Samael stood in the entry with his back to the wall. Inside the parlor, Hank worked himself into a rage, like a gladiator waiting to enter the arena. His cheeks darkened with blood. His eyes bulged. Sweat popped out on his brow. He stalked around the room and shook his fist. His voice thundered off the walls as he lambasted Reverend Mason for inviting Silas to his house, and then Silas for bringing Mervin. Reverend Mason sprang out of his chair. “I didn’t know Silas was bringing him to our house. Do you honestly believe I would have invited him if I’d known?” Reverend Mason sank back onto the chair beside his wife and buried his face in his hands.
Hank watched the reverend for several seconds. His face relaxed for a moment, but then he looked at Silas and his anger returned. “That murdering son of a bitch is going to pay. I swear to God he’s going to pay.” Hank stomped toward the door. “I’m going to go fetch the sheriff, and he’d better do his damn job or I know someone who will.” The door slammed behind him.
Silas rose from his chair and walked to Jonah. He leaned close to whisper. Jonah pulled back, his expression confused. Samael concentrated to hear their conversation.
“Jonah, I need you to drop off Hardy and the boys at the revival. Tell them to be on guard for troublemakers. Then you go into town. Find out what’s happening and report back to me at camp. If we don’t get this under control it could be the end of the revival.”
“Emma’s dead and all you’re worried about is the damn revival.”
“If we can locate Mervin before the sheriff, we can pack up and head out of town real quick. We may not be able to perform in Colorado for a while, but people forget things like this.”
“I won’t forget, and neither will Cora.” Jonah walked toward the door, shaking his head as he passed Samael.
Silas retreated to his chair and sat. Ruth patted his hands.
Samael glared through narrowed eyes. I know your secret, Silas. Mervin saved your life when you were a boy, and now it’s time to repay your debt, but you won’t be able to save Mervin from the forces lined against him. You’re impotent against their anger.
Outside, the Gotfredson sputtered to life. Samael stepped onto the porch and watched the truck vanish in a cloud of dust. He returned to the parlor, where Reverend Mason and Beatrice embraced near the bottom of the stairs. Cora sat on a chair and leaned into Orden, who stroked her hair. Samael walked to Cora and sat next to her. He reached out to take hold of her hand.
Cora twisted his direction. Why did this happen?
I cannot offer an explanation for something beyond reason. I will do whatever I can to comfort your pain. Tell me what you need.
I don’t need comforting. I need Emma.
Her retort was a slap in the face and he looked away to hide his frustration.
Beatrice pulled back from her husband. He kissed her on the forehead and started up the stairs, his footfalls slow and heavy. Beatrice followed his progress until he neared the landing and then came to Cora. She touched Cora on the cheek. Cora’s eyes squeezed closed, a single tear born from the corner of one eye. “Come, Cora, there’s work to be done.”
“May I be of assistance?” Samael asked, hoping to restore Cora’s trust in him.
Beatrice looked at Cora. “Would you like him to help?”
Cora opened her eyes and nodded.
“Very well,” Beatrice said, “but do as you’re told.”
Cora stood and pressed against him. Beatrice led them into the kitchen. She squatted in front of a cabinet. Metal clanged as she dug through pots and pans until finding a large cast iron pot. She handed it to Samael. “Fetch me some water.”
He took the pot and went out the back door. To the west, a red sun bled across the sky, and the wind picked up, fine sand cutting like razors. He turned his back to the wind and walked to the barn. Someone had left the barn door open. Samael paused at the entrance. I have witnessed thousands of deaths and thought myself immune to human suffering, yet now I feel death’s sting, as winter sweeps the green of summer, as a child’s voice fades to memory. Samael steeled himself and plunged into this man-made hell.
The barn reeked with the harsh smell of blood. It weighed the air with intolerable sorrow. A dozen or more rats gathered around a pool of Mattie’s blood. Samael growled at the sight of this. He considered raising fire to incinerate the vile creatures, but instead grabbed a bucket off the floor and heaved it at the rats, which scattered into dark corners. Samael found a ladle hanging on a nail near the water barrel. His body quivered as he ladled water into the pot. He imagined Emma’s terror in her final moments, the edge of the barrel crushing her ribs as Mervin pinned her down, and the cold slap of water as her head plunged beneath the surface. A slow journey into darkness. He finished filling the pot and hustled from the barn. The rats returned to the blood before he reached the door.
