School Of Divinity

"Hmm?" Michael asked, mouth full of food.

"Yeah, had her real bad fever when she weren't nothing but a baby, ain't been able see nothing since," John Paul said.

"And that's why she clings onto Catherine," Michael thought.

Harold Mahon and a few of his men did stop by the table as Caroline and Michael were eating their Monday evening meal. He did ask whom Michael had spoken with while he was in the mining camp.

"Why, I spoke with all of them," Michael said. "Just as I'm speaking with you now, sir."

"Watch your lip," one of the men snarled.

"Hank, it's fine," Harold smiled. "I'm sure he meant no disrespect, right, Reverend?"

"Right," Michael said. "Simply stating a fact. I spoke with each man there."

"Any of them uh, happen mention anything about joining together?" Harold asked casually.

"Joining? In worship?" Michael asked.

"Union, blast your hide," Hank snarled.

"I spoke with each man about worship. I am not a miner; I know nothing of mining," Michael answered.

"Hank," Harold again stated. "Well, now, Reverend. If any these men was talk with you about joining together, getting them a union, you'd be sure to let me know, right?"

"As we are speaking, Mr. Mahon, would you happen to know who has claim to the land to the west of the mines? I'm speaking of the land that has that beautiful creek running through the outcropping of rocks?" Michael asked, not answering Harold's question.

"Yes, it is part of my land," Harold said.

"Might there be any possibility you would sell that land? It would be perfect for the construction of a house of worship. With that creek? We could hold baptisms there," Michael said.

"Five hundred an acre," Harold said, grinning.

"Five hundred credits?" Michael asked.

"No, no, not credits, Dollars. American dollars," Harold verified.

"Huh. But you pay everyone in your employ in Mahon credits," Michael said.

"Had about enough..." Hank growled, moving to grab Michael's shirt collar.

"Ah!" Hank gasped out as Michael grabbed, then bent Hank's hand backward.

"Ah, ah, let go, let me go!" Hank whimpered as Michael easily brought him down to his knees.

"Apologize," Michael said calmly.

"I ain't...ah!" Hank snarled, then gasped as Michael bent his hand even further.

"Hank's sorry, he's real sorry," Harold said quickly.

"No, Mr. Mahon, five hundred dollars, five hundred credits, that's far too much for that land. Let us come to an agreeable price?" Michael said, releasing Hank's hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," Hank gasped, holding his hand in his other hand.

"Curious how you did that," Harold said.

"Would you like me to show you?" Michael smiled an almost feral smile.

"Oh no, there's no need," Harold said, now regarding the Reverend warily.

"I was thinking, hmm, ten acres? Twenty dollars an acre?" Michael offered.

"No sir," Harold said. "Now, I might be persuaded to come down to say, three hundred an acre?"

"Mr. Mahon, we'll speak again when you are in a more reasonable mood," Michael sighed.

Harold's smile faded and he got to his feet.

"Especially knowing how you came about owning that land in the first place," Michael continued.

"What's that supposed mean?" Harold said, face dark.

"You should know," Michael said, scraping more of the beans onto his fork.

"No, you answer me, man. What's that mean?" Harold demanded.

Hank did not attempt to grab Michael. Joshua, however, was foolish enough to attempt to grab Michael. Michael blocked Joshua's hand, knocking it to the side. Joshua, enraged, moved to grab his Colt from his holster. He froze when he saw the Smith & Wesson in Michael's hand.

Michael finished chewing his meal and put his fork down. His brown eyes were unreadable as he regarded Harold Mahon.

"What? What kind of Reverend carries around a gun?" Harold sputtered.

"A smart one," Michael smiled, twirled the handgun in his hand a few times, then holstered it.

A few days after the dinner incident, Michael was watching the small community, watching the occasional pedestrian, the occasional horse and rider.

The mercantile seemed to have the most traffic; a few of the miner's wives, with children in tow did patronize the shop. He did perk up slightly when he spotted Catherine Martinelli, with Marie Bergeron clutching on her arm. The two beautiful young women entered the shop. A moment later, Hank, Joshua, and Paul, another of Harold's men ambled from saloon to mercantile.

"Aw now, a sweet little filly like you ought have a man show you a thing or two," Hank was giggling as he reached out a hand to touch Catherine.

Both Marie and Catherine looked frightened. Marie was hampering Catherine's ability to protect herself, protect her flesh from the wanton gropes; she clutched onto Catherine's right arm fearfully.

