By dawn, Aaron could barely move. It was as if he had used up all the life left within him… all but the pain. Every breath he took was a struggle. He screamed when Morgan touched his leg to adjust it under the blankets.
There was no hope for Aaron Holt. Morgan knew it. He had become familiar with death in the past several years of searching. He had seen it take many forms, but none so horrible as this.
"You… want revenge," his father panted, opening one red-rimmed eye. "You want to see me die slow, don't you?"
Morgan hung his head, the emotion so choked up inside him that he thought he would strangle on it. "I don't hate you, Pa."
"Then help me!" Aaron moaned. "Have mercy. Mercy."
The sun rose higher, promising another warm day. It traced all the tendons and veins standing out in Aaron Holt's neck and hands. Nothing in its caress could comfort Morgan's father, now or ever.
Morgan got up. He walked to the pile of rocks where Aaron had concealed his revolver, and shoved the stones aside. The gun felt heavy and awkward in his hand. He had never carried one; he didn't need it, being what he was.
But Aaron Holt was human.
"Bless you, boy," he whispered. "God… bless you."
With the gun loose at his side, Morgan stood over his father and stared up the hillside where rows of evergreens marched upward to the sky. "Is there anything you want me to tell Mother and Cassidy?"
His father only closed his eyes. "The head," he croaked. "That's the fastest way. I won't… feel it. No more pain. Blessed… peace."
Morgan hated him then, more than he had ever done. He lifted the gun and thought of all the times he had dreamed of facing Aaron Holt and making him wish he were dead.
Aaron Holt wished he was dead. That was all. He had nothing to give, no amends to make, no regrets. Only one last demand from the son he had abandoned.
"Please," he whispered. "Damn you. Damn you."
The sun wheeled madly overhead. Morgan's hand began to tremble. He made a fist. The trembling stopped.
"Now. Do it… now."
Morgan raised the revolver and took aim with exquisite care.
"Thank… God," Aaron whispered.
Morgan fired once. Between one moment and the next, Aaron Holt's pain was over. The echo rang across the hills, and crows rose up from a nearby pine with raucous cries.
An old miner and his mule emerged from the underbrush. Morgan was distantly aware of the man's frightened face and the way he glanced from Morgan to the body and back again.
"You kilt him," the old man said.
"He was my father," Morgan said. There were no tears. No feeling at all.
The old miner gripped his mule's halter as if for dear life. "We was comin' to check up on 'im. Hadn't heard in a week. Now he's dead." He narrowed his eyes. "You were his son?"
Two other men came up behind the miner, both in rough garb and weathered with years in the mountains. "Hank! You all right?" one of them said. He stared at Morgan. "We heard the shot. What the hell?"
"Aaron's dead," Hank said. "His own son shot him."
The newcomers started for Morgan and stopped at the sight of the gun. Morgan let it fall from his fingers. One of the men circled him cautiously and darted in to snatch the gun.
"He's dead, all right," the second man said grimly, bending over the body. "You saw him do it, Hank?"
"Well, I…" The old man chewed the frayed ends of his moustache. "I heard them quarrel afore, back in March during the thaw. Didn't know the boy was Aaron's son. But…"
"We got to take you to town, boy," the man with the gun said, aiming it at Morgan's chest.
"I did hear Aaron tell him to do it," the old miner stammered. "He looks in a bad way. Maybe it was a mercy."
"That's for the law to decide." The first man nodded to the second. "Get some rope, Bill. Can't take no chances with a man who'd murder his own pa."
Hank opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly closed it again. Morgan waited quietly while Bill tied his hands behind his back. He welcomed the discomfort when the men dragged him back to their claim a mile away and talked of how they would get him to town and hand him over to the law. He could have escaped them easily, but he did not.
He didn't defend himself when he went to trial. Old Hank spoke of what he had heard, how Aaron Holt seemed to beg to be killed, and the local doctor testified that Aaron had been in the grip of fatal gangrene poisoning and must have been suffering unbearable pain.
