The Eighth Day
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Seven days. How was it possible the world could spin off its axis so completely in only seven days? One week ago Adam had been a highly respected and well-liked rancher getting on with his own life, a bit bored perhaps, but nevertheless playing the hand he had been dealt. So how could it be that today he had his gun squarely pointed at an angry crowd of men, amongst them his neighbours, and people he'd always considered to be his friends? Seven days on from that morning on the beach when it had all begun, he was up to his knees in the freezing cold lake, a naked woman pressed tightly against his back, and his gun jerking from one sweaty, leering face to another. He stumbled away from the horde that was gradually closing the space between them, his eyes snapping between the violent mass of men and the water surging around his knees. Adam realised he and the girl had only one choice, and it was a choice that terrified Adam more than being taken out by a piece of lead.
There was a shout; weapons were raised. Adam became conscious of the girl's arm wrapping around his chest, the echoing crack of a pistol discharging, and then he was falling backwards, beneath the icy surface of the water. And as his eyes squeezed tight against the swirling gloom and the unforgiving weight pressing down on him, the last thought that consumed him before the darkness took hold was a desperate plea. "Please, God, not like this, don't let it end like this…"
Day 1 - Friday
The boy had been missing for two days, and even though his hat and coat had washed up on the shore of the great blue lake, the search still continued; his parents refusing to accept that young Matthew Butcher was dead. The coat had been carefully and respectfully folded and the hat placed on top, and as the items were handed over to Matt's father, the man had gripped them tightly until his knuckles turned white and, through gritted teeth, he had begged for the search to continue. Many of the townsfolk had given up and returned to their own lives, muttering under their breath that the kid had clearly drowned and they had better things to do with their time than look for a child's corpse. But not everyone turned their backs on the Butchers that day. And so it was that Adam found himself leading his horse by the reins through a dense thicket of woodland down by the lake's edge, in an area already picked over a hundred times before. Peering through the tightly-packed trees he could see his brother, Hoss, also on foot, scanning the woodland in a path parallel to his own.
Whether the child had perished or not, Adam couldn't even begin to surmise. But to his way of thinking, finding a coat and hat was not enough evidence to give up the hunt after only two days. As he kicked his boot through the thick soft bed of pine needles, looking for anything, anything at all, that might offer a clue to young Matthew's fate, he grew angry at the men who had returned to their homes so soon. By leaving they had made the job for those who remained that much harder, and Adam wanted nothing more than to grab them by their collars and drag them back to the lake to search for the six-year-old.
A movement through the trees caught his eye. Someone was on the narrow beach that skirted this section of the lake. The trees in the thicket subdued the light and he squinted against the brightness emanating from the open water. Moving closer, and staying hidden in the tree line, he saw a woman with her back to him, crouched on her knees, and gently laying something down on the sand. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him—it had been two long and exhausting days—because from where he stood observing her curled over the object, she appeared to be…no, it couldn't be…she looked…naked! A cascade of wavy autumnal hair—so long the tips brushed softly against the sand—hid her face from view. But Adam could see a long sinuous back, an expanse of pale skin and not an item of clothing to hide her form. He was about to turn away when he saw what she was bending over. It was a child, a boy, and she was softly stroking his face and whispering into his ear. Matt!
"Hey!" Before he could stop himself he had shouted to catch her attention.
The woman jumped to her feet, her head turning rapidly to locate the source of the voice. Adam was moving out of the tree line, one eye on the child who lay motionless on the sand, and the other stunned by the woman who had twisted away from him but stayed frozen on the spot, her face angled towards the ground. He held his hands up in a calming gesture.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you."
With difficulty, he dragged his eyes away from where they lingered over her hair and the round shape of her rump—well, Hoss, she's definitely not wearing tights—and looked to the boy who was so still Adam couldn't even see if he was breathing.
He walked toward them, treading smoothly and unhurriedly, in the way one approached an animal that quivered in fear, so keen was he not to scare her. He knelt slowly, his eyes flicking between the child and the woman, and placed his palm over the boy's heart. The beat was strong. Relieved, he looked up at her. She hadn't moved.
"He is unharmed." Her voice was like liquid copper, fluid and warm. "I saved him from the water, kept him until he breathed easy."
