Chapter Sixteen
The sound was muffled at first - wood grating against iron and then the splash of water. Johnny let the sound linger in his mind, searching for something to explain the rhythmic song in his head.
He was cold -as cold as he could ever remember. His teeth chattered so violently he thought he might crack a tooth. His arm ached, his ribs throbbed with every breath he took and a new hot fiery pain slashed at his side.
He tried not to moan but he could not keep the hiss of pain from escaping his lips.
"Hang on there," a voice called from the darkness. "We'll have you warm in no time."
Johnny had no reason to believe the voice. Yet he felt compelled to trust the thick accent, so familiar and yet so different.
"You'll be safe with us, Son. Don't you worry."
Dios, his head hurt, too. Where was he? What had happened? The answer teased him…sitting there just beyond his recollection.
The sound continued. Wood against iron. Splash. Wood against iron. Splash. The cadence was somehow calming as his world rocked and bobbed in the darkness. Somewhere in the distance he heard the most forlorn sound he could ever remember hearing. He likened it to the cry of a lonely animal calling for its mate. He felt sorry for the animal when there was no return call.
He didn't know how long it took for his mind to begin to clear. Gradually Johnny was aware of more things. He was wrapped tightly in blankets, so tightly that hecouldn't move his arms or his legs. Cold air stung his face and made his nose run.
He forced his eyes open. A panorama of sparkling stars hung above him. If not for the blankets confining his arms he could have reached up and grabbed one. Then a light, as bright as any he had ever seen, swept across the sky and disappeared.
"Don't be alarmed, Son, it's just the lighthouse. You'll be staying there for awhile until you get back on your feet."
Johnny saw the outline of someone sitting above him, leaning back and forth, the cadence of the sound matching his movements. Johnny tried to figure it out, but couldn't, and sleep lured him back into her warm safe womb.
Scott looked out the window as dusk fell over the land. The train ride was long and monotonous, and left him with nothing to do but think. And as the time dragged on, he began to remember when Murdoch had first started to act nervous…no apprehensive. If only he had asked one simple question. Was he Scott Lancer? He tried to put himself in his father's shoes. The evidence Arthur had showed him was damning. Anyone would have questioned his identity with reports like that. But if he had known, he could have refuted those claims. Instead words were said that could never be taken back, Johnny and Sam were in Boston, and…dear God…Grandfather was dead.
What hurt most, more than Murdoch not trusting him, was Johnny. Was he, too, afraid he would find answers he didn't want to hear? The thought that Johnny didn't trust him was a bitter pill to swallow.
Settling back against his seat,he watched the porters walk down the aisle, lighting the lanterns hanging from the ceiling. As they swayed to the rhythm of the train, Scott closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
Murdoch lay in his bed looking up at the ceiling. Sleep would not visit him tonight. He had done the unforgivable. He had lost trust in his son. What was he to think? Scott was a stranger when he first laid eyes on him. Unlike Johnny, who had come with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon, but with a scar oh his thumb giving physical proof of who he was, Scott just appeared.Was he right to not question him? But he had blended so effortlessly into the family. To be honest, he was the bulwark between him and Johnny.
In so many ways he knew less about his Eastern bred son than he did the infamous Johnny Madrid. But he had never realized it.
A lone coyote howled in the distance and Murdoch waited for the return call. None came. For the first time since he had found Johnny, his precious two year old son, gone, he felt a tear run down his cheek.
Johnny awoke confused and disoriented. The pain that had lessened for a short time had returned with a vengeance, making it hard to think. He didn't know if he was living a dream or just a part of one. He forced himself to listen, to try to make sense of it all. Gone was the soothing rhythm. Now the water crashed thunderously from every direction. He opened his eyes to see the panorama of stars replaced by rolling fog, cold and wet on his bare face. The back of a man, nearly hidden in the fog,walked before him, a lantern casting muted light in the swirling clouds. He realized he was lying on a stretcher that swayed and jerked as two men made their way through the murky night. The mournful sound of the foghorn blared above him and he cringed as it reverberated in his pounding head. He must have made a sound because the bearer of the stretcher turned his head to look down at him.
"Easy there, Johnny, we're almost there." When had he told anyone his name? It didn't matter anyway now. For some reason he trusted that voice and his eyes slid shut again.
Something tapped at Johnny's lips and warm sweet tea slid down his throat, easing the deep chill. How long had it been since he was warm? Chaotic memories of what had happened flashed across his mind…the wild ride in the careening carriage, shots fired, a woman slumping to the floor of the carriage, a great whoosh of cold rain and wind and then nothing. "Scott is in great danger…" Her words echoed in his ear.
