On the ashes of this nest
Love wove with deathly fire
The phoenix takes its rest
Forgetting all desire.
After the flame, a pause,
After the pain, rebirth.
Obeying nature's laws
The phoenix goes to earth.
You cannot call it old
You cannot call it young.
No phoenix can be told,
This is the end of song.
It struggles now alone
Against death and self-doubt,
But underneath the bone
The wings are pushing out.
And one cold starry night
Whatever your belief
The phoenix will take flight
Over the seas of grief
To sing her thrilling song
To stars and waves and sky
For neither old nor young
The phoenix does not die.
May Sarton, "The Phoenix Again"
Sutamasina, afternoon, January 15, 1875
It was a mild, sunny morning. A cool winter breeze whispered gently over the village. Up in the high Sierra, a few casual banks of cloud broke and dissipated against the granite peaks; the distant fresh fields of snow blazed white against the sky. To the west, the ghostly curve of the moon arced silently along her path; she traveled into the darkness, her face turned to the sun.
"These stupid poles!" Audra fumed. She straddled the side of the buckboard, straining to push a bundle of tent supports into a gap between a row of barrels and a stack of rolled up bedding.
Audra had been working with Silas since sunrise, organizing and packing up the buckboard for their imminent return to the ranch. He found her to be unusually taciturn and preoccupied this morning, her mood distinctly different from the quiet thoughtfulness he had observed in her since the experience of the sweat lodge.
"I know they fit in here sideways before! Gosh darn it – these stupid, stupid – oh - !"
Flushed and furious, Audra had shoved again, as hard as she could. The poles abruptly slid forward, tearing loudly into the bedding, and Audra was nearly lost to view within a dense, swirling flurry of down feathers.
Early this morning, she had deflected Silas' oblique inquiry as to her state of mind. When her preoccupation bristled up into this irritable fit of temper, however, Silas wiped his hands, straightened his jacket, and stepped in to intervene – too late, unfortunately, to save one of the down quilts he had packed for Mrs. Barkley-Smith against the winter night's chill.
Audra stared down at him now, speechless, breathless, and bewildered in a blizzard of her own making. He offered her a gentle smile, and a hand to help her down from the buckboard. Once she was standing before him, however, he spoke firmly, brushing aside both her apology and her intent to clean up the mess.
"Miss Audra. We got plenty done already, and it's easy to see right now you have other things to tend to. I'll take care of this. It's just a blanket. Go find your brother."
She accepted Silas' wisdom along with his help brushing off the feathers, all the while chafing under the awareness that he understood her state of mind better than she did herself. His sober encouragement warmed her, as always. She thanked him, and then she went looking for Heath.
She did not see him anywhere around the barn, which surprised her. Even at the height of the several-days-long village festival, the barn was where she most often could find him, working to fortify and improve that weather-beaten building.
Audra understood that this work was not just about shingles and siding: not for Heath, nor for any of them. Over the days since the sweat lodge and the marriage ceremony, she had watched him, with a clarity of sight burnished by the steam of the ritual.
She saw joy in her brother: humbled, and deeply mixed with mourning, but joy nonetheless. Piece by gathered piece, he was rebuilding a place of hope from the bones of an abandoned ruin.
Mother is so sure he will come back to us. I wish I were so certain.
Each day, he looked stronger, and moved more easily. He smiled more, especially when his eyes followed Rivka as she walked among her patients, students, and nurses. He even laughed, at times. From up on a ladder or climbing the rafters with tools and lumber - often with a few nails in his mouth and a pencil behind his ear – Heath had set himself to coaching the Miwok adults in the unfamiliar arts of carpentry and plumbing. The building had become a hospital, a school, and a shelter; it had grown into a project and a source of pride for the whole village.
Heath would climb down from wherever he was working, to confer with Rivka about the building, or to assist her in her work. In the hospital and the surgery, Audra noticed, Heath approached Rivka with deliberate, careful respect. The physical attraction between them was nonetheless obvious. It glowed and sparked in the slightest glance or touch. Rivka would blush at the gentle stroke of his hand along her arm as he assisted her down from a stepladder. He would smile, his fingertips lingering just a bit, before he returned to his tasks.
Heath had transformed the small loft in the corner into a simple one-room home for Rivka and himself. It was one of the first tasks he had completed, for obvious reasons. He suffered a fair share of ribbing about that, but he just smiled, and was soon caught up in the larger work.
The village this morning was unusually quiet. The "Big Time" celebration of feasting, dancing, and gambling had come to a close. The depleted population of the village had grown, in the interim. Word had spread. Several individuals and family groups – refugees, sole survivors, and escapees from a scattering of Miwok and Yokuts villages – had made their way to Sutamasina, seeking a home and a place of safety. Word of mouth suggested more were coming. The new arrivals were being welcomed by Haja and other elders in the roundhouse. The children, meanwhile, were gathered for the first orderly meal they had had in days.
Into this unusual hush, Audra went walking, in search of her brother. She found him alone out beyond the barn, forking hay into the paddock for the horses. Nike whinnied a sociable greeting as she approached.
Rarely was Heath without a spirited, changeable entourage of children. They ebbed and eddied, flowing around their Me'weh like a sparkling river, always subject to the tidal pull of lessons, chores, mealtimes and sleep. By some sleight of alchemy, he could always find just the right way to catch up their interest and draw them into the work at hand. Try as she might, Audra could not figure out the secret of his uncanny intuition in this regard. It warmed her heart; it made her smile; it also made her a little bit jealous. She imagined such a magic touch would make her Sunday school class a great deal easier to manage.
It was just one of so many qualities she admired in him; one of many she sought to nurture in herself. She knew Heath would not accept such a sentiment from her in the way Nick or Jarrod would. That's how I want to be, she would say, and they would receive their young sister's honor as their due – just as her father had accepted it from his daughter.
Not Heath, she was certain. He would think her aspirations misplaced. He would more than likely warn her off, and tell her to reach higher than the tumbleweed cowboy who had become her brother. You can be so much more, sis. You can do whatever you set your mind to.
She wished they could have grown up together.
She wished they had had more time.
"Audra? Audra, honey, what's the matter?"
She sniffed and tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't planning to come up here all weepy, honest."
"What, then?"
"Just – just missing you. It's silly. Wishing we could've been kids together." She wiped her eyes brusquely, once again irritable and impatient with herself. "But that wasn't why I came looking for you."
"I think I know why," he said, studying her face seriously. "The brood mare and two-year-old auction. It's in – what – a week? Not much time to get ready."
"No, it isn't much time." Remembering her mother's words, Audra lifted her chin and blinked back the tears. "It's one week from today. This auction is critical. We were supposed to do this together, Heath, but if I - if I have to do it by myself – well, I will need to prepare. We were – we are – partners in this, right? I need to know what I can expect from you," she concluded firmly, "so I can plan."
She looked him in the eye, her jaw tight. She was pleased that she had spoken so dispassionately. She was utterly unaware that the stoic, close-lipped expression she now wore was one that Leah Thomson – or Rachael, or Hannah - would have recognized in an instant.
Heath, on the other hand, had the distinct feeling he was looking in a mirror. He bit back a sudden urge to laugh as a memory of his mother's exasperated scolding came bubbling through his mind: a musical soliloquy of Kentucky slang, embellished with cuss words dipped in molasses. It was the sound of a woman fed up and at her wit's end with her stubborn, self-reliant son.
That humor would strike a wrong note here, he was certain. He inhaled slowly, nodded, and did not speak until he was sure she would hear only the love and respect he felt for her.
Sister. Even now, that word - that idea – this young woman in front of me – she did not fail to fill him with a sense of wonder.
"We are in this together, Audra. I am sorry I've left you so up in the air. I know how important this is."
