Come Away From Her

Chapter 7

1

C

ap never poured a drink before a Sunday sermon. Never. Not once. Maybe that fact wasn’t something to boast about, but at least it was something to cling to.

But today was not Sunday.

The bottle of Wild Turkey perched upon the edge of his desk exactly where he had placed it, the seal yet to be broken. He peered at the bottle and felt that familiar tug of want.

No.

Not now.

Not right now.

He stared instead at the black pulpit gown and dark purple stole draped across the leather chair in front of his desk. The robe and stole were well-starched and wrapped in a plastic dry-cleaning bag, as he rarely wore formal vestments to church unless it happened to be an occasion that called for special garments.

Cap always felt somewhat foolish when wearing vestments. Like he was a boy playing dress-up, pretending to be a pastor. Perhaps traditional attire looked suitable on older, more distinguished clergy long with experience, but on someone a few years past their fortieth birthday, a robe and stole, in Cap’s opinion, looked ridiculous. One thing was for certain—he did not feel comfortable wearing them and probably never would.

Outside, a late season snow tumbled down from gray March skies and swept past the study’s windows in sheets. Flakes stuck to the glass. Some melted. Others did not.

Cap gazed once again toward the bottle of bourbon. Rubbed his jaw and eventually tugged at his mustache like he always did when in a state of deep deliberation. After wrestling with strong desire, he shook his head and sighed, then picked the bottle up by the neck and stuck it on the top of a bookshelf.

Out of sight, out of mind.

He tore open the dry-cleaning bag and hung the garments on the back of the closet door. He wore black trousers and a black shirt and wondered if he should even bother with the gown and stole. Who’d be there to see him? Who’d care even if they were?

No one.

Despite that understanding, he slipped the neatly pressed gown over his shirt, draped the stole around his neck, and inspected his reflection in the full-length mirror behind the office door. He was neither a tall man nor a short one. Lean, bordering on being too thin in the opinion of many. He ate what he wanted, didn’t pay attention to portions, but never seemed to put on any extra weight. He had a strong jaw, pronounced cheekbones, and a set of dark green eyes that were often difficult to read.

Then there was his mustache. The facial hair almost seemed like it was part of a costume—something that he could, and should, remove at a moment’s notice.

He adjusted the stole so that the material hung in equal lengths around his neck, then bent down and retrieved a pair of simple black dress shoes and a wooden box from under his desk.

Outside, the snow fell harder, blocking the efforts of the sun and casting Cap in shadows. His office became a cave. But he did not turn on the desk lamp because the darkness suited him fine. Much preferred it, in fact. He was light-sensitive. Had been ever since he was a boy. His fair skin burned easily, and when emerging from the house into direct sunlight, it always sent him into a messy sneezing fit.

His father would shake his head at Cap as if disappointed by his son’s affliction. How many times do I have to tell you? Put on a hat, boy. Either that or stay indoors. It’s not exactly rocket science.

How many times do I have to tell you? Put on a hat, boy. Either that or stay indoors. It’s not exactly rocket science.Cap took a seat, placed the shoes upon the leather desk blotter, then opened the wooden box. He took out a folded rag, a tin of Kiwi black shoe polish, and a horsehair brush. His shoes appeared to be recently polished, but Cap knew he’d polish them again anyway. He wiped the shoes free of dust, opened the can of shoe polish and ran a corner of the rag inside the tin, and thought about the dead man inside his church.

When he received the call that Teddie Salsman had died late Monday night, Cap knew that a specific eulogy would not be requested nor necessary, simply because no one from the community would be present to pay their final respects. It remained an unspoken understanding in Black Walnut that it was only a matter of time until Teddie met his Maker. The man lived in what barely passed for a shack down by the county dump. Most folks, including Cap, figured Teddie would eventually incinerate his dwelling from one of the hand-rolled cigarettes that constantly smoldered between his fingers, or even more probable, that the man’s liver would finally shut down after being so heavily taxed for nearly forty years. But neither of those two fates had taken Teddie from this earth.

