by Murray Pura
Zeph stopped, gazing out the window.
“Please continue,” Charlotte urged.
“Well. Austen was a lot younger then, of course, but just as slender, and he had a dark beard, like I said. One arm was in a sling from a wound. There was a lamp burning on his table and a Remington New Model Army revolver by his elbow. I noticed that because Dad had the same gun. Austen’s uniform was buttoned right to the top.”
Zeph stopped a second time, his thoughts far away. Charlotte put a hand on one of Zeph’s.
“Do you remember what you talked about?” she asked gently.
“It’s funny. You know how some things you’ve gone through come to mind again and again? You go over every word each time your memory calls those experiences up, and you can see every face? I haven’t thought about that tent in twelve years—I haven’t wanted to. I see the freemen; one was a lawyer, he’s talking to Austen, Colonel Austen, and the other is waiting his turn. I don’t remember anything Austen said. But he got the men into a couple of large tents, made sure they were served hot food and coffee, put them on horses at daybreak, gave them a mounted escort back to Pennsylvania.”
“You can’t recall even one sentence of what he said?” “Have you got a piece of that black gum for me, Cody?” “Yes, sir.”
Zeph chewed slowly. “It’s very good.”
Charlotte was staring at him. The edge came into her voice.
“Z.”
He shook his head. “It’s like I buried it.” He chewed a little longer. “All I can bring back is Austen saying, ‘You did the right thing, Captain. Your men are to be commended.’” Then Zeph’s face clouded over. “He asked if we had taken any Rebel prisoners. I said we had not. He thanked me and dismissed me.” Zeph looked over at Charlotte. “Not one.”
“I see. So that explains the inscription and him having the watch ready for you. Not an incident a man is likely to forget, even in a war full of them.”
“No.”
There was silence between them. Around the car others talked and laughed, and Zeph heard a woman say a meal stop would be coming up soon. Charlotte was opening Jude’s Bible to the spot where she had placed the bookmark. She held it out to him.
“Are you a praying man, Captain Parker?”
“I try.”
“Then read this. Out loud. Remember, I marked this passage before the outlaws assailed our train.”
Zeph took the Bible from her. “Which psalm?”
“Number one hundred twenty-four, please.”
“‘If it had not been the Lord who was on our side, when men rose up against us: then they had swallowed us up quick, when their wrath was kindled against us: then the waters had overwhelmed us, the stream had gone over our soul.… Blessed be the Lord, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth. Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped. Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.’”
Charlotte leaned forward. “We prayed and the Lord rescued us, Z. Sending those telegrams, one to Fort Laramie and the other to Iron Springs, so Raber’s accomplice would read it, that was the right thing to do. Now we’re free.” She took one of his big hands in both of hers. “I’m sorry about what happened in the war. About what happened to my father and what happened to you. For the killing that happened in that meadow in Virginia. But I’m not sorry you rescued those men from being taken down to Alabama or Mississippi and turned into slaves. You did the right thing. You fought to set them free, and that was the right thing to do. It’s hard for me to admit, it’s hard for me to accept, but if there was one good thing that came out of that terrible war, it was just that—some of you soldiers fought to end the enslavement of a whole race of men and women and children that God had created to be a blessing to the earth.”
Zeph leaned back and closed his eyes, the Bible open in his hands. “Rich words, Miss Spence.”
Zeph’s jaw muscles tightened and then relaxed. He opened his eyes and tried to make light of the moment. “Pretty soon there won’t be one secret of mine left hidden. I’ll be an open book. Then I’ll just be this dull person you know inside out and that you’re bored to death with.”
She smiled. “I doubt that.”
“But what about all your secrets? Do I know any of them?
Am I ever gonna know any of them?”
“Why, Mister Parker”—she fanned her face—“us girls have to keep our deepest secrets close to our hearts until the day we die.”
Chapter 17
Snowflakes were swirling down and mingling with the gray billows from the smokestack. Charlotte found the rolling plains a welcome relief after so many days of flat prairie. The farm buildings were also a pleasant sight, with their rows of windbreaks and their red barns and livestock. She was not sure Zeph would agree with her. Once the US Grant had pulled out of Omaha and crossed the Missouri River, he had groaned and said, “That’s it. We’ve left the West.”
They were halfway through Iowa, and she felt her apprehension growing with every mile. They had left the US Grant and the Union Pacific behind in Omaha and were traveling with the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad now. The train would pass over into Illinois in no time, and then they’d be buying tickets for a different one to take them from Chicago to Pittsburgh and Harrisburg. Before she knew it, she would be facing her old neighbors at Bird in Hand in Lancaster County, and she had no idea what she ought to say or do once she met them face-to-face. It was something she had pressed to the back of her mind because of the imminent danger from the Raber Gang. Now that the danger from the gang was past, other worries came crowding in to engulf her thoughts.
It was not just Bird in Hand. It was undoubtedly God’s will that she deal with her past and confront the Amish community of her childhood and, it was hoped, learn to forgive and perhaps even love those men and women once again. What worried her far more than that was whether she could graciously give up Cheyenne and Cody to the Amish world and its ways—and whether that world would keep her darkest secrets hidden or bring them out into the open for all the world to see, including Zephaniah Parker. She began to argue with herself.
