'Ha!' Bidwell smiled grimly, but there was some good humor in it. 'Just because I build ships and I'm going to station a grand navy here... does not mean I can swim. Now go along with you, and if Edward thinks he's going to convince me to give you a free horse and saddle, he is a sadly mistaken duke!'
Matthew left the mansion and walked past the still waters of the spring on his way to the conjunction of streets. Before he reached the turn to Truth, however, he saw ahead of him the approach of a black-clad, black- tricorned, spidery, and wholly loathsome figure.
'Ho, there!' Exodus Jerusalem called, lifting a hand. On this deserted street, the sound fairly echoed. Matthew was sorely tempted to run, but the preacher picked up his pace and met him. Blocked his way, actually.
'What do you want?' Matthew asked.
'A truce, please.' Jerusalem showed both palms, and Matthew unconsciously held more securely to the treasure box. 'We are packed and ready to leave, and I am on my way to give my regards to Mr. Bidwell.'
'Art thou?' Matthew lifted his eyebrows. 'Thy speech has suddenly become more common, Preacher. Why is that?'
'My speech? Oh... that!' Jerusalem grinned broadly, his face seamed with wrinkles in the sunlight. 'It's an effort to keep that up. Too many thees and thous in one day and my lips near fall off.'
'It's part of your performance, you mean?'
'No, it's real enough. My father spoke such, and his father before him. And my son—if I ever have a son— shall as well. Also, however, the widow Lassiter detests it. Gently, of course. She is a very gentle, very warm, very giving woman.'
'The widow Lassiter? Your latest conquest?'
'My latest convert, ' he corrected. 'There is quite a difference. Ah yes, she's a wonderfully warm woman. She ought to be warm, since she weighs almost two hundred pounds. But she has a lovely face and she can surely mend a shirt!' He leaned in a little closer, his grin lecherous. 'And she has quite the toll in her skirt, if you catch my meaning!'
'I would prefer not to, thank you.'
'Well, as my father always said, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The one-eyed, stiff beholder, I mean.'
'You are a piece of work, aren't you?' Matthew said, amazed at such audacity. 'Do you do all your thinking with your private parts?'
'Let us be friends. Brothers under the warming sun. I have heard all about your triumph. I don't fully understand how such a thing was done—the Satan play, I mean—but I am gratified to know that a righteous and innocent woman has been cleared, and that you are also found guiltless. Besides, it would be a damn sin for a looker like that to bum, eh?'
'Excuse me, ' Matthew said. 'And farewell to you.'
'Ah, you may say farewell, but not goodbye, young man! Perchance we'll meet again, further along life's twisting road.'
'We might meet again, at that. Except I might be a judge and you might be at the end of a twisting rope.'
'Ha, ha! An excellent joke!' Now, however, a serious cast came over the wizened face. 'Your magistrate. I —honestly—am very sorry. He fought death to the end, I understand.'
'No, ' Matthew said. 'In the end he accepted it. As I did.'
'Yes, of course. That, too. But he did seem a decent man. Too bad he died in a hole like this.'
Matthew stared at the ground, a muscle working in his jaw.
'If you like, before I leave I might go to his grave and speak a few words for his eternal soul.'
'Preacher, ' Matthew said in a strained voice, 'all is well with his eternal soul. I suggest you go give your regards to Mr. Bidwell, get in your wagon with your witless brood, and go to—wherever you choose to go. Just leave my sight.' He lifted his fierce gaze to the man, and saw the preacher flinch. 'And let me tell you that if I but see you walking in the direction of Magistrate Woodward's grave, I will forget the laws of God and man and do my damnedest to put my boot so far up your ass I will kick your teeth out from the inner side. Do you understand me?'
Jerusalem backed away a few steps. 'It was only a thought!'
'Good day, goodbye, and good riddance.' Matthew sidestepped him and continued on his way.
'Ohhhhh, not goodbye!' Jerusalem called. 'Farewell, perhaps! But not goodbye! I have a feeling thou shalt lay eyes on me at some future unknown date, as I travel this ungodly, debased, and corrupted land in the continual—continual, I say—battle against the foul seed of Satan! So I say to thee, brother Matthew, farewell... but never goodbye!'
The voice—which Matthew thought could strip paint off wood if Jerusalem really let it bray—was fading behind him as he turned onto Truth Street. He dared not look back, for he didn't care to become a pillar of salt today.
He passed the gaol. He did not give the odious place a single glance, though his gut tightened as he stepped on its shadow.
And then he came to her house.
Rachel had been busy. She had pulled into the yard much of the furniture, and a washtub of soapy water stood at the ready. Also brought into the cleansing sun were clothes, bedsheets, a mattress, kettles and skillets, shoes, and just about everything else a household contained.
The door was wide open, as were all the shutters. Airing the place out, he thought. Intending to move in again, and make it a home. Indeed, Rachel was more like Bidwell in her tenacity—one might say foolhearted stubbornness—than ever he'd imagined. Still, if elbow grease alone could transform that rat-whiskered shack to a livable cottage again, she would have a mansion of her own.
He crossed the yard, winding between the accumulated belongings. Suddenly his progress was interrupted by a small chestnut-brown dog that sprang up from its drowsing posture beside the washtub, took a stance that threatened attack, and began to bark in a voice that surely rivalled the preacher's for sheer volume.
Rachel came to the threshold and saw who her visitor was. 'Hush!' she commanded. 'Hush!' She clapped her hands to get the mongrel's attention. The dog ceased its alarms and, with a quick wag of its tail and a wide- mouthed yawn, plopped itself down on the sun-warmed ground again.
'Well!' Matthew said. 'It seems you have a sentinel.'
'She took up with me this morning.' Rachel wiped her dirty hands on an equally dirty rag. 'I gave her one of the ham biscuits Mrs. Nettles made for me, and we are suddenly sisters.'
Matthew looked around at the furniture and other items. 'You have your labors ahead of you, I see.'
'It won't be so bad, once I finish scrubbing the house.'
'Rachel!' Matthew said. 'You don't really plan on staying here, do you?'
'It's my home, ' she answered, spearing him with those intense amber eyes. She wore a blue-printed scarf around her head, and her face was streaked with grime. The gray dress and white apron she wore were equally filthy. 'Why should I leave it?'
'Because...' He hesitated, and showed her the box. 'Because I have something for you. May I come in?'
'Yes. Mind the mess, though.'
As Matthew approached the door, he heard a whuff of wind behind him and thought the mighty sentinel had decided to take a bite from his ankle. He turned in time to see the brown dog go tearing off across the field, where it seized one of two fleeing rats and shook the rodent between its jaws in a crushing deathgrip.
'She does like to chase them, ' Rachel said.
Within the bare house, Matthew saw that Rachel had been scraping yellow lichens from the floorboards with an axeblade. The fungus and mildew that had spread across the walls had bloomed into strange purple and green hues only otherwise to be seen in fever dreams. However, Matthew saw that where the sunlight touched, the growths had turned ashen. A broom leaned against the wall, next to a pile of dust, dirt, rat pellets, and bones. Nearby was a bucket of more soapy water, in which a scrub brush was immersed.
'You know, there are plenty of houses available, ' Matthew said. 'If you really insist on staying here, you might move into one only recently abandoned and save yourself all this work. As a matter of fact, I know a very
