orphan moon (the orphan moon trilogy book...
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Contents
TitlePagePraiseforOrphanMoonDescriptionCopyrightDedicationChapterOne-September27,1860ChapterTwo-September26,1860ChapterThree-September27,1860
ChapterFour-Tuesday,October16,1860ChapterFive-September27,1860ChapterSix-October20,1860ChapterSeven-September27,1860ChapterEight-September27,1860ChapterNine-October26,1860ChapterTen-November3,1860
ChapterEleven-November13,1860ChapterTwelve-November15,1860ChapterThirteen-November16,1860ChapterFourteen-November26,1860ChapterFifteen-November26,1860ChapterSixteen-November29,1860AcknowledgmentsANoteFromtheAuthor
AbouttheAuthor
ORPHANMOON
By
T.K.Lukas
BookOneoftheOrphanMoon
Trilogy
ChevalierPublishing
PRAISEFORT.K.LUKAS’S
ORPHANMOON
“Highlyrecommended!Anexciting,breathlessreadwithwell-
developedcharactersandaplotthatkeeps
youguessing.”—Elizabeth
“Excellentread!Thestorygrabsyoufromtheverybeginningandkeepsyouwantingmore!”
—Aubrey
“Youshouldread
thisbook.Itisagreatstoryofovercominghardshipwithalove
storythreadedthroughoutlotsof
adventure.”—Ron
“Gritty,rawAmericanhistory…I
feltlikeIwasthere.LOVEthatinagood
novel.”—Gary
“Lovedthisbook!Grippingstorygrabsyoufromtheverystart.T.K.Lukasdoesanamazingjob
ofcreatingcharacters.Youlovethemorhatethembutyoufeellikeyouknowthemall.”
—Sherry
“Highlyrecommended.Theauthormakesthe
characterscomealivewithexquisitedetailsanddialog...IfeellikeIknowthem.Ican'twaitforthenext
bookintheseries!”—Beth
“T.K.Lukas'swritingreflectsthe
kindofmaturitythatwillshinemoreandmorewitheach
passingnovel.Kudostoher!”
—GrammarDowager
1860 - Palo Pinto, Texas:Under the spectacular glowof a Comanche moon, afamily is slaughtered, theirhomesteadtorched.
Nineteen-year-old BarleighFlanders survives theterrifying raid. Fiercelydetermined to rebuild, sheseizes an opportunity meantforanother.It'safoolhardy,reckless scheme. Desperate,near penniless, it's her only
hope.
Her grueling physicaljourney stretches fromTexas, toMissouri, and intothe rugged Utah Territory.However, it's her emotionaljourney that takes her toplaces of uncharteddarkness, discovery, andredemption.
In Hughes Levesque,Barleigh gains an unsought
ally with dark secrets of hisown.Ahiredgun,itbecomeshispersonalmission tokeepBarleighsafe.Doingsomaycosthimhislife,hisjob,andhisheart,noneofwhichhe'skeentolose.
Orphan Moon is a heart-wrenching saga of familylove,loss,andbetrayal.Botha gripping adventure and atimeless lovestory, itgallopsacross the bleeding edge of
thewesternfrontier.
Copyright©2015T.K.Lukas
Allrightsreserved.
Nopartofthisbookmaybereproduced,scanned,or
distributedinanyprintedorelectronicformwithoutthepermissionoftheauthor.
Pleasedonotparticipateinor
encouragepiracyofcopyrightedmaterialsinviolationoftheauthor’s
rights.
Purchaseonlyauthorizededitions.
ISBN-10:0-9962356-0-4ISBN-13:978-0-9962356-0-0
ChevalierPublishingNote:
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseither
aretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,
events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
Dedication
ForBaron,myhusband,myfriend,mylover,myreal-lifehero…
Yourunwaveringsupport
andencouragement—yourunshakable,never-endingbeliefinme—isthesourceofmystrength,myjoy,andmysmile.
I’mgratefulforyourlove.
CHAPTERONESEPTEMBER27,1860
HighupontheBrazosRiverridge,bare-chestedwarriorsonwar-paintedhorsesgatheredwithlances,bowsandarrows,andtomahawksinhand.Thefire-holder,theelderandreveredmedicineman,satastridehisdecoratedpintointhemiddleoftheassembly,hismount
indifferenttotheflamingtorcheshisridergrippedineachhand.Otherhorsesstompeduppuffsoffinecalichedustthatglitteredinthemoonlight.Onehundredormoreinstrength,theywaitedinpatientsurveillanceofthequietfarmhousebelow,whilethoseinthefarmhousewatchedthem.
Themooncastshadowswherethereshouldhavebeennone,asifthesun
insteadhadreachedfullbloom.Alonewhitestallionstoodonthehighestpointoftheridge,silhouettedagainstthesilverybackdrop,itsridersittingtall.Heheldhishandhighabovehishead,asifconnectingtosomelunarspirit.Hisarmdropped,thesignalwasgiven.Therockyridgecamealivewithhorsespouringovertheedge,slidingandtumblingdownthesteepslope,racingacrossthe
valley.Withterrifyingwarcriesfillingtheair,gyratingcirclesofmountedwarriorsconstrictedinanever-tighteningnoosearoundtheranch.
Brilliantarcsoflighteruptedinthenightskylikeblazingtracesofshootingstarsfallingfromtheheavens.BarleighFlandersstoodtransfixedinthebarricadedwindowofherbedroom,peeringthroughthegunport
asarrowsstreamingfireraineddownallaround.Dreadrootedherfeettothefloor.
Henry’shandsshookhisdaughter’sshoulders.“Runtothegoatshed,Barleigh.Getinthecellar.TakeBirdieandthebabyandAuntWinnie.Now!UncleJackandI’llgivecovertillwecanmakearunforit.”
“No,Papa.I’mstayingwithyou.”Barleigh
pickeduptheshotgun,thrustitthroughtheport.
“Don’targue,girl.Notimetowaste.Keepholdofyourgun—takeitwithyou.”
WinnieranoutofBirdie’sroomcarryingthebaby.Borntwodaysearlieronthefirstnightofthefullmoon,Barleigh’shalf-sisterwailedwithhunger.“Birdie’stooweaktorunorwalk.Havingthischildtookallofherstrength.”
Henryshoutedinstructionsasheshovedthemoutthebackdoor.“I’llcarryBirdiedowninaminute.Don’topenthehatchunlessyouknowit’sme.Hurrynow—run.”
Theyran,WinnieclutchingBirdie’sandHenry’sbaby,Barleightheshotgun.Noblethehoundboundedalongside,hisblackhairbristlinginalarm.Fromthebackofthehouse,pastthe
horsecorral,thentothegoatshed,theyracedtheroilingcloudofdustchurninginfromtheridge.Barleighthrewopenthesecrethatchinthefloor,andafterWinnieandthedogmadetheirwaydowntheangledearthensteps,sheslippedintothecooldarknessbelow.Henryhaddugthecellarandcraftedasecretdoorforitastheirhidingplacetoseekshelterfromdangerousweatheror
evenmoredangerousmen.“Hurry.Closethe
hatch,”Winniewhispered.Shebentforward,shieldingthebaby’stinybodywithherbroad,sturdybackashoovespoundedthegroundallaround,dirtsiftingdownontotheirheads.
“ButPapa’scomingwithBirdie.”Barleighpeekedoutthehatch,strainingtosee.Acavalcadeofhorsespassedinfrontoftheopendoorof
thegoatshed.Allshesawwerefasthoovesandpaintedlegs,butthatwasenough.Sheknewwhatwasabove.Shesecuredthelatch.
Inthesafetyofthecellar,theyclungtoeachother,thebabynestledbetweenthem.Thehugeblackdogsatonhishaunches,watchingthehatchwithakeenalertness,alowrumblesteadyinhisthroat.Bloodcurdlingcrieslingered
onthewind;thunderinghoofbeatsechoed;gunfireexploded,diminished,fadedaway,andthesharpsmellofthingsburningfounditswayunderground.
“Shh,shh....”Winniecradledthehungry,cryingbabyagainstheramplebosom,placingafingerinhermouthtohushit.“Bequiet,Noble,”shecommandedthecuriousdogthathowledinunison.
“Thenannygoatisjustoutsidethesheddoorinthepen,”Barleighsaid.“Icanmakearunforit.Grabthegoatandduckbackinside.Thisbabyneedsmilk.Birdiemaynot—”
“No.It’stoodangerousforyoutogooutside.I’llletthebabysucksomepeachnectaroffmyfinger.Canyoufindajarofpeachesinthedark?”
Thebaby’shunger
wasgreaterthanthenectar.Herwailingintensifiedintopiercing,balled-fistedspasms.WinnietiedaragaroundNoble’smuzzletokeephimfromjoininginagain.
“Weneedthatgoat.”Barleighcreptupthestepsandcrackedopenthehatch,herdeterminedblueeyespeeringoutside.Dreadfulnoisereverberatedinthedistance,butoverheadquiet
filledthedarkness.Shecrawledoutside,foundthemilkingstool,andwedgeditinplacetokeepthehatchproppedopen.
“Stayinthecellaronthestepswiththegunpointedoutthehatch,”BarleighsaidtoWinnie.“Don’tbeafraidtoshootifsomethingneedsshooting.IfIdon’tcomebackintwominutes,pushthemilkingstoolawayandboltthehatch.”
ThewordsechoedinBarleigh’smind.Don’tbeafraidtoshootifsomethingneedsshooting.Thosewerethewordsofherfather,Henry’spartingphrasewhenleavingBarleighattheranchalone,andthewordshe’dsaidwhenhe’dhandedherthenewshotgunthreemonthsearlieronhernineteenthbirthday.
“I’mnotafraidtoshoot,butIdon’tlikethis
plan.Ishouldbetheonegoingforthegoat.Youshouldbeinherewithyourbabysister.”Winniebrushedadirty-blondecurloffherworriedforehead,thewidestreaksofpre-maturegraymatchingthecolorofherequallyworriedeyes.
“You’rethemidwife.Youknowbabies.Iknowanimals.Icancatchagoat.”
“Allright.”Winniesighedthedeepsighofone
givingin.Sheplacedthebabyinabasketofragsandgrabbedtheshotgun.“I’mready.”
Clingingtothedarkness,pressingherbackagainstthewall,herthinframealmostasthinashershadow,sheinchedtowardthedoorthatledoutsidetotheattachedpen.Thenannygoatshouldbejustinsidethegatenexttothefeedtrough,shethought.
Barleighrushedtothegate,searching.Whereisshe?Shelistenedforamoment,makingoutthesoundoffaintbleating.Thick,chokingsmokehungintheair.Shecoughed,coveredhermouthandnosewithherhand,tryingnottomakeasound.Ignoringtheshoutedsongsoftriumphantcelebrationinthedistance,theeerieorangeglow,theflickeringlightfromfireburningallaround,
sheopenedthegate,groping,andmadeablindgrab.Herhandsettledonthegoat’sbellcollar.Thehappytinklingsounditmaderangloud.Barleighgrabbedthebrassclanger,snatchingitinherclutchedfisttoquiettheconvictingnoise.
Runningbackinsidetheshedwiththegoatinherarms,sheheardanoisecomingfrombehind.Sheturnedtoseethesilhouetteof
awarriorframedinthedoorway,adarkfigurebracedagainstthebackdropofflamesandsmoke.
Winniescreamed.Barleighdroppedto
theground,clutchingthegoattoherchest.Ashotgunblastsplittheair.ShelookeduptoseetheIndian,tomahawkraised,flyingbackward,withbloodspurtingfromaholeinhischest.Hefelltothefloor,dead.
HandingthegoatofftoWinnie,Barleighrolledhisbodyupagainstthewallandthencoveredhimwithemptyfeedbags.Shescatteredloosehayoverthetomahawkandthewidepoolofblood,fearfuloftheevidenceandthestorythatthescenewouldrevealtoanotherpassingby.
*****Theymilkedthegoat,takingturnslettingthebabysuckthestickysweetnessofftheir
fingers.Satisfied,sheslept.Takingarisk,Barleighlittheoillamp,dialedthewickdowntothelowestheightbeforeitextinguished,theflickeroflightallowingaquickreminderoftheirsurroundingsbeforeshesnuffedtheflame.
Birdie’spreservedfruitsandvegetableslinedtheshelves.Barleigh’spreservedthoughtsanddreamslinedherjournals,whichshekept
stackedbelowtheshelves.Shecountedeightboundbooks,oneeachyearbeginningwhenshehadturnedtwelve.Thecellarwasherwritingplace.Herdreamingplace.Herhidingplace.
Noblesatlikeasentinelguardingthehatchwhilethelittlegoatpaced.“I’msorry,NannyGoat,butifNoblewearsamuzzle,somustyou.”Thegoat’s
confusedbleatinghadgrownlouder,herfranticstridingmorevigorous.“Sorry.”
BarleighandWinnieatethejarofpeaches.Likethenervousgoat,theypaced.Winnieusedabucketofoldwashwatertorelieveherself.Itseemedasifthenightmightneverend,buteventuallyitstretchedintothequietstillnessofmorning.
“Ican’tstandthisany
longer,”Barleighsaid,thesilenceofthepreviousfewhoursbecomingtooheavy.“Ineedtoknowwhat’soutthere.IfPapaandUncleJackwereable,theywould’vecomeforusbynow.”
Winnienoddedagreement.“Yes.Jack—”Sheletthesentencetrailaway.
Theyascendedthesteps,crackedopenthehatch.Incontrasttotheviolent
chaosthatwasthenight,dappledsunlightbathedtheearth,songbirdssangtooneanother,andthepeacefulworldseemednormal.Barleigh’seyesadjustedtothemorning’slight.Shelookedaround...andrealizedherworldwouldneverbenormalagain.
Smokecurledfromtheashyheapwhereoncestoodthehorsebarn.Thecorral’scharcoaledplanks
sparkedinthebreeze.Whatlittlethatremainedofthehousestoodundertheprotectivearmsofasingedcottonwoodtree.Greenpearsgatheredthepreviousdayfromtheorchardsatpiledinbaskets,theshinyredpushcartsittingnexttowhatusedtobethekitchenporch.Thereinitsplacewasnowagapingblackholeopeningintothegutted,smolderinghouse.
“Oh,dearGod,”Winniecriedout,layingthebabyinthepushcartnexttothepears.SherantoJack.Hisbodylaysprawledandmotionlessontheground.Adozenarrowssproutedfromhischest,withalancesecuringhimfromevermovingfromthatpositionagain.Fromthewaistdown,hewasstrippedofclothes,hismostprivatepartsslicedoff.Winniereachedtoclosehis
eyes,hisgruesomedeathstarefrighteningtolookat,butitwasimpossible—hiseyelidswerecutaway,too.Stubby,bloodypalmswereallthatremainedofhishands,withallofhisfingersandthumbschoppedoff.And,fromeartoear,hisscalpwassawedfromhishead.
ThesightcausedBarleigh’sstomachtolurch.Shespunaway,fistedherhands,andpushedthemhard
againsthereyes.ThesoundofWinnie’ssoftvoicedrewherbackaround.
Winniewasonherknees,kneelingnexttoherhusband’sbody.“There,there,there.”Shesoothedhim,kissedhim,andcaressedhisbloodyface.Speakingtenderwordstohim,sheeasedhistrousersup,beltingthemwithgentlehands.
Theyremovedthearrowsfromhisbodybut
couldnotpullthelancefromhischest,sodeeplythespearwasimpaledintotheground.Together,leaningwithalltheirweightonit,breakingitoff,theymanagedtolifthisbodyoffthejaggedshaftembeddedintherockysoil.ThelancecaughtapieceofJack’sshirt,tearingit,keepingholdofit,andBarleighstartedtopullthefragmentofhisshirtfree.
“No!”saidWinnie,
sharply,emphatically,hereyesglazedandstaringattheflappingfabric.“Leaveit.Letitbeabanner.Thismarkstheplacewhereagoodmandied.”
*****TheygatheredasmuchofBirdie‘sandHenry’sremainsastheycould.TheircharredbodieswerefoundtogetherinthebedwhereBirdiehadgivenbirthjustdaysbefore.ItappearedasifHenrywasbent
overher,hisbodycovering,protecting,shieldinghers.AComanche’spiercinglanceaffixedthemtooneanotherforeternity.
Withtheirashyremainsfoldedtogetherinablanket,WinnieandBarleighcarriedthemtothegoatshedwheretheyhadpulledJack’sbody.ThedeadIndianwasdraggedoutoftheshedandleftforthescavengingvulturesalreadyhovering
overthepiercedandimpaledcattlecarcassesdottingthepastures.Theypiledstrawontopoftheirdead,snakingatrailoutside.Then,splashingkeroseneallaround,theytossedlitmatchesontothesoakedstraw,watchingasfireracedintotheshed.Theloudcrackle-popofthefuneralpyredrownedouttheirsobs.
Windgusted,stokingtheflamesintoafrenzy.Flakesofashdrifteddown,
thecrematedashesoftheirbeloved.Barleighturnedintothebreeze,tearsstreakingthegrimeonherface,thewet,ashymixtureseepingintoherpores,meltingintoherskin.SheimaginedapartofPapaandBirdieforeverbecomingapartofher,goingwithheralways.
Someashesflittedandtwirledhighintheair,blownintothelateSeptemberskybythefire’shotbreath.
“You’refreetoflyawaynow,Birdie,”shesaidastheashesswirledabovethetreetops.“YouandPapaarenowfreetobetogether.”
*****“Isthereanythingtosavefromthehouse?”askedWinnie.ShepickeduptheblackandredwovenNavahoblanketPapahadkeptonthefrontporchchair,shakingashesfromit,sniffingit,poundingithardagainstthe
railingbeforefoldingitoverherarm.
Whatcouldbesalvaged?Memories?“There’snotmuchleft.”Barleighwalkedouttothefrontporch,clutchingtwotintypephotographs.
“IrememberseeingyourpapawiththisblanketaroundhisshouldersthenightBirdiegavebirth,himpacingouthereontheporch.Themoonspotlightedhimlikean
actoronastageperformingforcactusandcattle.”Winnie’sdarkeyesappearedhollowandsunken,pulledinwardfromtheterror.Hergazedrifted,unblinking,totheBrazosRiverridge.
Barleighfollowedherstare.Itwasmorethancactusandcattlewatching,theybothknew.They’doverheardHenryandJackspeakofthegrowingnumberofwarriorsontheridgeeachnight.
HenryhadspottedthefirsthintofaraidingpartyonWednesday,thebeginningofthetimeoftheComanchemoon,thenightHenryandBirdie’sbabychosetoentertheworld.
“Ifoundthese,”Barleighsaid,showingWinniethetintypes.“Birdielooksalmostwhiteinthisone,don’tyouthink?”
Winnienodded,takingthephotographfrom
Barleigh’shands.“Shewasbeautiful.It’snowonderyourpapafellinlovewithher,despitethecircumstances.Iknowyoulovedher,too.”
“Yes.Ilovedher.Shewaslikeamothertome.”
LookingatBirdie’sphotograph,hersilkyblackcurlstoherwaist,herfinefeatures,heralmondeyes,waslikelookingatthenegativeimageofherself.Barleighhadlearnedata
youngage,though,nottoaskfoolishquestionsastowhyahalf-Negro,half-FrenchCajunslaveofhergrandfatherandshe,whosebloodwasIrishandFrench,sharedalikeness.
Thefewsalvageditems—twotintypes,Henry’sblackchurchhat,Birdie’sBible,andtheNavajoblanket—wereplacedintothepushcartalongwiththepears.Asmallload.Barleigh
marveledathowlittleshenowpossessed.Shethoughtaboutthingstakenforgrantedyesterday.Thedaybeforetheattack.Thedaybeforeherworldturneddark.Thedaybeforeherheartwasinflictedwithawoundsoseveresheexpecteditwouldneverheal.
ThecanopiedroadthatledeasttoWinnie’shousewasanarrow,rolling,anddustylane.Itwasatwo-hourrideonhorseback,an
hourinanemergency.Barleighhadwhittleditdowntolessthanthatthedayshe’dgallopedforhelpwhenWinnie’smidwiferyskillshadbeenneeded.Theywalkedinsilence.
Frombehind,anoisestartledthemfromtheirprivatethoughts.Jumpinglikefrightenedrabbitsintothewoods,pullingthecart,thedog,andthegoatinwiththem,theyhidbehinda
thicketofcedar.Shaking.Waiting.Peeringthroughbranches.Eachholdingtheirbreath.
ItwasBarleigh’shorse,Deal,withhisunmistakablewhinny.Hiswasnotahigh-pitchedwhinnybutadeep,throatyrumble—arat-a-tatgruntingmorelikethesoundofapersonclearingtheirthroat.Lame,limpingbadly,hisleftforelegboreazigzaggedgash
thattoredeepintothemuscle.Mostofthehaironhisrighthipwasburnedaway,leavingangryblackblistersonhisskin.Buthewasalive.
“Icanpoulticethosewounds,”saidWinnie.“Theinjuriesaresevere.They’lltakealongtimetoheal.Thescarswillbeugly,butthey’renotfatalwounds.”ShegaveBarleigh’shandsagentlesqueeze.
Dark,cloudythoughts
gatheredinBarleigh’smind.WasWinnietryingtoconveythatthesamewastrueforher?Thatherheart’swoundswouldhealbutwouldleaveuglyscars?Shedoubtedthatanyheartcouldsurvivewhathershadsuffered,fearinginsteadthatherheartwouldturntovapor.
*****EveryonefromPaloPintotoFortWorthcalledWinifredandJackJustin“Aunt
Winnie”and“UncleJack.”Barleighpretendedshewasherreallifeaunt.Sometimes,shepretendedWinniewasmore.Sometimes,Barleighcalledher“Momma”whensheknewWinniewouldn’thear,justtoseehowthewordsfeltfallingfromhermouth.
Sheneverknewherrealmother,andeachbirthdayBarleighcelebratedwasaguiltyreminderofthe
loss.ButshehadBirdie.Thoughshewaslikeamother,itwasforbiddenthatBarleighconsiderherasamother,orevenasfamily.AsimilewasallGrandfatherallowed.However,HenrychangedallthatafterGrandfatherdied.
“I’vemadeyoubreakfast.”Winnieputthecoffeekettleonthestove,thensatdown.
Barleighstaredatthe
foodonthetable,herstomachunsettled.“I’mnothungry.But...thankyou.”
“Atleastdrinksomemilk.”WinniegotupandpouredaglasswithoutwaitingforBarleightoanswer.“Youneedtoputsomethingintherebesidescoffee.”
“Thehorsesthatweren’tburnedaliveinthebarntheystole,exceptforDeal,whotheyleftfordead.
But,whydidtheyhavetokillthecattle?”Shepushedtheheelsofherpalmsagainsthereyes,tryingtorubawaythehorrificmemory.
Thebarnhadbeenfullofmareswithfoals.Barrenmares,stallions,andgeldingshadbeenseparatedandturnedouttopasturesandpaddocks.Allinthebarndied.Afewfleeinghorseshadbeenkilledinthemelee.Hundredsofcattlecarcasses
wereleftscatteredacrossthepastures,arrowsembeddedintheirsilverygrayhides,theirbrown-eyedvacantstaresgoingonforever.
“Theycangallopawaywithhorses.Cowsaretoodifficulttocontrol.Theyturnintoadangerousstampede.Theymaykeeponeortwoforfood.Butwhattheycan’ttake,theykillorburn.Orboth.”Winniestaredintohercoffee,slippingaway
tohersilentplace.Asilentplace—
Barleighlongedforone.Dayornighthermindscreamedoverthehorror—waking,sleeping.She’dopenhereyesandseeitallagain.She’dclosehereyes,andtheimageswouldremain.Ifitwould’vemadetheterriblevisionsstop,thememoriesfade,she’dhaveclawedouthereyesandfedthemtothedogs.
Barleighwanderedupstairstoherroom,leavingWinnietoherthoughts.WrappingtheNavajoblanketaroundhershoulders,shesatintherockingchairnexttothewindow,thephotographsofherpapaandBirdiedisplayedonthesill.Outsideinthepaddock,shewatchedherhorseashelimpedfeeblytowardthewatertrough,stoppingshort,thepainfromhiswoundstoomuchforhis
effort.Thesightwasherundoing.Itshatteredher,brokeherapart,andsheburiedherfaceintheblanketandwept.
*****Winniehadtakentowringingherhandswhenshetalked.“It’sbeentwoweekssinceIsentwordtomysons’regimentcommander.Surelyhe’llapprovetheirleave.JacksonandJonahwillbearthenewsonstrongshoulders.
Ifearit’llbehardestonlittleJeddy.”
“Whileyou’reinquiringatthemilitiaheadquarters,”saidBarleigh,watchingasWinniefrettedwithherhands,“IwanttopayavisittoMr.Goldthwaiteatthebank.”
“Yes.Iunderstand.That’sanotherreasontoleaveyourbabysisterhere.WehavetoomuchtodoinFortWorth.”
“ButI’mworried—”“Esperanzaiscapable.
Shehelpedraisemythreeboys.Nowdon’tgolookingatmelikeI’msuggestingyouleaveherforayear.It’llbeoneday.She’sbetteroffherewithEsperanza.”
“I’mallshehasinthisworld.Whatifsomethinghappens?”
“There’snoneedtoworry.She’llbefine,”saidWinnie,windingand
unwindingherhands.“It’snogoodluck,a
babygoingthislongwithnoname,”Esperanzasaid.“Tonocallherbyherownnamecannobegood.”Shebentandliftedthebabyfromthecradle.
BarleighlookedatWinnie,panicked.ShehaddreadedthethoughtofherhavingbeenbornunderaComanchemoon,hadfearedwhatbadomenthatmayhave
foretold.Whatkindofmisfortunehadsheaddedtothat,bynotnamingher?“HaveIbroughtherbadluck?”
“No,”saidWinnieemphatically.“Butshedoesneedaname,nomatterthereason.Whathaveyouconsidered?”
“Ihaven’tconsideredanything.You’reamother.You’regoodatthesekindofthings.”
“Inamedthreeboys.She’syoursister.Youshouldhavethehonor.”
BarleightriedoutafewcombinationsinherheadasshewatchedEsperanzateaseasmilefromthebaby’smouthwithawarmbottle.ShewantedsomethingthatwouldremindherofBirdieandofherPapa.
“Starling,forBirdie,andHenrietta,forPapa.Whatdoyouthink?”
“StarlingHenriettaFlanders.That’sperfect.”WinnietookthebabyfromEsperanza.“Starling,younowhaveabeautifulname.”
*****WhentheyarrivedinFortWorth,thetownwasanaxisofexcitement,folksjoinedinanimatedconversationsabouttheupcomingpresidentialelectionthreeweeksandonedayaway.Barleighonceentertainedopinionsabout
suchmattersaspolitics.They’dseemedimportantwhenherpapahadengagedherinspiriteddebates.She’dhavearguedthattheRepublicanAbrahamLincolnwouldmakethebestleader,eventhoughmanyinTexasfavoredtheNorthernDemocrat,StephenA.Douglas.However,herfocusonthisdaywaswhatshehadtodotorebuildherranch.
Barleighhurried
towardthebank,ahandkeepingherhatfromblowingawaywhilethegustywindflutteredherskirts.Shereacheddowntostraightenthem,andasshedid,shenoticedapieceofpaperbeingcarriedaloftonthebreeze.Itsettledatherfeetasthewindblewitselfout.Shesawthatitwasanadvertisement.Pickingupthepaper,sheread:
WANTED.Young,skinny,wiryfellows.Notovereighteen.Mustbeexpertriders.Willingtoriskdeathdaily.Orphanspreferred.Wages$25PerWeek.
Apply:PonyExpressStables,SaintJoseph,Missouri
It’stoobadI’mnotafellow,shethought,foldingthepaperandtuckingitintoherpocketasshesteppedthroughthebank’sheavy,barreddoors.
Mr.Goldthwaitewascordial,escortingherintohisoffice,offeringsincerecondolencesonthedeathofherfatherandofJackJustin.HenevermentionedBirdie.Then,hepropositionedher.
“Yourfather,”he
explained,tobaccojuicestainingthecornersofhismouth,“wasnobusinessman.Hewasabreederoffineequines,aknowledgeablecattleman,buthelackedbusinessacumen.Myself?I’manastutebusinessman,quitecleverwithstretchingthedollar.”Hewinked.
Sherememberedfromwhatseemedalifetimeago,althoughithadbeenonlyfiveyearspast,herinitial
encounterwiththismanthefirstnightthey’dmadeittoFortWorth.She,herpapa,grandfather,andBirdiehadlefttheGulfCoastbehind,hadspentthreelongweeksinacoveredwagonbeforereachingtheFort,andsherecalledhisinclinationatexpressingsignificantmeaningthroughthedramaticblinkingofoneeye.Shestillfoundthepeculiarhabitannoying.
“Icametoyouforadvice,Mr.Goldthwaite,”shesaid,herhandsfoldedinherlap.“Myplanistorebuildtheranch.”Sheenvisionedasmallbarntostart,thenaserviceablehouse,addingafewbreedinganimalsasshecould.
“Mydeargirl,”hesaid.“WhenIheardaboutyourtragedyfromCaptainGoodnight,Istraightawayinspectedyourfather’s
accountandIwentoverhislegalpapers.Viahiswill,you’veinheritedoutrightallofyourfather’sestate.Thatmeansallofthedebtsaswellasalloftheassets.”
“Idon’tbelievemyfatherhadanydebts.Hiscustomwastopaycashforeverything.”
“Heownedtheranchoutright,freeandclear.However,heletaccruethetaxesontheproperty.Last
yearitwastooffsetthepurchaseofbreedingheifers.Thisyearitwastooffsetthepurchaseofthosefancythoroughbredsyourlategrandfatherwassofondofandyourfather,er,latefather,likedtouseforbroodmares.”
Aweedypanicbegantotakeroot.“Can’tyouusethemoneythat’sintheaccounttopaythetaxes?GetthemcaughtupuntilIcan
findawaytoearnsomemoney?”Letthetaxesaccrue?WhywouldPapadothat?
“Ihaveanideaonhowwecantakecareofthetaxes.”Mr.Goldthwaite,inhiswrinkledgraysuitwithsilverwatchfobdanglingtoolowfromhisvestpocket,waddledfromhisdeskandstoodbehindherchair.Hisstumpy,liver-spottedhandsmassagedhershouldersina
fashiontoofamiliarforcasualacquaintances.
“I’malonelyman.Imisshavingawife,Godresthersoul.Imissthepleasuresthatawifeaffordsaman.”Hemassagedharder,hisfingersworkingforwardanddownwardfromhershoulders,brushingoverherchest.
Ared-hotblushblossomedonherface.“Mr.Goldthwaite!Pleasestop
what—”“Ifyou’dconsentto
myproposalofmarriage,”hesaid,plungingahead,“wellthen,I’msureIcouldpersuadetheboardoftrusteestograntyouanextensiononthetaxes,inlightofyourrecenttragedy.”
Herbodyshudderedwiththeabsurdity.“Marriage?Asin,memarryyou?”
“Ofcourseonce
married,I’dtransferyourlandtomynameinorderthatyou’dnothavetoworryaboutthetaxesinthefuture.Asyourhusband,I’dtakecareofallthatbusinessnonsenseforyou.I’dgiveyouahandsomeallowance,ofcourse,tobuyyourselfprettylittlethings.”
Sheunfoldedherhandsfromherlap,clutchingthearmsofthechairinawhite-knucklegrip.“Mr.
Goldthwaite,yourofferisgenerous,but,Iprefertotakecareofmattersmyownway.Now,pleaseremoveyourhandsfrommyshoulders.”
“MissFlanders,takesometimetothinkaboutmyoffer.You’restillgrieving.Giveseriousconsiderationtotheoptionsandtheconsequences.”
“Consequences?”“Particularlytothe
consequences.”Heleanedin,
whisperinghissourbreathinherear.“Takeuntilthebeginningoftheyearwhentaxesaredue.Januarymaycomearoundandcauseyoutoseethingsinadifferentlight.Bytheway,yourfather’saccounthasalittleovertwohundredandfifty-sevendollarsleftinit.Taxespastandpresentamounttofourhundredandsixdollars,giveortake.”
Barleigh’sheartfeltas
ifitmightpoundfromherchest.Herthroatconstrictedandburnedassheswallowed,tryinghardtopushdowntherisingswellofpanic.“Ipledgeallthemoneyinmyfather’s,Imean,inmyaccount,towardtaxesowed.I’llhavetheresttoyoubytheendofJanuary.”
“MissFlanders,youdorealizethatthisbankcanforecloseonyourpropertyfordelinquenttaxesandsellthe
landtosatisfythedebt?Consequences.”Hekneadedhershouldersharder.
“Mr.Goldthwaite,youdorealizethatyoucandieamiserabledeathandrotinhell?”
Sheshovedawayfromthechair,sendinghimtotteringandstumblingbackward,andthenmarchedoutofhisoffice.Betweenhisembarrassingactionsandherownsurprisingwords,a
pricklyheatblushedhercheeks.Withasmuchdignityasshecouldmuster,sheleftthebank,headhigh,andelbowedherwaydownthecrowdedsidewalk,somehowmanagingtoreachthealleybeforelosingthecontentsofherstomach.
Reachingintoherpocketforahandkerchief,herhandinsteadcameoutwiththeadvertisementshe’dfoundearlier.Withthepaper
unfolded,shereadthewordsagain,thewritingseemingtojumpofthepage.Shewasyoung,skinny,andwiry.Onlyslightlyovereighteen.Anexpertridersinceachild.Willingtoriskdeath?Forsuchgenerouswages?Yes.Shequalifiedasanorphan,inthetechnicalsensethatbothparentswerenowdead.Therewasonlyoneconspicuousconcern.Shewasnotafellow.
Refoldingthepaperandtuckingitintoherpocket,shesetofftofindWinnie.
Deepwithin,wherepretenseandtruthcometogetherinabattleofwits,sheknewthiswaybillwasmeanttofindher.Thegodswhogovernthewindsdepositedthispaperatherfeet.Angelsscootedittowardherviaagentlecurrentfromtheirflutteringwings.Someinvisibleforceintheuniverse
slowedtheearth’sorbitlongenoughforthistocatchuptoher.Anytheory,plausibleornot,fit,becausesheknewthiswasheranswer.Thiswasherhope.Sheknew,withoutadoubt,thiswasherdestiny.
***** Clutchingthepapertightlyinherhands,Barleighreviewedherthoughts,gettingherideasinorder.Thekettleofcoffeeshe’dmadeearlierasshewaitedfor
Winnietocomedownforbreakfastwashalfgone,aswereherchewed-offfingernails.
Winnieyawnedassheshuffledintothesun-filledkitchen.“Goodmorning.You’reupearly.”
“Ihaven’tslept.”“Areyouhungry?I
canfixpancakes.”Sheshookherheadas
sheheldoutthepaper,releasingthebreathshe’d
beenholding.“IwanttoshowyouwhatIfoundyesterday,orwhatfoundme.ThisishowI’mgoingtosavemyland.”
OntheirreturnfromFortWorththedaybefore,BarleighhaddisclosedtoWinniewhatshe’dlearnedfromMr.Goldthwaiteaboutherfinancialsituation,thetaxesdue,andherfather’sapparentmishandlingofhismoney.She’dpurposely
omittedthethingsthatinducedhertoblush.
Winnietookthepaper,studiedit,andthenhandeditback.“Itsaysthey’relookingforyoungskinnywiryfellows.Fel-lows,”shesaid,elongatingeachsyllableassheputteredaroundthekitchen,Starlingsoundasleepinhercribbythewindow.“You,Barleigh,whileyoung,skinny,andwiry,couldneverpassasa
fellow.It’sacrazyidea.Putitoutofyourhead.We’llthinkofsomethingelse.I’llsellanothercow.”
“You’veonlyfourcowsleftandstillhavedairycustomerstothinkof.”
“Withallthemenandboysleavingtojointhearmy,mydairybusinesshasallbutdriedup.Forcryingoutloud,we’llcomeupwithsomethingmorelogicalthanyoupassingyourselfoffasa
fellow.”“Logicbedamned!”
Barleighthrewahandoverhermouth.“I’msorry,AuntWinnie.Ididn’tmeantocurseatyou.”SheranoverandwrappedherarmsaroundWinnie.“We’dneedtosellawholeherdofcowstocomeupwithenoughmoney.Thisisallthereis.”
“IwishIhadaherdlefttosell.I’dgivethemalltoyou.”
Barleighheldtheadvertisementup,readingagainthewordsthatwerewrittenforher.“It’sdestiny,thispaperfindingme.”
Winniepointedtothesleepingbaby.“Yourdestiny’scurledupinthatcrib.It’sfollytothinkthatthatadvertisementisyourdestiny.Folly.Pureandsimple.”
*****Laterthateveningasthedark
housegrewquiet,Barleighlayinbedinthedisconcertingarmsofanothersleeplessnight.Tossingandturning,agauzyvisioncreptin.Stealthy,itsettledagainstherlikeasecretfriend.Wrappedaroundher.Tookshape.Formed.Warmedher.Urgedher.Inspiredher.Sheunderstoodwhatshemustdo.
SheslidoutofbedandtiptoeddownstairstowhereWinniekepther
midwiferykit.Takingthescissorsinonehand,theotherhandholdingherhairoutstraight,shecut.Chopped.Whacked.Madeanothercut.Thegrowingpileofchestnutcurlsonthefloorlookedlikeasmallsleepinganimal.
Rummagingthroughachifforobe,shefoundsomeclothesthatmusthavebelongedtoJeddy,Winnie’syoungestson,closeenoughtohersize.Shepulledthemon.
Smudgingthelowerhalfofherfacewithcoal—justalittle—theshadowhintedatthebeginningsofaboy’sfirstbeard.Withabitofingenuityandeffort,she’dtransformedfromBarleighFlanders,nineteen-year-oldlandowneranddebtoroftaxes,intoBarFlanders,not-over-eighteen-year-oldorphanboy,soontobePonyExpressrider,andwillingriskerofdeath.
Sheputonherpapa’s
blackchurchhat,anditfelloverhereyes.Stuffingtheinsidebrimwithrolled-uppaperkeptitinplace.Themirroronthechifforobereflectedherpassingimageasshestrolledby,stealingglances.Witheachpass,shetriedtoblendhernewreflectionwithhermind’simageofhowherpapawalked.
Assoonasthesmellofcoffeewafteduptoher
room,sheambleddownthestairs,thumbshookedthroughbeltloops,eyeshalfconcealedwithlow-pulledhat.Shesneakedaroundthekitchenwiththecautionofanimposter,tryingtostitchhershadowtohernewboy-self.
Winnieforkedbaconandeggsontoaplate,herbackturnedasBarleighstoodbehindher.Clearingherthroat,andwithherdeepest,mostmasculinevoiceshe
couldsummon,shesaid,“I’lltakemycoffeeblack,thankyou.”
“MyGod,”Winniegaspedasshespunaround,ahandclaspedoverherheart.“ForasecondIthoughtitwasoneofmyboys.”
“Butyouknewitwasme.”Sheploppeddownontoachair.Exasperated,heavingafrustratedsigh,shetossedherpapa’shatontothetable.“Istayedupallnight
practicingmyvoiceandmypersona.Ihavetobecomeaboy.”
“AndIstayedupallnightlastnighttoo,worryingthatyou’dbedoingexactlythat.”Winniesighed.“Whatyou’reproposingtodoisirrational.It’sgoingtobenearimpossiblerollingarockupamountainsosteep.”
“Nearimpossible.Notimpossible.”Sheranherfingersthroughherchopped-
offhair,theshortnessofitmakingherblueeyesappearlargerinherface.“Please,AuntWinnie?Helpmewiththis?”
Winnietwistedandrubbedherhandstogether,hershouldersliftingandfallingwitheachdeepsigh.“It’srashandfoolishandI’llnodoubtlivetoregretthis.”Shesighedagain.“Thefirstthingwehavetodoisfixthathairofyours.Bringmemy
scissors,child.”Barleighthrewher
armsaroundWinnie’swaist.“Thankyou.I’dlivetoregretitifIdidn’ttry.”
WinniesettoworkgivingBarleigh’shairaproperboy’scutasshehaddoneforhersonsandherhusband.“There.Muchbetter.Now.Thetoneofyourvoicewasn’tbad,butIknewitwasyoubythewayyoustood.Ifyou’regoingtobea
boy,youhavetostandwithyourlegsmoreapart,lessfussy,notso,um,notwithyourkneespressedclose,likeyou’rehidinganimportantsecretbetweenthem.”Winnieletoutaheartylaugh.
Barleighstartedlaughing,too,andthelaughtercarriedthemawayforamoment.Dryinghereyes,shesaid,“Thatfeltgood.Laughing.It’ssomethingIusedtotakefor
grantedbutnowaddtomylistofthingsforwhichI’mgrateful.”
Winniedriedhereyesonthecornerofherapron.“Laughingandcryingbotharegoodforthesoul.”
Barleighthoughtaboutthatforamoment,thinkingshe’dratherlaugh.“WhatelsedoIneedtofix?”
“Well,thewayyou’resitting,alluprightwithyourpelvistiltedforward,back
arched.Boysdon’tsitlikethat.Sitbackonyourpockets,pelvisrolledbackandrounded,likeyou’recradlingararetreasureinyourlapofwhichyouaremostproud,butpretendcasualindifference.”
Theybothbustedoutlaughing.Snortingthroughnoses,tearsstreamingfromeyes,laughing.
“Andhow’smywalk?”Barleigh
demonstratedasshemovedfromthetabletothecoffeekettle.
“Toogirly.Turnyoursashayintoasaunter.Slowdownyoursteps.Yes,there,likethat.Andeverynowandthen,scratchyourprivatesandmakeareadjustment.Actasunintentionalaboutit,asifyou’reblowingyournose.”
Barleighfeignedshock.
Winnielookedather,
eyeswide.“What?”sheasked.“Ahusband,threeboys,anephew,andaslewofranchhands,andIcantellyou,that’swhattheyalldo.”Sheproceededtodemonstrate,exaggeratingeverynuance,thesauntering,thescratching,thereadjusting.
Barleighdoubledoveragaininlaughterthattookherbreathaway.Regaininghercomposure,shegrewserious.
“IfIleavetomorrowmorning,ridetoLittleRock,catchthestagetoSaintJoe,Icanbetherebytheendofthemonth.But,I’llneedtoborrowahorse.”
Winnie’sbrowwrinkledinconcernandshechewedherbottomlip.“Areyousurethisiswhatyouwanttodo?Onehundredpercentsure?”
“ThisiswhatImustdo.”
“Iwishtherewasawaytotalkyououtofthis,butIknowthere’snot.I’lltakegoodcareofthatbabysisterofyours,andyourhorse.Youdon’tworryaboutthat,Barleigh.”
“It’sBar.Fromthismomentforward,I’mBarFlanders.”
*****JournalEntry—Tuesday,October15,1860
Tomorrowmorning,IsetoffonmyjourneytoLittleRock,thenontoSaintJoseph,Missouri.Ihavethisnewjournal,(agiftfromAuntWinnie),threesharpenedpencils,aColtrevolverwithplentyofammunition,andagoodandsteadyhorse,eventhough
he’saslow,milkwagonhorse.But,heisaccustomedtoworkingallday.I’mcountingonDealbeingwellmendedbythetimeIcomehomeinJanuarytomakemytaxpaymenttothebank.Then,DealandIwillreturntoSaintJoe,continuetoridefortheExpress,thenwhensummercomes,
ridehomewithlotsofmoneyinmypockettobegintheprocessofbuildingahometoraisemybabysister.
Thisismyplan.
DestinydroppedthePonyExpressway-billatmyfeet.WhatIdowithitisbeyonddestiny—thenextpartisuptome.I’ll
holdfasttomydreamofsavingmylandandrebuildingtheranch,notthroughanactoffolly,butthroughhardworkanddetermination.I’llridefastandhardtoreachmydestiny’sreward.
Butfornow,sleepiscalling.Whatliesbeyonddestinyisablinkandanod
away.Yoursever
faithfully, Bar
Flanders
CHAPTERTWOSEPTEMBER26,1860
Likeagiant,hemovedacrosstheland,eachlongstrideclaimingownershipofthegroundbeneathhisboots.Accordingtotheyardstickthatmeasuresamaninfeetandinches,hestoodsixandtwo,butaccordingtothebenchmarkthatmeasuresamanagainsthispeers,
HughesLévesquestoodalone.
Theevening’sshadowsandthecoolingnightairmadeturningbacktowardSanAntonioaneasydecision.Hehaddepartedtherivertownearlierthatday,midmorning,halfsober,andfullycommittedtohismissionofpickingupafederalprisonerinFortWorthtoescorthimintothewaitingarmsofjusticeinAustin,
Texas.Hughes,leanandtaut
withmusclesfirmfromuse,slunghissaddleoverhisshoulderandstartedwalking.HefiguredhewouldmakeitbacktoSanAntoniobysun-up.Hehadn’tgoneveryfarbeforetheoldgeldingupanddiedonhim.Itwould’vebeenthoughtfulofhimtohavepickedabettertimethaninthemiddleofafullgallop,Hughesthought,rubbinghis
sorebackside.Hewalkedwithaslightlimpfromreceivingthefullimpactofhislandingonthehardscrabbleground.
Cloudsflittedacrossthesilverysliverofamoon,blottingoutthemeagerofferingoflight.Thetrailwasdimandwildlyinhabitedbycoyotesandothernocturnalcreaturesthatprowledintheshadows.Heknewhewasnotalone.He
wasbeingfollowed.Hughesshortenedhis
strideandemptiedhismindofdistractions.Heslowedhisbreathing,fillinghislungswiththepungentwarmthofthenight,takingnoticeofthenewsmellthathungheavyinthethick,humidair.Hedetectedthesmellofagroupofhorsesflankinghisright—morethanonemarewasinheat.Theridersworebuckskinleggings,justlike
Okwarausedto.Hughescouldn’tmistaketheodorofhorsesweatonoileddeerskinleather.
Okwara,theskillsyoutaughtmestillcomeinhandy,oldfriend.
Hiseyesdartedleftandrightinavisualsweepofthingsthatmovedintheshadows.Lyingtothesideofthetrail,abranchbrokenoffofamesquitetreeemergedinhisperipheralvision.Afresh
break.Hescoopeditupwithoutchanginghisstride,snappingoffalonggreenthornfromthebranchtopickatthedirtembeddedunderhisfingernails.
ThecallofanEasternScreechOwlcausedhimtoshakehishead—itshouldhavebeenthesoundofaGreatHornedOwlintheseparts.Acoyoteyipped.Anotheryippeditsresponse.Hughesconsideredthrowing
hisown“yip”tothewindtoseewhatmighthappen.Hetossedthemesquitethornaside.
Takingstockofhisweapons,hefelttheheftoftheWinchesterrepeatingriflehangingfromhisshoulder,designedbylongtimefamilyfriendBenjaminHenry.Itwasoneofthefirstmodelsproduced,andHughes’sfatherhaditengravedwiththefamilycrestanda
miniaturesceneoftheirsugarcaneplantationasaspecialgiftforhiseighteenthbirthday.Theengravingwasanicetouch,butitwasetchedwithguilt.HisfatherwouldhavetriedanythingtokeepHughesmarchinginhisfootsteps.
Thecarvedantlerhiltofhislargehuntingknifepressedagainsthislowerbackandwasconcealedunderhisvest,whilehis
favoriteknife,themuchsmallerRezinBowie,hekeptstrappedtohisleginsidehisrightboot.Itpinchedandchaffedwhenhewalked,butknowingitwastherecomfortedHugheslikeadoubleshotofwhiskey.Usuallyinthesaddleandnotwalkinglikesomefarmer,hecouldignorethemomentarydistress.
Bothofthe.44-caliberblackpowderrevolving
pistolsholsteredateachhipheldfullrounds,asdidhis.36-caliberNavyColt,whichhekepttuckedinsidehisvestinapockethiddeninthelining.Thesecretpocketwasmadeofredvelvet,craftedandsewninbyhisfavoritewhore,Lydia,whomhethoughtofeachtimehepulledonhisvestandtuckedinhispistol.
Hughesdroppedtothegroundonallfoursjustashe
heardtheunmistakablesoundofaropehissingandslicingthroughtheair.Hedodgedthefirstlasso,butthesecond,third,andfourthfoundtheirtarget.Yankedtotheground,hekickedlikeawildcat,buthisarmswereboundtighttohissides.Hescrambledtohisfeetbutwassnatchedbackdowntotheground,againandagain.
“Amanisnomatchforfourropes,Texas
Ranger.”Exceptforthewords“TexasRanger,”whichwerepronouncedwithperfectEnglishandpolishedwithasoftdrawl,therestwastheunmistakablegutturallanguageoftheComanche.
“Icountthreeropesonme,”saidHughes,speakingfluentComancheinreturn.“Thefirstwasthrowntoohighandtooquick.Icouldgiveyougirlssomelessonsonlassoing.Next
time,you’dneedonegoodropetotakedownyourmaninsteadofthreeorfour.”
Adarkfiguresittingonawhitehorserodeintoview,comingwithinabreathofwhereHugheslayontheground.Thehorsealmoststeppedonhim.Hughesdidn’tflinch.
Thebare-chestedriderworebeaded,fringedbuckskinleggings.Blackandredpaintevenlydividedhis
faceleftfromrightthroughthemidlineofhisstrong,straightnose.Hishorseboreredandyellowhandprintsoneachhip,themaneandtailadornedwitheaglefeatherstomatchthosewovenintherider’slongblackhair.
“Getup,TexasRanger.”
Hughesscrambledtohisfeet,thetightropesbitingintohisarms.Helookedaround,triedtoassesshow
manyfiguresonhorsebackhecouldsee.Fourthrowingropesathim,andtheoneonthewhitehorseinfrontmadefive.Notellinghowmanyotherswerehidingintheshadows.
ThemountedIndiansontheotherendoftheropesthatboundhisarmssteppedtheirhorsescloser,givingsomeslacktothebindings.
“Ithoughtwehadyou,TexasRanger,back
whenyourhorsegrewtiredofcarryingyouanddecidedtodieinstead.Butyouarequicklikeacatandsmartlikeafox.Youhidyourselfawayuntilthemoonsmiled.Thenyoucameoutofyourhidingplacetotravelinthedark,likeawolf.”
“MaybeIamawolf,”saidHughes“Awolfinaman’sbody.”
TheIndiandismountedinonefluid
movement,sweepinghisrightlegforwardandoverthehorse’sneck,droppingtotheground.Walkingup,hepulledthebadgefromHughes’svest,tossingittothemanbehindhimwholetoutahigh-pitchedlaughashefastenedittotherawhidecatch-ropearoundhishorse’sneck.“AreyoutheTexasRangertheycallHughesLévesque?”heasked,nowspeakingfluentEnglish.
“Atyourservice.”Hughesgaveaslightnod.
Studyinghimforamoment,theIndianwalkedaroundhim,takinghistime,runningafingerdowntheriflethathunguselessandboundtoHughes’sside.ComingbackinfrontofHughes,theystoodtoetotoe,equalinheight.HetookahardholdofHughes’schin,turninghisfaceleftandright,lookingdeepintohiseyesas
ifdiviningasecret.“Yes.I’veheardstoriesaboutyou.WecallyouAsgayagagoagatihagudodiwayaagatoli.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyes.”
“YoushouldcallmeWayaAgatoli,forshort.Beeasiertoremember.”
Hugheshadheardthestories,too.Hislight,amber-coloredeyessparkedmanydiscussions,givingwaytohisLahcotah/Siouannickname.Whostarteditorhowit
began,hedidn’tknow,butamanwhosawwithwolfeyeswouldberespectedandrevered,ifnotfeared,inmosttribes.
“DoyouknowwhoIam?”ThehandsomeComanchewiththeParisiannoseandgrayeyesthumpedhisbarechestwithhishandsflat,openinghispalmsoutward,showingheheldnoweapon.
“I’veheardaboutyou,
too,”saidHughes,lookinghimintheeye.“IbelieveyouaretheinfamousIsa-tai,alsoknownasCoyoteVagina.”
High-pitchedlaughterrippledthroughthemountedwarriors,whoquicklyfellsilentexceptforone.Thesquat,pudgyIndianhooted,cackled,andpointed.Hisuncontrolledamusementcausedhimtolistsidewaysinaprecariousslantthatthreatenedtotumblehim
fromhishorse.Inaflash,theIndian
standinginfrontofHughesspunaroundonhisheels,drewaknifefromhiswaistband,andthenhurledthegleamingbladeatthelaughingwarrior.Hislifeended,hislaughtersilenced,inthatonefluidmove.
Thelarge,barrel-chestedIndianturnedbacktolookatHugheswitheyesthatshowednoemotion.
Gesturingoverhisshoulderwithhischin,hesaidwithcasualindifference,“HewasCoyoteVagina.Nowhe’sNoMore.”
“MuchtoNoMore’smisfortune.”HugheslookedoveratthedeadIndianlyingonthegroundwhosebloodhadbeguntopooldarkandwetbeneathhim.“Ihadyoumixedup.YoumustbeQuanah,ChiefoftheNoconis.”
“Atyourservice.”Quanahgaveaslightnod.
“Itmustgettiresome,agreatIndianchieflikeyou,fightingunworthyopponentslikethatdeadmanthere.”
“Thatwasnofight.Ijustkilledhim.Iwastiredofthewayhelaughed.Iwastiredofhimstealingmybreathingair,whichisagifttomefromtheSpiritoftheTrees.”
Thinkfast,Hughes,or
you’readeadman.“Well,it’stheSpiritoftheStarsthat’sofferingyouagifttonight.”Hughes,hisvoicecalmandsteady,kepthiswolfeyesfocusedonQuanah.
“WhatdoesawhitemanknowabouttheSpiritoftheStars?”
“ThestarisasymbolIwearasmybadge.Butyoutookmystaraway.Now,I’mlikethemaninthemoon.Andlikethestarsthat
outnumberthemoonupintheheavens,I’malsooutnumbereddownhereontheground.”
“Andthatismygift?”Quanahsnorted.“Wearethemanystarsoutnumberingyourmoon?”
“Lookupatthemoon,Chief.Seehowtheonemoonstilloutshinesthemanystars?Yourgifttonightisthechance,therarechance,tooutshinethemoon.”
“Youspeaklikeacrazyman.Howdoesastaroutshinethemoon?”
“Byoverpoweringit.Thestarneedsaworthyopponentforitstrueglorytoshine.I’mthatworthyopponent.Loosentheseropes,thenyouandIgohand-to-hand,mano-a-mano.IfIwin,Iwalkawayfree.Ifyouwin,yourstarwillshinebrightandyoucandowhateveryouwanttowith
me.Butyouwon’thavetorackyourbraindecidingwhichofyourfavoritetorturetrickstoplayonme.ThisfightI’llwin.”
“Youspeaktheboldtalkofamanwhoisusedtowinning.Butmyropesbeatyou.Icouldcutyourheartoutnowandbedonewithit,”Quanahsaid.“Feedittoyoubeforethebloodstopspumping.”
“Where’sthesportin
that?”Hugheschallenged.“Amandoesn’tcomealongveryoftenwho’sworthyofyou.Showyourwarriorswhataheroicleadertheyhave,onewho’snotafraidtodefythemoonforitsluster.”
“Ihavenothingmoretoprovetomymen,”saidQuanah,walkingpastHughestoconversewithhisthreemountedwarriors,steppingaroundthedeadmanontheground.Theyconversedin
theirnativetongue,severaltimeslookingoverandlaughingatHughes.
Hugheslistenedintently,pickingupafewwordsthathecouldmakeout—wayaagatoli,hanhepiwi,unze.Seeswithwolfeyes,somethingabouteitherthemoonorhisanus.Whatevertheywerediscussing,hejustwantedhisassoutofthismessandtonotlosehisscalpintheprocess.
QuanahreturnedtowhereHughesstoodtied.“IwilltakeyouuponyourchallengebecauseIambored.Yoursisaninterestingproposition,oneI’veneverencountered.”HegesturedtotheIndiansbehindhimtoloosenthelassoesfromaroundHughes.“Noguns.Onehandweapon.Ifyouwinandtakemylife,mymenwillspareyoursandletyouwalkfree.IfIwin,Iwilladdyour
scalptotheoneshangingfrommylance.”
Hughesshooktheropesoffhisarmsandtossedhisgunsaside.“Yourwarriorswillconsideritbadpejutafortheirleadertobeoutmaneuveredanddieinfrontoftheireyes.Seeingbadmedicine,they’llhigh-tailitoutofheretotheLlanoEstacado,wheretheylefttheirfatkidsanduglysquaws.”
Likeananimalcirclinghisprey,Quanahbegantopace,tossinghistomahawkbackandforthfromhandtohand.“Youwon’thavetofigureanythingafteryou’redead.I’llletmywarriorstakeyourbodybacktotheirfatkidsanduglysquawsforthemtoeat.They’lluseyourintestinestolacetheirmoccasins.”
Withhishuntingknifegrippedinhisrighthand,
HughesfacedthechiefoftheComanche,pacing,circling,crouchinglow.Hughes’sknifewaslongenoughtobedrawnasasword,heavyenoughtobeusedasaclub,andsharpenoughtopenetratebone.
Thegray-eyedIndianchiefandtheamber-eyedwhitemancircledeachother,staringdowntheiropponent,waitingfortheothertomakeamove,makeamistake,
blink.Anowlhootedinthedistance.Ahorsewhinnied.Awolfhowled.Quanah’swarriorsbeganalowhum,thenasoftchant,risinginvolumeuntilalltheforestwasalivewithavibratingsongofdeath.
Focus—thinklikeOkwara.Hughesslashedoutwithhisknife.Quanahjumpedsideways,thenlungedforward,bringinghistomahawkdown,landinga
misplacedblowtoHughes’sleftshoulder.Hughesfeltthestingoftheglancingblowhittinganoldwound,feltthewarmthofbloodonhisarm.Nothingserious.
Chantingvoicesofthewarriorshidingintheshadowsblendedwiththesongsofwarblersandscreechowls,thecoolingnightairfillingwithaneeriechoir.Ontheirknees,theypoundedthegroundwithrocks,stones,a
treelimb,theirbarehands,anything,creatingarhythmicbeat,strong,repetitive,andloud.
BloodandsweatrandownHughes’sforehead,stinginghiseyes,adeepgashabovehisleftbrowfullofgritanddirt.HelungedatQuanah,knockinghimoffhisfeet.ThenflinginghimselfontheIndian,hepinnedhimtotheground.
Inthedirttheyrolled,
lockedinadeathduel,panting,grunting,eachmanfightingforhislife,Hughesontoponeminute,Quanahthenext.Then,ontheirfeet,throwingpunches,landingblows,anelbowtotheside,afisttothechin.Pulling,kicking,clawing,theyfoughtlikeanimals.
Quanahbroughtakneeup,swiftandhard,toHughes’sgroin.Hughesstumbledsideways,tryingto
stayonhisfeet,tokeepbreathingthroughthegut-wrenchingpain.Doubledoveratthewaist,hesawtheIndiandivingtowardhim,tomahawkraised.
Hughesswungupwardwithhisknife,buttendofthehandlefirst.ItstruckagainstQuanah’stemple,knockingthemantohisknees.Withaquickness,Hughesstruckagain,thistimetotheothersideofthe
head,andQuanahfellsideways,unconscious,tomahawkslippingfromhisfingers,droppingtotherockyground.
Removinghisbelt,HughescinchedQuanah’swrists,bindinghishandstightbehindhisback.HethenrolledQuanahover,faceup.“QuanahParker,chiefoftheNoconis.Youdon’tlooklikemuchmorethananappingbaby.Exceptfortheblood
coveringyourface.Andthewarpaint.”
Hugheswalkedovertowherehissaddlelaynexttohisgunsandremovedhiscanteen,takinglonggulpsofwater,stillpanting,tryingtocatchhisbreath.HewentbacktoQuanahandstraddledhim,kneltdownwithkneeseithersideofhiswaist,andpouredwaterontotheIndian’sface.Hetossedthecanteenasideandwaited.
“I’llbethefirstthingyouseewhenyoucometo.”
Coughing,sputtering,Quanahopenedhiseyes,seeingHughesonhiskneesstraddlinghim,armsupraised,bothfistsgrippingtheknife,readytolandthefinalblow.“WayaAgatoli,”hesaid,hisvoicechokedandharsh.“WolfEyes.Youfightlikeawarrior.”
“Iamawarrior.Youfoughtanhonorablefight,
Chief.Butyoulost.”“Yes.Ilost.Youcan
nowreleasemyspirittothemoon,whostillsmilesonyou.”Quanahcalledouttohiswarriorwhoheldhishorse.“Honormywords.SendWolfEyestorideawayintothelandofnoharm.Myhorsenowbelongstohim.”HelookedatHughesandsaid,“Ourspiritswillfightagaininthesecretworldofthedead.Iwillnotletyou
winthenextfight.”Hesmiled.“Goaheadnow.Iamready.”
Hughesliftedhisarmshigher,tighteninghisgripontheknife.Withaforcethattookallofhisbreath,heplungedtheknifedownashardashecouldintotheground,inchesfromQuanah’sleftear.
Unflinching,unblinking,unsmiling,Quanah’seyesremained
focusedonthestars.“MaybeI’drather
fightyouagaininthisworldoftheliving,onadaywhenI’minthemoodtothrowafewpunches.Anhonorableopponentishardtocomebythesedays.”Hughesremovedhisknifethatwashilt-deepinthestonyground.“Thanksfortheuseofyourhorse.Youcancomestealhimbacknexttimeyou’reinSanAntone.”
“IfIhadwon,Iwould
nothaveletyoulive.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyesmustbealittleloco.”
“There’reworsethingsinlifethanbeingalittleloco,likebeingalotdead.”Hughesstrappedonhisguns,threwhissaddleontothebackofQuanah’shorse,andbeforemountingsaid,“IthinkI’llkeepthisasasouvenirofourfight.”HepickedupQuanah’stomahawk,lashingittohis
saddle.“Youcankeepmybeltthat’saroundyourwristsasyours.”
WarmnightairrushedagainsthisfaceasHughesgallopedthewhitestallionsouth.Thecrescentmoonslippedthroughthesilkyskyhighoverheadonitswestwardjourney,ignoringthethincloudsthatstrayedacrossitspath.
*****ThestreetsofSanAntonio
weredarkanddesertedwhenHughesrodeintotown,fewlampsburninginanybuildingsexceptforthesaloonwherethewindowsneverwentdark.Thepianoplinkedoutatune.Paintedwomenlaughedinbawdypeelsofdelight,cardsslappedthetabletopsfaceup,facedown,andsweettobaccosmokehungthickintheairasseriousmenpuffedfatcigarsandtriedtoout-bluffone
another.Tyingthehorse’s
reinsaroundthehitchingpostinbetweentwolargeslack-jawed,droopyeared,halfasleepnags,Hughesdismounted,musclesachingfromhisearlierfallandfight.Exhausted,hestrodeintothesaloon,hisspursclinkingontheplankfloorpockmarkedfromyearsofrowel-inflictedwounds.
Heelbowedhisway
throughthelivelycrowd,backtothebarthathadbeencarvedoutofasingleslabofliveoakwood.Thebarkeepermaintainedtheshellackedsurfacetoahighpolishedgloss,asshinyandreflectiveasthemirrorthathungonthewallbehindit.
“Doublewhiskey,onthedouble,porfavor.”Hugheskeptaclosewatchonthemirror,makingsurenoonesnuckuponhimfrom
behind.Hepickedupaburntmatchsticksomeonehadtossedasideandbeganscrapingatthedirtandbloodunderhisnails.
“Bythelooksofyou,adoublewon’tscratchthesurface.IthoughtyouwereheadedtoFortWorthtopickupaprisoner,”saidTandyMcMurrough,settingashotglassandtherestofthebottleinfrontofHugheswithonehand,theotherhandbuffing
outathinsmudgeonthebar.“Was.Ihopehelikes
hisaccommodationsinFortWorth.He’llhavetostayputanotherweekortwo.”
TandyslowedhispolishinghandandeyedHugheswithcuriosity.“Weekortwo?IthoughthewaswantedinAustin.”
“First,IwanttopayavisithometoNewOrleansandgetoneofMother’sfinethoroughbreds.Imissridinga
goodhorse.Agood,fasthorse.It’sbeenwaytoolongsinceI’vevisitedhome,andwaytoolongsinceI’vehadagood,fasthorse.”
“Youseemedgy,”saidTandy,leaningacrossthebartofilltheshotglass.
“It’sbeenanedgykindofnight,”saidHughes,slingingbackthewhiskey.
“WhathappenedtothatbrownhorseIsawyourideoutonthismorning?”
“Hewasneithergoodnorfast.Hewasjustahorsewhodecidedatthewrongtimetodie.”
“Thatwasinconvenientofhim,”saidTandy,shakinghishead.
“Haveyoueverriddenareallygoodhorse,Tandy?”Hughessippedhiswhiskey,hiseyeslingeringonthemirror.
Thebartenderponderedthis,pushedhis
glassesupoffhisthickbulbousnosewithonehand,rubbedtheragaroundonthespotlessbarwiththeother.“Well,letmethinkaboutthat.Irecallonetime—”
“Ifyouhavetothinkaboutit,thentheanswerisno,Tandy.Youhaveneverriddenareallygoodhorse.Amanwhohaseverriddenareallygoodhorseneverforgetsthathorse,thatexperience.Comparesall
otherhorsestothatone.It’slikemakinglovetoabeautifulwoman,orsippingafine,expensivewine.Thecheaponesneverliveuptothebestofyourmemories.”
“Orfantasies,”saidTandy.“Youhavememories.Menlikemehavefantasies.”
“Well,here’stomemorablefantasies,”Hughessaid,liftinghisshotglassinatoast.
“I’lldrinktothat,”
agreedTandy,pouringhimselfawhiskey.“Yourfaceandclothesareabloodymess.Whathappened?”
“I’llspareyoutheboringdetails,butIhadarun-inwithanIndianchief.QuanahParkerhimself.Igotawaywithmylifeandhishorse.Helooksveryinconspicuousouttheretiedamongsttheotherrangymounts.”
Tandystopped
wiping,hisragmotionless.HelookedatHugheswitheyeswide,mouthagape.“YoustoleQuanah’shorse?”heasked,hisvoiceloudabovethenoiseofthecrowd.
Thepianowentsilent.Ahushfelloverthe
saloon.EveryoneturnedcuriouseyesonHughes,wantingtohearthestory.Severalmeneasedthemselvesnearer,afewwomeninfancydresseswith
feathersintheirhairleanedin,andTandyabsentmindedlybeganpushinghisragincirclesoverthespotlessbar.
“Ididn’tstealQuanah’shorse.YoucouldsayItookhimuponhisgenerousoffer,”saidHughes,pouringhimselfandTandyanotherwhiskey.
“QuanahParkerisamurderer.Hetorturesandscalpsandburnsandsteals.
Youwantustobelievehebenevolentlyhandedhishorseovertoyououtofthegoodnessofhisheart?”askedJerryAllsup,theobeseblackjackdealer,stillshufflingcardsmidairfromonepudgyhandtotheother,stumpycigarclenchedbetweenyellowteeth.
Hughessippedhiswhiskey,glancingatthemirror,checkinghisback.“Well,Mr.Allsup,our
murderingchiefdidn’thandhishorseover.Itwasaverbaloffer.Mybelt...”Hughespointedtotheemptyloopsencirclinghiswaistband.“...hadhishandssecuredbehindhisback.Itookhimuponhisofferaftermyhorsedied.SureashellbeatswalkingbacktoSanAntoniointhedark.”
JerryAllsuppressedincloser,hissourtobaccobreathhotinHughes’sface.
Inaloud,smoker’srasp,hesaid,“Lookslikehealmosthadthebestofyou.Markmywords,butyou’llregretnotkillingthatsonofabitchwhileyouhadthechance.”
Hughesrubbedhisthrobbingleftshoulder,hisshirttornandstiffwithdriedblood.“I’dbeadeadman,minusmyscalp,ifI’dkilledQuanah.Hiswarriorswould’veseentothat.”Asfarasregrettingnotkillingthe
chief,Hughesconsideredregretssomethingoldmensittingonporchesinrockingchairshadtimetofretover.Rightnow,itwastimetopayTandyforhisfinewhiskeyandmakehiswaytotheMengerHotel.Ahotbathandhisbedwaswaiting.
“Icanhelpyouwiththatnastygashonyourhead,”whisperedasweetvoice,asmall,softhandstrokingthesideofhisface,
brushingthedarkhairbackawayfromhisambereyesandoffhisforehead.Thewoundoverhislefteyewascakedwithdirtanddriedblood.
“Lydia,mylovely,”saidHughes,takingherhand,kissingit.“Whatanicesurprise.IwasthinkingaboutyouwhenIwascheckingmypistolbeforeIgotsidetrackedbyanIndianchief.”
“Ioftenfindmyself
thinkingaboutyouandyourpistol,”teasedLydia,herlargebrowneyessparkling.Sheworeherthick,blondcurlspiledhighonherhead,pinnedinplacewithagoldanddiamondbarretteintheshapeofastar,agiftfromHughes.
“Isthatafact?”Hesmiled,dimplesframinghissensuousmouth.
“Afact,”shesaid,battingherlashesinacoy,
shyfashionbeforespoutingrigidinstructions.“Tandy,Mr.Lévesque’sdrinksareonthehousetonight.SendnextdoorforOmaKleintocomeoverandrunahotEpsomsaltsbathandbringsomebandagingmaterials.HaveLittleBillyunsaddlethathorseoutthereandtakehimdowntotheliveryyard.Idon’twantthatpaintedIndianponystandinginfrontofmysaloonscaringawaybusiness.
BringHughes’ssaddleinandleaveitbehindthebarforsafekeeping.”
“Yesma’am,MissLydia.Anythingelse?”askedTandyashesentBillyouttotakecareofthehorse.
“Yes.Sendupabottleofchampagne.Twoglasses.”LydiatookHughesbytheelbow,leadinghimfromthebar.“Ihavesomedoctoringtodo.”
Hughessmiled,
allowingLydiatopullhimaway.“Iloveanin-chargewoman,especiallyonewhoownsasaloonandcannurseaman’swounds.”
LittleBilly,thetwelve-year-oldorphanwhomLydiahaddiscoveredthepreviouswintershiveringunderthebackporchofthesaloon,flea-coveredandstinkyasanabandonedpup,burstthroughtheswingingdoors,carryingHughes’s
saddle.“Mr.L-L-Lévesque!Thathorsea-a-a-ain’toutth-th-there,”hestutteredinaloud,excitedgushofwords.“Ain’tnoIndian’sh-h-horseoutthere.J-J-Justyoursaddlelayingonthegr-ground.”
Hughesranoutofthesaloondoors,followedbyLydia,Tandy,andtheotherswhocrowdedaroundthehitchingpost,staringatthevacatedspotwhereHugheshadtiedthewhitestallion.
ThetomahawkhehadkeptasasouvenirfromhisfightwithQuanahwasnowembeddedinthewoodenrail,hisbeltswingingfromtheweapon’shandleasifithadjustbeentossedtheremomentsago.
Theemptystreetheldnosignofthewhitestallion,orofthechief,oroftheotherwarriorswhorodewithhim.Notevenaspeckofdusthunginthequiet,stillair.Thecrowdpressedtogether,
lookingleftandright,searchingforaclue.Therewasnone.
“Itappearsthatourvisitorsdidn’tcaretostickaround,butI’mhappyhereturnedthis.”Hughesthreadedhisbeltthroughtheloops,tighteningthebucklethatborehisfamily’screst.TheheirloomsymbolwasasmallgoldfleurdeliscenteredinfrontofalargersilverMaltesecross
embeddedonabackgroundofblackonyx,itsborderathinlineofcrushedredrubies.“I’mfondofthisparticularbuckle.”
“Howrudeofourvisitorsnottostay.Oh....Youhadanothertoday,”saidLydia,feigningrevelation.“She’sstayingattheBrazosGuestHouse.OmaKleintoldmethatsheputherintothemastersuitenexttotherosegarden.Omaneverletsjust
anyonestayinthemastersuite.Yourvisitormustbeimportant.”
Hugheslookedperplexed.“She?Myvisitor?Didsheleaveaname?”
Lydiateasedoutthenarrative.“Sheindicatedthatshewasanoldfriendofyours.ItoldheryouleftforFortWorthandIdidn’tknowhowlongyou’dbegone.Shewasverypretty,butthinandfrail.Shelookedill.”
Hughesraisedhisbrowsincuriosity.“Anoldfriendofmine?Here?InSanAntonio?”
“Yes,”saidLydia,peeringupatHughes,whotoweredafootaboveherhead.“Asomewhatolderlady,yetlovelynonetheless.ShesaidhernamewasLeighselleBeauclaire.”
Hughesstopped.“Leighselle?HereinSanAntonio?MyGodifthat
doesn’ttakemeback.Ihaven’tseenherin,hell,almosteightyears.”
“Areyouhappythatshe’shere?”Lydiapouted,hervoicethinwithjealousy.
“Happy—yes.Andcurious.Shewaslikeabigsistertome.ShesavedmylifemanyyearsagowhenIleftNewOrleans.”
“Savedyourlife?Thatfrailthing?How?”
“Bytellingacrafty
lie.”HughestookLydiabytheelbowandescortedherinside,asliverofasmiletwitchingthecornersofhismouth.
CHAPTERTHREESEPTEMBER27,1860
Leighsellesatstraight-backed,high-chinned,andperchedontheedgeofherchair,aqueenpresidingoverhercourt.ShereignedattheheadofanemptytablethattookupmostofthespaceinthesunnybreakfastroomattheBrazosGuestHouse.Herblackwoolenshawlwas
pulledtightaroundherthinshouldersdespitethewarmbreezethatflutteredtheginghamcurtains.Thewindowswerethrownwidetothegardentoinviteinthescentofmuskrosethatperfumedthemorningair.
Sippingfromherteacupwithherlefthand,pinkyfingerextended,herrighthandlaytuckedinherlap.Initsheclutchedablacksilkandlacehandkerchief
embroideredwithherinitialsinboldredscript.Thelongskirtofherblackreceivingdresspuddledatherdaintyfeet,whichwerebuttonedupinfashionableleatherboots.Darkmourningcolorssheworenottoshowaladyinbereavement.Shepreferredyellow,eventhoughyellowwasthecolorofheryouth.Shechosedarkfabricsasapracticalmatter.Itwaseasierhidingthespecklesofblood
thatoftenaccompaniedhercoughthesedays.
“MissBeauclaire,yourgueststandsatthedoor.”OmaKleinsteppedintotheentrywayofthebreakfastroom,hercurlywhitehairspringingfromherheadliketightlywoundspoolsofwire,hersofthazeleyessparklingwithcuriosityassheregardedherlodger.“Ja,helooksmuchbetterthanwhenherodeinlast
night.HardtotellitwasMr.Lévesqueunderneaththatbloodanddirt.”
AcoughtickledLeighselle’sthroat.Shefoughttorepressit,dreadingthequakingspasmsthathadgrownmoretroubling.“Bloodanddirt?Myheavens.Please,showhimin.Andbringsomemoreteaifit’snottoomuchtrouble.”
“Ja,noproblem.”OmaKleinretreatedintothe
kitchen,returningholdingatrayheapingwithanassortmentofpastriesandstrudels,aclean-scrubbed,fresh-shavenHughesLévesqueonherheels.
HugheslookedatLeighselleandsmiled,hisambereyescrinklingatthecorners.Hetookbothofherglovedhandsinhisandkissedeachone.“You’reaslovelyasthelasttimeIsawyou,Leighselle.WhenIleft
NewOrleansforgood,youmadesureIlandedonmyfeetinsteadoflandingmyselfinjail,orworse.”
“NooneeverleavesNewOrleansforgood.You’llbedrawnbacksomeday.It’sbeentoolong,Hughes.Youlookwell.Handsome.You’renotthescrappyyouthIremember.”
“Alotchangesineightyears.”Hepulledupachairandsetnexttohisdear
oldfriend,alookofworryandcuriosityonhisface.
