CHAPTER THREE

MERCY

I knock lightly on the door to Reverend Gunner’s office. Male voices drift out, low and serious, but I don’t hear permission to come inside.

“He’s meeting with someone.”

Mrs. Harrison startles me, and I jolt a little, the tray with Reverend Gunner’s coffee jostling. She’s his receptionist, an older woman who’s followed him since his days as a televangelist, before God the Father appeared to him for the first time. She wasn’t at her desk when I came up to the office to bring him his coffee like I always do, at 10:30 AM on the dot.

“Oh,” I say. “He didn’t mention?—”

“The guest just arrived.” She settles down behind her desk, smoothing her dark skirt. We’re all wearing dark colors today, of course. For Raul.

Images from yesterday morning flash through my thoughts. The cold river. Raul’s frozen, mist-covered eyes. The coffee tray wobbles again, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

“—traveling preacher,” she says. “Like Jesus himself.”

“What?” I’m not sure what to do. Reverend Gunner gets upset when his coffee is late. He also gets upset if I interrupt his meetings. And he’s already furious with me for going down to the river without permission.

“That’s who’s in there,” Mrs. Harrison says. “A traveling preacher named Ambrose Echeverría.”

The voices in the Reverend Gunner’s office go quiet. Chairs scrape against the linoleum.

“We weren’t expecting anyone like that,” I say.

“I know. That’s what I was saying.” Mrs. Harrison drops her voice a little. “He showed up at the gate early this morning. Said he goes where God directs him, then insisted on seeing the Reverend.”

I turn back to the shut door, and something tightens in my chest right it swings open.

Reverend Gunner stands in the doorway, bearing down on me. “Mercy,” he says. “I see you’ve pulled yourself together.”

I don’t say anything, just tighten my fingers around the coffee tray.

“That’s good. It’s unbecoming for a helpmeet to be hysterical. Come, I want you to meet someone.”

I found Raul’s corpse in a river! I scream inside my head. Of course I was hysterical. All day yesterday, I couldn’t stop crying. I want to cry now, but I’m holding back my tears because I don’t want Reverend Gunner to discipline me.

I’m a helpmeet. It’s important that I be helpful.

Reverend Gunner guides me inside his office, shuts the door, and takes his coffee. “Pastor,” he says. “This is the woman I was telling you about. The one who—found the body.”

A tall, rangy man rises up and turns toward me, the sun from the window behind him casting him in a golden halo. He’s older—not as old as Reverend Gunner, but in his early forties at least—and roughly handsome, with dark hair slicked back from his face and salt and pepper stubble across his jaw. His intense brown eyes burn straight through me.

A fire-and-brimstone preacher if I ever saw one .

“This must be Mercy,” he says, never taking his eyes off of me. “I heard you’ve experienced some suffering these last twenty-four hours.”

I nod cautiously and set the empty coffee tray down on the little table in the corner. I’m wary of handsome men. Handsome men make Reverend Gunner jealous, and when he gets jealous, my life gets significantly harder. It doesn’t even matter if I’m attracted to them or not. It doesn’t matter if they’re kind, like Raul, or a fellow preacher, like this man, who looks at me like he’s rooting around in my soul to dig out my sins.

I’m Reverend Gunner’s helpmeet, and if another man looks at me, I’m the one who suffers.

“Answer him, Mercy,” Reverend Gunner says sharply.

I swallow back my worry and my grief. “Yes, sir. I—something terrible happened yesterday morning?—”

“I know.” Pastor Echeverría gives me a gentle smile. “I felt it. An immense darkness coming from this place.”

I stiffen and slip a glance over to Reverend Gunner. But he’s watching us approvingly.

“God led Pastor Echeverría here,” Reverend Gunner says. “Right when we needed him most.”

I turn back to Pastor Echeverría, who nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “That’s what I do,” he says. “That’s my calling. I go where I’m needed.” He moves closer to me, his movements easy and graceful, and then stops beside the table, placing one hand beside the tray. My eyes drop down to it, to his strong, graceful fingers. Organist’s fingers, as Mrs. Harrison would say. “Reverend Gunner tells me you knew the deceased.”

My whole body goes stiff, and for a moment all I see is Raul. Raul grinning at me as I hand him a bottle of cold water, Raul walking across the campus with the other soldiers, Raul surrounded by cold black water.

