all that happened was that BrotherShepherd filled his glass with some kind of pale amber liquid and everyone fell to.
The portions were generous—whatever else was going on at Jerusalem’s Wall, they didn’t stint on the victuals—and Jett expected at least to find the meal palatable, if not enjoyable. But one spoonful of stew was all she needed to discover it was as awful as the herb tea had been.
No salt. There’s no seasoning in anything here. That’s why they’re serving tortillas. Bread needs salt to rise …
Which was when she remembered something else from Tante Mère’s ghost stories. Salt would kill a zombie. It was one of the few things that could. Well, not kill it, precisely, since they were already dead, but Tante Mère said the taste of salt reminded the creatures of who and what they had been when alive, and they would either turn on their creator or lie down and die again.
Or both.
Every hair on her body stood straight up, or tried to. She began to calculate, urgently, just how fast she could get herself out of here.
“So, Mister Gallatin, what brings you to Jerusalem’s Wall?” Brother Shepherd set down his tumbler and regarded her inquisitively.
“Just passing through,” Jett answered. She felt a surge of panic, since for a moment she couldn’t rememberwhat she’d told Brother Raymond, and she knew he and Brother Shepherd would have compared notes. “Looking for work, I guess, but mostly looking for news of my brother.”
“Perhaps we’ve seen him,” Brother Shepherd said smoothly. “What’s his name?”
“Um … Horace,” Jett answered. “Horace Gallatin.” She didn’t know why she lied. It couldn’t matter if she gave either “Philip” or “Jasper” as her brother’s name. But somehow she didn’t want to tell more truth to Brother Shepherd than she absolutely had to. “He’s got my look to him,” she added reluctantly.
“No, he hasn’t stopped here,” Brother Shepherd said, shaking his head. “You’re more than welcome to join our Fellowship, though.”
“But you will have to renounce your ways of violence if you do so,” Brother Raymond announced. “They have no place here at Jerusalem’s Wall.”
“I’m a man of peace,” Jett protested mildly.
“Who carries a gun,” Brother Raymond said harshly.
“Any feller goin’ as a sheep among wolves in these parts is going to find himself skinned,” Jett answered inarguably. “I’m not especially fond of the idea of dyin’ so some varmint can—can lead himself further into sin.”
She couldn’t tell whether Brother Shepherd believed her or not, but her act of desperation turned out to bean inspired one. Brother Raymond wasn’t the trusting sort, and she couldn’t get any kind of a read on Brother Shepherd, but now some of the other brethren joined the conversation. In response to their comments, she spun a story that contained a little truth and a lot of what she’d just heard Brother Shepherd preach. Part of it was Philip’s story. She knew she looked far too young to have fought in the War of Northern Aggression, but her twin brother hadn’t been too young to go with the regiment as its drummer boy. Jett claimed to have been sickened by what she’d seen, and to have returned home after the war to find her family scattered. She said she’d known “Horace” had gone to Texas—as so many soldiers of the Confederacy had—and so she’d followed him, only to be shocked at the sin and lawlessness she encountered here.
“I’m right glad to hear about Alsop,” she added. “Once Sister Agatha told me you folks weren’t looking to take on a new hand, I figured to push on into town. But it sounds like the kind of place I’d rather steer clear of. Guess I’ll head on up north instead.”
“A wise plan,” Brother Shepherd said. “You’re welcome to stop here overnight,” he added.
“Brother Shepherd will be Witnessing again before supper. We might even be privileged to receive a
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