Joseph Henriksen had his own way of dealing with unruly strangers: he told the higher-ups in hope that the responsibility would pass him by. He was a man of God, after all. And violence, he felt, was no one's friend.
Joseph watched Roth Cadman from across the room -- watched him drink whisky insolently. The man is boastful and arrogant, he thought to himself, and fumed inside. But he's dangerous, too. Joseph got a sense of the latter from the look in Cadman's eyes. They had an animalistic nature, wary and unmoving. The look was enough to unsettle Joseph and push him away from a confrontation. He brooded in silence.
Moving amongst the people, comforting their frightened souls, had given his own mind little relief. He felt tense and, though he was reluctant to admit it, afraid. Though it didn't create these feelings, Cadman's presence accentuated them. Joseph moved to the front of the dark saloon and out the doors. The rank night air, for once in his life, was a relief.
Paul Goodman -- Paul of the Holy Trinity -- is waiting across the street, he thought to himself. He's waiting in the sheriff's office to come amongst us. I should be with the flock until his arrival, Joseph reprimanded himself. But what he should do and what he had to do were irreconcilable. His own mind couldn't be at rest until he had a final talk with Paul, the flesh of his savior. Paul held the key to his own peace. How could he help the flock otherwise?
Joseph sunk his steps into the muddy street. The rain, it seemed, had passed for the night. The air felt cold and bitter.
The sheriff's door was unlocked. Joseph entered, finding the meditating form of Paul sitting quietly at the desk. He was a slim, tall man with thin, sharp features. Paul looked up in the darkness. "What is it, my son?" he asked in an aloof, distant voice.
Joseph wrung his hands, nervously. "My lord," he began with respect, "there is fear in my heart."
Paul Goodman struck a match and lit a candle atop the desk. He moved his seat closer to the glow. "My son," he said with a smile that seemed to hold a thousand years of forgiveness, "you would be lying to yourself and to others if you pretended to be without fear. Your lord respects fear and especially those who face it." Again he smiled.
Joseph's heart raced with what he guessed to be infinite love. Tears of mixed emotion escaped his eyes.
Paul raised a single hand. "I know what you want to say. And you know I feel the same for you and the entire flock of Trinity Hill. I marvel at the appropriate name of this wonderful place."
"There is another thing," Joseph said; his throat tightened. "A stranger arrived."
"A blessing," Paul smiled.
"No, my lord. This is a man of evil. I feel it in him. He is a killer."
Paul cast a stern look. "Are you so intuitive to turn away those who would go my way?"
"No, my lord," Joseph said shamefully.
"It is never too late to turn down the path I offer. You know this, Joseph. Do not deny the love in your heart to any man. He will pass with us tonight. He will die as if he'd been a fundamental member of our flock since the beginning."
"Yes, my lord," Joseph said, swallowing nervously.
"Is that all that troubles you, my son?"
"That is all."
"Then lead, my faithful son. Steer those souls in that once house of vice. I will come among you in a matter of moments. Our time approaches." Paul snuffed out the candle and the room once again fell to black.
Joseph, his hands clasped at his waist, left the sheriff's office and headed back to the saloon. His heart still felt heavy, even more so than before.
Maybe it was the drink in his system, but Roth Cadman felt a sudden curiosity about the saloon's proceedings. After downing a couple drinks, he had prepared to head out. The rain, as far as he could tell, had passed on. His horse had no doubt eaten its fill at the livery. But his thoughts of leaving had turned away when Joseph burst through the batwing doors, announcing that the arrival of Paul of the Holy Trinity was forthcoming. A matter of moments, he'd said. A murmur rose amongst the crowd which still hadn't died away. It was a nervous chattering, a hundred voices going at once. Cadman became a spectator.
"You prepared to die?" Cadman said, still behind the bar, to the brooding Alexander.
"I thought so," the old man said. His attitude had deteriorated steadily since Cadman's arrival. "I hope Paul can get me going once more. Faith's a brittle thing, you know that?"
"Not if it's real," Cadman said, waxing philosophic.
Alexander raised his thick eyebrows and sighed. "True," he admitted.
"So when did this Paul fellah come into town?"
"Seven months ago to the day. Came in one night, a rainy one like this, soaked to the bone. He did some preachin' around town, always out on the street with the people. His flock he called it."
"And now he's takin' you home," Cadman said.
Alexander nodded slowly.
Paul of the Holy Trinity didn't keep his audience waiting. His arrival, however, was more low-key than Cadman had expected. What could've been accompanied by extravagant pomp and circumstance occurred with the pathos of a funeral procession. Even Cadman felt moved by the melancholy entrance.
"That's the savior," Alexander whispered unnecessarily, his face turning ashen.
Cadman watched the scene unfold.
Paul had the overhanging oil lamps relit, filling the saloon with light. The candles burned low. Paul took a noble stance on an elevated platform which held a player piano. He stood in front of the instrument, distinguished, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. Silence swept across the room with palpable force.
