“Can’t blame her,” Rio said in a low voice. “Little girl’s kinda— delicate.”
Victorine was walking fast, but when she saw Con coming after her, she began to run.
He easily caught her, though, and grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me, you—you troglodyte!” Victorine hissed.
“Vic, listen—please listen just a minute.” Con let go of her arm, and she stayed still, even though she was poised for flight. “Look, Vic, this has hit me pretty hard. I always thought becoming a Christian meant putting on a suit and tie and going to church, but I see now that it’s more than that. When I gave my loyalty to the service, I thought there couldn’t be any higher loyalty, but I know now that there is and it’s to Christ. I still don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to do. Not yet.”
Victorine stared at him. She relented and relaxed a little.
With relief he went on, “One thing I do know is that we can’t ignore Cody and Benewah—and especially Zoan. They’re—they’re like some kind of prophets of old times. You know it, you must. You’ve been a Christian for a long time.”
Victorine’s head was bent, and her heavy hair, unbound, swung in front of her face. In a muffled, choking voice, she said, “Yes, but I can’t see that God truly intends to make Dancy some sort of a decoy for all of the evil forces in the world. The idea is absurd! Zoan is a half-wit, and Cody Bent Knife’s a crazy renegade Apache! How can you think that I’d let them tell me what’s best for my daughter?”
Con shifted restlessly. “I’m not trying to tell you that, Vic. I guess I’m saying that all of us have to let God tell us the right thing to do. Do you believe God’s telling you to take Dancy away from here?”
She didn’t look up. Her voice was very small. “No.”
Gently Con took her arm again and then pulled her close. He held her for a moment, and the scent of her fragrant hair came to him. “Can’t you trust God and then trust me? How could you think for a minute, after all we’ve been through, that I’d stand by and let anybody harm Dancy or you?”
He thought she was weeping, for her shoulders trembled slightly. “So you would fight? You would help me try to protect her?” she asked.
“Try? Why, ma’am, don’t you know I’m the biggest, baddest troglodyte in the West?”
She didn’t pull away from him. She turned slightly to rest her cheek on his chest. “This is no time for jokes, Con.”
“You called me a troglodyte.”
“I know. But I didn’t mean it. Just like I didn’t mean what I said about Zoan and Cody.” She pulled back slightly to look up at him. “I’m scared, Con.”
“We’re all scared.” Cupping her chin, he lifted her face and bent closer to her. “But, Vic, I want to tell you something. I’m going to say it plain because that’s the kind of man I am. I love you.
I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you—when you and Dancy were riding along on those dumb bicycles, laughing and talking. I thought you were the loveliest woman I’d ever seen.
I still think so. I’ve never loved anyone before. I never even thought I was in love before—until I saw you.”
Victorine stared up at him, her eyes wide. In the darkness it was difficult to read the niceties of expression. She seemed unable to speak.
He watched her but was unable to decipher her. At least she hadn’t tensed up or turned and run from him. He went on, “I had to tell you all this now because I want you to know that I’ll protect you and Dancy always. As long as I live, no harm will come to you. I promise.”
She held her head still as she looked at him, and as he met her glance, he saw the shadow and shape of fear come and go. He knew that he would always love this rich and headlong quality of a spirit sometimes hidden behind the cool reserve of her face.
Victorine saw the day’s growth of whiskers glittering like metal filings on his face, and she noted the breadth of his shoulders and the solid neck muscles. He was a strong man in many ways. With a sigh of relief, she nodded wordlessly, an acceptance of all he’d said, and all the promise it held.
For now, it was enough.
PART V
THE OLD PATHS
Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.
—JEREMIAH 6:16
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
—ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, ULYSSES
Ye sow in tears to reap in joy. Why fear ye the power of evil?
Above the earth, above Rome, above the walls of cities is
the Lord,
who has taken His dwelling within you.
—APOSTLE PETER, FROM QUO VADIS BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
TWENTY
AT FIRST HE COULD see it only as a shape so black that it made a dark ebony blot against the night. He was standing in the middle of a forest, but he did not know where the dark wood was or when the time was. A sharp, cold wind bit at him as he strained his ears for any sound that the creature—or man or whatever it was—made, but he heard nothing.
A quick thought detonated in the recesses of his mind: This is death. It’s come for me . . .
The wind purled around him, sighing with a hungry sound.
As the shape came closer, it loomed larger, but he couldn’t see clearly. The night surrounded him like a wall, caliginous, blacker than the interior of a tomb. The darkness was more than a lack of light; it was a solid thing, and he thought that if he reached out his hand to touch it, his hand would come back shriveled and smudged with it.
In front of him, but far off, he saw the shape, the movements. He stared at the shape, straining to make it out, and then swifter than light his mind suddenly received the images given through his eyes.
A huge wolf emerged from the darkness. The creature was lupine, but larger than any wolf, and the quality of the face was almost human. The eyes gleamed and glowed with a calescent heat until the pupils were yellow like iron on a blacksmith’s forge submitted to intense heat.
He tried to turn and run, but he couldn’t move—and he knew that he never would. His will and his flesh were disconnected, as if a cord had been cut between the two.
