Calling the Wind
Chapter Three
Acts of Faith
Edge listened intently as they neared the village where the entire story began, then said, "So, Luke was illegitimate, and they used an assumed name on their way back to the States? I guess that makes sense. He didn't trust Elijah any more. . .not that I can blame him. And you know about Juliet from her journal entries." Amy nodded, drawing the car to a halt at a crossroads.
"Yeah, she held nothing back in her journal after her confrontation with Luke. She admitted outright just how attracted she was to him, and how badly that scared her. She also mentioned her annoyance with Elijah. . .she considered him a self-centered child. I can kind of relate. . .I'm an only child, but I grew up under my grandmother's roof. My cousins became my brothers and sisters, and we took care of each other, regardless of our age," Amy answered as the car began rolling forward once more.
She paused, then said quietly, "There." Edge looked away from her as she drew the car to a final stop. It was like stepping back in history. There were power lines and telephone lines, but he imagined that very little changed here in the last ninety-some years. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Luke on the porch of a house, looking at the world with more than a little bewilderment and fear.
"C'mon. I'll take you to Neda's grave," Amy told him. She spoke in a foreign language to a woman they passed on the street, and the old lady answered with a surprised smile. Amy told the confused Edge, "That was Sophronia's great-granddaughter. She hasn't seen me since I was about fifteen. Gramma Faye brought me here shortly after the Berlin Wall fell, back in '89."
"Did people recognize her?" Edge asked, walking alongside his new friend, the urn tucked under his arm. Amy grinned as someone else passed and spoke to her. Something else occurred to him, then he asked, "Did people recognize you? I mean, you are Luke's great-granddaughter." Then there was no more time for talk, because they arrived at the old cemetary.
Amy carefully picked her way across the rows, before coming to a small, simple stone. It was in two languages, fortunately for Edge. He murmured, "Neda, beloved wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend. 1882-1903. God, she was just a kid when she died. Who paid for the stone? You told me that her grave was originally marked by a wooden cross. . .someone had to pay for the stone."
"Do you really need to ask?" Amy asked with a wry grin, "It was my grandmother, of course. She and her sisters pooled their money. . .their brother was dead by this time, and they paid for a nice stone for Neda. You asked if anyone recognized Gramma Faye. . .the answer is yes. I did tell you that she was her father's daughter, in more ways than one."
Yes, she did, and. . .what the hell? Edge scooted over a little, frowning in surprise. Amy said softly, "They kept up the pretense of Luke's death, long after Luke and Juliet left for the United States. Now. . .it really doesn't matter, except to the old people." Edge nodded, his heart in his throat. 'Luke Richmond, born 1873, died 1903. A hero.' Amy went on, "I guess it's appropriate, because in a way, Luke did die here."
Death and rebirth seemed a constant theme in the story of Luke Richmond/Hurst, and he said so. Amy grinned, replying, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. My second oldest cousin, Diana, has her Master's degree in comparative religions, with a particular interest in the making of heroes. She says that Luke is the archetype of a hero, complete with the three female guides. One woman sets the hero out on his quest. . .that would be Lilith. Another helps him to fulfill that quest. . .Neda. And the third woman is the culmination of his quest. . .Juliet."
Edge looked at her, saying, "That's bullshit." Amy threw back her head and laughed, and he continued doggedly, "It IS! The man was a cool cat, yeah, but he ain't no archetypical hero, or whatever that bullshit is. Hell, your cousin makes him sound like he was one of King Arthur's Knights!" Amy stopped laughing and looked at him directly, her blue eyes briefly obscured by her windblown blonde hair.
"Edge," she said gently, "How do you think most of the Knights started in the medieval time period? Or even before? It wasn't all beauty and romance and chivalry. Many knights started out just as my great-grandfather. . .mercenaries, until someone gave them something to fight for, whether it was honor, freedom or love. Luke is my great-grandfather, and I do not idolize him. I love him too much to do that. But Diana has a point. Besides. If Luke can become a Knight. . . that's hope for the rest of us."
"Guess I hadn't thought of that," Edge murmured as he ran his fingers along the top of the stone. The truth was, he should have thought of it himself. Angela's telling of Luke's story changed his life. . .it changed him. He could see himself in Luke, and that started the change. If Luke grew up during this time, he would have been a smart-ass street kid. . .maybe became a protector? Maybe not?
Amy murmured, kneeling beside the stone bearing her great-grandfather's name, "They left here more than three months after Angela's birth. Sophronia made a special sling for Angela, a makeshift cradle for Juliet to wear across her chest. Since Luke and Juliet were on horseback, it made it far easier for them to travel with a baby. In the weeks before they departed, Luke and Juliet agreed to carry only supplies with them. . ."
"All is ready, child."
Juliet turned to face Sophronia, who had packed the saddlebags with necessities for the baby. Juliet only just reached the point where she called her traveling companion by his name, rather than calling him 'the mercenary.' They weren't comfortable with each other, and it was likely to take a long time before they were. Still, there was an uneasy truce between them.
