by Deb Stover
Slowly, he brought the trembling fingers of one hand to the crucifix dangling around his neck, remembering Father Salazar's expression. With his fingertips, he traced the shape of the crucifix, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Was he here for a reason? His grandparents would've thought so, but despite this morning's miracle, Luke couldn't see himself playing a priest for the rest of his life.
A life that should've ended this morning.
Guilt slammed into him yet again. Yes, guilt was one part of Catholicism he'd learned very well. Father Salazar was dead because of those explosions. Because of Luke. If not for him, the old man wouldn't have been in that execution chamber in the first place.
And what about Sofie?
Luke jerked his eyes open and blinked several times, trying to focus. Sofie was in this mess with him, but she didn't even know it. Still, she'd be safe here in Redemption even after he left to begin his new life. After meeting more of the townspeople, Luke was convinced of that.
But what if she remembers?
A sinking sensation gripped him. So what if Sofie remembered Luke's true identity and the reason they'd been in that so-called cave this morning? What could she do about it? No one in this time had ever heard of Luke Nolan, or the terrible crime he was to have died for. No one.
Except Sofie.
Of course, no one would believe her if she claimed to have traveled back from the future with a condemned murderer. They'd all think she was crazy, and Luke would still be free. Free!
"Father, are you ready now?"
Luke drew a deep breath and stood, clutching Father Salazar's Bible in his hand. "Yes, I'm ready."
No, it wouldn't matter at all if Sofie regained her memory.
To anyone but him.
And he couldn't let it matter.
Sofie bent over a cot near the front of the building, her hands trembling and her throat contracting. Self-doubt attacked from all directions. Again.
She couldn't be a doctor.
The young patient looked up at her and smiled weakly. Her rash was covered with dry red scabs, and Dr. Wilson wanted Sofie to bathe the girl and check her progress. If all the child's spots were dry, they would consider her on the road to recovery.
Sofie prayed it was so.
"You're pretty. Who are you?" the child asked, her soft brown eyes wide and trusting.
"I'm Sofie, and I think you're pretty, too." She knelt beside the cot and brushed a strand of limp blond hair away from the girl's eyes. The spots looked threatening, though Sofie quickly reminded herself that she was immune.
"Dr. Wilson tells me your name is Jenny and that you're ten," Sofie continued, examining each of the girl's arms. "How do you feel?"
"Just tired, but better than before." A shudder rippled through Jenny's small frame. "I was very sick and my mama was taking care of me. Where is she?"
Sofie bit the inside of her cheek, praying the girl's mother wasn't one of the epidemic's victims. "I'm not sure, but I'll ask after you have your bath. Can you sit up by yourself?"
Nodding, Jenny pushed herself up on her elbows. "I'm dreadful tired of lying in bed."
"I can imagine." Sofie bathed the girl's face and shoulders, then removed her soiled gown and slipped a fresh one over her head. It was huge, obviously intended for an adult. "Dr. Wilson says you're almost well."
Jenny sighed as she laid back against the pillow, a telltale tremor in her lower lip. "Can you please ask someone about my mama?" She gathered a handful of the nightgown's soft fabric and brought it to her cheek. "This is Mama's gown, so she must be here."
Sofie swallowed hard, afraid. She didn't want to learn this child's mother was dead or dying. "Yes, you rest for a while and I'll go ask right now," she promised, filled with an unrelenting sense of dread.
She rose to go in search of Dr. Wilson, surprised when she turned around to find him standing a few feet behind her. From his solemn expression, she knew without asking that this child's mother was dead. Obviously, someone–probably Mrs. Fleming–had taken the mother's belongings and laundered them for Jenny's use.
She shook her head, hoping Dr. Wilson would tell her Jenny's mother was fine and would be along any minute to calm her child's fears, but Sofie knew better. Still, she'd promised to ask, so she bent down to retrieve the basin of dirty water and walked slowly toward the doctor.
"She's old enough to be told where her mother is," Sofie said without preamble.
She couldn't help but wonder about her own mother. Was she still alive? Was she wondering what had happened to her daughter right now? Would she worry? Was I close to my mother?
