The Burning Time (3 page)

Reverend Cyrus Christian looked up at the knock on his office door.

“Come in.” He closed the book he’d been reading, resting one hand on the worn, brown leather cover.

Helen Kapinski, the church’s administrative manager, peeked her gray-haired head around the door. “I hate to bother you, Reverend...”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Kapinski. I’ve just been preparing my sermon. What can I do for you?”

She entered the office, her floral print dress exposing the smallest of spaces above her sensible shoes. One wrinkled hand, pale as a fish’s belly, held out some papers to him. They drooped like dead flowers, victims of the same beastly heat that had the whole town in a funk.

“The maintenance and financial records you asked for.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He took them, gave them a quick glance.

Two facts jumped out at him immediately. One, the church was long overdue for important renovations, such as a new roof, painting, and other repairs. Second, there was barely enough money in the bank account to purchase office supplies.

“This is most distressing. Pastor...”

“Pastor McMichaels,” Helen supplied the name for him.

“Yes. He didn’t do a very good job taking care of this place, did he?”

Helen pushed her cat’s eye glasses back up her long, patrician nose. “He did the best he could, Reverend. But he was an old man, and when his wife got the cancer, well, he put most of his energy into taking care of her instead.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s all going to change. I want to raise at least fifteen thousand dollars by the end of the summer. That will take care of all the interior repairs, at least.”

“Goodness!” Helen’s liver-spotted hand went to her mouth. “How do you plan on getting all that money?”

Reverend Christian gave her a wide smile, then quickly closed his mouth when he saw her startled expression. “This is an old-fashioned town, so we’ll do it the old-fashioned way. We’ll have bake sales, raffles, picnics, maybe even a fair.”

He stood up, his tall, skeletal figure blocking the corner lamp and casting a narrow shadow across the desk. “Call the mayor and set up an appointment for me. I want to see what weekends the park is available and find out what permits we’ll need.”

He picked up the leather-bound tome from the desk and stepped toward the door. “Excuse my hasty exit, but it’s time for services. Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Kapinski.”

The last strains of organ music faded away as Christian took his place behind the lectern. Afternoon sun streamed through the large, century-old stained-glass windows lining both sides of the church. Dust motes glittered in the yellow and red beams. The congregation fell silent, awaiting the start of the new reverend’s first sermon.

“Welcome, brethren.” The wireless microphone clipped to his collar amplified his already powerful voice so it carried easily to those in the very back rows.

“I want to speak today of the Devil. Not the little red imp with the pitchfork who adorns the sides of your processed ham packages. No, I’m talking about the almighty, everlasting, perpetual Lord of Fire. Satan. Beelzebub. The Horned Goat.

“The Devil, my friends, is everywhere. He is the politician who takes the bribe and the businessman who offers it. He’s the street thug who steals your wallet and the CEO who steals your pension. He could be a small boy or...”

He paused, letting his gaze roam from one side of the church to the other, catching the eyes of the men, women, and children in the pews and making sure no one’s attention drifted away.

“Or an old man walking down the road.”

Christian threw his arms up and allowed his voice to rise in volume. “Beware the Stranger! Beware! The Devil could very well be...here...right...now!”

He punctuated each word by pointing to a different pew, making people jump in their seats or gasp. His voice ascended to a roar, the syllables shaking the candles on the altar.

“Fear the Stranger, people. He brings the fire that will burn your town to ashes!” He shook his fist in the air. “You are but sheep before him! Baa! Baa! Your lambs belong to him. The Wizened Goat will rut with your women and cast them away. Your men will tremble before him. His shadow will darken your doors.”

As if on cue, the sunlight dimmed and sudden thunder detonated in rolling waves, sending vibrations through the floors and wooden benches. Lighting exploded outside, the brilliant white washing away the rainbow colors of the glass.

Several women and children screamed and more than one man cried out as the church doors flew open with a tremendous bang. A man stood there, backlit by the lightning. His silver hair glowed with each unearthly display of energy.

