Chapter 3

As the horse leaped forward, the sudden jolt tossed Matt out of his seat. His stomach vaulted toward his throat. He groaned, still woozy from Damen’s hotshot. He felt like he might be sick, and he didn’t want to lose it again in front of this beautiful and funny lady. He crawled back into the opposite seat with Juan, facing forward across from the unusual woman.

“‘Ey man,” Juan said, laughing. “Card dealer you are; coordinated you’re not.”

The coach unexpectedly stopped cold, and for a second time Matt was hurled back down onto the hard carriage floor.

Miss Guided shook her head, then laughed. “Oh, Mr. Matt, yer exterior color looks like the interior of a cow udder. Are ya preparin’ ta recycle yer lunch?”

When has anyone ever seen the inside of a cow’s udder? Juan looked back down to his feet where Matt had fallen again. He shook his head and laughed. What a klutz!

The woman held the handle and opened the pink door. “Follow me, boys. We’re here. Mr. Matt, it’s time ta stop snoozing on the floor. We’ve arrived; let's stir.”

“‘Ey man,” Juan said doubtfully. "How could we be anywhere? We just left. It’s been two seconds. Damen will be ready. He’ll have Carlos hurt us bad for leaving.”

“Don’t fret, Mr. Juan. We’re safe.”

Juan still didn't believe her. He looked out the window flap and saw that, in what seemed like only two seconds, the buggy had left the city and was now in the country.

Miss Guided opened her miniature blue bag and pulled out a three-foot metal cane with a sharp hook. She handed the cane to Matt. “Please accept this, Mr. Matt. It’ll support ya for gettin’ about. It also smarts if ya bash a bone.”

Juan watched the long cane come from this weird-talking woman’s little four-inch purse. Convinced he knew this trick, he told her, “‘Ey man, I can do that. You have one of those telescoping magic canes.”

He grabbed the cane and was stunned to find it was a solid aluminum rod with a sharp hook.

He sputtered, “But? But? ... Guided, Miss Guided. How did you do that? It’s solid metal. How did you get this big cane out of that little thing?”

She took the cane back and handed it to Matt. She shoved them onward and answered, “There's a hole in the bag, and I keep it in there. Now, we’ve work ta do, so let's move on.”

Matt took the cane. He was surprised to feel how light but solid it was. She’s right, he thought with a nod. It would hurt bad.

He looked over at the strange woman and said, “Thanks, Miss Guided.”

“Come on now, boys. Matt, do you mind if I take your hand and give you a little help? It’s a mite bit bumpy with gopher holes out here on the road.”

Matt’s blood rushed at the feel of her soft hand. “No, not at all.” He held the cane in his other hand as he walked beside the woman. “Where is this place?”

“This is my cozy little domicile. It was an abandoned schoolhouse that came up for transaction, so I purchased it. Mr. Matt, we are poised in front of a little hill. It’s encircled by wonderful red oaks, and on the top of the hill is my little old one-room schoolhouse.” She pointed off to the side of her school. “And over yonder is Seraphim’s stable yard.”

The schoolhouse was painted red side-slab. Outside, some chickens strolled about, pecking and scratching. Miss Guided let go of Matt's hand and hiked up her skirt, and the young men followed her up the steps toward the door and into the archaic building. Once inside, Matt tipped over a chair and a table, and then ran right into an old pot-bellied stove.

The angel shook her head. “Mr. Matt, would ya please refrain from redecorating my school? Now, please come take a load off yer dawgs and have a seat by this nice warm fire.”

She led him over to an old blue school bench in front of a flaming fireplace. Matt sat down, wondering who started the fire.

“This is my school,” she told them. “Ya both will be safe here. We’re gonna rest a spell, change, then Mr. Matt, tomorrow ya start trainin’. Tonight ya both sleep with Seraphim. Tomorrow we get started. Now m ake yourselves cozy while I make ya’ll some vittles. But first I need ta feed and put Seraphim away. ”

Juan watched the offbeat lady go out a back door, then he walked over next to Matt and sat down. He stared over at the fire ¾ the flames felt warm, peaceful, and safe. At least until Big Lew finds us, he thought.

