full
“Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf (part 1 of 2)
Grey mountains gather as the grass grows dry.
More dreadful than its fury is the rapture of the sky.
Miss Bethany is longing for a world she is denied,
But the wind is singing distantly, and leaves nowhere to hide.
Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf, who heard it on the wind but couldn’t find a way to fit it into any anthologies from the Furry Historical Fiction Society. You can find more of his work on his SoFurry gallery.
Read by the author. Musical engineering by Solomon Harries.
thevoice.dog | Apple podcasts | Spotify | Google Podcasts
If you have a story you think would be a good fit, you can check out the requirements, fill out the submission template and get in touch with us.
https://thevoice.dog/episode/sing-in-me-holy-one-and-through-me-by-rob-macwolf-part-1-of-2
Transcript
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:Today’s story is the first of two parts of
Speaker:“Sing in Me, Holy One,
Speaker:and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:who heard it on the wind
Speaker:but couldn’t find a way to fit it
Speaker:into any anthologies from the Furry Historical Fiction Society.
Speaker:You can find more of his work
Speaker:on his SoFurry gallery.
Speaker:Read by the author.
Speaker:Musical engineering
Speaker:by Solomon Harries.
Speaker:Please enjoy “Sing in Me,
Speaker:Holy One, and Through Me”
Speaker:by Rob MacWolf, Part 1
Speaker:of 2 As far as Bethany Smith was concerned,
Speaker:the Oregon Trail could go and fuck itself.
Speaker:Probably it’d go to Oregon to do that.
Speaker:That was where it seemed to be determined to get to, God knows why, but she wasn’t particular:
Speaker:the trail could fuck itself anywhere it pleased from Independence to Indonesia
Speaker:if it meant it wasn’t next door any more,
Speaker:taunting her that whoever else got to leave,
Speaker:she never would. Not that she’d ever say so where anybody but herself could hear.
Speaker:Even the folks who agreed with her,
Speaker:and had little enough to lose that they would say it,
Speaker:knew better than to admit that a word like ‘fuck’
Speaker:existed within earshot of a member of the Smith Family.
Speaker:She’d ridden out
Speaker:half a day to the north.
Speaker:Was already outside the town, on the prairie proper,
Speaker:by the time the sun was up.
Speaker:If anyone asked—and any asking would either be on behalf of her parents or inevitably get back to them
Speaker:—she was out here to talk to the railroad surveyors,
Speaker:to remind them how important Mayor Smith knew the railroad was
Speaker:to the future of this great nation’s commerce,
Speaker:and to glean any hints at all about the route the tracks would take.
Speaker:But that wasn’t a reason she was out here,
Speaker:though she’d no doubt get to it.
Speaker:That was an excuse.
Speaker:The reason was just over the next rise.
Speaker:There was a wagon train passing
Speaker:when she reached the top of the hill.
Speaker:They weren’t as common as they’d been when she was a young girl:
Speaker:according to Mama
Speaker:those had been the days when the traffic was so thick
Speaker:it might as well have been a single long wagon train from the Mississippi to the coast,
Speaker:a single endless cattle drive from the Rio Grande
Speaker:to the Union Pacific.
Speaker:The dust of them
Speaker:reared like an anvil cloud,
Speaker:and the sound of hooves and wheels were
Speaker:the distant thunder within it.
Speaker:Bethany suspected that account of being somewhat fanciful.
Speaker:But back in the day the trails had crossed,
Speaker:just outside town.
Speaker:Supposedly the seed of the town had been a trading post that sprung up
Speaker:to supply the cattle drives going north,
Speaker:the settlers going west.
Speaker:Those streams had been plentiful enough that a single trading post had put down thick roots
Speaker:and blossomed into the sorts of fruits that grow from trading posts:
Speaker:saloons, dry goods stores,
Speaker:a missionary baptist congregation
Speaker:and a stop on the pony express.
Speaker:But some unaccountable thing
Speaker:—perhaps a river a state over shifting,
Speaker:perhaps a new pass found in the mountains a state further than that
Speaker:—had gradually nudged the main stream of travel over
Speaker:to the other side of the hills.
Speaker:Now a settler would have to go half a day out of their way to set foot in Statfeldt.
Speaker:Only the few and the desperate did.
Speaker:The other trail was already gone:
Speaker:the cattle drives were over and done with, men like Corbiss had made good and sure they were buried.
Speaker:There wasn’t much to see, from here.
Speaker:Wisps of dust rising into the air.
Speaker:The smell of placid oxen drifting downwind through the grass.
Speaker:The faded rough sailcoth over the wagons.
Speaker:Too far away to make out the settlers, to guess at their species or destination.
Speaker:These might be Mormons bound for Salt Lake,
Speaker:prospectors for California or Colorado,
Speaker:disgraced confederates for the Willamette.
Speaker:Just drifters—like that coyote down there, in the poncho,
Speaker:apparently stopped to rest his feet a moment, he had the look—
Speaker:-going with the flow not because they had anywhere to go, but because they had no reason to stay.
Speaker:Enviable. She didn’t get any closer.
Speaker:From here they might be anyone,
Speaker:on their way to any of the places Bethany would never see.
Speaker:And what would they see if they looked up?
Speaker:Just a possum, on a horse,
Speaker:in a practical riding skirt and coat,
Speaker:spanish hat instead of a sunbonnet,
Speaker:and a look on her face that even if they were close enough to try
Speaker:they would not a one of them be able to read.
Speaker:Bethany shook her head and flicked the reins to turn Jeb southeast.
Speaker:Enough lollygagging.
Speaker:Better go see those surveyors, get it out of the way.
Speaker:Looking at the wagon train had been one of the real reasons she was out here.
Speaker:There’d be another,
Speaker:after. — Louie was out on the north fences, like he had been most days for almost a month now.
Speaker:He hated barbed wire with a passion,
Speaker:the stuff was devilish frustrating to work with
Speaker:even given an armadillo’s thick skin,
Speaker:but he wasn’t the one as got to decide what kinda fences to put up.
Speaker:Just the one who had to do it.
Speaker:Louie, of course, wasn’t really his name.
Speaker:It was what everyone called him, though. Most folks in Statfeldt
Speaker:claimed to hear no difference between
Speaker:“Luis” and “Louis.” And that was a frustrating enough talk to have that the armadillo never bothered bringing up his surname anymore.
Speaker:According to Miss Eliza
Speaker:—the last schoolmarm in town, before she’d left town to marry some shopkeeper back in Cincinnati—”Huerfano”
Speaker:wasn’t actually a name,
Speaker:it was Spanish for “orphan.”
Speaker:She’d guess, she’d said,
Speaker:that whoever had left him here as boy, to be raised piecemeal by whoever happened to be willing to trade a meal and a place to sleep in the barn for a day’s work,
Speaker:had been trying to say:
Speaker:this was “Luis, the orphan”
Speaker:but the kind of conclusions one jumps to when one doesn’t speak Spanish had been jumped to.
Speaker:So now “Luis Huerfano”
Speaker:was the name that nobody even bothered to use anyway.
Speaker:Nobody but Miss Bethany.
Speaker:“Morning there, Luis,”
Speaker:the possum drew her horse to a halt on the other side of the fence he was building.
Speaker:“Morning, Miss Bethany,”
Speaker:the armadillo tipped his beat-up hat. “What
Speaker:brings you out all this way?”
Speaker:“Talkin to you, course.”