"Please. We're just here to get some rice and flour," Catherine begged the three louts.

"Well, sure, sure, and we'll even help you carry it part the way, right fellows?" Joshua asked.

"That is enough," Michael said quietly, forcefully.

"Aw now, uh Reverend, this ain't none your business," Joshua snarled, whirling.

Joshua moved the pull his gun from his holster. Michael's left foot shot out, kicking the revolver from Joshua's hand. Michael's right foot swept up, moving from left to right, striking Joshua's face. Five of Joshua's bottom teeth landed on the wooden floor. A palm strike to Joshua's solar plexus sent Joshua crashing to the floor.

Paul moved to pull his own gun from his holster. Again, a kick from Michael dislodged the gun from Paul's grasp. A tug of Paul's arm sent the man sprawling over a table of bolts of cloth. Paul crashed to the floor and lay, too stunned to move.

Hank spun behind Catherine and Held Catherine in front of himself, using her as a shield.

"Shows me what kind of man you are," Michael sneered. "The kind that would hide behind a woman's skirts."

Hank's face darkened. Michael smiled a mocking smile.

"Yellow bellied man, hiding behind a girl," Michael taunted.

"That's enough," Harold Mahon said from behind Michael. "Reverend? 'Fraid you going have come with us, hear?"

Michael turned to see Harold Mahon and a nervous looking man with a silver star on his shirt's left breast. Michael sneered at the law man, at Harold.

"And, where were the two of you when these ruffians were being most inappropriate with these young women?" Michael asked.

"Hank, you was being inappropriate with these young women?" Harold asked, smiling.

"Uh, I uh, no sir," Hank denied.

"So, you hurt Joshua and Paul on no reason?" Earl Ponders, the law man spoke up.

"I, sir, am a man of God," Michael snapped.

"Some man of God," Joshua tried to say.

"But he didn't! He wasn't..." Catherine protested.

"These three; they was saying some real naughty things yeah," Marie supplied.

"Now, now, which one said what?" Harold smiled.

"So, you uh, Gosh darn, Joshua, what happened to you?" Earl asked, looking at Joshua's bloodied face.

"Looks like Paul's arm's broken," Harold mused.

"Need you come with me," Earl demanded, pulling out his manacles.

"I'll come, but you'll not put those on me," Michael told the nervous law man.

"But he was just..." Catherine protested.

"Catherine, Marie, go. Go about your business," Michael smiled a reassuring smile. "It will be handled."

That night, after darkness enveloped the town, a figure walked quietly into the jail. Deputy Earl Ponders leaned back in his chair, hat over his face, feet on his desk. His shotgun lay across his chest as he slumbered. The figure walked toward the third cell, where Michael lay sleeping under a thick blanket.

Just as the figure reached for his Colt, the figure at the desk pumped the shotgun once.

"Wouldn't do that if I was you," Michael said, now standing, shotgun at the ready. "See, that's Earl laying there, tied up under that blanket. Hate for you kill one of your own."

"What? How in the blazes..." Douglas Smith stammered.

"Now, real slow, reach your left hand down, unbuckle your belt, drop your holster to the ground," Michael ordered.

Douglas did so. At Michael's orders he kicked his belt and gun back toward Michael.

"Now, why don't you go on, get in that cell right there," Michael said, pointing with the barrel of the shotgun toward the second cell.

"Harold's waiting for me get back," Douglas said.

"Oh, I'll stop by, tell him you're a little tied up," Michael chuckled.

Once Douglas was inside of the second cell, Michael quickly hog tied the thug. Then he took the keys for the cells, the key for the door to the jail and left. He securely locked the door of the jailhouse, walked to the outhouse behind the jail and dropped the keys into the hole in the wood plank. The buzz and hum of flies let him know the keys were now in the offal below the plank seat.

Michael then walked to the saloon. Harold was holding court with five of his men. One of the waitresses perched on Harold's knee, giggling as he played with one of her large breasts. Hank's face went pale as he saw Michael step up behind Harold.

"Mr. Mahon, Douglas and Earl are a little tied up at the moment," Michael said.

Harold's own face went pale as he heard the voice of the man he'd believed he'd rid himself of. He glanced up over his shoulder, mouth open in surprise.

"I'll be preaching to the flock this Sunday, should you and your men care to come hear the word of God," Michael invited.

"But, but, you, you're to wait for the Judge," Harold said.

"I will see the Judge when it is time to see the Judge," Michael assured him. "And you, Mr. Mahon, you will see the Judge when it is your time to see the Judge."