Instead, Teddie’s life ended in a hit-and-run accident next to a barren cornfield on Route 6 between Black Walnut and Wyalusing sometime after midnight. Streaks of blood stained the centerline for almost a hundred feet as Teddie’s body had been dragged and shredded before flipping into the ditch. Crushed cans from Teddie’s last twelve-pack of Rolling Rock followed his trail. Death was instantaneous yet gruesome. Neither of the Army-issued boots that Teddie wore had been found. His body was barely recognizable. Even though Sheldon’s Funeral Parlor did the best they could to patch him up, it mattered little as there wouldn’t be an open casket at the man’s service.

Cap ran the rag in precise circular motions against the leather toe of each shoe, then held them up to the dull light that filtered in through the windows and repeated the process once again.

Teddie Salsman had no family, no close acquaintances, and not one single friend. Cap fully expected to stand in front of a county-issued coffin and offer a eulogy solely upon the ears of a dead man. Sheldon’s Funeral Parlor had delivered the casket the previous evening as he had requested. There was no logical reason to make Bernie Sheldon haul Teddie’s remains to the church. But Cap knew sure as snow was white that not a single townsperson would drag themselves to Sheldon’s to extend their respects. After Bernie hemmed and hawed about bringing the casket to the church, Cap offered to pay for the man’s time out of his own pocket to deliver Teddie to his house of worship.

Cap swiveled in his chair and stared out the window to take in the tumbling snow. Even though it was mid-March, Old Man Winter wasn’t yet done. He had a little bit more to say. Everything outside blanketed in a layer of white. The sidewalk leading up to the house, the yard’s dead grass, and the limbs of black walnut trees that lined the front lawn.

He watched the snow swirl in a thousand different directions and thought about Teddie, searching for something meaningful to say about the man.

The truth of the matter was that Teddie happened to be a nasty drunk who slung rocks at kids who dared to venture too close to his shack and cursed those who blocked his path on Main Street. He reeked of booze and cigarettes and filth in general. His clothing and hair matted with grease, his face black from dirt and ash. The man never pretended to be lovable, or likable for that matter. Teddie was a man who asked for nothing and didn’t take to accepting anyone’s help, handouts, or social kindness of any kind.

Even so, he and Cap had formed an unlikely bond, one Cap never confused with friendship, but there had been a time or two when Teddie Salsman was the only person in Black Walnut who was there for him.

The shack didn’t have electricity. No running water. Not even a window. Merely a place to sleep and not be seen by the rest of the world.

Flames crackled in a poorly constructed fireplace, and smoke from chunks of hemlock combined with the smell of a kerosene lamp that glowed on top of a cinderblock. Under the pungent stink of smoke, Cap couldn’t help but notice the stench of urine and rotting meat.

Cap sat upon an apple crate that served as a chair and pressed a bloodied handkerchief to the back of his head. He heard a haggard cough, and then Teddie emerged from the shadows holding two mason jars and a jug of whiskey. Neither of the jars was even close to being clean.

Teddie’s hands trembled as he poured them both a couple of inches of homebrewed booze.

“Thank you, Teddie.”

Teddie merely grunted, took a sip of whiskey before sitting down on a crate warped with age, then reached down to the floor and lifted a tin box to his lap. He opened the lid, took another sip of whiskey, and one by one, removed a roll of gauze, rubbing alcohol, a needle and medical thread, and a few balls of cotton.

“Why don’tcha go to a real doctor?” Teddie’s voice rattled with phlegm, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. Perhaps he hadn’t.

Cap took a taste of the homemade whiskey and felt the burn immediately. It tasted as bad as it smelled, but he drank it anyway. He peered at faded black and white photographs tacked onto slats of knotted pine: a stone-faced woman who looked uncomfortable holding a baby in the nook of her arm; a young boy sitting on the grass in between two German Shepherds; a woman in her twenties laughing at something out of frame; a clean-shaven portrait of Teddie wearing an Army uniform.

“You were a doctor, Teddie.”

Teddie grunted again. Drank some whiskey. “Used to be a lot of things.”

Cap removed the handkerchief from the back of his head and examined the crimson stains that dotted the material.

“Still bleeding?” Teddie asked as he threaded a needle, both hands trembling.

“A little bit.”

