Dead Reckoning (21 page)

“What are you doing in here?” the woman asked sharply.

She was dressed in the same kind of shapeless faded calico dress Jett had seen on Sister Agatha. Her hair was gray, her apron was dingy—not dirty, but not white—and her skin had a gray tinge to it, as if her life was so hard even the wrinkles in her face weren’t enough to tell about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
You’ve got about ten seconds to
come up with a real good lie,
a cold calm voice inside her said. “I heard—I heard tell there was a preacherman here, and I—I got me a bad need, ma’am!”

This wasn’t her voice, not her words, but Jett recognized them anyway. Back in Orleans Parish, the Desbiennes had been a no-account passel of swamp trash who couldn’t raise a crop up out of the ground if Jesus Lord had commanded it to come forth, and Mama had nursed their brats through fever and their women through childbed and rode out there at least once a month with a hamper of food and took Jett with her. Mama said it wasn’t charity or compassion if it was easy, but Jett had hated to go.

“This is Brother Shepherd’s private study,” the woman said harshly.

Jett put her hands over her face. “Oh, miss, I didn’t mean to go where I don’t belong, truly, but I heard—I heard he’s a powerful good man!”

The woman’s face softened. “He is. Brother Shepherd speaks with God’s holy angels daily. Come here, child.”

Jett walked slowly across the carpet and stopped, head down. When the woman reached for her, she flinched automatically, but all the woman did was untie the bonnet-ribbons at Jett’s throat.

“I am Sister Catherine,” she said, handing Jett the sunbonnet. “What’s your name?”

“J—Jayleen,” Jett stammered. It wasn’t a Bible name by any stretch, or even a proper name. It was the name of the eldest Desbiennes girl, and it was all she could think of. “Please, Miss Catherine! My brother’s awful sick, and he’s like to die if he don’t get prayed over right quick!”

“Missus, Missus, come quick, the baby’s come early and Mawmaw’s like to die if you don’t come right quick.…”

“You must not use those honorifics here, child, for we here of the Divine Resurrection have rejected the evils of the world,” Sister Catherine said. “I am Sister Catherine. And I will call you Sister Jayleen.” She put a hand on Jett’s arm and drew her out into the hall, shutting the door firmly behind them. “You did wrong by sneaking in here this way. You should have come openly. Brother Shepherd would never turn away a soul in need.”

“I was a-skeert, Ma—Miss—Sister, ma’am,” Jett stammered. She thought of Phillip, laughing at her because she’d been caught in a lie by Tante Mère:
You have to believe it yourself, Pippa, before you can make anyone else believe it. They’ll believe you if
you
believe you, that’s the first rule
. It wasn’t hard to let the tears come after that, or to scrub at her eyes until they were red. “My brother … he isn’t really sick,” she whispered.

Sister Catherine had been leading her back up the
hall. They’d almost reached the front parlor when she stopped.

“Does he drink?” Sister Catherine demanded. “There is no sanctuary here for drunkards and libertines.”

“No,” Jett whispered, her throat closing with unshed tears. “Oh, please,
please
, sister, he’s done gone and got hisself shot and he, and we—we’re rebs, ma’am. He never swore. They’ll hand him over to the Army iff’n they ketch him.”

Tyrant Johnson had issued a general amnesty to Confederates two years ago—pardoning them for the “crime” of fighting for their own country—but to claim that pardon, a Southerner had to swear an Oath of Allegiance to the Union. Without swearing that oath, you were a criminal in Yankee eyes, unable to vote, own property, operate a business …

But if you swore that oath, you were a traitor.

“The things of the world have no place here,” Sister Catherine said, so calmly Jett wasn’t sure she’d heard her. She started walking again. Jett followed. She forced herself not to look back at the study door. “Sister Jayleen” was interested in Brother Shepherd, not his possessions.

The kitchen of Jerusalem’s Wall was familiar enough, even though Jett had never been in it: cookstove, pantry shelves, dry sink, wet sink, and a long marble counter
down the middle. There wasn’t much you could remove from a kitchen and still have a kitchen, after all. Jett saw there were two women were standing at the counter, rolling out tortillas. A couple of pots of something were simmering on the stove.

“This is Sister Jayleen,” Sister Catherine announced. “She’s come to join us.”

One of the women looked up. It was Sister Agatha, and for a moment Jett held her breath, but Sister Agatha’s gaze passed over her without recognition.

