The Color of Gothic
Page 31
“About twenty of us.”
“Come on through.” Blair stepped back out of the way.
The miners filed out of the tunnel, eager to reach the light of the crevice. Several smiled and said thank you as they passed Blair. He had put his guns away by now. A few of the men shook his hand.
Blair could feel the miners’ purity. Raw evil did not cling to their souls. His spirit grinned, knowing so many survived.
Jerry kept his pistol aimed at the men as they climbed by him. “I’ll play it safe.”
After all the miners climbed their way out, Blair helped Jerry to the jagged crack. The opening was at least twelve-feet high and wide enough for them to slide through sideways one at a time. From the mountains they could see, they figured they were on the north side of the Jollytime Mine hill.
“We’ll make it home before sundown,” Jerry said.
“But I’m not carrying you the entire way.”
* * *
Blair awoke in Miss Katy Lee’s bed alone. He could see the bright, robin’s-egg-blue sky through the open window. The sun was high in the sky. The room was warm. A gentle breeze kept the room fresh.
“About time you got up,” Miss Katy Lee said.
Blair groaned as he rolled over to his back and yawned. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days.”
“What?”
“Three days.”
“Man, I slept hard.” He rubbed his head while making wild movements with his eyes and eyebrows stretching his face. Sheet wrinkles pressed into the skin of his bare chest and arms. He could feel one running the length of his unshaven cheek.
“I’m starving.”
I’ll bring up the food.” She kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
Blair shaved in the wash basin. He hadn’t seen his cheeks in a while. He dressed in new clothes, brown dungarees and a white shirt, Miss Katy Lee laid out for him, then made his way downstairs. The Maroon Saloon was busy for a mid-afternoon. Everyone smiled at Blair as they passed through. The friendly expressions surprised him, anxiety rumbled to the surface. The sun shined bright, more intense than he remembered. Freshness permeated from the light mountain air. He inhaled the vanilla-like aroma of the pine tree bark.
Across the street construction was underway on three buildings, replacing those lost in the fire. A wagon overstuffed with coal-covered miners drove by. They waved. Blair hesitantly lifted his hand in return.
“What do you remember?” The voice startled Blair. Worthington, bandaged up, sat in a rocking chair on the boardwalk.
He grinned, showing all his teeth to the Professor.
“Have a seat.”
Blair settled in next to Worthington, who had his broken leg propped up on another chair.
A man walked by in a hurry, but paused. “Afternoon, Mr. Blair. Professor.” He tipped his hat and went on his way.
“What’s going on?” Blair asked.
“You’re the town hero.”
“What? They’re not leaving.”
“Why should they?”
“Because of what happened.”
“And what was that?”
Blair’s memory was like Swiss cheese. He scanned the air, hoping for answers. “Vampires, demons, and one dark mine.” As he spoke the words, the memories solidified in his mind.
“That’s more than I could remember when I read my ledger. It was hard to put the pieces together.” He patted Blair on the knee. “People think you saved twenty-one miners after a freak accident at the Jollytime. Fifty-five men were killed when it exploded.”
“I don’t remember doing that.” Blair shook his head.
“I doubt you ever will.” Worthington handed him a new leather journal. “I copied my notes in here for you. I don’t recall all of the events I wrote down. But it was in my handwriting. As I read the lines, memories and feelings came back that were real. I know it happened.”
Blair took the gift but did not open the pages.
“Everyone is like Doc Parker the other day, can’t remember anything.”
“Did he survive?”
The professor shook his head. “When you feel like it, I want to hear more about what happened in the mine, with Mr. Stone and the angel.”
Blair nodded. “Something supernatural happened here.” He gripped the pages hard enough to warp the ledger.
“We participated in events that most of these people will never remember. We must. The demons may have left, but their plan still impacted these people. If everyone remembered, knew the truth, they would fight—angry mobs, the military, traveling evangelists with mercenaries—anything to stop the demons. But for now, the residual effect is fear and doubt. Though they don’t know why.” The professor sighed. “The loss of memory is surely a scheme by the demons to protect their agenda. Another town, somewhere in the world, is at risk.”
“Hopefully others can discover the truth and fight back.” Blair stood up and leaned against a post on the boardwalk. “Are you going to play Paul Revere and do your best to tell the world demons are real?”
“I have a town that doesn’t remember. What good will my word be alone?”
“I’d stand up for you.”
Worthington shifted his eyes to the ground.
“I know. I would be hard for people to trust. My past has discredited me.”
“The devil has done that. Your realm of influence now rests in those who truly know you. Work on those relationships—there will be fruit. I shall finish my research. Though the world may not accept the truth, it will be told.”
“You’ll convince them. I’ve no doubt.”
Worthington smiled. “How do you feel?”
Blair smirked back. “Different.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good. I feel like my heart has been washed out.”
“You look well,” the professor said.
The train’s steam whistle blew a few blocks away.
“They fixed the telegraph lines too. Mayor Burdett sent a telegram to Denver to let them know you took care of Jeremiah Pruitt and rescued the miners. The Denver paper had a small write up about you. Does that mean you’re a free man?”
“I think so.” The townsfolk scurried about the streets, free to do their business. Free to do what they wanted. Free to live. “Freedom. It took several years, but it’s a nice place to be.”
“It’s more than the law, isn’t it?”
He shot the professor another large smile.
“Where will you go?” Worthington asked.
