Read Online Feast for Thieves by Marcus Brotherton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcus Brotherton
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bed. To the front of the house lay a second bedroom with a baby crib and two cots nearby, about the right size for children.
The water was on when I tried it from the kitchen faucet and it ran cold and clear, but there was no indoor bathroom and no shower. A washtub lay to one side on the kitchen floor, and I reckoned that’s what a fella and his family bathed in, respectively, if he so had one. The entire parsonage was maybe five hundred square feet. It was budget-built and not maintained well. The floorboards were warped. The outside walls had been tar papered for insulation, but the paper was ripped and worn. In places I could see straight through the walls to the outside. This ceiling, too, was brown from water damage, and the entire place stunk of not being used. I wondered what sort of a man this Reverend Bobby might be if he didn’t care for his living quarters. Maybe he stayed someplace else.
I walked outside, saw the firewood area to the right side of the building under a wood awning, and noticed the wood was down to almost nothing. An axe sat near one pole with a whetstone nearby for sharpening. I decided to make good use of my time while waiting for my predecessor to come and show me the ropes.
First things first. I tested the corner of the firewood cover, saw it was strong enough, and cranked out a few sets of overhand pull-upsfrom a dead hang. A man’s got to stay in shape every chance he gets, and I liked to do a hundred each morning whenever I got the chance. Next I grabbed the axe, chopped kindling, lit a fire in the kitchen stove with my flint piece, and got it blazing. Underneath the sink lay a large pot, and I heated water on the stove and ladled it into the wash tub until full. The bar of soap from the church outhouses was weighty, thick, and a good sort of brown. It plopped nicely into my tub. My filthy clothes I shucked off in a jiffy and I climbed in and settled down for a good scrub. I hadn’t bathed since being baptized, and that was just a scant dunk in the river.
My, but the morning was warm. A hint of breeze flitted through the open kitchen window. My eyes closed and it got downright dreamy. Outside, a vehicle pulled up. I’d recognize that familiar rumble anywhere—the unmistakable chug of an army jeep. At least Reverend Bobby had good taste in vehicles, I thought, to locate such a find on surplus.
“In here!” I called. “Be with you in a minute.”
The front door to the parsonage opened. I heard a gasp. “Reverend Slater!”
My eyes flew open.
It was the sheriff’s willowy secretary. Never did catch her name. With a rush I sat forward in the waters to cover my unmentionables.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Really I am. I thought you were Reverend Bobby.”
The secretary stood by the front door, not moving. She glanced away and then glanced back, not in a salacious way but only curious, like she hadn’t any brothers to grow up with. She glanced away again and this time I stared at her then glanced away myself, noticing in a flash her curves through her dress—all set in place by the good Lord in all the right places—and I wondered if she was going to be so ornery to me this time.
She cleared her throat. “But I am Reverend Bobbie.”
EIGHT
T exas wildflowers were beginning to bloom across the road. I sat next to her on the steps outside the parsonage and ran my hand through my wet hair.
“Well,” I said, “I expected Reverend Bobby to have broader shoulders.”
“From what?” retorted the girl. “Gripping the pulpit?” She wrinkled her nose my direction and took a sniff. “You might throw your clothes in that wash basin along with you next time.”
“Relax,” I said. “It’s not the first time you’ve seen me dunked. I don’t know why you’re so worked up now.”
“I am not worked up. You’re the one who called me inside while you were taking a bath.”
“I didn’t call you inside. I only let you know of my presence as to not alarm you. Besides, I
The water was on when I tried it from the kitchen faucet and it ran cold and clear, but there was no indoor bathroom and no shower. A washtub lay to one side on the kitchen floor, and I reckoned that’s what a fella and his family bathed in, respectively, if he so had one. The entire parsonage was maybe five hundred square feet. It was budget-built and not maintained well. The floorboards were warped. The outside walls had been tar papered for insulation, but the paper was ripped and worn. In places I could see straight through the walls to the outside. This ceiling, too, was brown from water damage, and the entire place stunk of not being used. I wondered what sort of a man this Reverend Bobby might be if he didn’t care for his living quarters. Maybe he stayed someplace else.
I walked outside, saw the firewood area to the right side of the building under a wood awning, and noticed the wood was down to almost nothing. An axe sat near one pole with a whetstone nearby for sharpening. I decided to make good use of my time while waiting for my predecessor to come and show me the ropes.
First things first. I tested the corner of the firewood cover, saw it was strong enough, and cranked out a few sets of overhand pull-upsfrom a dead hang. A man’s got to stay in shape every chance he gets, and I liked to do a hundred each morning whenever I got the chance. Next I grabbed the axe, chopped kindling, lit a fire in the kitchen stove with my flint piece, and got it blazing. Underneath the sink lay a large pot, and I heated water on the stove and ladled it into the wash tub until full. The bar of soap from the church outhouses was weighty, thick, and a good sort of brown. It plopped nicely into my tub. My filthy clothes I shucked off in a jiffy and I climbed in and settled down for a good scrub. I hadn’t bathed since being baptized, and that was just a scant dunk in the river.
My, but the morning was warm. A hint of breeze flitted through the open kitchen window. My eyes closed and it got downright dreamy. Outside, a vehicle pulled up. I’d recognize that familiar rumble anywhere—the unmistakable chug of an army jeep. At least Reverend Bobby had good taste in vehicles, I thought, to locate such a find on surplus.
“In here!” I called. “Be with you in a minute.”
The front door to the parsonage opened. I heard a gasp. “Reverend Slater!”
My eyes flew open.
It was the sheriff’s willowy secretary. Never did catch her name. With a rush I sat forward in the waters to cover my unmentionables.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Really I am. I thought you were Reverend Bobby.”
The secretary stood by the front door, not moving. She glanced away and then glanced back, not in a salacious way but only curious, like she hadn’t any brothers to grow up with. She glanced away again and this time I stared at her then glanced away myself, noticing in a flash her curves through her dress—all set in place by the good Lord in all the right places—and I wondered if she was going to be so ornery to me this time.
She cleared her throat. “But I am Reverend Bobbie.”
EIGHT
T exas wildflowers were beginning to bloom across the road. I sat next to her on the steps outside the parsonage and ran my hand through my wet hair.
“Well,” I said, “I expected Reverend Bobby to have broader shoulders.”
“From what?” retorted the girl. “Gripping the pulpit?” She wrinkled her nose my direction and took a sniff. “You might throw your clothes in that wash basin along with you next time.”
“Relax,” I said. “It’s not the first time you’ve seen me dunked. I don’t know why you’re so worked up now.”
“I am not worked up. You’re the one who called me inside while you were taking a bath.”
“I didn’t call you inside. I only let you know of my presence as to not alarm you. Besides, I
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