The Song Weaver

by BJ Hoff

  “I know you are. It’s going to be wonderful.” Jonathan slid him a sideways look. “You don’t trust my ideas?”

  “Some more than others perhaps.”

  “Your daughter tends to like them…for the most part,” he said with a grin.

  “And would she be telling you so if she didn’t, do you think?”

  “We’re talking about Maggie, Matthew.”

  “Aye. I expect that one would tell you quick enough.”

  “Indeed.”

  A few of the other men were already down front waiting.

  “I’ll give you a ride home after we finish,” Jonathan said, hard put to suppress a smile as he considered the evening ahead. “I’m having supper at your house.”

  “Again?” Matthew said, clearly making no effort to suppress his smile.

  Richard Barlow had ridden into Skingle Creek in the afternoon after spending the night in a fleabag inn just outside of town. Acting on information he’d pried from his milksop attorney, he first made his way to the Stuart house. It seemed that his sister-in-law, little Miss Maggie, had married the local schoolteacher and the two of them were raising the baby.

  His baby.

  He had planned to confront them at their own front door and take the infant, thinking that late Sunday afternoon would be the optimal time to catch them at home. Were they really so ignorant as to think a stupid restraining order would keep him away from his own flesh and blood?

  He wasn’t worried about them putting up a fight. If the husband was a schoolteacher, he wouldn’t be worth much. And while Maggie might think she was a spitfire, she was still just a woman. Neither of them would be a match for him. Or for the gun in his pocket.

  When he found no one at home, he knew where to go next. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be all that eager to come up against Eva Grace’s old man. Big as a tree and just as rugged, Matthew MacAuley had never made any secret of the fact that he wasn’t impressed with his daughter’s choice of a husband.

  Too bad. What MacAuley didn’t know was that his son-in-law wasn’t overly impressed with his darling daughter either.

  He still fumed when he thought about the cold, unfeeling way they’d advised him of his own baby’s birth and the death of his wife. Sending a cut-and-dried note through Randal, his attorney. And then almost immediately slapping a restraining order on him.

  He knew they would underestimate him, and that was in his favor. By now they probably assumed he’d given up on claiming the baby. That he would heed the restraining order and not venture near. Ha! That’s exactly what he wanted them to believe.

  That’s why he’d waited so long, why he hadn’t made a move until today. But now the time was right. That baby was his, and he was taking her home. What he would do with her later was of no concern to him just yet. He’d find someone to help take care of her. He would see that she was raised to be obedient and behave herself, unlike her foolish mother.

  There was no way she was going to grow up in Skingle Creek among these no-account people he detested.

  Maggie was setting the table, trying to keep as busy as possible so her excitement wouldn’t bubble over. “How many places, Mum? Will Ray be here?” she asked, fervently hoping he would be.

  “He said he’d probably be back by four. But I wouldn’t count on it. He’s out on The Hill with Tim Duggan and his father, looking for that black bear that’s got everybody so spooked.”

  Maggie looked at her mother. “A bear? I thought they’d disappeared from around here.”

  It was an unusually warm day for early April, and the kitchen had quickly grown steamy. Kate went to open some of the other windows, and then came back and opened the kitchen window over the sink as well. “Your Da says there is no bear, but the Duggans have got it in their heads that they saw bear scat a few days ago. They told everyone who’d listen. Nothing would do for your brother but to go along with the others today.”

  “Well, I hope Da’s right. I don’t like the idea of a bear anywhere near town.”

  “Oh, you know the Duggans,” Kate said. “Always looking for something that isn’t there.” She wiped her hands down her apron and turned toward the pantry.

  Just then Gracie cried out from the back bedroom. “She’s waking up. I’ll get her,” Kate said. “Keep an eye on the potatoes.”

  Maggie went to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot, stepping back a little to avoid the steam. When someone knocked at the front door, she quickly replaced the lid on the pot and started for the front room.

  “I’ll get it, Mum,” she called.

  One moment she was hurrying out of the kitchen, still humming with happiness and anticipation, and the next the world roared and shifted like a giant earthquake, splitting the ground beneath her, almost knocking her senseless.

  Richard Barlow stood just inside the front door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a gun trained directly on her.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  An Intrusion of Darkness

  And the dark lava fires of madness

  Once more sweep through my brain.

  James Clarence Mangan

  Had he been wrong? Had he misjudged the miners’ ability or overestimated his own?

  Jonathan stood thinking a moment with his back to the men, pretending to listen to the chorus. Today’s rehearsal was only a short straw away from disaster. It was as if the men had never sung together. Even Luc Penryn, his lead singer, fell off pitch several times and took the others along with him. Moreover, Luc was clearly having trouble with some of the words, not a usual problem for the Welshman. The one number that Jonathan had been accompanying with his flute at each rehearsal—and which had gone extremely well until today—would have been ludicrous had it not been such a frustrating experience for him and, no doubt, for the men as well.

  Finally, he turned back to them and called the singing to a halt, still making a concerted effort to keep his unsettled thoughts to himself. “Well,” he finally said, “we’re not doing all that well today, are we?”