Speaker:She never had any patience for polite fictions.
Speaker:“And I’ll give you this for free:
Speaker:the surveyor’s’re gettin closer to town.
Speaker:Progressed more’n two miles since last week.
Speaker:See how they like hearin that back at Corbiss’s place, maybe.”
Speaker:“Ah well,” Luis turned his hat over in his hands,
Speaker:“I don’t care much for being a tale-bearer, I guess.
Speaker:How’s things in town?”
Speaker:“Same as always, so don’t you try to change the subject on me, Mr. Huerfano,”
Speaker:she set her face,
Speaker:“If they ain’t gon be happy to hear the news, well that’s their affair,
Speaker:but don’t that mean it’s more’n past time you stopped workin for a man like Sour Pete Corbiss?” “I tol’ you before Miss Bethany, the money’s alright.” “Land sakes, Luis!” Jeb, sensing his rider’s frustration, stamped his hoof to emphasize the point for her.
Speaker:“He ain’t the only person in this pimple of a town as has got money.”
Speaker:“Now, you know what your Pa’d say-”
Speaker:Luis stopped short of retreading the long familiar argument.
Speaker:“You know we both do,”
Speaker:Bethany raised an eyebrow.
Speaker:“What’s ailin’ you?”
Speaker:“G’wan then,” scoffed another voice,
Speaker:“tell her what her Pa’d say about her bein seen talkin to a
Speaker:dirty piece a shit some vagrant scraped off the trail.”
Speaker:“Rogers,” Bethany’s lips finished curling into a sneer
Speaker:before she’d even turned around to face the scrawny ferret in the black
Speaker:hat. “You squeak in my presence again and we’re gon’ find if’n you can still squeak after you’ve had my ridin’ crop across your ugly face.”
Speaker:And perhaps things were meant to go a certain way,
Speaker:at this point. The headstrong town belle,
Speaker:the hardworking and respectful orphan,
Speaker:the two houses alike in obscurity from which they hail locked in a petty small-town real estate war,
Speaker:bitter as only a petty small-town dispute can be,
Speaker:the contemptible hired muscle that hates them both for loving eachother:
Speaker:these are pieces that fit together very comfortably and predictably,
Speaker:and the story they form, when together, is long familiar.
Speaker:No doubt a mysterious drifter should have appeared,
Speaker:to complete the picture,
Speaker:ready to take no sides, drive the tensions to a final gunslinging showdown,
Speaker:and then ride off into the sunset as mysteriously as he’d come.
Speaker:That may very well have been how this was supposed to go.
Speaker:But it did not. For when
Speaker:Bethany opened her mouth,
Speaker:to tell Rafe Rogers to go to hell like the whoreson he was,
Speaker:what came out was not words.
Speaker:“Ǵ̴̫̲̳̞̌͊̕r̶͇̆̉̕͘e̸̖͎̦͉̔̾̾ȳ̵̤͔͔̠͕̊̌̒M̸̗͖̜̓͂o̷͍͍͌́̐̂ṳ̷̰͍̄̃̌̿̈n̵̯͇̜̔͒͌͌ẗ̵̨̛̙́̅͌ả̵͍͔̌͝i̶̻͍̮͙͑͋n̵̖̟̈́̂s̷̳͐̈́̈̈́M̷̞͔͋ą̷̹̖̉͊͑̄́r̸̩̞̫̾̊c̴̡̛̼͇̈́̈́͑h̴̟̋̾Ȧ̴̡̤̊ẗ̷̟̣̼̻̼́̏T̴̡͖̠̯̲͂͝h̴͖͛͗̆̆ḙ̷̳̥̊͐̔͐͒Ȩ̴̟̘̪͌d̷̺̭̊̑ǧ̵̢̬͚͓͂̑é̷͔̈́̒̐͊O̶͖̣͎͜͠f̵̢̠͇̻͚͊̈́͑͒̌T̸̲̟̂ͅh̶̺͖̙͓͊́̕ë̸̞̰̪͉́S̴̡̽͂̆͛̓k̴̝̃̈́́y̴̘̠͗̄̂” she sang. GreyMountainsMarchAtTheEdgeOfTheSky
Speaker:She had no idea what she was singing.
Speaker:She had never heard music like this before.
Speaker:But her’s wasn’t the only voice. “Ḑ̴̭̳̹͒̓̌͠a̷̗̜̘̬̩͆r̴̢̛͕̟̭͒̎́̚k̶̪̈́̀̂́͠M̴̧̘̲̺̩̄̎ö̸̦́̃ȕ̷̮̪̝̓̊́͝n̵̩̼̣̻͔̑ṭ̸̮̟̥̉ͅà̷͓̈͘̕̚į̷̥̿̑̈́̓͛ń̷͎͈̍ś̷̭͙̣G̴̨̘͛̾̕͠ḻ̴̣͛̄̆o̶̙̠̻̭͌̒w̶̯̔̂e̶̪̩̤̓̏̕ͅr̸̡̛̟͛̑̑͘T̴̤̯̒͂̂͊͠ḣ̶̘͈̓r̶̲̀͜ȏ̷̙́͒ṷ̶̥̈́͝͠g̴̲͆͂͘h̷̫͎͎͉́̾̃̀͐A̷̛̲̪̻̋͊̔ͅͅŃ̶̲̲̟͆a̵͕̜̼̬͊͛r̸̥̯͔̳̓r̶̜͐o̵̙̰̎ͅw̸͕̥̼͇̄͘e̴̒̒̉̅͠ͅd̵̩̈͒̀E̸̮̮͎̯͗̄͌ỷ̷̨̯̪͉͊̆̅͘e̸͕͑̈̏̑̅” another voice was making its way through the tall grass behind her,
Speaker:lower, breathy but without growl or gravel.
Speaker:Bethany found she couldn’t turn her head to see them.