“Bet she hasn’t come alone,” the other woman said cynically.

“Sweetness and humility are the flowers we grow in Our Savior’s garden of Righteousness, Sister Ruth,” Sister Catherine said reprovingly. “If Sister Jayleen has had a true calling to come among us, our Blessed Founder will see it.”

Sister Ruth returned to her work, her mouth folded in a thin line of disagreement.

Jett stood nervously at the edge of the kitchen as Sister Catherine went to the cupboard and took down two battered tin mugs. She picked up the kettle keeping warm on the back of the stove, but as she poured, Jett saw the liquid was thick and dark.
If drinking more of that Revealed Herb Tea is the worst that happens to me here, I’ll count myself lucky
, she told herself.

Sister Catherine handed Jett one of the mugs and
motioned to Jett to follow her out of the kitchen. She led Jett to an alcove just off the dining room. Jett thought its purpose might once have been to hold cooling racks for cakes and pies, but its window had been bricked over, and now it was a gloomy place. There were benches on either side of the doorway. Jett sat as close to the wall as she could get. Sister Catherine sat beside her.

“Now,” Sister Catherine said calmly, sipping her tea. “You must tell me all you know about our Blessed Founder, Sister Jayleen, and how you came to us.”

“I guess I can’t, ma’am—
Sister
,” Jett said, bowing her head. The metal cup in her hands was uncomfortable to hold, but the pain was something to concentrate on. “I guess I heard about him a lot of places before I heard a name. We tried—Brother’n me—to join up with a wagon train up north of here. They wouldn’t let us stay above a day or two. We didn’t have any money.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to
believe
so she could convince. “We headed on south, because he’d heard they didn’t care if you’d sworn. And I heard there was a righteous man living here in the desert.”

Sister Catherine nodded, as if she’d heard exactly what she’d expected to hear. “God has spoken to Brother Shepherd,” she said. “You doubt and fear. Don’t be ashamed. Once I did, too. Do you believe in the Resurrection?” she asked abruptly.

“I …” The question caught Jett off guard. What was the right answer? “I guess I’m as good a Christian as some, Sister Catherine.”

“On the Day of Judgment, Jesus Christ our Lord will raise up both the living and the dead to weigh their souls and cast the wicked down into Darkness. But He will not come with a great fanfare, so that the wicked may lie and pretend to righteousness. No! He will come so softly and quietly that many—even among those of us here—do not realize He is already here.”

“Oh, Sister Catherine,” Jett said. She’d wondered why Brother Shepherd let Sister Catherine enter his private rooms just as she pleased, and now she thought she knew why. Brother Shepherd was bad crazy in the smart way. Sister Catherine was just crazy.

Jett suspected she knew why. “I am sorry for your loss, Sister Catherine,” she said softly.

Jett was all too familiar with bereavement and the terrible toll the death of a loved one took on those left behind. Louisiana had been one of the Seven, the first seven states to secede. It had gone out in January of 1861. New Orleans—and Orleans Parish—had fallen to the Yankees fifteen months later. Yankee occupation had meant they got the bad news quickly. The casualty lists: husbands, fathers, sons who had gone off to fight and would never come home again. Many of the
bereaved had turned to planchette writing, desperate for a last word from those who’d gone on ahead. Others had just gone quietly mad, insisting a husband, a son, a father was alive—coming home soon, already here, never left.

“You’re a good girl, Jayleen,” Sister Catherine said, patting Jett’s knee. “But I have no need to grieve! Brother Shepherd has promised my David is to come back to me very soon. Would you like to see his picture?”

She didn’t wait for Jett’s answer before bringing out a locket she wore beneath her dress. She opened it and held it for Jett to see. There was a daguerreotype picture of a man on one side and of a young boy on the other.

“That’s my David. My angel baby. Henry and I always hoped for children, but for years we were not blessed. I’d given up hope when the Lord took mercy on me. But he punished me for my doubt as well. From childhood David was frail and ill—but a good boy!—and the doctors told us he had an incurable consumption. This time I didn’t despair, and again my prayers were answered, for I saw a newspaper article saying it was merely the heavy wet air that troubled him so, and the desert would make him well again. Henry was against it, but I prevailed upon him at last. What mother wouldn’t fight ten lions for her child? And once we
had begun our journey, I discovered Henry meant us to press on to California, but I knew we must not. Like you, I’d heard rumors that Christ our Lord had returned to Earth. Oh, I did not know who He was, then! In fact, He does not yet know his true nature, for God does not send burdens we are too frail to bear, and it will be a hard task for Him to sit in judgment upon the nations. But we must not speak of such things yet. All that matters is that David has been made well again.”

