Four Summoners Tales Part 2

"You can tell me," Addie said with a grin.

Sophia laughed. "Go on, now.Tell Benjamin I'm feeling fine. I'll make a hot lunch for both of you."

When Addie headed back out, she could hear a hullabaloo down the road and knew Preacher hadn't been able to stop the peddlers. Addie blamed Millie. True, the old woman had left as soon as Preacher asked, but Addie blamed her anyway, for taking up his time with something as silly as confession when he had so much else to attend to these days. Addie believed in G.o.d; Sophia said she ought to, so she did. She just didn't figure He had time to be listening to old gossips confess their sins. Not if He obviously hadn't had time to listen to Addie's prayers and save Charlie. Addie stayed in the forest as she circled around to the commotion. People were spilling out of their houses now. Eager for the distraction.As she drew close, she could hear the whispers starting already. The men were doctors. No, they were undertakers. No, they were from the government, putting the whole village under quarantine.

The advantage to moving through the woods was that Addie could get a lot closer to the situation than those who'd just come out their doors. Someone had brought the two men straight to Preacher and the mayor, down by the community hall, so she was able to creep alongside it and hear everything unfolding. "We'd like to have a word with you,Your Worship," the younger stranger was saying, and Addie figured that meant Preacher, but it was the mayor who answered.

"Whatever you're selling, we aren't interested."

"I'm sorry," Preacher said. "It's been a very hard month for us. We really would prefer to be left alone in our time of crisis.We'll certainly provide a hot lunch, though, and replenish any supplies you need before you go on your way."

"I understand your hesitation," the younger man said. "But I can a.s.sure you that we did not come to profit from your tragedy. Instead, we offer . . ." He cleared his throat. "I hesitate to say more in public,Your Worship. Please, grant us a few minutes of your time. After hearing what we offer, if you wish us to move on, I a.s.sure you, we will, without another word to anyone." Mayor Browning clearly wanted the men to leave. He was a brusque man by nature. Now his only child had just pa.s.sed, and he had no patience for intrusions, no more than he'd had when Addie tried to visit Charlie.Yet Preacher took him aside, pulling him closer to where Addie hid.

"Let's allow them to have their say," Preacher said. "They're here now. If we refuse, they may try to sell their snake oil on the side. We'll hear them out, refuse their offer, and escort them, politely, from town."

Mayor Browning allowed that this was probably the most expedient way to deal with the situation. When he went back and told the strangers to have their say, though, they insisted on having the whole town council present at the meeting.That led to more discussion, but finally the mayor broke down again. There were only two others who made up the council and they were there, anyway, listening in. He'd bring them all inside and get this over with, so he could return to his grieving wife.

Addie went in the back door of the community hall. It led to a small kitchen, where they would lay meals for a festival or other special occasions. Now the table was covered in food brought for the bereaved, most of it left untouched for days and starting to stink.

She could hear Mayor Browning in the next room, asking his wife to leave for a few minutes. She argued-her child would be in the ground soon enough and she wanted to spend every last moment at his side. But the mayor was firm. She ought to go, but only briefly. Leave out the back door and take some air. He'd call her back when he could.

Addie quickly retreated and hid herself under the porch as Mrs. Browning left.Then she crept inside again.

The hall had two main rooms with a wall between them, which could be removed for large gatherings. During the funerals, they'd kept the wall up-bodies would be laid out in the back room, while service for one victim would take place in the front. From the voices,Addie could tell that the men were holding their meeting in the front room, so she slipped into the back one.

As soon as she saw the open coffins, she went still. She'd just finished thinking that this was where they kept the bodies and yet she hadn't really thought about it at all.

He's here. Charlie's here.

I won't look. I won't. I'll just walk-

Walk across to the other wall.Where his coffin lay. She couldn't see Charlie, nestled too low, but she could tell it was his by the items laid on the table.All the parents had done that, set out small personal belongings that would be laid to rest with the child. Things that mattered to them.Things that mattered to Charlie.

An American coin from a trader who told wild tales of life in the south.A ribbon from a parade in Toronto, on his trip there five years past. A drawing of a pure black Arabian horse, the sort of fine mount he dreamed of owning. Finally, an eagle feather, from last summer, when they'd climbed the bluffs together. He'd wanted her to have it, but she'd found one for herself. Now she wished she'd taken his gift. Something to remember him by.

She could still take it.

Steal from the dead? What would Preacher say?

Addie swallowed and yanked her gaze from the feather. She could hear voices settling in the next room as the introductions finished.This was what she'd come for-to hear what the strangers wanted. Not to lose herself in grief and wicked thoughts.

She hurried to the wall and pressed her ear against it.

PreAcher Preacher tried not to pace as the other members of the town council introduced themselves. It was not a quick process.While there were only four, including himself, explaining their positions took some time. No one in Chestnut Hill held a single occupation, not if they partic.i.p.ated in public life.The village was simply too small for that.

To supplement his own income, Preacher hired himself out as a scribe, composing letters for the largely illiterate population. He helped Sophia with the garden and chickens. He rode four hours a week to retrieve the village mail. And he'd begun letting Addie teach him to trap, though that was primarily an effort to partic.i.p.ate more fully in his foster daughter's life.

The mayor also ran the trading post out of a room in his house. The blacksmith covered any issues of law enforcement. The doctor raised cattle and hunting dogs.And, of course, when each explained his council position, he had to make it sound more important than it was, necessitating further pointless delay.

"And my name is Eleazar," the younger stranger said as the council finally completed their introductions.

"Eleazar? Is that French?" the blacksmith-Dobbs-asked.

"It's biblical," Preacher said. "The first son of Aaron."

"Yes," Eleazar said. "It is a foreign name to you, I'm sure, but my family has been in this country since before the war with the Americans. My colleague's roots go back even farther." A smile flickered on the man's face. "Rene is indeed French, though I hope you will not hold it against him."

The old man gave a creaky laugh. Preacher marveled that he managed to stay on his feet, let alone that he had traveled here on foot. Rene had to lean against Eleazar even now, and as much as Preacher hated to draw this meeting out any further, he could no longer watch the old man teeter.

"Please," he said. "Have a seat. We don't have much time to spare, but your walk must have been long. Rest your feet."

"Thank you, Benjamin," Eleazar said.

Preacher stiffened at the use of his Christian name. He could tell himself it was too familiar and they ought to use his surname. But the truth was that after three years of lamenting the fact that he seemed to have lost his name, lost his ident.i.ty, he took offense now. It felt disrespectful, as if the man was refusing to acknowledge his place as the village's spiritual representative.Which was ridiculous, of course. Preacher was just being testy.

Eleazar continued. "I understand you have suffered a great tragedy. Diphtheria, wasn't it?"

The men nodded.

"And, if I may ask, how many were lost?"

"Thirty-six," Preacher said. "We lost thirty-six souls."