The Devil's Touch

'You see, Father Sam—and that is a misnomer—for the man left the Church, married, and when his wife—' He hesitated, seemed to inwardly struggle for a few seconds, then continued, but Sam and Noah both saw the grimace on his face when he said the word, … 'died; well, he attempted to once more assume the title of priest. Of course, it was refused him.' Father Le Moyne smiled strangely. 'But Father Sam, being the type man he—was, did not let that deter him. He came to this part of the New World, established a Church, and went about his business as if nothing had happened. This house is supposedly built over his grave, so the story goes. No one has yet been able to verify that.

'As far as why those religious leaders met here,' the priest said, doing his best to wear a sheepish look, 'had it not been for Father Sam's leaving the Church and marrying, the man might well have been canonized. It is—said that Father Sam met the Devil face on and beat him. Right here on this very spot where we are sitting. I, ah, don't know all the particulars, but that's it in a nutshell.'

The priest is lying, Sam thought. But not lying for any personal reasons. He's lying for a very—pure reason, the phrase came to him.

'You said he married, Daniel,' Noah said. 'Do you know the name of the woman he married?'

The priest's smile was strangely rueful. 'Oh, yes,' he said softly. 'Very well. Michelle Dubois. The union produced several children. One priest came out of that union. Father Sam killed one of the children with his bare hands; a daughter. The other daughter, named after her mother, Michelle, married a man by the name of Duhon. That union produced a cabin-full of children. Several of the boys became trappers. They went west, out around what is now Nebraska; in that area. The other boys of that union became priests. Those that didn't go into the priesthood married— more children. More priests out of those unions.

'The last record of priests from any marriage of those related to Father Balon was in the late 1700s, in Nebraska. For some reason, the Balons, the Duhons— they left the Catholic faith behind them and joined the Protestant religion. I don't know why.'

Sam leaned back in his chair. He was aware of Father Le Moyne's eyes on him. The stories he had heard as a child; rumors and tall tales about the goings-on around Whitfield came to Sam's mind. He began tying them all up into neat little packages.

'You appear to be deep in thought, Sam,' Noah said, looking at the expression on Sam's face.

'Yes,' he said. Sam then related all the stories he had heard as a child. About Tyson's Lake, Father Dubois, the trapper Duhon, Sam's own father's first wife, Michelle the witch.*

'It keeps coming back to you, Sam,' Monty said.

'Unfortunately,' Sam muttered, very much aware of Father Le Moyne's intense gaze.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

'Seventy-eight hours to go,' Joe said. 'Might as well be seventy-eight years.'

Mille put her hand on Joe's arm. 'We're going to make it out of this, Joe,' she said, gently squeezing his forearm. 'And I want you to know I think you are a fine, good man for staying here, helping in this fight.'

'I ain't no better than none of the others, Mille. I really don't understand what is happening around here. All this Devil stuff and exorcisms and the walking dead.' He shook his head. 'Too much for an ol' country boy like me.'

'How old are you, Joe?'

'Too damned old for a young chicken like you,' he replied, sensing the direction the conversation was taking.

She smiled up at him and something soft touched his heart. 'How about you letting me be the judge of that?' she responded, her words gentle.

'Mille—'

'Shut up, Joe. Just put your arms around me and hold me for a minute or two, all right?'

'Be glad to oblige,' Joe said, his voice husky.

Father Le Moyne stood in the darkness of the foyer and smiled. He slipped quietly back into the shadows and left the two alone. He approved of Mille and Joe, despite the vast differences in age.

Barbara came to John and put her arms around her husband. 'If we get out of this mess, John, I'll walk out of your life. You can tell people I died—anything. I won't disgrace you with a divorce. I'll change my name and move away. You can get another church and—'

'No,' her husband said, a new firmness to his voice. 'Barbara, I never really tried to understand your—problem. Or mine, for that matter. We'll go to doctors, counselors, anything or anybody you like. But we will work it out, I promise you.'

'But the things Duke said.'

'Forget about Duke, Barbara. Put all that behind you. It's over.'

She put her head on his shoulder and wept.

Monty and Viv sat upstairs, looking out over the darkened sector assigned to them. Sam had referred to it as their perimeter. They were content to be together, touching, their love vibrating between them, constantly reaffirming with silent love messages.

Jeanne and Ginny sat in a darkened bedroom, looking after Little Sam. Both the young women had fallen in love with the little boy. He was such a good child; never fussy or whiny. He was a happy child. Even if he did sometimes get a funny look in his eyes.

'I think Byron Price kind of likes you,' Jeanne said.

Ginny laughed softly. 'Yeah. I never flirted with a preacher before.'

'I think he's cute, in a kind of fumbling way. You know what I mean?'

'Yes. Me, too. And it must have been awful for him, his wife taking off that way.'