“You should go see Doc Pete for these kinds of things.”

Cap sipped whiskey from the jar before responding. “He asks too many questions. Too many hows and whys.”

For the first time, Teddie looked Cap square in the eye. “Secrets don’t stay hidden for long around here.”

“I know.”

Teddie finished his whiskey and poured more for both of them. “You always drink alone?”

“I’m not alone right now.”

A sound came from Teddie’s lips, and it took Cap a moment to realize it was a wry chuckle.

“Hold your head still.” He lifted the kerosene lamp to the back of Cap’s head and poked a dirty fingernail through hair clotted with blood.

“How’s it look?”

“Like you’ll need four or five stitches.”

Cap didn’t respond. Instead, he took another drink.

Teddie mumbled something and withdrew a pair of reading glasses with smudged lenses from his breast pocket.

“Try not to move. It’s gonna hurt.”

Cap heard the man exhale, smelled the sour mash on his breath, then felt the sting of the needle prick the flesh of his scalp.

Cap polished the leather with a horsehair brush in brisk, snapping motions. After setting the dress shoe down and buffing the second, his eyes stopped on the bottle of Wild Turkey on the bookshelf, and it struck Cap that he and old Teddie had more in common than he cared to admit.

He slipped on his shoes and laced them tight. Then he stood up straight, studied his reflection in the mirror, and fingered the gold tassels at the end of the stole. From all appearances, Cap presented himself as a devoted servant of God. After a few moments, he pulled his eyes away, unable to stare at himself a moment longer.

The call of the bottle was too strong.

He grabbed the bottle of bourbon and poured himself a two-finger shot. Before second-guessing his intent, Cap lifted the glass to his lips.

“To Teddie.”

The moment he stepped out of his office, Cap heard the sound of two women bickering coming from the administrative office. One voice was much louder and more confrontational than the other, and he knew exactly who issued the condescending complaints. He considered slipping past the office and making a beeline for the sanctuary, but instead, he stopped at the threshold and observed. Everyone slows to witness a train wreck.

A full-figured woman stood in front of a desk with her hands perched on wide hips. She wore an expensive dress that clung to her body, and although somewhat revealing, it looked tasteful as well. Her hair was perfectly styled. Makeup precisely applied. Getting ready to be seen in public took her ample time. Her brow creased and her mouth drew straight as she let into another woman—younger, thinner, and ragged—who sat behind the desk and leafed through a stack of mail.

“How do you not have a list of kids that attend church? Isn’t that part of your job?”

The other woman didn’t bother looking up. Instead, she ripped open the envelopes one by one.

The heavier, better-dressed woman stomped her foot. “Robin, this is important. I need to know how many kids there are so that I have a basket for every child.”

Robin opened her purse, withdrew a box of Newport cigarettes, and struck a match. “I dunno, Maggie. Probably fifteen. Maybe eighteen.”

“Well? Which is it?”

Robin exhaled a cloud of smoke, which Maggie promptly waved away.

“Do you have to smoke in here?”

“Too cold to smoke outside.”

“Well, it’s rude.”

“To who? I’m the only one that works in the office.”

Maggie marched across the room and heaved the window open with dramatic effort. “I’m not leaving until I get a headcount for the children.”

Robin spotted Cap standing by the door and gave him an exasperated expression.

“Let me guess . . . the Easter parade,” Cap offered.

Maggie turned, faced Cap, and her sour expression transformed into a coy smile at the sight of him.

“You giving Robin grief, Mags?”

“It’s not easy organizing the Easter celebration, Cap.”

“I know it’s not.”

“And unless you have someone else that wants to take over, I need some cooperation. I oversee the banquet dinner, the decorations, the parade, everything. I organize the volunteers and coordinate who’s bringing casseroles, salads, drinks, and desserts. A thousand different things to keep track of. And all I ask of Robin is a count of the children, but she can’t seem to get it through her head—”

“Eighteen kids total, Mags.”

Robin tapped her cigarette into an ashtray. “Told you.”

“No, you didn’t.” She returned her attention to Cap. “And why do you let her smoke in here?”

