The words came out of the preacher's mouth with a force that seemed similar to watching an elephant being shot from a canon. It wasn't just life or death he was discussing but the state of the souls of every person in his congregation who had journeyed with him from Colorado to Utah. And not just their souls but also the souls of every bandit, gypsy and cattle rustler who was perilously on the brink of eternal damnation due to the violence they had let enter their lives following the bloody Civil War. Violence. That was the cause of the world's problems, and he had been called by God to spread a message of peace.
He let the congregation know, once again, as he did almost every time he preached, of the damaging effects violence had on his own life, and on the lives of those he played a role in killing when he served in the Colorado Confederate Partisan Ranger units for the South. In fact one could say that the blood on his hands and the guilt that accompanied it were why he lead his congregation from their safe, quiet homes into the vapid desert of Utah, where only the Mormons spoke about God, but in a way that made the region more susceptible to evil.
On this particular Sunday, he was telling one of his favorite stories from the Gospel of Mark about the time Jesus spent in the Garden of Gethsemane. It was there that Jesus spoke the immortal words, "he who lives by the sword will die by the sword" after his apostle Peter cut off the ear of one of the guards who had come to arrest Jesus. Jesus' message was peace, but the Preacher's message was anything but peaceful. With furrowed brow and heavy fist he reminded his congregation of the eternal consequences of disobeying the Lord's message. They had heard it all before, but that didn't mean it didn't scare them. All except for one man, called the Judge, who the Preacher's kept as his closest ally. The Judge saw this relationship a little differently, and was waiting for his chance to step in should the Preacher ever falter.
During the Preacher's sermon a wagon approached the church. The wagon was driven by a man flanked by two women, who sat close enough, and in a familiar manner that would lead anyone who had spent time in this territory to believe that these three were Mormons and both women shared the man. From where they stopped outside of the church the Preacher's billowing voice could be heard. But that was not why they had come. Their wagon only stopped long enough for a woman wrapped in black garments to exit the wagon, and then they were off. She tucked a strand of silky blonde hair back far up under her bonnet and went inside.
The Judge was the first to notice the woman as she entered the church. She was covered head to toe in dark fabric, a hodgepodge mixture of black lace and wool, so her scarred skin and pretty looks were disguised from questioning eyes. Her bonnet was pulled tight around her head, and she kept her head down less the parishioners wouldn't notice the fresh purple welt on one cheek. She was a stranger to the congregation, who backed away at first sight of her, but she was also a stranger to herself. From her mismatched clothing to her youthful skin that was so beaten it looked aged, there were things about her that just didn't fit. She was desperate for help but afraid of anyone knowing who she was; the type who brought trouble wherever she went.
Later that day the Preacher's Wife and other women of the congregation beat rugs with long pliable branches that zipped through the dry air and then cracked into the course, hairy rugs like one striking a flint. After each strike a long, white puff of desert dust unleashed itself from each rug to the air. The dust swirled in great, wispy tendrils, like the arms of some misguided phantom engulfing everything in its path and then moving on as if it were never there before. It even surrounded the four-year-old boy, the Preacher’s Son, who sat on his parent's porch, oblivious to everything around him besides a nearby water barrel that slowly dripped life into the sand and two handmade dolls he was playing with, puppeteering them really, through the most important performance of their lives: a gun fight to the death between two raspy throated outlaws.
He looked up at last, just in time to catch a band of outlaws whom rode out from the heat mirage of the desert directly to the church. Without thinking he sucked in a breath and held it so he could feel blood pump through his temples surged on by his adrenaline spiked heart. It wasn't the first time he had ever felt this before. The outlaws came every week and each time he saw them he grew more excited than the last. These were true bandits come to collect their protection money from the church, but to the boy they were gods. As they dismounted their horses, the Preacher emerged from the church and gave a handful of shiny silver the meanest looking man. The Community looked on, somewhat ambivalent--whatever had to be done to survive.
That night the Preacher, his son and his wife ate dinner in their small, two-room home. The Preacher prayed for his congregation, and thanked God for gracing him with people willing to follow him to this dangerous place. His Son mirrored the same intensity as his father: hands folded tightly, chin lowered to his chest and eyes locked away in quiet contemplation. But for the boy it was an act. One the boy had become very good at performing. When the Preacher paused to take a breath, his son mistook this to mean an end of the prayer and his impatience betrayed him. He quickly looked up with a sparkle in his eye and a gasp of relief on his breath, but then immediately returned to his solemn contemplation when he saw that his father was not finished. All that he could really think about were the two dolls that were sitting on the bench next to him, pressing into his leg, calling him to take them back outside. But he would have to wait, so he pulled them closer in.