Speaker:“F̶͙̮̫̓̇r̷̰̪̓͗̆͌o̴̔̆̔͒ͅm̴͕̻̠͖͋͛ͅṠ̶̺͈̬̮͖͆͆h̶̨̺̘̙̀̆̌̌͊ȁ̸̳d̵͎̗̂ō̵̼̠w̷̞̭̣͌̈́̀̐ę̶̘̬̏̐̋͑͠d̵̪̼͙̝̒̓̄͗̏M̷̭̓̏͌̚ŏ̵̝ṵ̸̙̘̈͠ͅň̴̘̤̑͠t̵̞͇̜͎̙̓͆̄͋͝a̴̟͎̲̒͝i̵̦̳̹̮̺͆̂͝ň̸̨̝̗̝̯V̴̳̼̜́̄̇ä̶̜̯̗́̅l̶̛̦̜̞̓͑ĕ̶͓̙̱͈s̸̺̺͐C̴̭̲͉͂̀͠o̶̖̗̙͂̄͂̔͆m̸̱̈͜é̴ͅs̴͎̀̒̓̏A̷̻̤͗͘̚ͅB̷̭̦̠̥͆̈́̊̉͜͝r̸̢̻͊e̶̤̍̋e̸̯͆z̵͙̫̫̙̎ě̸̛̮̰͈̜̈̚͜͝L̶̺͇̙̗̣̇͆̿̈́̚o̴̜̎̈̂̑͊ń̸̪͈̩̪̒̐̓͠ǵ̴̟̲̕Ḅ̵̺̱̍̋̿ͅl̶̻̙̍̄̒͒e̴̛̹̬̝̖͔͒̃̍͠s̵̡̨̩̮͎̀̆ṭ̸̦̞̈́Ǎ̶̮̅̇ͅn̷̘͚̦̑̂̍̒d̶̫͋͒͐̉͝T̵̪͕̬̖̓ͅh̵̡͇̭̗̳̒̇̕ě̴̪͉W̵̲͚̝̮͙̅͗i̶̼̥̤͕̘͂̋̊̋̽n̵̢̙̦͐̏ḑ̴̢̠̝̿͠͝Ŗ̸͙̪͖̊i̶̢̖͍̋̆͛̊͠s̴̡̰̥͔̰̓e̵̡͕̟̺͈̊̿͑͝ṣ̷̛̺̘̐͆S̷͇̈́̾̏̎ĩ̶̦͓͋͛̈́l̸͚͍̀̒͊̚ę̷̲͓͖̈̿̾̎ǹ̷͉͍̮̝͈͋t̴̻̜̗̎͊F̸̱̽̎͂͐̔r̴͔̳͇̙̈̑͂̎ŏ̵͍̖̫̘͋̕m̸͎͗͘T̷̹̅̐̍̕ḧ̸̢̖̼̱́ḛ̷̙̏͆D̴̖̉a̸̧̬̥̪͐̾̋r̵̤̹͊̑̋͆̕͜ķ̴͎̺̒̚͝N̴͍͚͒̇̅̉̈́o̵̲͂r̷͚̂͆ţ̷̬̥̀͊h̷͇̭̱̝́̄̒w̸͈̣̯̻̉̐͝e̴̠̤̠͇̻͑͝s̸͖̘̔̂̚t̴̬̏̀͆͠͝”
Speaker:It was hard to clearly hear this other voice,
Speaker:both over herself,
Speaker:and over Luis and Rogers,
Speaker:who were likewise singing. “Į̷̛̬͚͓̟̾̄̀t̵̢͎̬̜͂̀R̷̳̖̉̊͒̚͝u̴͔̟͉͊͐͋ś̵̢̨̹̜͋ḫ̸̨̟͋ͅẻ̷͕̯̈́s̷̮̩̞̯̎̈́̒͆ͅA̴̝̘͐̅s̴͔̲̑̾̀̀I̸̢̡͉̥̎t̵̠͔͕̻͊͊R̵̺͔̱̖̂̈̓͠ͅi̶̢̧̹̦̓̌͗̏̄s̵͍͗͗͊e̴̫̜̗̠̻̒ś̶͈̜̠̐̄͘ͅL̷̡͎̎̿̋i̷͉͖̩͖͊͗k̵̛̛̜̅̄̚è̵͚͙͔̥͊͒̚A̸̺̙̖̎̓ͅH̴̳̔͐ȃ̵̲́ļ̷͙̱̭̊f̴͓͚̝̔̀̈̈̍R̶̛̛̽̋͜e̷̢͓̩̹̺͠m̸̥̊̐̏e̷̙̝̥̰̺̐̒̇͊̿m̴͎̉͝b̶̩̥̘̯̣̊͗̕͘ẹ̸̊̍̚r̴̬̹̺̜͍̽̄͝e̶̫̟̫̖̹͛d̷̡̯̠̭̾͝H̶̭̠̒̌͊̕ý̷͐͜m̵͎̕n̴̫̲̫̍Ä̶͈̘̩́Ḫ̶̲̹̀ͅy̶̜̍̒̍̄̚ṁ̴̜̫̿̍͘ņ̷̢͙̼̈́Ţ̶̺̮̙͇́͋ọ̸̹͐̋̌̀͜͜͝S̴̼̟͈̀͌͆́ḯ̸̲̿ņ̵̨͖͔͔̿͘g̵͎̱̽͝Ả̸̬̩̤͙̃͠t̸͂̇͗̂̅ͅE̸̥̿͆̀̋̈́v̶̛̱̥̓̓͘e̷̬̠͔̪̙̅n̵̡̠̔͌̌̌͊s̷̼̝̱̬̭̋̔̈́͘ö̷̪́͝n̸̠̽͆̉̃ͅg̴͙̥̅W̷͇̫͐͜͝ḫ̷͍̇͛̿ẻ̵̢̖͚̙ͅn̷̪̲̺͔̐͊͗͌H̸̨̖͂̾̆́͝o̸̜̔͗̅̈́p̵̢̜̪̋̅̓̚ë̴̛̥̿̕G̸̡͈̘̮͑́̾͆͠r̷̛̠͎̝̄̓͋ȍ̶̢͔̗͇́͝w̵̺̜̎̈̎́s̷̞͊͌̀͗D̴̤͇̩̠̈́̊͠ȋ̸̧̤͂͆̒ͅm̵̲̈́̿”
Speaker:Both the men’s faces were covered
Speaker:in as much baffled astonishment as she felt.
Speaker:“A̴̭̣̎̓̅͂̓n̵̜̠͇̒̉̄̿͐d̴̢̛͈̻̞̉̊̕͝ͅṮ̵̊̑̈́͒̑ḧ̸̡̠̮́͂̀͝e̶͇̿̄̈́̓W̵̲̍̓̅̾i̸͓̅̐͊n̷͓̈́̇̑d̸̼̠̝͐̂̌̏͂S̴̘̲̓͒̕į̵͕̒͐̓́̀n̴̹͒̇ǵ̵̛̱͖̪͖̺̋͘s̴̨̀H̴̨̥͎͔̓̐̔͆ȉ̴̞̌́g̶̱͇͙͍̽̍ͅh̶͕͂̀̕͜͝͠Å̸̠̈̓̈͜ṉ̴͐̓̈́͗d̸̜̯̪̘̿͝T̴̡͈̀͆́̏͝h̵̨͇̖̏̀ĕ̵͙̲͔͐͑̑W̷̪̳̍̌i̴̊̊̈́̀̊͜n̴̛̖̓̾͗d̸̠͔̼̬̾͛͐͘͘S̸̢̯̲̔ḯ̸̬͍̹͇̺n̴̨͖͉̘̯̄͑̓̿͝g̸̗̟̉̇s̶̩͍̭̉̈́̀̑̂L̷̹͚͋͠o̶̡̨̜̗̔́͌͠w̷̠̩͛̿A̴̫͊̉n̷͉̼̂͗̈́d̸̤̺͋̎̆̓̽Ṉ̵̜̮̙̉͋̈́̊̇ö̶̝̼́͊̓̇̈́n̷̝̥̗͓̎̈͑ͅȩ̵̩̽̿O̷̽̍͜f̸̜̻͇̈́̽ͅT̵̗̹̦͍̐h̴̛̠̲̺̀͊͐͘ḙ̸͔̫̅Ẉ̵̹͇̐͒͘į̸͕̠̳̱̽̎̾̋͝n̷̻͇̲͙̿d̵͓̔̔̉̐̂s̴̜̈́̄́̒ẁ̸̧̱͉̹̎͂̓̒͜ĕ̵͍̲̼͌̌͋p̷̻̺͚̪̓̆̂̽t̸̘̻͙̽̉̈́̎P̷̱͗͒ë̷͍̘́ò̶̼̩͖͍̞̽̂̕p̷̛̟̗̂̌̽̋l̷̘̄̀e̸͙̎̇̎̆͝K̴͔͇̣̽̒n̷̦͇͚͑̆̋ͅơ̷̙͚͖̦͎̓w̵̪̺̰̆̉”
