Baby

wagon or the tire of one of the new automobiles in town. Its rear leg lay at an unnatural angle, a grisly bone exposed. It hung limply in the child’s arms as her tears fell on its face, causing the dog to whine pitifully. She overheard the child ask Reverend Penny if God could please heal her doggie.
    Netty’s tail, lying comfortably hidden under her skirt, suddenly unwound, rising into the air. She tried franticly to rein the unbridled appendage in, appalled by her inconceivable lack of control. The church quickly filled with the smell of sulfur. Her tail soared as the membrane shot out its healing pressure, directed at the puppy. As the dog wiggled out of the child’s arms, Netty quickly sat down in a pew, hoping to be overlooked. The child ran up the aisle, calling to her dog as it emerged from the church, ready to resume its battle with wagon wheels. Reverend Penny, flummoxed by the pup’s startling transformation, collapsed on the floor. Hurrying to the altar, her tail now firmly tucked under her skirt, she rushed to the reverend, helping him to his feet. He appeared dazed, confusion obscuring his pious carriage. Introducing herself without pause, Netty requested a private word with the reverend.
    “My dear, did you see a young child with a dog run outside?”
    “Yes, Reverend, I did.”
    “The dog, he was running on all four legs?”
    “Yes, Reverend, he was.” Reverend Penny slowly turned to the golden cross on the altar and on bent knee, genuflected. Netty mulled over what had just happened. She knew the more she was in public the more likely there would be another incident. Sooner or later, it would lead to her exposure. She did not think she could handle any more stress, desperately holding herself together as it was. Collecting herself, she forced her mind to focus.
    “Reverend, if we could sit down somewhere private?”
    Distractedly, the reverend rose and led Netty into his personal sanctuary. Pulling out a chair for Netty, he sat behind his desk.
    “Forgive me, my dear, I am a bit distracted. Is there something I can do for you?” Netty hesitantly spoke of her problem, omitting her rape and the loss of their baby. She just did not think she was strong enough to speak about it and she wanted all of the reverend’s attention directed to the problem with Wil.
    “Well, my dear, I don’t know how much I can do for you, but I do know that your young man is entitled to bail, as long as he has not been brought to trial as a horse thief. Can you afford to pay bail?” Netty quickly shook her head yes.
    “I will do my best to find out how much it is. I suggest you round up the funds and meet me back here tomorrow. We will go to the sheriff together to post his bail. Once he is out of jail we can find a good lawyer and think about his defense.” Reverend Penny appeared to have recovered from the incident at the altar as he suddenly awarded her with a genuine snake oil salesman smile.
    As Netty left the reverend’s sanctuary she felt his eyes boring into her from behind, his change in demeanor fostering a premonition, forcefully banished as she hurried home.

Chapter 8

    Wil tried to roll over on his cramped metal bunk bed. He shared his dismal nondescript cell with two other men. His first cellmate stupidly tried to sell his homemade moonshine to a saloon owner already supplied by Robert Doyle’s men. He got a severe beating for his efforts and sixty days in jail. Wil wondered what they charged him with. The other man was new, moved suddenly into Wil’s cell the night before. The big ugly guy kept his silence, sitting on the edge of his bunk staring at Wil, unnerving him.
    Wil constantly worried about Netty. He was convinced she was in danger. Why go to these lengths to frame him? And if Netty was in danger, so was Baby. It became clear to Wil, that Robert Doyle wanted the farm, finding it expedient to get Wil out of the way first. He wondered about Netty’s mental state. He should never have left her side. In the almost three weeks since his assault and Maggie’s murder, time passed as fast as a snail running a foot race. As of yet, no one bothered to take the time to inform him of the charges against him. He figured it must have something to do with the gold coins they found in his back pocket while they searched him after Doyle’s men dragged him to the local sheriff’s office. God only knows how the coins got there. He offered nothing when questioned about them. He did not doubt for an