Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

are they doing? We’re not finished here.”

Carolyn pulled Kirby’s arm toward his car. “Mr. Kirby, Jason and I want to go to church today. We can talk about this later?”

Kirby stopped and spread his arms, what the hell? “Why did we bother to come out here? Why did I drive all the way up here?”

“I thought we might talk them into moving this business someplace else but I guess not. They’re pretty set in their ways.”

“So am I.” He put her into his car and slammed the door.

KIRBY FELT BETTER AFTER eating a salad, waiting for her and the kid to dress for church.

He rinsed his dish and fork and put them into the dishwasher. He went into the living room and found them waiting in the entry.

Jesus. 

They looked like Quakers or Shakers or Amish or something. She wore one of those string tie bonnets. The kid wore a wide-rimmed hat. Both had dressed in black.

Nobody spoke, driving back up River Road to the village.

Nearing Jacobsen's, she pointed to the right. “Turn here.”

Kirby turned and passed two giant redwood trees. “What a neat little church.” He parked next to the sheriff’s truck.

A string of saddled horses had been tied to a rail fence in back.

“This whole valley is a pretty nifty place. I’m beginning to understand why you’re thinking about staying up here.” He got out and walked around the car, looking up. A flock of yellow breasted birds sat on the roof's high peak, hard to believe in mid-winter.

She climbed out before he got there and opened the back door for the kid, never a chance for Kirby to be polite.

He said, “Only problem is, there’s nothing to do.”

She didn’t care.

The kid hurried toward the front of the church carrying a leather-bound Bible.

Kirby stepped around him. “Here, let me.” Kirby opened the heavy, hand carved door and followed them inside.

The building had definitely been erected by a skilled craftsman. The pews, the hewn stone walls, the wood beams and inset glass all echoed church architecture from the Age of Enlightenment.

The whole crowd looked like a bunch of Quakers, all watching them enter. They nodded and smiled at Carolyn and the kid, treating Kirby like the stranger he was. He followed them to the front where their place had evidently been reserved.

The sheriff and his skinny friend made room for Kirby.

He sat next to the kid. She'd made sure of that, using him like a room divider.

They both ignored him.

A gaunt, disheveled priest stood at the podium, officiously clearing his throat. “Now that we’re all here, let us take a moment to welcome our visitor. I believe this is Mrs. Potter’s lawyer from down below.”

They all nodded politely, no smiles. Nobody ever smiled at lawyers. He was glad not to be one.

The priest said, “Being the celebrated birthday of our Savior, we’ll make this special meeting a short one. We all want to be safely inside our homes before the moon rises.”

Tom Kirby had no interest in what the priest had to say, too busy admiring the church interior.

A tall Indian stood in back, slender as a post, another Paiute. His weathered face made his age difficult to judge. He stared at Kirby like they knew each other.

Other members of the small church stared at the priest, stared at their Bibles or stared down into their folded hands.

Carolyn and the kid stared down at their shared, unopened Bible.

The priest's words invaded Kirby's hung-over indifference. “. . . This is Lucifer’s planet, his dwelling place, as stated in the Gospel of Mathew during the Lord’s temptation. His confederates lurk in the dark places but have no foothold into righteousness. So, let us carry righteousness as a light to guide us into this night. Let God’s light guide us unto good deeds toward one another. Let us carry that righteousness and light into the darkness like a gleaming torch.”

The congregation stood.

Carolyn and the kid stood.

Kirby stood.

The priest said, “May God protect us all at night, when the moon is full and bright.”

Everybody said, “Amen.”

The priest tapped the podium with a whiteboard pointer.

The congregation sang, Silent Night, Holy Night. They sounded nice, considering the absence of organ or piano. The Christmas carol ended and they filed out the only door, not speaking to one another, not one Christmas greeting. They probably saw too much of each other.

The few other cars and trucks had cleared the parking lot before Kirby got the Bentley unlocked. Those on horseback rode away through the snow in all directions.   Their black attire sent a chill down Kirby's spine.

Bizarre.

Kirby shook it off.

Leaving the parking lot, Carolyn pointed to a long, low building built of logs. “On a normal Sunday, they’d all be lined up next door to meet you. We have potluck on Moon Sundays.”

Moon Sundays?

“But, it’s Christmas Day.” She sighed. She actually thought Kirby wanted to meet these hicks. “Everybody’s anxious to get home. I guess it’s getting pretty late.”

“Stop the car,” said the kid.

Kirby stopped.

“It’s John Crow.” The kid opened the back door. “Get in, John.”

Like he owns my car?

Little brat.

The Indian climbed into the back and closed the door.

Carolyn said, “I’m sorry, John. I forgot all about you.” She turned to Kirby. “This is John Crow, one of the men I told you about. Can we give him a ride? He was supposed to ride with us but I forgot. He’s coming to Christmas Dinner.” She smiled at the Indian. "I didn't forget that part."

“Sure. Of course.” Kirby turned down River Road and accelerated, a quick ride. He parked in front of her house at 2:40pm.

Carolyn opened her door a climbed out. “I need to get the roast into the oven.”

Everybody but Kirby went into the house.

He got the mountain bike out of his trunk and carried it inside.

Great.

Everybody had gathered in the kitchen.

He crossed the living room and placed the bike in front of the Christmas tree where the kid would be sure to see it. It belonged in front