Her expression began to darken with disappointment. "Well, can you at least help me make a list -" she began, but Heath had continued speaking.
"Now, I hope you brought the latest catalog, somewhere in that chock-full buckboard of yours. I need to get a look at the listings if I'm gonna have a chance of being useful down there. And you need to learn how to arrange shipping for your stock - and especially how to make sure your animals are getting what you're paying for. I can start walking you through that."
"You mean you'll come to Modesto? Next week? You will?" She closed the distance between them and hugged him ferociously. "Oh, I'm so glad. I'm so glad!"
"Don't celebrate yet, sis. You're gonna have your work cut out for you once you get those ponies back to the ranch. Good thing at least that new barn is mostly finished and stocked up with feed for the rest of the winter."
He grinned as she regained her businesslike mien and dismissed his warning with a wave.
"But first - I need a favor from you. I need your skills as a horsewoman."
Hands on hips, Audra drew herself up to her full height and turned imperiously to face him. "You're asking me for a favor? Heath Barkley, you have some nerve, after all the worry you've put me through. Now you think you can bargain?"
Heath considered her objection seriously. "You're right, you're right," he admitted. "I have been a terrible bother. And I didn't get back in time for Christmas like you wanted. I did make your birthday deadline, though," he countered. "I should get some credit for that, don't you think?"
"You barely made it back by your birthday, Heath. Barely - and not in very good shape, either. Credit? You should be grateful I'm not demanding you take me to San Francisco right now to shop for upholstery."
His eyes widened in alarm at this. "Fair enough," he conceded, holding up both hands, "fair enough." He sighed, scuffed a boot on the ground, and pursed his lips, considering his options. He glanced up to catch the brimming of humor in her eyes. "It's just that – well, I really could use your help."
She relented. "OK, fine. What do you need?"
"C'mon and I'll show you. And while we're walking, you can fill me in on what you're thinking about Jim Roberts. I know you want to talk about it."
"Heath...!"
"Am I wrong?"
"No," she laughed, reluctantly.
"Is he being a gentleman?" He watched her expression closely as she answered in the affirmative. Reassured, he went on. "Jim's a good man. Brave, smart, and loyal. He's a marshal, though, honey. It's a dangerous, unpredictable line of work. Have you thought about that?"
"He has," she said seriously. Jim had brought it up almost casually just the day before. "He mentioned he had been talking to Jarrod about studying law."
That brief conversation had set her heart pounding – in a good way, she realized. It had skirted suddenly close to a proposal of marriage, taking them both by surprise. She smiled as she remembered how they had nervously changed the subject.
"Heath," she said suddenly, turning to face him. "I don't want only to be someone's wife and homemaker. I don't want to just dress up and float from charity to charity."
"No argument from me there, honey," he agreed earnestly.
"I want to keep learning. I want to build something of my own, something that matters – like Rivka has, and Mother, and Hadassah. Even Hannah," she added with a grin. "She reminds me of Nick sometimes. Follows her own mind, no matter whatever." She sobered. "When I'm with Jim – I think – I feel like – I feel like he understands that about me. He likes it. Aside from you, I don't think I've ever really seen that in a man before. Well, maybe Nick, sometimes, though only to a certain point."
"Nick." Heath chuckled. "Give him time, honey. I've learned that. Give both your brothers a little time, and they'll come around. They'll always have your back."
The sound of Sam's booming voice carried to them up from the village, as the meeting in the roundhouse appeared to be ending.
"Winemah! Headwoman!" they heard him call. "Haja, this wayward boy needs your guidance!"
"What...?" Curious now, Heath and Audra peered down the path, to see Sam herding Husu ahead of him like a naughty schoolboy.
"Oh, what did he do now?" Audra wondered, grinning.
Under the meal tent, Moshe was telling tales to an amused group of listeners. "This reminds me of an old Yiddish joke," he said. "It starts like this: A Rabbi, a Preacher, a Shaman, and a Justice of the Peace walk into an Indian village to perform a cowboy wedding."
"Mr. Schoenberg, there has never been a joke that goes like that," said Avram, laughing.
"Not in any language," agreed David.
"Well, there should be." Moshe countered. "But what is Sam going on about now? Is that Husu?"
Haja stood with her husband, hands on hips, and watched as Sam delivered Husu into her presence. The preacher's expression was a confusing mix of disapproval and hilarity. Haja sighed. Few people elicited that reaction as routinely as did Husu.
Curious, Moshe and the Levis drifted over to listen.
"Yes…?" Haja inquired, resolving to remain stern for as long as possible.
"Professor McNutt shared some of his notes with me," Sam reported, "as he was preparing to return to the university. It appears young Husu has been an overly…creative…informant."
"Oh, Husu!" Hadassah exclaimed. "What did you tell him?"
"A full account could take a while," Sam advised darkly. "Maybe you should just ask him for a few examples. And if he won't tell you – well, I can give you several."
"Um -" Husu temporized, looking everywhere but at Haja's expectant face. She waited.
"OK, OK," he muttered, "for example -" He shot an accusatory look at Sam. He just as quickly looked away, when he realized Sam was practically weeping with the effort not to burst out laughing. "- I told him that my mother's father was named for the sound of – of –" Sam turned away, making a sound reminiscent of a teakettle. Haja tried to frown. Husu choked out the rest as fast as he could. "- the sound of an Elk passing his water in the woods. Because he needed a water name, but there was a drought, and his parents couldn't think of anything else -"
Haja gave up, and the group collapsed into hilarity.
"What's funny to me," gasped Kosumi, wiping his eyes, "is how well that name would have fit the man. He was smelly. But a good hunter."
A semblance of order was eventually restored. Haja, realizing Husu had been misinforming the professor for days, pronounced that not only would Husu make a confession, he would go through and correct McNutt's notes; further, he would assist with transcription and whatever other tasks McNutt might find for him in his research.
Hadassah and Solomon had to compliment Haja on her wisdom in this. Anything Husu could learn from the professor would eventually enrich the education he gave to the children of the village. Avram and David were still laughing as they wandered off.
"An elk passing water…!"
"I think your name should be "feet smelling like dead fish."
Remember your God
before the silver cord is snapped,
and the golden bowl is crushed,
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the wheel is broken at the well,
before the dust returns to the ground from which it came,
and the spirit returns to God who gave it.
Ecclesiastes 12:6-7
Sutamasina, January 16, 1875
The next day, Hadassah and Hannah wandered a meandering path together through the undulating southeastern hills of the village, their eyes searching the ground. Periodically, one or the other would point out a useful or edible plant, and they would crouch together to investigate, or gather a few specimens for their baskets. They both looked up at the sound of laughter and bleating goats.
"Oh, ain't that a blessed sight," Hannah hummed. Hadassah sighed in happy agreement as they both rose to their feet to take in the activity below.
There appeared to be a roundup in progress, though both women were certain it was unlike any roundup that had ever occurred on Barkley range.
Rivka, Sam, Mikey, Avram, and David were observing the enterprise from a high perch on a stone wall near the old farm house. Jarrod and Nick lounged just outside the verge of the action, contentedly sitting their saddled mounts and smoking cigars like two cattle tycoons at the end of a big sale.
The brothers had, in fact, just come from Sonora, herding ahead of them a large and rambunctious addition to the Sutamasina goat flock. They had been escorted a short distance by Deputy Marshals Brown and Roberts, neither of whom could resist bedeviling the two Barkleys with jokes about "goatboys" setting out on "the Big Barkley Goat Drive".
The deputies did have other work to do, however, and their boss, Marshal Smith, was waiting for them back at the office. The two laughing men turned back at the Sonora town limits, to Nick's great relief. He and Jarrod were thus spared another two hours of their ribbing. The noisy goats were already quite enough to give the rancher a headache.
