Preacher's Justice Read online

  “And if I don’t order a second?” Preacher replied.

  The man laughed. “Well, then, the first one is still on the house and I’m the fool for thinking it would generate more business for me.”

  Preacher laughed as well. “You’re no fool, mister. That seems to me like a friendly way to welcome new customers.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to be friendly, and I can afford to give away a drink now and then,” the man said. He put the beer mug in front of Preacher. “There you go, sir.”

  “Thanks,” Preacher said. Picking up the mug, he blew the foam off the mug, then took a long swallow.

  “A fur trapper, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know, I think folks used to trap some around here years ago. But most of the trapping now is out West somewhere. And from the looks of you, I’d say that’s where you would be doing your trapping—out West somewhere.”

  “Yes,” Preacher said. “I trap in the Rocky Mountains.”

  “I’ve never seen the Rocky Mountains, but I would truly like to. I’ve heard they are something awesome to behold.”

  “They are indeed,” Preacher said. He finished the beer. “Now, I wonder if you would let me buy one for each of you.”

  “Well, sir, that’s kind of you to offer,” the bartender said. “But if all I did was stay here all day drinking my own product, I’d be too drunk to work.”

  “And the lady?”

  “The lady is my wife,” the bartender said. “And she don’t drink at all. Can you imagine, marryin’ a tavern keeper and not even drinkin’?”

  “Yes, if she’s drawn to the man and not what he does,” Preacher said. “I’ll have another for myself then.”

  The bartender drew a second drink.

  “Well, here’s to you both,” Preacher said, paying for a second drink, then holding it up to them.

  “What brings you from a place as glorious as the Rocky Mountains to a tiny place like Portsmouth?” the bartender asked.

  “I’m just traveling through,” Preacher said. “Heading for Philadelphia.”

  “Philadelphia,” the bartender said. “Have you ever been there?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “I think you will find it a fascinating place to visit. I was there a year or so back myself.”

  The woman laughed. “It was more like ten years,” she said. “We wasn’t even married yet when you went.”

  “The name is Vaughan Roberts,” the bartender said, sticking his hand out by way of introduction. “And whatever it is that caused you to stop by our fair town, you are truly welcome.”

  “Thanks,” Preacher said. “Folks call me Preacher.”

  “Preacher? And would you be a man of the cloth, Preacher?”

  Preacher chuckled. “Far from it, I’m afraid. It just seems to be a name I’ve picked up.”

  “Ever been here before, Preacher?” Vaughan asked.

  “Yes,” Preacher said. “As a matter of fact, I am from here. I used to live here, or not far from here, when I was a boy.”

  “You don’t say? So that explains why you dropped by. You wanted to visit the place of your youth.”

  “You might say that,” Preacher agreed. “I lived upriver a few miles. My folks had a place there, just where the river makes a big sweep.”

  “Well, there’s a couple of places up there,” Vaughan said. “But that’s pretty good land. Finest land in the country, some folks say. What is it that made your family up and leave like they done?”

  “Oh, you misunderstood me. My family didn’t leave at all,” Preacher said. “They are still here. Or at least, as far as I know, they are still here.”

  “As far as you know? Here, that’s a mighty strange thing to say about your own family. You mean you don’t even know if they are still here?”

  “I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know,” Preacher said. He took another drink before he continued. “You see, I told you I left here when I was a boy, and that’s just what I did. As I look back on it now, I probably did a bad thing, but when I was twelve years old, I just up and left on my own.”

  Suddenly the woman gasped, and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she said in a soft voice. “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my.”

  “Tess, what in the world has got into you?” Vaughan asked.

  “Tess?” Preacher repeated in a quiet voice. He looked at the young woman. “Is that your name? Tess?”

  Tears sprang into Tess’s eyes, and she nodded. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Would you have a sister named Betty, and a brother named Morgan?”

  “I also have a brother named Arthur,” Tess replied, now smiling broadly through her tears. “We thought he was lost, but I know now that he has come back to us.”

  “My God,” Vaughan said, now realizing what was going on. He stared at Preacher. “You are Arthur, aren’t you? You are Tess’s long-lost brother.”

  “I reckon I am,” Preacher said.

  With a little cry, Tess ran into Art’s arms. He embraced her for a long moment, feeling her against him, feeling her tears wet his cheeks.

  Finally, Tess drew away from him. “Why?” she asked. It was more of a sob than a question. “Oh, Arthur, why in heaven’s name did you run away from us like that?”

  “I’m sorry, Tess,” Preacher said. It was the only way he could think of to respond to this question that had no answer. “I’m sorry.”