Past tense?
Stop. Think of Jenny.
Mrs. Fleming paused beside the pair and took the basin from Sofie's hands. Then the older woman turned to face the doctor, lifting her chin a notch to meet the physician's gaze.
"My Dora and I will raise this child, and we'll do it right. We understand little girls." Mrs. Fleming sniffled and blinked several times, glancing toward the cot where the girl had, thankfully, fallen asleep. "We'll tell Jenny about her mother as soon as Dora returns from...from Fanny's funeral." The older woman's face crumpled and a tear slid quickly down her wrinkled cheek.
Dr. Wilson reached out and touched Mrs. Fleming's shoulder. "You're an angel of mercy, Anna," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I don't know what we'd do without you and Miss Dora. But what about the boy?"
Oh, not another victim. Sofie watched Mrs. Fleming's expression change from pity to anger.
"No matter what we think, the law has already proclaimed that one's fate," the woman whispered, shaking her head.
"So it has." Dr. Wilson's words sounded clipped. Disapproving?
"She has a brother?" Sofie didn't understand any of this. "Is he here, too?"
"No." Mrs. Fleming drew a deep breath. "He's in jail. For now."
No additional information appeared forthcoming, and Sofie sensed any additional questions would be unwelcome. The boy in the jail. She remembered mention of a rope, though that still didn't seem possible.
But at least Jenny would have a home. Sofie tried not to think of the boy. Clearing her throat, she faced Mrs. Fleming. "Jenny asked me to find out about her mama. I think she suspects what's happened, so please don't wait too–"
The front door burst open and Ab staggered in, bearing the weight of a much larger man. Without hesitation, Dr. Wilson hurried toward the new arrival, slipped his arm around the taller man and dragged him toward a freshly made cot.
"My God, what happened?" the doctor asked.
Then Sofie saw the reason for his urgent tone. This patient showed no sign of smallpox, but his face, head and shoulder were horribly burned. Distorted and disfigured, the new patient barely resembled a man at all.
"Dunno," Ab said, stepping back. "He crawled into town on all fours, more dead than alive. Ain't pox, though. I couldn't very well turn him away, quarantine or no quarantine."
"No, of course not." The doctor immediately pulled away the injured man's tattered jacket and shirt, then looked back at Sofie. "We'll need clean bandages and cool water. Lots of it." Dr. Wilson paused for a moment to sigh. "Dear God, if he lives, he's going to wish like hell he hadn't."
Only incoherent groans came from the man's lips–rather, what was left of his lips. Sofie stared in horror at his charred flesh, possibly an earlobe. The stench of his burns stole her breath.
The lower part of his face and neck were practically gone, and only singed stubble covered his head. When he opened his eyes and looked her way, Sofie saw pain and rage unlike anything she'd ever seen. Covering her mouth, she recoiled and turned away, unable to gaze on the man's hideous injuries a moment longer.
I'm a doctor. She drew huge gulps of air until her trembling ceased and she no longer felt as if she would heave.
Mrs. Fleming returned from the back room with a basin of fresh water and placed it on the floor near the doctor. "Rags and bandages," she said, and hurried away.
Rememb
ering her duties, Sofie followed the older woman, eager for any excuse to escape the pain and dying for even a little while. Mrs. Fleming whirled around to face Sofie the moment the kitchen door closed behind them, her hands on her hips and her expression unreadable.
"Who are you?" she demanded, though not unkindly.
"I...I don't remember." Sofie watched Mrs. Fleming's gaze rake the length of her. "Why? What's wrong?"
"You say you're a doctor, but–"
"No, Father Salazar says I'm a doctor. I have no idea who or what I am." Sofie lifted her hair off the back of her neck and looked up at the ceiling, willing her tears not to come. "I don't remember medical school or even my last name, for that matter. Why? Have I done something wrong?" Had she already made a grievous medical error?
"Your clothes, your language, your mannerisms–how can you be a doctor? I believe doctors come from good families with proper upbringings." Disapproval showed clearly in Mrs. Fleming's eyes. "Ladies do not wear britches, Sofie, and they certainly do not wear their hair in a state of complete and utter chaos."
