Prophet's Pass

by Chapman Brown

  Sariah looked like she’d cried a little. Maybe it was just the cold. “I hate seeing them go,” she said as Orson held her close. She saw Aiden and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Aiden said, feeling like he was intruding.

  “I hope they’re going to be okay on the road. It’s really come down out there.”

  “That’s why it’s best they go now,” Orson said. “They’ll be back at Christmas.”

  “I know. Stephanie, how are you? You look uncomfortable.”

  The eldest Jensen daughter sat heavily at one of the kitchen chairs, bracing her back. “Not good,” she said, with gritted teeth.

  “Still your back?”

  “I must’ve slept weird.”

  “She was tossing and turning,” Tim confirmed, which was about the only time Aiden ever remembered him saying anything.

  Sariah made a sympathetic noise. “Go lie in the den. I’ll bring you a hot water bottle. What’re you doing today, Orson?”

  “Thought I’d go down to the canyon with Hunter. Show him what’s changed since last time. Aiden, you should come. We can sit down together again after lunch.”

  Aiden looked between Orson and his son, who was staring daggers at him. It didn’t seem like he was welcome. “Thanks,” he said, “but I still have some notes to type up from yesterday.”

  “I insist. The canyon in the snow’s something to see.”

  “Uh… sure.” Fuck it, he’d tried. He didn’t make eye contact with Hunter again.

  Sariah insisted on giving Aiden one of Brayden’s old coats and some boots to replace his city-dweller sneakers. By the time he crunched out into the yard, Hunter and Orson were already in Orson’s old truck. It was a self-consciously battered vehicle for a rich man. The back seat smelled of old leather and dust as Aiden climbed in. Orson was driving, Hunter tense and silent in the front seat.

  “Ready?” Orson asked, oblivious to the fact that the mood in the cab was now as chilly as the weather.

  “Let’s go,” Aiden said, wondering how he’d got himself into this situation. With a crunching of gears, they set off, bouncing down the same track Aiden had driven in on. Orson hooked a left at the bottom, though, and soon they were rolling past deep forest, the pine trees so thick that the snow had only reached the ground in scattered clumps. They passed the occasional glimpse of another property, and Orson would say something or other to update Hunter on the status of the occupants. Had a baby. Got married. Moved away. Died. Hunter rarely responded with more than a grunt or a “huh.” Aiden wondered if he was always like this or whether it was just Aiden’s presence. He was making Hunter miserable every second he stayed here. He was surprised that it stung at him.

  The hill bottomed out eventually, and Aiden saw they’d driven down into the canyon. He couldn’t shake the sense of the extraterrestrial as he looked at the tall sandstone cliffs dusted with white. The sheer rock faces didn’t gather much snow, but it had fallen in great drifts over the scree at their feet, planting each cliff in a great white dune. Farther out, the ground became flat and pebbly, the ice-covered Virgin River snaking its way along. It was little more than a stream, broken and bisected by gravel banks and islands. Scrubby trees, wrapped in white, poked from the river bed. It was hard to believe that shallow trickle of water had carved all this.

  “You do much driving, Aiden?”

  Aiden turned away from the window to Orson in the front. He was looking at him in the rearview mirror, and Aiden sensed some kind of test.

  “I don’t. I don’t have a car even.”

  “Guess you can do that in the city. Biggest thing I missed when I was governor was driving my own car. This is the Canyon Drive. Goes all the way through.” An RV rolled by them in the opposite direction, and Orson raised his hand in neighborly greeting. Aiden wondered if the occupants caught a proper glimpse of who was passing them. “They built it about a hundred years ago. Before that, it was all horseback. In the summer we get so many visitors cars aren’t allowed. They run them through on buses.”

  It was hard to imagine that now. Aside from the RV receding in the distance, they hadn’t passed another soul. Apart from the occasional road sign and the asphalt under their wheels, it would be easy to imagine there were no humans here at all. The red rock looked down on them, just as it had on the Native Americans and the Mormon forbearers. Aiden could see why this landscape turned them to the Bible, why they gave it names like Zion and Angels Landing and Great White Throne. The ancient majesty of it all, it made you seem small.

