The Night Angel

by T. Davis Bunn

  A scrabbling sound caused him to drop the leaf back onto the page before him. Joseph approached and said, “My Geraldine, she wants to ask you something.”

  “Of course.”

  The woman was handsome even in illness. Her ailment was no worse than when they had first set off, but not much better either. Afternoons found her wearied to where she could no longer hide her rough breathing. Falconer used her hacking cough as the signal to halt for the day. Geraldine fiddled with her threadbare dress and spoke to the ground at her feet. “Suh, I was wonderin’. Would you be reading from the Good Book?”

  “I am. Would you like to read with me?”

  “Can’t hardly make out my own name, suh.” She pointed at the pages, a shy and fearful gesture. “Would you mind readin’ a word to us now and then?”

  The gift of trust was so great he felt his throat clutch tight. Falconer dragged his hand across his mouth, a slow motion intended to grant him time to regain control. “I would be honored. Is there any particular passage you would like to hear?”

  “Don’ hardly matter, suh. Long as it’s the Word.”

  He rose to his feet and approached the fire, moved almost to tears by the sight of so many of his band drawing in close. “In that case,” Falconer said, “I will start at the beginning.”

  Aaron appeared an hour after dark. The lad was so weary and burdened down he could scarcely hold to his feet. Across his shoulders he carried the body of a young deer.

  Everyone was up and jabbering and trying to help take the load. When the animal was lifted from his shoulders, Aaron collapsed onto the ground. A cup was held to his lips. He drank too swiftly and choked. Another cup was brought, and a cold griddle cake. He devoured it with trembling hands. Then he tried to push himself upright. “I gots to be going.”

  “Rest,” Falconer said.

  “Suh, I left the musket back there in them woods.”

  “You can find it in the morning.” Falconer stood over him until the lad’s eyelids stuttered and closed. Then he turned to the deer. He lifted the rear haunch. The animal weighed almost as much as Aaron.

  Joseph and the old woman were already busy. His sons were sent off for more firewood. Within minutes the flames rose as high as Falconer’s shoulder. They roasted a haunch while others built a drying stand. After the days of short rations, the smell was maddeningly inviting. The younger folk danced in anticipation around the fire. They had to shake Aaron very hard to award him with the first slices. The lad ate and collapsed once more.

  All night two of the group took turns remaining awake to stoke the fire and keep the coals burning steady. By morning the meat on the drying racks was done. They stowed the venison jerky in the empty provisions sacks, breakfasting on the last of the fresh meat.

  Soon after they started off , it began to rain. The accompanying breeze was light but carried a hard wintry edge. Falconer unstrapped his cloak from the mule’s saddle and handed it to Geraldine. “Wear this high so it will keep your head dry.”

  “Suh, it ain’t proper.”

  “Do as he says,” Joseph instructed, stepping up beside Falconer. “Thank you, suh.”

  “You’ll need to rope it around her waist to keep it in place,” Falconer replied. He stripped off his long black coat and carried it to the second mule. “I hope you’re not going to argue with me too, Mammy.”

  “No, suh.” She draped the coat over her head and let him button it into place. “God bless you, suh.”

  Such little things had never affected him before. The thanks of a woman who had nothing, the wash of rain upon his face. He moved to the front of the line, taking pleasure even in the bite of wet cold through his shirt. The surrounding forest was alive with the sound of pattering water. High overhead the breeze whispered through the pine boughs. One of the children laughed. The music of angels could not have sounded any finer.

  By midday, however, they were all cold and shivering. They needed shelter, but Falconer could find none. When they stopped for a meal of jerky and rainwater, Falconer sidled up next to Joseph. “How much farther do you reckon we are from safety?”

  “Can’t hardly say, suh.” Joseph swiped at the water streaming down his face. “It’s already farther than I thought.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  It was a conversation they’d had several times before. Joseph repeated the same words. “Hold fast to the Catawba Trail. You make it to where it opens up, folks’ll be there to spirit you away.”