Juliet smiled at the old woman gratefully, saying, "Thank you, old mother. I will carry out the bags. . .th. . .Luke is still recovering his strength. I would stay longer, but I don't want us placing you in any further danger." She picked up the saddlebag and almost dropped it. She made a face, then attempted the venture once more. This time, she was able to hold the supply bag.
"You worry too much for other people, child. . .do you never worry for yourself?" Sophronia asked. Juliet responded with a cheeky grin and Sophronia glared at her playfully. The old woman grumped, though her eyes twinkled, "Foolish child."
Juliet laughed outright at that, startling herself. It was so long since she laughed, genuinely laughed. She forgot what it felt like. It felt good.
"Yes, old mother, but you love me nonetheless," Juliet teased. Sophronia rolled her eyes, and Juliet just laughed again. For some reason, it was easier to laugh now. The tightness in her chest eased, not just when she was around the children. Maybe Phaedra was right and her confrontation with th. . .with Luke helped to clear things up for her. And maybe Angela had something to do with it as well.
Phaedra. The young Macedonian woman was never one of her friends. . .she kept out of Juliet's way, and Juliet kept out of her way during Juliet's three years in the village. At least, until Neda's death. Perhaps that was the trigger. They needed each other. They both took up rifles to protect their friends, the people they loved. They both loved Neda. And they both needed to put the pieces of themselves back together.
It seemed that Neda's death was a catalyst on many fronts. Still, between her friend's life and her ability to laugh, Juliet would have gladly sacrificed the latter to save Neda. She told Phaedra that once. The other young woman was silent for a long time, then replied quietly, "As would I. But Fate decreed this, and Fate cannot be denied. No matter how much we wish it."
In other words, 'I feel the same, but it won't happen, so just keep moving forward.' Juliet could respect that. She smiled at Sophronia once more, then carried the bag out to the waiting horse. There were two: the mer. . .Luke's own horse, and a horse that belonged to one of the Teacher's men. Something else she learned while she was here in Macedonia. . .how to ride.
She learned the basics while she was still a girl, but the men taught her how to guide the horse with her legs. That would be helpful during this journey. She and the mer. . .she and Luke were still ironing out the route. She agreed that they should travel by moon light and rest by day, but they still hadn't agreed if they should try for the southern sea, or return to Paris and get passage that way.
Juliet couldn't explain it, but she had a bad feeling about taking that route. The best she could do was tell her traveling companion, 'I think that anyone who doubts your death would be watching for us to do just that.' He started to protest, then fell silent, his blue eyes narrowing as he considered her words. He still hadn't agreed, but he also hadn't dismissed her ideas out of hand.
He was saddling his own horse now, and said, with a nod toward the saddle bags that Juliet carried, "Lemme have those, and I'll take care a' the rest." The words were brusque, as his words often were, but he was trying to be nice. Or expedite matters. . .if she tried to put those things on, it would likely take half the day. Juliet was a practical woman. . .proud, yes, but practical.
So she relinquished the bags, saying, "Thank you. . .but please be careful. Don't hurt yourself again." He looked at her sharply, his eyes searching her expression. Did he think she was being sarcastic? It was hard to say. She didn't know how his mind worked. For now, it was enough to know that he did think some things through, and didn't just react. There was such a thing as thinking too much (she should know, she was quite guilty of this particular fault), but her new companion could use a little more thinking, and a little less reaction.
Phaedra approached as he began saddling her horse, carrying Angela. The other young woman searched Juliet's face, then smiled hesitantly. Juliet smiled back, just as hesitantly. So strange, that two women could live in the same village, working alongside each other for three years, and only become friends in the last three months of their association. Phaedra awkwardly embraced her, still holding Angela, and Juliet returned the embrace. They pulled back, and Phaedra shifted Angela into Juliet's arms, saying in her native language, "Be well, Juliet. And take care of them."
"I shall. Take care of them for me. . .take care of them all. And Neda's grave, too," Juliet answered, looking around the village. She returned her gaze to Phaedra and added, "If I can, when I return to the United States, I will send word." How she would do that, she had no idea. . .there were no telegraphs, telegrams, much less telephones. For that matter, she didn't even know how they received mail. . .
Phaedra, however, had a solution. She said softly, "I have an aunt who lives in the city. I will give you her name and address, and she will see to it that I receive it. Be well, my friend!" She embraced Juliet, then walked off. Juliet watched her go, saw her hand go to her face, and realized that Phaedra was wiping away tears. Angela's tiny hand patted her cheek and Juliet looked at the child, then discovered her own cheeks were wet.
She kissed Angela's tiny forehead, murmuring, "I am supposed to take care of you, little one, not the other way around. Or are you becoming like your mother already, hmm?" Somehow, that thought gave her comfort. . .Neda lived on in this child. Neda and the Teacher. Juliet looked up with a smile as Sophronia approached with the sling that would allow Juliet to carry Angela and ride.