  Hunter interrupted. “Hey, Dad. See that?” He pointed to something off the road. “Pull over.” Aiden peered where he’d pointed but didn’t see anything in the scrub.

  “Where?” Orson asked as he brought the truck to a stop.

  “There, by the fence. Looks like a bighorn.”

  They both looked that way. “I think so,” Orson said. “He moving?” Aiden felt inferior for his inability to see anything at all.

  “Maybe. Better check.” Hunter got out and crunched round to the tailgate. He opened it up, and Aiden saw him pulling out something long and cylindrical. He realized it was a rifle. Orson looked back over the driver’s seat. “Big ram out there, caught in the fence.”

  “I don’t see it,” Aiden admitted.

  “He’s white.” He pointed to a low string of barbed wire down between the river and the icy boulders, and this time Aiden did see something: a sort of pale, matted mass hanging from the wire. God only knew how Hunter had seen it, but then pilots had good eyesight. Orson opened his door and got out, which Aiden guessed was his cue to follow. The air was bitterly cold, and the roadway was slippery underfoot. Hunter was already gingerly climbing down the loose rocks and ice to the riverbed.

  “I can’t make it down there with my knee. You go look,” Orson said. Aiden wasn’t sure he wanted to if they were just going to blow the poor thing’s head off, but refusing didn’t seem very manly.

  “Sure,” he said instead and tried to step in Hunter’s footsteps down the slope. Hunter waited for him impatiently.

  “Careful,” he advised, somewhat unnecessarily. Aiden had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was going to fall on his ass, and his feet rushed to oblige. Just as he reached the bottom, he felt his heel slip out from under him, and he would’ve fallen backward if Hunter hadn’t reached out and grabbed his hand. His grip was strong and cold. He pulled him level.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Aiden said, holding his blue gaze. For a moment, their bodies were connected. Aiden felt the insistent beat of his pulse beneath Hunter’s strong, rough fingers. Hunter seemed to feel it as well because suddenly he grunted and dropped Aiden’s hand. He waved up to Orson to show they’d made it and started walking forward along the clattering pebbles.

  Aiden trailed after him. “You, uh, like sheep?”

  “Huh?”

  “Saving the sheep.”

  “Can’t leave an animal in distress,” Hunter said.

  “Right.”

  “He’ll freeze to death or starve. Or a coyote or a mountain lion comes along and eats him alive.” He gave Aiden a flat, skeptical look. “It’s not a nice way to go.”

  “Guess not,” Aiden said, keeping a careful eye on his feet in case he slipped again. They crunched along in uncompanionable silence. He read the tension of Hunter’s arm, watching the careful, practiced way he stepped between the iciest patches of the ground, the rifle slung adeptly over his shoulder. First time he tried to talk to him, they’d been on a cliff, and second time he had a gun. You really pick your moments.

  “Back at the house. I didn’t mean to bring myself along. Your dad—”

  “I know.”

  “I meant what I said about not causing any trouble for you. I—”

  Hunter held up his hand. “Ssh.” They were about twenty feet from the fence now, and Aiden could see the matted mass was really the winter coat of a large ram, fouled in the fence by his long, curved horns, and half
-buried in snow. The creature’s head and legs hung limply. Hunter crouched and raised the rifle. He aimed, still and angled as a toy soldier. Aiden steeled himself for the shot, but at that moment, the ram shivered back into life, thrashing itself against the wire, kicking up snow and dirt. It raised its black head to the sky and bleated, steam rising from its mouth. It collapsed again, snorting.

  Hunter lowered the rifle. “Still alive.”

  “Can we get it out?” Aiden asked.

  He paused to consider the question. “It’d be easier to shoot it.”

  Aiden could see its eyes, rectangular pupils watching them in an iris of yellow. As if sensing his gaze, the ram kicked out again, but found no purchase. It wasn’t much of a way to go, trussed up in a fence with some dumb humans gawking at you. Aiden felt a surge of guilt. “Let’s get it out.”

