Deacon of Death

DEACON OF DEATH

The

DEACON

0F

DEATH

The

third in the

DEACON

westerns.

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Other books by

DOUG BALL

Tales of The Old West

Blood on the Zuni

Vengeance

Lone Tree

The Deacon

The Deacon Underground

Death by Baseball

Tales of The Not So Old West

Gentle Rebellion

4 X Armed

Rebellion’s New Beginnings

The State of Arizona Series

State of Defense (also in audiobook)

State of Threat (also in audiobook)

State of Peril (also in audiobook)

State of Confusion

The Silent Service

Sailor

Biblical Studies

Puzzling Theology

The Fishy Prophet

Called to Good Works

Copyright 2019 – Douglas H. Ball

Cover designs by the Author

Cover art by Shutterstock

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance between the characters of this book

and persons living or dead is purely coincidental, except for historical figures. Even then the persona is that of the author’s imagination.

This book is dedicated to

men who sailed in steel ships designed to sink on purpose.

USS Sam Houston SSBN 609 (Try Me)

USS Patrick Henry SSBN 599 (Liberty or Death)

And of course

my beloved

Patti.

DEACON OF DEATH

1

Tears ran down my cheeks as I continued, Do you, Evelyn, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, lack or plenty, grouchy or smiling, clean or dirty, so long as you both shall live?

You bet your booties I will.

How about you, Marshal? You really wanna marry up with this gal?

If you don’t get on with this, you’ll find out how much I want to marry this gal.

I really didn’t want to do this. This was the only mother I had ever really known. My birth mother died long before I realized what I had in her. My father was a drunk and a womanizer. I really didn’t want to lose the woman I called Evelyn, and my assistant in the tent ministry we had together. They would stay in Flagstaff and I would move on.

The tears continued to roll down my cheeks freely as I ended the proceedings with, In light of your testimony here before God and your friends, and the power invested in me by God, I now pronounce you hitched, married, husband and wife, and one flesh.

I paused and wiped my cheeks with a bandana, You may now kiss the bride.

They kissed. Oh, how they kissed. I wasn’t sure they were gonna quit.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you Marshal and Missus Terrance Boswick.

A thin applause was returned. Everyone was too engrossed in the kiss.

Finally, the Marshal came up for air and said, I’m hungry.

The crowd under the tent exploded with laughter and applauded so loud it hurt my ears.

One of the ladies in the back yelled, Come and get it. Newlyweds first.

She stood behind a long, plank table loaded with food that ended at a yearling beef on a spit that had been hanging over the bed of coals and small flames for at least 24 hours. The smell of it had kept me awake all night and filled the tent with its sweet smell during the ceremony. I’m sure some of the folks here only came in because that smell traveled for miles. One of the men in charge of that beef stepped up to it and began carving as folks worked their way to the line. Laughter and just plain good feelings filled the tent to mingle with the cooking smells to make this a memorable day in the life of Evelyn, the Marshal, and everybody present.

Except me. I didn’t want to lose my Evelyn, my Mom, my singer, my friend, my crutch.

Second only to God, of course.

As the line formed and the tables filled with hungry, happy people, I wondered what I would do now. Prayers rolled off my lips like the drool of a few Butler Street bums as they stood in line waiting their turn. God wasn’t coming up with any answers, yet. The caravan was too much for me to drag around if I was going it alone. There was always Colorado where I had friends, or Kansas where Evelyn had come from before she was Evelyn, or even Wickenburg where I had made a splash and would be received with some reservation by the city fathers.

I just didn’t know.

The dog, Gabriel, and my horse, Solomon, were always ready to travel to any place I decided, although at times they sorta chose the route and the destination. The horse had belonged to the man who killed my father, the drunken preacher who thought only of money, women, and booze. The dog, well the dog is a funny story. He just sorta showed up out of nowhere and took over the scouting job when we were on the trail. I felt that both of them were gifts from God and were being used to keep me alive and outta trouble. Well, at least the alive part. They led me into more trouble than I could ever find for myself. What would I do without them?