In the end, that was what had spared Morgan death. What they gave him was worse. They locked him up in a place that would have driven him mad at any other time. They caged him for nine years, and when they judged his silence as rebellion they beat him. He let them. He always healed. After a while they left him alone. Alone with his own thoughts and memories.
That was the true punishment, the one he could never escape. Only the wolf gave him peace. And then that, too, was taken away.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Morgan climbed out of the pit of memory, reaching toward the light of the voice.
Athena's voice. She held him, and her hazel eyes glittered with tears.
"I would have understood," she whispered. "It wouldn't have changed anything between us."
Ulysses's voice rang in dramatic conclusion. "And so Morgan Holt paid for his crime. A crime of mercy, a reluctant easing of inconceivable torment. He has served his sentence. He has been punished enough, and must be punished no more."
People in the crowd began to murmur, a tide of sound suddenly released by the end of Ulysses's tale. Morgan found his mind remarkably clear. He eased his arm from Athena's grip and turned slowly to Niall, who had scrambled to his feet, Caitlin solemn and pale at his side. Niall's gaze slid away from his.
"I offer a bargain," Morgan said. "Let Athena go. She is not what you are. Give her what is hers, and I will leave and not return."
"No, Morgan," Athena said. "It's not your bargain to make." She swung on her brother, head lifted, and compelled him to meet her eyes.
"I loved you, Niall," she said. "I trusted you. I refused to believe ill of you, even when I should have seen the truth. You cared for me all these years. I will never forget that. But now I understand what made you so careful with me. It was guilt—not only about the accident, but because of my mother." She did not lower her voice, though she must have known how her words would be taken by the avid audience. "You robbed me of her and lied to me all my life. You were afraid that I would become just like her if I had my freedom." She gave a heartrending smile. "You were glad when I was hurt, weren't you? I was safe in my chair, with my domestic and charitable work. I let you convince me that it was all I could aspire to. Your mistake was trying to take even that away. And my great good fortune—" She reached for Morgan's hand. "My great joy is that someone came along to teach me about courage and daring to hope. Someone who has suffered more than you or I can imagine."
"Athena," Niall said, swallowing heavily. "You must understand—"
"But I do, Niall. And I pity you." She looked at Caitlin. "If anyone can help him, you can."
Caitlin bent her head. "Thank you."
Niall looked at Caitlin as if she had grown horns and a tail. "You," he whispered. He stared at Morgan and Athena in turn. It was no longer merely fear in his eyes, but something more complex made up of equal parts bewilderment and desperation. Morgan recognized the kind of madness that came to a man when everything he had believed, every foundation of his world, disintegrated beneath his feet.
As Cecily had done before him, he turned hard on his heel and fled the room at a run. Caitlin hesitated, anguish in her eyes, and ran after him. A hum of excited comment rose and fell about the ballroom.
Athena clenched her fists at her sides and did not follow. Morgan wanted to hold her, comfort her with all the loving words he had never been able to say. He remained still.
Ulysses and Harry came to join them. Ulysses nodded to Morgan, eloquent in his silence. Harry's eyes were moist.
"My boy," he said. He reached out as if to pat Morgan's shoulder and tucked his hand into his waistcoat instead. "My dear boy." He cleared his throat. "I know… I know that your father loved you, and you loved him in spite of everything. What lies between a parent and child is not easily torn asunder."
"He's right," Athena said. She was not afraid to touch him, no matter how little he responded. "You have lived with this for too many years. Let it go. Walk away from it, just as I learned to walk away from my chair and everything that held me prisoner." She placed her hand on his chest, fingers spread, as if she could reach inside his ribs and replace what was missing. "Forgive your father, Morgan. Forgive yourself."
"Listen to her." Harry blinked, and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. "Morgan… I am as proud of you as if you were my own son. That is why I must insist that you do not throw away the one thing that can give you peace." He took Morgan's hand and then Athena's. Gently he placed her fingers in his. "Love one another. That is all that matters."