The door slammed. “I’m back, boys, and ready ta start fixin’ something for ya’ll ta eat.”

Matt was still trying to catch on to Miss Guided’s off-kilter accent. “What are ya ... fixin’?”

“Well, Mr. Matt, I’m gonna fix ya’ll one of my fancy new dishes.”

Where Juan grew up there were many days he dined in someone else’s trash. So whenever there was food, he always took it.

He asked eagerly, “And what is this favorite dish?”

“Well, Mr. Juan, for appetizers, I’m gonna whip up an old John the Baptist favorite, live grasshoppers dipped in molasses. And for the main course, I’m preparin’ a vat full of varmint soup.”

“Varmint soup?” Juan asked wide-eyed. “Did you say varmint soup? What kind of varmints?” He couldn't tell whether the strange lady was serious or just talking weird.

“Oh, for my varmint soup I use whatever the dawg lugs in.”

Matt began to feel sick again. He turned to Juan and asked, “What did she say?”

“I’m still working on her talk,” Juan replied. “All I can imagine is a pot full of board-stiff, Firestone-treaded cats, rabbits, and armadillos.”

Matt’s stomach was still queasy from the drugs. “And if we skip dinner, is there any dessert?”

Smiling, Miss Guided said, “Oh yes, boys. I'm gonna create somethin’ really scrumptious. This morning I heaved a fresh pig and pooch in the freezer.”

Juan cocked his head inquisitively and said, “‘Ey Magoo —”

Miss Guided gazed into Juan’s brown eyes. She shook her head and scolded, “Talk nice now.”

“Oh, sorry, McCain. Calling you Magoo is just a bad habit.”

Matt was starting to catch on to this funny lady. He could feel a laugh coming their way. He asked, “Lady, what the heck could you possibly make with a frozen pig and pooch?”

“Yeah?” Juan asked. “Besides trouble from the animal rights wackos?”

With a grin, she answered, “I'm makin’ some hog-n-dawgs ice cream.”

Juan laughed and poked Matt with his elbow. “She’s a scream!”

For the third time in as many years Matt felt like laughing. This comical woman cracked him up. Maybe he was finally in the company of someone who would help him change his life. And, if she looked like the woman in his dream, he was positively going to like the change.

But on further reflection, Matt remembered he was only a McCain ... and a Loser McCain at that. There was no way his situation would ever change. However, at least now he had a new confidant. Juan was in the same miserable predicament he was in. The sickening part was that Matt knew his grandfather Lucas the Loser put Juan there.

Matt sure wished he could at least get rid of the despicable slave camps. But that would never happen. He couldn’t do anything against the rich powerful Cyphers. He was just a skinny, blind card dealer. A feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him.

Juan had never seen any joy on Matt's face until just now. The guy’s eyes lit up for a moment, but just as quickly filled with sadness and despair. Everyone Juan knew despised and hated the McCains, and Juan would never before have considered doing anything for a Lucas the Loser relative. But now if he could do something to help the poor, blind man ... maybe for once he'd consider the idea.

Matt and Juan looked at each other and shook their heads. Juan said, “Lady, you got us again.”

“Yer on ta me,” she said with a snicker. “Ya knew I was just ribbing’ ya about the hogs and dogs.”

“Yeah.” Juan decided the three earlier burgers should get him through the night. “Thanks, lady, for the varmint soup offer. I’m sure it's finger-lickin’ good. But, for now, we’ll just go crash.”

Matt gave another weak laugh.

“Come on, boys,” the lady said. “Follow me.”

Miss Guided led the lads back to the barn and up to some piles of hay. “Here ya are, boys. Snatch yourself a pile and get some rest. Now please trust me, boys. For a fleeting spell ya can lay yer fears aside.” As she closed the barn door, she said, “See ya at sunup.”

Juan pondered the strange things that had happened this day. My life is going to change big time. But, he wondered, will it finally be for the better this time? Fat chance of that.

Exhausted, Matt flopped down onto the hay, at peace for the moment. He wondered, Who is this woman? And why did she decide to help me? Could it be my frantic prayers?

