The Vicar of St. James Read online

  More Than Meets the Eye…

  She had knocked and scratched at his door during the night, but he didn’t answer, figuring it was her. Later he started to hope that it hadn’t been Debra. The daughter was pretty and young, but the mother was lovely and ripe. He wouldn’t have turned her away, despite the fact that she was married. It was obviously not a happy marriage.

  As he got closer he could see there were two of them, swaying in the slight breeze. As he got even closer, he started to worry, hoping that it wasn’t who he thought it was. If it was, he was going to have to go back to town and he hated going back, especially when he thought he had left someplace behind.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  THE VICAR OF ST. JAMES

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / April 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert J. Randisi.

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-57722-6

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  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Ninteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  The Last Buffalo Hunt

  ONE

  Father Joseph was the first vicar of St. James, a church that had been built only a few weeks before. The odd thing to Clint, as he rode into the town of Griggsville, Illinois, was that he knew Father Joseph as Joe Holloway, and the last time he’d seen Holloway he’d been carrying a gun, not a Bible.

  Clint had received the telegram from Holloway while relaxing in Labyrinth several weeks earlier. “Father Joe” was going to be presiding over the first wedding in St. James Parish, and he wanted Clint to be present. Clint had not seen Father Joe—or Joe Holloway—in years, so his curiosity caused him to accept the invitation to the wedding of two people he did not know. He wondered how they would feel when he showed up.

  The parishioners in St. James Parish had already begun to call their vicar “Father Joe.”

  “Father Joe?”

  The vicar looked up from his pulpit and saw Dan Carter, the groom-to-be, standing there. Carter was no youngster—in his thirties—but he was shifting from one foot to the other nervously, as if he were twenty.

  “What can I do for you, Dan?” Joe asked. “Are you so anxious that you’re here a day early?”

  “I’m anxious,” the man said, “but I ain’t early. I just wanted to talk to ya for a minute.”

  “Of course,” Father Joe said. He stepped down from the pulpit and pointed to a pew. “Do you want to sit?”

  Carter had his hat in his hand, and was crushing it mercilessly.

  “N-Naw, I don’t wanna sit,” he said. “Father…”

  Father Joe decided to let the man get to it on his own. Newly ordained in his forties, he was not yet sure how to handle his parishioners when they came to him for he
lp. Griggsville had never had a church, and the same was true for Joe Holloway, so they all had some learning to do.

  Father Joe also noticed that Carter was wearing a gun in church. That was unusual because he rarely saw Carter wear a gun at all.

  “Um, look,” Carter finally said, “this was a mistake. I’ll handle it myself.”

  As he started to back away, Father Joe said, “Dan, wait. I can help—”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Father,” Carter said, “for the wedding,” and he hurriedly left the church, almost running.

  Father Joe walked to the door and looked out. Carter was moving quickly down the street, jamming his hat back on his head, looking around him nervously. Carter owned the hardware store in town. There was really no reason for him to wear a gun at all, let alone in church. He was a well-liked member of the community, and the wedding was slated to be well attended by his family and friends.

  Whatever was bothering Dan Carter, Father Joe hoped the man was able to resolve the issue in time for the wedding.

  He turned and went back to the pulpit, where he had been mentally going through the ceremony for the next day’s wedding. He was nervous enough about his first ceremony without letting Dan Carter’s attitude add to it.

  Griggsville was a small town, so Clint didn’t feel the need to ask anyone for directions to the church. He rode past the sheriff’s office and the hotel, then a saloon, before he came within sight of the church. At that moment a man came out, almost running. Clint reined his horse in and watched.

  The man moved swiftly away from the church, frantically looking around him. He was wearing a gun but made no move for it.

  At the same time, he saw another man come to the door. From the collar he knew the man was a priest or vicar, or pastor, whatever they called it here. The man watched the fleeing man for a brief moment, then went back inside.

  Clint had not seen Joe Holloway for years, but from what he saw—a tall, square-shouldered man with a full head of hair, albeit gray—he was pretty sure it had been him.

  He rode to the church and dismounted, loosely lopped Eclipse’s reins over a hitching post. He could see into the church and right straight along the central aisle. The priest was now in the pulpit, looking down in concentration.

  “Last place I ever expected to see you,” Clint said aloud as he stepped to the door.

  TWO

  The man looked up from what he was doing, saw him, and smiled. It was the smile that did it. The white collar may have been odd, but this was Joe Holloway.

  “Clint! You came!”

  Holloway just about leaped down from his pulpit and charged up the aisle. Clint met him halfway, and they hugged tightly, slapping each other on the back.

  “Odd to see you without a gun, Joe,” Clint said. “Don’t you feel a little naked?”

  “I did for a while,” Holloway said, “but I got used to it.”

  “And the collar?”

  Holloway touched it and said, “Yeah, I got used to this, too. You just get in?”

  “Just now,” Clint said. “My horse is outside.”

  “Well,” Holloway said, “we’ll get you both taken care of. But first let me show you the church.”

  Clint looked around and said, “I can pretty much see it from here.” He could also smell the recently cut wood that had been used to build it. “Who did the carpentry?”

  “The whole town,” Holloway said. “They all pitched in.”

  “They must’ve really wanted a church.”

  “They did. It’s a small town, but it’s gonna grow, and the bedrock of their society is their faith.”

  “A lot of towns start out that way, Joe. Or should I call you Father Joe?”