Morgan could not have spoken if he wished. The obstruction in his throat had grown and grown to fill all the hollow places in his body, pressing on his eyelids and the casing of ice around his heart.
He looked into Athena's eyes. They were clear, sane, bright with love. For him.
"I cannot stay here, among men," he said, so that only she could hear.
"I know."
"I won't let you give up all this for me."
"All this?" She glanced around the room, her gaze sweeping over the sea of faces as if they were so many antique paintings on a wall. "Do you think I want this now? They would not have me again even if I did. And I wouldn't have them." She cupped his hand between hers. "I decided even before I returned to Denver that my old life was over. I should have known before, but a part of me was still bound to that chair. The one you made me recognize for what it was. You, Morgan."
"You knew I had killed."
"And I doubted, for a while. But love—" She glanced at Harry with a warm smile. "Love is stronger than doubt."
Still he refused to let himself believe. "The people you help… you cannot abandon them."
"For all the mistakes he made, my brother was right in one way," she said. "He accused me of trying to do everything myself, as if I could save all of Denver single-handedly." She dropped her gaze. "I was arrogant. I wanted to make myself indispensable—to Niall, to society, to the needy, because I had nothing else then." Her eyes found his. "There are many good people in my employ who can do what I did. All they need is money. After what has happened, I think I can convince Niall to release my fortune so that I can give the charities whatever they require to go on without me. And—" She turned his hand over in hers and kissed his palm. "There are people who need help everywhere. It doesn't matter where we go or what we do. I choose a life with you, Morgan Holt. I love you."
Morgan's chest rose in a great, heaving breath. The frigid sheath behind his ribs cracked in one painful, miraculous spasm. Melting droplets rushed up his throat and into his eyes. He heard the hoarse sound of sobbing and realized the tears were his own.
"Athena," he said. He took her face between his hands. "My love." He kissed her, tasting salt on his lips and hers, daring the entire world to judge. All the anger, the self-contempt, the grief that had consumed him flowed out with that kiss, passed into Athena and came back to him cleansed and purified.
"I love you," he said. "Will you have me, Athena?"
"Yes. Oh, yes." She kissed him boldly, passionately, spitting in the collective eye of shocked society matrons. "But only if it is forever."
Morgan responded as ardently as Athena could have wished. She rejoiced in his tears, for she knew they came as a release—release from the prison in which he had bound himself since his father's death. She felt no shame for her own silent weeping. Only three people in this grand ballroom mattered to her now.
"Athena," Morgan murmured into her hair. "Will you dance with me?"
She drew back in amazement. "You know how to dance?"
"Ulysses showed me once. I have never practiced."
"And I," she said, "have almost forgotten how."
With solemn deliberation, Morgan placed one hand on her waist and took her other in his. There was no music. Athena didn't need it. It sang out in her heart, a melody too perfect to be rendered by human hands.
Morgan took an awkward step, and then another. It was the first time Athena had ever seen him less than graceful. She loved him all the more for his imperfection, and the courage he showed in a place so alien to his nature. She followed him, gazing into his eyes, as he grew more sure and his steps took on a smooth, three-quarter rhythm.
Then they were flying about the ballroom and Athena was laughing, glorying in the dance and the man who held her. Morgan smiled. He waltzed her with wild abandon to the ballroom doors and carried her with him down the stairs. The same flabbergasted hotel staff and patrons who had seen them enter singly watched them leave together, hand in hand.
They dashed into the street, past the waiting carriages and out of the business district to the very edge of town. Morgan shed his clothing, eyes alight with challenge. Athena never hesitated. She flung her clothes aside and took Morgan's hand. He bent back his head and howled loudly enough to wake the dead. Naked man dissolved into great black wolf.
In seconds Athena was beside him. He licked her muzzle tenderly, and she could hear the words he did not speak, the words that had set them both free, I love you.
