By forestport12
Hosea rode into the salt flats of Nevada with one skin of water, believing he'd make it with his horse Patches before the searing sun settled behind the Sierra Mountains. He'd been living on thin margins since his journey west. Having died once, made him less cautious and far more cavalier with a perspective few men get between worlds.
As he rode into the heart of this dry lakebed, he dismounted from Patches, his sagging horse and tugged on the reins. Casting his black coat across the mare's back, he trudged forward into the white abyss, leaving footprints behind like some ghost who dropped out of the pearl-blue sky.
Several hours later, the sun baked Hosea to a crisp, reminding his parched throat, he was saddled with his personal purgatory. Each step he took on the pancaked ground seemed like mere inches to the miles left where the mountain range had seemed closer in the heatwaves--a mirage of distance clouding his mind.
Hosea halted under the burden of his call. Like many who headed west, he'd left a world that didn't want him there, and if the truth be told half those who ventured west did so because of some epic failure of family or business back East and not for the lure of gold alone.
Vultures circled. He halted and squinted upward, fingered his pistol, in case they swooped down. Parched lips cracked and bleeding, he drank the last swig from his skin. He gave the remaining drops to his faithful mare. He loathed their predicament and pitied her plight. Stroking her snout, his throat clawed for words beyond sorry. "This is between me...me and the...the Lord. He's not angry with you. So sorry."
He plodded forward and thought about putting his mare out of her misery, but he didn't want the vultures to carve her up. Then the sun melted behind the mountains and a new reality came to the fore. They'd have to lay low and try to make it out by morning.
As Hosea stumbled along the wind howled as if alive with captured souls. The cold seeped inside and rattled his bones. He plucked his coat from Patches, tugged down the brim of his hat, and cursed the wind.
A host of stars appeared like silver trinkets with a meager means of guidance. His faith was raw. It needed time to cure, settle in his heart. But he kept that part of him hidden from others. He wished for rain, a lashing rain where he could stretch out his tongue and gulp, where he could fill the brim of his hat and his horse could drink. As he faltered and fell to his knees, he imagined diving into an icy-blue crater of a lake. "Lord, you don't aim to let me die, not tell I'm finished with your call." Whether he tempted or tested God, he was too far gone to know the difference.
Patches nudged him back to reality. He rose and shuffled forward into the abyss in defiance against nature-maybe God too.
From an unfathomed distance, he spied the flicker of a flame. He dug the grit from his eyes, blinked several times, and wondered if it was real. He shuffled forward with coarse sounds turned into words. "Come now, Patches, there's a firelight."
As Hosea drew closer his heart tightened and knotted at the form, or the glow of a man warming his hands by the fire. Hosea wanted to call out, but his tongue clave to his mouth and betrayed him.
Ragged pieces of the schooner flapped in the wind like a white flag of surrender. There was no horse to hitch for a wagon, no family, but an old man sitting Indian style with eyes glued to the fire. The closer he looked where the firelight let him, he could see the man had broken pieces of the wagon in order to feed the fire.
The old man perked up. "Whose out there?" He continued his stare into the flames.
Hosea croaked. "We, Me and Patches saw the fire."
"Did you come to end my suffering? Are you an angel or a man?"
Hosea drew closer and could see the man's eyes looked glazed over, and figured he was not only alone and stranded, but blind! The stark reality of this unexpected scene and this man's predicament caused tears to press against his eyes. Every word clawed his insides. "No sir, I'm a man with a horse here, need water."
"I suppose if n you meant no harm, I'd be dead already. Got no way out, but I got water."
Hosea wagged his tongue. He could hardly believe it was true.
"Help yourself," He said, not turning his head from the glare of the fire. "Some days-ago came a gully washer, like holy water from heaven. Filled a barrel, pots and pans too."
Hosea backed up toward the broke down schooner where the smell of death and perfume rifled his nose. He rammed his head into the barrel of water until he had to come up for air. Then his eyes caught the shriveled flesh of a female with mosquito net for a veil cast over her, hands folded over a worn leather Bible.
Patches drank greedily from a cooking pot until it spilled over the rail. She shoved in next to Hosea and stuck her snout in the barrel.
Hosea held his arm to his mouth and stumbled backward. figured the dead woman for the old man's wife. "Sir, that your wife in the wagon?"
"I can't seem to let her go. I know it's foolish, but I talk to her.." The old man finally craned his long neck toward Hosea. "I would have buried her right proper, but I have no strength to dig a hole, and I'm too weak to walk her out. Our son left on the horse in search of help. It's been some days, and I fear something vile has happened to him."
Hosea spoke in a whisper. "I can help you get out and give her a proper burial. Come morn, my horse can carry you and your wife. God's grace we found each other."
The man turned his gaze back to the fire. "I'd been praying for death. Didn't have hardness to do it myself."
Hosea sat next to the man where he clutched a bottle of whiskey.
"Hosea, my names Delbert. Folk call me Dell for short. My wife Mary, I told her I wouldn't leave her. A place for us in a meadow with gentle stream sounds right nice.
Hosea studied the man who had tears in his eyes. "There's time enough to think through how you want it all to set down."
When Hosea heard it, it sparked the memory of his family, his past that haunted him, followed him no matter how far he travelled and how much time slipped between him what happened back east. "I used to have a family."
The man continued to look into the fire, as if nothing else mattered. "No man should be alone. I'd say it gnaws a man tell he goes plum crazy."
Hosea became transfixed by the fire and his mind drifted on the cold Chicago night when he found his house on fire. As he walked back from town in a drunken stupor, he heard the bloody screams of his wife and two daughters. Then house crumbled and shrank, as if it had been made of matchsticks.
Dells words broke the fire's spell on Hosea. "You think ill of me, should I want to die?"
"Best sleep on it. Life's not something to trifle with until it's your time." But Hosea feared it opened himself to a revelation
"What brings you this way, you don't mind me asking?"
"I'm going to a place that needs to heed a warning, a town in need of a message. Some say I'm a prophet. Some say I'm the devil, depending who says so."
"I knew it. Somehow, I knew you was some kinda messenger."
"Free will and free hands give man many a choice to make."
Dell took a swig of his whiskey and spit some of it in the fire where it hissed. He blindly passed the bottle to Hosea.
"No thanks, I swore it off one day, but after I lost everything. I will drink some more water." He stood and found a ladle hanging from a nail, pinched his nose and scooped water from the barrel.
Hosea tethered his horse to the broken wagon, took the saddle and swung it down into the dirt by Dell. "By morning, you might reconsider finding your son for your wife's sake."
"Wife said I was stubborn as a mule, and sometimes kick like one in my sleep." The old man curled under a horse blanket and snored off to sleep.
Hosea leaned back on his saddle and pulled the picture locket of his wife and two daughters from his shirt pocket where he could see their glowing faces in the firelight.
A rogue tear escaped down his blistered face. He could accept God's forgiveness, but he hadn't forgiven himself. It made him question his own calling in a place where there's no turning back and death was the only means to resign.
The last thing he wanted was to offer the old man his hand in death.
Hosea's eyelids fell like the led curtains with a faint prayer for a dreamless night.
| Author Notes | Working on a western genre but with speculative touches. Please share with me if this creates the kind of mystery that keeps you reading. Thanks. |
By forestport12
The morning sun prodded Hosea from his weighted but dreamless sleep. Like broken yoke, the sun spilled over the vast horizon revealing the deceptive and deadly beauty of the salt flats.
Hosea stretched and turned to see Delbert, the old man by the fire's ashes with knees drawn into his chest. For moment he wondered if the old soul had expired. He took the butt of his rifle from the sleeve of his saddle and poked him. "You still here, Mr. Dunham?"
Del snorted and stirred from his slumber. The horse blanket fell from his face. His blind cue ball eyes targeted the sound of Hosea's voice. "I'm still here," he barked.