Andsomethingsneverchange,thoughtLeighselle,somethingsliketheheartacheofalifetimeofshamefulsecrets.Acoughbubbledupandshehelditbackwithherhandkerchiefandkeptitinhermouth,justasmallsoundescapingthistime.
Leighsellesmiled.“You’vefilledoutand
hardenedaroundtheedges,butitsuitsyou.”
“BesidestutoringmeinGerman,Omafeedsmewonderfulpastries.Shewantstofattenme,”Hugheslaughed.“ItutorherinEnglish.TheGermansinsistonpronouncingeveryletter,so,sheevengettingmynamerightwasachallenge.Ihadtospellitforheras‘HuLeVek’beforesheunderstoodthepronunciation.”
“You’vealwaysexcelledinuniquelinguistics.Itwasbirdcallsandwildanimalsoundswhenyouwereaboy,andofcourse,French.ThenCreoleandNavajodialects,fromwhatIremember.AnyotherlanguagessincecomingtoTexas?”
“Spanish.Comanche.Afewothertribalvernaculars.Itcomesinhandyonthejob.”
Hughestappedthefive-pointstarpinnedtohisvestlapelwithalookofpride.Itwasforged,likeallRangersbadges,fromasilverMexicanpeso.Asessentialasaknifeoragun,aTexasRanger’sbadgeopeneddoorsquickerthanapoliteknockoraforcefulkick.
AsHughesspoke,Leighsellestudiedhisface.Sheconsideredhissquarejaw,thefineangularslantto
hisnose,hisintense,wide-setambereyes,andshetookinthewaythesunlightstreaminginthewindowbroughttolifethehoneygoldstrandsthatglistenedinhisdarkbrownhair.
Hiscountenanceremindedherofalion,powerfulandmajestic,althoughinHughes’scase,almosttoohandsometobedangerous.Butsheknewbetter.Sheknewthetruth
behindthesensuoussmile,themanicurednails,thescholar’svocabulary,andthewell-placedmanners.Hewasagentleman,yes,butdangerousandcapableofaudaciousdeeds.
“It’sdifficultformetoreconciletheprecociousyoungboyfromNewOrleanswiththisrough-and-tumblelawmansittingbeforeme.”Leighsellelaughedatthememory.“Notonetobetold
‘no,’youkeptshowingupatmysaloonuntilonedaywetiredofchasingyouaway.Oh,howmygirlsdotedonyou.”
“I’mnotalwaysrough-and-tumble,wearingthisbadge.”Heleanedinclose.“Itellyoualittlesecret.Sometimes,whennotRangering,I’memployedbyourfederalgovernment.Itakecareofbusinessthatothersdon’twantto.”
“Everthechevalier,”shewhispered.Therewasnopointinaskingorinsayinganymore.Sheassumedhe’dsharedwithherasmuchashewasabletodivulge.
Aviolentcougheruptedwithasuddenforcethatwrackedherbody,bendingherforward,shakinghershoulders.Herentirebodyheavedasshefoughttocatchherbreath.Leighsellecoveredhermouthwithher
blackhandkerchief,wipingatspecklesofbloodshefearedmarredherface.
“Mydear,areyouallright?”Hugheswasatherside,pattingherback,thenhetookthehandkerchieffromheranddabbedatthebloodthatstainedthecornersofhermouth.“Here,sipsometea.CanIgetyousomethingelse?”
“No.No,I’mfine.Thankyou.”Hershoulders
roseandfellinslowmotionasshetookdeepbreaths,tryingtorefillherlungs.
“Ladieswhoarefinedonotcoughblood.There’sadoctorinresidenceattheMengerHotelwhereIkeeparoom.I’llsendforhim.”Worrywasetchedindeeplinesonhisforehead.
“No,pleasedon’ttroubleyourself.Moreteawouldbelovely.”Thesmileshegavewasweakand
unconvincing.“Youshouldletme
sendforthedoctor,Leighselle.Thatcoughconcernsme.”
“It’stoolateforadoctor,Hughes.”Shecuppedahandoverhis,herpleadingeyestellinghimtoletgooftheidea.“Mydoctoradvisedthatthereisnothingmoretodoshortofeasingmypain.”
Hughesswallowed,andthentookherhandsin
his.“Isthatwhyyou’rehere,Leighselle?Didyoucometoseemeonelasttime?Ishouldhavecomeback—”
“IcametoSanAntoniotoaskafavorofanoldfriend.Yourbrothertoldmewheretofindyou.Ididn’twanttowrite.Iwantedtoseeyou,toaskyoufacetoface.Ineedyourhelp,Hughes,intracking—”AnothercoughevenworsethanthefirstrattledLeighselle’semaciated
body,hertinyframeseeminglikeitmightbreakintwo.“Pleaseexcusemycoughing.Todayistheworstsofar.”
“Wouldsittingoutsideinthefreshairhelp?”Hughesofferedheraglassofwater.
Sippingit,shenodded.“Itwould.Let’stakeashortstroll.”
HughestookLeighsellebythearmandsteeredheroutside,wherethewarmthofthelate
September’smorningsunshinehintedatanafternoonsuitableforsiestas.AnumbrellastandthatOmakeptonthefrontporchheldaladiesparasol.Hughesopenedit,carryingitoverLeighselle’shead,shieldingherfromtheraysoftheTexassun.Theywalked,unhurried,arm-in-arm,passingbytheSpanishMissionwheretheBattleoftheAlamohadoccurred.
AstheystrolledtheesplanadethathuggedtheSanAntonioRiver,HughespointedouttheMengerHotelwherehekeptaroom.ItwasaconspicuousEuropean-lookingbuildingamidSpanishColonialarchitecture,thankstoaGermanimmigrantwhobuiltthehotelnexttohisbeerbrewery.
“Whatagrandbuilding.Iwouldverymuchliketotouritlater,”
Leighsellesaid,acceptingtheofferedchairthatHughespulledoutforher.
Adjacenttothehotel,aclusteroftablessatunderthesweepingarmsofcypresstreesthatlinedtheriver’sbanks.HughespulledachairandsatacrossfromLeighselle.“Asyouwish.”
Amandressedinagraymorningcoatwithagleamingwhitetoweldrapedoveronearmapproached.
Hughesgreetedhimwithasmile.“Hello,Jameson.ThisisadearfriendofminefromNewOrleans,MissLeighselleBeauclaire.Shewasmorelikeabigsister,really.”
“Pleasedtomakeyouracquaintance,MademoiselleBeauclaire.”Jamesonbentatthewaist.
“Enchantée.”Leighsellesmiledandnodded,impressedwith
Jameson’smannersandFrenchpronunciationofhername.
“Bringustwolemonades,ifyouwill,Jameson.Asmallshotofwhiskeyonthesideforme,”Hughesrequested.
Leighsellehelduptwofingers.
“Makethattwoshotsofwhiskey,Jameson,andalsosendwordtoDoctorSchmidtthatI’dlikea
momentwithhim,athisconvenience.”HugheswinkedatLeighselle.
“Ofcourse,Mr.Lévesque,rightaway,sir.”Jamesonbent,whisperingsomethingtoHughes,whileatthesametimetuckinganoteintoHughes’svestpocket.Then,turningonhisheels,hemarchedawaywithbrisk,purposefulstrides.
Hughessaid,“Please,indulgeme.”
“Thereisnothingadoctorcan—”
“Please?Indulgeme.LetDoctorSchmidthavealookatyou.What’veyoutolose?”
“Time.AcommodityofwhichIhavepreciouslittle.But,I’llagreetoseeyourdoctorjustsoyouwillfeelbetter.”
“Thankyou,”henodded.“You’lllikeDocSchmidt.He’swellrespected.
And,he’sanavidthoughratherineptpokerplayer.Ifnothingelse,youmightpersuadethegooddoctortocutthecardswithyou.Whoknows,youmaywalkawaywithalittlespendingmoney.Maybegobuyyourselfanewpetticoat,parasol,orpistol.”
“Ihaveplentyofundergarmentsandumbrellas,butanewlittlepocketDerringermightbefun.”Leighselle’slaughmelted
intoablood-redcough,herthinshouldersliftingwiththeweightofeachspasm.
JamesonreturnedwithatrayofrefreshmentsandanewfoldednoteforHughes.AfterpouringthelemonadeintotalltumblerswithsugaredrimsandservingthedarkamberOldCrowinshortcutcrystalwhiskeyglasses,hesteppedbackandclaspedhishandsinfrontofhim,waitingforfurther
instructions.“Excuseme,
Leighselle.Thisneedsmyattention.I’llbejustamoment,”saidHughesasheputthesecondnoteintohisvestpocket.
“Ofcourse,”shesaidasshepouredthewhiskeyintoherglassoflemonade.“Ihaveasuspicionthatthiswilltreatacoughbetterthanteawithlemonandhoney.”
“Fixmineuplikethat,
too,ifyouwill.I’llberightback.”Hughessteppedawayfromthetable,Jamesonfollowing.
Leighsellewatchedastheysteppedintotheshadeofthewalledpatioatthesideofthehotel,Jamesonspeaking,Hughesattentive.Hughestookthenotesfromhisvest,lookedateachone,noddedhishead,andhandedthembacktoJameson,whothenmarchedaway,disappearing
fromviewintothedarkdoorsofthehotel.
Hughesreturnedtothetable,apologizing.“Ihopeyou’llforgivetheinterruption.”Hesatandleanedbackinhischair,takingasipofthepotentlemonadeconcoction.“Mmm.Refreshing.Intoxicating.Thismaybecomemynewfavoritebeverage.”
“It’smine,withouta
doubt.”Shewaitedforamoment,wonderingwhetherornotHugheswouldvolunteeranythingaboutthesecretivenotes,butdecidedthathewouldnot.MenlikeHugheskeptsecrets.Womenlikeherunderstood.
“Allright,mydear,youhavemyundividedattention.”Heleanedforward,elbowsonknees,fingerstented,eyesalertandonhers.“Tellmewhatfavor
youcameallthiswaytoaskofme.”
Leighsellebroughtherhandkerchiefuptohermouthanticipatingacough,butitnevermaterialized.“Mustbethenewmedicine,”shesaid,sippingherdrink.“Icameheretoaskyoutohelpmefindmydaughter.”
“Yourdaughter?”Hughesleanedbackinhischair,shakinghishead.“Ididn’tknowyouhada
daughter.Andshe’slost?”“Onlyafewpeople
knewIhadachild.Mostofthem,ifnotallofthem,aredeadnow.Andshe’snotlost.Shewastakenfrommewhenshewasaninfantjustdaysold.Iwasdruggedandblackmailedintogivingherup.It’ssuchalong,complicatedstory,I...Idon’tknowwheretostart.”
“Atthebeginning.Startthere.”Hughesleaned
forward.Hetookherglovedhandinhis,givingitagentlesqueeze.
“Thebeginning.Iwasfifteen.MyfathersoldcattletoaTexasrancher.Hewasn’taTexan.HewasanIrishimmigrantwhosettledinTexas.HewouldcometoourranchinVermillionParishtopurchaseourpure-bredBrahmancattleandhavethemshippedtohisranchinCorpusChristiontheTexas
GulfCoast.”Hugheslistened,
watchingLeighselle’sconfidentpostureweakeningasshespoke,herhandstwistinganduntwistingthelacehandkerchiefinherlap.
“Hevisitedseveraltimesayear,andeverytimeIwouldcatchhimstaringatme.Longstares,notcasualglances,butvulgarstaressointensethatIfelthiseyesleftastainonmyskin.”
“Yourfatherandmother—didtheynoticehisunusualattentiontoyou?”
“Yes.Mothercouldn’tstandtobeinhispresence.ShewouldmakesureIwaskeptbusyupstairswithmytutororsomeplaceoutofsight.Fathertoleratedhimbecausehewasarichcattlemanandwasgoodforbusiness.Fathertalkedaboutbuyingmoreland,aboutimportingmorebulls.He
couldn’taffordtoturnawayawealthyclient.”
“Didhehurtyou,ortrytohurtyou?”Hughes’svoiceloweredanddarkened.
Leighselle’seyesbrimmedwithtears.“It’sbeensolongsinceI’vespokenofwhathappenedatVermillionBay.”
*****August,1836
Rustyredsoilclungtotheslipperybanksofthe
VermillionRiver,whichflowedintothetepidcoastalwatersofVermillionBay,theriversnakingitswaysouthbeforespillingitsmurkyironoreintotheGulfofMexico.Therichdirtoozedablackish,brick-redslime.Seasonaltidalwaterspushedinlandandcreptupstreamthroughthemarshlands,attimescausingtherivertoappeartorunbackwardandheadnorthtowarditssource,
asiftheriverwasswallowingitselfinonethirstygulp.
EverythinginthesmallLouisianaparish—theriver,thebayou,thebay,eventheparishitself—claimedthename“Vermillion,”whilethevermillionironoreclaimedtheair,thewater,theland,theanimals,anythingelsethatstoodstilltoolong,tintingallwithinitsreachinvaryingshadesofred.
ArmandandJeanineBeauclaire’sonlychildwasneverstilllongenoughforthecolorredtoclaimher.LeighselleLaVerneBeauclairewasanactivegirl,andtheminutesspentsittingstillwereminuteswasted.Shehatedsittingstill;stillnesswasnotsomethingforwhichshehadanypatience,andshehatedthecolorred.
“Ipreferyellow,
Mama,likethesunflowers.”“Thenyoushall
alwayswearyellow,”herdotingmotherwouldproclaim.
Leighsellewasawareofhowthesun’syellowrayscoulddistractherfromtheuglinessofVermillionParish,whereeverythingwasadusty,rustyred.Asshegrew,Leighsellealsogainedakeenawarenessofhowitfelttodistractamanfromhis
business,thoughnotthroughaffectation.Atthejuncturewhenayounggirlcrossesovertowomanhood,shewasanaturalbeauty.Chestnuthairfellinsilkywavespastthesmallfullnessofherhips.FlawlessporcelainskinprovidedapaletteonwhichtoshowcasepinkCupid’sbowlips.Astraight,narrownoseturnedupafractionofadegreeatthetipandseemedtopointupwardtohermost
dramaticfeature:gold-fleckedemeraldgreeneyesthatedgedonthesideofbeingtoolargeforherface.Fringedinthickebonylashesthatgrewthickerandlongerattheoutercorners,theeffectwasfeline.
SeamusFlanders,anIrishimmigrantwhosettledinTexasandconductedbusinessinVermillionParish,wasnotimmunetohercharms,despitethetwentyyearsthatseparatedthem.His
businessdealingswithLeighselle’sfathercouldhavebeenaccomplishedinasingleyearlyvisit,buthecametoVermillionParishmoreoften,lookingforanyexcuse,purchasingmorecattlethanwhatheneeded,becauseitmeantanotherchancetoeyetheobjectofhisdesire.
Ontheoccasionswhenhewouldinsinuatehimselftobeaninvitedguestforameal,hewouldstudy
Leighselleasifshewereanobjetd’artmeanttobeinspectedandadmired.Hisintensestaresandundueattentionmadeheruncomfortable.Shecouldn’thelpbutnoticethatduringthosetimes,heoftenkepthishatstrategicallyplacedacrosshislap.
*****Leighselleandherlittledog,asmallwhiteterrierwithbrownearsandabrownspot
attherootofitstail,skippeddowntowardtheriverbridge.Hermotherhadpromisedthatshecouldhaveaswimandapicnicifshewasagoodgirlandcompletedherlessonsfortheday.
Thewoodsthickened.Itbecamedarkandcooldespitetheheatfromthenear-noon-daysun.Leighsellestoppedattherockwheretheothershadtakenofftheirdressesandtookhers
off,too.Splashingintothewater,herwhiteskinwasalmosttranslucentcomparedtothenut-brownskinofthetwoslavegirlswhosplashedandplayedalongsideher.
“Wesupposedtobedyingthemlinens,MissLeighselle.IfMassahBeauclairecatchesusaswimmingandnotaworking,hesureenoughgoingtobemad.”Addy-Frankdoveintothewater,Estherfollowing.
“IcanhandleFather.I’lltellhimthatIwasdrowningandthatyoubothjumpedintosaveme.He’llawardbothofyouaworkpassforsnatchinghisdaughterfromthejawsofdeath.”
“Heain’tgoingtobelieveawordathat.”Addy-FrankandEsthersplashedLeighsellewhileJacques,thelittlewhiteterrier,racedalongtheshoreline,barking.
TheexpensiveivorylinensimportedfromParisfloatedintubsofocherwatermadedeepmustardyellowbyanabundanceofironoxideinthesoil,themineral-richdirtatreasurehiddeninsecretpocketsalongtheriverbank.
WhereeverythingelseinVermillionParishwasredfromtheprevalenthematite,thesoilintheinletwherethegirlsbathedandwashedclotheswasinfusedwiththe
yellows,oranges,andbrownsofocher.Usingthemineralaspigment,colorantsweremadetodyethelinensandotherfabricsoftheBeauclairehouseholdinbeautifulshadesofyellow.
“Comeon.Webestbegettingbackwiththemlinens.Youmamatellustohavethempinnedtotheline’forenoonsothesuncanbakethatcolorrightin,”saidAddy-Frank.
“Goonbackwithoutme.I’mstayingalittlelonger.”Leighselle,chestdeepintheslow-movingwatersoftheVermillion,flungherheadbackwardandforward,streamingasprayofwaterfromherlonghairontothebankwhereJacquesjumpedandbarked,tryingtocatchthewaterdropletsinhismouth.Leighselleandthegirlslaughedatthelittledoginhistirelessefforts,jumping
manytimeshisheightintotheair.
“IreckonthatbeOK,MissLeighselle,butdon’tyoubetoolong,”saidAddy-Frank.“Yourmamagetworriedifyouain’thome’forelunch.”
“Ibroughtapicniclunch.Mother’snotexpectingmebackuntillater.”Leighsellesplashedthegirlsastheyscamperedoutoftheriver,Jacquestwistingand
twirlingintheair,barkingatthewaterdropletsastheysankintothesand.Scratchingandrootingwithfuriousenergy,Jacquestriedtogettowherethewaterdropletdisappearedfromview,hispawsandnoseturningabrightocheryellow.
Afterthegirlshurriedawaywithoneofthetubsoflinens,Leighsellesatonthebankoftheriver,rubbingthewarmochersandontoher
legsandarms.“Jacques,look.I’mnotwhiteanymore.I’myellow,likeyournose.IthinkI’llstayyellowtherestofmylife—it’ssuchafinecolor.Muchbetterthanred.WhenI’mold,Ishallasktobeburiedinayellowdress.”
Pullingonherlaceunderslip,shereachedintothesmalltote,bringingoutasandwich.Shehalvedit,givingthegenerousportiontoJacques.Itdisappearedinan
instant.“Wemustworkonyourmanners,petitchien.Maybeteachyoutosaypleaseandthankyou.”
“IfIsayplease,willyouletmekissyou?Or,willIhavetotakewhatIwant?”Seamuswasonherinaninstant,grabbingherfrombehind,clappingahandoverhermouthbeforeherscreamwasout.Hepushedherontothewetsand,pinninghertothegroundwithhisweight.
Leighsellestruggledbutwaspowerlessagainstthebruteforceofamanintentontakingwhathewanted.
Hishotbreathpantedagainstthebackofherneck,hiswords—grunts—groansloudinherear.Shewrenchedoneofherarmsfreefromunderher,clawedbackwardathisface,hishands,buthepinnedherarmagain.Rippingatherunderslip,hisroughhandsscratchedand
bruisedhertenderflesh.Jacquesracedin
circles,barking,lunging,bitingathisbootleg,grabbingthefabricinhisteeth,pullingbackward.Seamusshookthelittledogoff,thenkickedhard,bootinghimasolidblowtotheside.Jacqueslandedinthesand,quiet,unmoving.
Leighsellescreamed.Hishandoverhermouthmuffledhercries.Themore
shestruggled,therougherhegot.“Iseethewayyoulookatme,teasingme,beggingmeforthis.It’sinyoureyesthatyouwantmetofuckyou.Sayit.Sayyouwantmetofuckyou.”
Leighselleshookherhead,frantic,triedtosayno,triedtoscream,buthishandclampeddownonhermouthagain.Sandcloggedhernostrils,gratedhereyes.
“You’remine,
Leighselle.Aftertoday,nooneelsewillwantyou.You’llbelongtome.”Seamustookherintheroughestwayhecould.“Doyouunderstand?Mine.”
Painrippedthroughherbody.Witheachpushandshove,Leighsellefeltasifshemightslipintounconsciousness—sheprayedthatshewould.Asilentcryformedinherthroatandstayedthere,eventhoughher
mouth,wideopeninhorrorandfear,allowedforitsrelease.
AnoisecomingfromthetrailleadingdowntotheriverdrewSeamus’sattention.HepressedhishandhardagainstLeighselle’smouth,anditcoveredhernose.Shestruggledtobreathe.
“Weforgotonebasketofyourmama’slinens,”saidAddy-Frankasshestepped
fromthedenseovergrowthofthetrailontothesun-drenchedbank.“Thebigol’heavyone.MassahBeauclairesayhegoingtosendOleIsaiahdownwiththewagontoliftit’causeitbe—Oh!”Shestoppedmidstride,frozen,hereyestakinginthehorriblescene.
SeamusshovedawayfromLeighselle,fasteninghisbelt,thenslippedlikeashadowintothedarknessof
thethicket.Momentslater,theclatteringofhoovesechoeddownintotheravineashegallopedacrossthewoodenspan.Theloudcommotionflushedamurderofnestingcrowsintothesky.
Addy-Franksplashedacrosstheriver,grabbingLeighselle,pullingherupoffthesand.“Whathedonetoyou?Hehurtyou?”
Leighselleopenedhermouthbutnowordsformed.
Noonecouldeverknowaboutthis.Noone.ShepulledawayfromAddy-Frank’sgraspandtuggedatthetornslipthatwasrippeddownthefront,tryingtocoverherself.
“Whodonethis?Youknowhim?”Addy-FrankgrabbedLeighselle’sshoulders.“Who?”
“HecomesfromTexastobuycattle.”Leighsellebegantoshake,asoundlikethatofaninjured
doverisingsoftlyfromwithin.“Icouldn’tstophim.Itriedtostopit,butIcouldn’t.”
“Yourdaddy’sshotgunsurestophim.IgogetMassah.”
“No!Youneversawanything.Father—hisbusiness.Wecan’tspeakofthistoanyone.It’llshamehim.He—”
“MissLeighselle,youneedtotellyour—”
“Tellnoone.Gobacktothehouselikeyouneverleft.”
Addy-Frankopenedhermouthtospeak,hesitated,andthenwalkedbackupthetrailtowardthehouse,leavingtheriverbehind.
LeighsellekneltbyJacques,whowaswhimpering,hispawstwitching.Shestrokedthedog’sside,feelingforbrokenribs.“You’llbeallright.Lay
still,littledog,andcatchyourbreath.”
Steppingintothewarmcurrent,shelocatedthelargeflat-toppedboulderthatsatsubmergedafewinchesunderthewater’ssurface,therocksheplayedonanddovefrom—therockthatsnappingturtlessunnedthemselvesonandwherefrogswouldsitandcatchdragonflies.
Shelaydownontherock,lettingthewarm,slow-
flowingwatersoftheVermillionwashtheochersandfromherhair,fromherskin,fromherslip.Sheimaginedthewaterwashingawaythehorridnightmare,flowingitouttosea.
Leighselleclosedhereyesagainsttheglaringsun,againsttheindigosky,againsttheredriver,againsttheochersandandsunflowersbendingoverthebanks,andagainstallthatwasfineand
vibrant.Nothingwouldeverbefineorvibrantagain.Somethingdied.Itwasthedeathofyellow.
*****“MyGod,Leighselle.Iwanttokillhim.”Hughespushedbackfromthetable,knockinghischairoverashemovedtoherside,crouchingdownnexttoher.“Tellmewherethismonsteris.I’llputabulletintohisblackheart.Thatsonofabitchisadeadman.”
Leighsellecoughedintoherhandkerchief,pattedeachcornerofhermouthclean,andthentookasipoflemonade.“IfIrecall,defendingawomanwhohadbeenbrutalizedbyamanwaswhatledyoutofleeNewOrleansinthefirstplace.”
“Thatwasn’tamanwhobrutalizedMonique.Thatwasananimal.Sowasthecreaturewhoattackedyou.”Hughesdroppedhisfist
harddownonthetable,thesilverwareclattering.“Nothingtightensmyjawfasterthanseeingamanhurtawoman.Ihadagutfullofthatasakid,seeingmymothercowerfromherownhusband.”
“Whathappenedtomeseemsalifetimeago.IdohaveanideaastowhereSeamusFlanderslives,ifindeedhe’sstillliving,butit’snothimIwantyouto
find.It’smydaughter.”“Yourdaughterwould
beclosetomyage,then,orafewyearsolder,”Hughessaid.
“Oh,no.Thatdespicableincidentdidn’tresultinapregnancy.Seamusisnotthechild’sfather.He’sthechild’sgrandfather.IfellinlovewithSeamus’sson,Henry,butIwasn’tawareoftheconnection.HenryhadjustarrivedinAmericaatthe
PortofOrleansfromIreland.Itoldyouitwascomplicated.”
“That’sputtingitmildly.”Hughesrightedhistoppledchair,takingaseatclosetoLeighselle.
“Indeed.And,allthatIjusttoldyouistheeasypartofthestory.”
“Theeasypart?GoodGod.”HughesshookhisheadandgaveLeighsellealong,hardlook,hiseyesmoving
slowlyoverherthinface.Heremeraldgreen
eyeswerejaundiced,sunken,andaccentuatedbydarkcirclesunderneath.Theangularsharpnessofhercheekbonesprotrudedfromparchmentpaperskin.Lips,oncesuppleandpink,weredrawnintoathin,painedslitinanattemptatbarringthecoughsfromescaping.
“Didyouevermarryorhaveafamilyofyour
own?”sheasked,uncomfortablewithhowhestudiedherwithsuchintenseconcern.Sheknewshewasdying—shehadhopeditwasn’tthatobvious.
“Inmylineofwork,it’sbetternotto.”HugheswavedatJameson,indicatingmorelemonade.“Havingawifewouldleavehervulnerable.Ifsomeone,anenemy,wantedtogettome,allthey’dhavetodowould
betothreatenthewomanIloved.”
“Doyouhavemanyenemies?”sheasked,hereyebrowsraisedinsurprise.
“Ahiredgunalwayshasenemies.It’smyaimtoneverleaveonestanding.”
Leighselleshuddered,pullinghershawltighter.“Concentratingonajobwouldbenearimpossible,Iwouldguess,ifyouhadsomeoneathometoalso
worryabout.”“Idon’thavea
permanenthome,anyway.Anotherreasontostaysingle.”Hegaveacasualshrugofhisshoulders.
“Therearemanyreasonsmenchoosetoremainsingle.Yourssoundslikeoneofthebetterones.”Asmallcoughtickledthebackofherthroat,lingering,nevereruptingintoafullspasm.Shewaited,expectingitto
explode,butthemomentpassed,leavingonlythemetallicaftertasteofblood.
CHAPTERFOURTUESDAY,OCTOBER16,
1860
JournalEntryofBarFlanders:
“Aboystraddlesasaddledifferentlythanagirl”werethepartingwordsAuntWinniecalledtomyback
whenIrodeoutofHogMountainthismorning.She’sright.
Inmymind’seye,Iseemypapasittingtallinhissaddle,reinsinhislefthandheldloosebetweenhisfingers,alariatgrippedinhisright,hispreferredhandforshooting,too.Hesatasaddlewithaconfident,
casualattitudegiventomenborntoride.Giventogirlsborntoride,too.
Imustremembertoride,sit,dress,eat,laugh,spit,talk,walk,andthinklikeaboy—allwhileactingnaturally.However,throughtrialanderror,Ihavedetermineditisimpossibletostand
andpeelikeaboy.Today’s
travelsbroughtmeafewmileseastofFortWorth.Notabadstartatallforawagonhorse.Weputarespectabledentinthethreehundredandfiftymileslefttogo.Ifweaveragefiftymilesaday,thenwecanmakeLittleRock,Arkansasbythistime
nextweek.FromtheretoSaintJoseph,Missouriisanotherfourhundredseventyfivemiles,buttheOverlandStagecancoveronehundredmilesormoreintwenty-fourhourssinceitmakesquickstopstochangedriversandhorsesandtoallowpassengerscomfort
breaks.Bymy
calculations,I’llbeapplyingattheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPikesPeakExpressCompanybytheendofOctober.AsAuntWinniecautioned,I’llrefrainfromreferringtoitastheCOC&PPExpressCompany,whichsent
herintoanotherfitoflaughter.
IfIpockettwenty-fivedollarsaweekallofNovember,December,andJanuary,I’llhaveatleastthreehundreddollarstofinishpayingthetaxesdueontheranch,plussome.Won’tol’Mr.Goldthwaiteswallow
histeethwhenheseesthat?
We(meandKing)madecampjustatsunset.Bone-deepwearinesssapsmyappetite.Mydesireforfoodhidesitselfbehindmyribcage.Papausedtosaythat.“What’swronggirl?Yourhungerhidingbehindyourribs?”I’dlaugh,he’dlaugh,
I’dfeignstarvation.Hiseyeswouldtwinkle—hisgrinwouldspreadacrosshisface.Papa’ssmile,hisearconnectingsmile....
Ilookwestandmythoughtstangle.Iwonderwhat’swrongwithme—wrongwithmyheart.DidIleaveitinPaloPinto?Iwasn’t
sadthismorningleavingStarling.Ishouldhavebeensad,butIwasn’t.AllIcouldthinkaboutwasgettingonthathorseandriding.Notridingawayfromher,butridingtowardthisopportunity.
ThetownshipofDallasistomorrow’starget,soIshouldclosemy
journalandsleep.IwonderifI’llhavethatdreamagain,thatrecurringdreamI’vehadthesepastfewnights.Awolf,silentandpowerful,watchesovermeandI’mnotafraid.Hekeepsthenightmaresatbay.
Tomorrow,I’llforgivemyselffornotfeelingsadabout
leavingmybabysister.I’llputemotionsaside.I’llconcentrateononething:beingBarFlanders.
*****October17,1860
ThetownshipofDallaswasabuzzwithactivityasBarleighrodethroughthemiddleofthesquare,stoppingattheliverystabletorefillhercanteens.Everyone
waspitchingintorebuildthebusinessdistrict,whichhadbeentorchedthepreviousJuly.Onlyafewbuildingswerecompletelyfunctional.Otherswerehalf-guttedshells,althoughstilloperational.Most,however,werenothingbutcharredheapsofblackenedrubbish.
Seeingthedestruction,smellingthescorchedremainsofwoodandplaster,causedherblood
tocool.Thememoryofthatnightcamerushingbackwiththesootybreezethatsweptthroughtheburned-outstreets.
BarleighrodeKingpasttheblackenedbuildings,lookingfortheliverystables.AhelpfulstrangerpointedherdownMainStreet,indicatingthebuildingadjacenttoBennett’sMercantile.Barleightippedherhat,said“Muchobliged,”andkept
riding.Apinch-facedelderly
womanalongwithherhomelydaughterwhowasapproachingoldmaidstatuswereatthestableswaitingforthestagecoach.“Mywidowedsisterliveshere,butwe’regoingbackhometoAustin,”themotherinformedBarleigh.Herbusyhandsfussedattheclosuresonherdress,withherdaughter’sdress,andwiththeribbons
thatheldherhattoherhead.“Youknowwhodidthat,don’tyou?”
“Ma’am?”Barleighpeeredfromunderthebrimofherhat,followingthewoman’spointedfingertowardtherebuildingproject.“Uh,no,ma’am,Idon’t.”
“Wasn’tlightningdidthat,”shesaid,flippingthehandleofhercarpetbagbackandforth.“Nope.Localslavesrebelledandsetfireto
thosebuildings.Abolitionistswererunoutoftown,threeNegroeshanged,andajudgeorderedalltherestoftheslavesinthetownshipwhippedforgoodmeasure.Notellingwhoreallydoneit.Buttheyallgotwhipped.”Shetuggedatthefingersofhergloves,thensettledherbrown,pineyesonBarleigh.“Youaren’tanAbolitionist,areyou?”
“I,uh,Ijuststopped
hereforwaterandtocheckmyhorse’sshoes,ma’am.”Acoldsweatbrokeoutonherbrow.Herhandsshookasshefumbledwithuntyingtheleatherstrapsthatattachedthecanteenstothesaddle.
Themothercontinuedhernosyinquiry,askingwhereBarleighcamefrom,whereshewasgoing,andmightthemotherandherdaughterbefortunateenoughthatherdestinationmight
alsobeAustin.“Amaleescortwouldbemostwelcome,giventheunrestfulatmosphere.Twohelplesswomentravelingalone....”Shefrettedagainwiththeribbonsonherhat,thefrayedendsbetrayingherlong-standinghabit.
“I’mBarFlanders,ma’am.HeadedtoSaintJoseph,Missouri,tohireonwiththePonyExpress.”Shekeptherwordsandeye
contacttoaminimum,thoughthemothertriedhardtoengageherinastaringcontest.Thedaughter,however,neverraisedhereyesoffthegroundorhervoiceaboveawhisper.
“Mirabella,wouldn’themakeafineyoungsuitorforyou?”Themotherelbowedherdaughter,eyeswide,andherglovedhandsflutteredintheairliketwoseizuredbirds.“Ithinkhe
shouldcometoAustininstead.Hecanworkontheranch,ifhewantstoridehorsesforaliving.”
Barleightippedherhat,politelydeclined,madeherexcusetobeonherway,tippedherhatagain,andaw-shuckedherwayoutofthere.
WhileshespurredKingawayatafasttrot,hermindplayedwiththenotionofwhoshe’dhavebecome,ifshe’dgrownupwithafussy
motherlikethat.Wouldshebeanoldmaid,quiet,shy,andafraidofherownshadowlikeMirabella?Maybefatehaditrightthatsheshouldhavegrownupwithoutamother,withPaparaisingherashedid,inasaddle,onahorse,underthewide-opensky,justasateasewithapistolasshewaswithapencil.
Thefirstcloseencounterasuccess,andshe
wasnearertobecomingBarFlanders,perfectingherpersona,growingevermorenaturalwithherboy-selfaseachhourpassed.Sinkingintothisnewsomebodyshewasbecoming,shefoundthecloudedimageeasytohidebehind.
Asmallstandoftoweringcottonwoodslinedthebanksofacreekwhereshemadecampforthenight,theirleavespaleyellowwith
theapproachingautumnchill.Theplaceremindedherofwhereherhorse,Willow,wasstolenbyanIndianboyonthewagontrailnorthwhentheyhadlefttheGulfCoastbehind.Makingasmallfire,shesippedcoffeefromatincup,remembering.
IthadbeenalongtheBrazosRiverbetweenWacoandFortWorthwhenshehadbrokenherpapa’snumberoneruleofthewagontrail,to
alwaysstaytogether.She’driddenoffalonelikeahotheadedfool.
*****“WhatamIhearingcomingfrominsidethatwagon?”Seamus,Barleigh’sgrandfathershoutedashebroughtuptheteamofhorsestobeharnessedfortheday’sdrive.“Barleigh,whatareyoudoinginthewagon?Birdieissupposedtoberepackingbreakfastsupplies.”
“She’sthroughwithpacking.I’mreadingtoher.And,I’mteachinghertoread,too,justlikePapataughtme.”Barleighpokedherheadthroughtheflapinthecanvasthatcoveredthewagonandsmiledathergrandfather.
“Slavescan’tread.Theydon’tknowhow.Comeoutofthereatonce,Barleigh.”Hisfacereddenedwithanger.
“Birdiecanread.I
taughther.Goon,Birdie,showGrandfatherhowwellyoupronouncethewords.”Barleighcrawledoutofthewagonandperchedontheseat,motioningforBirdietofollow.SheheldthebookoutforBirdietotake,butBirdierefused.
“Thatnotbeagoodidea,”saidBirdie,aslightcatchinhervoice.“Yourgrandfatherabusymanthismorning,gettingthehorses
andwagonready,andall.”“See,”Seamussaid
withasmirk.“EvenBirdieknowsit’safarce.She’smemorizingwhatyou’vereadtoher.She’snotreading.Slavesareincapable.Theirbrainsdon’tfunctionthewayoursdo.”
“Birdiecan,”Barleighinsisted.“Here,readthisnextparagraphthatIhaven’treadtoyou.ShowGrandfatheryou’renotmemorizing.Go
on.”ShehandedthebooktoBirdie,pointingoutthenextparagraph.
Birdieshookherhead‘no,’clampingherhandsbehindherback,refusingtotakethebook.
Seamuslaughed,hiswordscaustic.“See.Itoldyou.Darkiesareignorant.Youcanshowthematask,butyoucan’tteachthemcomplicatedskills.”
Barleighpressedthe
issue,insistingthatBirdiedemonstratehercommandofreading,proudofhowshe’dtaughther.“Birdie,showhimhe’swrong.Goon,now.”
Birdiehesitated,andthentookthebookinherhands.Sheread,hervoiceslowandsteady,enunciatingeachword:
“ThisisGod’scurseonslavery!Abitter,bitter,mostaccursedthing!Acursetothe
masterandacursetotheslave!IwasafooltothinkIcouldmakeanythinggoodoutofsuchadeadlyevil.”Seamusspunonhis
heels,pullingBirdiefromthewagon,slappingherhardacrossherfacewiththebackofhishand,knockingherontotheground.Shelandedinaheapathisfeet.Thebookslippedfromherhandsandlayopeninthedirt,itspages
flappinglikeatinyflockofwhitebirdstryingtotakeflight.
Hekickedthebookintothedyingembersofthecampfire.“Youarenevertopickupanotherbookagain.Doyouunderstandme?”heshouted,pointinghisfingeratBirdiewholayontheground,anangryweltbeginningtoswellacrosshercheek.
Birdieheldafisttoherbleedinglip,tearswelling
inhereyes.“Yessuh.Iwon’tnever.”
“Grandfather,don’t!”Barleighshrieked.“Stop!”Sheleaptfromthewagonandattachedherselftohergrandfather’sarmasheliftedBirdieoffthegroundwithonehand,hisotherslappingheracrossthemouth.
“Whatthehell?”Henrycameataruntoseehisfatherwithonehandatwistedfistgrippingthefrontof
Birdie’sdress,theotherupraised,readytoinflictanotherblowtoheralreadyswollenface.Barleighclungtohisupraisedarm,swinginglikeamonkeyfromabranch.
Henry’svoicegrowledlowwithatremblingfurynottobeignored.Hespokeeachwordasasingleimperative.“Lethergo,Father.Neveragainliftahandtoher.IfIeverseeyouorhearofyoustrikingthis
woman,it’llbemeyouface.”“Knowyourplace,
boy.Birdieismyslave.It’smyprerogativetopunishherasIseefit.Anyslavecaughtreadingdeservespunishment.”
“That’sadamncoward’sway,amanstrikingawoman.Ifyouwishtohitsomeone,hitme,Father.”Henryspoketheword‘father’withoutatraceofrespect.Heballedhisfists,
readytoreceiveortolandablow.
“Birdieisnotawoman,she’saslave.Andshe’smyslave,lestyouforget.”Seamusspatoutthewordsasiftheytastedbitterinhismouth.
“She’sahumanbeing.”TheveinsthatformedaVonHenry’sforeheadandthatcrepttheirwaytothesurfacewhenheshowedangerpulsedhotandred.
“Letthepunishmentfitthecrime.Ifhercrimeisreading,”hesaid,enunciatingeachwordwithacrispindignation,“thentakeawaythebook.”
“Itookthataway,too.Sheisnevertoreadagain.Never.Doyouallthreehearmyvoiceandunderstandmywords?Idemandyourespectmyrules,”shoutedSeamus.“Myslave.Myrules.”
“You’reashamedthat
Birdiecanread—somethingyouneverlearned.Youpretend,allright,withyourlibraryfullofpreciousbooks.”Henry’shandsfistedandunfistedathissides.
“I’veneverbeenashamedofanything.”Seamusturnedandstompedbacktothewagontofinishhitchingtheteam.
“Ihave,”Henryshoutedathisfather’sback.Hetookaragandwetitwith
waterfromhiscanteenandbeganwashingthebloodfromBirdie’sface.
“I’msorry,Henry.Ididn’tknowwhatthenextlinebe.Ijustbereadingforhimlikehesayto.I’msorry.”Birdiewhimpered,wincingasHenrydabbedatthebloodoozingfromherswollenlip.
“It’snotyourfault,Birdie.IshouldhaveputastoptoBarleighteachingyou.Iwasafraidsomethinglike
thiswouldhappenifmyfatherfoundout.”
“No,”Barleighsaid,stompingherfoot.“Youshouldnothaveputanendtothereadinglessons.Youshould’veputanendtoBirdiebeingGrandfather’sslave.Don’tyouunderstand,Papa?”Sherantothecampfireandtriedtoplucktheburningbookoutofthecoals.
Henrygrabbedhis
daughterbytheshouldersandspunheraround.“Youreadandgetideasaboutthingsyoudon’tunderstand.Whatwereyouthinking,readingUncleTom’sCabintoBirdie?Lettingherreaditaloud?Youshouldhaveknownbetter.”Hekickedattheremainingpagesthatsmolderedandglowedredaroundtheedges.
“Youboughtmethebook,Papa,soI’dhavesomethingnewtoreadonour
journey.NowyousayIshouldn’tbereadingit.Idon’tunderstand....”Barleightriedtopullaway.
“Lookatme,daughter.Idounderstandyourdesirefortheworldtobefair.Butdarling,you’reonlyfourteenandtooyoungtounderstandtheworld.Thisisacomplicatedissuethathasnoeasysolution.”
“Thesolutioniseasy,Papa.YouandGrandfather
aremakingithard.”Barleighdidn’twant
tolistentohim.Shejustwantedtoride,torideawayfromhimandhergrandfatherandthethingsshedidn’tunderstand.UntyingWillowfromthewagon,sheswungintothesaddle.
“IcanfindmywaytoFortWorth.Idon’twanttoridealongwithyou.IhatethatGrandfatherwon’tletBirdiebefree,Papa,andI
hateyoufornotinsistingonit.”
Assoonasthewordslefthermouth,theyhunglikeblackdartsintheair—sharpandhurtful.Shewantedthemback.
“Barleigh,”Henryshouted.“Don’teventhinkaboutridingofffromherebyyourself.It’stoodangeroustoridealone.Barleigh,doyouhearme?”Hekickedthegroundhard,twice,sendinga
sprayofrocksflying.“Damnit,girl.Whyareyousuchahothead?”Hestood,fistsonhips,glaringathisdaughter.
“It’snotjustslaves,Henry,whoshouldnotbetaughttoread,”Seamusshoutedoverhisshoulder,thehorsesnowhitched,thewagonready.“Impudent,youngteenagegirlsshouldlearnsewingandcookingandleaveeducationtomenlikeuswhoknowwhattodowith
it.Itwasafoolishthingforyoutoteachthatgirltoread.Youshould’veknownbetter.”
“There’relotsofthingsIshould’veknownbetter.Idon’tcountthisasoneofthem.”Henryspoketohisfather,buthiseyeswereonhisdaughter.Hisblueeyeswerenotshiningandlively,buthurtanddark.
Barleighturnedaway,reininghermarearound,
spurringmuchharderthanwhatwasneededtoescapefromthepaininherfather’seyes,fromBirdie’sbruisedandswollenface,fromthemadnessofhergrandfather’swrath.Shewishedshehadn’tspurredWillowsohard,wishedthatshehadn’tthrownthosehatefulwordsatherpapa,butcoulddonothingnowbutrideforFortWorth.
Spurringthehorseintoafastgallop,Barleigh
smackedthelatigoagainstthemare’shipoverandoverwhenshedidn’thaveto.Willowdugdown,runningfaster,tryingherdamnedesttocomplywithwhatwasbeingaskedofher.Thelittlemareranneartoexhaustion,tryingtopleaseherrider.Theharderthehorsetried,themoreBarleighsobbed.
HowcouldhergrandfatherbesobrutaltowardBirdie?Barleigh
wonderedifshewaslikehim?Didshehaveitinher,too,whippingandspurringherpoorhorseasshedid?Couldthatevilstreakrunthroughherownbloodandhardenherbones?Thethoughtterrifiedher.
“Easy,there,easynow.”ShestrokedWillow’sneckandslowedhertoawalk,bendingforward,buryingherfaceinthehorse’smane.“I’msorry,
girl,Ishouldn’thavemadeyourunsohard.”Leaningsidewaysinthesaddle,sheranherhandsdownthehorse’ssides,checkingforblood.Lookingatherunstainedhands,sheheavedasighofrelief.
Agatheringoftreesahalfmileorsooffthetrailtothewestindicatedwater.Cottonwoodtreesedgedthebanksandofferedtheirlongbranchestoshadetheground.
ShereinedWillowtoastop,unsaddledher,butleftthebridleonwhilekeepingthereinstiedaroundhernecktomakeiteasytocatchher.
“I’msorry,Willow,pleaseforgiveme.I’llneverdothatagain.Ipromise.”Shebreatheddeeplythesmellofthehorse’ssweatyneckandstrokedthestarthatswirledatthetipofherblaze.Willownickered,thendroppedherheadtothegroundandbegan
tograzeonthesweetspringgrassthatgrewbytheedgeofthewidecreek,itswatercool,clear,andinviting.
Afterfillingthecanteen,Barleighpouredwateronherhead,splashingherface,washingoffthedustystreaksfromhertears.Shelaiddownonthesaddleblanketandwatchedasthehorsenippedthegreengrasscleanattheroot,whileignoringthecattailsandbitter
weedthatgrewalongthewater’sedge.
Stretchingoutinthewarmsunshine,Barleighshuthereyes,hermindunsettledandconfused.Thebreezewhisperedasitrustledthroughthecottonwoodleaves.Doesthetreeownthedirtarounditsroots,takingfromitwhatitwants,ordoesthedirtownthetree,holdingitagainstitswill?
Hereyelidsgrew
heavyandshedriftedofftosleep,ponderingaworldoutofbalance—aworldshedidn’tunderstand.
ThesnappingofatwigawokeBarleighfromhernap,andsherolledoverontoherside,proppingherheadinherpalm,yawning.“Willow,webettergetyousaddledandourselvesbackonthetrailbefore...”Herbreathcaughtinastartledgasp.
Atthewater’sedge,a
youngIndianboycrouchedonallfours,drinkingstraightoutofthepondlikeahorse,oracoyote,oranyotherthirstyanimal.Hisdarkskinglistenedinthesun,hisbrowneyes,dartingbetweenBarleighandWillow,lookedwild.Hewasapredatorsizinguphisprey.Hesprangtohisfeetwithliquidgracefulnessandrantowardthehorse.Grabbingahandfulofthemare’smane,heleapt
ontoherbackinonefluidbound,digginghisbarehealsintohersides,andwasgone.
“Willow!”Barleighscreamed,runningafterthepair,feettangling,falling,handsout,catching,cactusquillssticking,butitwasnouse.Atrailofsepia-coloreddustroseabovethetrailquiteadistanceawayastheIndianboygallopedthestolenhorsefromview.
Henryandthewagon
caughtupwithBarleighasshewalked,carryinghersaddle.Hisfearofwhatcouldhavehappenedtohisdaughterturnedhisinitialreliefthatshewasallrightintored-hotanger.Barleighhadbrokenherfather’snumberoneruleandhadriddenoffalone.Sheknewthatshedeservedhisrage,andmore.Shehadletherhorsegetstolen.
Theremainderofthe
journeytoFortWorth,sherodeinthebackofthewagon,curledupwithherheadrestinginBirdie’slap.ShelostherselftotherhythmicalsoundofPeatyandBoss’slargehoovesstrikingthegroundatafasttrot.Inasoft,hushedvoice,BirdiecroonedlullabiesjustasshehadwhenBarleighwasasmallchild,whiletheswayingofthewagonrockedbackandforth.Thecanvas
cover,pulledopenandtiedtothesides,showcasedthemilkcowtryingherbesttokeepup,thebellthatBarleighhadtiedaroundherneckclangingwitheachstride.
Stretchingoninasolidflatline,theinfinitehorizonshimmered.Barleighkepthereyesalerttoanysignofsomethingbreakingthatline—alonerideronastolenhorse;agroupofriderslookingfortrouble—butall
shesawwasdustanddirtandsky.
Asearingwindtwirledaroundthewagon,dustswirlingupwardinatwistingvortex.“Windhotasthedevil’sbreathbeabadomen,”Birdiesaidhalftoherself.Barleigh’sspinetingledwithacreepingchill.Asinglewhitecloudasbillowyandfluffyascottonpassedoverhead,erasingthewagon’sshadow.
*****TheyarrivedinFortWorthasthelong-reachingorangeandpinkfingersofthesettingsunstretchedouttogreetthem,theskyaninkyblue-blacktotheeast.ItwasJune25,1855,thejourneyhavingtakenthreeweeksandthreedays.
Iffortisashortenedversionofthewordfortress,Barleighthoughttheymustbeinterribletrouble.Littleremainedofanything
recognizableasfortress-like.Highuponanorth-facingbluffoverlookingtheClearForkoftheTrinityRiverremainedaportionofawallbearinggunturrets,theheavywoodenshuttersthrownopenasaboldinvitationtothenightsky.Ifstarsweretheenemies,acleanandclearshotwouldbecertain.
Mr.SimonGoldthwaite,theattorneyandbankerwhohadcorresponded
withHenryregardingthepropertyinPaloPinto,greetedthemupontheirarrival.HewasquicktosaythatFortWorthhadbeendisbandedandevacuatedoverayearpriorwhentheArmyceaseditsoperationasafortifiedmilitaryoutpost.Remainingsettlerstookoverthefort,settingupshopsandbusinesses,usingthetimberfromthefortresswallstobuildhomes,aschoolhouse,
andadditionalbuildingsforcommerce.Oneuniquebusiness,somethinghecalledadepartmentstore,aMr.Leonardbeingtheproprietor,deservedspecialmention.
“Imaginealargestorewithanentiredepartmentofbootsandshoes,anothersectionfullofhardware,anotherofwomen’sfinery,”hesaidwithawinkandanod.“Overhereyouhaveadepartmentformen,over
there,adepartmentforchildren.Everythingyouneedanddon’tyetknowyouneed,allunderoneroof!”Hewinkedagain,slowanddeliberate.
“AlloftheHostileshavebeenpushedbackfartherwest,”heexplainedasreasonforthefort’sdismantling.“TheArmy,withwisdomandforethought,relocatedallgarrisonstopointsdeeperintoIndian
Territory.”“NotallIndians,”
Barleighinformedhim,“havevacatedthearea.OneisatthisverymomentwellmountedonafancylittlepalominomarenamedWillow.Shestandsfourteenandahalfhands,hasastarandanarrowblaze,fourwhitesocks,flaxenmaneandtale,withacoatthatisadeepautumnleafgold,justincaseyoufindher.”
HenrytoldMr.Goldthwaiteaboutthemorning’sencounter,whichhadtranspiredafewmilesnorthofwheretheBrazosRiverflowedthroughthetownofWaco.Mr.GoldthwaitesaidhewouldinformtheTexasRangersoftheincident,butheassuredHenrythatfolksinFortWorthweresafe.
Mr.Goldthwaiteplannedforthenextdayatrip
toPaloPinto,asmallcommunityhalfaday’sridewest,toshowHenrythenewranch,causingHenrytosmileforthefirsttimesincehavingleftCorpusChristi.
BarleighhopedPaloPintosmelledlikeitsounded—likeahorse.Likeasweatyhorse.
“Theland,eighthundredacresandmoretobehadifyoudesire,”saidMr.Goldthwaite,“liesbetweena
forkoftheBrazosRiverandtheCoffeeCreek,thecreekgettingitsnamebecauseitturnsdarkreddishbrownwhenastormchurnsandmuddiesthewater.Itfoamsontopbecauseoftheloosesiltfromthecalichebeds,likesomeoneaddedahelpingofcream.Idon’tknowaboutyou,”hewinked,“butIsuredolikecreamwithmycoffee.”
Barleighaskedifshe
couldnametheirnewhome“TheCoffeeCreekRanch.”Henrygaveacomicalwinkandadramaticnod,sendingBarleighintoafitoflaughter.
*****RidingthroughthetownshipofDallas,Barleighhadspiedapalominohorsetiedatahitchingpost,andshethoughtofWillow.Paleyellowcottonwoodsputtingontheirfallcolorsandyellowhorseswerenostalgicsymbolsthat
triggeredmelancholymemories.
Shepouredwateronthecampfireandthencovereditwithascoopofdirt.Huddleddeepinherbedroll,shewrappedtheblackandredNavajoblanketaroundhershoulders,wonderingwhatthenextday’sridemightbring.
CHAPTERFIVESEPTEMBER27,1860
Jamesonappearedwithatrayoffreshglassesrimmedinsugar,apitcheroflemonade,whiskeyontheside,andanassortmentofripefruit.Afterlayingoutclean,pressedlinennapkinsandtidyingthetable,heaskedinaclippedBritishaccent,“Willtherebeanythingelse,sir?”The
fullnessofhisdarkmustachecoveredhismouthandhungwellbelowhissquarejawline,hisfurrycaterpillareyebrowsarchingupwardtoaccentuatehisinquiry.
“Thankyou,Jameson,that’llbeallfornow,”saidHughes,centeringthetrayonthetable.
LeighsellewatchedasJamesonretreatedintotheshadowsofthehotel,hisimpeccableuniformspotless.
Theoldcloudofdoubtandguiltcreptintohermind,andshewonderedagainwhatitmightbeliketoownareputableestablishmentlikeahotel,insteadoftherowdysaloon,LaVerne’sTavern,thatborehermiddlename.
Shefoldedandrefoldedthecrispwhitenapkin,movedtheglassoflemonadeaninchthisway,twoinchesthatway,andpickedattheripe,red
strawberryonherplate.“So,”shesigheddeeply,elicitingarattlingcoughthatshookthetable,“therestofmystorywon’ttellitself,willit?”
“No.”Hughesshookhishead.Hewaited,givinghertimetocollectherthoughts.
Leighselle’sgazedriftedacrossthesceniclandscape,settlingonapointsomewherealongabendintheriver.“Aftertheattack,I
wantedtodie.IfelthorribleguiltthatsomehowIhadbroughtiton.Butitwasn’tmewhodied.Typhoidfeverwastakingitstollinthepoorerquarters,anditspreadthroughouttheparish,soonclaimingmymother,father,andmostofourservants.”
“GoodGod,Leighselle.Ihadnoidea.Howdidyousurvive,afterwhatyou’dbeenthrough?”
“Ihadnochoice.The
nextmorning,afteranightofwishingIweredead,Iawoketofindthehouseholdquiet,motherandfatherinbed,andtheyweredeathlysick.IsomehowpulledmyselftogetherandfoundthewherewithaltorideintoVermillionParishtofetchDoctorBronstein.Hecamerightaway,andforthreedayswedidallwecouldformyparents.ThenIgotsickwiththetyphoid,too.”The
memoryoftyphoid’sdeadlyfevercausedavisibleshudder,andLeighselledottedherforeheadwithherhandkerchief.
Hughesmovedhisplateasideandpouredtwocupsofcoffee,passingonetoLeighselle.“Whatyearwasthis?Youwere—?”
“Fifteen,almostsixteen.ItwasSeptemberof1836.DoctorBronsteincalledit‘themonthofdeath.’I
rememberwakingup,lookingoutthewindow,withthesensationofbeinginaverybaddream.”
*****Theskyisonfireandthesunhasgoneblack.Lyingbackonthepillow,Leighselledriftedinandoutofdreams.Fierydreams.Dreamsofpanic,terror,andpain.Running.Falling.Drowning.Ahandoverhermouth.Suffocating.Screaming.
Fadingtonothing.Nothing.BigBettywalkedinto
theroomandsatateatrayatthefootofLeighselle’sbed.“Wakeupnow,MissLeighselle.Timeforafternoontea.Ibrungyoucinnamonscones.Yougonnalikethemscones,um-hm.Idonebutteredthemforyou.”
Leighsellesatup.“WhereamI?”
“You’satDoctorBronstein’shouse.Idonetold
youthesamethingeverytimeyouask,butthat’sfine.Youbeensickagoodwhile.Youboundtoforgetwhatyoudoneask.”BigBettyfistedherhandsonheramplehips.“ButtodayIseetheol’Leighselleshiningthroughthemeyes.Thankyou,Lawd.”
“IthoughtIheardJacqueswhimpering.Ishesick,too?”AwaveofpanicwashedoverLeighselleas
shelookedaroundforherdog.
“Hefine.Herighthereonthefloorlickingupcrumbs.”Bettyliftedthelittledogontothebedandheburrowedundertheblanket.“Whatspreadroundhereain’taffectingtheanimals.Onlythepeoples.”BigBettyopenedthewindowontheoppositesideoftheroom.“Butonlysomepeoples.Addy-Frankandherchild,
Birdie,theyallright,butAddy-Frank’stwinbabies,theytooweakandyoungtofightsomethinglikethis.DoctorBronsteinbeallrighttoo,’causehesayGodprotecthimsohecantreatthosethatbesick.”
“MotherandFather?Wherearethey?Aretheyathome?Aretheyallrightnow?Iremembertheyweresick.Ihelpedtakecareofthem.Iremember...”
DoctorBronsteinrappedonthebedroomdoor.“Iseeyouareawake,MissLeighselle.MayIenter?”
“Yes,pleasecomein,”shesaid,settingtheemptyteacupaside.
BigBettypouredanothercup.“Drinkmore,baby,ifyoucan.Youneedstrength.Doctor,youwantIshouldwaitoutside?”
“No.No,BigBetty.Ithinkyoushouldstay.”
“Yes’suh.”“Leighselle,”hesaid,
pullingachairuptothebed,“wemusthaveaseriousdiscussionaboutyourcircumstance.Letmelistentoyourlungsfirst.”
Afterabriefexam,DoctorBronsteinpattedheronthebackandsaid,“Well,child,youareontheroadtorecovery.Notemperature.Eyesandthroatclear.Aslightrattleinyourlungsbut
muchimprovedevenoveryesterday.You’llbefittotravelwithinthemonthifyoucontinueimproving.”
“Fittotravel?WhereamIgoing?Wherearemyparents?”Shesatupstraighter.Theserioustoneofthedoctor’svoicecausedaninneralarmtobeginchiming.
BigBettysatonthebedandtookLeighselle’shandinhers,Doctor
Bronsteintakingtheother.Withhisfreehand,hepushedhisglassesbackuponhisnose,thenchangedhismindandtookthemoff,tuckingthemintohiscoatpocket.Beadsofsweatglistenedonhisbaldhead,whichheblottedwithhisshirtsleeve.
“Thisisunpleasant,mychild,butthereisonewaytodealwithtragedy,andthatisstraighton.Thefactisthatyourparentsdidnotrecover
fromtheirillness.I’mverysorry.Wedidallwecould,butitwasnottobeforthemtogetwell.”
AsobtriedtoforminthebackofLeighselle’sthroat.Atearbrimmedbutthensettledbackintoplace,asiftheeffortwastootaxingforherexhaustedbodythathadspentthelastmonthhoveringclosetodeath.“When?”sheasked,hervoiceawhisper.
“Amonthago,justbeforeIbroughtyouheretomyhouse.Youweregravelyill,too.Iwasn’tsuremymedicinewouldpullyouthrough.”
“Isee.Andtheslaves?”
“Allgone,exceptforAddy-FrankandhereldestchildBirdie.I’mafraidthattheyareallyouhaveleft.”Thedoctorpattedhisforeheadagain,blottingthe
perspiration.“AllIhaveleft?What
doyoumean?Ihavetheanimals—thehouse—theproperty.”That’snotlogical,Leighsellethought.Thedoctorwasmakingnosensetoher.
DoctorBronsteinlookedhardintohereyes.“Letmebequickwiththis.It’sbesttobequick.Onhisdeathbed,IpromisedyourfatherthatIwouldlookout
foryou.Hesentforhisattorneytowitnessmebecomingyourguardian.Doyouunderstand?”
Leighsellenoddedherunderstanding.
“Bothyourfatherandyourmotherlovedyouverymuch.Itwastheirfinalwishthatyoushouldnothavetoworryaboutthefuture,ifyousurvived.TheyaskedthatIselltheranchandputthefundsinatrustforyou.Do
yourecallyourneighbortothenorth,themanwhoseplantationbordersyourproperty?”
“Yes,Iknowhim.MyfathercalledMisseurBaptisteabraggerandacrookandacruelexcuseforaman.Fathersaidheoncebeatahorsehalftodeathforsuckinginairandrefusingtobesaddled.”
“Yes.Hehasareputationforbeingrough.
Butheofferedafairpriceforyourproperty,includingthecattleandhorses.”Then,lookingatBigBetty,hesaid,“Pleasebringmeaglassofwater,Betty.”
“Yes’suh.”DoctorBronstein
tappedhispocketasifrememberingwhereheputhisglasses,andthenslidthembackontohisface,nudgingthemintoplace.“MisseurBaptiste’sone
stipulationwasthatthebuildingsbesetafire.Icouldnotconvincehimthattheairinyourhomewasnottainted,thatthisdiseasedidnotcomefrombadair.But,heinsisted.”
Leighsellelookedoutthewindow.“Theskywasonfirethismorning.Isawitfrommywindow.IthoughtIwasdreaming.Thatwasmy—”
“Yes,thatwasyour
house.Thecarriagehouseandtheslave’squarters,too.Hesenthismenover.Ihadnochoice.Besidesthemoneyfromtheland,you’veretainedownershipofAddy-FrankandBirdie.”
“Ownership?Idon’tknowthefirstthingabouttakingcareofslaves.I’llsetthemfree.IrecallFathertellMotherthatothersaredoingso.”Hearingclearlyherfather’svoiceinherhead
speakingtohermotherseemedsurreal.They’regonenow.I’mallalone.
“Insomenorthernstates,yes.Butit’sagainstthelawinLouisianatoemancipateaslave.Youcouldgotojailrightalongwiththeslaveyouweretryingtofree.”Hereachedfortheglassofwater.“Thankyou,Betty.”
“Yes’suh,”noddedBigBettyasshemovedtothe
sidetableandbeganherpreparationofmedicinaltea.
“Besides,”thedoctorcontinued,“you’llneedAddy-Frankasyourhandmaidtohelpyouwithpersonal,day-to-dayrequirements.I’veenrolledyouinschoolupinShreveport.”
Leighselle’sstomachlurched.“Whatkindofschool?I’veneverbeentoschool.Motherhiredtutors.”
Acoldsweatbegantoformonherbrow.ShereachedforthecupofteaBigBettyoffered,herhandsunsteadyandweak.
“Iunderstandthisisashock,somuchinformationtotakeinatonce.Butthisisbest.You’llnotbetiedtoaplaceofbadmemories.Theranchwouldbeimpossibleforyoutoundertakeonyourown.You’llbegoingtoschoolattheMedical
HospitalinShreveport.That’swhereIstudiedtobecomeadoctor.It’soneofthefinestfacilitiestolearnmedicineoutsideofVirginiaMilitaryInstitute,whichdoesn’tallowfemales.Shreveportwillallowfemalestudentsintheirnursingprogram.”Thedoctoremptiedtheglassofwater,refillingit.
“ButIdon’tliketobearoundsickness,”Leighselle
protested,tryingtokeephervoiceevendespitetheadrenalinepushingithigher.“Thesmellofvomitgagsme.Thesightofbloodmakesmeswoon.Thesoundofpainedwailingterrifiesme.I—Icannot.”
“Don’tbeafraid,child.You’llbefine.It’sallsettled.I’vepaidyourtuitionwiththeproceedsfromthesaleofyourproperty,andyouhaveatidysumremainingin
atrustfundthatI’vesetupforyouattheNationalBankinNewOrleans.Onceyouareoutofschool,youcanopenaclinicofyourown.Ofcourse,you’llhavetohireadoctortoruntheclinic.But,technically,hewouldworkforyou.Now,isthatnotafineidea?”
Leighsellelaybackonherpillow,staringattheceiling.“MotherandFatherdead.Theranchsold.
MammyHannah,JohnnyBoy,Esther,alltheothersgone,too.MeinnursingschoolwithAddy-FrankandBirdy?Ineedtimetothinkthisallthrough.”
“Ofcourse,mydear.Whenyouawaketomorrowmorning,Itrustthatyou’llseethatIhavedonemybestforyou.You’llhaveaneducation,moneyinthebank,andyoucanleavethissorrowfulplaceandputyour
sadnessbehindyou.”DoctorBronsteinstoodup,steadyinghimselfagainstthedoorframe.
“Mysadnesswillcomewithme.It’sstitchedtomelikemyownskin.”
“Intime,thatsadnesswilldiminish.Yourheartwillfindwaystorefillitselfwithotherjoys.Rest,drinkthemedicineBettyprepared,andcontinuegettingstronger.”
“Yes,Doctor.Thank
you.”Leighsellerolledover,
scoopingJacquesupfromwherehe’dburrowedunderthecovers,placinghimonthepillownexttoher.Lookingoutthewindow,shetriedtoenvisionthisredlandwithoutherparents,withouttheslaveswhohadalwaysbeenapartofherlife,withoutherhome,herhorses,wherenothingremainedbutreddeath.
Shefeltvacant,hollow,asuntetheredasafree-floatingballoon.TherewasnothingleftforherinVermillionParish.Shemustfindherownway.
AplanbegantopieceitselftogetherinLeighselle’smind.Sheknewshewasnotsuitablefornursing—shedidn’thavewhatitmusttaketobeagoodnurse.Therestoodahighprobabilitythatshemightharmherpatients,
iffornootherreasonthanfordesertion.Surelytherewerelawsagainstthat.
Jacquesscoochedcloserandwhimpered,thenpokedhisnoseintothepalmofLeighselle’shand,hissignalformoreattention.Asshestrokedhissilky,triangleear,sheconsideredherfuture.Withaquietreckoning,itcameintosoftfocus,likefoggraduallyliftingovertheVermillionRiver,sothatthe
reddirtbanksandbendsandochershoalsgrewintosomethingdefinable.
“I’llbedamned,Jacques,ifwe’regoingtoShreveport.MymoneyisinabankinNewOrleans.ByGodthen,that’swhereweshallgo.”
*****Hughesstudiedthefrailwomansittingacrossfromhim.“I’mtryingtoimagineyouasafrightenedyet
determinedteenagegirlembarkingonsuchajourney.Itwouldtakegumptionforanadulttoundertakewhatyouwereconsidering.Youwerejustachild.”
Openingherparasol,sherosetoherfeet.“Iwasagirlwithgumption.Ijustdidn’tfullyrealizeityet.I’mgettingabitstiff,sitting.Let’stakeawalk,shallwe?”
“Ofcourse.AndsoyousetoffforNewOrleans.”
Astheysteppedawayfromthetable,HugheswavedatJameson,indicatingthey’dbebacksoon.
Itwasn’tpleasant,theleaving,Leighsellerecalled.Therehadbeenotherdeathstocontendwithfirst.“BythetimeIwaswellenoughtoleaveVermillionBay,bothDoctorBronsteinandBigBettyhadsuccumbedtothetyphoid,too.”
Somuchdeathinsuch
ashortperiodoftimehadleftonlyafewremainingsoulswhowereabletohelpburythedead.“Addie-Franksentforhelpfromtheneighboringplantation,buttheonlyhelpavailablewasaskinny,eight-year-oldboy.ThegravesdugforthedoctorandBigBettywereshallowandinadequate,butitwasthebestwecoulddo.”
Astheyroundedthehotel,Hughesopenedthegate
tothepatio,usheringLeighselleinside.“Icanimaginehowterrifiedyoumusthavebeen.”
“Terrified,yes,butthestrangepart,”sherecalled,asmilewarmingherfacewiththememory,“wasthatIbegantofeelstrongerandmoreself-assuredthanIhadeverfeltbefore.”
“We’remoldedbyouradversities.”HughesmotionedforJamesonand
requestedcoffeeservice,noticingthathe’dappearedatthepatio.“Wasthatalongenoughwalk?”
“Yes,perfect.”ShetooktheseatHughespulledoutforher.“Andifyouallow,adversitywillmoldyouintoabetter,moreenlightenedversionofyourself.”ShesippedthecupofblackcoffeeJamesonhadpouredfromthesterlingsilverservice.
“WhenIleftVermillionParishbehind,allIhadwerethetwolettersofintroductionfromDoctorBronstein,onefortheschoolinShreveport,whichIhadnointentionofusing,andtheotherforthebankerwhoheldmytrustinNewOrleans,whichIhadeveryintentionofusing.”
“HowdidyougettoOrleans?”askedHughes,hiscuriositybendinghim
forward.“Ihelpedmyselfto
thedoctor’sbuggyandcarthorse.First,Iwentthroughhisdeskandbureau.IwaspennilessuntilIcouldgetmyhandsonmytrust.Iknewthegooddoctorwouldn’tmindmetakingwhateverIcouldfind.Therewasnooneleftaliveforhimtogiveitto.Hehadalmosteighthundreddollarshiddeninthebackofhisshavingtoilet.”
“Youwereaverybravegirl,”saidHugheswithadmiration.“Yougrewupinahurry.”
“Yes.Intheblinkofaneye,Iwentfrombeingtheveryspoiledonlychildwhoneverwantedforanythingtohavingtwopeopleandtwoanimalswhodependedonme.Ididn’thavetimetobeapuddly,tearymess.IhadtogetustoNewOrleans,despitethefactthatIhadat
bestonlyavagueideaofwhereNewOrleanswas.”
*****EarlyNovember1836
Addy-Frank’sthin,grayshawlhunglimparoundherbonyshoulders;herdarkbrowneyes,sunkenandvacant,staredoffintothedistance.“Justkeeponaheadingthisbuggysouth,MissLeighselle.IknowIheardfolkssayN’Awleansbe
south.”Five-year-oldBirdie
laycurledinhermother’slaplikeasleepingkitten,whilehermotherstrokedthechild’ssoft,lightbrowncheekwithherfinger.Addy-FrankhadweptforanhourwhentheyleftVermillionBay.She’dcrieduntilherbodywaslimpandemptyoftearsfromhavingtoleavehertwinbabiesbehindinthereddirtgravethatheldtheother
Beauclaireslaves.“Thankyou,Addy-
Frank,butwecan’tgoanymoresouththanwe’vealreadygoneorwe’llendupintheGulfandneedingaboatinsteadofabuggy.”Leighselledrewthereinsupshort,slowingthehorse.“Weneedtomakeourwayeast.Weshouldheadeast.I’mcertain.Or,maybeweshouldgonorthfirstalittlewaytofindastageroadorrailroad
wecanfollow,onethatgoeseast.Whatdoyouthink?”
Leighsellehadtriedtoadoptanairofconfidence—shewantedtofeelcertainaboutwhereshewasgoing,buttheonlythingshefeltassuredaboutwasleavingVermillionParish.Theplacesmelledofdeath.
“WhatIthink?IthinkyouthewhitegirlandItheblackgirlandyouneedtostartactinglikeitandquit
askingmewhatIthink.Idon’twanttothink.AllIwanttodoisgobacktothetimebeforethatol’typhoidtookmybabiesaway.”Addy-Frankdrewhershawlaroundhershouldersandturnedherchintheotherdirection.
“Oh,”Leighsellesaid,stunned.Shepulledhardonthedrivinglinesandreinedthecarthorsetotheleft,headingeast.
*****
January1,1840–FourYearsLater
LeighsellecalledtoAddy-Frank,“Wehavetwomore.Pleaseattendtotheirwoundsandseetoitthattheyhaveahotmealandabath.Thesegirlslookworseoffthanthefirstthree.”Leighselle’spulsethrobbedinhertemples—herheadachedasangerpercolatedjustbelowthesurface.“It’sworseevery
year,thesegirlscominginhereabusedandbeatup,thendumpedonmydoorstep.NewYear’sEveshouldbeoutlawed.”
“Yes’sum,MissLeighselle,butain’tmuchlefttofeedthempoorgirls.We’saboutoutafoodinthepantry,”saidAddy-Frank.SheheadedtothebackoftheSewBeauclaireShoppe,wheregirlsinneedhidoutuntilwoundsmendedor
memoriesfaded.Shemutteredtoherself,“Lostgirlsshowingupwithasobstoryorasplitlip,themworkinggirlsfromthetavern,ain’tnowonderweain’tgotmuchleft.”
“MissLeighselle,”saidBirdie,“theyagentlemanknockingatthefrontdoor.Hewearingatorntopcoat.Specheneedsitmended.”Birdie,smallforherage,hadsilkyblackcurls
thathunginlong,thickspiralsdownherback.Herfineexoticfeatureswerepulledintoaseriousfrown.“Whysomeonewantstodobusinessonaholiday?MissLeighselle?Wantmetoshowhimin?”
“No,Birdie,myhandsarefullthismorning.Tellhimwe’reclosedinobservanceoftheNewYear,”saidLeighsellefromthekitchenasshesortedand
washedapples.“Closed?”shouted
Addy-Frankfromdownthehallway.“MissLeighselle,weain’tneverclosed.Weneedthemoney.Yousaytherentbeduesoonand—”
“Calmyourself,Addy-Frank,it’sallright.”Leighsellesighedwithfrustration.“You’recorrect.Weneedthemoney.Showhimintotheparlor,Birdie.”
Thecustomerstepped
intothefrontroom,removinghistopcoatandhat,handingthegarmenttoBirdie.“Topthreebuttonsaremissingandlapelistorn.”Heturned,asardonicsmilespreadingacrosshisface,andstaredatLeighselle,whostoodinthekitchendoorway.
Leighselledrewinaquickbreathofsurprise.“You.Whatareyoudoinghere?Youmustleaveatonce.Takeyourcoatandleave.”
“Isawthesignaboveyourdoor,‘SewBeauclaire.’Icouldn’thelpbutnoticethename.Yourbusiness,Iassume?”SeamusFlandersstrolledintothekitchen,hishardblueeyesscanningtheroom.
Leighsellebackedaway,acoldfearwashingoverher.“Isaidtoleave.”
“IwentbacktoVermillionBay.Everythingwasgone,evenyourhouse.
Theentireparish,vaporized.”Seamusfoldedhishandsacrosshischest,staringather.“Ihadgonebackforyou,totakeyoutoTexas,tomakeyoumywife.Myranchsettled,ahomebuiltforus,moneyinthebank.Everythingwasready.”
Leighsellecontinuedbackingaway,feelingthecolordrainingfromherface,theheatfromherbody.
“Iwastoldthat
everyonediedexceptforafewslaves.IguessIwastoldwrong.”Hissmilewascold.
“Yes.Nowallthat’sleftareunwelcomememoriesandghosts.”SheleanedfurtherawayasSeamusinchedcloser,awaveofpanicshootingthroughher.“YoumustleaveorI’llscream.”
“Scream?Thenwhat?Frightentheprettylittlechildthatansweredthedoor?
Summontoyouraidyourdarkieanddrunkenwhores?I’llbehappytoputthemallintheirplace.”
SeamusreachedforLeighselle’shandbutsheswatteditaway.Shegropedbehindherback,tryingtofeelfortheparingknifeshehadleftlyingonthecounterbesidethebowlofapples.
“Idreamedofthis—ofyoubeingalive,ofmefindingyou.Isawthegraves
ofyourmotherandfather,butnotonewithyournameonit.Iknewinmyheartyouweren’tdead.”
“Youdon’thaveaheart,”shespatoutthewords,herfearcongealingandhardeningintorighteousanger.
“Itoldyouonthatday,Leighselle,thatyoubelongedtome,thatyou’dalwaysbemine.”Withroughhandsheseizedbothofher
wristsandpulledhertowardhim.“Rememberthatday?Ithinkaboutitallthetime.”
“I’mnotyours.You—youtooksomethingthatdidn’tbelongtoyou.You’reanevilpersonwhoattackedaninnocentchild.”Thehorriblememorysickenedher.
“ThankGodIcameto’OrleansfortheNewYear.ThankGodthatItoremycoat.ThankGodsomeone
pointedmeinthedirectionofagoodseamstressshop.”Hegrippedherwriststighter.“ThankGodIfoundyouandyou’restillalive.MaybenowI’vegotenoughreasonstostartbelievinginGod.”