Herded into the village, these complaining animals were now merging with the existing flock. Bleating loudly with excitement and annoyance, they milled about, energetically resisting containment in the pasture Heath and the Levi boys had hastily fenced in that morning with leftover barbed wire. Circling the flock in a rising cloud of dust was a very unlikely group of drovers, both mounted and on foot.
Heath's shout carried over the baa-ing mayhem, coming from somewhere out of sight of the women on the hill.
"Tommy! Artemis! Behind you! Cut 'em off - close 'em in – good job! Keep 'em coming!"
Hannah laughed and pointed, her hand on Hadassah's arm. "Lord have mercy. Jes' look at them go."
Nike had backed up, spun, and leaped forward to cut off a group of three goats heading for the barn. She needed little direction from her bareback riders. Artemis and Tommy clung to her like burrs, laughing as the quarter horse bossed the wayward goats back in line.
Driving the flock in from the other side was Audra, riding Nox with several small passengers. Hannah recognized Yukulu and Kono – and, of course, Malila, who would not miss a chance to ride Sitikiniwa, the flying battle horse. Malila suddenly jumped to her feet to stand on the back of the saddle, gripping Audra's jacket for balance with one hand, and pointing with the other.
"Me'weh! Me'weh, over there, four goats!"
"Malila! Sit down!" This alarmed command came simultaneously from several different directions – from not only Heath and Audra, but also Nick, Jarrod, Sam, Rivka, Avram and David. It so surprised the girl that she promptly dropped back down, eyes wide - then giggled as Yukulu teased her fondly.
"Hold on tight!" Grinning, Audra urged Nox into a dash after the escaping livestock.
Hannah next got a glimpse of Husu, who was shepherding an enthusiastic group of youngsters in a wider orbit. The cries of "Me'weh! Me'weh!" could be heard from all quarters, as the children spotted strays and chased them in toward the pasture.
Heath came riding into view now, as he flushed a few more goats ahead of him out of a stand of oak trees. He shouted orders and encouragement, waving his hat and guiding Charger with his knees.
The stallion was clearly pleased to be back at work. In Charger's mind, miniature cattle were better than no cattle at all, and cutting these strange creatures presented an interesting challenge. He snorted and sprinted around the periphery of the flock with gusto, showing off for the mares, his tail flying like a flag.
"Boys! Get on that gate and close 'em in!" Heath hollered.
Avram and David jumped down to close the makeshift gate behind the last of the goats, and Heath laughed as his dusty crew of drovers - and their spectators - sent up a cheer.
Still chuckling, Heath turned to see his brothers' eyes on him, their gaze affectionate but intense. Gravity settled quickly once again over him; his smile remained, but the weight of his feelings showed in his expression. He had no doubt his brothers could sense it too.
I knew this day was coming. No sense trying to shuffle around it.
He wiped his brow and straightened up, wincing as he rolled his stiff shoulders and pulled in an aching lungful of air.
A little easier, each day. Not ever as much as I want, but easier.
He glanced over to Rivka. Smiling, she waved to Heath from where she perched companionably between Mikey and Sam; Avram and David had already clambered back up to join them. Heath raised his hat in answer, and let go the breath he was holding, along with a great deal of tension.
Lord have mercy. Just look at them.
Look at us.
Survivors.
He inhaled again and closed his eyes. He listened, as he had gotten in the habit of doing lately; listened past the sound and movement of his mind and the world around him, seeking that hoped-for inner silence. Sometimes he could find it. This morning, it had eluded him, and he had had a rough few hours. Now, though…the voices calling Me'weh and the bleating of goats receded. In the quiet, beyond the quiet, came a memory of singing, and the beat of a drum.
We give thanks for the warriors and exiles who have come back to us,
and those who stood by us in the face of death.
We honor the memory of so many we have lost.
All our mothers, all our fathers,
Grandfather Sky, Grandmother Earth,
Bless these ones who seek into the darkness.
Heal them and bring them safely home.
Blessings that come from the darkness, he thought, nodding to the remembered rhythm. Opening his eyes, he took in the sight of his friends, his family, and his love. They are that. Blessings, all of them.
He wheeled Charger and loped over to where his brothers were mounted, reining in close beside Nick. Charger greeted his barn-mates Jingo and Coco with some friendly shoving of noses.
"Herd's all in, penned and tallied," Heath quipped as he settled his hat back down over his eyes. He glanced sidelong at Nick, wanting to get a feel for his current silent mood – though he knew well it could change in a heartbeat. He cleared his throat and tried another tack. "You boys have any trouble gettin' 'em down here from town?"
Jarrod laughed at that, thinking of The Big Barkley Goat Drive. "No, no trouble at all. Not with two seasoned goatboys like us."
Nick snorted and made a face that was both exasperated, and dismissive of the idea that such livestock could actually cause him any real trouble. He said nothing, though, and returned to scowling thoughtfully at his saddle horn.
Jarrod paused, his eyes shifting from Heath, to Nick, and back again. He gave them almost a full minute before he admitted defeat.
I was hoping we could talk about things together, but Nick seems to have other ideas. Guess I'll let them hash it out on their own, like usual.
He leaned back, exhaled a slightly exasperated cloud of aromatic cigar smoke, and held Heath's observant gaze with a steady, slightly amused look of his own. He reached into an inner pocket, pulled out a slim, expensive cigar, and offered it to Heath.
"Penned and tallied," he agreed, watching Heath dip his head to the flame he cupped in his palm. He waited until Heath looked up again. "A good day's work."
There was a flicker of wariness in those vigilant blue eyes. Jarrod caught it – he had been watching for it – but it faded quickly. It was replaced by a certain stillness: not a defensive mask, Jarrod sensed, but rather something honest, and deeply felt.
Something like peace.
Heath looked out over the settling flock with their youthful shepherds.
"Yep. A good day's work."
At his side, Jarrod could hear Nick pull in a slow, deep breath and shift his weight in the saddle. Heath was regarding them both now, somber but affectionate.
Another silence, and then Heath gave a soft laugh. "Goatboys. Huh." He shook his head and shot a quick glance at Nick. "Who woulda predicted that? Gonna give the locals something to chuckle about for a spell, I 'spect."
Jarrod agreed with an amused shrug, and then grew serious. Time to get to the point. "So listen, Heath, we're all heading back to Stockton tomorrow. Back home."
Heath nodded, looking down at the curling smoke of his cigar.
"You won't be rid of me, entirely, nor John," Jarrod continued into the silence. "He and I both have business that will keep us coming up this way pretty frequently for the foreseeable future."
The slight change of topic prompted a questioning look from Heath; in response, Jarrod gestured in the general direction of Sonora. "Montana's recovering well, but he's got broken bones enough to keep him from going right back into law enforcement. Jim Roberts was more than happy to step into a position that puts him closer to Stockton and our sister Audra. Jed is here, of course. The two Thomas boys have headed back to Jubilee to work with Frank. John's going to be all over this county over the next few months reorganizing and helping the courts finish up this massive prosecutorial morass."
He paused to brush some ash from his sleeve. "As for me, I have taken on this entire village as a client, it appears, and just as my brother Nick predicted, there is no lack of legal fronts to defend. Water rights, taxes, road access, even the simple right of these people to exist in freedom: you name it, there is a battle to be fought. I'll be busy."
Heath nodded again, somberly. "No surprise there. Good thing they have you." His eye swept once again over the pasture, fenced in with repurposed barbed wire. "No lack of fronts to defend."
"So," Jarrod went on, briskly, "to that end, gentlemen, I am heading back to Sonora, and back to work that does not involve goats." He touched the brim of his hat and gathered up his reins, aware that his tone had had the desired effect of jostling Heath's attention back to the present moment. "I'll see you both in the morning," he grinned, and rode off.
