Pt2 fin thus far

Katie!” he’d holler. “Katie! The damn thing jist shit again all over the damn carpet and I got a meetin’ in half an hour. Katie! Come’n clean your damn dog’s shit from the carpet! Katie!”
He kicked Fresco once. Right in front of me. Well I was never madder, but I wasn’t mad enough to do nothing other than crying and hugging Fresco. The mean man shouldn’t a done that to you, Fresco. The mean man damn well shouldn’t a done that to you. And I’d hug him and kiss his ears and he’s know that he was loved.
Once the law came and visit daddy, somethin’ bout some escaped prisoners seen roaming on horses near the tent. Daddy hated the law and said to them: “Even if I seen your damn niggers I ain’t gonna tell you bout it. Godless flatfoots. You take your badges and shove ‘em right up the place you can’t get your wives to eat and shit ‘em out the next day after mornin’ coffee.” Then he spit on the ground and the lawmen let him be ‘cause they wasn’t partial on getting on God’s bad side. I did see one of them prisoners the next day, up past the hill eastward, and he just looked at me and smiled like he knew daddy had saved his hide and when he tipped his hat I curtsied as a joke like and he threw his head back laughin’ and when he trotted away past the hill I never seen or heard from him again, but sometimes I wish I had just known his name so I could write poems about him.
Daddy was interested in purchasing some land then and saw an advertisement offering eighty acres near Deming for three-hundred and twenty dollars. That old Native land was going cheap and the interstate made so it looked like it could be a real place to “set down some roots and save some souls” as daddy said. He never told me as to why he got sick of the tent, just that it was time to “set down roots”.
“Lumber. Blue. None of that adobe crap. Cen ye see it now, Katie? God’s puttin’ it into my mind. The sun’ll shine coloured through the stainglass while the wrens sing from the rafters.”
Daddy’s church was just as beautiful as he made out. Outside was a sign readin’: “JESUS DIED FOR YOUR SINS. THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH. REPENT NOW.” Soon enough he built himself a flock with all the trappings of civilisation. Out of the desert the men wore dark suits and polished shoes and the women dressed themselves in blouses and gloves and had feminine hats like I wasn’t used to seein’. They still held their hands up: “Praise Jesus!”. The only difference was they weren’t dirty, at least not the kind of dirty a bath can resolve. These were votin’ people. Government jobs people. Oil people get mad. Probably the sun gets to their brains.
I first seen Billy Milligan not too long after daddy got his church built.