“I surprised a young man with a bayonet as I tried to find Barton. We fought and he wounded me. When the shooting starts, you can hardly think with all the screaming and crying, smoke, and gun blasts. Men running here and there, dirt marring their uniforms. Blood everywhere.” Remembering, he had to stop, collect his thoughts.
She reached over and grasped his arm. “Wait! You mean one of our own Union soldiers tried to kill you?”
“He was little more than a boy himself.”
“Oh, Blake! That’s terrible! I’m so sorry.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
He gave a curt nod and began walking slowly. “After seeing so many dead soldiers, all I could think about was my brother. I needed to find him. Protect him if I could. In shock, and covered in my own blood, I struggled through a hedge of brambles and arrived just as he took a bullet in the chest. I would’ve died there by his side, but Moses came upon me. I was as still as a corpse. The battle had been over for hours, and everyone was gone. Moses had been thrown into a gully by an explosion and knocked out. He was eighteen, wore a ragged, blood-splattered uniform like my brother’s, and was missing a boot. Disoriented and in pain from a gunshot wound in his arm, he plucked me off Barton’s cold body and carried me like a baby until he found a deserted barn. Somehow, he cleaned me up, stitched my wound with a small sewing kit he carried, and cared for me for several days, maybe a week. He was sick with fever himself. Those days are difficult for me to remember. He told me later that he went looking for Barton’s body, but by then it was gone, and most of the other dead soldiers’ bodies had been collected too.”
Belle had her handkerchief out and was wiping her tears. Blake had no more tears to shed. They passed Mrs. Gonzales, the Mexican woman who’d told him about the peddler’s wagon, hard at work at her fire. She watched them with curiosity.
“What happened then?” Belle struggled to say.
“I got better, and Moses had to return to his unit. Since I was an orphan, he did my bidding by putting me on a westbound train, away from the fighting, and wished me luck. I told him I was going to ride until I got to Colorado. Barton always talked about the Rocky Mountains and how one day we would make our way west. Live in Colorado.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I was weak. I stayed huddled in that train car with a handful of other bums until hunger forced me off—but I was in Colorado. Weeks came and went in a haze of hunger and fever. It’s amazing I lived. Everyone I came upon was repulsed by the half-healed wound, still oozing pus in some places. When I could, I hitched rides farther west. I don’t know how long after that I stumbled onto your ranch. The rest you know.”
She cried into her handkerchief, her tears flowing freely. “I’m so, so sorry. To witness what you did, and be injured, and almost die is unthinkable. I can’t even comprehend how much you must have suffered.” She stopped to blow her nose.
People were looking, but he didn’t care.
“I want you to know that the ranch is yours, Blake,” she said, her tone filled with emotion. New tears bathed her face she’d just dried. “It’s your ranch more than it’s ours. Always remember that.” She turned into his chest. He put his arms around her, holding her tight, letting her cry for several minutes. He hadn’t meant to cause her such distress.
Struggling for breath, she looked up into his eyes. “B-but how did Moses find you after the war? It must have been years later.”
“It was.” He slipped the hankie from her quivering fingers and got to dabbing at her tears, which never seemed to stop. “That time in the barn, when I was hanging on to life and he was struggling too, he’d talk to fill the hours. He’d been a slave, but ran away and joined up to fight. He’d mentioned a town where his aunt lived, and where he intended to go after the war, if he survived. It was strange, but about ten years later, in a dream, I remembered the name of the town in South Carolina he’d spoken of. Your father helped me find him. By then, his only living relative had been dead for several years, so he jumped at the chance to start over.”
She took the linen square from his hand and gave him what he was sure she thought was a very serious stare. “S-such a story. I don’t know how you’ve kept that inside.” More tears streamed down. “The Five Sisters is your home, Blake Harding. Don’t ever think different. And don’t you ever leave.”