Heavy gusts of wind pulled missalettes and event calendars from benches and turned them into a gathering of confused paper birds. The sharp tang of ozone overpowered the comforting scents of incense and candle wax.

The silver-haired man turned and closed the doors against the storm-laden currents. Papers and pamphlets fell to the floor, flightless once more.

The silver-haired man’s black eyes and unsmiling face glanced around the church until they locked on an empty seat in the back row. He started forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

A child’s voice spoke. “Mama, is that the old man?”

Other voices joined in, the murmurs and whispers audible in the cavernous room.

“An old man.”

“A stranger.”

The silver-haired man ignored the comments and sat down. As he did, the lightning and thunder came to an end and weak sunlight brightened the windows again.

Reverend Christian eyed the man for a moment.

Is it him? It could be. So many years had passed...

Christian slapped one pale hand on the pulpit. “People, people. Quiet, please.” He glanced at his notes and wondered if he should try to recapture their attention. Several parishioners were stealing not-so-secretive looks back at the stranger.

Momentary annoyance at having lost control of the crowd subsided as he realized the need for patience.
I’ve planted the seed. Better to move on and save the rest for another day.

“Before we begin the Offering, I would like to take a moment and ask a special favor of each and all of you. Our church,
your
church, is in need of repairs. This once-beautiful house of worship has fallen on hard times, which is why we will be organizing several fund-raising events throughout the summer. Next week’s bulletin will have a list. But in the meantime, please feel free to add something extra to the collection plate. Every dollar helps.”

Opening the Bible to the passage marked for the Offering, Christian began reading again. But his thoughts kept returning to the man with the silver hair.

Is it him?

*   *   *

Billy Ray Capshaw had been just as startled as the parishioners around him when the old guy walked in late, creating a real scene.

It had been a nice diversion from the usual sleep-inducing church ceremonies—
although this pastor sure knows how to keep you awake. What a voice!
—but when the Reverend had mentioned the fund raising, that’s when things had gotten interesting.

Billy had come to the service simply to see if he could snag a few wallets in the after-church crowd that always gathered by the door. His cash supply was okay, but it wouldn’t last long.

Now, however, he had a much better reason to stick around. If he could get hired on as a handy man for the church, it would kill two birds: having a job so Showalter stayed off his back and keeping him close to the donations jar. He knew from past experience that, over the course of a few months, a big church like Our Lady of Perpetual Hope could rake in ten grand or more.

That’d be enough to take him to Vegas.

Billy waited until most of the parishioners had left before approaching the Reverend.

“Excuse me, Father.”

“Yes?”

Up close, the pastor’s appearance was even more severe than it had looked from the back of the church. His onyx eyes seemed capable of ferreting out the secrets hidden in the darkest recesses of the brain, and his humorless mouth with its thin, pallid lips gave the impression of being allergic to smiling. The only thing out of place was his limp, shoulder-length black hair, which he wore combed straight back.

“I was wondering if maybe you needed someone to help out around the church, especially with all the renovations you were talking about. I’m pretty handy with a hammer or a paint brush, and even though I can’t work for free, you’d save a lot of money by not having to hire carpenters or painters, or whatever.”

The pastor’s narrow eyebrows furrowed into a scowl, and Billy’s hopes sank.

Just then, an elderly woman joined them. “Why, if it isn’t Billy Ray Capshaw! I’d recognize Kate Mulligan’s nephew anywhere! Where have you been all these years?”

Billy stared at the shriveled figure. “Mrs. Kapinski?”

He couldn’t believe she was still alive, let alone still working at the church.

She was ancient when I was a kid!

“Yes! Reverend Christian, would you believe I used to babysit for Billy’s aunt? Kate and her family were all very active in the church. Billy, what brings you back to town?”

“I’m traveling cross-country, and I thought I’d see how the old town is doing.” The lie came easier than when Showalter had confronted him.

“Well, I hope you’re planning on staying for a while.”

“Actually,” the reverend interrupted, “Billy was just asking me for a job here at the church. It appears he’s going to be our new handyman.”

“I am?”