It was designed to cushion not just Angela, but Juliet, if it became necessary to gallop. By all rights, they should not have been traveling with a three month old child. But time was running out, and if they remained here. . .well, their chances of survival decreased. Juliet eased the child into the sling. Once Juliet was on the horse, whom she named Justinian after the great Emperor, Sophronia would pass the baby up to her.
First, however, Sophronia embraced her fiercely, whispering, "You will never be forgotten by us, little one. Be well, be safe, and take care of them both." Second time today she was told that, but Sophronia was called 'old mother' for a reason, and not just because she was a midwife. She was the wisewoman of the village. The old woman pulled back, her dark eyes misty as she lightly kissed first Juliet's, then Angela's cheeks.
Juliet walked over to Justinian, who stood patiently, and swung up. Not as gracefully as others. . .but she was in the saddle. Sophronia passed the baby up to her, and Juliet secured Angela, making faces at her as she did. She kept her head ducked as Sophronia approached Luke, but watched silently. The old woman put her hand gently on his forearm and he turned, his wariness apparent even to Juliet.
The young woman couldn't hear what Sophronia said. . .but she did see the old woman reach up, cup his face in her hands, and rock onto her tiptoes to lightly kiss his forehead. Luke's expression was one of surprise and awe. Then Sophronia wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him as fiercely as only Sophronia could. Luke stared down at her gray head for a moment, a bemused expression on his face. Then, very slowly, very awkwardly, he put his arms around her and patted her back, clearly having no idea how to react to this show of affection.
Neda's voice came back to her, during one of their discussions after Luke was first found, "I do not believe someone has taken care of him for a long time. He is so terribly lonely, and does not even know it. He reminds me of you, Juliet. . .he cannot respond to affection, for he has experienced little of it." It looked like Neda was right. Again. As usual. Unfortunately, that meant Juliet was in for a very interesting journey.
Phaedra went inside her home to dry her tears and to find her aunt's address for Juliet. However, that didn't meant she missed seeing Sophronia embrace the blond American mercenary. She saw it. . .and his confused expression. Phaedra swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering when the last time someone held him. . .aside from Neda. For the first time, she began to see just what kind of journey awaited her new friend Juliet. Much was said about Luke earning Juliet's trust, but now Phaedra understood that Juliet would need to win Luke's trust as well.
What sort of life did this man have, that he had no idea how to accept affection? Unlike her new American friend, Phaedra never blamed Luke for Neda's death. He could have prevented it, certainly, but he was not the one ultimately responsible for it. Even with that, however, she never truly thought about the mercenary's past. And like Neda and Sophronia before her, she began to pity him.
Like them, she knew better than to say so. He was a proud man. . .not a man who accepted pity. He struggled with gentleness and compassion. Accepting pity was the furthest thing from his mind, and yet, Phaedra did pity him. He had such potential. He had the spirit and the heart of a protector, and yet, he did not know it. If he did not have that heart and spirit, he would have never returned. He would have left them to their fates. He returned to free Neda, and instead, freed an entire village.
It would have been improper to say that he gave them courage. More correctly, he gave them an opportunity to fight for themselves. And sometimes, that was far more important than anything else. Their most reluctant hero. He saved Neda's angel, he aided the village that sheltered him after he almost died. Now it was time for him to go home, and perhaps finally find some healing.
She had no idea what brought Luke to this place, what drove him away from his home. Nor did she understand the enigma that was his brother. Phaedra's English wasn't as good as Neda's, but she understood enough. She understood that Luke's brother both loved and hated him, resented him for not being his 'keeper.' Phaedra, who had no siblings, asked Juliet what he meant.
Juliet sighed and answered in Greek, "He does not understand that being the keeper of one's brother is as true for himself as it is for the mercenary. He is still a child, seeking his older brother's protection from monsters, both real and imaginary, and from the thunder." Juliet looked up, her eyes reflecting a rare (for then) compassion for her fellow expatriate, as she added, "He doesn't understand that there are times when the older sibling requires protection and shielding."
Something that Juliet's own sister, Drusilla, understood. There were few in the village who didn't know about Drusilla. Fiery, fierce, protective Drusilla who was so smart and so beautiful. There were few in the village who didn't know about Juliet's love and envy for her younger, prettier sister. None ever saw a photograph of Drusilla, but it was well known that Juliet considered her sister to be far more attractive.
Was it because of Drusilla that the first seeds of compassion were planted for Luke? Or was it Juliet's own feelings toward him? She was in danger of being torn apart if she did not acknowledge what she felt. Phaedra went back outside, clutching her aunt's address in her hand. It was possible that soldiers would know the name 'Juliet Walker,' but unlikely. Phaedra didn't believe that giving her aunt's address to the American woman would place her aunt in danger.
She walked up to Juliet, who was shushing Angela. Luke still looked somewhat bewildered, and it was all Phaedra could do to keep from laughing or hugging him. She knew from stories told around the village that he didn't deal well with being laughed at. She wouldn't be laughing at him, but wasn't sure if he understood that. Instead, she focused on Juliet.