Leighsellestruggledagainsthim,tryingtofreeherwristsfromhisgrip.Turningherheadleftandright,shefoughttoresisthissloppykisses.Whiskeyandcheapcigarsflavoredhisbreath,his
clotheslookingandsmellingasifhehadsleptinthem.
Shemanagedtopullonehandfreeandreachedbehindfortheknife.Theheavybowlofapplestippedoffontothefloorandclangedlikeabellasithit,theredfruitrollingoutlikeshinychildren’smarblesacrosstheblackandwhitecheckeredtilefloor.TheloudnoisecaughtSeamusoffguardlongenoughforLeighselletoslip
outofhisgraspandrunpasthim.
“Youallright,MissLeighselle?Iheardanoise.”Addy-Frankwalkedintothekitchenandsawthebowlofapplesstrewnacrossthefloor.“Whathappenedhere?”ShelookedfromSeamustoLeighselle.
Birdiewalkedintothekitchenbehindhermotherandbeganpickingupthespilledfruit.“Iwashthem
off,MissLeighselle.It’sallright.”
“Iwasclumsyandknockedthemtothefloor,Addy-Frank.”Shekepthervoicecalm.Noneedtoalarmanyone.“Doyouhaveourcustomer’smendingfinished?”
“Almost.Justneedtoputafewmorestitchesin.Bejustaminute.”Thesmallmanwithcopperhairandrussetfrecklesseemedunimposing
untilshelookedintohiseyes;thensheshivered.Shegavehimahardstarebeforewalkingbacktohersewingroom.
Seamusraisedhiseyebrows,hissilveryblueeyesdarkening.HenoddedtowardBirdie.“Yousureareaprettylittlegirl.What’syourname?”
“Birdie,”shesaid,fidgetingonherfeet,theapplesnowbackinthebowl.
“My,ifyoudon’tfavorMissBeauclaire.Y’alllookenoughaliketobesisters.”Seamusstudiedthechildamomentlonger.“Howoldareyou?”
“She’snotmysister,she’sAddy-Frank’sdaughter,andshe’snoneofyourbusiness,”saidLeighselle,steppingbetweenhimandBirdie.“Nowtakeyourcoatandleave.”
Addy-Frankwalkedin
withSeamus’scoatandhandedittohim.“Youallfixedupnow.Thatbefivecents,please.”
Seamusignoredher.“Don’tyouagreethere’sastrongfamilyresemblancetotheBeauclaires?”HeturnedtoAddy-Frank.“YoubelongedtoLeighselle’sfather.Irememberyouasoneoftheirhouseslaves.”
“Enoughwiththequestions,”Leighsellesaid.
“Leavenow.Neversetfootonmythresholdagainoryou’llbesorry.”
“Saveyourthreats.Butunderstandthis.I’llbeback.”Seamusgrabbedhiscoatashemarchedtowardthedoor.Beforeleaving,hetossedatwenty-dollargoldpieceontothecounter.“Keepthechange.”
Hedisappearedintotheloud,boisterouscrowdthatcloggedthestreetinfront
ofLeighselle’sshopwheresomerevelersweresinging,somelaughing,andsomelookingforaplacetoduckoutoftheheavyrainthathadbeguntofall.
“Takeyourdamnmoneywithyou!”Leighsellescreamed,scoopingthecoinup,throwingitagainsttheslammingdoor.
“Don’tbeafool,MissLeighselle,”saidAddy-Frank.“Bealongtimebefore
weearnthisamount,justmendingfolks’clothes.Weneedmedicineansuch.Ourfoodismostlycrumbsanscraps.Rentbedue.Thismoneytakecareaallthat.”
Leighselleglaredather.“Youhavenoideawhatyouaresaying.Thatmoneyisevil.It’sbadmoney.It—”Leighselle’svoicewashighandshrill,thedarkmemorysinkingher,sendinghertotheflooronherknees.“I
don’twanthismoney.”“Ispecthatyoupaida
horriblepriceforthisgoldcoin,”saidAddy-Frank,droppingtothefloor,takingLeighselleinherarms.“There,now.Yougoaheadancry.Getitallout,butgetitoverwith,”shesaid,rockingLeighselleinherarms,“causewehavemoreimportantthingstodothanthinkaboutthatfoulmanwhowalksinthedevil’sshadow.”
Leighselleranahandacrossherface,wipingatthetears.“He’snotfinished.He’llbeback,nowthatheknowsI’mstillalive—thatI’mhere.”
“IsmelledhiswickednesswhenBirdiebrungmehiscoattosew.Iknewhebebadnewseven’foreIrememberedhisface.Buthewon’tbebackherebotheringyou.Itookcareathat.”Shecontinuedtorock
Leighselleinherarms.“Youtookcareof
what,Addy-Frank?Whatdoyoumean?”
“ImeanItookcareathatevilman.Isewedacurseintohispocket.Sewedittight.Firstfivestitchestakeawayhishealth,happiness,love,money,anfamily.SixbethenumberofEvil.Sixthblackstitchmakeitfinal.Satanhisselfgonnastealhisbreathanescorthimtohell.”
Leighsellewentpale.Achilltickledherspineandcoldbeadsofsweatdottedherbrow.“Addy-Frank,whathaveyoudone?Amanwiththosecursesisamanwithnothingtolivefor—withnothingtolose.”
PullingawayfromAddy-Frank,Leighsellemovedtothewindowandstoodwithherforeheadpressedagainstthecoolglasspanes.Shestaredatthe
wideningpuddlesontheground,watchingbigdropsofrainplopandsendechoingripplesacrossthesurface.Rainpouredfromthedarkeningsky,makingthefirstdayofJanuaryaluckyday.Rainonthefirstdaymeantshowersofblessingsallmonthlong,butshefearedastormwasuponher.Shivering,shedrewthevelvetcurtainsclosedagainstthedrearyscene.
*****SixMonthsLater–July4,1840–PortofOrleans
Theportcityswelteredinhighnoon’sheatandhumidity,thestagnantsaltyairhospitabletomosquitoesandmalaria.Cargoshipsthatweren’tmooredtoadockcloggedtheBayofOrleans,waitingtheirturn,ridingtheeasyswellsthatlifted,rocked,andsplashedthe
vessels’eagersailors.CreoleandNegro
dockworkersbentshouldertosweatyshoulderunloadingimportedgoodswhileotherstoiledatloadingthecargomeantforexport.Allalongthebay,therewasarevolvingpasdedeuxofcratesoftropicalfruitandcoffeecomingin,andcattleandcottongoingout.
Therowdy,fetidpiersandsidewalksaroundthe
dockswerejammedwithrestaurantchefs,hotelcooks,andhagglinghouseslaveshopingtosnatchabargainonabrokencrateofspoiledfruitorspilledcoffee,whilehawkersbarkedtheirdailyofferingsoffreshGulfCoastredsnapperandbaylobsters.Small,roundbirdsonquickfeetdodgedcats,broomsticks,andbootsastheysnappedupscrapsoffishscalesandbreadcrumbs.
“MissLeighselle,”saidAddy-Frank,fingeringthecoinsinherpocket.“Idoneboughtallthecoffeewecanstandforamonth.Atagoodprice,too.”
“Look,Addy-Frank.Brahmancattleareatthelivestockdock.Thosearethecattlethatmyfatherraised.”Shepausedatthememory,afaintsmilecrossingherface.“Fatherlovedtheirbeautifulgraycoats,andIremember
thelittlecalves’sweetfaces,theirlargeeyes,withtheirlong,floppyears.Ohno,lookout!”
Asilvery-hidedbullhadbustedthroughthewarpedplanksoftheholdingpenandwasbarrelingdownthenarrowpassagebetweenseller’sboothscongestedwithshoppersandhawkers.Thetwothousand-poundbeastwithhiscone-shapedhornssplitthecrowdintwo,left
andright.Frightenedpeoplestomped,pushed,shoved,andshoutedintheirattempttosavethemselvesfromtherampaginganimal.
AsshescreamedoutawarningtoAddy-Frank,thebullstruckLeighselleaglancingblow,sendinghersailingthroughtheair.Landinginaheap,Leighsellelayunconscious,headbloodied,unmoving.
Inaninstantshewas
scoopedupinthesturdyarmsofatallmanwhosefaceseemedtoreflectthesun.Heyelledatthecrowdtowatchout,thattheanimalwascomingback.Thebullwascausingallsortsofdestruction,tossingpeople,tables,andchairsintotheair,tramplingbooths,knockingdowntents.
“He’sturningandcomingback!Standaside,”themanshoutedinanaccent
heavywithIrishbrogue.LayingLeighselledownontopofavendor’stable,heturnedandpulledhisrevolverasthehordeofpeoplescatteredinmasspanic.Takingcarefulaim,hefiredonce,droppingtheragingbullmomentsbeforeitcamewithingoringdistancefromwherethered-headedstrangerstoodhisground.
Turningbacktotheunconsciousfigurelayingon
thetable,hetookheragaininhisarmsandbeganwalkingtowardthetownsquare.“WheremightIfindadoctorforthiswoman?”hecalledouttonooneinparticular.
“Thedoctorbethisway,”saidAddy-Frank.“I’mwithher.HernameLeighselleBeauclaire.Whoeverownthatbullyoujustshotankilledbemightyangrywithyou,nomatterthedestructionhebecausing.”
Addy-Frankwalkedatafastclip,talkingandmotioningasshemovedthroughthecalmingcrowd.
“Iownhim.I’mnotpleasedthatIhadtokillthepooranimal,butallowinghimtotrampleandgoreacrowdofshoppersdidn’tseemliketheneighborlythingtodo.”
Leighsellestirred,eyesfluttering,moaning.“Whathappened?Whatare
youdoing?Whoareyou?”“Youaskalotof
questionsforaninjuredwoman,”saidHenryFlanders,hisbrightblueeyesflashingamixtureofamusementandconcern.“Younearcametobetrampledbyabull.I’mcarryingyoutoadoctortoseeaboutyourinjuries.Myname’sHenryandtoday’smyfirstdayinAmerica.Sofar,I’dsayit’sbeenanexciting
one.Thereyouhaveit,andthereitis.”
*****Leighsellecoughedintoherhandkerchief,pattingawaythedropletsofblood.“ThatwasthemomentIfellinlovewithHenryFlanders.”Shewouldalwayslovehim—wouldtakethatlovetohergrave.
Hughespouredcoffee,sippinghissteamingandblack.“Idon’tmeantosound
obtuse,buthowinthehelldidyoufallinlovewiththesonofamonster?”
“Ididn’tknowHenrywasSeamus’sson.”Ifshehadlearnedthetruth,wouldithavemadeadifference?She’daskedherselfthatquestionmanytimes.“Ididn’tlearnSeamus’snameuntillater,soIdidn’tconnectthetwoofthem.”
“Isee.WhywasHenryinNewOrleans?”
“Henrydecidedtoimmigratehere,too,tofollowhisfatherwho’dcometoTexasmanyyearsearlier.HisfatherhadhimgotoEnglandfirsttoselectabulltobringwithhim,sincehisoriginalsource,myfather,hadbeenlongoutofbusiness.”
“Aftertheincidentonthewharf,”askedHughes,refillinghiscup,“whathappened?”
“Forthreemonths,we
weretogetherwhileHenryarrangedtheshippingandreceivingofareplacementbull.Wewereneverapartasinglemoment.Ibecamepregnant,andwemarriedrightaway.”
HughesleanedforwardandpouredLeighselleanothercupofcoffee.“Andthisisthedaughterthatyouwantmetofind?”
“Yes.”Leighselle
nodded.“Whathappenedto
Henry?”“Therewasadelayin
thereceivingofthereplacementbull,aproblemwiththepaperwork.HenryreceivedatelegraphfromhisfatherstatingthatHenrywastotraveltoEnglandandgettheproblemstraightenedout.Ibeggedhimnottogo,ortotakemewithhim.Henrywascertainthateverythingwould
befine,thathewouldreturnbeforeourchildwasborn.”Leighselleshookherheadatthememory,acoughrattlingherfrailbody.
“But?”Hughesasked,gesturingwithhispalmsfaceup.
“Butthingsweren’tfine.”Leighsellelookedacrossthetableatherdearfriendandwonderedwhyshe’dneverspokenofherpastwithHughes—hewasso
easytotalkto—andthemoreshetalkedaboutit,thelessitseemedsohorrible.Sostaining.“Thingsweren’tfineatall.Seamusmadegoodonhisthreat.Hecameback—justlikehesaidhewould.”
*****EarlyafternoonwassiestatimeinSanAntonio,andLeighsellewasexhausted.HughesescortedhertohisroomonthesecondflooroftheMenger,whereshesettled
inforanafternoonnap.Then,hehurrieddownstairstomeetwithDoctorSchmidtintheColonialRoom,makingarrangementsforhercare.
HewouldhavejustenoughtimebeforemeetingwithJamesontomakeittothetelegraphoffice.There,hewouldsendwordtohisfederalcontactsinWashingtonthattheycouldexpecthiminSaintJoseph,Missouri,bytheendof
October.SaintJoseph,thefirst
homestationofthePonyExpress,wasrifewithsuspiciousactivity.ImportantpeopleinWashingtonwereunhappythattheirlettersurgingthethirty-firststatetoremainloyaltotheUnionwerenotbeingdeliveredtotheirequallyimportantrecipientsinCalifornia—recipientswhosedeeppocketswerelinedwithshiny
goldnuggets.
CHAPTERSIXOCTOBER20,1860
ThursdaypassedwithoutBarleighcrossingpathswithanothersoul.OnFriday,shemetthreegoingintheoppositedirection.ThreeyoungmenheadingtoDallastojointheTexasMilitia.TheyremindedherofAuntWinnie’ssons,alleagertogotowar.“It’scoming,”they
shouted,pumpingtheirfistsintheairwithexcitement.“Warisonthehorizon.Turnaroundandjoinus.”
Theyspokeof“war”asifitwereadestination,ahappyendingtoapleasantjourney.Theirexuberancetokillortobekilledrevealedthesweetnaivetéofonewhohasneverbeenexposedtotherealityofdeath,especiallytothekindofgruesomedeaththatwarwouldrevealtotheir
innocenteyes.Timedoesnotheal.
Theclockcanneverbedialedback.Permanentscarswillremain,Barleighwantedtotellthem.Instead,shetippedherhatandkeptriding.
Afteramonotonousmorning,thedaywaschangedbyapleasanthappenstancewhenherpathcrossedthatofanotherlonerider,agray-haired,gray-beardedgentlemanonan
elderlyhorsethatwasjustasgrayasitsrider.Theymadequitethestrikingpair.
HeintroducedhimselfasMr.Templetonandsaidthathewasheadedsouthforthewinter.LikeaCanadiangoose,hewasn’tstoppingtillhecametoalarge,warmbodyofwater,specificallytheGulfofMexico.WhenBarleighmentionedthatsheusedtoliveinCorpusChristirightontheGulfcoast,he
offeredtosharehislunchifshe’dshareherstoriesofCorpus.
Shetriedtoeditherthoughtstoalterherstories,makingthemsuitthatofaboy’shistory.Afewtimessheslippedup.Mr.Templetonwassharp.Shecouldseethesuspiciongrowinginhiseyes—andinhisexpression,theconfusionoffollowingsuchataleasshewasweaving.
“Iunderstandneedingtobebelievedthatyou’reaboy,whatwithtravelingalone,”hesaid,“butyoursecretissafewithme.Isensethere’smoretoyourstory.Youcantellme,ifyouwish,whythedisguise.”
So,shedid.Shepouredouteverything.Theytalkedforhours.Itwasaneededbreakfromthehardriding,thehiding,andthepretending,andshewas
preparedtomakeupthetimesomewheredowntheroad.
Beforetheyparted,heofferedthisadvice.“Fromnowon,don’tofferfolksaglimpseintoyourpast,evenifasked,thoughI’mhonoredyoutoldme.Butforothers,tellthemyoudon’thaveapast.Thatway,youwon’truntheriskofrevealingyourself.Keepthetruthhiddeninashroudofsadness.Mostfolksdon’twanttorubupagainst
sadnessforfearit’scontagious.”
He’sright,shethought,assheguidedKingontothetrail.It’sdifficulttospeakofthepastwithoutgettingemotional.Bettertokeepallofthatburied.SharingstorieswithMr.Templeton,thehurthadbecomerealandrawagain.Shewouldbecomethesad,mysteriousBarFlanderswhoseunspeakablepast
causedtoomuchpaintosharewithothers.
Andwasn’tthatreallythetruth?
Mr.Templetonhadgivenherapartinggiftofabagofroastedcoffee.Shedecidedtomakeatoasttohimeachmorningandtothinkofhimandtorememberhiskindness.ShefeltcertainthatMr.Templetonwasmorehowgrandfathersweresupposedtobethantheone
shehadknown.TheTexas-Arkansas
borderwaswhereBarleighpitchedcampforthenight.Feelingmoretiredthanshe’deverbeen;however,herspiritswerehigh.InthisbordertowncalledTexarkana,shelearnedofawell-traveledcattleroutethatheadedduenorthintoFortSmith,Arkansas,whereshecouldpickupthestagecoachintoSaintJoseph,Missouri.
BynothavingtotraveltoLittleRock,shecouldsavetwodaysorbetterofriding.
Lookingforwardtoagoodnight’srestandtoroastedcoffeeinthemorning,Barleighjottedafewnotesinherjournal.Perhapsherdreamwolfwouldappearinhersleeptonight,shewrote,sketchingthefour-leggedcreatureinthemarginsofherbook.Hiscompanywouldnotbeunwelcome.
*****Shewantedabath.Oralhygienewaseasilyadaptedtolifeonthetrail,butshewonderedhowmuchlongershecouldgowithsimple,discretespongebathsofcertainbodyparts.Atleastitwasn’thertimeofthemonth,shethought.ThatissuewouldtakesomecleverplanningonhowtocopewithandconcealaftertakingonlifeasaPonyExpressrider.
Oh,thethingsIdidn’tconsider....
One-thirdofthewaytoFortSmith,shefoundherselfbehindaherdofMexicancattleheadedtomarketinKansas.Shefollowedalongforawhilebeforethedustandthefliesbecameanuisance.Pullingoffthetrail,shetookanafternoonnap,somethingofaguiltypleasure,butanhour’srestgaveherandherhorsean
extraboostofenergy,sotheytraveledwellintothenight.
Farpastmidnight,judgingfromthemoon’sheavenlypath,andfeelinglonely,shemadecamp.Homesick.ThinkingofAuntWinnieandUncleJackandtheirthreeboys.MissingStarling.PapaandBirdie.Along,monotonousdayinthesaddlelefthermindnumbwithtoomuchtimetodwellonthoseshelovedandthose
shelongedfor.Removingherbedroll
fromthesaddle,shewasremindedofPapa’sfriend,CharlieGoodnight,whovisitedthesummerbeforeStarlingwasborn.He’dpresentedherpapatheNavahoblanketasagift.TherehadbeenmanyIndianuprisingsthatyear,brutalattacksonsettlers,evenmorebrutalretaliationsatthehandsofwhitemen.Whiteoutlaws
wereperformingallkindsofunspeakableatrocitiesagainstwhitesettlersandblamingitontheIndians.Ithadbeenabloodysummer.
*****“TheselawlessactsofwhitemenpreyingonsettlersarebeingblamedonIndians.Thewhitedesperadoesresponsiblearemakingsurefolksseeitthatway.Wemustkeepawatchfuleyeonanysuspiciouscharacter,behe
redorwhite.”CaptainGoodnightwasthoughtfulwhenhespoke,choosinghiswordscarefully.HesurelywouldhavechosenmorecensoredwordshadheknownBarleighhidbehindthedoor,listening.
“WhilemostreservationIndiansareagreeabletolearninghowtofarmthelandwhichtheGovernmenthassetasideforthem,therearethosethat
refusetorelocatetoreservations.TonkawaIndians,they’dratherkillandeatafarmerthantobecomeone,whiletheCherokeeandComanchewouldbehappymurdering,mutilating,andscalpingthefarmer,alongwiththefarmer’swife,andworse.”
“Indiansaredifferenthere,Charlie,thanthefriendlylocalIndiansweencounteredontheGulf,”
Papasaid.“TheAtakapaandtheKarankawaateturtles,ducks,geese,anddeer.Itseemsyourplainstribeshavedifferentappetites.”
“Notallofthem,Henry,butsomedo.Justremembertokeepawatchfuleye.Thekidnappings,murdering,thecattlerustling,thehorsethievingareincreasing.Themutilationsarebecomingmoregruesome.Everyonemust
stayvigilant.Anyway,Henry,Ididn’tstopbyherejusttoscareyou.IwantedtobringBarleighthisNavajoblanketfromthetradingpost.Shementionedtomethelasttimeshesawminehowprettyshefoundit.Theydoweaveanicepattern.”
CaptainGoodnightleftBarleighwithabeautifulblackandredwovenblanketalongwithamindsearedhotwithimagestootroublingto
sleepthatnight.*****
Afterarestlessnightoffitfuldreams,shespentanotherlonelydayonthetrailwithoutanencounterofthehumankind,thoughshesawplentyofrabbits,squirrels,opossum,anddeer.ThepineywoodsofeastTexasandwesternArkansasaboundedwithwildlife.Theantlersonsomeofthewhite-tailstagswouldhavesetherpapa’strigger
fingertotwitching.Shecouldpicturehimgrinningfromeartoear.
Hermindwandered,althoughsheremainedvigilantofhersurroundings.Butthetrailwaseasytofollow,withKingstayingontask.Onemoreday’sridewouldplaceherwithinsightofFortSmith,Arkansas.Thoughshe’dmissKingandwouldhateleavinghimattheliverystables,shewaseager
toboardthestagecoachthatwouldtakeheronthenextlegofherjourneytoSaintJoseph,Missouri,andtoherdestiny.
Makingexcellenttime,shefiguredtheywereaveragingbetterthanfiftymilesadaydespiteafewafternoonnapsandoneverylonglunchalongtheway.Itwasinterestingthatmostpeoplesheencountered,Mr.Templetonbeingthe
exception,readilyacceptedherasaboyridingalone,noquestionsasked.Hadshetakenthisjourneyaloneasagirl,shewouldn’thavemadeitpastFortWorthwithoutsomeonestoppingoraccostingher.
Stormcloudsrolledin,thesmellofrainthickeningtheair.Lightningstreakedacrosstheeveningskyonthehorizon.Thunderrumbledinthedistance.
She’dneverbeforesleptoutsideduringathunderstormandwasthankfulforthesmalltentthatAuntWinnieinsistedshebringalong.ThiswasthefirstindicationofbadweathersinceleavingHogMountainandthefirsttimeshe’dfelttheneedtopitchatent.Makingcampinadensepinethicketjustoffthetrail,shehopedthatthetrees’thickumbrellawouldoffermoreprotectionagainstthestorm.
Writinginherjournalnexttothecampfirewhileeatingadinnerofbeansandcornbread(withalittlerabbitcookedoverthefirethisevening)hadbecometheonethingshelookedforwardtoattheendoftheday’sride.Shewrotequickly,finishingherthoughtsbeforethethunderstormsnuffedoutthelight.
*****Lightningcrackled,the
blackeningskyburstingwithbruisedshadesofgreenandpurple.Thundercrashedandechoedthroughoutthethickpineywoods.Thereverberationsweredeafening,asifeverydemonthatstalkedtheheavensshoutedcursesinunison,andthroughtheirfistsshookthunderfromthesky.
Kingwhinniedinashrill,high-pitchedalarm,stompingandrearing.
Barleighracedtountiehimfromthelinepicket,afraidthatlightningwouldstrikethetreesandhim,too.Then,shemadeamaddashbackinsidethetent.Itprovedtobeauselessshelteragainstthemightygale,thepowerfulwindssnatchingupthetentandhurlingitaway.Allshecoulddowashuddleunderthesaddleblanketuntilthesquallpassed.
Thenightwoodswere
toodarkforhertoseefurtherthanthehandinfrontofherface.Shesatuntilmorning,dozingalittle,wet,shivering,andwaitingforthesuntocomeup.Thefearthatshewouldn’tfindherhorsecausedagloomtodarkenherspirit,agloomasgrayanddampasthesky.
Walkingincirclesforhours,callingKing’sname,whistling,lookingeverywhereforhim,proved
fruitless—hewasgone.BarleightoldherselfthatthestormnodoubtfrightenedhimsobadlythatheranallthewaytoHogMountainandbacktoAuntWinnie.Shelikedtothinkthat’swhathedid.
Shecouldn’tleavethesaddlebehind.IthadbelongedtoUncleJack.So,offshewent,saddleovershoulder,bedrollandblanketattached,andshefootedit
intoFortSmith,stumblingintotownasthesunwassettingoverthewideArkansasRiver,itsslowcurrentmurmuringsoothing,welcomingsounds.
Aboardinghousewitharoomforthenightandahotbathwerethetwothingsshewantedmostinlife.Shefoundthem,theroomcostingtwodollars,thebathtencents.Itwasaboomtownandpriceswerehigh.She’dhave
paidtwicethatnottohavetosleepinthewoodsagain.ThoughtsofIndianshidingintheshadowskeptherunsettledandrestless.Rarewerethenightswhenherdreamswerefreeoffearfulimagesofpaintedfaces,paintedwarhorses,flamingarrows,burningbuildings,andworse.
Thoughphysicallyexhausted,writingaboutherfearsandplacingthemonthe
pagesofherjournal,sheimaginedthattheywouldstayonthepagesandnottroublehersleep.Shebegantowrite.
*****JournalEntry–It’shardtobelieveitwasamonthago,thenightoftheComancheMoon,thenightsobright,sofullofpromiseandlifeanddeath.
Evenas
midnightapproached,theskywassobrightthatthestarsrefusedtoshine,theirincandescentlightnomatchforthehuge,silveryorb.Highoverhead,themooncastshadowswherethereshouldhavebeennone,miniatureshadowsasiffromthenoondaysun.
ItookPapa
anothercupofcoffeeandmyNavajoblankettowarmhimagainstthecoolingnightair.Papawrappeditaroundbothofus,andwesatshouldertoshoulder,waitingforthetinycry,thesignalthatAuntWinniehadsuccessfullydeliveredBirdie’sbaby.Welookedoutoverthe
pasturedottedwithgrazingBrahmancattle,theirfairhidesshimmeringinthevividlunarlight.
“DoyouknowtheIndiannameforwhatwecalltheharvestmoon?”askedPapa.
Ishookmyheadno.
“Wasutonwi,”hesaid.“They
callit‘themoonwhencalvesgrowhair.’”
Ourcalvesandfoalshadbegunputtingonearly,thickwintercoats,too.Naturewaspreparingthemforaharshwinter.
Thelustysoundofababy’scrypiercedthenight,startlingPapaandme
withitssuddenintensity.Weboltedforthedoor,runningintothebedroomtoseeAuntWinniewrappingablanketaroundasquirming,cryingbundle.Thefigureinthebedlaymotionless,thesheetssoakedwithblood.
“Takethebabyandgoonout.IneedtoattendBirdie.
She’slostalotofblood.Yourbabygirl’sfineandhealthy.Go.”WinniebenttoherworkandPapaandIwentbackouttotheporch,Papacradlinghisnewbabydaughterinhisarms.
Ipulledbacktheblankettoseemynewlittlehalf-sister,wonderingifshe’d
favorme,orPapa,orBirdie.“Lookatallherthick,darkhair,”Imused.
Papalaughed.“It’sthemoonwhenbabiesgrowhair,too.She’sbeautiful,justlikeherbigsister.Here,youtakeher.I’mgoingtoseeaboutBirdie,evenifWinnietriestorunmeout.”
Irockedthebaby,lettinghernuzzleagainstmyneck.Papa’swordsgavemeachill.Wasthisbaby,likethecalvesandthefoals,inforaharshwinter?Howcouldthishappentoher,too,Iwondered?Wouldshebecursedlikeme,withalifetimeofguiltthatherbirthcaused
hermother’sdeath?Please,Iprayedtoanyoneuptherelistening,toanyonebehindthemoonwhencalvesgrowhair,pleasedon’tletthisbabygrowupnotknowinghermother.
*****Wednesday,October24,
1860
Fromthesecondsheawoke,
Barleighhadcoachedherselfforthismoment.Withconfidence,thinkingandspeakinglikeaman,sheaskedtheclerkbehindthecounteroftheFortSmithMercantileandGeneralStoreforwhatshewanted.“OneticketonthenextstagetoSaintJoseph,Missouri,please.”
Theclerk,whosegirthequaledhisheight,studiedBarleighfromdownhisbent,
wartednoseforalongmomentbeforeanswering.“Well,son,thisisyourluckyday.Justsohappentohaveoneseatleft.”
“Good.Thankyou,sir.”Shebreathedaquietsighofrelief.
“You’llbetheninthandfinalpassenger.Onepieceofluggageisallowed,butyougottoholditonyourlap.Underfootwillbethemailbags.Youcarrying
anythingotherthanthatsaddle?”
“No,sir.It’sallIgot.”Shelookedhimintheeye,mantoman,unashamedofhermeagernetworth.ThesaddlehadbelongedtoJackJustin,butAuntWinniehadinsistedshetakeit.Itsvaluewasfarbeyondtheleather,wood,metal,andstitchingthatwentintoitsconstruction.
“That’safinesaddle,
butit’sstillconsideredapieceofluggage.Onyourlapitgoes,oritdon’tgo.”Heshovedhisfingerintotheairtoaccentuatehispoint.
“Yes,sir,Iunderstand,”Barleighsaid,juttingherchininwhatshehopedwasashowofmasculinedetermination.
“Fine.Listofrulesispostedoveryonderonthewall.Readandcommitthemtomemory.There’llbestops
fourtimesadayandtwiceatnighttochangeoutthemuleteamsandtoallowcomfortbreaksforthepassengers.Foodatthesecomfortstopsisextra.Expectatleastfourdaystomakethedestination.That’llbefortydollarsforathroughticket.Yes,orno?”
“Athroughticket?”Barleighswallowedhard,shiftingherweightfromfoottofoot.
“Yes,athroughticket.
Besidesthecomfortstops,thestagestopsalongthewaytopickupmailinRogers,Bentonville,BellaVista,Neosho,Joplin,Carthage,KansasCity,andLiberty.TogoallthewaythroughtoSaintJoeisathroughticket.Fortydollars,yesorno?”
Shehandedoverthemoneywithaslighthesitation.Fiftydollarswasthesumtotalinherpocket,agiftAuntWinnieinsistedon
andthatBarleighinsistedwouldbepaidbackoncehertaxesweresettledwiththebank.
Thesteely-eyedclerkhandedBarleightheticketalongwithapieceofadvice.“Forsomeofyourjourneyyou’llbetravelingthroughIndianCountry.ThesafetyofyourpersoncannotbevouchsafedbyanyonebutGod.Iffin’itwereme,I’dmakesuremygunswere
loadedandingoodworkingorder.Readthoserulesnow,boy.Yougotjusttenminutesbeforethestagepullsout.”
“Yes,sir.”Shetippedherhatandturnedtothewall,wheretherulesforproperstagecoachetiquettewereposted.
1.Abstinencefromliquorisrequested,butifyoumustdrink,sharethe
bottle.Todootherwisemakesyouappearselfishandunneighborly.
2.Ifladiesarepresent,gentlemenareurgedtoforegosmokingcigarsandpipesastheodorofsameisrepugnanttotheGentleSex.ChewingtobaccoispermittedbutspitWITHthewind,not
againstit.3.Gentlemen
mustrefrainfromtheuseofroughlanguageinthepresenceofladiesandchildren.
4.Buffalorobesareprovidedforyourcomfortduringcoldweather.Hoggingrobeswillnotbetoleratedandtheoffenderwillbe
madetoridewiththedriver.
5.Don’tsnoreloudlywhilesleepingoruseyourfellowpassenger’sshoulderforapillow;heorshemaynotunderstandandfrictionmayresult.
6.Firearmsmaybekeptonyourpersonforuseinemergencies.Donot
firethemforpleasureorshootatwildanimalsasthesoundrilesthehorses.
7.Intheeventofrunawayhorses,remaincalm.Leapingfromthecoachinpanicwillleaveyouinjured,atthemercyoftheelements,hostileIndiansandhungrycoyotes.
8.Forbidden
topicsofdiscussionarestagecoachrobberiesandIndianuprisings.
9.Gentsguiltyofunchivalrousbehaviortowardladypassengerswillbeputoffthestage.It’salongwalkback.Awordtothewiseissufficient.
Aroundbackofthe
generalstorewastheliveryandblacksmithshop,wheresixreplacementmuleswerebeingbroughtuptwobytwo.Theywerebeinghitchedinpairstotheceleritywagon,thetypethatwaslighterandfasterandthusmoreuncomfortablethanthestoriedConcords,whosereputationwasthatofacradleonwheels.
Thelarge,rawbonedmulesmatchedinsizeand
color,allofthemblack,andtheyshuffledintotheirplacesinthehitchingline.Thiscoachdidn’tlooklikeacradleonwheels,Barleighthought,butlookedinsteadmorelikeacontraptionsuitableforrattlingteethandjarringbones.
Insidethestagecoachwerethreerowsofpassengerseats,eachrowaccommodatingthreepassengers.Onthebackand
middlerow,thepassengersfacedforward,butthefrontrowfacedrearward,causingthepassengerstofacethefolksseatedonthemiddlerow.Withnotmuchroombetweenrows,thekneesofpassengersinthefrontandmiddlerowsinterlocked,andthenarrownessofthestagecausedthepassengerssittingontheoutsideoftherowstowanttodangletheiroutsidefootoutthedoortogain
legroom,puttingitprecariouslyclosetothewagon’swheels.
Afamilyofsixwerestuffedonthefrontandmiddlerows:ataciturnpreacherdressedinblack,hissombergraybride,andtheirfourdour,supplicatingchildren.TheywererelocatingtoJoplintobuildachurchofadenominationBarleighwasn’tfamiliar,thefatherhimselfhavinga
difficulttimeclarifyingfortherestofthepassengersthisnewchurch’sdoctrine.
Onthebackrow,Barleighsatwedgedbetweenalong-leggedbeanpoleofanArmycaptainwhoseuniformsmelledlikecookedcabbageandwhobraggedthathehad“beendirectedbyPresidentBuchananhimselftotraveltoKansasCityonofficialgovernmentbusiness,”andaslight-built,blond-headed
youngman.Withpride,heclaimedhewas“goingtoSaintJoetoshowthemotherPonyExpressriderswhatriding’sallabout.”
Barleigh’sheartsanktoherstomach.Thiscouldn’tbegood,shethought.Shelookeddownatthesaddleinherlap,fiddlingwiththelatigostrapstiedaroundthebedroll,pretendingnottohearthequestionthecaptainwasasking,tryingtogaina
fewminutestocomposearesponse.
“Catgotyourtongue?”Thecaptainnudgedherwithhissharp,bonyelbow.“Weallsaidour‘howdys.’Nowit’syourturn.”
“Howdy.”Breathe.Relax.Don’tseemnervous.
“Thatsoundsmightyunfriendly,don’tyouthink?”thecaptainasked,hiswordsslidingintoaslur.“We
sharedournamesandourstoriesofwhywe’reonthislittlejourney.Therulesofpolitesocietysaythatonemustreciprocate.DoIneedtoteachyoualessonontherulesofpolitesociety,boy?”ThecaptainstudiedBarleighwithhard,bloodshoteyes.
“Reciprocatingwasn’tonthelistofrules,”saidtheotherPonyExpressrider,leaningacrossBarleightoaddressthecaptaindirectly.
“Whoareyou?”askedthecaptaininahaughtyvoice.
“Ialreadyintroducedmyself.Iguessyouforgot.I’mStoneyWooten,fromFrogLevel,Arkansas.Irecalltherulesmentioningnotspittingintothewind,andnotcursingorsnoringorhoggingthebuffalorobes.Don’trecallnothingabouthavingtosharenamesandstories—justsharingyourliquorifyou
broughtany.Iseethatyoubroughtsomebutyouain’tsharing.Youdonealreadybrokearuleyourself,asfarasIcantell.”Stoneyeasedbackintohisseat,givingBarleighafriendlynudgeofhiselbow.
“Areyouhisprotectorandappointedspokesperson?”thedark-haired,mustachedcaptainaskedinanagitatedvoice.Hetookasipfromhiswhiskey
flask,makingabigshowofre-pocketingit.
“Name’sBarFlanders.I’maPonyExpressrider,too.Orsoonwillbe.”Sheremindedherselftonotactintimidatedorafraid.Bedirect.
“Well,ain’tthatsomething?”Stoneyputouthishand.“Maybeafterwegethiredon,we’llbeonthesamerelay.Wouldn’tthatbesomething?”
Barleighshookhishand.Full,firmgrip.Onepump.“Pleasedtomeetyou,Stoney.Yep,that’dbesomething.”Sheshiftedherbodypositionadegreetoputthecaptainmoreatherbackasbestshecould,giventhetightquarters.
Thecaptainretreatedintohisflaskuntilthelastdropofalcoholwascoaxedfromthecontainer.Soon,arattlingsnorefilledtheair,
reverberatinginsidethesmall,closedcoach.ThefamilyofsixwithdrewintotheirprayersandtheirBibles,ahummingdroneofdevotionsblendingwiththewhiskeyedwheezingcomingfromthecaptain.
“I’mfromdownawaysinFrogLevel.LivedinArkansasallmylife.Mypa’ssendingmeofftogetapayingjobsohewon’thaveto.HesaysIshouldhelpwith
feedingtheothertwelveyoung-unsathome.Whereyoufrom?”
Stoney’sfriendlyblueeyesandreadygrinremindedBarleighofherpapa’s.Shefoughtdownawaveoflongingthatcausedhereyestoburn.“I’mfromTexas.Don’thaveanyfamily.”
“Hell,Igotenoughtogoaround.I’llshare.”
“Imaytakeyouuponthat.”Barleighattempteda
lightheartedsmile,butitwasthin.
ThefourdaysittooktogettoSaintJosephwerelong,dusty,andmonotonous,thenightscold,cramped,anduncomfortable.Tryingtosleepwhilesittinguprightandholdingyourbaggageinyourlapinducedlittlerestyetlotsofstress.Friendlychitter-chatterdwindledtonearsilence.
NoIndians,though.
Thankfully,noIndians.Evenso,Barleigh
keptherrevolverinafirmgrip,herhandhiddenundertheMcClellansaddleatalltimes.Thesaddlestraddledherlaptheentirejourney.Thismustbehowahorsefeels,shemused.
AftertheprayingfamilydisembarkedinJoplinandtheArmycaptainstumbledoffinKansasCity,StoneyandBarleighstretched
out.Assherelaxedforthelastday’srideintoSaintJoe,herthighsfeltlightwithoutthestressofasaddlepressingonherlap.
Stoneypulledbackthecanvasflapthatcoveredthewindowopeningoftheceleritywagon;ithadremainedloweredmostofthefourdaystokeepthefinecalichedustoutofthecoach.Abandanaovermouthandnosewasstillrequiredasthe
muleskickedupmuchdustontheirgallopintoSaintJoseph.
“Well,ain’tthatsomething,”saidStoneyashepokedhisheadoutthewindow.
Thelowerhalfofhisfacewascleanwhenheretreatedbackintothecoachandremovedtheredbandanacoveringhismouthandnose.Theupperhalfofhisfacewassiftedinasoft,white,
chalk-likepowderthatmadehiseyelashesandeyebrowslookliketheybelongedtoadustyghost.
“Lookatallthempeople.Iain’tneverseensomanypeopleallatonce,justamblingaroundinnoapparenthurry.”Stoneyshookthedustfromhisbandanaandthenwashedhisfacewithwaterfromhiscanteen.
SaintJosephwason
thefringeofsettlement.Itwasthefarthestoutpostfortravelandcommerce.Itwaswheretherailroadendeditsjourneytowardwesternexpansion.Itwasahubofactivity,trade,andexchange.Itwasraucouswithcowboysbringinginmassiveherdsofcattletomarket.Itwaswheresettlementbloatedoutwardfromthecitycenter,anditwaswheretheOregonTrailpickedupjustoverthebanks
oftheMissouriRiverandthenwounditswayacrosshorizontalplains,overraggedmountainsandthroughverdantvalleysbeforereachingCaliforniaandthePacificNorthwest.
AnditwaswhereBarleighFlandershadarendezvouswithdestiny.
CHAPTERSEVENSEPTEMBER27,1860
ThewaitstaffattheMengerHotelsetadecadenteveningbuffetofsmokedhensandwildgame,savorycheeses,ripefruit,yeastrollsandwhole-grainbreads,chocolatepastries,andavarietyofimportedwinesandsparklingFrenchchampagnes.Thelavishspreadinvitedand
encouragedgluttony.HughesandLeighsellesatontheshadedpatio,sippingchilledVeuveClicquot.
“Howwasyoursiesta?”Hughesasked,settingthechampagnebottleintoanicebucket,theicealsoaluxuryimport.
“Refreshing,”Leighsellesaid,noticingthatshehadn’tcoughedinquitesometime.Sheattributedittothesiesta.Thenagain,the
champagnemighthaveplayedaroll,shethought,takinganothersip.
“Doyoufeellikepickingupthestorywhereyouleftoff?”Hughesasked.“Orwouldyouratherjustenjoytheevening?”
“Ifeellikeit,yes,thoughthismaybethemostdifficultparttotell.”LeighsellelookedatHughes,wonderingifhewouldratherjustenjoytheeveninginstead
oflistening.“Areyousureyouwanttohearmytaleofwoe?”
Hughessqueezedherhandandthenraisedhisglass.“That’swhatfriendsarefor.”
Leighselleraisedherglass,clinkingitagainsthis.“ThankGodfordearoldfriends.”
*****LeighselleclutchedtightlytoHenry’sarmandleanedinto
hissideastheywalkedtothepier,adarksenseofforebodingdimminghermood.“WhydoyouhavetogotoEngland,Henry?Idon’twantyoutogo.”
“Idon’twanttogoeither,Leighselle,butIhavenochoice.MyfatherwantsaBrahmanbulltoreplacetheoneIshot.Hewantsitfromthesamebreeder,sobackacrossthepondIgo.”Henrywrappedhisarmtighter
aroundhiswife.“Whycan’thego?”
Leighsellepouted.“Heclaimspoor
health.Besides,I’mtheonewhoshotandkilledtheanimalinthefirstplace,withgoodreasonofcourse.It’smydutytoseetoitsreplacement.FathersaidthatIshootingthebullwasanactoffolly.Ineedtosavefaceandmakeitright.”
“Anactoffolly?
Nonsense.Itwasanactofbravery.”Shecastasidelongglanceatherhusband,rememberingthedayshefellinlovewithhim,andherheartfilledwithpridelikeitalwaysdidwhensherecalledthatday.“Yousavedmorepeoplefromgettinghurt.”Leighselleclosedhereyesandfoughtoffanotherwaveofnausea.
“Morningsicknessagain,darling?”Henryasked
astheyreachedtheendofthecrowdedpier.HepulledLeighselleclosetohimastheysteppedawayfromthesidewalk,lettingotherspass.
“Yes,butI’mfine.I’mjustafraidyouwon’tcomeback,orsomethingbadwillhappen.I’mworriedthat—”
“Don’tworry,mylove.I’llbebackbeforethebabyarrives.Ineedtoimpressmyfatherandshow
himIcanaccomplishthistask.IfIworkhardandprovemyselfworthy,I’llbehandsomelyrewarded.”
“He’safatheryouhaven’tseeninoverfifteenyearsbecausehewalkedoutonyouandyourmother.AllyouhavearehistelegraphsandbankdraftsfromTexas.Howcanyouknowthathe’sreliableortrustworthy?”ThemoreLeighsellethoughtaboutit,themoreanxiousshe
became.“Whyhasn’thecometoNewOrleanstomeetyouanddiscussthesebusinessdealingsfacetoface?”
“Hisbadhealthkeepshimfromtraveling.Leighselle,wehavetotakethisongoodfaith.He’sfollowedthroughoneverythingsofar.”
“IcouldgotoEnglandwithyou.Wecouldlivethere.Notcomeback.”
Shefistedhiscoatlapelsinherhandsandplacedherheadagainsthischest.
“IhavenothinginEnglandtoofferawife.There’snothinginIrelandtogobacktosinceMadied.Myfutureishere.It’sinTexas.AtleastworkingformyfatherIhaveanopportunitytoownapartofsomething,tosupportawife.Andababy.”HenrytouchedLeighselle’sstomach,whichhintedata
small,almostimperceptiblebump.
“Nearthreemonths,”whisperedLeighselle,hereyesbrimmingwithtears.“Doyouwishforagirloraboy?”
“Oh,God,please,adaughterwho’sasbeautifulashermother.Sheshouldhaveyourgreeneyesandauburnhair,yourperfectporcelainskin.Iwon’tstandachance.You’llbothhave
mewrappedtightaroundyourdaintylittlefingers.”
“Iwouldn’tmindasonwithyourcinnamonhairandfreckles,andyoursilver-blueeyes.Ifhehasyourdimplesandreadysmile,he’llhavemewrappedaroundhistinylittlefinger.”
Thehornontheshipgavethreelongblasts,thesmokestackbelchinggraysteamintotheashenskythatwasalmostthesamehue.The
smokeblendedintothesinkingcloudsasalightdrizzlebegantomisttheair.
LeighselleclungtoHenry’scoat,thebrimmingtearsnowspillingdownhercheeks.“Iloveyou.Idon’twanttobewithoutyou.”
Henry’ssmilestretchedacrosshisface,reachingfromeartoear.“Youwon’tbe.You’rekeepingapartofmewithyou.”
HenryencircledLeighselleinhisarmsandkissedherwithalongkissthatlingered.Acouplestrollingheadtoheadandarminarmpassed;theyclearedtheirthroatsandraisedtheirbrowsbutkeptwalking.Sailorsontheshipwhistled.Leighselledidn’tcare.ShepressedintoHenry,invitingthekisstogoonforever.
“Ihateto,mydarling
girl,butImustgo.”Henrygaveheronelastkiss,thenpulledawayandsprintedtowardtheship.
Standingatthesalty,wetrailingthatseparatedthepierfromthedock,shewatchedHenrytreaduptheswingingrope-and-plankbridgethatconnectedthewalkwaytotheship.Shesawhimonthetopdeck,hatinhand,wavingather.Shesawtheshipbeingtuggedoutto
seaandfeltlikeitwasherheartbeingpulledalongwithit.Thesteamercutaslowturnawayfromthedock,thenmadeitswaytotheouterharbor.Theripplingwaketrailedbehind,connectingLeighselletoHenryinawideningV,untilatugboatcrossedthewake’spath,severingthetie.
Leighsellewept.Shestoodtransfixedwithhereyesonthehorizon.Herhands
grippedtherailthatkeptherfromtopplingintothedarkandmurkywater,andshewatcheduntilhisshipwasasmalldotdisappearingintothegray,choppysea.
“Almostthreemonthsalong?”askedafamiliarvoicefrombehindhershoulder.“IguessIshouldcongratulatemydaughter-in-law.”
Leighselledrewinasharpbreathandspunaround,
achillgrippingherheart.“You.What?Whatdoyoumean,congratulateyourdaughter-in-law?”Alltheheat,alltheblood,alltheairinherbodydrainedinasuddenrushtoherfeet,leavingherlightheadedandswooning.Areckoningwashedoverher—adawningofsomethingdreadful—somethinghersubconscioushadsuspected,yetpretendedwasnothing.
*****SanAntonio,Texas,September27,1860
Hughesshookhisheadindisbelief.“SoSeamussentHenryoutofthecountryonamissiontopurchaseabull.Towhatend,though?”
“IfSeamuscouldn’thaveme,thennooneelsecould,either.”Thehorrorofthosedaysneverlessened.Thememory,thepain,the
terrorwasvividandraweachnewday.“AndhewouldtakeawayanychanceofmeeverbeinghappyorhavingapartofHenrywithme.”
“Howdidhedoit?”Hughesaskedasherefilledtheirchampagneflutes.
“Hedruggedmewithlaudanum.Buthisevilnessdidn’tstopwithmeandHenry.HeloadedmealongwithAddy-FrankandBirdieintoawagon,andbefore
leavingNewOrleans,hemadeafewstopsfirst.IlearnedtheseterribledetailslaterfromAddy-Frank.”
*****SeamusguidedthewagontothecornerofSt.LouisandChartresStreetsandreinedtheteamofhorsestoastopnexttooneofthemanyslavepensthatlinedthebusylane.Insidethesqualidpen,whichnormallyhelduptoonehundredslaves,adozen
Negrosremained.Thegroupconsistedofadultmenofvaryingages,allwearingnewbutcheapsuits,twowomenwithcalicofrockswithmatchingscarvestiedabouttheirheads,andayoungboyoftwelveorthirteenwhoworenewshoestoobigtostayonhisfeet.Theyallpressedagainstthefarsideofthepentryingtoclaimthemeagershadeofferedbythesideofthehotel’swalls.
“Ifshestirsorstartstowakeup,”heinstructed,“giveherasipofteafromthiscanteen.Don’tletmecatchyoudrinkingfromit.Doyouunderstandme,girl?”
Birdienoddedherhead.“Yes’suh.”
“Getyourgood-byesoverwithhere,butdoitquietly.Idon’twantprospectivebuyersputoffbyabunchofwailingandcarryingon.”
“Please,MassahFlanders,pleaseletmegowithmyBirdie.SheallIhave.MyothertwobabiesIdoneburied.IcanhelptakecareofMissLeighselle.Ibeendoingiteversincethedayshewasborn.Birdietooyoungtohelpmuchwithababy.Sheain’tbuttenherself.”Addy-Frank’seyeswereredandbloodshotfromcrying,hershoulderssinkingundertheheavyweightof
whatmightbecomeofher.“She’soldenoughto
learn.Remember,noagitatingprospectivebuyers.”Seamusturnedandstrolledinsidetheopulentbuilding.Hesoonreturned,asmallmaninawhitesuitintow.
“Ihaveonetobesold,”saidSeamustotheauctioneer’sassistant.“She’schainedtothebackofmywagon.Idon’thavetimetowaituntilshesells.I’mon
mywayoutoftown.Canyouhandlethisanddeposittheproceedsintomybankaccount?”
“Indeed,sir.That’showmostprefertohandleit.Justsignthisdocumentdetailingname,age,andabilitiesofyourproperty,thenyourbankandthenameontheaccount.”Themangaveacheerfulsmile,offeringSeamusthedocumenttosign.
“Hell,Idon’tknowherageorabilities.I’dpreferifIjustsignthedocumentandyoufillintheblankshoweveryouwish.Myname’sSeamusHenryFlanders.FirstFederalofNewOrleansismybankintown.”
“Yes,Mr.Flanders.Signhere.”Theassistantpointedtothesignatureline.“She’llfetchabetterpriceifshe’scleanandwearinga
freshdress.Itdoesn’thavetobeexpensive.Themenneedtobeshavedoffacialhairandthewomentheirhaircoveredwithascarf.Ifyouwanttogetthebestprice,youneedtodemonstrate—”
“Justgetwhatyoucan.”Seamussignedthedocumentandtookhisreceipt.
HereleasedthebindingsandledAddy-Frankintotheholdingpen.Just
beforethedoorclosed,shebolted,runningtothewagon,clutchingBirdieinatightembrace.“Begood.WatchoutforMissLeighselle.Don’tgiveMistahFlandersreasontobeangrywithyou.Youunderstand,child?That’sthemostimportantthingofall.”HertearsfellonBirdie’sface.
“Iunderstand,Mama.ButIwanttocomewithyou,”sobbedBirdie.“Why
can’tIcomewithyou?”“Here’sasecretto
takewithyou,Birdie.”Addy-Frankhuggedherdaughteronelasttime,whisperinginherear.“...andneverforgetthat,baby.Alwaysrememberthat.”
“Iwon’tforget,Mama,”Birdiesaid,dodgingSeamus’sswattedslaps.
GrabbingAddy-Frankbythearm,Seamustriedtodragherbacktothepenbut
firsthadtopryBirdie’shandsfree.“Bequiet,girl,Isaidnocommotion.”Hepulledthemapart,forcingAddy-Frankbacktotheholdingpen,shovingherinside.
“Besttoremovethechildfromthemother’ssightsothewomancancalmdownbeforegoingupontheauctionblock.Ahystericalmotherneverbringsmuchmoney.IsthereanythingelseIcanassistyouwith,Mr.
Flanders?”askedtheassistantauctioneerashefinishedboltingthelockonthepen.
Withoutanswering,withnobackwardglance,Seamusclimbedupontothedriver’sseatandtookthereinsinhand,snappingthemagainstthehorses’backs.“Moveitonout,”hecommandedasheheadedthewagonupRoyalStreet,thennorthtowardAlexandria.
AsSeamus’swagon
disappearedfromsight,ashinyblackbuggypassedbytheslaveholdingpen,stoppingjustbeyondthehotel.DoctorFlemingsemerged,medicalbaginhand.Withquickstrides,hemadehiswaytotheentranceoftherotunda.Ashepassedtheholdingpen,hepaused,recognizingthefrightenedwomanonherknees,wailing,herhandsfoldedinprayer.
“Addy-Frank?What
areyoudoingattheslaveauction?Where’sMissLeighselle?”Hesathisbagonthesidewalkandsteppednexttothefence,lacinghisfingersthroughthewireenclosure.“Comehere.Tellmewhat’shappened.”
Sherushedtothefence,graspingthedoctor’scoatsleeve.Inagushofwordsandtears,sheexplainedthenightmarethathadtranspiredinthepast
twenty-fourhours.“Please,suh,Ibegyou.Pleasebuyme.Icanworkforyou,beyournurseanseamstress.Please,suh.”Herthinfacewashaunted,hereyespleading.
Thedoctorlookedstricken.“I’mnotaslaveowner.Ididn’tcomehereforthepurposeofbuyingslaves.Icametotreatasickguestatthehotel.AreyousurethatLeighsellehasbeentaken
awaybyherfather-in-law?”“Yessuh.Anhetook
Birdie,too.HestopatJudge’shouseaforebringingmehere.IheardhimsayJudgemadeitlegalforhimtodowhathedo,forhimtosignforLeighselle.”
“Thatdoesn’tmakesense.Leighselledoesn’tneedaguardianoranexecutor.”
“Leighselleain’therself.Sheactinglikeshe
outofhermind,orsomething.Ibeworriedsick’bouther.”
Theauctioneer’sassistant,withsharpenedcaneinhand,strodeouttothepen.“Allright,youthere,comealong.Looklivelyandsmart.”HepointedthestickatAddy-Frank.“Dryyourface.Nocryingontheauctionblock.”
“Please,Doctor.Pleasetakemewithyou,”she
implored.“I’msorry,Addy-
Frank.I’mnotinapositiontobuyaslave.I’mapoorcountrydoctor.Idon’tknowhowI’dmanage.”
Addy-Frankbackedawayfromthefence,herexpressionfervent.“Please,Ibegyou,suh.Please.”Herwordstrailedoffastheassistantproddedherwithhissticktowardtherotunda.
“Onceyouareupfor
sale,tellthebuyerswhatallyouknowhowtodo.Soundsmart,looksharp.You’llgotoabetterownerthemoreyoucandemonstrateallthewaysinwhichyoucanperform,”instructedtheassistant.
Theroomwasbrightandsmelledoftobaccofromthecigarsofwell-dressedmenwhopacedtheroom,assessingthegoodstobesold.Afaintsmellofbacon
lingeredontheair,thegreaseusedasabodygloss.Afinesheenontheblackskinwaspreferred;grayish,dullskinmeanttuberculosis,whichcouldkillasale.Theauctioneer’sassistantappliedavarietyoftrickstogetthebidsclimbinguntilheheard“Sold!”
Thecrowdwaslively,thebuyersanxioustosnagabargainattheendofthesellingday.Addy-Frank
walkedtotheblock,headhigh,herfaceglisteningwithtears.
“Shemaylookfrightened,butthere’swisdominthoseeyes,Icanseethatrightoff,”claimedtheauctioneer.“Tellthesebuyerswhatkindofworkyou’lldoforyournewmaster.Speakup.”
“Ianurse,anananny,anaseamstress.Icancooksome,too.Butmostly
householdduties.”AndIcansewcursesintomen’spocketsthatcomebackandlandonmyhead.Sheranherhandsintothepocketsofherthindress,feelingforthethreadsofacursesomeonemighthavesecretlysewn.
“Let’sstartthebiddingoffatonethousanddollars.Anurse,nanny,seamstress,andcook,allrolledintoone.DoIhearathousand?Onethousand
dollars.Allright,howaboutsevenhundred.Sevenhundreddollarsforalifetimeofwisdom.”
“Thepriceforaskinnybagofbonesshouldstartattwohundred,”saidawhinyfemalevoiceinthecrowd.“Shelooksfrailenoughtoblowaway,andthenwhat?Loseyourinvestment,that’swhat.”
“I’llgivetwohundred,”shoutedDoctor
Flemings,hishandsinawhite-knucklegriponhismedicalbag.Heswallowedhard,clearinghisthroat.HekepthiseyesontheauctioneerandawayfromlookingatAddy-Frank.
“Ihavetwohundredherewiththegooddoctor.Twotwenty-fiveanyone?Twohundredtwenty-five?”
Someoneacrosstheroomraisedthebid.
“Twohundredfiftyis
nowtoyou,Doctor.Yes?No?Willyougo?”
DoctorFlemingsnodded.
Backandforththebiddingwent,climbinginincrementsoftwenty-fivedollars.Biddersdroppedoffuntiltworemained.Theechoofthegavelbanginghardonthehickorydaisconcludedthesale.
“Sold,toDoctorFlemings,forthreehundred
andseventy-fivedollars.Congratulations,Doc,younowownafinepieceofpropertythere.”
DoctorFlemingsassistedAddy-Frankintothefrontseatofhisbuggy,hisvoiceathinattemptatcheerfulness.“Wehavepatientscomingintotheclinicallafternoon.IusedtotellMissLeighsellethatIcoulduseagoodnurse.Iexpectshewouldbepleased
toknowthatyou’llbeworkingwithme.”
“Yessuh.Thankyou,suh.”Addie-Franklookedstraightahead,pressingthebackofherfistagainsthermouth,holdinginthescreamthatbeggedtobereleased.
“Andifyoudon’tlikenursing,IcanputyoutoworksewinggownsandblanketsfortheWomenandChildren’sHospital.Howwouldyoulikethat?”The
doctortookupthedrivinglines,turningthecarthorseawayfromtheslavepens.
“Ilikethatfine,suh,”shesaid,tearsstreamingdownherface.Thebackofherfistpressedharderagainsthermouth,thesilentscreampiercingandshatteringherheart.
*****BirdieshookLeighsellebyhershoulders.“Wakeup,MissLeighselle.Thatmanbe
hereagain.”Shereferredto
SeamusFlandersas“thatman,”andeveryTuesdayhepaidavisittothenunneryinAlexandriawherehehadLeighselleensconcedforthepurportedreasonthatheneededaprivateplacetoallowhisdaughter-in-law,whosufferedfromseverepsychosis,tohaveherbabyinsafetyandseclusion.Seamusmadeagenerousdonationto
theirorphanage,ensuringtheircooperation.
Leighselle,sittinginherrockingchair,blinkedopenhereyes.“I’mawake.”Indeed,shewaswideawake.Clear-headed.Nolongerinadrug-inducedfog,thankstoBirdie.
Whentheyhadarrivedatthenunnery,BirdiewasallowedtosleeponafloorrugatthefootofLeighselle’sbed.Every
morningandevening,SisterFranciswouldknockonthedoor.Birdie,answeringtheknock,wouldreceiveateatray,theinstructionsneverchanging.
“Putthesugarcubeintheteacupbeforeyoupourthetea.MakesureMadamedrinksitallbeforeyoubringthetraydowntothekitchen.”
ButonTuesdaymornings,thereweretwo
sugarcubes.And,onTuesdaymornings,BirdienoticedthatMissLeighsellewouldbehavestrangely.Shewouldstumblehersteps,mumbleherwords.Shewouldfallasleepwhileshewaseating,whileshewasbathing,evenwhileshewassittingonthechamberpot.She’dsaythingsandusewordsthatBirdiedidn’tunderstand.She’dstareoutthewindow,crying,clawingandscratchingather
skin.Othersisterswould
prayoverher—invocationslastingalldaylong—strangelitaniescombiningoilsandincenseandchantedreadings,raisedvoicescallingonGod’shealingpower,callingonGodtoenterthebodyandguardthesouloftheunbornchild.
ThescenefrightenedBirdie,whowouldlookoninterrifiedsilence.
OnedaywhenBirdiewasscrubbingthepantry,sheoverheardSisterFrancisspeakingtoMassahSeamusaboutsomethingcalledlaudanumtreatmentsforMissLeighselle.Theconversationsheheardbetweenthetwo—howthedrugaffectedLeighselle,howtoweanababyfromthedrug’saddiction—frightenedhermorethanthesisters’chantedprayerstoanall-powerful
Godwhocouldcastpeopleintoburningpitsoffire.
Birdiebegancrumblingthesugarcubesintothechamberpot,thenemptieditwiththewaste.AsLeighsellestartedtoshowsignsofclarity,Birdieconfidedinher,tellingherwhatshehadseenandheardandhowshehadbeentakingcareofMissLeighsellebynotputtingthestrange,brownsugarcubesinhertea
anymore.“Ain’tnobody’sbaby
needtobebornaddictedtoGodandlaudanum,”Birdiehadsaid,afterLeighsellehadexplainedtoherwhatthewordaddictedmeant.
Theymadeaplan.Soasnottodrawsuspicion,Leighsellewouldbehaveasifshewerestillundertheinfluenceofthedruguntilshefeltrecoveredenoughthatthetwocouldescape.They
wouldhideclothesandfood,andwhenthemomentwasright,theywouldsneakaway.Weak,herlegsunsteady,Leighsellefigureditwouldtakeamonthbeforeputtingherplanintoaction.
Sittinginherrockingchair,shelookedatBirdie,hereyesclearandbright.“AftertheusualmeetingwithSeamus,whenyouremovethecoffeeserviceandtakeittothepantry,leavethepantry
unlocked.”Leighsellespokewithclarity,hervoicestrong.“Thesmallvaliseyoupackedisstillthere,right?”
“Yes,MissLeighselle,behindthefloursacks.I’llcheckagainwhenIgodowntoemptyyourchamberpot,butthere’snothingtoempty.Wasn’tnothingintheretohidethesugarcubes.Yousureyoudon’tneedtogo?”Birdieasked,hervoicesounding
anxious.“I’msure.Justpour
somewaterinthereandcoveritwithpaper.It’llbeallright.Wait.Shhhh....”Leighsellepressedherfingeracrossherlips.
Aknock.SisterFrancisopenedthedoor.“I’mreadytoescortyoutoyourmeeting.Youlookwellthismorning.”Shesmiled.
*****“Thankyou,sister,”said
Seamus,lookingupwhenheheardthementerthereceivingroom.
Leighselleshuffledintotheroom,herbillowy,flowinggownadiscretecover-upforhereight-and-a-half-monthpregnancy.Aswasthecustom,shetookthechairoppositeSeamus,andasalwaysshestaredathimwithhollow,sadeyesandavacantexpression.
Hewassittingina
seatbyawindowthatoverlookedapondwithafountain,itssprayfanningouthighintotheair.Swansandducksfloatedunderitsmistyumbrellainlanguidcircles.Hewaswatchingoutthewindow,lookingonassomeoftheorphansskimmedthemossandtrimmedthecattailsthatgrewattheedgeofthepond.
“Hardworkbuildscharacter.Bettertheylearnit
young,”hesaid.“Yes,sir.”Sister
Francisgaveageneroussmileofagreement.“MayIhaveawordwithyououtinthehall,MisterFlanders?”Shemotionedforhimtojoinher,andSeamusfollowed.
LeighsellestaredatthechairvacatedbySeamusandwaited,anxietychurningherstomach.DidSisterFrancisoverhearherandBirdie’sconversation?She
glancedoutthewindowattheswans,wishingforwingsthatshemightflyaway.
Afterwhatseemedaneternity,theyreenteredtheroom,Seamustakinghisseat,SisterFrancisservingtheircoffeeandsandwiches.Allseemednormal.Theirsmileswerepleasant,theirvoicescheery,theirconversationabouthisdonationtotheorphanagetheapparentreasonfortheprivatetête-à-
tête.Leighsellebreatheda
sighofrelief,secretlypocketingtwosandwichesasSisterFrancisexcusedherselffromtheroom,allowingherandSeamustheirprivacy.
“Weekafterweek,Leighselle,andwegothroughthissilentface-offalloveragain.”Seamustentedhisfingers,elbowsonhisknees,restinghischinonthepeak.
Leighsellesippedhercoffeeandatethesandwichonherplate,savingthecookieforBirdie,followingthesameroutineaseveryTuesday.Withhalf-closedeyes,sheletherheadsway,portrayingtheactionsofoneundertheinfluenceoflaudanum.Sheknewthebehaviorwell.
Seamusgloweredather.“SignthesepapersandI’llhaveHenryonthenext
shiptoAmerica,wherehecanraisehischildinluxuryandcomfort.Hisheartwillbebrokenthathiswifediedinchildbirth,buthe’llgetoverit.Don’tsign,andHenrywillneverseemeorthischildagain.I’llsendhimaletterthatyou’reawhoreunfittobethemotherofmygrandchildandthatI’mraisingitmyself.”
Leighsellestaredatthedocumentandthepen.
Herfingersbegantoitch.Herscalptingledlikeathousandneedlesprickingthesurface—notenoughtodrawblood,justenoughtoirritate.Ametallictastelingeredinhermouth,afamiliarsensationthatsherememberedfrombefore.Inasuddenreckoning,shedroppedhercoffeecupanditclatteredtothefloor.
“I’mnotawhore.”Leighselle’seyeswantedto
close,butsheforcedthemtoremainopen,tofocus.Thecoffee…
“IcandescribeforHenryyourbodyintimately,thetriangularscaronyourbacksidelowenoughformetosmellyourwomanhood,thelargemoleonyourrightbreastjustaboveyournipple.Itwascommonknowledgethatyouletwhoressleepinyoursewingshop.Itwouldn’tbehardtoproveyouanunfit
mother.”“Youknowmybody
becauseyouforcedyourselfonme.”Leighselle’sheadthrobbed,herpulsespeedingthebloodtoofastthroughherveins.
“Youaskedforit,Leighselle.Youseducedme.Youseducedmyson.I’msuretherehavebeenmanyothermen.”Hesatbackandcrossedhislegs,hisvoiceconversational.“Mygood
friend,JudgeReederinNewOrleans,wouldsweartoanythingIasked.Heowesmemanyfavors.”
“Henrywouldneverbelievethataboutme,”shesaid,hershouldersdroopingafraction,herposturecurvinginward.
“Itwouldbebettertobethoughtdeadthanthoughtawhore.Signthisdocumentgivingmecustodyofthechild.”Heheldoutthepaper
andpen.“You’llhaveanice,tidysumtogetonwithyourlife.I’llgetonwithmineandputyoubehindmeforever.”
“IfIdon’tsign,youtakemychild.IfIdosign,youtakemychildandletHenryraiseit.Eitherway,Ilose—youwin.”Shepressedherhandsagainstherears,tryingtoquiettheringing.“IfIsign,itappearsI’vesignedawaymychildformoney,likesomecommonwhore.”
Seamusleanedforward,hiseyesahard,blueslit.“Youweremine,Leighselle.Youwerealwaysmine.ItoldyouIwascomingbackforyou.Butfindingyouwithmyson—knowingyougavetoHenrywhatbelongedtome—nowthegrandchild.”
“Ididn’tknowHenrywasyourson.I—Ineverbelongedtoyou.”Theroomwasstifling.Pricklyheatirritatedherskin,perspiration
beadedherbrow—theroombegantoclosein.
Seamusstood,lookingdownonher.“IcanallowHenryandthisgrandchildinmylife.Iwillnotallowyouruiningmylife.Removingyou...istheonlyalternative.It’sthecostofmakingyoupayforwhatyou’vedone.”Then,heturnedandstrodetothedoor,openingit.“Bringherin.”
SisterFrancisstepped
intotheroom,Birdieintow—hereyesstreamingtears,herbarelegscoveredinthestripemarksofawhip.
SeamusstrodebacktowhereLeighsellesat,clutchingthearmsofthechair,steadyingherself.Leaningclosetoherear,hisvoiceharsh,hepointedtothedoor.“Takealookatyourdarkie.Webothknowthetruth.She’swhathappenedwhenyourfatherfucked
Addie-Frank.Signthepapers,Leighselle.It’llmakelifeeasieronyourlittlehalf-sister,Birdie.”
Leighselle,gulpingquickbreaths,herheadfloatinglight,tookthepeninhand.Shetouchedthesharpgoldtiptothepaper.Thecloven,diamond-shapedendleftaninkmarkthatspreadoutlikeableedingwound.Shestudiedtheblotblossomingonthelinethat
waitedforhersignature.Whore,thestainseemedtosay—astainedwoman.Nexttotheink’sblemish,shesignedLeighselleLaVerneBeauclaireFlanders.Sheopenedherfingers,allowingthepentorolloutofherhandandfalltothefloor.
SeamuspickedupthepapersandturnedtoSisterFrancis.“She’snearenoughterm.Isn’ttheresomeconcoctionyoucangiveher
tohurrythissituationalong?”“Idon’tthinkthatwill
benecessary,”saidSisterFrancis,rushingtoLeighselle’sside.
Pushingherselfoutofthechair,Leighsellestood,clutchingherswollenbelly.Apoolofamnioticwaterpuddledontheflooratherfeet.
*****September27,1860
ArattlingcougheruptedfromdeepwithinthedepthsofLeighselle’score,acoughfullofbloodanddeath.Thesunnolongerwarmhadturnedtepid,theskyadull,chalkywhitewithahintofpalepinktothewest.
“Andthat,mydearoldfriend,ismystory.”Leighsellestoodandstretched,fistingherhandsagainstherlowerback.
Hughesstoodandput
hishandsonLeighselle’sshoulders.“You’vebeenlivinganightmarethat’slastedalifetime.IwishI’dknown.I’dhavebeenabetterfriend.Godknowsyouneededone.”
“IhadAddy-Frank.Wehadeachother.WhenIreturnedtoNewOrleans,DocFlemingsreleasedherandshecametolivewithmeagain.”
“Let’stakeawalk.”Hughescrookedhisarm
throughLeighselle’sandguidedherintothelobbyofthehotel.“Whathappenedafterthat?”
“Afterthat?”Leighsellesaid.“Assoonasthebabywasborn,heleftwithmychildandBirdie.Hegavethesistersinstructionstokeepmesedateduntilhereturnedforme,tellingthemhefearedthetravelsosoonwouldnotbegoodforme.Heneverreturned,ofcourse.”
“Leighselle.Therearenowords—”Hughesswallowed,forcingbackemotion.“Sorry.”Heclearedhisthroat.“So.Whatdidyoudonext?”
“WhatI’vealwaysdone.Ipickedmyselfup,dustedmyselfoff,andwokeupthenextday.Andthenthenext.Andthenthenextafterthat.Myheartwasbroken.I’dlostbothHenryandBarleigh.Whatkeptmesane
wasthatmydaughterwouldberaisedbyHenry,andBirdiewouldbetheretohelp.”Shehelduponehand,indicatingsheneededamomenttocomposeherself.
Hughesnodded,walkinginsilence,holdingontoherarm.
“Iknewwherethenunskeptthelaudanum.ThereweretimesIconsideredendingmineandmychild’slifebeforeit
enteredtheworld.IprayedtoGodthatHewouldendit.But,Ididn’t—Icouldn’t.”
“Jesus,Leighselle.”Hughesdrewadeepbreathandlookedupattheceiling,blinking,swallowing.“Ihopethisson-of-a-bitchisstillaliveandIhavethepleasureofmakinghisacquaintance.”
Theywalkedinsilence,makingtheirwayaroundthewell-appointedlobbytowherethegrand
pianowasshowcased,stoppingtoadmirethetunethemusicianwasplaying.Asacrowdgathered,LeighsellemotionedtoHughesthatshewasreadytogo.
“Sorrytointerrupt,sir,”saidJameson,meetingthepairastheymadetheirwaybacktothepatio.LeaningclosetoHughes’sear,hesaidinaquietvoice,“Yourpackagehasarrived.Iplaceditinyourroom,sir.”
“Thankyou,Jameson.I’lllookitoverlater.”
“Yes,sir.”Heturnedbutstoppedshort.“ShouldIarrangeforacarriageforyourguest?”
“No.IfIcantalkMissBeauclaireintoit,she’lltakemyroom.I’llfeelmuchbetterwithherstayingheresothatDocSchmidtisimmediatelyavailableifsheneedshim,andyoucanassistheraswell.Leighselle?Is
thatallrightwithyou?”“Ican’tputyououtof
yourownroom,Hughes,”saidLeighselle.
“Youalreadyhave,mydear.You’resendingmeonamission—anadventure,really.”
Jamesonclearedhisthroatandtappedhisvestpocket.
“Ihaven’tforgotten,Jameson.I’lltakecareofthatbusinessbeforeIleave.”
“Fine,sir.I’llsendforMissBeauclaire’sthingsfromtheguesthouseandhavethembroughtuptoyourroom.”Andthenhewasgone.
HughesturnedtoLeighselle,concernwrinklinghisbrow.“Areyouallright?Surely,thishasbeendifficulttalkingabout.”
“Itwasmoredifficultnottalkingaboutit.I’mprayingnowthatyoucanfind
her.ThelastIheardwasthattheFlandersessoldtheirranchinCorpusChristitoaCaptainKing.TheymayhavesettledintheareaofFortWorth.”
“Well,mydear,that’swhatI’mgoodat,findingpeople.You’llhaveyourdaughterbackinnotime,Ipromise.”
“Oh!No,no,no.”Leighselleheldupbothhands,pushingthethought
away.“Idon’twantyoutobringhertome.Ijustwantyoutofindher.Idon’twishtodisruptandcomplicateherlife.Ijustneedtoknowthatshe’saliveandwellandhappy.Shedoesn’tneedtoknowanythingaboutmeormylife—mypast.”
“What—Idon’tunderstand.”
“Pleasepromiseme,Hughes,thatyou’llkeepmysecret.Please.”
“Don’tyouthinkyourdaughterwouldlovetoknowthathermotherisaliveandwantstofindher?”Hugheslookedconfused.
“Afteralltheseyears?”Sheshookherhead.“No.Ifshe’shappyinherlife,Iwanthertostaythatway.KnowingthatI’malivewouldsurelyhurtandconfuseher.There’rethingsaboutmeshemightfindoffensive,ornotunderstand.
No,it’sbestthisway.”Leighsellehopedthat
itwasbest.SheacceptedHughes’spromisetokeephersecret,ignoringthefactthatheinsistedhewouldtrytochangehermind.Hermindwasmadeup.Someeventslosttothepastshouldstayburied.Thoughtryasshemighttonotdwellonit,sheoftendreamedoftouchingherdaughter,ofseeingher,onemoretime.
“Afterthebabywasborn,whatdidyoudo?”Hughesreseatedthemattheirtable,whereJamesonhadleftabottleofbrandywaitingforthem.
“AssoonasIrecovered,IsimplytoldthemthatIwasleaving.IwantedtogobacktoNewOrleans,whereImightfeelclosetomemoriesofHenry.MypartinggiftfromSeamushadbeenleftinthepriest’scare.
Asuitcasefullofhushmoney.Fivethousanddollarstokeepmequietandoutofmydaughter’slife.”
Hughessuckedinabreath.“Fivethousand.Seamuswasevilbuthewasn’tstupid.Hemadesureyouwouldn’tcausetrouble.”
“WhattroublewouldIhavecausedtojeopardizemydaughterorBirdie?”Leighselle’svoicewassharp.Shefoundthethought
profoundlyridiculous.Seamuswasstupid.HecouldhavepaidherapennyandshewouldhavewalkedawayifitmeantensuringnoharmwouldhavecometoeitherBarleighorBirdie.