Heath watched Jarrod go, and then smiled down at the very nice cigar in his hand. He tried once more to find a posture that would ease the burning ache across his back, without success. Turning his attention to Nick, he took a long pull on the cigar, and exhaled with something like a sound of contentment. He remained otherwise silent.
"What?" Nick growled.
"Nothin'."
Nick eyed Heath suspiciously. Then he sighed, stuck his own cigar in his teeth, and kneed Coco around so they were face-to-face. He could feel Heath's careful, close attention resting on him like a physical thing. It made him edgy. He needed words, and movement.
OK, so talk, Nick. Talk and move. Say what you want to say. Then go home.
"Dammit." He dug in his coat pocket. "Listen, Heath, I've been meaning to give you this. Thought you should have it back."
Surprised, Heath stared at the Deputy Marshal star, now cleaned and polished, that was resting in the palm of Nick's black leather glove. He did not reach to take it.
"Where – I mean, how – where did you - ?"
"On the mountain," Nick responded gruffly. "About a half-hour's ride below the old Indian village. In the snowstorm. Charger found it, actually, to give credit where it's due." He was taking in the conflicted, hardening expression on his brother's face as he spoke. Visibly tense and distressed, Heath made no move to take back the star, Nick noticed, but neither did he look away.
"Did you toss it?" Nick asked him, simply. "Did you lose it on purpose?"
"No." An emphatic response, low and rough with disquiet.
"Well, then -?" He lifted his hand again, slightly.
Nick's simple, blunt logic nudged Heath out of his guarded immobility more effectively than any eloquent speech could have done. He blinked and took a breath; his rigid shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. He met Nick's matter-of-fact look and offered a rueful smile.
"Well, nothin'," he conceded.
He picked up the star, regarding it thoughtfully. "Hard to believe you found this thing," he marveled after a moment. "And in a snowstorm, no less."
"Seemed like the right time to give it back to you. Question is: what are you going to do with it?"
"Do with it? Turn it in to John, when I see him." He looked pained. "He doesn't need -"
"John can speak for himself what he needs," Nick interrupted. "And suppose he says he needs you."
"Oh, c'mon. He's got more sense than that."
"He's got a lot of sense. He'd be here to tell you himself, if Archer didn't have him buried in legal documents up in Sonora. He says he needs you, and I happen to agree with him."
"What? Nick, he needs someone he can count on, for God's sake, not some cra-"
"Don't you say that." Suddenly boiling with a volatile mix of emotions he could barely decipher, Nick leaned over and grabbed Heath's jacket, shaking him slightly. "Don't you call yourself that. You know better."
Their eyes met. Heath had not resisted him, nor answered anger with anger. Nick felt himself cooling down as quickly as he had flared up, and his grip eased. He studied his brother's face and tried to understand what he saw there.
"You know better, Heath," he repeated, more gently. "Don't you? After all this?"
"Sometimes I do. More than I did before. It's getting better."
For a moment, Nick thought that was all his brother was going to say on the subject. He had not yet decided whether to press the question, when Heath surprised him by continuing.
"It's every day, Nick. Sometimes every hour, even minute-to-minute. Some things I expect to be hard. Some things go easy. But then - some things that ought to be easy can all of a sudden go all sideways. It's -" He broke off and looked away, once more studying the pasture of grazing goats. "It's frustrating. It's exhausting. A simple job of teaching two strong, smart, teenage boys how to string a barbed wire fence line suddenly turns into a knock-down-drag-out fight just to stay in my own head." A flush of anger sparked in his eyes, though it faded quickly to fatigued annoyance. He ran a tired hand over his face. "All that goddamned barbed wire," he muttered under his breath, scowling.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. A spiral of sweet tobacco smoke encircled them in the still, cool air. Then Heath sighed and raised his eyes, his expression as unguarded as Nick had ever seen it.
Ancient, Nick thought. He looks ancient.
Even as that odd word crossed his mind, he saw Heath's expression ease; there was a smile in his eyes when he spoke again.
"So, yeah, big brother, like you said. I know better. I do. And I mostly win those knock-down-drag-outs. It just wears me down some days."
He hefted the star in his hand. "You helped me out this morning, though, Nick. No, I mean it," he said to Nick's confused look. "All that barbed wire. I just made myself think of those long days of you and me runnin' the fences. How we'd split up to cover more ground, and you'd send me off to check twice as much fence line as you." They both started to grin. "You didn't really think you were foolin' me those first few months, did ya?"
Nick laughed. "Not for long." The memory both warmed and grieved him, and he directed himself to get back to his original point.
"Listen, Heath. I want you back home. No secret there. But I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Jarrod. The two of you are so alike sometimes," he groused, as an aside. "I'm almost glad I didn't have to grow up dealing with the both of you."
"Nick. Make your point," Heath prompted, amused.
"My point is this. You said it yourself, Heath. You and Rivka need to be together. You need time to get your mind and your body healthy again. You want to just work, be with your wife, and let things settle down some. Have I got that right?"
"Guess you were listening."
"You better believe it. Every word."
Nick was warming to his message now. "Thing is, you're not the only one needs a chance to recover. It was only six weeks ago these Miwok folks were a dying bunch of refugees. Fifteen years ago, all our father could offer them was a warning: a chance to run, to buy more time. That war isn't over yet, and you know it. They need more than time: they need to heal up, regain their strength, and then figure out their own future. They need someone like Rivka, setting up medical care. They need someone like Jarrod, taking on the legal battles. And -" Nick paused in his speech to land a heavy, leather-clad hand on Heath's shoulder for emphasis. "- they need someone who will protect and defend them, against all enemies foreign and domestic. Someone they trust. Someone who will help them start building and growing from the inside; help them get to where they can keep themselves safe.
"So I ask you, Heath: Who better to do that than Me'weh?"
Nick held up a hand, and kept talking right over Heath's attempt at rebuttal. "Who better? It is what you do, Heath. It is who you are. You know as well as I do you're going to be standing guard over this village, whether you wear that star or not." He swept his other arm in a broad gesture, pointing toward the quiet settlement. "They trust you to have their backs, little brother, and with damn good reason. And so do we all trust you - John included. You need to get back in the habit of trusting yourself."
"Last time we had this talk, big brother, you informed me that what I needed was to get better at staying out of harm's way."
"Also true. Don't change the subject." Nick kept hold of Heath's shoulder for a moment, wanting to say more. Instead, he sighed, dropping his arms back to his sides as if the conversation had drained him of energy. Try as he might, he could not mask the gloom he was feeling.
"You're not wrong, Nick, on either count."
"I know I'm not wrong. But you're still not coming home with us tomorrow."
"No. I'm not." He spoke softly.
Nick stared down at his hands where they rested on the horn of his saddle, his jaw working. When he looked up, his voice and expression were once again stern and businesslike.
"You just get healthy and stay in one piece, boy. You're a husband and a father now, and much as I want you back home, there's nothing more important than that."
"I will always be grateful to Tom Barkley," Heath said in response. He smiled at Nick's look of surprise. "Yeah. Grateful. For raising up a brother like you. For this family."
He looked up east, up into the mountains, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "He didn't know me, and I didn't know him. But at the same time, he was more than just a name on a paper. To me, he was like that man who took the time to mark a trail up in the wild, not ever knowing whom it might guide to safety. That man isn't perfect. Maybe he's even made terrible mistakes. But what he left behind is still good. For the lost one who finds that marker, and follows it to shelter, that good is real enough."
Nick was listening closely, though his surprise had given over to a frown of puzzled skepticism.