Usually, Angela wasn't a fussy baby. She didn't cry much, unless someone she didn't like picked her up. She was quite particular about who held her. At the top of that list were Phaedra, Sophronia, Juliet and Luke. Angela seemed happiest with Luke. Almost as if she knew what her mother meant to him. And maybe she did. One simply never knew what was inside a child's mind.
However, she was no doubt sensing the distress and anxiety of those around her, for she was whimpering and squirming in the sling. Juliet hummed to her, swaying slightly on the horse. Justinian, a mount worthy of his name, stayed perfectly still as the young woman tried to calm the child. Luke looked back at them, his expression somewhere between irritated and concerned.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked brusquely in English as he dismounted and walked over to Justinian. Despite his harsh words, his finger was gentle as he caressed Angela's cheek. Juliet glared at him, but as he often did when he felt like it, he ignored her. When he spoke next, his voice was much softer and much more gentle. He learned a few things during the last few months. He said softly, "What is it, angel? You gotta be quiet, baby girl, 'kay? Shhhh. . ."
Despite her glare, Juliet shifted in her saddle to make it easier for Luke to reach the little girl. Angela quieted a little, and Luke went on, "That's my good girl. You gotta be quiet, so's you don't give us away. It'll be all right, angel. . .I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you, ever again." He caressed her cheek again with that single finger, and it came away wet with Angela's tears.
"I think she was just scared. . .so much was strange. She needed to know that hers were around," Juliet said in a soft voice. She was staring at Luke with an inscrutable expression. Phaedra looked at Sophronia, who merely smiled wisely. Luke returned the gaze, and Juliet said, "She's all right now. We should get going." Luke bobbed his head once, and returned to his horse.
With him safely remounted, Juliet looked at Phaedra with a defeated look in her eyes and said, "This will be a very long journey." Sophronia just patted her knee and Phaedra handed the address up to her friend. Juliet scrutinized it, then nodded, sliding it into her saddle bags. She went on, "I have no idea when we will reach the United States, but you have my word. . .the day we touch American soil, I will write you."
"I believe you," Phaedra answered simply, "safe journey, my friend. I believe Luke is anxious to be gone." Juliet responded with a wry smile, and Phaedra continued, "May the spirits of the Teacher and Neda watch over all three of you." Now Juliet's smile bordered on the rueful. She knew something that Phaedra didn't, though perhaps that shouldn't have surprised her. Each knew a lot the other didn't.
"Of that, I have NO doubt. Don't ever forget me? Promise?" Juliet requested, sounding like a young girl of fifteen years now. Phaedra nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Juliet favored them both with a watery smile, then said, "Then we should be going." Her eyes closed and her face went very still. After a moment, her eyes opened once more and she smiled at them.
"May God and all the angels and saints keep you safe and free, child. Safe journey," Sophronia replied. She directed this to both Juliet and Luke. The mercenary looked down, as if her words made him uncomfortable, but said nothing. He spurred his horse and cantered off without a backward glance. Then again, that was not his way. . .to look back. It was probably for the best.
Juliet followed him, no longer trusting herself to speak. But unlike the mercenary, she looked back several times, as if committing the village and the people to her memory. As if she wanted to remember every detail, every color, every sound. And as if hearing her thoughts, Sophronia said softly, "She knows she will never come back here again. Angela, perhaps. But Luke and Juliet. . .never will we see them again."
"Will they be all right, old mother?" Phaedra asked. She turned to look at Sophronia as the figures of Luke and Juliet became ever smaller. Sophronia didn't answer, and Phaedra guessed it was because she didn't know. Phaedra lowered her eyes briefly. When she looked back, neither American was visible, and she said softly, "I shall light candles for them." Sophronia smiled and linked arms with her, then they walked slowly to the church together. Their part in this story was finished. Now it was up to Juliet and Luke. Phaedra only hoped they survived their journey. . .and each other.
Luke thought with the passage of time, the ache in his chest would dissipate, if not disappear. But that supposition was blown to hell only moments earlier when the old midwife put her arms around him. Aside from Neda, the last person to hold him like that. . .was his mother. The one person whose opinion truly mattered to Luke for most of his life, even after her death.
Charlotte Richmond, even in the year before she died, was the most beautiful woman in the world to her oldest son. Time and worry faded her auburn hair to a pale red, but the love in her bright blue eyes never dimmed. As a young boy, just after their escape from Luke's step-father, she would run her hand over his pale hair and call him her 'little man.' Luke could remember the pride he felt when his mother said that.
He never really thought about those days as he got older. He was too busy trying to keep himself and his family safe. Especially after Mama died. His mother's death devastated him, though he knew it was coming. Even at fourteen, he was well on his way to becoming what he was. His mother knew what he was becoming. She knew these things, even if he couldn't figure out how she knew. Knew, and loved him anyhow.
As the two Americans rode, Luke found himself half in the past and half in the present. His eyes never stopped scanning the landscape for any possible trouble, any possible threat to the two now under his protection. But his mind kept carrying him back to that last awful day of his childhood. Luke just came back from dealing with a man who Elijah said was scaring Mama, when his nine year old brother ran out to greet him.