Speaker:What was happening? “H̷̻̲͂̎͊̕͝ô̴̞͠ẁ̵̯͔̯͉̒̓͋A̶̖͂̆͋̓̚l̵̦͕̒̆̒l̶͕̞̯̱̮͛͘Ǒ̸̬̽̋͊̆f̶̙̼͑̍͊͝T̵̮̮̦̬̻̾̆̓̾̕h̷̫̕e̵̬͐̀͌̌̊W̷̻̗̻͌̅̽́ǐ̵̥͔̦̓͂ņ̸̬̻͐̀̾́d̵͍̭̦̲̤̀Ḓ̸̖̖̑̋̀į̸̣̺͘ȩ̷̜͑̆͌̅͝d̷̠͕̦̄̔͜͜L̸̛̬̩̟̭̏̿̚ô̷̜̘͉̤̻n̵̡͉͖̆̈́͛g̵̙̥̝̞̋͒̕͜A̵̳̟͔̮͎̾g̴̖̬͍̩̮̀̊̇̓͑ŏ̶̧̫̼̄̽̀͊Y̵̪̏̊e̸̛̞͓̓̄t̶̨̹̲̤̰͛̓̀̊S̵̡͗ţ̴̛̏̇͗͐i̵̟̘̯̎͒͛ͅͅl̵̟̩̼̿̏̉̒l̶̩̒K̶͈̳̬̏̅̑̎͗n̵̙̲̼͕̓͗̑͝͠ǫ̷̛̳̝̯̝͂̉̌ẘ̶̪͚̈́̈́͜s̷̹̮̬̟̍̌͌̀̅H̷̨̱̝̀̈́ó̷̧͇̱̒͘ẘ̷̠̦͓̋͠T̸̨̬͇̗̽̄̑́̽o̵̡̯̩̣̩͆̈F̸̟̤̰̝̑̿l̵̳͖̗̓͋̅y̸̧̪̟̭̓” The music sounded as if a gospel hymn was also a drunken caterwaul in a saloon
Speaker:as well as a thunderstorm sweeping across the prairie
Speaker:faster than a horse could gallop. “W̴̨̞̩̫̏̾̆̓h̷̛͕̏̌e̷̞̩͈͈̱̔n̷̛͉͇̩̂̋G̵̞̤̙͙̅ṙ̴̖͉e̸̟̹͍̺͒̄̓̄y̷̦̝̣̽M̸͉͚̃̊̾̃͜o̷̗͖̮͉͓͌̊͗̾́u̴̙̠̣̍̇͂n̶̙̻͇̚t̵͎̮͒á̵̝̞́̈́i̸̲̮͉͝n̴̖̪̥͇͑͘s̴͖̘̫͓̀̉C̸͓̲̼̖̺̏̉͑h̶̙̓á̶̟͉̗r̸̪͇̹̿g̶͉̤̍̈́̓́̄ẻ̶̳̳̈́̍̕d̴̞̳̦̥̳̏Ą̵̪̝̍͊͋̓̈ć̴̩̊͛̓͌ŕ̸̺͓̞̼͠ͅo̷̳̿͗̾̑͌s̴̮͍̈͒̓͌̿s̷̪̘͙͉͎̈́́̃͑T̷͈̮͕̄̈́̑h̴̨̛̩̮͖͊̀͗ě̸̥̹͕̜̍̏͘̕R̸̹̟͔̼̓a̷͚̲̬̠͕̒m̸̢̨̟̣̬̆̄̕p̴͔̅̍ã̵͇̩͎̭̼̽ŕ̶͈̫̘͙͉̓͘t̷̛̹̲̟̮͇̐̍̃͘s̸̙̿̒̏Ō̸̝̤͂f̴͉͑͂̓̕T̶̳̱̠̀̇̀h̸͕̯̩̰̒e̴͕̗̺͈̻̍͂̚͝S̶̛̼̬̋̈́͝ḱ̶̗͖͎̭̭̀̔̕y̷̨̟̖͙̩͗͂͋̐̃”
Speaker:Finally the singer stepped into view.
Speaker:A tall thin coyote,
Speaker:in a rough dust-colored poncho,
Speaker:walking slow like a mayor in a parade,
Speaker:arms spread like oak branches, hands lifted like an Apereostic Father threatening to turn any careless bystander’s cider
Speaker:into Blood of the Messiah. “T̴̗̥͗̿͝h̴̩̜͉̀̒e̷̡̛͓͖̭͔̒̈́W̴̤̘͉̒̅̈ͅȋ̷̖n̷͓͉̼̞̅̄̏̚d̶̜̀̓͐S̸̡̟̪̪̓͛́̂̋a̴̪̦̝͂n̶̗̺͕̊̏̒͘g̷̢̈̐̾̊A̴̺̜̺̹͗̑̽̈͘ͅṘ̷̦̰e̸͚̐͐͘q̷̯̰̞̋̄̿u̸̗̮̙͊͊͆̾i̷͍̮͐͠e̶̪̫̞͑͋͆̀m̸̛͕͚̟̓T̶̘̻͍̲̆̂ͅh̶̖̮͙̙̟͑͑͝e̵̲͚̰̤͐̂͌͝D̸̪̱̬́̄̀͐̕a̷̡̘̪̙͈̓y̷̡̛̖̆̒̂Ĭ̵̼͓̪̻̈́̋̚ṫ̷̙̦̘͑Ẉ̵̡͎̐̑̉͘e̵̛̮̣̹̒͒̈̕ň̸̨̨̤̼͓̈́̀̿t̴̳̹͖̹́̽͆Ṫ̷̫̻̼̦̒͋͘͝ȏ̶̝̞̱͍̣͌̃͗͘Ḑ̸̛̞̹͎͐̕̕͜i̷̞̐́̑ḙ̷̤̂̽” Whoever he was, he looked entirely comfortable with the music rolling off his tongue. “Ţ̴͚̤̳̞̒h̴̦̱̘͒͆̍̄e̵̛̛̠̙͔̋͌͑R̶̈́͜a̶͎̝̋͒̕ỉ̵̭̉͗̚n̸̫̒̂̄b̷̮̞͎̬̠̽̂̕a̶̧̡͈̮̅͂̔̏ͅn̵͍̍̃͑͘͝d̵̨̢̺͓̊̐͌s̸̻͔̜̮̽̔S̸̛̲͊̋̽ĥ̴̢̯͈͂̓͜͝a̵͙̺͈̠͙͌͆͂͛̉t̴̳̀̎̄͋t̸͈̖̏̇e̷͔͉͎͑͗̽̈́̓r̵̺̥̎́͂̓e̸͇̝̭͔̯̿d̶̳͌̇͜͜Ỉ̶̤̠͖̀̏̍̈́n̴̦̞̩͒͆̚t̸̘͋ọ̸̙̪̯̋̂̈̿͗Ș̶̡͂͒̀̓ở̶̥̘̏͂f̵̦͙̮̭̜̾̀̈́̎̕t̶͓̰̗̄̈́̆́S̸͎͖̺̟̔͋̈̓̑ȋ̸͖̙̫̠̙̈́l̷̲̯̠͍̽v̵̲̇̎̆͜ẻ̵͍̾r̵̛͙̩̒̒̕G̴͔̪͊̆l̶̠͙̋̃̋ā̴̦̺ṡ̸͍̰̀s̴͙̬͔͈̦̀͛́͛” the four of them were between them hitting harmonies that Bethany couldn’t grasp,
Speaker:but they rang in her mind like strong drink and the smell of distant rain.
