Chapter 8
The ground shook relentlessly underneath him as the cannons blasted across the field. Ben raced across the grass, trying desperately to get to the tents in the distance. There he would find safety and shelter. Somehow, the cannons couldn’t touch them there.
If only he could get to them. His feet moved as though they were buried in deep mud. No matter how hard he tried, his muscles simply wouldn’t cooperate. The cannons fired again, shaking him until he fell to his knees.
“Ben! Ben, wake up!”
He pulled a sharp inhale of breath through his nose as his eyelids fluttered open. Sister Matthews stood over him, clutching her habit nervously with one hand and shaking his shoulder with the other.
“What? What is it?” He forced himself upright. His back ached from sleeping on the hard pew, and his legs were stiff. It was remarkable he’d even managed to get to sleep.
“Father Tillman needs your help.” Sister Matthews spoke in a harsh and urgent whisper. “A group of men has shown up outside.”
“What do they want?” Ben asked groggily. He reached under the pew for his boots and yanked them on.
She folded her lips in. “I don’t know, but I don’t feel right with Father Tillman going out there by himself. He’s a strong and respected leader, but…”
“I understand.” Tillman was the perfect person to lead the church and the orphanage, but a group of men might take one look at an older man in his cassock and peg him as an easy target. Ben grabbed his gun.
“I don’t think you need that,” Sister Matthews said.
“Hopefully not,” Ben agreed, “but I’m not going anywhere without it.” He’d seen firsthand what kind of horrors visiting strangers could bring, and there were children to be protected.
“All right.” Father Tillman entered the church from the orphanage, striding toward them. “Sister Matthews, you could’ve just let Ben sleep. There’s no need for any fuss.”
“It’s all right. I’m happy to help.” Ben gave Sister Matthews a nod and stood up, following in Father Tillman’s footsteps.
As they went to the front doors of the church, he noticed the dark, smeared footprints Hattie had left there the previous evening.
He wondered if these men had anything to do with her.
It wasn’t very likely that they’d have visitors so close together.
Ben remembered months going by as a child without seeing anyone who didn’t live at St. Thomas.
There was only one way to find out.
Father Tillman paused at the door and spoke quietly to Ben. “I don’t anticipate any trouble, but if there is, remain calm. I’ve seen these men through the window, and even with the two of us we couldn’t win a fight. More can be achieved with peace than with conflict.”
Ben holstered his revolver and followed Father Tillman out into the morning sunlight.
The men were gathered in the churchyard, their horses’ hooves kicking up dust. They’d been speaking among themselves, but they turned instantly when they heard the door.
Each of them was armed to the teeth, with no shortage of pistols, rifles, and knives either strapped to their bodies or the saddles.
One of them sat limply, sagging forward against his saddle horn. Rough bandages had been wrapped around his face. Blood had drenched the linens and dried to a dark brown, but they still gleamed wetly in a few places. Several deep gashes were ripped into the sides of their horses, too.
“Good morning!” Father Tillman called brightly, lifting his hand as he walked toward them. He stopped a short distance away.
Ben noted that the men didn’t bother to dismount, which would’ve been far more respectful.
“Good morning, Father.” The man in the front grinned widely.
His dark hair was tangled at the nape of his neck.
He swiped his hand over his face, causing Ben to notice the odd scar that ran between his nose and the center of his upper lip.
“We’re sorry to bother you, but we find ourselves in need of some assistance. ”
Father Tillman’s brow rippled with concern as he took in the injuries. “I can see that. What happened?”
The dark-haired man clucked his tongue and shook his head. “A bear got a hold of us, I’m afraid. We dispatched him, but not before he did some damage. My brother Bo got the worst of it.” He gestured to the man at his side with the bandaged face.
Bo drifted a little further toward the neck of his horse, his eyes rolling in his head.
“And you’ve managed to get all the way to us?” Father Tillman asked, his eyes still roving over the group. “You must have come a long way. I haven’t seen any bears in the region for a while.”
The muscles hunched under Father Tillman’s robes. He took a step back and clasped his hands in front of him.
Did he get the same feelings from these men that Ben did? He was a simple priest, but he hadn’t immediately brought them inside with open arms.
Ben wanted them to leave. The lead man had been watching them just as carefully as they’d watched him, his eyes assessing the church, the garden, and the grounds. There was menace and suspicion in their eyes.