"It was real enough to me," Heath continued quietly. "Saved my life more than once." He turned to face Nick, wanting him to understand. "When I first blew up onto that big front porch of yours, Nick, I was a tumbleweed in the wind, and Tom Barkley was just an empty name on a paper. I came there to honor my mother's wishes, but I wouldn't have stayed, just for that. I think you know that, right?"
"Yeah. I know that."
"Tom Barkley didn't know me. He didn't bring me into his family. But I do believe, for all of us, that our love and hard work - whatever good we can do in life – it doesn't die when we're gone. Your father's devotion is a part of you, Nick. It is a part of the heart of this family, who took me in and showed me a path I wanted to follow. Tom didn't lay those trail markers for me, but they still steered me true, and I'm thankful for that." He quirked a smile. "Grateful, too, that I had the guts and good sense to follow that trail. Got that from my Mama, I think."
"People often talk about the Barkley luck," came another voice, coming up the path from the roundhouse. Both men shared a smile.
"Mother," they called out in greeting, simultaneously. "And John?" Nick exclaimed, surprised, as they two walked into view.
They dismounted and hurried over to give Victoria a kiss in greeting, and to offer John a warm handshake.
"It's good to see you both," Heath said seriously.
"Last we heard, John, you were going to be stuck the rest of the day reviewing documents with Archer," Nick said. "How'd you get loose?"
"There is a lot of paper, true. On the other hand, I read quickly; and Phil is a legal monomaniac and a very organized man. I wanted to get back here to help get ready for the trip home tomorrow. I arrived not long after the goats, in fact. I had to rein in and drop back some so I didn't end up riding drag and arriving filthy." He looked innocently at Nick, who appeared both exasperated and offended. "That is the proper term, isn't it? Drag?"
Heath was grinning and trying not to laugh. Nick, as John expected, was gearing up to deliver a strong rebuttal of any language that might suggest goats and beef cattle were in any way similar forms of livestock. Seeing this, Victoria cut him off and addressed herself to her husband.
"Yes, darling, that is the proper word for bringing up the rear of a herd, though that term is generally applied to cattle." She scowled benignly at John for his teasing; on some topics, Nick was just too easy a target.
John acknowledged her scolding with a smile and a hint of a salute. Yes, ma'am. I won't keep poking that bear. Then he grew more serious, as they had overheard a great deal on their walk up the path.
"You were saying something about the Barkley luck, Vee?"
"Yes." She turned to look at Heath. "I've thought a lot about luck, Heath, since you came to us, and especially over these past months. I'll confess, we were eavesdropping as we walked up here, and I thank you, Heath, for your generous heart where Tom is concerned. More than anyone, you have helped lift us all above the anger and disappointment. I am so grateful for that." She grinned. "And for the guts and good sense you got from your Mama," she added.
"Tom was lucky, sometimes infuriatingly so," she confirmed. "In almost every way, from minor incidents to big things. There was the giant brawler who spotted Tom in a saloon and decided to pummel him, but tripped and broke his ankle before he even crossed the floor. There were the profits he made investing in steamboats, six months before the flood of '62 nearly wiped out overland transport. There was the winter he and his brother were snowed in at a rail station near Truckee. He was deathly ill with the flu, and delirious. They started playing poker with the other mine owners to pass the time. The stakes got higher, and so did his fever. He won the whole pot with a straight flush – and he didn't even remember it." She smiled fondly, and added, "He knew he was lucky, and he was always looking for ways to give back. It was one of the things I loved most about him. He paid that brawler's doctor bill. And he set up a relief fund to help families recover after the floods.
"Once, not long before he died, he was thrown from his horse into the underbrush beside the trail, and found he had landed on top of a locket that Audra cherished, and had lost weeks before. What were the odds? And what were the odds he would cross paths with you, Heath, not just once, but three times? I keep asking myself this. Three times, he missed his chance, and he still, somehow, is blessed with you. Somehow, through Hell and high water, and despite all of Tom's failures, you still came to us: an honorable, compassionate, lion-hearted young man; willing to bear Tom's name and build on his legacy; even help rebuild this village he tried to save all those years ago. Luck? That is far more than luck, if you ask me. That is Grace and redemption; that is the kind of blessing of which none of us are ever quite worthy. If you are wondering what Tom might think of all of this – well, I believe – I hope - he would be grateful. Profoundly, humbly, joyfully grateful.
"This, of course, leads me to another topic of interest."
"Oh?" said Nick. "And what's that?" He had no idea what was coming, but his mother's tone put him instantly on alert.
"The topic," she said sternly, "of Deputy Marshal Jeremiah Brown."
"Oh," said Heath. "That topic."
Nick threw up his hands. "I told you. I told him. I knew she would figure it out! But now we're the ones in trouble for not saying."
"Jed did not want to trouble you, Mother. He did not want to bring it up at all," Heath offered quietly.
"Believe me, I know! He's been disappearing every time I've tried to talk with him, and he'll probably keep it up until we leave town tomorrow." She sighed in frustration.
"I am his boss," John said. "I could give him an order."
"No, no," she said, slipping her arm through his. "I can let it be for now. At least he knows I want to talk to him. I know he's become a good friend to my children; he's a fine marshal; he's a son to my dear friend Raul. The right time will come. Talk about Barkley luck!"
Three months later, U.S. Marshal's Office, Sonora, California, April 12, 1875
The way you walked was thorny, through no fault of your own, but as the rain enters the soil, the river enters the sea, so tears run to a predestined end. Your suffering is over, my son. Now you will find peace.
Maleva the Gypsy Woman, "The Wolf Man", 1941
Standing before a small mirror and washbasin in the back of Montana's office, Jim Roberts finished a careful shave and wiped his face. He was concentrating on adjusting the collar of his clean shirt when Jed Brown materialized at his right elbow.
"Jim."
"Dammit, Jed!" Jim yelped. He spun on the young man. "I'm tellin' you, kid," he warned. "You better not do that while a man's got a razor in his hand."
"Point taken," Jed conceded mildly. He brightened. "Do you know, when I was a little 'un, I thought my name was Dammit. No, really," he insisted, when Jim made a noise of impatient disbelief. "That was before I learned to cuss, a' course," he clarified. "So finally I asked my Pa. He set me straight."
Jim rolled his eyes and laughed. "You get those two bandits locked up and tucked in for the night?"
"Yep. Well, Teleli and I did. They had a kid with 'em. A little boy they had taken from the family they robbed. He'd been pretty badly beat up and used," he added, trying to keep his voice even. "Barkley found him. Brought him back to the village, to the hospital. The boy's family was already there."
Jim's expression had gone dark. He glanced toward the lockup. "They did that?" Jed nodded. "How's the boy?"
"Don't know. Barkley took him to the village. Teleli was out patrolling with us, so he helped me bring those two -" He stopped, and bit back the words he wanted to use. "- those two criminals back here. Then he headed straightaway over to the City Hotel to find Smith. Seemed urgent. As urgent, anyway, as Teleli ever lets on."
Speaking that thought stirred up a twisting of worry in Jed's gut, and he frowned, wondering what he was missing. He stepped back to regard Jim, deliberately trying to shake off the images of the day's events that seemed to linger like an evil miasma. "You look beautiful, Deputy Marshal Roberts. Do you fuss like this every time Marshal Smith comes to town? Or just when Audra comes along for a visit?"
Jim began to deny it, and then changed his mind. "Yes. Yes I do, Jed, every time," he confessed. "Gotta keep making a good impression, right?"
"Well, you'd best get a move on, or you're going to be late for your dinner date with the young lady. I'll hold the fort."