Right now the question was more, what would I do with them?

My second plate of food was empty and I was pondering whether to go back for more when a man, a scruffy looking man, sat down beside me and said, Deacon, your mother is alive and well.

Yup, there she is, sitting at the head table with her new husband.

She ain’t your mother and you knows it. I’m talking real mom, the one what birthed you.

She’s dead. I was at her funeral. I can still picture her in that casket before they nailed down the lid and lowered her to the bottom of the hole.

She’s still alive and well. Lives in Saint Louie. Kinda fancy rich and a real elegant lady.

He handed me an address in St. Louis written on a small square of paper embossed with a coat of arms and the name, J. Cuthbert Williams, Attorney at Law. Under the address was the words, ‘Your mother needs you.’ A thin chain with a heart shaped locket was wrapped around the card. I opened the locket. There was a picture of a nice looking lady with a baby about 2 years old on her lap.

What’s this all about? I asked the delivery man.

Don’t know. I’s just supposed to give you the message. Got paid danged good money to ride the train out here and find you. Weren’t too hard. I get’s off the train and some bum invites me to a shindig the Deacon’s puttin’ on and here I am.

He turned and got in line for the feed.

I studied the card and couldn’t find any more words to read. ‘I guess God has something for me to do,’ my mind said. I had no desire to go to St. Louis, but that locket was intriguing. I eased the picture out of the back of the locket. On the reverse was written in a fine hand ‘Daniel Fount with me. 1870.’

I walked over to the messenger in line just as he was reaching for a tin plate. You goin’ back?

No, Sir. I wouldn’t go back there for all the tea in China. Got myself a bit of woman trouble in that neck of the woods, and she’s got three brothers, rough, large, and influential brothers. Even if the Indians are on the warpath, I got a better chance of seeing another birthday out here than back there. He walked the line and piled the food up a good foot high.

Terrance and Evelyn were sitting at the front table like a couple of moon-eyed kids starring into each other’s eyes. None of the food had been eaten from their plates until I watched him stick a fork in a piece of food and offer it to her. She ate it and returned the favor. The food on their plates disappeared faster than I could clear the feeding line and get back to the front table.

Room for one more? I asked.

You only. We are about to make our getaway. Terrance has a week off and we’re going fishing.

Yeah, fishing, Terrance said, smiling widely.

Well, you two have a good time. I’ll come back this way in a few weeks and pick up my gear. I’m going east for a spell.

My voice must have given me away, Problems? asked the Marshal.

Naw. A family matter and I have never had the opportunity to be in a large city by my own choice. Won’t take long. I may even take the long way home.

Evelyn had a quizzical look, but said nothing as she got up and came to me. She hugged me. She kissed me. You are the son of my heart. Come home to us when you can. She turned and walked back to the Marshal. There was a tear running down her cheek as she sat.

The Marshal added, Our home will always be open to you. I always wanted a son and never got the privilege. You’d make a good stand-in if ya ever want the job.

You’re on, Pop.

He cringed.

I laughed.

Evelyn smiled, tears still running.

Through the night I must admit I cried, I laughed, and I planned the trip to St. Louis. I was trying to figure out the picture. My father told me my mom had died when I was five or such. The date on the picture was 1870. I was about 2 then. My father had always said I was born in 1870. Now I found out different. The woman in the picture is not the same one I saw in the casket and had been seeing in my mind’s eye ever since. It was 1888. I was 20. That’s 3 years older than I had thought. Why the age change? Why the lies? Who was the woman in the picture? Who was the woman in my mind’s eye? Dang, that was a lot of questions.

I didn’t sleep much.

At the dawn I was loading Solomon into a box car with stalls for horses. Gabriel decided he wanted to ride with Solomon and keep him company, and I agreed that would be best for both of them. The train conductor gave me some hassle about the dog until he saw my pearl handled .44’s with the blood red crosses.

