She folded her hands in front of her and joined him, lingering in the sounds of crunching grain and scraping hooves. When she finally spoke, it was careful and measured.
“Willa is brave, but careless. She doesn’t believe the church could be corrupt,” Sister Inez said quietly, waiting for his sign to continue. Her face was drawn as she recounted her thoughts. “Once the priest beat Sister Jo and took her to the church after dark. When she came back she was white as a sheet and her wounds were stitched. Perfect. I’ve seen Father try to fix his robes; it wasn’t him. I told Willa what I knew, and she didn’t listen. I hope you will.”
A corrupt doctor hiding out in an equally corrupt church, too fancy for Silver Creek to sustain. His only thread to follow, frayed, but it was possible.
“I can reach Silver Creek if I leave soon,” Decker said.
Her dark gaze intensified, boring into him. “Thunder and hail are next. If you’re right, and these are plagues, each one is coming more quickly than in Egypt. Be careful.”
No time to waste.
Decker swept a brush over Sitara’s cream coat and fitted her with a bead-edged saddle blanket, lifting it from her withers. When he’d accompanied Safine to trade with Three Hawks several months ago, he’d admired the intricate, square pattern adorning his paint pony. When Safine returned from her next trip, she’d proudly presented him with one of his own. Crafted for Sitara or haggled over by his wife, Decker didn’t know, but he sent his thanks in pouches of tobacco and rattling tins of glass beads.
Decker slung empty saddlebags over the pommel and fitted Sitara’s bitless bridle.
Sister Inez waited before she said, “I want to believe there’s good to fight the corruption in the church. Laurie shows promise. My family shows promise.”
Decker faintly smiled. “You tell ‘em everyone’s welcome here as long as we’re still a town.”
“Of course.” She dipped her head. “I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“Might need more than one, Sister.”