“Y-yes,” I spit out, because I can feel Reverend Gunner staring at me. “Yes, of course. I know everyone in the congregation. I?—”

My words lodge in my throat, and my eyes prickle with tears. I clutch at my dress and try desperately to blink them back, because if Reverend Gunner sees me crying in front of one of his guests, his punishment will be quick and furious. “You’re a reflection of me, Mercy,” he said to me last night, curled up beside me in bed. “We have to show the congregation that we’re stronger than the devil.”

I fumble in my skirt pocket for the rag of Kleenex I shoved in there this morning. But Pastor Echeverría offers me a handkerchief instead. A cloth one, bleached clean, with a delicate AE embroidered in the corner.

“Take it,” he says softly.

I glance at Reverend Gunner for permission, anxiety knotting my stomach. He gives me a sharp nod even though his frown cuts deep lines into his face. I snatch the handkerchief away from Pastor Echeverría and press it against my eyes, catching the tears just before they fall

“It’s all right to cry,” Pastor Echeverría says gently. “It’s a terrible crime, what happened, and it’s terrible that you had to be one to discover it.”

I dab at my eyes again, sniffling. My heart feels like it’s twisting in my chest, and I suddenly taste the cold, steely water in the back of my throat, and I see Raul’s empty eyes, his mouth twisted in fear. And although Reverend Gunner is still sitting behind his desk, watching me, Pastor Echeverría makes me feel safe. Reverend Gunner might punish me later, when we’re alone, but he won’t do it here.

“Raul was my friend,” I say primly, staring down at the handkerchief crumpled in my fist.

Reverend Gunner makes a hoarse noise in the back of his throat, and I immediately regret saying anything. But Pastor Echeverría only smiles gently and says, “Then this must be exceptionally difficult for you. Would you like to pray about it?”

I wipe the last of my tears away and fold up the handkerchief, aware of Reverend Gunner watching us. “Pastor Echeverría, I appreciate?—”

“Call me Ambrose.”

I immediately look over at Reverend Gunner again, heart pounding. I know he won’t approve of such a thing, but there’s something about the way Pastor Echeverría—Ambrose—is staring at me, eyes dark and burning, that makes me want to disobey Reverend Gunner’s wishes.

Ambrose notices my hesitation and glances back at Reverend Gunner. “I know it’s informal,” he says. “But I prefer to eschew formality in my ministry. Only the Lord Jesus Christ requires a title.”

Reverend Gunner quirks his mouth into a smile. “I appreciate that,” he says. “One outsider to another.”

Ambrose turns back to me, smiling again. There’s something sharkish about his smile, like his mouth is almost too big for his face. Like he might devour me whole. “What do you say, Mercy? Allow me to pray with you?”

“I think you’d benefit,” Reverend Gunner says. “This is a holy man, Mercy. I can see God’s fire in him.”

I swallow, my throat dry. Ambrose waits, his face impossible to read. But I don’t think he looks at me the way a pastor is meant to look at their flock.

It’s not exactly how Reverend Gunner looks at me in our marriage bed, but it’s close.

“Of course, it’s your choice,” Ambrose says. “But it seems you are in need of a little prayer?—“

“I am.” I flick my gaze over to Reverend Gunner one last time, who gives me another encouraging nod. If he approves of this man, this traveling preacher, there must be something holy about him. Some strength that can help defeat the evil trying to creep its way into our congregation.

Then I focus on Ambrose again. His face is sharp and angular, his nose slightly hooked, his lips full. There’s something wild about him.

Fire and brimstone.

“Then it would be my honor.” His eyes glitter. “Even if I can’t help the entire congregation, at least I know I helped you, Mercy Gunner.”

Hearing my full name in the dark rasp of his voice makes the hairs on my skin stand up.

“Thank you.” It barely comes out a whisper.

He nods toward a nearby chair.

“Sit,” he says, a touch of a command to it. My skin prickles again.

I sit, and he walks over to me.

“Bow your head.”

I do. Ambrose spreads his palms against the top of my hair, his touch warm. I breathe in shakily, trying to fix my gaze away from where it wants to go—which is his groin. It’s nearly eye level, and my thoughts curdle at what might be tucked behind those dark pants.

“Lord Father,” Ambrose intones, his fingers sinking into my hair. “Please help ease this woman’s suffering in this time of darkness. Help guide her journey on the path through her grief, and help her find solace in your vast and holy light.”

I flutter my eyes closed, giving myself over to the prayer. When Reverend Gunner prays with me, he doesn’t touch me. Touching is for something else.

