School Of Divinity

"Marie, I, well, I've spoken with your mother and your father," Michael said. "And now, I'd like to ask you if you would be agreeable to my courting you?"

"You...courting?" Marie gasped.

The girl stood for a long moment, slowly shaking her head as if she did not believe her ears. Then she clutched Catherine's hand tightly.

"I, Rev, Michael, I cannot," Marie said.

"What?" four adults gasped out.

"Marie, you crazy?" Catherine gasped.

"I, Catherine, no! No! I won't! Catherine, I know you, you love Michael. And I know you would give him much more than I ever could," Marie protested.

"But Marie, you love him," Catherine said.

"But aw Catherine, I love you more," Marie confessed, hugging her friend.

"But Marie," Catherine wailed.

As the two girls hugged and sobbed, arguing with one another, Michael looked to Henry for guidance. Henry looked at Claire for guidance. Claire shrugged her shoulders.

"Reverend, what does your Bible say about you courting two women?" Lucinda suddenly asked.

"I uh, well, yes, there are many examples of men taking more than one wife," Michael mused. "Jacob had two wives, Leah and Rachel, who were sisters. And Abraham, the father of the Israelites; he was married to Sarah, who bore him a son in her later years, but he also had a child borne to him of a slave..."

"Then it is settled," Lucinda and Claire decided with finality.

"You, the two of us?" Catherine asked, a happy smile creasing her face.

"Heaven help me; I can hardly support my own needs, but yes, yes, I think that this is a truly wonderful solution," Michael laughed out loud.

"And then we still be together?" Marie gasped, face glowing with happiness.

"Yes, we'll be together," Catherine sobbed out and the two girls hugged tightly.

"Tomorrow morning, just as the sun begins to crest the mountains," Michael said, getting to his feet. "The three of us? We're going fishing."

"And I'm catch the biggest one," Marie declared.

After Michael left the Bergeron hovel, he walked briskly to John Culver's hovel. The man was confused, but hospitable when he opened his door. Michael entered, politely declined John's offer of tobacco and got right to what he needed. In hushed whispers, Michael told John of Harold Mahon sending a telegraph to St. Louis, summoning Frank Correcci.

"Correcci?" John cried out.

Michael urgently waved his hands, silencing John. Then the men continued to whisper. Michael used a finger to 'draw' on John's table. John looked on with interest, with dread, but somberly nodded his head.

"Mahon really, you not just saying that, huh?" John whispered. "Correcci?"

"My sister, Caroline Atwell sent the telegraph out herself. Sent it three days passed so we've really very little time," Michael hissed.

"It is dangerous, what needs to be done," John said, getting to his feet.

"As dangerous as what those animals would do?" Michael asked.

John looked at his wife and at their five children. Agnes was a grizzled looking woman. Their four boys and one girl also looked withered, almost emaciated. John shook his head, then nodded somberly.

"You'll help?" John asked.

"I would never ask anything of you that I myself would not do," Michael said.

"Gets dark, hmm, 'bout hour from now," John said.

"Then we'll start at dark," Michael agreed.

Shortly after dark, John and two of his sons met with Michael on the trail. In hushed whispers, they traversed a slight distance from the miners' camp to just where the hill crested then leveled off. Then, quietly, efficiently, they dug the packed earth of the trail.

In the morning, Michael smiled. Both Catherine and Marie were in their Sunday finest, far too well dressed for fishing. Both pouted when he bade them return to their hovel and dress in less fetching clothing.

"I done told them," Claire smiled.

Upon reaching the small stream, Michael put a fishing pole into Catherine's hands. Then he stepped up behind the girl, put his muscled arms around her and demonstrated how to cast her line.

The feeling of Catherine's taut haunches rubbing sensuously against Michael had his manhood standing proud, rampant. Catherine looked over her shoulder at his face, then down at his groin. Her olive skin became even darker as she blushed quite hotly.

Marie Stood, fidgeting with her stick. She dutifully lay the stick upon the ground and accepted the fishing pole.

Hmm, oh! Here, listen," Michael said.

He picked up a small stone and tossed a gentle arc. The stone let out a small 'splash' as it struck the water.

"Heard that? You're going to try to cast your hook to that location," Michael said.

Marie's blue eyes opened wide when Michael's arms went around her, his muscled torso pressed against her back. Her pale features colored as his hot breath tickled her ear.

"Oh. I, you need show me that again yeah," Marie demanded when Michael released her.

