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“It is quite true, as some poets said, that the God who created man must have had a sinister sense of humor, creating him a reasonable being, yet forcing him to take this ridiculous posture, and driving him with blind craving for this ridiculous performance.” - D.H. Lawrence
From "The New Law':
JOSIAH: Come on, Lord, I know you're out there. Give me a sign now. Talk to me!
Dog barks.
JOSIAH: Bet you thought that was funny, huh?
Another sign of that divine sense of humor, Josiah thought, stoking the fire in the wood stove to get a flame going again. His head pounded, as it should have after all the drinking they’d done last night.
Celebrating, in their way, their return to their roles in the town as protectors, though Josiah himself didn’t see that as his primary role. He was still looking for God, and, in the doing, hoping to guide others to him as well.
He had been surprised, though, to discover that he’d come to love this little dusty town, and even most of the people in it.
He’d been surprised to discover that he hadn’t liked the idea of being run off from it.
One of God’s little jokes, giving Josiah a place that he’d come to think of as home.
A flame flared and he added wood. It didn’t take long for that to catch, too, at which point he stood and closed the door on the stove, leaving the stove top to heat up as he put grounds and water into the battered coffee pot.
He’d have missed this, he thought again, missed this old stove, missed this old coffee pot. He’d come to value this ritual, something he hadn’t understood before he had almost lost it.
Just as he’d missed standing at the window on the church’s back door, while the coffee brewed, and watching the early morning sinners run from their sins.
Though the sun wasn’t up yet, the first rays of dawn were seeping into the nooks and crannies of the town, making it light enough to see the figures moving around behind the buildings – off the main road.
Jack Conklin was, as usual, sneaking his way around the side of the boarding house and back toward the telegraph office. He’d have told Edna Mae that he’d worked late, waiting on some important message to come through, and fallen asleep at the desk.
Truth was, as Josiah knew, Conklin had come to love his beer and he thought he loved one of the young can-can dancers at Digger Dan’s. Josiah was pretty sure it wasn’t love; he knew the young woman in question, and he knew that there were several men buying her pretty things, and buying her time with drinks and ‘donations’ to help her with her various ‘problems’.
When Josiah had first realized what Conklin was doing, he’d wondered what he should do. He liked Edna Mae. She was a strong, hard-working woman who had made a good home for Conklin and the three children they had raised, and who spent her time helping those children with their children. She also helped out at Gloria’s store, when Gloria needed it, and she was one of the most active members of the town’s Bible group, quilting bee, and Pie Social.
He’d wondered if she should tell her about her husband, and he’d even made an effort, twice, to do so. But in those times, he’d come to understand that she knew, and she didn’t want to talk about it. In fact, from some of her comments, he’d come to understand that she actually welcomed the nights when her husband did not come home.
Conklin passed into the shadows and around a corner, leaving the alleyway empty – but only for a minute or so.
Next came a larger man, stout, listing from side to side as he walked. He had his hat pulled low over his forehead, but it was a distinctive hat, and Tiny was a distinctive man. He was on his way to the livery, but he was not coming from his home, which was on the street behind the livery. Instead, he was coming from the restaurant – which wasn’t open yet, but Mrs. Abbott was already up and cooking, and she had a soft spot in her heart for Tiny and his love of bread. Whatever breads she had left over from the day before, she cut up, mixed together with milk, eggs, and sugar, and put into a pan and baked into a bread pudding that he had as his breakfast.
It was part of why he had his distinctive form.
But, Josiah thought as he watched Tiny waddle past, it was also part of why he was one of the most level-headed men in the town.
The smell of coffee permeated the room, and he sighed, appreciating its scent and the promise that came with it. His headache had eased into a mild throb, but he waited a few more minutes, watching the backstreets and the slow spread of light, until he knew his brew was at the strength he liked. Then he ambled back to the stove. He had time, he knew, to pour a large cup of coffee and to put a pan of stale bread on the stove to heat before he would see the his next early-morning sinner, and sure enough, as he settled against the wall beside the window, he caught a flash of red in the distance.
This morning, it was Ezra, coming from the boarding house.
Those two were getting braver, but, Josiah noted, not wiser.
He sighed, watching Ezra try to stay in the shadows. For the most part he did, but every now and then, his red velvet jacket would catch a spare shaft of light.
At least Chris was harder to see when he made his way in the opposite direction, moving from the saloon to the boarding house. The black coats he preferred made him blend with the shadows, so much so that it had taken Josiah months to realize who he was seeing.
It had taken him longer still to realize that it wasn’t Chris Larabee wandering home from a night in some woman’s bed – and that had only come when he’d started seeing Ezra moving in the opposite direction. On mornings when he didn’t see Chris.
He needed to say something to one of them -but which one, and more importantly, what? How did he go about warning them that they were getting more obvious without them finding out he knew about them?
Because he knew that would not lead to a welcome outcome. One or both of them would feel cornered, trapped by the realization that someone knew their secret. While he didn’t expect it would lead to violence, it would lead to some sort of break in the complex web of relationships among the seven. Either Chris and Ezra themselves would break apart, as both of them were given to certain levels of paranoia, or it would lead to one or both of them distrusting Josiah himself.
Any way he saw it, it lead to the same path that the arrival of Marshal Bryce had: a break up. And he had learned from that experience that he did not wish it again.