Later that night the Community sent songs of peace up into the star-filled sky in hopes that there words would reach the heavens. The Preacher told his son that "God is up there, and up there no one hurts each other. God protects everyone." The Preachers Son asked if that was "like the way those men protected the church down here." The Preacher responded solemnly "them men are Bandits, and they are nothing like God. We pay those men so they don't attack us." The son asked "why doesn't God protect people down here if he does so in heaven," to which his father responded, "he does through his people. That is why you and I are here. To shelter and give God's strength to the abused and to soften the hearts of those who do us harm." He explained that this was the reason God called them here, that someone had to change the hearts of the people, and if they didn't step in then no one else would have."
Nearby, the Blonde Woman sobbed wandering through the darkness towards the church. In the background she heard the melodic songs of the congregation. When she reached the church, she collapsed in a heap against its northern wall, where the light from the congregations fires didn't reach. Her tears streaked down her face and then fell into the dry sand below. Then they quickly disappeared as if they never existed.
The next morning the Preachers Son was outside with his dolls again, when his mother pulled a dry bucket filled with sand out of the community's main well. She ran to tell her husband that the well had collapsed, and he came out of the church with a shovel. For the first time, the Preachers Son left his dolls on the porch and ran towards his father. If there was one thing the Preachers Son respected, it was survival. The Preacher started digging a new hole to tap into the same ground water that fed the well. A few feet off, the Preacher's son started his own hole, stabbing at the sand with a stick, and then other men arrived with shovels to help as well. If there was anything they had learned in the years they had lived in this desert, it was that water was absolutely essential.
As the hours passed, and the sun shifted, the men were still digging—no water yet. The Preacher’s wife and other women gave out water from the leaky barrel to the men, whom were beginning to feel the heat. The blonde woman approached the Preacher’s Wife, forcing her to stop what she was doing. It was hard for the Preacher's Wife to keep her face flat, to suppress her scowl, but she did it without question. Helping those in trouble took precedence over everything, and she knew her husband would want her to get him.
The Preacher and the woman met in the Preacher’s home behind a closed door. The Preacher’s wife stood outside of the door. The woman rolled up her lacy sleeves and showed the scars and bruises on her hands and arms. Then she begged for help. She told the Preacher that her husband was a violent angry man whom she finally found the courage to leave. But he would kill her if he found her. She told the Preacher that she heard his message about violence in church and knew that she could depend on him. Then she grabbed the Preacher by the wrist like death grabbing and refusing to let go. The lace on her sleeve and dress lightly caressed his skin, and she begged him to shelter her, and said that she would do anything if he protected her ... anything. His community was the only place that she could turn.
The Preacher said that he had to consider the safety of his people, first. Although she could stay in the church for a night, he would have to pray before he could make a final decision. He then told his wife to take the woman to the church. When the Preacher's Wife and the woman exited the house, the Preachers Son was still outside digging in the dirt. His mother told him to get inside, but he just kept digging without even lifting his head to acknowledge her.
That night the Preacher couldn't sleep. He prayed by his window and kept looking to the church. He asked God to protect his family, his son, his wife, his community, and asked for guidance as to what to do with that woman. Finally he looked in on his son, who was peacefully sleeping, cradling his dolls. .
The Blonde Woman’s husband, the Bandit, strolled forward on his horse, atop a cliff that overlooked the Preacher’s community. He had dark curly hair, a thick, round physique and his clothing was drenched with sweat. He drank the last few drops of whiskey out of a glass bottle and then tossed the bottle into the sand. The whiskey lay centimeters from the sand, with only the glass separating the whiskey from extinction, implicating that the Bandit was somehow cheating death.
The Blonde Woman’s husband, the Bandit, strolled forward on his horse, atop a cliff that overlooked the Preacher’s community. He had dark curly hair, a thick, round physique and his clothing was drenched with sweat. He drank the last few drops of whiskey out of a glass bottle and then tossed the bottle into the sand. The whiskey lay centimeters from the sand, with only the glass separating the whiskey from extinction, implicating that the Bandit was somehow cheating death.
The next morning the exhausted looking men of the community continued to dig for water. The Preacher’s Son also dug with his stick and then hit something hard in the ground. He uncovered a section of it, and something silver, untouched by dirt, reflected brightly into the boy's eyes despite not a cloud in the sky. The boy pulled the object out of the sand and was immediately entranced by whatever it was. The church bell rang, and the villagers shuffled by him, but he didn't seem to notice. And they didn't notice him.