He was touched by how Belle kept repeating that mantra, so he’d not feel excluded. But will I ever really be part of the family? Belle is going back to Philadelphia to marry Lesley Atkins. Blake didn’t have any hold on her. Maybe Mavis or Lavinia would remain in Eden, he supposed, or perhaps all the rest of them. But Eden wouldn’t be the same without Belle. He knew he’d better get used to that fact. With all the excitement ahead, there was going to be heartache too. And to that he was no stranger.
In the living quarters in the rear of the cantina, Santiago watched his father pull out a chair from the table and slowly lower his body into the seat. He looked old and decrepit, even though he was only forty-seven. His eyes weren’t red from drinking. Today was Demetrio’s birthday. What would turning twenty-seven in prison feel like while still facing ten more years? Santiago couldn’t imagine. No words could cheer his father.
“Can I get you anything, Father? A cup of tea or breakfast from Mrs. Gonzales?”
“Gracias, my son, but no. I just want to be left alone.”
Nodding, Santiago grasped the money pouch with its few coins of change and headed into the cantina, the scents of stale beer and whiskey still strong on the air. Chairs stood on top of tables. Their bartender had taken one chair down and sat at a table, drinking coffee while waiting for the bar to open. Santiago placed the money in a small strongbox, then picked up the broom. Is this all I have to expect from life? This cantina, this town, this emptiness? Feeling caged, he headed for the porch. He understood completely why Demetrio had run off in search of more.
“Santiago, my friend.” Padre Francisco stood at the bottom of the steps.
“Padre,” he replied respectfully, thinking back to the man’s observant gaze the day Santiago had passed the message to the rider.
“A word?”
Santiago leaned the broom against the handrail and took the steps down. Padre Francisco smiled up into his face. The man never seemed to age. He always spoke in the same peaceful tone and never lost his patience—no matter what kind of mischief Santiago found himself in.
“What’s on your mind, Padre?”
“I find myself thinking about you much these days. Whenever that happens, more often than not, something is amiss.”
That was his way of saying, “Give up the goose. I saw you take it, break it, or start it.” He was good at getting a confession without asking any questions at all.
“No, Padre. No trouble. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Padre Francisco studied him for so long that Santiago began to fidget.
“No? Well, good. I’m glad to hear that. How’s your father? Today’s Demetrio’s birthday. I’m sure he’s in need of a cheerful word.”
“True. He’s inside if you want to visit.”
The priest gave a nod and then lifted his gaze one more time to Santiago’s. He’d clearly seen the rider and somehow knew of the interaction. Santiago could fool himself all he wanted, but he knew he was going to spill his guts sooner or later.
“It’s not what you think.”
Padre Francisco pursed his lips. “I hope not. I know how much Demetrio means to you—to all of us. You can do nothing to help him now, except pray. He needs to walk a straight line. He is the only one who can help himself.”
“I sent him a few things to make his life easier. A blanket, chocolate bars, a box of cigars. Things like that.”
“No file, explosives, or weapons?”
Santiago shook his head, though the padre wasn’t far from the truth about where his intentions had started. He’d arranged for a pack of mule freighters passing through to sell him dynamite so Demetrio could blow his way out and ride for California. But his good
sense had returned, and he’d left it buried beneath the old barn. Instead, he’d sent a box filled with the exact things he’d just told the padre about.
“I’m happy to hear that. I know how much you desire to have Demetrio home.”
“Not home. Just out of prison. He could never be happy here now.”
A buggy approached. Four of the Brinkman sisters waved as they passed, the driver keeping the horse at a trot. The carriage turned at the rocks by the icehouse and crossed the bridge. They were on their way to the mill.
“A breath of springtime,” the priest mumbled, still watching the buggy. “Let me know how I can be of assistance if you find yourself in need.”
That was his way of saying, “Let me help you stay out of trouble.” With that, the padre climbed the stairs to go in search of Santiago’s father.