Speaker:The music felt like a torrent of cold wind,
Speaker:blowing from unthinkable regions within her and out her mouth, and whatever inside herself was in fact herself
Speaker:was struggling to keep her feet against it,
Speaker:lest she be blown away entirely. “F̵͓̓̄̎ǫ̷̗̭̃̊r̸͚͊̂̔́Ṇ̵̯̠̲̯̉̉͋̚o̵̫̝̿́̄t̶͙͛̏̎̒͠h̴̨͉͉̺̒͊̇̽͠ì̷̳̅͐͘͝ǹ̵̖̦͙̝̉̅̋͠g̸̢̠̙̎T̵͔͈̾h̵͇̩̫͙̮̉͒̐͒̀e̸̱͗W̶̛̟͓͒á̸̱̜͖̃̎̎s̶̗͆Ç̴̢̫̃̈́͆̅̚ǫ̷͔̬̫͇̾u̶̥̝͙̱͛͂l̷̞̘̖̼̆̂̓̀d̷̗̬̾̉͠H̸̜͒͌͠͝a̵̼̦̱͚͉̾͊̏l̸̢͛t̸̨͉̥̯̘͋̈̾͗͊T̸͇̙̽h̵̰̀̎͘ė̸̞̝̅̃̕͝Ẅ̸̡͖͓͊̂̕̕ḯ̶͙̣̅n̷̦̺͙̒̂d̶̢͍̯͓͙̂̈̽̎Ö̷̥̆͘͠r̷̨̫̻̗͠S̷͈̞̥̼̐̊̃ț̵͕̬͉͉̿́̕̕̕a̶͈̽y̶̙͌I̶̛̥͙̍t̵̡̼͕̩͚͛͂̕͝Ì̷͍̰̞̍n̴̟̓̈I̷̱͕̼̥̾t̶̫̮̜̣͒s̷̡̳̀̇P̵̗̲̄̇̉̈́å̵͇͙̦͗̂s̸͍̀͒s̸̡̢̥͍̈̆͠”
Speaker:Beneath her, unconcerned, Jeb chewed a dandelion. “Ț̶̬̦͇̔͋́͜h̴̤̺̝̾ę̴̺͌̄̆̾B̸̛̪͕̻̼̍̍l̶̨͔̜̣͐ą̵̨͖͎̰̓̈́͛̐c̸̡͙̻͙̏͑k̸̨̀Ṃ̶̮͖̺̋̆̑̈͑ò̶̺̯̺̞̺̚u̸͕͔̚n̶̡̳̗̠̓̿ͅt̵̖̐́à̷̟̜̓ỉ̷͇̬̼͊ń̵͖̺͊̒̽́s̴̭̬͗͑͘E̵̝͓̩̱̗͒̇ç̵̦͙͈̅͆̃̈́h̴̡̖̗̪̤̑͛͛̅ơ̴̥̝̳̗̏͠e̶͍̙͑͠͝d̷̡̥̹͋T̵̢̲̥͕̎̊͗͠ḧ̵̨̦̤̞͔́ë̶̹̣͎̪͔̈̽Ȁ̴̯͎̲͔͚̐s̸̺̓̿ͅt̶̳̮͚͊̊̃͒͊ͅǫ̸̨̳̥͎̽̏̉͘n̷̡̺̊ĩ̸̙̘͓̻̒̕͝͝ͅś̵͚̱͕͒̅͜h̸̝̗̊͂͘m̶̢̧̪̾̍é̶͎̀̍̚͝n̷̟̕ẗ̶̡̝̗͕́͒̇̈́̒Ǫ̵̳̬̲̐ͅf̸̨̭̭̝̐̈̕Ģ̵̫̰̘̀ö̸̡̗̪̈́̔̿̋d̶̛̤͍̆̓̀͠s̷̳̈́͊̉̋F̴̮̖͓̻̗̅̋́̈́̕o̶̩̰̹͑̐̔̕r̴̭͓̈́͛͑̒͝T̴̩̲̕h̸̡͝e̶̡̫̹̳̋̋̈́W̶̡͍̘͆̉̽̆̕ī̶̧͍̺̓̈́͌ṋ̸̞̩͋̽ͅd̴̬͙͉̾Ǐ̷̲̟͉̥͌͒̀s̵̤̩̄̎̏̀Ã̴̮̪͈̂̉͆̽s̸̨̺̺͕̬͛͝T̵̛̲̼̆̕h̴̢̅͘ḛ̴̼͗̀̓͑̕S̸͎̮̓͒͐e̸̹̳̻̭̳͛̒̔r̸͙̖̹̜̿̈́́a̵̘̤͆͌͗̎ṕ̶̢̰̫͍̊͒̈́̓ͅh̸̰͓̟̱́̒͌̀̕į̴̣̍̇͛ͅm̴̰̮̌̑͠A̷̢̳̤̼̙̓ṇ̶̢̜̠͖̈͌͘͠d̷̰̻̿́͝N̸͙̱͊ě̵͈̠̟̫̄v̵̬̊e̴̺̻̓̽͘ŕ̷̨̰̇̀͠C̴̻̤̤̘͗̊̔͒ỏ̵̰̈͌́̈́ų̸̣̪̜̒̏̇́̈́ṅ̵̞̥͛t̵̖͂̔͜s̴̼͊̋̈́͛͜͠T̵̮̟͙͖̓̂h̷̡͙͓̞̻͝e̴̱͐̇Ỏ̵͍̞̙d̴͉͇̭̙̣͘d̸͖̭̮̖̩̑̀͛̊̕s̸̨̧̛̙͉̊̇”
Speaker:the drifter in the poncho kept his eyes almost closed,
Speaker:his ears perked, and his shoulders relaxed.
Speaker:He swayed almost imperceptibly,
Speaker:in apparent poetic emphasis of the incomprehensible words.