He bent and loosened his high-top sneakers. He peeled off his dirty, discolored, three-year-old high school jacket and threw it aside. He lay down on the hay, fatigued from the drugs and his strange rescue. Darkness finally crept in, and for the first time in years, Matt McCain fell into a peaceful sleep.

###

At daybreak the following morning, after a breakfast of biscuits and bacon, the angel and the two men sat around the table skimming the newspaper.

Miss Guided said, “Keep shovelin’ in that protein, Mr. Matt. A ll those years of self-destruction has taken a toll on yer body and mind.” She pinched his bony arm. “Mr. Matt, we positively need some bulk on them toothpicks ya call arms, and ya don’t make omelets without bustin’ several eggs. Learnin’ martial fighting facilities will be the solution for those skinny bones. As for yer gray matter in yer shaggy head, I haven’t even used half my brains yet, and I’ll be delighted ta share my other half with ya.”

Matt yawned. “Thank you! ... I think.”

“Now, boys, i t’s a pretty far piece, so we’ll get trottin’ before sun. I got ta feed, slop, milk, and then we’ll tote ourselves on down into town.”

Juan was exhausted from the short night and early-bird rising but not too worn to grasp what she said. He asked, “Tote? Does that mean walk?”

“My-my-my,” Miss Guided said with a strong shake of her head. “Ya don’t understand what I mean by tote. If we weren’t so pressed for time, I’d sit ya down and we’d meditate on some books. I’d tutor ya on a study of the three R’s.”

Matt rubbed his tired bloodshot eyes and asked, “What three R’s?”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “Why, readin’, ritin’, and r-thritis. Those who don’t study their literature and Holy Book end up becoming a dawg-catcher, jailbird, or the like.”

Arthritis? I don’t think that starts with an R , Matt thought with a weak chuckle.

“Hold it! Back up,” Juan said. “How far is this little tote?”

“It’s not too far. About eight miles, take or give one. Now spark up yourselves a little goose-gumption, boys.” She tapped the paper. “Now we’ll first visit this Murphy’s Butcher Shop and Karate School. Ya’ll learn ta beat, chop it up, and eat it. Ya’ll also need ta learn how ta blend in.”

She pointed to an advertisement: ‘Lamb’s Players Theater holding auditions.’ I called; we have a 10 AM interview.” She looked at Juan and asked, “Do ya want ta halt Big Lew Cypher once and for all? Are ya with us? Gonna be tough!”

“Cypher will find us for sure.” Juan shook his head. “He’ll kill us.”

“Yer observance is true. Mr. Cypher and his son strike a fair picture of the most terrible of human society. But have faith. Not at my school, Mr. Juan — here yer safe.”

Juan hesitated. “I guess,” he finally said. “Okay. Yeah, I’ve been wanting out for years anyway. Those Cyphers are sick!”

Miss Guided moved to Matt and lifted his chin. “And Mr. Matt, yer mind declares?”

“I’ll do anything not to deal anymore and to get my dad free from those evil people! John Cypher stabbed my great gram through the heart with a dagger and then he stole their ranch. I also think they had something to do with burning my eyes. I hate them!”

“That’s so sorrowful, Mr. Matt. But in order ta grasp yer desire ta halt that wicked Lew Cypher, ya must first be willin’ to overcome yer visual hindrance. It’s a hefty obstacle, but not insurmountable, and I know ya have it in ya. Let me tell ya about a legend, about a fellow whose music I love. His name was Beethoven. He was as good as deaf and burdened with constant sorrow. Yet he had a notion and created some of the prettiest symphonies ya’ll ever lay an ear too. He would press his ear ta the piano and would bash the chords with such force the vibrations permeated through his head. That’s called perseverin’, Matt. Now ya got Lucas’ blood blastin’ through yer veins. Lucas might have fallen for a snooker, but he was faithful. And faithfulness is the most long-term, fruitful thing ya can have.

“Yeah right,” Matt said, ashamed of his relative. “How can you know anything about Lucas the Loser?”

“Let me tell you the story,” the angel said. It was a hot July day ..."

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