Glory Be

Chapter Thirty

Isaiah sat tensely behind the cashier counter. After they left the confines of the hayloft, Isaiah felt unearthly cold. His eyes still felt red and swollen from the tears, but his chest felt less heavy. Isaiah grasped at his shirt. It pricked away from his sweat-soaked skin. Did any good person ever feel this guilt?

The ringing of the door alerted Isaiah to look up. A shadowy form encompassed much of the doorway. Clicking boots approached the desk, and as the sun lessened, Isaiah could make out the man's form. It was a deputy. His shaggy brown hair stuck up from under his cowboy hat. A red and orange patterned scarf wrapped itself around his neck.

"Hello. Oh," The deputy started, and Isaiah laid eyes upon his eyes. One a deep brown, and the other a jade green, "Isaiah Merrick."

"Deputy Seth," Isaiah nodded, standing up from his chair, "How can I help you, sir?"

The man took an uneasy breath in, and Isaiah watched the air rustle his facial hair.

"Sheriff Stratton has asked up to do more rounds around here," The deputy started, "So I'm stopping in to check in with you and the Kowal's to see how things are going."

"Oh, well, that's proactive," Isaiah commented. His palms began to sweat, and he chewed his cheeks in displeasure.

"Yes, indeed," Deputy Seth said, running a finger along the countertop, "How has your apprenticeship been going?"

"Well," Isaiah said, unsure if he wanted to say anything more, "Some bumps here and there, but I've been doing good."

"I'm sure, and have you noticed any odd or suspicious behavior?" Seth asked.

Isaiah's face tilted down. There was never anything suspicious in Red Hawk. Unless apparently, it was from outsiders.

"No, I haven't heard or seen anything suspect," Isaiah said, "I'd come right to you if I did. My Father has taught me as much."

"Of course... I wouldn't doubt it," Deputy Seth slowly turned towards the collection of books. He stepped towards one of the shelves and tilted his head, "Any recommendations for me?"

"What do you want to read? A certain genre?" Isaiah stood up from his stool and began walking around the counter.

"I don't know... I hardly read myself."

"Well maybe a contemporary story then," Isaiah thumbed his bottom lip, "... An adventure, or something with purpose."

"You tell me."

Isaiah walked down the shelves of books. His eyes darted up and down, scanning all of the titles. He hadn't read most, if not all of the books. Sydney had spoken about the contents as if he knew each of these books personally. Isaiah knew he should've just asked Sydney for help, but the thought of looking him in the eye right now was unbearable. They had hugged for so long. They cried together. They spoke about their truth.

"Any thoughts?" The deputy spoke up.

"Yes, uh," Isaiah's hand hovered over a title. The dark brown text made the title barely visible, but he pulled the book from the shelf, "This is a western story, it's called, The Dog Crusoe and his Master, by R. M. Ballantyne."

"A western? As in?" Deputy Seth asked, taking hold of the book.

"From what I've heard, it's a story about cooperation between the settlers and the natives. It was one of the top sellers in the previous years."

"Hm," Deputy Seth flipped through the book, before smacking it into his palm, "I'll buy it."

. . .