  Vaughan closed his place for the rest of the day, hitched a team to a wagon, then drove Tess and her long-lost brother out to her parents’ farm.

  “I’ve got a thousand questions I want to ask you,” Tess said as they drove along the dirt road that ran parallel with the river. “But I’m going to save them because I know that everyone else will want to ask the same questions, and there’s no sense in making you say everything twice.”

  “Thanks,” Preacher said. “I’ll answer all the questions as best I can, I promise.”

  Tess’s promise not to ask a lot of questions caused the ride out to be a quiet one, and Preacher welcomed the silence because it gave him time to reconnect with his past. As the wagon rolled along the road, Preacher looked out over the landscape, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with memories. As it was mostly trees and plowed fields, there wasn’t anything significant enough to make an impression on him. That is until they came around the final bend and he saw the house, a white, two-story house, sitting on a small hill.

  The house was exactly the same. The final moments before he’d left, indelibly burned into his mind and heart, were recreated by what he was seeing now. For a minute, all the intervening years between the time he stood there as a twelve-year-old boy, fighting tears, and this moment rolled away. It was as if the years of his life had formed one, long ribbon, and someone had grabbed the ribbon at each end and folded it together, connecting past with present so that it was impossible to differentiate one from the other.

  The wagon pulled into the front yard, and his mother came out onto the porch.

  “Well, hello, Tess, Vaughan,” she said. She was holding a dish towel. “I didn’t expect to see you two until this weekend. Who’s your friend?”

  “Mom, this is . . . ,” Tess started, but she didn’t finish. Suddenly, the woman on the porch gasped, and put her hand to her chest. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth began to tremble.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “I know who it is.” With her arms open wide, she hurried down from the porch. “Arthur,” she said. “My dear, sweet, Arthur!”

  “How did she recognize me after all these years?” Preacher asked quietly as he stepped down from the wagon to go toward his mother.

  “Mothers have a way of knowing these things,” Tess said. Even though Tess was not a mother, and was younger than Preacher, she was already in touch with the wisdom that is peculiar only to women.

  At supper time, Preacher sat at the dining room table with his mother and father, Tess and Vaughan, Betty and her husband, Jim, and Morgan and his wi
fe, Ann, and their young son, Art.

  Preacher’s father was holding the Bible.

  “A reading from St. Luke,” Preacher’s father began. He looked up at everyone at the table, then, clearing his voice, began to read.

  “A certain man had two sons; and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto him his living.

  “And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

  “And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.

  “And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into the field to feed swine.

  “And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.

  “And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!

  “I will arise and go to my father and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. Make me as one of thy hired servants.

  “And he arose, and came to his father, but when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him.

  “And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.

  “But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry.”

  Preacher’s father closed the book and looked across the table at his son.

  “And, like the father in the Bible, I welcome my returning son. He was lost, and now he is found.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Morgan spoke. “Hey, Pop, we didn’t kill any fatted calves, though. All Mom did was wring the neck of a couple of chickens. You think that will count the same?”

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  Later, after dinner, Preacher’s father took a couple of chairs out onto the front porch, and invited Preacher to join him. Although everyone wanted to talk to him, to hear his story and to find out where he had been and what he had done, they all acquiesced to Preacher’s father, giving him his just due.

  “Have you taken up smoking, son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Suppose we light our pipes and have a talk.”

  “All right.”

  A cool breeze blew across the porch and, from there, they could hear the whisper of the Ohio River as it moved by in front of them. The sun was low, and the river was a translucent blue, gleaming as if with its own light. The two men lit their pipes, then sat there for a long, quiet moment, enveloped in the smoke of their own making.

  Preacher knew that his father must have a thousand questions, so he said nothing. He waited patiently for his father to begin the conversation. He was surprised by the first thing his father said.

  “It’s been my experience that men who wear a gun and a knife like that generally know how to use them. Are you skilled with those weapons?”

  “I get by,” Preacher said.

  “Ever killed anyone?”

  “Only in self-defense, Pa. It’s not something I take pleasure in.”

  “Tess said you introduced yourself in the tavern as Preacher. How’d you come by a name like that?”

  Preacher told his father the story of how, as a captive of the Indians, he had preached a sermon continuouslyfor twenty-four hours, convincing the Indians that he was crazy, thus causing them to spare his life.

  “Folks heard about that,” he concluded, “and I’ve been called Preacher ever since.”

  Preacher’s father laughed. “That’s a wonderful story, son,” he said. “And a fitting name. But if you don’t mind, while you are here, we’ll call you Arthur, the way you were born.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Preacher replied.

  “Now, tell me, if you can, why you up and left us in the middle of the night, without so much as a by your leave.”

