The newspapers finally revealed what had brought on Mark's sudden openness to speak about Emery and … and everything. A side column read: Trial on Hudson Bay company man to begin at the district court of Albuquerque. Lot of interest from the native population, many respected lawyers involved, two judges mentioned. A sheriff would bear witness. No word of… of Emery Donelly. But then why should the paper…
Mark's letter! He'd have to ask the boy what was in it!
His eyes fell on the date on the paper. It had been almost half a year since the young woman had left the farm. He remembered it vividly, still.
She had given Micah a rough outline of the story the McCains and Sam Buckheart had heard. The sheriff had been livid, and stayed livid even through Lucas' efforts of pacification. With a small grin the rifleman acknowledged that Micah had been furious about not seeing through the young woman's deception. The fact that somebody had given him, Micah Torrence, the runaround… and then Lucas and Mark had kept the secret, and even Doc Burrage in on it…
Without Micah there, Lucas thought he and Mark might have persuaded the other two to stay another night, give them a little more time to adjust, and Emry one more night to sleep in a bed. But with the sheriff bellowing his anger left and right, Spirit and Sam's dark desert horse were saddled quickly.
Well, what passed for saddling with these two… Lucas grimaced fondly in remembrance.
He remembered feeling frozen, or turned to stone, sluggish with the impressions. Mark throwing his arms around Emery's middle with childish abandon, and Lucas' involuntary envy.
His own gauche attempt to offer the young woman his hand, which she had somehow both grasped and evaded, gripping both his hands with a disarming shyness.
"I'll forever hold you in my heart, Lucas McCain. May the spirits guard you and your son, may your herds be fruitful and your harvest bountiful."
He remembered her voice, the gentle, strong grip of her long, cool fingers. The expression in the green eyes, the way she quickly turned, but paused for a heartbeat before mounting Spirit. She then said something he could not understand – native words – but whatever it was, Sam glanced at her – and then at him, Lucas, with his own unreadable expression.
He remembered fighting against too many surging emotions, remembered his unwillingness to answer any more of Micah's angry questions, remembered telling his old friend shortly that he and Mark had to ride out.
The boy for once had caught on without another hint and saddled both their horses. They had left the sheriff riding home, while the two McCains found themselves at the foot of the cliffside that so long ago had been the catalyst of this whole adventure. Lucas had acted as if he did not see the tears running down Mark's face.
So this trial had taken almost six months to start? What had she been doing until now? And she was writing to Mark…
He scanned the newspaper again, but there was nothing more about the trial. There were the usual pictures of escaped convicts and wanted men. A report of a group of six gunmen robbing a train between Coolidge and Lamar. The ubiquitous reaction and reports of the railway company.
Exasperated with himself, he threw the newspaper into the corner and got up. He'd find some work to do.
….
"G'day, Micah." Lucas grinned up at his friend.
"Lucas boy! Nice of you to show your face in town once in a while!"
"Come on, it hasn't been that long, has it?"
"Even Miss Hattie remarked on it a few days ago. Mark's the only one we see regularly these days."
"There's much work at the farm," the tall man evaded.
"And no farmhand to help."
Lucas couldn't tell if the older man was still angry at him, or if the words had been thoughtless. Either way, they brought the deep ache back to the forefront. He shrugged it off: "There've been a few men travelling through, but nothing more permanent. We get on well enough."
"Haven't seen you much in church, either?"
"I've needed the half days for work." He was done with the subject. "How are things going in town?"
Micah let himself be distracted. Sharing a beer and a cigar, the two men caught each other up, talked about small changes and larger conflicts. Only when Mark traipsed across the dusty space toward them, Micah twitched.
"I almost forgot – I'm still not sure I should even mention it to you."
"Well, now you have to." The rifleman frowned.
"You remember when I asked up north for word on a young man Donelly?"
Weariness ran down the other man's back. That had been when Eirik – Emery – had newly come to the farm, and both men had been slightly suspicious – in the usual way – of a foreigner with a handsome horse and no gun.
"I remember."
"Well, that same friend sent me a note, asking if now I could give news of the same young man's whereabouts. Seems there's people asking after him."
"Where?"
"Kansas City."
"You'll have to tell me a bit more about this."
Mark had reached them, but with a heavy hand on his boy's shoulder, McCain asked him for patience. The sheriff considered the dry afternoon for a moment, then elaborated slowly: "Seems somebody knew that Eirik Donelly went north from here some five months ago. Seems a third party turned up in Kansas looking for him, and nobody had seen the young man, my friend turned to me."