Emma and Mattie lay naked on the table, towels draped over their hips. He held out the pot to Beatrice.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him.
Samael backed to the entrance of the room and watched Beatrice go to work.
“Help me lift Mattie’s head.”
Cora joined her and together they pulled Mattie’s body forward until her head no longer rested on the table.
Beatrice filled a teakettle with water. She leaned over Mattie and hesitated. “I still remember when she grew inside me, and how my stomach rippled as she turned in the womb. I can still feel her. Oh God, I can still feel her inside me.” Cora placed a hand on her shoulder and Beatrice sniffled and wiped tears on the front of her apron. “This isn’t the time for tears.”
“No one will fault you for crying,” Samael said.
Beatrice smoothed her apron and took a deep breath. “Appreciate it, but there’s work to be done. No, I will share my tears with God when the moment is right.” She poured water over Mattie’s hair. The water turned red as it streamed into a bowl placed on the floor. She repeated the process until the water ran clear and then used a damp cloth to wipe blood from Mattie’s face. With the blood gone, her long jagged wounds became visible. Samael flinched at the thought of the pain she must have endured. When they finished cleaning her hair and face, the women each took a cloth and started to wash Mattie’s body. Beatrice paused to lift one of Mattie’s hands, which she pressed against her cheek. Cora looked at him. I wonder if this is how Mary felt as she cleaned the body of Christ.
Samael nodded. Your sorrow is immeasurable, and I will not pretend to understand it, but your pain is a common bond, a bridge between our souls, inasmuch as I have a soul. My heart aches. My mind is dulled by Emma’s death, as if a blade pressed against a grinding wheel. Yet I remain a servant to your suffering, a voice of reason where reason has died. I offer whatever strength remains within me.
Cora glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the parlor. Emma is dead, but Silas and my mother are unmoved, as if her passing has lifted a burden from their shoulders. Her mournful eyes came back to him. You should have let us run away.
His stomach twisted into a knot upon hearing her words. Blame me if it will ease your suffering.
Cora’s chin dropped toward her chest. Her body quivered and he thought she might faint. Samael took a step forward. She clutched the table with her right hand. I’m all right. She reached out to touch Emma on the cheek. She was so beautiful.
Reverend Mason approached, carrying two small dresses adorned with flowers. His eyes betrayed anger and confusion. Samael stepped aside to let him pass. He offered the dresses to Beatrice. His hands trembled as he looked down at Mattie’s body. Beatrice took the dresses and hooked her right arm behind his back. “The dresses are perfect. Thank you.”
His lips parted, but the man who made a living with words had nothing to offer, and he hurried from the room. Beatrice and Cora exchanged knowing glances. “I thought you might want a new dress for Emma. Which one would you like?”
Cora bit her bottom lip. She looked at the dresses and then at Beatrice. “You should choose first.”
Beatrice smiled. “Mattie’s favorite color was purple.”
“Then Emma will look lovely in the yellow dress.”
Beatrice handed the yellow dress to Cora. “Yes she will.”
When they finished washing the bodies, the women dressed the girls and combed their hair. Beatrice left the room. She returned with strips of colorful ribbon, which they tied in the girls’ hair. “They look like they’re about to go to Sunday school,” Beatrice said, stepping back from the table. Her gaze fell to the broken plates and glasses on the floor. “Lord Jesus, someone is gonna have to clean this mess.” She held a hand to her chest and walked away.
Cora stepped around the broken shards that littered the ground. She stopped before Samael, her gaze rising to his face. “They really do look like they’re about to go to school,” she whispered.
Samael stared at the tiny bodies resting side by side. “You know she lives on.”
Cora blinked away rising tears. “I don’t know if I believe anymore. How could God allow this to happen? They’re just babies.”
“I’ve never understood the mind of God.”
“But you still believe in him.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Sometimes.”
Ruth glared at him as he walked Cora back into the parlor. Silas watched without expression. Samael helped Cora onto a chair, then sat beside her. Quiet settled over the room, the only sound the water dripping from the suspended towels. Shadows stretched across the walls. Orden read silently from his Bible. Reverend Mason sat between Beatrice and Diane, head in his hands.
