Chapter 11 #2
Sister Andrews screamed. She rushed forward, her veil flying out behind her. She caught Father Tillman and carefully lowered him to the ground. “No! No! How could you? He didn’t do anything!”
Bo looked on with his good eye, seemingly unruffled by what he’d just done.
The maul was suddenly back in Ben’s hands. It lifted over his head and arced back over his shoulder, its sharp blade ready to bite down.
But Cutter’s pistol was already back out of its holster. He held it against his hip, a casual but confident grip. “Take one more step, and I’ll massacre this whole orphanage. Kids included.”
Ben’s chest heaved. His mind screamed at him. Go! Do it! End this now!
“Every single one of them, and as slowly as I can manage,” Cutter pressed.
He was telling the truth. Cutter had that hard darkness in his eyes. It was as sharp as a knife, as fast as a gun, and far crueler than even the most bloodthirsty men Ben had met in the service.
Slowly, regretfully, Ben lowered the maul once again. Only a short while ago, he’d thought himself useful at St. Thomas. Now he felt like the instrument of its destruction, wielded by Cutter.
“Good.” Cutter gave another one of his heartless smiles. “Consider this your punishment for lying to me and be happy that you’re getting away with so little. If we ever run into each other again, I suggest you remember this day.”
Cutter and his men mounted up, riding off without looking back at the damage they’d done.
“No!” Sister Andrews wept. She pressed her hands against Father Tillman’s wound, blood working its way into all the little cracks and crevices of her hands.
“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything about what was going on at the orphanage.
I had no idea they were there. I didn’t see them. ”
“Calm down, my child.” The rebel that’d momentarily replaced Father Tillman was gone, and the peaceful priest they all knew so well had come back. His voice was breathy and soft. “This wasn’t your fault or anyone else’s. We can’t know what the Lord has planned for us.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to die,” Sister Andrews pleaded. “Please, just hold on until we get you inside.”
The boys returned once again, their movements jerky and frightened. They splashed the water on the building, but their eyes were on their priest.
“Go to the barn and get Sister Matthews,” Ben instructed. “Tell her to get her medical kit and to leave the other children there. They don’t need to see this.”
Emmitt and Shane raced toward the barn, their faces pale.
“Ben,” Father Tillman whispered. He still held one hand over his stomach, but he reached toward Ben with the other.
He was on his knees in a moment. “I’m right here. Sister Matthews is coming. She’ll get your fixed up.” If she could help Bo with his injuries from the bear, then surely she could keep Father Tillman alive until they could get to a doctor.
Father Tillman shook his head. “It’s my time, my boy. No, don’t argue. It is.”
Ben squeezed his bloody hand. “That’s not fair.”
“You know by now that life never is.” Father Tillman’s fingers contracted, but his life and strength were already leaching out of him and into the snow. “Ben, I need you to do a favor for me.”
“Anything.” Ben clung tightly to Father Tillman’s hand, wishing he could push his own life force into the old man’s body and keep him there for just a bit longer. Ben had grown up with Father Tillman, and he wasn’t ready to let him go.
“Take care of the orphanage. Help the sisters get it put back together,” Father Tillman said, struggling to say the words clearly. “The children need us. They don’t have anyone but us.”
“I will,” Ben promised, and he meant it. He could never replace Father Tillman, but he’d do everything he could.
The old man gave him a weak smile. “I know you will. You’ve always been such a good boy.”
Ben’s vision blurred. Tillman was a father to the whole orphanage, but he was a true father to Ben when he had no other. He folded the sentiment into his heart and vowed to carry it with him forever.
“And please,” Father Tillman gasped, “don’t go find those men. Don’t seek revenge for what they’ve done.”
A brief surge of the murderous feelings that’d stirred up inside Ben at seeing Cutter came back again. “What do you mean? We can’t just let them get away with this!”
“I was like those men once,” he whispered. “Not quite like them, but not far. You can’t teach them any lessons or change them. That has to come from within them, a place you can’t reach.”
Ben clenched his jaw as tears ran down his face. “But they’ve taken you away from us!”
“God always has a plan,” Father Tillman reminded him.
Sister Matthews arrived with her medical kit, but she paled when she saw where Father Tillman had been shot. “Heaven have mercy,” she murmured as she knelt next to Ben.
“Don’t worry about it,” Father Tillman told her. “Just pray with me, would you? All of you?”
Ben bowed his head. He listened to the sisters pray, the rhythmic rise and fall of their voices, but he wasn’t sure God could hear them.
Would God have let Sister Andrews and the boys get kidnapped by Cutter and his men?
Would God find some good in taking Father Tillman away from those who needed him so badly?
Would God create the war that had killed so many?
“Amen,” the sisters intoned.
Father Tillman’s eyes stared blankly into the sky. God had taken him home before he could say his last amen.