Luke swung down from his horse and dropped to his knees beside his little brother, hands on Elijah's shoulders as the child fought to tell him what was wrong. The only thing Elijah could force out was, 'Mama,' and the fourteen year old knew that his mother's final descent had begun. He squeezed his little brother's shoulders, and quietly asked him to take care of the horse for him. . .he'd see to Mama.
Reassured now that his big brother was here and that Luke would take care of everything, the little boy drew Luke's horse Travis into the small shack of a stable. Travis, ordinarily a horse just as mean as Luke, was as docile as a lamb around the nine year old. . .then again, he seemed to understand just what Luke would do to him if he ever took a chunk out of that little hide.
Satisfied that Elijah would be all right, Luke steeled himself and went into the small house where he lived with his mother and brother for the last nine years. He had a vague memory of their old house, in the settlement improperly named 'Heaven on Earth.' To himself, he always called it 'Hell on Earth,' because that was what it was for him and his mother. It was there that Luke learned to hate.
Hatred was left at the door of this house, however. Luke stole into his mother's bedroom and his heart sank. Elijah was right. Even at his age, Luke already saw enough of death to recognize it was coming for his mother. And it would be here. . .maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe even next month. . .but it would be soon. He sat down on the bed beside his mother and took one worn hand in his own two larger hands. The illness and constantly watching for signs of her ex-husband wore on her. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, whispering, "Luke. My Luke. Not so little now. . .almost a full-grown man."
He was supposed to beg his mother not to leave him. That was what he wanted to do. He wanted to throw himself into her arms, and beg her not to leave them. Instead, Luke just stared down at his mother and whispered, "You gotta go, don't ya?" Charlotte nodded and reached up to caress his face. Her fingers came away wet. Luke rasped out, a lump in his throat making it difficult to speak, "I don't want. . ."
"Oh, my sweet Luke. . .I don't want to leave you! And I won't. . .my body won't be here, but my soul will. I'll always look after you. Whenever you feel a breeze caress your face or hair, that will be my hand or my lips. I've done so many things wrong, Luke. . .I should have taken you and your brother to your father, or my friend Mary. I was so afraid. . .I've always been so afraid. You would have liked Mary. She was everything I'm not. . .brave and strong," his mother answered, coughing on the last few words as her lungs struggled to work.
"You are strong, Mama, you are brave," Luke protested. He was supposed to be almost a man, but he was quickly forgetting that. Even now, tears were slipping down his face, and the killer was being replaced by the child he still was. He wiped at them angrily, repeating, "You're the strongest, bravest woman in the world, Mama. I don't want you to go. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to take care of Elijah!"
His mother was weeping now, and she whispered, "Lay down beside me, sweet child." Luke did as he was told. . .one of his last obedient gestures. . .and rested his head against his mother's chest as he did when he was small. His mother whispered, "You look so much like your real father, Luke. You have his eyes. . .you have his smile. And you're a protector, just like he is. I'm so proud of you. . .you, and Elijah, and Allison were the greatest achievements of my life."
Allison, Luke knew by now, was his older sister. She died three years before his own birth, when she was just five years old. If Allison survived, she would have been twenty-two now. . . possibly married. And sometimes, especially in the early days after Mama left Richmond, Luke had dreams of his older sister. She was thirteen then, in his dreams, the age she would have been had she lived.
And in his dreams, she would sit beside him on the bed and comfort him. She would tell him stories, and that he was her little brother. . .that she would always love him and look after him. Luke whispered in a choked voice, "Can you see Allison, Mama?" His mother's hand stilled in his hair, and for a brief, frightening moment, Luke thought, 'this was it.'
Then his mother replied, her own voice distant, "She's never been far away from me, Luke, during the last few months. I can hear her laughter in my mind, when you or Elijah do something to make me smile. I can hear her weeping for you. She'll be there when the time comes. Luke? Promise me? Promise me, if you ever need anything, you'll go to Mary Travis in Four Corners."
Travis? But that was the name of his horse! His mother coughed and Luke raised his head from her chest, to allow her to breathe a little easier, and once her lungs didn't find it necessary to strain so much, she continued, "Your horse was named after her father-in-law, Orrin Travis. She was my friend. She didn't judge me, for my time with your father. Go to her. Tell her that you're my son. Promise?"
"I swear it, Mama," Luke answered, shifting himself so that he could look at her more properly. From this vantage point, she looked like the laughing young woman he remembered from his distant childhood, before the settlement began failing. Before the man he thought of as his father became drunk and surly. Before the laughter was replaced by fear in his mother's eyes.
Mother and son were silent for a long time, then Charlotte whispered, "She may have a new last name now. Larabee. He was the leader of the men who escorted our wagon train from Four Corners. He was handsome, Chris Larabee, though not as handsome as your father. I was so drawn to him, to your father, but even I could see the way Chris Larabee looked at Mary. Who could blame him? She was beautiful."
