Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death;

The Deadly Sins

the sins of pride,greed, lust, (wrath), gluttony, envy, and sloth

Chapter Five
Strawberry, California
June 1866

Rachel, Heath and Johnna never mentioned anymore about what took place in the cabin a few months ago. Heath had remained calm for the sake of his aunt Rachel. Johnna had brought out the jam and homemade bread to the back porch. As they all ate, Rachel hummed and cooed over Heath as if he were a small child again. She talked of Cotton's hair getting too long and his needing a haircut. She told Heath they needed to have dinner together so Cotton could see him. Then she mentioned Heath could use a haircut too. Heath had to agree as his hair was touching the collar of his shirt. When his hat wasn't on, hair hung in his eyes. Heath remembered how he had the hair shaved from his body when he was in the Union army hospital. He spent four months there recuperating after his time in Carterson. Heath thought it best not to mention that terrible time to Rachel.

Once in awhile, Rachel would get a fearful look on her face and stop rocking her chair. Heath would mention what a lovely afternoon it was turning out to be. That seemed to calm her enough to allow her peace from her haunted thoughts.

After Rachel Caulfield headed back to her room above the saloon, Heath allowed his anger to take over his being. He marched into the bedroom he had used the night before. The boy retrieved his rifle from under the bed. Heath made sure it was loaded before he headed towards the front of the house.

Johnna watched but never tried to stop him. Heath may have been a teen in body but he was every bit his own man in thought. She knew better than to try and persuade him from his actions. Heath had to do what he felt he had to. Therefore, Johnna stood back watching Heath's every move.

Heath stopped momentarily to glance at the blood smeared on the floorboards of the old cabin. He wondered which blood trail was his mama's and which was Hannah's. He stooped to pick up a clump of hair from off of a block of wood. The hair was blonde tinged with red blood. His mama's hair and clumps of her skin were wedged between a crevice on the block of wood.

Heath stood up and viciously threw the clump of wood out the window, shattering the glass. "Why didn't the law do anything?"

He turned to stare at Johnna seeking answers. She had no answers for him but someone did. Mr. Keene stood in the open doorway. He watched the young teen straighten his shoulders as he turned from Johnna to stare at the older man. Libby had confessed to her papa about seeing Heath the night before. The older man went to try and help the teen boy. Mr. Keene could already see the anger devouring Heath.

"Because of who she was? Ain't that right, Mr. Keene? Because of who she was and having me, my mama's life meant nothing so her death meant even less. Same as Hannah's life meant nothing because of the color of her skin and Aunt Rachel's life meant nothing because of her former lifestyle. Isn't that a fact, Mr. Keene? Nobody cared what happened here because of who they were?" Heath's voice was tinged with anger as he stared at the older man.

Mr. Keene nodded as he stepped out of Heath's way. He tried to stop Heath as he called after him. "Boy, revenge will get you nowhere fast!"

"I ain't your boy. I've never been anyone's boy but my mama's." Heath growled back. He cursed before he added. "Even my rich sire didn't want his name stained with my being."

Heath turned and marched towards the Strawberry Hotel. There would be answers of who the five men were and where they may have went. As Heath stepped upon the boardwalk, Liberty Keene grabbed Heath's arm. She glanced back at her Papa, who was too far away to hear her words.

"Don't go borrowing trouble, Heath. Please." Libby begged as she gripped his faded blue shirt between her fingers. "You can put this behind you. I can be your wife and we can start over. Maybe get our own place away from here. Papa wants me to be a star but I'd give that up for you. I swear I would."

Heath pried Libby's fingers from his shirt sleeve. He glanced down at her as he shook his head in disbelief. He was twelve years old when he left this place for a war. Liberty Keene didn't even know who he was or the man he had became. The foolish child was offering herself in marriage.

Ward Whitcomb and Hank Garland stood leaning on the wall outside of the hotel. They had heard Heath was back and figured he'd be heading to the hotel sooner or later. Hank was wanting to pick up where he left off bullying the blonde. Ward wanted to see his old friend. Both stepped up as Ward started to greet Heath. However, Heath's glare at the two teenagers caused both to step back away from him. Their spines prickled and turned to ice as Heath's cold glare told of the danger they would face if they got in his way. Even Hank, felt a shiver of fear pass through him as Heath walked by.

The hotel diner was full of the cattlemen who worked with Heath. There were also a few townspeople out enjoying an early dinner. Mr. Henry glanced up from his meal to see they young cowboy making his way into the hotel diner. He started to speak to Heath but halted when he saw the anger in the boy's features. The rifle in the boy's hands didn't make him feel at ease either. He knew the boy's prowess with that weapon. He had used the boy's skills to kill off vermin after his crops or ranch animals more than once. Heath was a crack shot. Therefore, the rifle held in the boy's hands was deadlier than it would be in another man's hands.

"I won't be returning to work, Mr. Henry. I thank you for the job and all but I got things I got to take care of." Heath stared away from Mr. Henry as he spoke. His eyes were fixed on the thin man behind the counter.