  “They didn’t give you any name?”

  Joseph shook his head. “Body can’t tell what he don’t know.”

  Falconer glanced around. The trail held to the side of a steep valley. A swollen stream rushed down below. He looked up. “I suppose I could climb the ridge again.”

  “Won’t see any more than before. Forest is too thick.”

  “I think we should keep going,” Falconer decided. “Resting in this weather is impossible. If we stay here, we could all come down with the croup.”

  In response, Joseph rose and began drawing the others into a semblance of order. For once, Falconer was glad their provisions were almost gone, for it meant they carried almost nothing and their hands were free. The trail was little more than a yard wide and slick with mud. The rain did not strengthen, nor did it ease. It also remained bitingly cold.

  By midafternoon Falconer was shivering with the others. He moved to where Aaron walked, so weary his mouth hung slack. Joseph walked alongside him, carrying the musket and pistol both. The old man was showing his age.

  “I know you’re bone tired,” Falconer said to Aaron, “but I need your help.”

  The words were enough to straighten the lad’s shoulders. “Suh.”

  “Scout about. We’ve got to find cover for these folks before nightfall. A cave, a lean-to, anything so long as it’s dry.”

  Aaron stepped off the trail and in two paces was lost from sight.

  Falconer started toward the front, when he noticed how Joseph’s younger boy was limping. Falconer stepped up alongside Isaac and asked, “Is something the matter?”

  The child was shivering so hard he mangled the words. Falconer squatted in the mud and lifted the boy’s ankle. A gash ran down the ball of his foot. “How long ago did this happen?”

  The child assumed he had done something wrong and whimpered softly.

  Falconer swept the boy up in his arms. “What a strong, brave lad you are.”

  He moved to the front of the line, taking fierce comfort from the trembling form. At every turn in the road he scouted in every direction. They raced the dimming light now. They must find shelter.

  And that was when Aaron found them. He came trotting down the trail toward them. “They’s a barn up ahead, suh!”

  Falconer breathed a silent prayer. He lifted his voice. “I know you’re tired,” he called down the line. “But we’ve got shelter up ahead. We need to move while there’s still light to see our way. Joseph!”

  The voice came from far behind. “Suh!”

  “Keep the stragglers moving. Hurry, everyone!”

  The dark came upon them far too swiftly. Branches leaned out to swipe at them and slow them down. Finally they rounded another bend, just one more kink in the trail, and the forest was behind them. Aaron moved down the line to tell the others and came back carrying the firearms, for now Joseph carried another child.

  The wind caught them here, and the rain, both biting deep. Up ahead Falconer could just make out the dark silhouette of a barn. He could not recall anything ever looking quite so fine.

  They stumbled and slid their way inside. The barn contained six tethered goats and two cows. But the beasts were welcome company, for they warmed the interior considerably. The roof leaked in a half dozen places. There was no door. But there was room for them all to lie down, and straw to cushion the plank floor. Falconer tethered the cow against the rear wall so it could not step upon a sleeping child. He eased Isaac down and covered him with a bit of burlap. The chi
ld was already asleep. Falconer threw himself down beside the lad and was gone.

  Chapter 16

  Three carriages halted together beneath a sullen morning sky. Nathan Baring alighted from one, the doctor from another, and Reginald and Lillian Langston from the third. The doctor was there to formally remove the quarantine, the others to rejoice in the Gavis’ freedom. Such celebrations had become a tradition among churchgoers during the previous year’s cholera epidemic—a time to give thanks for the passage of fear and dread. And the visitors’ presence also removed the stigma attached to a house flagged with the dreaded yellow seal.

  From her place in the dining room, Serafina heard her father shut the door and then declare, “Never did I imagine simply opening my own front door and shutters could carry such exhilaration.”