Samael straightened at the sight of a small orb floating down from the ceiling like a feather on the wind. The orb twirled past Cora before stopping next to Beatrice. It started to grow, golden light shooting from its core. When the light subsided, the spirit of Mattie stood beside her mother. Samael glanced around the room and realized only he could see her. Mattie leaned to kiss Beatrice on the cheek. She gasped, drawing the attention of her husband, and raised a hand to the spot Mattie kissed.
“What is it?” The Reverend said.
“I … don’t know. I felt something warm on my face.”
Mattie moved to her father. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against the top of his head. He sprang from his chair. “I felt something too.”
Mattie floated across the room. She stopped before Samael and he saw she bore no scars. She looked at him not through the eyes of a child, but as one who had gained the knowledge of Heaven. You couldn’t have saved us.
I know.
Emma is safe now.
He nodded. She has Jesus.
Mattie went to Cora, who sat staring at her lap. Take care of her. She needs you.
I will try my best.
A smile passed over Mattie’s lips before she started to rise toward the ceiling. She paused near the top and looked down at him. Don’t bring her back. Spare her the pain. The light that surrounded her faded as she transformed back into an orb. Two knocks thundered on the front door and the orb vanished. The door creaked open before Reverend Mason could answer. Hank stepped into the entry, followed by three men. “I brought the sheriff.”
The sheriff had the face of an experienced lawman, tanned and wrinkled, with squinting eyes. He wore a white long-sleeve button-down shirt and blue jeans. A gun belt held a nickel revolver. A silver badge was pinned to his left breast pocket. The two deputies behind him were dressed in a similar fashion. They were young, perhaps in their early twenties, and appeared nervous. Each deputy carried a lever-action rifle. The sheriff removed his white Stetson. He tipped his head at the people inside the parlor, and dust sprinkled out of his short hair. “Reverend,” he said in a low drawl while extending a massive paw scarred across the knuckles. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. We’ll catch the son of a bitch who did it.”
Reverend Mason nodded.
“Where are the folks of the other girl?” the sheriff asked.
Cora glanced at Silas, who sat grim-faced, then to Samael with a look that pleaded for help. He rose from his chair and helped Cora stand. “This is the girl’s mother,” Samael said, steering Cora to the sheriff.
The sheriff’s cold eyes swept the parlor. “Where’s the father?”
“Dead,” Samael said.
“I see.” The sheriff cleared his throat. “Well ma’am, we’re gonna do our best to catch your daughter’s killer. I understand this nigger worked for your revival.”
“Mervin didn’t work for me,” Cora said. “He worked for my … he worked for Silas.”
“Silas, he’s the evangelist fella?”
Samael turned to point. “That’s him over there.”
Silas stiffened in his chair.
The sheriff pressed his hat on and ambled into the parlor. He walked to Beatrice, placed his hands over hers, and leaned to whisper. He pulled back and glared at Silas, sizing him up as if he were a cow auctioned for slaughter. Hooking his thumbs into his gun belt, the sheriff eased over to Silas, who remained seated. “Brother Silas. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Silas stared at the sheriff with a condescending smirk. “Only good things, I’m sure.”
“Not all of it.”
The smirk vanished from Silas face.
“This nigger, what’s his name again?” The sheriff looked at Cora.
“Mervin,” she said.
“This nigger worked for you, right?”
Ruth reached over to take hold of Silas’s right arm. She glanced at the sheriff with fire in her eyes. “We don’t use that word.”
The sheriff met her hard stare with one of his own. “Ma’am, I don’t give a damn what you call the murdering bastard.”
Samael wanted to smile as he watched Ruth melt from the sheriff’s challenge, but the man’s racist attitude proved hard to stomach, and he wondered if the sheriff would have the same fervor for vengeance if Mervin were white.
“So,” the sheriff said, his deep voice becoming a growl, “I’ll ask once more: This nigger, he worked for the revival, correct?”
Silas nodded.
“And you brought him to these good folks’ house.” The sheriff shook his head. “Dumb bastard.”
Orden sprang from his chair. “Mervin helped the tent crew.”
“Who are you?”
Orden started to wring his hands. “Orden Keeler. I’m a retired preacher. My granddaughter Emma was killed today.”
The sheriff’s expression calmed. “So you know this Mervin fella?”
“I don’t exactly know him. He kept to himself.”
“What’s he look like?”
“A leopard,” Cora blurted, drawing the sheriff’s attention.
His eyes drew down into slits. “How’s that?”
“Mervin has vitiligo,” Samael said.
