Brimstone

36

VIRGIL AND I SAT IN two straight chairs tilted back against the wall on the front porch of the sheriff’s office.

“Where’s Allie?” I said. “Ain’t seen her in a while.”

Virgil grinned.

“Miss those lunches?” Virgil said.

“God, no,” I said. “She ain’t doing your shirts no more, either.”

“Nope, taking them to the Chinaman again.”

“So she’s out closing down saloons?” I said.

“She’s at the church, mostly,” Virgil said. “I think she adopted them two women.”

“Mary Beth and Laurel?”

“Yep.”

“Laurel talk yet?” I said.

“Allie says no.”

“Seen a doctor?”

“Both of them. Nothing wrong with them but a few bruises.”

“He look at their, ah, private parts?” I said.

“Don’t know what he looked at, Everett,” Virgil said. “Didn’t ask.”

“Just thought, since they’d been misused…”

“Doctor says they are okay,” Virgil said.

“So why don’t the girl talk?” I said.

“Don’t know.”

There were some clouds so that the sky was a pretty even gray, and it looked like it could rain in a while. But it was warm, and the weather still was pleasant.

“How ’bout Mary Beth?” I said.

“She’s drinking a lot,” Virgil said.

“Can’t say I blame her.”

“Ain’t helping the kid,” Virgil said.

“Probably not,” I said.

“Allie says that the mother told her they can’t be mother and daughter no more,” Virgil said.

“So you and Allie are talking ’bout things,” I said.

“Yep.”

“They can’t be mother and daughter because of what happened?” I said.

“Allie said that Mary Beth said that she and the kid seen each other do things that no mother and daughter should ever see.”

I nodded.

“Wasn’t like they had a choice,” I said.

Virgil shrugged.

There was a lot of traffic on Arrow Street. Carriages, buck-boards, freight wagon, men on horseback. There were a lot of people walking along the boardwalks and going in and out of shops. From the blacksmith shop across the street and around the corner, I could hear the clang of his hammer.

“How they getting on with the Reverend Brother Percival?” I said.

Virgil grunted.

“He has them in for pastural counseling, every day,” Virgil said, “whatever that is.”

“Pastoral,” I said. “Like a pastor.”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

“Both of them together?”

“Nope, one at a time,” Virgil said.

“Must be an interesting time with the kid,” I said.

“Who don’t talk,” Virgil said.

“I don’t like Brother Percival,” I said.

“Me neither,” Virgil said.

“I think he’s got something going on we don’t know about,” I said.

“Me too.”

“How come Choctaw’s with him and with Pike?” I said.

“ ’Cause Percival’s got something going on with Pike.”

“Pike ought to love him,” I said. “Percival’s closing down all Pike’s competition.”

“Maybe that’s what they got going on,” Virgil said.

“Nice for Pike,” I said. “What’s Percival get?”

“Maybe money,” Virgil said. “Maybe the joy of doing God’s work. Maybe both.”

“Thing wrong with folks like the holy Brother Percival,” I said, “is that they think they got a right to do anything. Because they doing God’s work.”

Virgil let his chair tip forward a little and then bumped it back against the wall. He was so balanced, so exact in all his movements, that I figured he could probably balance in that chair if there wasn’t any wall.

“Kinda like to know what he’s telling those ladies in them pastoral sessions,” Virgil said.

“Probably telling ’em they’re going to hell,” Virgil said.

“For getting raped?” I said.

“Maybe Percival don’t see it that way,” Virgil said.

“No, maybe he don’t,” I said.

“Bet God would let that go,” Virgil said.

“Yeah, but you don’t know,” I said. “Percival knows.”

“Sure,” Virgil said. “Sure he does.”