The two of them stood together, silently watching Lynn round the bend and move out of sight. Fletcher cleared his throat. “I want you to remember well what you’ve seen here.”
Lucy gave him a cold stare. “You think I can forget her blood dripping everywhere and the fact her rifle is on her back more than in her hands? It isn’t right. That isn’t Lynn, and I’m not about to forget it.”
“You keep it close in your mind though, little Lucy,” Fletcher said, all traces of his familiar smile gone. “I know you’ve got convictions same as she does. I won’t be with you to speak reason if you get it in your head to drag her back across these mountains for the sake of someone you don’t even know is still alive.”
Anger stirred in her stomach, sending her scalp prickling. “I didn’t tell you about Carter so you could use it against me.”
“And I’m not saying it to fill the empty air. Don’t ask her to do it.”
Lucy kicked Spatter harder than usual, and he hurried to catch up to Mister, his steps not slowing until he was safely nestled in the shadow of his leader.
Guilt nibbled at Lucy as they pushed on, often traveling through the night if the heat of the day had not overly tired the horses. Lynn’s condition remained the same, but Lucy’s own body never wavered. The thin air actually felt good in her lungs, and she could feel the difference as they descended, a certain heaviness in her lungs that required some forgotten effort to breathe as they wound their way down. Fletcher never commented on their progress, though Lynn had given the map over to him after a particularly long-lived nosebleed had soaked one of the corners.
It took resolve to not ask Fletcher to pull out the map every night and show Lucy how far they had come during the day, gauging to see how close Lynn’s safety might be. She watched Lynn like a hawk during a downward descent that had nearly made her dizzy, but Fletcher only shook his head at her when he saw the direction of her gaze.
“Doesn’t work that way,” he said quietly to her.
“What’s that?”
“I see you watching her for signs of improvement every time we come over a steep hill. Her headaches might recede soon, but her body has been stressed for a long time. She’ll need to recuperate once we’re on level land again.”
Lucy’s heart leapt in fear at the thought. Fletcher had said he was heading north after they crossed the mountains. “How long?”
He followed her thoughts. “I won’t leave you in my wake until she’s all right.”
She let out a breath as if she hadn’t been holding it. “Thanks.”
“Surely you knew that by now, that I wouldn’t leave?”
“But you will,” Lucy argued. “When it’s time. You’ve got your own life to lead.”
Fletcher smiled to himself and looked back at the road.
“What’s so funny?”
“You and Lynn,” he said. “Always looking for people to let you down, but for different reasons. She doesn’t trust me enough to believe my motives are altruistic. You think I’m more devoted to someone else than to you two.”
Lucy snuck a glance at Lynn, whose body was swaying with each step Mister took. “Well . . . aren’t you?”
“Rose has been waiting on me for years. A few more days doesn’t make any difference.”
“But for us it might, is that it?”
Fletcher nodded once, slowly, not taking his eyes off the road. “It may.”
“You don’t think we’ll make it, do you?”
“I think women traveling alone face a unique set of challenges, and it’s best if Lynn is feeling well when I leave you.”
His last few words echoed through Lucy’s mind, bringing with them the faces of all those she had lost through death or separation: her mother, Uncle Eli, Maddy, Carter. Her heart faltered, missing a beat when she realized that even Vera and Stebbs could be lost to her now. With the mountains between them, it was a real possibility she would never see them again, or hear their voices. She took a ragged breath and looked at the horizon.
“When you leave us,” she repeated, giving each word the weight it deserved.
The day they came down out of the mountains was one Lucy had always pictured in her mind as warm and pleasant, with a clear blue sky and the weight of the world removed from her shoulders. Instead she was picking her way around another rock slide in the rain, and ankle-deep mud had sucked one of her shoes clear off her foot.
Spatter was shaking his head against the downpour of rain, refusing to step over the guardrail even when she yanked on the reins.
