The Last of the Light (part two)

This is Part Two of four parts. Read Part One here.

Around that last bend in the road, the hoof beats grow closer till an ugly little trap appears, drawn by an ugly mule and bearing an ugly man in a black frock coat. The man pulls the trap up into the yard and scrambles down.

“Missus Pollard?” he sweeps off a dusty black hat. “Remember me? Reverend Shawn, Henry Shawn?” His face is round and greasy, fat mutton chop whiskers yellowed with sweat and dust. He reeks, even from a distance.

Yes, she does remember him, and his mean little church too, nothing but benches under a tent in the raw desert outside that brawling silver mining town of Meridian. Remembers his reedy angry voice speaking of sin, and those fat fingers squeezing her own after the service. She and Ethan had never gone back.

“What can I do for you, Reverend?” she asks. She lets the gun droop a little, but her finger’s ready on the trigger.

“No no, Missus Pollard, it’s what I can do for you. Your man Ethan, well I passed him on the road this mornin. I asked after you and the wee boy. He allowed as how he was on his way to town for some business. So I said, I said to him, I’d be happy to have a look in on your fine lady for you. So here we are.” His mouth smiles, but his eyes are uneasy on the rifle.

Just beyond the wagon, Tia Rosa leans against the fence, arms folded, scowling. Lily makes herself smile back at the Reverend.

“I thank you, Reverend Shawn,” she says. “But we’re all right.”

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,” Shawn forces a laugh. “But I’d be pleased – no, delighted – to stay awhile. I’m sure you could use some company.”

Lily’s fingers are slick on the rifle. “I don’t need company, Reverend.” In the palo verde tree by the porch, a cicada begins its bone-jarring song. “I have some company already. We were just fixing to have lunch.”

The Reverend’s face tightens. “Lunch, now that’s a fine thought. And prayers. This place could use a prayer or two, I’m thinking.” Sweat tracks from his temples, vanishing into the muttonchop whiskers. Huge dark patches are appearing in the armpits of that black Sunday coat. Hat in hand, he scans the yard.

“Is your ahem, company inside then? I’ve seen no horse or rider –“

“Nasty old thing,” Tia Rosa’s voice is hard. “Got no business pryin up here. Got dirty old thoughts in his head too. Get him gone.”

Lily glances at Tia Rosa, standing not a yard from the jittery little man. How rude is that, to look straight at her and pretend she isn’t even there?

“This is Tia Rosa, from up in the hills. We’re busy, thank you. I don’t want to keep you from your day.”

The Reverend’s pale eyes flicker toward the fence and back to Lily. “I, ah, I see, Missus Pollard. Perhaps so. But for you and the little one – I really think I ought to stay. Just until Mister Pollard returns. It’s my duty to a member of my flock.’

Tia Rosa’s mouth twists with rage.“Get him gone, I tell you. He ain’t no friend. Goin to tell your man you is a crazy woman. Goin to take you from us.”

Lily’s head feels empty, floating, from the heat and the anger surging up from somewhere she’d never known before. Their voices, by turns fretful and furious, scrape along her nerves like the cicada’s rasping song. Breaking her beautiful, roaring silence.

So she pulls the rifle up again and levels it at the Reverend’s broad belly. “I’m not in your flock. Go along, Reverend. We’re fine. We don’t need you here.”

The Reverend raises his hands soothingly. “Nothing to fear, Missus, nothing at all. I’d be pleased, though, to say a prayer before I go, to bless this place. It feels evil. That’s all, just a prayer.”

“We don’t want none of them prayers!” hisses Tia Rosa. “He’s goin to ruin it all. You say you can use that rifle, Lily girl. If you love us, use it now!”

Lily takes a breath. The rifle is a comforting weight in her hands. Her finger is firm on the trigger, the way Ethan taught her.

“Get on out of here, Reverend,” she shouts, surprising herself. “Go on, I’m telling you!”

The shot rips the silence, the bullet zinging harmlessly past the fat little man into the rocks. The Reverend Shawn blanches. Slapping his hat back on, he flings himself into the trap, gathering the reins of the desperately shying mule.

“I’ll pray for you, Missus!” he cries, whipping the mule to a gallop toward the road.

Under the ringing in her ears, Lily catches new sounds: Tia Rosa’s hard, wheezing laughter and the wild shrieking of the baby, shocked from sleep by the gunshot.

"Oh Dios mio, the look on that man’s face!” gasps Tia Rosa.“You did good, girlie. Scout’s goin to be so proud. Go on, see about the nino. I’ll be back around this evening.”

Lily sets the gun down carefully and turns toward the house. Tia Rosa fades into the trees as she always does, without another word. The baby’s cries shear through the stillness like an entire army of cicadas. She gathers him into her arms, presses him to her breast.

Stop oh stop, give me my quiet back again.

Behind the Scenes: When you're out in the desert on a hard, hot summer morning, the silence becomes a living thing, broken only now and then by the call of doves or the chirring of an insect in the creosote. It's a harsh, beautiful world, and I thought it would be the perfect backdrop for this weird little tale.

Part Three comes out on Wednesday, June 12.