"I will," Catherine snapped.

Catherine stepped up behind Marie, wrapped her arms around Marie, then whipped the pole back and forth. The two girls managed to cast a perfect line, causing the hook to gently break the water's surface.

"Michael does it better," Marie playfully accused.

"Hush, you," Catherine now giggled.

The two girls shared a quick kiss, lip to lip, then Marie stood, gently waving the pole from side to side.

"Now what I do?" Marie asked.

"You're doing it," Michael assured her. "The fish will see your shiny lure and will just have to come see if it is a tasty morsel."

Catherine cast her own line. Michael then cast his own.

Marie was the first to get a nibble. She shrieked as she felt the pole twitch and jerk in her hands. Michael quickly pulled his own hook from the water and put his arms around Marie, to assist her. Together, with Catherine squealing and shouting encouragement, Marie and Michael managed to pull an impressive six pound fish onto the bank.

"Ah!" Marie gasped when Michael had her touch the flopping, jerking fish. "Is that, that's what a fish feels like?"

"Michael!" Catherine squealed, her own pole dancing in her hands.

At lunch time, the three adults sat on the grass and had bread and cheese. Then, as the sun began to weigh heavily upon them, they decided the four fish they'd caught were sufficient. Michael proudly carried their catch back to the Bergeron abode while Catherine and Marie walked, hand in hand. At the door, Marie stepped up first and gave Michael a soft kiss. Catherine followed up with her own kiss.

Michael made quick work of fileting the fish. Claire and Lucinda pressed both Marie and Catherine into helping them prepare the meal. Marie was puzzled; she'd never been pressed into service before.

"You a grown woman; you even got you a beau," Claire quietly, firmly told her daughter.

"Need learn how keep your man fed," Lucinda quietly agreed.

"And your sister," Catherine interjected.

"But that's hot!" Marie cried out, feeling the heat of the stove.

"So? Then you be careful," Claire stated.

Marie whimpered in fear; the wood stove was indeed quite hot, searing at her as she did as she was told. She squealed, more in fear than pain when some hot grease spattered onto her hand when she turned the filet of fish. But, dutifully, she continued to turn the filets over in the heavy cast iron skillet.

As the Bergeron's and Martinellis sat to enjoy their meal, Michael's sister, Caroline received a telegram; Frank Correcci and ten of his men had reached the depot and were trying to secure a group of stagecoaches.

Caroline sent a telegram to the station master in Salem, Oregon. She stated simply that she would no longer be sending and receiving telegrams. If they wished, they could send another to the telegraph office forthwith.

Marching out of the small office, Caroline found Harold Mahon, delivered the message that the Correcci men were at the depot. Then, turning on her heel, she hefted the hem of her dress to knee level and trotted up the trail, toward the miners' camp, toward safety.

The first hovel she reached, the man of the family smiled and pointed to the Bergeron-Martinelli hovel. Caroline thanked him and raced to the hovel. When the knock sounded, Isabella, T-Henry and John-John tried to shove one another out of the way so that they could be the first to open the door for the unexpected guest.

Michael acted as if he had expected his sister and rose to seat her. Then, as she had a plate of food in front of her, Michael made the introductions.

"And here is the young woman I am courting, Marie Bergeron," Michael said, a tinge of pride in his voice.

"Court... Oh Michael! That is so wonderful!" Caroline cried out.

"And next to Marie is Catherine Martinelli, the young woman that I am courting," Michael continued.

"Eh, what?" Caroline asked.

"We are sisters," Catherine smiled.

"And we told him, you take one? Got take the other yeah," Marie smiled.

"Michael, you, you're serious?" Caroline asked.

To Henry, Claire and Lucinda, Caroline said, "My brother was always such a prankster."

"Aint no prank," Henry said.

"So, Caroline, what brings you to our table?" Michael asked.

"Correcci's at the depot, getting stagecoaches," Caroline said.

"Ah, excuse me," Michael said, getting to his feet.

John Culver nodded in grim determination when Michael alerted him that, in just a few hours, their plans would be put to use. He stoically finished his meal, then kissed his wife and his children.

"Daddy, you ain't got to, huh?" Missy, his youngest child asked.

"Doing it for all us," John replied.

As John and Michael made their way down the trail, Harold Mahon met the three stagecoaches that pulled to a stop in front of the saloon. Frankie Correcci, a stout, barrel-shaped man stood in front of the pot-bellied Harold and indicated his ten men with his head.