  “Up to you,” Holloway said. “That’s what they call me around here—and I’ll have none of your cynicism, old friend. Leave it at the door.”

  “Done!” Clint agreed.

  “I have an office in the back,” Holloway said, “and a little sacrificial wine.”

  “I’d prefer a beer.”

  “We can do that later,” Holloway said. “I’ve been waitin’ for you to help me toast the church.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Clint said.

  As they walked up the aisle, he asked, “What happened with that fellow I saw running out of here? You must have put the fear of Jesus or the Devil into him.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what happened,” Holloway said. “He came to talk to me then abruptly changed his mind. Just about ran out of here. I hope he’s okay, because it’s his wedding I’m officiating tomorrow.”

  “He’s the groom? Well, that explains it then. Cold feet.”

  “Maybe,” Holloway said as they entered his small office. “But cold feet wouldn’t cause him to carry a gun.”

  “He doesn’t usually?”

  “No,” the vicar said. “He owns the hardware store, and I’ve never seen him wear a gun before. And he wears it like he’s never worn it before.”

  “Well, you’d know,” Clint said.

  They closed the door. Holloway got out the wine and two glasses, poured a bit in each.

  “So, Joe,” Clint asked, “does the town know your background? Your past?”

  “No,” Holloway said. “They only know Father Joe, who came to town to be their parish vicar. And I want to keep it that way.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Holloway passed Clint one of the glasses.

  “Here’s to St. James,” he said.

  “And Father Joe,” Clint said. “May they be a good match.”

  They both drank.

  “Come on,” Holloway said, “let’s get your horse taken care of, and then get you set up in the hotel. How long were you figurin’ on stayin’?”

  “Just for the wedding,” Clint said. “Tonight and tomorrow night, I guess.”

  “Always on the go, huh?”

  “Actually, not as much as I used to be,” Clint said. “I’ve been known to stay in Labyrinth, Texas, for a spell, which is why your telegram caught up to me there.”

  They walked back along the center aisle, and then out into the street.

  “Quiet town,” Clint said.

  “A hardworking town,” Holloway said. “You only see people walking the streets in the morning when they’re going to work, and in the evening when they’re going home.”

  Clint grabbed Eclipse’s reins and they started walking up the street.

  “Well, I hope the town’s faith doesn’t keep them from having a decent saloon.”

  “Depends on what you mean by decent,” Holloway said. “There’s beer and whiskey. No gamblin’, and no whores.”

  “Well then,” Clint said, “I guess I’ll just have to make do with the drinking.”

  THREE

  Father Joe stayed with Clint from the livery stable to the hotel, then agreed to meet him later at the saloon.

  “I still have some preparations to make for tomorrow,” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said. “I can entertain myself at the saloon.”

  “I’ll see you in about an hour,” Father Joe said.

  Clint spent some time getting cleaned up from the ride, then left the hotel wearing a clean shirt. He decided to take a walk around Griggsville and finish up at the saloon.

  It was a bit later now and there were a few people on the street. Some nodded to him or said hello; others eyed him warily. Apparently they weren’t used to having strangers in town.

  He was about to head for the saloon when he spotted the hardware store across the street. Remembering that Father Joe had said the groom owned it, he crossed over and found it open. He stepped inside. The store was cluttered, but seemed to have everything in the way of hardware you might need.

  What it didn’t have was someone working behind the counter.

  “Hello?”

  He walked around, figuring the man might be hidden among the clutter, but no luck. He risked a look in the back room, but all he found was even more
clutter. The store seemed deserted.

  He stepped outside, stopped a moment to look around him. There was no one on the street here, and still no clerk for the store. He decided to forget it and headed for the saloon.

  The saloon was small, with little space between the tables and chairs. The bar was short, with a single bartender behind it. As promised by Father Joe, there were no gaming tables, and no girls.

  He went to the bar, where one man was standing, staring into a beer. He wondered idly if this was the groom.

  “Beer,” he told the bartender, who just nodded and went to get it.

  The man at the bar looked up from his beer and stared at Clint.

  “You got a problem?” he asked.

  “Me? Nope,” Clint said, “no problem at all. You?”

  “I got a lot of problems,” the man said. “A lot of ’em.”

  Clint looked at the man’s waist. No gun.

  “Wouldn’t be woman trouble, would it?” Clint asked.

  “What?” the man asked, turning his head and squinting at him. “Women? No, no, nothin’ to do with women. I wish I had a woman. I’d be home beatin’ the crap outta her.”

  Clint believed the man. He looked the type. Burly, surly, and Clint wondered who the man would actually try to beat the crap out of when he became drunk enough.

  “Well,” Clint said, “good luck with your problems, whatever they are.”

  “One of my problems,” the man went on, “is bein’ trapped in this one-horse town. What the hell brought you here?”

  “I’m just passing through,” Clint said. “I stopped to see a friend.”

  “You got a friend in this town?”

  “I do,” Clint said. “Father Joe.”

  “Ah, the vicar,” the man said.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Not well,” the man said. “I don’t go to church much.”

  “Any idea what other people in town think of him?”

  “I can tell you a lot of the men don’t like him,” the man said. “Uh, sorry…”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” Clint said. “Tell me why?”

  “Look around you,” the man said. “We used to be able to come here and blow off some steam. Poker, faro, and pretty girls. Now look.”