He saw the monster break into a run, moving toward him with a speed beyond anything in nature. The beast left the ground in a leap, and then the mouth seemed to grin. The yellow fangs, sharper than razors, opened—and he felt them as they tore away his throat and the blood incarnadined the face of the beast. His cry came in a bubbling scream as the life poured out of him.
Jesse Mitchell cried out in the darkness, threw his arms out, and sat upright in bed. For a moment he could not think; his mind was blinded with the force of the dream. It did not fade at once, as a normal dream might, but lingered. He had once, as a young man, looked too long at a welder’s blazing torch, and for several hours, no matter where he looked he could still see the bright orange dot of fire before his eyes. And so he knew that this dream would not fade as other dreams.
Noe, disturbed by the sound and by the wrenching of the form beside her, sat up and reached out to grab Jesse. “What is it?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Noe. Just—just a bad dream.”
Noe sat up straighter and brushed the sleep away from her eyes. “The same dream?”
“It’s always the same.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Jesse said, but he was not entirely honest. He knew that the nightmare had more reality than most dreams. He believed strongly in dreams: God often gave them to men, and when He did, they had a meaning; they were put into the mind for a reason. It was one way of God’s speaking.
Although Jesse believed the nightmare had a mea
ning, he was certain that the dream did not come from the Lord God. The stench of evil was on it. He drew himself up and crossed his arms across his chest, then shivered lightly.
“Was it that wolf again?” Noe whispered.
“Exactly the same. It’s always the same, and I wake up just as he’s pulling the life out of me.”
Noe sat silently, and the two older people did not move. Outside the light was gathering, and dawn was almost upon the earth. Finally Jesse sighed deeply, then threw the covers back. “I’ll build a fire. You stay in bed until it gets warm, Noe.”
“Let me get up and fix your breakfast.”
“Just wait until it gets warm.”
Rising from the bed, Jesse pulled on a pair of itchy wool breeches that Xanthe had scrounged up, a red plaid shirt, and his beloved beat-up moccasins. They were so old and soft, they were like wearing thick comfortable socks. Jesse smiled a little as he remembered the old Apache woman who had made them for him. She’d been a godly woman, and she had died with the plague. But she’d had joy in her heart and praise on her lips.
He padded into the kitchen-living room and lit the lamp. Grumbling a little to himself, he went to the cookstove. Opening the door to the firebox, he took the poker and raked away the white ash. Jesse knew exactly how to leave a fire at night so that the next morning he would not have to go to all the trouble of starting one. Uncovering the glowing cherry-colored coals, he reached into the woodbox and pulled out several pine knots rich with sap. He threw them on the coals, and at once they burst into flame. Quickly he added splinters of pine, nursing it until a fire blazed, crackling and popping. He laid several small sticks of oak, forming a pyramid so that the draft would carry the flames through them, then he shut the door and stood up a little stiffly. He felt the cold more every winter.
Moving over to the table, he pulled the worn black Bible forward. It lay open to Job, and he thought that was as good a place as any to start his studies.
The crackling of the wood in the stove sounded like miniature rifle fire. Outside the morning wind was dragging the limbs of the ancient apple tree across the roof of the house. It sounded almost like fingers scratching, like a beast seeking entrance. With the whisper of the wind, it seemed to urge, Let me in . . . let me in . . .
Shaking his thin shoulders, Jesse forced his eyes to follow the print. He whispered the words aloud, but for the first time in many years he found that the words of the Scripture were meaningless.
This frightened him more than the wind’s song, even more than his nightmare. He closed his eyes, put his hand over the pages of the Bible, and sat still, quieting his mind. He did not pray in words, but his spirit reached upward beyond the fragile roof of the small cabin, beyond the clouds and stars and out into the vast reaches of space. Jesse had no idea of finding God in a particular location, but he had always found Him by simply waiting. Often he had advised others, Don’t work so hard to get God’s attention. He’s been trying to get yours all your life. Just sit and let your mind reach out for Him. He’ll pull those thoughts right back into your heart . . .
As he sat with his eyes closed, growing calmer, he was startled when a furry form flung itself into his lap. Jesse jumped, then smiled to see Mannie digging his claws into the fabric of his trousers. “Hello, you old tomcat,” he murmured affectionately.
“Seems like you like these breeches better than I do. They’re itchy, aren’t they?”
He had grown fond of the animal and had learned that Mannie, like all cats, had a unique personality. Mannie was gentle and good-natured, never fussy, not even when Kyle pulled him in his wagon, smushed in with Benny the Bear, or carried him like a sack of flour. Many people who did not know cats thought that they were all alike, but they were vastly mistaken. Jesse and Noe had always kept cats, and Jesse had been very glad to have this fellow traveler along life’s way.
Mannie looked up into the old man’s eyes, his purr like a miniature jet engine. It seemed to shake his whole body and was so loud that Jesse could sometimes hear it even when Mannie was sleeping by the fire while he himself was in bed. Its sound always gave Jesse a sense of comfort, of well-being. He murmured, “I wish I didn’t have any more problems than you have, Mannie.”