Ulysses gazed at the open doors, vaguely surprised at the tightness in his chest. It was not his way to become sentimental, particularly when matters had resolved themselves so fortuitously.
Harry's broad hand came to rest on his shoulder. He didn't speak; no words were adequate to the occasion. Unlike Ulysses, Harry felt no compunction about his tears. He sniffled, dug about in his pocket for a handkerchief, and blew his nose.
The din in the ballroom had reached a high pitch, men and women competing with each other to exclaim most volubly upon the appalling events that had just taken place. Ulysses glanced up at Harry. Harry nodded, and a smile spread across his round, florid face.
Together they turned to face their audience. Harry raised his hands dramatically. The roar of voices faded to a murmur, and them into silence. Harry bowed and came up with a broad grin that lifted his moustache nearly to his eyebrows.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "The performance is finished. Good night."
Epilogue
Denver looked very small from the top of the hill, and very far away.
Athena adjusted her knapsack and leaned against Morgan. He would have no regrets about leaving the city far behind. What surprised her most was that she had so few.
The only matters she had left undone since the ball had found their own sort of resolution. Niall had fled Denver that very night, and so had Caitlin. When Athena had returned to Fourteenth Street the following evening, she had found a message from the family banker informing her that she had been given full control of her inheritance, as well as a substantial portion of the Munroe fortune.
Niall, wherever he had gone, had made that one last act of atonement. The money was more than enough to keep Athena's charities going indefinitely, under the care of trusted employees. As she had told Morgan, her direct supervision was hardly necessary. And whatever the Denver society ladies thought of her now, they would not entirely stop their own contributions. Athena had them too well trained.
Cecily Hockensmith had certainly believed she had all of Denver at her feet. Athena could not guess what she was thinking now. Since the ball, she had remained locked up in her house and had issued no invitations or ventured out to a single luncheon. Once it might have mattered to Athena whether or not the harpy received her just punishment and became persona non grata among the very people she wished to impress. Now her fate was unimportant. No matter how she schemed and simpered, she would never be happy.
And as for French's Fantastic Family Circus…
"Where do you suppose Harry will take the troupers after the winter is over?" she asked Morgan.
He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I don't know. He will need to find replacements for Caitlin and Ulysses—and Tamar." His lips wrinkled on that last name. Tamar and her serpents had been gone when Harry and Ulysses returned to Long Park, and no one had bothered with inquiries as to her whereabouts.
Only Ulysses, Harry had told her, seemed troubled. A few days later he had announced his intent to return to the Wakefield mansion in Tennessee, there to face his family for the first time in many years.
"It took great courage for Ulysses to stand before Denver society as he did," Athena said. "I think that was what made him decide to go back home."
"He has always hurt because of their treatment of him," Morgan said. "It will not be easy."
"But it is worth it." She laced her fingers through his. "It's worth it to know what you are truly meant to be, without fear. And yet—" She sighed. "I worry about Caitlin. If she went after Niall, she cannot expect happiness. He will have to change a great deal before he can accept love."
"As I did?" Morgan gave her a twisted smile. "I didn't think I needed anyone. You proved me wrong." He kissed her fingers. "Do not be concerned for Caitlin. She can take care of herself. You didn't think she was an ordinary woman?"
She peered up at him. "Are you saying… She is not… not—"
"No, not like us. She was traveling this country alone before you and I were born."
Athena was well past the point of amazement at such revelations. "I see. And yet she chose Niall."
They were silent for a while, watching light and shadow roll across the prairie beyond the city's edge. Snow settled lightly on Athena's hair. A new, increasingly familiar restlessness came over her, and she knew that the time of farewells was over. She tugged at Morgan's hand.
He held back, scanning the horizon once more. "Are you sure, Athena?"
She knew what he asked. Quickly she stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm sure, Morgan. As sure as I am standing here with the man I love."
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