"Reckon so," replied Hosea, "But you don't seem none too happy about it."
"Didn't expect you were real. Figured you for imaginations or a dream."
"I don't fit too good in someone's dream."
Del stumbled to his feet and swayed near the hot coals. He steadied himself before Hosea could latch on to him. "More like a puzzle you are. Can't believe I'm still here," He said.
"Don't fret yourself none over Mary," she's in a better place than us. Hosea wanted him to have time to think over his death wish from last night. "You got your son. He needs you."
"I fear something vile may have happened to him. He should have found his way back by now. What if I'm truly alone?"
"No one is ever really alone. Just lonely sometimes. Best we get ready to leave while there's still a chill in the air," said Hosea, as he hoisted his saddle from the ground and heaved it on to his horse. "I'd say we make the foothills before the sun goes down."
"It is right nice of you to get Mary to a place where I can lay her to rest. She'd be madder than a hornet in heaven at my lack of will. She always was the one with an iron will."
Hosea's eyes moistened. He was faced with the unenviable task to perfume his wife's withered body then wrap her in a burlap sack so he could flop her on to the back of his horse. He scraped the horse blanket from the ground and draped it over the old man's bony shoulders.
Del flinched over the unexpected weight but then grinned. He crouched and swept the ground for his straw hat, threatened by the coals. He shook it in the air, then tucked it on his head.
Hosea took up the ladle on the nail and dipped it in the barrel near the buckboard. He swished the water in his mouth, as it splashed over his blistered lips and trickled down his chin.
Dell shuffled over to the wagon until he bucked up against it where he reached inside for his wife. He took his gnarled hands into her dead ones and kissed them where she laid, as if in a coffin, covered by net for a veil.
Hosea filled his skin of water and a canteen from the vase in the buckboard. He doused his deceased wife with perfume found nearby. He tied two burlap sacks together with cordage and carried her over his shoulder where he eased her over the rear of his horse. "It's your turn Del. Follow the sound of my voice."
Dell stumbled over to the horse and found the knob of the saddle. He stuck one foot in the stirrup and took his place on the horse's back.
Hosea tugged on the reins and led horse and rider toward the mountains.
"If you don't mind," asked Del. "Could you describe for me the scene before you. It must be a wonder to behold."
Hosea looked ahead under the brilliance of the sun and looked at the horizon. "I see snow-capped peaks and rock domes piercing the sky in hues of purple majesty. I see craggy mountains like God's cathedral to the heavens. And below it, I see the greenest grass, so green it's the color of spinach."
The old man reared up on the horse. "Amen preacher! Here comes the promised land. My heart is a floundering like a fish out of water."
Hosea couldn't hide the smile that spread across his sunburned face.
Hours later, the sun reflected from the salt basin, causing Hosea to shield his eyes as he led Del and Patches. Cracks in the ground appeared like fractures on bone. In the distance with his hand to help sight himself, he could see the changing landscape where pockets of rocks and sprouts of grass formed a new world.
Hosea's horse stopped him in his tracks, where Patches found and chewed on a dandelion sprouting through a slit in the earth.
Hosea turned and looked up to see Del with a horse blanket for a poncho and a straw hat to shield him from the sun. He dozed and looked in danger of falling off the side of his horse.
"Mr. Dunham wake up. Almost there."
Though Del couldn't see and his eyes drifted, he sniffed the air. "I can smell the moist fresh land. Milk and honey too."
Hosea picked up the pace with his caravan and found a game trail. Prickly bushes appeared and scrub trees marked the trail. The trail thickened and the grade steepened. He halted on the next rise where a small but transparent creek meandered below. "I found fresh water!"
Del chimed. "Hear that Miss Mary, a place of rest for the weary."
Before the sun went down Hosea had dug a deep enough trench several feet from the stream. The dirt was a soft sandy soil. Birds sang on ridges and hickory branches. He removed his gloves, walked over, and sat beside Del on the round rocks of the bank. Del sipped water from a tin cup while Hosea chewed on a blade of grass.
Hosea dreaded his next move, but the sun was melting over the mountains west, and soon it would be time to hunker down for the night. "It's a shame you can't see the setting sun. It looks as though the mountains have been set ablaze by it."
Dell's face glistened in the bright reflection from the meadow. He looked as contented as ever, a man at peace. Hosea stood where his shadow loomed over the old man.
"You still there, preacher?" There was only the sound of crickets between them. "One thing bothers me so. Shouldn't a few words be spoken over Mary's grave?"
Hosea backed away and retreated to his horse. He took Mary's bundled remains and hoisted her over his shoulder, then he staggered to the trench. An unmistakable thud sounded, and a cloud of dirt choked the air.
"Is that you, preacher? Sounds like it's time for me to say goodbye. You about to say a few words then?"
A Heavy silence fell between them
"I'm all done. My minds made up. I can't go no further. You hear me preacher? It's my free will.
No answer. But Hosea's mind churned inside, trying to smooth his grated thoughts.
"Should you find my son James please tell him, me and Mary found a sweet spot between here and heaven."
Hosea stood over the fresh grave and removed his hat. "Dear Lord, open up the heavens and receive Mary Dunham, bless them both, as you see fit. There is a time and purpose under heaven. In Jesus' name."
The birds flocked away, sending a shrill echo into the canyon. The shadows of the foothills crept toward the pair.
Hosea eased himself behind Del, but instead of putting a hand on his shoulder, he slipped his burnt and scarred hands over his neck. A solitary tear trickled down from Hosea's left eye like smelted silver. But before Hosea's hands clamped down on the old man's windpipe, Del slumped over and appeared to take his last breath.
Hosea fell to his knees and looked at his cruel hands but managed to cradle Del in his arms. He looked into the heavens. "Why did you mark me so Lord?"
He wept into the black bottomless well of his darkness.
By forestport12
A gristly old man rode his sagging mule into town. He fired his six-shooter into the blue mountain sky until a smoke cloud choked the air. "There's gold in Silver Creek!"
The miner held the one-pound nugget in his gnarled hand for all the world to see or who was left to linger in the old silver mining town after it went bust. A handful of stubborn souls stepped out into the dusty street.
Dirk Blake was the first one to greet the old-timer since he'd bought up the vacant town for two bits on the dollar. He owned nearly every sore and tender building in town, and what he didn't own he took in taxes. He invited his new-found friend into his saloon for a drink.
The old timer clutched his nugget in one hand and a shot glass in the other, as Blake poured him a sample of his best whiskey. Betsy, the one harlot who remained after the town's demise, who had nowhere else to live, laughed it up with the pair and teased the old man with her raven hair until he turned three shades of red.
Dirk Blake hid a wry smile beneath his handlebar moustache. A shrewd businessman, he knew the miner's slack mouth would bring in more money than the nugget itself. That day, it was the man's good fortune he was worth more alive--than dead.
Several days later:
Hosea and his horse Patches found a crest on the mountain where he could scope a sweeping view of Silver Creek and beyond. He breathed a sigh of thin air, sensing his crossroad of purpose was near. Swarms of folks, small as ants scurried about between clapboard buildings. Then he spied the trail of schooners approaching like a frontier parade. Further in the distance he spied a cloud of steam from a train on the prairie.
Hosea stroked the thick white mane of his horse. "This is it Patches. Most of those folks don't know they need a preacher. But give them time after the gold plays out." He'd build a church with a steeple, a sanctuary for broke souls.
He kicked the sides of his horse and parted his long black coat where his right arm raised the Bible like a sword as a man who envisioned going into the field of battle.
As the preacher's horse traversed the winding trail of boulders, he crossed paths with the boarded silver mine and a red painted sign that said keep out. He paused long enough for his horse to rise and neigh. Within was a foreboding inkwell of darkness where the price of death had been paid many times over.