  Hunter studied him skeptically. “You’ll have to grab it,” he said, like he thought Aiden couldn’t.

  “I can do it.”

  “You sure?”

  “I can do it,” Aiden said more forcefully.

  “Okay,” Hunter said. “Go around the side. Watch out for his legs. He’ll kick you.”

  Aiden did as he was told, circling round to the other side of the fence. As he got nearer, he saw this wasn’t some petting zoo sheep. This was a big, bulky, mountain animal. The bighorn snorted as he approached, moisture and steam rising from its fluttering nostrils, and Aiden was suddenly aware how large and sharp those horns were.

  “When I say, I want you to grab it,” Hunter instructed.

  “Grab it where?” Aiden asked. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “Grab the horn on your side, and twist toward me. I’m going to pull its head out and under, okay? He’s not going to like it. Watch your feet when he bolts. Put your knee in his side, like this.” Hunter shrugged off his denim jacket and wrapped it around his hand. “I’m going to lift the wire up off him. Don’t let him push you into it.”

  Aiden was distracted by the way Hunter’s T-shirt bunched around his exposed arms. Fortunately their friend let out an angry bleat to remind him of the task at hand. Hunter was crouching, half his body pinning the animal. Aiden tried to move as he’d shown him, but the fleece was slippery with snow and oil.

  “That’s it. Take the horn. There at the base.”

  “Okay,” Aiden said. The bone was rough and dry, and he was able to get a good grip on it. He could feel the ram’s shuddering, frightened heartbeat, the heat of its flanks below his leg.

  “On three,” Hunter said. Aiden nodded. “One… two… three!”

  Aiden twisted and pushed the horn as hard as he could, while Hunter pulled the other through, and simultaneously lifted the barbed wire. The ram thrashed again, but this time, loosened from the fence, its hooves found purchase, and it bucked and kicked away from them in a shower of snow and shingles. Aiden jumped back as it scrambled away up the rocks and disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving only a few bits of fleece stuck to the fence as monument to its indignity. Hunter was sitting on his ass in the snow, laughing.

  “You did it!” he exclaimed.

  “Guess I did,” Aiden said, feeling dumbly proud for the iota of praise for him. He stared at Hunter as he laughed at him.

  “What?” Hunter asked.

  “Nothing,” Aiden said.

  Hunter stopped laughing and pulled himself up. “You’re bleeding.” He caught Aiden by the wrist and pulled him in with the same rough movement he’d used to steady the sheep. Aiden saw he’d torn Brayden’s jacket and realized he must have caught it on the barbed wire jumping out of the way. Only now was the pain starting to register. Hunter pushed up the remains of the sleeve, exposing the scratch underneath. Aiden didn’t really feel the wound, more aware of the hot length of Hunter’s arm against his, the tight grip of his fingers as he rotated the injury to the light with all the insistent practicality of a herdsman or ranch hand. He held him like that for just a few seconds, but the feeling of his touch lingered after he let go.

  “It’s not deep. The bleeding will stop if you hold it up.”

  Aiden did as he instructed.

  “You probably need a tetanus shot.”

  “I’ve got one.”

  “Good. We’ve got iodine back at the house. We should get going.” He picked up the rifle from the rock he’d leaned it against and started walking back toward the road. Maybe it was the afterglow of a good deed, or the laughter, but Aiden didn’t think the silence was so frosty this time.

  Orson was sitting in the car waiting for them. “We got it loose,” Hunter said.

  “You did?” He looked back at Aiden, impressed. “The ram in the wilderness. Genesis 22:13.” He quizzed Hunter as he put the truck in gear. “Do you remember your verses, Elder Jensen?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hunter said. Aiden raised his eyebrows. The switch from self-reliant outdoorsman to the meek little missionary was swift and jarring. “And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for burnt offering in the stead of his son.”

  The governor smiled. “Saith the Lord, ‘for because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son, thine only son. That in blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore; and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies; and in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed; because thou hast obeyed my voice.’”