Why not tell him those darkest secrets instead of waiting for the Amish church to break the news? It would come across much better that way to Zephaniah. It would build trust.
No, I can’t; these are terrible things to tell someone. It would be better if they were left unsaid.
It is your Christian duty to tell him.
I don’t care.
The Amish will tell him who you are if you don’t.
I can’t risk it.
Just by being silent you are risking it. You are risking everything.
The snow was falling more thickly and more swiftly now. Cody and Zeph were leaning against one another, practically head to head, breathing in and out through open mouths, fast asleep. Despite her anxiety and inner turmoil, Charlotte could not prevent herself from smiling. Oh, they looked so much like father and son. During the robbery, Cody had acted just like a fiery young Zephaniah. How could she let Cody go? How, for that matter, could she let Zephaniah go?
Beside her, Cheyenne had been drawing all afternoon: cavalrymen and men being captured. Charlotte supposed it gave her a considerable amount of peace and freedom from fear, even some healing in her heart, to know the men who had killed her mother and father had been taken prisoner by the army and were never going to be able to harm her again. Yet, for some reason Charlotte could not yet fathom, Cheyenne’s drawings were adding to the emotional stress she herself was experiencing.
The ten-year-old suddenly held up a full-page drawing of a man’s face. Like all her work, it was well done. Charlotte could see Cheyenne had meant to portray someone friendly and kind.
“That’s very good. Who is it?”
“His hat has a number two on it and swords. And here is his scarf.”
“Your Johnny?”
“Yah.” She smiled. “It was easier to draw his horse than
to draw him.”
“What else do you have?”
“I drew some of the wicked. Two of them had long beards and long hair. They looked like bears.”
Charlotte glanced at the drawings and felt a chill. “Don’t you find it icy in here today, Cheyenne? There must be a new draft coming in from one of the doors or windows.” She took the white point blanket Marshal Austen had left with them and bundled herself in it. A corner was lifted for Cheyenne. “Do you want to get warmed up?”
“I’m fine.”
She lifted up another drawing. “This one had red hair. It was very short. This other was fat and always yelling.” She shuddered. “I was really scared of him.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Maybe we should put the drawings away for now.”
“They are all in jail. Or they’ve run to another country.”
She pulled two more drawings from her pile. “These are the only other ones. This man was so skinny he made me think of a hoe. The others kept calling him Lunger.”
“I see.”
“And this was the leader. He told everyone what they should do. He shouted that he would kill us all.” Her eyes narrowed. “Trooper Johnny said they had caught him and tied him up and put a gag in his mouth. He said they would hang him.”
Ice went through Charlotte. “That’s the leader?”
“Yes.”
That’s the Angel of Death, Charlotte thought. That’s the killer.
She kissed the girl. “You are very brave to make this picture, very brave. But if they’ve caught him, you don’t need to think about him anymore, not at all. It’s over, honey. So I really think this is enough. No more drawing, all right? See, you’re trembling.”
“I hate him. I hate him. I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“Shh, shh, you won’t, not ever, not ever again. Put the pictures down and get under the blanket.”
Cheyenne shook her head. But she allowed Charlotte to put her arms around her. Then she laughed.
“What is it?” asked Charlotte in surprise.
“Pa and Cody look so funny with their mouths hanging open.”
Charlotte smiled. “I guess they do. If this was the summertime, a big old fly could buzz right in there.” “Yah, a lot of flies!”
Cheyenne slept in Charlotte’s arms. Charlotte watched the snowfall, but after a while her eyes fell on the picture of the gang leader. Cheyenne had given him long hair past his shoulders and tried to make it look light colored. The eyes bulged a bit, and the twist of his mouth gave the drawing a nasty feeling. Down one side of his face Cheyenne had drawn a long line that started in his eye and ended somewhere under his jaw. At the bottom of the page she had neatly printed ANGEL.
Charlotte stared at the line that ran from eyeball to chin. So he had a long scar. From what? A knife? A sword? That would have made him easy to identify anytime he did not wear a mask. Well, it didn’t matter now. That story was over. For a moment she indulged an image in her mind of a man standing on a scaffold with a black hood over his head and a thick rope around his neck. A minister who looked like Jude was reading the Bible to him. Then she made a noise as if something was caught in her throat and shook her head to shake off the picture in her imagination. It was finished. She and Zeph and the children were safe and on their way to Pennsylvania.
Yet once she thought of Pennsylvania and Lancaster County, a knot began tightening itself in her stomach again. Lord, help me get free of these fears, she prayed. It was not a very satisfying prayer, because she knew there were things she herself could do to rid herself of some of her anxiety. She blew out a breath. Then she picked up Zeph’s Bible.
Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Her hands turned over page after page. What am I looking for? A part of her wanted to sleep. Another part felt her dreams would be stressful and unpleasant. A third part of her felt the right passage from holy scriptures would give her some measure of peace. But which one? There were so many.