“Heavenly Father,” Ambrose continues, his voice intensifying. “Lord of All. Show this woman that death is only the beginning. That there is nothing to fear from the end, for all those who reject the devil will resurrect in the coming End of Days. ”

Ambrose’s hands seem to tighten against my head, and something shifts as he slips into the Aaronic blessing:

“‘The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make his face to shine upon thee and be gracious to thee; the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace.’”

Warmth washes through me, starting in my core and spreading out through my limbs. Slowly, Ambrose draws his hands away, and I lift my head to meet his gaze.

It’s so black, so intense, I nearly have to turn away.

“Amen,” I say shakily.

Ambrose drops his hands to his sides and gives me a faint smile. “Amen,” he repeats.

Then he crouches down beside my chair so he’s looking at me, almost, I think, in supplication. The warmth from his prayer is still there, lingering in places it probably shouldn’t.

“Did it help?” he asks.

I nod wordlessly. I’m not sure what I’ll say if I try to speak, and the last thing I want is for Reverend Gunner to suspect I’m feeling any of the things I’m currently feeling.

“Good. I’m glad.” Then he turns away from me, back to Reverend Gunner, who’s leaning back in his chair, watching us with his hands steepled. The spell snaps, and I’m a helpmeet again. I stand up and smooth my skirt, hands shaking.

“That’s what I do, Reverend Gunner. That’s the gift God gave me, and I think it can be an immense help to the people here.”

Reverend Gunner tilts his head. I know he’s considering Ambrose’s words, and I’m afraid he’s going to say no and send him away.

Ambrose grins. “I have two dogs, by the way, if that sways your decision at all.”

I bite back a laugh. My grief isn’t gone, but in those moments that Ambrose was touching me, it receded a little. And I think I believe him, about possessing God’s gift .

After all, isn’t Reverend Gunner always saying that those backwoods preachers are the closest to God, the ones who best know how to defeat the devil? I know he sees all that in Ambrose, just as I felt it while Ambrose was praying over me.

I felt it as much as I’ve ever felt God’s presence.

“Where are you staying?” Reverend Gunner asks Ambrose.

“Nowhere. It’s just me, my car, and my dogs,” Ambrose says easily. “But I do have a cell phone. I’ll give you the number.”

“You’re not at a motel?” I ask, genuinely surprised. Reverend Gunner gives me a dark look, reminding me to be silent. But Ambrose smiles gently.

“No,” he says. “Motels aren't necessary for me. I travel as our Savior did.” He winks. “Well, as he would have if he’d lived in the twenty-first century.”

“You’ll fit in well around here,” Reverend Gunner says. “And I can’t deny we need all the strength we can. The devil wants to destroy us. I think that’s something we can all agree on.” He stands up. “Mercy, show Pastor Echeverría?—”

“Ambrose.” Another sharkish grin.

“Yes, of course. Ambrose.” He gives a thin-lipped smile, barely hiding his discomfort. “Show Ambrose to one of the empty cabins. Then come right back here.” His eyes glitter darkly. “We need to make arrangements for tonight.”

My whole body suddenly feels like it’s been dropped in ice. I discovered Raul yesterday and already Reverend Gunner is asking me to perform my wifely duties? But I only nod and mutter, “Yes, sir,” knowing full well that I can’t give anything else away in front of Ambrose—in front of a stranger, even one Reverend Gunner approves of. The outside world doesn’t understand why Reverend Gunner requires a helpmeet. They don’t understand the stress he’s under.

Especially now, I suppose.

Reverend Gunner gives us both a dismissive wave, and I lead Ambrose out of the office and past Mrs. Harrison’s empty desk. Once we’re outside of the building, I spot two dogs tied up to one of the fenceposts, tails wagging as we approach.

“Max and Roxi,” Ambrose says, rubbing one of them between their ears. “My constant companions.”

We aren’t allowed pets on the campus, not permanently. Reverend Gunner says they distract from our work and that animals don’t have souls anyway. But I like these dogs, with their big friendly eyes and curled tails. When Ambrose unties them, one of them runs up to me and sniffs my hand.

“That’s Max,” Ambrose says with a smile.

“Hi, Max,” I whisper, my fingers sinking into his soft fur. It feels like a sin, petting him.

Just like it felt like a sin when Ambrose was praying over me.

I stand up, forcing myself to focus. I belong to Reverend Gunner. “It’ll be about a five-minute walk to get to the cabins,” I say, keeping my gaze lowered.

“That’s quite all right, Ms. Gunner.”

Ms. Gunner . The name slams straight through my chest. I curl my hands into fists.

“Please,” I say, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Call me Mercy.”