Sutamasina, nighttime, April 12, 1875
Silhouetted by the lamplight within, Rivka stood in the open door of the barn, a dark wool wrap around her shoulders against the springtime night chill. She gazed out into the dark with a worried expression, her eyes on the faint glow of a distant hilltop campfire. Behind her, a small boy lay bandaged and unconscious on a low cot, watched over by a nurse and his silently weeping parents.
Through the thin, drifting mist, the crisp sound of approaching horses interrupted her silent vigil. Two familiar forms emerged from the dark, riding at a cautious walk in the fog. Rivka exhaled with a sigh of relief. Her eyes returned to the far off flicker of fire, her face and posture more at ease as John and Teleli dismounted and came to join her.
"How is the child?" John asked in a low voice.
Rivka shook her head. "Not good. He is resting now, and breathing easier, but he may not survive. We will do everything we can." To Teleli, she asked, "Can you make a poultice like the one you showed me the other day? The boy has a very wide abrasion along one leg, and I don't want it to become inflamed."
He nodded gravely. He glanced up toward the hilltop, then back to Rivka. "What happened when Me'weh brought the boy to you? Did he say anything?"
Her brow furrowed. "Very little. He was speaking to the boy, as he carried him in. Murmuring to him, until he had him settled on the cot and we could start tending to him. He came to me, and told what he could of the boy's injuries, but it seemed to take a huge effort. Then he was gone." Teleli's dark eyes were unreadable in the dim lamplight. "Teleli, what can you tell me?"
"We rode out to check on some of the new roads and homesteads in the hills to the southeast. We smelled smoke, and then we saw Burke coming fast down the road in his mule cart. He had the two parents and the infant girl in the back. He was bringing them to the village."
"Burke…" John repeated. "Burke. Right. I remember. That scruffy fella who pulled a shotgun on Jed once."
"Yes," Teleli said. "He has been a good neighbor since then. He came upon three robbers attacking the family and burning their wagon. They ran, but they took the boy. Burke brought the family to get help. They were injured too, though not so badly.
"Jed and Me'weh and I went after the men and the boy. They did not expect to be chased. The mother is Maidu, and the children are mixed, so they thought the boy could be stolen without…consequence," he said carefully. "They stopped and made camp outside Tuolumne. We did not see the boy then. We surrounded them and called them out, but they were drunk. They tried to fight. Jed killed one of them. They kept saying they did not have the boy, but Me'weh did not believe them."
Teleli paused. His mouth was a tense line in his dark face; his brows drawn down with a look that could have been rage, or sympathy. When he continued, he seemed to choose his words with great care. "Me'weh…found the boy. He brought him out of the woods. He did not speak to us at all then. He spoke only to the boy. He wrapped him up and brought him here."
"How did he find him?" John asked.
Teleli shook his head. "That is not for me to tell. You must ask him." He tipped his head slightly to one side as he regarded the distant firelight. "Before Me'weh left us to ride back here, I did speak to him. I believe he heard me, though he did not answer. I said some things he needs to hear, but he does not need to hear them from me, I think." He looked significantly at John, who nodded slowly. "Me'weh is trying to come back to your world," Teleli said softly. "Back to what had been his world. Here, his struggle makes sense. It is...understood. In your world - not so much."
Rivka murmured agreement. "Yes. My mother thought much the same thing."
"Well," John said, straightening up and pulling on his gloves. "I'll head up there and check on him. You have a few spare blankets? It's chilly, and we might be a while."
Hilltop, Sutamasina, midnight, April 12, 1875
The Phoenix, Hope,
Can wing her way
Through the desert skies
And still defying fortune's spite;
Revive from ashes and rise.
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
Up above the patchy fog along Sullivan's Creek, the night air was utterly still. Overhead, the sky was clear as a lens; thick with stars, it was vast, curving, and cloudless from horizon to horizon. The sight of it made John breathless and dizzy for a brief instant, as if gravity had let him go, and he was set adrift.
Scout had no such difficulty. The tall dun gelding, as always, carried his rider reliably to his destination. John dismounted just outside the ring of firelight, loosened his saddle cinch, and turned to get a look at the young man sitting by the fire.
He had his saddle and gear beside him, John noticed.
So he wasn't planning to go home tonight. I'm not surprised, I guess, but still...that's not good.
Elbows on his knees, Heath stared into the fire with the look of a man making a life or death decision. On the ground between his boots lay the woven medicine box, latched closed and wrapped in a leather thong, as it always was.
John had spent a fair amount of time with Heath over the past few months, whenever he came through Sonora. Heath would often ride out with him as one of his deputy marshals, and John always made sure to visit with him and Rivka in the village. Each time, he was able to bring good news to the family, and to Silas, and Hannah. Heath was healthier, happier, and more at peace, to John's eye; Heath and Rivka were enjoying each other and working hard; her belly was growing, as it should, as the village flourished into springtime all around them. The medicine box, John was realizing, had become for him a familiar sight. It was always somewhere nearby, but for all that, John had never seen it opened.
What happened today? This horrible crime? Or something more?
John untied the extra blankets from the back of his saddle and walked over to the campfire, deeply aware of the many unknowns confronting him, and hoping he would see the best way to help this young man he loved. Heath looked up to watch him approach. Given what Teleli had described earlier, that alone gave John some reassurance. He dragged over a log and sat down next to Heath.
"Puts me in mind of another campfire conversation you and I had, some months ago," he mused, staring into the fire. "You want a blanket? Getting a mite cold up here."
"Thanks," came the soft reply. He glanced sidelong at John. "Least this time I'm not sighting my rifle on you from ambush," he commented, looking pained.
"Now, son, I didn't bring that up as opportunity for you to feel like you're right back where you started." John could put steel in his voice when he chose. "You're not, and you know damn well you're not, so just get that idea out of your head."
Heath smiled wistfully.
"You think you are?"
"Right back where I started? No…not exactly."
"Tell me what's going on, son. What happened today?"
"Haja said to me once, right here on this hilltop, she said, Hell is not on the trail, Me'weh. It is in you." He shuddered slightly, his eyes on the fire. "It is. She was right. I have to live with that, I know. I've been learning to live with that. Learning how to keep on living without either boxing myself into a coffin, or falling through the floor into…" He broke off and tried to take a deep breath; John could see the flashes of anger and despair in his eyes as he struggled to settle himself down. "I've been learning to live with it," he repeated, tightly. "Come to terms with it. Then all of a sudden – like today - something happens. Something happens, and I find out there more ways to stumble into Hell then I ever knew."
"You're a peaceful man, son, but you haven't had a peaceful life." He spoke gently, but his thoughts were racing with alarm at what he was hearing. He cautioned himself to slow down and listen. "She also spoke to you of hope, and love."
"She did. Hope. It is all there is, really," Heath said distantly. "But tonight, it's – it's slipping away from me. Slipping out of my hands."
John was quite aware he was standing with Heath at a precipice of which he had no personal understanding; he was a blind man looking out over an unknown landscape, one that Heath regarded as a place worse than death. Sitting there under that vast dome of the night sky, John felt an echo of vertigo; he found himself praying wordlessly, fervently, that he would find a way to draw Heath back from the edge and turn his face toward hope.
He wanted very much to know what had happened with those criminals to precipitate this crisis, but his intuition was insisting that something had to come first.
But what?
Teleli and Rivka both seemed to feel I could help in some particular way.
As he mulled that question over, John found his eye drawn again to the medicine box.
"Can I ask you something, Heath?"
"Yeah."
"I remember an empty whiskey bottle, that night I found you sleeping out on the ranch. You had dumped it out. You said, as I remember, I tried that. It didn't work. Never does. What did you mean by that?"
"Drinkin'? Well, it's easy, it's quick, it's legal – and it dulls things. Get drunk enough, it can make what's in my head blurry, instead of so god-damned perfectly crystal clear." Another flare of bitterness and frustration tightened his expression, followed by a look of shame John found worrisome. "But it's all still there afterwards…and usually worse. I had to learn that lesson many times over."