“None,ofcourse,”saidHughes.“Inhismind,youwouldhave.”
“No...Igotbusy.IopenedLaVerne’sTavern.NomoreSewBeauclaireandworkingforpennies.And,I
boughtbackAddy-Frank.Docgavehertome,really.Hewouldn’ttouchthemoney,soImadeaheftydonationtohishospital.”
“Addy-Frank,Birdie’smother.”Hughesflickedaspeckofdirtfromunderhisthumbnail,drummedhisfingersonthetable,andshookhishead.“Howinthehelldidthebothofyoucope,havinglostyourdaughterstothesameman?”
“Weclungtooneanother,supportedoneanother,criedontheother’sshoulderwhenthegriefwouldovercome.Imissher.”Shesippedherbrandy,bothhandscuppingthesnifter.
“Howlongagodidshepass?”
“Lastyear.Sheencouragedthislittleendeavorofmine.IpromisedherI’dtry....”Leighsellepressedanapkintohereyes,
blottingthetears.Hugheslookedupat
thedarkeningsky.“Mydear,it’sgettinglateandI’mfeelinganxioustogetonwiththisnewmission.Weshouldgetyouinside,too,beforetheeveningchillsetsin.”
“Eveningchill?HereinSanAntonio?Itstillfeelslikeahundreddegreestome.”
Hugheslaughed.“You’reright.Well,we
shouldgetyouinbeforetheghostsstartmakingtheirrounds.ItoldyouthattheMengerHotelishaunted,didn’tI?”
“Haunted?Ghosts?”“Yes,ghosts,andlots
ofthemfromwhatIunderstand,thoughI’veneverhadthepleasureofanencounter.”
“Whoandhowmany?”askedLeighselle,achillrunningupherspine.A
smiletickledthecornersofhermouth.“I’vealwayswantedtomeetaghost.”
“Soldierghosts,manyofthem,mostlikelyfromtheBattleoftheAlamo.ThishotelsitsonthegroundsoftheoldSpanishfortoriginallycalledMissionSanAntoniodeValero,consideredsacredgroundnow.Ifyou’relucky,you’llhearthemuffledbootstompingofthespiritsoldiersmarchingaroundduringthe
darkofthenight,stillonguardduty.”
“Iwelcomethesoundofamanmovingaboutmyroominthedarkofthenight,”saidLeighsellewithawink.“It’sbeentoolong.”
Theevening’sstarsreflectedlikeathousandsparklingfirefliesintheSanAntonioRiver.Ancientcypresstreeslinedthebanks,knobsfromtheirrootspeepingupoutoftheground
likesnoopinggnomes.AloneweepingwillowstoodsentrynexttotheAlamo’swestwall,sweepingthegroundwithitslong,thinarms.Theairwasrich,pungent,andthickwiththespicysmellsofsouthTexas.Cricketsandcicadassangtheirpraisestothenight.
HughesescortedLeighselleuptohissecondstoryroomoverlookingtheAlamoPlaza.“Ifyouneed
anything,Jamesonisintheroomjustbelowmine.Thesignalistostomponthefloorbythewindowthreetimes.He’llhearyou.He’saverylightsleeper,oneeyeandoneearalwaysopen.”
“Hughes,Ican’tbegintothankyou.Iknowyou’llfindher.Ijusthopeit’sintime.”
“Yes,metoo.I’llkeepyoupostedonmyprogress.Thetelegraphoffice
willdelivermessagestoyouhereatthehotel,acourtesytoMengerguests.Aniceperk.”
Astheystrolledthroughthearcheddoubledoors,pastapolishedwoodandbrassentryway,andintothemarble-tiledreceptionarea,theychattedlikeamiableoldfriendswhomightbediscussingthebeautifulartworkonthewallsorthefineEuropeanfurnishingsoftheMenger.
Withitsfiftyguestroomsfilledtocapacity,therewereplentyofvisitorsdiscussingthesetrivialtopicsandothermatterslessimportantthanstolenchildren,hushmoney,clandestinemissions,anddeath.
“IhaveBarleightakencareof,financiallyspeaking,”saidLeighselle,holdingontoHughes’sarm.“I’vegiventhattopicalotofattentionthroughouttheyears.Besides
themajorityofthemoneyfromSeamus,ofwhichIspentverylittle,mybusinessisquiteprofitable.Too,therewastherefundfromthenursingschoolinShreveportwhichIneverattended.Thatwasanexpensiveschool!”
“Ah,theShreveportSchoolofMedicine,Iforgotaboutthat,”saidHughes,givingherarmasqueeze.“I’mgladyouchoseNewOrleansinstead.”
“Ifsomethinghappenstome...”Leighselle’svoiceturnedserious.“...Barleighwillinheritarespectableamountofrealestateandliquidassets.Mywillisonfilewithmyattorney,aMr.BertramLaMontinNewOrleans.Acopyiswithmeinmyvalise.”
“Ifsomethinghappenstoyou?WhatIexpectwillhappenisthatyou’llrest,recoveryourfullhealth,and
you’llenjoyapasselofgrandkidsoneday,eachonehavinginheritedyourbeautifulgreencateyes.”
Clutchinghislapelsinherweakgrasp,shesaid,“Becareful,Hughes.IwishIcouldtellyouthatthisiswithoutrisk,butIcannot.IfSeamusFlandersisstillalive,therewillbedanger.”
“Idon’tshyfromdanger,”Hughessaid,asharpedgetohiswords.“Ihunt
downoutlawsforalivingandbringthemtojustice.IthinkIcanhandleSeamusFlandersifwecrosspaths,andIhopetoGodwedo.ButIknowmymission.I’vegivenyoumywordthatyoursecretissafewithme.”
“Thankyou,Hughes.”Leighselleblinkedawaytears.
“I’llrespectyourwishforprivacyuntilIhearotherwisefromyou.
Remember,stompthefloorthreetimesbythewindowifyouneedJameson.I’moff.Idon’twanttomissthemidnighttrain.”HekissedLeighselleoneachcheek,huggedherinatightembrace,thenturnedanddisappeareddownthestairs.
“Yourpackage,”calledLeighselleafterhim.Sheranoutintothehallwaywithalarge,thickenvelopeinhand.
Hugheslookedupfromthelowerlanding.“Dropit.”
Shedidandhecaughtthepackagewithonehand,salutingherwiththeother,andthenblewherakiss.
Shesaluted,sendinganairkissback,hergestureawkwardandclumsy,whichmadeherlaugh.Thelaughdissolvedintoarackingcough,thebloodbrightredandmetallicinhermouth.
Shestumbledtoherroom,closedthedoor,andleanedherbackupagainstit,waitingforthedizzinesstopass,waitingforcoolness.Hervisionbecamefuzzy,theroom’sfurnishingsoutoffocus.Sheleanedforward,movingherhandsthroughtheairforaplacetoliedown,likeablindpersongropingforsomethingfamiliar.
Slowfeetshuffledandscrapedtheirwayacrossthe
woodenfloortothefour-postercanopiedbed.Sheeasedherselfontothedownyduvetcover,herbreathingshallowandfast.“Pleasefindher.FindmyBarleigh,”whisperedLeighselleasdarknessclosedin.“Butpleasekeepyourword....”
Bootsontheground—stomp,stomp,stomp—ghostsoldiersonpatrol.Sheheardtheechooftheirheavyfootfalls,thenoisemuffledin
herearslikeathrobbingpulse.Stomp.Stomp.Stomp.Afaintsmileeasedacrosshermouthmomentsbeforeshefellunconscious,atrickleofbloodstainingthewhite,feather-filledpillow.
AComanchemoonlituptheMengerHotelandbatheditwithabrilliantradiance,asifitwerethemiddleoftheday.Guestslingeredonthepatio,enjoyingthedazzling
splendoroftheremarkablelunardisplay.Privilegedcompanionsdancedinthemoonlightandtoastedtoitsmagicalspell,whilethemoongildedthehourandallbelowwithitsotherworldlylight.
CHAPTEREIGHTSEPTEMBER27,1860
Hughesgavethecodedknock:twofast,threeslow,twofast.WhenJamesonansweredthedoor,Hughessteppedintotheroom,givinghimalistofinstructionsregardingLeighselle’scare,anoteforthedoctor,andatelegramforJamesontosendtoNewOrleansaheadofhis
arrival.“Yes,sir.Anything
else?”askedJameson.“I’velookedoverthe
package.I’llstudyitfurtheronthetrain,”saidHughes.“I’llbeinSaintJosephbytheendofnextmonth,butI’veencounteredaminordelay.”Hehopeditwouldbeminor,anyway.Heconsideredhimselfamongthebestwhenitcametotrackingwildanimals.Howdifficultcould
itbefindinganineteen-year-oldgirl?
HughesgaveJamesonabriefdescriptionofhisimpendingsearchmissiononcehisvisittoLouisianawascomplete.Heexpecteditwouldtakeafewdaystofindthegirl.Then,hewouldsendJamesonatelegraphoncethatwasdoneandhewasonhiswaytoMissouri.
“Verywell,sir,”saidJameson,takingnotes.“One
otherquestion.ShouldMissBeauclaire’sconditionbecomedire,whatshouldIdobeyondsendingforthedoctor?”
“She’salreadybeyonddire.I’msurethedoctorwilldohisbesttomakehercomfortable.”Whatelsewastheretodo,thoughtHughes,besideshopelikehellshehadthestrengthtohangonuntilhefoundherdaughter?
*****
TheSanAntoniotoNewOrleanstrainchuggedeast,yetHughes’sthoughtsdriftedwest.Withafewotherpassengersaboardthemidnightfreightrun,thecarwasquietexceptfortheclankingofwheelsonmetalandtheoccasionalwhistlingofthehorn.Heclosedhiseyesandlosthimselfintherhythmicalcadenceoftherails.
Hisplanwasclearin
hismind.HewoulddepartLouisianalatethenextdaywhileridingafinehorse,headbacktoTexas,beinCorpusbyweek’send,headnorthtoFortWorthifrequired,andthenbeforeyouknowit,havewordtoLeighsellethathe’dlocatedBarleigh.Howdifficultcoulditbe?
Hemadeapillowofhistopcoat,stuffingitbetweenhisshoulderandthe
window.Restinghisheadagainstthecoolglass,hetriedclearinghismindofhistroubledthoughtsofLeighselle.ItwaseasytopicturehisdearfriendasshewaswhenheleftNewOrleansthosemanyyearsago—stunning,vibrant,sassy,funny,intelligent.Andclever.Thatwomanwasclever.Hedriftedofftosleep,hismemoriesmeltingintovividdreams.
*****February24,1852
WinterCarnivalseasonwasinfullswingandLaVerne’sTavernwasahotbedofactivity.ItwasFatTuesday,andallaroundtheFrenchQuarter,paradeswouldclogthestreetsandpassinfrontofthetavern,bringingincustomers,revelers,andtroublemakersalike.Thefinalmasqueradeballcelebrated
MardiGrasandtheendoffrivolitybeforeAshWednesdayusheredinLentandtheHolyHolidays—andalongwithit,theexpectationfordecorum.Butforonelastnight,unbridledpleasuresforallthesenseswereabundant.Exuberantrevelersdidn’thavetolookfartofindthem.
LeighsellewasdrapingthefinalstrandofanEnglishivyandeucalyptusgarlandaroundthelife-sized
oilpaintingofacharcoal-grayandsilverBrahminbullthattookupmostofthewallabovethemahoganybar.Shehadcommissionedthepaintingwhenshe’dpurchasedthebusiness,addingabrassnameplateonthebottomoftheframe.TheplatewasetchedwiththewordsHenry’sFolly.
“Youneedahandwiththat?”askedHughesashestrolledthroughthe
swingingdoorsofthesaloon.“You’reearly.Did
yourfathershutdownLévesqueSugarcaneandShippinginhonorofourMardiGrasmasquerade?”
“He’ddropdeadbeforethatwouldhappen.Hopdownoffthatladderandletmehelpyou.You’remakingmenervouswayupthere.”
Leighselleclimbeddown,handingthegarlandto
Hughes.“Drapethisoverthetopofthepainting,please.”
“Henry’sFolly.I’vealwayswonderediftherewasastorybehindthename.”Hughesclimbedtheladder,finishingthedecorations.
“Yes,alongstory.”Leighselle’sbrightgreeneyesdarkened,hersmilefaded.
“I’msorry.DidIsaysomethingwrong?”Hughesclimbeddownandthenfoldedtheladder,stowingit
behindthebar.“It’sallright.Iget
askedthatquestionoften.Ishouldbeusedtoitbynow.”Shesmiled,butthesmilesatflat,notreachinghereyes.
Hughesstudiedherfaceandherpetite,gracefulform.Thewayshelooked,thewayshemoved,remindedhimofacat,butasadcatonthevergeoftears.“Allfinished,”hesaidasheputawaytheladder.“Anything
elseyouneeddonewhileI’mhere?”
“Justafewmoredecorations.”Leighselleplacedcandlesoneachtable.“Thankyouforhelping.I’mgladyoumanagedtosneakawayfromwork.Yourfathergroomingyoutotakeoverthebusinessistakingyouawayfrombeingmyhandymanandsecurityguard.I’msureI’llbeinneedofyourservicestonight.Thecrowdsthelast
feweveningshavegrownmoreboisterous.”
“It’dbewiserifFathergroomedJohn-Pierretotakeover.EvenMotherseesthathe’sbettersuitedtorunningthebusiness,”saidHughes,handingcandlestoLeighselleforplacement.
“Won’tyourfatherconsiderwhatyourmotherthinksaboutthesituation?”
Hughessnorted.“Listeningtoawoman’s
pointofview,evenifthatwomanishiswife,ranksjustbelowhimshuttingdownbusinessforaholiday.”
“You’retwins.Whycan’thegroomJohn-Pierreforthebusiness?”
“Thatwouldgoagainsttradition,Godforbid.I’mtheelderbyawhoppingtwominutes.”Hughesadoptedacomical,mockingtonetohisvoice,causingLeighselletolaugh.
John-Pierrewasmoresuited.Hedidn’tactlikean‘irresponsibleeighteen-year-oldalwayslookingfortrouble,’toquoteFather.Heactedmorelikea‘responsibleyoungmanonthecuspofadulthood.’But,Fatherwouldtryanything,includingguiltandbribery,togethisway—totryandforcehiseldestsonintofittingintothemoldthatshapedallthemenoftheLévesqueSugarcaneand
Shippingdynasty.“WhatIwantisto
knowifyoubroughtyourmaskfortheballtonight?”askedLeighselle,puttingthefinishingtouchesonthebar’scenterpiece.“Iwantyoutomingle.Idon’twantyoustandingoutasthehiredgun.Thatwouldputadamperonafestivemood.”
Hughesshookhishead.“Irespectfullydisagree.Ithinkhavingvisiblesecurity
wouldhelpkeepthingsfromgettingoutofcontrol,likeitdidlastyear.”
“Youworrytoomuch,”chidedLeighselle.“Dressup,wearamask,mingle,havefun,butbeonyourguardforanythingthatneedstampeddown.”
“Yes,ma’am.”Hugheshelpedfinishdecoratingthetavernwithcrepepaperandcolorfulstreamersbeforegoingoutto
watchtheparade.Acomicaltroupeof
menandboys,womenandgirls,onfoot,onhorseback,orridinginwagons,carts,orbuggies,paradedpastLaVerne’s.Grotesque,horrible,diabolicalmasksseemedtobethetheme.Somecostumeswerehumanbodieswithheadsofbeasts,fowl,orfish.Otherswereanimalbodieswithdistortedhumanheadsmadeofpapier–mâché
paintedwild,graphiccolors.Allsortsofgarishbeastswoundtheirwayupanddownthestreetinrichconfusionandwithmuchfoolishlaughterandsinging.
Somerevelersworedisguisesofmermaidsormonks,somewerebeggarsorrobbers,whileafewoptedforbodypaintthatleftmanyguessingiftheywereclothedunderneath.Thecarnivalspirithaderuptedoverthe
FrenchQuarter,spewingdecadenceanddebaucheryallaround.
Laterthateveningatthetavernasthemaskedpartycrowdswelledtocapacity,Hughesmovedthroughtheroom,elbowinghiswayaroundthebar.Jostlinghiswayacrossthedancefloor,pushingandshoving,hemadehiswaytowardMonique.Peacockfeathersmaskedhalfherface,
withtheotherhalfcoveredinblueandgoldglitterpaint.
“Havingagoodtime,Monique?”
“I’mindisguise.You’renotsupposedtorecognizeme.”
“I’drecognizeyourfieryredhairanywhere.Youshouldhavewornapowderedwig,likethatoneoverthere.”
Hepointedtoatall,beautifulwomaninagold
brocadegowncutlowintheback,showcasingherexquisiteform.Hermaskwasblackfeathersthatformedabeak-likepointoverhernose,givingheradramaticavianappearance.Hercostumekeptoneguessingifshewereawell-dressedravenorKingLouisXV’smistresswithafeatherafflictiononherface.
Moniquelaughed.“It’sMadamPompadourallright,butthekingwillbe
shockedwhenshedisrobes.Sheisahe.”
“Ahe?Areyousure?But,herbackissofeminine.Ahe?”Hughescockedhisheadforalookfromadifferentangle.
“Positive.That’sLiberty’scousinBoydGuzzleman,infromMobile.”
“Well,I’llbedamned.He’sprettierthanLiberty,butdon’ttellherIsaidthat.”
“Iwon’t,althoughshe
saysasmuchherself.I’llcatchupwithyoulater.”SheglancedoveratthebarandsawLeighsellepointingamanherway.
“Becarefultonight.Therearepeopleintownwedon’tknow.”HughesstudiedthemanwalkingtowardMonique.
“Yes,bigbrother,Iknowtherules.”Moniquegavehimapeckonthecheekandslippedaway.Dressedas
acowboy,aredbandanapulledupoverthelowerhalfofhisfaceandwearingsix-shootersathiship,themantookMoniquebythearmandledherupstairs.
Hugheshadneverbeenwithher.MoniqueandLeighsellewerelikesisters,Leighselletheolder,wisersisterandMoniquetheyounger,naïveonewhocausedhimtofeelprotective.Hehadbeenwithafewofthe
otherwhoreswhoworkedatLaVerne’s,hadlosthisvirginityoneenjoyable,drunkennighttoLiberty,cousinofBoydthecross-dresser,butLeighselleandMoniquewereoff-limits.Theywerefamily.
Aftermidnightwhenthemaskscameoffandthecrowdthinned,Hughesmadehiswaytothebarforawhiskey,theonedrinkheallowedhimselfwhenon
duty.Hewasallcoffeedup,jittery,andinneedofacalmingspirit.Thesmallsplashofwaterswirledinasensualfusionwiththedarkamberliquor.Hesipped,sighed,enjoyingthewarmingsensationthatmeltedawaythetensionasheswallowedthatfirsttaste.
SpyingLeighsellepresidingoveragameofpoker,hestrolledover,hissoftblackleathermask
tuckedintothebreastpocketofhiswine-coloredvest.Hiswhitetuxedoshirtwasrolledatthesleeves,exposingmasculinewrists,hiseveningcoatlongagodiscarded.Hewashandsomeandcomfortableinhiscasualelegancedespitehisyouth,turningtheheadsofwomenandmenalike.
Leighsellelookedupandsmiled.“LikeItoldyou,nothingtoworryabout
tonight.Thankfully,norepeatoflastyear’sBrawlattheBall.”
HewatchedasLeighselledealtthecardswithdeft,quickmovements,placingonefacedown,onefaceup,thenwaitingforhit-mesorstaysorfoldsfromthemenaroundhertable.Dealer’sfacecardwasthequeenofdiamonds.Halftheplayersfolded;theotherhalfwishedtheyhadwhen
Leighselleflippedovertheaceofspades.
“Let’stakeabreak,gentlemen.I’llbebackinhalfanhour.Spendyourmoneyatthebaroronthedancefloorwithyourfavoritegirl,butsavealittleformeandthequeenofdiamonds.”Standing,shehookedherarmthroughHughes’s.“Freshairwouldbenice.Howaboutawalkoutside?”
Hughesfinishedhis
whiskey.Ashesettheglassonthetable,hisambereyessweptacrosstheroomonelasttimebeforeescortingLeighselleoutontothesidewalk.Despitethelatehour,itwascrowdedwithcostumedpeopleinhighcarnivalspirits.
“It’sbeenagreatnightforLaVerne’sTavern,”Leighsellesaidwithasmile.“Thebar’sbeendoingabriskbusinessasusual,thecard
tablesarelively,andthegirlshaveasteadystreamofescortstwirlingthemaroundthefloorandupthestairs.Haveyouhadanyproblems?”
“Everythingseemspeaceableenough.I’vetriedkeepingtrackofthegirlsandtheirescorts.Ihaven’tseenMoniquesinceearlyevening,though.Haveyou?”
“IthinkthelasttimeIsawherwaswhenshe
accompaniedherfirstclient,themandisguisedasagunslinger.”
AsinkingfeelingcameoverHughes,asenseofdreadchillinghimfromtheinsideout.Herecalledtheman’sredbandanamaskandhowthemanwalkedwiththesix-shooterathishiplikeagunslinger—itwasnotacostume.Fuck.Hespunaround,racingbackintothetavernandupthestairs,
takingthemtwoatatime.Monique’sdoorwas
locked.Hughescouldhearmuffledvoicesinsidetheroom.Afaintwhimper,asharpword—aslap—stifledmoaning.Poundingthedoorwithhisfist,hedemanded,“Openup.Security.”
“Goaway,I’mbusy,”saidamalevoice,mumbledandslurredwithalcohol.
“Monique?Areyouallright?It’sHughes.Open
thedoor.”Hepoundedagainwithhisfists,rattlingtheknob.“Goddamnit,Isaidopenthedoor!”heshouted.
Ahushfelloverthecrowddownstairs.Theycollectivelylookedup,strainingtoseewhatwashappeningintheroomattheheadofthestairs.Thetaverngrewquietexceptfortheplayerpiano,whichcontinuedtoplinkout“MollyWillYouBeMyBride,”the
thinnotesseemingtolevitateandrideontheheavycigarsmokethatfilledthetavern’sspace.
Steppingback,Hughesraisedhislegandkickedhisbootedfootagainstthedoor,splinteringtheframeintopieces.Whathesawrevoltedhim—enragedhim—thegrotesquescenehittinghimlikeasickeninggutpunchthatdisplacesoxygen,leavingonegulping
forair.“Moveawayfrom
her,”hesaidthroughgrittedteeth,easinghisgunoutofitsholster.
Moniquewastiedtothebed,aragstuffedinhermouth.Herbreastshadbeenslashed,clumpsofherhairchoppedoff,theredcurlslyinginshinytuftsonthefloor.Round,angryburnmarksfromacigarettedottedthelengthofbotharms,butit
washerfacehecouldn’tbeartolookat.Bloodsmearedtheblueandgoldglitterpaintonhalfherface;theotherunpaintedhalfwherethefeatheredmaskhadbeenremovedwasnowcoveredindarkpurplebruises.Botheyeswereblackenedandswollenshut,hernosestreamingblood,herbottomliprippedhalfoff,exposingseveralmissingteeth.
“Iwouldn’tdrawon
meifIwereyou,”themansaidwithadrunkenslur,hisbodywobblingwiththeeffortofstanding.“Youain’tgotnoideawhoyou’redealingwith,doyou?”
Hugheseasedintotheroom,fingersteadyonthetrigger.Hiseyesdartedaround,makingaquickassessmentofthesituation.Onthenightstandbythebedstoodanear-emptybottleofwhiskey,arevolverlying
nexttoit.AnotherpistollayonthebedbetweenMonique’slegs,employed,hewassure,inallkindsofhorrors.Themanheheldsteadyinhissightwasdirtyandsmall,hismeaneyesbloodshotandwatery,hishandstwitchyandemptyandhovering.
“Idon’tgiveadamnwhatyournameis,”saidHughesinadead-calmvoice,notwantingtoalarmthehalf-
consciousMonique,whomoanedquietlyinbetweengaspingforbreathontheblood-soakedbed.“Raiseyourhands,slowandeasy.Walktowardme.”
“MynamesWhitt.DaltonWhitt.MeandmybrothersMonroe,Raymond,andArthurmakeuptheWhittGang.I’msureyou’veheardaboutus.Mybrothers’llcomelookingformeifIdon’tmakeitbacktocamp.”
“Isaidgetyourhandsintheair,yousonofabitch.”Hughessteppedfurtherintotheroom,bloodpoundinginhisheadlikeadrum.“Walkniceandeasytowardme.Now.”
DaltonWhittraisedhishands,hisbodyswayingwiththeexertion.Hecastaglanceatthetableandhisgun,thenbackatHughes.“Ibelievethis’llbeyourlastdaytolivewithoutworryor
regret.Goahead,takemein,butmybrothersareevenmoreunpleasantthanIam.”HelaughedandwipedspittleandMonique’sbloodfromthecornersofhismouth,hisshirtsleevealreadyadarkrustybrown.
LookingbackatMonique,hegesturedoverhisshoulder,“Shehaditcoming.ThebitchlaughedwhenIdroppedmypants.Laughedatme!Canyou
fuckingbelieveit?”Helungedtowardthetable,handsoutstretched,grabbingforhisgun.
Hughes,withtheheelofhislefthandpoundingtheColt.45’shammerinrapid-firesuccession,emptiedhissix-shooterintotheman,thefirstbullettakingcareofthejob,theotherroundsspentforgoodmeasure.HepulledDaltonWhittbyhisshirtcollaranddraggedhimout
intothehall,awayfromthebedandMonique.Then,withthebutt-endofhisgun,hebegantopummelthefaceandheadofthelifelessWhitt.
“Stop,Hughes,”Leighsellesaidassheranupthestairs.Shegrabbedhisarm,pullingbackonitwithallherweight.“He’sdead.Youcanstop.”
“He’snotdeadenough.”Hehitthemanonelasttimeacrosstheface,teeth
andbonescrunching.WithonefinalkicktoWhitt’sside,Hughesfellbackagainstthewall.Hetookdeepgulpsofbreath,blinkedhardagainstthewhite-hotragemeltinghisvision,tryingtofocusonLeighselle’sface,notonthebloodymesslyingunmovingathisfeet.
Ikilledaman.Heturnedaside,handsonhisknees,andvomited.
Leighsellerubbedhis
backuntiltheheavingstopped.“IshouldhavecomeupwithyoubutSmittysaidtoletyouhandleit.Whathappened?”
“Hewentforhisgun.Ishothim.I...Ikilledhim.”
“Youdidwhatyouhadto.Amandefendinghimselfisnotakiller.Doyouhearme?Thisdoesnotmakeyoulikehim.”
“WhenIsawwhathedidtoMonique,IknewIwas
goingtokillhim.”HughesstaredatLeighselle,hiswordshangingintheairbetweenthem.“I’mgladhewentforhisgun,thestupid,drunkenfool.Monique’sbadoff.Hetriedtokillher,too.”
“Tried?Yousendforthesheriffandthedoctor—I’lldowhatIcanhere.”SheturnedtoentertheroombutHughesstretchedhisarmacrossthedoorwaytoblockher.
“It’sbad.Don’tgointhere—don’tlook.Justsendforthedoctor.”Hetriedtopullthedoorclosedbehindhimbutitbouncedagainstthesplinteredframe.
Leighsellegasped.“Oh!Idid.Isaw.”Sheturnedquickly,pressingherfaceintoHughes’svest.
Hughestookherinhisarms,ahandcuppingthebackofherhead,andheheldheragainsthischestwhile
Leighsellewept.*****
AfterthesheriffandundertakerleftwithDalton’sbody,mostoftherevelersdeparted,too,insearchofalivelierpartytoendtheevening.Hughesfeltedgyandalert.Hewantedthenighttobeover.ThethreeotherWhittbrothers,nodoubt,wouldcomelookingforhim.Fine.Hewouldwaitforthem.
Heallowedhimselfonemorewhiskey.Then,toLeighselle,“Closedownbusinessforthenight.TakeAddy-Frankandgoupstairstoyourroomsandlockyourdoors.”
Leighsellenodded.“ThedoctorandAddy-FrankareupwithMonique.That’swhereI’mheadednow.”
“I’llcomecheckonyouinabit,butdon’topenthedoorunlessyouknowit’s
me.You’rearmed?”“Always.”Sheranher
handsdowntheoutsideofherballgown,feelinghergarters.Shekeptsingle-shotpistols,oneeachside,justabovekneehigh.
AshadowmovingcaughtHughes’seye,butbeforehecouldreact,aknifewasthrown,missinghisfacebyinchesasitslicedtheairbetweenwhereheandLeighsellestood.Hughes
pushedhertothefloor,pullingatableinfrontofthemforcover.
“WegotwordthatsomeoneherekilledourbrotherDalton,”shoutedavoicefromoutsidetheswingingdoors.“We’renotherefornobody’ceptwhodoneit.Youstepforward,andwe’llleaveeveryoneelsealone.Youdon’tstepforward,andweburnthisplacetohell.”
“Don’tdoit,Hughes.I’msurethesheriff’smomentsaway.”
“He’sprobablytiedupordeadifthesethreegotpasthim.Staydownbehindthistable.Don’tmakeasound.”
Leighsellenodded.Hughesrosefrom
behindtheoverturnedtable.Hishuntingknife,withitsgleamingbladeandcarvedantlerhandle,pressedagainst
hislowerback.Heknewwithinafractionofaninchwherehishandwouldsettleontheheavyweapon.Heknewhowfasthecouldgettoit,thenhowfasthecouldzipitthroughtheairtomeetitstarget.Perfectingthemovewassomethinghe’dpracticedsincehewasasmallboylearningtohuntwildboarswithOkwara,thehalf-Negro,half-Navahoplantationslavewho’dtaughtHugheshowto
slicetheaircleanthrough.“I’dratheryoutake
meprisonerthanseethisfineestablishmentgoupinflames.”Hughesstoodwithhisarmshangingcasuallyathissides,handsrelaxed,fingersopenandready.“Well,hereIam,girls.Comeoninandtakeme.”
Withoutaword,theWhittseasedintotheroom,thethreestandingshouldertoshoulder,barringthedoor.
Bootsshuffledandspursclinkedonthewoodenfloorstrewnwithstreamersandglitter.Dustmotesfloatedintheair,illuminatedinthegoldenglowofthegaslights.Theonlysoundwasheavy,measuredbreathing.
Hugheswaited.Therewardgoestothepatienthunter.Yes,Okwara,Iremember.
Then,withanalmostimperceptiblegesture,aslight
dipoftheheadfromthebrotherinthemiddle,noddingtotheoneonhisright,thelargestofthethreebrothersmadeaquickmoveforhisgun.
Hugheswasquicker,drawingtheknifefromthebackofhiswaistband,flingingitathisbarrel-chestedtarget,hittingthemansquareintheheart.Thebigmansanktohiskneesandfellsideways,deadbeforehe
couldclosehissurprisedeyes.
ThetworemainingWhittbrotherswentfortheirguns.HughesfilledhishandswithhisNavyColts,firingbothpistolssimultaneously,eachoneaimedatitsowntarget.Hehitonebrotherinthegut,buthisothershotmisseditsmark.
Hughescontinuedfiring,movingawayfromthetablewhereLeighselle
crouchedinhiding,drawingthegunfireawayfromher.Hetriedtomakehiswaytothesafetyoftheheavymahoganybar.Firinghislastshot,heleaptontopoftheservingcounter,scatteringglassesandbottles,takingashottohissideashewentover.
“Ibeenhit,”saidMonroeWhittashedroppedtothefloor,“getmeouttahere.”Heclutchedhisbelly,
hishandsturningdarkwithblood.
“WhataboutArthur?”RaymondpointedtothemanwithHughes’sknifeburiedhiltdeepinhischest.“Wecan’tleavehim.”
“He’sdead.Leavehim.Getmeoutofhere.”Monroetriedtostandbutsankbacktothefloor,bloodpoolingaroundhisfeet.
Withonepistolreloaded,Hughesroseup
fromtheshadows,clutchinghisrightsidewithhislefthand,andfired.HehitMonroeagain,adirectshottothethigh.Hughescollapsedontotheslick,coolsurface,semi-awareofhearinganothershot,knowingmorethanfeelinghisbodyflinch.
“Goddamnit,Raymond,Isaidgetmeouttahere.”Monroewaslosingcopiousamountsofbloodfrombothwounds.“Myleg.
..”Theshotthatstruck
HugheswasfromRaymond’sgun,aimedandfiredinaquickpanicjustbeforehegrabbedMonroebythecollar,dragginghimoutofthetavernanddownthestairs.Throwinghisbrotherontothesaddle,Raymondheavedhimselfupbehindhim,thehorsecrow-hoppinginprotestattheweightofbothmen.Raymonddugin
hisspurs.Thehorsegallopedoff,withasprayofbloodmistingthemidnightair.
“OhdearGod,Hughes!”Leighsellerushedtohim,wipingthebloodfromhisface.“Please,someone,helpme!”
“I’llrunupstairsandgetDoc,”saidSmitty,thebeefy-armedblacksmithwho’dtakenrefugebehindthebar.
“Noneedtocome
up,”saidDoctorFlemingsashepeekedoutthedoor.Hemadehiswaydownthestairs.“I’msorry,Leighselle,butMonique...shelosttoomuchblood.Herinjuriesweretoosevere.I’msorry.”
“Hugheshasbeenshot.Pleasehurry.”Leighselle’seyesfilledwithtears.“Oh,mydearMonique.”Sheshookherhead;wordsstungherthroat.
DoctorFlemingsand
SmittystretchedHughesoutonthebar.“Headwoundappearstobesuperficial.Theonetohissideisanotherstory.Hewon’tmakeitifIdon’tgetinthereandstopthebleeding.Smitty,canyouhelploadhimintomywagon?”
Hughesmoaned,hiseyesopeningandclosing,hisbreathshallow,hisskincoolingandbecomingpaleasthemencarriedhimout.
Bloodleftawide,redtrailontheplankfloorthatwasstrewnwithdiscardedmasks,feathers,andbrightstreamersineverycoloroftherainbow.
*****Leighselleplacedthetrayoffreshcompressesandstripsofgauzeonthebedsidetable.“Standstill.Letmefinishredressingthesebandages.Iwishyouwouldn’tgo.You’renotready,notstrongenough.”
“Threeweeksisenoughtimeforhealing.Ican’tlettheirtrailgocold.”Hughesgrittedhisteeth,painshootingthroughhisside.Hethoughtforamomentthatshemightberight....Thenheshookhisheadagainstthenotion.No.Hehadtogo.
“GobackhometoLévesquePlantation,hideoutthereforawhiletillallthisblowsover.”Shewipedherforeheadwiththebackofher
hand,shovingastraycurlbackintoplace.
“Hideout?”Hughessnorted.“YousawwhatthatbastarddidtoMonique.Heandtheotheronemaybedead,butthere’stwomorewhotriedtokillmefortheeffort.”
HewaspreparedtochasethosesonsofbitchestoHellifhehadto.They’dbebackgunningforhim—ofthathewascertain.What
kindofmanwouldhebeifheranandhid—wasafraidtofacethefight?He’dbethekindofmanhewouldn’twanttoknow.
“Ouch.”HewincedasLeighselletightenedthebandage.
“You’rebarelyonyourfeet.Youthinkyou’rereadytochaseaftertwooutlaws?Youdon’thavethestrength.”
“I’llfindthe
strength.”Hughesstrappedon
hisgunsandreachedforhishat,pausingwhileLeighsellefinishedbuttoninghisshirt,afreshbandagecoveringthewoundonhissideandsecuredaroundhiswaist.Heshovedhisshirttailintohiswaistbandandthenputbothhandsonhershoulders.
“I’llbefine.Besides,youknowI’mnotwelcomeathomeanymore.Father’s
decree.”Hetookadeepbreathandletoutwhatsoundedlikeagrowl.“Ineedtofinishpackingafewthings,thenI’moff.”
“Ican’tpersuadeyouotherwise?”
“No.”Hughesopenedhissaddlebags,takingstockofwhattopack.
“I’llseeyoudownstairs,then.You’llneedabottleofwhiskey—formedicinalpurposes.”
Leighsellesteppedoutthedoor,shuttingitbehindher,hermossgreentaffetaskirtswishingaroundherankles.
Turning,shesawsomeoneapproaching.“MayIhelpyou?”sheaskedinaloudvoice.
“I’mlookingforsomeone.AmannamedHughesLévesque.Heardhemightbehere.”HeeyedthetrashcanLeighsellewasholding,lookingcloseratthe
bloodybandages.“He’swounded.Thosehisbandages?Isheinthatroomyoujustcamefrom?”
Leighselletightenedhergriponthetrashcan.“That’smyroomandthis,”shesaid,holdingthecanoutforinspection,“thisis—uh—it’smytimeofthemonth,isall.See?”
RaymondWhittlurchedbackward,turninghisheadaway.“Isthereaman
herenamedHughesLévesquethatyou’rehiding?”
“I’mnothidinganyone.You’rewelcometolookaround.IheardLévesqueleftforTennessee,though,aboutaweekago.Youmightcatchupwithhim,ifyouhurry.”Leighselletookastepcloser,battinghereyelashes.
“Tennessee?”Hetookastepbackward.
“Um-hm.Mightyou
beinterestedinalittleplaytime?Discounted,today,ofcourse.”Shepattedthetrashcanandofferedacoysmile.
“Hellno,woman.I’minterestedinfindingLévesque.”Whitttookafewstepsbackward,eyeingthedoorbehindLeighselle.
Leighsellepursued.Then,feigningsurprise,droppedthetrashcan.ItlandedonWhitt’sfeet,thesoiledbandagesspillingon
hisbootsandsplayingacrossthehallway.ThemesscreatedabloodybarrierthatmightaswellhavebeenabrickwallbetweenWhittandthedoorHughesstoodbehind.
“Goddamnit,woman.”Hedancedbackward,shakinghisfeetfreeofthebloodybandages.“WhatinChrist’snameareyoutryingtodo?”
“Mygoodness.I’mabitclumsysometimes.”Shedroppedtoherknees,bending
forward,allowingWhittagenerouspeekathercleavage.Pickingupthebloodystripsofgauze,sheasked,“Canyougivemeahandhere,please?”
RaymondWhittbackedawayandmadequickprogressretreatingdownthestairs,hisspurstanglingtogether.“Tennessee?”
“Yes.Chattanooga.”*****
Hugheswasstandingbehind
thedoor,listening,whenLeighsellereturnedtotheroom.“Youclever,clevergirl,”hesaid,shakinghisheadinastonishment.“That’swhatIcallanout-foxingmaneuver.”
“Iwasafraidyou’dcomeout,gunsa-blazing.”
“Boy,didIwantto,”Hughessaid,twirlingtheloadedchamberofhisColt.“Bidingmytimeisbest.Iplanoncatchingthemoff
guardwhenthey’renotonthehunt.Butyou—youdeserveanhonor—whatabrilliantperformance.”
“Ithinkonmyfeet.Comingupwithaspontaneousplanwhenthere’stroublebrewingcanmeanthedifferencebetweenlifeanddeath.”
“I’llrememberthat.”Hughesmovedtothesideofthewindow,thechiffoncurtainliftedafraction.“The
otherbrother’soutthere—guessingtheoneIgut-shot.He’snotsittingtootallinthesaddle.”
Hewatchedthemanasheexitedthesaloonandmounthishorse.Then,thetwoWhittbrothersaimedtheirhorsesnorthoutoftheFrenchQuarter,thehorsesgallopinghoovessplashingthroughtherainpuddlesthatruttedthemuddylane.
“Marchisstillcoldat
night.Takewarmclothes.Didyoupackablanket?”
Hughessmiledather.“Yes,mother.”
Leighsellewinced.“I’mnotyourmother,”shesaid,piercinghimwithasharplook.
“I’msorry.WhatdidIsay?”Hugheslookedstricken.
“Nothing.Nevermind.I’mconcernedaboutyou.”
“Iappreciateyourconcern.IgrewuproughingitwhenOkwarawouldletmetagalongonhoghunts.IthinkIcanhandleTexasinthespring.Comehere.”HewrappedhisarmsaroundLeighselle,thenkissedthetopofherhead.“Ioweyoumylife.Ifyoueverneedanything,I’mforeverinyourdebt.”
“Willyoubecomingback?”
“Idon’tknow.Fathermadeitclearthatafterwhathecalledmy‘latestshenanigans,’thatI’mnotwelcomeathome.Hestuffedmypocketsfullofmoneyandthenshowedmethedoor.ThankGodmybrotherbroughtmehere.”Heshruggedhisshoulders,hisambereyescloudedwithpain.
“You’realwayswelcomeatmydoor.Come,
I’llwalkyoudownstairs.You’llneedthatbottleofwhiskeywhenitcomestimetochangingthosebandages.”
Hughessprintedthefourblockstotheliverystabletofetchhishorse,notwantingtoputtoomuchtimebetweenhimselfandtheWhitts.Holdinghisside,feelinglightheaded,hefoughtoffwavesofmind-splittingpainandgut-emptyingnausea.
*****Smittyrubbedhisdirtyhandsdownhisapron,thefireboxbehindtheanvilglowingbrightorange.Hepickedupared-hothorseshoewithheavywrought-irontongsandlayitonananvil.Aftergivingitafewwhackswithaflat-headedhammer,heimmerseditinabucketofwater.Steamroseinagraycirclethateclipsedhisround,baldhead.
“Theywerehere,”saidSmitty.“AskedifIknewyou—askedhowlongsinceyouleftforTennessee.Isaid,‘Tennessee?Hell,hedidn’tgotoTennessee.ThatboywenttoTexas.’Ithinkthatconfused’emabit.”
Hughesledhismareoutofthestallandthrewhissaddleacrossherback,wincingashedidso,tyingtheblanketandrainslickerbehindthecantle.“Iwonder
whichwaytheywent.”“Oh,theyargued.
Almostcametoblows.OnesaidTennessee,buttheysureashelldidn’tleavehereheadedeast.Theother’n,theonewiththegutshotandlegwound,saidTexas.Guesshe’stheboss.Theyrodewest.”
*****Theirtrailprovedtooeasytofollow.Hughesreinedhishorsebackafewtimessoas
nottorideupontherecklesspairwholeftcarelessclues.Crickets,owls,andcoyotesfilledthefrostynightwiththeirsongsasstarsfilledtheexpansivedarknessfromcornertocornerwiththeirsparklinglight.Springwasstillafewweeksaway.Thecoolingoftheearthatnightleftaheavydewontheground,makingawetsnakingtrackwherethehorsespassed.
Hughesyawnedandstretched,ignoringthepainstillpulsinghotonhisside.Hethoughtofchangingthebandagesashetouchedhiswound,feelingawetstickinessthroughhisshirt.HewouldhavechangeditiftheWhittseverstoppedtorest,butitappearedasiftheyplannedonridingallnight.Theotherwoundfromthesuperficialgrazingofthebulletjustabovehisrightear
leftafaintscar,hishairalreadygrowingoverandhidingit.
Dawnwashedtheeasternhorizoninshadesofnight-dissolvingpink,theforestsoundshushingasthesunroseintoasilentsky.TheWhittspulledoffthetrailandledtheirhorsesintoathicketofold-growthpinesodensethesun’sraysstrainedtoreachtheground.Theretheymadecamp.
Hughesrodehismareintheoppositedirectionasafedistanceaway,puttingheronapicketlinetograze.Then,wrappinghimselfinablanket,helaydownnexttowherehishorsewastied.Hefellintoalight,feverishsleep.
Thescreechingofahawkhighoverheadawokehim,thesunhalfwaythroughitsarcacrossthesky.Hughessatup,listeningtothepiney
woods,orientinghimself.Thepaininhissideradiatedoutinfieryhotfingersthattuggedoneverynerve.Agulpofwhiskeyfromthebottleinhissaddlebagnumbedthepainandclearedhisheadjustenough.
He’dchangethebandageslater.ItwastimetoseewhatwashappeningattheWhittcamp.Gunsinhand,hesneakedthroughthewoods,carefulnottomakea
sound.Hughessmiledand
thankedthestarsaboveformakingthissoeasy.RaymondandMonroeWhittlayonthefarsideoftheirfirenexttoarockyoutcropping,anemptybottleofwhiskeybetweenthem.Theinjuredmanmoanedinhisblanket,whichwasbloodyandwetwitharustybrownstain,thesmallcampfireofferingupathinstringofpalegray
smoke.“I’mcold,Raymond.
Getupandstirthatfirebacktolife.”Monroe’svoicesoundedraspyandweak.“AndI’mthirsty.Gimmeasipofwhiskey.”
RaymondWhittrolledover,theblanketthatwascoveringhimfallingaway.Hesatup,cursing.“Well,shit.Can’tamanevengetsomesleep?”Hehobbledovertothefireandbeganto
pokeitwithastick.“Ain’tnomorewhiskey.”
“I’mthirsty,brother.I’mhurting.Justputabulletinmeandgetitoverwith,”Monroebegged.
“Holdyourhorses.I’mstirringthefire.”
Hughescreptinfurther,duckingbehindthetrunkofanenormouspinoaktree.Assessingthesituation,formingaplan,hepickedatthedirtunderhisnails,
scrapingthemcleanwithatwig.Goon,Raymond,hethought,giveyourbrothersomewater.Steponoverthere,niceandclose.
“I’mthirsty...”Monroe’svoicefadedawaytoawhimper.
“Well,I’mcold.Iwantcoffee.”Raymondbusiedhimselfwiththetaskathand,stirringtheashes,thefirecracklingtolifeonceagain.
“Water.Now.”“Damnit,Monroe,we
shouldaheadedtoTennessee.”Raymondspunaround,stirstickinhand,thrustingitintheairforemphasis.“Thatbitchatthetavernsaidthat’swhereLévesquewent.Butno.Youtooktheblacksmith’sword.We’vebeeningoddamnedTexasadayandahalfnowandain’tseenasinglesign.Notaone.Nowyou’redying,
andit’llbeonmealonetofindLévesqueandkillhim,whereverthehellheis.WeshouldagonetoTennessee.”
“I’mtheonewiththegutwoundandyou’retheonebellyaching—”
“Tennessee,”insistedRaymond.“Tennessee.”
“Putabulletinmeandgetitoverwith.AtleastIwon’thavetolistentoyouharponaboutTennessee.”Monroe,feverishand
moaning,rolledbackandforthinhisblanket,clutchinghisdistendedbellythatwasoozingblood.“Water.I’mthirsty...”
“Yougotagun.Doityourself,”saidRaymondoverhisshoulder.
“Goddamnyou,”moanedMonroe.“Suicide’sasuretickettohell.”
“Ithinkmurderingyourbrother’llgetyouthere,too.”
HugheswatchedasRaymondpickedupacanteenandrosetohisfeet,shufflingtowhereMonroelayshiveringontheground.Heopenedthecanteenandliftedhisbrother’sheadwithonehand,pouringatrickleofwaterintohismouth.
Now.Go.Hughesrushedfrom
behindtheoaktree,apistolineachhand.HecoveredthedistancetotheWhittsinlong,
ground-clearingstrides.“Getyourhandsintheair,bothofyou,”heshouted,“orI’llshoot.I’vehadenoughofallyourfuckingarguing.”
RaymonddroppedboththecanteenandMonroe’shead,thenstoodup,handsintheair.“Don’tshoot,mister.”
“Youontheground,easeyourhandsoutofthatblanket.Letmeseethem.Niceandslow.”
Anoisecomingfrombehind,twigssnapping,ahorsenickering,causedHughestodiverthiseyestothesideafractionofasecond.Inthatmoment,Raymonddrewhisgun,fumbling,pullingthetriggertoosoon.ThebulletstruckthegroundatHughes’sfeet,sprayingdirtintotheair.Hughesfiredback,thebulletrippingaholethroughtheheartofRaymond,sending
himsprawlingbackward,spread-eagletotheground.
Awhite-hot,searingpaintorethroughHughes’sleftshoulder—theflashingofagun—theloudpopechoinginhisear.Theforcefromtheblastspunhimaround,knockinghimoffhisfeet.
Ontheground,Monroecrawledoutfromtheblanket,guninhand.Hestoodbutsankdowntohisknees,strugglingtoholdthe
weightoftheweapon.Hebroughtthepistolup,grippingitinbothhandsslipperywithblood.Unsteady,shaking,heblinkedhiseyesinrapidsuccessioninanapparentefforttokeephistargetinfocus.
Rollingoveronhisbelly,ignoringthepainunderneaththebloodybandageonhisside,Hughestookquickaim.Hefired,sendingMonroeWhitttojoin
hisbrothersinhell.Thewhoosh-clickofa
shotgunbeingreadiedjustbehindhisheadcausedhimtofreeze—andthentocomplywiththe“getuponyourfeetandputyourhandsintheair”command.Thevoicewaspatientandpleasant,gentleyetassertive,thekindofvoicethatcouldtalkakidintogivingupapieceofcandyorconvinceahornetintonotstinging.
“Tossyourgunsoverhere,thenhandsintheair,”saidthepleasantvoice.
Hughesstoodanddidashewastold.Twomenhecouldsee,onewiththeshotgun,anotherbehindinthetrees.Hetossedhisgunsontheground,shovedhishandsintheair.
“What’syourname,mister?”Thetall,thinmanstoodunderalargebrownhatthathidhiseyesandthetop
halfofhisface,histhick,blackmustachecoveringhismouthandthebottomhalf.Hisslow,easywordsdrippedlikethick,richmolasses.
“HughesLévesque.”“Where’reyoufrom,
andwhyareyouhere?”heaskedwithanicetonetohisvoice.
“NewOrleans.Trackingtheseoutlaws.”
“You’reassparsewithyourwordsasyouare
yourbullets.”“I’mefficient.”“Lookslikeyou
trackedthemallright—trackedthemtothegatesofhell.”
“Theytriedtokillmefirst.Ishotindefense.MyplanwastotakethembacktoNewOrleanswheretheirbrothersDaltonandArthurpaidthesamepricefortryingtokillme.ThesetwoareRaymondandMonroe
Whitt.”“Weknowwhothey
are,son,andsawwhathappened,”saidagravellyvoicedmansteppingoutfromthetrees.“We’vecomefromOrleans.Heardwhathappenedthere.Wesuspecteditmightbeyouwhowasfollowingthesetwo.”
“We’vebeenaftertheWhittsforsometime,”saidthepleasant,hattedman
holdingtheshotgun.“Lookslikeyoumadetidyworkwiththeminshortorder.”
“Hell,Ididn’tknowwhotheywereuntiltwodaysago.Ihadnoquarrelwiththem,untilwhathappenedtoMonique.ThenIhadaquarrel.”Handsstillintheair,Hughes’sshoulderthrobbed.Heignoredit.
“Well,son,youdidusafavor,”saidthemanwiththegravellyvoice.“Seems
youhaveaknackfortrackingandkilling.Yououghttothinkaboutjoiningupwithus.”
“I’mnotsomecommonbrigandlookingtojoinupwithanoutlawgang,”saidHughes,thewoundtohisshoulderdrippingwithblood.
“We’renotoutlaws,son.We’reTexasRangers.”
*****September28,1860
ThetrainpulledintoNewOrleansStation,itsshrillwhistledrawingHughesoutofadeepsleep.Hepressedhisforearmagainstthefoggywindow,swipingaclearcircle,allowingawatery,distortedviewoftheplatform.John-Pierrestoodshivering,handsinpockets,hatpulleddown,coatcollarturnedupagainsttheautumnchill.Heneverdidtaketotheoutdoors.Itwasn’teventhat
coldoutside.Hughessteppedonto
theplatformandthebrothersshookhands,thenembracedinaquickhug.Exchangingpleasantries,theymadetheirwaytothestation’scaféwheretheyspentanhourdrinkingcoffee,tellingstories,andreminiscing.
Beforelong,John-Pierrepulledhiswatchfromhispocket,apologizingforhavingtoleavesosoon.
Businessdemandedit.Thetwobrothersembracedagain—longer,tighter—beforeJohn-Pierredeparted,disappearingthroughthecrowdofuniformedsoldiersmillingaboutthetrainstation.
Hughessatawhilelongerandsippedanothercoffee.Everywherehelooked,hesawsoldiers.Young,fresh-facedboyspumpingfistsintheair,eagerforexcitement,eagerfor
adventure,eagerforthechancetoprovetheirmanhood.Eagertodie.
Theyspokeaboutgoingtowar,theirvoicesfilledwiththeenthusiasmandenergyofyouth,asif“War”wereawelcomingplacetoputyourbagsdownandstayawhile.Somewouldstay—foreternity.Butmaybetherewouldn’tbeawar.Maybethisnextpresidentialelectionwouldsteerthecountryaway
fromthat.Theseboysshouldstayboysalittlelonger.
Hughessawloverskissinglingeringgood-byes,mothersandfathersembracingsonseagertopullawayandboardthetrains,andteary-eyedwivesandchildrenwavingassoldier-fathersdisappearedintothickcrowds.Afeelingthathewasmissingout,thathewasnotreachingforsomethingthatheshouldtakeatighterhold
of,washedoverhimashethoughtabouthisbrother.
Buthecouldn’thavethat.Hecouldn’thavewhatJohn-Pierrehad—awifeandachild,withanotherontheway.Afamily.Peoplewhoneedanddependonhim.Hisbrotherhadtheluxuryofworryingaboutthesafetyofhiswifeandchild.Hugheswouldneverknowthatluxury.Worryingaboutsomeonewhoneededhim
wouldalterthewayhethought—thewayhereacted—withdangerousconsequences.Heknewtheluxuryofunencumberedwork,andtheexcitementofanewmission.
Hedrummedhisfingersonthetable,afamiliarrestlessnessrisingupfromwithin.Hismotherhadsentamessageofherlovewithoutaninvitationforhimtocomehomeforavisit.Fatherwas
athome,illandresting,hisbrotherhadsaid.Alltheseyearslaterandhewasstillnotwelcomethere.Heunderstood.Andreally,hedidn’tmissit,thatplaceheusedtocall“home.”
Hughessluggeddowntherestofhiscoffeeandthenstrolledoutofthestationcaféovertowherethemarestoodtied.Shewassaddledinexpensivehand-tooledtackwithroses,oakleaves,and
acornscarvedintothedark,oiledleather.Thepolishedbrassfittingsgleamed,thestitchingstraightandperfect.Matchingsaddlebagshungonbothsides,andabedrollandslickerwasaffixedtothecantle.Shewasshodandreadytogo,justashe’drequested.
Hughesopenedoneofthesaddlebagstostorehissmallvaliseinside.Therewasbarelyenoughroom.The
saddlebagswerestuffedfullofhismother’susualgiftsshemailedtohishotel:linens,money,goldcoins,pewterplates,thingseveryRangermightneedonthetrail.
Shovinghisleftbootintothestirrup,heswungoverandsettleddownintothesaddle.Nowthis—thisfeelslikehome.Hesmiled.TurningawayfromNewOrleansStation,Hughesrelaxedintoaneasytrot,the
finemorningmistburningawayastheearlyautumnsunwarmedhisback,followinghimwest.
CHAPTERNINEOCTOBER26,1860
Therobuststagedriverpulledthefrothymulestoastopandclimbeddownfromhisperch.Heswungthecoachdooropen,grabbingtheclosestbagofmailinhisglovedhands.“Well,boys,thisistheendoftheline.WelcometoSaintJoseph,Missouri.”
“Canyoutellus
wherewecanfindthePonyExpressstables?”Barleighloweredherselffromthedustycabofthewagon,heftingthesaddleupontohershoulder.Amixtureofanxietyandexcitementbubbledwithin,andshetookadeepbreath,hopingtokeepthosefeelingssubdued.
Stoneyfollowedclosebehindwithhisdirtybedroll.Twothickstrapsofgreasybrownleatherheldhis
belongingstogether,keepingthecontentsinsidefromspillingout—atincup,afork,athreadbare,button-lesscoat.
Withoutslowinghisrhythmofslingingmailbagsoutofthestagecoachandintothewaitingarmsofalankykidwearingapostalclerk’suniform,thedrivergruntedafewwordsandthumbedoverhisshoulder,indicatingthelargecedarandbrickstructurebehindhim.
“Muchobliged,sir,andthankyoufortheride,”saidStoney,tippinghishatasthetwostrodeovertothestables.
Thebuilding’sarchedentrywaywaswideenoughtoaccommodateawagonorateamofhorsesbeingmovedabout.Anoverheadsignread“Pike’sPeakStables.”Insidethecavernousbarn,thesmellofsweatyhorses,manure,sweetoats,oiledleather,and
alfalfahaymingledtogethertocreateaheadyaroma.Thearomainducedbothmelancholyandfeelingsofcomfortatthesametime.Barleighfeltrightathome.
“Excuseme,sir,”Barleighsaid,walkingovertowhereasprite,baldingmanwithaquickpitchforkwasfillinghaytroughs.“We’relookingforthePonyExpressStables.ThissignheresaysPike’sPeak—”
“You’reintherightplace.TheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPike’sPeakExpressCompany,alsoknownasthePonyExpress.Name’sAugustOlsen.WhatcanIdoyoufor?”Hekeptforkinghayintothefeedtroughs,yethiswelcomingsmileandfriendlystyleinvitedconversation.
“Well,sir,Mr.Olsen,sir,I’mStoneyWooten.Thishere’sBarFlanders.Wecame
tohireonasPonyExpressriders.”Stoneyheldoutthewaybilladvertisingthejob,thesametypeofpaperthatblewdownthestreetinFortWorthandlandedatBarleigh’sfeet.
“Youcancallme‘August.’I’mthestationmanager,”hesaidwithaslightSwedishaccent.“YouneedtoseeMr.Waddellaboutapplyingforajob.He’stheowner.Oneof’em,
anyway.There’sthreeof’em.”
“WherecanwefindMr.Waddell?”Barleighasked,keepinghervoicemeasured.
“OveryonderatthePateeHouse.Thebigfour-storyhoteltwoblockseast’ohereonthecornerofTwelfthandPennStreets.YoucanfindthePonyExpressofficethere.TellMr.WaddellIsentyou.”
“Thankyou,sir,”theybothsaid,turningtoleavebeforeOlsen’swordsdrewthembackaround.
“Dangerousjob,youknow.WhatmakesyouboyssoeagertobeExpressriders?Riskingdeathdaily?Orphanspreferred?Thosearen’tjustwordsonpaper.”AugustOlsenleanedonhispitchfork,hiscleargrayeyesnotblinking.
Barleighshuffledher
feet,kickingataclodofdirtontheground,waitingforStoneytoanswer.LettingStoneyactasthespokespersonwasgoingtobethebeststrategyinkeepingheridentityhidden,she’ddecided,andStoneyneverseemedshyaboutspeakingup.
“It’smightygoodwagesforsittingonahorse,”Stoneysaid.“Hell,Idonethatforfreeallmylife.Now
someone’swillingtopaymetoraceaponybackn’forth?That’sariskIwon’tmindtaking,consideringthehighwagesoffered.”
“Knowwhatyou’regettinginto,boys.Thisain’tafrolickingponyrideinthepark,”saidAugust,rakingadirtysleeveacrosshisbaldhead.“There’smanyriskstoconsider.Theharshweather—yourbonesfreezinginthewinter—thesunbakingyou
aliveinthesummer.Monotony.Boredom.Ridingfourteenhours—hunger.Longstretchesofteeth-itchingthirst.Thunderstorms.Blizzards.Midnight,gallopingfulloutoverhazardousterrainwhereyoucan’tseeshit.Highnoon,theglareofthesunburningyoureyeballsthatarealreadyscratchedtohellfromdustandsand.And,ifthat’snotenoughriskyexcitementfor
you—you’llbeduckingfromangryIndiansanddodginggun-slingingoutlaws.”
“I’vefacedbiggerrisksdodgingmypa’sdrunkenfists,”Stoneysaidasheturnedonhisheelandhurriedoutofthebarn.
“Muchobliged,sir.”BarleighrushedafterStoneyandtheyheadedeasttowardthePateeHouseHotel.
Thered-brick,four-storybuildingwithwhite
woodenarchesandornatecarvedwindowmoldingswasashorttwoandahalfblocksfromthestables.Onitswide,columnedfrontporchwereladiesunderparasolstakingafternoontea;theywereseatedatdaintytablestotheleftandtotherightofthecenterstepsleadingtothedoublearchedentrywaydoors.Movingupanddownthestepsenteringandexitingthehotelwasahectic
networkofhatted,suitedmenscuttlingaboutasifoncriticalbusinessrequiringurgentattention.
Uponenteringthehotel,Barleighglancedaroundandspottedadoorattheendofthemainhallway.Theetchedglassontheupperhalfofthedoorshowedamountedriderbentlowovertheneckofhisponyrunningatfullgallop.
“Thatlooks
promising,”Stoneysaid,pointingdownthehall.“Let’strythatoffice.”TheboyfromFrogLevel,Arkansas,dirtanddustmarringhisfaceandclothes,marchedwithhisshouldersback,headhighdownthefancycorridoramongthewell-suitedbusinessmen.Hewalkedwiththepostureofonemovingamonghispeers.
Thebrassnameplateonthedoorread“Russell,
Majors,andWaddell–COC&PPEC.”Ashadowmovingagainsttheetchedglass—amuffledvoicestammeringontheothersideofthedoor—pausedwhenBarleighknocked.
“Comein,”boomedavoicefrominside.
Takingadeepbreath,Barleighfilledherlungs,lettingtheairseepoutslowly.Herhandonthedoorknob,shebreathedinagain,heldit
amoment,then,turningtheknob,strodewithpurposeintothelight-filledroom,whichshimmeredinthelateafternoonsun.
“MayIhelpyou?”ThenameplateonthedeskbelongedtoMr.WilliamBradfordWaddell.Thestockymansatinanox-bloodleatherupholsteredchairwithbrassnail-headtrim.Hehadapleasantfacedespitethecornersofhiseyesandhis
mouthbeingslanteddownwardinaperpetualpout.
“Yes,sir.We’reheretoapplyforthejob.”Stoneyheldoutthewaybilladvertisement.“We’reyournewPonyExpressriders.Sir.”
Mr.Waddellleanedbackinhischair,chewinghisunlightedcigarbetweenclenchedteeth.“Youwiththesaddle,what’syournameand
age?”“BarFlanders,sir.
Eighteen.”“Andyou?”“I’mStoneyWooten,
sir.I’malsoeighteen.”“What’syourstory,
youngMr.Flanders?Orphan?Runaway?Experiencedatridingandshooting?”
“Orphan.Expertrider,accurateshot.”Ablushbegantoblossomandshefoughthardtoforceitdown.
Braggingonherselfwasawkward,butthetruthwasthetruth.
“You’resmallforeighteen.Itookyouforfourteen,maybefifteen.Butthesmallerthebetterforfasterriding.Lessweightforthehorsetohaularound.Andyou,Mr.Wooten.What’syourstory?”
“Iain’tnoorphan,justnotwelcomeathomenomore.Igroweduponthe
backofahorseandain’tneverfallenoff.Mounted,atfullgallop,Icanshootarabbitandonlywasteonebullet.That’sifIdon’thavearockandaslingshottousefirst—whichIprefer.I’mprettyhandywithhurlingstones.That’showIgotmyname,Stoney.Idon’tremembermygivenname.Itwasn’tusedmuch.IthinkitwasWalter.OrmaybeIjusthopeditwasthatandnot
Owen.Owen’smypa’sname.”
“Oneofyouismightysparsewithyourwords,theotherquitegenerous,”saidWaddell.“Well,tellyouwhat.We’reholdingtryoutsaweekfromtomorrowmorningateighto’clockattheExpressstablesifyou’reinterestedinapplyingforthejob.”
“Yes,sir.What’sthetryout?”Barleighasked.
“WeholdtryoutraceseveryotherSaturdayofthemonth.It’sbecomequitethespectatorevent—apopularopportunityforfriendlywageringamongthelocals.Sofar,they’llbefiveriderscompeting,includingyoutwo.You’llmountyourhorse,ridetotheEllwoodferry,andtakeitacrosstheriver—racetotheTroyrelaystation,dismount,shootattwomarkedtargets,remount
afreshhorse,andthenracebackhere.Ifit’satieforfirstplace,whichhasn’thappenedyet,thewinnerwillbetheriderwhoreturnswithhishorseinthebestconditionasdeterminedbyAugustOlsen,ourstationmanager.Anyquestions?”
“Howmanyridersoutofthefivegethiredon?”Stoneyasked.
“Two.Oneotherwemightuseasastockhandler.
Anythingelse?”“HowfarisTroy
Station?”Barleighasked,shiftingthesaddlefromonehandtotheother.
“FifteenmilesfromEllwoodFerry.Fifteenmilesback.Mycuriosity’sgottenthebestofme.Whyareyoucarryingthatsaddle?”Waddellasked,usinghisunlitcigarasapointer.
“Amidnightstormspookedawaymyhorse.This
belongedtoUncleJack.He’sdeadnow.”HearingherselfspeakthosewordsaloudgaveBarleighapeculiarsensation,andsheloweredhereyes.
“Isee.Well,ifyouneedaplacetosleep,tellAugustIsaidtogiveyouanemptystallinthebarn.Thehay’ssoftandthecompany’sbetterthanwhatyoumightfindatthelocaltavern.I’llseeyouboththereaweekfromtomorrowmorning.
Goodluckintherace.And,trytostayoutoftroubleforaweek.That’sthehardestpartforyoungriders.”
“Thankyou,sir,”theysaidinunison.
AfterleavingtheofficeoftheCOC&PPEC,Barleighdecidedabathafterfourdaysofdustytravelinginanenclosedcoachwouldbetheperfectendtotheday.Shedroppedhersaddleoffatthestablesandgotdirections
fromAugustOlsenwheretogetabath.
“Ican’taffordabath,”saidStoney,jinglingthecoinsinhispocket.“I’lljustheaddowntotheriverandwashupthere.Saveyourmoneyandcomewithme.Riverwater’sfree.”
“Thanksjustthesame.Along,hotsoakinabathtubisfivecentswellspent.”She’dhavepaidtwicethat.
*****Mostbusinessesintownweredecoratedinred,white,andbluebuntinginanticipationofthepresidentialelectionafewdaysaway.Doorsandwindowsweredraped,postswerewrapped,ribbonshungfromawnings,andcontentiousargumentsfilledtheair.
“Let’sgotothesaloon,”saidStoney.“We’vebeenhereallweekeating
nothingbutbeansandcornbread.Ineedsomethingmoresubstantialbeforethetryoutstomorrowmorning.IthinkIcanaffordasliceofbaloneyiftheysliceitthin.”
Walkingtothesaloonfromthestables,theypassedseveraldifferentgroupsofmenstandingaroundonsidewalksorgatheredaroundporches,allinvolvedinheateddebatesabouttheelection.Barleighkepther
earsopenandhermouthclosed,thoughshewastemptedtothrowheropinionintotheargument.ShefeltinherheartthatAbrahamLincolnwouldbethebestleaderforthecountry.Ifshewereaman,that’swho’dgethervote.
“Takeyourpickoftables,friends.Theplaceisprettyquiettonight.Sofar.”Thebartendercontinuedtowashglassesashespoke,
lookinguponcewhenhefirstheardthedoorsswingopenandshut.“WhatcanIgetyou?”
Theysatatoneofthetwotablesbythefrontwindowtowatchthepeoplewalkingby.IntownaweekandbothStoneyandBarleighstillmarveledatthemassofpeoplemovingabout.Theoneotherpersoninthebarwassittingattheotherwindowtable,apparentlyalso
enjoyingtheview.“Bringustwosteak
platesandtwobeers,please.”Barleighwonderedwhatbeertastedlike.“Andtwocoffees.”Amanlymeal.
“Steak?We’renotPonyExpressridersyet,”Stoneysaid,laughingoutloud.“Makemineaplateoffriedtatersandathinsliceofbaloneyifyouhaveit,andaglassofwater.”Hejingledthechangeinhispocket.
“Baloneybudget,notsteakbudget.”
“I’llbuy.Youcanreciprocateafterwegethiredontomorrow.We’llbenumbersoneandtwocomingback.Iknowit.”TherewasnodoubtinhermindthatsheandStoneywouldwintherace.
“I’llletyoubenumberone,then,sinceyou’rebuyingthesteak,”Stoneysaidwithagrin.
“Thanks,Bar.BeenalongtimesinceI’vetastedsteak.”
ThegentlemanattheadjoiningtabletoBarleigh’sbackleanedinclose.“Excusemeforintrudingintoyourconversation.DidIhearyousayyouwerePonyExpressriders?”
Stoneychimedin.“Notyet.Wetryoutinthemorning.Butbynoontomorrow,wewillbe,youcanbankonit.”Heleanedon
thebacktwolegsofhischair,grinning.
Barleighremainedquiet,hopingthemanwouldturnbackaroundtohistable.
“Ain’tthatright,Bar?We’llbethebesttworidersthatcompany’sseen.We’llshowthemothersathingortwo’boutracingponies.”Stoneybroughthischairbackdownonallfours,stillgrinningfromeartoear.
“That’sright,
Stoney,”Barleighsaid,fidgetinginherchair.
“MayIintroducemyself?”thegentlemanasked.“I’mwritingalettertoafriendofminebackhomeaboutthePonyExpress.I’dlovetobeabletosayI’vemetacoupleoftheriders,especiallyifthey’regoingtobethebestinPonyExpresshistory.”Hescootedhischairawayfromthetable.
Barleighsensedhim
standingbehindher.Anxietyknottedherstomach.Shedidn’twelcomethisstranger’sintrusion.Butshetoldherselftorelax;everyone’sacceptedherasaboy—noneedtoworry.Shehalfstood,halfturnedaround,halflookedup,gavehalfanod,andstuckoutherhand.
“BarFlanders.Pleasedtomeetyou.”Onepump,firmmanlyhandshake,
sitbackdown,eyesonthetable,letStoneydothetalking.
“HughesLévesque.Pleasedtomeetyou,too.I’dbehonoredtobuyyourdinnerforachancetointerviewtwoactualridersandgetsomefirsthandfactsformyletter.”HesmiledandlookedatStoney.
“Ain’tridersjustyet.”Stoneystood,offeredhishand,andintroducedhimself.
“Butgivenyourgenerousoffer,you’rewelcometositatourtable.I’lltalkaslongasyouwanttolisten.I’lltellyouallaboutourinterviewlastweekwithMr.Waddellandaboutthetryoutstomorrow.”
Hughes,takingthewindowseat,said,“It’smypleasure,Stoney.”
“IthinkIcouldgetusedtothis,gettingpaidtotalk,thengettingpaidtoride
afasthorse—twothingsI’mnaturallygoodat.”Forapoorcountrybumpkin,Stoneyhadthetruepolishofapolitician.Hetoldastorythatlastedfarlongerthantheactualinterview.
ThoughStoneywastheonetalking,everytimeBarleighchancedapeek,shecaughtthegentlemanlookingather.Notstaring,justafeweasyglances.Somethingabouthiseyes,somethingin
thewayhewasn’tshyaboutlookingather,wasn’tquicktomovehiseyesaway,gaveherthefeelingthatthiscouldbetrouble.
*****StoneyandBarleighwokebeforedawnandsharedasmallbreakfastofhardbiscuitsandthelastofwhatremainedoftheFrenchroastedcoffeebeans.Lingeringamoment,enjoyingthefinalaromaand
taste,BarleightoastedtoMr.Templetonwiththelastsipfromhertincup,rememberinghiskindnessandhopinghefoundwarmwaters.
“Isleptlikeastinkingdeadman.Bellyfullofsteakandbeerishowamanshouldgotosleepeverynight.Better,even,ifinawoman’sarm’s,toboot.”Stoneyrolleduphisbedrollandshookthehayfromhisclothes.
“Yep.”Barleighputhercupaway.
“Course,afterspendingfournightsandfivedayssittinginagoddamnedstagecoach,thenaweeksleepinginafeedtroughwithhorsesnippingatyourhairwilldothattoaman,too.Yousleepallright?”
“Yep,”shesaid,pullingonhercoat.
“Youdon’twastetoomuchenergyonwords,I’ve
noticed.”“Don’tneedtowith
youaround.”BarleighsmiledandclappedStoneyontheback.
“Youtworeadytojointheothers?”askedAugustOlsen,leadingayellowdunmustangmareandadarksealbrowngeldingoutoftheirstalls.“Theothertworidersalreadypickedouttheirmounts.WhichofyouwantsBigBrownie?”
StoneyandBarleighlookedateachotherandshrugged.
“I’lltakeBrownie.Remindsmeofmyoldhorsebackhome,”saidStoney,takingtheleadropefromAugust.Withgentleyetassertivehands,hecheckedthegelding’slegsandfeet,lookingforheatortenderness.“Bigboned—Ilikethatinahorse.”
Barleightookthedun
mareandranahanddownherfrontcannonbone,overthefetlock,andtriedtopickupherhoof.Themare,withearsflattened,swungherheadaround,nippingBarleigh’sshoulderhardenoughtodrawblood.
“Ah,alittlefeisty,eh?”Barleighsaid,wincing,rubbinghershoulder.
Augustlaughed.“Don’tturnyourbackonher,butonceyou’reinthesaddle,
you’resafeenough.She’sfast—hangontight.BigBrownie’sfast,too,thoughhedon’tlooklikemuch.”
“Ithoughttherewerefiveofustryingout,”saidStoneyastheyledtheirhorsesoutintothemorning’ssoftgraylight.
“One’salreadydroppedout.Saidhismaandpadidn’twanthimgone.So,justthefourofyouleft.Tieyourponiesoveryondernext
tothemothers,thenallyouboyscomeonoverhere.”Augustwavedtheothertwoover.
“Ouroddsjustgotbetter.Weonlygottobeattwonow,”whisperedStoneywithabiggrinonhisface.“Wecanboxthemin.Youandme’llstayoutfront.Workasateam.Keepthemtwoinourdust.”
“It’dbeunwisetounderestimateyoucountry
boysfromFrogLevel,”saidBarleigh,andshemeantit.
“Here’showthisworks,”saidAugust.“WhenIsay‘Go,’youruntowherethesaddlesandbridlesaresetoutoveryonderlinedupnexttothatwatertrough.Pickoutyourgearandgetyourponytackedup.Getyourassinthesaddle,thenhightailitdownFrancisStreettotheEllwoodFerry,whereit’swaitingforyou.Takeitacrosstheriver
andthenhightailittoTroyStation.It’safifteen-milestraightshotofftheferrydowntheCaliforniaRoad.Oncethere,getoffyourhorse.There’llbesomeonetheretohandittowho’llhaveanotherhorsesimilarincolortotheoneyourodeinon.That’showyou’llknowwhotorideto.They’llpointyoutoyourtarget.Shootyourtarget—notsomeoneelse’s.They’llgiveyouascoreona
pieceofpaper.Bringitbackorit’scountedazero.Hightailitbackhere.Firstonebackwins.Takecarethatyoudon’trunyourhorseintotheground.Adeadhorsealwaysmakesitbacklast.Anyquestions?”
“Yes,sir.”Barleighsteppedforward.“Willtheferrybewaitingonuswhenwegetbacktoreturnustothissideoftheriver?Andwhat’stheallottedtime?”
“Theferrywillhavemadeitsround-robinbeforeyougetbackfromTroyStationandwillbewaiting.Itshouldtakeyouaminimumofthreehoursround-tripifyouuseacombinationofwalk,trot,andgallop.Remember,don’trunyourponytodeath.Iftwoofyagetbackatthesametime,therideronthebestconditionedhorsewins.Ifit’sstillatieasjudgedbyme,thenyour
targetscorecomesintocount.Bytheway,”saidAugustwithawide,toothygrin,“besidesgettinghiredonasaPonyExpressrider,thewinnergetsabonusofthisfive-dollargoldpiece,anincentivefromRussell,MajorsandWaddell.”
Therewere“whoops”andshoutsofboastfulchallengeamongthefourridersastheylinedupandwaitedtohearAugustshout
thecommand“go.”“Look,”Stoney
pointed.“Thatsaddleontheend’sliketheoneyoudrugupherewithyoufromTexas.Youwantthatone?”
