A Lady Like Sarah (31 page)

"Don't worry," he said
lightiy
, walking into the Blue Bull. "I'm not going to preach. I only work on Sundays." It was an old joke among preachers, who rarely got credit for the many hours they ministered.

No one looked amused at his comment, and his attempt at humor did nothing to stop the mass exit.

He found the judge in the Silver Bell, the fourth place he searched. The bartender pointed to a man slumped at a corÂner table. He turned to look, but all he could see were men scrambling to make their escape, pushing and shoving their way outside.

By the time he walked to the corner table, most everyone had left. The only evidence of the hasty departure was overÂturned chairs and the swinging of bat-wing doors.

The man reeked of alcohol and sweat and appeared to be out cold. "Judge
Fassbender
?"

No response.

Justin shook him. The judge groaned but didn't open his eyes. Drool rolled down his unshaven chin. He wore black pants, a waistcoat, and scuffed boots.
A tangle of uncombed hair more gray than black fell to his shoulders.

Justin shook him again, harder this time, and the judge lifted his head, his eyes red and unfocused.

Justin lifted his arm to catch the bartender's attention. "Do you have any Arbuckle's?"

The man scoffed and spit out a yellow stream of tobacco. "This ain't
no
Harvey House, and I ain't no Harvey girl."

Without coffee, Justin had no idea how to bring the judge out of his stupor.
Maybe some fresh air.
He tried lifting the judge out of the chair, but the man flopped forward, knocking over a half empty bottle of whiskey.
Justin quickly
uprighted
the bottle, but not soon enough to prevent the contents from getting in
Fassbender's
face.

Justin jerked on the judge's collar, lifting his head off the table. He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at the man's wet cheek.

The judge twisted his head from side to side, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
FOs
eyes opened, but all Justin could see were the whites.

The judge sat back in his chair under his own power, starÂing at Justin through slotted eyes. "W-
hat.
. . what are you trying to do to me?"

"You have my heartfelt apologies."

Fassbender
shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Who are you?" he slurred.

"Reverend Justin Wells. I'm the new pastor."

"You have no right b-baptizing people without their
thay
-
thoo
," he stammered.

"Don't worry," Justin said. "Your sins are safe. Baptism by whiskey doesn't count." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I need to talk to you."

The judge flinched. "Don't yell," he said, though Justin spoke in a normal voice.

Justin leaned forward. "Does the name Sarah Prescott ring a bell?" he asked.

Fassbender
gawked at Justin with bloodshot eyes and shook his head.

"You sentenced her to hang," Justin said, forgetting to lower his voice.

The judge looked confused.
"
Bres
—?"

"Prescott. Sarah Prescott."

Fassbender
waved his hand in the air. "
Killed.
. . someone."

"No, she didn't." Justin moved closer.

"Killed someone,"
Fassbender
repeated. The man's eyes cleared and he almost looked lucid.

"She didn't kill anyone," Justin said.

Fassbender
combed his fingers through his hair. "How do you know she didn't?"

It was a fair question for which Justin had no real answer. He believed Sarah, but her word alone wasn't likely to impress the judge. "How do you know she did? Were there any witÂnesses? What about the other passengers?
The driver?
What did they say?"

The judge looked confused by all the questions. His eyes rolled, and he slumped forward again, his head on the table.

Frustrated, Justin slapped a fist against his palm. This was a waste of time and he had so little to spare. He stood, pushed in his chair and started to walk away. The judge's voice made him stop.

Justin whirled around to face him. "What did you say?"

"I said, have you ever asked yourself
why.
. . why bother?"
Fassbender's
words were muffled. He lifted his eyes to Justin. "How many people have you saved, Reverend?"

"I-I don't know," Justin said, surprised by the question. After all, God saved. All Justin did was
help
pave the way. He sat down again. "It's not something I keep track of."

The judge lifted his head but held on to the table with both hands. "Oh, you keep track," he said in a low monotone voice. "We all do. It's our n-nature." He gazed across the empty room. His words garbled, he began to talk about his father.

"Did you say your father was shot?" Justin asked.

Fassbender
nodded. "Horse thieves . . . I was ten years old when he died in my arms."

"I'm sorry," Justin said. "Losing a parent at such a young age . . . I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you." He thought of Sarah and her brothers. Of countless others he'd ministered to through the years. Lost childhoods often led to broken adults.

Fassbender
wiped his chin with the back of his hand. He straightened as if talking about his dead father had a sobering effect on him.

"I vowed to go into law and bring every blasted
cr
—
crimi
—
nal
to justice. I got myself elected
sh
-sheriff."
Fassbender's
words were less garbled, but his voice was still thick from the effects of alcohol. "I figured that one or more of them would turn out to be my f-father's killers."
Fassbender
scratched his unshaven chin and grimaced. "Most of the ones I arrested got off scot-free. So I became a . . . judge."

Elbow on the table,
Fassbender
lifted his arm and shook an unsteady finger. "That's when I found out that fighting bribed witnesses and fancy lawyers was a losing battle. The only way I could see any sort of justice was to ban witnesses from my courtroom and rule everyone guilty."

Shocked, Justin stared at him. "What about the innocent?"