  “And you were not even ill,” the doctor reminded him as he followed Alessandro into the house. “In your prayers this night, I ask you to think of those for whom a quarantine carries a far heavier burden.”

  Reginald shook Alessandro’s hand with both of his own as his wife embraced Bettina Gavi. “We have brought provisions and news.”

  “I am far more famished for word of the outside world than another meal,” Alessandro said. “Though I and my family are deeply grateful for both. You have literally saved our lives and our minds with your regular provisions.”

  “It has been a privilege to help with such an endeavor,” Lillian quickly responded. “One larger in importance than we might even imagine.”

  Serafina continued her work at her easel. She had requested that her parents delay showing their portrait to others, for there were further refinements she wished to add. They would not hear of it. So she hurriedly inspected the painting and made what alterations she could.

  She heard Nathan Baring say, “The young woman from the legate’s household whom your Mary befriended has become a trusted ally. She reports that the dark-suited henchman came and went once more. There were angry exchanges. The man has not been seen again.”

  “They suspect Falconer has departed,” Alessandro Gavi surmised. “Their man is no doubt pursuing Falconer.”

  “I fear that is the case,” Nathan agreed. “Hopefully we have bought Falconer some time.”

  “May it be enough,” Alessandro declared fervently. “If only we could have convinced Falconer to take along others to aid and protect him.”

  “With respect, sir, I disagree,” Reginald stated. “I have worked with men like Falconer before. We cannot presume to know his requirements for action.”

  Lillian Langston added, “The best thing we can do for him now is pray.”

  “Amen,” Reginald agreed. “Let us join hands and beseech heaven for Falconer’s safety.”

  Serafina hastily laid aside her brush and palette. “Wait, please, I am coming!”

  “There you are!” Lillian Langston stepped forward to embrace her, but a wet stain upon Serafina’s blouse halted the motion. “Whatever have you been doing?”

  “Working.” She rubbed her hands upon a rag so stained now it contained its own pastel rainbow. “Perhaps it would be best if you did not touch my hands.”

  “You really must see—” Alessandro began.

  “Please, Papa, that can wait,” Serafina interrupted. “And this cannot. Let us pray.”

  Against her objections, Serafina’s hands were taken by Lillian on one side and Reginald on the other. She saw her parents hesitate, and Serafina realized it was the first time they had ever joined hands with strangers for prayer. If Reginald noticed the Gavis’ discomfort, he gave no sign. He took his time, a strong and fervent man beseeching God. He gave thanks for friends, for health, for guidance. He asked for protection and wisdom to be bestowed upon their dear friend and brother John Falconer. Serafina found her heart blooming in pain and the hot rush of tears flooding her eyes. By the time Reginald stopped speaking, her cheeks were wet.

  Bettina’s face was tear-streaked as well. Lillian Langston was graceful even when wiping her own eyes. Alessandro stared thoughtfully at the carpet by his feet.

  The doctor was the first to speak. “I was, as some of you know, a military man. I have known men of Falconer’s caliber. Not many. A very few, actually. Though I have not known him for long, I gauge him a singular sort of gentleman.”

  “Unique,” Bettina agreed, wiping her face with a handkerchief.

  “I do not know what venture you have sent him on, or what risk he faces,” the doctor continued. “I am certain, however, you could have found no finer ally to your cause.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Lillian repeated her earlier question. “What have you done to your hands, child? Why, you even have pigments in your hair.”

  Alessandro Gavi was remarkably subdued as he drew his guests forward toward the dining room. “Come and see.”

  They stood about the easel in silence. Lillian Langston stood next to Bettina, then Reginald and Nathan and the doctor, and finally her father. Serafina remained to one side, such that she could see only an angle of the painting. The portions she had recently touched up glistened damply. She wanted mostly to study the faces of the observers.

  “Most remarkable,” the doctor murmured.

  Bettina said, “I have looked at it for hours and still I am amazed.”