Through a trail of shifting gravel Hosea steadied his horse until he came to a bluff where the mountain air turned into a heavy mist. With strained eyes, he realized he was in a cemetery. It was a place where the graves had once outnumbered the living. A few had names carved in rock for a headstone, but most others had weathered wooden crosses.
The irony of the moment was not lost on Hosea: how the town found a second life with the discovery of gold. His calling would not be for the faint of heart. It called for a man of the cloth who had nothing left to lose and could get close enough to spit on hell if need be.
By forestport12
Hosea rode in from a back alleyway where his horse wed with throngs of folks in the busy street. Some of the old hickory wood framed buildings looked too perilous to be inside what had once been skeletal remains of a glorious past. But in the distance at the edge of town a building boon was taking place where the fresh smell of sawdust competed with the dirt. The mystery preacher breathed in the fresh cut wood and headed for the one place where land was bought and sold.
With a sack of money from his saddlebag, the preacher dismounted and weaved his way through the waves of people along the clapboard floors until he found the land office. Many a folk scurried to the mercantile store or turned into the saloon to pass the remaining day where shouts and song mixed and mingled.
As the preacher passed through the door, he tipped his hat to the young lady in a blue calico dress that swept the floor. Hosea was taken back by her honey hair and angelic-blue eyes. She smelled of lavender and lace. It made him self-aware of his spoiled earthen smells, as he took off his hat and freed his unruly hair. "Afternoon Ma'am. Is this where I can buy a piece of property?"
"Welcome to Purgatory, my name is Laura Roberts, and this is my husband Lance." Her rosy face nodded at the man behind a red oak desk, wearing a visor and vest, counting money. "He might be able to help you, sir. But all the mining claims have played out or there'd be a line in the street."
Thanks, Ma'am," he said, as he held his hat in one gloved hand and his pouch of money in the other. "But you said, Purgatory. I was under the impression the town's name was Silver Creek."
Laura looked amused at the preacher's lost face. "It was once called Purgatory, that is until Dirk Blake, the man who brought the town, say from the ashes, decided he needed a new name. But he never changed its reputation as a place between heaven and hell."
Mr. Roberts stopped counting his money and gave Laura a stern look. "Laura! I swear, are you trying to run folk off or invite them in?"
Laura's smile disappeared. "My apologies, ah, Mr. ah..."
"Hosea Blackburn, Ma'am, and I'm not look-in' for land to mine. I've another harvest in mind. As I surveyed from the mountain above, I noticed no church or steeple to speak of."
Laura looked over at her husband in amazement. "Well, see there. This man seeks a wealth of lost souls, Amen, Reverend."
Lance Roberts went back to counting his money until he heard a bag of coins drop on his desk. "All we have for sale would be some land above the flood plain halfway between here and Silver Creek. Prime land for building."
"I'd like to offer this as a retainer on the property."
Lance looked skeptical. "Without seeing it first?"
Laura chimed in. "I can show him on my way back to our house on the hill."
Lance nodded. "Price is more than a hundred an acre. You can stake your claim to it. But final approval of land goes through the owner of Land and Trust."
Hosea itched his days old beard. "Let me guess. That would be Dirk Blake."
"You catch on faster than when a bull sees red," said Lance. He pulled out a record book, dipped his feathered pen in an inkwell, and wrote out a receipt. He held out a copy to Hosea. "Pleasure doing business with you, sir."
Hosea reached out with a gloved hand took the receipt and shook on it.
Lance looked puzzled. "I suppose you take protecting your hands as a serious obligation, man of the cloth and all."
"I...my hands were badly burned in a fire years ago. Wearing the gloves sometimes help me forget." Hosea turned toward Laura who opened the door.
Laura smiled. "I will see you for supper husband and will set a place for Mr. Blake this evening."
Lance was crouched down clicking open the safe. "Keep an eye out for mountain lions. I'd hate for one of them to get into a scrap with you my dear."
Hosea followed Laura Roberts, as she mounted her horse next to his. She escorted the preacher within eye shot of the town and from the other direction toward Silver Creek, where he could hear the clanging of metal on rocks and smell the smoke of their encampments.
Hosea beamed to know he'd found the ideal place for a church, a crossroad between the families seeking their fortunes in the creek and the town where they get resupplied.
As Hosea turned toward Laura, he realized she could have seen the long scar on his neck. He turned his collar up and hoped she hadn't noticed something more about his past.
Laura stiffened in her saddle. "This is where I leave you. Our house is over yonder in the foothills. I feel you should be forewarned. Mr. Blake can be a difficult man to deal with. They love or hate him here. Some see him as a hero who saved the town from ruin; others see him as a tyrant."
Hosea tipped his hat. "Ma'am, how do you see him?"
"I see him as my brother. As you know we don't get to pick kin."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Do yourself and your horse with no name a favor. Go see the blacksmith on the edge of town. You will find a warm meal and a place for the night. Just tell him Laura Roberts sent you."
"Patches, Ma'am. My horse's name."
"That's a right good name for a horse. And call me Mrs. Roberts, the word Ma'am makes me feel a lick too old."
Laura kicked the sides of her horse and gave slack to her reins where she bounded up a winding trail and disappeared between patch of pines mingled with white birch trees.
By forestport12
Hosea rode his horse back into the edge of town where he could hear the pounding of the Blacksmiths hammer on his anvil. As he parted with his horse and tethered him to the post outside the shop, he walked into the open area where the sounds pounded louder.
Sparks flew around and singed the black beard of the beefy man. Then he took his metal tong and placed the blade into the barrel of water where it sizzled and cooled. The smell of scalded iron wafted through the air.
Hosea approached cautiously. The blacksmith turned where it was revealed he had one eye blind. "What can I do fer ya?"
"Excuse me, I'm new in town, but a Mrs. Laura Roberts thought it best if I asked you if my horse and I could board for the night."
He tugged and rubbed on his fried beard. "Mrs. Roberts eh?"
"Yes, sir, names Hosea. I intend to build a house for the Lord on some land outside of town."
The blacksmith took his time, rubbing his chin, sorting through thoughts. He wore a blue denim bib without a shirt and had various scars running up and down his arms and across his chest. "If Mrs. Roberts asked, then I'm obliged to help. But all I got is an empty stable."
"That'll do just fine."
Hosea untied his horse from the post outside and walked him toward the empty stable. The blacksmith bobbed over to him. "My name is William. Folk...folk call me B...Billy."
Hosea nodded, pulled out some bills in his pocket and tried to pay Billy.
Billy held up his hand. "No...no sir. It's about one rung up from sleeping in...in the alley."
Hosea could tell the beefy, intimidating man had a persistent stutter. He settled in the horse stable with Patches. He used his saddle with a spike of hay for a pillow. He pulled out some buffalo jerky and shared it with his horse. "This ain't so bad, Patches. A darn sight better than the salt flats, eh?"
****
Dirk Blake rode his horse, cloaked in darkness. She neighed and bucked, as if sniffing a mountain lion hiding among boulders. Dirk pulled his pistol and thumbed back his trigger, as the horse deftly threaded the trail until the lights of the front porch house glowed with oil lamps in each window.
He eased from his saddle and walked on to the front porch with thuds and clomps from his boots. He knocked on the door and toyed with his moustache.
Mrs. Laura Roberts opened the door. The smell of roasted chicken found Dirk's nose and made his mouth water. "My goodness Laura, the smell alone is enough to make a scarecrow hungry."
Mr. Roberts walked across the varnished floor in the glow of oil lamps staged between them. He went toward Dirk and corralled him with a hug. "How are you Mr. Mayor, that is, depending on what hat you wear today."
Dirk hung his leather jacket on the coat rack along with his black hat, and then wiped his alligator boots on the rug by the door.