Confused, Sofie touched her hair, pulling a dark curl forward to examine it. She took a step back and looked down at her filthy jeans and green T-shirt. At Mrs. Fleming's insistence, her soiled white lab coat had been replaced earlier by a clean, ruffled apron. Strange, but even without her memory, Sofie knew ruffles weren't her thing.
"I just don't get it." She shook her head and shrugged. "I think you're the one who's dressed weird, Mrs. Fleming." She took a step toward the back of the kitchen, but paused to look over her shoulder at the woman's shocked expression. "No offense intended."
"Well, I never..."
Trying not to dwell on the woman's bewildering disapproval, Sofie gathered a stack of clean rags from the cupboard and walked toward the kitchen door. "Let me know when you're ready to talk to Jenny," she said. "I'd like to be there, since I promised her I'd ask about her mother."
Mrs. Fleming drew herself up to her full height and nodded, grudging respect showing in her faded eyes. "Please, forgive me for snapping at you so. Worry and exhaustion are my only excuses for such ill manners." She heaved a weary sigh. "You're an enigma, Sofie, but I do admire your...uh..."
"Sass?" Sofie arched a brow and gave Mrs. Fleming a crooked grin, though she felt more like crying.
The older woman smiled and nodded. "Perhaps."
"And I admire everything about you, Mrs. Fleming," Sofie said with complete sincerity, holding the door open for the older woman, "except your taste in clothes."
Mrs. Fleming shook her head and sighed. "I don't know who you are or where you came from," she said passionately, "but I'm glad you came to us, child. Very glad."
Warmth spread through Sofie as she followed the woman from the kitchen. She knew somehow that Mrs. Fleming's approval mattered to the citizens of Redemption, and to Dr. Wilson.
And, for some reason, it mattered to Sofie, too.
With a little more confidence than she'd felt earlier, Sofie returned to Dr. Wilson's side with the bandages. The burned man thrashed around on the cot until Ab managed to tie him down with leather straps.
"I hate to restrain you, but you're doing yourself more harm than good." Dr. Wilson's voice was soft as he spoke to his patient and washed away some of the mud caked on the side of his head. "All we can do is try to keep you comfortable and pray." Muttering, he added, "Dear God, I haven't seen burns like these since Vicksburg."
Sofie stared at the back of Dr. Wilson's white head, admiring his gentleness and dedication. Vicksburg? The vaguely familiar name reverberated around in her mind for several minutes. Something wasn't right. Who was she kidding? Nothing seemed right.
"You look tired," Mrs. Fleming said, touching Sofie's shoulder. "You've had a long day and taken quite a bump on the head, too. You'll do us and yourself more good tomorrow, after you've had some rest."
Sofie sighed and nodded. "Maybe after I sleep, I'll remember something. Anything." She rubbed her throbbing temples.
"There's a nice clean cot in the room off the kitchen, dear." The older woman nudged Sofie in that direction. "Sleep while you can, and I'll bring you some hot water for a bath and clean clothes in the morning."
A bath sounded like heaven. Sofie waited for Dr. Wilson's approval, but he was too busy with his new patient. "All right." She glanced toward Jenny, relieved to find the girl still sleeping quietly.
Sofie had been exhausted for what seemed like forever. All the urgency here in Redemption had kept her so busy since her arrival, her physical needs had taken a back seat until now. Suddenly, her body refused to be ignored another second. She'd eaten earlier, and now she had to sleep.
Her feet and legs were like lead weights as she trudged back through the kitchen and into the quiet room off the pantry. Rubbing the back of her stiff neck, she yawned and stretched, closing the narrow door behind her.
For the first time since she'd awakened this morning in the dark cave, Sofie was alone. Completely alone. She didn't even have herself for company, since she didn't know herself.
Tears of frustration stung her eyes as she leaned her head back against the door's cool surface and surveyed her surroundings. A kerosene lamp spilled soft, golden light onto the floor and ceiling, leaving the corners dark and unfriendly.
Across the room from the tall window, a narrow bed with a cheerful patchwork quilt beckoned to her. But as she pushed away from the door, something else seized her attention.