"They thirsty," Frankie said.

"Well, Hell then," Harold said with false cheerfulness. "Tell them come on in. We'll wet their whistles."

The bartender wisely put two bottles of bourbon onto the bar then beat a retreat into the kitchen. When he reached the rear, he told the waitress she'd be well-advised to not set foot into the dining room. Then he pulled his hat on his head and left through the rear door.

The waitress, ever the curious sort, did peek out into the dining area. One of Correcci's men spotted the weathered woman and alerted his companions to the presence of a woman.

She did not reach the rear door before three of Correcci's men had her in their grasp. The other waitress, upstairs having a brief nap, was awakened by the shrieks, thumps, then bumps and groans. She hastened downstairs.

"And here we got us another one!" a man cried out.

In short order, she too found herself straddling one man's manhood, pleasuring another man's manhood with her mouth, and a third ruffian's manhood being forced into her posterior.

"So, 'bout midnight, we'll go and see these miners of yours," Correcci said to Harold, pulling his trousers up his very hairy legs. "They any other womenfolk around?"

Harold thought briefly of his Bridgette. Then he shook his head. These two waitresses were handling the eleven in Correcci's troop just fine.

"But, now, there are quite a few miner's wives," Harold hinted, hoping to get his vindication sooner rather than later.

"Mean, miner's widows," Correcci chortled.

"Mr. Mahon, I can have me one?" Oscar asked, giggling at the wanton spectacle in front of him.

"Why sure you can, my boy," Harold said. "See if Delilah there will kiss your pecker for you, huh?"

Oscar giggled and undid his trousers. Correcci let out a whistle at the sight of the giant's manhood. Delilah saw the monstrous appendage approaching and tried, unsuccessfully, to dislodge from the man in her cleft, the man in her posterior. The two men laughed, believing that the woman was finally being pleasured by their actions.

"Mm, ack!" Delilah attempted to scream as Oscar's thick manhood was forced into her mouth.

Fortunately for Delilah, Oscar did not take long to achieve his climax. He withdrew, still spurting his seed, liberally coating Delilah's face and bosom.

Jennifer, the other waitress likewise suffered through Oscar's clumsy ministrations. Having already experienced Delilah's mouth, Oscar decided he wanted to experience Jennifer's cleft.

"Erg!" Jennifer let out a strangled cry as her cleft was stretched painfully.

At eleven o'clock, Correcci ordered the two women to fetch them some food. With wobbling legs, the two women staggered to the kitchen.

As Jennifer and Delilah wearily brought out platters of food, Harold and Frankie informed the men what their plans were, and how they intended to do this.

"It's simple, really," Harold smiled. "You'll just walk right up, kick in their doors and kill the men.

"The women are to be brought back here," Frankie smiled widely.

"For the Rose of Italy?" one of the men guessed.

"They pretty enough," Frankie agreed.

As the battle plans were being drawn in the saloon, John Culver and Michael sat and waited alongside the trail. From their vantage point, they could see the buildings below. They could see the lights on in the saloon, they could just barely make out the hum and drone of voices.

"Man, you sure they going be coming?" John asked.

"They will. They believe they have the element of surprise. They will cloak themselves in the darkness, will approach when we're slumbering," Michael assured him.

At twenty minutes to midnight, Michael roused the slumbering John. He silently pointed.

John squinted at the group of men that now walked out of the saloon. Even in the darkness, he could recognize the behemoth Oscar lumbering with the large group of men.

Here we go," Michael said and gripped the end of the wire.

"Careful," John cautioned. "You pull that too much and..."

"Which is why you're going to hold this end," Michael hissed.

In the darkness, Michael had trouble finding the stake. Just when he could now hear the men's whispering words, he found the stake and wrapped the wire around it. He threw a clump of sod toward John, not wanting to speak.

A moment later, a clump of earth skittered nearby. Michael nodded and he and John scampered toward the mining camp again.

Standing by the saloon doors, Harold and Frankie watched and waited. They strained their ears, waiting to hear the sounds of gunfire, of screams.

A bright flash that illuminated the silhouettes of Oscar and Frankie's men was followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder that sent both Harold and Frankie staggering back. Windows shattered all around them.

"What the hell was that?" Frankie screamed.

"What?" Harold cried out, unable to hear.

"What the hell was that?" Frankie repeated.