"And what's in the box?"
Now John saw something that looked suspiciously like fear. Heath glanced down at the box, and then turned his eyes deliberately away. "Mushrooms," he said, tersely.
"Mm-hmh." John pursed his lips, puzzled. "That's the tea that Teleli made?"
Heath grunted in the affirmative.
"So…how did you feel after drinking the tea? Was it like being drunk?"
"No," he said promptly. "No, nothing like that."
"How, then? How did you feel?"
Heath lifted his head and looked out at the dark eastern horizon, remembering that dawn over the desert. The moon tonight was near full; at that hour she was a high, bright, white-silver ball, arcing downward to the west, behind them.
"I felt clear," he said, finally. "Quiet. I felt quiet, inside me. I felt balanced. I felt better than I had in a long, long time."
"Teleli said you might need to take this tea about once a month. Right?" He waited until Heath nodded yes. "It's been three months since then. Have you taken it?"
"No."
"Why not? What's the problem? Or do you want me to guess?"
Avoiding John's eyes, Heath pulled out his boot knife instead and began whittling aimlessly at a small oak branch. He stopped to stare for a moment at the clump of acorns that still clung there. "We really have had this conversation before, haven't we, Marshal?" he said dully, and threw the branch into the fire.
"Yes and no, son. I get that you don't want to feel like you're sick and need medicine. No surprise there. It's not weakness to do something that helps you regain your own strength, right? Weakness is not helping yourself for fear of seeming weak. You've worried your way through that before - so have I. So has just about anyone who values their strength and independence. It must be something else. What are you afraid of?"
Heath growled in frustration. "I've been gettin' by. I've been gettin' better. I'm afraid I'm going to wake something up. How it was, up in the mountains – it was worse than anything I ever imagined, and believe me, I can imagine a lot. It's all jumbled up together in my memory. Teleli has been telling me to take the stuff, but I'm afraid. I am. I'm afraid it'll make something worse. Afraid I'll lose whatever I have left."
"From what you're telling me, Heath, it sounds like that's happening anyway."
Before John had even finished speaking, Heath was gone from his side – Vanished, John thought, like a gust of wind – silently, but for a soft, inarticulate, animal sound of killing rage.
The boot knife quivered in the center of an oak about ten yards away, the hasp glinting in the firelight. John looked up at Heath, watching as he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and let his hands fall open to his sides.
"I know. Dammit, John, I know."
"Maybe if you kept ahead of it – kept up with the medicine – maybe then whatever happened today wouldn't have hit you quite as hard," John wondered.
Heath grunted skeptically. "Don't know about that."
"So what happened?"
Heath did not answer. He looked down at his hands, his expression utterly grief-stricken. John rose, and moved quickly to stand in front of him, his hands on his shoulders.
"Tell me, Heath." John did his best to keep the alarm he was feeling out of his voice. What is it? Why does he look like he thinks he murdered someone?
"They said they didn't have the boy. Didn't know where he was. One said they'd left him behind, back where they'd ambushed the family. Nothin' worth keeping, he said."
His voice was low and rough, a flat monotone. John kept still, and let him continue.
"I knew they were lying. I could see it. I could – I could feel it. I swear I could feel that little boy." He closed his eyes. His muscles were guarded and rigid as granite; his breath hissed through clenched teeth. "He was hurt. He was dying. He was cold, and alone, and – and -" He seemed to be struggling to breathe. "- I didn't know where he was. They wouldn't tell me."
He paused – and then he seemed to calm down. He looked John in the eye, as if finally resolved to make his confession.
"So I took one of those men. Jed had shot one of them, was trying to bandage him up. Teleli was trussing up another. I took that third man, I walked him out of sight of the others, and I tied him to a tree."
Heath was looking nauseated. Swallowing convulsively, he grimly forced himself to meet John's concerned gaze and keep talking.
"I - hurt him," he gritted out. "Let him know I was going to keep on hurting him until he told me where that boy was. I was out of my mind."
"Heath," John said soberly. "Neither of those two criminals in the lockup have a scratch on them. Are you sure -?"
"I learned a few things from Linceul," he said flatly, his eyes back on the ground. "Learned things no human being should ever know. But I never – I've never –- God -" He swallowed again, and raised an arm to his mouth.
"Did he tell you where the boy was?"
"No." Heath hesitated, as though surprised by his own answer. "No, he –" Heath met John's gaze, frowning. "He didn't know. Didn't take much to get him to tell me they'd brought the boy all the way to that campsite, so I knew he was close by. I spotted some signs…a print, some broken twigs…I left the man there, and tracked after the boy.
"He wasn't too far away, but he'd hid himself pretty good in some rocks. I think he dragged himself out of the camp as soon as we had engaged. He was so beat up, his clothes were all torn – he was so scared. God, John, he was so scared." His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"The boy musta gotten hold of one of their side arms when he got loose. He was barely strong enough to hold it up. He managed to pull the hammer back on the gun, though. Shaking like a leaf, but he had it pointed right at me.
"I could hear Jed and Teleli coming our way. I asked him to give me the gun. Kept moving toward him slow, tellin' him he'd be safe, that his family was safe. Please, I said. Please, give me the gun. I won't hurt you. But my head was full of crazy thoughts. I was lookin' down the barrel of that gun and remembering every little lesson Linceul ever had for me. Thinkin' that what he did to me, I could do to that man."
Grief, and anger; John felt the sickening weight of it in his chest. He knew, with bleak certainty, what Heath would say next.
"And then…?" he said, almost a whisper.
"And then…all I wanted was for that kid to pull the trigger and just put me down."
Heath straightened up and set his jaw, as if determined now to bear up through remorse and exhaustion until he had given a full accounting. What he said next, however, took John completely by surprise.
"And he did. Aimed that pistol right at my face and pulled the trigger."
For a moment, John was silent with shock. Then -
"What...?"
"Misfire, I guess. He dropped the pistol – and then it went off. We just stared at each other, me and that kid. Like the sound of it woke us up. Like he was seeing me for the first time." A faint, wondering smile crinkled his eyes. "He looked so relieved I wasn't dead. I remember that."
"And you, Heath?" John asked. "Were you relieved?"
Heath did not answer right away. He looked instead past John, toward the village below. "Yes," he said, after a moment, and John could sense no uncertainty in him. "Yes," he repeated, more strongly. "I was."
"I have a few more questions, Deputy," John rapped out crisply, deliberately calling for Heath's full attention.
"Sir," he responded, automatically.
"Now. As I said, neither man in the lockup has any visible injuries. Teleli confirmed the man you tied to a tree was frightened out of his wits, but he never cried out, nor did he say that he had been harmed in any way. I want you to think carefully, Heath. Did you actually hurt that lowlife piece of garbage – excuse me, that alleged felon - or did you just scare the bejeezus out of him?"
Heath looked down at his hands again, frowning in his effort to see events clearly. "One time, I did," he concluded, after a moment. "After that, no."
"Seems to me you wouldn't have had time for much more than that. From what I hear, you were off and tracking after that kid pretty damn quick."
"Maybe so…but I wonder what I would have done if he hadn't caved so quick. Or if I hadn't spotted the boy's trail."
"I'd lay money you'd listen to your gut, Heath. I haven't seen it fail you yet."
John regarded him seriously, as yet unconvinced that Heath was back on solid ground. He's trying to come back to your world, Teleli had said.
"Listen up. You're damned right to be wary, Deputy."
Heath stiffened a bit at his sharp tone of voice. The blue eyes focused and snapped to his, and John nodded, holding his gaze. "Very wary. That is a slippery slope to bad, bad things. You know that better than most, young man, and you do right to pay attention to that sick feeling in your stomach."