“What about Henry?” Jett blurted out, unable to stop herself.

Sister Catherine’s momentary animation faded. “Some are called to the Divine Throne before their time,” she said softly. “Henry was not willing to embrace his salvation—but I do not grieve for him! I shall see him again when Brother Shepherd—as we must still call Him!—erects his Jerusalem of Fire for the righteous to inhabit.”

Jett felt as if she was drowning in the flood of Sister Catherine’s confession, but one thing stood out. “You say David is coming back to you?”

“Oh, yes,” Sister Catherine said brightly. “He died two days ago—but our Blessed Founder has promised to raise him up on the third day. He promised me David would live forever, you see. He promised.”

Jett couldn’t decide whether she wanted to scream, slap Sister Catherine silly, or just run for her life. What she was afraid she’d do was start laughing, the terrified hysterical laughter that came when even tears weren’t enough. “Does—does he do that often?” she asked, wincing at the inanity of her own words.

“Oh yes,” Sister Catherine said. “Everyone who dies here—and there are many!—goes with Brother Shepherd to his house of prayer. Not the outer one you will see soon, but the inner one, where the angels come. There he calls them back into life once more. But not like my David. My David will be special!”

“That must be—must be a hard thing to accept,” Jett said, gripping her mug so hard her fingers ached.

“God does not send burdens we are too frail to bear,” Sister Catherine reminded her. “Those the blessed resurrected have left behind often hope for some word of reassurance, but the reborn only speak the tongue of Heaven as it was spoken by Father Adam and Mother Eve before their Fall from Grace. Brother Shepherd conveys their messages of hope and reassurance to their surviving loved ones for them. Perhaps you will see for yourself.”

“I’d like that,” Jett said, hating herself. “My brother’s a soldier.”

“What did you say his name was, again?” Sister
Catherine asked. When she’d been talking about her husband and son her voice had been soft and dreamy. Now it turned sharp and accusing again.

“Johnny,” Jett said wildly.
Johnny Reb
. “Sister Catherine, my brother’s bad hurt. That’s why I didn’t bring him. I think he might be a-skeert of thinking about … well, about passing on, and maybe … If I could just
see
this special prayer house, maybe I could tell him it would be all right. Only I don’t want anyone to know I—I maybe had doubts,” she added in a rush. “Could I see it and, and not let anyone know?” She didn’t think Brother Shepherd would show it to her. Not without making her one of his “Blessed Resurrected” first.

Sister Catherine sat silently for so long Jett thought she might have gone off into a trance. “Many people have asked what you’re asking,” Sister Catherine finally said, her voice so calm and reasonable that Jett had to bite her lip to keep from showing how frightened she was. “Brother Shepherd has always told us anyone who wishes may visit there. But he also warns us the angels are often present within it, and anyone who isn’t pure of heart will be struck down instantly at the sight of one.”

I just bet he has
, Jett thought grimly. “I think I already saw it,” she said, her voice shaking. “It had a door in the middle of the floor, all chained. I have to see it, Sister Catherine. Johnny—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
The lie choked her. ‘Johnny’ was a lie, but
Philip
wasn’t. And Philip
did
need her.

Sister Catherine got to her feet. “When Brother Shepherd ministers to your brother, He will take away all fear, I promise you. And I know you are anxious for that. Let us see if we may discover when He will return. When He goes to pray, sometimes He remains lost in adoration for days, communing with the angels and the Blessed Resurrected. If the Keys to Heaven are in their place, He is merely upon some errand, and will return soon. He always takes the keys with Him when He goes to pray—I think they are a sign to us of the times we should not disturb Him. Let us go and see.”

“Thank you.” Jett got hastily to her feet, setting down her untouched cup. Maybe she should have said more, maybe she should have told Sister Catherine she was good and pure and stainless and all those words they flung around here at Jerusalem’s Wall a mite too freely, but Jett thought if she said another word, she’d just blurt out the whole truth. Sister Catherine wouldn’t want to hear it. Brother Shepherd had said he’d raise Sister Catherine’s boy from the dead.