Suddenly Mannie reared and stood up on Jesse’s lap. The claws dug into his chest, and Mannie arched his head forward until his nose touched Jesse’s chin. He moved his head around, the golden eyes glowing as if there were a light behind them. He seemed to be seeking something, and Jesse sat very still.
“If you’re looking to see what’s inside my head and my heart, Mannie,” he said and ran his fingers down the cat’s backbone to the funny hollow in his rump where his tail should have been, “then you let me know what you find. I’m not sure myself sometimes.”
“That cat certainly makes himself at home.” Noe had entered the room, fastening the belt of a faded chenille robe. She came to sit beside Jesse. “You and that cat are partners.”
“Can think of worse ones. Fool cat follows me around like he’s a dog I’m walking.”
“I think he’s walking you, Jess.” Affectionately Noe scratched Mannie’s ears. “Now tell me again about this nightmare.”
She listened carefully as Jesse described the dream. Then she said, “It’s always the same.”
“It’s got a meaning. The Lord just hasn’t given me the answer to it yet.”
“He will, Jesse. He always does.”
“I know it, but sometimes I get a little impatient.”
“You always did want to run ahead of God.”
“I know. It’s the only fault I ever had, isn’t it?” He took her hand and squeezed it and saw her smile.
“I could think of two or three more if you pressed me a little,” she teased. “All right, Brother Mitchell, time for me to fix your breakfast. I know what you’re going to do.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You’re going out and walk in the woods and find a place and wait for God.”
“How’d you know that?”
Noe sniffed disdainfully. “I know more than you think, Jesse.”
“I guess you do. ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favor of the LORD.’ I always loved that verse. Soon as I read it, I knew God favored married men. That’s why I came up and proposed to you that morning. I just couldn’t stand not to be favored.”
“That wasn’t what you said to me.”
Jesse shook his head. “Guess I’ve forgotten.”
“No, you haven’t. You never forget anything.”
With economical, efficient motions of one who has practiced half a century and more, Noe fixed a breakfast of pork sausage, grits, and sawmill gravy. She warmed up biscuits, put two of them on a plate, and set them down, saying, “Eat all you can. You haven’t been looking well lately.”
Jesse ate half of what was on his plate, then pushed it away. “Just not very hungry, wife. Put it in the oven. I’ll eat when I come back.”
Noe did not answer but got his heavy black Ty-wool coat. It was a commissar’s overcoat. She and Jesse were always amused at the paramilitary garb that Xanthe brought them. She helped him into it and handed him his gloves and a bright red toboggan cap that she hated. “This is an awful-looking cap, but it’ll keep your ears warm.”
He reached out and put his arms around her, kissed her cheek, and then left without another word.
As he stepped outside, he saw that a light snow had covered the ground. But Jesse paid it no heed, for his heart was already beginning to be heavy, and his eyes were looking beyond his surroundings. Leaving the clearing, he entered the woods, following the old path that led deeper and deeper into the pine forest.
The cold seeped into the small cabin that David and Riley had fixed up for themselves. It was only two hundred yards from a larger place where Merrill and Genevieve had settled in. Allegra and Kyle’s cabin, a nice, snug two-bedroom, was another quarter of a mile away.
David rose at dawn and built up t
he fire exactly as Jesse did, as his grandfather had taught David when he was a little boy. As soon as the blaze was high, he put a saucepan of water on. When it began to bubble, he poured it into a chipped blue enamel basin. There was no shaving cream, so he took a bar of Lifebuoy and worked up a lather of sorts. He’d always disliked the carbolic smell of Lifebuoy, but it was all that was available. The blades from his safety razor were all used up, and the only remaining one was dull. Peering into a small mirror fastened to the wall, he pulled the blade down through his whiskers. It made a raspy sound and pulled at his skin until tears came to his eyes.
“What are you prettying yourself up for, Mitchell?”
David turned to see Riley, who had swung his feet over and was sitting on his cot. As always, when Riley woke up, it was instantaneous. There was no blinking or yawning or grogginess. One moment he was asleep, and the next moment, just like a cat, he was fully awake. Riley seemed impervious to cold, wearing only an undershirt and a pair of shorts. His arms were strong, and there were two humps of muscle where his neck joined his shoulders. He was a muscular man, and his hands were hard and rough and work worn. David idly wondered at how little he knew of Riley Case.
“Some Cy-star might drop by,” David replied, grinning boyishly. He drew the razor down the other cheek and then under his throat, grimacing, as Riley dressed. He had just finished rinsing his face when Riley said abruptly, “Someone’s coming.”
Both men grabbed their guns and stepped outside, alert and ready. “It’s Grandma,” David said with relief.
It was nearly a mile to the Mitchells’ cabin, and as she slowly climbed the two steps up to the front porch, David asked, “Anything wrong, Grandma?”
“Nothing except I’m cold and grumpy,” Noe replied.
“You’re never grumpy, Grandma,” David said. “Good thing, too, or Grandpa might trade you in for a giggling young girl.”
“Yes, I worry about that all the time,” she said. Her cheeks were pink, and her brown eyes sparkled like a clever little bird’s.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 30