I The Preacher walked to the front of the church, passed the Blonde Woman sitting in the front row. He adjusted his collar, which looked to be too tight on his neck and then wiped his forehead with a white cloth. He looked through the congregation with wide open eyes and then adjusted his collar again. His wife came and sat in the same row as the Blonde Woman and looked her up and down, as if to say that this was her seat. The Blonde woman shifted in her seat and then straightened up stiff as a board.
The Preacher glanced at his wife and then his entire posture was able to relax. He cleared his throat and then began his sermon. His voice was shaky at first.In the back of the church the Preachers Son entered and sat against the back wall behind the last pew. He held the object wrapped wrapped in a worn rag and immediately began to reflect silver light into his eyes. A moment later the Bandit entered the church, wiping the sweat off of the back of his neck, and then scanning the pews while his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He then picked at a piece of food in one of his back teeth, took a few steps forward and then chewed whatever morsel he had found back there. There was an air of indifference about him, almost as if he were bored. The Preachers Son noticed a shiny, silver gun in the Bandit's holster.
The Bandit began to walk directly down the middle aisle and people turned with hidden stairs and quiet whispers. The Bandit looked down each pew, back and forth from side to side. He almost seemed to look through people. The Preacher's hesitant voice finally echoed through the church--"Excuse me. May we help you?" The Bandit burped in his mouth, and for a moment had to catch his breath, and then answered back without looking at the Preacher, "I'm here for my wife."
The Preacher quickly looked over at the Blonde Woman and his eyes darted across her body from the welt under her eye to the scars on her hands and arms and the disheveled way she was dressed. He started to ask a question, but then stopped as if he forgotten what he was going to say. He stared out at his congregation while his shoulders shook and his chest slowly heaved. One of his hands was shaking so badly that he held it with his other hand to make the agitation stop. When it finally did, it was as if he suddenly awoke from a bad fit and all of a sudden realized who this Bandit was standing in front of him. The Preacher's eyes narrowed to look like daggers and his jaw seized up making the bones in his cheek and emerge from under the sweaty skin of his face. "How dare you bring violence into this house. Do you have no consideration for the state of your soul?" He walked towards the Bandit, pointing his finger at him as if he intended to peirce flesh with it. The other men of the Congregation quickly jumped to their feet and ran between the Preacher and the Bandit, not quite sure who they needed to protect. But they held the Preacher back.
The Bandit merely smirked at the Preachers enthusiasm and then proceeded to pick his teeth again. The men of the congregation slowly closed around him, but the Bandit continued to pick his teeth. When the men got within a few feet of him, he read the situation for what it was, pointed at the Preacher as if to say it's not over and then slowly walked towards the exit, with the Preacher's loud accusations following him as he went. Just when he reached the last pew, a shiny silver reflection flashed in his eyes, forcing him to stop. He looked down at the Preachers Son and tipped his hat to the boy before walking out.
The Preacher sat outside on his front porch as his wife dolled out the last bit of water to the digging men. The Preacher’s Son was no longer by his hole. Then a man hit water. It was brown and dirty, but it was still life. Everyone celebrated.
The Preacher staggered slowly around the house. His eyes teared up over a soulful smile as he he listened to the cries and cheering of the people behind him. When he turned the corner of his house there on the back porch sat his son, bent forward, with his back to the Preacher, shinning the silver object into his eyes. His eyes looked light and lively, but never left the object that seemed to hold them in its trance.
Just about the time the Preacher reached a position where he could see what the object was, the boy lifted it up in front of him. A long handled pistol with a shiny jewel in its ivory carved handle reflected the surrounding light . Immediately the Preacher's mouth went sour and the smooth around his eyes and cheek bones stretched taught around the jagged curl of his mouth. He charged towards his son with the same wrath that had been let loose before, ripped the gun out of his boy's hands and then struck the gun up in the air. The tirade that followed was a cacophony of sounds and motions that whirled around in the boy's mind puzzling him how something that seemed so wonderful could cause such anger in his father. And when the Preacher's fury reached its peak, and it seemed like he wasn't far from striking his son, the gun mysteriously fired. The Preacher eyed the gun suspiciously and then demanded his son reveal where he found it--someone would pay for this carelessness. The boy pointed back towards the other side of the hose.