Speaker:“T̷͚̲̫̱̝̉̔h̴̤̗͊͐e̴̛͉̰̺̭͋͂͌̐Ö̵̝̦̥́b̷̧̮̥̖̚s̸͕͚͕͕̭̉͊̏i̵̙̤͖̮̅̐ḑ̵̟̘͖͉̈͊̇̃i̴̻͗̀͐̔a̸̩̪̖͋̈́ǹ̴̡͔̪̝̝̉̈M̸̱̭͐̒̎̉ā̸̫̙̮̖n̷͚̹͐͗͝s̵̱̞͚͆͂͐i̷̪̞̪͂́̂̋̊o̴̩̽̚n̴̘̥̭̑̈̓͊̀s̴̢̟̞͔̖͊̒S̶̨̘̗͊̓ḧ̴̞́͌̕u̸̩̤̞̓̓̅͒͊d̸̢̢̺̲̉̑͝ď̷̬̣̳̗̒̓̓͜e̶͓̳̯̳͘ͅŗ̴͍̄̈́̂ȅ̶̟̋̈́̋d̶̢̽͠A̸̭͑̈́͝s̴̥͉̲͎̉̏̔̎͐T̵̲͍̖̝̦̋͝͝h̷̞̿͝͠ę̶̩̤̲̒͌̌ỵ̴̛̦̀̽F̴̨͍̥̦̫̔e̴̻͓̚ľ̴̨͚̃̑̈́͜ṱ̷̢͈͋̉́̾̐Ṇ̴̝͍͖̽̑͛i̴͈͎̝̹̎̅͐͝g̶͈͓̣̽͑̓̒h̵̨̜̰̻̲͛̕͘͠M̴̨̨̙̠͝ó̵̠̌r̵̲͑͌́͂e̶̫̖͊̈́͘D̸̠́r̸̗͉̱̎e̴͎̎̿̋a̵͕͂d̸̢̺̙̦̉̋͜f̸̛̰̪̼͙̟̆̈́̈́͝u̶͆͝ͅl̶̛̛̻̈́́̚T̷̤̟͚̅̐̽͝h̴͕̯̻̿͝ă̷̯͍͍̘͈͝͝n̴̨̛̹̹̘̐̈́̅̾I̶̧̲͍͎̤̊̔̃́̕t̵̡̡̛̥͆š̴̫̮̮̼̈́͜F̴̤̘̜̖͌̃̚ͅu̸̞̝͖͗͛̒̈́r̶͇̦̼̂̿̕͝y̶̲̱͐T̴̰͖̙̬̅͗͝ḧ̶̰́̉e̵͖͔̣̍͝R̷̯͖̜̪͍̽ạ̵̐̊ṕ̵̢̼̞̲̤̇̿̋t̷͍͓͔́u̵̡͚͔̳̲̍r̸̘̤͓̾̇é̵̮̌̑̓̕O̴͍͇̩̳͎͋̄̊̈f̷͙̫̞̯̀̒̽́T̴̨͙̺̓h̷̳͉̓é̷̢̼̻̋͌̿̕S̷̨͂́̊̿̉k̸̖̂̄͝ẙ̸̦” Luis and Rafe’s faces were both torn between horror and awestruck beauty,
Speaker:but as Luis and Bethany found themselves shifting their stance
Speaker:to face Rafe, alongside the drifter,
Speaker:Luis’s expression
Speaker:turned toward awe,
Speaker:and Rafe’s toward horror.
Speaker:“Ä̴͚̙̻͙̘́̄́̚͘n̷̳̏͂͂̈́d̶̯̙̦̫͝ͅT̶̨̝̈́h̴̝̩̉̈̂͘ë̷͕̠̮̞̆̈́͘W̷̡̙̠̠̐̆̀͛̉ȋ̶̬̀n̸̛̖̓̑͒d̶̨̳̔̐S̷̬̥͓̾̊w̴̡̙̅̚̕e̴͓̽̂͛̑é̶̥̣́p̷̘͈͇͇̣̋̉̈́s̸̹̰̈́̃Ń̶͇͕͍̈́̕ȩ̶̡̲̞͕̓̈́̀̇̊a̴̡̡̻͍̤͗̃̏ř̷̛̫̙͔̇A̴̛͔̯͐̽͗̊ͅn̸͉̦͈̖͔̅̍d̶̙̝͉̭̻̈́̅T̴͚̠̗̤̊̽̔͝h̴̲̗̱̍̒ȇ̵͖̯̭̫̋W̴̫̤̥͊i̸͓͉̠͚̇̚͜n̵̨̎̽̽͒͝ḍ̷̳͎̖̤̿͝S̷̘͉̥̲̑͛͘w̷͍̺̒ẻ̷̬̞̓e̵̯͑͝p̷͕͉̺͖̃s̷͙̪̺̈͑̎F̶̧̼͉̤̅̋͌͜a̴͍͍̹̮͒̿͑͗̚r̷͉̞͂̓̽͝͠”
Speaker:the three of them were singing at Rogers, now,
Speaker:notwithstanding that he sang along.
Speaker:“Ȃ̴̧̹̠̉̀ņ̶͎̟̎̓d̸̢̥̃̈́͒̈́N̸̂͛͋̓̏ͅo̸̮̰̍͊̇̿͌n̵̹͍͎̟͉̈̐̈͝e̴̤̳̦̿̔̒Ơ̵̹͚̺͐͑f̵̢̥̰͎͛̾̋T̴͇͑͝ḥ̴̦̰͌ȩ̶͒M̶̡̢͓͖̝̓̾̀̚͠ȁ̷̧̛̞̞͓͒n̷̛̲̱͓̋͝ŝ̵͇̤͐̅i̸̥͊̅̕o̶̠̠͎̐̆͐̎̔n̶͙̻̑͋s̷͇̩͍̎L̶̪̯̣̗͑͛̉̐ó̵̳̝̼̥̘r̷̲͊̊d̸̲͂́̆ṣ̴̤̭̺̰̏̐T̸͕̺̞̄̎̀͂h̸͈̼͑͆͌̀̋e̸̖̋̇̓͒ṛ̵́e̵̡̗̊̑͘͝A̵̝̜̳͇͛̀̌ṛ̵̰́ė̸̬̀̃͆̽” Bethany could feel the song had shifted direction and intent. “C̸̺͓̐̀̇̀̏ā̷̜̬͔̦n̷̥̱̫̋̑̓̚͝M̷̡̮͉̃͌͑̒ȃ̸̡͔̹͖̇͛̊͆ͅṛ̸͎̞̾͗̇͗̓k̶̨̤̈́̚T̶͖̤͑̑̕h̷͕̜͕̭͛e̸͕̱̗͛̿̓͝D̸̘͍̣́̉̉̈́͒à̸̪̹̋̇̾̅y̴̙̓̔͒Ȏ̵̻̚ͅr̷̭͉̫͋̈́̉̽P̸̰̻̬̤͇̔͠l̸̲̺̯̏̒͒̀͠a̸͎̓͗̏ĉ̸̬̐͒͝ȩ̷͇̯̯͓̄͠T̷̡̻̘̞́̅̅͝ȟ̸̝͈͙̅͛ẽ̵̗̹̲̔͠H̵̹̜͍̫͈̊́o̴̡͕̘̿͌̏u̴̠̳̓̀͒ŗ̵̳̘̣͑” There was an abyss of music, somewhere beneath or behind or within her. “Ŵ̴̞͐h̴̞͙͎̫̓̓̆̕͠ė̴͎̬͙̝n̶͚̰̑̚͠ͅṪ̵̢͎͖͎ȟ̴̤̰̾̎e̴̖͍̜͌̓W̵͔̘̗̃ͅi̵̢̺͔͓͍̔̐́̅̆n̶̡̯̂̅̊͆d̸̤̩́̌̂͗D̵̲͚̹͊̂̈́ͅi̵̧̠͈͐͌̓é̴̯̎̾̕ḓ̵̤̱̘͍͗̒̄Ȃ̶͕̕t̴͓̠̏̅͂̐̕L̵̥̗͇̠̂̀̆̓ã̷͈͎̩̪̚̚s̴̻̰̙̍t̶̨̘̭̪͐”
Speaker:and she could feel how
Speaker:perilously near she was
Speaker:to falling into it
Speaker:and being lost forever. “T̴̗͛̾̿̕h̶̜̃̍̽e̷̢̺̯̒̀̈́̏͝D̸̛̖͈͉̔͆̇ą̴̛̺̫̆̍̕ŕ̵̨̯̘͙͠ḱ̶͉̰̮̓Ț̵̾͆ọ̴̙͚̀ͅw̸̲͕̿̽e̸͕̪̍̾̇̕r̴̮̦͈̩͍̀s̶̻̞͓̋͆C̶̭͘ỏ̴̰̘̟͚͘ͅw̷̥̳̼͂̇͒e̵̘̯̯̓̿̋̀̕r̸͇̭̭͊̉̄è̴̡̝̦̦̪͝d̷͍͚̂͂ͅÁ̴̘͓͓͈̗̍̽̓͘s̴̭̔T̴̤̞̯͑͆̀̔h̵͈̾̓̈́́̕e̴̞͚̝͈̍̃̔̒B̷̲̠̲͖̂̓̿̔͝l̶͚̩̀ā̶̦͕̫̋̈͝s̵͚̬̈́̉̀͗͝t̵̡̬̠̑́W̶̞̉̾̃͐̃e̵̩̿̑n̸͇̭̜͊͗͘t̴̪̟͈̀B̸̖͓͚̈́́̚y̷͚̺̓̌͌̄” It poured out of them and past them,
Speaker:and Rogers sank to his knees,
Speaker:eyes fluttering. “Ả̸̺͔̪̞͖̉́ň̶͍̖̳̟͊̓̈͝ḋ̶̢̄̚T̸̬͔͇̦͍̄́̀́͠h̶̢͖̯͍̀̚̕͝e̷͈̟͔̘͕̽W̶͙̫̦̫̓̓̅i̶̯͔͐̅̎̍͜n̵͚̥̲̩̈́ḑ̴̨̢̗̺̕C̷̥͋̏̂͘r̷͉̺̓̒̽̓̚ì̵͔ẻ̶̦̗͖͗͂̔d̴͉̤̱̩̒Ă̸̯̠̽͝l̶͙̜̭̅l̶̨̪͇̯̋͋ͅe̸̲͝l̷̬͂̽͜u̷̼̙͉͔̍̊i̸̧̛̥̣͚a̴͍̳̽Ť̷̝̭̝h̵͍̻͔̥͑͝e̶̩͛̕D̶͍̫̯͓̩͒a̶̺͓̫̲͑̊ẏ̴̨͔̳̽͆Ì̴̟͈t̵̢̤͖̰͑̇̋̚Ẃ̶͇͓̱͒͗ë̶͇̲̦͔̩́̌̔̅n̴̬͔̄̈́̒͝t̴̡̛̖̰̝͊̆̎Ṱ̶̗̻̾ȯ̵̞̬̤̮͘D̸̰͍͓̾͐̊͐i̷̬̘̋̈́͑̊͐é̴͙̆̕.”
Speaker:She felt the song release her as it ended.
Speaker:Bethany clung to Jeb’s neck
Speaker:as she fought to get her breath back.
Speaker:A rough paw grasped her ankle,
Speaker:clung for support,
Speaker:she felt thick knobby skin, and glanced sideways at Luis,
Speaker:leaning against Jeb and apparently trying not to vomit.
Speaker:The drifter ignored them both.
Speaker:He loomed over Rafe collapsed in the dust.
Speaker:“Tell me,” his voice, when he spoke, was nothing like his singing,
Speaker:he spoke like a gust tearing suddenly over a hilltop,
Speaker:“do you remember your name?
Speaker:Where you are?” Rafe’s eyes blinked open.
Speaker:The ferret smiled,
Speaker:beatifically, as neither Bethany nor Luis had ever seen the thug smile.
Speaker:Then he shook his head,
Speaker:as if such things as knowledge of his own name