All of them except for Bo, who was barely conscious.
“We got a little turned around. You know how it is.” The leader grinned, showing two rows of yellow teeth. The smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “There aren’t very many places to go around here, so we’re turning to you.”
“I’m afraid that we don’t have very much to offer. We’re a humble establishment, and we’re not set up to accommodate guests.” Father Tillman lifted his chin slightly, so that he looked down his nose even though the other men were still on their horses.
“Is that so? I’d sure hate to know that a man of the cloth turned away a brother in need.” He touched the handle of his revolver where it gleamed from his holster. “I thought that was what you preached, Father. Helping each other out, and all that.”
The tendons in Father Tillman’s neck stood out as he ground his teeth together. “Indeed, as we can. As I said, however, I’m afraid there just isn’t much to give. Ben here can escort you to the barn, and one of our nuns can come out to take a look at your wounds.”
“Mighty kind of you.” The man nodded, flicking his finger against the brim of his hat in a mock salute. He turned readily toward the barn.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Ben whispered to Father Tillman. “They’re bad news.”
“Do you know them?” the priest asked quietly.
“No. It’s just a feeling I get.”
“I feel the same, but it’s also our duty to help those in need. We’ll let them stay in the barn for a night, and then they’ll be moving on. Men like that don’t stay in one place very long, anyway. I’ll inform Sister Matthews.”
As Father Tillman turned back toward the church, Ben headed to the barn.
He had to trot to catch up with the group of ruffians.
The goats, in their pen next to the barn, put their heads over the fence and watched with their strange eyes.
They bleated eagerly when he slid open the barn door, thinking it was mealtime.
The leader swung down from his horse. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Ben.” He held out his hand.
“Cutter. Cutter Kincaid.” He gripped Ben’s hand hard, squeezing the bones of his fingers together and watching his face. His hand was covered in grit.
Ben kept his face calm even as he writhed inside. Cutter was trying to hurt him, trying to show him the kind of man he was. Well, he’d shown himself all right, and Ben had taken note. “Nice to meet you.”
“You don’t know just how nice it is,” Cutter replied. He jerked his hand in the air at one of his men. “Adam! Stan! Get Bo off his horse. Not like he can do it himself right now.”
It was impossible to avoid seeing just how bad Bo looked. “A bear, huh?” Ben asked. He moved to open a few stall doors for their horses. His own horse, stalled all the way in the back, looked on with interest.
“Pray you don’t run into one, boy. That little toy on your hip won’t do shit if a bear’s coming after you.” Cutter gestured toward Ben’s gun.
Anger burned in his cheeks, but he said nothing. Cutter was trying to get a rise out of him. He’d met men like that in the battlefields, men who were bored in between the killings and needed to find target practice elsewhere.
Bo moaned pitifully as Adam and Stan pulled him from the saddle and lowered him to a pile of loose hay near the front of the barn.
“Here comes Sister Matthews,” Ben told them, though he hated the idea of her coming out to the barn and dealing with ruffians like Cutter and his men.
As she ducked inside, however, Sister Andrews showed no concern about her own safety. She went immediately to Bo’s side and knelt in the hay, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “A bear, you say?”
“Doesn’t it look like it?” Cutter snapped. “Nothing else could make cuts that deep that quickly.”
She echoed what Father Tillman had said only a few minutes ago. “We haven’t seen any bears here for some time. The hunters who came through the mountains a few years ago took most of them out. Now, further to the east, I understand there are some.”
“Yeah, and they’ve got feet, don’t they?” Cutter made a deep sound in his throat and spit a gob of mucus onto the ground.
Ben curled his fists, but he felt helpless. Father Tillman had said they couldn’t win a fight against these men, and he was right. There was too much at stake. It was better to tolerate them for a short time and see them ride off the next day.
“Mmph.” Sister Matthews busied herself slowly peeling away Bo’s bandages. Some of the cloth was stuck to his face, and it came away with great gushes of blood.
Bo moaned and writhed.
“Please hold him still,” Sister Matthews commanded of Adam and Stan.
They each took his shoulders. Ben gladly turned away and grabbed the reins of Bo’s horse.
Its haunches were slashed, but there was something far less disturbing about seeing the wound on an animal instead of on a man’s face.
Several buckets of water had been brought to the barn that morning, so Ben dipped a rag in one of them and began cleaning it.