“Damn it,” she shouted, dropping Spatter’s reins in frustration. “He won’t move,” she shouted over the downpour to Fletcher and Lynn, who had already coaxed their horses off the highway and around the guardrail that had stopped the rocks. They hunched over their own mounts, miserable in the rain.
“That’s helpful, thanks,” Lucy muttered to herself, and turned back to Spatter with her hands on her hips. He had never willfully disobeyed her before, and she was at a loss. She dug her shoe out of the mud while balancing on one foot. Spatter pushed against her with his nose, offering support from behind. She accepted his apology and scratched behind his ears with her free hand. “What d’you say, buddy? Think you can do this for me?”
He nickered deep in his throat and she rested her head against him for a moment, ignoring the warm smell of wet animal. Vera’s kitchen had smelled like that whenever she allowed the neighborhood stray in the house during a rainstorm. The dog had never allowed anyone to touch him, a low growl warning away anyone who tried. Vera was the only person who could come within five feet of him, her kind voice pitched low and melodious as she cut mats from his coat, or treated whatever new wound he’d been visited with.
Vera’s voice rang in Lucy’s ears and she matched the tone, whispering in Spatter’s ear and running her hands up and down his neck. He muttered back to her, low and sweet, and she took the reins in her hand once again. Spatter balked at the railing, but instead of yelling, she comforted him with Vera’s voice and Vera’s words, feeling the massive muscles calming under her touch. On the third attempt he stepped over the rail, gingerly testing the gravel on the other side. It was loose, and gave under his hoof, but she kept a low drone of talk going that allayed his fears.
His second foreleg cleared the rail, and his back legs followed easily now that he was moving. He followed Lucy docilely along the gravel ridge until they were past the rocks. Getting back over onto solid ground was much more attractive to him, and Spatter nimbly crossed the rail back onto the road without complaint. They joined their companions on the far side of the rocks, and Lucy swung into the saddle.
“You may be a horsewoman yet,” Fletcher said. “How’d you talk him into it?”
Lucy ignored the question, looking instead to Lynn. “I miss my grandma,” she said suddenly, and the heat from the tears rolling down her cheeks contrasted sharply with the cold rain sliding down her back. Lynn only nodded, the understanding of loss buried deep in her blue eyes. They traveled on together, ignoring the weather as they put the mountains behind them.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Twenty-Three
“I’m not leaving him,” Lucy said, legs spread in a fighting stance as she stood between Spatter and Lynn. Her small hands were curled into fists, and she could feel adrenaline coursing through her veins, filling the deep gouge of betrayal.
“You get to feeling better and the first thing you want to do is take my horse from me,” she yelled at Lynn, hating how childish her words sounded, and the way her voice sounded weak and lost in the arid land.
“I’m not taking anything from you,” Lynn said calmly, her hands out to either side. “I’m talking sense.” She looked over to Fletcher, who was kicking sand over the ashes of their fire from the night before. “Wanna help me out here?”
Fletcher didn’t even g
lance in their direction when he spoke. “A man comes across two she-bears fighting in the woods, he does best to go around them.”
Lynn’s answering scowl ended up aimed at Lucy, as Fletcher was ignoring her completely. “Lucy, it’s for his own good. This here isn’t even the real desert. Once we go out into the nothing, we’ll be hard-pressed to find enough water for ourselves, let alone the horses.”
Lucy felt her throat tightening at the thought, the image of a frothing Spatter slicing across her eyes. She uncurled her fists. “Not yet,” she said, the rod of tension gone from her voice. “There’s still streams from the mountains, enough water for us. We’ll make better time with mounts, and there’s no point giving up our one advantage until we have to.”
If emotion couldn’t carry weight with Lynn, logic did. Lynn’s mouth went into a flatter line than usual, and she gave Lucy a heavy glare before turning her back. Lucy relaxed against Spatter, relishing the velvety feel of his nose brushing against her arm. She’d won the battle but knew the war would go to Lynn.