  Aiden let them talk God, feeling confused and uncomfortable. He’d thought he’d been getting through to Hunter, but then he wondered what he even meant. Why did he want to get through to him? Thinking about him, helping him, reaching him—it all felt urgent and necessary in a way nothing had in a long time. The blood on his arm was starting to dry, the sting of the cut mellowing to a dull throb.

  “You okay there, Aiden?” he heard Orson ask.

  “Oh, fine,” Aiden said, not wanting to appear soft in front of either Jensen. “Just caught it on the wire.”

  “You got a tetanus shot?” Orson asked, in echo of his son.

  Aiden confirmed he did.

  “Sariah can wash it out for you back at the house,” Orson offered, but Hunter made a dismissive noise.

  “He’s okay, Dad.”

  Aiden looked up and saw Hunter’s blue eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. Just for a second, he thought he smiled at him.

  “He’s tougher than he looks.”

  Chapter Nine

  “RACHEL CASSIDY.”

  Governor Jensen was surprised. The way his eyebrows raised slightly and his grip tightened on his pen. It was a name he’d forgotten or at least not expected to hear again. Aiden pretended to be making notes, letting him stew for a while. He was probably wondering what Aiden knew, what he had, who he’d talked to. Eventually, he asked, “Do you remember the case? Cassidy v. Cassidy? 1996?”

  “I do.” The red light on Aiden’s recorder blinked dispassionately. Most journalists used their phones now, but Aiden always liked the look of a separate unit. It was something you could put out on the table in front of you, like a weapon, a reminder to whoever you were talking to that the world was listening. It was the evening after they’d driven to the canyon, and Aiden’s arm had a fresh bandage. New snow was falling outside. Aiden had decided enough was enough with the easy questions. Do you remember your verses, Elder Jensen? It was time to see who this man was.

  Aiden waited.

  “It was a difficult case.”

  “You were attorney general at the time. You believed that the state had a compelling interest in siding against Ms. Cassidy when she appealed the decision of the family court. The choice to intervene was yours.”

  “It was, but I wasn’t siding against anyone—”

  “And you both sought and supported the court’s decision to award sole parental custody to Mr. Cassidy, even though he’d been convicted of driving
under the influence in 1989 and 1993, and even though Ms. Cassidy’s legal team argued Mr. Cassidy had a history of drunken and abusive behavior in the marriage, because Ms. Cassidy was in a relationship with a woman.”

  “I reject that characterization. My chief responsibility was to defend the law of Utah. At that time, many people in this state were concerned by the notion that courts and other institutions were setting up to redefine traditional marriage, as they have now done. The Utah State Legislature passed a law banning same-sex marriage in 1977. They passed a law banning recognition of out-of-state same-sex marriages in 1995. My responsibility in the Cassidy Case was to ensure that the spirit of the law was applied and that the court didn’t set up an equivalency that Utahn voters had rejected.”

  “You said, quote, ‘Under the laws of the State of Utah, Rachel Cassidy’s conduct is both immoral and illegal. We won’t apologize for putting children’s needs first.’ That’s something you said.”

  Jensen fanned his hands. “If you say I said that, then I’m sure I did. At the time, that was a factual statement. As I said, it was a difficult case. A painful, complex situation. No one would pretend it wasn’t. And if my language hurt Rachel Cassidy, I regret that. But I don’t regret doing the job I was elected to do, and I would like to focus on the issues that are important to people.”

  Jensen was surprised by this change in track. A little wounded even. Aiden could see it in his eyes even as he maintained a politician’s fixed, equanimous smile.

  “As you enter the national arena, people will want to know your stance on gay rights and other hot-button issues.”

  “I’m sure they will, but my focus is not on divisive issues.”

  “Gay people wouldn’t call their rights divisive.”

  “Well, my stance has always been the same. I oppose discrimination against everyone, whether they’re same-sex attracted or otherwise. I believe, as most people in this state do, that marriage is a relationship between one man and one woman.”