“Yep.”“I’llblockandtake
theonenexttoit.”Barleighsawthe
otherseyeingit,too.Lightweightandmoremaneuverablethantheotherheaviersaddles,itcouldmean
thedifferencebetweenwinningandlosingwhenpoundscounted.Shewantedthatsaddle.
Theword“go”rangout.StoneyblockedtheothertwoandsherantotheMcClellanthatlayonthegroundatthefarendnexttothetrough.ThesaddlelookedidenticaltotheonethathadbelongedtoUncleJack.Barleighthoughtitmustbeasignofgoodluckorfortune
smilingdownonher—itcalmedherwithin—asaswarmofactivitybuzzedallaround.
Withquickhands,shetackedupthemarewithoutgettingbitagain,hoppedintothesaddle,spunheraround,andraceddowntowardtheferryinlessthantwominutes.
Stoneyfollowedrightbehind,trailedbyalong,lean,freckle-facedkidnamed
FordDewarridingaflea-bittengraymarethatwhinniedandpranced,headhigh.Thefourthchapstruggledtogetasaddleonhishorsewithoutmuchcooperationfromtherecalcitrantgelding.
Theypulledthehorsesupandtrottedside-by-side,thethreemakingittotheferrysimultaneously,leavingthefourthriderbehind.
“Well,ain’tthat
something,”saidStoney.“Lookatallthemfolkslinedupattheferry.Lookslikethey’rewatchingus.”
Thethrongofonlookersyelledandwaved,shoutingoutencouragement.Somecalledoutthehorsesbynameorbycolor.“I’lltakeDunny!”“Mymoney’sonFlea!”“Don’tletmedown,BigBrownie!”Theyknewthehorses.Itseemedthishadbecomearegular
entertainmentevent.“Apparentlyafriendly
littlewager’sgoingonastowhogetsbackfirst,”saidBarleigh.
“BestbetsonmeandFlea,”Fordshoutedtotheonlookers.Hestoodupinhisstirrups,pumpinghisfistandwavinghishatintheair.Hisanticsspookedhishorse,causingittocrow-hopsideways,furtherentertainingthecrowd.
Agentlemaninatailoredblackridingoutfitwitharedbrocadevestsatastrideafancybayroanmarethatpawedatthegroundwithimpatience.Theystoodnexttowherethethreeriderslineduptoboardtheferry.Hishand-tooledridingsaddleandmatchingbridlewithornatebrassfittings,customrevolverandholster,andknee-highblackleatherbootsallgleamed.
Barleighgaveaslightnodinpoliteacknowledgement.“Morning,Mr.Lévesque.”
“Morning,Bar,”hesaid,touchingthebrimofhishatwithahandglovedinblackleather.“I’mputtingtwenty-fivedollarsonyouandthedunmare.I’llearnbackdoublemywagerifyouwin.”
“I’llwin,”shesaidwithamatter-of-factair.“I’ll
beonadifferenthorse,comingback.Onesimilar,though,incolor.”
“IwastoldwhattowatchforwhenIplacedmywager.Iunderstandit’llbeanotheryellowdunorabuckskin,asimilarhorsesofolksherecancheertheirbetsastheyracebackhome.”
HesmiledandwishedherluckasBarleighurgedherhorseontotheferry.Theireyesmetforabriefmoment,
andinthatmoment,somethingcausedherbreathtocatch.Herheartbeatfelterraticandoutofsync.
Lookingawayandstraightahead,shetriedtoconcentrateonthetaskathand.Sheranthroughinhermindifsherememberedtolowerhervoiceandspeaklikeaman.Shewonderedwhyheraisedhishandtohishatasamandoeswhengreetingalady.Hedid,didn’t
he,orwassheconfusedandrememberingthatwrong?Hadshefailedatherdisguisebeforeevengivenachanceatsuccess?
Concentrate,Barleigh—ImeanBar.
TheferrypulledtothedockattheoppositeshoreontheKansassideoftheriver.StoneyandFordrodeaheadastheropelowered,allowingtheriderstodisembark.Barleighhesitatedandlooked
backoverhershoulder.Themanonthebayroanhorsesatstraightandtallinthesaddle,lookingdirectlyatBarleigh.
Thesoundofhoovespoundingthegroundjoltedherbacktoreality.Shespurredherhorseandslappedthelatigohardagainstthemare’srear.Thehorseletoutasqueal,thenleaptofftheferry,landinglikeajackrabbitonhindlegs,herfrontlegspawingtheair.The
mare’sexplosivepropulsionofftheferryalmostunseatedBarleigh,butshegrabbedahandfulofmane,pullingherselfupright,andtheygallopedoffintothesettlingdustofBigBrownieandFlea.Withinashorttime,theyclosedthegap,theracestayingneck-and-neckmostofthewaytoTroyStation.
TakingtheleadbyalengthasTroyStationcameintoview,Barleighgalloped
intothepaddockareaandreinedtoahalt.Shedroppedtothegroundbeforethemareslidtoacompletestop.“Where’smytarget?”sheyelledtotheattendantwhograbbedthereinsofthesweaty,pantinghorse,herpistolalreadyclearingleather.
“Bull’s-eyemetalsquarenailedtothefirstwhitepost.”Hepointedatthetargettenpacestothenorth.
Shedroppedtooneknee,aimedtherevolver,tookadeepbreath,blewitouthalfway,heldit,andsqueezedthetriggertwiceinrapidsuccession.Thedistinctivepingingofmetalonmetalfilledtheairasthebulletsmadecontact.
“Deadcenter,both,”yelledthespotterasherantothetarget.“Perfecttwenty-fivepointshots!”Theboyholdingthereinsofthefresh
horsehandedBarleighasquareofpapermarkedwiththenumber“50”scratchedinpencilwithahurriedhand.
ShepocketedthepaperandturnedwithoutwaitingtohearStoney’sandFord’sscores.Takingthereinsofherfreshmount,alight-bonedbuckskingelding,shejumpedbackinthesaddle,gallopingawayastheattendantshouted,“Hisname’sBuckeye.Careful,he
kicks.”Great.Firstabiter,
nowakicker.Aswiththeraceto
TroyStation,theracebacktoElwoodFerrywasaconstantshifting,maneuvering,andretakingoftheleadspot.Walkingalittle,trottingalot,andgallopingfulloutwheretheterrainallowedwasthestrategyallthreeadopted.
TrottinguptotheElwoodFerryplatform,Ford
onhiswhitemount,Stoneyridingasmallblackmare,Barleighonthebuckskingelding,theysawaredflagwithagallopinghorseandrideremblembeinghoistedontheMissourisideoftheriver,asignalertingthetownsfolkthattheriderswereapproaching.Whattheridersdidn’tseewastheferry.
“What’shappening?Why’stheferrynothere?”Barleighaskedthedockhand
asshesearchedupanddownthelengthoftheriver,asenseofworrycreepingin.
“Something’swrongwithherpaddlewheel.They’resendingdownarafttofetchyouback,”saidtheworker.“Lookupyonder.Hereitcomes.”
Shelookedandwasdismayed.Itwouldtaketoolongforthatslow,flat-bottomedrafttogetdownriver.Shelookedagainatthe
distanceuptheriver,calculatedthedistanceacrosstheriver,andmadeahastydecision.
“Comeon,Buckeye,let’sgo.”Shespurredthelittlegeldingforward.Hepawedatthewaterafewtimesandsnortedatthespray,thenplungedrightin.
“Whatareyoudoing,Bar?”shoutedStoney.“Theriver’stoowidehere.It’stoodangerous.”
“I’mnotwaiting,”sheyelledoverhershoulder.“Wecandothis,Buckeye.Easynow.”
Shetookafistfulofthehorse’smanewithonehand,heldtighttothesaddlehornwiththeother,andletthehorselurchandpaddlehiswayintothedeep,coldwater.Thehorsestruggledagainsttheswiftnessofthecurrent,andBarleighfearedthatthepairmightbeswepttoofar
downstream.“Wellhellfire,don’t
leavemebehind.”Stoneyonhislittleblackmaretooktheplungetoo.
“Ican’tswim,forcryingoutloud.”Fordpulledhardonhisreins,tryingtorestrainthewhitemarethatseemeddesperatetojointheherdoftwoswimmingawayfromher.“Whoa,forshit’ssake.Whoanow.”
Halfwayacrossthe
river,Stoneyandhismarewereclosingthegap.“Comeon,Blackie,swimfaster,girl.”
Theraftontheoppositeshorewaspullingawayfromthepier,oneangry,pawing,rearingwhitehorsewithitsred-facedrideraboard.Theflat-bottomedvesselflirteddangerouslyclosetocapsizingwiththehorse’soverwroughtbehavior.
“Comeon,Buckeye.Youcandothis,”Barleighurged.Sheheldonfordearlife,thegeldinglurchingforward,hisfeetthrashinglikewildpistonsinthewater.Pullingherfeetfreefromthestirrups,drawingherkneesup,shetriedtokeepherlegsawayfromthedangerofbeingpummeledbythehorse’ssharphooves.
Nearthebank,thegentlemanonthebayroan
marewatched,cheeringthemon.Theentireshorelinefilledwithpeopleshouting,waving,clapping,yellingoutencouragement.TheboisterouscrowdhadshifteddownstreamtowhereBuckeyeandBlackiecameoutofthewatertoraucousapplauseandshoutsof“run,pony,run!”Neckandneck,theyshotoffinaflashtowardthePonyExpressstables,drippingwetandshivering.
Thestationmanager,AugustOlsen,waswaitingatthestableswithCOC&PPECownerWilliamWaddellasthetwogallopedtoastop.StoneyandBlackie,aneckinthelead,werethefirst,withBarleighandBuckeyeaclosesecond.ThesoundoffasthoovesstrikingthegroundtoldthatFordwasmomentsbehind.
Alargecrowdgatheredaround,pushingin
toseethetriumphantreturnofthethreeriders.Menonhorseback,ladiescarryingparasols,childrenrunningcirclesaroundeachother,dogsnippingandbarking—allmadeforafestiveatmosphere.
“WhatinPete’snamehappenedtoyoutwo?”askedAugustOlsen.“You’reallwet.”
“Theferrywasn’tthere,”Barleighsaidthrough
chatteringteeth.“Isentaraftforyou.
Whatinthehellhappened?Diditturnover?”HelookedatFord.“You’redry.”Augustscratchedhisbaldhead,hisfacescrunchedinaconfusedexpression.
“Didn’tcaretowaitfortheboat.Weswam.”Herbodytrembledhardwithadeepeningchill.
“Well,whyintarnationdidyoudothat?”
TherotundWilliamWaddell,withhismouthinaperpetualfrown,waitedforananswer.
“Thesignonyourofficewall,sir,thePonyExpressmotto.‘ThemailMUSTgothrough.’IthoughtofwhatI’ddoifIwerecarryingthemailandtheferry...wasout.”Shetriedtocontrolherchatteringteethandshiveringbody.“I’dmakesure,comehellorhighwater,thatthemailwouldget
through.”“Isthatright,son?
Why,thatimpressesmeimmeasurably,”saidWilliamWaddell,eyesbeaming.“Andyou,Mr.Wooten?Isthatwhatyouwerethinkingwhenyouswamtheriver?”
“Partly,sir,”repliedStoney,teethchattering.“Thatfive-dollargoldpiecemayhavebeenonmymind,too.”
Thecrowdroared
withlaughterandwildapplause.
“Thatimpressesmeevenmore—anhonestanswer.”Waddell’slaughwasheartyandloud.“August,whodoyoupronouncethewinnerofourlittlerace?”
“Well,sir,itlookslikethehorsesarenoworseforthewearfortakingacoldswim.Hell,itseemsliketheyenjoyedtheplunge.Stoney
Wootenwinsfairandsquare.”
AugusthandedthegoldcointoStoney,thenpointedatBarleigh.“Nowyoutwogetinsidetomyoffice.Bestyoustripoffthosewetclothesbeforeyoubothcatchpneumonia.I’llbringyousomehorseblanketsuntilwecanfindsomethingdrytowear.”
“Uh,sir,butI,uh...,”Barleighstammered.
“Ijustdoubledmymoneybettingonthesetwolads,”saidthemanonthebayroanmare,easinghishorsethroughthecrowd.“TheleastIcandoispayforeachofthemahotbathoveratMissSallie’sBoardingHouse,”Mr.Lévesquesaid.
“That’smightygenerous,sir,”saidAugust.“I’msurethey’dappreciatethat.”
“Thatwasonehellof
anexcitingfinish.Lunchisonmeforalltheridersoveratthetavern,afteryou’vedriedoff,ofcourse.I’llgosetitupwithMissSallie.”Heturnedandrodeawaybeforeanyonecouldprotest.
“Beforeyoutakeoff,wehaveanitemofbusinesstoattendto.”Mr.WaddellhandedeachridertheirownpersonalBible.“ThisBibleisthecourtesyofMr.AlexanderMajors,oneoftheother
ownersofthecompany.Beingatemperateandreligiousman,herequiresthesameofhisemployeesandthateachofyoushallswearanoathofyourallegiance.Youallthreestandtogetherhereandraiseyourrighthand.WhenI’vereadtheoath,stateyournameandgiveyourverbalagreement.”
Thethreestoodshouldertoshoulder,BarleighandStoneyshaking
inwetboots,Bibleinlefthands,righthandsraised,andsolemnlytooktheoathofthePonyExpress.
“WhileIamintheemploymentofMr.A.MajorsandCompany,Iagreenottouseprofanelanguage,thatIwilldrinknointoxicatingliquors,Iagreenottogamble,nottotreatanimalscruelly,and
nottodoanythingelsethatisincompatiblewiththeconductofagentleman.Iwillneitherquarrelnorfightwithotheremployees.Iwillbefaithfulandhonestinmydutiesandwilldirectallmyactstowintheconfidenceofmyemployers.IfIviolateanyofthe
aboveconditions,Iagreetoacceptmydischargewithoutanypayformyservices.SohelpmeGod.”Ingoodfaith,her
hearthonestandwithoutmalice,Barleightooktheoaththatsaidshewouldconductherselfasagentleman.Shedidn’tswearthatshewasagentleman.Theotherpartsoftheoathgavehernopause:
nodrinking,gambling,cursing,orfighting;befaithfulandhonestinherduties;bekindtotheanimals.Easy.
“YouarenowallthreeofficiallyPonyExpressriders.Ford,youasanalternateandstocktender.Seemebackinmyofficeafterlunch.”Mr.Waddellshookeachrider’shand.“Congratulations.”
“Justcurious.What
everhappenedtothefourthchapfromthismorning?”Fordasked.
“Aftertenminutesandfinallymanagingtogethisponysaddled,thatol’horsewenttobuckingandputonquiteashowofit,”Augustlaughed,slappinghisknee.“Thatboyhitthedirtsoharditrattledhisteeth.Saidthenthathe’dhadenoughofitandwasgoingbacktohisplow.”
*****
AhotbathanddryclothesputBarleighinafinemood.Thelunch,courtesyofMr.Lévesque,wasdeliciousandmorefoodthanshe’dseensinceleavingTexas.Hungry,sheatelikeastarvingman.
Mr.LévesquekepthisattentiononStoneyandFord,hisqueriesdirectedforthemostparttowardthem.HeseldomspoketoBarleighorlookedherwayexceptforanoddquestionhereorthere.So
manynosyquestions.Fine.Herappetitehadreturned,andallshewantedwastoeat.
Afterlunch,theshortwalkovertoPateeHousetomeetwithMr.Waddelltookmoretimethanitshouldhave.Everyonewhorecognizedthethreeriderswantedtoshaketheirhandsandoffercongratulatorypraise,aslapontheback,orawordofadvice.Oldwomen
kissedtheircheeksandsaidquickprayersfortheirsafety.Blushingyounggirlsofferedshysmilesandbattedeyelashes,andsmudged-facedlittleboyssteppedintheshadowsoftheirbootsteps.
They’dgainednotorietyfordoingsomethingtheyalllovedtodoandwhichcameasnaturallytoeachofthemasbreathing.Ridinghorses.Ridingfast.
“Iwaswatchingfrommywindow,”saidMr.Waddell,usheringthemintohisoffice.“You’renowcelebratedyoungridersofthePonyExpresswhomeveryonewantstotouch,hopingthatmaybejustalittleofyourderring-dowillruboffonthem.Haveaseat.Letmetellyouaboutourmailserviceandwhatyou’llbedoingtohelpensureitssuccess.”
Takingseatsontheox-bloodleathersofaacrossfromMr.Waddell’sdesk,thethreesatandlistenedwithraptattentionasheexplainedwhattheyshouldexpect.
“Atanygiventimealongtheroute,I’veapproximatelyeightyriders.Additionally,therearemorethanfourhundredotheremployees,fromstationkeeperstostocktenderstoroutemanagers.You’llbe
assignedtwohomestations.Homestationsareaboutseventy-fivetoahundredmilesapart.Inbetweenhomestationsareswingstationswhichareabouttentofifteenmilesapart.Howitworksisthatyou’llstartatyourfirsthomestation,racetothefirstswingstationwhereafreshmountwillawaitsaddledandreadytogo.Switchtoyourfreshmountandracetothenextswingstationandsoon
andsoonuntilyougettoyourotherhomestation.There,you’llrestforeighthoursorlonger,dependingonwherethereturnmailis,andthenrelaythemailbacktoyourinitialhomestation.Questions?”
Fordspokeup.“HowwilltheswingstationknowI’mcomingandtohaveafreshhorseready?”
“You’llbeissuedabugle.Whenyou’renearing
thestation,blowyourhorntoannounceyourarrival.”
“Howwillwecarrythemail?”Barleighasked,excitementgrowingattherealizationthatshe’ddoneit—shewasaPonyExpressrider.
“Wehadaspeciallydesignedleatherslingmadeforthisendeavor.It’scalleda‘mochila.’Itgoesoverthesaddle.Ithasaholeinthefrontforthesaddlehorn,and
aslitinthebackforthecantletofitthrough.Itcaneasilyandquicklyberemovedfromonesaddle,thenthrownoverthenextinasplitsecond.Theweightoftheriderkeepsitinplace.Whichbringsmetomynextpoint,Bar.”
“Yes,sir?”“Thatsaddleyoutote
aroundneedstobestoredsomeplace.Youwon’tbeusingyourownsaddle.It’dtaketoomuchtimeto
resaddlehorsesateachswingstation.Thehorseswillbethere,saddled,readytorun.Onlythemochilagoeswithyoufromswingstationtoswingstation.Youswingthemochilaoffyoursaddle,swingitontothefreshsaddle,thenawayyougotothenextswingstation.Gotit?”
“Yes,sir.”Shenoddedherunderstanding.
“Where’sthemail
go?”askedStoney.“Atthecornersofthe
mochilaarefourlockedleatherboxescalled‘cantinas.’That’swherethemailgoes.Eachhomestationmanagerhasakeytoaddtoorremovemailasnecessary.Lettersarewrappedinoiledsilktopreventwaterdamage.”
“Soweridefromhomebasetohomebaseaboutahundredmilesorso
beforechangingriders?Dayornight?”askedFord.
“Dayornight,whetherraining,snowing,orinthehighheatoftheday,themailmustgothrough.”Waddellpointedhisunlitcigartothewoodenplaqueengravedwiththecompany’smotto.
Comingaroundtositontheedgeofhisdesk,Waddelltookonaserioustoneashespoke.“One
thousandninehundredsixty-sixmilesseparateSaintJoe,Missouri,fromSacramento,California.We’veprovenitcanbedoneintendaysorless.There’llbetoughchallengesalongtheway.Roughterrain.Inclementweather.You’llgethungry.You’llgetthirsty.You’llfaceboredom.Youmightfaceabanditortwo.We’vehadincidentswithhostileIndians.”
Waddellpausedandlookedeachoneintheeye.“Thejobistough,butyouhavetobetougher.There’snoshameinbowingoutnowifyoudon’tthinkyou’reuptothetask.Wehavetryoutseveryotherweek.Someoneelsewillgladlytakeyoursaddleifyoudon’twanttositinit.”
“Whendowestart?”theyallseemedtoaskatonce.
“Firstthingtomorrow.Ford,you’llbestayingheretohelpAugustOlsenwithstocktending,movinghorsesbackandforthalongtheline,breakingnewhorses,andfillinginasanalternateriderwhenweneedyou.Itpayslesssincethedanger’sless—fifteendollarsaweekplusroomandboard.Thatsitrightwithyou?”
“Thatsitsrightwithme,sir,ifIcanhaveashotat
beingafull-timemailriderwhenaslotopensup.”Fordsaid.
Mr.Waddellnodded.“You’llbefirstinline.”
Then,“BarandStoney,weneedridersintheUtahTerritory,CarsonCityStation.IfigureifyouswimhorsesacrosstheMissouriwithouthesitation,youwon’tmindridingthemostdangerouslegoftherelay.Concerningwages,the
averagerider’spayistwenty-fivedollarsaweekplusroomandboard.Butyou’renottheaveragerider,areyou,Bar?You’renotliketheothers.”
“Ex—excuseme,sir?”Shelookedup,eyeswide.
“WhatImeanis,riderswhotakeonbiggerrisks,forinstance,orwhoridelongerthantheirnormalshift,orwhocarryspecialmailmightgetpaidmore—
morethantheaverage.Ithinkyoumightbeoneofthosekindofriders.”
“Yes,sir.”Sheletoutthebreathshe’dbeenholding.
Mr.Waddellhandedtheridersamapofthetrail.“LikeIsaid,weneedridersfortherelaysegmentinUtahTerritory.It’sIndianTerritory.Wehaveahardtimekeepingridersandhorsesoutthere.”
“I’llridethewholedamned,Imeandang,routeifyouwantmeto,sir,”saidStoney.
Waddelllaughed.“Nowthat’sthespirit.You’llbecomesofamiliarwithyourownpartoftheroutethatyou’llknoweveryrock,cactus,andcreekalongtheway.Bothyouandyourponywillbeabletorideitwithyoureyesclosed,thoughIwouldn’trecommendit.
You’lldeparttomorrowmorningtoheadforyournewhomestations.Goodluck,andGodspeed.”
UtahTerritory.IndianTerritory.TherewerealotofmilesandmountainstocrossbeforegettingtoCarsonCity.Barleigh’shandstrembledasshestudiedthemapofthetrail.
CHAPTERTENNOVEMBER3,1860
JournalEntry:Saturdaynight.ThesunwillriseatmybacktomorrowasIheadwestintothatgapingfrontierwhichwaitsbeyondtheouterfringeofcivilization.FromstudyingthemapMr.
Waddellgaveus,we’llfollowtheOregonTrailmostofthewayuntilitleavesusinthevicinityoftheGreatSaltLakewhereTheTrailthenclimbstoitsPacificnorth-westerndestination.StoneyandIwillpresswestward.
Mr.WaddellsaystheOregonTrail
iswellestablishedbyfurtrappers,traders,andemigrantsthathavegonebeforeintheiroxcartsandwide-wheelwagons.Ourswingstationsandhomestationsaremarkedalongthetrailandwillbeeasytoidentify.
Tonight,myrestlessthoughtsfeelaslooselyboundas
ourfractiouscountry.WhiletheNorthandtheSouthappearneartotearingapart,thePonyExpresschompsatthebit,eagertostitchtogethertheeasttothewest.PerhapsthisswiftmaildeliverywillholdopenthelinesofcommunicationbetweenAmerica’s
oppositeshoresandwillserveastheinstrumentthatholdsourtenuousUniontogether.
Thisnightmaybemylastopportunityforsometimetowriteinmyjournal,asIdon’tknowwhattoexpectfromhereforwardwheneachdayisdone.Myjournalis
theoneplacewhereBarleighcanexist.MaybeitwouldbebestifIputawaymypencils,stowedmyjournal,andkeptBarleighsafelyoutofsight.
ButIcan’tnothaveajournalwithme.Ifeelitchyevenatthethought.I’lltakeoneplusapencilortwo,
wrappedtogether,andwillcarrythemtuckedinsidemyshirt.
TomorrowbeginsourlongtrektoCarsonCity.I’mexcited,nervous,andanxious—butatthesametime,Ifeelblankandempty.Evenlaughterandpoliteconversationhaveposeda
challenge.Ifeellikeaforgery.Aphony.Andforgoodreason.I’mpretendingtobeaboy.AmIalsopretendingtobehuman?AhollowshellawaitingtoberefilledwithfeelingsandemotionsiswhatIam.
Longingisthesingularsentimentthatkeepsmefaintly
tiedtomyselfwithathinthread.IremembernightsatCoffeeCreekRanch,PapaandBirdiesittinginfrontofthefire,meonthefloor,Papareadingtousfromthenewspaper.Oh,Papa…
Embersoflonging,howeverfainttheyglow,arebestkeptburied.
Feelingssuchasthosehavethepotentialtobecomedisastrousdistractions.Icannotafforddistractions.
Imustthinkthingsthrough.Lookbeyondtheimmediate.Keeptheendgoalinsight.StayfocusedonthePonyExpressandbeingBarFlanders.
Yettonightmymindwanders…
HughesLévesqueisahandsomeman,butthereissomethingabouthimthatseemsintense—unreal—asifhedoesn’tsharethesamefleshandbloodasothermen.He’saboveit.Heissetapart,andheknowsit,thoughhis
unflinchingconfidencedoesn’tgivewaytohaughtyarrogance.
It’sinhiseyes.Theyknowtheworld’ssecretsyetrevealnothingoftheirown.
It’sgoodthattomorrowI’llputhimbehindme.He’llgoonabouthislife,andImine.I’llnotlivein
dangerofhiseyesuncoveringmysecrets.
Iam,afterall,aboy.
I’mBarFlanders,ayoung,skinny,wiryfellownotovereighteen,anexpertriderwillingtoriskdeathdaily.
Anorphan.Nothingmore.
******
Earlybeforedawn,StoneyandBarleighfilledtheirbelliesatMissSallie’sfancydiningtableatherinsistence.Atherinsistence,too,theyfilledtheirsaddlebagswithplentyofbiscuits,smokedham,venisonjerky,anddriedapplesfortheirjourney.
“Didyoufeedthoseboyswell?”Mr.Lévesquewalkedintothekitchenastheyfinishedtheirbreakfastintheotherroom.
“Fed’emwell,Idid,”MissSalliesaidwithaheartylaugh.“Thatblond-headedStoney,Idon’trecollecteverseeingsomeonesoskinnyeatsomuch.And,I’msendingthemoffwithplentytotakewiththem,too.Stoneyandtheotherlittle’un,Bar,wholookstooyoungtoshave,areheadedtoUtahTerritorytoCarsonCity.”
Mr.Lévesquesoundedsurprised.“Carson
City?Iassumedthey’dbeassignedthisstation.”
MissSalliecontinued.“Ford,thefreckle-facedtallone,isstayinghere.Hetookoffjustaminuteagoforthestables.Itoldhimtocomebackanytimeforavisitandahotmeal.”
“That’skindofyou,MissSallie.Well,Istoppedbytopaytheseboys’tab.HowmuchdoIoweyou?”
“Threedollarsand
seventy-fivecents,forallthree.”
“Thereyouare.Pleasekeepthechange.Now,Ineedtopostaletterinthemail.Ifyou’llexcuseme,I’llbeonmyway.”
“Ifyou’regoing,”MissSalliesaidtothesoundofshufflingpapers,“youcanbeadearandsavemethetrip.Barleftthisletterformetomailalongwithmine.Iwasgoingtogolateron,but.
..”“I’dbedelightedto.”
HughestookBarleigh’sletter.“Thankyouagain,MissSallie.”
Fromtheotherroom,Barleighoverheardtheconversation.ShewishedMissSalliehadn’tdonethat.Shouldtherebecausetoworry?No.SurelyMr.LévesquewouldtakethelettershewrotetoAuntWinnieandmailit,rightand
proper,justlikeMissSalliewouldhavedone.Nocausetoworry.Timetogo.Timetoheadtothestables.TimetogetonwithbeingBarFlanders.Notimetothinkaboutthenosy,frustratingMr.HughesLévesqueanothersecond.
*****Standingintheshadeofalargeoaktreebehindthepostoffice,HughestookhisRezinBowieknifefrominsidehis
rightbootlegandslidthegleamingtipofthebladeundertheseal,carefultoopentheenvelopewithouttearingthepaper.ItwasaddressedtoMrs.WinifredJustin,HogMountainRanch,PaloPinto,Texas.Heremovedthethinsheetofpaperandhelditbetweenthumbandfinger,broughtittohisnose,detectedafainttraceofmaplesyrup,noticedasweet,slanted,feminine
penmanship,andsmiled.
MyDearAuntWinnie,
Missionaccomplished.I’maPonyExpressrider.I’vebeenassignedarelayrouteintheUtahTerritory.I’mtravelingwithanotherrider,StoneyWootenfromArkansas,afine
fellowandcompanionwhotakesmeatmyword,whichmakesmefeelhorribleathavingtodeceivesuchaniceandtrustingperson.ButIhavenochoice.PleasekissStarlingandgiveDealanextra-largebunchofcarrotsforme.Ihopeyouarewell.Imissyouandthinkofyou
everyday.YoumaywritemeincareofthePonyExpress,CarsonCityStation,UtahTerritory.Pleasedo,andtellmehowyouare,howyoursonsare,howtheranchandthecowsare.ThereisonethingImusttellyouthatIamverysorryabout.Kingranoff,frightenedbya
badthunderandlightningstorm.Itwasourlastnightcampedonthetrail.Thingsweregoingsowelluntilthatnight.Iprayyou’llwalkoutontoyourporchonefinemorning,coffeecupinhand,andKingwillbetherestandingatyourfencegatewaitingtobeletin,having
foundhiswayhome.Maybeone
morning,you’llfindthatI’vedonethesame.
Loveandlaughter,
Bar(leigh)
Hereplacedtheletterintotheenvelope,thentookapencilandpaperfromhissaddlebagandaddedhisownnote:
DearestMrs.Justin,Thisis
HughesLévesquewriting.I’ve(obviously)locatedBarleigh.Shedoesn’tknowthatI’veaddedthisletterforthereasonsIsharedwithyouthedayImetyou.Thankyouagainfortrustingme,andfortellingmeof
Barleigh’splans.Ifindhertobearemarkableandbraveyounglady,alongwithaveryfastrider—shestayedatleastaday’srideormoreaheadofmeuntilFortSmith,Arkansas.Iftherehadbeenanotherseatavailableonthestage,I’dhavetakenit,butIwasableto
makeittoSaintJosephingoodtime.
ItelegraphedhermotherthatI’vefoundherdaughterandwhatsheisnowundertakingwiththePonyExpress.Leighselle’simmediatereplywastoaskthatIkeepaneyeonBarleighandtokeephersafe,ifthat’spossible.AsI
feelIwasmakingapromisetoafriendwhoisonherdeathbed,it’stheleastthatIcando.Although,knowinghowdangerousthisendeavorofhersis,IamoftheopinionthatIshouldinformBarleighofhermother’spredicamentandbringBarleighbacktoSanAntonio.
MybusinessinSt.Josephhasflexibility,sonowI’mofftoUtahTerritoryandwilldomyverybesttomakesureBar(leigh)FlandersstayssafewhileIremainintheshadows.IwillwriteagainandupdateyouonceIgettoCarsonCity.
Respectfully–HughesLévesque
*****JournalEntry:Tuesday,November6,1860.WhiletherestofAmericavotedonournextPresident,StoneyandIdashedourponiesacrosstheplains,neveroncediscussingit.Itflatnevercrossedmymind,untilnow.FortKearneyinNebraska
Territoryisasfaraswemusteredtoday.Onehundredmileshorsebackoverroughterrainandatfastspeedswearsonyouaftertenhours,whichishowlongittookfromSaintJosephtohere.WechangedtofreshmountsatTroy,LogChain,Seneca-Smith,Marysville,CottonwoodStation,
RockCreekStation,Thirty-TwoMileSite,andthenrodeintoFortKearneytired,hungry,andfartooexcitedforoursoremusclestoregisteracomplaint.
WearePonyExpressriders,thefirstlegofaverylongridenowbehindus.
Wetookturnsbuglingourarrivalas
weapproachedeachswingstation,andsureenough,freshhorsesawaitedussaddledandreadytogo.Thepreviousday’smailrunneralertedthestationmanagerstherewouldbetworidersnextcomingthrough.Wewouldhoptothegroundoffoursweaty,panting
horses,pulloffthemochila,swingitontothesaddleofthenewmount,climbbackaboard,thenawaywewouldraceatagallop,takingadvantageofthefreshhorses’enthusiasm.
Ianticipatedprivacyissuesregardingbathroombreaks,buttoday,I
managedtoputofftakingcareofpersonalbusinesstowhenchanginghorsesattheswingstationduringourtenminutelunchstopwhereanouthousewasavailable.
Stoneywasafflictedwithanupsetstomachmuchofthedayafterdrinkingbadwaterat
FremontSpringsstation,andfourtimeshadtostopanddrophistrousersrightonthetrail,thediarrheahittingwithembarrassingquickness.Hisstomachlurchedandchurned;however,hemanagedtodohisthrowingupfromthesaddle,evenwhileatafullgallop.It
troubledmethatImightbelikewiseafflictedandI’dhavetodropmytrousers.Mymindworriedoverthisforawhile,butmystomachdidn’tbetrayme.
Offtosleep.Weridefarandhardtomorrow.
*****JournalEntry:FortLaramiewasour
intendedgoaltoday,butChimneyRockstationwasasfarasweprogressedbeforeexhaustioncalledahalttotoday’sride.Roughandundulatingterrainmadewalkingandtrottingthepracticalpaceformuchofthedistance,butwaterwasplentifulandprairiegrasswas
abundant,sothehorsesdidn’tsufferdoingwithout,andwekeptourcanteensfull.
Swingstationsarestockedwithgrainforthehorseswhichgivesthemmoreenergythanhorsesonasimplegrass-onlydiet.Ifweencounterdangeronthetrailsuchas
HostileIndians,ourinstructionsaretonotfightthembuttooutrunthem.Ourgrain-fedponiesarequitecapableofthat.
Themailmustgothrough,andthemailcannotgothroughiftheExpressridersarebusyengagingIndiansinashoot-out.
Lettheponydoitsjob.LettheponyRUN.I’mquitecontenttoputspacebetweenmeandHostiles.
*****JournalEntry:Lastnightmyjournalremainedunwrittenin,fastenedunderneathmyshirtnexttomyskin.Sleepwastheonethingmy
bodycouldmanage,anditmanagedthatfullyclothedandflat-outonapileofhayoutinthestables.Iwastooexhaustedtodragmyselffrombarntobunkhouse,satisfiedtosleepwiththehorses.
Afteratediousday’sridethatendedwithalongdescentdownasteephill,we
rodeintoDevil’sBackboneatnearmidnight.Thejaggedandbrokenridgeofthegiantsandstoneboulderssilhouettedagainstthemoon’sglowingskylookedmuchlikeamalevolentserpent.
Wesleptforfourhours,rosebeforetheroostercrowed,andaftera
quickcupofthickblackcoffeeandahardbiscuit,wewerebackinoursaddles,pushingnearertotheGreatBasinandfartherawayfromtheSweetwaterRiverValleywhereitjoinstheNorthPlatteRiver.
Themailwentonwithoutusasitmust,therelayrider
assignedtothislegoftherouteracingoffwiththemochilaandintothedarknessofthenightasweslept.Ourdutycarryingthelettersisdonethusfaruntilwegettoourpermanentrelayhomestation.Ourdutynowisgettingtheresafelyandwiththesameurgencyasifwestillrodeastride
themochila.Hundredsof
emigrantswe’vepassedalongtheOregonTrail,manycampedattheSweetwaterRiverValleywherethey’remakingtheirfinalfordacrossbeforebeginningtheirtreknorthwardtowardOregon.
StoneyandI
keptourponiesnosespointedwest.Atday’send,wefoundthatwe’dcompletedanastoundingonehundredtwentymiles,endingupinMillersvilleSwales,oneofthehomestationsalongtheroute.Thesupperofferedwasdelicious,thebedwarm,andthestabling
accommodationsmorethanadequate.
WeareataconfluenceofwheretheGreatPlainsmeetstheGreatBasinaswepreparetoleaveKansasTerritorybehindandenterintoUtahTerritory.I’veenjoyedseeingherdsofbuffalohereandtherealongthetrail,butdidn’tspyany
today.Yesterday,in
theareaoftheNorthPlattRiverintheSweetwaterRiverValley,anenormousherdofbuffalograzedonthewesternsideofthePlatt.Frommyadvantageofwitnessingthescenefromadistance,itfirstappearedthatthe
yellowprairiegrasswasdottedwithshadowsofcloudsdriftingacrosstheplains.Withasuddennessthatsurprisedme,thecloudstransformedinaninstantintogianthairybeastsstampedingacrosstheearth.Theconcussionsfromtheirflyinghooves
shookthegroundbeneathmyhorse.
Iwonderedwhatspookedthegrazinganimalsintoafrenziedstampede,wonderedifitmighthavebeenIndiansonthehunt.Istayedjumpy,anxiousfortherestoftheday,withaheightenedawarenesstopotentialdangers.
Whilewaterandgrasshasbeenabundantontheplains,thedangerintheGreatBasinisitsdryness.Theswingstationshavewaterbroughtinonoxcarts,butbetweenstations,theremaybelongstretcheswherecreeks,streams,andgulleyrundry.
Throughout
theGreatBasin,therearemorerumorsofwaterthanactualwater,sowhereyoufindyourselfonthefortunatesideofarumor,thelessonistodrinkupandfillupcanteens.Thenextrumorofwatermaybefalse.
TheplainsIndianswe’veencounteredalong
thewayhavebeenfriendly,curious,andnon-threatening,thoughwe’realwaysatthereadytospurourponiesawayfrompotentialtrouble.
ThemassacreonMay7thatWilliamsStationinNevada,wherefourstationagentsweremurdered,followedbytheMay12th
PaiuteIndianuprisingatPyramidLake,whereseventy-sixlocalvolunteerslosttheirlivestryingtoquelltheviolence,servesasaremindertoneverletdownourguard.We’vebeenremindedoftheseincidentsbyeverymanagerorattendantateverystationwe’veriddenthrough.
AfterthePaiuteIndianWar,mailservicewassuspendedtemporarily;however,byearlythispastJune,reportsofhostilitiesdroppedoffasmilitarypatrolsincreased,allowingthePonyExpresstorideagain.
Temperaturesaredropping.
Winter’sfrostnowcoversthegroundeachmorning,themountainscappedinwhite.Havingonlyseenmountainsinpaintingsandinbooks,Iunderstandwhytheyinspireartistsandpoets.Majesticandformidable,yetwemustgettotheotherside.
*****Journalentry:LeavingMillersvilleSwalesthismorningleftmeatouchmelancholy.Itfeltlikeahomeshould,warmandinviting,despitethefactthatit’salsoastagestopandaPonyExpresshomestation.Theproprietor,Mr.Holmes,readaloud
fromtheBookofMormon,areligionwithwhichI’mnotfamiliar,andhiscomelyEnglishwifeplayedthefiddleaftersheservedourbreakfastofboiledpotatoes,slicedonions,andsconeswithjam.MissusHolmes’directpersonalityremindedmeofAuntWinnie,
andIfeltapangofhomesickness.IthoughtofStarlingthemajorityoftheday.
Atfirst,Stoneytriedtoengagemeinconversations.Hehassincegivenintomysilences.“Iunderstanditain’tyourwaytotalkalot,”hehadsaid.“I
don’tminddoingthetalking.Justnodatimeortwo,ifyouwill,toshowyou’restillalive.”Inodded,andhelaughed.
Ifeverpassingthiswayagain,ImustrememberCacheCave,adark,deeptunnelintherockjustbeyondthewatershedofBearRiver.It’safine
placetoshelterawayfromthepathofwildweather,dangerousanimals,orhostileIndians.
Foratleasttwentymileswerodehuggingthebaseofatallredcliff,theareaknownasEchoCanyon.Theroadwassmooth,hardpacked,anddescendedata
gracefulslopewhichallowedforintervalsoffull-outgallopsinterspersedwithlongtrotsandsteadywalks.Wecoveredthatgroundfast.
WearrivedatthesummitofBigMountainearlyafternoonwithanotherfifteenmilesyettogotoSaltLakeCity.Thespectacular
viewplayeduponmysenses,thedramaticcolorsofmountain,forest,andvalleypaintedvibrantagainsttheazuresky.Thepineysmellofclean,pureairdeepinmylungs,thesofttickleofcoolwindonmyskin,theechoofwaterrushingandspillinginitsfalldownthemountain
filledmewithjoy.Ifoundmyselfwithoutaneedforwords—therewerenoneadequateinmyvocabularytodescribethebeautybeforemyeyes.Idismounted,stoodnexttomyhorse,andstaredforagoodwhile.
AnOverlandStagewasatthat
momentpreparingfortheseeminglyimpracticabledescentdowntheperilousslope.Thepassengers,fiveofthem,weremadetowalk.Itwouldhavebeentoodangeroustorideinsidethesliding,bouncingcoachwhichmightatanygivenmomentturnintoarun-away.
Also,lighteningtheloadforthepoormuleteamwhichmustcontroltheStage’sdescentwastheproperthingtodo.
Thedriverrough-lockedthewheelsbyshovingalongwoodenplankbetweenleftandrightrearwheelsandleftandrightfront
wheels,thenropingtheplankstogetherandtyingbothpiecesoffatthetongue,keepingthewheelsfromturning.Themuleshunkereddownandtuckedtheirtailstotheground,thuskeepingthecoachfromhurtlingdownthemountain.Borntothetask,thesixbig-
bonedbeastsexecutedthemaneuverwithoutaprotestinggrunt.
Stoneyhadnoddedtowardthetravelers,hiseyesbright.“Thismomentcallsforawildspectacleofbravery.Let’sgivethesefinefolkssomethingtowritehomeabout.”Then,hepulled
upwardonhisreins,causinghishorsetorearuplikeatrickpony.
Ifoundhisexuberancecontagious.Wewavedourhatsintheairandwhoopedlikewildbansheesaswerodeourhorsesoverthepassandstraightdownthemountain.Thepassengersofthe
OverlandStagewhooped,too,shoutingoutwordsofappreciationtothePonyExpressriders’showofbravado.
Ienjoyedourperformance,therushdownthemountainfillingmewithasurgeofvitality.Ifelt—alive.
AfterdescendingLittle
Mountain,steeperthanBigMountainthoughnotashigh,wechangedhorsesatEmigrationStation,andthenrodestraightintoTheGreatSaltLakeCityasthesunwaspreparingitsgracefuldescentdowntheothersideoftheearth.
TheSaltLake
HouseisahomestationforthePonyExpress.It’salsoawonderfullyappointedhotelthatsitsrightacrossthestreetfromthepostoffice.There’salargecorraloutbackwithalongrowofstables,andnextdooristheCityBathHouseandBakery.
Wecheckedin
withthestationmanager,MarioRusso,adarkskinned,darkeyed,miniatureItaliansportingathicktuftofsalt-and-pepperhairthatcircledthebackofhisheadfromeartoear.Hewasrelievedtoseeus,hesaid,withasincere,toothywhitesmile.Wordfromthewest
coastwarnedofanearlywinterstormmovinginfromtheSierraNevadas.Inpreparation,hehadsenttwoofhisexperiencedridersonwestaheadofustotakethevacantpositionsatCarsonCitytowhichStoneyandIhadbeenappointed.
“Thisbeas
farasyougo,”hesaidwithathickaccent,anexcitedwavingofhisarmspunctuatinghiswords.“Nextdooryougetyouabath,yougetyousomebreadifyou’rehungry,youdon’tpayforit,theychargeittoourtab,youthencomebackhere.I’llshowyouwhereyou
bunkoverattheHotel.”
Idon’tknowifI’mrelievedthatSaltLakeHousewillbemyhomestationordisappointedthatI’llnotseeandexperiencemoreofthetrail.Comparedtosomeofthestationswe’veencountered,somenomorethanadug-outoraroofless
shed,I’llbelivinginthelapofluxury,soIshouldbethankful.
I’llbetheriderwhocarriesthemailwest,ridingroughlyonehundredmileswhereI’llwaitatFishSpringstobringtheeastboundmailbacktoSaltLakeHouse.HereI’lltransfertheeastboundmailto
Stoneywho’llrideeastbacktoMillersvilleSwaleswherehe’llhanditofftothenexteastboundrider,andthenStoneyreturnsthewestboundmailtomeatSaltLakewhereoffIgowestagaintoFishSprings.Andsoon…
StoneyandI
eachhaveourownsmallbedssincewe’reTheRiders.TwoupperandlowerbunksaresharedinthesameroomwithtwohorsebreakersandtwobarnassistantswhosenamesI’venotyetlearned.Thisarrangementmightprovetricky,butI’mlearningthefineart
ofsubterfuge.Thisis
“home”fornow.Goodnight.
CHAPTERELEVENNOVEMBER13,1860
TheGreatSaltLakestretchedacrossthecold,semi-ariddeserttothenorthandwestofthecity,whiletheruggedWasatchMountainslinedthehorizontotheeast,creatingapastoralvalleyripeforgrowingcropsandcrosses.Simplewoodensymbolsmarkedthegravesofthose
whodidn’tsurvivethewinter,orthedesert,ortheIndians,orthebirthing,ortheinfluenza.Crossessprungfromagunslinger’sbulletorakickfromanuntamedmustang—fromthedark,cold,silentloneliness—fromthemyriadwaysdeathcreptinandtookwhatitwanted.
ButcrossesdidnotadornTheTemple.
“ThosedamnedMormonspulledthecrossoff
theBaptistchurchagainlastnight,”saidMarioRussoasheledadarkbaymareouttobesaddled.“Justbecausetheydon’tdecoratetheirbuildingsandbookswiththesymbolofthecrossdon’tmeanotherscan’t.”
“No,sir.”Barleighranahanddownthemare’sleg,concernedaboutasmallcutonthecannonbone,butpleasedthatshedetectednoheatorswelling.“Yousureit
wasthem?”“Whoelsewouldit
be?”Marioworkedwithquick,skilledhands,completingthetaskofsaddlingandbridlingthemareinlessthanaminute.“LatestIheardtoowasthatthey’retryingtoshutdownallthenon-Mormonownedbusinesses.Youtellme,butthat’snotright.”
“No,sir.”Sheleanedherbackagainstthehorse,
tuckingherthumbsinherpockets.“Irememberonce,backinTexas,whitesettlementswereattacked,peoplemurdered,homesburned,livestockstolen.FolksblamedIndians,becauseIndianswereknowntodothatkindofthing.Butthatonetime,itwasn’tIndians.ItwaswhiteoutlawsusingIndiansasscapegoats.Lotsofinnocentpeopledied,whitesandIndiansalike,
becauseofthosefalseaccusations.”
“You’resayingitmightbeIndians?NottheMormons?”Marioscratchedhishead,alookofconfusioncloudinghisdarkbrowneyes.
“No,Mario.I’mjustsayingnottojumpto....Nevermind.I’llgetthismaresomewater.”
Barleighreturnedtothestallwithabucketofwaterandanappleforthe
horseandfoundMarioperchedonthestall’shalf-wallpartition,aconcernedlookonhisface.Shefedtheappletothehorse,themarechompingthesweettreatinonebite.
“Sir?”sheasked,worried.“Youallright?”
“Yousureyou’rereadyforyourfirstmidnightrun,boy?Gottherhythmofthetraildownpat?Knowallyourmarkers?”askedMario.
“Yessir.Iknowthetrail,”shesaidwithconfidence.
“It’sdifferentatnight.Theshadows,thesounds,thesmellschange.Youswearyou’recominguptoarightbendintheroadwhenaleftbendwillsneakupallofasuddenandthrowyousmackintoacreek.Thenight,shecanplaygameswithyou.”
“Yes,sir.”Barleighlistened,attentive.
“Badweather’smovingin,too.You’llseesnowbeforesun-up.”
“I’mreadyforit,”shesaid,wrappingherthick,woolenscarfdoublearoundherneck,tuckingtheendsintoherwaterproof,oiledcanvassslickerthathungtoherspurs.
“Thismightnotbetheregularruno’themillcorrespondenceyou’llbecarryingtonight.Thisjust
mightbetheruneveryone’swaitingon,theonewiththebignews.”
“Ihopeso,”shesaid.Shewasasanxioustohearthenewsaseveryoneelse.
Atthatmoment,thesoundofpoundinghoovestearingupthegroundcaughttheirattention.Lookingeast,ahorseandriderapproachedatfullgallop.Dusthungintheairbehindthemlikesepia-coloredribbonsand
sparkledinthegoldenglowofgaslightsthatsoftenedthefrostynight.
Ayellowbandanatiedaroundtherider’sneckbillowedstraightoutbehindlikeabanner.Hisbuckskinshirtandcoatwerecoveredindust.Canvastrousersalongwiththeleathertapaderasthatattachedtothestirrupsandprotectedtherider’sfeetweresplatteredwithmud.Beadedfringethatedgedtheouter
seamofhisgauntlet-styleCavalryglovesstuckoutlikecolorfulspikes.Awide-brimmed,Mexican-stylehatwaspulleddowntightonhishead,cinchedsnugunderhischinwithabigsilverdollarbolo.
“It’sLincoln,”heshoutedashereinedhissweatyhorsetoastop,vaultingtothegroundbeforethehorse’sfeetquitmoving.“Lincoln’sournewpresident.
Ain’tthatsomething?”“That’ssure
something.”ShegrinnedandslappedStoneyontheback.“Soisyourfancyget-up.”
“Theridersbackeastwearthis.”
“Theydo?Alongwiththesombrero?”
“No.Thisismyspecialtouch.Icanfixyouup,ifyouwant.”
“I’llsavemymoney,thanks.”
MarioalreadyhadthemochilapulledfromStoney’shorseandswunginplaceacrossthebaymare’ssaddleasBarleighsteppedherleftbootintothestirrupandmounted,readytorideoffintothenightwiththeimportantnewsforwhichtheWestCoasthungered.
“Don’tforget,thismare,sheishot.She’llbuck-trottillshe’sgoodandwarmedup,”Marioadvised.
“Givehermoreslackthanyouwouldtomosthotheads.She’llcomeungluedifyougotoyankingonhermouth.Butbereadywhenyoufeelherrelax.That’showshetricksyoujustbeforesheexplodes.Youbesttobehangingonorshe’llleaveyouembarrassedandsittinginthedirt.”
Mariounderstoodahorse’spersonalityandworkethicafterspendingafew
minutesinthesaddlewithoneandwouldgivearundownofeachhorse’speculiaritiesbeforeeachride.Theinformationwasinvaluabletotheriderswhoselifedependedontheirhorses.
Mariodouble-checkedthefiguresashemarkedthetimeofarrivalonthemochila’slog.“Stoney,ifthesefiguresareaccurateandBarandeveryoneelseondownthelinemakesastight
ofruns,doyouknowwhatthismeans?”Hebobbedupanddownlikeapiston,tappinghispencilagainsttheledgerinanexcitedstaccatorhythmbeforereplacingthetimelogintooneofthefourcantinasonthemochilaandlockingit.
“AllIknow,sir,isthatIthinktheseponiesknowsomethingspecial’shappeningtonight.It’sliketheyallsproutedapairof
wings.EverytimeIthinkoneof’emdon’thavenothingleft,Ijustaskforalittlebitmore,justalittle,andtheygivemorethanIaskfor.IreckonitmeansCalifornia’sgonnagetthisnewsprettydarnquick.”
“Prettydarnquick?Asquickasstinkinashitstorm.NewsofthiselectioncouldmakeittoCaliforniainrecordtime.”
“We’resettinga
record.Well,ain’tthatsomething?”StoneypunchedhisfistagainstBarleigh’sthigh,hiseyesaswideassilverdollars.“That’ssomecrazyfastriding.”
“Fast,yes,”saidMario.“Andyoucould’vedoneyourrunalittlefasterifyouhadn’thadallthatwind-dragfromthatgoddamnedhat.Where’dyougetthatthing,offadeadMexican?”
“Ipaidgoodmoney
forthishat.Itcostmetwodollars,includingthesilverconcho.”Stoneyloosenedtheboloandliftedthelarge,yellowsombrerofromhishead,swattingthedustfromhisprize.Histhin,blondhairstayedplasteredtohisheadwithsweatandgrime.
“Well,thatwasfourquarterstoomuch.Youshouldhavesavedthemforabath.”
“Abath’sanickel,”
saidStoney,soundingdefensive.
“Yep,andatonebathaSaturday,Iwouldn’thavetosmellyourstinkingassforagoodgoddamnedfortyweeks,longerthanthathat’sgoingtolast.Nowgetsomerest.Yourideagaintomorrow.”
“It’safinehat.Ilikemyhat.”
“Getsomerest.”“Yes,sir.”
“Andyou,Bar,yougetoutofhere.”
“Yes,sir.”“AbrahamLincoln!”
Barleighshouted,thethrilloftheelectionnewssendinganexcitingcurrentthroughherbody.Shereinedhermarearound,gallopingdownthedustyroadtowardMillCreekCrossing,thefirstoftenswingstations.Throughoutthenight,shewouldchangetofreshhorsesateachstation
beforeendingherrelay115mileswestandtenhourslateratFishSpringsSite,pushingherselfandallelevenhorsestothelimit.
AsSaltLakeCitygrewsmallerbehindher,lightsbegantoglowinwindows.PeoplegatheredonporchesandoutinthestreetsasnewsoftheelectionwasshoutedfromneighbortoneighborandwordspreadacrosstheGreatSaltLake
CitythatAbrahamLincolnhadwontheelection.Manystayedupallnightincelebration,yettherewereplentyotherswhosnuffedouttheirgaslamps,closingtheirdoorstothenews.
*****Afreshhorsestoodsaddled,bridled,andreadytoreceivethemochilaasBarleighgallopedintoeachswingstation.Rarewasthemountsheconsideredgentleand
wellbroke.Mostwerewoolychargesfreshofftherange,somehavingbeenhandledjustenoughtomakethemcurious,othershavingbeenhandledjustenoughtomakethemcantankerous.
ThehorsesbackeastalongtheSaintJoelinetendedtowardtheKentuckyThoroughbredandMorgantypes,finerandpurerintheirpedigrees.Furtherwest,thehorsesontheExpressstring
wererangier,moretheCaliforniamustangtype,hardier,smaller,andmeaner.
OncebeyondSaltLakeCity,shespurredhardforMillCreekCrossing,thefirstoftheswingstations.Shelaylowonthebaymare’sneckandletherhaveherhead,stayingoutofhermouthasMarioinstructed.
Thenightwasasblackastarpitchexceptforwhenlightningpuncturedthe
darknesswithitssharpflashes.Themoonandthestarshidthemselvesbehindthickstormclouds,thesmellofcoldrainhangingheavyinthedustynightair.
Barleighusedflashesoflightningtonavigatefromstonetostone,fromonetrailmarkertothenext.SheknewMillCreekwoundthroughtheflatsnearbyandofftoherright,butcouldnotseeit,thenightwassodark.
Asthestormfrontpassedoverhead,rollingacrossthevalley,thunderechoedthroughoutthecanyonandintenselightningdancedoffthejaggedgranitewalls.Wellafterdarknesshaddescended,temperaturesplummetedandaconfusedconcoctionofrain,sleet,andsnowbegantopelttheearth.
Thoughridingblindthroughtheblackness,impossibletoseethetrail,she
couldyethearherhorse’shoovesstrikingthehard-packedwagonroad.Thisassurancetoldherthatallwaswell,allowinghertheconfidencetocontinueaskingthemaretogiveitherall.Themarecomplied.
Barleighknewthattheswingstationlayjustbeyondtheplankbridgethatspannedthecreek,andthedullclatteringofhoovesonwoodenplankswasareliefto
Barleigh’sears.Sherelaxed,knowingwhereshewas,despitetheblacknessofthenight.
Halfwayoverthebridge,lightningstreakedacrossthesky,illuminatinginawhite-hotflashthemuddybanksofthecreek.Thesuddenbrightnesssilhouettedtwoloomingfiguresonhorsebacklettingtheirhorsesdrinkwateratthestream.
Indians.
Sheshrieked.Inapanic,Barleighyankedtoohardonthereins,whichcausedtheironbittodiglikeasharpknifeagainstthehorse’ssensitivemouth.Thesudden,intensepainsentthemareintoahigh-headed,side-steppingprancerightoffthesideofthebridgeandintothefreezingcreekafewfeetbelow.
ThetwoIndiansdisappearedintothedarkness.
FearwasthetightgluethatkeptBarleigh’sseatfromseparatingfromthesaddle.Themaresplashedandcrow-hoppedoutoftheshallowwater,Barleighclingingtightlytothesaddlehornwithbothhands,thereinslostandhanginguselesslyattheground.Theysplasheduptheslipperybankandwerebackontheroadinaninstant,themaregrowingmoreenthusiasticinher
buckingthenearertheydrewtoMillCreekCrossing.Alanterngaveawarm,glowingwelcomeinthewindowofthestablesjustupthehill.
Shedidn’tdareletgoofthesaddlehorntoreachforthebugle.Instead,sheyelled.“Franks!Helpmestopthisdamnhorse.”Sheyelledagain,louder.“Franks,grabthereins.”
“Whatinthehellhavewegothere?”askedthe
stationmasterashegrabbedforthebuckinghorse,throwinghisweightagainstthemare’sshoulderandeasinghertoastop.“Whyinthehellareyouandyourhorsedrenched,boy?You’llcatchyourdeath.”
“Indiansatthecreekspookedme.Isawtwo,maybemore.Wejumpedoffthebridge.”
“Jumpedoffthebridge?Whyinthehelldid
yougoanddoathinglikethat?”
“Ididn’tmeanto.Itwasanaccident.”
“Indians?Ain’tbeenIndiansthiscloseinsometime.Yousureaboutthat,Bar?”
“IsawwhatIsaw.”Sheremovedthewetmochilafromthesaddle,threwitacrossthebackofthewaitingblackmustang,andremounted.“Lincolnwonthe
election.”“Don’tyouwantsome
hotcoffee?Aquickcuptowarmyou?”
“Nocoffee.YougotadryblanketorsomethingIcanwrapupin?”Barleighasked,achillsettingin.
“Here.Takemyslicker,”saidFranks,removingthecoatfromhisback.“It’llswalleryouup,butthat’llbeallright.I’llhaveyoursdriedoutwhen
yougetback.”LeavingMillCreek,
theterritorywasharsh,thedesertvalleyscatteredwithsagebrush,greasewood,andthebleachedcarcassesofoxenandcattle.Saltydusthungintheair,thirstyfortherainorsnowthatwouldturnitintoanoozymud.
Throughoutthestormynight,Barleighracedfromstationtostation,buglingherarrival,shouting
thenewsoftheelection.Shedismounted,mounted,andracedforthenextstation,takingnobreaksforcoffee,water,orpersonalcomfortorhygiene.Noliquidin—noliquidout.Arecord-breakingridewasatstake.
TheExpressCompanyplannedandbuiltswingstationsalongtheroutewherenaturalspringswerelocatedtoprovideasourceofwaterforthestockandforthe
peoplemanagingthestock.IntheGreatBasin,goodwaterwasdifficulttofind,andthewateratSimpson’sSprings,theseventhswingstationalongherroute,hadlongbeenusedbylocalIndians.Thiswasherleastfavoritestation,theoneshehurriedthroughthefastestwiththechangingofthemochila.
Awaterygraydawnoflightandmisttoldthatnightwasover.Themorning
wassteelyanddampanddullandcold,butatleastitwasnolongerdark.ThemountainpeaksatherbackwereallbutinvisibleinashroudofsinkingcloudsasshereinedtoastopatSimpson’sSprings.
“Morning,Whizzer.”Barleighleapttotheground,pullingthemochilaoffandflingingitacrossthesaddleofthefreshmountthatstoodstompingatthehitchingpost.
“Lincolnwins.”Remounting,she
gallopedoffbeforethenewssettledonhisears,quicktoputasmuchdistancebetweenherselfandtheIndianswhomshefeltcertainhidineveryshadow,ineverydipandhollow,behindeverystone,behindeverybladeofgrassinandaroundSimpson’sSprings.Shewantedthisplacebehindher,racingnowforherwesternhomestation,
FishSpringsSite,ahardforty-twomilesridefurtherintoUtahTerritory.
“Hey!Wegotboiledwolfmuttonandryesoup,andplentyofcoffee,”Whizzercalledtoherdisappearingback.“What’sthehurry?Oh.Lincoln,eh?”
Fromthere,shechangedhorsesatthehauntedRiverbedStation.Otherriderstoldfrighteningtalesofthisplace,ofhowtheyspurred
fastthroughtheghostlyflatterrain.She’dneverfeltorseenonewithherowneyes,butothersinsistedthatthecanyonswarmedonstormynightswithdesertfairieswhoteasedhorsesintospookyantics,whohowledatloneriders,whosnatchedattheirshirtcollarsandtwistedjealousfingersintheirhair.
Sheremountedontofreshhorsestwicemore,firstatDugwaySiteandthenat
BlackRockSite,beforeatlastgallopingintoFishSpringsSitejustshyofeleveno’clockinthemorning.Withherfirstovernighterbehindher,Barleighwaselatedtoseeherwesternhomestation.
Asoftsnowbegantofall,siftingafinepowderoverthethatchedroofofthelow-slungrockbuilding,wherearoaringfireblazedinthewidehearth.Graysmoke
curledinathinribbonoutofthecrookedstonechimney,disappearingamongthelowcloudsthatthreatenedheaviersnow.
Herbuttcheekswererawandfeltasiftheymustbebleeding.Ridingallnightinwetclothesthatfreezetoyourskinwilldothat.Cravingcoffee,wantingwarm,dryclothesandsleep,sheknewthatwalkingwasgoingtohurt.Shebracedherselffor
theexpectedpain.“Hello,Mr.Barth.
AbrahamLincolnwontheelection.”Sheslidfromherhorse,tooexhaustedtohelpremovethemochila.
Yes.Walking.Hurts.“Mr.Lincoln,eh?
Well,don’tknowifI’msurprisedornot.IreckonthoseMormonswillbegladtoseethelastofBuchanan,eh?Allthetroublehe’scaused’em?”
“Ireckon.So,where’sEckels?”Herreliefriderwasknowntobepunctual,alwaysonthespot,horseinhand,readytotakeovertherelay.
“Eckelsain’tmadeitbackyet.Hemustbecaughtupinthestormthat’sgottheSierraNevadasallsnaggedup.”
“WhataboutThomason?”
“Indiansscaredhimoff.LastweekbackatBlack
RockSite,hewasambushedbyapasselofthem.Theyshotabunchofarrows,evenafewstraybulletsathim.Thomasonoutranthem,butitscaredhimbadenoughnottowanttocomeback.”
Barleighshivered.“Ijustpassedthroughthere.So,whatdowedo?Wecan’tletthemochilastop.Ithastokeepmoving.”
“Thenyouhavetokeeponriding,boy.You’re
allwegotrightnow.Canyoudoit?”
“Yes,sir.Icandoit.”She’dgivenheroath.Themailmustgothrough.Thethoughtoflettingitstoponherridewasunthinkable.
“Itpaysmoremoney,youridingextra,”Mr.Barthsaid.
“Thatpartsnice,butthisistheelectionresults.Ithastokeepgoing.”Barleighfeltasenseofobligation,of
duty.“Howlongyou
alreadybeeninthesaddle,son?”
“Sincemidnight.”“Thesnowwillbe
pickingup—Idon’tknow.Don’tseemsafe,younotknowingthislegoftherouteandall.”Mr.Barthshovedhisglovedhandsintohiscoatpockets,hisbreathhoveringinafrozencloudinfrontofhisdrawn,thinface.
“Icandoit,Mr.Barth.Iwanttoride.”Shestoodhergroundagainstthestationmasteranddidn’tbackdown.
“Getsomecoffee.Fillyourcanteen.There’shardbiscuitsonthestovetofillyourpockets.Takemyserapetothrowoveryourslicker.Getsomedrygloves,too,fromthebunkhouse.”
“Yes,sir.WheredoIgofromhere?”
“Boyd’sStation,duewest.Theroadstayshard-packedifyoukeepclosetothebluff.Don’tstrayfarofforyou’llendupintheswampymirethat’sworsethanquicksandandbogdownyourhorse.Theonlywayoutofthatmessisabullet.”
Barleighnoddedherunderstanding.
“Boyd’sStationisasmallstonehousewithgunports.They’retherefora
reason.Ifyou’reluckyyou’llpassEckelsontheway.Ifnot,thenkeeponridingwestasfarasyoucanwithoutkillingyourselforyourhorse.Thesunwillbewithyouunlessthesecloudsregroup,whichitlookslikethey’redoing.Youbestmakegooduseofyourtime,andkeepaneyeoutforEckels.”
Shedidn’tpassEckelsonherwaytoBoyd’sStation.Theroadwasflatandfastand
shetriedoutrunningthelowering,thickeningsnowclouds.Lightflurrieschangedtofat,wetflakes,whichturnedtoaswirlingwhiteoutassherodeintoBoyd’sStation.
Thereshechangedhorsesandkeptonriding,thelonestocktenderaskinny,apprehensive-eyedboyoftwelve,pointinghertothenextswingstation,WillowSprings.
Theboy,EnnisJulesburg,anorphantakeninbythestationmanager,hadbeenfrightenedbytheworseningblizzard.Hehadbroughtallsixhorsesupfromthecorralandhadledthemintotheboardinghouse,wheretheywereallmillingaboutthesparselyfurnishedcottage.
“TheyallrunoffoncebeforewhenInjunsattacked,”heexplainedwithwideeyes
asBarleighthrewthemochilaoverthesaddleofadappledgraymarethatstoodmunchingfromapileofsweetoatsonthefloorinfrontofthehearth.
“Idon’twanttogooutinthisstormandhavetochasethemdown,”saidEnnis.“WhatifIcouldn’tfindthem?Imightgetlostandmightnotbeabletofindmywayback.ThenImightfreezetodeathandnoone
wouldknowwheretofindmydeadbody.”
“Butitstinksinhere.”Barleighkickedatapileofmanure.“Howcanyousleeporbreathewiththewindowsclosed,thesmokefromthefireplacesothick,andallthishorseshitalloverthefloor?”
“Livingwiththestinkisbetterthandyinginthesnow,”saidaveryseriousEnnis.
Windblewthesnow
intodeepeningdrifts,thetrailbecominghardertodefine.Barleigh’sponyleanedintothebitingwind,herthickwhiskerscoatedwithicicles.Barleighshiveredundertheserape—shetriedtosipfromthecanteen,butherhandsshook,splashingcoffeeoverherchin.Shepulledthescarfupanditfrozetoherskin.
Shetalkedtoherhorse,keepinguparunningdialoguetopasstimeasshe
lookedforsignsalongthetrailthatmightindicatethatshewasattheveryleaststillonthecorrectpath.Agoodguesswasallshecouldofferherselfattimes.Theirpaceslowedtoasafewalk.Sometimesitslowedtoasaferstandstillwhileshereorientedherselfintheblindingsnow.Themidafternoonsunwasuselessagainstthethickclouds,offeringnohelpinfindingthe
route.Onemoment,she
thoughtshefoundtheroad.Thenext,itdisappearedunderafootofpowder.Findingaplacethatwasflatterandwiderandthencurveddownintoagulley,shecautiouslypickedherwaythroughthesnow,followingittowhereveritled.
Twicemorelosingthetrail,shedismounted,circledback,keepingalowandclose
eyeonthehoofprintsbeforethefast-fallingsnowerasedthemfromview.Theprintsledherbacktowhatshefeltsuretobethetrail.Stillonfoot,sheledthewearyhorsethroughasteep-slopinggulley,wherethewindblewthedriftsintowaist-deepheapsbeforetheycameuptheotherside.
“Comeon,Blaze,don’tgiveup.”Barleighpulledonthereinsandtried
tocoaxtheexhaustedanimaltokeepmoving.
Thehorseploddedupthesteepslope,herfeetfallingheavyoneatatime.Fatigueandbrutalcoldsappedherstrength.Hersidesheavedwitheachlaboredbreath,andeachone,Barleighfeared,mightbethemare’slast.
Allofasudden,withnowarning,thegalestopped.Itwasasifagiantfist
punchedoutthewind’sbreath.Thesnow,oncethrashinginahorizontalblizzard,nowbegantofloatinasilent,spiralingsway.Disorientedandsnow-blind,Barleighfellheadfirstoveracedar-stavehitchingpostallbutburiedinthesnow.
Afaintlightflickeredwithapaleyellowglowinthewindowofasmallstonelodgejustafewyardsfurthertothewest.Theoakysmellof
awoodfirescentedtheair.AhorsenickeredagreetingtoBlaze—sheofferedagruntingnickerinreturn.Afrontdooropened.Steamingblackcoffeeinathintincupappeared.GlovedhandstookthereinsfromBarleigh’sfrozenfingersandledherhorseaway.Another’shandspressedagainsthershouldersandsteeredherintoaglowing,warm,opendoor.
“MyGod,we’rehere,
Blaze.WillowSprings.Wealmostroderightbyit.”Barleighfoughtoffatear.
“Blazewastakentothebarn,ifthat’sthehorse,”saidFrenchieJones,thestationmanager.
“Where’sthemochila?”Barleighaskedthroughchatteringteeth,herbodyshakingsohardthatmostofthecoffeespilledoutofthecupandontothefloor.“It’sLincoln.Lincolnwon
theelection.Ican’tstop.Havetokeepriding.Keepthemailgoing.”
“It’sallright,son,”saidFrenchie.“ThatwasEckelswhotookthemochilafromyou.Hegotherethismorningbutthestormkepthimfromgoinganyfurther.He’srestedupenoughtotakeitonwestforyou.Yourmochila’singoodhands.AndLouisShoalsleftnottenminutesagowiththe
eastboundmail.Younodoubtpassedhim.”
“IfIdid,Ididn’tseehim.Hell,Ialmostdidn’tseethisplaceuntilthewindjust...”Shetriedtosnapherfingersbutherfrozenjointswouldn’tcooperate.“Thewindjuststopped,justlikethat.”Takinganothersipofcoffee,eatingaspoonfuloflambstew,Barleighthencrawledoverbythefire.Curlingupinaball,sheslept
fortwelvehoursstraight,herclothsthawinganddryingbymorning.
*****ThesunwaswellestablishedovertheeasternridgewhenBarleighawoketoraw,blisteredskinfromridingallnightandmostofthedayinwet,frozenpants.Chaffedskinmadewalkingtothecoffeepotachallenge,butdeterminationandwantprevailed.
“Here,son,”saidFrenchie,“smearthisalloveryourlegsandbetweenyourbuttcheeks.It’lltakeacoupleaweeksbeforeyoutoughenupdownthereandgetusedtotheconstantwearandtear.”
“Thanks,Frenchie,”shesaid.“Whatisit?”
“Lard.AndincaseCookierunsoutoffryingoil,justscrapeitoffwhenyou’redoneridingandgiveitbacktohim,niceandseasoned,
justthewayhelikesit.”Frenchiewalkedoutofthekitchendoubledoverlaughing,nodoubt,atthelookonBarleigh’sface.
HewasstilllaughingwhenBarleighmetupwithhimatthestables.Sheselectedaneasy-temperedlookinggeldingandsaddledup,gettinghermindreadyforwhatsheexpectedwouldbeanarduousridehome.Feelingasgreasedupasa
holidayduck,sherodeawayataneasytrot,buttoutofthesaddlewithherweightinthestirrups,determinednottocry.
CHAPTERTWELVE
NOVEMBER15,1860
Journalentry:IreturnedtotheGreatSaltLakeCitylateintheafternoonwiththeeastboundmochilaandpasseditofftoStoneywhowaitedatthestables,
horseinhand,asIknewhewouldwhenIbeganbuglingmywayintotown.
Hesportedanewbrownhat.Itwascinchedtightunderhischinwithabraided,leathercord,thehatsmallerbrimmed,shortercrowned,andmoresuitedtofasterriding.
Hestillhad
hissombrero,hehadshoutedtomeoverhisshoulderashegallopedaway.HeaskedmetokeepaneyeonhisyellowMexicanhatandtonotletMariothrowitawaylikehethreatenedtodo.
IpromisedhimIwould,laughing,asStoneyandMariothrew
obscenegesturesatoneanotherbeforeStoney’shorseracedoutofsite.
Myintentionofbathingandwashingthelardoffmybodywassincere,butonceIsawmybed,myintentioncrumbled.Ifellasleepbeforemyheadmadecontactwiththepillow.
Exhaustionmusthavedeadenedthesenseofsmell.IfounditremarkablethatIsleptwithoutmyownodorwakingme.It’sagoodthingalltheotherridersfoundreasonstobeawayforthenight.
Afterwakingfromthesleepoftheinnocentorofthedead,Ididtakea
bathandnoticedthatmyskinfeltsoftandsupplewhereitwasn’tblisteredandchapped.LardmaynotbewhatthefancyladiespurchasefortheirdaintyskinatLeonard’sDepartmentStorebackinFortWorth,butitworkedwondersformychaffedbehind.
Wearinesskeptmefromridingouttodaytothehotsprings.IwasafraidI’dfallasleeponcethereandendupdrowningmyself.Apparently,death’snotagoodexcusefornotsettlingyourtaxdebtwiththebank.
AfterlunchIstrolledaroundtownandmademywayto
themercantile.IthoughtI’dbuytobacco.Iwouldn’tuseit,butitfitmypublicpersonality,tocarryapouchofSnuff’schewingtobaccoinmypocketlikeaman.Honingmymalepersonatookpracticeandobservationeverymomentofeveryday.
Atthetobacco
counteratthefarendofthestorestoodamanwhoboreastrikingresemblancetoHughesLévesque,thegentlemanfromSaintJoseph.Iwatchedashefinalizedhistransaction,andthenheturnedandexitedoutthesidedoor.
Isawhimforabriefmomentand
fromadistance,butthelikenessmademepause,stare,andforgetmyownpurchase,mypocketremainingtobacco-less.
Idon’tknowwhy,butmyheartskippedabeat.Ortwo.Itcouldn’tbehim.WhatintheworldwouldhebedoinghereinSalt
LakeCity?IthoughthesaidhewasfromTexas.SanAntonio?IrememberhewaswritingtoafriendaboutthePonyExpressandhehadlotsofquestionshedidn’tmindasking.
Washisfriendaladyfriend?Don’tbesilly.Whatdoesitmatteranyway?
Whatmatters
isthisyawningtirednessthat’swashedoverme,atirednesslikeI’veneverfeltbefore,yetitrewardsmeinwaysIcan’tdescribe.I’veearnedthisexhaustion.Adeepsleepwillbemyimmediaterewardtonight. Tomorrow,I’llgotothehotsprings
andenjoyawarmsoakingbathinthemineralspa.I’lltakealongsomefinesoapsandoils,andifforabriefhourortwo,I’llremindmyselfthatIusedtonotsmelllikeafilthyBillygoat.
Goodnight.*****
“Don’tsoaktoolonginthosehotsprings,”saidMarioasheforkedathicksliceofham
drippingwithrunnyeggyolkintohismouth.“Iheardthosemineralswillshrivelupyourpeckertosmallerthanyourlittlefinger.Course,I’veseenyouinyourlongjohns.Youdon’thavemuchthereanyway.”
Barleighshovedhermiddlefingerintheairlikeshe’dseenStoneydo,thenwalkedoutthedoortothelaughterofMarioandtheotherriderswhohadreturned
atdawnfromanightofdrinkingandcardplaying.Shereadjustedherimaginaryprivatesandspatontheground.
“Youbastardscangotohell.”Shetriednottothinkofwhatherpapawouldsayifheheardhertalkinglikethat.
“Carefulyoudon’twakeupahibernatingbearinoneofthemcaves,”shoutedBigBrody,thepart-timeriderwhenhewassoberenoughto
sitinasaddle.“Orsurpriseabandofoutlawsstowingawaytheirloot.Theyhideoutinthemcaves,too,youknow.”
Sheignoredthejokesandkeptwalking,givinganotherreadjustingscratchandasidewaysspitforgoodmeasure.