Dirk looked at Lance. "I've been hearing someone new is in town. They say he claims to be a preacher. Came to dig for a vein of lost souls."
"News travels around here faster than greased lightning," said Lance. "Come in. Sit. The usual? Brandy?" He opened a glass cabinet with the bottle and two empty glasses. Dirk sat down at the end of the dinner table with an ornate white cloth and fine china. He ringed his neck with a napkin while Lance poured him a drink.
Mrs. Roberts, Dirk's sister, wiped her hands on her apron and walked toward the stove where she pulled out the roasted chicken with her thick mittens. "Gentlemen, I present to you our free roaming chicken who wanders no more."
Dirk sipped on his poured glass of brandy then sniffed it, allowing it to settle in his nose. He leaned in toward Lance who sat near his side. "Folk might decide they need the church more than my saloon. Might not be good for business. But go ahead and approve his plot. We'll see how much sand he has in him for Purgatory.
Lance all to eager to please, nodded, as they sipped on their glass of brandy.
As Laura walked in with steaming vegetables, she let her sarcasm flow like molten lava. "It be a shame if folk put money in an offering plate than on whiskey and whores."
Laura's hot tongue drew criticism from Lance. "Your brother rebuilt this town, Laura. Have you no thanks?"
Laura smiled. "Part of a town's good foundation needs a place to thank God. Families who put down roots help a town grow."
"Time will tell," said Dirk, as he gnawed on an ear of corn.
"Should I presume my brother to have soul?"
"Used to have one when we were kids Laura. No need here for it."
Laura's smile turned into a smirk, as she served the men and waited on them. It made her husband frown more.
Dirk put his own thoughts in the open. "Thing is Laura, my sister, sometimes a preacher can be a wolf in sheep's clothing. Watch and see if his offerings don't line his pockets first."
Before Laura could answer, Lance chimed in. "I bet this stranger has a checkered past."
The men snorted with laughter. Laura decided not to join them for dinner. The men tucked a handkerchief under their chins and feasted on chicken legs. Afterward the men sat on the front porch with a lantern, overlooking the town, smoking fat cigars and discussing the property business at hand.
As the men lounged Laura looked out the window in the lamplight and couldn't help but notice the steam coming from the rocks below. It made her wonder then, what kind of foundation they had.
***
In the blacksmiths stable Hosea rested his head back on the pile of hay over his saddle. His horse patches laid down in the hay, exhausted from the long journey, only lifting her head now and then to look at Hosea through black marble eyes.
Hosea pulled out his harmonica. In the peace and quiet, he waved his hand over the mouth organ creating a haunting rendition of the "Sweet by and By."
The blacksmith could be heard from his cot on the other side of the half walls, snoring whenever Hosea took a break from his mouthpiece. A fire glowed from the pit where the man earned his station in life.
Hosea pulled out his pocket watch with the black and white faded photo of his wife in it, and to him it seemed like ages ago, a different lifetime. He looked into her dark eyes, her wisp of smile, her ruffled blouse, her raven hair in a bun. "I don't have a right to even look at you." A tear escaped an eye and trickled down his leathery skin. But it was never enough to put out the past fire that changed all.
Hosea tucked his pocket watch back in his vest and rested his eyes until they grew heavy as steel traps. He always prayed for a dreamless night, but this time he found himself in the old cave of a mine, until he followed the light to the other side that turned into a wall of fire. Before he knew it, his feet were glued to the ground, unable to move, he watched helpless, as his house in Chicago burned to the ground and heard the blood curdling screams of his wife and daughters. His mouth wide open, but unable yell, he watched the burning house collapse.
Hosea shot up from his bed, his burned hands searching for an invisible door. He took a deep breath. His heart pounded like a hammer to an anvil. He eyes darted about the half-dark wood frame around him. A cold sweat cascaded across his forehead. His horse lifted from her side, startled, then she gently rested back against the hay.
Hosea's only solace was the vision from his death bed. A vision he'd yet to share. He tucked it back into his mind and slipped back to sleep.
| Author Notes | I made one important change in my book. Instead of the town's name changed to Silver Creek, from Purgatory, I've decided to make the name stay as a Purgatory and will edit the title of my book to Purgatory Ridge. |
By forestport12
Finding men to employ in the building of Hosea's church was proving to be a difficult task. A few men had come from the creek who were running out of money and not finding gold. They would labor for enough money to buy supplies and then head back with fervent gold fever.
Hosea had used two brothers who brought timber from the mill on their wagon and made a good start with a saber-toothed saw until a skeletal shape took hold from above and the smell of sawdust filled the air. But after their first week's wages, the men bought more supplies including whiskey and disappeared back into the hills of Silver Creek to the mine they claimed.
Alone again on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a few streaks of clouds in a fiery blue sky, Hosea looked to the heavens from his ladder. He placed a square nail down between thumb and forefinger and raised his hammer as if he could slay the world. The ladder wobbled beneath him. The hammer missed, and he mashed his thumb. He yelped and cursed under his breath while clinging to the ladder.
A voice bellowed from below, startling Hosea. "Say, preacher! You got yourself in a pickle? Tell me something. Didn't Noah have help when he built the ark?"
Hosea twisted and turned to see the source of the booming voice. The pain was alive on his face. He shook his throbbing thumb and bit down on his tongue. Clinging to the ladder as it swayed, he figured the man with a handlebar mustache and shoelace tie to be none other than Dirk Blake. A wiry fellow with a grizzled beard and silver badge stood next to him.
Dirk tipped his hat. "This is our sheriff, Jack Colder. And I'm Dirk Blake, the town's mayor and owner of the saloon."
Hosea grimaced and nodded, unable to speak without pain.
"You have a parcel of land which I approved. Just so you know, you're in the town limits. In this town, everyone ponies up and puts their fair share to fund the public trust."
Dirk spoke as if his words were dipped in honey, but Hosea knew it only made the poison taste sweeter.
"Well sir, no offense. But I believe under our constitution a house of prayer and worship is not to be taxed."
Dirk put his thumbs to his vest and with a belly laugh offered his view of the constitution. He looked at the sheriff in disbelief. "I reckon this man, hasn't heard." He looked up at Hosea with his hand to shade his eyes. "This is the Nevada Territory, a country all by itself."
Dirk looked back at the sheriff who nodded but with a glum look. He looked to Hosea as if he was old as dirt with stray gray hair under his hat, not the kind of man to pin a badge on unless you owned him like you might an artifact.
The sheriff spoke with a profound twang. "No one is above the law. Not even a preacher." He spat a wad of tobacco that landed on one of the minister's planks of wood.
Hosea hoped his own silence would snuff out the fuse that seemed to be placed under his feet.
Dirk folded his arms. "I recall we had a young preacher with peach fuzz on his face who preached from a wagon. One day his horse got spooked and the fellow fell on his head. He was never the same after that."
The sheriff chimed in. "Yes sir, he used to preach fire and brimstone, and after that, he wandered the streets blabbering like an idiot. Some say he wandered off a cliff. You might say he never regained his balance."
The pair looked up, as if proud that their script of words found the bullseye. Dirk waved his hand. "Have a nice day, Reverend." They walked back toward the hard-packed dirt of Main street and left Hosea to look up at the wavy blue afternoon as if he wanted to have a spat with his creator.
Hosea closed his eyes and prayed. Then he looked around him. The streets were almost empty, as most folks were down at Silver Creek. In part, He'd hoped for a stray, maybe someone who looked for work and could help him finish the building.
In the distance from Hosea's high view, he watched a ragged boy hiding under the stairs to the bakery. He lit a firecracker and tossed it by the front store side.
Lydia ran out with her apron on and her father close behind with a rolling pin in his hand. It was enough to distract them, as the boy charged up the steps and snuck into the back of the bakery.
