The Vicar of St. James Read online

  “Not much going on, I admit,” Clint said.

  “Not much?” the man said. “Try nothin’! Eddie, another beer!”

  The bartender came over with a second beer for the man and said, “Carl, stop bad-mouthing Father Joe. He’s good for this town.”

  “Good for the town maybe,” Carl said. “Not so good for the menfolk hereabouts.”

  The bartender was about to say something else when the batwings opened and Father Joe came in.

  “Well, Carl,” he said, “holding up the bar again?”

  “Just leavin’, Father Joe.” He picked up his fresh beer and polished off half of it. “Just leavin’.”

  He nodded at Clint, walked past the vicar, and left the saloon.

  “He said he didn’t know you very well,” Clint said.

  “That might be true,” Father Joe said, “but unfortunately, I know him all too well.”

  FOUR

  “So he told you,” Father Joe said moments later. “I got rid of the girls and the gambling.”

  “You told me that,” Clint said.

  “No, I told you there were none,” Father Joe said. “I didn’t tell you that I got rid of them.”

  “And the men around here don’t appreciate that fact, huh?”

  “Not at all,” Father Joe said. “But the women, they loved it.”

  “And they love you?”

  “They are among my strongest supporters.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “being handsome doesn’t hurt, right?”

  “Nobody ever called me the handsome gunfighter,” Joe said. “But I put on a collar, and suddenly I’m the handsome vicar.”

  “Maybe the men don’t like that either,” Clint said. “The husbands?”

  “And boyfriends.”

  “That’s not Carl’s problem, though, is it?”

  “Carl? He’s got a lot of problems, but women isn’t one of them.”

  “That’s what he told me. He said if he had a woman, he’d be home beating her.”

  “That’s why he doesn’t have a woman,” Father Joe said, “because that’s how he treats them.”

  “Fresh beers, Father,” the bartender said, putting them down.

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  “You still drink whiskey, Joe?”

  “Oh no,” Father Joe said. “I gave up the hard stuff. It used to make me crazy, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “A beer once in a while,” he said, holding his up, “on special occasions.”

  “And some sacrificial wine.”

  “Yes,” Father Joe said, “and the wine.”

  A few more men had entered, ordered drinks, and taken them to a table. Clint noticed that the men nodded to Father Joe, but none stopped at the bar near him.

  “I stopped at the hardware store this afternoon,” Clint said. “Thought I’d take a look at your groom.”

  “Oh? What’d you think?”

  “He wasn’t there,” Clint said. “Place was pretty cluttered, but your man wasn’t there.”

  “Really?” Father Joe said. “And the store was open?”

  “Wide open.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “You sure this fella wants to get married?” Clint asked.

  “Well, he did,” Father Joe. “When he and his wife-to-be came to see me, they were both excited about it.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Younger than him,” Father Joe said. “About a dozen years. She’s twenty-two. Her parents were starting to worry that she’d never get married.”

  “At twenty-two?”

  “Most women are married by then.”

  “Not in my experience.”

  “Well,” Joe said, “let’s say most decent women.”

  “Hey, Joe…”

  “No, you’re right,” Father Joe said. “That was a low blow. I’m sorry, Clint. You’ve been with a lot of women. Who’s to say whether they were… well…”

  “I can say,” Clint said. “I can.”

  Father Joe looked down.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get used to this stuff. Religion. I can’t be too hard on people.”

  “What’s she like? The bride?”

  “Young, like I said, pretty. Difficult for her parents to handle.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, for a long time all she wanted to do was leave town,” Joe said. “But now… she’s happy to get married and have children and raise them here. And this is going to be a good place to raise them.”

  “You’ll see to that, huh?”

  “I hope so,” Father Joe said. “You know, one of the reasons I wanted you to come here, Clint, was to see for yourself.”

  “See what, Joe?”

  “That I’ve changed,” Father Joe said. “You know what I used to be, how I used to be. And you accepted it. But I never could.”

  “So now you’re different.”

  “Yes,” Father Joe said, “yes, I’m different. Now.”

  “Good for you, Joe,” Clint said. “Good for you.”

  “Look,” Father Joe said, “I’ve got to go and do a couple of home visits. Why don’t I come by your hotel in a couple of hours and we’ll get something to eat?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Clint said.

  “Good, good.” Joe put his beer mug down on the bar, only half finished. “Thanks, Clint. Thanks for comin’.”

  Clint watched him leave, thinking there was still some of the old Joe Holloway there.

  Was he waiting to come out?

  FIVE

  Clint had a couple of hours to kill. He could do it in his room, reading, but he decided to go by the livery first and check on Eclipse. He wanted to make sure the big Darley Arabian was being properly taken care of.

  He entered the livery and found it empty—except for Eclipse, who had been brushed and fed.

  “Hey, big fella,” Clint said, rubbing his neck. “Looks like you’ve been taken care of okay.”