Speaker:were burdens he was glad to be rid of.
Speaker:The drifter nodded.
Speaker:Apparently this was satisfactory.
Speaker:Without a word, he turned and strode through the willows, south.
Speaker:Toward town. “What in the devil’s name,”
Speaker:Luis finally recovered enough to speak,
Speaker:“was that?” Bethany could think of nothing to say but
Speaker:“Music, I guess.” — Peter Corbiss had never been a patient man.
Speaker:Not when he’d been a fortuneless, futureless boy scraping his way westward however he could,
Speaker:nor when he’d been Sour Pete Corbiss,
Speaker:riding herd on the Chisholm Trail in its brief and already mythologized golden age,
Speaker:nor now when he spent his days on his cabin porch at the heart of his ever expanding ranchland,
Speaker:like a tarantula in a burrow.
Speaker:When something happened,
Speaker:he acted. When he had money, he used it to snap up land.
Speaker:When neighbors refused to sell,
Speaker:money could instead send Rafe Rogers and his ‘friends’ round,
Speaker:and somehow those neighbors always found themselves inspired to take to the wagon trails toward the Pacific.
Speaker:When he did not have money,
Speaker:he picked surly, sullen, acrimonious fights with the whole town,
Speaker:especially Mayor Smith.
Speaker:The only things that frightened him were tornados,
Speaker:and not knowing how to react to something.
Speaker:So this morning the grackle was a frightened man.
Speaker:“And then he jes…
Speaker:left?” he croaked at Louie.
Speaker:“Yessir, he sure did.” The armadillo. “He didn’t
Speaker:say nothin about…
Speaker:what he wanted, or how to get Rafe here back?”
Speaker:“Nossir.” Corbiss glared between the ferret beside him on the porch, lying spread-eagle on his back and grinning like a loon,
Speaker:and the possum pacing in agitation in the short grass below.
Speaker:If only there were a way to believe this was somehow her fault.
Speaker:“He did say one thing,”
Speaker:Bethany muttered,
Speaker:“he asked if Rafe remembered his name’r where he was.”
Speaker:“Ay there! Rafe!” Corbiss snapped. The ferret did not respond,
Speaker:unless gazing up into the sky through tears of incoherent joy was a response.
Speaker:“I don’t buy,” the grackle had no idea what reaction to have but anything would be better than nothing
Speaker:“yer story, missy.
Speaker:Some no-account hobo sings at my ranch hand and suddenly he’s…”
Speaker:his cutting remarks were rather hampered
Speaker:in that he had not the slightest idea what had, in fact, happened to Rafe. “...
Speaker:“...like that?” “Nossir,”
Speaker:Louie interjected.
Speaker:“T’weren’t the fella who sung at him, not only.
Speaker:He made all the three of us sing too.”
Speaker:“Rafe sang too? And y’all?” “Yessir.” “Why th’hell aint you two gibberin like drunken babies with him?”
Speaker:“How should I know?”
Speaker:Bethany snapped. “I aint the only one as is gon’ want some explainin,”
Speaker:Corbiss snapped back,
Speaker:“Yer own folks’ve got just as much an interest in Rogers’ professional expertise as I done!
Speaker:What ‘zactly was you up to,
Speaker:out on mah land so early in the mornin, anyway?”
Speaker:“What d’ya think?
Speaker:Pa tol’ me to go check if the surveyors was any closer,
Speaker:which they are, and then come gloat at you if’n they was,
Speaker:which we got more pressin business now Corbiss!”
Speaker:“Do we?” Louie was squatting by Rafe’s head,
Speaker:trying in vain to get the ferret to make eye contact.
Speaker:“What, exactly? I don’t got the faintest idea what we can do about…
Speaker:whatever this is.”
Speaker:“Git him a cup a water.”
Speaker:“We already… ok, sir.”
Speaker:Rafe enjoyed the tin dipper of cool water
Speaker:with evident relish and enthusiasm,
Speaker:but it proved fruitless as a remedy.
