Nunslinger 12

by Stark Holborn

Genres: Westerns

Synopsis

The year is 1864. Sister Thomas Josephine is on her way from St Louis, Missouri, to Sacramento, California. During the course of her journey, however, she'll find that her faith requires her to take off her wimple and pick up a gun. Alone, hunted by enemies of all sides, and faced with a fight she cannot win, Sister Thomas Josephine must make a final, tragic decision, between her faith and her heart... In this, the final installment of Sister Thomas Josephine's chronicles, the end must - and will - come.

Release date: September 11, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 80

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

When evening comes, it cometh with the twelfth

 

The clouds scudded across the graveyard, dimming the ground in patches, as if God’s hand passed across a lamp. In their absence, the sun flared, and the group of black-clothed figures shivered and sweated in turn, their perspiration whipped away by the wind of the plains.

I watched them from the shadows of a half-built mausoleum, far enough away that I felt sure they could not see me. It had been abandoned, a rough-hewn wooden shack staring up at the roofless sky. In this land of dust and distance, no one wasted stone upon the dead.

The first shovel of earth was swept away by the wind before it could fall. Miss Windrose’s dress was tugged with it, a long, gauze veil snapping wildly. There was a handkerchief in her hand. Did she truly grieve? I wondered; had she grieved thus when the news finally reached her of Carthy’s death, crying herself pale, and cursing my name in her prayers?

Windrose. The name was now forever linked with mine in the eyes of the law, along with Carthy’s: both victims of the Six-Gun Sister. They did not concern themselves with motive any longer. I was crazed, they shrugged, hunting sinners where I found them.

The mourners drifted off and the gravediggers began their work. A huge plinth stood empty at the head of the grave, waiting to receive a statue. Miss Windrose turned away and I tensed in the shadows. It had not been easy to get close to her. By the time I had found my way back to the city from the ranch, sick in body and soul, the whole of Denver was in uproar over the news of Mr. Windrose’s murder. Elizabeth had worked fast.

I heard my name on countless lips, some weeping, others threatening punishments that chilled me with their brutality. Luckily, the gown I wore offered some disguise, but still I was forced to skulk like a thief in the shadows, while all around my face was plastered in duplicate, triplicate on every building. I had heard talk of the burial, and had crept out of the city before dawn, taking up my hiding place and waiting until the grand funeral procession arrived.

I pulled the blanket I wore like a cloak further over my head and slipped out of the shade. Miss Windrose waited patiently at the gate, staring down, upon the mourning figures that snaked down the hillside.

‘We both know that pistol is empty,’ she said, without looking around.

I halted, six feet away. After a moment, I armed the gun.

Beneath the shadow of her veil I saw one eyebrow raised.

‘You are more resourceful than I thought, Thomas Josephine.’

Her eyes were swollen from weeping, her face pale and slack above the heavy gown. Anyone else would pity her, having lost fiancée and father both. Had I been anyone else, I might have reached out to comfort her, but as it was, I only kept the weapon steady.

‘Where is he, Elizabeth?’

My voice came out as a croak, worn from lack of sustenance, lack of sleep. The woman before me only shook her head.

‘I told you.’

‘You lied.’

‘We all have our price, Sister.’ She shot me a sidelong glance. ‘I understand better than you think. I know what it is to lose the man you love when you realize the truth about him­–’

‘Muir is different,’ I said. ‘He would not leave me.’

‘Do you know that for certain?’ When I was silent, she sighed. ‘He was tired. I could see it in his face.’ She folded her handkerchief neatly. ‘You should b. . .