With that declaration, the minister turned and left the saloon. A moment later, Harold's five henchmen thundered out of the saloon in hot pursuit of Michael.

Michael shook his head as the five men ran up the dark mountain trail in pursuit of him. He then moved away from the wall next to the door of the saloon and returned into the saloon.

"Mr. Mahon, you really should have one of your guards remain behind," Michael smiled as the man shook in fear. "Never know who might walk in, hmm?"

Sunday morning, just as the sun was beginning to crest the mountains, Michael paused. He could hear a bird screeching and squawking in distress. He stepped underneath a tree and carefully scanned the branches overhead.

In a neighboring tree, he saw one of Harold's men, rifle at the ready, aimed toward the clearing. Three branches above the henchman's head, Michael saw the bird's nest.

"Do not fear, Momma Bird," he whispered quietly as he stealthily moved underneath the tree. "I'll not disturb your young."

The sun slowly crept up the mountains, illuminating the clearing. Albert Campbell glanced around, wondering where the minister was. According to their snitch in the miner's camp, the man always announced his presence right at the break of dawn.

"The momma wants her tree again," Michael said, just before shoving Albert out of the tree.

Albert's left arm was broken, just above the elbow when he hit the first branch on the way down. His right leg was broken, just below the knee when he hit the fourth branch. He was knocked unconscious when he slammed, face first into the ground.

Michael hefted the rotund man, lay him across his saddle and tied right arm to left leg. With a slap, Michael sent Albert's horse trotting back to the small town. Then he stepped into the clearing.

"My brothers! My sisters! Friends!" Michael called out in a strong voice. "I have come! I have come to proclaim the good news; the good news that our Lord and Savior has risen from the dead, has ascended into the Heavens and shall come again in triumphant glory! Brothers, sisters, come! Come and hear the good news, the word of God."

Within moments, he had the men and women and their children gathered. He smiled as Marie and Catherine were among the first and both made sure to be near him.

He also noticed that one man, Wilhelm Burchfield did not smile, did not laugh and chatter with his neighbors. Michael saw Wilhelm's eyes darting nervously about, scanning the trees around them.

"I proclaim the good news," Michael started. "Our salvation was bought for us, paid for by the blood of the Lamb being spilled onto the ground. But before his blood did pour from his wounds, he was betrayed."

The men, women, and children listened intently. Michael focused his gaze on Wilhelm.

"One of the disciples, one of the men closest to our Savior betrayed the son of man, the son of God. He did so for a few pieces of silver," Michael said. "And he betrayed his Savior, his friend, his fellow traveler with a kiss."

"We look at Judas Iscariot, we look at him with disgust, with scorn," Michael continued. "For a few pieces of silver? For such a small sum? Judas did hand over his own brother to be put to death. But, my friends, had Jesus not died, had He not been buried, had He not risen from the dead? Then we would not be given his gift of salvation. We would not be freed from the bondage of sin."

Michael had them give thanks for their salvation. He had them give thanks for their freedom from sin, freedom from damnation. Then, with a final prayer, he thanked them.

Again, the miners and their families crowded around him. Michael smiled, shaking hands, chatted with each man, complimenting each woman, praising each child for being so well-behaved during their worship.

"Henry, if I may?" Michael called out.

Michael's smiled widened as he saw the flush of excitement on Catherine's face. He also saw a blush come to Marie's face.

Henry's gait was a bit of a strut as he guided his brood to their hovel. With a final glance to the handsome minister, Catherine pulled Marie into the hovel and firmly closed the door.

After the last of the families had left the clearing, Michael found a mature tree. He shimmied upward until he found the branch he had hoped to find.

His knife made quick work of separating the long, thin branch from the thick branch and Michael let the branch drop to the ground. Then he deftly leapt from branch to branch until he too was once more on the ground.

"Mr. Minister, how you do that?" a boy asked, mouth agape.

"Are you six feet tall?" Michael asked, smiling as he picked up his branch.

"Huh? No, I ain't no six feet tall," the boy giggled at the silly question.

"Hmm. Sorry, chum. You have to be six feet tall do that," Michael said and used his knife to whittle the branch smooth of bark.

At the dinner table, every time Michael looked at Catherine, the beautiful girl would flush hotly and look away. Then, her eyes would flit back to the handsome man.

"Some more of your cider?" Michael asked after the plates had been cleared.

In Creole French, and in hushed words, just in case anyone should be eavesdropping, Michael told Henry that Wilhelm Burchfield was not to be trusted. Henry's face took on a dark caste.