Speaker:“You got a wagon?” Bethany sighed.
Speaker:Corbiss blinked. “Course I do.”
Speaker:“Well let’s get Jeb hitched up,”
Speaker:she grabbed her hat,
Speaker:“see if we can get him to a doctor.”
Speaker:She did not bother to wait for Corbiss to do as she suggested.
Speaker:She rarely did so for anyone. —
Speaker:It was hardly the greatest frustration of Bethany’s life that her parents, Corbiss, Doc Englebert,
Speaker:and indeed all the town knew
Speaker:with perfect accuracy
Speaker:what kind of scheme
Speaker:—butter up the railroad surveyors when they reached town,
Speaker:find out exactly what land the coming rail line would need to purchase for tracks and station and freight yard,
Speaker:use Ma’s money and Pa’s control over City Hall and the County Deed Registrar
Speaker:which could both more accurately be called the Smith Family Front Parlor
Speaker:to make sure they and they alone owned that land in its totality
Speaker:—said parents were playing,
Speaker:yet everyone pretended complete ignorance.
Speaker:But it was more irritating by far
Speaker:than many of the other frustrations
Speaker:that were otherwise its elders and betters.
Speaker:Not even in the face of whatever baffling fate
Speaker:had been visited upon Rogers
Speaker:could they think of anything else.
Speaker:And yet they spoke not a word of it.
Speaker:“Now then Doc,” Pa always started any speech he meant to give with ‘now then,’
Speaker:“what’s wrong with the man?” “Damned if I know,”
Speaker:Doc Englebert didn’t look up from the blissful ferret sprawled across an examination chair,
Speaker:also known as a bar chair,
Speaker:since the Statfeldt town doctor
Speaker:was also the Statfeldt town saloonkeeper.
Speaker:“Far as I can figger this here fella’s the picture of health!”
Speaker:“But he don’t know his name no more!” Bethany reminded
Speaker:the room. “It’s not
Speaker:catching at all, you don’t suppose?”
Speaker:Ma, as always, knew exactly what her priorities were.
Speaker:“Won’t be nothin the railroad folks need word on?”
Speaker:“No surprise as that’s the only thing,”
Speaker:Corbiss sneered, “it occurs to y’all as a concern.”
Speaker:“Now then, sir,” Pa harrumphed,
Speaker:“some of us got to keep this town running!
Speaker:Wouldn’t nothin get done if we all wiled away the days hoarding vacant land as ain’t goin to no
Speaker:use!” “You got no call lookin down yer nose at me, Jethro Smith, I knowed Rogers’s took yer pay for work every bit as dirty as he done for me!”
Speaker:Bethany nudged Luis toward the doctor,
Speaker:since she had no need to hear this argument play out for somewhere between the fifth or five hundredth time.
Speaker:“I should keep my distance, miss,” Doc Englebert held up a hoof as she drew close,
Speaker:“I couldn’t rightly say if this ain’t contagious after all.”
Speaker:“I suppose if t’were, we’d already have it,”
Speaker:Luis observed, “considerin’ how it happened.”
Speaker:“An’ how,” asked a voice Bethany hadn’t heard before,
Speaker:“‘xactly is that, suh?”
Speaker:Behind the bar, somehow unremarked until now,
Speaker:was an elderly crow,
Speaker:apparently helping herself to a bourbon.
Speaker:“Mrs. Heckaday,” the proprietor grumbled, “you best make up your mind if’n you here to raid my stock or interfere with my patients.”
Speaker:“Ah can handle doin both, doctah,”
Speaker:the crow finished her drink in a single gulp,
Speaker:poured a second, and approached like a late autumn mist gliding out of a riverbed.
Speaker:“Uh, Ma’am, I don’t know if-”
Speaker:“Maggie Heckaday,” she cut off Luis’s nervous interjection,
Speaker:“purveyor of almanacs and patent remedies,”
Speaker:and handed the glass of bourbon to Rogers,
Speaker:“and apparently only one here with the sense the Good Lord gave me!
Speaker:Cause it don’t sound like y’all un’erstand how important the question Ah asked is!”
Speaker:“How it happened, you mean?”
Speaker:A moment a ago Bethany would have agreed with this, well, whatever-she-was,
Speaker:that it was most singular how nobody seemed to believe or care
Speaker:that this had been caused by a drifter’s singing.
Speaker:But why did this crow seem to care?
Speaker:And before she’d even heard the account? “Well
Speaker:like I said, this stranger comes up on the three of us,
Speaker:out along one-a Corbiss’s pastures.
Speaker:He don’t say nothin, he just sings.”
Speaker:“And suddenly we was all three signin’ too,”
Speaker:Luis hunched his shoulders,
Speaker:as if it were cold, despite the lateness of the great plains summer.
Speaker:“When it stopped, he were left like that,”
Speaker:Bethany concluded.
Speaker:The apparent narrowness of the escape was fluttering about her head,
Speaker:knocking for admittance,
Speaker:eager to point out that for all she knew it could’ve been her grinning in this chair,
Speaker:sipping experimentally at a glass of bourbon
Speaker:as if she’d never before heard of alcohol,
Speaker:but she refused to admit it.
Speaker:“And then the stranger just walked off!”
Speaker:Mrs. Heckaday’s expression was unreadable.
Speaker:But at length she said and said
Speaker:“Well doctah, Ah got good news an’ bad news.
Speaker:Your patient ain’t contagious.
Speaker:But he also ain’t gon’ recovah. Now if you folk’ll excuse me, Ah got to see to some business.”
Speaker:She departed so promptly, and so smoothly,
Speaker:that Mrs. Heckaday made the front door before it occurred to Bethany
Speaker:that she hadn’t answered any questions
Speaker:and indeed had raised several more.
Speaker:Bethany followed, ignoring Doc Englebert’s explaining to Luis that this woman
Speaker:come selling medical supplies,
Speaker:and her mother’s hardly-subtle interruption to the effect that surely Louis here
Speaker:had chores to be getting on with,
Speaker:and Corbiss taking that as an excuse for further argument.
Speaker:For but a moment,
Speaker:there was a coyote
Speaker:in a dust colored poncho standing in the alleyway,
Speaker:behind the livery stable.
Speaker:His eyes met Mrs. Heckaday’s,
Speaker:and he nodded, as if in recognition.
Speaker:“Are you alright, Mrs?”
Speaker:Bethany began, for the first time this woman looked unsteady on her feet.
Speaker:“Ah daresay,” Maggie gulped,
Speaker:and her feathers smoothed a little,
Speaker:“Ah feel Ah could do with another drink.
Speaker:Would you mind helpin’ an ol’ lady back towahd the saloon, sugah?”
Speaker:The alley behind the livery stable,
Speaker:where she was still staring,
Speaker:was entirely unpopulated.
Speaker:“If’n you know anythin’ at all bout what’s goin’ on ma’am…”
Speaker:Bethany took the crow’s wing.
Speaker:“Well honey,” Maggie sighed,
Speaker:“this heah is what the newspaperman’d call an
Speaker:‘Act a’ God.” This was the first of two parts of
Speaker:“Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me”
Speaker:by Rob MacWolf, read by the author.
Speaker:Tune in next time to find out what this mysterious drifter wants,
Speaker:and perhaps even what he is,
Speaker:as well as the ultimate fates
Speaker:of Bethany, Luis,
Speaker:and the town of Statfeldt.
Speaker:As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.