The Preacher stood over the small hole where his son was digging, kicked the digging stick down into the hole and looked back towards his house. His wife was escorting his son across the back porch into the house, and the sharp intensity in the boy's eyes, like a soldier returning to a lost love, sent a shrill up the Preacher's spine that made his shoulders hike up and his breath suck in a short, but heavy burst. He looked around for a place to hide the gun and then quickly made off.
Later at the dinner table the Blonde Woman was sitting blowing on her soup. The Preachers Wife frowned at the woman and then smiled as best she could for her husband. The Preacher’s Son asked very quietly to be excused. The Preacher nods and asked his son for a hug. They hugged quickly and then the boy ran off.
The Preacher’s wife asked her husband where he put it (meaning the gun), while trying to be discreet in front of the Bandit's Wife. The Preacher said he put it where the boy will where he will never find it. The only place where he figured the little rascal wouldn’t look, because he was still afraid of the dark. He says that there was something eerie about the gun. It reminded him of something that happened to in the war, but then he stopped speaking when his wife nodded a warning towards the Bandits Wife--she was listening intently. The Preachers Wife then stood up, kissed her husband on the forehead and left.
The Preacher’s wife put her son to sleep.They talked about the importance of love and that God so loved the world that he sent his only son. She said that the Preacher loves his son, and then she shrugged off the sounds of the Bandit's Wife and the Preacher laughing in the other room.
The Preacher glanced at his wife and then his entire posture was able to relax. He cleared his throat and then began his sermon. His voice was shaky at first.In the back of the church the Preachers Son entered and sat against the back wall behind the last pew. He held the object wrapped wrapped in a worn rag and immediately began to reflect silver light into his eyes. A moment later the Bandit entered the church, wiping the sweat off of the back of his neck, and then scanning the pews while his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He then picked at a piece of food in one of his back teeth, took a few steps forward and then chewed whatever morsel he had found back there. There was an air of indifference about him, almost as if he were bored. The Preachers Son noticed a shiny, silver gun in the Bandit's holster.
The Bandit began to walk directly down the middle aisle and people turned with hidden stairs and quiet whispers. The Bandit looked down each pew, back and forth from side to side. He almost seemed to look through people. The Preacher's hesitant voice finally echoed through the church--"Excuse me. May we help you?" The Bandit burped in his mouth, and for a moment had to catch his breath, and then answered back without looking at the Preacher, "I'm here for my wife."
The Preacher quickly looked over at the Blonde Woman and his eyes darted across her body from the welt under her eye to the scars on her hands and arms and the disheveled way she was dressed. He started to ask a question, but then stopped as if he forgotten what he was going to say. He stared out at his congregation while his shoulders shook and his chest slowly heaved. One of his hands was shaking so badly that he held it with his other hand to make the agitation stop. When it finally did, it was as if he suddenly awoke from a bad fit and all of a sudden realized who this Bandit was standing in front of him. The Preacher's eyes narrowed to look like daggers and his jaw seized up making the bones in his cheek and emerge from under the sweaty skin of his face. "How dare you bring violence into this house. Do you have no consideration for the state of your soul?" He walked towards the Bandit, pointing his finger at him as if he intended to peirce flesh with it. The other men of the Congregation quickly jumped to their feet and ran between the Preacher and the Bandit, not quite sure who they needed to protect. But they held the Preacher back.
The Bandit merely smirked at the Preachers enthusiasm and then proceeded to pick his teeth again. The men of the congregation slowly closed around him, but the Bandit continued to pick his teeth. When the men got within a few feet of him, he read the situation for what it was, pointed at the Preacher as if to say it's not over and then slowly walked towards the exit, with the Preacher's loud accusations following him as he went. Just when he reached the last pew, a shiny silver reflection flashed in his eyes, forcing him to stop. He looked down at the Preachers Son and tipped his hat to the boy before walking out.
The Preacher sat outside on his front porch as his wife dolled out the last bit of water to the digging men. The Preacher’s Son was no longer by his hole. Then a man hit water. It was brown and dirty, but it was still life. Everyone celebrated.
The Preacher staggered slowly around the house. His eyes teared up over a soulful smile as he he listened to the cries and cheering of the people behind him. When he turned the corner of his house there on the back porch sat his son, bent forward, with his back to the Preacher, shinning the silver object into his eyes. His eyes looked light and lively, but never left the object that seemed to hold them in its trance.