Seconds later the boy scampered off with a loaf of bread and a piece of cake stuffed in his mouth. Hosea watched him round the blacksmith's shop and hide behind a crop of trees not far from where Hosea set up his camp.
Hosea scaled down from the ladder. He laid down his tool belt and took up his gun belt. The sheriff's henchmen were closing in when they heard the noise and were told what happened. It appeared the boy had a penchant for stealing. But he took to stave off hunger and stay alive.
It was unusual for a child to be in town without a family. Most folks who lost someone in the mine explosion had the mother who left back east after the mine played out.
As the men closed in, the boy shifted about and finally settled in Hosea's tent. He watched the tent move and heard the shuffling, confirming his suspicions.
Lydia headed toward Hosea as the men searched the fringes of the wilderness and woods. "Mr. Blackburn, I...I mean Reverend. Have you seen the boy?"
Hosea had not introduced himself and figured word got out about who he was and why he was there. And Hosea would have lied to himself if he hadn't noticed the attractive gale with a smudge of flour on her nose.
The modest young gale approached Hosea. She had chestnut-colored hair and dark maple eyes. And she smelled of cinnamon. She spoke in a low tone, so only Hosea could hear her." I've tried to corral the boy before and get him help. I believe he's been living on the mountain in an old miner's shack not far from his folk's graveside."
Hosea was dumbstruck and listening.
"I fear they might jail him this time or worse, give him licks with a bullwhip." He's just a boy. He don't know any better."
Hosea could feel his blood boil. He tugged on his jaw. "I know where he hid."
Lydia's eyes lit up.
"Follow me." Hosea sped over to his tent and dove in where the boy hid under his cot. Lydia struggled down the path to keep up with him.
"Stay down there, boy. And I will cover for you. Don't move or make a sound."
By then, he figured the sandy-haired boy would be too scared not to stay stiff.
Lydia looked concerned. She whispered in his ear as the men circled like jackals. "Preacher, you wouldn't lie for the boy?"
One of the sheriff's men stalked out of the woods, as the sunlight sparkled in the leaves. "Hey there, have you seen that little scoundrel?" The men eyed the pair down.
Lydia spoke up before Hosea could get out his first word. "I saw the squirt take off for the foothills. Sometimes he sleeps in the cemetery to be near his kin."
The men looked at each other. Some scratched the coarse hair under their hats.
"Gentlemen, if you got the brass to make it there by nightfall, then you might find him."
They all looked at each other. One spoke for them all. "He ain't worth it. Besides, if n you don't care, it all started with your place.
A moment of silence held like a prayer.
"Let's go finish our drinks boys before someone else does."
As the men left, Hosea figured they had a healthy fear of the place where the mining men died after the explosion. He'd heard the rumors, that they called it, "Ghost Mountain."
Hosea stuck his head in the tent that looked as if a raccoon had ransacked his place. "Boy. You come out now. Nobody's going to hurt you."
"James, it's okay," said Lydia. "I'm not mad at you. I would have given you bread if you asked."
The boy popped out from under Hosea's cot with cuts and bruises on his arms from bounding in the thickets of the woods.
Hosea placed his thick scarred hands on his shoulders. "You can stay with me and be my helper. Room and board."
Lydia glowed. "Don't you two worry none about meals."
"What do you say, James? Do we have an agreement?" He asked.
James nodded.
Hosea turned to Lydia with hawkish eyes. "A child shall lead us." He spoke as if a message charged through his hands from the boy's shoulders. "God is not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."
It startled Lydia who stumbled backward with fear and wonder
| Author Notes | The books name will be changed to A Place Called Purgatory, not Hosea and the Lost Souls. |
By forestport12
Hosea rode up the mountain on Patches with the boy James clinging to his backside. The sun bathed the red boulders with a fiery hue and the morning mist dissolved in front of them, as the heavens opened a path for them to the cemetery on a ridge.
Half the men in town were buried on the ridge when the mine exploded. But for James, it was a much bigger blow. His own mother couldn't accept the death of his father. She'd thrown herself off a cliff nearby. Talk in town was, her restless spirit wandered among the graves looking for her husband. Hosea was determined to put the boy's mind at ease. The preacher's heart was about to burst at the seams. He'd rescue the boy from Purgatory, even if his life depended on it.
Near halfway, Hosea turned his horse broadside where he and James looked down at the town of Purgatory. It gave them a bird's eyes view of the church bell hoisted by a series of ropes to the top of the church building.
Lydia, the baker's daughter had found some God-fearing souls camped along Silver Creek who were impressed by the mercy shown to the orphan boy by the preacher, they decided the gold-digging could wait for a spell. It turned out there was a remnant of souls who could be found.
Hosea craned his neck around and spoke to James. "I will let you pull the cord on the bell come this Sunday."
James cracked a smile. "They look like ants."
Hosea sighed and breathed in the crisp morning air. "The higher you go, boy, the less big and important it all seems."
"You suppose it is how God sees things?"
Hosea squeezed one eye. "Well now. I can tell you're a thinker. But it's more than God having a bird's eye view. It's all about what he sees inside of us. It's him who knows and sees the end from the beginning."
Hosea kicked the side of Patches and turned the horse up the trail and over one of the mountain brooks until the cemetery was in view. Yards away was an old miner's shack with holes for windows where the young boy had made his home.
Hosea slipped off his horse where he took James into his arms. The horse found some patches of grass between smooth rocks and seemed to be contented.
The boy took Hosea by the hand through unmarked graves until he came to a place where James had fashioned two sticks together with an old shoelace to make a cross. Near some mossy ground, the boy found some blooming flowers. He plucked them and made a hasty bouquet.
Among the hastily made graves with barely enough dirt to cover bones, James knelt down where his parents had been buried together as one. James had carved his last name, Miller. He gently laid the dandelions on the mound of earth and bowed prostrate as if to plead to an unknown God.
Hosea's shadow with a wide-brimmed hat shielded the boy from the sun. He placed his gloved hands on the boy's shoulders. "I don't know if your folks can look down from heaven, but I know they'd be right proud of you."
The boy craned his neck and looked at Hosea where a tear stung his eye and trickled down his pale face. He turned back as if his folks were somehow stuck there beneath the dirt and dust.
Hosea rested both hands on the boy and squeezed. Tears pressed against his eyes. "You need to know this is your memory place, to honor and pay respect, but that they are yonder. Their spirits are at peace."
As Hosea squeezed his shoulders again, a kind of liquid love, a spiritual baptism coursed through him until It seemed to send shivers through the boy, who shuddered a bit.
James stood on wobbly knees. "Ma and Pa. I aim to make you proud. I promise to do my best to stay out of trouble. I'm in good hands now. Preacher says I need to live my purpose."
With those words, the preacher fell back to his knees, as if struck by lightning. He clutched his chest and erupted with a wave of emotions. The boy's words brought back to life the moment he'd stuck his hands in the fire of his home back in Chicago. His hands were burned when he passed out. But he was unable to save his wife and daughters.
It scared the boy. He must have feared Hosea was having a heart attack. He rallied toward him, as Hosea writhed on the ground. "Reverend don't die on me too! Don't you dare leave me! Tell me what to do!"
For a moment Hosea couldn't speak, overwhelmed with the thoughts of his own despair from the past. He looked up at James and saw his desperation. He saw unconditional love. The boy didn't care who he was in the past and his failures that could have been read like a scroll. He reached upward and clutched his collar. James helped him up.
"I'm all right. This town needs us. We have to warn them. Someday you will understand. From here on out, we walk by faith and not by sight."
