words. He'd never forget the man whose name he'd stolen. Swallowing hard, he shook the woman's small hand. "Zeke asked me to...uh..."
"Oh, yes, Fanny would want that, Father. Thank you so much." Dora kept his hand and led him across the room. "Mr. Judson probably told you about the pastor and his wife." She paused and placed her hand over her heart with a sigh. "So much tragedy."
"Yes, I'm sorry to hear about the epidemic." And I'd sure as hell like to know what it really is .
Luke couldn't help but notice the body stretched out on boards across the room. Several women fussed over the dead woman, sniffling and sharing stories about the good things Fanny Judson had done in her life. Damn waste.
Dora opened a huge book on a desk near the front door. "This is where Reverend Bodine recorded deaths, marriages, baptisms and such," she explained. "If you'll enter her name here, and the dates of birth and death here, we'd be much obliged."
Luke looked down at the pages, where his predecessor had written in previous events for the citizens of Redemption. The entire page was filled with deaths–not a single birth or wedding.
All these senseless deaths...
Luke paused for a moment to consider the irony. Today, he was supposed to have died. Instead, here he stood trying to comfort the grieving by playing a role for which he was unworthy. More than unworthy.
His eyes focused on the most recent entry, just above where he would record the name of Fanny Judson.
Elizabeth Ann Morton, he read silently. Born August 19, '86.
Died September 11, 1891...
The date reverberated through Luke's head, then finally reached his lips.
"1891?"
Chapter 4
"Father?"
Luke winced when Dora touched his sleeve, but not from the sudden pressure against his sensitive burned skin.
A loud roar filled his head, rivaling even the explosions that had saved his miserable life this morning. The day's events replayed through his mind at warp speed.
1891. Bizarre. Unbelievable.
Impossible? After this morning, how could he consider anything impossible? By all rights, he was the one who should be dead. Very dead.
"Father, are you all right?" Dora slipped her arm beneath his and guided him toward a chair. "Perhaps you should sit a spell. Did you get caught in that storm we had earlier this afternoon?"
"Storm? Yes, the storm. Yes. Uh, we were caught in the storm."
"It came on so suddenly..." Dora's expression left no doubt she questioned his state of mind.
As did he.
1891? He looked around the room. Victorian furnishings. Long skirts and upswept hair. Either he'd really fallen back in time somehow, or Redemption was the Rocky Mountain equivalent to Brigadoon.
Of course, and smallpox. Yes, it all made sense now. Sick sense. But how?
"You must be exhausted." Dora nudged him, urging him to sit. "It may not be very Christian of me to say so, but I'm glad you came to us today. Fanny Judson was one of the kindest women I've ever known. She...she deserves a prop...proper funeral."
Luke looked up at the woman and saw her lower lip quiver as tears rolled silently down her face. He should offer comfort, as the real Father Salazar certainly would have, but his mind was reeling from other matters.
Like time travel.
"I'm sorry, but if you'll just give me a minute...?" He patted Dora's hand and tried his damnedest to appear pious. Or at least something besides nuts.
"Of course, Father. Please forgive me." Dora dabbed at her tears with a pristine lace handkerchief, then hurried back to the grieving Zeke Judson and his wife's dead body.
Okay, Luke, think
"Oh, yes, Fanny would want that, Father. Thank you so much." Dora kept his hand and led him across the room. "Mr. Judson probably told you about the pastor and his wife." She paused and placed her hand over her heart with a sigh. "So much tragedy."
"Yes, I'm sorry to hear about the epidemic." And I'd sure as hell like to know what it really is .
Luke couldn't help but notice the body stretched out on boards across the room. Several women fussed over the dead woman, sniffling and sharing stories about the good things Fanny Judson had done in her life. Damn waste.
Dora opened a huge book on a desk near the front door. "This is where Reverend Bodine recorded deaths, marriages, baptisms and such," she explained. "If you'll enter her name here, and the dates of birth and death here, we'd be much obliged."
Luke looked down at the pages, where his predecessor had written in previous events for the citizens of Redemption. The entire page was filled with deaths–not a single birth or wedding.
All these senseless deaths...
Luke paused for a moment to consider the irony. Today, he was supposed to have died. Instead, here he stood trying to comfort the grieving by playing a role for which he was unworthy. More than unworthy.
His eyes focused on the most recent entry, just above where he would record the name of Fanny Judson.
Elizabeth Ann Morton, he read silently. Born August 19, '86.
Died September 11, 1891...
The date reverberated through Luke's head, then finally reached his lips.
"1891?"
Chapter 4
"Father?"
Luke winced when Dora touched his sleeve, but not from the sudden pressure against his sensitive burned skin.
A loud roar filled his head, rivaling even the explosions that had saved his miserable life this morning. The day's events replayed through his mind at warp speed.
1891. Bizarre. Unbelievable.
Impossible? After this morning, how could he consider anything impossible? By all rights, he was the one who should be dead. Very dead.
"Father, are you all right?" Dora slipped her arm beneath his and guided him toward a chair. "Perhaps you should sit a spell. Did you get caught in that storm we had earlier this afternoon?"
"Storm? Yes, the storm. Yes. Uh, we were caught in the storm."
"It came on so suddenly..." Dora's expression left no doubt she questioned his state of mind.
As did he.
1891? He looked around the room. Victorian furnishings. Long skirts and upswept hair. Either he'd really fallen back in time somehow, or Redemption was the Rocky Mountain equivalent to Brigadoon.
Of course, and smallpox. Yes, it all made sense now. Sick sense. But how?
"You must be exhausted." Dora nudged him, urging him to sit. "It may not be very Christian of me to say so, but I'm glad you came to us today. Fanny Judson was one of the kindest women I've ever known. She...she deserves a prop...proper funeral."
Luke looked up at the woman and saw her lower lip quiver as tears rolled silently down her face. He should offer comfort, as the real Father Salazar certainly would have, but his mind was reeling from other matters.
Like time travel.
"I'm sorry, but if you'll just give me a minute...?" He patted Dora's hand and tried his damnedest to appear pious. Or at least something besides nuts.
"Of course, Father. Please forgive me." Dora dabbed at her tears with a pristine lace handkerchief, then hurried back to the grieving Zeke Judson and his wife's dead body.
Okay, Luke, think
Similar Books