"The innocent don't have a chance either way. They can't afford bribes or lawyers, and they don't know how to work the system."
Fassbender
shuddered and wagged his head as if tryÂing to clear his thoughts. "Tell me you've never been discourÂaged in your line of work. Tell me you've never wanted to give up when someone you save reverts back to old ways."

It was all Justin could do to choke back his anger. He stood and leaned over the judge, glowering at him. "Yes, I've been discouraged. Yes, I've seen more people walk away from God than come to Him, and yes, I've been tempted to give up. But I've never forgotten why I went into ministry in the first place."

"It's easy for you to judge—"

"I don't have to," Justin said. "By the looks of you, I'd say you're doing a good job of judging yourself."

Fassbender
said nothing. Instead, he stared at the now empty whiskey bottle as if that alone would save him.

Sickened, Justin turned and walked away.

His next stop was the office of the
Rocky Creek Gazette.
The man sitting behind the cluttered desk stroked the orange cat on his lap. The eyes behind steel-rimmed spectacles were wide with curiosity. A neatly trimmed mustache twitched beneath a bulbous red nose. An ugly red scar ran along the side of his face. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for the editor."

"That's me," the man said.
"Jacoby Barnes at your service.
And this here," he said pointing to the cat with an ink-stained finger, "is
Extra
."

Justin introduced himself. "I'm the new pastor." He wasted no time getting to the point of his visit. "I thought you might be interested in some facts about Sarah Prescott for your newspaper."

Barnes looked skeptical. "I have nothing against facts.
As long as they correspond with my opinion."

Justin sat down and told him what he knew about Sarah Prescott—or at least the facts as they pertained to her plight.

When he finished, the editor chased
Extra
off his lap and sat forward. "This is all very interesting, and I'll be happy to include it in Friday's paper."

"Friday?"
Justin said in alarm. "That will be too late."

"That's when the paper comes out. That's two weeks ahead of schedule. I figured everyone would want to read about the hanging."

Justin rubbed his chin. "What will it take to put out a speÂcial edition tomorrow?"

Barnes pursed out his lips.
"A lot of work."

"I'm willing to pay your expenses." By Boston standards, his church salary had been modest but more than enough to cover his meager living expenses. Half his savings was left, and he would gladly spend every last penny if it meant saving Sarah's life.

Justin could see the man's mind working. Barnes tapped his jaw with broad fingers, leaving a smudge of ink on his chin. "It could get expensive. I'd have to walk down to the jail and all."

Justin couldn't imagine how walking to the jail two doors away could result in additional expenses, but he didn't have rime to argue. "I can give you ten dollars now and pay the rest later."

The editor afforded him a triumphant smile. "Reverend Wells, I believe you've got yourself a deal."

J
ustin
left the newspaper office feeling more depressed than encouraged. It had been a difficult morning. A hammering came from the direction of the livery stable, and his stomach tightened. Four men were putting the portable gallows in place.

Sickened by the sight, he turned toward the marshal's office. He was frustrated by his reception at the saloon, his talk with
Fassbender
, and the lack of progress on Sarah's behalf. The gallows only added to his torment.

As if to guess at his state of mind, Sarah greeted him with a bright smile, but she didn't fool him a bit. She could hide her anxiety behind a lively demeanor, but she couldn't hide her pale cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes.

She insisted he tell her all about Elizabeth, even though it had only been yesterday that she saw her.

"Let's see," he said, trying to match her light manner. "In the last twenty-four hours, she's grown a whole foot and she's ready for music lessons."

"Justin Wells,
I do believe you're
joshin' me."

He reached through the bars and took both her hands in his.

She looked up at him, and all
pretense
between them fell away. Her eyes filled with tears and her lower lip quivered. "Anything?" she asked.

"Not yet," he
whispered,
his voice hoarse. He dropped to his knees, forcing her down with him. "Pray with me."

She nodded. "You go first."

Still holding her hands, he lowered his head. "Dear heavÂenly Father, Almighty God, Creator of heaven and
earth . . ."
He pressed his head against a steel bar. He was so close to her, he could feel her warm breath. "You go," he whispered.

She
gazed up at him for moment before lowering her head again. "God, I ain't
meanin
' to bother
You
. . ."
After a moment of silence, she whispered, "Your turn."

"My strength and my salvation."

"And I sure do appreciate
everythin
'
You
done for
me . . ."

She showed none of her earlier shyness in praying out loud, and for this he was grateful.

"Show us the way, Lord.
Show
us the way . . ." he continued.

"I ain't
seein
'
no
signs, God. If you could please make them a little more noticeable, I'd be much obliged."

"Amen." He squeezed her hands.

"Amen," she said, squeezing back.

Warned by the rattling sound behind him, he pulled away and stood just before the outer door flew open.

"Time's up," Marshal Briggs said.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Justin said, trying to keep his voice sufficiently reserved. His back to the marshal, he lifted his eyes upward. "Hold on to God," he said softly. There was so much more he wanted to say but couldn't. Not with the marshal watching his every move.

He walked past the marshal, through the front office, and out the door without looking back.

An hour and a half after leaving the jail, Justin was ushered into Dr. Myers's parlor, Elizabeth tucked into the sling at his chest. Soon, he would have to find another way of transportÂing her as she had just about outgrown her carrier.