Mr. Henry had already heard whispers of what had happened to the women in the green cabin on the outskirts of town. He feared it may have been Heath's mother and aunt. The boy had spoken so highly of his little family when anyone could get him to talk. Mr. Henry shook his head in understanding. Too bad it was the boy's family. The blonde would've made Mr. Henry a good ranchhand to keep around.

All stared at the young blonde as he marched up to the counter, where his uncle Matt stood with his mouth gaping open at seeing his nephew. Matthew Simmons could see the look of wrath written all over the young teen.

"Now, Heath. Hannah was mine to sell as much as your mama's. The men said they only wanted her for cleaning and cooking. That's all. I didn't know about their other plans." Matt held up his hands in a surrendered pose.

"Hannah wasn't a slave to be sold, Uncle Matt." Heath gritted his teeth as he pulled Matt's face closer to his with a jerk of the man's collar. "And Mama. What about Mama? Did you sell your own flesh for a few pieces of gold?"

"I wouldn't do that! Ya got to know that, boy. She was my sister." Matt swallowed as he could feel the heat of Heath's hatred on him.

"Let go of him, bastard." Martha came barreling at Heath with a large kitchen knife drawn. No one saw where the deranged female had come from. She must have been in the kitchen watching the scene with her husband and nephew as she waited for her moment to strike.

There was a collective gasp as Heath raised his rifle and fired at his crazed aunt. Martha's body jerked as it plopped in a ominous thud to the floor. Some of the bystanders at the hotel scurried out the door as others waited to see what the blonde teen boy was going to do next.

"YOU KILLED HER!" Matt yelled as the shock wore off of seeing Martha lying dead on the floor. Blood oozed from the middle of Martha's forehead as her cold dead eyes stared into nothingness. Her hand still gripped tightly to the knife, which she was aiming to kill the boy with.

"You can thank me later." Heath said sarcastically as he turned from the bloody corpse.

Heath wasn't sure when killing another human being came without emotion. It happened sometime between vomiting at his first kill in the army to slicing the throat of another prisoner, who tried to kill a friend of his over a piece of moldy bread. Somewhere along the way, Heath quit finding killing someone as something to regret and dwell on. Life was kill or be killed for him.

Heath's thoughts went back to his uncle, who was cowering behind the counter. It was about time the man feared him instead of the other way around. "Tell me a name and I may let you live."

Matt saw the rifle barrel now aimed at him. He swallowed the bile that built in his throat. "I didn't sell your mama. Martha did but not me."

"You didn't stop them either." The muscle in Heath's jaw twitched as he pushed the barrel of the rifle closer to his uncle's face. "Now. Give me a name."

"I didn't know she sold rights to your mama. I didn't." Matt was shaking as the rifle barrel came closer to his throat.

"A name." Heath growled as he inched the rifle closer.

"Roy Hitchins. The leader of the group was named Roy Hitchens. I don't know the rest of them." Matt's face washed in relief as Heath lowered the rifle.

"Where was he from?" Heath still gripped the rifle tightly even if he had lowered it.

"I heard them talking about Modesto and Pinecrest once. I'm not sure of anything else." Matt could feel his heart racing. He couldn't believe the fear he had of his no account nephew. It used to be the other way around once.

Heath turned to walk away but as he did, Matt Simmons decided to take matters back into his own hands. He needed to control his mongrel nephew once and for all. How dare the little bastard think he could have power over him. He needed to rid the world of this blight on society.

"Get out of here! You good for nothing bastard! Get!" Matt reached under the counter.

Heath turned swiftly pulling the trigger on his rifle. The bullet sliced through the wood of the counter and entered Matt Simmon's gut. Matt's body flew backwards knocking into the bottles on the back shelf behind the counter. Glass exploded around Matt's dead body as the liquor bottles hit the floor.

The rest of the patrons, including Mr. Henry, scurried out the door. Most were proclaiming that Heath Thomson had killed his uncle in cold blood. None had seen the revolver that was in Matt's dead hands. The revolver, that was meant to kill Heath, was grasped in the long crooked fingers of his own uncle.

Heath walked behind the counter and took the Colt from his uncle's dead fingers. He glanced up to see Ward and Hank standing in the doorway with shocked looks on their faces. Heath searched through the pockets of his uncle's trousers before tossing a few bills towards the frightened teens.

"Bury them both and I'll give you more." Heath stood up. "Reckon this hotel is mine now and the money they both have." Heath winked as he noticed Johnna peering from behind the hotel entrance door. "After all, I'm their only living relative."

Hank slowly walked to pick up the dollar bills Heath had tossed towards him. He slipped in Martha's blood and other chunks of unknown as he made his way to the money. He caught himself on a table to keep from falling. Eggs spilled over onto the floor mingling with Martha's bloody hair.

Heath rolled his eyes at the clumsy overgrown boy. "Don't go making a bigger mess in my hotel, Hank."

"Yes. Sir." Hank nodded towards Heath before glancing towards Ward. "I'll get her head. Ward, you get her legs."