  A few chuckles sounded from the back row, but for the most part his words were met with glum expressions and a few bewildered stares.

  They didn’t understand what was happening either.

  One thing was certain: They were on the border of discouragement. If Jonathan wasn’t careful with what he said, it was altogether possible he might tip them over the edge.

  “You know, I thought we did surprisingly well on these numbers last week. I expect we’re just having an off day. That sort of thing happens. I’m not worried about it, and you don’t need to worry either. Let’s stop for now and spend the rest of the day with our families. We’ll do better next week.”

  That broke the tension. There were some audible deep breaths and murmurs of relief. Within a few minutes everyone was out of the building and on the way home.

  Only Matthew remained, waiting for Jonathan to collect his things.

  “You’re free to say ‘I told you so,’ ” Jonathan admitted as they walked out of the church.

  “What do you suppose went wrong?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, don’t let it get you down. Like you said, next week will be better, I expect.”

  Jonathan hadn’t realized how dejected he must have sounded until it struck him that Matthew was making an effort to cheer him up. Not exactly typical, that. “Let’s hope so,” he said, forcing a brighter note into his tone, although his head throbbed like thunder. “We have only three more weeks until Easter.”

  Matthew delayed his reply. “Three weeks is it?” His words were laced with uncertainty.

  “I’m afraid so. I’d thought Easter Sunday would be the perfect day for the men’s first performance, but now I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “That’s not a lot of time.”

  Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it really isn’t.” He could sense Matthew watching him. “If you have any suggestions, I’d welcome them.”

  A long breath.
“I might have one.”

  Jonathan hadn’t expected this. “Feel free, Matthew,” he said, going around to the other side of the buggy and stepping in. “I’d be pleased to hear anything you have to offer.”

  “These past few weeks—perhaps you’ve made things too much like work, lad.”

  Lowering himself into the seat, Jonathan turned to look at his father-in-law. “Work?”

  “Aye. When we first started with the singing some weeks back, it was mostly a good time. The men were enjoying themselves. Lately, though, especially since you’ve started with the new music, you’ve been working us like you’re the drill master of a Royal regiment. Some of the good times have gone out of it, don’t you see? We want to do our best for you just as much as you want it from us, but not like this.”

  Taken completely unaware by the other’s observation, Jonathan stared at him for a moment before turning his gaze straight ahead. “I’ve done that? Taken the ‘good times’ from it?”

  As if he’d gone too far and might have hurt Jonathan’s feelings, the older man waved a hand. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. The men still like to come and sing. I enjoy it myself. But it seems to me that if you handled things more as you did when we first started up, it might raise their confidence in themselves again. You see, lad, these men—if they don’t believe in their ability to do something the right way, they’re likely to lose faith in themselves and refuse to do it at all.”

  He paused. “All we know is mining, son. We don’t know a thing about anything else. So when this singing idea of yours seemed to catch on, we felt pretty good about ourselves. We began to believe you were right, that we could make something of this and do the town some good.”

  “And you can, Matthew! I know you can. You men have every right to feel good about what you’ve achieved. Most of the time you sound as if you’ve been doing this for years.”

  “Ah, but don’t you see? It doesn’t take a great lot to shake loose that sense of achievement and take the wind out of our sails. I know these men. Being good at what they do is important to them.”

  Jonathan frowned. “So what do I do now?”

  Matthew rubbed his bearded chin for a moment. “Let them lead the way. Let them have fun with it again and do it their way, even if it’s a bit of a departure from what you had in mind. Give them some slack. You just might be surprised at the outcome. If they get too far off direction, you can always rein them back in. But in the meantime, they’ll enjoy themselves.”

  Jonathan stared at him for a long moment and slowly nodded his head. “You’re a wise man, Matthew MacAuley. The longer I know you, the smarter you get.”

  Matthew tapped his head and grinned at him. “I have a thought every now and then, that’s true. Now let’s get home. Supper’s waiting.”

  Jonathan thought about what else was waiting—the news he and Maggie were planning to break tonight. He had high hopes that the reaction of his in-laws would more than make up for the disappointment of the afternoon.

  He snapped the reins and the buggy lurched forward.

  Reason deserted Maggie. Her darkest nightmare had come true, her cruelest fear realized. The only thing she could think of was Gracie. Her mother would come walking through the door with her at any moment, and there was no way to stop her.

  “Where is she?”

  Richard’s voice was as hard as his eyes. He was different somehow, different from the way he’d been before when he’d come after Eva Grace. The same florid face, the same arrogant jaw, the same insolent sneer in his tone of voice. But something was different.

  His eyes. There was a wildness…a rage.

  “Where is she?” he demanded again, this time pushing the gun out a little further toward Maggie.

  And then Gracie squealed.

  Mum would have her on the changing dresser by now, making faces at her to get her to laugh.

  Don’t, Mum! Don’t! Oh, Gracie, hush, baby…hush.

  Richard’s eyes cut to the right, to the side of the house where the bedroom was. He smiled. “Finally I get to see my daughter.”

