Page 14 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“I could ask Troy to help us.”
Eddie nodded, clearly thinking it through. “Not a bad idea. He’d have headlamps. Some extra gear if we need it.”
“You will then?” Wren straightened in her seat, swallowing a gulp of the slushie. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the anticipation. Somehow she knew—she justknew—the dream hadn’t been a random subliminal story playing in her mind.
Eddie drummed his fingers on the table. “If Esther is okay with taking kitchen lead, then yeah. And—” he hesitated before finishing—“I need to check in on Mom.”
Wren’s smile faded. “Of course.”
Why was it that during small victories, death hovered? Like a phantom in black, undulating above them with the threat of descending and cloaking them in its embrace. It was inevitable really. Patty Markham was dying. She’d been sent home to live out her last days with her husband and son. Eddie had moved out of staff housing to return home. And now? Jasmine. In Wren’s mind, she was too quickly moving into position next to Patty. Imminent death, immediate loss, and the agonizing aftereffects.
“You okay?” Eddie’s words pierced her spiraling thoughts.
“Hmm? Oh. Yeah,” she answered. Watching her friend, she took a sip of her slushie. Ten years ago, they’d sat in this very spot, with ice cream cones, and dreams, and ideas that would take them far away from their camp roots. Instead, they were still here, more tied to the camp, to its story, and to the grief that seemed to lurk in the cracks of it all. A grief that was slowly seeping out and threatening to poison them.
7
Ava
She followed him silently. His strides weren’t remarkably long, as he wasn’t remarkably tall. In fact, he only topped her by an inch or two. Yet for a preacher, the other qualities made up for his lack of height. Ava made a promise to herself to avoid his eyes. They were haunting, and there was such depth in them, she was afraid a person could rightly crawl in and drown. His jawline was distinct but not harsh. Just strong enough to indicate he might get a stubborn set to it if pushed too far. She noticed his suit was worn, and he could use a haircut.
He led her to the parsonage, and when they arrived at the porch steps, he hesitated, turned, and eyed her. Ava looked at the toes of her very scuffed shoes. If nothing else, he should be able to figure out that she wasn’t a murderess. She could hardly look a man in the eyes if he was good-looking. How then could anyone think she could hack a man to death and stare at the gore of it?
“I’m sorry you’re in this predicament.” Preacher Pritchard was soft-spoken. Ava had a hard time picturing him leveling fire and brimstone down, but she expected it. He’d probably jumped at the chance to take in a wayward sinner and have her completely under his soul-correcting influence.
She didn’t reply.
He sighed. He didn’t move to enter the parsonage, which was small and definitely not set up for a boardinghouse. The preacher took off his hat and ran fingers through his hair. He was agitated. Probably because she wasn’t saved yet. Going to hell in a handbasket.
“Miss Coons—”
“Ava.” She hadn’t meant to speak. It came out habit-like.
“Ava,” he nodded. “Okay.” The man was at a sheer loss. He cleared his throat. Put his foot on the first porch step as if he was going to step up it, but then he retracted it back to the earth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through as well as I should have.”
She was sorry for him then, if she was honest. So, Ava lifted her eyes from her shoes and made sure her attention landed on his nose.
“You don’t got a mama or a sister or nothin’?” She tried to offer him some justification for bringing a lone woman into the home of a single preacher.
“No.” He sighed. “Not here.” Now it was his turn for downcast eyes.
Ava crossed her arms over her thin form. “Looks like you’ve dug yourself a hole and crawled right in. Tell ya what, I can just haul myself off and you can be rid of me.”
“No.” He shook his head. “That will not be adequate for your safety.”
“I’ll be fine.” She didn’t believe the words herself, so it was obvious why he didn’t believe her either.
Instead of climbing the porch steps, the minister lowered himself to sit on them. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared past her, across the dirt road to the small clapboard church flanked by two saloons.
“I was so sure God called me here. To Tempter’s Creek.” His mumble might not have been meant for Ava, but she responded.
“What’d He do? Shout at ya?”
Preacher Pritchard raised his eyes, the first glimmer of a smile at the corners. He gave a little laugh. “No. No, He didn’t shout.”
“Seems like people sayin’ ‘God called me’ is a piece of work, if you ask me.” Which he hadn’t, Ava realized. “If God can’t talk, then He can’t call. So then you’re just going off into the wild blue on your own whims and fancies, not thinkin’ ’bout no one you might’ve left behind.”
He reddened.
