Chapter 5
Sermons For Pigeons
Storms mostly skirted around Ender’s Ridge, but the one that night was an exception.
Safine appeared in his room at half past two, her white-nightgowned form illuminated with a flash of lightning. Rain beat against the windows and drowned out her snoring after she curled into his bed, and Decker rested his elbow atop her shoulder, idly reading the dime novel he’d bought from the mercantile. The stack of books leaning against his nightstand promised one more predictable mystery by the end of the night.
In the morning, Decker leaned against the knotted pine post of the veranda as he soaked in the last threads of night and witnessed Ender’s Ridge wade through the aftermath of the storm. Daybreak brought uncommonly muggy heat for an autumn morning, and the chorus of a thousand tiny frogs echoed in the streets as if the storm had scattered them across town.
A bay mare balked at a deep puddle stretching the length of the street and stood trembling and lathered in foam before her rider dug in his heels. She lunged forward. Hooves lost their footing on a dozen slimy creatures and the horse brayed, eyes rolling white as she leapt to the side. Frogs scattered like leaves tossed to the windand the mare jumped at the harsh rake of spurs across her belly, charging down the street under tight reins and stiff hindquarters.
The repeated thud of a hammer finding a meaty mark and the bitten-off curses that followed were impossible to ignore. Decker tugged his hat over his eyes and meandered off the veranda to their alley, Mr. Lane’s pleading request from the night before still fresh in his mind.
Something clattered to the wooden shingles, and Decker called out, “Morning, Mr. Lane.”
Another muffled curse, and then there were careful footsteps, like Mr. Lane was finding his way between rotted shingles before he peered over the edge of the slanted parsonage roof with his thumb clamped between teeth.
“Good morning, Decker.” He hastily dusted his hands across his mud-smeared pants. The windless air cast a sheen of sweat across his bare chest and brought the same ruddy pink to his cheeks as the night before.
Decker crossed his arms and craned his head back. “Afraid your help isn’t coming.” Cricket was still slumped across the piano, peacefully dreaming of things Decker would rather not be aware of.
“No, I didn’t expect he would after that many glasses.” The preacher stepped to the edge of the roof, crouching on his heels and resting his hands on his knees. The rain-heavy air played with his curls, teasing them into a wild bronze halo.
For claiming he wasn’t a handyman, he certainly looked the part.
Decker squinted up at him. “Are you practicing your sermons for the pigeons up there? S’pose they might listen better than some folks.”
“I almost had my first conversion before you interrupted.” A solemn smile teased at his lips and he tapped the battered shingles underneath him. “Turns out the many holes in the roof are a blessing. I got to experience the biblical flood in my bedroom last night.”
“Did God bring two of every animal?”
“Only a few rats. They made good companions while I built the ark out of my bed.” Mr. Lane grinned as he stood. “I don’t suppose you would be any help patching holes?”
The sun threatened the horizon already, drying up puddles and chasing away the incessant racket of the frogs. With his hat tugged low over his eyes and the thin gloves in his pocket to prevent a sliver of skin from meeting the sun, he would be fine; though not for long enough to be of any use to Mr. Lane.
And I don’t want to.
“I’m afraid the heat goes to my head when I’m out too long. I’ll try and have Cricket make good on his promise,” he said.
“Let me show you around before you go.” He clambered down the ladder as if his chance would be gone before he landed.
Decker cocked his head.
Have you forgotten last night? How you begged me? And I agreed?
Feigning ignorance, he said, “If you ask nicely, Mr. Lane.”
He flashed a quick, triumphant smile before his voice dropped to a serious note. “Can I, please, give you the first look at the only chapel in Ender’s Ridge?”
Decker’s own smile hovered about his lips as Mr. Lane unwittingly gave him the invitation he needed to enter the holy place. “Lead the way.”
Nails in planks shrieked as Mr. Lane braced himself against the bowed doors, dragging them open and unveiling the sanctuary.
Damn place looks a hundred years older.
Weak sunlight pooled on floorboards through gaps in the ceiling, filtered through bird nests strewn amongst the rafters like discarded Sunday hats.
Dust carpeted the once-orderly rows of pews and Decker absentmindedly trailed a hand along one carved edge, leaving his first mark in the chapel.