“What’s that?” the sheriff asked.
“It’s a skin disease. Mervin has large pink splotches on his face.”
The sheriff’s tongue worked against the inside of his cheeks as he thought. “Where’s he from?”
“California,” Samael said.
Silas’s jaw dropped and he glared at Samael with eyes that expressed confusion.
The sheriff motioned toward the door with a sideways nod. “Malcolm, head into town and find those boys who are looking for this bastard. Tell ‘em what we know. I suspect this son of a bitch is going to try nailing a drag.”
“You think he’ll head for the jungle near the tracks?”
“That’s a good bet,” the sheriff said. “After you’re done, you and the other deputies meet me north of the revival.”
The deputy hesitated. “The tracks are south of the river.”
“We won’t be searching along the tracks.”
A look of understanding passed over the deputy’s face. “North of the revival. I’ll deliver the message.” He hurried out of the house.
“Now let’s have a look at these girls,” the sheriff said.
Hank led the sheriff to the dining room.
“Wait here,” Samael said to Cora. He walked to the dining room and stood behind the men.
The sheriff paused at the entrance of the room. He removed his hat and brought it against his chest. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured before stepping inside.
“What kind of crazy bastard could do such a thing?” Hank said.
The sheriff moved slowly around the bodies, plates and glasses crunching under his boots. “I’ve seen some cruel things in my day,” the sheriff said, brushing hair away from one of the gaping wounds on Mattie’s head, “but nothing like this.” His gaze drifted to Emma. “How’d this girl die?”
“He drowned her in the water barrel,” Samael said.
The sheriff growled under his breath and walked out of the room. “Come on, Clovis.” He returned to the parlor, marched over to Silas, and pointed a finger at his face. “No man of God would hire a murderer. We’re gonna get your boy, you can count on it.” He approached Cora. “You can take your daughter home.”
“What about Mattie?” Reverend Mason asked.
“Bury her with my blessing.”
The reverend glanced toward the dining room. “Shouldn’t a doctor examine her first? What about the trial?”
The sheriff bustled to the door. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said over his shoulder before leaving.
They piled into the car for the drive back to the revival. Riley and Colt squeezed on the front seat with Orden, Ruth, and Silas. Cora sat between Samael and Leona, with Emma’s body on her lap, wrapped in a blanket provided by Beatrice.
“Hush baby.” Cora stroked Emma’s hair. “Mama’s got you now. Mama is going to take care of you.”
Orden took his gaze off the road to look back at Cora. His eyes glistened with tears. He glanced at Samael, and an understanding passed between them. Orden no longer possessed the strength to watch over Cora. Only Samael could offer the protection she needed. Orden shook his head and turned around.
“Sweet little baby, you sleep now,” Cora whispered.
Her pain became Samael’s pain. Her suffering became his suffering, and through it all, he feared he would lose her once again.
Leona bit a knuckle as she stared at Cora. She pulled her hand from her mouth and massaged tears from her eyes.
Ruth stared straight ahead. Her face revealed nothing. Silas watched the passing countryside, an occasional sigh whispering from his chest.
The sun became a ribbon of gold, and night advanced to claim its dominion with the ebb of violet and red clouds in the western sky. The revival tent appeared in the distance. Silas leaned toward the windshield and smiled. “They haven’t burned the tent.”
“Things are looking up,” Ruth said, drawing a stern look from Orden.
Hardy approached as Orden parked the car. He glanced inside through the front windshield before making his way to Silas.
“Has anyone come around causing trouble?” Silas asked.
“A few men showed up with gas cans, but Cresil scared ‘em off. Busted one fella in the nose.”
“Good, good, now tell the boys to keep a sharp eye for more troublemakers.” Silas pushed open the door and stepped out.
Hardy leaned around him to stare at Cora. “You talk to the sheriff?”
“The man’s a pill,” Ruth said, joining Silas. “A foul-mouthed rube.”
Samael exited the car and held out his hands to Cora. “Let me take Emma.”
He brought Emma’s body against his chest. Hardy shook his head. “Ain’t right what he done to them girls.”
“Right or not,” Silas said, placing a hand on Hardy’s shoulder, “we must think of the revival now. I’ve sent Jonah into town to learn what’s happening. If we can, we should find Mervin before the sheriff does and pull up stakes.”
Hardy pulled back. “Find Mervin and do what, hide him?”
