Chapter 8

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." - Psalm 23:4

“How did you get your hair that color?” John asked, sitting across from Evangeline, trying to lift the cup of hot tea to her lips, but her hands were shaking so badly, either from fear or cold, maybe both. She stopped trying to lift the cup, keeping her hands wrapped around the warm mug, looking him in the eyes, and smiled a little. The old rarely understood what the young did to stand out with their looks, and John wondered if someone had taught her that her actions truly made her stand out, but he didn’t enjoy the odd hue of her hair.

                Sarah would love it. She didn’t judge the young at all. She was a kind soul willing to listen to everyone’s stories and willing to help all living souls.

                “Tokyo dye,” Evangeline said, looking down at the steam rolling from the tea and there was a thick blanket draped over her shoulders trying to warm her. She took a deep breath before smiling weakly. “My mother got it last year for me.”

                “Where is your mother now?” John asked, looking over Evangeline once more. She wore clothes far better than anyone on this mountain. Even those with great wealth didn’t dress in her style, which screamed she was a stranger from these parts.

                “With the angels, sir,” she said softly, almost in a whisper, trying to fight back some tears, but she was still too cold to be able to cry.

                “Oh, child,” John said. “I’m sorry, truly I am.”

                “Thank you, sir,” she said, “but we might want to be on the move. Don’t we need to get to the law?”

                John glanced out the window, seeing the depths of the night, but he had lost sight of the moon. The moon had moved on to the other side of the house, the back end of the night. It was a few hours to dawn, which would have been better for John to drive down the mountain. His eyesight wasn’t that great anymore. He had a hard time seeing in the dark, unlike when he was in the Army, but time was cruel to his body. His mind was sharp, but his body was falling apart.

                “The Sheriff wouldn’t be awake,” he said, turning back to her. “Best to wait until morning.”

                “What? No,” she said, shaking her head. “We can’t. They’re still out there.”

                “Who?” John asked, “The Duke Boys?”

                “No, sir, other people,” she said. “We got to run. We got to get out of here. I got to get to the skyport.”

                “Woah, woah, calm down, little lady,” John said, waving her to sit back down. “You’re safe here, I swear.”

                “You don’t understand, sir,” she said, almost reaching to take his old hands, “my father is out there, and he’ll come for me.”

                “Who’s your father?” John asked, and she sat back, shaking her head.

                “I don’t want to say.”

                “Why not?” John asked.

                “Best not to, sir,” she said. “Just know he’s a bad man, very bad.”

                “Did he hurt your mother?” John asked.

                “Yes, sir,” Evangeline said, staring at him. There was nothing more in the world that made John’s blood boil than when a man hurt a woman. A few men on the mountain got their hands on their wives, and most of the time, people looked the other way, but not John. In his younger days, after the war, they called him Big John, and if he found out about the husband, he would teach them a lesson. It was normally with his fists, but sometimes, he took a sledgehammer at those poor excuses for men.

                Word spread around the town about Big John teaching foul men a hard lesson, and women would come to him begging for help. Sarah never minded him teaching those poor fools, but sooner or later, John knew he couldn’t pick up the hammer anymore.

                He had to give up his days of helping out those women, but the hate for a man laying hands on his woman didn’t leave John’s soul.

                “Well,” John said slowly, standing up, “if he shows up, I’ll teach him a lesson.”

                “Not sure you’ll be able to, sir,” Evangeline said, watching John painfully walk over to a small table.

                “I might be old,” he said, holding his back, “young lady and not long for this world, God willing, but,” he opened the drawer, taking out a large pistol, “I’m sure no man is bulletproof.”

                “Not that I know of, sir,” she said weakly, smiling and being able to put the mug to her lips. He strolled back over to the table, putting the gun between them.

                “I won’ let anyone hurt you, little lady,” he said.

                “Thank you, sir,” she said.

                “Now,” he said, “my wife would always ask anyone who came to our door in trouble to pray with her, just a simple few words,” he reached out his hands, “and if you don’ mind too much, why don’ we say those words now.”

                Evangeline set the mug down, shrugged, and took his hands. He bowed his head as she did the same thing over the gun, and they both closed their eyes. He let the wind be the only hum in the house as Evangeline moved in her chair, unsure what was happening. John smiled, letting Sarah's memory fill his mind.

                “Dear Lord,” he uttered softly with the wind halting the knock against his door, “we come before You now on this cold night in the depth of this wicked world and asked You to send an angel of protection and justice to guide us to the day. We beg now in our humble hearts that if we walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death tonight, You’ll be walking beside us, and God, our Good Lord, please send Your holy sword to be our light in the dark. Amen.”

                “Amen,” Evangeline said as loud knock came from the front door before John could let go of Evangeline's hand.