Adam returned his eyes to the boy, keeping a soothing palm on the child's chest. "Thank you." He risked a glance at her and saw she was staring curiously at him. But when his eyes met hers, she quickly looked away.
Adam opened his mouth to speak when suddenly there was the heavy sound of someone crashing through the woodland. The woman threw a wild-eyed look towards the trees and bolted. Running a few steps into the water, she dived under and disappeared immediately from view. Adam shot to his feet, astonished anyone would dare to swim in the icy-cold waters of the lake at this time of year, especially unclothed. It might be spring, but the great lake was being fed by the snow melt from the high peaks, and anyone who became immersed would surely be dead within minutes of entering. He waited to see where she would surface, but the lake remained tranquil and unbroken. A moment later Hoss broke through the trees and onto the beach and immediately spotted the child at Adam's feet.
"Dadburn, Adam, ya found little Matt Butcher. How's he doin'?"
Adam pulled his eyes away from where the water was sparkling like diamonds as the early morning sun kissed the surface. "He seems fine. Let's get him to his folks."
He gently scooped the boy up in his arms, and as he carried him to his waiting mount, the child squirmed and mumbled.
"Wha'd he say, Adam?" Hoss pulled himself up into his saddle.
Adam handed the child up to his brother and took one last look out over the water, to the last place he'd seen the woman, and replied that the child's words had been too slurred to understand. But Adam had lied to Hoss, because the words had been as clear to Adam as if spoken by a Shakespearean actor on the stage at Piper's Opera House.
"Pretty mermaid," the boy had murmured. "Where's the pretty mermaid?"
Day 2 - Saturday
The following morning, for the second day in a row, Adam had found himself riding hard to the lake. And what unsettled him the most was that he had absolutely no idea why.
He had woken two hours before dawn after a disturbed night when he'd been unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time without waking. He had tossed and turned in his bed to get comfortable, punched his pillow, thrown his blankets off as he was too warm, pulled them back over himself again when he felt too cold. Eventually, when he had woken fully about four hours into the new day, he had given up trying to sleep. He had pulled a chair over to his window and sat watching the moon retreat across the sky, as light from the east started to wash the land with a murky paleness. His mind had been awhirl with thoughts, but one that seemed to dominate all others was the desire to ride out to the lake, and more particularly to a small, sheltered bay that had been known, for as long as anyone could recall, as Josiah's Cove.
As the sun had pulled itself above the horizon, and he had started to hear Hop Sing rattling around in the kitchen below his room, he'd splashed cold water over his chest, arms and face. Then dressing quickly, and stepping lightly down the stairs into the living area, he'd grabbed an apple, told Hop Sing he was going for an early morning ride and strode out into the fresh new day's air; the early spring day promised to be bright and warm. He knew his father would frown upon his unexplained absence at the breakfast table, but Josiah's Cove was like the lure on the end of a fishing line; it was tempting him, drawing him near. And so as Adam rode towards the great blue lake, he didn't hear the myriad of birds as they began their morning siren calls to attract a mate; nor did he take notice of the abundance of spring flowers as they opened their blossoms in thrall to the warmth of the life-giving sun; nor did he see the ground squirrels and rabbits running across his path as he rode ever onwards to the great lake. All Adam knew was he needed to get to Josiah's Cove, and sooner rather than later.
It was not a place he visited often, being farther away from the ranch house than the other commonly visited spots. If he had a fancy to see the lake, he would usually ride to a rocky viewpoint which revealed the glistening blue stretch of pristine water in all its wondrous splendour, encircled on all sides by forested banks and a ring of distant mountain peaks. It was a sight that would move even the hardest of hearts. And if he wanted to be alone, to contemplate life and its infinite mysteries, he would find himself at a sandy beach, strewn with huge round boulders as though a giant child had abandoned a game of colossal marbles. But Josiah's Cove was a further forty-minute ride around the lake. And it was hard to get to. As he rode through the dense forest of red and white firs and lodgepole pine, it became apparent to Adam why he didn't come here that much. The trees were so tightly-packed in places that on occasion he had to dismount and lead Sport in order to stick to what semblance of a path existed.