  “I wanted to see the creature,” Preacher said, remembering the expression used by Pete Harding.

  “To see the creature,” Pa repeated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you see the creature?”

  Preacher was quiet for a long moment before he answered.

  “Yes, sir. I think you could say that I have seen the creature,” he replied.

  “Tell me about it,” his father said.

  Preacher began speaking then, starting the story from the morning he sneaked out of the house and onto the boat, telling about his encounter with river pirates, about being declared a slave by Lucas Younger, about his experiences in the war, and about his experiences in the mountains.

  He left nothing out, including his relationship with Jennie. He even told his father that Jennie was one-quarter black and, according to the laws of Missouri and other slave-holding states, legally considered a Negro for purposes of slavery. And he told his father that the reason he was going to Philadelphia was to find the man who killed her.

  “And what do you aim to do with him when you find him?” his father asked.

  “I aim to kill ’im, Pa.”

  His father was quiet for a moment. “Well, I don’t hold with killin’, but then, that’s my world, not yours. I won’t fault you for livin’ in your world, seein’ as it’s the only one you’ve got now, and we all have to do what we have to do.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s pretty much the way I look at it too,” Preacher said.

  It was now nearly one o’clock in the morning. Tess and Vaughan had left for town long ago, and the others were sound asleep. Still, Preacher and his father talked. Preacher found that it was as necessary for him to fill his father in on what had happened to him over the past several years as it was for his father to know.

  Finally, stories were finished and the two men sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the sound of the night creatures.

  “I read the story of the Prodigal Son for a reason,” Preacher’s father said, finally breaking the silence. “Not because I thought you had been a wastrel, living a life of debauchery and sin. You were a good boy when you were twelve, and I couldn’t see anything, any temptation, that would change you.

  “No, sir. I read the story because I wanted you to know that, despite all that’s happened, I’m happy you came back. My one prayer, for all these years, has been that I could see you at least one more time, to satisfy myself that you are still alive and well.”

  Preacher didn’t answer.

  “Are you satisfied with the life you are living, boy?”

  “Yes, Pa, I am,” Preacher said, realizing at that moment that he was very satisfied. “I can’t think of anything I would rather do than what I’m doing now.”

  “I’m glad. You won’t mind, then, if I leave all the farm to Morgan, who has stayed here and worked it for his whole life.”

  “I think that would be the only right thing to do,” Preacher said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, for that’s what I intend to do. That is, if I’m able to hold onto it.”

  “Able to hold onto it? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve told me your story,” Preacher’s father said. “Now, maybe it’s time I told you mine.”

  Although neither Preacher nor his father realized it, Morgan had heard every word of their conversation. His and Ann’s room was just above the front porch, and because it was a warm night, his window was open. The breeze the open window allowed in also brought to him, very clearly, the conversation his brother and father were having.

  Until his father said what he did to Art, Morgan had no idea that his father was planning on leaving everything to him.

  He was pleased to hear Preacher agree to his father’s pl
an. And now, as his father explained the difficulty they were in, Morgan felt that his older brother would be able to help them. He didn’t know how, but he was confident that he would.

  FOURTEEN

  Klyce Blanton owned the Security Bank of Ohio. He had only recently purchased the bank, and immediately upon acquisition had let it be known that it would no longer be business as usual.

  “No more mollycoddling of debtors,” he said. “From now on, every penny owed to this bank must be paid on the date it is owed, or I will foreclose.”

  It was no coincidence that Blanton acquired the bank at the time when a severe drought had brought about crop failure for many of the farmers, Preacher’s father included. Blanton bought the bank for the express purpose of forcing all the neighboring farmers into default so he could take their land at a fraction of its actual worth. He had already foreclosed on several farms.

  Under the previous banker, the farmers had been able to arrange for additional time by paying the interest only when their note came due. It was a normal procedure, and Preacher’s father had not the slightest idea that he would not be allowed to do so until he went to the bank to make his payment. That was when he was informed that Klyce intended to exercise his legal right to call the note the moment it was due.

  “That’s two weeks from now,” Sylvanias said. “The land that my father cleared, and that I have nurtured all these years, the land that I intended to pass down to my children, is being taken away from me, and there is nothing I can do about it.”

  Preacher said nothing to his father, but at the earliest opportunity he planned to go into town and set things right. It was the least he could do after causing them so many years of worry and heartache.

  Getting up early, Preacher came down the stairs and left a note on the kitchen table.

  Dear Ma and Pa

  I have some business to take care of so I must be gone for a while. But don’t worry, I will be back today.

  Your son, Art