Therewerefourmineralbathsclosetotown.Thenearestandlargestwaspatronizedbytouristsand
high-payingguests.Nottoofarawaywerethedeepestandhottest,whichwerefavoredbythelocals.Emigrantsandvagrantspitchedtheirtentsandcampedaroundthefurthestandmostsulfuric.
Thefourth,whichwashiddenawayandknowntoonlyafewlocals,wasinasecretlocation.Downasteeppathandtuckedawayinthebellyofacave,itsentrancewascamouflagedbygiant
boulderscoveringthegapingmouth.MariosharedthissecretwiththePonyExpressriderstouseontheirdaysoff.
Barleighguidedthehigh-steppingchestnutgeldingdownthesnow-packedlanepastthemercantile.Shecastasidelongglanceinthewindowassherodeby,wonderingifthegentlemanatthetobaccocountermightmakeanotherappearance.
Afterasecondglance,shechidedherselfforentertainingdangerousthoughts.
Aneasyhour’srideoutsideofthebusycityfoundheratthesecretcut-offforthesprings.Thetrailwasempty,withBarleightheloneriderdespitethenicebreakintheweather.Snowcoveredtheground,butthesunglowedinaclearbluesky,andthewindseemedcontentatasoftbreeze.
Leavingthemaintrailandheadingsouthwherethethreestackedstonesmarkedtheway,thesecretpathbecamenarrowandsteep.Barleighdismounted,leadingthehorsefurtherdownuntilcomingtoalargepinetreegrowinginasmall,flatgladehiddenbehindastandofmountainredcedars.Shetiedthehorseandremovedhersaddlebag,givingthegeldingapieceofpeppermintanda
patontheneck.Slippingandsliding
furtherdownthenarrow,precipitousgrade,Barleighfinallycametoaclusterofmassivegranitebouldersthattheearthlongagoshooktogethertoformalow,taperedopeningintothehiddencave.
Inside,sheheardthehollowechoofwaterdripping.Atingeofsulfurcausedhertosniffand
wrinklehernose.Throughajaggedcrevasseoverhead,anarrowbeamofsunlightfilteredintothecave.Itcastthesemi-darksceneofsteamrisingabovealanguidpool,thelushgreenfernsgrowinginrandomtuftsalongtheslick,wetgranitewallsintoanetherealoasisofbeauty.
Throwinghersaddlebagstotheside,shehearditslidetoastopagainstthecave’swall.Shefelther
waywithherhandsandfeet,movingwithcautionuntilhereyesadjustedtothenear-darkness.Sheproppedhershotgunbetweenthebagandthewall,herpistolswithineasyreachofthepool’sledge.
Bootsandsockswereshed.Shecrepttothewater’sedge,easingherfeetintothesteamingpool,quicktoyankthemout.
“Ouch!”Shelistened
totheechoofhervoice,asurprisedsmileonherface.
“Ouch!”shehollered,louder,laughingatthesoundofhervoicedisappearingintothebellyofthecave.
Removingherclothes,shelaidthemnexttothepoolforwashing,thenlaidouthercleanclothesontopofhersaddlebag,keepingthemoffthedampfloortostaydry.Thenbegantheslowprocessofunbindingherbreastsfrom
thetightswaddlingclothAuntWinniehadgivenherandshownherhowtowrapherselfinordertoflattenhercurves.
“Ahh.”Barleighbreathedinadeep,satisfyingbreath,rubbingherselfwithbriskhandstogetthecirculationgoing.“Thatfeelsgood.”
Fillingherlungswithdeepbreathsagainandagain,shelanguishedinthe
unrestrainedfreedomofanunboundwoman.Frominsidethesaddlebags,sheremovedasofttowel,lavenderbathsalts,lilacshampooflakes,andoiloflilacshe’dborrowedfromtheBathandBakery,placingthejarsonthetowelnexttothewater’sedge.Herpicnicconsistedofasmallflaskofwateredbrandyandapouchofdriedapricotsandwalnuts.
Holdingherbreath,
sheeasedintothesteamingpool,takingaseatontheslopingstoneledgeafewfeetbelowthewater’ssurface,thesteamywaterfeelingmuchlesshotthemoreshebecameaccustomedtoit.
Afterscrubbingherskin,washingandoilingherhair,thenpoundingandsoakingthedirtoutofherclothes,shesatuptoherneckinthemineralpool.Sippingbrandyandeatingwalnuts
andapricots,shetriedtothinkofwhattodonextbesidesjustsitandenjoythesimplepleasureofsmellinglikeawomanagain.
Asthesunchangedpositionoverhead,thelightenteringthecavethroughthecrevasseglitteredandsparkledoffthecrystalquartzinthewetgranite,appearinglikepink,black,andwhitediamondsembeddedinthecave’swalls.
Barleighclimbedoutofthepoolandcrepttothefarside,runningherhandalongthewarmsurfaceofthesparklingwall.Theideaofexploringfurtherintothedepthsofthecavernpiquedhercuriosity,asshewonderedhowfarbackitmightgo.
Uh...?Shedrewaquickbreath.Whatwasthat?Sheremainedstill,holdingherbreath,tryingtodiscernif
thenoisesheheardcamefromwithinthecaveorfromoutside.
Pressingherbackagainstthewall,sheinchedclosertowheresherememberedthrowinghersaddlebagandplacingtheshotgunnexttoit.Shemovedwithslow,quiet,deliberatemovements,stretchingherarm,reachingoutherhand,extendingherfingersasfarastheywouldgo.Shetouched
warmmetal,wrappedherfingersaroundit,butthebarrelwasslickfromthehumidityofthecaveandslippedfromhergrasp,clatteringtotherockyfloor.
Shit!Droppingtoallfours,
shecrouchedontheground.Then,reachingforthegunandcrookingitinonearm,shecrawledtothewater,slippingintothehotbath.Likeasilentsnake,she
floatedtotheoppositeside,theguninherhandsandhereyesgrazingjustabovethewater’ssurface.Shesatperchedonthesubmergedledgewitheyesandnoseinchesabovethewaterline,thebarrelofthegunrestingontheedgeofthepool,herfingeronthetrigger,waiting,watching,listening.
Howlongmustshestaysubmerged?Shefeltlikeshewasturningintoaboiled
prune.Maybetherewasnothing—shejustthoughtsheheardsomething.Shewasbeingjumpy.Tenminutesmusthavepassed.Shewouldwaitfivemore,thengetdressedandgetthehelloutofthewater,leavethecave,andgetbacktotown.
Takingadeepbreath,sheeasedoutofthepool,gatheringupthetowel,wetcleanclothes,thejarsofsoapandshampoo,herpistols,and
shotgun,andthencarriedherbelongingstothesaddlebaglayingagainstthesidewall.Shebeganrepackingeverythingforthetripbackupthetrail,whereshe’dlefthergeldingtiednottoofaraway.
Theswaddlingclothlayingontopoftheclean,dryclothes,thebindingthatwouldturnBarleighbackintotheboyBarFlanders,wouldgoonfirst.Shebeganthe
wrappingprocess,butstopped.Thefeelingthatshewasmissingorforgettingsomethingtoyedwithhermind.
Ah,yes.Sheputdownthe
swaddlingclothandfeltherwaybacktothewater’sedgetoretrieveMario’sbrandyflaskthathe’dloanedher.Barleighhadswornanoathtoguarditwithherlife.Asshereachedfortheflask,the
quietdarknesswaspiercedbythesoundofahorse’swhinnyveryclosetotheentrance,thenoisereverberatingandechoingdeepintothecave.
ThesuddenandloudwhinnystartledBarleigh,stoppingherinhertracks.
“Pardonme,ma’am,butisn’titunsafeforawomantobathewayouthere,allbyherself?”Theman’svoicewassmoothanddeep.
Leapingintothepool,
Barleighpressedflatagainsttheledgeshe’dhadbeensittingonearlier.She’dheardthatvoicebefore.ItsoundedlikeMr.Lévesque,thenosymanfromSaintJoe.Maybeithadbeenhimpurchasingtobaccointhemercantile.
“Haveyoudrowned?Areyouallright?”thedeepvoiceasked.
“Ihaven’tdrowned,”shesaid,theheatfromthesteamingpoolnolonger
registeringonherskin.Shewishedhergunswerewithinreach.
“Drowning’sonlyoneconcern.There’remanyreasonswhyawomanshouldn’tbeoutherebathingalone.It’sunsafe.”Thesmooth,deepvoicemovedcloserintothecave.
“Perhapsit’smoreunsafewithyouhere.Ifeltquitesafebefore.”Barleighwonderedhowlonghe’d
beenwatching.He’dclearlyseenenoughtocallherma’amandtoknowthatshewasawomanbathingalone.
“You’resaferthanyouwerebefore.But,toshowyouthatImeannoharm,I’llturnmybackandguardtheentrancetomakesurenooneiswatchingwhileyoutoweloffandgetdressed.See?I’mturningaround.”Heturnedhisbacktothepool.
“You’reeitherbrave,
orimprudent,turningyourbackonanarmedwomanwhomyou’venevermet.”Inprinciple,true,ifthiswasMr.Lévesque.He’dmetBar.NotBarleigh.
“Lady,ifyouarearmed,I’dliketoseewhereyou’rehidingyourweapon.”
“Well,sir,aknifeIkeepstrappedtomythighatalltimes,justincase.”Shedecidedsheshouldbuyoneofthose,firstchanceshegot.
Sheslippedoutofthepoolandtiptoedbackwardtowardherguns,liftingthetowelandrushingitoverherbody.Keepingonepistolinhand,shefumbledwithherclotheswiththeother.Impossibletodressquicklyusingonlyonehand,shelaythepistoldownatherfeet.
“Mypistolwasinmytowel—nowit’sinmyhand,”shesaid,knowinghecouldn’tseeinthedarkandwithhis
backturned.“Myshotgunisatmyside.PleasekeepyourbackturnedwhileIfinishdressing.”
“Yes,ma’am.”“Andcouldyou
pleasesteptoyourleftintothatbeamoflightsoIcanseeyoubetter?Nosurprises.Keepyourbackturned.”
“Asyouwish.”Hesidesteppeduntilhewascenteredunderthesmallrayoflight,hishandsinacasual
claspbehindhisbackashewhistledasofttune.“Isthiswhereyouwantme?”
“Yes.Thatwilldo.”Shehurriedwiththebinding,wrappingtheswaddlingtightaroundherbreasts,thenpulledonthelongjohns,pants,shirt,andboots.Sheponderedhowshewasgoingtoexplainasuddentransformationfromfemaletomale.Amiracle?Somethinginthemineralwater,like
Mariosaid,thatshrivelsaman’specker?
“I’llstandhereaslongasyousay.It’smypersonalphilosophytoneverarguewithawomanwhohasagunpointedatmyback.Orwithonewhohasaknifestrappedtoherthigh.OfcourseI’mjusttakingyourwordforitthatyouareindeedarmed,asIdidn’twitnesssaidweapons.Bytheway,I’mHughesLévesque,
TexasRanger.Andyouare?”“Dressed.Youmay
turnaroundnow.”Whenheturned,the
beamofsunlightunderwhichhestoodilluminatedhisface,sparklingoffoftheflecksofburnishedgoldinhisdeepambereyes,andinthatinstant,Barleighknewhim.
Mydreamwolf.Shesankbackintothe
shadows,transfixed,watchingasheblinkedhard
againstthebeamoflightfromthesun.Hetiltedbackhisblackhat,andthencockedhishead,listening.Scanninghiseyesacrossthecavetotheright,hesettledupontheexactspotwhereBarleighcrouchedintheshadowsagainstthewarm,wetwall.
Hislongbuffalocoatwasopen,revealingpolishedNavyColtrevolversateachhip.Aburgundyandgoldbrocadevestandacrisplinen
shirtmoresuitableforadinnerpartyinSaintJosephthanscoutingoutcavesinSaltLakeCitylookedoutofplace.
“I’mstandinginthelight,butyou’rehiddenintheshadows.Ipreferconversationsfacetoface.”Hewaitedforareply.“It’sallright,miss.Iwon’tbite.”
Barleighwatchedandlistenedinsilence.Sherememberedthattherewas
somethingabouthiseyesthatdisarmedherwhenthey’dmetinSaintJoseph.Thatshedidn’trealizethenthatthoseeyesbelongedtothewolffromherdreamssurprisedher.Theintensitywasunnerving.
“WouldyoufeelbetterifIwaitedforyououtside?”Hebegantobacktowardtheentrance,glovedhandsopen,outstretched,hisshinyspursclinkingagainst
thewetstonefloor.“Yes.No.I...Idon’t
know,”shestammered,feelingfoolish.“I’m...I’membarrassedthatyousawmenaked.”
“Thecaveisdark.Moredarkthanlight.IhadonlythefaintestideathatIwasseeinganythingmorethanashadowy,shadysilhouette.”Hemovedhishands,makinganhourglassshape.
“YousawenoughtoknowthatI’mawomanbathingalone,”shesaid,embarrassmentflushinghercheeks.
“It’satrickIlearnedfromanoldIndianscout.Followtheheavyscentoflilacandlavender,andthere’sagoodchanceyou’llfindawomanattheendofyournose.”HisgazeremainedonwhereBarleighstillcrouchedagainstthewallinthe
shadows.“Oh?Oh,the
shampooandsoap.I,uh,Iwasjustenjoying...Ihaven’tsmelledlikeawomanin...”
“Now,wouldyoupleasecomeoutoftheshadows?”
“No.”“Whynot?”“BecauseI’mafraid.”“Afraidofwhat?By
nowyoumustknowthatI
meanyounoharm.”“Yes,Iknowthat.It’s
justthat,well,yousee,I,uh,I’veasecret,asignificantsecret,andonceyouknowit,youmustagreetokeepit,too.Otherwise,I’llhavenochoicebuttotakeyourweapons,bindyourhands,blindfoldyou,andleaveyouinthiscaveuntilI’masafedistanceaway.”
“Doyouhaveagundrawnonmenow?”Hughes
asked,asmilewrinklingthecornersofhismouth.
“Yes.Two.”“Iheardquiet
shufflingandIknowthatyoujustnowpickedyourgunsupoffthefloor.Thescrapeofmetalagainststonegaveyouaway.Andyouneedtoseeacobbleraboutresolingyourboots—theleatherhassomewhatwornthin.Youtappedyourtoeagainstthewall,I’mguessingsearching
foryourothergun.AlthoughIcan’tseeyou,Icanhearyou.Asbothofusknow,Icansmellyou.Icansenseyou.Youwerecrouching.Nowyou’restanding.IfIhadwantedto,Icouldhavedisarmedyou.Orworse.ButIdidn’t.Youcantrustme.Youknowthatyoucan.”Hisvoiceremainedsmooth,steady,deep,andcalm.
Barleighsighedareluctantsigh,notconvinced
yetthatsheshouldgivein.“SwearanoathonyourTexasRanger’sbadgeandgivemeyourgentleman’swordthatmysecretissafewithyou.”
“I’mthebestkeeperofsecretsyou’lleverneed,”hesaid.
“Swearonit,”Barleighinsisted.
“Idon’tknowwhichIvaluemore,mygentleman’swordoranoathswornonmybadge,butIgiveyouboth.
Whateverdarksecretyourevealwillgonofurtherthanthemouthofthiscave.”Hecouldn’ttellherthathealreadyknewhersecret.He’dgivenhiswordtoLeighsellethathe’dfollowherdaughtertoUtahTerritoryandkeepaneyeonhersafety.Amanofhisword,healwayskepthispromises.
“I’maboy.I’mBarFlanders.WemetinSaintJosephafewweeksback.”
ShewalkedfromtheshadowsandovertothebeamoflightwhereHughesstoodandstuckoutherhand.“It’sapleasuretoseeyouagain,Mr.Lévesque.”Shedidn’tbotherloweringhervoiceanoctave.
Hughesremovedhisgloveandtookherhand.“I’llbedamned.ThePonyExpressrider.Butyou’renotaboy.Justpretendingtobe.”
“Yes,justpretending.”
Barleighfelttheweightofhisintenseambereyesonhers,andshecouldnotturnawayfromhisgaze.Likeinoneofherdreams,whenshewasonthecloudcirclingaroundthemountainpeakandspiralingbackdowntoearth,andthewolfwouldsilentlycommandhertolookathimandtonotturnaway,itwasthesamewiththisman.
Sheexpectedhimtothrowbackhisheadandoffer
hishowltothemoonandforthemoontoaccepthisoffering.Buthewasn’tadarksablewolfandthemoonwasn’tout.Barleighwasn’thearinghowling,shewashearingringinginherears—thin,metallicringing—andthedarkcavewasspinning.Shefeltdizzy.Shecouldn’tblinkawaythefuzzinesscloudinghervision.Sheswayedasherkneesgrewweak.
“Areyouallright,Bar?Here,sitdown.”Hughestookherbybotharms,steadyingher.
“I’msorry.Idon’tknowwhat’swrong.Ifeellightheadedandfaint,allofasudden,”shesaid,hervoiceathinwhisper.
“Howlongdidyoustayinthehotbath?”Hughesspreadhisthickbuffalocoatonthegroundandshesatdownonit.
“Agoodwhile.Anhouratleast.AndthensomemorewhensomeonescaredmeandIhadtojumpbackin.”
“Right.Sorryaboutthat.Haveyouhadanythingtoeat?Anywatertodrink?”
“Somewateredbrandy,andsomeapricotsandwalnuts.”
“Brandyandalonghotbathwithnotmuchtoeat?GoodGod,woman,it’s
nowonderyou’redizzy.I’llbebackinaminute.”Andthenhewasgone.
Barleighlaybackandfoughttheurgetoclosehereyesanddriftawaytosleep.Sherolledoveronherside,drawingherkneesupintoatightball,andthenpulledthearmofHughes’scoataroundhershoulders.Hisscentwasstrongonhisgarment,smokyandwoodsy,withthesmellofleather,horsehide,andsaddle
soapmingledtogetherwithsomethingelse.Shebreathedinagain,smellingsomethingtempting,somethingspicy,likecloves,cinnamon,orcardamom.Theshornlamb’swoolliningwassoftagainstherfaceasshepressedintoitandbreathed,tryingtoidentifythearoma.
Mmm.Whatisit?“Whatiswhat?”
Hugheswalkedbackintothecavewithalarge,tooled
leatherdufflebagandkneltonthegroundbesideher.“Youwereasking‘Whatisit?’whenIwalkedbackin.”
“Oh.Privatethoughts.”Shehadn’trealizedshe’dspokenaloud.Ared-hotblushclimbedupherneckandblossomedonherface.Shewasthankfulforthedarkness.
“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantointrudeintoyourprivatethoughts.”Hughes
openedthebagandreachedinside.Heofferedhiscanteen,thenmoistenedhisbandanaandlaiditacrossherbrow.
“Thankyou.IhopeIdidn’tsoundrude.”Shesippedfromhiscanteenandtooktheclothfromhishand,washingherfacewiththecoolwater.
“Youdidn’t.Yousoundedmatter-of-fact.Andprivate.Now,youshouldeat.
Ihaveinmybagsomehoneybreadandsmokedham.Morewater—don’tsetthatcanteendown.Drinkup.”
“Doyoualwayssoundlikethat?”Barleighasked,drinkingmorewater.
“Likewhat?”Hughesreachedbackintothedufflebagandtookouttwoplates,arrangingthefood,napkins,andsilverwareasiftheyweredininginafinerestaurant.
“Matter-of-factand
dictatorial.”Shepickedupthesilverforkwithgoldfiligreetrimandtwirleditbetweenherfingers,thenplaceditbackdownontheembroideredlinennapkinthatlaytuckednexttothesmallpewterplatewithastampedcoatofarmsatitscenter.
Hughespausedandlookedather,seemingtostudyherfaceinthebeamofsunlight.“You’vecat-likeeyes,butblue.Veryblue.
Andveryfeminine.Nowonderyoukeptthemcastdown.It’spartofyourdisguise,youract,”hesaid.“It’snowonder.Youreyesmightbetrayyou.”
LikeHughes’seyesmightbetrayhim—anotherprivatethoughtshewouldkeeptoherself.
“Soyouconsidermedictatorial?Iprefer‘commanding,’or‘takecharge.’”
“Icantakechargeofmyself,”shesaid,hervoicetakingonadefensivetone.
“Icanseethat.You’reabraveyounglady,”hesaid,sittingbackandfoldinghisarmsaroundhisbentknees.“MayIaskyou,though,whyyou’redoingsomethingthat’simpossibletosustainlongterm,thismasqueradeofyours,andisreckless,dangerous,andfoolhardy?”
“Reckless,dangerous,
andfoolhardy?”Barleighbristled.“Youwouldn’tusethosewordstodescribeamaninthisrole.You’dcallhimdaring,valiant,andheroic.”
“Butyou’renotaman.”
“Andithasn’tmattered.”
“Youputyourselfinharm’swayeverytimeyouraceoffwiththatgoddamnedmochila.Pardonmylanguage.Don’tyourealize
theriskyoutake?Menhavedieddoingwhatyou’redoing.”Hughes’svoicedeepened,hiseyesdarkened.“Takethosewordsseriously.”
“Mr.Lévesque,youdon’tknowmeorknowanythingaboutmylife.You’venorighttoquestionmeabouttherisksItakeorwhatIrealizeordon’trealize.”Shepushedtheplateawayandstoodup,arms
foldedacrossherchest,pacing,irritated,andincredulous.
“What’syourname?”Hughesstoodup,placingahandonherarm.HeknewhernamewasBarleighAlexandriaHenriettaFlanders—heknewmoreaboutherthansheknewherself—buthehadtogethertotellhim.“Stoppacinglikeadamnedcagedcat.I’msorry—Ididn’tmeantorile
you.What’syourname?”“Excuseme?”She
stoodwithherarmsstillabarrieracrossherchest.
“Yourname.IsBarFlandersyourrealoryourpretendname?”
“Barleigh.BarleighFlanders.IshortenedittoBar.”
“MissBarleighFlanders,youbecameaPonyExpressriderbyyourdaringhorsemanshipandbravery.I
didn’tmeantosounddismissiveofyourskillsorcapabilities.You’veprovenyourselfequaltothetask.But,ifyouweremygirl,ifyouweremylittlesister,Iwouldneverallow—Iwoulddoeverythinginmypowertodissuadeyoufromsuchdangerousactivities.”
Withhandsfistedonhips,shetiltedherchintolookHughessquareintheeye.“I’vedonemyjobjustas
wellasanyPonyExpressrider.Ihaven’tshirkedmydutiesonce.I’maccepted.NoonequestionsthatI’mnotaboy.I’mnotachildishgirlplayingdress-upandmake-believeforthethrillofasillylittlegame.Ineedthisjob.”
Asurprisingurgetocrycamefromdeepwithin.Shetookshakybreaths,tryingtoswallowitaway.Allofthereasonswhyshewashere,andallofthereasons
whysheshouldn’tbehere,conflicted,gratingagainstheremotions.
“Heynow,comehere.It’sallright.Isworetoyouthatyoursecretissafewithme.I’mthebestkeeperofsecrets—”
“—I’lleverneed.I’msorry,Idon’tknowwhyI’mcrying.Ihatecryingwhenthere’snoreason.”
“It’snotwhatI’dcallafull-blowncry.Justonetiny
littleleakrighthere.”Hewipedhercheekwithhisthumb.“There,theleakisfixed.”
“Thankyou,Mr.Lévesque.”
“Hughes.”“Hughes.Thankyou.
PleasecallmeBarleigh,butonlyhere,onlytoday.”
“Barleigh.Ihatetobethebearerofbadnews,butthereisonetinylittlethingthatmightgiveyoursecret
away,thatyou’renotaboy.”“What’sthat?”she
sniffed,wipingathereyes.“Ifyouridebackinto
townsmellinglikeaperfumery,someone’sboundtoraiseaneyebrow.”Helookedather,oneeyebrowraisedincomicalfashion.“LilacandlavenderarenotthescentsofPonyExpressriders.Takeyourshirtoff.I’llberightback.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Shestiffenedandlookedathimwide-eyed.
“Justyourshirt.”Hewavedhishandaround,upanddowninfrontofher,chestlevel.“Leaveallofyourunder-bindingson.”
“Soyoudidn’tseeanythingbutashady,shadowysilhouette’causeit’smoredarkthanlightinhere.”Barleighfeltthebeginningsofablushagainbutbeganunfasteninghershirt.“Where
areyougoing?”Buthewasalready
gone.Hughesreturnedwith
ahandfulofpineconesandafewsmallbranches,thenbuiltafireonthefloorofthecavebelowthecrevasse.Heboiledwater,makingastrongsmellingteawiththetarrypineneedles,addingthinflakescarvedfromthebarofoilysaddlesoaphehadfishedfromhistravelingbag.
“Comehere,”hesaid,“andletmesmellyou.”
Shelaughedoutloud.“I’mserious,”hesaid,
lookingather,waiting.“Isthesmellinyourhair,oronyourskin,orboth?Canwefixitwithjustashampoo,orwillyouneedacompletescrubbingdown?”
Hesitatingamoment,shewalkedovertothefireandstoodunderthebeamofsunlight.“Readyfor
inspection,sir.”Sheheldoutherarmsandheldherbreath.
Hughesmovedaroundandstoodbehindher,inchesfromherbody.Heleanedinclose,grazedhisnosealongthecurveofherneck,inhaling,andthenalongtheotherside,breathinginandout.Thesilkyfinehairsatthebaseofherneckflutteredfromthewarmpuffsofhisbreathagainstherskin.
Sheswayed.Oh.My.
Steadyonyourfeet.Withhislargehands,
hescrunchedtheminherhair,buryinghisface,breathingin.Heranhisnosealongtheoutsideofeacharmtothetipsofherfingers,turnedoverthepalmtotracebackuptheinsideofherelbow,upandovereachshoulder,thenfolloweddown,downalongthecenterlinedipandcurveofherback,stoppingshort
whereherunbeltedtrousershunglooseonherhips.
HeplacedhishandsonBarleigh’swaist,turningheraroundtofacehim.“Mydear,”hesaid,hisvoicedeepandhusky,“theverdictisin.”
“Yes?”Breathe.“Idetectonlyafaint
traceoffloralscentonyourskin.But,yourhairissomethingelse.Yourhairsmells—marvelous.Thatproblemneedsfixing.”He
turnedandwalkedtothepool.
“Allright.Whatdoyouneedmetodo?”Shetingledwheremerelyhisbreathbrushedherskin.
“Laydownhereonyourbackwithyourheadoverthepool,yes,likethat.I’llwashyourhairwiththispineteaandsaddlesoap.Itwon’tsmellasprettyaslilacandlavender,butsmellingprettyisn’twhatBarneeds.”
Hughesrolleduphissleeves,kneelingbesidethepool,cuppingherheadinonehand,runningthewarmmixturethroughherhairwiththeother,massagingitintoherscalpandpullingitthroughtheshortlengthofherhair.
Byholdingtheweightofherheadinhishandsandwashingherhair,thatoneact,bondedhiswordandhisoath.Relaxationmeltedthrough
Barleigh.Sheclosedhereyes.Sheimaginedhimholdingalsoinhishandsthesecretsanddreamsandthoughtsanddesiresswimmingaroundinherhead.Andthefears.Hishandswouldnotletthemgobutwouldkeepthemsafe,protected,buoyant,freetofloatwheredestiny’swindsblewthem.
WhatisitaboutHughesLévesque,shewondered,thatmadeherfeel
asifshe’dknownhimallherlife—andlonger?
Hisbarearm,wetandsoapy,slidagainsthercheek,againstherforehead,andshefeltawarmstirringinthepitofherstomachthatslippeddownlower.Everynervetingled,everysensationmultipliedashisstronghandsandlongfingersscrubbedherscalp,washedherhair,andhelpedtoputherdisguisebackintoplace.
“Wecanfinisheatingwhilewewaitforyourhairtodry,”Hughessaid,pattingherheadwiththetowel.“Ihaveanothercanteenwithsomehoneyedwhiskey,nowthatyou’refeelingbetter.It’llthickenyourbloodfortheridebacktotown.”
“Thatsoundsnice,”shesaid,takingthetowelfromhim,rubbingherheadwithvigorousstrokes.“I’vealwaysthoughtIneeded
thickenedblood.Whilewe’rewaiting,youcantellmewhataTexasRangerisdoinginSaltLakeCityinUtahTerritoryviaSaintJoseph,Missouri?”
Hughespickedupalongpineneedlefromthefloorofthecaveandscrapedatthedirtunderhisnails.“Barleigh.I’llsayyournamealot,sinceIcanonlysayithere.Barleigh,there’snotmuchtotell.”
“Idon’tbelievethat.Tellmesomethingaboutyourselfthatothersdon’tknow,”shesaid,layingthetowelaside.
“What?Yousharedyoursecret,nowIsharemine?”Hughesinspectedhisnailsandflickedtheusedpineneedleaway.
“Yes,somethinglikethat.”Shesippedthehoneyedwhiskeyfromthepewtercupwiththematchingcoatof
armsastheplateandstudiedhisprofileovertheflickeringfire,thinkinghelookedasmuchlikealionashedidawolf.“Youhavesecrets,don’tyou,”shesaidasastatement.
Hughesheldhergazeforalongmoment,thelightfromthefiredancinginhiseyes.Barleighwishedsheknewwhathewasthinking—whatsecretshecarriedinhiseyes.Helookedaway,careful
tokeepthemtohimself,hisownprivatethoughts.
“Allright,”hesaidafterapause,“givemeyourlady’swordandswearanoathonyourPonyExpressBiblethatthedarksecretIrevealtoyouwilltravelnofurtherthanthemouthofthiscave.”
Sheraisedherrighthandandcomposedaseriousexpression.“IswearanoathonmyPonyExpressBible
andgiveyoumywordtokeepyoursecret.”
Hughestookadeep,dramaticbreath.“I’mdeathlyafraidofspiders.Ihatethem,everyeight,horriblelittleleg,allcreepy,crawly,andcrunchywhenyousteponthem.”Heshuddered.
“That’snotfair.”Barleighthrewheremptycupathim,triedtopulldownapout,buthermouthgavewaytoagrin.
“You’reright,that’snotfair.Ishouldshareasecretbearingequalweighttotheoneyou’veshared.”Hislookwasserious.
“That’sthehonorablethingtodo.”Shewasopentotheseriousnessofhistone.
“Yes,andI’mnothingifnothonorable.”Hesettledasteadygazeonher,asifcalculatingtheoddsonapokergame.“IamaTexasRanger,currentlyinactive.
Mostly,Iworkforthefederalgovernment.Clandestineoperations.There’sagroupofSouthernsympathizersconspiringtocensortheU.S.mail.TheirspecialinterestisthewestboundmailtoCalifornia.I’mworkingundercovertoseewhatcanbedoneaboutit.”
“IsthePonyExpressmailatriskof—”
“—ofbeingdivertedortamperedwith?Yes.
That’soneofthereasonswhyI’mhere.”
“Oneofthereasons?”sheasked,herinterestpiqued.“What’stheother?”
“Ah,don’tbegreedy.Onesecretpercustomerperday.Barleigh.”Hisvoiceadoptedasensualquality,softyetmasculine.
Hesmiledandsteadiedhispiercingambereyesonher.Barleighknewthefutilityofresistinghis
silentcommandtonotlookaway.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
NOVEMBER16,1860
Journalentry:WerodebacktothecitytogetherafterHughessharedtherestofhismealwithmeinthecave.Butthat’sallheshared.Mr.Lévesqueholdshiscardsclose
tohischestandrevealslittle.HetoldnothingelseabouthimselfexceptthatheisindeedaTexasRangertakingleavetoworkfortheGovernmenttodiscoverwho’sattemptingtotamperwiththemail.
Ihaveastrongintuition,however,thathis
missionismoreinvolvedthanthatofasingularassignmentofdiscovery.
I’vepromisedtotellnoone,andIshallkeepmypromiseasIexpecthimtokeephis.IfeelIcantrusthim,thoughIdon’tknowwhy.Ihardlyknowhim.But,Ihaveno
choiceotherthantodoso.Hiscoveristhatheisawealthybusinessmanintownscoutingoutinvestmentopportunities.Heplaysthewealthypartwithcomfortandease.
Amusing,bothofusincognito.Heasabusinessman.Measaboy.Iwonder
whichrequiresthebiggestleapoftheimagination.
TheSaltLakeHouseistheonlyfinehotelwestoftheMississippi,soMr.LévesquehastakenaroomonthesecondfloornextdoortotheroomkeptforthePonyExpressriders.Thisarrangementmightproveusefulto
bothofusaswediscussedonourrideintotown.Wecankeepaneyeoutfortheother’sbestinterest.
“Well,ain’tthatsomething,”wasStoney’sexpectedreplywhenweranintohimashewasflyingdownthestairsonhiswayoutthedoorforhiseast-
boundmailrun,shortbrimmedhatinhand.Stoneyremindedmeagaintokeepaneyeonhissombrero,tonotletMariothrowitaway.IpromisedhimIwould.
Keepingmymindfocusedandontaskwillrequireanextraamountofvigilance.Idon’tknowwhy,but
thinkingaboutHughessleepinginthenextroomfromwhereIsleepstirsme.It’sgoodthatthereisawallinbetween—abarrier—aphysicalreminderthatImustkeeptomyself.Although,Imightbetemptedtopressmyeartothewalltodiscoverwhatsoundsamanmakes
whenhe’saloneandthinksnooneislistening.
NextweekendistheHarvestFestival,afulldaySaturdayofsharingfoodandfeedingthepoor.There’llbepie-eatingcontests,yardgamesforthechildren,aquiltingexhibition,abutterchurningcontest,and
abarndanceintheevening.ThefestivitiesendSundaywithadayofgivingthanksforallourblessingsandforourbounty,the25thofNovember,exactlyonemonthuntilChristmas.
ThatalmostafullyearhaspassedsincePapaandBirdie’ssecret
“ceremonyofvows,”thenherdiscoverythatthere’dbeababy,seemsimpossible.Buteverythingaboutlastyearseemsimpossible.Iwonderifthat’swhyIridesofastandsohard,thatmaybethefasterIride,thefasterI’llputlastyearbehindme.
Ishouldblow
outmylamp,putawaymyjournal.Igobackondutyinthemorningandbackinthesaddle.
Themailmustgothrough.
*****BarleighlefttheBath&Bakerystilldampbehindtheears,washed,andwearingcleanclothes.Shemadeherwaytothecourthousesquare,guidedbythelivelyshouts
andpealsoflaughtercomingfromtheboisterouscrowdinthemeetinghall.Thoughshewastiredfromherearliermailrun,thefestivemoodliftedherspirits.Hearingpeoplelaughing,singing,andhavingfunputasmileonherface.Itfeltlikealongtimesinceshe’dhadagenuinereasontosmile.
“Thereyouare,”shesaidtoStoney,tyinghergeldingtothehitchingpost.
“Ithoughtyouweresick,ordead.BigBrodytooktheeastboundmochilafrommewhenIrodeinthisafternoon.Hesaidhetookoveryourrun.”
“Hedidn’ttakeovermyentirerun,justthisoneridetonight.Ihadtopayhimaking’sransomtogethimtoagree.BigBrodydon’tlikemissingoutontoomanypie-eatingcontests.Yougoingtoenter?”
“Me?No,Idon’tthinkI’dbeverygoodatthat.You?”
“Hellyes,I’mentering.Thewinnergetstodancewiththegirlwhobakedthepie,”saidStoney,grinningfromeartoear.“Gettingmyhandsaroundagirl,pullingherbodyclose,smellingperfumeonsoftskin.Getsmehardjustthinkingaboutit.Maybeweshouldgopayavisittothe
whorehouseinstead.”“MaybeI’llthink
aboutthepie-eatingcontestafterall,”saidBarleigh,anervoustwitchinhervoice.
Thepathwayleadingfromthecourthousesquaretothetownhallwaslinedwithpumpkins,gourds,andsquarebalesofhaydecoratedwithgarlandsofdriedflowersandleaves.Themeltingfromthefirstsnowoftheseasonleftmuddypuddles,thechilled
eveningairhintingoffrostasstarsbegantoshimmerintheeasternsky.
“Seemsmorelikewinterthanharvesttime,don’tyouthink?”askedStoney,tappingapumpkinwithhisboot.“BackinFrogLevel,Arkansas,harvestisoveranddonewithbynow.”
“It’soverwithhere,too,”Barleighsaid.“TheHarvestFestivalisn’twelcomingitin;it’s
celebratingthebountythatitleftbehind.And,sharingitwiththeneedy.”
“Wehadharvestfestivals,too,”saidStoneyastheyreachedthetownhalldoors,“butinFrogLevel,myfamilywereamongtheneedyonthereceivingend.”Stoneywaved.“There’sHughesLévesquebythecoattable.”
“Hello,gentlemen,”saidHughesashehandedhiscoattothegirlbehindthe
table.“IwaswonderingifI’dseeyoutwohere.”
Afterdepositingtheirhatsandcoatsatthetable,Barleighshookhishandandsaid,“I’monmytwo-daybreak,andStoneypawnedhisrideoffonBigBrodysohecouldcomeheretonight,eatapie,anddancewithagirl.”
“Ithinkthatsoundslikeafineplan,”saidHughes,givingBarleighaprivatewink.“Let’salleatapieand
dancewithagirl.”“I’veneverbeengood
atpie-eatingcontests.Youtwogoahead.I’llwatch.”ThethoughtofdancingwithagirlandthegirlthinkingshewasdancingwithaboycausedBarleightosuppressagiggle.
“Oh,noyoudon’t,”saidHughes.“You’reenteringwithus.It’llbefun.Comeon.I’llevenputupthequarterstobuythepies.Go
on,gopickoutwhichpieyouwant.”
“Thankyou,sir,”saidStoney,hustlingovertoatableladenheavywithapplepies,pumpkinpies,chocolatecreampies,avarietyofberrypies,andsomepiesundistinguishableaspiesaltogether.
Girls,somesmiling,someshy,someconfidentandbold,anassortmentofgirlsasvariedasthepiestheystood
behind,waitedtoseewhowouldbuytheirpieandvieforachancetowhirlthemaroundthedancefloor.
“Whatareyoudoing,”Barleighsaidunderherbreath.“Don’tyouknowwhattheprizeisforthewinnerofthecontest?”
“Yes,Idoknow,Barleigh.I’mhelpingyouwithyourcover,”whisperedHughes,stillgrinning.“Thesefolksseeingyouwolfing
downapieanddancingwithagirlwillbegoodforyourimage.”
“Don’tbecrazy.Anddon’tcallmeBarleigh.It’sBar.And,I’mnotdancingwithagirl.”
“It’sharmless.Idoitallthetime.”
“I’msureyoudo.”“Let’sgofindour
pie.”Hughesstrolledovertothepietable,causingatwitteramongthegirls.“Overhere,
Bar.Lotsofpiestochoosefrom.”Hewavedwithagrandgesture,drawingattentionhisway.Then,tothegirlsbehindthepies,hesaid,“Thisismyfriend,Bar,aPonyExpressrider.Don’tlethissmallstaturefoolyou.Pickhimoutthebiggestpiehere.”
Adoe-eyedblondebehindthechocolatecreampiewiththickflakycrustsaid,“Mypie’ssmall.Could
beeateninoneortwobites,ifyou’rehungryenough.”Hereyesshutteredclosedandreopenedinslowmotion,asifeachlashweighedtenpounds.“ButDortheaoverthereattheendofthetable,she’sgotthebiggestpiehere.Couldtakeamanalldaytogetthroughthat.”
Hughesputasilverdollarinthejarandsaid,“We’lltakethree—keepthechange.It’sforagoodcause,
right?”“Thankyou,sir.It
goesintothefooddrivefund.Now,whichpiesdoyouwant?”
Stoneywastednotimeinclaimingthedoe-eyedgirl’ssmallchocolatepie,pleasingher.Sherewardedhimwithabeamingsmileandbattedlashes.HughesscoopedupthelargepumpkinpieinfrontofDorthea.
“Hereyougo,”he
said,handingthepietoBarleigh,avoidingherglaringeyes.“And,let’ssee,I’llhavetheniceapplepieoverthere.”
“Notfunny,”shesaidthroughgrittedteethastheywalkedtotherowofchairslinedupbehindthetableofeagerpieeaters.
“Ipickedthebiggestpieforyouasastrategy,”Hughessaidunderhisbreath.“I’vethoughtthisthrough.Stoneywillbedancingwith
LittleMissDoeEyes,notyouandDorthea.Remember,this’llbegoodforyourboyimage.”
“Myboyimageisjustfine,thankyou,andthispiemay,justmay,beafractionbiggerthantheothers.”
“ThenIrecommendyoueatslowly.”
Afast-talkingmanchewingafatcigarannouncedoneminuteleftforpurchasingpies,butnotto
worry,therewouldberoundstwoandthreeandperhapsfouruntilallpieshadbeensold.
Atthetable,Stoney,Hughes,andBarleightooktheirplacesalongsideahalfdozenothers,handsinlaps,faceshoveringinchesabovethepies,waitingfortheword“go.”
“Firsttofinishtheirpiewins.And,finishmeansthecrust,too.Nohands—just
yourgobbler.Ready...set...go!”
Thecrowderuptedwithapplauseandshoutsasallthecompetitorsatthetabledovefacefirstintotheirpies,shovingtheirheadsaround,gruntingandslurpingandrootingthroughthebakedgoodslikestarvingpigs.
Twofaceslookedupsimultaneously.
“Lookslikewehaveatie,andinrecordtime,too,”
shoutedthecigar-chewingannouncer.“Howintheworlddidyouboysdothatsofast,andwhereintheworlddidyouputit?One’snobiggerthanaflea,andtheothercouldhidebehindabroomstick.”
Barleighlookedaround,meetingHughes’sastonishedeyes.“What?I’mcompetitive.Icouldn’thelpit.”
“AndI’mmotivated
bysomethingaltogetherdifferent,”saidStoney,walkingovertothepietabletoclaimhisdancingpartner.
Hugheslaughedsohardhefoughtforbreath,holdinghissidesasiftheymightsplit.Wipingtracesofapplepiefromhisface,heshoutedovertothepietable,“OhDorthea,yourdancepartnerawaits.”
Barleighglaredathimandswipedhersleeveacross
herface,erasingbitsofcrustandpumpkincustardfromhermouthasthefiddleplayerscreechedoutthefirstnotesofawaltz.Dortheastoodatthepietable,herimpatientfoottapping,waitingtobeclaimedforthedance.Withherhandsfistedonhergenerouships,shecockedherheadandstaredatBarleighinthemannerofanenthusiasticwomannotusedtowaiting.
BarleighgaveDorthea
asheepishsmile.Visualizingherselfdancingasaman,seeingthestepsinhermind—one,two,three,onetwothree,onetwothree—shetoldherselftosimplystartforwardontheleftfoot,notbackwardontheright.Easy.Shereadiedhermindforthetask.
Tiredofwaiting,DortheapushedpastthepietableandstrodetowhereBarleighstood.Clampinga
meatyfistaroundBarleigh’swrist,DortheapulledBarleighontothedancefloor,leadingandone-two-three-ingherwayaroundthesmallspace.Dortheakeptperfectrhythmwiththefranticnoteseruptingfromthefiddle,eyesclosed,headandbodyswayingassheglidedaroundthefloorinthree-quartertime.
Smilingandsweatinginprofusedropletswhenthe
lastnotecametoahalt,DortheagaveBarleighonefinalunder-the-armspin,curtseyed,andannouncedinavoiceheardloudandclearbytheappreciativecrowd.
“Ithankyoukindlyforbuyingmypie,butasfarasdancepartnersgo,alittleromancewouldn’tharmyou.Imightaswellhavebeendancingwithmysister.”Withthat,DortheagrabbedBarleighbybothcheeksand
plantedawet,sloppykissfullonhermouth.
Hughesthrewbackhisheadandletoutaheartylaugh.“ThatwasworththedollarIpaidforthepies,rightthere.”
“I,uh,thankyou,Dorthea,thatwasmy,uh,myfirstpie,Imean,myfirsttimetod-dance...,”Barleighstammeredinawkwardembarrassment.
“Bar,youbetterstop
whileyou’reahead.Explainingyourselftoawomanisalosingproposition,”shoutedStoneyafterrejoiningHughes,hiscommentelicitingmorelaughterfromthecrowd.
“Comeon,let’sadjournthispartytoWhiskeyStreet,”saidHughes,rescuingBarleighfromthedanceflooranddirectingthemtowardthecoattableandoutthedoor.“Ifyouwanttodanceand
havesomerealpie,astrolldownWhiskeyStreetiswhereeventheMormonssneakofftoonSaturdaynights.”
“WhiskeyStreet?”askedStoney.“What’sWhiskeyStreet?”
Hughesgavehimanastonishedlook.“You’vebeenherehowlongandhaven’theardaboutWhiskeyStreet?”
“Apparentlynotlong
enough.Let’sgo,”saidStoney,aneagersmileonhisface.
Barleighbuttonedhercoatandfollowedthemoutthedoor,wonderingwhatshe’dgottenherselfinto.
*****MainStreetthreadednorthandsouththroughthedarkeningtown,andwhereitleftthesoutheastcorneroftheTempleSquareandheadedduesouth,the
commercedistrictoftheGreatCitybuzzedwithactivity.ThefarsouthendofMainStreetflowedfromoneblocktothenextwithalivelymixtureofsaloons,distilleries,andtipplinghousesandbecamefamiliarlyknownasWhiskeyStreet.Here,thefervorwasforthingsotherthanreligion.
AtthecornerofMainand2ndSouthStreet,Hughessaid,“We’llturnhere.The
bestwhiskeyaroundisafewstepsaway.TheBaerBrothers’Distillery.Theybrewandbarreltheirown.”
Thesaloonwasn’tyetcrowded,withafewemptychairsatthebar,abilliardstableunmanned,andacardtablewithvacantchairswaitingtobefilled.StoneyandBarleighseatedthemselvesatthecardtable,whileHughesnegotiatedwiththebartenderforthreeglasses
andabottleofBaerBrothers’finest.
Sittingthebottleandglassesatthetable,Hughessaid,“Thisisnotacontest,Bar,sodon’tletyourcompetitivesideseewhocanfinishthefastest.Finewhiskeyshouldbeenjoyed,slowly.”
Hegrinned,handingBarleighacut-crystalglassofamberliquid,thengaveitasmallsplashofwater.Doing
thesameforStoneyandhimself,heraisedaglass.“Here’stothemostentertainingpie-eatingcontestI’vepersonallyeverwitnessed.”
“Here,here,”saidStoney,liftinghisglass.
AblushtriedtoformandBarleighfoughthardnottolettheheatrushtoherface.Sheliftedherglass.“Here’stoHughes,amanwhoknowsathingortwo
aboutpickingtherightpie.”Shetookasip,waitedfortheburn,butwassurprisedbythevelvety,deliciousflavorofsmokycaramelwithahintoforange,andsippedagain.
“Smooth,”saidStoney.“NotliketheValleyTanthatMariokeepsatthebarn.Youmightaswellputthatshitinthemedicinecabinet,nottheliquorcabinet.”
“Ah,ValleyTan,the
exclusiveMormonrefreshermadewithimportedfireandbrimstone,”saidHughes.“Thealcoholwithmanyuses.Itwasconsideredmedicine,whenitwasoriginallydistilled.”
“Yougentswantmetosendoverthecarddealer?”shoutedthebartender.“He’ssteppedoutsidetomakeuseofthefacilitiesbuthe’llbebackinafew.”
“IpaidBigBrodyfive
dollarstotakemyruntonight.IbesthangontowhatIhaveleft,”saidStoney,shakinghishead.
“I’masaver,notagambler,”saidBarleigh,thethoughtoftaxesdueonherlandflashingthroughhermind.Losingapennywouldbeunacceptable.
“Iwasthinkingitsoundedlikeasplendididea,”saidHughes.“Ihaven’tenjoyedagoodgameina
while.Whydon’tIstakeyoueachtwenty-fivedollars?It’llbelikemewinningbackmyownmoney,nolossforme,andweallshareanenjoyableevening.”
“Whosaysyou’llwin?”Barleighasked.Thathe’dautomaticallyassumehe’dwinandshe’dlosemadeherwanttoputhiminhisplaceandshowhimexactlyhowmuchsheknewaboutplayingcards.
“Oh?Isthisanotherfacetofyourcompetitivenature?”Hughesleanedbackinhischairandraisedaneyebrow.“Idetectachallenge.”
“MygrandfatherspentalotoftimeinNewOrleansontheriverboats.Twothingshetaughtme—onewashowtoplaycards.”BarleighmetthechallengeinHughes’seyes.
“Whatwastheother?”
askedHughes,sippinghiswhiskey,hiscuriousexpressionshiftingdegrees,darkeningtoaguardedalarm.
“HowtowishIwasn’tbloodrelatedtosomeone.”ShelockedeyeswithHughesforalongmomentthatturneduncomfortable,andthenlookedaway.
“Ithoughtyouwasanorphan,”saidStoney,swirlingthewhiskeyinhisglass.
“Iwasn’talways.”Hughestappedhis
fingerontherimofhiswhiskeyglass.“We’llplayfive-carddraw.Istakeyoueachtwenty-five.Ifyouwinmorethanthat,paymebackmytwenty-five,thenyoukeeptherest.Ifyoulose,thenit’smyloss,too.AsmallriskI’mwillingtotake.”Hewavedthedealeroverasthemanwalkedinthroughthebackdoor.
Barleigh,feelingalittlelightheaded,pushedherwhiskeyglassfurtherfromherreach.Sheimaginedwhatherpapawouldthinkifhesawhersittinginabar,drunk,playingpoker.Shemightaswellbechewingonacigar,too,tocompletethepicture.Checkingherposture,sheremindedherselftositlikeaman,tothinklikeaman,tonotletherguarddown.
Stoneyclearedhisthroat.“Excuseme,Bar,forinterruptingyourreverie.Pickupyourcards.Youlooklikeyou’reamillionmilesaway.”
“Oh,right,sorry.”Shepickeduphercards,fanningtheminonehand,remindingherselfofthefirstruleofpoker.Justbecauseherhandheldtwojacksandthreetenswasnoreasontorevealherlucktotherestofthetableby
grinningfromeartoear.Shepickedupherglassandraisedittohermouthtohidehersmile,andthentookaverysmallsip.
Afterseveralhands,shehaddoubledhermoney,paidHughesbackhistwenty-five,andwasreadytoleavewithStoneywhohadmanagedtoloseeverything.
“I’mgoingbacktothepie-eatingcontesttofindmylove,Elizabeth.Elizabeth
AnnabelleParnell.Iwanttomarryher,”saidStoney,hisspeechthoroughlyslurred.“Elizabeth,withthebeautiful,bigbrowneyes.”
“YoumighthavebetterluckwooingtheheartofMissDoeEyedElizabeth,”teasedHughes.“TheQueenofHeartssurewasn’tdoingyouanyfavorshere.”
“Iwon’tneedluck,”saidStoneywithaconfidentair,beforehiccoughing.“I
thinkshelovesme.”“Bar,youmightwant
tostickaround,”Hughessaid,noddingtowardtwowell-dressedgentlemenwalkingtowardthecardtable.“Ithinkthestakesaregettingreadytogobig.”
“Aretheseseatsvacant?Careifwejoininyourgame?”askedtheheavysetmanwithroundspectaclesandawalrusmustache.
“I’mjustleaving,”saidStoney.“Youcomingorgoing,Bar?”
“I’llstayandplay.IfIwinanothertwenty-five,I’lltossitovertoHughesandpayyourdebt.”
“You’resoundingprettybold,”saidHughes.“Butremember,Isaidthatifyoulostyourtwenty-five,Iconsidereditmyloss,too.Stoneydoesn’toweme.”
“Youtwocanargue,”
saidStoney,shakingHughes’shand.“Asforme,I’mgoingtofindmylostlove.Thankyouforthepokergame.ItwasthemostfunI’veeverhadlosing.”
AnotherbottleofBaerBrotherswassenttothetable,courtesyofthebartender.Thedealershuffledanewdeckwithlightning-fastfingersanddeclaredthetablenowdoubled,ifallplayersagreed.Allnoddedtheiracceptance.
Underthetable,HughesbumpedBarleigh’skneewithhis,andthenwhispered,“Doyouwantthetwenty-fivebackyourepaidme?Itmightcomeinhandywiththesegents.Ihaveafeelingthey’regoingtobeloosewiththeirbets.”
“Thenthey’llbebiglosers,”shesaid.“Thankyou,butno.”
Somewhereinthecourseoftheevening,
BarleighnoticedthatHughes’skneewentfromanaccidentalbumportwoagainstherkneetohisthighrestingagainstherscontinuously.And,somewhereinthecourseoftheevening,shewentfrombeingdistractedbythetouchtobeingevenmoredistractedwhenthetouchwasmomentarilyabsent.
Thebespectacledwalrusmanlostbigandlost
quickafterafewhands,whilehisshort,baldpartnerwiththeunblinkingeyesheldontohismoneywellintothenight,increasingitbyhalfbeforelosingitallaswell.
*****“Congratulations,Barleigh,Idon’tknowifyou’regood,orlucky,orboth.Whatwasyourfinaltake?”Hughesasked.
TheystrolledalongtheupperendofWhiskey
Street,theplanksidewalkdarkandemptyexceptforanoccasionalpasserby.Barleighjiggledthegoldandsilvercoinsinherpockets,feelingagainthebulgeofpapermoneywaddedintheinsidebreastpocketofhercoat.
“Iquitcountingattwohundredfiftyorso.Howcanpeoplethrowmoneyawaylikethat?Whatdothosepeopledoforalivingthattheycanlosehundredsof
dollarsanightandnotblinkaneye?”ThethoughtoflosingthatmuchmoneymadeBarleighnauseated.
“They’reownersofsilverandcoppermines.Afewhundreddollarsisadropinthebucketforthosegentlemen.Yousuretookthembysurprise.Andme,too.”
“Pardonmeforasking,butdidyouthrowahandortwomyway?”she
asked,herquestionserious.Hugheslaughed.“I’m
ascompetitiveasyouare.Idon’tlikelosing—moneyoranythingelse.Here,walkthisway.”Heturnedleftdownanarrowalleythatwoundseveralyardsthroughacourtyardbeforecomingtoadeadendbehindarowofemptyshopsthatwereclosedforthenight.
“Whatarewedoinghere?”
“Iwanttotalktoyouinprivate,awayfromtheothersatthehotel,andthislookedlikeithadpossibilities.”
“Whatdoyoumean?Talkaboutwhat?”
“Abouthowlongyoucankeepthisup.AbouthowdangerousbeingaPonyExpressriderisandhowI...”
Sheplacedherindexfingeracrosshislips.“Don’t
sayanymore.We’vecoveredthistopicinthecave.Youdon’thaveanyrighttointerfere.”
Hughestookholdofthefingershe’dplacedacrosshismouth,pullingitaway,runninghishanddowntoherwrist,hisfingerseasilyencirclingitscircumference,andhekissedtheundersideofit.Thenhepressedhismouthtoherpalm,lingeringhislipsthere.
“God,IwishIhadtherighttointerfere.EverytimeIwatchyourideawaybyyourself,runafterrun,takingsuchrisks,Igetso—distracted.It’sdrivingmecrazy,knowingthedangeryou’rein.”
“Whatareyoudoing?Whatareyousaying?”Shepulledherhandoutofhisgrasp.“Youcan’tdothat.I’mBarFlanders.PonyExpressRider.Aboy.”
Barleighstaredatherpalmwherehislipshadtouched,thenpressedherhandstogether,tryingtorubthesensationawaythatleftherheadlight,herkneesunsteady.
“You’reBarleighFlanders,PonyExpressriderdisguisedasaboy.Butawomanwho—”
“—whoyoushouldn’tbesayingthesethingsto.Stopit.You’redrunk.You’re
notmakingsense.”Shetriedtobackaway,butabrickwallstoppedherretreat.
“—whodrivesmecrazywithdesire.Madwithworry.Idon’thandleworryverywell.Iwanttokissyou.”
“That’sthewhiskeytalking.That’snonsense,that’s—”
Hismouthcoveredhers,softandtenderatfirst,thenmoreinsistent,histongueseekinghers.
Entwininghisarmsaroundherwaist,hepulledherclose,liftinghertohertoes.Hishungrykissessoughtnourishmentfromherlips.
WordsofcautionflittedthroughBarleigh’smindlikesummerbutterflies.Shethoughtofcapturingthem,butletthempassunfettered.Pressingagainsthim,enjoyingthesensation,shewantedtoknowthetasteofhismouth,thefeelofhis
hardbody,thesmellofhisbreath.Herhandsexploredhisneck,hisback,hisarms,andshepulledhimcloser,wantingtofeeleverypartofhim.Shefeltdizzy,andcouldn’tblameitallontheBaerBrothers’whiskey.
Hishandscuppedherface,tiltingherhead,exposingherneck,andtherehelingered,kissing,biting,trailinghistonguealongthecurveofherear,downthe
sideofherneck,stoppingwithakissatthebaseofherthroat.
Hegroaned,pullingaway.“Icouldgoonforeverkissingyou.Idon’twanttostop,butI’dbettergetcontrolofmyself.”
Barleighblinkedhard,tryingtocatchherbreath,tryingtofindherbalanceagainstthecoldbrickwallshestoodagainst.“I—thatwas—Idon’tknowwhatto
say.”“Sayyou’lltakeyour
pokerwinnings,gobacktoTexas,andstopthistomfoolery.Iworryaboutyouanditdrivesmecrazy.I’mnotgoodatworrying.Idon’tknowwhattodowithit.It—interferes.”
“Hughes,”shesaid,releasingadeepsigh.“Thankyouforworryingaboutme,butIcantakecareofmyself.Besides,I’menjoyingthe
challengeandI’mgoodatwhatIdo.”
“Thendomeafavorandconsiderthis,”hesaid,drawinghernear,leaningin,brushinghislipsagainsthers.“ConsidertakingStoneyintoyourconfidence.Now,don’tstartbristlingbeforeyouhearmeout.”
“No.Absolutelynot.WhyshouldIevenconsiderthat?”Barleighputbothhandsagainsthischestin
protest.“Thingsareheating
upwiththismail-tamperingbusinessandIhavetoleaveforCaliforniafirstthingMonday.I’dleavefeelingmuchbetterknowingStoneywaskeepinganeyeonyouandwatchingtomakesureyou’resafe.”
“Keepinganeyeonme?MakingsureI’msafe?What?”
“Thementryingto
stealthemailarevigilanteswho’llstopatnothing.They’reSouthernsympathizerswho’rewillingtokilltokeepPresidentLincoln’slettersfromreachingCalifornia.They’vealreadykilledotherswho’vegottenintheirway.TheUnionneedsCalifornia’sgold.SodoestheConfederacy.Ifwegotowar,California’sgoldcouldswaytheoutcome.”
Barleightookadeepbreathandlethiswordssoakin.Ifwegotowar?Shefeltagrowingsenseofurgencyandalarm.Somuchwasatstakegettingthemailthrough,nowsomorethanever.“Tellmemore.”
“I’vealreadytoldyoutoomuch.”
“Thenyou’reindanger,too,spyingonthesevigilantes.”
“Yes,”hesaid,
placinghishandsagainstthewalloneithersideofBarleigh’sshoulders,formingabarrier.“That’swhyI’dfeelmuchbetterifIknewStoneywasmybackup.IfthingsgobadwhileI’mnothere,it’dhelpifheknewthetruth.Iknowwecantrusthim.”
“I’llconsiderit,thoughI’mnotclearexactlywhyhisknowingmysecretwillkeepmesafe.WhydoIhavethefeelingthatyou’re
nottellingmeeverything?”Shelookedupintohiseyes,hopingforasatisfyinganswer.
“Trustmeonthis.Please?Ihavemyreasons,”hesaid,hisvoicedeepandpersuasive.
“MayIsleeponit?”sheasked,notyetpersuaded.
“Ofcourse.Wecantalkaboutitoverlunchtomorrow.”Heleanedinclose,hishanddrawingher
facetohis.“Don’tpullback.Kissme.”
“Imayhavetotaketheeastboundruntomorrow.Eaganistraininganewriderandit’sStoney’sdayoff.”Shepulledfurtheraway.“Butnomorekisses.”Sheknewthekissinghadtostop.Shecouldn’triskbeingcaught.Thethoughtofbeingseen,ofbeingfoundout,oflosingherjob,terrifiedher.
“Allright,nomore
kisses,”saidHughes,“afterthislastone.”
HughestookBarleighinhisarmsandkissedheragain,longanddeepandslow—anilluminatingkiss,makingtheinvisiblevisible.Pressingheragainstthewall,heleanedin,movinghisbodyagainsthersinawaythatsenthersensestumbling,sliding,radiating,thatonelastkissstealingherbreathandherheart.
*****WalkingtowardMainStreet,BarleighandHughessteppedfromtheshadowswherethealleycrossedthroughthecourtyard.Nearthecenter,threemenstoodtogetherinanapparentone-sidedconversation,onemanspeaking,theothertwonodding.AsBarleighandHughesneared,theonemanwhowasspeakinghurriedaway.Theothertwofigures
turned,crossedtheirarms,andstoodinwait.
“Excuseme,gents,”saidHughesastheytriedtopass.
Shouldertoshoulder,theyblockedtheway.“Youhavesomethingthatbelongstomyboss,”thebiggeronesaid,hisvoiceclearandfullofmenace.“Hewantsitback.Allofit.”
“Youmustbemistaken,”saidHughes.“I
don’tknowyouoryourboss.”
“Mybossisthemanyoucheatedatwhatwassupposedtohavebeenafriendlygameofpoker.Handoverthemoney.”Hedrewhisweapon,pointingitatHughes.
HughesraisedhishandsandtookaslightstepinfrontofBarleigh,whoalsoraisedherhands.Then,addressingthetwomen,he
said,“Gents,thatmoneywaswon,andlost,fairandsquare.Nocheatingoccurred.”
“We’renotheretoconverse.We’reheretocollect.Justhandoverthemoneyandnoonegetshurt.IfBosssaysyoucheatedhim,youcheatedhim.Hewantsitallback.”Hethrusthisgunforwardforemphasis.
“It’snotallhismoney,”Barleighspokeup.
“I’llkeepwhatwehadtobeginwith.Youcantaketherest.”
“Thisisnotanegotiation,”thesmalleronesaid,drawingandpointinghispistol,Barleigh’smidsectionhistarget.“Youmustbetheoneholdingthemoney.Keepyourhandsup.Whichpocketisitin?”
HughesandBarleighlookedateachother,anunderstandingpassing
betweenthem.Theybothknewwhereshe’dputthebundleofmoney.Itwasstowedinherinsidebreastpocket.
ThesmallmantookastepinBarleigh’sdirection,pistolinonehand,theotherreadytosearch.Hefumbledinherpantspocketsandfrownedashecameawaywithahandfulofcoins.
“IknowBossplayswithbiggerstakesthanthis.
Where’stherest?”HestartedtopatdownBarleigh’scoat.
“Ihavetherest,”saidHughes.“It’sinmyinsidecoatpocket.There’sfivehundreddollarsinthere.You’reright.Yourbosslostbig.Buthecametothetablewithonlythreehundred.Ibetifyoutookhimbackthethreehundredhelost,andyoutwokeptahundredeachforyourselves,he’dneverknowthedifference.”
Thesmallmanstoppedhispat-downofBarleigh’scoat,lookingtothebiggermanforguidance.ThebigmangaveanodofhisheadtowardHughes,andwiththatthesearchshifted.
“Unbuttonyourcoat,thenhandsbackintheair,”thesmallmansaidtoHughes.“You,”helookedatBarleigh.“Youkeepyourswherewecanseethem.Idonesawthatyou’renotarmed.”
Hughesdidashewastold.
Themantookhispistoland,withthetip,openedHughescoatwider.“Youwon’tbeneedingthis.”HeremovedtheColtrevolverhangingatHughes’shipandplaceditinhisownholster.“Whichside’sthemoney?”
“Left.”Hereachedinand
pulledoutatooledleatherwallet,theinitialsHPLin
fancyscript.Asheopenedthewallet,hismouthmovedashecountedthebillsinside.Witheyesbulging,helookedatHughes.
“Youlied,mister.There’snotfivehundredinhere.”
“Hey,whatareyoutryingtopull?”thebiggerofthetwoasked,steppingclosetolookinsidethewallet.
“Seehere?There’snotfivehundred,”saidthe
smallerone,holdingthewalletopenforthebigman’sinspection.“There’sclosertoathousand.Lookslikeourluckynight.Bossgetshisthree,weget...”Heusedhisfingerstocount.“Well,wegettherest.”
Withtheirfullattentiondrawntothewalletandontheirgoodfortune,Hughesbroughthishandsdowninaplummetingrush,slammingthetwomen’s
headstogetherwithasickeningcrunch.Thesmalleronefellsideways,unconscious.Staggered,thebiggermantotteredonhisfeet,eyesblinking.Deliveringaswiftkick,Hughesknockedthegunoutoftheman’shand,followedbyapunchtothegutthatdroppedthebigmantohisknees,leavinghimgaspingforair.
“Ibelievethisbelongs
tome,”saidHughes,reachingforhisColtrevolverinthesmallman’sholster.Asheleaneddowntoretrievehisgun,thebigmanlungedforward,knockingHughesoffbalance,thegunslippingfromhisgrasp.Theystruggledontheground,tradingpunches,thebigmangropingforhisowngunthatHugheshadkickedfromhishand.
Runningtoscoopup
bothdroppedweapons,Barleighstuffedoneinherpocket,theotherreadytohandofftoHughes.Shewasunawarethatthesmallermanhadregainedconsciousness.Hegrabbedherankleassheranby,pullingBarleightotheground,theweaponinherhandfallingfromhergrasp.Sherolledtoherback,tryingtoretrievethepistolshe’dstuffedintoherpocket,butthemanwasquicktostraddle
her,pinningherarmstohersideswithhisknees.Hepickedupthedroppedgunfromthedirt,raiseditbutt-endfirsttodeliverablowtoherhead.
Struggling,bucking,andtwistingherbody,Barleighthrashedherlegs.Thoughhewasthesmallerofthetworobbers,hisweightwasmorethanshecoulddislodgewithouttheuseofherarms.
Shewinced,bracingherselffortheblow.Insteadoffeelingtheguncomingdownhard,shefelthisentirebodycollapseontohersinadead-weightfall.Bloodsprayedontoherface—Barleighscreamed.Anotherscream—butfromwhere?Loud,nexttoherface,itcamefromthemanlyingacrossherasthecomprehensionofwhathadhappenedshockedhimoutof
hismomentarystupor.Hughes,havingseen
whatwashappening,hadtakenhisRezinBowiefromhisrightbootlegandzippeditthroughtheair,aimingitatthebaseofthesmallman’sskull.
“Myear,”hescreamed.“Youslicedoffmygoddamnedear.”Holdingahandovertherightsideofhishead,bloodpouredbetweenhisfingers.
HughesdashedovertowhereBarleighlay,thesmallmanstillstraddlingher.Hewrappedbothhandsaroundtheman’sarm,andinaninstantaneousmove,yankedhimoffherwithsuchbrutalforcethatitdislocatedtheman’sjoint.Thesmallmandroppedtotheground,holdinghisshoulder,writhingandcryingoutinpain.
Hughesscoopeduphisgun.Stridingtowherethe
manlayonhisside,heforcefullybootedthesmallmanoverontohisback.“Lookatme,fucker.”
“Don’tkillme,mister,”hepleaded,holdinghisshoulder,hisvoicefullofpain.“Pleasedon’tkillme.Ididn’tmean...”
“I’mnotheretoconverse.I’mheretokill.”Hughesraisedthegun.
“No,Hughes!”Barleighrushedtohisside.
“He’snotworthit.Iwouldn’twasteabulletonhim.”
“Oh,Iwould.Ihaveplentyofbulletstowasteonfilthyanimalslikehim.”
“Ihaveplentytowasteonfilthyanimals,too,”saidafamiliarvoicecomingfromthefarsideofthecourtyard.“Whatkindoffilthareweusingfortargetpracticetonight?”Stoney,hisrevolverdrawn,movedtoHughes’sside.
“Thethievingkind.Thekindwhodotheirlyingboss’sdirtywork.”Hughesloweredhisgun,holsteringit.Hekneltandtooktheman’sgun,thenpattedhimdownforotherweapons.Findingnone,hejerkedthemantohisfeetandsaid,“Wakeupyourbigbuddyoverthere,thengotellyourbosstostayawayfromgameshe’snotgoodatplaying.”
Barleighturnedand
lookedatwherethebigmanwaslaying,moaning,hisunsightlyfaceswollenandbloody.Hewasstrugglingtohisknees,babblingincoherentwords.Hanginguselessandlimp,hisrightarmwasbentatanoddanglemidwaybetweenthewristandelbow.
Stoneyaimedhispistolatthesmallman.“You’vebeengivenyourmarchingorders.Makehaste
beforewechangeourmindsandstartwastingbullets.”
Thetwobloodiedmenhobbledoff,leaningoneachotherforsupport.
“Areyouallright?”HugheswasinfrontofBarleigh,peeringintoherface,hishandonherchin,turningherheadleftandright.“You’vegotacutonyourforehead.”
“Whenhetrippedme,Ihitmyheadontheground.
It’snotbad.I’llbefine.”ShereacheduptotouchthecutandfeltHughes’sfingersstillthere.“Areyouallright?Yougottheworstofit.”
“Theygottheworstofit.”
“Youalmostkilledthem.”Therealityofwhathadtranspiredwashedoverher,andsheshivered.
“Iaimedtokill.Hegotlucky.Iwouldhavefinisheditifhe’dhurtyou.”
Stoneyclearedhisthroat.“Don’tmeantointerrupt,butwhatthehelljusthappened?”
“Barwonbigatpoker.Thelosersentthosetwoidiotstorobusandgethismoneyback.Itdidn’tquiteworkoutthewaytheyplanned.”
“I’dsaynot.Ishouldhavestuckaround.Imissedallthefun.”Stoneyholsteredhispistol.
“Allthefun?Didn’titworkoutforyouandthedoe-eyedblonde?”askedHughes.
“No,sir,itdidnot.Myheart’saswoundedasthatbigman’sfaceyoupummeled.”StoneypulledabottleofValleyTanfromhiscoatandthrewbackaslug,offeringthebottletoHughes,thentoBarleigh.
“God,no.AfterBaerBrothers,that’dbesacrilegious.Let’swalk,”said
Hughes,steeringBarleighandStoneytowardtheSaltLakeHouseHotel.
“WhenIfoundElizabethtoaskhertomarryme,”continuedStoney,hisbreathcloudedwithwhiskey,“shetoldmeshe’salreadymarried.She’swifenumberseven.Seven!Allatthesamegoddamnedtime.Canyoubelieveit?Men—Mormonmen—canhaveallthewivestheycanstand.Butthe
wives?Theygetjustonehusband.Nowwhointhehellcameupwiththatshit?”
“Icanbetitwasn’tawoman,”saidBarleigh,shudderingatthethought.
Astheynearedthehotel,Stoneystoppedwalking.HughesandBarleighturned,waiting,watchingStoneytoseewhathewasdoing.Raisingahandasifseekingpermissiontospeak,heclearedhisthroat
andrubbedthehanddownhisface,pullingonaseriousexpression.
“IfIcanseewhat’shappening,thenotherscantoo.”Stoneycrossedhisarms,thenuncrossedthem,andthenshovedhishandsinhispockets,clearinghisthroatagain.
“Whatareyousaying,Stoney?”Barleighasked,ignoringthenaggingvoiceinherownheadthatmirrored
thosesamewordsofcaution.Helookedfrom
BarleightoHughes,thenbacktoBarleigh,startingandrestartinghiswordsuntiltheyflowedfreely.“Tonightatthepie-eatingcontest,thenatthepokergame,IsawthewayHugheslookedatyou.Sorry,Hughes,butIdid.Andthelooksweren’tone-sided,Bar.Youtriedtohideit,Icouldtell,butmaybe’causeI’myourfriendIpickeduponit
quicker.AndIseenthewayy’all’sfingerslingeredonthewhiskeybottle,theglass,onthecards,orthemoney,onanythingthatmightlendachancetotoucheachother.Hughes’sconcernoverthecutonyourforehead.”Stoneylookedateachofthem,thenshruggedhisshoulders,aninnocentgesture,apologizingforwhathehadseen.
HughesthrewBarleigharaised-eyebrow
gesture,thenlookedatStoney.“Iknowwhatyouthinkyousaw,”beganHughes,“but—”
Stoneyheldupbothhands,palmsout.“Please.”Hecontinued.“I’mnotheretopassjudgmentonyourprivatebusiness.Butotherswill.They’llpassjudgment,allright,thenpasstheshotgunswhilethey’regoodandriledup.SeemshereinthisGreatSaltLakeofaCity,
amancanhaveasmanygoddamnedwivesashewantsatonetime,seveneven,ifheseesfit.Buttwomencan’thavetenderfeelingstowardoneanotherwithoutitgettingthemrunoutoftown.Orkilled.EvenIknowthat,andI’man...anuneducatedgruntfromArkansas.”
“Stoney,youdon’tknowwhat—”Barleightriedtoreason.
“AllI’msayingis,”interruptedStoney,“ifI’vepickeduponit,itwon’tbelongbeforeothersdo,too.Youbestbemorecareful.”HethrewbackanotherslugoftheValleyTanwhiskey,makingawincingfaceandshudderinghisshouldersasitwentdown.
BarleighbithercheektokeepfromlaughingandlookedatHughes,whowasstiflingalaughaswell.Ina
lowvoice,shesaid,“You’reright,Stoneyneedstobebroughtinonmysecret.I’lltellhimfirstthinginthemorningafterhesleepsthisoffandapotofblackcoffeesobershimup.”
“Splendididea,Barle...Bar,”saidHughes.
“Youtwocanstandtherewhisperingtillmorningifyouwant,”saidStoney.“I’mgoingtobedanddreamupmyownreligionwhereI
getasmanywivesasIcanstand,allatthesamegoddamnedtime.G’night.”
*****Thenextmorning,BarleighleftthehotelbeforeStoneyawoke,wantingtotakealongwalktoclearhermind—somethingdifferent,notonhorsebackforachange.Theunseasonablywarmweatherinvitedthecastingoffofcoatsandgloves,butnotthecastingoffoftroubled
thoughts.Sheheadedoutoftowntowardthefoothillswithacanteenfullofblackcoffeeandamindjumbledandconfused.
ShethoughttellingStoneywouldbeeasy,justcomerightoutwithit,butfiguringoutthebestwaytotellhim,whichexactwordstouse,provedtricky.Asshewalked,shetriedoutafewscenarios,practicingherspeechoutloud.
“Hi,Stoney,Ihaveasecrettotellyou.I’mreallynotahomosexualcarryingonaflirtatiousrelationshipwithanotherman;I’mreallyagirlmasqueradingasaboy.So,Iguessforalltheworldtosee,itdoesappearthatIamahomo...”
Discardingthatone,shetriedanother.
“Hi,Stoney.I’magirl.Pretendingtobeaboy.Butyoucan’ttellanyone,
eventhoughyou’veswornontheBibletobehonestandtrustworthyandIhavetoo,butIhavetoaskyoutolieformeandtonottellanyone...”
Shit.Drainingthelastdrop
ofcoffeefromthecanteen,shelookedaround,noticinghowfarshe’dwalked.Assheturnedbacktowardtown,shesawaloneriderapproachingatasteadycanter,silhouettedagainsttherisingsun.Ashe
rodenearer,theshapeofasombreroglowedlikeasoftyellowhalointhemorninglight.
“Stoney,how’dyouknowIwashere?”shesaidwithasmile.Shewasnervousbutreadytogetthisoverwith.
“Cookiesaidyoufilledacanteenandtookoffwalking.ThisistheoneplaceIknewtolook,afterIdidn’tfindyouatthebarn.”
“How’syourheadache?”
“Aww,takesmorethanalittlewhiskeytogivemeapounder.I’mfine,butIneedtohaulyourassbacktotown—youhavearuntogetreadyfor.Mariosaidthisonehassomeurgentlettersofsomesort.Hopon.”