Johnny's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward trying to sit up. The new pain in his side ripped through him like a knife and he fell back onto the pillows, gasping for air.
"Easy, Johnny. You don't want to ruin all the work I put into sewing you up."
There was easiness to the voice and Johnny turned his head to follow the sound. Blinking to clear his vision, he saw a stranger sitting in a chair next to his bed. He looked to be in his fifties, but it was hard to tell beneath the carefully groomed salt and pepper beard. Gray hair poked out from beneath an old seamen's cap. The deep wrinkles across his forehead and around his eyes told Johnny this was no Boston businessman; this was a man who had fought the harsh elements.
"Where am I?" Johnny croaked, looking around and taking in his surroundings. He was lying on a cot next to a roaring fireplace. He still felt cold, way down deep in his bones, but the fire, warm blankets and hot tea were making inroads on the chill. The room was comfortable in size. Nothing like the great room at Lancer, but there was a settled feel to it. He liked it. And he liked the man who smiled down at him.
"You're on Little Brewster Island, about nine miles off shore from Long Wharf. Thomas Bates at your service. My assistant Edward Gorham and I man the lighthouse here. Ever seen a lighthouse, Son?"
Johnny shook his head, regretting it instantly when his world spun and his skull pounded. He must have hit his head when he was thrown from the carriage.
"When you're back on you're feet I'll give you the grand tour. Meantime, how are you feeling?"
Johnny shifted a bit on the cot, his side protesting. He must have grimaced because Thomas laid a cautionary hand on his shoulder.
"That bullet sliced a nasty furrow through your side. You lost some blood. Nothing a little rest won't cure though. But that cast on your arm was a soggy mess. I had to take it off and bind your arm to your chest. Might not be too comfortable but it'll have to do until we can get you to a proper doctor. For now, I want you to stay here next to the fire. You were near frozen to the bone when I found you. Maybe tomorrow we can get you upstairs in a more comfortable bed."
Johnny panicked. "No, I can't stay here. I've got to get back to the hotel. Sam'll be worried. If they came after me, he could be next. Damn, I should a waited for him. I should a waited."
"Sam?"
"Sam Jenkins. He's a friend from Morro Coyo. They could be after him next."
"Don't jump to conclusions. He's probably still waiting for you at the hotel."
"I hope so. I left the note..." Johnny looked up at Thomas. "The woman…?" The burden of guilt suddenly weighed heavy on Johnny's chest. He couldn't remember anything after he was thrown from the carriage. Everything before that was now crystal clear. The picture of Scott he found in his brother's room, the mysterious note to meet someone down at the wharf. It had been a foolish move on his part, one he knew might end in disaster. But, anything that could lead him to the answers he sought was worth the risk. But not this. Not the death of an innocent woman.
Warm eyes turned cold as Thomas bowed his head. "Heddy. She was a fine lady. None better in my book. She was head housekeeper at Garrett's place until she and almost all the staff were fired without warning."
"She said the note wasn't hers. That it was a trap."
"Sounds like Heddy. She was one headstrong woman. If she thought you were in trouble she'd move heaven and earth to help you."
"It still doesn't explain why she would risk her life for a complete stranger."
No answer came right away. Instead Thomas stood up and grabbed a pipe from the fireplace mantel. He shook the used tobacco from the bowl into the fire and opened an ornately carved box,filling the pipe with fresh tobacco. Johnny didn't interrupt him as he tapped the tobacco down and struck a match. He knew, from studying Murdoch, that there was more to the routine of filling a pipe and drawing on it until the tobacco burned just right. It was a time to think, a time to make decisions. A time to find the right words.
Blowing a wreath of smoke around his face, Thomas finally said, "You weren't a complete stranger, Johnny. She knew who you were. She knew you were Scott's half brother. And since you were here without Scott, it meant that he didn't know what was going on yet."
"He didn't even know his grandfather was dead," Johnny said vehemently. "He found out when I sent him that damn telegram. Now he'll most likely be on his way."
Thomas nodded. "If I know Scott Garrett he's already on the train."
"Lancer. He goes by Lancer know. You know my brother?"
"He spent a long weekend here when he was just a boy. He came with Heddy for the day, and just like now, a storm came up out of nowhere and we couldn't get off the island. Scott had a wonderful time. That boy loved adventure. He got precious little of it at that mausoleum of a house. Old Man Garrett tried to have me arrested for kidnapping. Heddy put a stop to that. But Scott was never allowed to return. When he got older he was more interested in Harvard and his friends. But Heddy said he often talked about it."