**
James thought he spoke in riddles. Afterall from the plateau they had a crisp, sunny view of the whole town and beyond where men mined for gold along Silver Creek. He couldn't imagine closing his eyes and surviving the trail down the mountain.
| Author Notes | In proceeding chapters, the conflict between the preacher and Dirk will continue to build. |
By forestport12
The sun settled over the mountains like a fiery red ball when Hosea's horse eased through the gravelly descent toward town. James squeezed Hosea and buried his chin in his back.
From a distance the town glowed with a reddish hue and the sounds of revelry from the saloon pierced the evening sky. Buffeted by boulders like Gods in a garden, Hosea kept one hand on the reins while he fingered his revolver in case a mountain lion lurked.
After the horse found the hard-packed dirt leading through an alleyway, he and the boy passed by the saloon where the painted ladies gathered on the balcony calling out to potential customers.
Hosea looked straight ahead, until the catcalls came. "Hey preacher, first poke is on the house. And we don't mind baby sittin' the young un."
Hosea halted his horse and lifted his hat. He raised his voice over the hoots and hollers inside the saloon. "God did not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." Then Hosea appeared to take a bow, before his horse galloped to the edge of town.
One young whore gave a parting shot. "I'd sure like to run my fingers through your hair and test your manhood, preacher!"
Lydia stepped out from the bakery with a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She eyed the preacher and boy with a stern look. "I was worried sick about you two. Thought for sure you'd been jumped by a mountain lion or been caught in a rockslide."
Lydia folded her arms and pouted. Hosea thought she looked prettier when her small lips curled, and her brown eyes flared.
Hosea lowered James down from the horse before he dismounted where he tethered Patches to the hitching post. "I should have been more considerate, Lydia. I...I'm not used to having or...that is being in such a tender-hearted company that cares where I come and go."
Lydia went from a scowl to blushing. "Please come inside here in a back way. I've got a table set with some hot venison stew."
Drunkards from the saloon spilled into the streets. Shouts and gunfire erupted.
Lydia turned toward the revelry in the streets. "Things have been hard lately, dividing the wheat from the tare since gold's got scarce. Some are spending more time getting drunk and living off their last dollar while family folk has stopped their backsliding long enough to build your house of God."
Just as the three were about to enter from the steps to the bakery a strange hissing sound came from the forested woods and rocks. It was the sound of exploding steam like a hot spring geyser. A mushroom spray could be seen in the twilight.
James's jaw dropped, and so did Lydia's, as she eyed the preacher. "Why, I'll be bushwhacked. I've never seen the likes of it before. There must be an underground spring."
Lydia reached inside the doorway and grabbed the lantern hanging from the hook. She handed it to Hosea. Lydia and James followed his lead. He shined the light between a boulder and some trees. The hot spray showered his face.
Hosea turned to Lydia and the boy, as warm drops like pearls clung to his beard. "Looks like the ground is giving up her secrets."
Hosea wanted to say more. He wanted to tell the pair that he had an inkling there was a boiling cauldron beneath their feet. He wanted to warn them hell would soon break free. But he knew they weren't ready to believe him-least not yet.
By forestport12
Come Sunday morning, the sky above the mountains had such a blue hue, it looked as if one could swim in it. There was a stillness in the air and a pleasant fragrance from the dew on daffodils along the trails.
Suddenly the silence was broken, as a procession of wagons appeared on the road from Silver Creek. Families of folks were dressed in their Sunday best. Ladies sported bonnets and hearty smiles. The men had spit-shined shoes and wool jackets. The boys hung on to their floppy hats as they bounced around in the back of the wagons, and little girls with ribbons and curls looked like cherub angels.
Within the bell tower, James had an ear to ear grin with his hands and wrist tightly wrapped around the rope. Hosea watched with an eager heart as the train of wagons came over the hill. He nodded to James who took a deep breath and tugged on the rope until it nearly carried him away.
@
The bell clanged with a reverberating sound that traveled through the openings of the saloon and all the clapboard walls in town. The ground tremored, and it moved Dirk Blake off his chair in his office from on high. He fell to the floor before he could look out the window and see the shiny bell and know where the noise came from. "For Pete's sake!" He looked over at the shocked sheriff who tried to stand his ground. "That preacher gets under my skin!"
The lanky sheriff held the newspaper article from Chicago that had been recently delivered. Dirk had sent one of his men to investigate the preacher's past.
Dirk scrambled from the floor and looked out the window, as the bell shook the walls and turned a painting. He winced and shifted over to the sheriff. Snatching the old newspaper clipping from the sheriff's hand, He read it to himself and smiled with a fiendish grin.
@
As the tongue swung inside the bell, it caused a tremor and the noise was deafening. The boy had his ears plugged with beeswax. Hosea held his fingers to his ears. They laughed out loud, but not a soul could hear them.
Hosea preached his first message that morning to near a full house. He opened the Bible with his gloved hands and spoke about the disciples who witnessed to a man and told them, "Silver and gold have I none but such as in the name of Jesus, rise up and walk."
Hosea waxed on, as the crowd perked up and listened as if it were the last days. "Dear friends, money is not the root of evil, but it is the love of money. It is about trusting the one who owns it all, who made the earth and all her minerals, and then made man from the dust of the ground but also made him in his own image. We must trust the wealth of God's love."
Dirk and his sheriff burst through the double-doors as if itching to break it up. But then Dirk looked on with amusement as if to him Hosea was more of a carnival barker. He sat next to a boy in the back of the hard pew while the sheriff stood near.
Folks clapped with shouts of, "Amen!"
Hosea was about to call sinners out when Dirk stood and interrupted his closing. "Yes, preacher! Amen! Amen!" He looked around at the stunned and nervous folk. "And why don't you make yourself known, Reverend?" I'm sure these folks would like to know the kind of sinner you are, a man who couldn't save his own family from a burning fire because you were a drunken coward."
Dirks words gutted Hosea with precision and depth as if he were in a slaughterhouse. He closed his Bible and glared his way where the scar on his neck was visible from the light that shone. But he was speechless, void of words.
Since Dirk had everyone's undivided attention, he read the old newspaper clipping. "House fire claimed the lives of a Mrs. Gloria Blackburn and Hosea Blackburn's two daughters, ages seven and nine. It was investigated and confirmed that the fire was accidental. However, when Mr. Blackburn recovered in the hospital, he admitted under investigation that it was his fault, though he claims he tried to save them. Evidence found, revealed that he'd been drinking on the front porch and may have caused the fire by a stray match."
A heavy silence took hold, enough to hear the slightest shift in feet. A few murmured and some coughed. Dirk smacked of pride at the moment. His chest swelled. His eyes danced.
Hosea looked down. He wanted to find a hole in the ground. He wished for a trap door, so he could disappear. Some folks filed out. Dirk fanned the flames with his smile.
Lydia stood and implored the faithful. "Are you going to let Mr. Blake deny your right to worship? God's message doesn't hinge on a man. No man is perfect."
Suddenly some folks couldn't make up their mind what to do. Some left, others waited out the drama. Mr. Lansing tried to pull his wife Laura along by the arm. But she shook him off and gave her brother Dirk a scowl.
Dirk looked at Lydia and waved his paper. "Carry on then, by all means. In fact, I have found many a guilty man who ask forgiveness at the end of a rope or when they've been struck with a lead bullet, coughing up blood."
Hosea held on to his pulpit with a vice-like grip. It was all he could do to keep a lid on his temper. Lydia stood her ground and inched closer to Dirk. "Let this man be. He's got a right to do his duty."
Dirk bowed and snaked out toward the door with the sheriff in tow.
Lydia offered a parting shot. "I know your business in town is off. Don't blame God or the preacher."
Dirk shoved the double doors open enough for the light to shine over the remaining folks that included Billy the blacksmith who rubbed his beard.
As Dirk and the sheriff departed, Billy, who was sitting next to the boy James, told the preacher he was ready to have his sins forgiven.