Lucy kept her distance as they packed up their camp; rolling their blankets, refilling water bottles from the nearby stream, and checking their guns. Once astride her horse, Lucy took a deep breath and avoided the eyes of the adults as the heavy silence that hung around them lasted longer than necessary.
Fletcher cleared his throat. “Well, ladies,” he began.
“No,” she cried instantly. “You can’t leave yet.”
“You knew this was coming, little one,” Fletcher said, eyeing her carefully. “Sooner or later I’m going to have to go.”
“Make it later then,” she shot back.
“Lucy,” Lynn said quietly, “it’s time. He’s got his own cares.”
The way the two watched her, gauging her reaction, caused a resurgence of temper. “You talked about this beforehand, didn’t you? The horses too, I bet.”
“We thought it best if I took all three horses with me at this juncture, yes,” Fletcher said, using the same tone he did with Terra Cotta when she was finicky.
“But we agreed if you couldn’t handle losing him and Spatter on the same day, we’d settle for one over the other,” Lynn finished.
“You plan anything else for me while you were at it?”
“If I had a son, we would’ve arranged a marriage,” Fletcher said.
“He made that bit up,” Lynn added, and Lucy felt her face flush at the fact that they were sharing a joke at a time when she felt like crying.
“Lucy.” Fletcher edged Terra Cotta closer to Spatter, and the two horses nickered to each other. “You started this without me; no reason to think you can’t finish it in the same manner.”
Her anger melted into tears and she gave in to the lump in her throat, allowing it to find release through a choked sob. “It’s not that I’m scared of going on without you. I’m losing you, don’t you get that? You’re gone, just like everyone else.”
Fletcher put a hand on her shoulder, one of the few times he’d touched her. “Losing people, that’s something I understand right down to my soul.” He leaned forward in the saddle and she slumped against him, crying so hard Spatter turned his head to glance at her quizzically, which only made it worse.
Lynn nudged Mister over to them, holding a water bottle out to Lucy. “You’re wasting your water,” she said.
“You would be practical right now,” Lucy said, pulling back from Fletcher and taking the bottle.
“Somebody has to be,” Lynn said, doing an exaggerated eye roll toward both Fletcher and Lucy.
Fletcher smiled back and tipped his hat. “So,” he said. “Sand City?”
Lynn patted the map tucked inside her pocket. “Seems that way.”
“Maybe I’ll . . .” He trailed off, an uncharacteristic blush spreading across his features. “Maybe I’ll find my way back there someday.”
“Maybe that’d be all right,” Lynn said, and Lucy could see the muscles in her jaw twitching in an effort to stop a full-fledged smile.
Fletcher had no such compunction, and his ear-to-ear flashed once again before he spurred Terra Cotta and they headed north.
Lucy’s sorrow was lost in a sudden rush of curiosity. “Shit, Lynn, how much talking did you two do?”
But Lynn had already urged Mister into a trot, and Spatter hurried to catch up.
Lynn had called it “the nothing” long before they reached it, a land where even the brush tapered off and the red rocks reached for the sky. The mountains had frightened Lucy with their vastness; their towering heights had persevered for thousands of years, reminding her she was a breath on the wind. The desert made her feel like even that breath was stolen, and the dust filling her lungs taunted her with the reality that one day she’d be reduced to the same.
The highway stretched to the horizon, an unbroken black strip that burned so hot in the afternoons the heat shimmer reached upward for miles. The landscape was equally monotonous, the stray breezes blowing up dust storms to compete with the mirages. The only thing that broke the view was the marching electrical poles, skeletons from a different world whose veins had been emptied of their power long ago.
Lucy reined in Spatter next to Mister and looked to Lynn, wondering why she had stopped. But the other woman’s eyes were rooted on the horizon, focused on nothing. “Lynn? What are you thinking?”
Lynn startled and seemed to struggle to focus on Lucy. “Just this—
“And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
“I think I like Walt Whitman better,” Lucy said.