The trek was worth it, though. When he finally broke through the tree cover and stopped on the lip of the sandy beach, he was faced with a small cove, surrounded on three sides by the forest vegetation and a silence so profound Adam immediately felt calm and rested by simply being there. The only noises of which he was aware were those of the waves as they slapped softly against the sandy beach. The sun had risen higher in the sky, and it was already warm, so Adam tied his thick coat to his saddle, secured Sport to a tree in the shade of the forest and moved down to the shoreline. He bent down to run his fingers through the water. It was as icy-cold as he had imagined it would be. Quickly drying his hand on his trouser leg, he shivered at the very idea of swimming in the freezing cold water and wondered again what had happened to the woman after she'd dived in the lake.
Little Matthew Butcher had been joyfully reunited with his parents, a little cold and shaken, but other than that, unharmed. Young Matt couldn't remember a thing about the two days he was missing and Adam was unexpectedly relieved there was no mention of 'mermaids' as the boy had tried to remember what happened. Adam conjectured to all and sundry that the boy must have wandered off, hidden somewhere, and made his way back to the beach where he'd fallen asleep and been subsequently found. The whole unfortunate affair was laid to rest; although for several parties, doubts did remain. The boy's father couldn't understand how his son, who, though young, knew the woods and lake shore like the back of his hand, could suddenly get lost. Sheriff Coffee came to much the same conclusion, especially as Adam was so reticent in his account of the child's discovery.
For Adam, the woman played on his mind like one of those inescapable hums that sometimes start up inside your head but just won't shift. She had been like a trapped animal, paralysed until she could find a means to escape. But it was only when Hoss had been about to blunder onto the beach that she had run. She had stood like a statue in front of him, her head to one side until she had twisted around to look at him. He had barely seen her face but could remember a glimpse of intense green eyes and a startling exquisiteness to her features. He had tried to keep his eyes averted but she had been so close and he hadn't been able to stop himself from flashing glances at the tumble of hair falling down her back and the smooth curve of her buttocks and thighs. But as quickly as she appeared she had gone. And now all he had were questions he couldn't answer and a simmering desire for a woman he wondered whether he would ever see again.
He found a small boulder to sit on and sat staring out at the water. Now that he was here, the urge that had driven him to the cove and overshadowed all thought abated, and Adam found other considerations coming to the forefront of his mind. For several months he had recognised a restlessness within himself, an uncertainty in knowing what direction his life should be taking. He knew his father expected him to take over the running of the Ponderosa with his brothers when the time came, but Adam wasn't sure that, deep down, that is what he wanted to do. He couldn't deny he loved his life here, but he also wondered whether there was more to his existence than living and working on a cattle ranch in the middle of Nevada. He had been educated as an architect, and he felt his skills were wasting away as he had little opportunity to use them in Virginia City and its environs. And he wanted to see the world; to go beyond the shores of this great continent. He felt the call of the old country, and a yearning to go further afield and visit the southern hemisphere like his old sparring partner, Mark Twain, had done.* Oh the sights that were out there waiting to be seen.
On the other hand, Adam was also feeling increasingly lonely. He recalled the heart-warming reunion between Matt Butcher and his parents the previous day, and he felt again the familiar nagging anxiety he had experienced so much lately. He was in his mid-thirties and unmarried, and he wondered whether he would ever find himself a wife and begin his own family. It would certainly stop the unsubtle hints dropped by his father about how lovely it would be to hear the patter of tiny feet around the place. He thought back on the women he'd known: Ruth, who had left so he might live (his time with Ruth had been so ephemeral he sometimes wondered whether she had ever been real); Regina and Rebecca, both of whom couldn't reconcile their beliefs to Adam's way of living. What was it about women whose name began with R? Maybe he should steer clear of Rachels, Ritas and Rosalinds in the future. And for a moment he speculated as to the name of the woman on the beach, and before he knew it she was there again in his mind, adding to his preoccupations.
He bent to collect his hat from where he'd placed it on the sand and stood up sharply, shaking his head. He still didn't understand why he had had such a need to come here, particularly as it hadn't helped to quiet the turbulence that raged in his mind. It had been a pleasant ride out, and refreshing to sit in the secluded quiet of the cove, but he couldn't sit here all day—he had better things to do with his time—so he turned to begin his walk back to where Sport was tied.
*Mark Twain visited Australia in 1895 so I've taken liberties with the timeline here.