“Thanks.”ShegrabbedholdofStoney’sarmandthrewalegoverthebackofthesaddle,ridingdouble
behindhimonthebigchestnutgelding.Thehorse’seasystridewassmoothandfast,thetowngrowinglargeonthehorizon.
“Stoney,rememberlastnightwhen—”
“Iremember.Irememberthat’sit’snoneofmybusiness.Isureashelldon’tunderstandit,butthatdon’tchangeourfriendshipifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout.”
“That’s—I’mrelievedtohearthat—butwhatIhavetotellyoumightchangeourfriendship.Thesecretthatwespokeoflastnight—”
“Shouldstayasecret.Idon’twanttohear.Idon’twanttoknow.Idon’t.ImeantwhatIsaid,Bar.Whatever’sgoingonbetweenyouandHughesis—”
“Stoney,listentome.WhatI’mtryingtotellyouisthat....Damnittohell—I’m
agirl.”“Girlssaythingslike
‘damnittohell.’Mensay‘fuck.’Soyou’rethegirlinthe,uh,relationship.Iwaswonderinghowthatallworked.Itriednotthinkingaboutit,butIconfess,Iwondered.Iguessedyou’dbethegirlandHughesthe—”
“Stoney.Listentome.I’mnotaboy.Atall.Period.I.Am.Agirl.”Barleighwoundherarmstightly
aroundStoney’swaistandpulledherselfclosetohim,huggingforcefullytohisback,pressingherchestagainsthim.“Doyoufeelthese?Thesearebreasts.Mybreasts.”
“Whatthe—”StoneytwistedhimselfintwoashespunaroundinthesaddletogetagoodlookatBarleigh,hiseyesaswide-openashismouth.Thefastmovementcausedhimtojerkonthe
reins,pullingtoohardonthehorse’smouth,bringingthehorsetoagrindingstop.Thecombinationofthehorse’sabruptstopandStoney’sowncentrifugalforcespunhimrightoutofthesaddle,bringingBarleightumblingtothegroundwithhim.
“Holyfuck,”saidStoney,stumblinganddustinghimselfoffashegrabbedforthereins.“But,Ithoughtyou—everyone
thinksyou’reaboy.Areyougoingtotellmewhatthehell’sgoingon?”
“Yes,yesIam.EverythingI’vetoldyouaboutmyself—”
“Youain’ttoldmemuchexceptyou’reanorphanfromTexas.Shit,I’velearnedmoreaboutyouinthelasttwenty-fourhoursthanIhavesincewejoinedupinArkansas,aboutyourgrandpateachingyoucardsandyou
wishingyouwasn’thiskin,andnowthis.It’snowonderyoukepttoyourself.Ithoughtyouwasjustthequiettype,butgoodGoda’mighty.”
“Listen,Stoney,Ineedthisjob.Ineedthemoney.Thisistheonlyway,theonlydecentway,asinglegirlcanearnarespectablewage.”Barleigh’smindflashedovertheremembranceofMr.Goldthwaiteandhis
indecentproposal,thememorygivingherbodyashudder.
“Holyfuck,andgoodGoda’mighty,”Stoneysaidagain,scratchinghishead.
“I’lltellyoueverything,butI’mbeggingyoutokeepmysecret.Ifyoucan’t,Iunderstand.I’llrideawayandgobacktoTexas.Iwon’taskyoutodoanythingagainstyourconscience.”
“WhosaidIhada
conscience?”StoneygrinnedandreachedforBarleigh’shand.“Idon’tseeanyreasonIshouldgoblabbingyourpersonalbusinessaround.I’llkeepquietaboutit.Iwanttoknoweverything,butfirst,Iwanttoknowhowyoukeepthem...”Hepointedatherchest.“Imean,whatdoyoudowiththemwhen....Well,ain’tthatsomething!”
“Normally,Ikeepthemtightlybound.Iwear
baggyboy’sclothes,”shesaid,feelingoverwhelmedwithemotion.“Thankyou,Stoney,you’reagoodfriend.”Sheshookhishand,onefirmpumplikeaman.“Keepyourhorseataslowwalkbacktotown.There’salottotellyou.”
Stoneypickedhissombreroupofftheground,dusteditoff,andthensatitonhishead,tighteningthebolerounderhischin.
Grinningfromeartoear,hegatheredthereinsandsteppedintothestirrup,sayingtohimself,“Well,ain’tthemsomething!”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
NOVEMBER26,1860
HughesLévesqueawokefromalight,troubledsleeptothesoundoffootstepsinthehallleavingfromtheroomnextdoor,theroomthatbelongedtothePonyExpressriders.He’dlistenedtothosequick,surefootstepsbefore.
Heknewtowhomtheybelonged.
Slippingoutfromunderthewarmcovers,Hughesstrodetothewindowanddrewbackthecurtains,watchingasBarleighleftonfoot,carryingacanteenandheadinginthedirectionofthefoothills.Hewonderedwhyshewaswalking.Then,hismindstillinthehalffogofsleep,hethoughtofthekissesthey’dsharedtheprevious
night,ofhowgoodherbodyfeltpressedagainsthis,andhewonderedwhyshewasn’tthereinhisarms—orinhisbed.
Heshookhisheadandpoundedhisfistsagainsthistemples,thenrubbedhiseyes,tryingtogethismindstraight.Hewasheretodoajobforanoldfriend—tokeepaneyeonherdaughter—andhe’dstrayedofcourse.How’dheletthathappen?
He’dbetterreininthatsenseofprotectivenessbeforeitgothimintrouble.Butitwasalotmorethanasenseofprotectivenessthathe’dfeltthenightbefore.
Whenhe’dreturnedtothehotel,atelegraphfromJamesonhadbeenwaitingforhim.Itnowlayopenonhisbedsidetable.Hughesreachedforit,readingitagainforthefourthtime.Itwasbrief,simplystatingthatMiss
LeighselleBeauclairewasneardeathandthatDocSchmidtwaskeepinghersedatedandpeacefulwhilegivinglittlehopeforanoptimisticoutcome.
Hughesthrewthetelegraminthetrash,thensatonthesideofthebed,leaninghisheadinhishands,rakinghisfingersthroughhishair.“Fuck.”Hepoundedhisfistonthetable.
Feelingrestless,his
mindunsettled,hepacedthefloor.Onthemantel,theblackmarbleandgoldfiligreeclocktickedawayathisthoughtsashewalkedbackandforthbetweenthewallsofhisroom.Heinspectedhisnails,pickedatagrainofdirt,andlookedagainatthetelegramcrumpledinthewastebasket.SendingareplytoJamesoncouldwait—whathewantedtosaycouldn’tbesaid.Yet.
Soonerorlater,though,he’dhavetotellLeighsellehecouldn’tcontinuekeepinghersecret—ifLeighselledidn’tdiefirst.
Hewenttothewindowandthrewitopen,breathinginthecool,crispair,clearinghismind.Feelingcagedin,seeingthemountains,hehadanurgetobeoutside.Momentslater,Hugheswasdressedandoutthedoor.
Afterastopinthekitchen,hewasonhiswaytothestables.Heranabrushoverhismare’sglisteningwintercoatthathadgrownthickanddark.Hepickedupeachhoof,inspectingtheshoe,thensaddledherwhileshefinishedheroats.
“Allright,girl,let’sgoforaride.”Heslippedthebridleinplaceandledherfromthestall.
“Morning,Mr.
Lévesque,”saidMarioasheforkedhayintoeachstall.“Everyone’soutandaboutearlytoday.Bartookoffafootaboutanhourago,thenStoneynottoolongafterhim.Nowyou.Seemseveryonewantstoleavetownthismorning.Imightaswellleave,too.Gosomeplacewarm.Naples...orVenice.”
“Goodmorning,Mario,”saidHughes,swingingupintothesaddle.
“Didyouwakeuponthewrongsideofthebedthismorning?Feelingalittlehomesick,maybe?”
“Italyhasn’tbeen‘home’inalongtime.I’mjusttiredofmytoesbeingcold.That’sall.Ihatecoldtoes.Theyputmeinasourmood.”Marioleanedagainstahorsestall,frowning.
“Iknowwhatyoumean,sir.Ihatethem,too.”Hughesmadeamentalnote
tobuyMarioawarmpairofsocksfirstchancehegot.Then,reininghismarearoundandoutthedoor,healmostcollidedhead-firstintoStoney’shorse.
“Whoa,”Hughessaid,drawingbackthereins.
BarleighslidoffthebacksideofStoney’sgelding,hoppingtotheground.“Morning,Hughes.Mario.”Sheduckedintothebarn,grabbedapitchfork,andthen
busiedherselfwithfillingtheremainingemptytroughswithhay.
“Morning,Bar,”Hughessaid.“Stoney,howareyou?Allthatpieandwhiskeylastnightkeepyouawakewithnightmares?”
“Asamatteroffact,sir,Isleptlikeababy,”saidStoney,dismountingandleadinghishorseintothebarn.
“Likeababy,eh,”
saidMario,standinginthedoorway.“Sowhat’dyoudo?Cry,thenpissandshitthebed?Havefuncleaningthatmessup.”
“Ain’tyoueverthecomedian?”Stoneyslidthesaddleoffhishorse,settingitonthestandinfrontofthestall,thenloopedthebridleoverthehorn.
“Bar,putdownthatpitchforkandgogetsomebreakfast,”saidMario.
“Don’tstraytoofar.Bereadytojumpandride.SupposedtobeurgentmailcomingoutofCaliforniaonthisrun.”
“CanItakethisrun?”Stoneyasked.“Youdon’thavetopaymeextra—Ijustneedtogetoutofhereforawhile.Clearmyhead.”
MariolookedatStoneywithaconcernedexpression.“Youallright,son?”
“Fine,sir.Ijustmiss
myoldeastboundroute.Idon’tgettorunitoftenenough.Notthatitmatters—thewestboundrunisfine,too.Youknowhowitis.Amanfeelsnostalgiceverynowandthen—wantstorevisithisbeginnings.Thatallrightwithyou,Bar?”heasked,agrinspreadingacrosshisface.
“Ifthat’swhatyouwanttodo,Stoney,it’sallrightbyme,”Barleigh
answered.“I’mgladwegotthat
settled,”saidMario,hurryingoffwithhispitchforkinhand.Then,shoutingoverhisshoulder,“LikeItoldBar,Stoney,don’tstraytoofar.Bereadytojumpandride.”
“I’mheadedtothefoothills,Bar.Iwouldn’tturndownsomecompany,”saidHughes.“WeatherthisniceinNovemberwon’tlastlong.”
Theireyesmetfora
briefsecondbeforesheturnedaway.“Idon’tknow.I—”
“Go.It’saprettydayforaride,”saidStoney.“Here,I’llresaddlethisgeldingforyou.He’sprobablywonderingwhysuchashortridethismorning,anyway.”
“Icansaddlemyownhorse,thanks.”Barledthegeldingoutofthestallandtiedhimtothegrooming
post.“What?YouwanttotreatmelikeI’myourgoddamnedlittlesister?”Shespatontheground,thenwithherfreehandreadjustedhercrotch.LookingatHughes,shespatagainforgoodmeasure.
StoneygaveanervouslaughandlookedfromBarleightoHughes.“Hey,Ididn’tmeannothing.Justoffering.”
“What’sgotyouso
riled?”askedMario,walkingbackinwithapitchforkfulloffreshhay.“IsawyoudanceandgetakissfromDorthealastnightatthepie-eatingcontest.Youshouldbeinfinespiritsthismorning.”
“MaybeBar’sinpoorspiritsbecausethat’sallhegot,adanceandakiss.That’sstillbetterthanwhatsomeofuspoorbastardswenthomewith.Saddleup.Let’sride.”Hughesspurredhishorse
awayfromthebarn,anticipatingBarleighwouldfollow.Whenheheardthesoundofhoofbeatsbehindhim,heeasedhismareintoatrot,pointinghertowardthecraggy,snow-cappedmountainsthatflankedthesleepingcity.
Silencelingeredbetweenthemastheyrode.Theclearair,bluesky,andmildtemperatureinducedavarietyofbirdsintoventuring
outoftheirnests,thebirdsseeminghappytofillthequietspacewithchatteringandchirping.
Astheynearedtheturn-offforthepassagetothesecretcave,Barleighbroketheirsilence.“Adanceandakississtillbetterthanwhatsomeofuspoorbastardswenthomewith?Whatwereyouexpectingtogohomewith?Akissyoustolefrommeinadarkalley,whichyou
ledmedownunderunknownpretense—pluswhatelse?”
Hughesthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.“Iwasplayingalong,Miss‘IcansaddlemyownhorsebecauseI’mnotyourgoddamnedlittlesister’orwhateveritwasyousaidtoStoney.Andfortherecord,Ididn’tstealthatkissinthealley.Itookit.Takingandstealingaretwodifferentthings.”
“Ohreally?Your
semanticslessonimpressesme.”Barleighleanedbackinhersaddleasthehorsesbegantheirdescentintothecanyon,lesseningtheweightherhorsewasbearingforwardofhiswithers.
Thesteeppassageintothecaverequiredtheirpreciseattention,andconversationwassparse,thesnowmeltandrefrozengroundcreatingatreacherouspathway.Rocksandgravelslippedunderfoot,
andbothhorsesdroppedtheirnosestotheground,carefultopickandchoosetheirwaytosafefooting.
“Weshouldpicnichereinthegladeinsteadofinthecave,”saidBarleigh,oncetheyreachedthehiddenclearing.Shedismountedandloopedthereinsoveralow-hangingbranch.
“OutintheopenwhereyoufeelsafethatIwon’ttakeadvantageof
you?”HughesstoodnexttohismareandstudiedBarleigh,hisambereyescloudedanddark.
Barleighcockedherheadandlookedathim,aconfusedexpressiononherface.
“Ididn’tpromiseyoulastnightthatIwouldn’twanttokissyou.IpromisedyoulastnightthatIwouldn’tkissyouagain.Ikeepmypromises.”Heturnedaway,
thememoryofthetelegraphaboutLeighsellefloodinghismind,andhecouldn’tlookatBarleigh.Hekepthispromises,allright,eventhosehehatedkeeping.
“Imeantoutintheopenwherethesky’ssoblueandtheweather’sfineforapicnic.What’swrong?”Barleighsteppedforwardandputherhandonhisarm.“Areyouallright?”
Hestaredatherhand
onhisarm—wantedtopickitup,tokisseachfinger,tonotstoptherebuttokissherpalm,thelengthofherarm,tokisshiswaytohermouthandmore.“Yes,I’mallright.”
Hepattedherhandlikeonewouldachild’s,thenmoveditaway.“Apicnichereinthegladeiswhatwe’lldo,then.”Reachingforhissaddlebag,helifteditfrombehindthecantle,settingiton
theground,removingthecontentsandarrangingtheplatesandfoodontheunrolledblanket.
“Yousurepackafancypicnic,”saidBarleigh,pickingupthelinennapkinandthecutcrystalglass.
“GrowingupinNewOrleans,mymotheralwaysservedafancybrunchonSundays,completewithFrenchchampagne.She’dsplashalittleorangejuicein
itsometimes,forcolor.Here.”HehandedBarleighacrystalglass,thebrushofherfingeragainsthissettinghisnervesonedge.
Barleighsipped.“Mmm.Wonderful.NewOrleans?Isthatwhereyou’refrom?Ifyourecallmesayinglastnight,mygrandfatherspenttimethere.”
“Irecallalotaboutlastnight.Àvotresanté.”Hughesliftedhisglassand
sipped.“Toyourhealth.”“Àvotresanté.Are
yousureitdoesn’tmean‘let’schangethesubject’?”
Hughessmiledather.“IgrewupinNewOrleans.MyfatherownsLévesqueSugarcaneandShipping.HebuiltLévesquePlantationwiththeengineeringplansfromThomasJefferson’sMonticellohome.Besidessugarcane,heraisesthoroughbreds.”
“Tellmemore,please.”Barleighsippedherchampagne.
“Yes,ma’am,”saidHughes,refillingtheirglasses.“Actually,thehorsesaremymother’sdoing.Fatherallowshertoraisethem.Ihaveatwinbrother,John-Pierre,who’stakenovermostdutieswiththebusinesses.IleftNewOrleanswhenIwaseighteenorso—becameaTexas
Ranger.Now,Idocertainjobsforthegovernmentthatnooneelsewill.That’smystoryinanutshell.Now,maywecallatrucefortheday?Youseemangrywithme.”
“I’mnotangry.I’mnervousthatifmysecretgetsfoundoutandIlosethisjob—”
“Thenwhat?What’stheworstthatcouldhappen?”Hehandedheraplate.“Sorry,thefoodisalittle
sparse.”“Thankyou.”She
nibbledonasmallpieceofsmokedbacon.“Theworst?IgobacktoTexaswithoutenoughmoneytopaythetaxesonmyranch.ThenthebankforeclosesandIlosethedeed.Itoldyou.I’mnotdressingupandpretendingtobeaboyforthethrillofthemasquerade.ThisisnotagameI’mplaying.”
“Thatpokerstakeyou
wonlastnightisn’tenough?How’sthatcutonyourhead,bytheway?”HereachedouttotouchitbutBarleighdrewback.
“It’sfine,thanks,”shesaid,pullingawayfromhistouch.“Themoneyhelpsagreatdeal,butno,notenough.”
“Howmucharethetaxes?I’llgiveyoutherestofthemoney.”Hughesshiftedontheblanketandrefilledthe
champagneglasses.“Why?Because
you’reawealthyplantationowner?Howmanyslavesdoesittaketorunasugarcaneandthoroughbredplantation?Doyourslavesworkatyourshippingyards,too?”Shedownedtheremainderofthechampagneinonegulp,coughingatthestinginginherthroatasitwentdown.
Hughesleanedback
onhiselbows,bitinghistongue,tryingtokeephisangerincheck.“MyfatheristheownerofLévesqueSugarcaneandShipping.Don’tjudgemebasedonwhatyouthinkyouknow.”
Hesettledasteadygazeonher,clenchingandunclenchinghisjawatthememoryofhisfathershovingapocketfulofmoneyathim—tellinghimnottocomeback.He’dlearnedmoreof
howtobeamanfromOkwara,theplantationslave,thanfromhisfather.
“Iwaswrongtojudge.Theideaofyougivingmemoneythatwasearnedoffthebacksofslavessetmeoff.Pleaseforgiveme.”
“Forgivenandforgotten.Butboy,yousurecangofromafriendshiptrucetofiringwithbothbarrelsintheflashofaneye.”
“Myfathersaidmy
fierytemperwasagiftfrommymother.Iwouldn’tknow,firsthand.ShediedwhenIwasborn.”Barleighshruggedhershoulders.
“I’msorry.”Hughesdrewinadeepbreath,thenletitoutslowly.
“Besidesthetaxes,there’salsothematterofrebuildingthehouse,thebarn.Animalstoreplace....”Barleighshuddered,startedtosaysomethingmore,andthen
lookedaway.Layingonthepicnic
blanketwatchingher,Hughestriedtofollowhergazebutitledtonowhereinparticularthathecoulddiscern.Hearingherspeakthosewords,sayingthathermotherdiedinchildbirth,madehimsicktohisstomach.Hisjawclinched,hiseyesdarkened,buthewouldn’tallowhertoseehisreaction—hewaswellversedintheartofsecrecy.
Hewaitedinpatientsilenceforhertogatherherthoughts,hopingshewouldletdownalittleofthewallshe’dbuiltbetweenthem—thebarriershe’dfashionedbetweenherandtherestoftheworld.
Shelookedbackathim,herbrowfurrowed,andsaidinsuchasoftvoicethathehadtositupandleanforwardtohear.“AmidnightIndianraid....Thenightof
theComanchemoon.Birdie,Papa,andUncleJack,allwerekilled.AuntWinnieandIhidinthegoatsheddowninthecellarwithmynewbabysister,Starling.Thatnight,themoonwassobig—sobright.Beautiful,yetterrifying.ItspotlightedaswarmofComancheupontheBrazosRiverridge.IsawthemjustasclearlyasIknewtheysawus.”
Hughesputhishands
onherarms,turninghermoretofacehim.“Thatnight,whatelsedoyouremember?”
“IrememberPapabeingworriedabouttheworseningskirmishesbetweentheReservationIndiansandthesettlersinthearea.ButPapasaiditwasn’ttheReservationIndiansdoingtheattacking.”Barleigh’svoicequivered.
“Whodidhesayitwas?”askedHughes.
“HesaiditwaseitherwhitemendoingitandblamingitontheReservationIndians,oritwasQuanahParker’sbandofComanche.TherehadbeenreportsofQuanahraidinginthearea,accordingtoPapa’sfriend,CaptainGoodnight.YoumightknowCharlieGoodnight.He’saTexasRanger,too.”
“He’safriend.”ColdsweatbeadedonHughes’s
foreheadandhisguttightened.Hesathisplateontheblanketandstood,takingoffhishat,runninghishandsthroughhishair.
ButQuanahParkerwasinSanAntonio.Couldhehavetraveledthatfarinadayortwo?AComancheonhorsebackridinghardcancover250milesormoreintwenty-fourhours,stealingfreshmountsalongtheway.Itwaspossible....
“Whatareyouthinking?Youlooklikeyou’veseenaghost,”Barleighsaid.
“I’mtryingtofigureoutifQuanahParkercouldhavebeenin—”Hughesstoppedhimself,tryingtorememberifBarleighhadsharedwithhimwhereshewasfrom,orifhewasrememberingitfromhistrackingherdown.
“Beeninwhat?”
“When,exactly,wastheraidonyourranch?Thedate?And,didyoutellmewhereinTexasyoulived?”
“TheraidhappenedFriday,Septemberthetwenty-seventh.Justaftermidnight.And,no,Ihaven’ttoldyouwhereI’mfrom.MylandisinPaloPinto,ahalfday’sridewestofFortWorthontheBrazosRiver.”
“Whenyousawthemountedwarriorsonthe
ridge,couldyoumakethemoutclearly?Couldyouseeifthereseemedtobealeader,orchief,andifso,whatcolorwashishorse?”Hughesdrilledhisquestions,hiswordscomingrapid-fire.
“Thereweresomany,welloverahundred.I’mcertaintherewasaleaderwhogavethesignaltoattack.Idon’trecallthecolorofhishorse.White,maybe?”
Hughespacedback
andforth,thenwalkedtowherethehorsesstoodtied.Herestedhisforeheadagainsthismare’sneck,breathinginthewoodsy,familiarsmellofasweatyhorse.Thatsmellalwaystookhimbacktohisfirstmemory.Itwasthesmellofhischildhoodandthehourshespentracinghisponythroughthemossywoodsofhishome.
“Damnittohell,”hesaid,hisboomingvoiceand
hisfistspoundingagainstthesaddle,causinghishorsetonickerandshyaway.
ThewordsoftheobeseblackjackdealerinSanAntonio,JerryAllsup,ranginhishead:“Markmywords,butyou’llregretnotkillingthatsonofabitchwhileyouhadthechance.”Andhewasright.HughesregrettednothavingkilledQuanahParker,evenifhiswarriorswouldhavefilledhimwiththeir
arrows.“Hughes?”Heturnedandsawher
lookingathimwithfearandconcerninhercat-likeeyesthatlookedlikeLeighselle’s,exceptBarleigh’swereblue,notgreen.Thetiltofherhead,theslopeofhernose,thepointofherchin,herfinecheekbones,hergracefulnessevenwhiledressedlikeaboy,grippedhisheart.
“Youlooksomuch
like...”Heranahanddownhisface,shuttingoffthethought.
“Ilooksomuchlikewhat?”sheasked,standing,movingcautiouslycloser.
“Nothing,Barleigh.YouremindmeofsomeoneIknow.Endofstory.Webettergo.Ihavealongridetomorrow.”
Hebeganrollingtheplatesandglassestogetherintheblanket,tossingthefood
aside,throwingouttherestofthechampagne.Oneofthecrystalglassesbangedagainstaplateandsplinteredintoaspider’swebofcracks.
“Goddamnit.”Hethrewthebrokenglassagainstarock.Then,pickinguptheotherglass,hethrewit,too,sendingshardsoffine,leadedGermancrystalflyingintotheair.
Barleighplacedagentlinghandonhisarm.
“Hey.Hey.Easy.Letmehelpyouwithputtingthesethingsaway.What’swrong?”
Hughesshruggedoffherhand.“No.Don’t.Just....Pleasegetonyourhorse.I’minahurry.”
Therewasalettertowrite.HewouldbegLeighselletostopthisdamnedlie—hecouldn’tdoitanymore.IfBarleighknewthatshehadamother—thathermotherhadpaidthetaxes
onherland—Barleighwouldgohomeandwouldstopthisfoolish,dangerousmasqueradeshewasplaying.
“Hughes,whathaveIdone?What’swrong?”Barleighfollowedhimasheslunghissaddlebagoverthecantle,tyingitinplacewiththeleatherlatigo.“Lookatme.WhathaveIdone?”Shestoodclosebehindhim,waitingforananswer.
Turningaround,
Hugheslookeddownandintohereyes,whichwerethecolorofthesky.Hereachedouthishand,strokedhercheek,rubbinghisthumbacrossasmudgeofdirt.Then,liftingherbangs,hecheckedonhercutforehead,tracingaroundthebandagewithhisfinger.
“Idon’tknowhowintheworldyouhaveeveryonefooledintothinkingyou’reaboy.You’resopretty.So
verypretty,”hesaid,asadtonetohisvoice.
“Peoplebelievewhattheywanttobelieve,orwhatthey’retoldtobelieve.WhathaveIdonetoangeryou?Something’schanged.”
“You’vedonenothing.I’vejustcometotheconclusionthatyou’vebeenrightallalong.Ishould’veneverkissedyou.Idon’thavethetimeortheluxurytoworryaboutyou,”hesaid,a
firmsettohisjaw.“Theluxury?Ididn’t
askyoutoworryaboutme.Youappointedyourselftothatrole.Youdon’thavetospeaktomeinsucharudefashion.Youdon’thavetospeaktomeatall,asfarasI’mconcerned.WhatI’mtryingtoaccomplishwouldhavefarfewerrisksifyouandInevercrossedpathsagain.”Shecrossedherarmsagainstherchest.
“Becarefulwhatyouaskfor.”Heturnedandswungintothesaddle,guidinghismareupthesteepgradeandawayfromthecave.
Theridebackintotownwasevenmoresilentthantherideout.HughesrodeaheadofBarleigh,keepinghismareatafasttrot.Eachtimeshecaughtupwithhim,hewouldspeedupjustenoughtomakeitobvious
thathedidn’twanttoridesidebyside.
*****BarleighreinedhergeldingtoastopattheendoftheroadandwatchedasHughesledhismareintothebarn,henotoncelookingbacktoseeifshewasbehind.Shehadwantedhimtoleaveheralone.Shehadpushedhimaway—toldhimtoneverkissheragain,toneverspeaktoheragain.Sowhydidshefeel
likeherheartwasshatteringlikethecrystalglasseshe’dsmashedagainsttheboulders?
Minuteslater,shewatchedasheleftcarryinghissaddlebagsinonehand,somethingclutchedintheother,andheadedfortheSaltLakeHouseacrossthestreet.Barleighsqueezedherheelsandclucked,“Comeon,boy,walkon.”Thegeldingcomplied,respondingtothe
gentlecue.“Mr.Lévesquewas
sureinafoulmood,”saidBigBrodyashesweptthecenteraisleofthebarn.“Didn’tsaynothingtome.HescribbledaquickmessagefortheCarsonCitymail,askedMariotohaveCarsonCitytelegraphittoSanAntonio,thenhegrabbedabottleofwhiskeyandleft.”
Sothat’swhathewascarrying.
“Ican’tsay.Werodetogetherforawhile,thenhetookoffonhisown.Saidsomethingaboutabigjobtomorrow.”Barleighfinishedcurryingthegeldingandputhiminhisstallwithafreshpailofwaterandscoopofoats.“Stoneyalreadygone?”
“Herodeoutafewsecondsago.That’shisdusthangingonthewind.”BigBrodynoddedoverhisshouldertowardthewide,
doubledoorsthatwereslidopen,allowingfreshairintothebarn.
BarleighpeereddowntheroadbutStoneywasoutofsight.“Abitlateleaving,wasn’the?”
“Mailwaslatecomingin.Someproblembackdowntheline,don’tknowwhatforsure.Say,justsoyouknow....”BigBrodyloweredhisvoice.“MarioorderedmetotakethatMexicansombrero
ofhisandburnit.Today.Youmightwanttohideitsomeplace.”
“Mariocangotohell,”saidBarleigh,givingBrodyathankyounod.Agoodspitonthegroundwascalledfor.
“I’vebeentohell,”saidMario,walkinginthedoor,slappingBarleighontheback.“Hell’slivingforeighty-sevendaysinthesteerageofacargoshipand
fightingoverwhogetsthefattestratforyouronemealoftheday.It’sseeingyourmotherandfather’sbodiestossedoverboardalongwiththerestofthestinkingtrash.Hell’sbeingtenyearsoldandaloneinNewYorkCity,someonestealingyourshoesoffyourfeetwhileyouslept,wakinguphungry,pickingthroughhorseshitwithyourbarehands,searchingfortheundigestedoats.That’smy
versionofhell.”BigBrodyrolledhis
eyesandshruggedhisshoulders,andthenwentbacktosweeping.
“Ididn’tmeanthat,Mario,”saidBarleigh.“Yes,sir,thatsoundslikehelltome,too.”
“Don’tmindme.”Mariogaveadismissingwaveofhishands.“Mytoesarecold.So,what’dyoudo,Bar?Lévesquecameback
sullenandlookingforagooddrunk.”
“Ididn’tdoanything,”shesaid,alittletoodefensivelyshethought.
“Maybehe’slonelyforhisladyfriendinSanAntoniothathe’swritingto,”saidMariowithamischievousgrin.“Maybehistoesandotherbodypartsneedwarmed.”Mariolaughed.
“Maybeit’sbecauseI
toldhimhecouldn’thaveDorthea,thatIwantedherallformyself.”Barleighspatonthegroundandleftthebarn,thesoundsoflaughterfromMarioandBigBrodyfollowingheroutthedoor.
Barleighcrossedthewidestreetasshemadeherwaytowardthehotel,wantingnothingmorethantogobacktobed,crawlunderthecovers,pullthesheetoverherhead,andhibernatefor
therestoftheday.ShemissedAuntWinnie—missedStarling.ShemissedTexas.Shewantedtogohome,evenifhomewasjustaburnedpieceofland.
“Hey,watchwhereyou’rewalking,”saidagruffvoice,reelingfromthesurpriseimpactoftwopeoplecolliding.Thespeechwasslurred,theclothesreekingwithalcohol,dirt,sweat,andurine.
“Excuseme,I’msosorry,”saidBarleigh.“Iguessmyfeetdidn’tknowwheretobe.”
“Inaholyplaceofworshipiswhereyoushouldbe,”saidtheoldman,straighteninghissour-smellingcoat.“It’sSundaymorning.”
“Andwhereshouldyoubethen?”askedBarleigh.
“That’snoneofyourbusiness.Butifyoucould
spareafewcoinstocovermybreakfast,I’llforgetaboutyourrudebehavior.”Thestinkingsuitheldouthishand.
Barleighfishedaroundinherpocketsandcameoutwithsomesparechange,handingitovertotheoldman.“Enjoyyourbreakfast.I’llforgetaboutyourrudebehavior,too.”
“Thankyou,miss.Godblessyou.”
Barleighstoppedinhertracksandstaredintotheoldman’swatery,bloodshoteyes.“Whatdidyousay?”
“Isaidthankyou,miss,andGodblessyou.Thatwasall.Youain’tgoingtomaketroubleforme,areyou?”
“No.Notrouble.Blessings,orwhatever,toyoutoo.”Barleightossedhimanothercoinandwentintothehotel.
Thankyou,Miss?Miss?WhatthehellamIdoinghere?
Theroomwasdark,quiet,thefourbunkbedsthatBigBrodyandYatessharedalongwiththenewstockhandlers,LarsandLiam,wereempty.Thetwosinglebeds,hersandStoney’s,wereemptyaswell.Witheveryonegone,shehadtheroomtoherselfforachange.Nohavingtolayherelisteningto
fartingandbelching—nodisgusting,raunchyhumoraboutwomen’sgenitalia,andthenpretendingtolaugh.
Barleighlayacrossherbead,stretchingoutoverthetopofthecovers,enjoyingthequiet.Shekickedoffherboots,loosenedthecordonhershirt,anduntuckedtheends,gettingcomfortable.
Sheturnedherheadandlookedatthewall
betweenherandHughes’sroom,tryingtoenvisionwhathewasdoing.Wouldhebelyingonhisbedwithhisbootskickedoff?Withhisshirtoff?Wouldhebesittingbythewindow,sippinghiswhiskey?Whywouldheneedwhiskeythisearlyintheday?Whywashekindoneminute,thenrudeandsullenthenext?Washemissingsomeone—hislady-loveinSanAntonio?
WhydoIcareaboutanyofthis?
Barleighslidoutofbedandtiptoedovertothewall,pressingherearagainstit,tryingtomakeoutthemuffledsoundsshewashearingcomingfromtheotherside.Sheheardvoicesandwonderedwhohewasspeakingto.Washetalkingtohimself?Didhetalkinhissleep?Shewonderedwhatitwouldbeliketosleepinhis
bed,tofeelhisnakedbodyagainsthersifshewokeupduringthenight.Shepressedharderagainstthewall,imaginingitwasHughes’sbodyshewasfeelingpressingagainsthersinreturn,likethelastkissfromlastnightinthealley.
ThebedroomdoorswungopenandBigBrodyandLarsstoodinthehallway,Lars’shandonthedoorknobastheyenteredtheroom.
“Whatareyoudoing,Bar?EavesdroppingonLévesque?”askedBigBrody.
Barleighjumpedawayfromthewall,kickingthebedframeintheprocess.“Ouch!Fuckthathurt.”Shebouncedaroundononefoot,holdingthebigtoeoftheother.“Goddamnit,yousurprisedme.”
“Wecanseethat.WhywereyoulisteninginonMr.Lévesque’sroom?”Big
Brodyasked,lookingsuspicious.
“I,uh...IthoughtImighthaveheardawoman’svoiceintherewithhim.Ijustwantedtoknowwhatitsoundedlikewhenamanandawoman,youknow,mightbe,uh...”
BigBrodybeltedoutalaugh.“Youmeanyou’veneverbeenwithawoman?Youdon’tknowwhatawomansoundslikewhen
she’sinthethroesofpassion?”
“Ididn’tmeananyharm.”Barleighsatonthesideofherbedmassaginghersoretoe.“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?Just—justgofuckoff,allright?”
BigBrodyandLarslookedateachother,thenatBarleigh.Asifoncue,bothhadherbyeacharm,forcingherbootsonherfeet,grabbinghercoat,dragging
heroutthedoor.“Whatareyoudoing?
Putmedown.”Barleighstruggled,butitwasnouse.“Isaidletmego.”
“Let’sallgofuckoff,”laughedLars.“Let’sallgofuckoffatthewhorehouse.”
“ExactlywhatIwasthinking,”saidBigBrody,laughingevenharder.“Bar,youwon’thavetowonderanymorewhatawoman
soundslike.You’llexperienceitfirsthandandthenbethankingusfromheretotheothersideofnextSunday.”
Hughes’sdoorcrackedopenandhestuckhisheadoutintothehallway.“What’sallthecommotion?”
“We’vedecidedtotakealittlewalkovertoseesomeofMissMaeve’sgirls.Barseemstohaveacuriousstreakthismorningthatneeds
satisfying,”saidLars.“Ifyou’renotalreadysoengaged,pleasefeelfreetojoinus.”
“That’saninvitationIdon’tbelieveIshouldpassup.Givemeaminutetopullonmyboots.”Hughesslammedthedoor.
“Thosewomendon’tworkonSundaymornings,”saidBarleigh.“Dothey?”
“Inthistown?That’swhenthey’rethebusiest,”
saidBigBrody.“AmenandOh,God,
Oh,God,”saidLars.*****
FrenchperfumeandsweetcigarsmokescentedtheairinthedimlylitroomsatMissMaeve’sBoardingHouse.Girlsinscantycostumesandinvariousstagesofundressloungedaboutonbillowypillows,somewearinggaudyamountsofrougeandlipstick,somewearingnone
atall.TheoneswearingnoneatallsaddenedBarleighthemost—theylookedsoyoung,fresh,andunspoiled.
“Here’ssomethingforyou,MissMaeve,”saidLars,handingherasilverdollar.“Picksomeoneniceforourfriend,Bar.It’shisfirsttimegoingupstairs.Someonenice,likeBerta.”LarsandBigBrodywinkedateachother,thenstrolledovertothepillowedfloorandselected
rougedandlipstickedgirlsfortheirownpleasures.
HugheshandedMaeveafive-dollargoldpiece.“BuffaloBertamightbealittlefrighteningforwhatwewanttoaccomplishtoday.It’sBar’sfirsttime.Heshouldhavethemostexperiencedwomanhere.MissMaeveherself.”
“Anythingforyou,Hughes,”saidMissMaeve,battinghereyelasheslikea
shyschoolgirl.SheheldoutahandforBarleigh.“Comewithme,boy.Butwhenwe’redone,noonecancallyouaboyanylonger.”
Barleighlaughedoutloud.
HughestookMissMaevebyherelbowandpulledheraside,whisperingsomethingtoher,handingheranotherfive-dollargoldpiece.MissMaevesurreptitiouslyglancedat
Barleighforameresecond,noddingasHughesspoke,smiling,andnoddingagain.
“Myspecialservice,whyyesofcourse.I’dbedelightedtogiveBarmyextraspecialservice,”MissMaevesaidloudenoughforeveryonetohear,thenlookedatBarleighandwinked.
Anhourlater,asBarleighandMaevewerereadytostepoutfromherroom,MissMaevepinched
hercheekstomakethemappearflushwithcolor,mussedherhair,andthrewalacyrobeoverhershoulders.
“Whatapleasureitwastomeetyou,Barleigh.Imustsay,thiswasthemostsurprisingmorningI’vehadinalongtime.And,themostpleasureI’vehadearningmoney,justbysharingalittle‘girltalk.’Don’tworry,honey,yoursecret’ssafewithme.”
“Thankyou,MissMaeve.Whatanenlighteninghour.Ihaven’thadanotherwomantotalktoinawhile.IhopeIdidn’tshockyouwithallmyquestions.”
“MissMaeve’snotshockedbymuch.”Thewomangaveaheartylaugh.
“Growingupwithoutamother,I’veonlyhadmyimaginationtoguidemeabouttheintimaciesbetweenamanandawoman.”
Barleighblushed,recallinginvividdetailsomeofMissMaeve’sexplicitdescriptions.“I’llgivesomethoughttowhatyousaidaboutHughes—thewayamanlikehimcangofromkissingmeoneminutetoalmostkillingtwomenthenext.”
“Itwasn’tjustaboutHughes,itwasaboutmostmen.Thegoodoneshaveastrongneedtoprotecttheweakersex.Youcan’tfightit
oraskthemtogoagainstit.It’sintheirnature.EspeciallyforamanlikeHughes—it’ssacredtohisnature.Youcanuseittoyouradvantage.Notmanipulatively,butfairly,whereeachonegetswhattheyneed.”
“But,Idon’tknowwhatIneed.”
“Thenyoukeeplookinguntilyoudiscoverit.Thetrickistonevergiveuptillyoufindit,honey.You’ll
dojustfine.Now,speakingaboutallmen,lookslikeyourbuddiesarewaitingforyou.I’llputonashowofit.Watchthis.”Shepinchedhercheeksagain,re-fluffedherhair,andproceededtoenthralleveryonewithabreathlessstoryofpure,sensualdelight.
“Well,well,congratulations,Bar.Whowould’vethoughtalittleguylikeyouhaditinyoutotakecareofawomanlikeMiss
Maeve?”BigBrodyslappedBarleighontheback,alookofadmirationonhisface.
“Andforawholehour,too,”addedLars.“Myfirsttime?Ihadmypantsbackupandcinchedinlessthanfiveminutes.Or,didIevengetthemallthewaydownbeforeIfinished?”Histhoughtsandwordstrailedoff.
“LarsandIwanttostayhereawhile,seewhat
othertroublewecanscareup,thenmaybegoovertoWhiskeyStreet.Wanttostaywithus?Romeo?”BigBrodylaughed,slappingBarleighonthebackagain.“Nowthatyou’vegotyourfirstoneunderyourbelt,youmightaswellgiveBuffaloBertaaride.”
“Thanks,butno.I’llwaitforHughesto,uh,finish,tocome,touh,comedownthestairs,thenI’llheadback
tothehouse.”Barleighlookedupthestairs,hopingtoseeHughes.
“Oh,Mr.Lévesquedidn’tstay,”saidoneoftheyoung,fresh-facedgirlswearingnomakeupandloungingonthepileofpillows.“Hesaidhehadotherimportantworktotakecareof.”Shepouted,tryingtoactaffronted.
“Youtwohavefun,”Barleighsaid,givinga
knowingsmile.“IthinkI’llgohibernateawhile.Amanneedshisrestafterallthatexcitement.”
AfterthankingMissMaeveagain,BarleighwalkedbacktotheSaltLakeHousealone.Withhandsinpockets,shepassedthelargeplate-glasswindowinfrontofthemercantilestore.Shesteppedbackandstudiedherreflection,wonderingwhatHughessawwhenhelooked
ather.Shesawrowelled
spursstrappedaroundtall-heeled,knee-highboots,theblackleatherpolishedbutworn.Bluetweeddungareestuckedintoherboottops.Yellowbuckskinshirtthreadedupthefrontclosurewithaleathercord.Yellowbandanatiedaroundherneckinplaceofapearlnecklace.Heavy,oil-skinslickerlinedinthicksheep’swoolthat
hungtotheground.Colt.45strappedtoherhipthatshe’dlearnednottoleaveathome.Brown,short-brimmed,short-crownedwesternhatshetighteneddownwithasturdylatigoandasilverconcho,theconchoforshowbecauseshelikedthewayitlooked.Boy-shorthairinneedofacutandacomb.Fringedleatherglovestokeephercallousedhandswarm.Animageoftheweakersexinneedofa
man’sprotection?Hardly.Barleightookastep
closertothewindowandcontemplatedherappearanceamomentlonger,takinginherexpression,ponderingthefacestaringback.Plain.Nomakeup.Liketheyoung,fresh-facedgirlsatMissMaeve’swholookedliketheydidn’tbelongintheirjobs,either.SheturnedandwalkedawaytowardtheSaltLakeHouse,feelingtiredand
melancholy.Howfortunate,
though,Ionlyhavetoridehorsesforaliving.
*****SomeonebangingonthedoorawokeBarleighfromhersleep,theinsistentpoundinggrowinglouder.“Wakeup.Areyouinthere?”
Wherewaseveryoneelse?Barleighfeltdisoriented.Normally,atleastoneotherriderwassleeping
inthebunkroomatanygiventime.Sheshuffledtothedoorinherredlongjohns,thewarmthermalunderwearherbasicuniformwhennotinridingattire.
“Coming.Holdon.”Softlightfilteringinthewindowaroundthecurtainsindicateditwasnotyetevening.Aglanceattheclockshowedittobehalfpastfourintheafternoon—she’dalmostslepttheday
away.“Yes,whatisit?”She
openedthedooracrackandpeekedoutside.
Hugheswasslumpedagainstthewallindisheveledclothes,hishairamess,afiveo’clockshadowpepperinghisjaw.Toomanywhiskeysetchedthelinesonhisface.Shewantedtojumpintohisarms,ortopullhimintotheroom,butsheremindedherselfthatthat’snotwhata
PonyExpressriderwoulddo.
“Lévesque.Youlooklikeshit.”
“Thankyou.Youlookdelicious,”hewhispered.
“You’redrunk,”shesaid,annoyed.
“You’reastute.”HeheldupabottleofBaerBrothers’whiskeyalreadythreequartersemptyandtookanotherswig.
“Whyareyouhere?”
“Iwenttothebarntocheckonmymare—”
“Evendrunk,yourememberedyourpriorities,beforepassingout.Goodforyou.”Shesteppedback,closingthedoor.
“Listentome,”Hughessaid,brushingasideherremark,hisbootforcingthedooropen.Inaloudvoice,speechslurred,hesaid,“Stoney...he’smissing.Hishorsecamebacktothebarn
withouthim.Themochila’sgone,too.Therewasblood—abloodyhandprintonthehorse’sneck.”Hughesleanedagainstthedoorframeforbalance.
“Oh,dearGod.Thatcan’tbe.”Barleighrushedintotheroom,pullingonherclothes.Shoutingoverhershoulder,sheasked,“Istheresomeoneoutlookingforhim?”
“MariosentBig
BrodyandBrody’slittlebrother—what’shisname,Yates?”Hughescalledfromthehallway.
“Right,Yates.”Barleighranoutthedoor,pushingpastHughes,sendinghimspinninglikeatop.Assheleft,shegrabbedStoney’sMexicansombrerofromthehatrack,puttingitonforgoodluck.
*****Hughessteadiedhimself
againstthewallandstumbledtowardhisdoor.NoddingtothetwomenpeeringfromoutoftheirdoorwaythatwasacrossthehallfromthePonyExpressroom,heraisedhisbottleinaninvitation.
“Evening,gents.Shareatoast?”Heslungbackanothergulpandheldoutthebottle.
Thedoorclosed,thelockclickinginplace.
Insidehisroom,
Hughesemptiedtheteafromthewhiskeybottlebackintothesilverteaserver.Then,herefilledthewhiskeybottlewithitsoriginalcontentsofBaerBrothersfromhiscanteen,minusthetwoshotshe’dallowedhimselfafterthemorning’sridewithBarleigh.ThethirdandfourthshotsmissingfromthebottlehadhelpedtosteadyhimafterheawokefromanunrestfulnapandafitfuldreamofQuanah
ParkerengagedinabloodyraidonaNorthTexashomestead.
Afterrunningaquickrazoracrosshisfaceandacombthroughhishair,hepulledonhisuniformofthenight:blacktrousers,blackshirt,vest,andtopcoat,blackboots,blackgloves,andblackhat.
Lookingathisimageinthemirror,hetoldhimself,“Youdon’thavetheluxuryof
worryingabouther.Youhaveajobtodo.”
Heslippedoutofthewindow,closingitbehindhim.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
NOVEMBER26,1860
AlonefiguredashedfromtheSaltLakeHouseHotel,almostrunningheadlongintoasmallladstandingoutfrontonthesidewalk.HoldinganextraeditionfortheDeseretNews–ThePonyDispatch,theyoungboy,usinga
rehearseddialogue,calledouttopassersbythattheSouthernsecessionmovementwasgainingmomentum,pointingtotheheadlinesasproof.Inboldtype,thescriptgavedetailofSouthCarolina,Georgia,andMississippicallingforaspecialsessionoflegislaturefortheelectionofdelegatestoasecessionconvention.
Barleighapologizedtotheboyasshespedpast,
ignoringtheheadlines.“Mario,”sheshouted,
runningintothebarn,tryingtopushdownthepanicrisingfromhergut.“Mario,whereareyou?”
“Overhere.”Hecameoutofastallleadingasmallbrownmare,tackedupandready.“Iknewyou’dbecomingassoonasyougotword.Ican’ttellyounottogo,thoughIwishyouwouldn’t.BrodyandYates
arealreadyoutlooking.”“Ihaveto.”Barleigh
tookthereinsfromMario.“Don’tforget,you’re
ondutytomorrow.”“Ihaven’tforgotten,”
shesaid,doublecheckingthecinch.
“IsMr.Lévesqueridingwithyou?Iexpectedhe’ddoso,”askedMario,lookingoverBarleigh’sshouldertowardthedoor.
“Lévesqueisdrunk
offhisass.Hecanbarelywalk,letaloneride.”Barleighsteppedintothesaddle,thereinsheavyinherhands,thehard,oiledleatherstripsbeginningtostiffenasthetemperaturestartedtoslide.
Mariolookedconfused.“Hewashereearlier.Ididn’tnoticehimbeingdrunk.”
“Hewasbeyonddrunk,”shesaid,annoyedagainatthethought.
“Anyway,whathappensifI’mnotbackbymorning?”
“Whatdoyoumean,ifyou’renotback?”
“I’mnotcomingbackuntilIfindStoney.Whatifittakeslonger?WhatifI—”Shedroppedhergazedowntoherglovedhandsholdingthestiffeningreins,flippingtheleatherhardagainstherpalm.
AtangleofemotionscausedBarleigh’sbreathto
catch,andshestruggledtokeepherwordseven.ThethoughtofheadingbacktoTexashadbeenplantedinhermind—thenotionofnotridinganymore,ofquittingthePonyExpress.
“AfterIfindStoney,”shesaid,“itmightbeagoodtimeformetoleave—togohome.”
Mariopattedthemareontheneck.“You’lllikeLittleBrownie.She’s
surefootedandswift.Takeanextrabedrollandanextracanteenofcoffee.Thenicewarmdayweenjoyedtodaywasateaser.There’sanor’easterblowingin.Icanalreadyfeelthechange.”
Hefixedthebugleandbothcanteenstothesaddlehornandtiedthemwiththelatigo,thenputanextracoatinsidethebedroll,reattachingittothecantle.“LarsorLiamcanfillinif
you’renotbackinthemorning.We’lltalkaboutyougoinghomeafteryoufindStoney.”
“Yes,sir.Thanks,Mario.”
“I’mgladyougotthatdamnedsombreroon.Thatwidebrimwillhelpkeepthesnowoffyou,”hesaid,atwinkleinhiseye.
BarleighgaveMarioasalute,touchingtheedgeofherhandtothesombrero,and
nodded.“Yes,sir,itwill.”“Becareful,son.”
Mariodrewthebarndoorsclosedagainstthechillingwind.
Reiningthemarearound,Barleighrodeeast,followingStoney’smailroute.Afewstarspokedholesintothedarkeningskyasacold,gustywindfromthenorthspilledovertheWasatchMountains,shakingfromtheskyafewfat
snowflakesthatfellhardtothegroundlikeround,whitecoins.
ThewayintoParley’sCanyonfeltfamiliar,andLittleBrownieseemedtoknowtheway.Theroutewasclearandsolid,thefootinggood,thepaceeven.Shekeptthemareatafast,steadytrot,listening,callingoutStoney’sname,listeningagain,lookingforanythingoutoftheordinary.
ThroughEmigrationCanyon,upMountainDellandBigMountainPass,thoughtsofthefirsttimetheyrodeintoSaltLakeplayedacrosshermind,theexcitementsheandStoneyhadfeltatnearingtheendoftheirfirstlongride.Theyhadwhoopedandhollered,puttingonquitetheshowofitforthetravelersintheOverlandStagecomingdownBigMountainPass.
Likeawildbanshee,Stoney’slustywhoopshadfilledtheair.Wavinghishatatthetravelers,he’ddroppedhishorserightovertheedgeofthemountain,fearless,androdeitdownlikehewasfloatingonarivercurrent.Theexuberantexpressionhe’dhadonhisfacewaspurejoy.Recallingthatday,thatride,hishappiness,asshecoveredthatsamegroundonLittleBrownie,Barleigh
hardenedherresolvetofindhim.
AtWebberCanyonStation,shecaughtupwithBigBrodyandYates,whohadstoppedtorestandchangehorses.ShehadchangedonceatMountainDellanddecidedtochangeagain,too,eventhoughherpacehadbeenslowandsteady,thehorsenotyetplayedout.
“We’regoingto
doublebackfromhere,”saidBrody.“TheysayStoneynevermadeitthisfar,thatBigMountainPasswasthelasthecheckedin.I’mridingabitoffthetrailtothenorth;Yatesisridingabitoffthetrailtothesouth.What’syourplan,Bar?”
“I’llmakeafewcirclesaroundWebberStation,maybegoasfarasEchoCanyon,andthencomebackherebymorning,”she
said.Stoneycouldbeanywhereinbetweenifhewashurt.
ItwasnearmidnightwhenBarleighleftWebberStation,snowfallingnonstopandcoveringthegroundseveralinchesdeepinplaces,deeperwherethedriftsblewagainstrocksandtrees.Thewoolenponchohungfromhershoulders,drapingoverthesaddle,coveringherlegsallthewaydowntoher
boots.Intheupperelevation,
thesnowwasmorepowderythanwhatfelldowninthevalley,thehorsehavingtopushthroughitinsteadofwalkingoverasoldpack.Thetemperaturedroppedthroughoutthenightuntilitsettlednearzero,hoveringthereuntilmorningwhenthesun’sraysofferedtheairslightwarmth.
Ridingnortheastfrom
WebberStation,BarleighaimedforthefoothillsoftheRedBluffsthatraninanobtuselineagainstthelevelplaneoftheWebberRiverValley.Fromthere,shecircledaroundtothenorthwest,thencrossedEchoCreekandheadedsouth,makingasweepingcircleoftheicyvalleyasshecurvednortheastagaintoherstartingpoint.
Themooncastaslight
illuminationacrossthesnow,allowingsomelighttoshineonanotherwisedarknight.Barleighdecidedtomakehercirclewider,goingfurtheroffthetrail,deeperintothetreesandscrubbrush,crisscrossingthecreek,fordingthelow-watercrossingoftheriver.
OnthebankoftheWebberwherethesnowhadyettoaccumulatetomorethanadusting,somethingcaughthereyeasthe
moonlightglintedagainsttheshapeofonobjectthatcontrastedwithitssurroundings.Dismounting,shebentoverwhatlookedtobeanarrow.Shepickeditup.Theblue-grayflinttipwassmearedwithdriedblood.Tyingitintoherbedroll,sheremountedandspurredherhorsetowardHeadofCanyonStation.
ColonelHill,thestationmaster,wasn’ta
colonelasfarasanyoneknew,buteveryonecalledhimthatbecausehisfistswerequicktoremindfolksthathepreferredtobeaddressedassuch.ColonelHillhadnotseenorheardofIndiansinthearea,andwassorrytohearaboutStoney.
“Ilikethatboy.Isurehopeyoufindhimallright.Butshouldn’tyoustayputtillmorning?Atleasttillitstopssnowing?”
“Itcouldsnowfordays,”Barleighsaid,saddlingasmallbutstout,copperycoloredmare.“I’mridingtoCacheCave.”
WhereshehadfoundthearrowontheWebberRiverassherodeoutofEchoCanyon,thelogicalplacetolookforStoneywouldbetoheadtoCacheCave.IfshehadIndianschasingher,that’swhereshe’dtrytogetto.
“You’llcrossthewatershedbetweentheBearRiverandtheWebberRiver.Theterrainshouldbefrozen.Mostly.Whereit’snot,mightbepatchyquicksand.Becareful,son.”
“Yes,sir.Thankyou,Colonel.”
Ridingoutintheopen,shefeltvulnerable,suspiciousofsounds,jumpyatshadows.Thesnowhadtaperedoffandthemoon
hunglikeabrightballinthedarksky,withascatteringofcloudsflittingby.Thetreesandscrubhadbecomesparse,andtheflatopengroundbetweenthetworivervalleysleftlittlemeansofprotection.Shekepthereyesontheground,lookingformorearrowsorothersigns,nolongercallingoutStoney’snameforfearsomeoneelsemighthearher,too.
Overhead,thefull
moonshadowedher,remindingherofthepowersandperilsofitsbeauty—toseeandtobeseen.Shewonderedwhatnamewasgiventothemoonbythepeopleofthemountains.
Barleighwhisperedasongunderherbreath,eachwordforminganicycloudinfrontofherface.“Iseethemoon;themoonseesme.IranawayfromtheCo-man-che.”
Thegroundsurroundingthewatershedwascrunchyunderfoot,butinseveralplacesherhorse’sbalancefalteredwherethehard-packwasn’tfrozensolid.Theweightoftheanimalbrokethroughthetoplayer,themarelurchedforward,seekingsolidfooting.Dismounting,Barleighwalkednexttothehorse,easingtheanimal’sstrain.
Shereachedforthecanteenthatwastiedtothesaddlehorn,wantingthewarmthofthehotliquidinherbelly.Thetwocanteensweretiedtogetheralongwiththebugle,thentheleatherstrapwasdalliedtightaroundthesaddle’shorn.Hernumbfingersfumbledwiththefrozenleatherknotthatdidn’twanttoloosen.Givingup,shetookherknifeandcuttheleather,removingallthree
fromthesaddle.“Whoa,whoanow.
What’swrongwithyou?”Barleighsaid,hermarethrownintoasuddenpanic.
Thehorsesidesteppedandreared,headhigh,eyeswide,whinnyinginahorse’snervousway.Barleightightenedhergriponthereins,followingthehorse’smovement,joggingforwardtowardthemareasthepanickedhorseshuffled
backward.“Easy,girl.Easy,”
Barleighsoothed.Thefrightenedhorse
whinnied,shakingherheadleftandright.Rearing,pawingwithslashinghoovesatthemoon,shejerkedthereinsfreeandboltedintothedarkness.
Barleighdroppedtoallfours,pressinglowtotheground.Shemadeaquicksweepwithhereyes,looking
inalldirections,seeingnothing,butsensing—something.Huddledundertheponcho,shecrouchedonherhaunchesandsippedfromoneofthecanteens.Thespotlightmoonlentitssoft,silverylighttothecrunchy,frozenearth.
“Damnittohell,”shecursed.“Andyes,Stoney,that’sexactlywhatagirlwouldsay.”
Lookingatthedark
lineoftherockyridgeandtheformationcalledTheNeedles,sheknewshemustbeclosetoCacheCave.Hangingthetwocanteensandthebuglearoundherneck,shestoodtoleavewhensomethinginthelowsagebrush—aflashofyellow—caughtherattention.Shesettledbackdownunderherponchoandwaited,listening,watching.But,shewastheonebeingwatched.
Apairofeyesglintingintheglareofthemoonlitsnowpeeredoutfromthethicketofsagebrushaboutonehundredyardstothenorthnearthebaseoftheridge.
Whatareyou,wolforcoyote?
Barleighwaitedseverallongminutesbeforetheeyesdisappeared,thenreappearedmomentslater,closer,alongsideanotherpair.
Andanother.Thenanother.Thehaironthebackofherneckstoodonend.Turningaround,slowanddeliberate,shesawtwopairsofeyes,shinyandbrightandreflectingthesilverymoon,watchinghereverymove.
Leftandright,moreeyesappeared.
TheColtrevolvershecarriedhadonlyfivebulletsloaded.Withtheextracartridgeinherpocket,she
hadtenshotsinall.Countingthepairsofeyessurroundingher,sherealizedthatifeveryanimalattackedatonce,she’dbeseveralbulletsshortofdefendingherself.That’sifallshotshittheirmark.Sheholsteredthepistol,savingthebulletsforapossibleworsethreat.
WithCashCavetotheeast,shebegantoeasebackwardinitsdirection.Stayinglow,goingslow,not
makinganythreatingmovements,shekeptherheadpivotingtotheleft,totheright,andtotherear,watchingeachside.Removingthesombrero,shegrippeditinherlefthand,thebugleinherright,andshecrepttowardthecave.
Onebraveanimalmadeanadvance.Shebugledherhornasloudlyasshecouldblowandwavedthesombreroatthestalking
creature.Heshrankbackintothedarkness.Anotherapproached.Shebugledandwaved.Again,itwasfrightenedaway.Another,thenanother,tested,andeachtime,thenoisefromthehornandtheflappingofthesombreroscaredthehungryanimalsbackintotheshadows.
Amaleandfemalehuntingpairadvancedtogether,flankingleftand
right.Barleighbugled,whirlingaround,wavingthesombrero,andoneshiedaway.Theboldestofthepaircamecloseandlunged.Barleighslappedwiththesombreroandbugledwithallthebreathshehadleftinhersorelungs.Thewolfretreated,confusedbythestrangetrumpetingnoise.
Bumpingupagainstalargeboulder,Barleighsatandhuddledwithherback
againstthestone.Theadvancesandretreatscontinuedthroughoutthenight,thebuglingandtheswattingwiththesombrerokeepingthewolveswiththeirhungryeyesretreatingtotheshadowyfringesofthebrush.
Atthemomentwhenshefeltshehadnothingleft,herenergydrained,herbodyexhausted,hersorelipsswollenandcracked,apale
pinkglowontheeasternhorizongavewaytoahopethatshe’doutlastedthewolves.
Thesunneverroseinboldgrandeur.Theworldjustbecamelight,thesoftgraycloudsdiffusingthepinkstreaks,turningtheskyintoamottledsilverrealm.Withthemorning’slight,thewolvesdisappearedtotheirdenstoawaitthenextnightofhuntingsomeotherprey.
Hercrampedmusclesached.Barleighstood,pressingafistagainstherlowerback,rubbingandmassagingherstiffneck.Thecoffeeinthecanteenwasbitterandcoldbutshedrankit,holdingthecoldmetalawayfromhersore,bruisedlips.Pickingupthesombrero,sheturneditaroundinherhands,inspectingthebrightyellowhatwiththegoldandblacktrim.Clawortooth
marksfrayedasmallareaontheedgewherethelargegraywolfhadlunged,gettingfarcloserthanBarleighhadrealized.
Takingnoteofthetopography,BarleighsawthatshewasfurtherfromthebaseofTheNeedlesformationthanwhatshe’danticipated.Feelingdisorientedandconfused—theyweresupposedtobeonherleft...no,onherright...shespun
around,tryingtogetherbearings.Thesunofferednodirectionalhelp,theskyamilkygraymess.Tracingtheridgewithanimaginaryline,shemarkedthespotwherethelastNeedlepointedtowardEchoCanyon.Breathingasighofrelief,sheturnedaroundandbeganwalkingsoutheast,knowingCacheCavewaslessthanamileaway.
Thecrunchy,half-
frozenterrainofthetworivers’watershedgavewaytoslipperygravel.Shepickedherwaywithslow,cautiousstepsacrossthetreacherousground.Thepathskiddedandslid,changingonceagaintodeepsand,butshewasalmostthere.Nottoofaraway,maybeanothertwentyyards,shesawthegapingopeningslashedintothesideoftherock,thefamiliartunnelthattravelersknewasCache
Cave.Abovetheentrance,smalldarkcloudsdriftedinaneasycircle,floatinghighabovetheopening.
Aslow,colddreadsettledoverher.Thecloudsformedintoshapes.Barleighshouted,runningtowardthecave,realizingthecirclingfigureswerenotdarkcloudsatallbutbuzzards—crows—birdsofcarrion.Shetrumpetedthebugle,wavingherarmsandthesombrero.
Aswiththewolves,thecommotionandthenoisedrovethescavengingbirdsaway.
Approachingtheentrancetothecave,Barleighexchangedthebugleinherhandforherpistol.FiveIndianslaydeadinrusty,freeze-driedpoolsofblood.Offtotheleftweretwomore,thenoneothertotheright.Uponenteringthecave,shesawtwomorewholay
sprawledtogetherinanunsuccessfuleffortatfleeing.Barleighsteppedoverthelasttwo,unsureofwhatshe’dfindfurtherinthecave.
Andthenshesawhim.
Stoneywasslumped,halfleaning,halflaying,nearthewall,Coltrevolverinonehand,theotherhandholdingthemochilainatightgrip.HeopenedhiseyesasBarleighdroppedtoherkneesnextto
him.“Mysombrero,”he
whisperedinaweakvoice.“Youbroughtmemy...”Hepointedatthehat,hisvoicetrailingoff.
“Idid,Stoney.Ibroughtittoyou.Howbadareyouhurt?”Thebloodthatpooledunderhimonthegroundfrightenedher.
“TheythoughtIwasdeadwhentheyshotmeoffmyhorse.Theytookthe
mochila.ButIfollowedthem...here.Igot...gotthemochilaback,”hesaid,hisvoiceraspy.
“Youdidsomefineshooting,Stoney.Lookslikeyougotthemall.”Barleightookhimbytheshoulders,easinghimforward,peeringoverhisshoulderathisback.
Threearrowswereembeddeddownthemiddlenexttohisspine,abovewhatappearedtobeabullet
wound.ThearrowsborethesamefeatherfletchingastheoneBarleighhadfoundearlieronthebanksoftheWebberRiver.
“Ididn’tgetallofthem.Thetallwhiteman...gotaway.”Hestruggledforbreath.
“Onegotaway?Awhiteman?NotIndian?Stoney—talktome.Stayawake,buddy.”Shegavehimasipofcoldcoffeefromher
canteen.“Ablackghostwas
here.Hetoldme—Idon’tknow—hetalkedtome.Ghostsaresupposedtobewhite.”Hisraspybreathswereshallowandlabored.
“That’sright,ghostsaresupposedtobewhite.Keeptalkingtome,Stoney.I’mgoingtolayyoudownonyourside,easynow,likethis,andseeaboutgettingthesearrowsout.”
Memoriesflashed:UncleJack,AuntWinnietuggingatthearrows,thelance—leaningonit,breakingitoff.Barleigh’shandsshook,hervoicetrembled.Sheforcedherselftostaycalm,forStoney’ssake.
“I’llpulltheseout.ThenIcanwrapmyponchoaroundyou,keepyouwarmwhileIgoforahorse.Mineranaway.Wolvesspooked
her.I’llneedahorsetogetyoutoadoctor.Talktome,Stoney.Stoney?”Hervoicebroke,shatteringhercalm.
Barleighmovedaroundtokneelinfrontofhim.Shelaydownonhersideclosetohim,tookhisfaceinherhands,andkissedhisforehead,soothinghimasbestsheknewhowwithhersoftwords.Shetoldhimeverythingwouldbeallright,thatshe’dbringbackthe
fastestponyshecouldfindforhimtorideawaytothestars.
“Wouldn’tthatbesomething,Stoney?”sheasked,touchinghischeek.
Bloodtrickledfromthecornerofhismouth.Hegaspedforbreath.HiseyesfoughttostayfocusedonBarleigh’s,butthenhisgazedrifted.Helookedthroughher,beyondtosomeplaceshewouldn’tknow.Onefinal
rattlingbreathmovedhimfromthisworldtothenext.Stoneywasgone.
“Oh,Stoney.”Shewantedtocry,toscream,tosob.Herbodytightened,heated,trembled,theangerandemotionchokingherbreath,butshecouldn’tseemtofindthereliefthattearswouldoffer.Shefeltanever-endingcircleofsadnesshardeningherheart,addingyetanothercalcifyinglayer.
Herhandstrembledasshereachedouttoclosehiseyes—thoseeyesthatwereasblueastheriver.“I’msorry,Stoney.I’msosorry.Thiswasmymailrun,notyours.Itshould’vebeenme.”
Coveringhimwithherponcho,shesatwithhisbody,herbackagainstthecavewall.Shekeptherguninhand,attheready.Sippingcoldcoffee,sheworkedthroughaplaninhermind.
HikingbackuptoHeadofCanyonStationtogethorsesfromColonelHillwastheobviouschoice.Wearinessandbone-deepfatiguewashedoverher.Shetriedtofightitoff,herheadsnappingbackandfallingforward,butsoonshecouldnotresistthepull.Shefellintoadeepsleep,sittingupright,canteeninonehand,pistolintheother.
*****
Anoiseechoing,ahandonherarm,avoice,amovement,startledherawake.Jumpingup,shetrippedoverherspurs,fallingtoherknees,pointingherpistol,realizingherhandswereempty.Ascreamcaughtinherthroatashandsreachedforher,takingherbythearms,raisinghertoherfeet.Pullingher.Engulfingher.Enfoldingherinhisarms.
Ithappenedsofast,
shedidn’trealizeitwasHughesuntilshewaspressedagainsthischest—thesmellofhisbody,hisaroma,thescentsherememberedfromthefirsttimeshewrappedherselfinhiscoatfloodinghermemory.
HughestookBarleighinhisarms,holdingherclose,sayingnothing,waitingforherpanictosubside.“Shhh,shhh,”hesoothedasherbreathingreturnedtonormal.
“I’mluckyit’syou,”shesaid,hervoicetrembling.Shefeltfoolish,fallingasleep,leavingherselfvulnerable.
“It’sallright—I’mhere.”HugheslookedoveratStoneyandshookhishead.“ItoldhimtohangontillIgotback.Damnit—Ithoughthecouldhangon.IhadtogoafterArcher.”
“Whatdoyoumean,tillyougotback?”Barleigh
pulledaway,Hughes’shandsslowtoreleaseher.
“I’vehadmyeyeontheArchers.They’repartofalargergroupwho’vebeentamperingwiththemail.TheyhirerenegadeUtesandShoshonestodotheirdirtyworksothatitappearslikeacommonIndianattack.Tonightcameasacoldsurprise.Iwasexpectingittohappennextweekwiththewestboundmailto
California.”“Butyouweredrunk
—sodrunkyoucouldhardlystand,”saidBarleigh,confused.
“Iwasonmywaytoagooddrunk.WhenIlearnedthiswashappeningtonight,Iswitchedthewhiskeyforteatoputonashowforthosewatching.”
“Soitwasaruse,”saidBarleigh,puttingthedetailsoftheeveningin
order.“Aruse—yes.”“Stoneysaidtheblack
ghostvisitedhim,talkedtohim.Thatwasyou,”shesaid,stealingaglanceatStoneylyingstillandquietunderherponcho.
Barleighfistedahandagainsthermouth,afraidthatifsheweretoremoveit,afloodofunbearablesadnesswouldcomerushingout.Itwasbettertoholditinside
whereitbelonged—buriedalongsidetheothermemoriesshetriedtohush.
“IguessI’mtheblackghost,”acknowledgedHughes,nodding.“StoneyhandledtheIndiansjustfine,butJohnnyArcherhadStoneypinned.Ishotonce—itgrazedhim.Archerfled,buthisbloodmadethetraileasytofollowinthemoonlight.ThatStoneywasabraveson-of-a-gun.”
“Brave—yes,hewasbrave,”shesaid,pacing,clenchingherfistsintoherhair,thenkneelingnexttowhereStoneylay—butitwasshewhoshouldbelyingthere,nothim.“Itwasmymailrun...”Barleigh’svoicetrailedoff.
“It’snotyourfault,Barleigh.Don’tgodownthatroad.”Hugheskneltbesideher,turninghertofacehim.
“I’mveryfamiliar
withthatroad,”shesaid.Thiswasn’tthefirstdeathforwhichshefeltresponsible.
“Whatareyousaying?”
“Myfirstwasmymother,whenshegavebirthtome.ThentherewasPapaandBirdieandUncleJack,whenIranlikeafrightenedchildandhidinthecellarinsteadoffightingalongsidePapalikeIshouldhave.Now,Stoney.”Shelookeddownat
herhands,asifshewouldseeblood.
“Stopit.”Hughes’shandsgrippedhershoulders.“Don’tdothistoyourself.Allthisfalseguiltwilldonothingbutkeepyoufromeverfindinghappiness.”
“I’mnotlookingforhappiness.Idon’texpectit’slookingforme,either.”Sheshruggedawayfromhisgrip.“AllI’mlookingforisawaytogetbacktothecity.I’m
horseless.Wolvesspookedmineaway.AndI’mtakingStoneywithme.I’mnotleavinghimhere.”
“I’vegotArcher’sbodyoutsidetiedtohishorse.Wecanleaveitinthecave,telltheauthoritieswheretofindhim,andusehishorsetogetStoneyhome.Youcanridebehindme.”
TheywrappedStoney’sbodyinHughes’sbedrollafterHughesremoved
thearrowsfromhisback,andthendrapedhimoverthesaddleoftheoutlawArcher’shorse.Barleightiedthesombrerotothepommel,lettingStoneytakeithome.Iftheyrodenonstopatasteadypace,thetrekbacktoSaltLakeCitywouldtakewellintothenight.
BarleighrodebehindHughes,holdingontohiscoat,tryingnottothinkofStoneylyingacrossthe
saddleofthehorsethattrailedbehind—tryingnottothinkatall.ShepoundedherforeheadagainstHughes’sback,overandoveragain.
Hughesneverflinchedbutreachedahandaroundtosqueezeherthigh.ThetendernessandtheintimacywasalmosttoomuchforBarleightobear.Shestoppedpoundingherforeheadand,instead,layhercheekagainsthisbackandtightlyclosed
hereyes,staunchingtheflowoftears.
Aseveningworeon,HughesdecidedtomakeasmallcampfiretoreheatthecoffeeinBarleigh’scanteen.Hughesdidn’thavehissaddlebagspackedwithhisusualfancypicnic,sodinnerwasbeansandsourdoughbiscuits.ForBarleigh’sstarvingstomach,itwasafeast.
Sittingonalogclose
tothecracklingfire,shesippedsteamingcoffeefromthetincupHugheshandedher.“WhenItookofflookingforStoney,ItoldMariothatImight...thatIwasthinkingaboutgoingbacktoTexasafterIfoundhim.Ididn’tthinkI’dbebringinghimbacklikethis.”
Hughesstirredtheembers,addingmorekindling.Theflamessparkedanddancedupwardlikehow
lighteningbugsdoinawarmsummersky.Helookedbackoverhisshoulder,thelookofreliefevidentonhisface.
“You’regoingbacktoTexas?Iamsorelievedtohearyousaythat.”
“IthoughtI’dmadeupmymind.ButIcan’tleaveMariolikethis.Ihavetostaynow.Forawhile,atleast.”
Hughescametokneelinfrontofthelogshewassittingon,takingherhandsin
his.“Barleigh,lookatme.Stoney’sdead.There’remanyotherslikethemenwhokilledhim.They’llkillanyonewhogetsintheirway.TheArcherbrotherswereasmallfractionofthoseinvolvedwho’dliketokeepcertainlettersfromgoingbetweenWashingtonandCalifornia.TheseSouthernsympathizerswillstopatnothingtoconvinceCaliforniatosidewiththe
Confederacy.Youhavenoideathedangeryourideintoeverytimeyoupickupthatdamnmochila.”
“Areyousayingthatthisisjustthebeginning?”Achillshivereddownherspine,despitethefireandthecoffeeprovidingtheirownwarmth.
“That’sright,”hesaid,hiseyesdarkandserious.“Anintricateconspiracywithafar-reachingassociationisat
work.TensionsescalatingbetweenNorthandSouthspurtheseconspiratorstomoreheinousactsintheireffortstopullCalifornia’sgoldintotheRebelwarcoffers.LincolnhastokeepCalifornialoyaltotheUnion,therebykeepingcontrolofitsgold.WhicheverwayCaliforniasidescouldswaytheoutcome.”
“Youtalkasifwariscertain.”
“Ibelieveitis.”“Thenthat’sallthe
morereasonformetohelpgetthemailthrough.Lookatwhat’satstake.”
“Lookatwhat’soverthereandtiedtothathorse,”hesaid,hisvoiceharshandlow.“Areyouwillingtotakethatrisk?”
“MaybeIam.Maybeitdoesn’tmatter.”Barleigh’seyesfilledwithsadnessatthebrutalthoughtjabbingather
heart.“StarlingwouldbebetteroffbeingraisedbyAuntWinnie,anyway.”
Hughestossedtherestofhiscoffeeinthefire.Settlinghiseyesonher,hiswordsweresharpandemphatic.“Lookatme,Barleigh.That’snottrue.Yoursisterneedsyou.Riskingyourlifeonpurpose—takingdangerouschancesyoudon’thaveto—isnottheanswer.”
Barleighstood,kickingsandintothefire.“Whycan’ttherebeeasyanswers,wheredecisionsdon’tseemimpossible?”
“Notalldecisionsareimpossible.Damnit—Ican’tletthisgoon.Ithastostop.”HugheswalkedovertowhereBarleighstood,hisambereyesreflectingthefire’sflickeringlight.
“Whatdoyoumean?Whathastostop?”
“Therearethings...”Hepaused,suckinginadeepbreath,lettingitseepoutslowlythroughgrittedteeth.“...thatyouneedtoknow.”Hughesrubbedthebackofhisneckandlookedtothesky,asifthemoonwouldgivehimtherightwords.
“Hughes?Whatareyoutryingtosay?”sheasked,alarmedbythelookonhisface,thesetofhisjaw,andthegravetoneofhisvoice.