He was still considering this problem when he heard a light step on the floor behind him. He smiled at the familiar sound of metal clinking against metal, the sound of coffee sluicing into a mug.
The fourth sinner had arrived.
“Reckon I can say something to Chris,” a rough voice mused, the tone low and deeper than usual. First words of the day. “He won’t take it too bad if I say I caught sight of Ezra out wandering in the early morning.”
Josiah shook his head, not in denial of Vin’s idea, but at the fact that the younger man knew his mind.
As he so often did.
“Reckon someone needs to say something,” he said, catching another glimpse of red as a stray bit of sunlight suddenly emerged between two buildings. A few soft steps prefaced the feeling of Vin coming to stand behind him, close enough that Josiah could feel the heat from the other’s body.
“Don’t need them getting caught – sure as hell don’t need anyone getting suspicious of such goings on.” There was a faint humor in his voice, one that Josiah appreciated, but also worried about.
He turned to look over his shoulder at the other man. “No, we do not,” he said slowly, waiting until Vin met his gaze.
Vin shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. After he swallowed, he said, “I ain’t making light, so stop glaring at me. It’s hard enough to get you in bed now. I ain’t stupid enough to let them cause us problems – or to give you some excuse to stop letting me in.”
Which reminded Josiah that he was Sinner Number 5.
He sighed and turned to look back out the window. Ezra was gone now, he knew, and that was good. On the perpendicular lane, it was a straight shot to the saloon, with a back entrance and back stairs that would take Ezra to his room.
“You know, I been thinking,” Vin said, his voice a little less husky. “You’re always saying that the Lord loves a riddle. You think maybe he’s trying to send you some sort of message through – well, through what we got?”
Josiah found his own lips twitching, not so much at the question but at the fact that, once again, Vin knew his mind. He’d been worrying that idea for a while now – a long while.
Truth be told, that had been what he had wanted to talk to God about, up on the rock at the reservation. The arrival of the dog – backwards for ‘God’ - had made him wonder if the message was that this . . .this . . . ‘thing’ he had with Vin was backward – wrong.
But the way things had played out with the town, with saving it from Earl and his men, and the Seven being rehired to protect it – that wasn’t a punishment. Which made him wonder if perhaps the answer to the riddle was that finding Vin – and thus, being backwards because of what he felt for Vin – was actually all right.
It seemed unlikely; none of the religions he had personal experience with accepted the idea that two people of the same sex could be tolerated or forgiven.
But there were other faiths, older than Christianity, Hinduism, Islam – older than the monotheistic faiths – that defined love far more broadly.
And God was – well, God. All knowing. All seeing. All encompassing.
Religion – the rules of worship and faith – that was man.
Divinely inspired, or so they wanted to think. But still – man.
“Maybe,” he said. “I want to think so.”
Vin moved closer, pressing up against Josiah’s back and rubbing his forehead against Josiah’s shoulder blade. “My grandma, she was a God-fearing woman. Nothing I could do was ever gonna please her ‘cause I was on the wrong side of the blanket. She never forgave me for that – or my ma, though I really think she never forgave my ma for dying.”
Josiah straightened, though he hadn’t meant to. It was an instinct, a reaction to Vin talking about the woman who had scarred him. The woman who had made him doubt himself.
“But,” Vin said, his voice a little louder, “the time I spent with the People - well, they got rules, and they got beliefs. But they accept that people are who they are. They have to. They ain’t got so many people that they can sacrifice any.”
And really, Josiah thought, wasn’t that the heart of it? People were always more forgiving when they had to be - in times of conflict, in times of stress. When actual survival depended on all of them working together.
As it had these last few days.
He sighed, and then, slowly, he turned. Carefully, he reached out one hand and took the tin coffee mug Vin held and set it on the counter that he could reach. He set his own there, too, then he used both hands to slowly and carefully frame Vin’s face.
“I can’t argue with you. The mind of God – well, I would never presume to know it. I hope that you are right – that I also can’t know that.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Vin’s. “What I can say is that I am relieved that we have been given this reprieve. That no matter what else, we are apparently supposed to be here together, for a least a while longer.”
He felt the tension in Vin just before Vin asked, “You mean you and me? Or all of us, here protecting the town?”
It was a good question, and Josiah didn’t insult it by not considering it. But in the end, the answer was, in truth, the same.
“Both.” But as the word passed his lips, he pressed them into Vin’s. The kiss was warm and welcome, not passionate, though it would have taken little to make it so.
And with that, he saw another reflection of the riddle: unlike those sinners creeping past his back door in the early morning, his sins were committed in the bright light of day. They rarely spent nights together, both of them preferring to actually sleep alone, as they were both restless sleepers.
But they met here, in the first light of dawn, talking, drinking coffee, sharing their intentions for the day, and sometimes, their bodies.
They met here again, before taking the evening meal, and sometimes, this, too, led to joining.
God/dog, day/night.
It was Vin who ended the kiss, pulling back just enough to separate. “Glad of it, too,” he said softly. “Though I reckon I’d have been all right with living on the res, long as we could.”
Josiah smiled. “Reckon you would. And it seems that I’d be all right with it, too. So we have a fall-back position, if we need it.”
Vin smiled, too. “Maybe I’ll tell Chris about it. Some day.”
“Some day,” Josiah agreed. “But not today.”
“Not today,” Vin echoed. “For now, it’s just for us.”
They stood for a time together, silent and close, letting the sun rise around them.