"And he the first one say 'aw need get us a union,'" Henry spluttered.

"Again, my friend, and I do call you my friend," Michael whispered quietly. "He is not to be trusted."

"Now, what you doing with that stick?" Henry asked.

"Hmm? This? This is for Marie," Michael smiled. "In Boston?"

"Boston? Massachusetts?" Marie asked. "You've been there?"

"I have. And there is a school, it is for the blind," Michael said. "And they teach them to use sticks to walk about."

"Sticks? I got Catherine," Marie said, beautiful face wrinkled in confusion.

"Mm-hmm. But suppose Catherine is ill, but you need some water. What then? Would you make your dear friend get up just to fetch you some water? Or... You could get your stick, and find the water yourself," Michael suggested. "Come. Come outside and we will learn to use the stick."

"Then I just get Isabella," Marie protested, even as Catherine guided her outside.

Outside, Michael put the staff into Marie's hand. He then showed her how to tap to the left when her right foot stepped forward. Tap to the right when her left foot went forward. Tap, step. Tap, step.

"Oh, do be careful!" Claire called out as Marie headed toward a tree.

"When your cane comes in contact with something, stop walking," Michael said. "It might be a tree. It might be a building. It might be a locomotive."

"A locomotive!" Marie hooted. "Way out here?"

"Now, turn around and come back to us," Michael said when Marie did make contact with the tree.

Marie's smile was wide as she took some confident steps. Catherine gave an involuntary squeal of happiness, seeing her friend walk alone.

"What you think that is?" Michael asked when Marie's stick tapped Catherine's leg.

"Woo-woo! Chugga-chugga-chugga, woo-woo!" Catherine said, imitating a locomotive's sounds.

The two girls squealed in laughter. Claire and Henry shook their heads, smiling at the girls' silliness.

"Come, let's see if you can find the..." Catherine said then whispered something into Marie's ear.

"Now, when you at the back corner? You know it's about ten steps," Catherine said, taking Marie to the rear of the hovel.

Marie started walking, stick tapping. Catherine stayed at the rear of their building, watching. When she turned, eyes shiny, Michael knew Marie had managed, on her own, to find the outhouse.

"Mr. Atwell," Catherine said.

"Please, girl, call me Michael," Michael smiled.

"Thank you," Catherine whispered, then ran to the hovel.

Arriving in the small town, Michael was approached by Earl Ponders, the sheriff. The lawman described the injuries Albert Campbell had suffered, and asked if Michael had any ideas how the man might have suffered those injuries.

"Hmm? Was he in your jail?" Michael asked. "From what I remember, it is a fairly unsafe place."

Loudly, for the ears of the few stragglers, Michael did inform his sister that he would not be a guest in her abode any longer.

"No, no, Wilhelm Burchfield has invited me to stay with him and his lovely wife," Michael informed Caroline.

Michael then placed his heavy trunk upon his shoulder and marched up the trail to the miners' camp. He did hope that none of Harold Mahon's men were craven enough to shoot him in the back as he travelled. But Michael Atwell had long ago lost any fear of Death.

When he could not see the fringe of wooden structures behind him, and just when he was able to see the hovels the miners called home, Michael stepped from the path into a thicket of trees. He found two sturdy trees nearly ten feet apart and placed his trunk on the ground at the base of one tree.

From his trunk, Michael found a tightly coiled cloth. He unfurled the cloth and measured with his eye that the trees were far enough from one another.

Two thick dowels were inserted into folds of the cloth, then Michael tied one end to the trunk of the tree, nearly four feet above the ground. Then, marching to the other tree, Michael attached the other end of the cloth to the second tree.

The hammock rocked and swayed gently as Michael hoisted himself into the swing. He saw that he had made an excellent choice of where to position the swing; the sun was already behind the fringe of trees, affording him shade. He was also easily able to see the trail that led from town to camp from his location.

Just before dusk, Michael went to the small stream and dangled a shiny lure into the water. Within moments, a large fish approached the flickering, dancing object.

Michael's hand flashed downward and caught the fish just as the fish prepared to capture the tasty morsel.

A tall circle of stones kept Michael's fire from being visible. Michael cooked his fish and the potatoes he'd dug up from Harold Mahon's garden.

Near midnight, Michael heard footsteps travelling from camp to town. He slipped his feet into buckskin moccasins and followed Wilhelm Burchfield as the man made his way to Harold Mahon's home.