“You would.”
Spatter and Mister ducked their heads low in the heat, their noses leading the party to the ever farther springs of water, some of them nothing more than a brackish trickle. For nearly a week after Fletcher had left their company Lynn kept her mouth shut, and Lucy knew she was waiting for her to make the right choice and unburden the horses. Her silence made Spatter’s nickering all the more precious. She twirled his rough hair in her fingers while she rode, putting off the inevitable for as long as she could. She was so focused on every aspect of Spatter—the sound of his hooves, the feel of his movements underneath her—she didn’t notice the speck on the horizon behind them until Lynn pointed it out.
“You’re lost in your head over there,” the older woman said.
Jerked from her reverie, Lucy was suddenly very aware she hadn’t spoken since they’d saddled up that morning. “Sorry,” she said, clearing her throat of the dust first. “Just thinking.”
“I’m not pointing it out for the sake of talk,” Lynn said. “There’s been someone behind us for a good two hours, and you’ve not spotted him.”
Lucy turned in her saddle, shading her eyes against the harsh midday sun. There was a black figure, barely discernable among the heat shimmer. “You’re sure it’s a person?”
“I been watching. Wasn’t much more than a dot, but he’s moving faster than us.”
“So he’s mounted?”
Lynn nodded gravely. “And on a horse that’s better suited to the desert than our own, I imagine.”
“Any chance it’s Fletcher? Maybe he changed his mind about going north.”
“Don’t think so. Terra Cotta was the slowest of the three, plus he knows where we’re going. No reason to push his mount to catch us.”
Lucy turned back in the saddle. “So who is it then?”
“Nobody we know. And if we can see him, he can see us.”
The fear of the unknown swooped back in to trump the nothingness of the desert. Anything could be done to them in the emptiness, and their bones left to be buried in the dust with no one the wiser. “So what do we do?”
Lynn’s brows drew together, and Lucy understood she’d been thinking over their options long before starting the conversation, weighing the choices that could en
d in life or death while Lucy had been making fine braids in Spatter’s mane. “I’m sorry I didn’t see him,” she added quickly.
“Don’t be sorry you didn’t, just be glad I did.” She looked to the bleak landscape around them, devoid of even a tree for shelter. “As for what we do, we can try to outrun him, which’ll likely kill the horses and land us helter-skelter in the middle of nowhere with no idea where we’re going. . . .”
“Uh, there’s an ‘or’ coming, right?”
Lynn inclined her head toward Lucy. “Or we hide.”
“Hide?”
“We need to get off this main road. There’s been unpaved ways breaking off here and there, but a lot of ’em aren’t on this map. Don’t know if I’m more comfortable being lost than being followed.”
Lynn unfolded the map as she rode, looping Mister’s reins around the pommel. “If we split off to the south up ahead, we’ll come across some canyons before long. I know you don’t like the idea of the rocks hanging over your head, but if we got down in one of those little maze-like canyons, he’d be hard-pressed to ever find us.”
“And we might be hard-pressed to find a way out.”
“That’s where me asking you to start paying attention comes in.”
A flush crept up Lucy’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. “All right.”
Lynn watched Lucy for a second before continuing. “I want to get over the next ridge, and then we’ll cut to the south. I can’t imagine it’d be easy to track us down in the rocks, ’specially if that cloud there graces us with a bit of rain.”
An unassuming storm cloud was rolling in from the west, and Lucy licked her parched lips as she glanced at it.
“Let’s hope so,” she said.
They broke away from their path once they crested the ridge. Without the baking road reflecting the heat back in their faces, the horses picked up the pace. But without the familiar black snake of blacktop, the sameness of the desert made the word lost seem too short to capture the enormity of their situation. The only hint of the road they were traveling was an old fence that ran parallel to it, remnants of a pasture devoid of animals.
In a Handful of Dust Page 17