“This is quite impressive.” Katie followed the lumberyard manager around the large steam-powered saws and equipment. Belle, with her other sisters and Blake, trailed at a respectable distance to give Katie a chance to affirm her place in the company.
When she and Blake had arrived, all four sisters had gaped at her red eyes and runny nose but kept their questions to themselves.
Katie glanced at them over her shoulder and then looked back at the manager, a twinkle in her eye. “It’s much more advanced than I’d thought. I expected a waterwheel turning slowly down at the river’s edge.”
The river ran fast along an extended beach of white sand. Towering trees gave shade, and yet the sunshine that did get through the seemingly impenetrable leaves sparkled on the blue water like diamonds. A few logs were anchored to the shore by thick ropes.
What a beautiful spot to spend the day, Belle thought. And a dangerous business to be in.
“That’s how we began, Miss Brinkman,” the manager replied. “But your father liked to keep up with the times. He was always around, asking questions about how we could be more efficient and make more money and such.”
“I can see that.”
Blake leaned close and whispered into Belle’s ear, “Katie seems quite interested. I’m surprised.”
Belle couldn’t get Blake’s story out of her mind. Not only had he sustained a life-threatening wound, but he’d lost his only brother. Thinking of losing a single one of her sisters made her lose her breath. How did he survive? And at such a tender age. Her heart shuddered when she thought of him stumbling around each night, looking for food and shelter. She looked up into his eyes, and her heart melted.
“She really does,” she whispered back, trying to hide her sentimentality. “I’m a bit surprised myself. I’m glad, though. She needs something to take her mind off her fears.” She brushed away a layer of fine dust particles that had covered her chin. “The air is gritty, but I like the scent of the plentiful pine shavings. Much nicer than the tannery.”
Blake laughed. Mavis, Lavinia, and Emma, who were admiring some newly milled boards stacked several feet high, turned to see what had transpired. They smiled and then looked away. Katie and the manager moved out of the pole building and headed for a small cabin that displayed a sign designating it as the office. The mountains loomed in the background, bringing a sense of peace to Belle’s soul.
The Rocky Mountains that Blake’s brother, Barton, had wanted to see. Is he up there now, watching over Blake?
“What do you think, Belle? Could you be a lumber baroness?” His eyes were filled with questions that looked to have nothing to do with the conversation at hand.
“Better than I can be a tannery baroness. I don’t know what to do with that place. Was Mr. Little the owner before it passed to Father?”
“Indeed. He had a son who worked with him. He would be there now, but he was killed a few years ago by a band of out—” He snapped his mouth closed.
“You don’t have to mince words with me, Blake. I already know the dangers. Anyplace in the world can be perilous. I could be run over by a wagon in Philadelphia just as easily as I could here. There’re no guarantees in life.”
He regarded her so long she felt her cheeks grow warm.
“True enough. After Mr. Little’s son was gone, business fell off because inventory was so low. Mr. Little was starving, but didn’t say anything to anyone. John went in one day, added two and two together, and made the man a handsome offer—”
KABOOM!
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
At the thundering blast, Mavis, Emma, and Lavinia screamed. The ground under Belle’s feet trembled. The buggy that had stood empty at the turnaround in front of the lumber office careened away as the horses bolted in fright. Belle jerked around to look at Eden.
“What the devil!” Blake shouted, and then grasped Mavis’s arm. “Stay here with the lumber manager. Tell him to keep his eyes open.”
He turned and sprinted away—not toward the road that led to the bridge, but into the trees on the far side of the clearing. Belle grasped the front of her skirt and followed, ignoring Mavis’s demands that she stop.
Keeping up with Blake wasn’t possible. Soon he was out of sight, but she could hear his footsteps pounding on ahead. “Blake, wait!” she called, fear over what could have happened pushing her onward.
At the edge of the river, she skidded to a halt. A bouncing rope bridge spanned the width of the rushing water, and Blake was already almost across.
“Blake!”
