Dirty Faces- Book 1

Chapter 28: George Washington and the Shadows

Chapter 28: George Washington and the Shadows

The increase of shots fired into the night had told him that '23 was gone, but there were no shouts of jubilation to be heard from the somber pair at the table. The Priest ran his thumb around the rim of his coffee cup, occasionally glancing up at the young woman - the girl, really - sitting across from him. She hadn't said a word since she'd come back inside, and neither had he.

He didn't know why he stayed. The words of comfort he felt should come so easily to him didn't, so the best he could hope was that his presence, just keeping her from being alone, gave her at least the slightest bit of peace.

Perhaps he stayed because he felt in some way responsible. It had been his boarder after all. He should have kept a close eye on that man, on all his boarders for that matter. That man had probably had his eye on Addie for as long as he'd been in town, probably watched her each time she visited the Priest, thought vulgar thoughts about her in the room he rented from him. It could be said that the Priest had introduced his dear little friend to the man who defiled her.

And now this poor girl across from him, so very young, faced an equally cruel fate for merely doing the best she could to protect her family. He knew the human body was a most wondrous machine; the only thing that could possibly withstand more was the human spirit. But at the same time, life was terribly fragile if the Lord willed it so. Why He had willed it so this night he would never know.

The clip-clop of hooves and crunching of gravels beneath wagon wheels suddenly pulled him from these thoughts. The sounds ceased once in the backyard, and two distinct male voices could be heard, along with the braying and snorting of the hoofed creature.

"Damn it, George Washington, you cut that out!" said a gruff voice.

The Priest looked at Susan. "Who's George Washington?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Before she could answer, a clearer voice snapped, "That sumbitch better not kick me!"

The sound of this voice seemed to make the corners of Susan's lips curve ever so slightly upward. "A very contrary mule," she replied.

The Priest turned the explanation over a few times in his head before remarking, "George Washington is a fine name for a mule."

The sounds of the two men struggling to tie the mule to a tree continued for another minute or so, and then the back door opened. "Shoot! Colder than a witch's tit out there," said the clear voice. "Oo! Coffee!" A cabinet opened, two cups were set on the stove, and both were filed.

A moment later, two coal-black figures appeared in the doorway of the dining room. One was shorter than the other; this man wore a wool newsboy cap pulled down over his eyes so that they were just a tiny sliver of green beneath the brim. The taller man blithely flaunted his dark mess of hardhat hair, and wore a wide, white grin as he exclaimed, "Happy New Year!" He promptly leaned down to kiss his wife, leaving a black smudge on her face when he pulled away.

When he stood back up, his eyes fell on the Priest. "What're ya doing here so late, Doc? Everything alright?"

The Priest felt like a fool as he stared stupidly back at the young man, at a loss for the words required to answer his simple question. Finally, after what felt like far too long, Susan cleared her throat and said, "Honey, why don't you and Ralph just have a seat. This might take a while."

By the time the tale had been recounted, she was once again in tears. David had moved his chair closer to hers and held her in his arms as she sniffed and sobbed. He exchanged a meaningful look with Ralph, then addressed the Priest. "Do ya think you could show us?"