They followed the road north through the prairies, large stretches of grasslands that housed many varieties of shrubs and tallgrass. A handful of sweetgum trees with red and gold leaves dotted the horizon. Fissures crisscrossed their path, some so wide they were forced to travel a great deal east or west to circumvent the obstacles.
About twenty miles north of New Madrid, as they made their way down a hillside, they spied a wagon train in the distance. The train inched toward the west. Jack realized they would eventually cross paths.
As they neared their impromptu rendezvous with the wagons, Jack knew that it was Father Maxwell’s group. After hurried greetings, at the behest of the townsfolk, Father Maxwell said a prayer. He assured the townsfolk that the earthquakes were a not a sign from God. But many people remained unconvinced.
A little later Jack, Chata, and Father Maxwell snuck away from the group to talk. Jack detailed the events of New Madrid since Father Maxwell had left.
“It’s quite fortunate that we crossed paths at this moment,” Jack said.
Father Maxwell smiled. “Perhaps it was not fortune, but destined.”
“I prayed, in a sense,” Jack said.
The priest smiled. “And He heard your prayer, did He not?”
“He didn’t, Father.” Jack’s voice grew bitter, and his face hardened. “I told Him if He wasn’t going to save these people, then screw Him, I’d do it myself.”
The priest laughed.
“What?” Jack’s stony façade flickered in irritation.
The laughter faded and the priest smiled amiably. “So maybe He did hear your prayer.”
“I told God off.”
“Yes, you did. And about time. Took you long enough.”
“What?” Jack stared at Father Maxwell in disbelief.
“I tell Him off all the time.” The priest shrugged.
“Are you sure that you still want me in your parish?”
The priest tilted his head. “How can you tell off God if you don’t believe in him?”
“It’s just, I mean …” Jack sighed. “Fine. I see your point, but maybe He just doesn’t involve himself directly in our affairs.” The fire and edge were gone from Jack’s voice.
“Maybe that’s the point, Jack?”
Jack rubbed his forearm across his brow. “I’ll see all of you to Ste. Genevieve. I’ll find passage to St. Louis from there.”
“Nonsense. I expect you to honor your agreement to me.”
“You still want me to serve as marshal?”
“Do we need a man who can think for himself? We need you now more than ever.” He turned to Chata. “Am I wrong?”
“Probably not.” Chata shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll ever really get it. You know, I came here to kill him.”
Father Maxwell laughed. When no one joined him, he glanced at Jack uneasily.
“He’s serious,” Jack said. “He tried twice.” He turned to Chata, suddenly curious. “Why didn’t you go through with it?”
Chata shrugged. “I found you were doing a good enough job withering away your own life without my help to end it.”
“You still could have done it,” Jack said.
Chata nosed his horse closer to the two men. He nodded to Jack. “You were not the man I was expecting to find.” He shrugged again and looked at Father Maxwell. “He grows on you.”
“Interesting company you keep,” Father Maxwell said, although his tone was unsure. “But I agree that your charms sometimes remain hidden underneath all the thorns constructed on the outside. Let’s get moving forward.”
The group continued along the King’s Highway through the morning. Thick vapors still lingered in the air, but the sunlight poured down, giving the countryside an eerie glow. The group stopped at midday to rest.
Sarah pulled Jack aside. “I’m going after Abbie,” she said.
“What?” Jack’s face crinkled.
“It was arranged that she be taken to my sister’s house in Kentucky.” She stared off to the east, the land obscured under the dark mist that stretched as far as they could see. “I have to find her.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Sarah’s tone was close to that of a mother speaking to an eager child. “These people need you, Jack. They’re your responsibility.”
Jack took in the scattered townsfolk. Disheveled and dirty, they huddled around small campfires. Their trip had been marked by several aftershocks, which ignited fear in their hearts each time. Even the smallest children, too young and resilient to know why the adults were afraid, gathered close to their parents.
“Remington is coming with me,” Sarah said. “He has family a bit farther on. We’ll be fine.”