Heath raised an eyebrow at that. He was listening, John sensed. Listening, and thinking. Active, not passive.
"Do you think, Deputy, that you are the first lawman ever to face that decision - either in thought or deed - particularly if there's an innocent life at stake? Do you think I have never been in that situation? Or Frank?"
"No, sir."
"And do you think that we have always, and in every instance, comported ourselves like unimpeachable officers and gentlemen?"
Heath began to grin, slightly, as his time with Frank Sawyer offered him several ungentlemanly memories. "No, sir," he answered.
"Very good. I'm glad we can see eye to eye on that." John drew himself up and leveled a stern gray stare at Heath, who was watching him closely. "Unimpeachable is always the standard, however. If you ever pull a stunt like that again – on duty or off - you're going to hear it from me, son, you understand me?"
"Yes. Yes, sir."
John heaved a deep sigh, feeling the ache of the evening's tension in all of his muscles. "So now what?" he wondered aloud.
Heath sighed as well, pushed his hat to the back of his head, and walked over to retrieve his boot knife. Returning to stand by John, he stared down at the medicine box. The blade spun in his hand with the unconscious ease of lifelong familiarity.
"Guess I ought to take my medicine," he said simply. "I'll tell you, though, if it helps like it did then – if it keeps helping like that – I'm going to feel like a plumb fool for avoiding it all this time."
John clapped him on the back. "I'll be hoping for that, then, Heath. Praying you come home feeling foolish." It eased his heart to see Heath laugh. He gave his shoulder a squeeze as they returned to the campfire. "You want me to stay, or are you going to call in those three Ghost Dancers to keep you company? They've been hovering out there just beyond the trees."
"You have a good eye, Marshal." Heath gave him a grateful look. "I'll be all right. I think you ought to bed down somewhere a bit more comfortable tonight."
Epilogue
A huntsman bold is Master Death,
And reckless doth he ride,
And terror's hounds with bleeding fangs
Go baying at his side;
The hunt is up, the horn is loud
By plain and covert side,
And we must run alone, alone,
When Death abroad doth ride.
But idle 'tis to crouch in fear,
Since death will find you out;
Then up and hold your head erect,
And pace the wood about,
And swim the stream, and leap the wall,
And race the starry mead,
Nor feel the bright teeth in your flank
Till they be there indeed.
For in the secret hearts of men
Are peace and joy at one.
There is a pleasant land where stalks
No darkness in the sun,
And through the arches of the wood
Do break, like silver foam,
Young laughter, and the noise of flutes,
And voices singing home.
Sylvia Lynd, "Hunting Song"
Barkley Ranch, May 28, 1875
"Hannah, here they come!" Audra called from the paddock, the moment she spotted the small carriage approaching from the southeast. Hannah looked up from where she knelt in the garden, and then jumped to her feet, smiling from ear to ear.
"Silas!"
Hannah hurried around to the front porch of her cabin, where Silas was wont to relax in a rocking chair whenever he had time off. He had set down his glass of lemonade, and was already on his feet, shading his eyes to look down the wagon track.
"I see them," he said, with a brilliant smile. "I see them - they're going to be thirsty, and hungry, and Dr. Rivka, she's carrying, she'll need to sit and put her feet up, I'm sure." He turned to go inside.
Hannah stopped him in his tracks with one upheld hand. "You just stay out of my kitchen right now, Silas. I'll have everything ready. You sit yourself down."
As she washed up and readied her welcome, Hannah smiled and sang and watched the carriage make its way over the undulating foothills road. They slowed and then stopped as Audra galloped up to greet them by the new barn and paddocks. Hannah could see Heath pointing out all the new horses to Rivka, including three beautiful Friesian purebreds who graced the paddock nearest the barn.
Of the three, one was a magnificent, enormous black stallion who was already prancing and whinnying a challenge to Charger. The bay was tethered with Nike behind the carriage, and he was visibly annoyed with his inability to respond to the black's provocation.
The other two Friesians were glossy black mares, both pregnant, and both due to foal within weeks. Audra had received the three horses as an extravagant gift of gratitude from Ilsa's family in upstate New York.
With the couple's permission, several months ago, Audra had undertaken to contact both Peter and Ilsa's estranged families, and send them news of the couple's well-being and the arrival of their baby daughter. The response had been immediate and heartfelt, from both families, though Ilsa's family, being quite wealthy, also produced an impressive material response. Two violins and a cello – each worth a fortune - arrived in Sonora, delivered personally and in elegant style by a long-time trusted retainer of Ilsa's parents; he delivered, as well, letters and tokens of affection from members of both families. He then traveled on to Stockton, stunning Audra with the gift of three horses from their finest Friesian bloodline.
Imagine the joy, Hannah mused.They must have thought those two young ones lost, after all those months. They had their differences; still do, most likely, but such a blessing to see them reach out to each other. And all because of Nox, she laughed to herself. Nox is like the beautiful dark thread drawing the whole patterned tapestry together.
She came out to the porch bearing a tray of lemonade, fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. She surveyed her home - and her life - with deep, peaceful satisfaction. Her garden was a riot of green life. Audra was always flying through, breathless and joyful, between the horses, the Big House, and visits with her handsome Deputy Marshal. Jarrod was a less frequent visitor; he would go slow, though, when he sat with her; he would think and talk, and always make time to visit Leah and Rachael. Nick, never slow or quiet, had been a near-daily presence, especially when they had first come back from Sonora. He had built for Hannah a lovely trellis for climbing vines; a small, sturdy chicken coop in back with a fenced in yard; he had even added on an attached pump-house and a wash-house. He hovered, at times. More than once, she had had to shoo him off to do his own work, most recently by mentioning that he might be needed to help her with dressmaking.
Victoria and John did come by on their rides together, though Hannah visited with them more often in their own grand home. Victoria and Silas communicated by some unspoken code, Hannah was certain, and she would amuse herself trying to decipher it. Of one thing she was sure: Victoria would always invite Hannah to dine with them when Silas wanted to impress with some dish that he had prepared. Hannah was never disappointed.
Silas had come to spend most of his leisure time with Hannah. He was older than she, though neither of them knew by exactly how much. Neither had any known blood family, the long-ago result of the auction block and the flight from slavery. They could talk about that together; they could laugh and weep, and consider unanswerable questions. She welcomed him, she fussed over him, and mostly forbade him to work, as if he were an aging honored uncle visiting for the holidays.
Silas had been with the Barkleys for a long time, she knew, and she did believe they loved him. He had been in their employ, though, for all of that time, and it seemed to her that made a difference.
Perhaps it shouldn't make a difference, but it does. I was free, with my family of Leah and Rachael. I am free, with my boy Heath. I did not trade my work for room and board. I am free.
She had thought about that, over the months, as she welcomed Silas to her home. He was free, with her. She saw that she would, in the end, be his family. Her home would become his home.
I know sure the Barkleys want to be that for him, but his pride, and their hire of him, will always stand in the way. Of the Barkleys, she thought, only Heath can step around that wall, for lack of all those years of hiring the man. With me, with Heath, Silas comes as a free man, as family. No deal, no contract, no terms to be met. I will take care of him when he's old, just as Heath and Rivka will take care of me. The Barkleys will always love him and be there for him, but I will be his home, and that is a blessing for us both.
Heath had clucked the carriage horse back into motion, and they rolled up toward her cabin. Audra trotted alongside, looking as brilliantly happy as Hannah had ever seen her.
And oh, look at Rivka. Don't she look so beautiful. Full of life. And my Heath…yes, there you are, my child. There is that joy. I see you. I see you. Welcome home.