  “I’m waiting for them to speak to one another,” Lillian said.

  Nathan was the first to look toward Serafina. “You will not forget our agreement?”

  “What agreement is this?” Alessandro asked.

  “I purchased supplies in exchange for Serafina’s promising to paint a portrait of my mother.”

  “A splendid idea,” Reginald said. “How is the dear lady?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. She has never managed to regain her strength.”

  “Then there is no time to lose.”

  Serafina was surprised to find it was her father who had said those words.

  Bettina objected quietly, “Our daughter must be exhausted from this endeavor, husband.”

  “And these are friends who have aided us in our own hour of need.” Alessandro addressed his daughter. “When do you think you might begin, Serafina?”

  Serafina found herself filled with an eagerness to step into the world. Return to a life beyond the confines of the small house in Washington. She smiled at Nathan for the very first time. “If the rest of you will excuse me, now would be fine.”

  “Are you a believer?”

  They were seated in the Barings’ sunlit front parlor. Eleanor Baring rested upon a daybed with a quilted robe tucked in tightly to her chin. A small lap blanket covered her legs. The woman looked very ill. Her complexion was pale as chalk. The skin of her face was slack, as though both flesh and life had been drawn out. Only her eyes were alight. They were pale brown, almost fawn colored, and very clear.

  Nathan Baring was seated beneath the parlor’s central window. He held a book and seemed to be reading. Now and then he raised his gaze but looked only at his mother. Serafina had started to object when Nathan had said he wished to remain in the room. She did not take to the idea of being observed while she worked. Yet Nathan had evidently sensed this before she had spoken. He had positioned his chair so he faced his mother and could not see Serafina or her easel without twisting around.

  “This is not a difficult question, my dear,” the woman said mildly. “Do you live with faith in our Lord Jesus in your heart and mind?”

  Serafina had never been required to speak while painting. She found the demand to respond more than irksome. It drew her away from the effort required to join the image she was seeing before her to the one in her head and then to the paper. “Yes, madam,” she managed, concentrating on a particularly intricate area of the painting.

  “I find that quite remarkable. You are beautiful, wealthy, and gifted. Such a combination would suggest a person too confident in her own strengths to make room for God.”

  Serafina studied the image on the canvas. She had the form correct
, and the drawing was good. But once again she confronted an unanswered mystery.

  She lifted her head to face Mrs. Baring. “Madam, I can speak to you about our Lord and other matters, or I can paint. If I try to do both I shall do neither well.” She heard her own voice and knew the snippish tone came from her frustration over the unresolved mystery, not this woman. “I suggest you permit me to complete the purpose that brought me here.”

  To her surprise, the woman smiled. “And spirited as well. How very remarkable indeed.”

  Serafina scarcely heard her comment. For in her smile, the woman had revealed what Serafina had sought, the unseen connection that would bring the canvas to life. Mrs. Baring’s smile contained the secret portion of the woman’s character. The older woman was transformed from mere human flesh to a true person. There before Serafina was a brief and rare glimpse of Mrs. Baring’s soul.

  Serafina set down her brush and said softly, “The spirit of the person.”

  “Indeed. I find it vital to comprehend someone’s internal nature. How do they stand in their relationship with God. Is it healthy? Do they know His strength in the dark times that come to us all? Can they rely upon Him when all else fails?”

  She looked at the woman upon the bed and compared this to her drawing. It was a correct rendition, and that was the problem.

  Serafina rose to her feet. “Madam, I would ask that your son be allowed to show me one of your favorite dresses. I need something other than the robe as the surrounding color.”

  Eleanor Baring’s voice was as pale and ghostlike as her skin. “How very remarkable.”

  “Something light blue, perhaps. Or rose,” she decided, trying to envisage a color that could return life and strength to that wasted face. “A shade that will accent and not overwhelm.” “I fear it should no longer fit me.”

  “You won’t need to wear it, madam. If I may only see it against you.”