How in droughts like this they come down from the mountains. How you have to be careful. They could be out there, lurking behind the woodshed. They can smell bacon five miles away, he says, his voice raspy as that of a biblical prophet.
Ruby turns her face to her pancakes. She doesn't want to hear such nonsense. She doesn't feel right herself this morning. Her nose has been running and her cheeks feel hot and flushed. She fears the fever but doesn't dare say a word. She will pretend Lord God doesn't exist if for one second he will just shut up. He holds out a plate of bacon and eggs, urges her to eat. He has cooked their breakfast and the least she can do is enjoy it. She needs to put some meat on her bones, she does, and he has blessed the food especially for her.
She lifts her face and tells him Lila is almost finished feeding, she'll eat in a minute. She speaks in barely a whisper, stares out the window at the parched fields of prairie and high desert, the Sierra Mojada in the west turning pink with the sunrise, above it a wall of dark curdled clouds. Opposite the mountains comes the day's light casting its long morning shadows onto rabbit bush, sage, and bunchgrass.
Behind the shed the crooked wooden fence posts lean this way and that like tombstones on a wind- bitten hillside. Lord God's land is miles outside Pueblo, off Red Creek Road West. The edge of nowhere, its face to the hills and back to the town, true to his isolation- scenario mind- set. The fence is a last stand before the coyote howls of emptiness beyond.
Wind gusts make the power lines hiss and whistle. In the west the sky above the mountains looms russet and solid, an ash cloud of trouble coming. Like wet walls of the Red Sea parted and waiting for that moment to swallow up the world once again. The weather people don't know what to make of it. Snow and dust storms at once, a thing both strange and ordinary now as a sky without birds.
Lila falls asleep with the nipple in her mouth. Ruby does her best to tune out Lord God. She strokes her baby's cheek for a moment, heartbroken at what's in her own mind, the anguish she faces. She eases Lila into the wicker bassinet between the kitchen table and the woodstove. Before the stove she squats to open its black cast- iron door, adds a couple split pieces of aspen from the cardboard kindling box. A wisp of smoke belches out, the gusty wind backing it down the stovepipe chimney. The heat makes her face flush, a smoky tang sharp in her nose.
That's enough, says Lord God. Until this wind dies down it's a bother. Another gust and this house will be smoky as hell.
Ruby stands and refuses to look in Lord God's direction. She rinses plates and cups at the kitchen sink. Outside the window a pair of Grief Birds perch on the fence rail. These are bigger than crows, lonely, speaking in tongues of portent. The closest Grief to the house croaks and shakes its ruffled neck feathers like an African lion its mane. Lord God is asking her something, again, but she doesn't catch what he says. She has to concentrate to decipher the sounds that issue from his perpetually hoarse voice.
You aren't ready for the world, he says. Do you know what it's like to live in a Muslim house? I've seen it. I've fought in their streets. You leave the house without your face covered? They scar you with whips. You fall for a man not your husband? They stone you to death. It's a circle of shame there and they want to make us their slaves. I've seen it. I know. And now I'm returned to set right the scales of justice in this fallen, sinful world of Mammon.
He cuts a bite of pancake and waits for Ruby to lift her voice. She dries a plate and stacks it in the cupboard.
I've shouldered weapons among the heathens, he says. I've struggled with them close enough to smell the spices on their breath. I have tasted the ash of anger and have seen my leg lying in the street, blown clean from my body. And in this greatness I have been given the grace of a new leg and now I walk to preach the tongue of a righteous Lord.
Ruby squints at the portrait of Jesus on the wall opposite the kitchen table— his expression merciful and angelic, a tenderness in his eyes she has never seen in a living man. Beside him hangs a portrait of Joseph Smith, high cheekbones and narrow chin, eyes burning like a madman, full of fire and conviction. Lord God insists the two martyrs stand side by side, both sacrificed to teach the sinful and the righteous a lesson.
Ruby asks if he has heard anything from her mother.
Lord God chews, his face turned to the window, a slat of morning sun reflecting within his artificial eye. The glass orb glows golden, opaque. He closes his eyelids as if to savor the food. His face wrinkles with maniacal certainty and anguish, crease lines on his chin visible through the gray tangle of his beard. His lips are lost in the coarse hair, even his cheeks and neck covered, as if he is becoming a half- man, half- bear creature of legend.
Your mother is gone, he says. But she'll be back. She will see the error of her ways. It may take time is all.
Ruby finishes drying the dishes. She turns to find her baby girl awake now and watching, a slight smile on her lips. Lila has a perfectly round head. Her grandmother calls her Baby Lollipop with such affection that it melts Ruby's heart. And now she's gone and not here to help with Lila.
I miss her, says Ruby.
Lord God is quiet for a moment. He chews his toast. Finally he whispers, I do too.
You should beg her back, says Ruby.
Lord God rocks back in his chair, stares up at the ceiling.
Girl? Haven't I taught you right? Never beg. Never rely on anybody else.
This is different, she says. It's Mom we're talking about.
We get by just fine, don't we?
Ruby makes a funny face for Lila, crossing her eyes and opening her mouth wide. The baby girl waves her hands in the air and makes a sputtering sound. Say what you want but it's not the same, living here without Mom, answers Ruby. The house is cold.
It's what I've been telling you, says Lord God. The house is cold because you don't have a husband. And with a child of your own too.
I'm doing okay, she says.
What? With me taking care of her, you mean? When you're off studying uselessness?
Ruby dries the dishes, counting the Smoke Larks. Maybe I should quit school? she asks. Besides, we won't be here long anyways.
You're just stubborn. You know how to solve this problem, says Lord God. Marry that man. They say he's a good egg. And he's got more money than he knows what to do with.
Why? she asks. Why would I do such a thing?
We could drop by his pawnshop and have a nice chat. He's a good egg.
You're not listening to me.
It's not you who takes care of Ruby when you're in school, is it? You need to be cared for. And kept from the wickedness of the world.
Daddy, don't.
A wickedness you have already tasted. And have been stained by.
My baby is not a stain.
I know. I also know there is more to the story. I have seen the wickedness, he says. It is amongst us.
Ruby sighs. Half the time I don't know what you're talking about.
We must keep you from harm, for your own good, he says. For Lila's sake. You haven't seen the evilness, says Lord God. And I hope you