Mark piped up: "How long ago was this?"
But the two men were by now staring at each other. "I got the note about maybe ten days ago."
Lucas did a quick mental count – the railway took the post south from Kansas and coaches on to Northfork. "And what did you write back?"
"That I could not help on the young man's account. Kansas is a large city."
Something softened in the large man's countenance. "Thanks, Micah."
"It's the truth. Have you heard from… have you had word?"
"No." His grip on Mark's shoulder tightened. But he should not have worried. The boy's expression was such that Lucas did a double take.
"Who could ask after Eirik?"
"We don't know, Mark. Thanks for letting me know, Micah."
"It's nothing."
For a moment the three stood there, thoughts hanging heavy between them. Then Lucas squared his shoulders, tipped his hat to the sheriff and stepped down onto the road.
But a thought held him back. "Heard anything more about Lundy?"
Micah grimaced. "Our friend the wedding planner? No."
Why wasn't he relieved at the answer?
….
"Pa, there was this letter for you."
His heart picked up speed. Lucas wondered if Mark noticed the sudden hitch in his breath. He downplayed it by measuredly reaching for the note. It was…. From Sam Buckhart!
He could not quite rip it open right there and then, even though Mark's expectant glance seemed to ask for exactly that. More for himself he grumbled: "Later, son. Don't want the whole town gossiping again…"
Once they both sat on their horses' backs and traipsed home, Mark's reticence vanished.
"Pa, I've been thinking. It was real good that we went to the cattle market. We missed most of the questions after Em-" he looked around quickly and continued guilelessly. "-Emery. It would have been hard to keep a straight face, and to lie to people."
Lucas grunted noncommittedly.
"Pa, what does Sam's letter say?"
"Son, it's a private letter…"
"But…"
"I never ask after the letters you get, do I?" and hard work that had been!
Mark swallowed.
Sam's letter was short. His handwriting small and straight, no flourishes, almost as if printed.
"Lucas, since your involvement in the happenings was not negligible, I wanted to let you and your son know that things are processing well for the waif"
- Lucas had to smile at that –
"and that the court proceedings are expected to go smoothly. I am wondering whether I would still be welcome to call on you once I am done here." Lucas snorted. Had he been so abrupt, so hostile those days?
"You are both missed. Greetings and best wishes for your health and safety."
"That is all?" Mark demanded indignantly. "Nothing about Emery? Where is it from?"
"He sent it from Albuquerque two days ago."
"Are you certain? There is nothing on the back?"
Lucas held the page up for the boy to see. He had to grin at his son's disappointment.
But after a while he could not hold the question to himself: "Wonder what they've been doing all this time… It's been about half a year." What about finances? The small bag of coins he had managed to impress on her would last for…
Mark interrupted his musings. "They went north first, to Emery's family's land, to the Court of the northern territory."
That brought his father up short. "The Northwestern Territories? Canada? How would you know?" He had even pulled his mare's reins.
The boy waited for him to catch up again and shrugged. "I said I had a letter from her."
"What else do you know?" How could you keep this from me?
"Only that they had to go there first, to identify Emery, get some papers, meet with a few people."
"How… anything else?"
"A few music sheets."
That song… the haunting one the boy had wanted to keep to himself. His thoughts were rushing each other. "So they went north first?" Stupidly.
Mark gave him a look. "That's what I said. They took the train for the most part."
"What about Spirit?" Was there sawdust in his head?
"She didn't say. I wondered about that, too."
"Did… did you write back to her?"
"Of course."
Of course? When had that boy grown up this much? It hurt, made him proud, confused him. Sure, he'd be a young man soon… he was a young man, but still!
"Did…" did she ask after me? He swallowed the question. "What did you say?"
Mark shrugged. "Oh, told her about driving the herd to market, about the stampede, about how we finished the grist mill and that it's working. About my music."
Lucas rode home a horse length behind his son, brain slowly working through the questions, implications, holes in the story that was slowly forming.
"Mark, I'll ride on to the mill. Prepare lunch, will you?"
When the boy didn't answer, Lucas turned back. Mark was watching him with adult eyes, a small smile on the beloved features.
"Pa? I remember what you said about playing match maker, and I'll only say this once. She fit in here. She did."
Dumbfounded, the rifleman frowned.
"It's dinner time, Pa." Mark tipped his hat to him and rode home.