Blackfeather
26 Demon Master
“PRAISE FATHER, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.” The bellows in the pump organ wheezed as the congregation sat. Poor Miranda was silent throughout the singing while her sister and Katie joined in enthusiastically. I had a lot of sympathy for the way she was feeling. I was no opera singer, but I held my own in the school chorus. Unlike Kyle, who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Unlike Jason, whose rich baritone carried the harmony of the Doxology throughout the little church. So beautiful. Miranda gave me a mental squeeze to acknowledge my presence as we immersed ourselves in the warmth of his voice.
The new Methodist Episcopal Church was a sign of the civilizing of Laramie. A block away, the Catholics were erecting their church. The weather was cold, but the church was packed for the dedication this January morning. The service went on and on with some bishop or other having to preach after the preacher preached. We were packed onto the wooden bench so tightly that my elbow was securely tucked under Jason’s and I was certain I could hear his heart beating. Katie was on his other side and Theresa was next to me. Poor John Hamm stood in a corner in the back of the church. The church was anxious to convert the savages, but it wasn’t enthusiastic about worshipping with them. The fact that John could read and write better than most of the other members of the church did not help.
At long last, the service ended with the singing of “What a Friend” and we edged our way toward the door.
That was long.
“Yes, but for three hours we sat with our man touching us.”
I wanted to take his hand.
“Ramie! Not in public. What would people say?”
Sorry, Miranda. I’ll behave.
Still, I could feel her blush as she put her hand on his elbow. Katie took his other arm and Theresa followed behind next to John. Since there were five of us, no one was bothered with the fact that we were entertaining the gentlemen for Sunday dinner. We went to the rear of the store and mounted the stairs to the apartment above. While the menfolk built up the fire and sat in the chairs next to it, we women busied ourselves with the ham and sweet potato pie.
Jason sat at the head of our table. Katie and I sat on either side of him. Theresa sat more-or-less opposite Jason, but we had squeezed in another chair between her and Katie where John joined us. I was still fascinated with my comparably recent knowledge that Theresa was my ancestor. Pa had become his own ancestor when he rode in the body of Kyle Redtail and fell in love with my namesake. Here I was, just sitting at the dinner table with my four-times-great-grandmother who in this life was nearly three years younger than me.
She had just turned nineteen years old and was so beautiful it took my breath away. I wondered if my baby sister would turn out so lovely. Well, she had good genes.
“John Hamm does not sound like an Indian name,” Theresa said, focusing our attention on John.
“My Cheyenne name would be difficult for you to pronounce, Miss Theresa. Our names are often descriptive of us or of our dreams. It would be like calling you Golden Hair. The English make it easy on themselves by calling me John Hamm.”
“John is trying to help me build bridges between our people but it is a slow and painful process.”
“Nonetheless, I would like to know the true name of this Cheyenne brave,” Theresa said. “If that does not seem too forward of me, John,” she hastened to add.
“Vóhpo’häme,” the Indian said. Theresa tried to say it and giggled.
“What does it mean?”
“White Horse.”
“That is a much better name than John Hamm. With your permission, I shall call you White Horse. And you can call me Golden Hair forever.” Oh my. Miranda dropped her fork as I struggled to keep the flood of new information from spilling over into her. Our Family Bible. White Horse. I was looking at both my grandparents!
“What are you keeping from me?” Miranda demanded silently as we prepared for bed. Katie was brushing Miranda’s hair and pausing to kiss the top of her head every few strokes.
I can’t share this with you yet. I don’t know what it means or why I’m even here.
“Is my sister in danger from that Indian?”
No! Nothing like that. He would do anything to keep her safe.
“That is it, isn’t it? They are falling in love. How stupid and blind of me! This cannot continue. I will speak to her and ask Jason not to bring him back to our home.”
Miranda, friend. Please don’t do that. It would make no difference and would only drive a wedge between you. Please let it drop.
“How dare you even suggest such a thing?” Theresa screamed at her sister. “He is as fine a man as Jason Wardlaw.”
“He is a savage! How can you compare the two?” Of course, Miranda ignored my advice. I could have stepped in and made her say something else, but when I was gone, she would just return to her ranting. Perhaps I could influence her gently.
“A savage? He went to Harvard College! He may be the best-educated man in Laramie. He has read more books than I have. More than you have.”
“But he is not… like us,” Miranda insisted.
“I will not discuss this further, sister. This is my home. My store. I will invite whomever I please to share my dinner table.”
“I own…”
Miranda, let it drop for now. You are both speaking with your hearts, not your minds. Please, love. You are breaking my heart.
Miranda cut off what she was about to say and returned to the storeroom where she began unpacking a crate of China dishes. Dishes and glassware were a recent addition to the inventory of the newly renamed Sisters’ Mercantile.
“Who does she think she is? Claiming ownership! She inherited a derelict property in a god-forsaken town. I provided all the stock that has come in. I am as much an owner as she is. We agreed to change the name. Her home. Indeed!”
I am not sure why I am here. You certainly do not need me for conversation. You’re doing fine at talking to yourself.
“Demon Ramie, why can she not see what this will do to her. She would be forced out of town. They would never let him live here.”