A mirror.
Light. She needed more light. With her right hand, she brushed the wall beside the door several times, sensing there should have been a switch there. She knew it, though she didn't know why she knew it. Her gaze drifted across the high ceiling, finding no source for additional light, even if she'd found a switch.
Frustrated, she retrieved the lamp from the nightstand and carried it to the low dresser beneath the mirror. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she turned up the wick until the golden light grew somewhat brighter.
Her mouth went dry as she lifted her chin to look into the mirror, fearing who she might find staring back from the silver surface. She gasped, seeing herself for the first time she could remember. The light sent her features into sharp relief, light and shadow contrasting harshly on the stranger's face.
Her face.
"How do you do, Sofie?" she whispered, reaching out to touch her reflection. Wild, dark curls framed her small face and fell to her shoulders in back. So that was what Mrs. Fleming had meant about Sofie's hair being in utter chaos.
Her ears were small and flat against her head, with a gold hoop in one lobe. "I lost an earring." She touched her naked lobe, then noted the purple bruise on that side of her head, spreading toward her eye. Gingerly, she probed her injury, realizing how lucky she was not to have lost something much more significant than an earring.
Like her life.
But in a way she had lost her life. At least the life she'd known before today.
She turned down the lamp and placed it back on the nightstand. The bed looked clean and inviting, but her clothes were too filthy to climb between the sheets.
The mere thought of sliding her exhausted body into bed made her shudder with longing. She'd have to sleep in her undies. After all, Mrs. Fleming had promised Sofie a bath and clean clothes in the morning.
She pulled off her soiled clothing and left it in a pile near the door. Again, she looked at the strange woman in the mirror. No bra, small breasts and white panties with red hearts.
Mrs. Fleming won't approve.
Too exhausted to ponder the possible ramifications of Mrs. Fleming choosing her wardrobe, Sofie left the lamp burning low and climbed beneath the quilt. The clean sheets felt wondrous against her bare skin, and the quilt offered welcome warmth.
"Dear God, what am I going to do?" she prayed.
Fear and misery had been painful.
Hiding happiness was pure hell.
After playing the role of priest for Fanny Judson's funeral, all Lu
ke wanted was to run through town, shouting to the world that he was free. No one was hunting him, and no one knew about his past.
But even in his state of shock-turned-ecstasy, Luke knew such a display of unadulterated happiness would be bad form in the midst of a smallpox epidemic and countless funerals. Very bad indeed.
Though he truly did feel for Zeke's loss and Fanny's death, Luke struggled to restrain himself. Darkness was nearly upon them by the time he bid Fanny's mourners good-bye and escaped their presence.
No one guarded him now, and no rifles demanded his continued cooperation. He could walk away from Redemption anytime he chose, but even more importantly, he didn't have to run or hide ever again.
The possibilities were endless. He could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted, and be anyone he wanted. Free, free, free!
Elated, confused and exhausted, he headed back toward the schoolhouse, wanting to check on Sofie. She alone held the power to tarnish his newfound happiness, but he still couldn't shake that nagging sense of responsibility.
Of course, if he disappeared by morning, it wouldn't matter how much Sofie ever remembered, because he'd be long gone and could even use a new name if he chose. No one would ever know.
He walked behind the schoolhouse and into a pine grove, inhaling the sweet air and looking up at the darkening sky. For the first time in eleven years, he could go anywhere he chose, whenever he wanted. Or not.
Simultaneous joy and terror rippled through him and the exhaustion he'd battled all day struck without warning. Staggering, he made his way to a fallen log and pulled Father Salazar's robe closer to his half-naked, burned skin.
"Free," he whispered, folding his arms across his chest and trying to concentrate through the fog of fatigue. That meant he had important decisions–real choices–to make.
Stay and help Sofie, satisfying his illogical notion that he was somehow responsible for her? Or leave Redemption, Sofie, and his memories of Father Salazar far behind to begin his life anew?
He could go to Denver, then catch a train somewhere. California, maybe?
An owl hooted overhead as darkness gathered. Stars blanketed the sky, appearing in magical clusters sprinkled across a bed of black velvet.