“Yes, indeed.” A bony hand came down on Billy’s shoulder. “I’m sure we can find plenty for you to do.”

The long, knobby fingers tightened, just enough to let Billy know they could cause real pain if they wanted to.

“In fact,” the reverend continued, “there’s even a room in the basement with a cot and a sink. You could stay there. We’ll both be saving each other money. How does that sound, Billy?”

“That’s, uh, great. I’ll bring my stuff over this afternoon, Father.”

The fingers squeezed a little harder, tips digging into flesh and muscle. Reverend Christian smiled. “Reverend, Billy, not Father. I’m not a priest. Perhaps you need to brush up on your studies.”

“I’ll do that.” He tried to move away, but the reverend’s grip grew even stronger.

Jesus! How’d a guy so skinny get so strong?
He could already imagine the bruises he’d have tomorrow.

“Be not the stranger in the fold, Billy. Now that your name is known to me, I can protect thee from he who walks the lonely path.”

“Uh, that’s great, Fa..I mean, Reverend. Look, I gotta go. I’ll be back later.”

The vice grip on his shoulder eased. “Excellent. Tomorrow, I’ll show you around, and we can put together a list of chores. I’ll also need you to help me set up for the various charity events we’ll be running.”

“No problem. I’ll see you later. Bye, Mrs. Kapinski.”

He hurried down the steps before the old bat finished saying good bye, in case the freaky pastor decided to lock his lobster claws on him again.

Walking the six blocks down State Street to the Hastings Mills Motor Lodge gave him time to start thinking of a plan. The offer to sleep in the church was a bonus. He’d save money, and he couldn’t have asked for a better way to get alone time in the church.

Three months of shit work and I’ll be out of town with enough cash in hand to put together a real scam.

A cop car slowed as it passed by. A round face hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses stared at him from the open driver’s side window.

“Keeping out of trouble, Billy-boy?” Chief Showalter’s gruff voice mocked him. The car sped up before Billy could answer.

Three months. All you have to do is keep your nose clean and stay the hell away from Chief Lardbutt.

As he knew from past experience, both of those were easier said than done.

John Root paused a few feet away from Reverend Christian. He’d planned on asking the clergyman about being taken on as a handyman for the church when the scruffy-looking young man with the impish beard and greasy hair beat him to it.

They just might regret hiring that one.
It hadn’t escaped John’s notice the way the fellow’s blue eyes had been focusing on people’s back pockets. He’d been around enough thieves in his long life to recognize one when he saw him.

Well, that’s their problem. Mine is I still have to find work.

He turned away and stepped right on the feet of a young woman standing behind him.

“Ow!”

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. Let me get that.” John picked up the purse the girl had dropped.

“That’s okay. I thought you were waiting to speak with Reverend Christian.”

“I was, but that other fellow got the job.”

“What job?”

John smiled at her. “With all the renovations the church will be doing, I was hoping they needed someone to do the work.”

“Are you a carpenter?”

“No, just someone new in town and looking to make some money. I’m good with my hands and a hard worker, though, if you happen to know anyone who’s hiring.”

“Actually, I’ve been looking for someone to take care of a few things around my place.”

John took another look at her. Late twenties, not too thin but not overweight like so many people these days. A pleasant, non-committal smile that showed just a hint of bright-white teeth. Brown hair cut fashionably to the middle of her neck. Dark green eyes, more grass-green than hazel.

All in all it was a face that had an intelligent look about it, not someone he’d expect to be asking strangers to come work for her.

Unless she had some type of ulterior motive?

Don’t be a fool, John!
he berated himself. The Stranger never appeared as a woman.

“Danni, what are you doing?”

The boy standing with her had more sense than she did, apparently. His close relationship with her was immediately evident, from the hair color and slightly freckled complexion to the shape of the nose and the full lips. But where her eyes were an almost unnatural shade of green, the boy’s were a dark olive color. He wore glasses, thick ones. The top of his head didn’t quite reach the girl’s shoulders. His pale skin and thin build made him look almost sickly.