They? Dear Miranda, it seems you are the only one objecting.
“Am I indeed so primitive in your mind? Do people marry those of other races in your world?”
Didn’t used to be common, but it is pretty much now. Not so much in Laramie because—well, Laramie just has never had a very interracial population. There are places in the United States in my time where you could marry Katie. In church!
“Both Katie and Jason? Oh, that it were!”
Well, we haven’t gotten that far yet, but we might. Seems like some things go forward and some go back.
“Jason says it is not unusual among the Mormonites for a man to have two wives or more.”
Even that will change. Has he accepted that you and Katie come as a package deal?
“Package? You mean that he will have us both. I believe it has made him more excited. He holds both our hands when we sit by the fire. He kisses us both chastely when he leaves. Ramie, I am so much in love with him!”
Hold onto that feeling, Miranda. That is what will get us through everything we must face. We are in love.
“The harlot is among you!” screamed a voice in the street. There were always self-appointed evangelists in Laramie. One had gained a following and met with them in a tent beyond the city limits. The others had mysteriously vanished. My guess was this one would disappear, too. No one comes between Laramie City and its harlots.
“I do not mean the painted Jezebels from whom you take your pleasure. They are nothing in the eyes of God! They shall burn in the fire of perdition and none can save them. Among you is the mother of whores. She speaks with the tongues of demons and you believe her lies.”
There was something familiar about that voice that nagged at me but I couldn’t place it. Some long-ago tent meeting, perhaps? Still, this sounded like a boy’s voice. Or perhaps a woman.
“Come hither. I will show you the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: with whom the kings of earth have fornicated. She sits upon a scarlet beast with seven heads and ten horns. Upon her forehead are written the names Babylon, Mother of Harlots, Abomination of Demons. You welcome her here, though her arrival was heralded with gruesome murder. I have seen her tear the throats of helpless men. I have heard her summon her demons!”
Katie nearly knocked me over running into the storeroom. I had already moved to go see this evangelist.
“Husband Ramie,” Katie whispered. “It is Harriet. The one who tried to kill you when you rescued us.”
Oh, fucking hell!
“I do not know how to handle this, Friend Ramie. I give you my body.” I caught control as she collapsed against Katie.
I straightened myself and Katie kissed me.
“Be careful, Husband. I love you.”
I walked into the shop and reached beneath the counter for my gun belt. My knife was securely in my boot. I didn’t know how this would work out, but I knew I had to stop the madwoman in the street. I saw Katie emerge with the Henry. I pulled the belt around my waist, thankful that we wore simple skirts when we worked in the store and not huge bustles.
“What is going on, Miranda?” Theresa asked. “Who is that person in the street? And why is she calling people’s attention to our shop?”
“She tried to kill me once,” I said. “It appears she wants another chance.”
“Miranda!”
“Theresa, you are more precious to me than life itself. Forgive me for my cruel words. No matter how this turns out, know I love you, my dear sister.” I walked out into the street. Twenty people at least were gathered, listening to Harriet as she pointed toward our shop.
“There she is!” Harriet yelled, turning everyone’s attention toward me. “The demon’s mistress has come to face her doom!”
“What do you want, Harriet?” I yelled at her. “Why are you parading in men’s clothes and hiding your womanhood? Are you afraid people will see you for what you truly are?”
“Listen! Listen to her voice! It is the voice of Satan himself rasping from her lungs!”
“It is the voice you gave me when you tried to strangle me, you ungrateful wretch!” I called back. I kept my hands at my side. I could see she wore a gun, though I had no idea if she could really use it. She showed signs of having gone crazy when she tried to kill me. Now she was clearly off the deep end.
I felt a soft brushing against my left hand and an electric shock going through my body. I looked down to see the shoulders of the great gray wolf beneath my fingertips. I caught my breath.
“She called upon demons,” Harriet continued. She was clearly working herself up and justifying anything she might do. She wanted the crowd in her hands and they tended toward her. “The demon rose from the excrement of her body in which she lay. He bit into the throat of one man and then another. She sapped the life from the woman who lay by her side as sacrifice to the demon. Look and see the demon that paces before her. This vessel of Satan must not live!”
I always thought gun-fights were fought on the length of a street, but we stood on opposite sides. Less than twenty-five yards. People cleared to either end of the block as the wolf paced slowly and deliberately toward Harriet.
“No! Don’t rip out her throat!” I whispered. “They will burn me at the stake.” A commotion on B Street drew our attention as eight uniformed riders swung toward us trotting in two columns. In the lead was Corporal Jason Wardlaw. The crowd parted as they approached and I saw him clearly. I looked directly into his eyes.
“Kyle!” He was there and would save me.
“Ramie!”
“He knows the demon by name!” Harriet screamed. “He is one of her minions!” With that, she swung her gun up and aimed, not at me, but at Kyle. The wolf brushed her hand as her gun went off. Mine was already held in both hands in front of me and before the smoke had cleared from before her, blood darkened her chest. The recoil of the Colt still stung my hand.
Jason… Kyle… was off his horse. I could not tell if he had been hit by her shot. There was no sign of the wolf. From above and to my right I heard the raven call.
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