He turned. “Go back!” he shouted, jabbing a finger in the direction they’d come. “Stay at the sawmill until I know what we’re dealing with!” The next moment, he was gone.
The bridge swung back and forth. Two thick upper ropes, which acted as handrails, extended the width of the river and were anchored to a large oak. Two lower ropes held wooden slats placed about a foot apart. By the looks of it, the wobbly thing had been here a hundred years. Her mouth went dry. She’d never been keen on heights. Five rotting steps led up to the platform, which would put her about ten feet above the rushing rapids.
Henry is over there! Karen and Mr. Little. Sheriff Dawson and the rest of Eden. Blake now too.
The blast had sounded deadly. She didn’t have time to be frightened.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself up the steps before she could think differently. Every cell in her body sprang to life. Clutching both sides of the prickly ropes, she tried the first slat with the toe of her shoe and then added a little weight. The board dipped dramatically and then swayed to the side. Her heart pitched forward as she jumped back to safety.
She glanced back the way she’d come. Should she return and use the other bridge, by the icehouse? That would take too long.
A rustle of wind through the leaves sounded like a man’s whisper.
I love you. You’re mine. Take a deep breath and go. Don’t look down.
Unwilling to analyze what she’d just heard, she gripped the ropes loosely beneath her palms and directed her feet to step one after the other. When the bridge swayed, she set her weight in the other direction. Her skirt tangled, jerking her to a stop. With one shaking hand, she worked herself loose. Several times she gasped at the deep bounce, and another time her foot slipped on the slick wood. A cold mist sprang up, wetting her face and hands. If she fell into the river now, there would be no swimming out. In the middle she paused, breathing through her nose to calm her light-headedness.
KABOOM!
Another blast? What on earth was happening in Eden? She sucked in a deep breath and surged forward, counting the steps to the other side. Landing on the platform with a rush of joy, she bolted down the stairs. Emerging through the trees, she realized she was behind a smattering of small houses; one had been pointed out to her as the sheriff’s. Kitty-corner was the tannery. There was not a soul in sight, and one side of the structure was now totally blown away. Thank God Banjo is nowhere to be seen. Where’s Blake? And the rest of the town? Did the first blast happen in a different location? Fear for Mr. Little propelled her forward.
“Mr. Little!” she called, entering through the blown-away
wall. “Marvin, where are you?” Boards and hides were strewn about. Smoke blocked her sight as she searched the room, stepping over a pail, a chair, broken glass. Finally, she spotted two legs extending from under a pile of boards. “Mr. Little,” she cried, grasping the boards and pulling them off the groggy man.
“What happened?” he sputtered weakly, a large gash in his head bleeding profusely. His eyes blinked a few times and then closed.
She didn’t know what to do. No one had arrived to help. She had nothing to stop the bleeding. “I’m going for bandages at the doctor’s office!” His pallor had gone from bad to worse in just moments. She placed his hand over the cut. “Press down hard. I’ll be right back.”
Dashing through the room, Belle exited the back door and ran across the alley. Relieved the doctor’s back door was unlocked, she rushed inside. She glanced about. Finding the infirmary, she grasped a bottle of iodine and a stack of clean dressings. She was almost to the door when she heard a scrape in the next room. The doctor? Is it possible he’s here? She whirled and opened the door.
Dr. Dodge looked up from his position on his knees, reaching through a hatch in the floor. He scrambled to his feet. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded.
“Didn’t you hear the blasts?” she screeched. “Mr. Little is badly hurt. He’s bleeding, and I’m afraid he might . . .”
Her words trailed away. Two sticks of what looked like dynamite were visible beneath the floorboards. Fear flooded her mind, and she inched back the way she’d come.
“Get back here!” He lunged forward, grasping her arm. She’d never heard him so angry. “You should have taken the payout and gone home!” His strangled tone sent a shiver down her spine. Eyes filled with confusion glared into hers. “No one was supposed to get hurt. You could have made this so easy, but you didn’t! You’re responsible!”
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