Just about the time the Preacher reached a position where he could see what the object was, the boy lifted it up in front of him. A long handled pistol with a shiny jewel in its ivory carved handle reflected the surrounding light . Immediately the Preacher's mouth went sour and the smooth around his eyes and cheek bones stretched taught around the jagged curl of his mouth. He charged towards his son with the same wrath that had been let loose before, ripped the gun out of his boy's hands and then struck the gun up in the air. The tirade that followed was a cacophony of sounds and motions that whirled around in the boy's mind puzzling him how something that seemed so wonderful could cause such anger in his father. And when the Preacher's fury reached its peak, and it seemed like he wasn't far from striking his son, the gun mysteriously fired. The Preacher eyed the gun suspiciously and then demanded his son reveal where he found it--someone would pay for this carelessness. The boy pointed back towards the other side of the hose.
The Preacher stood over the small hole where his son was digging, kicked the digging stick down into the hole and looked back towards his house. His wife was escorting his son across the back porch into the house, and the sharp intensity in the boy's eyes, like a soldier returning to a lost love, sent a shrill up the Preacher's spine that made his shoulders hike up and his breath suck in a short, but heavy burst. He looked around for a place to hide the gun and then quickly made off.
Later at the dinner table the Blonde Woman was sitting blowing on her soup. The Preachers Wife frowned at the woman and then smiled as best she could for her husband. The Preacher’s Son asked very quietly to be excused. The Preacher nods and asked his son for a hug. They hugged quickly and then the boy ran off.
The Preacher’s wife asked her husband where he put it (meaning the gun), while trying to be discreet in front of the Bandit's Wife. The Preacher said he put it where the boy will where he will never find it. The only place where he figured the little rascal wouldn’t look, because he was still afraid of the dark. He says that there was something eerie about the gun. It reminded him of something that happened to in the war, but then he stopped speaking when his wife nodded a warning towards the Bandits Wife--she was listening intently. The Preachers Wife then stood up, kissed her husband on the forehead and left.
The Preacher’s wife put her son to sleep.They talked about the importance of love and that God so loved the world that he sent his only son. She said that the Preacher loves his son, and then she shrugged off the sounds of the Bandit's Wife and the Preacher laughing in the other room.
The house was very dark. The Preacher walked through main room and opened a drawer next to the window. He took out a bible, then lit a candle and kneeled down with his hands folded, right before the window again, directly in view of the church. He begged Jesus to forgive him for his past sins, to protect his family, give his son a peaceful heart and give him strength to deal with his current challenge. Next he heard a click. Not the kind of answer he expected from the Lord. When he looked up through the window, the Bandit was full frame with a shiny pistol pointed directly at the Preacher's heart. The Bandit told the Preacher that no man takes what is his and lives. He says he checked the church and couldn’t find his wife, so he assumed she was in their house. He said that he was going to get her and would spare the Preacher’s family if the Preacher cooperated. The Preacher didn't respond, which caused the Bandit to smirk. Then a second click was heard.
The Preacher gasped nervously when he saw his son standing off to the side pointing the same gun at the Preacher that the Preacher had just buried. It glimmered even in the dark. The boy struggled with the weight of the gun in his hand, barely able to hold it up, but then something changed in his son, his muscles stopped shaking in his hand, and he leveled the gun steady, first, and then turned it towards the Bandit. The Preacher reached out one hand towards the bandit and one hand back to his son, so from above the Preacher had his arms stretched out like Christ on the Cross, foreshadowing what was about to happen.
In the dark of night the Preacher’s home sat off in the distance, the outline of it was lit by a crescent moon. Suddenly a flash bursted from a window, followed by the loud crack of a gunshot. A moment later a second flash was seen, followed by a second loud gunshot.
Nearby the water barrel dripped into the dry sand, which quickly sucks it up as if it never existed.
The Preacher gasped nervously when he saw his son standing off to the side pointing the same gun at the Preacher that the Preacher had just buried. It glimmered even in the dark. The boy struggled with the weight of the gun in his hand, barely able to hold it up, but then something changed in his son, his muscles stopped shaking in his hand, and he leveled the gun steady, first, and then turned it towards the Bandit. The Preacher reached out one hand towards the bandit and one hand back to his son, so from above the Preacher had his arms stretched out like Christ on the Cross, foreshadowing what was about to happen.
In the dark of night the Preacher’s home sat off in the distance, the outline of it was lit by a crescent moon. Suddenly a flash bursted from a window, followed by the loud crack of a gunshot. A moment later a second flash was seen, followed by a second loud gunshot.
Nearby the water barrel dripped into the dry sand, which quickly sucks it up as if it never existed.
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Weave My Tale by James J. Lyons, Copyright © 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to James J. Lyons and Weave My Tale with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.