Luke said softly, "I remember before Elijah was born, you told me that if you had another daughter, she wouldn't be another 'Allison,' but 'Mary.' Was it because of her?" His mother smiled, and again, Luke saw a flash of the woman his mother was once. He was only just noticing girls at his age, but could easily see what drew his unknown father to her. From what she said to him in the past year, since her revelation that Will Richmond wasn't his birth father, it seemed that she was lonely and sad when they met.
"She's exactly why. I want you to find someone like Mary, Luke. I want you to find someone stubborn and willful, someone who is bossy and opinionated. You would never be happy with a docile little woman. You need someone strong and feisty and willing to fight you tooth and nail if she thinks you're wrong about something," Charlotte replied. In the present, Luke looked over at his female companion.
He wondered what his mother would make of Juliet. At first glance, she was what his mother warned him against. . .quiet and docile. But there was a streak of pure steel that ran through her. Stubborn and willful? Hell, yes! Not in the way Mary Travis was. . .Luke never met the woman. . .but definitely stubborn and willful in her own way. Bossy? The woman defined bossiness!
A gentle breeze caressed his face, and Luke smiled. I ain't ready for that, Mama, he told his mother, still ain't used to bein' alive. 'Sides, the woman has reason to hate me, and I really ain't that fond of her myself. He could almost see his mother rolling her eyes in irritation, and for the second time in the last two months, Luke smiled to himself. His mother was real quiet these last two years. . .but she was back now.
There was a decidedly unladylike snort, then Allison Richmond grinned at her mother as the latter said in annoyance, Silly child! I've always been here. . .he just wasn't ready to hear me. Sarah, did you have this much trouble with Chris? Then again, that's a little different. . .he was your husband, and Luke is my son. That does make a world of difference, I would imagine.
In some ways, Chris was worse. Not just in taking his chance with Mary, but thinking that he was somehow responsible for my death and Adam's, Sarah Larabee replied. She paused, looked at Charlotte, then at Allison, asking both mother and daughter, And do you plan to keep an eye on Lilith? She was a selfish, manipulative bitch when she was alive, I don't think death has improved her much.
This time, it was Allison's turn to snort, the red-haired woman adding, Please, Aunt Sarah! After what she did to both of my brothers, I'm not letting her out of my sight. And Mama, what are we gonna do about Daddy? If he doesn't watch his step, Luke is gonna end up killing him when they get back to the States. Allison's mother didn't answer. She was watching her middle child with the same intense stare she wore when Elijah shot Luke during the skirmish.
After a moment, her mother replied, You let me worry about your father, Allison. There was an icy quality in her voice that worried Allison. In spite of everything, the girl still loved her father. He was her daddy, after all. She was furious with him for hurting her mother. . .not just after Allison died, but after Elijah was born. She was furious with him for hurting Luke. But he was still her father.
Allison started to speak, but Aunt Sarah shook her head. In part because Allison's little niece Sarah was joining them. As much as she hated the child's mother, Allison loved her niece with equal intensity, and she scooped the little girl up into her arms with a flourish. Sarah giggled with delight, patting Allison's cheeks. Her mother's face softened, as it always did for Sarah. Whether she was Elijah's daughter or Luke's, she was still Allison's niece, still her mother's granddaughter.
Sarah pointed to Luke, crying with delight, Luke! Luke was, in fact, one of her first words as she grew here, as she would have on Earth. She arrived before her mother and younger brother, and both Charlotte and Allison adopted her. She was theirs, as much as she was Lilith's, and Sarah spent most of her last three years here watching the man who was either her father or her uncle.
Not even Lilith was sure if Sarah was Luke's daughter or Elijah's. She lay with them both. And Sarah didn't care. She just knew that the ladies with her loved Luke, so she did too. Fortunately, she was elsewhere two months earlier, when it seemed likely that he would join them. Fortunate, because Allison's mother was fully prepared to return to earth as a vengeful ghost if her oldest son died.
And when Allison's mother was on the warpath, no one was safe. Not even the lovely brunette who even now stood at her and Charlotte's side. Neda smiled at little Sarah, caressing the child's cheek, and answered, Yes, little one. . .Luke. He and the nice lady Juliet are ready to go home. And I think, little one, that when they return to Texas, they will go to see where your body lies.
Like many children of her age, Sarah Richmond had a difficult time understanding the difference between her corporeal form and her spirit form. It was all the more confusing for the little girl, since she never knew life. This was the only life she ever knew. Allison was five when she left the mortal plane, and grew up here, in the Afterlife or Heaven, or whatever one wished to call it. But she knew the difference.
Luke wasn't ready to join them. . .it wasn't yet his time. Charlotte knew it, as did Sarah Larabee, and neither woman was ready to tell Allison how they knew that. Even so, it took all of Sarah and Allison's combined strength to keep Charlotte from going down to Earth to save her son. Fortunately, however, the young woman Juliet did what had to be done. Even as she hated herself for her perceived betrayal of her husband and lost child, she did what was necessary to save Luke.
There was no betrayal of her husband, or her daughter. Indeed, to both Allison and Charlotte, Juliet was the one betrayed. She accompanied her husband to a foreign land, trusting in him to keep her and their unborn child safe. He not only failed to protect her, he didn't even make the attempt. Whatever her brother's flaws were, once he claimed a woman, Luke didn't fail to protect her.