"What?" Harold cried out.

"My men! My brother, my Paulie was with them!" Frankie screamed.

In the miner's camp, families came out, to see what that loud noise had been. Michael and John helped one another to stand up.

"Think we might use bit too much," John said, brushing the dirt off of his clothes.

"Rather too much than not enough," Michael laughed, brushing the dirt from his own clothes.

A moment later, John laughed also. The two men hugged one another, clapping each other on their backs.

"Michael? Michael?" Marie called out, tapping with her stick.

"Michael?" Catherine called out, holding onto Marie's hand.

"I'm here, my angels, I am here," Michael called out.

"What was that?" Marie asked, reaching out her arms for Michael. "We was in bed and..."

"Sounded like thunder! But real loud," John-John enthused.

In the early morning, Michael, Henry, John, and a few other miners went to inspect the damage caused by the simple trap. Wilhelm actually became physically ill, emptying his stomach at the sight of the mangled limbs, torsos of the Correcci men.

"This is what your friends had planned for us," Michael hissed scornfully to the retching man. "And don't think they would have spared you or your wife."

"Man, you see that?" Henry asked John.

"Yes I do," John said.

"What?" Michael asked, leaving the kneeling Wilhelm's side.

Henry and John pointed to the crater caused by the blast. Michael looked, then looked again.

In the dim light of the morning sun, Michael could see that the blast had unearthed a vein of silver. Visible to the eye was a vein nearly as large as the Mahon saloon.

"Gentlemen, I believe the tyranny of Harold Mahon has met its fitting end," Michael said. "Surely now you'll be able to meet quota."

"That enough silver there buy all of us out his contract," Henry agreed.

"And what is left? Should be divided among the families," Michael stated.

The carts were pulled from the original mine and the miners toiled to load them with the silver ore. In the afternoon, tired, dirty, but happy, the miners dragged the carts down to the town, to buy their contracts of servitude back from Harold Mahon.

But the town was empty. Even the Mahon home was empty; there were no servants, there was no sign of Harold or his young bride.

The large safe in Harold's library was ajar, was empty. Michael looked around, then looked at Henry and John, the unofficial leaders of the miners.

"Gentlemen, I do not see your contracts. I do see, that the silver we've mined today? Is yours and yours alone," Michael decreed.

Some of the miners began to loot the empty buildings. A volley of shots from Michael's revolvers silenced the boisterous crowd.

"We came down as a band of brothers," Michael said forcefully. Well? We shell go up as a band of brothers, not a band of marauders."

The mercantile's goods were foraged, as were the provisions of the saloon, and the Mahon stable. Henry and John had some of the men load the Mahon buggy with the goods they'd selected and, acting as a team of oxen, the miners hauled the buggy up the hill to their encampment.

Again, Henry and John assisted in the division of goods, stilling any arguments. Henry did nod to Claire and Lucinda as he located a bolt of white linen cloth that had come from the mercantile.

Even though it was not Sunday, Michael held a service that evening. Then, the families met and discussed what to do. Most of the families wanted to leave, wanted to return to their home towns. Some did wish to remain, wished to continue to mine for silver, especially since that silver would be theirs and not Harold Mahon's.

"Reverend, you ain't said nothing," John Paul finally asked.

"Hmm? Oh! For myself? All I ask, is that the saloon be torn down, and the lumber be brought up," Michael said, tugging on his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger. "I desire the land to the west of the creek; the lumber shall be used to build a church, a house of worship for all to come and hear the word of God."

The men looked at one another, then huddled in quiet discussion.

"In the morning?" John Culver stated, breaking from the huddle of men. "Tomorrow, Reverend, we will build you your church."

"No, no, not my church," Michael smiled triumphantly. "It will be OUR church."

Just as the first rays of sunlight began to crest the mountains, the men gathered their tools and marched once more into the small town. After a quick prayer, they began to rip the boards from the frame. Once more, the buggy was outfitted with its team of men and the lumber pulled up the hill. Once to the site, Michael again prayed, and then decided that they would actually put the church on the east embankment, rather than try to ford the creek with buggy and lumber.

The men toiled through the day. At dinner time, the women came and fed their men. Michael smiled as Marie and Catherine proudly supplied him with fried chicken, a dish that Marie had made, with minimal supervision from Clair, Lucinda, and Catherine.

"It is truly delicious," Michael praised and Marie laughed and clapped her hands, overjoyed.