“Too cold to smoke outside.” Cap grinned at Robin, then gestured toward the doors that led to the sanctuary. “Anyone?”

Robin shook her head.

“No big surprise, is it?” Maggie posed. “Did you really expect anyone to come to Teddie’s funeral?”

Cap and Robin exchanged a look.

“What? He was nothing but a mean, old drunk. And I’m not saying anything that everyone doesn’t already know.”

“What about the two of you? Won’t take long.”

Robin stabbed out her cigarette. “Sorry, but I need to stop by the grocery store and get dinner ready for the kids. Chuck’s no help.”

Cap peered at Maggie, who promptly picked up her purse and straightened her dress across her hips. “And I have an errand list three miles long.” She patted Cap’s arm on her way out. “Honestly, I don’t know why you even bother, Cap. It’s not like Teddie even believed in God.”

Cap crossed the carpeted stage to the pulpit, deep in reflection, thinking about what the last moments of Teddie’s life must have been like—had the man experienced a fleeting moment of fear, was his death painful, did he have any true regrets in his life—and didn’t notice the older man sitting in the front pew with a wide brim felt hat clasped between knotted hands.

“Morning.”

Cap jerked and his page of notes slipped from his fingers.

The older man stood up from the pew, fast and awkward, clapped on his sheriff’s hat, then tugged it off again just as quick. “Christ, Cap. Didn’t mean to scare the piss out of you.”

It took Cap a moment to process Sheriff Lester standing there before him. The old man seemed a little more stooped and a little frailer than he remembered.

Cap painted on a slow grin to mask his surprise. “Lester. No. Just caught up in my thoughts, is all.”

Lester extended a hand twisted by arthritis, and when Cap shook it, he held his breath for fear of the sheriff catching a whiff of his indulgence.

“Sit, sit,” Cap offered.

Lester settled back onto the pew with a relieved grunt and motioned to the empty church behind him. “Wasn’t exactly expecting standing room only, but I figured that a few of the old-timers might show up to pay their respects to Teddie this morning.”

Cap bent down and collected his notes. “I guess people are busy.”

“Busy doing what exactly? You’re just being kind. Fact is folks don’t give a God damn.” He played with the brim of his hat. “Pardon the language.”

Cap waved the apology away.

“I mean, hell, Cy Warner served with Teddie in the war, and the old goat can’t be bothered to drive two miles from the farm?”

“Well, Teddie didn’t exactly make it easy on people.”

“Guess not, but still.”

Both men gazed toward the raised platform where Teddie’s casket stood, noticeably absent of flowers or a wreath, and were silent for a moment. Finally, Lester shook his head.

“A hit and run is a hell of a way to go, Cap. Hell of a way to go.”

“Learn anything new about what happened?”

Lester tugged his cap onto his head. “Not a damn thing. No one saw it happen. If it was a local, I have my eyes on the lookout for a dented hood and smashed-up headlight. If it was someone passing through, they’re long gone by now.”

“I don’t understand how someone could do that, then just drive off.”

“Maybe they were scared. Or maybe they were drunk and didn’t even know what happened.”

Cap kept quiet.

“Well. You’re doing a good thing here today, Cap. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to most folks, but it means something to me.”

Cap acted as if he didn’t hear the compliment. “How’s your better half feeling?”

Lester inspected the inside of his hat like seeing it for the first time and his mouth drew straight.

“The doctors have anything new to say?”

Lester snorted out a small, hard laugh. “Nothing I want to hear.”

“Bonnie’s a fighter.”

“Don’t I know it. Helluva lot stronger than me. That’s for damn sure.”

“I’d like to stop by and pay her a visit if that would be okay.”

“She’d like that, Cap. She could use the company. Might find it hard to believe, but she’s just about sick and tired of looking at this old mug.”

Cap grinned. Stared down at his handwritten notes. “How about you and I give Teddie a proper send-off?”

“That’d be just fine, Cap.”

Cap stepped beside Teddie’s casket, ran his hand atop the smooth wood, and then took his place behind the podium. When he peered down at his notes, he noticed that his hands trembled ever so slightly. Part of him wished he hadn’t taken that drink, and the other wished he had taken a few more.