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.