"He still likes adventure. He's turned into a damn good cowboy."
Thomas smiled, satisfied. "I'm glad. Scott wasn't made for boardrooms and stuffy offices."
Johnny was glad too. He never thought he would ever have a father let alone a brother. Now both were in danger of being torn away from him.
"How did she know where to find me?"
"There wasn't much that went on that Heddy didn't know about. In Garrett's house or any of the other fancy houses in Boston. Downstairs gossip, she called it. Staff got together and talked. She said once if anyone knew what she knew she'd not be long for this world. We laughed at the time. I'm not laughing anymore.
"She must have heard something. I know she couldn't live with herself if she let Scott's brother walk into a trap."
"She was crazy coming looking for me. She…" Johnny closed his eyes, the memory of her ushering him into the carriage, risking her life to save his. It wasn't right.
Thomas leaned forward. "It's not your fault, Son. Heddy was just being Heddy. She knew something was wrong for months. She always thought there was something odd the way young Scott left. He had planned a trip to Europe then suddenly changed his mind. Wanted to go out west. Then just as suddenly, Old Man Garrett said his grandson had sailed for Europe.
"A couple of weeks before he died she said he started acting suspicious. He would lock himself in his office for hours on end, not letting anyone in. And when he came out he looked pale and nervous. Something was going on."
Johnny laid his arm over his forehead, trying to stop the pounding. Was Heddy dead because of him or because of what she knew? And how many other people knew? Johnny suddenly lifted his arm. "How many people knew I was here?"
"Heddy and Weatherly, old man Garrett's head servant. He and Heddy were close. Real close if you know what I mean. He told her he thought you were ready to pass out when he told you Garrett was dead. Then you showed up at King's Chapel Burying Ground. She knew it was you. Who else would be interested in Garrett's last resting place? He wasn't exactly the most beloved man in Boston. And you've got to admit, you don't really fit in."
Johnny chafed at the remark, then realized there was no malice behind it. His darker skin and blue eyes were a contrast to most in Boston, and he couldn't quite get the walk down yet. Riding a horse all his life and carrying a six gun on his hip left him with a swagger he could not hide.
"Thomas, she said Scott was in danger. Do you know what she meant?"
"No, Son, I'm sorry I don't. When the weather clears I'll have a talk with a few of her friends. They may know something. Meantime, you rest. You won't do Scott or your friend any good if you don't take care of yourself."
Rest was not an option. There had to be a way to get to Sam. He pushed himself up on his right elbow, trying not to show the pain it caused him, and noticed for the first time that he was buck naked.
"My clothes," he barked.
"You were soaking wet. They're drying in the kitchen. I found you layingunder a tree this morning a few miles from the wharf. It meant you were out there all night. Amazing you didn't die of exposure. Now lie back down. There's no place to go anyway."
"How did you know where to find me?" Johnny eased himself back down, angry that his clothes were gone and he wasn't in any shape to demand them back.
Thomas puffed on his pipe, taking his time again. "Heddy had a lot of friends, people who lived in the shadows of the rich, high society. While the authorities waited until dawn to look for you, they searched throughout the night. They found you at daybreak.
When I got to the pier this morning, the wharf was crowded with police. They were questioning everyone. That's when I learned that Heddy had been shot." Thomas turned his face away and Johnny felt sorry for him. It was hard to lose a good friend. Thomas seemed to compose himself and looked back down at Johnny. "When they described the man they were looking for I knew it was you right away. Hector, Garrett's old gardener, told me where to find you. Good thing too, you wouldn't have made it much longer out there."
"The driver? He could tell them what happened." Johnny said hopefully.
"Maybe, if he stayed around. But no one knows where he is."
Johnny sighed in disgust. "I thought I could help Scott. But all I've done is make matters worse."
"I doubt Scott will see it that way. Now you try and get some sleep."
"Thomas." Johnny looked up at him, knowing he was safe here, but alsoknowing he had to get to Sam to warn him. "I can't stay here. I have to get word to Sam."
"I'm sorry, Johnny. There's a storm headed our way, I can tell by the surf. It's not safe to put a boat in these waters. I'm sorry."
"I can't leave Sam alone. If he can't stay at the hotel, he'll have nowhere to go. You've got to get me back to the wharf."
"Johnny it's a way of life here on Little Brewster Island. When the sea gets rough we are stuck here. Unless you think you can swim nine miles in rough seas, with your arm tied down…"
Johnny turned away and closed his eyes. He knew it was a mistake to let Sam come along. If anything happened to him. He would get to him somehow….even if it meant swimming.