while away the time but he had things to tend to.
“I’d love to be that someone, but not today,” he finally answered.
Pauline pouted. “Oh well. The invitation stands.”
Zeke tipped his plantation hat. “I’ll remember. You have a nice day, Pauline.”
Zeke strolled to his horse with his hands in his pocket. He waited until Pauline was a good way down the road before mounting his horse then riding to his farm. As he trotted down the dirt road leading to his farm he frowned at the unkempt fields and overgrown hedgerows. Zeke didn’t have the time or skill to tend the farm nor the money to pay someone else to do it. Until he made enough to pay off the debt his parents left him things would have to stay the way they were.
As he neared the house he saw two familiar horses hitched to his post. He smiled; work had finally come his way. Sherriff Charley Wilson and Deputy Silas Moore waited on his porch. Sherriff Charley was a short round man with a moustache as big as his hat; Deputy Silas was a thin shifty fellow that never seemed to be completely still.
“Hey Zeke,” Charley called out.
“Hey Charley, Silas,” Zeke shouted back. “What brings y’all out this way on a Sunday?”
“I got an urgent telegram from Marshall Stevens,” Charley said. “Looks like the Bronner gang is heading this way. The Marshall wants us to keep a look out for ‘em.”
“What’s the bounty?” Zeke asked.
“Twenty silvers,” Charley replied.
Zeke dismounted then hitched his horse to the post. “That’s good pay. When he expecting them to get up this way?”
“About three days from now.”
Zeke walked up onto the porch and shook both men hands.
“You bring the paperwork?”
Charley reached into his vest then pulled out the papers. Zeke took them and then flipped to the last sheet. There was no reason for him to read them; they looked just like any other bounty contract except the bounty was different.
“Got a pen?” he asked Charley.
“Right here.” Charley took a pen from his top shirt pocket then handed it to Zeke. Zeke signed the contract then handed the papers back to the sheriff.
“Give me a week,” he said.
“How you know it won’t take longer?” Silas spoke up. “You don’t even know where they are.”
“If Zeke says he’ll have them in a week, they’ll be in our jail in a week,” Charley said to Silas.
“Either that or dead,” Zeke said solemnly.
The sheriff shrugged. “Don’t make any difference. The pay don’t change.”
Charley and Silas tipped their hats as they headed to their horses.
“Sorry to interrupt your Sunday,” Charley said. “Have a good day now.”
“Y’all, too,” Zeke answered.
Zeke waited until both men were beyond the gate before going inside. His house was as simple affair; one big room that served as sitting room, dining room and kitchen then a smaller room that serves as his bedroom. He hung his coat on the coat rack by the door then went to the gun cabinet in his bedroom. He took out his Henry and his lever action shotgun then went back outside through the front door. With both guns under his right arm he took the reins of his horse into his left hand then sauntered around back to the dilapidated stables. After getting the horse settled in he went to the barn. The building was filled with all types of guns, from muskets to bolt action rifles. A medium sized table occupied the center, littered with gun parts and various size bullets and shells surrounding a brass reloader. Zeke cleared a space around the reloader then pulled up a box of empty shells, shot and gunpowder. He rolled up his sleeves then picked up an empty shell.
“Lord, you know what I’m about to do. I just hope you understand.”
Zeke’s eyes narrowed as he began building bullets.