The Book of Murdock Read Online Free Page B

carrying a brass lamp and a silver tea set on a tray. She was the only one of us who didn’t have to lower her head to clear the doorway. She set the tray on a squat square footstool stacked with volumes—there wasn’t a bare horizontal space in the room, but this one at least was level—traded lamps, and blew out the one that had been fouling the air. The room brightened immediately. I don’t know that it had entirely to do with a clear chimney and a well-trimmed wick.
    She poured for us both. I don’t like tea, but when she’d mentioned brewing it I’d assented, because I wanted her present for what I did then. I fished a leather poke from my side pocket and placed it on the tray where the pot had stood. It clanked.

    â€œI’m authorized by the United States District Court for the Territory of Montana to offer you a hundred dollars in gold for divinity lessons,” I said. “Judge Blackthorne advised me to pay half in advance and the rest upon completion. I’m putting it all on the table. The risk of flight in your case seems small.”
    â€œIt used to be thirty pieces of silver. The treasury must be in good condition.”
    â€œEldred, the man is our guest.”
    I said, “It’s more than twice what I earn in a month, but we’re asking for a season’s instruction in two weeks. The object of betrayal is a gang of highwaymen, not Jesus.”
    â€œYou’re overlooking the rest of the congregation, who will come to you in search of guidance. ‘Have ye not spoken a lying divination—’” He broke off with a sidelong glance at his wife. It occurred to me that her knowledge of the Bible ran deeper than his. I seemed to have stumbled into an old argument.
    â€œIt won’t be a lie if you teach him the proper words.”
    â€œA profane man profanes holy words merely by speaking them.”
    â€œThe sword of God is not so brittle,” she said. “And Mr. Matthews has refused to extend us any more credit at the meat market.”
    I’d gambled right. It was the men who were winning the West, but it was the women who kept the books.
    Griffin sat back a fraction of an inch, fixing me with his pale eyes. “Were you baptized?”
    â€œI’ve been up to my chin in the Canadian and all the way under in the Yellowstone. I almost drowned that time.”

    He looked at Esther. “Are you not yet convinced whom he represents? Must he sprout horns and hooves?”
    â€œThe Prince of Lies is not so clumsy or we would not fear him.” She turned to me with the teapot in one hand and a full cup and saucer in the other. “Have you really never been christened in the faith?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œThere’s the end of it,” Griffin said. “Tell Matthews I’ll eat potatoes and miss Purgatory.”
    â€œDon’t be theatrical. You hate potatoes. The solution is simple. Mr. Murdock will submit to be baptized, and we shall ask him to join us at supper tomorrow night after his lesson. Pork chops, I think.” She handed me the cup and saucer, gave the other to her husband, and set down the pot, scooping the sack of coins from its path and putting it in the pocket of her plain apron, all in the same movement. Then she lifted the tray and left.
    For a moment the only sound in the room was me blowing on my tea. I looked across at him. “I don’t suppose you’d care to do the honors.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be sanctified. I’m no longer a priest.”
    â€œI’ll ask Reverend Clay, then.”
    The crease between his brows deepened. It had looked like a scar to begin with. “The Presbyterian?”
    â€œI’m posing as an evangelist. How good does it have to be?”
    â€œMother of God.” He crossed himself. “Is there a sacred thing you don’t hold in scorn?”
    â€œI like the idea of the Good Samaritan. As for the rest, no one died for