Zeph had mentioned how Jude had used certain parts of his Bible so many times during the war it naturally fell open to several of these places. Now it happened to her. She was leafing through the New Testament when the book seemed to stop on its own and open where it wanted. The verse her eyes fell upon, 1 John 4:18, was underlined by sharp lines of black ink. “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.”
Charlotte leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She listened to the click-click-click of the iron wheels over the rails. The sky darkened in the east, and the train moved into that darkness.
She knew what she had to do. But she did not think she had the courage to do it.
Chapter 18
Once he’d told her it would take another two days to reach Harrisburg—“Well, just under”—she’d insisted on having a bath, even if it meant missing a connection. Which it did. Since there was no help for it, he and the kids had baths, too. Zeph even treated himself to a shave. “But not the whole beard,” Charlotte had protested, “just the upper lip. That sort of beard goes with the clothes I made for you.” “You mean it makes me plain?”
“Yes. You will go over very well with the Amish in Lancaster County.”
“Why does it matter if I go over very well with the Amish in Lancaster County?”
She’d patted his cheek. “Because, my dear, we have enough to overcome in Pennsylvania without having to worry about what the in-laws think of you. I want them to see that my Fremont is humble as well as handsome.”
They had reverted to their Wyoming names again. He touched the broad flat brim of his hat. “As you wish, Conner.”
Clean as a whistle, upper lip shaved, the beard trimmed, he stood with Cody in their sheepskin coats and plain clothes and hats on one of Chicago’s main thoroughfares and watched wagons, carriages, horse-drawn tramcars, and people stream past without ceasing. Steam and breath rose from the street like a fog. Zeph wanted to tilt his hat back on his head as he watched, but the hat Charlotte had given him did not work as well at this as a Stetson, so he was left with nothing to do except rub the beard on his jaw.
“It’s like standing on the banks of a Mississippi chock-full of people and teams of horses,” said Zeph. “Makes a fellow dizzy.”
Cody had been to Chicago several times. “Pittsburgh is not so full. And Harrisburg has more trains than people.” “That so?”
“There was a great fire here four years ago. All of this has been rebuilt. And they’re still building.” Cody pointed down the street to where two steam cranes were hard at work and new buildings were rising into the cold winter sky.
“I guess you could say the mountains around here are manmade,” mumbled Zeph. “I miss the real thing.”
Cody nodded. “I do, too, but sometimes I like the excitement of the cities.”
“Excitement! You call Chicago excitement?” Zeph lifted Cody’s hat and rubbed his knuckles into the boy’s hair. “Excitement is having a Sioux war party breathing down your neck and bullets and arrows making a colander of your clothes.”
Cody laughed and fought back. “I wouldn’t care. I hate these clothes.”
“Me, too.”
Two policemen in boots and belted overcoats with brass buttons and large stars over their hearts approached them. They wore revolvers in holsters at their sides. One policeman touched the brim of his cap. “Everything all right here, sir?”
Zeph was confused and released Cody from a headlock. “Sure.”
“You all right, lad?”
Cody’s face was red. He put his hat back on his head.
“Everything is fine, Officer.” “Where are you two from?”
Zeph straightened up. “Just off the train from Omaha. We’ll be pulling out for Harrisburg in a few hours.” “That’s a long trip.”
Zeph nodded. “Three states. But not as long as coming all the way from the Montana Territory.”
The other officer spoke up. “Did you?”
&nb
sp; “Picked up the Union Pacific in Ogden, Utah.”
The officer whistled. “We had a telegram about a wee bit of excitement down that way, was it yesterday or the day before that, Pete?”
The older man grunted. “They caught the Angel o’ Death and that whole murderin’, thievin’ gang o’ his.” “I’m glad to hear it,” said Zeph.
“The noose is too good for ‘em and all the savages like ‘em,” the older police officer went on. “Burn ‘em at the stake would fix ‘em. The Ind’ns understand that.”
I know this accent, thought Zeph.
“You two sound like a man I was friends with back in the gold rush days of Iron Springs,” he said. “Seamus O’Casey.”
The older officer beamed. “A fine Irish name. Seems our people are everywhere, Pat.”
The younger officer nodded. “Irish like to travel. And when they don’t, someone always plants a boot in their pants and gets them moving.” He laughed. “Oh, I think about going west someday. I have a cousin in Dakota. He joined the army. He’s with that Custer.”
“Fort Abraham Lincoln,” said Zeph.
“I believe that’s it. What’s it like out there?”
“It’s wide open and free, Officer. Everything’s big. The prairies, the mountains, the rivers. Room to ride a hundred miles and never see another human being.”
“Lots of outlaws?”
“A fair amount.”
“Indians?”
“Plenty.”
“Is there desperate need for lawmen in the West?” asked the younger officer.
“My brother’s a federal marshal in the Montana Territory. He could use a fine young officer like yourself.”
“What’s his name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Matthew Parker. You can always telegraph him at Iron Springs. Acres of train robbers and bandits for you to chase down and slap behind bars.”
The older man snorted. “Ha! We got our own bandits and robbers thick as summer flies on a mule. We don’t need to be chasing ‘em all the way to the ends o’ the earth in Utah and Montana.”