  He checked the horse’s legs, just to be sure. Satisfied that his mount was sound, he left the stable. The liveryman still had not returned, but that wasn’t his concern. In fact, nobody’s problems in Griggsville were his concern, not the liveryman’s, not the groom’s, not Carl’s—not even Father Joe’s. Of all of them, he knew Father Joe could take care of himself.

  Or at least, he used to be able to.

  He started back to the hotel, found himself detouring toward the saloon again.

  Why not?

  “Back again?” Eddie the bartender asked.

  “Can’t stay away from your beer.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Eddie said. “At least that’s still good around here.”

  Clint accepted the beer and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, the vicar’s your friend, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

  “About what?”

  Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar. He looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. The saloon was busier than it had been all day, and no one was paying them any attention.

  “This thing he’s got about no girls and no gambling,” Eddie said. “You know, the town of Clarksville ain’t so far from here, and they got everything—booze, girls, and gamblin’. We’re gonna lose most of our business to them.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Clint asked.

  “Talk some sense into him,” Eddie said. “Make him see that we need the girls and the gamblin’ to keep this town alive.”

  “The town, or this saloon?” Clint asked.

  “Both of ’em,” Eddie said. “You can’t have a town without a saloon, and I can’t have a saloon without girls and gamblin’. It just ain’t… natural.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I have to say I agree with you, but why do you need me? If you want to have girls and games, why don’t you go ahead?”

  “Because Father Joe’s got the town council convi
nced,” Eddie said, “and the council controls the sheriff, and if I try to have even one girl workin’ in here, or one poker game, they’ll shut me down.”

  “Why don’t you move your business to another town? Like Clarksville?”

  “Believe me, I’m thinkin’ about it,” Eddie said. “I figure you’re my last hope.”

  “Well, I’ll talk to him about it, see what he says, but I don’t think I’ll have any influence over him,” Clint said.

  “As long as you try,” Eddie said. “That’s all I can ask.”

  He lifted his elbow from the bar and went to serve another customer.

  Clint did actually agree with Eddie. He didn’t see how a town would survive without a saloon that gave full service. But who was he to argue with Father Joe? Maybe if the saloon closed, and people started to leave, he’d see sense.

  He finished his beer, waved to Eddie, who gave him an encouraging nod, and headed for his hotel room.

  He spent some time reading Edgar Allan Poe before he realized it was time to meet Father Joe in the lobby. He put the book aside, strapped on his gun, and went to the door. Before he could open it, though, there was a knock.

  He expected it to be Father Joe, but that didn’t mean he could get careless. He put his hand on his gun and opened the door a crack. He didn’t know the man who was standing in the hall, but he certainly recognized a badge when he saw one.

  “Mr. Adams?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sheriff Cal Bricker, sir. Can I come in and talk to you for a few minutes?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Clint said, swinging the door open, “but I’ve got to meet Father Joe in the lobby in a few minutes.”

  “I won’t keep you,” the lawman said, and stepped inside.

  SIX

  Clint closed the door and turned to face the lawman. He was in his thirties, looked more like a store clerk than a sheriff. Clint decided that he wasn’t very experienced at his job. He just didn’t stand behind the badge the way a man used to wearing it did. Also, he wasn’t wearing a gun. The last man Clint saw try to be a lawman without a gun was Bear River Tom Smith, and that only lasted a few months before he was shot to death in Abilene.

  “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “Well, I was talkin’ to Eddie over at the saloon and he said you were gonna try to talk Father Joe into lettin’ him have girls and gamblin’.”

  “I never said I’d talk him into it,” Clint said. “I only said I’d mention it.”

  “Well, sir, I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, Eddie doesn’t speak for the rest of the town,” Bricker said. “The council is behind Father Joe a hundred percent. One hundred percent. You can, uh, tell him that when you see him.”

  The sheriff seemed to be getting nervous.

  “I wasn’t going to do anything but have a conversation, Sheriff,” Clint said. “It might not even come up.”

  “Well, that’d be fine, just fine,” Bricker said. “You, uh, plannin’ on stayin’ in town for very long?”

  “No,” Clint said, “not long. Just a couple of days.”

  “I see,” Bricker said. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer then.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Clint said.

  “Sure?”

  “Why don’t you carry a gun? How can you uphold the law without a gun?”

  “Well… that’s somethin’ else the council—and Father Joe—wanted to try. See, Griggsville’s a quiet town. They want me to try to keep it that way without a gun.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not very good with a gun anyway,” Bricker said, “so it suits me fine.”

  “And you’ve never had a need for it?”

  “Not so far,” Bricker said.

  “Well, I wish you luck.”

  Bricker opened the door and said, “You mind if I go down first?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Clint said. “No problem.”

  As he waited, giving the man time to go down and leave, he wondered if the town sheriff was afraid to have Father Joe see him with Clint.

  Clint came down to the lobby and found Father Joe waiting for him.

  “Hungry?” the vicar asked.

