Kid liked laying under the quilt Sister Ruth had made with her own two hands. He could almost imagine it was her keeping him warm instead of the covering. He could picture her lying under it in his mind's eye, hair spilled out over it so that it nearly entwined with the vines. The thought of what would be just under the cover set his heart racing with such exhilaration he could scarcely draw his breath.

A knocking on the church doors interrupted the thoughts that would have ended with him needing to preach a sermon to himself this Sunday, or at least it would have if he'd been a real preacher.

He got his gun first and then his clothes, more a force of habit than worry that someone sinister was at the door. He recognized the man as one of the members of the congregation.

"Hi, Pastor. It's my mother. She swears she's dying and that she needs to see a minister immediately."

Who could say no to a dying woman, but he didn't look forward to it at all as the man drove him to the house in his wagon. He didn't do well with sick people. He just didn't do well with people he supposed because he didn't know how to make light conversation, and he didn't like talking about himself.

The son let him go into the bedroom alone. The elderly woman didn't much look like she was dying. The sleeves of her nightdress billowed out over the covering and she sat up against the headboard. She didn't even look sick, but then sometimes it was hard to tell. "Do you perform lasts rites?" she asked him without so much as a hello.

Did he? He wouldn't know where to begin. Couldn't begin to bluff his way through this one. "No."

"Drat, didn't think so. Oh, well. Pull up a stool. At least I can confess to you. Bless me, father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 43 years ago-"

He made a nervous cough as he sat and wondered if he would be up the rest of the night.

"Didn't always have access to a priest," she explained, mistaking his cough for judgment. "And not much inclination to go, to be honest, but one starts thinking differently when you get to the end of life."

He made no comment, and she went on, "I've said some sharp and unkind things to people over the years. I haven't paid my tithes like I should. And I-"

He was squirming in his seat with discomfort, not that she'd hit the major ones yet, and he interrupted, "You don't have to confess your sins to me."

"That's probably true, and I do tell them to God, but it's good to tell another person too and get those things off your chest. Otherwise, sin just kind of sits there and festers."

He knew what she meant. Not that he'd ever been much for confessing to a higher power or another human being, but he knew a thing or two about festering.

"You married?" she asked.

He was surprised by the abrupt change in topics and wondered if this was leading into another confession. "No.

"I was. For 58 years. That's probably longer than you've been alive."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you can't imagine the closeness that develops in those years. He was a part of me and life don't feel worth living anymore without him."

This was probably the part where he should have argued with her, but he didn't. A real preacher would have told her life was worth living and spouted off some kind of godly if cliché wisdom, but he said nothing. He could tell what she really wanted possibly from the beginning was just a listening ear.

"Tell me, what's heaven like?"

"I wouldn't know." She gave him such a stunned look it was almost comical. He supposed it was rather a shocking thing for a reverend to say. "I ain't been there you see."

She barked with laughter. "Well, at least you're honest. So few people are. They don't want to admit when they don't know the answers. Maybe the men of your ilk most of all."

Men like him lived by the gun, not the Good Book. "I'm the last one you'd want to go to for answers."

She mistook his partial confession as humility, and she beamed at him. "I like you. You remind me of my Alvin."

It was the highest praise she could have given him, comparing him to her late husband, and he thanked her for it and then asked her to tell him about him.

He'd said the right thing apparently because she told him everything, or it seemed that way. She talked of Alvin for at least an hour. Until she ended with his death. It had happened over 3 years ago, but it was plain to see it still grieved her. "I want nothing more than to be with him or have him back here. I should be over this by now. That's what my sister tells me."

"No, you shouldn't be. I can't imagine how you must feel and neither can anyone else. They can't tell you how to feel. It's not their place."

She smiled at him this time. She had desperately needed to hear that it was okay to feel sadness. "I might just come see you Sunday. If I live until Sunday that is."

"I'd like that."

sss

The son had offered to take him back, but he'd wanted to walk back despite the lateness of the hour to clear his head. He had comforted Mrs. Feaganes or Nessa as she has insisted upon being called, but he had deceived her. He was halfway tempted to go back and do some confessing of his own. Maybe he would just confess to everyone this Sunday. End this whole charade.

"Kid Cole."

It was spoken as plain as day. It had been weeks since he'd last heard his name spoken out loud, and it was rather jarring. He'd been about to pass the saloon doors, but instead, he moved in closer until he was practically hugging the side of the building to better hear.

"Kid Cole?"

"The marshal in Virginia City is looking for him. Killed a man in cold blood. Right in front of his wife."

They'd caught up with him at last.

"Watch out," the informant went on. "He's dangerous. He liked to kill me and no doubt he'll kill again."

He'd been nowhere near next to killing anyone else. Hadn't even wanted to kill the man he did kill, but the comment got the dramatic gasps and murmurings it had sought.

"The only new man in town is the preacher. We ain't seen anyone else pass through," said another.

"Well, if you do see him, the reward is 500 dollars."

The chatter increased in volume. It was a princely sum. More than a year's wages and then some. He was halfway tempted to turn himself in for an amount like that.

He quickly crossed behind the saloon to the safety of the church. He would have to hide behind his clerical collar a while longer as people were going to be combing the countryside for him.