Whatever you say, Deacon. But, you will need to take the horse off the train every once in a while to walk him around. I’ve seen horses ruined by making them stay on the train for too long. With that, he walked away.

I had figured on taking him for a walk every four hours or so while they was watering and loading wood for the engine. Turned out to be a good plan for the first two days. I even took him off in Grants for the first engine change. He got to roll and romp for a whole ten minutes before I had to put him back in the box. Needless to say, he was not happy. Gabriel never got out.

I was loading up their water bucket when the whistle blew and the train started inching forward. It took me less time to get back into the car ahead of the boxcar than it does to tell about it.

Someone was in my seat.

She was a nice looking young lady in a traveling outfit that fit her very well. As I leaned over her to get my saddlebags, I said, Excuse me. Let me get my bag outta your way.

Oh! she was startled. Am I in your seat? she asked in a very pronounced southern accent.

It’s the only seat in the car with anything on it. My saddlebags. All the others are empty. I waved my arm to indicate the whole of the car.

I am sorry. I just wasn’t paying any attention. I wanted an aisle seat and in my thought filled wandering this was the first open one I saw. I took it, not even noticing the saddlebags against the corner, or the emptiness of the other seats. I do hope you will forgive me.

I sat in the seat across the aisle after flipping the back so I was facing the young lady. Seems like I oughta forgive and get on with this ride. You’re forgiven. I paused to get my saddle bags situated against the wall. Let me introduce myself. If we’re makin’ this ride together we at least oughta know each other’s name. Daniel Fount is my name. I stuck out my hand.

She took the hand and said, I am Rebecca Tribidou, from Alabama, Mobile, Alabama. My daddy has boats. I am returning to Alabama by way of a brief stop at my dear auntie’s home in St. Louis. It is a bit out of my way, but I do love her so and it has just been ages since I’ve seen her.

Sounds like we could be together for a long time. St. Louis is my destination, also. I sat back after releasing her hand. What brought you this far west?

She took off on a long story of a death in the family, an engagement that needed to go away, two men that were following her which she had ditched in California, and then there was the rich fella that wanted to marry her in St. Louis - sight unseen, but a good friend of the auntie - and last, but not least, daddy was out on a sail in one of his boats and wouldn’t return for another year at least. It took me another hour to figure out her daddy was a shipping king with over 20 sailing ships. She was his ignored daughter. Somehow, I didn’t feel too sorry for her. Everything about her spelled money with a capital M.

I, not being too impressed with money, just sat there and listened, which is a terribly hard thing for a preacher to do.

The train broke our conversation as it slowed for Albuquerque, which would be a long stop of thirty minutes while the crew ate and filled everything including the olla hanging in the back of the car with drinking water, warmish but water.

She said, If you will excuse me, I need to go powder my nose.

Of course. I stood, not seeing anything wrong with her nose the way it was.

I waited until she was gone and then walked back to Solomon, dropped the ramp, and I’ll be danged that blamed horse didn’t trot down them boards to the ground and start rolling and romping in the cattle corral west of the ramp. Gabriel wasted no time finding a post and then a clump of grass to do his business while I watched for Rebecca Tribidou.

Ten minutes later she emerged from the station with a piece of paper in her hand. My mind went to wandering about what the paper was and what was on it she was so intent upon. With all that happened in the past few months I figured to find out before it was a surprise.

Walking as casually as I knew how I entered the station. Two people were there. One was the conductor and the other was the telegraph operator/station manager. The conductor and I hadn’t hit it off too well because I’d held up the train trying to get Solomon loaded at a water stop. He left the room when I came in.

Excuse me, I said to the telegraph operator. Would you tell me what the young southern lady was doing in here.

She sent a telegram.

Would you give me an idea of what it said? I held out a silver dollar.

Something about she found her man. He took the coin.

Who did it go to?

An attorney in St. Louis.

Thank you.