“It’skillingme,seeingyoulikethis,sotornup,sosadandguilt-riddenoversomethingthatdidn’thappen.”Hughesheldheratarm’slength,fixinghispenetratingeyesonhers.“Youcan’tgoonthinkingthatyou’reresponsibleforyourmother’sdeath.Barleigh,yourmotherdidn’tdiegivingbirthtoyou.Yourmotherisalive.”
*****
Shehaddoneashehadrequested—listenedandlethimspeakuninterrupted.Hetalkeduntilthefirewentcold,givingBarleighanabbreviatedtellingofhermother’slife,sparingafewdetails,hehadsaid,thatLeighsellemightwishtokeeptoherself.
HetoldofthesorrowhefeltthatBarleigh’smothermightdiebeforehecouldpersuadehertochangeher
mindaboutkeepingthisasecret,andthathehadtriedtoconvincehertoagreetolethimtellBarleighthetruth.Now,hewasn’tsureiftherewouldbeenoughtime.
Barleighfeltassaultedbyhiswords.Theycoveredherwithshameandfilledherwithanguish.Theynumbedeveryfiberandnerveofherbeing.Inaspanoftimethatlastedlessthanonehour,heundidherpast.Hisstory
revisedherhistory.Itstrippedawaywhatshe’dknowntobetrueofthelifeshe’dwornsocomfortably.
Shesat,listening,unmoving,astatuewithoutfeelings.Birdie,whomshe’dalwaysthoughtwassobeautiful,soexotic—it’snowonderherpapahadfalleninlovewithher.Birdieremindedhimofhisfirstlove.
Barleighsatfrozenin
place,hearing,absorbing,processing.Thedark,frostywoodsswirledaroundher.Noisesfarawaymadehollowechoes.Aghostwindskimmedacrossherskin,nottouching,justpassingover.Nothingseemedreal.
“Barleigh,areyouallright?Iknowit’salottotakein.Youhaven’tsaidanything.”
“Youwantedmetolistentoyourstorywhileyou
spokeuninterrupted.I’velistened.”
“Please,”saidHughes,takingherhand.“Saysomethingnow.Askmeaquestion.”
“HowmuchfurthertoSaltLake?”Shewalkedtowherethehorsesweretied,shakingherhead,botharmsextended,herpalmspressingoutwardagainstthisforeignworldclosinginonher.
Shewaitedfor
Hughestofollow,andshecouldn’tspeak.Wordsthatformedinherheadcrumbledtodustbeforeescapinghermouth.Hughesletherhavehersilence.Whenhewasinthesaddle,shemountedthehorsebehindhim,withtheleadropethatconnectedthemtoStoney’shorsedalliedaroundtheirsaddlehorn.
Barleigh’smindwastangledwithdistressedthoughtsandimages.Her
entirelifehadbeenalie.DidPapaknowthathermotherdidn’tdieinchildbirth?DiditnotmatterbecausehehadgrowntoloveBirdie?AndGrandfather—Grandfatherliedandmanipulatedthetotalityofherexistence.WasBirdiecomplicitinthecharade,ordidshe,aslave,nothaveachoice?Amother,aliveallthattime—allthatguilt—thatwitheverybirthdayBarleighenjoyed,it
wasananniversaryofhermother’sdeath.
AndHughes—hiredtotrackherdown—andonfindingher,knowingwhoshewas,yetpretendingnotto.ThetelegraphstohermotherinSanAntonio,givingherupdates.LettingBarleighthinkthathewasfallingforherwithhiskissesandhisfalseworry.AndBarleigh,fallingforhim.
Thesilentwords
bangedaroundinherheaduntilshecouldn’tthinkanymore,couldn’tbreathe.Aroilingpanicbeganswellingfromdeepwithin.Cold,pricklysweatbeadedonherskinaswavesofnauseawashedoverher.
“Please,stopthehorse,”shesaid,butbeforeshecouldfinishthewords,herstomachbetrayedher,retchingthesourdoughbiscuitsandreheatedcoffee.
Leaningaway,shetriedtothrowupsothatitdidn’tfoulthehorseorHughes.
Hughesreinedtoastopandloweredhertotheground,retrievingacanteenofwaterfromhisbag.“Areyouallright?”
“AmIallright?AmI?HowcanIbeallrightwhenIdon’tknowwhoIam?”
“You’restillyou.Youhavenotchanged.Onlyyour
story’schanged.Youlookpale,”hesaid,dismountingandtakingherbytheshoulders.
“Ifeelpale.”“Barleigh,please
understand.IwasdoingwhatIthoughtwasright.Icouldn’tbetraythepromiseI’dsworntoyourmother.Ihave,andIhopeshe’llforgiveme.Butdamnit—itwastherightthingtodo.”
“Honoringthat
promisetoher,thenselectivelychoosingwhichsecretstokeeporwhichliesorhalf-truthstoupholdwithme?Idon’tunderstandyouoryourcodeofethics.Idon’twanttounderstand.Whenwegetbacktothecity,Idon’twanttoeverseeyouagain.”
Sheshruggedawayfromhisgriponhershouldersandkneltdown,scoopingsnowintoherhands,washingherfaceandhermouth.She
pressedhericyfingersagainsthercheeks,wantingtofeelthebitingcoldonherskin,andshebreathedthefrigidairdeepintoherlungsuntiltheyburnedandshecoughed.Still,everythingfeltunreal,asifsheweredisconnectedfromeachofhersenses.Eventhebeautyoftheruggedlandscape,thesmellofthepinetrees,andthecrunchingsoundherbootsmadeinthesnowseemedlike
forgeries.“SinceI’veknown
you,”saidHughes,“youkeepyouremotionsincheck,burieddeepinside.Yourworld’sbeenrippedtopiecestoday.Iwishyoucouldletitoutsomehow.Scream.Cry.Throwafit.Throwapunchortwo.Releaseabitofemotionalsteam.”
“Ididreleaseemotion.Ispeweditalloverthebackofyourcoat.”
Hughesforcedagrin.“I’mserious.”
“Iam,too.Yourcoat’samess.Sorry.”
Hetookhiscoatoffandlookedatthestain.“I’veseenworse.”Then,rubbingahandfulofsnowonit,washingawaywhathecould,heputthecoatbackon.“There.Thatshoulddothetrick.”
Backinthesaddle,heheldouthishandforBarleigh
toremountbehindhim.“Readytoride?”
“Yes,”sherepliedwithanod.“We’vealongwaytogo.”
Sheputherfootinthestirruptoclimbupbehindhim,butawaveofdizzinesscausedhertototterbackward.Regrouping,shetriedagain.Beforeshecouldmanageathirdattempt,Hughesleaneddownfromthesaddle,liftingher,sittingherinfrontofhim
sidesaddle.Hecradledheragainsthimwithhisarmsencirclingherasheheldthereinsineachhand,guidingthehorsehome.
Withnostrengthtoprotest,Barleighlayherheadagainsthischest,buthereyesremainedalertandwatchfulasthetrailwounditswaydownintothevalley.Thebright,fullmoonoverheadcastsilveryshadowsoftheirprocessionontothehard-
packed,frozenground.*****
ItwasmidnightwhentheyrodeintothePonyExpressstables.BarleighhadmovedbehindHughes,notwantingtogivecauseforanyquestionsorraisedeyebrows.Thestreetswerequiet,afewlightsburnedinwindows,catsprowledincorners,andsnowcrunchedundertheweightofthehorses’hooves.
Thetranquilscene
madeBarleighwanttoscream.
TheyweremetbyMario,whotookthehorsecarryingStoney’sbody.“MyGod,myGod.Hewasafineyoungman.MyGod—”Mariodidn’ttrytohidehistears.“I’llmakearrangementstosendhimbacktoArkansasandtohisfamily.Aboyshouldbeburiedwherehisfolkscantendthegrave.”
“Hewouldn’twant
that,”Barleighsaid,givingMario’sarmasqueeze.“Heneverwantedtogohomeagain.He’dwanttobeburiedherealongthePonyExpresstrail.”
“That’swhatwe’lldo,then,”saidMario.“I’lltendtohisgrave.Getsomerestnow.I’lltakecareofthingshere.”
“Stoneysavedthemochila.WeleftitwithColonelHillatHeadof
CanyonStationsoitcouldcontinueontoSaintJoe.Stoneydiedsavingthemail.Someoneoughttobetoldaboutthat.Itwasheroic,whathedid.”ShegaveMarioabriefdescriptionofevents,Hughesfillinginthegapsofherinformation.
“EveryonewillhearofStoney’sstory.Itdon’ttakelongforsomethinglikethattomaketherounds.ButI’llsendwordtoCarsonCity
andhavethemtelegraphheadquarterstomakesuretherightpeopleknow,too.”Marioremovedthesombrerofromthesaddlehorn,handingittoBarleigh,andthenledStoney’shorseaway.
HughesandBarleighwalkedtotheSaltLakeHouse,climbedthestairstothesecondfloor,andsaidgoodnight,sheturningtoherroom,hetohis.
“Areyougoingtobe
allright?”Hughesasked,turningbackaround.
“Iwishyou’dquitaskingthat.”
“Arealltheridersaway?Doyouhaveanyonetobunkwithtonight?”Hugheslookedather,concernwrinklinghisbrow.
“Areyouworriedaboutme?”
“Yes,damnit,I’mworriedaboutyou,allright?”
“Ithoughtyoudidn’t
havetimetoworryaboutme.”Shedidn’twaitforhimtoanswer,butturnedandopenedthedoortothebunkroom.“ItappearsIhavetheroomtomyselftonight.BrodymustbeonStoney’s...ontheeastboundrun.Iguessthenewguy,Lars,isonmine.”
“Givemeaminute,please.I’llbeback.”
“Why?”“BecauseIdon’twant
youtobealonetonight.”“It’snotnecessary,
Hughes.Besides,whatifIwanttobealone.”
“I’llbequiet.Youcanpretendtobealone.Whydoyoualwayshavetoargue?”
“Whydoyoualwaysassumeyouknowwhat’sbest?”
“It’snotanassumption.”Heturnedandwalkedaway.
Aquickspongebath
fromthebasinvessel,abrushingofherteeth,acombthroughherhair,andachangeintocleanlongjohnsmadeherfeelalmosthumanagain.ShewasinbedbythetimeHughesreturned.Thoughhalfasleep,shenoticedhe’dputoncleanclothes,too.
“I’llbequiet.Youwon’tevenknowI’mhere.”Bendingoverthebed,hekissedheronthecheek.“I’ll
beonthebottombunk,ifyouneedanything.Ihopeyousleepwell.”
Butshedidn’t.Shetossedandturned,fitsandstartsofdreamstormentinghersleep.Disembodiedfacesfloatedinandout,chasing,yelling,hovering.Grandfather’sface,laughing.PapaandBirdieclutchedinaskeletalembrace.Barleighfalling.Stoneytryingtocatchherbuthishandswerebloody
andslipperyandtheycouldn’tholdon.Heletgo.Thenhewastumblingdown,down,downamountainthatneverended,butitwasherbloody,slipperyhandsthatlethimfall.Awolfhowled.Herdreamwolf.Hewasshakingher.Wakeup.You’reallright.It’sallright.
“I’mrighthere,Barleigh.It’sallright.”Hughessatonthesideofthebed,holdingherhand,
strokingherface.“Shhh.Everything’sallright.I’mrighthere.”
Barleighbolteduprightinbed,jerkingawayfromhistouch,drawingherkneesintoaprotectiveshield.“Idon’twantyouhere.Leave.Leavemealone.”
“Youwerehavinganightmare,”Hughessaid,offeringheraglassofwater.
Shepushedtheglassandhishandaway.“I’m
livinganightmare.”Feelingburiedunder
alltheliesshe’dbeentoldallherlife,nowHughes’slies,howhe’dtradedthetruthforheraffection,shebegantohyperventilate—acoldpanicrising,swelling,suffocatingher.Kickingthecoversaway,shelashedoutatHughes,triedtopushhimoffthebedwithbothofherfeet,kickingandclawingatanythingthatwashim.
“Isaidtoleave!”shecriedout,halfwhimpering,halfshouting.
“I’mnotgoinganywhere,”hesaid,hisvoicecalmandmeasured.
Shoving,kicking,thrashingthecovers,sheknockedthewaterglassoffthenightstandasshetriedtopushHughesaway.Withherfoot,sheshovedthewoodenbedsidestand,sendingitscooting,thewaterbasin
tottering,falling,andshatteringtopiecesasithitthefloor.
HughespulledBarleighagainsthischest,encirclingherinhisarms,holdinghertighterasshecontinuedtokickandlashout.“Getitallout,butI’mnotlettinggountilyou’redone.”
“Don’tyouunderstand?Allthelies.Everything’sbeenalieora
secret—Grandfather,Papa,mymother.Yourlies.Lookatme—I’mlivingmyownlie.”Shebrokedown,thesobscominginwaves.“Idon’tknowwhattruthis.AllIknowisthatIwantyoutoleave,”shesaid,thefinalwordsspokeninawhisper,herbreathfeelinglikeneedlesinherlungs.
“Nope.I’mnot.ButI’llturnyoulooseifyou’rereadytoquitclawingatme
likeatiger,”hesaid,soundingsomewhathopeful.
“Whydidyoutellme?”Barleighputupahalfheartedattemptatastruggletofreeherselffromhisclutch.“Mylifewasfine—thememoriesIhadofwhatmylifewas,withoutknowingaboutallthis...thiscraziness.”
“Youwereinaverydarkplace,Barleigh,”hesaid,hiswordswhisperedagainst
herear.“Adarkplace,spiralingintoadangerousvoidofunjustifiedguilt.”
“You’veshownmethatmylifehasbeennothingbutafarce.You’veeffectivelyerasedmyhistory,mymemories.Forthat,Ihateyou.”
“Youcanhatemeallyouwantfortellingyou,”saidHughes,cradlingheragainsthischest.“ButItoldyoutogiveyousomethingto
livefor.Youhaveamotherwholovesyou.”
Momentspassed.WhenBarleigh’sbreathingreturnedtoashakyversionofnormal,herelaxedhisgrip,andshepulledaway.Then,gatheringthecoversontothebedthatshe’dkickedtothefloor,sheturnedtofacethewall,pullingthemoverherhead,buryingherselfunderthemoundofblankets.
“Sleep,Barleigh,”
saidHughes,watchinghercocoonherselfinthedownyduvet.“I’mnotgoinganywhere.I’llbeherewhenyouwakeup.”
*****HughespulledachairnexttoBarleigh’sbed,sleepafarthoughtfromhismind.Hewatchedtheshapeunderthecoversmovewitheachbreath,atfirstpantingandstillenraged,thenmoreevenly,thencalmand
measured.Hemovedtheblanketawayfromherface,makingsurenottowakenher.
Hewantednothingmorethantocrawlintothatbedandholdher.Totakeherinhisarmsandtellherthateverythingwouldbeallright,tolaywithherallnightwithherheadonhischest.
Hewantedtoassureherthathisaffectionsforherwerereal—andheknewthat
herswerereal,too.Or,thattheywere.
Hewishedheknewthateverythingwouldbeallright,buthedidn’t.
So,he’djustsitthere.Hewasn’tgoinganywhere.Andhe’dbetherewhenshewokeupinthemorning,justlikehesaidhewould.
Then,he’dleave.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
NOVEMBER29,1860
Sunlightfilteredthroughthedarkvelvetdrapes,puddlingonthefloorinbig,unevenspots.Fromtheangleoftheshadows,morningwasmeltingintonoon.Barleighblinkedhard,rubbedfistsoverhereyes,yawned,
stretched,andboltedupright,pullingtheblanketsuptoherchin.
“Uh...,”Shedrewinasharpbreath.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Hughessatinthechair,watchingasBarleighwokeup.Hisbloodshoteyesgaveevidenceofhisall-nightvigil.“Don’tyouremember?Whenwegotbacklastnight,Itriedtoleaveandgotomyownroom,butyoubegged
metostay—saidyoudidn’twantmetoleaveyoualone.”
“That’snothowIrememberit,nowthatit’scomingbacktome.Isthatcoffee?”shesnapped.Asshereachedforthecup,thenotionoftheirfingerstouchingcausedherstomachtopitch.Shenowdreadedthephysicalcontactthatsheoncefoundpleasurable.
“Yes.”Hehandeditover.“IpromisedyouthatI’d
beherewhenyouwokeupandIdidn’twanttobreakthatpromise—haveyouwakeuptoseemegone.ButyouweresnoringsoloudlyIfiguredyouwereinadeepenoughsleepIcouldchancearuntothekitchen.”
“Idon’tsnore.DoIsnore?Really?”Shesippedthecoffeeandhandedhimbackthecup.
“Yes.Really.Butinacute,girlishsortofway.
Actually,that’snotquiteprecise.It’smorelikeagrizzlybeardefendinghercubs.”
“Youcouldhaveleftitatcuteandgirlish,”shesaid,embarrassed.
“Probably,butImadeapromisetomyselflastnightthatI’dnevertellyouanotherlieorbedishonestwithyou.Ever.”
“Icouldlooktheotherwaywhenitcomestothings
likedescribingmysnoring.”Thinkingabout
honestyanddeceitmadeherwanttorolloverandpullthecoversoverherhead.Theenormityofrevealedsecretsweighedonhershoulderslikeathousand-poundcloak.
Hughessippedthecoffeeandhandedherthecup.“Beinghonestwithyoumeansbeinghonestwithmyself,too.”
Hestoodandwalked
totheothersideoftheroom,drewbackthecurtain,andcrackedopenthewindow,allowingthefresh,coolairtoseepin.HeturnedandlookedatBarleighwithapuzzledexpression.“Howcanyouwakeuplookingsobeautiful,andtheseyahoosnotlookatyouandseethatyou’reawoman?You’vegottenawaywithbeingBarFlanderslongerthanIwould’vebet.”
Shefeltablushrising
andlookedaway.“IbettergetdressedsowecangoandcheckonStoney’sarrangements.”
“Beforewedo,there’retwomorethingsIneedtotellyou,”hesaid,walkingovertothechair.
“More?”Whatelsecouldtherebe,afterallhe’dsaidlastnight?Shestiffened,bracingforhurtfulwordssuretofollow.
“First,ifsomething
happens,yourmother’swillleavesyouatidysumofmoneyalongwithsomeNewOrleansrealestate.WhenIwrotetoLeighselletoletherknowI’dfoundyourtrail,Ifilledherinonthedetails.SinceIwasheadingtoSaintJosephanywayonbusiness,I’dcontinuelookingforyou.Awirewaitingformetheresaidthatshe’dtakencareofthetaxesonyourranch,andputmoneyinyouraccountto
morethancovernextyear’s,too.”
“Idon’tunderstand.Whyissheunwillingtomeetme—gettoknowme—totellmethesethingsinperson—”Barleighflungherselfbackagainstthepillows,pullingtheduvetupoverherhead.
“It’snotthatshe’sunwilling.Shedidn’twanttointerruptyourlife.Shefeltthatyouknowingaboutherwoulddisruptwhatshe’d
hopedwasahappylife.LeighsellecarriesanenormoussenseofguiltthatsomehowshewasresponsibleforGrandfatherFlanderstakingyouawayfromher.Alifetimeofguilt,evenifit’sunearned,cancolorthewayapersonseesreality,evenagoodpersonwhomeanswell,likeyourmother.Likeyou.”
“That’salottothinkabout,”saidBarleigh,herwordsmuffledcomingfrom
underthecovers.“Yousaidyougrewto
wishyouweren’tyourgrandfather’skin.Youhavemoreincommonwithyourmother,awomanwhomyou’veneverknown,thanwithyourgrandfatherwhoraisedyou.”Hughessmiled,hiseyeslightingup.
“Really?”Shepeepedoutfromunderthecovers,thensatup,leaningforward.“DoIremindyouofmy
mother?”“Yes.Besidesyour
beauty,you’vegotyourmother’sgumption—herfearlessdeterminationtosetthingsright.Leighsellepassedontoyouherloveofanimals,herkindness,herabilitytobluffatpoker,andherfondnessforthecoloryellow.I’venoticedyoualwayswearthatyellowbandanaaroundyourneck.”
“I’vealwaysbeen
drawntothecolor.”Thethoughtofcommontraitswarmedher,liketheyellowraysofthesun.“Yousaidthereweretwothingsyouhadtotellme.What’sthesecond?”Shereachedforthecoffee,takingthelastdrop.
“ThisisthepartwhereI’mbeinghonestwithmyself.”Heleanedbackinthechair,thensatforward.“ThenightbeforeLeighsellecametoSanAntonio,I’d
beenonmywaytoFortWorthtopickupaprisonertoescorthimtoAustinfortrial.Partwaythere,thehorseIwasridinggaveoutanddied,andIsetoffwalkingbacktoSanAntonio.”
“Goon.”ShenoticedtheanxietygrowmoreevidentonHughes’sface.Hiseyesdarkened,heclenchedandunclenchedhisjaw,hisbrowfurrowedintodeeplines.
“IknewIwasbeingfollowed,andbeforeIcouldthink,Ihadthreelassoesonme.ItwasQuanahParkerandhiswarriors.”Hughesswallowed,hismouthdry,andhereachedforthecoffeebeforerememberingitwasempty.HesmiledatBarleighassheshruggedandmouthed“sorry.”
Hetoldherthestoryofhowhehadtothinkfastandfigureoutawaytokeep
hisscalp,howhe’dtalkedQuanahintoafightforbraggingrights,inordertosavehislife.Quanahhadkilledoneofhisownmen—itwouldhavebeennothingforhimtokillHughes,too.
“Thankfully,theyhaveafearfulrespectforwolves,andthespiritofthewolf,”hesaid.
“Idon’tunderstand.”“WayaAgatoliisthe
shortenedversionofthename
theComanchehadgivenme.ManWhoSeesWithWolfEyes.Iusedtheirsuperstitionstomyadvantage.”
“Ah—Isee.”Shethoughtofherreoccurringdreamofthewolfwiththeamber-coloredeyes,thewayhewouldwatchoverherwhilesheslept,keepingthenightmaresatbay.ShewonderediftheComanchedidn’thaveitright—and
therewasnothingsuperstitiousaboutit.
“Ishouldhavekilledhimrightthere.ButIknewifIdid,hiswarriorswouldhavefilledmewitharrowsbeforeQuanah’sheartquitbeating.Quanahhonoredouragreement.Heletmegofree,andmadehiswarriorshonorit,too.”
“AndthiswasduringthetimeoftheComanchemoon?”sheasked.
“Yes.Afterthat,it’spossibleQuanahheadednorthfortheLlanoEstacado,oneofhisband’shuntinggrounds.ThatwouldputhimpassingthroughPaloPintoaroundthenightofyourfamily’stragedy.”Hughesleanedthechairbackontotwolegsandsuckedinadeepbreath,easingthechairdownasheexhaled.
“Ifyou’d—”Barleighstarted.
“IfI’dkilledQuanahwhenI’dhadthechance,you’dstillhaveyourfatherandBirdie,WinniewouldhaveJack.”Heleanedforward,puttinghisheadinhishands.“Icouldhavepreventedit.”Hepoundedhisfistsontohisknees.“Goddammit.”
Barleighslidoutofbed,walkingaroundtohischair.Shelayherhandonthebackofhisheadfora
moment,notknowingwhattosayordo,whattofeelortothink.Footstepsinthehallwaydrewherattentiontothedoor,theknobturningcausinghertohurryawayfromHughes.Shewenttothearmoireandpulledoutcleanclothesandbegantodressfortheday.
Mariostuckhisheadinthedoor.“Bar,Iwashopingyou’dbeawake.Theundertakerhasaplacefor
Stoneyupbythechapelclosetothetrail.Hesayshecanburyhimthisafternoonatoneo’clockifthat’sagreeable.”
Barleighlookedupfrompullingonherboots.“Oneo’clock.Thanks,Mario.Yougoingbacktothebarn?Ineedtocometalktoyouaboutmyjob.”
“I’llbethere.Mr.Lévesque,seeyouatone?”
“Yes.Thankyou,”hesaidasMarionoddedand
closedthedoor.Hughesstoodandtooktheemptycoffeecup.“Ineedsomemore—withalittlefortification.Youwantsome?”Hepulledouthisflaskandsplashedsomeamberliquidintothewaitingcup.
“Sure.I’llcomedownwithyou.”
“Bar,”saidHughes,standinginthedoorway.“Iknowlessaboutthefuturethanyoudoaboutthepast,
butIdoknowthis.Nomoresecrets,nomorelies,notbetweenus.You’vemadeitclearyoudon’twantanythingtodowithme.Iunderstand.I’mleavingforCaliforniatomorrow.Idon’tknowwhenI’mcomingback.Canweatleastpartasfriends?”
“That’sthefirsttimeyou’vecalledme‘Bar’inaprivateconversation.”SheremovedStoney’ssombreroofftherack,loopedthebolo
aroundherneck,lettingtheyellowMexicanhathanglooseacrossthebackofhershouldersassheclosedthedoor.
*****Theundertakerandhiswife,apetiteredheadwhosanginthechurchforfreebuthiredherselfoutforsocialgatheringsandfunerals,werewaitingwhentheyarrivedatthesmallgravesidechapel.Stoney’sfuneralhadafew
attendees:Barleigh,Hughes,Mario,thetwonewriders—LiamandhisbrotherLars—BigBrodyandhisbrotherYates,thehotelcook,andastringofrangyPonyExpresshorsestiedtothehitchingposts.Offtooneside,hidingintheshadowsofalargepinetree,wasadoe-eyedblonde-headedgirlwhomadefinechocolatecreampies.
Theundertakerchosetoreadafierypassagefrom
theBookofRevelationaboutpalehorsesandhellanddeathanddestruction,afterwhichhiswifesangapopularlovesong,WhentheCornIsWaving,AnnieDear.Barleighdidn’tknowwhichwasmoreinappropriate,butbothleftherspeechlessandlightheaded.Ormaybethelightheadednesswasduetotheearlierconsumptionoffortifiedcoffeeonanemptystomach.Eitherway,allshe
wantedwastobealone,onahorse,andridingfarawayfromthere.
Theothersdepartedafterthesinging,withMarioleadingthestringofponies,oneofthemriderlessanddrapedinablackblanket.Hughesleanedagainsthishorse,armscrossed,eyesdarkandwatchfulasBarleighplacedawreathofChristmashollyonStoney’sgrave.
Shesatdownnextto
thefreshmoundofdirtandthoughtofallthethingsshewishedshe’dsaidtoStoney,allthethingsshewishedshe’daskedhim.Didhismamaeverstickupforhimwhenhisdaddybeathimwithhisfists,ordidStoneyhavetodefendher,too?DidhehaveanyhappyChristmasmemoriesfromhischildhood?Didheevergetwhathewishedfor?Wasthereroominhissmallcorner
oftheworldforwishes?Theskydarkened
withthreateningcloudsmovinginfromthewest.Thefeelandsmelloftheairalteredinthewayitdoesbeforeastormsettlesoverthevalley,thekindofstormthatdeclaresit’sheretostayawhile.
“Iknowthishasbeenhardforyou,”saidHughes,walkingovertothegrave.“Stoneywasmorethana
friend.Youhaven’tutteredawordtoanyonesincewegothere.Areyouspeakingtome?”
Shenoddedherhead,herbesteffort.
“Willyoutellmethatyou’respeakingtome?Please.”
“I’mspeakingtoyou.Ijustdon’tknowwhattosay.”Hervoicewasawhisper,barelyaudibleeventoherself.
“WhatdidyoutellMarioaboutyourjob?Didyoudecidetokeepriding,ortogobacktoTexas?”Hugheskneltdownbythegrave,nexttoBarleigh,hisshoulderagainsthers.
“ItoldhimIhadn’tmadeupmymindyet.Ineededtosleeponit.LiamandLarsareridingwiththeregulars,EaganandHaslan.They’relearningthetrail,soMariosaidhe’singoodshape
withridersfornow.”“What’syourplan
betweennowandinthemorning?”
ShefeltHughesstudyingherface,tryingtoreadher.Shekeptherprofiletohim,keepinghereyestoherself.Hewasalwaystryingtoreadher—animpossiblemission.Withthewallsshehadbuilt,shewasfindingitdifficulteventoreadherself.
“Takealongride.
Think.Clearmyhead.”Shestood,lookingoverhershoulderatthelineoftheWasatchMountainsagainstthecharcoalsky.
“Don’tridefar.Theweather’sturning.Iworryaboutyou.”Hisambereyesseemedtodeepeninhue,withflecksofdarkgoldenbrownandrusset,likethefirstsparksofafirestrengtheningandcatchinghold.
“You’renotverygoodatworrying.Anyway,I’mnotyourstoworryabout.”Barleighturnedandswungherselfintothesaddle.Neverlookingback,shecanteredaway.
*****HughessatbyStoney’sgraveandwatchedherridetowardthefoothills,watchedforalongwhileuntilherformbecameasmallspeckonthehorizon.Anicywindbegan
toblow,snappinghisattentionbacktothepresent.Thecloudshadthickened,thefirstflakesofsnowdustingtheground.
Hisguttightenedlikeitdideverytimehewatchedherrideawaybyherself.Shewasright—hewasn’tgoodatworrying.Swinginghimselfupintothesaddle,herodeintheoppositedirectionintotown.Hehadunfinishedbusinessbeforeheleftfor
California.*****
GeorgeArcherhadreceivedwordofhisbrother’sdeathandthedeathofthetenShoshoneIndiansthey’demployedintheirschemetostealthePonyExpressmail.Thatthemochilawasrescuedandsentthroughonitseastboundrouteinfuriatedhim.ThoselettersfromCalifornia’sgovernortothepresidentoftheUnitedStates
shouldhavebeenstopped.HewasstandingatthebaroftheSaltLakeHousespeakingtotwoothermenwhenHughesreturnedtothehotelfromStoney’sfuneral.
SpyingArcheralongwiththeothersinthebar,Hughesformulatedaplanandputittoquickaction.Hepulledhisflaskfromhisvestandstumbleduptothebartender,wavingtheflaskintheair,speakinginaloud,
slurredvoice.“Bartender,my
whiskey’srundry.Gimmeyourbestbottle.”TurningtoArcher,Hughesleanedclose.“Don’tyouhateanemptyflask?Ido.”Hebelched,foreffect.
“WhatIhateisarude,louddrunk.Backoffandmindyourownbusiness,”saidArcher,hisvoicegruffandthreatening.
Hughesnoddedand
stumbledbackwardafewsteps.“Yes’sir,boss.”
Turningtohistwocompanions,Archercontinuedhisconversation,loweringhisvoice.“Anyway,theonetheysayfoundthemochila,sentitonitsway,thenbroughtthedeadboy’sbodybackwasthekidnamedBar.Iknowwhichoneheis—thelittleshit.I’llbewatchingtheirroomagaintonight.Iguaranteehewon’t
makeitoutalive.Youtwojustdoyourpart.Waituntildark,thengotothePonyExpressstables,takeoutwhat’shisname—Mario,themanager—thenrunoffallthemhorses.Gotit?”
Thetwomennodded,allthreeslungbackonelastshotofwhiskey,andthenalldepartedontheirseparatemissions.
HugheswatchedasArcherwentupstairsandinto
hisroom.Then,hurryingoutside,helookedtoseewhichwaythetwoconspiratorswent.Snowcoveredthesidewalk,theirboot-printseasyevidence.Hughesbentintothewind,followingthetwoastheymadetheirwaydownMain,pastWhiskeyStreet,andintothealleybehindMarcum’sApothecaryShoppe.
Sprintingupthesidewalk,Hughesrounded
thecorner,comingoutthebacksideoftherowofbuildingsattheotherendofthealley,nowwalkingtowardthetwo.Theybothlookedupjustintimetoseefistsbeingplantedsquarelyoneachoftheirnoses,thepunchknockingbothmentotheirknees.Followingupwithkickstothesidesandfiststothebacksoftheirheads,bothmenwereoutcoldbeforetheyknewwhat
happened.Hughesdraggedthe
pairtothebackporchoftheApothecaryShoppe,thentookthebeltsfromtheirpantsandcinchedthementogether,theirarmswrappedaroundeachotherandacedarsupportpostinalovingembrace.
Walkingbacktothefrontofthestore,Hughesspottedayoungboyinthestreetplayingfetchthestick
withhisdog.Hetookapaperandpencilfromhiscoatandscratchedanote.
“Son,I’llgiveyouadimetotakethisnotetothesheriff.”
“Awholedime?Forreal?Justtorunanoteupthestreet?”
“Hurry.It’simportant.Offyougo.”
Leavingthesonsofbitchestofreezetodeathinthedirtwaswhathe’dreally
wantedtodo,hethought,ashehurriedbacktotheSaltLakeHouse.But,thesheriffwouldhavefundecipheringthenoteaboutmailthievesandmurdererswhouseIndiansforscapegoats.Inthelateafternoonglowofthegaslamps,ahardsnowfellinasharpslantagainstthehotel’swindowpanes.Theboot-printshe’dfollowedearlierwerealreadyobscuredunderthemoundingdrifts.
*****Shakingthesnowfromhisclothesandoffhishat,Hughestookalongdrawofwhiskeyfromhisflask,swishingitaround,thenswallowing,lettingthewarmthseepthroughhisbodyashemadehiswayupthestairs.HebangedonthedoorofthePonyExpressriders’room,shoutingouthisslurredwords,teeteringbackandforth.Hekickedthedoor
withhisbootedfoot,hopingtodrawtheattentionofthemanintheroomacrossthehall.
“Hey,anybodywannajoinmeforadrink?”Heturnedtheknob,easedthedooropen,andpeeredinsidetheemptyroom.“Idon’twannadrinkalone.Anyonehome?”HeslammedthedoorandstoodthereamomentlongerwhenheheardArcher’sdoorbehindhim
clickclosed.Smilingtohimself,he
turnedtoArcher’sdoorandbangedwithhisfists.“Mister,wannashareatoast?”
Noanswer.“Hey,mister?”He
bangedonthedooragain.“Allright.Icantakeahint.G’night.”Hughesmadefoot-stompingsoundsasifhewerewalkingaway.Inamoment,heheardshufflingontheothersideofthedoor,then
theclickofalock,thensawthedoorknobturningslowly.
Thedoorincheditswayopen.Hughesshovedhisshoulderagainstthedoor,pushinghiswayintotheroom.Slammingthedoorshutbehindhimwithhisfoot,hethrewhisweightforward,knockingasurprisedArcherbackwardintoatable,Archerandaceramiclamptopplingtothefloor.
Archergropedbehind
himandpickeduptheheavylamp.HeswungitasHugheswasbendingoverhim,hittingHughesintheforehead.Stunned,Hughesstumbledbackward,trippingandfallingtohisknees.
Archersprangtohisfeetandracedtothewindow,flingingitopen.Hethrewhimselfoutontothesnow-covered,slopingroof,slidingdown,slippingover,andhangingontotheledgebyhis
fingers.Climbingoutofthe
window,Hugheseasedhimselfdowntheslopingroof,balancinghisweightagainstagable.Theywereonthebacksideofthehotel,thealleybelowanenclosedpenforcattleinthesummer,inthewinteradepositoryfortheiceandsnowthatshopownersshoveledoffthewalksfrominfrontoftheirstores.
Archerlookedoverhisshoulderatthejaggedicebelow,thenbackatHughes.“Thedrunkfromthebar.”
“GuessIhandlemyliquorbetterthanyouthought.”HughesreachedoutahandtoArcher,tryingtograbhiscoatsleeve.“I’vegotyourtwopalsallbundledupforthesheriff.I’mtakingyouin,too.”Hestretchedoutfarther,thenfelthisbootslippingofftheice-covered
woodenshinglesonthegable.Slidingdown,hebracedbothfeetonthegutteredledge,stoppinghisfall.
“Pullmeup,”beggedArcher.“Ican’tholdon.”
Leaninghisweightbackagainsttheroofforleverage,HugheslookedatArcher’sfingersinadeathgripontheroof’sledge,andthenatthefearintheman’seyes.Inonesearingrush,Archer’swordsfromearlier,
braggingthathewouldkillBarleighbeforethenightwasover,rangloudinhisears.HughesimaginedArcher’sfingersinadeathgriponBarleigh’sneck,oronatrigger,squeezingit,abulletbeingreleasedintoBarleigh,thatsamelookoffearinhereyes.
Hugheshesitated,hishesitationgivingwaytoasimmeringmadness.HesawArcher’smouthmoving,but
thesoundofhispleaforhelpdidn’tregister,thewordsfallingsilentlylikethesnow.Hughespulledhisrevolverfromitsholster,easedthehammerback,andtookasteadylookatthemanontheotherendofhisgun.Hefelt—nothatred,notrage—butanunflinchingassurednessthatthispersonwhowantedBarleighdeaddidn’tdeservetolive.HeaimedthebarrelbetweenArcher’sfrightened
eyes.Thesoundofhispulse
beatingloudinhisearsandechoinginhishead,thecoldsweattricklingdownhisforehead,theshakingofhisguninhishand,theunsettledfeelofshallow,fastbreaths—cloudedhisthinking.AvisionofBarleighwatching,waitingtoseeifhe’dchoosewhethertocrossthatfinelinethatseparateshumanityfromthedarksidetuggedathim,
hoveredoverhim.He’dcrossedthatline
before.Heunderstoodthecostitexacted.
ForHughes,notkillingQuanahParkerwhenhe’dhadthechancehadbeenaneasydecision.Thathadbeenamatterofsurvival,ofself-preservation.NotkillingArcherwentmuchdeeper.Thiswasamatterofpreservinghisownsoul.
Hugheseasedthe
hammerdownandholsteredhisgun.Hereachedouthishand,grabbingforArcher’scoatsleeve.
“Oh—oh,no—youain’ttakingmein.”GeorgeArcheryankedaway,releasinghisfingertipgripontheroof,kickingoffthewallandflinginghimselfbackward.Helandedwithathudonthefrozengroundbelow.
“Youcrazysonofa
bitch.”HughespeeredovertheledgeatArcherlyingontheroughice,abrightredhalopoolingaroundhishead,andsnowfallingsilentlyonhismotionlessbody.Helookedupattheopenwindowandthesteepslopeoftheicyroof,thenacrosstherooflineatthegutterrunningdownthesideofthebuilding.Heinchedhiswayacrosstheledge,crawlingdownthegutter,thenloweringhimself
totheground.Walkingoverto
whereArcherlaysprawledinthesnow,hisbloodacontrastingstainagainsttheicywhitenessbeneathhim,Hughesbentdownandinspectedthebody.Asharpsectionofjaggedicewasembeddedatthebaseofhisskull,theformationprotrudingfromthesnowlikeanicebergpeekingoutofthesea.
Hugheswroteanoteforthesheriffandleftitwiththebody.
*****Awhiteoutobscuredthesunset.Snowblewsideways.ThedesertedstreetsofSaltLakeCitywerechokedwithafootofsnow,morecomingdownnonstopsinceitbeganjustafterStoney’sfuneral.Hughesstoodatthewindow,watchingforBarleigh.Pacingtheroom.Goingbacktothe
windowagain,andagain.Whyaren’tyouback?
Ihopeyou’veholedupsomewheresafe.
Somewheresafe.Lessunsafe.
Hespunawayfromthewindow.Grabbinghiscoat,hat,andsaddlebags,rollingupanextrablanket,hemadeaquickstopinthekitchen,stuffingthepouchesfullbeforeheadingforthebarn.Hewascoveredinsnow
whenhewalkedintohismare’sstall.“Sorrytodothistoyou,Rose,butsomeoneneedsourhelp.”
Feedingthehorseanextrahelpingofoatswhilehecurriedandsaddledher,heputseveralextraportionsintoabagandtieditinsidehisbedroll.Helookedaroundtoseewhatelsehemightneed.Anextrarope.Matches.Watercanteens.Coffee.
Mariocameinfrom
hisquartersoffthewestsideofthebarn,rubbingsleepfromhiseyes.“Mr.Lévesque,IthoughtIheardsomething.SurewashopingI’dseeBarstandinghere.What’dyoudotoyourforehead?Yougotagooseeggonit.”
“Iranintoalamp.No,it’sjustme,butI’mcertainIknowwheresheisfromthedirectionsherodeafter—”Hughescaughthimself.He
closedhiseyesanddroppedhischintohischest.“Damnit.AndItoldherIwasthebestkeeperofsecretsshe’deverneed.”
Mariopausedinthedoorway,staringatHughesforalongmoment.“Bringherbacksafeandsound.Goodridersarehardtocomeby.”Hegaveaquickwink,andwentbacktobed.
Snowdriftedhockdeepinplaces,withmostof
thetrailcoveredinasolidpack.Thewhiteouthaddiminishedtoasteady,heavysnowfallwiththewindgustinginsurpriseattacks,layinglowonemoment,thenextrippingthroughthevalleywithahatefulforce.
Thenormalhour’sridetothesecretcavewherethehotspringsbathsoothedwearyPonyExpressriderstooktwiceaslong.BythetimeHughesdescendedthe
steepslopeintothelevelgladewhereheandBarleighhadlastpicnicked,hismarewasblowinghardthroughhernostrilsfromexertion,hercoatclumpedwithiceandsnow.
Hughesdismounted,tryingtoquellarisingpanic.Therewerenofootprintsorhoofprintsinthesnow.Noevidenceortraceofhumanorequineactivity.Heturnedaround,listening,tryingto
getafeelforwhathewashearing.Therewassomething.Thereitwasagain.Asound.Hismarewhinnied,heralertearsprickedforward.
Hekneeledontheground,waiting,listening.Again.There.Astrangeecho.Aclopping.Hoovesstrikingonsolidrock.Smiling,heledhismaredownthenarrowpassageandintothecave.
“Hello,Hughes.I’m
beyondthepool,upagainstthefarwall.”
“Howdidyouknowitwasme?”
“Yourmarenickeredintheglade.IrecognizedRose’snicker.Shesoundsmorelikeastallion.ItremindsmeofDeal,myhorsebackhome.”
“MaybeI’llgettomeethimsometime.Maywecomein?”
“Please.”
“I’mslidingyouaboxofmatches.KeeponeburninguntilIgetthishorseunsaddledanddriedoffandwegetourbearings.”
“Ofcourse.”Hughesfumbled
aroundinthesaddlebags,locatedtheboxofmatches,andslidthemtowardBarleigh.“Comingtoyou.”
“Got’em.”Shestruckamatch,thesmellofsulfurfillingtheair,andforan
instantBarleighsawtheManWhoSeesWithWolfEyesstaringbackather.
ThehorsesateoatssidebysideoffthedampfloorofthecavewhileHughesbuiltasmallfire,usingasstartertheextracottonropehe’dbroughtalong.He’dgatheredanarmloadofoldfallenbranchesfromthepinetreeintheglade,usingsome,settingsomeaside.
“Icouldn’tleaveheroutinthestorm,”saidBarleigh,gesturingtowardherhorse.“Shewouldhavefrozentodeath.”
“Ablizzard’snoplaceforahorseorawoman.I’dhopedyou’dbehere.”
Thesoftglowofthefirecastliquidshadowsonthewall.HughessatnexttoBarleighandreachedforherhand,butshepulledback.
“Hughes,whenIleft
Stoney’sfuneral,Iwantedtoclearmymind.IneededtorethinkeverythingIthoughtIknewaboutmyfamilyhistory.Theenormous,suddendetachmentfrommypast—it’sbeyondconfounding.”
“Iunderstand,”hesaid.Heknewwhatitwasliketofeeldetachedfromone’sfamily—atleastfromone’sfather.
“AndpoorStoney—I
justacheinside—theguiltissuffocatingme.I’mdrowninginsadnessforhim,forme,formymother,butI’mafraidifIletgoofit,ifIgivevoicetoit,it’llliveonforeverintheair,somewhereoutthere,andwillcomecirclingbacktohauntme,’roundand’roundtheglobe,likeanastywind.”
Barleighstoodupandpacedaroundthefire,walkingovertowherethe
horsesstoodmunchingtheiroats.“Iwanttoscreamtillmythroat’sraw,totearmyhairout,myheartout,anythingtofeelaworsepainthanI’mfeelinginside.”
“Youcanshoutitalloutandit’llgonofurtherthanthiscave.Getridofit.Leaveitinthiscavern.”
“How?Howisthatpossible?”Barleighbegantoshake,theemotionsofthelasttwodaysandthelackof
sleepoverwhelmingher.Hughesstood,
removedhisbootsandgunbelt,slidoutofhistrousers,tookhisvestandshirtoff,andpiledeverythingnexttohissaddlebags.Inhislongjohnsandbarefeet,hewalkedtowhereBarleighstoodwiththehorses,holdingouthishandforher.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“I’mgoingtoshow
youhowtogetridofyoursadness,howtoleaveithereinthecave.”
“Hughes,I’mnot—”shestammered,shrinkingawayfromhim.
“Don’tbesilly.It’snotwhatyou’rethinking.It’spurelyinnocent.Takemyhand.Trustme.”Heheldouthishand,waiting.
Shehesitatedamoment,thentookit.Hehelpedherremoveherclothes
downtoherlongjohns,thenledhertothepool,andtogethertheyslippedintothewarmwaterofthehotsprings.
ThewatercameuptothelevelofhischestbutwasoverBarleigh’shead;sheclungtotheledge.“Letgo,”hesaid.“Trustme.”
Sheletgooftheledge.
Withahandoneithersideofherwaist,holdingher
atarm’slength,Hughesmotionedforhertoholdherbreathandfollowhim.Theyduckedbelowthesurface.Theintensityoftheheatonherfaceshockedher.Sheresurfaced,clingingtohisneck,gaspingforair.
“Nexttime,you’llbeusedtoit.Whenyougounder,scream.Letitallout.Scream.Shout.Curse.Releasealltheanguishyouhaveinside.Getridofall
that’shurtingyou.”Barleighnoddedher
understanding.“Waterwillholdthe
sound—yourwords,yourpain—andnotletlooseofit.Everythingyougivetothewater,it’llholdforever.”Heheldhisbreath,andshedid,too.
Heheldontoher,andtogethertheyslippedbelowthesurface.Barleighscreamed,cursed,yelled,
tightfistedandkicking,Hughes’shandsaroundherwaistkeepinghersteady.Whenshecouldholdherbreathnomore,shepushedoffofhim,risingandgulpingairintoherlungs.Then,shedovebelow,andagainheheldhersteady,lettinghershoutouthergrief,releasingitintothewater.
Shedovebelow,againandagain,untilshewasspentphysicallyandemotionally,
havingnothingmoretorelease,nothingmoretogivetothewater.Thelasttime,insteadofpushingoffofhimformoreair,shecollapsedinhisarms.
Heswamtothesideofthepool,placingBarleighontheledge.Shelaystillandquiet,steamrisingoffherbody.Hugheseasednexttoher,rubbingherback,massaginghershoulders,waitinguntilshewasreadyto
speak.Longmomentspassed
beforeBarleighsatup,danglingherfeetinthewater.“IfeellikeI’vepurgedsomethingpoisonousfrommybody.Ifeelbetter.Thankyou.”
“I’mglad,”hesaid,relievedtoseetherelaxedexpressiononherface.
“Todwellonthepastcan’thelpmenow.It’sdone.Butforthepresent,I’m
starved.Ihopeyoubroughtoneofyourfancypicnicswithyou.”
Theysatontheedgeofthepool,sippingwineandeatingdriedfruitfromwhatHughesconfiscatedfromthekitchen.HisstandardfineembroideredlinensandengravedpewterplateswithmatchinggobletsmadeBarleighsmile.
“Asforthefuture,I’vedecidedtogobackto
Texas.Ihaveababysisterwhoneedsme.WhoknowsbetterthanIdowhatachildneedswhodoesn’thaveamothertoraiseit?”
“Whataboutus,Barleigh?DoIfitintoyourfuture?”heasked,feelingamixtureofreliefanduncertainty.
“YousaidyouwereleavingforCalifornia.Ithoughtyoudidn’twanttoworryaboutanyonebut
yourself.Especiallynotaboutme.”Barleighhesitated,thenlookedupintohiseyes.“Doyouwanttofitintomyfuture?”
“God.Morethananything,ifyou’llletme.”
Hughesloweredhimselfintothepool,takingBarleighbythehand,easingherintothewarmwater.Hesatherontheledgethatlayjustbelowthesurface.“Iwanttheluxuryofworrying
aboutyou.I’llhangupmybadgeforever.I’llwalkawayfromeverythingtofitintoyourfuture.”
“Myfuture’snotgoingtobeveryexciting,raisingmybabysisterandrebuildingtheranch.Yourlifeissothrilling,so—”
“AllthethrillIneedisseeingyouwakeupnexttomeeverymorning.”Hetookherfaceinhishandsanddrewhertohim,kissingher
mouth,relievedtofinditwilling,seekinghim,wantinghim.
Herkisseswerehungry,herarmsandhandsandfingersexcitedandeagertotouch,tofeel,toexplore,tobeexplored.Shewantedmore.Standingontheledge,sheunfastenedherlongjohns,peeledthemdown,andsteppedoutofthem.
Hughessuckedinhisbreath,hiseyesfeastingon
herwet,nakedbody.“MyGod,you’rebeautiful.”Hesteppedoutofhislongjohns,tossingthemoutofthepool.Reachingoutforher,holdingontoher,heloweredherintothewater.
“Hughes—”Barleighwrappedherlegsaroundhim,entwiningherarmsaroundhisneck,lettinghimkissherwhereverhewanted,givingherbodytohim.
“Barleigh,”he
groaned,kissingandtastingeveryinchofherexposedbodythatwasabovethewater’ssurface,hishandsexploringtherest.
Shewhisperedagainsthisear,kissingthewords,caressingeachoneintoplacewithherlips.“Iwantyoutomakelovetome.”
Hugheswassureofwhathewanted—hisbodywassure.
“Yourstrength,”he
said,kissingher,“andyourbeauty,”hetastedhermouthagain,“shattersme.Youreyestakemeapartandputmebacktogether,abetterversionthanbefore.”Hebrushedhislipsacrosshers,thenkissedheragain,longanddeepandslow,cuppingherfaceinhishands.“FromthefirsttimeIsawyou,IknewyoucouldturnmyworldupsidedownandI’dstandonmyheadgladly.”
“You’vesetmyworldspinningbackonitsaxis.”Shetracedherlipsdownfromhismouth,overhischin,kissingthesmalldipatthebaseofhisneck.
“Haveyouever—?Areyoua—?”
“No,I’venever—.Yes,I’ma—.”
“Marryme.Tomorrow.Ican’ttakesomethingfromyouthatyoucannevergetback.Ifyou
won’tmarryme,thenno,Iwon’tmakelovetoyou.”Hekissedheragain,hisbodyhotandwantinghers.
“It’snotjusta‘want.’I’vediscoveredwhatIneed.IknewthefirsttimeImetyoutherewassomethingdifferent,somethingspecialaboutyou,thoughmanytimesIpushedyouaway.Notanymore.Makelovetome.”
Shewrappedherarmsaroundhisneck,herlegs
tighteraroundhiswaist,pullinghimtoher,kissinghim,tastingthewineonhismouth.Thehotmineralwatersloshedaroundthem,overtheirheads,outofthepoolandontothegranitefloorastheytwirledandsplashed,theirbodiesentangling,clingingtooneanother.
Hughesheldback,lettingBarleighmoveatherownpace.Steamroseoffthesurfaceofthewater,offof
theirbodies.Barleigh,clutchingandgasping,screamedoutHughes’snamewhilethewindshowlingthroughthecanyonscalledouttospiritsandghosts.
Thefireplayedout.Shadowsfaded.Snowdriftedintothecavefromthecrevasseaboveandmeltedonthewarmfloor.HughesliftedBarleighfromtheedgeofthesteamingpoolandloweredherontotheblanket.He
coveredherwithhiscoatbeforecheckingonthehorsesandgivingthemanotherhandfulofoatsandwarmedwaterfromthemeltedsnow.
Whenhereturned,shewassittingup.“HowcanImarryyou?PeoplethinkI’maboy.”
“Noteveryone.”“Whatdoyou
mean?”“Ispilledthebeans.
I’msorry.Itslippedout.If
Mariohadanysuspicions,Ierasedalldoubt.”Hughesofferedanapologeticsmile.
“Hecanbethepreacher.Heusedtobeone,anyway,beforehiringonwiththeExpress,butnoteveryoneknows.Hefeltprivateaboutthat.”Barleighyawnedandstretched,thensighedadeepsighofrelief.
“Iguessthatmeansyou’regoingtomarryme.”Hugheslookeddownather,
waitingforananswer,butshewasfastasleep.
*****AjoltstartledBarleighfromherdreams.Shesatupstraight.“Hughes?”
“I’mhere.Nightmare?”Hemovedheroffhisarm,whichhadfallenasleep.
“Sorry,Imadeadroolpuddle.”Shewipedawaytheshallowpoolofdroolonhischest.“Ouch—what
happenedhere?”Shetouchedhisforeheadwithherfingertips,afleetingpanicseizingher,wonderingifitwassomethingshe’ddoneintheheatofdeliriouspassion.
“Iranintoalamp.Sortof.Itknockedsomesenseintome,though.MademerealizehowmuchIworryaboutyou.Thatit’saluxuryIlookforwardto,and...thatIloveyou.”
Barleighshiftedonto
herelbow,proppingherheadinherhand.“I’msorry—Ijustnownoticedit.Iwokeupwiththisthought,andIhadtoshareit.”
“AreyouignoringthatIsaidIloveyou?”
“Yesandno.I’llhavetogetusedtothatword.Isthatallright?”
“Yes.And,ifIwakeupeverymorningwithyoudroolingonmychest,everything’llbeallright.”
Hughesyawned,thensaid,“So,what’sthethoughtyouhavetoshare?”
“Itcouldn’thavebeenQuanahthatraidedourranch.PapasaidhesawwarriorswatchingfromtheridgedaysbeforeBirdiegavebirth.QuanahwasinSanAntonioonthosedays,accordingtoyourencounterwithhim.”
“That’sright,”Hughessaid.“Hewas.”
“Thenightofourraid,
hewouldhavehadtohavetraveledhundredsofmilestohavebeenpresentforthatevent.Evenifhewastherethenightoftheactualraid,thatFridaynightthewheelswerealreadyinmotion.Itwouldhavehappenedanyway,withorwithoutQuanah.”
“Youcouldberight,”hesaid,consideringthepossibilities.
“Eitherway,you’re
notresponsible.Pleasedon’tletthateatawayatyou.Leavethoseguiltyfeelingshereinthecave,too.”
Hughestookherinhisarms,histenderkissgrowingmorepassionate,urgent,anddeep.“Iloveyou,BarleighFlanders.You’llhavetogetusedtohearingthat.Whatdidyoumean,earlier,thatyou’vediscoveredwhatyouneed?”
“AconversationwithMissMaeve.Shetoldmeto
keeplookinguntilIfoundwhatIneededinlife.I’vefoundit.”Barleighfeltarushofhappiness,ofpeace,lyinginhisarms.
“Thatmakesmeahappyman.WhatelsedidMaevetellyou?”
Barleighblushed.Thememoryofthatday’sconversationbroughtaflushtoherskin.She’dlearnedthatthereweremanydifferentwaysamanandawomancan
findintimatepleasurewitheachother’sbodies.
“IhadlotsofquestionsforMissMaeve,andshewasgenerouswithheranswers,”Barleighsaid,aslowsmilespreadingacrossherface.
“Remindmetosendherageneroustipandathankyouwhenwegetback.”
“Onedaysoon,wecanexplorethoseways,butrightnowIwantyoutomake
lovetomeagain.”Shepressedherbodyagainsthis.Herurgentkisses,fingerscaressinghim,strokinghim,teasinghim,gavehimalltheencouragementneeded.
Hetookher,tookwhatsheoffered.Thistime,hishungerforherbodyconsumedhim,theurgetopleaseheragaindrivinghimwild.Whathe’ddeniedhimselfthefirsttimehe’dmadelovetoherinthepool,
hewouldnot,couldnot,denyhimselfnow.Holdingnothingback,whenhefeltthemomentofBarleigh’spleasure,heletlooseofhispassionwithascorchingwave,sendingheatpulsingthroughbothofthem.
“MyGod,woman.”HewrappedBarleighinhisarmsasshelayonhischest.“Thatcouldsendaweakermantohisdeath.Anditwouldn’tbeashamefulway
todie.”Wrappedineach
other’sarms,theylayinthedarknessofthecave,breathingeachother’sbreath,facetoface,lipsbrushing,eyelashestickling.Outside,thesnowhadstopped,cloudsopenedtothedarknessbehindthem,andstarstooktheirrightfulplaceinthevelvetsky.
*****Barleighawoketothe
whisperedwords“Iloveyou”spokensoftlyagainstherear,Hughes’shandstrokingherhair.
“Iloveyou,too,”shewhispered.
“I’vebeenwatchingyousleep,andI’vebeenthinking.”
“Uh-oh.Snoringagain?MamaGrizzlyinhercave?”
Helaughed.“No—nosnoring.I’vehearditsaidthat
lovegroundsus.Idisagree.Isayloveuprootsus.Lovingyouhascausedmetowanttochangethingsaboutmyself,tobemorelikewhoIknowmytrueselftobe.Whatdoyouthink?”
Whatdidshethink?Barleighrolledover,restingherheadagainstHughes’schest,listeningtothesoundofhisheartthumping,thesoundofwaterdrippingdownthewallsofthecave,tothe
horsesmovingabout,tothesoundofherownbreathandpulsecombinedwithhis.
“Ithinkwithlove,uncertaintyisguaranteed—thatloveoffersnoguarantees.That’swhatmakesitvaluable,whatmakesitworthtakingariskatanycost.I’mjustafraid.”
“Loveisworththerisk.But,whatareyouafraidof?”heasked,kissingthetipsofherfingers.
“ThatthepeopleIgivemyheartto,thepeopleIlove,alldiebeforeI’mreadytoletgo,”shesaidsoftly,notwantingtogivepowertothewordsorthethought.
“Cashinginyourfearandlettinggoofyourheartisthehighcostofhope,mydear.Hopeiswhatfuelsthefireoflove.Areyouwillingtocashinyourfears,andletgoofyourheart?”
Barleighglancedat
themanshelaywith,felthisarmsholdingherclose,andsheconsideredthisquestionandallthatitmeant—thethingsthatshefeared,whatshemightloseifsheletgoofherheart,whatshemightgainifshedid.
“Iam.AndI’mneverlookingback.”
*****AnoticeintheSaltLakeCityDeseretNews,theSanAntonioSentinel,andtheNew
OrleansTribunalread:
HughesPierceLévesqueofNewOrleans,LouisianaandSanAntonio,Texas,andMissBarleighAlexandriaHenriettaFlandersofPaloPinto,TexasandSaltLakeCity,UtahTerritory,weremarriedinholymatrimonyon
Thursday,November28th,1860.OfficiatingwasReverendMarioRussooftheCentralOverlandCaliforniaandPikesPeakExpressCompany.Thebrideworeawhitelacegownwithbeadedpearlaccents,andsurprisedherguestswithadisplayofWesternbootsand
spursasherfootwearofchoice.Inlieuofabridalveil,sheworeabrightyellowMexicansombrerotrimmedingoldandblackaccents.OfficialreceptiontofollowattheMengerHotel,SanAntonio,Texas.Detailstofollow.
“Getyourridinggear
ready—I’vegottogetyoutoTexas”wereHughes’sfirstwordsforhisbride,afterthe“Idos”hadbeensaid.
*****ThestagecoachpulledintoSanAntonio,Texas,atnoononNewYear’sEve,thetowndecoratedinfestiveholidaycolors.Barleighpulledthetelegramfromherreticule,thesmalldecoratedbagaChristmasgiftfromHugheswhenthey’dstopped
overnightinthetownshipofDallas.Sheheldthefragilepaperthatwastornatthecreasesfromthewearandtearoffoldingandunfoldingit.
ShelookedupatHughes,feelingtheweightofhisstare.“Ijustwanttoreaditagain,”shesaid,castinghereyesdownatthetelegram.
Tryingtokeeptheanxietythathadbeenhauntingherfrombuilding,
sheconcentratedoneachword.Hermother’sconditionhadworsened,Jameson’stelegramhadsaid,andtimewasoftheessenceiftheywishedtomakeareunionpossible.Thetelegramwasalmostfifteendaysold.
Havingsaidtheirgood-byestoMarioafterheperformedthequicknuptialsinSaltLakeCity,Hugheshadsentthreetelegrams,onetoJameson,onetoWinnifred
Justin,andonetoLeighselle.He’daskedallthreetorespondassoonaspossible,andtosendtheirrepliestotheofficeinSaintJoseph,Missouri,whereheandBarleighwouldbecatchingastagecoachforSanAntonio.
“IfLeighsellestilldoesn’twanttoseeyou,andIcan’timaginehernotwantingto,afterItellherournews,then,we’llhavetoacceptherdecision,”he’dsaid.“ButI’m
goingtodomydamnedesttoseethatyouandyourmotherarereunited.”
AfteronelastnightattheSaltLakeHouseHotel,BarleighsleepingintheroomontheothersideofthewallfromtheroomreservedforExpressriders,theymadeafinalstopattheMercantile.WhileBarleighpurchasedsupplies,HughesarrangedforagifttobedeliveredtoMarioRusso,thesignaturecard
reading,“Ihopethesewoolieswillkeepyourtoeswarmformanywinterstocome.”Then,offtheywent,ridinghardforSaintJoe.Theychangedponiesattheexpressstations,retracingbackwardBarleigh’sandStoney’sfirstrideintoUtahTerritory.
*****Winnifred’stelegramread:
Congratulationsmydarlings.Ishall
headtoSanAntoniowithStarlingandbepreparedtostayseveralweeks.WillbeleavingHogMountainRanchinEsperanza’sandJulio’scapablehands.ShouldbeinSanAntoniobyChristmas.WillsendtelegramtoJamesonattheMengerHotelasyouinstructed.
Love,AuntWinnie.Jameson’stelegram
read:Mybesttothe
happycouple.Unfortunately,MissBeauclaire’sconditionworsenseachday.Timeisoftheessenceifareunionispossible.I’vereceivedMrs.Justin’stelegramandhavesecuredaroom
forheradjacenttoMissBeauclaire’s.DoHurry.Leighselle’stelegram
wastheoneBarleighlingeredover.Reread.Foldedandunfolded,overagain.Shesilentlymouthedthewords“Iloveyou,Mother”toseehowtheyfeltinhermouth,inhermind.Eachtimeshespokethewords,theybecamemoreapartofher,takingrootinherheart,growingafraction
witheachbeatandpulse.Hughesleaned
forward,liftingherchin,seekingBarleigh’seye.“Darling,sayitaloud.Practicehowitfeelstohearthemspoken.”
“Notyet.Idon’twanttojinxanything.”Barleighsmoothedthepaperonherlapandreaditagain.
Leighselle’smessageread:
I’msohappy
forbothofyou.Howveryperfect.Hughes,IunderstandwhyyoutoldBarleigh.Yes,youHADto!Ishouldneverhaveaskedyounottointhefirstplace.Iwishfornothingbuttogettoseeheragain,togettoholdheragain,beforeIleavethisworldbehind.Shesoundslikea
remarkableyoungwoman.TellherthatIloveher,havelovedheralways,untilIcantellhermyself,face-to-face.I’mdoingmybesttohangon.Pleasedoyourverybesttohurry.
*****TheMengerHotelwascongestedwithhordesofpeopleintownfortheholidayseason.Hughestook
Barleigh’shandandledherthroughthecrowdedlobbyfulloffestivefolksinhighspirits,pasttheshinyblackgrandpiano,andtowardthebackstairwell.Takingthemtwoatatime,hepulledheralongwithhim.TheburgundyandpinkfloralcarpetingmuffledthesoundoftheirfeetastheyrandownthehalltowardHughes’soldroom,theroomLeighsellenowkept.
Standingbeforethedoor,HugheslookedatBarleighandsaid,“Areyoureadyforthis?”
Sheleanedpasthimandpoundedonthedoor.“Whatdoesthattellyou?”Shesmiledathim.“Yes.I’mready.”
Afteralongpause,Hughesknockedagain.“Hello?”
Theywaited,theireyesmeeting,holding,then
separating.Hughesknockedon
thedoor,moreinsistent,speakingintothecrackofthedoorframe.“Leighselle?Areyouinthere?”
Barleighstoodnexttohim,aglovedhandpressedtohermouth.
Hughesputahandonthedoorknobandturned.Itopened.Hepushedthedoorintothecold,darkroomthatsmelledoflavenderandlye.
Hesteppedinside,lookingaround,takingnoteofwhathewasseeing,ofwhathewasnotseeing.
Easingoutintothehallway,heturnedtoBarleigh,shakinghishead.“Thebed’sbeenstripedtothemattress.Nocoalsorashesinthefireplace.Itsmellsofrubbingalcoholandlyesoap.Thisroom’sbeenvacantforawhile.”
“Afterallwedidto
gethere,andwe’retoolate.”Tearsrolleddownhercheeks.
“Darling,I’msosorry,”hesaid,swallowinghard,holdingbackhisownemotion.
“Wedidn’tmakeitintime.Iknewit.IknewassoonasIgaveintothenotionoflovingherthatshe’d,she’d....”
Hughestookherinhisarmsandheldhertight
againsthischest.“I’msosorry,mylove.”
“Ishouldhavesaiditaloud.Ishouldhavesetthewordsfree,thatIlovedher.Then,theywouldbeouttherefloatingaroundsomewhere,andmightfindtheirwaytoher.”BarleighpulledherfaceintoHughes’slapelsandsobbed.
“Let’sgofindJamesonandWinnie,”hesaid,kissingthetopofher
head.“I’msorry.IhatethatIdidn’tgetyouheresooner.”Heclosedthedoorbehindthem.
Theylookedintotheroomnextdoor,afterknockingandgettingnoanswer.Barleighrecognizedthecoatandhatononebed,andonthefloorwasababy’sdoll.
“Well,atleastweknowAuntWinnieandStarlinghavearrived.I
wonderwheretheyare.”BarleighpickedupStarling’sdoll,placingitontheotherbed.
“It’slunchtime.Let’sheaddowntotheColonialRoom,ifwedon’tfindJamesoninhisroomfirst.”
Jamesondidn’tanswertheknockathisdoor,soBarleighandHughesmadetheirwaytothecrowdedColonialRoom.Tablesofjovialhotelguestsfilledthe
roomwithboisterousconversationsandbrightlaughterwhilediningonasumptuousfeast.
“Idon’tseeAuntWinnie,”saidBarleigh,glancingaroundtheroom.
Hughesturnedaroundinaslow,completesweepoftheroom,eyeingeachtable.“Jamesonisn’there,either.Perhapsthey’vechosenthepatio.”HeputhishandonBarleigh’sbackandsteered
hertowardthesidedoor.Sunshinepoked
throughthickpalmfrondsthathoveredoverthepatio,creatingasoftandinvitingshade,thewintertemperatureinSanAntoniostillpleasantforoutdoordining.Atthefarthestendandawayfromthedoor,Hughesspottedatable.Whitepressedlinenclothsandsilverbutlerservicegleamed.Crystalglassessparkled.Afloral
arrangementwasplacedinthecenter,thecandleawaitingtheneedforafire.
Jameson,withhisbacktothewallforobservingthecomingsandgoingsofothers,stoodandwavedthemoverassoonashesawHughes.
ToJameson’sleftandrightsattwowell-dressedwomen,oneholdinganinfant,theothersippingfromasugar-rimmed,cut-crystal
glassoflemonade,withaninfusionofdarkamberliquidswirlingthroughout.Bothwomenlookedupandsmiled.
Barleigh’sbreathcaughtinherthroat.ShereachedforHughes’shand,buthereyeswereonthefrail,thinwomansittingatthetableacrossfromAuntWinniewhowassippingthelemonade.Thedelicatewoman,whosesmile,finefeatures,andcat-likeeyes
mirroredherown,heldStarlingagainsthershoulder,pattingthebaby’sback,ahalf-emptybottleofmilkonthetable.
“That’sher.That’smymother,”saidBarleigh,knowing,notasking.
“Indeed,sheis.LeighselleBeauclairehassurprisedmeyetagain,”hesaid,hiseyescrinklingatthecornersashesmiled.
Whilethecrowdof
festiveholidaytravelersdinedontheiropulentfeastsandthewaitstaffboreplatesandtraysoffoodanddrinktoandfromtables,abeamingHughesLévesquetookhiswifebythehand,andtogethertheymadetheirwaytothetableatthefarendofthesun-drenchedpatio.
<<<<>>>>>
Acknowledgments
Whilethisbookisaworkoffictionandthecharactersarefigmentsofmyimagination,theswingstationsandhomestationsmentionedareaccurateaccordingtothePonyExpressroute,andtwoactualridersarementionedbyname,EaganandHaslan.Theexperiencesmycharactersendurealongthe
PonyExpresstrailarefabricated;however,somemirrorpurportedfactualevents,suchasthewolfscenewheretheriderwassavedbybuglinghishorntofrightenawaypredators.Effortstocensorthemail,tamperwiththemail,andstealthemailwereabundantduringtheprewaryears;however,theconspiracyspecificallytargetingPresidentLincoln’sletterstoCaliforniabeganas
aseedofmyimaginationandgrewintoanactualplot.
Researchforthisbookwasmadeeasybytwovaluableandenjoyableresources:ThePonyExpressTrail:YesterdayandToday,byWilliamE.Hill,andOrphansPreferred,byChristopherCorbett.IkeptMr.Hill’sbookopenandonmydeskforthreeyearsandwouldrefertoitmanytimesforhisinvaluableinsight
regardingparticularstationsandtrailconditionsalongtheroute.And,inanNPRinterviewabouthisbookOrphansPreferred,Mr.Corbett’swordsfueledmyimaginationwhenhesaid:“ThehistoryofthePonyExpressisrootedinfact,butlayeredinfiction.”Hearinghisinterviewspurredmetodotwothings:purchasehisbook,whichwasafunandfascinatingread,andthenit
motivatedmetothrowmyownhatintheringandaddanotherlayertothefictionandthemythofthePonyExpress.
Alongwiththeabovementionedbooks,IfoundotherinformativeliteraturethroughtheSaintJoseph(Missouri)Convention&VisitorsBureau,thePonyExpressMuseum,andwww.ponyexpress.organdwww.xphomestation.com.
WhileresearchinghistoricaldataonQuanahParkerandtheComancheraidsinNorthTexas,IcameacrossS.C.Gwynne’sEmpireoftheSummerMoon:QuanahParkerandtheRiseandFalloftheComanches,theMostPowerfulIndianTribeinAmericanHistory.Imusthavereaditatleastfourtimes,andthenkeptithandywhenIneededareminderofthebrutalityoflifeonthe
westernfrontier.AlthoughIampart
NativeAmericanIndian(maternalgreat-grandmotherwasfull-bloodedCherokeeandpaternalgreat-grandmotherwasfull-bloodedBlackfoot),Idon’tpretendtospeakanynativetongue.TheLakotaSiouanlanguageIusedformybookwastakenfromTheFullTextoftheLahcotah:DictionaryoftheSiouxLanguage,
UniversityofPittsburghLibrarySystem,authorsJ.K.Hyer,W.S.Starring,andCharlesGuerreu(originallyprintedin1866—notincopyrightandnolongerinprint).Icross-checkedthisinformationwithwww.native-languages.org.BecauseofthemanydialectsoftheSiouanlanguage,IwantedtomakesurethewordsIchosewerecorrect.IapologizetoanyNative
AmericanifI’venotdoneanaccuratejob—pleaseemailme—I’dvalueyourcoachingforfuturemanuscripts.
ThoughthePonyExpressoperatedforlessthantwoyears,itwasduringacriticaltimeinAmerica’shistory,andboththeponiesandtheriderscapturedourimaginationsandourhearts.We’restillwriting(andreading)storiesaboutthemmorethan150yearslater.
ANoteFromtheAuthor
Thisisthe“ThankYou”page—themostimportantpageofthebook.Thenwhyisitattheback?Iseeitasbeingatthebottomofapileofpages,holdingeverythingupthat’sontop.Because,withoutallthepeopleIhavetothankwho’vehelpedmeandwho’veencouragedmealong
theway,thisbookwouldn’thavelegstostandon.
Tomyearlyreaders,ReneeJordan,MeggElliott,BeverlyHelton,andSusanBertram,Ioweallofyoumuchthanks,manysushidinners,bottomlesswineandendlesschocolate,andmoregratitudethanIcandescribe.
Tomyadorablefather-in-lawTheodorLukas,whosefirstlanguageisGerman,thankyouforbeing
myfirst“official”readerandpurchaser.Hearingyourlaughterandseeingyourtearsasyoureadshowedmethatagoodstorytranscendslanguagebarriers.
TomydearfriendInesEishen,whosewordsofencouragementwhenIwasyourstudentandyouweremyEnglishLiteratureandCreativeWritingprofessorgavemethecouragetofollowmydream,grazie.I’m
gratefulforourlastingfriendship—itfeedsmysoul.
ToCarolDawson,author,editor,andcourageousleaderofthesummereditingretreatinAlpine,Texas,sponsoredbytheWriters’LeagueofTexas.Thankyouforyourkindhonesty.Ithurtcuttingmyfirsttwenty-fivebeautifullywritten,eloquent,poeticpages,butyouweresoright.“Gettothenitty-gritty,”you
said.Yesma’am.ToSaraKocekand
DavidArethaatYellowBirdEditors,thankyousomuchforyourexpertiseinpolishingmymanuscriptandinadvisingmewithyourstraightforwardanswerstomymanyquestions.Ican’timaginehavingamorepositive,professionalexperienceduringtheediting,revising,andrewritingprocess.I’mlookingforward
toournextcollaboration.ToGaryB.Haley,my
oldhighschoolchum,thankyouforyoureagleeyedproofingandcritiquing.GaryistheaccomplishedauthorofthenovelTheAttunement,afast-pacedthrillerreminiscentoftheJasonBournestories.
ToBaron,Ryan,Angie,Malachi,Erik,Marla,Miriam,andKrista,Iloveyouall.Now,someonepleasepoptheAlmondage!
*****Andtoyoumydearreaders,Ioffermysinceregratitudefortakingthetimetoreadmybook.Ihopeyouenjoyedthestoryandcharacters,andperhapslearnedsomethingnewabouttheAmericanwestandthePonyExpress.Ifyoufeelsoinclined,pleaseleaveareviewontheOrphanMoonAmazon.compageandonGoodreads.ForGoodreads,youcanfollow
thelinkprovided.ForanAmazonreview,justscrolltotheendofthebookandAmazonprovidesaconvenientreviewcapabilityrightonyourKindleorKindlereaderapp.YourreviewisinvaluableandprovidesthefeedbackIneedtobecomebetteratmycraft.Youcanalsoleavefeedbackonmywebsiteatwww.TKLukas.comandattheOrphanMoonFacebook
page.Ifyouwouldliketoreceiveperiodicupdatesaboutmyprojectsandexcerptsofworksinprogress,includingbookstwoandthreeofOrphanMoon,pleaseleaveyournameandemailaddressatthefollowinglink:http://www.tklukas.com/contact-me-newsletter.YoucanlookforbookstwoandthreeoftheOrphanMoontrilogyin2016.
AbouttheAuthor
T.K.Lukas,anaccomplishedequestrianandauthoroftheaward-winningcontemporaryshortfictionOfMurder,Mayhem,andMagnolias,liveswithherhusbandonasmallranchinruralPaloPintoCountyinNorthCentralTexas.Theirthreegrownchildrenarescatteredacrosstheglobe.Alongwith
internationaltravel,sheandherhusbandenjoyspendingasmuchtimeaspossibleridingtheirhorsesthroughthewoods,takingtheirdogsforwalks,andwatchingtheirBeltedGallowaycattlegetfat.Sheiscurrentlyworkingonthesecondbookinthe“OrphanMoon”trilogy.Visitheratherwebsitewww.TKLukas.comandattheOrphanMoonFacebookpage.
Theauthorwithherappaloosamare,HollywoodJackieGN.“Holly”isthecovergirlforthebook.Youcanseehowthecoverart
wentfromaphotographtothefinalmasterpiece,anoriginaloilonwoodpanel,byvisiting:http://www.orphanmoon.net
OriginalcoverartbyrenownedTexasartistSharonMarkwardt.http://www.sharonmarkwardt.com
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