Billy the blacksmith filled the aisle with his wide frame. No man would have quarreled with any decision he made as he parted the way toward Hosea who urged him forward.
Hosea removed his gloves for the remnant left to see, that his burnt hands were the testimony of his failed love for his family. As Billy knelt down, Hosea rested his scarred hands on his shoulders.
As Hosea prayed over Billy, the ground shook and the frame of the building swayed. The remaining faithful looked at the preacher with a mix of wonder and fear. The church bell dinged with an ominous tone.
Hosea squeezed his eyes shut. "Dear Lord, you are not willing that any should perish, but all should come to repentance."
Lydia clasped her arms around James and locked eyes on Hosea with a fresh sense of foreboding. The earth shifted beneath their feet.
Hosea knew God's wrath was brewing. Time was running out like a slick hourglass full of fine sand.
| Author Notes |
|
By forestport12
After the tremor and the clang of the church bell, those who remained looked at each other not knowing if they should stay or run. Chunks of plaster fell from the dove-white walls and a jigsaw crack formed between stain-glass windows.
Laura Lansing found her feet and stumbled toward the open double doors. She looked at Lydia and Hosea with wide eyes. Her mouth opened but words failed her. Then she joined the crowd gathered on the main road between the church and town. Folks had run outside for safety, only to find a ripped seam in the earth where steam towered and mushroomed into the sky.
Hosea, Lydia, and the boy James remained in the church house. Lydia found her balance in the aisle with her hands on the boy's shoulders. Hosea stood alone on the platform clinging to the side of the pulpit. A heavy silence came between them
Leaning against the pew, Lydia hugged James and placed her chin on his sandy-brown hair, she looked at Hosea, as if expecting answers. When her eyes latched on him, he looked away.
Lydia left James to sit and cling to a pew. She closed in on the preacher who dove from the stage. As Lydia was about to speak a sparrow wandered in and flirted above them along the rafters. The sparkling sun revealed diamonds of dust between them. James watched the bird try to find an exit. The bird crashed into one of the windows trying to escape.
Lydia turned toward the boy who climbed from the pew and fetched the bird. He clasped it gently in both hands. He shifted toward the back doors and met the bright sunlight. The pair watched James stroke the tender bird with his index finger. He opened his hands and the bird flew free.
Lydia turned toward Hosea with her glistening brown eyes. She stood close enough for him to taste the air of her minted breath. She placed her fist on his chest as if to pound on his heart. "I'll have no more riddles or pious words. Tell us what we got ourselves into."
Hosea acted as if every word formed would hurt. He was a reluctant prophet. "I need you...I need you to trust me. This is just a start. Folks need to heed the warnings."
The crack in the earth outside ruptured sending plums of white-hot ash into the air. The curious folk ran for cover. Most of them sought shelter in town as a film of ash covered the eaves and porches.
Lydia pressed Hosea. "I reckon this town's about to get swallowed whole. That don't square with many of us."
Hosea gave her a resigned look. "I never bargained for this. I...I came to find my way."
Lydia looked back at the boy who sat in the pew with large eyes and big ears. "My father sunk everything we had in the bakery. Are you saying we should run for our lives? Leave everythin' behind."
"I want you to go up the mountain. If you go to the miner shack where James lived, you will be safe until I convince others to leave and that be Billy the blacksmith and your father too."
"I'm not leaving without you. And you don't know this town. They got nowhere else to go, including my father."
Hosea watched the panic from the open church doors. A horse and wagon tried to ride over the rift in the road and got swallowed in the plume of smoke and wedged inside the cavernous divide.
"I don't understand. You just got here. Families sacrificed to build this house. And now the earth moves. Was this all for nothin?"
Lydia reached for his hands and before Hosea could dissuade her, it was too late. She placed his scarred hands to her face until he knew a current of his troubled past found her.
Hosea pulled his hands away and held them up as if he were a leper! His heart pecked like a trapped bird to his ribcage. He put his hands around the small of her back, knowing he could hide his past no longer.
#####
Lydia's eyes blazed, trapped in his past. A tremor ran through her body, as she caught a glimpse of what haunted his life. She hears the screams of children. A house melts and caves to the ground. Fire rains debris around Hosea who collapses in the yard, unable to save them, wishing he died. A house that once was a home. Alone.
Lydia broke free and fell backward. James rushed forward, unable to catch her. She heaved and sighed with a look of shock and awe.
Hosea rushed to her, leaned over. She scrambled to her feet. Her hair twisted in knots, she looked as if a bolt of lightning singed her, head to toe.
"Why? Why? Lydia shuddered in place. "Why would you bring this to us? It was never about staying here. It was about watching the town's demise."
Hosea looked pained to explain. "I came to warn you. To...to save you and others. Folk like you and James don't belong here."
Hosea bolted outside to try and calm the throng. He expected fear on their faces. But he was wrong. They gathered on the other side near the town, as the ground settled, and a film of ash rested on their feet and shoulders.
A woman's voice rang out, hidden in the crowd. "You brought us this curse! He's the reason why the earth moves!"
A rock buzzed past his ear. Then another smacked the side of his head until blood trickled down. He fingered the blood and stared at the angry mob.
Another voice rang out from the mass of folks in town. "You need to leave! Go back to where you came from!" The crowd murmured with approval.
Dazed and stumbling, Hosea held his hands up in the air. It ain't me. You all need to leave and start anew."
Someone shouted. "It's you that needs to leave!"
They responded with more rocks culled from the splintered earth. Lydia ran outside and grabbed his arm and led him inside the church house, as they were pelted with a flurry of rocks.
They closed the double doors. Lydia and James clung to each other. Hosea knew without another word said that they needed the mountain more than the four walls
| Author Notes | This is a work of speculative fiction with a montage of Bible inferences from Moses and the plagues to Jonah and warning a city. |
By forestport12
The mob surged toward the church house. Hosea ushered Lydia and James beyond the altar and out the back door before the throng had a chance to surround it. They dashed into the woods where Hosea kept a campsite.
With Hosea's horse Patches tethered near his tent, Hosea gathered a saddlebag of goods, and placed both it and his companions on his horse, leading them through the tangled brush.
Saplings slapped Lydia's face. Thorns and thistles tore her dress and scrapped her legs. James buried his chin in her back and hung on as they ducked through the overgrowth. Hosea led them with the horse across the road close to the gold camps and out of sight from the unruly mob in town.
The trio navigated their way up an unfamiliar trail on the mountain where they could see the Lansing house on high.
With a sweat of fear on Lydia's forehead, she remarked to Hosea who stopped to catch his breath and rest along a crop of rocks. "I should talk to Laura. She's Dirk's sister, but she's never liked the town and what it represents."
In a gulf of silence, Hosea looked toward town and could see more hot air and mist spewing into the robin blue sky, creating a cloud over the crowds. He breathed a sigh. "Ask Laura if we can have some rations. When things subside, I need to go back and preach. That's what I came here for."
Hosea took James off the horse where they found a trickling creek of fresh water coming from a ledge of rocks. They both got down on their knees next to Patches who slurped at the water with his thick tongue.
The boy looked at Patches who whinnied, then he looked at how Hosea cupped the water with his hands and drank. He mimicked his mentor, cupping the water in his hands and slurping. Then he spewed the water from his mouth, spraying Hosea's face.
Hosea fell backward and laughed over the matter.
James took exception. "Taint funny. Water's warm as stew."
Hosea's brow dug in. "Signs of the times, son. Lord don't want no lukewarm Christians."
Hosea knew there was more to say. The boy was not ready to hear the whole judgement. And the preacher had a job to finish.
"Are we in a heap of trouble," Asked James, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Hosea kept silent. Then he pulled a piece of deer jerky from his vest pocket and snapped it in half to share with the boy. The boy sat cross-legged with his floppy hat over his ears. They rested in the shade under a rocky ledge.