  “I need a good steak. Can you find me one in this little town?”

  “I know just the place.”

  They left the hotel and started to walk.

  “You find your groom?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Father Joe said, “but I wasn’t looking for him. It’s going to be up to him to show up for the wedding in the morning.”

  “What about the bride-to-be?”

  “Haven’t seen her either,” Father Joe said. “Same deal. Up to her to show up, and make sure he shows up.”

  “You think he will?” Clint asked.

  “Oh yeah, he will,” Father Joe said. “He wants to marry the girl.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Clint said. “I don’t want to miss the chance to see you in action in your new job.”

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  They walked a bit more, and Clint noticed they were coming to the end of town. He didn’t think they could go much farther—but they did.

  “Where is this place?” he asked.

  “It’s outside of town but, technically, still in Griggsville. We’re almost there.”

  “I went back to the saloon this afternoon and talked to Eddie,” Clint said. “Also had a visit from your Sheriff Bricker. Had an interesting conversation with each of them.”

  “Is that so? About what?”

  “Well, in part, you.”

  “What did they have to say?”

  “Eddie’s concerned about his business holding up without the usual, uh, entertainments,” Clint said. “But the sheriff tells me the town council is determined to see through the decision not to have them.”

  “I see,” Father Joe said. “Ah, here we are. Why don’t we wait until we each have a nice thick steak in front of us before we discuss it any further?”

  “Suits me,” Clint said.

  SEVEN

  The place was in a two-story structure that looked like somebody’s house.

  “Where some widows turn their homes into rooming houses after they lose their husbands,” Father Joe explained, “Mrs. Colton decided to turn hers into a restaurant. She lives upstairs, but the whole downstairs is her business.”

  “Does she do enough business in Griggsville to survive?” Clint asked.

  “The food is so good she gets people from the surrounding areas to come in and eat,” Father Joe said. “She does very well.”

  Father Joe opened the door and they entered. Clint could see what was once a living room was now filled with tables and chairs. The adjoining old dining room was as full but did not look as odd given its former use.

  “Father Joe!”

  They both turned and saw a middle-aged woman coming toward them.

  “Hello, Mrs. Colton,” Father Joe said. “I’ve brought a friend to sample your cooking.”

  “Well, any friend of yours is welcome, Father,” she said. “Come, I have a very good table for you.”

  Clint didn’t see that their table was any different from the others, but Father Joe thanked her as if it had been made of gold.

  “I’ll bring coffee right out,” she promised.

  “And we’ll have two of your steak dinners,” the vicar said.

  “Wonderful!”

  She hurried away to the kitchen. Other diners looked over at them, and Clint noticed that none had greeted the vicar as they’d passed among them.

  “Now,” Father Joe said, “what were you saying about the bartender and the sheriff?”

  “Eddie just commented to me how he was losing some of his business to saloons in Clarksville, who still offer girls and gambling.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Father Joe said. “I would’ve hoped his customers would be mo
re loyal than that. What did the sheriff have to say?”

  “He wanted me to know that the town council is behind you,” Clint said. “They agree with the ban.”

  “As they should,” Father Joe said. “It’s because of the ban that Sheriff Bricker can uphold the law without carrying a gun.”

  “Yes, I noticed that.”

  “Have you noticed that very few men in town carry a weapon?” Father Joe asked.

  “No, actually, I haven’t seen that many men to notice that.”

  “I would ask you to give up your gun, Clint, but it’s not my place. That would be up to the sheriff.”

  “He didn’t try to take my gun,” Clint said, “which was just as well.”

  “I can understand your reluctance,” the vicar said. “It was difficult for me to stop wearin’ my gun, but I did it.”

  “And how’s that going to work if somebody from your past rides into town?” Clint asked.

  Father Joe laughed.

  “First off, why would someone from my past ride into Griggsville? It’s nowhere. And second,” he went on, “would they shoot a man of God?”

  “Oh, I think they would if it’s someone who remembers Joe Holloway.”

  “Well,” Father Joe said, “I guess I’ll just have to deal with something like that if and when the time comes.”

  Mrs. Colton came with a pot of coffee and two mugs, poured them full for them, and promised their steaks within moments. She seemed very talkative, almost nervously so.

  “Joe,” Clint said, “why do I get the feeling…” He stopped.

  “What?” Father Joe asked. “Go ahead, Clint. If you’ve got somethin’ to say, say it.”

  “I get the feeling that some of these people—the bartender, the sheriff, even this nice lady—are afraid of you.”

  “If they are afraid,” Father Joe said without hesitation, “it’s not me they fear, it’s God.”

  Clint didn’t know what to say to that.

  “But I don’t think it’s fear you’re seein’, Clint,” Father Joe went on.

  “No?” Clint asked. “What is it then?”

  “Respect.”

  Mrs. Colton appeared at that point with steaming plates and set them down. A man at another table seemed upset, possibly because they had been served before him, but he didn’t speak up.