  “Richard,” Maggie said carefully, fighting down the cold river of panic surging inside. “For goodness’ sake put that gun away. What are you thinking? Coming in here like this…with a gun. Do you realize the trouble you’re bringing on yourself? You shouldn’t be here. You’re under a restraining order as it is.”

  “Restraining order? Ha! I’m under nothing. And as far as orders go, I’m the one giving them today. Go get her. Go get my daughter.”

  Maggie’s legs threatened to buckle. Blood roared in her head like a waterfall. She couldn’t let him see that he could bully her.

  “If you think I’m bringing the baby into this room while you have a gun in your hand, think again!”

  For an instant he actually wavered. Then his eyes cleared, and he took a step toward her. “You get her or I will.”

  “You’ll not touch her!”

  Maggie jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice behind her. Richard snapped a look over her shoulder. And Gracie…Gracie started making her little nonsense sounds, her baby noises that Maggie loved so much.

  “Bring her to me, Kate.”

  His tone was calm, almost curious. Like that of any father asking to see his child.

  How could a madman sound so normal? And he must be mad. What else but madness would prompt a man to demand that his child be turned over to him while he held a gun?

  With her gaze riveted on him, Maggie stepped in front of Gracie and her mother. “Take Gracie back to the bedroom, Mum,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. “Take her now.”

  Richard took a step toward them, the gun trained directly at Maggie’s heart. “You do that, Kate, you take even a single step and Maggie is dead. I mean it.”

  Maggie saw it in his eyes. Hatred. Hatred for her and for her mother. But wait…something worse than that, more vicious. There! The madness she’d suspected. Not the humanity Eva Grace must have once seen there, but the ugliness that had replaced it. There would be no reasoning with him. How could you reason with madness?

  If she risked her life—and he took it—there would be no chance of saving Gracie and most likely no chance of saving Mum. They would both die, she and her mother, perhaps Gracie too. That couldn’t happen…she couldn’t let it happen.

  What do I do? What can I do?

  Gracie was close enough to reach her tiny hand to the back of Maggie’s head and tug at her hair while squealing.

  “I said bring her to me!” Richard pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired.

  Maggie and her mother screamed. Gracie shrieked in terror and started to wail.

  “Did you really think I’d give up my child? That I’d just turn her over to you?” He was shouting now, shouting over Gracie’s cries, which only made her cry harder.

  “Stop that crying!” he ordered Maggie, waving the gun in her direction. “Make her stop!”

  “She’s a baby, Richard!” Maggie shouted back at him. “She’s terrified! Of you! You’re frightening her!”

  That stopped him, but only for an instant. “You’re as much of a witch as your sister was, you know that?”

  An almost blinding fury exploded in Maggie’s head, but somehow she groped and found within herself a measure of control. She could smell her own rage now, coupled with fear, but she kept her voice from trembling. “Richard, think what you’re doing. You can’t possibly get away with this. Do you really want to go to jail for kidnapping? That’s what will happen, you know. You’re violating the law by being in this house.”

  He merely sneered at her. “Not only are you a witch, you’re a fool. Get out of the way!” he ordered, motioning with the gun for Maggie to step to the side.

  When she made no move, he started toward her, leveling the gun at her head.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Shattered Silence

  Oh, thou! who comest, like a midnight thief,

  Uncounted, seeking whom thou may’s
t destroy;

  Rupturing anew the half-closed wounds of grief,

  And sealing up each new-born spring of joy.

  John Keegan

  Ray came tramping out of the woods and across the railroad tracks with his rifle slung over his shoulder, most of his earlier excitement about the black bear left behind with the Duggans.

  He was more than a little impatient with both Tim and his father, what with all their talk about seeing evidence of the bear with their own eyes. Da had probably been right about there being no bear to begin with. He said the “scat” the Duggans had seen was more likely the droppings of their over-excitable imaginations.

  They’d been out for hours with no sign of anything bigger than a white-tail buck, who skedaddled to the other side of the mountain the minute it spotted the three men with their guns. The rest of their expedition had been boring, to say the least.

  As he reached the turn to the house, he stopped dead at the sight of a strange horse and buggy pulled up a few yards short of the house. No one he knew drove such a vehicle. Jonathan’s rig was smaller and shinier. He had a chestnut mare. Pastor Wallace had a big brown buggy and an ugly black horse.

  He stood looking at the carriage a minute, wondering if there was company coming to supper, though Mum hadn’t mentioned it. Who could it be? He smelled meat cooking and something sweet. Apples. Maybe a pie, he hoped.

  Hitching his rifle a notch higher, he started across the road.

  A gunshot broke the stillness. Someone screamed and a baby began to cry hard.

  Gracie!

  Maggie’s ears hammered with the furious drum of her heart. Something inside her pulled back like a bowstring drawn taut. She felt breathless, lightheaded, yet at the same time she sensed a calm welling up and spreading over her. With her baby’s shrieks filling her ears, she thought of nothing but protecting her mother and Gracie.

  At that moment, her life had no value, no meaning to her except as a shield to protect her loved ones.