There was the unfortunate incident with Neda, but like Neda herself, Allison knew she was fated to die that day. It was just a question of how. And her brother would never forgive himself for his part in her death, even if Neda forgave him instantly. There was also the matter of Lilith. Allison always hated her sister-in-law. Even before she watched Lilith bite Elijah's ear to get a rise out of Luke, she hated her.
It was Allison who first started calling the ex-prostitute 'the French poodle,' and it was soon taken up by first her mother, then by Sarah Larabee (who wasn't nearly as saintly as her husband liked to believe, or his friend Buck Wilmington. . .or her father for that matter). They abstained from referring to Lilith in this manner while her daughter was around. . .they hated Lilith, all three of them, but she was Sarah's mother.
As for Juliet, Charlotte was reserving judgment. While all four women knew that the widow had good reason to hate Luke, even though he himself wasn't the one who murdered her husband and daughter and raped her, Luke was still Charlotte's son. Juliet redeemed herself in Charlotte's eyes when she quietly apologized, and when the first steps were taken toward a truce, however uneasy it was.
Allison understood the young widow, far better than her mother did. And she found that strange, since her mother also felt things for someone she wasn't supposed to. No, Allison didn't understand Juliet because because she knew what it was to be in love. Rather, she understood her because she knew what it was like to feel things toward a person that she shouldn't, or thought she shouldn't, feel. Just because in her case, it was hatred for her youngest brother's wife, rather than desire for a man from the same occupation as those who killed her husband, made no never mind to Allison Richmond.
And Neda, bless her, was quiet about her friend. Perhaps, even as young as she was. . .the youngest of them all, save Sarah, Neda realized that Charlotte would have to make peace with Juliet, on her own terms. Neda exhibited a similar protectiveness toward Angela. And, Allison had no doubt that Sarah Larabee would behave in a similar manner, had her son Adam survived the fire that took their lives more than thirty years earlier. Adam was Allison's own age, and they often wondered if they would have met and married, if they were permitted to live.
On the other hand, if she was among the mortals, she couldn't protect either of her brothers. At the moment, Elijah was beyond her protection. He would continue to be out of her protection for some time, as well. Luke was another story. It was a long journey to their destination. . .no matter which route they took. It would be dangerous. And Allison didn't trust her sister-in-law. Luke was still vulnerable to her. . .perhaps now more than ever, now that he knew she was dead.
She will find it hard to defeat the two of us, sister, Neda said quietly as Allison's mother stared down into the mortals. Charlotte Richmond's attention shifted from her older son to her younger. Allison looked back at this young woman who brought her little brother back to life, who reawakened the boy he was once. Neda smiled, a wicked gleam appearing in her dark eyes, For I must protect those who protect my daughter, must I not? Allison laughed aloud and linked arms with the young woman.
And I must protect my little brother, if only by protecting those under his protection. Neda, if it was within our power to save you, we would have, Allison replied and Neda smiled, reaching around to pat her forearm. Whatever anger she felt wasn't directed at Allison or her family, but at the murderers of her husband. She found a worthy ally in this woman. Daddy, please. . .if you ever loved me, Allison thought privately, please leave Luke alone once he gets back to the States. Because if you hurt him, I won't be able to stop Mama, no matter how hard I try.
The first day of riding passed without incident. This would be the only day they rode during the daytime. Juliet could see Luke's unease. She wasn't entirely comfortable with it, either. She learned the hard way that evil deeds transpired just as easily during the daylight hours as at night. She had no fear of the dark, despite reading countless stories of the supernatural.
The most recent was that vampire novel. . .what was the name of that author? Stoker, yes. Bram Stoker. And the book was called 'Dracula.' Juliet shuddered. She read that during their passage across the Atlantic, and it gave her nightmares. Juliet learned at an early age to stifle her fears, even when awakening from nightmares. Now that she thought about it, she stifled a great deal of her emotions.
Until recently. Juliet looked ahead, to where Luke rode. He glanced around him constantly, totally on guard. After he calmed Angela, she found it much easier to think of him by name, which worried her. Despite their truce, she still didn't like the idea of finding common ground with him. Nor did she like the suspicion that was creeping into her mind. . .that one of the reasons she hardened her heart against him was because. . . was because she was jealous of him, envious of his easy anger.
She never learned how to get angry. Such powerful emotion, of any kind, whether it was fear, anger, or even love, was to be suppressed and denied. She was a child of the upper classes, she was above such things. When she lost her temper with Luke weeks earlier, it wasn't just because of what he said, or what he represented. It wasn't just rage of the last three years. No. . .no, some rage of the last twenty-eight years escaped during that confrontation. That was why she was left so shaken.
Luke was ruled by his emotions, and she found she envied that. She wasn't afraid of him, but he did frighten her at times, and there was a difference. He frightened her, even as she envied him. She envied his freedom. . .his utter lack of caring for what other people might think of it. Indeed, Juliet believed that he only cared about the opinions of two people. . .Sophronia and Neda.