A tremor made the mountain tremble again. Hosea reined in Patches, as some shale rock skittered down the mountain over their heads.
Hosea looked at the boy who hunched his shoulders and slid beside him. "Don't you fret none. God has plans for you, to give you a hope and a future. One day a child will lead his remnant. And I believe he's chosen you."
Hosea knew his eyes glistened with tears to say it. The boy looked into his eyes as if to read into his soul.
James rested his head on Hosea's shoulder. "I won't go anywhere without you." Hosea needed the boy and Lydia more than they knew. It was the first time in years since the fire in Chicago took his family that he had anyone to love and care for.
Hosea looked away and saw Lydia shouldering a pack with her tattered skirt hiked, scampering over the rocks. She skipped over the creek and spoke out of breath. "Laura says, she... she knows this town's under judgement. She fears an avalanche. But she's got her mind made up to try and talk sense into her muleheaded brother."
Hosea stood and held the reins. "I have to go back. If you take the boy up the mountain, no harm will come. I will return. I promise."
"Is it too late for the town to be saved? My father?"
"Can't say, but this town won't last. It will be swallowed whole." It left a bitter taste in Hosea' s mouth saying it. "Folks been living above a shifting sea of fire a thin crust of earth. Nature itself will have its way with them, less God intervenes."
Hosea pushed her backside over the edge, as he spat dirt showering his face. "I will return." He placed James on his shoulders where Lydia pulled him up over the ridge.
She looked down at Hosea. "Tell my father, we can start over. Hogtie him if need be."
"It shan't be much further on foot to the miners cabin." Hosea handed her one of his pistols. "You know how to shoot?"
"Between the eyes-if the target is willing to hold for a spell."
Hosea nodded. "It should be cooler up there. But this town will be sweltering." He tugged on the reins of his horse and led Patches between boulders toward town.
But even Hosea couldn't so sure their anger wouldn't be stirred even more than before, like a witches cauldron waiting for the tender flesh.
By forestport12
Hosea glassed a black cloud on the range in the foothills moving toward town. As he sat on his horse on a cliffs edge, he heard the swarming sound of locusts devouring the greenery in its path until it covered the town in a black mask. He stroked Patches who whinnied in response. "Now, now, don't fret God's will none. I don't want to go down there again, no more than Jonah wanted to be in the belly of the whale."
Minutes later the skies cleared to a pearly-blue. But the sun hung low in the town, threatening to wilt any plant that may have survived the locust. Hosea, the preacher hated leaving Lydia and James alone at the miner's cabin, but he knew they were safe for now.
Hosea chided Patches to skirt down the side of the mountain where lose dirt and stone slipped beneath and threatened to send them tumbling. Approaching the final path between boulders into town, he heard the hiss of steam and saw a shower of hot water sprouting from cracks in the earth.
Hosea rode through town like a man who climbed out from a grave into a feverish sun. In his unbuttoned shirt and only the brim of his hat for shade, he held to his horse until finding the saloon. He dismounted and tethered Patches to the post outside. Flies buzzed around his head. He took and shook a hanky from his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. Then he parted the doors to the saloon. It made a loud creaking sound, as if it could fall off the hinges.
In a shaded corner, raggedy men played cards and puffed on rolled cigarettes. The bartender wiped the beads of sweat from his thick forehead. Hosea leaned toward him. "I'm here to see Dirk Blake."
The bartender stiffened and turned white as a sheet. But he shuffled upstairs and disappeared. Dirk appeared on the loft above, holding a horse whip.
Hosea didn't have his gun, only his biting words. He looked up at Dirk who smiled. "We need to talk. This town won't last. You need get before it's too late."
Dirk lost his smile and wiped his face with a towel. "Maybe this is our hell on earth, but you don't call the shots. You got sand to be telling me I need skip town and run, after I built this town from scratch."
Hosea bit his lower lip. "God and nature work as one. No one can stay here and live."
Dirk marched down the stairs with the whip curled in his hand like a snake. "You ever consider that this town was fine without you? That you may have brought this on us?"
Hosea stood by the bar and never blinked, his blue eyes blazing. "I died once. Death has no more sting."
"Who said anything about killing you," Blake said, as he cracked the whip on the floor inches from Hosea's boots. "I intend make you suffer. Make an example out of you. Then send you on to greener pastures."
Folks gathered from above and below. His henchmen like a wolfpack circled behind Dirk.
Dirk chuckled but snapped the whip and deftly brought it up over his head where it uncoiled and wrapped around Hosea's neck, pulling him to his knees. Blood ran down Hosea's chest.
On the second whip, Hosea reached up and caught the tip and clutched it in his hands pulling it from Dirk's hands.
Dirk took a whiskey bottle from the bar and smashed it across Hosea's head until shards of glass drew blood and covered his face. Blinded, Hosea stood but stumbled backward. Dirk jumped him where they both tumbled through the swinging doors and into the street. More crowds gathered.
They rolled the hard-packed dirt. Dirk ended up on top and saddled Hosea, pinning his arms under his body. He smashed his head against the ground and punched him until his Hosea's eyes swelled shut and his nose was broken.
Hosea blinked but saw oblong faces. The sky was spinning. He raised his burnt hands and spoke in hushed tones from bloody swollen lips.
Dirk seemed amused. "Hey boys go and get me a hot bucket of tar and the goose feathers from a pillow."
With a raspy voice, Hosea enticed Dirk to draw closer to him.
"I can't hear you," said Dirk. He kicked him in the ribs, then bent down and pressed his ear to the preacher's bludgeoned face.
Hosea grabbed him with his scarred hands, squeezing Dirk's throat with a vice-like grip.
Shockwaves surged through Dirk, unable to break free, until one of his men broke the grip Hosea had on him with the butt of his rifle.
Dirk rolled around on the ground gasping for air, unable to speak, as a hush fell on the crowd circling the pair.
Dirk cleared his throat and barked at his men. "I want that bucket of tar. Now!" He stood back over Hosea.
Billy the blacksmith parted the group and surged forward until Dirk pulled his gun and threatened to put a bullet in his brow.
Dirk's men kept the bear of blacksmith at bay. He watched helpless, as one of the men poured hot tar over Hosea and then another shook a pillowcase of feathers on him.
Hosea screamed in pain, as if he'd been set on fire. He leaped up to run, until one of Dirk's men roped him and tied him to his horse. Dirk took a bottle of whiskey and poured it over Hosea's face. "I heard you lost your family over benders with a bottle. Get a good taste of what you need."
Someone smacked the horse, fired shots. The horse took off toward the mining camp of silver creek dragging his master along on the ground until the pair disappeared behind the foothills.
Dirk took advantage of his captive audience. "I suggest everyone pay no mind to the preacher. This town has dealt with nature's adversity before. You saw how he licked his lips for strong drink. He let his own children die in a Chicago house fire, because he was too drunk to save them! I saved this town once before. You can trust me. I'm the savior one needs." He pounded his chest. "Now, you all have made a good living here. I suggest you get back to your shops and resume life as normal."
**
Mercifully, the sun went down behind the mountain. The blacksmith set out with a lantern and gauze following the drag marks Hosea left behind. As he wandered along near the creek, he heard the sound of painful groans coming from behind a scrub brush where he found Hosea's disfigured face of death under his lamplight.
| Author Notes |
Cast of characters:
Hosea, a man turned preacher, who left Chicago after the loss of his family in a fire seeks redemption in a town called Purgatory. Dirk Blake, the one who rebuilt the town over a gold rush and feels threatened by the presence of the preacher, he feels will run everyone off. Billy the Blacksmith is one of Hosea's earlier converts, along with an orphan boy named James, and Lydia, the young bakers daughter. |
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