Prairie Song by JODI THOMAS

the front lines had taught her to prepare for the worst, even if praying for the best.
    She watched as the doorknob on the hallway door turned. There was a long pause, then a knife’s blade darted out like a snake’s tongue between the door and the frame. With one jerk, the lock snapped back and the door moved inward.
    Slowly, with deliberate pressure, the door opened wide. Cherish strained to see into the darkened hallway, but there seemed to be nothing but blackness.
    “Who’s there?” She made her voice calm, yet her hand trembled slightly as her finger caressed the trigger.
    “You’re awake?” a low voice whispered.
    “And armed.” She moved closer, trying to see into the hall, trying to place the voice in her memory.
    A shadow moved, raising lean arms as if in surrender. “I mean you no harm, Miss Wyatt.”
    “Who are you?”
    A thin man stepped from the blackness into the lamplight. “Father Daniel. We met on the train. I’m sorry to have frightened you, but I need your help.”
    Cherish almost collapsed with relief. The devils she’d imagined vanished from her mind. “But why break into my room? Why not just knock at the door?”
    “This house has a few entrances other than the front door. I’ve known about them since I was a child. I need your help, and no one, not even the woman with you, must know.”
    “What kind of priest are you? You help murderers and use a knife like a key.” Suddenly Cherish was not sure she should lower her weapon. She was not fool enough to think that only robes were needed to make a priest.
    Father Daniel laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m as real a priest as this town has known. It’s just that sometimes the Lord and I must walk a little to the left side of the law.”
    Cherish remembered how he’d saved the man from hanging and knew somehow she owed this mysterious man a favor. “What can I do?”
    The priest disappeared and returned a moment later, half-carrying, half-dragging the body of a man. “I thought I could help him, but we’ve ridden hard for two days. We’ve been out in the storm all night. When we finally got to town I couldn’t just take him to the mission to die, and the town’s doctor is seldom sober enough to be of any help.” Father Daniel looked at her with helpless gray eyes, liquid with his plea. “He’s lost a lot of blood and I’m afraid his wound is infected.”
    Turning up the lantern, Cherish watched the priest lower the wounded man onto her bed. He was covered with mud and blood, but she knew without asking that he was the same man who had almost been hanged that night on the water tower outside the train. “How did you find him?”
    Father Daniel collapsed in the chair by her bed, his words barely a whisper. “He slept in my berth until we reached Bryan. Then I purchased two horses and met him outside town. He seemed to be fine the first few miles, but his bleeding made our traveling slow. We had to keep off the roads for fear of being spotted. Then the rain started and Brant grew weaker.” As the clergyman talked, his words slowed and his body melted into the chair’s comfort. “I thought he was going to die before I could get him here. There was nowhere else to turn. Hattie used to always have room to hide men who didn’t want to be found and you’ll nurse …” Without finishing, the priest fell asleep, his legs stretched out and his head against the back of the chair. He had laid his trouble at her door and now could rest.
    “Hattie?” Cherish whispered, remembering the old invalid downstairs who had once been the owner of this house and now just seemed to go with it like furnishings passed from one person to another.
    Placing a blanket over the priest, Cherish wondered if he’d slept at all in the past three nights. What drove this man of God to risk his life for a murderer? Didn’t he know what he was doing was wrong? Or maybe he didn’t care, for his reason was right. There had to be a bond between these two men,