“Take him back to California. He has family there.”
Orden approached from the front of the car. “The man murdered two little girls. The sooner the Devil finds him, the better.”
Silas searched the faces of the people around him. He removed his eyeglasses and wiped the lenses on his sleeve. “You’re right, of course. Mervin should pay for what he’s done, if he’s guilty at all, but he deserves a fair trial, not a lynching.”
“Did Emma deserve this?” Samael said, bringing everyone’s attention to him.
Silas put on his glasses. “No, but she’s gone and nothing is going to bring her …” His eyebrows gathered and released several times over the rim of his eyeglasses. His gaze traveled to the revival tent. “Take Emma inside.”
“What are you thinking?” Orden asked.
“Take her and let me know when Jonah returns.”
Ruth hurried after Silas. Orden sighed. “Best do what he says for now.”
“Daddy,” Cora said, “can you fetch Emma’s sleeping bag? If she’s gonna be in the tent she’ll rest easier inside her sleeping bag.”
Orden bore the sad expression of a man without hope. “Of course,” he said and plodded off, head down, body slumping.
“Where’s Cresil?” Samael asked.
“Watching the big tent. Turner and Vance are walking the perimeter.” Hardy smacked a mosquito on his arm and stared at its crushed body. “I thought someone would burn down the camp by now, and they still might. If Silas had a lick of common sense, he’d have us hightail it outta here.”
Samael looked at Cora. “Let’s take Emma to the tent.”
They set out across the field. Darkness settled all around them.
“It’s so quiet,” she said.
No fires burned to the east. No voices rose to announce their faith. “The campers are all gone,” he said. “I can’t imagine how Silas will ever get them to return. Not after this night.”
Cresil stood in the tent entrance, holding a tree branch like a club. He dropped the branch upon seeing Samael. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“Is it safe to bring Emma into the tent?” Samael asked.
“No one’s come around for a couple of hours, but I hear whispering voices in the shadows from time to time.”
“It will be a miracle if this revival survives the night.”
Cresil’s gaze traveled to Cora. Her spirit is broken.
Samael nodded. She will never be whole again.
I don’t think we were meant to be here.
Samael ducked into the tent. Yes we are.
He carried Emma to the stage and laid her down. Cora sat and leaned forward to rest her forehead against Emma’s. Cora’s body convulsed and a hollow whimper rose from her throat. Samael sat beside her and she buried her face against him. He massaged the back of her neck as she cried. “Let it out. You’ve earned the right to cry.”
Silas entered the tent with Emma’s sleeping bag. He hustled down the center aisle, a wild, unsettled look on his face. “Jonah’s back.”
Samael said nothing.
“Did you hear what I said?” He stomped onto the stage.
“I heard you,” Samael said.
Silas tossed down the sleeping bag. “He needs to see you and Cresil. He’ll be waiting at his car.”
Samael touched Cora’s cheek.
“I can take care of my wife,” Silas said with a sneer.
Cora patted his hand. “Go on, I’ll be all right.”
Samael released his hold and stood. “Who’s going to guard the tent with Cresil gone?”
“Hardy is bringing his shotgun.”
“Hasn’t there been enough violence for one day?”
Silas folded his arms over his chest. “Meaning what?”
“Take Cora out of here and let them burn the damn tent.”
“It’s God’s will the revival go forth.”
“Was it God’s will for Emma to die?”
Anger moved over Silas’s face and then he relaxed. “You’re tired and upset. Come dawn things will be clear to you and you’ll realize I’m right.”
“Even if you’re wrong, you’ll never admit it.”
“Go, Samael, find Jonah, and tomorrow we’ll talk more on this.”
He hesitated to leave Cora.
“Go on,” Silas said, lowering his voice to a soothing tone.
Samael found Cresil outside staring at the night sky.
“How’d it go with Silas?”
“I’m starting to think the man’s insane.”
Cresil grunted. “I’m starting to wonder if you are.”
“Implying what?”
“Something has happened between you and Cora, and it has nothing to do with Emma’s death. Have you used some kind of magic to seduce her? Remember what happened the last time you did that?”
“I didn’t use magic in Eden, and I’ve used no magic here. Whatever feelings she has for me are the result of free will.”
“So you admit something has happened.”
“I will admit something almost happened.”
“God watches you.”
“He should have been watching Emma.” Samael waved for Cresil to follow. “Let’s go.”