Juliet was drawn out of her musings by the discovery that it was quite cold. She blinked, and looked around. Much to her surprise, she realized that the sun was going down. In front of her, Luke drew his horse to a halt in front of a small house. He motioned for Juliet to stay put, even as he himself dismounted. Juliet nodded her understanding, though she looked around nervously.
Luke approached the house, which seemed to be abandoned, with his gun drawn. Juliet realized with a shudder that she held that gun once, and for the first time, recalled the inscribing on the gun. 'The Gospel According to Luke.' In spite of herself, and in spite of the situation, Juliet found herself smiling. It seemed that Luke had a sense of humor, though a warped one.
The gunfighter returned from checking out the house and holstered his gun, saying in a low voice, "Deserted. Figger the Major and his men drove out the owners. Not that long ago." There was a bitter contempt in his voice as he spoke of the Major. He reached out his hands for Angela, saying softly, "Gimme the baby, and I'll hold her while ya get down. Then I'll take care of the saddlebags."
Juliet didn't demur and eased the baby into his arms. Angela was awake and cooed up at Luke. The widow pretended to notice the enchanted smile that appeared on the mercenary's face. Instead, she found as she dismounted that she was stiff and sore all over. They departed from the village early this morning, riding nearly twelve hours. In addition, she spent that time holding the baby securely as well as riding. Her legs almost gave way as her feet touched the ground. Luke took a step forward, his eyes reflecting a reluctant concern, but she waved him off.
She didn't want him touching her. Juliet still remembered what happened the last time she touched him, and she was fully together at the time. . .as opposed to exhausted and saddle-sore. She said softly, "I'm fine, just not used to spending so much time in the saddle. Give me a few minutes while my legs work again, and I'll take the baby inside." Juliet sighed, closing her eyes as she waited for her legs to stabilize.
When she opened them, Luke was staring at her. There was a strange expression in his blue eyes (and did she have to notice just how blue his eyes were?), a strange expression that she recognized after a moment as begrudging respect. He asked softly, "Sure yer all right? Ya ain't complained once and that was some hard ridin,' especially with a little baby."
She smiled at him weakly, not entirely sure how to deal with this new Luke, and replied, "I'm fine. If we're setting out tomorrow night, then I'll have all day tomorrow to rest." She took a few wobbly steps forward, then almost collapsed. Once again, Luke reached out for her, concern warring with impatience. Again, she waved him off, saying, "I'm all right. I can do this. . .you try to hold onto me and the baby, and we'll all go down. You've been hurt worse than I have."
Luke glared at her, but stopped and allowed Juliet to find her legs. However, he said in a determined voice, "I'll carry the baby in. Don't want ya fallin' down and hurtin' Angela." His shoulder had to still be hurting him, but Luke turned back toward the house. Juliet watched him go, then followed after a few moments. Every time she thought she had the mercenary figured out, he did something that totally threw her off guard. As Luke reached the house, Angela cradled against his body, he turned back to look at Juliet almost worriedly.
And as he did, Juliet's breath caught in his throat. He really was a handsome man. She still wanted to hate him. It was so much easier than opening her heart. Than allowing him the means to destroy her, if he so chose. But as blue eyes locked with hazel, Juliet found that it wasn't so easy to harden her heart against this man. His glance backward revealed an unexpected vulnerability.
Even now, she struggled between her remaining loyalty to her late husband and her desire to do right by Neda's daughter. Even now, she was being torn in two. Luke said very softly, his accent barely noticeable, "I ain't never gonna hurt you. She loved you. . .I done enough to hurt her." Juliet released a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and nodded.
She moved haltingly toward the house, determined to stand on her own two feet in one way at least. The distance to the door seemed like a league, but she kept moving forward, drawn by the sight of Luke framed in the doorway, Angela held against his chest. He should have been dead. They should have both been dead. But they were here, and they were alive, and she owed it to Neda to make sure they all stayed that way.
She had to stay strong. One step, then another, brought her closer to Luke and Angela, until they were both framed in the doorway. She tipped her head back to look at him. Once more, hazel eyes met blue. Then, a slow, grudging smile graced Luke's face. He said softly, "Ya got grit, I'll give ya that. Imagine that's how ya survived. Too damn ornery to die." Juliet blinked, not sure how to respond.
In truth, coming from Luke, that was a high compliment. And it meant more than if he told her that she was the most beautiful woman he ever saw. Juliet knew that wouldn't have been true. . . Neda was far more beautiful than she was, even on Neda's worst day and Juliet's best.
And for once, Luke didn't spoil it with one of his stupid comments. He just smiled at her and gently placed Angela in her arms, saying softly, "Go sit down somewhere. I'll bring everythin' inside. Just rest." Juliet watched him go, totally unaware that another brick of the wall protecting her heart from this man just fell out of place and left her vulnerable.
If he wasn't careful, she might actually find herself liking him. And that could be disastrous. . .for them both. Assuming, of course, it didn't end up further transforming them both.