Jack nodded. Words failed to reach his lips.
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. “You lied to me.”
Wrinkles appeared across Jack’s brow. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I spoke to Chata. You were kicked out of the army for insubordination. You weren’t part of that massacre.”
“That’s not a lie. And I failed to stop it. I failed to help people who needed me.”
“It is a lie,” Sarah said, her voice rising slightly. “You made me think you’d done these horrible things and instead …” She hesitated. She tried to hide the annoyance on her face. “You’re the best man I know.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m just like any other man. I drink too much—”
“Stop it. I’m talking about the man in front of me today. The only other Jack Ellard I’ve known died on a battlefield twenty years ago. This one is better. I would very much like to get to know this Jack Ellard someday.”
Sarah reached around her neck and pulled off her pendant. She handed it to Jack. “Keep this for me, Jack. Keep it somewhere safe.”
Jack ran his fingers over the pendant. Sarah had attached her turquoise ring to the chain. His fingers traced the surface of the gemstone, and the emotions, warm and reassuring, were unfamiliar to his mind. “I’ll find you when this is all over,” Jack said.
“No, you won’t,” Sarah said with determination. “I will not be beholden to another man.”
“No one is asking you to—”
“Besides.” Sarah held up her hand. “I want that pendant back. So, after I find Abbie and we’re both okay, I’ll find you.” It wasn’t a question.
He smiled, his hands closing on the pendant. “Then, I guess I better hang on to it.”
Sarah dazzled them with a smile more genuine than he’d ever seen from her before. She turned her horse and clicked her heels, heading off to the west.
Remington nodded to Jack. “She’s right, you know. You’re a good man. I’ll definitely find you when I’m near Ste. Genevieve.” They shook hands, and Remington turned his horse and pounded down the slope after Sarah.
Jack took the pendant and went to put it around his neck, but hesitated.
“It may be good to wear something around your neck that doesn’t weigh you down,” Chata said. Jack still hesitated. “When you’re ready,” Chata added.
Jack squeezed the pendant in his hand as if to verify it was real. He nodded and put the gift in his pocket. “Are you coming to Ste. Genevieve? You’d be welcome.”
“My story is my own,” Chata said. “I do not like the pages I’ve written so far.”
Jack took off his hat and ran his forearm across his brow. “Maybe you’ll find a new chapter in Ste. Genevieve.”
Chata shrugged. “I’ve learned revenge is a profession I care nothing for.”
“How about doing some good?” Jack smiled. “Every town could use another good person.”
“Not everyone will be happy with my presence.” He smiled back at Jack with genuine warmth. “But I guess that would be true just about everywhere.” He nodded to himself. “I will travel to Ste. Genevieve with you, but I doubt my story has a long chapter in that town.”
“That’s fine,” Jack said. “But as long as I’m marshal, you�
��ll have a place there.”
They urged their horses forward at a trot. Jack directed his horse to the east, stopping atop a small rise. The Mississippi River lay further to the east, stretching north and south until fading from view. The roiling waters that had run backward now flowed in the normal direction, placid and serene, amidst the upheaval that dominated the countryside.
Chata joined him atop the rise. Jack spoke without turning. “It’s hard to believe this river ran backward yesterday.”
“And yet we both saw it,” Chata said. He gazed to the sky, his left hand shielding his face from the sun.
The comet flared white in the sky as it raced to some unknown destination in the heavens.
“I guess we’ll some have company on our trip,” Jack said softly. They watched the comet for a few moments before heading off at a canter to catch up to the wagon train.
About the Author
Robert Tomaino is a writer, editor and consultant. He has served as a Managing Editor for the National Organization for Rare Disorders and RareShare.org, and he was an assistant editor for the textbook, The Complete Directory for People with Rare Disorders, 1998-1999, published by Lippincott, Williams & Wilkins. When he breaks away from deciphering medical jargon, Robert writes fiction, from the fantastical to the urbane. He lives in Connecticut and is a member of the Fairfield Scribes.
New Madrid Page 16