“I don’t know. But I have a better idea of who I really am, and I can carry that with me wherever I go.”
“That’s our foundational question. Who are we? Once we discover that truth, no one or nothing can stop us.”
The professor’s comment hit Blair like a revelation. Like a lunar eclipse, a truth hidden in the darkness, the answer was always there.
“What about you, Professor? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to spend the rest of the summer here. There’s a vacancy at the church. I figure I can teach them a few things while my arm and leg heal. Then I’ll head back to Boston.”
“You’ll be a good fit.”
The whistle blew again. Dark smoke appeared over the town as the steam engine puffed, pulling the train. Susanne and Milly, wearing their nicest dresses, strolled from the station, across the street and onto the boardwalk. They peeked in several of the store windows and flirted with a couple miners.
“Do they…?”
“Remember? Not much,” Worthington said. “Not even that they tried to kill you.”
“Does that mean I can’t hold a grudge?”
The professor chuckled softly. He raised his hat. “Ladies. Excuse me for not getting up.”
“You’re so sweet,” Milly said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“You both look lovely.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Susanne said. “We said goodbye to some friends leaving on the
train.”
“Milly. Susanne.” Blair nodded. “Beautiful day.”
“Yes, it is, Mr. Blair.” Susanne acted a bit shy. “Will you be staying in town for a while?”
“Maybe a few days.”
“Hopefully, I’ll get to see you before you go.”
Milly and Susanne rushed inside giggling like school girls.
The train whistle blew one last time before leaving the town limits.
“Oh.” Worthington reacted like a porcupine stuck him. He checked his pocket watch. “The train. Duane and his mother are on board.”
Blair didn’t say anything. He jumped from the boardwalk and ran toward the stables.
Skedaddle whinnied at Blair. Duane had brushed the horse’s mane free of the caked dirt. His saddle, the boy had oiled and cleaned before he left.
Blair didn’t bother to saddle the scarred animal. Skedaddle was ready for a run. It reared up on its hind legs.
“Let’s go.”
The horse bolted out of the barn, nearly knocking Blair off against the door frame. They ran through town, causing several people to jump out of their way. Blair led with the reins, coaxing the horse east along the tracks. He could see the caboose.
Plenty of time.
Blair tapped Skedaddle with his heels and the horse dug its hooves in, galloping after the train. Within seconds they were riding alongside the last coal car. Blair stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
Duane stuck his head out the window of the passenger car and waved. He disappeared back inside. He burst out of the back door of the car and yelled over the roar of the train. “We’re going to California. Chula Vista.”
Mary Collins joined her son on the small landing. “Thank you.”
Duane waved again. “Take care of Skedaddle.”
“I will.” Blair waved back. “Thank you, Duane.” The appreciation wasn’t for the care the boy doted on the horse. Blair no longer felt jealous of the boy’s spark of life. Somewhere in his own soul embers of the humanity he had lost grew.
Skedaddle slowed and the steam engine sped up. Blair reined in the horse. The train snaked along the East River and down the valley toward Mount Crested Butte. To the west the gray-stone cathedral, Gothic Mountain, no longer seemed as ominous.
Warm, soft air and the fresh scent of flowers filled Blair’s lungs. Floral colors blanketed the lush valley. Blair had never seen so many flowers in one place. He spun the horse around to find he was in the middle of a painted ocean—reds, blues, yellows, and purples floated on green waves.
The natural beauty overwhelmed him. “Majestic” was the only word he could use to describe the scene. Skedaddle didn’t seem to understand what he said. But Jessica would have loved this. For the first time, the thought of her did not bring pain. She was smiling. The children were smiling.
He slid off Skedaddle and walked through the colors. Blair bent down and lightly touched a flower with white petals surrounded by lighter blue petals.
Blair didn’t want to think of the past days or even years.
Had he changed? Could he change? The possibility of staying the same scared him. His personal history wasn’t a person he desired to be. Could he live differently as a free man with a fresh heart? He yearned for his future to mimic the vitality of the valley—the bright colors of the blooms—to be full life, not death.
* * *
Evil inhabits the darkness, but desires a place in the hearts of men.
ABOUT JOEL Q. AARON
Joel spent his youth between the Magic Mitten and the Old South, but now resides at 9,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains.
The great lake and sandy shores gave him a love of the beach, but high mountain summits are now his favorite places to watch the world. Cold streams flowing with snow melt and wild trout bring him simple pleasures and long relaxing days in the wild throwing feathers at fish. But it's his love of the South that follows him where ever he travels: sweet tea, y'all, yes ma'am, BBQ, and SEC football. As you might guess, hiking 14ers, fly fishing, and college football are the major distracters to Joel's writing. A Cubs fan from his youth, he's watched games on WGN before there was cable TV.
Many things influenced his imagination as a kid...X-Men comic books, The Twilight Zone, Star Wars, E.T., Kolchak: The Night Stalker, Stephen King, and art by Brian Froud.
Joel has degrees in journalism and management from the University of Arkansas. Woo Pig Sooie!
He spent most of the last 20-plus years in some form of communications/public relations or journalism which provided a writing outlet. But it was two other authors who continued to ask, "What are you reading" and "What are you writing" that sparked his muse to write creatively—a talent his wife says she knew I had from the beginning. One of her first gifts to Joel was a writing journal. Now, several years later, he has a few completed manuscripts.
Find Joel online:
Website - http://www.JoelQAaron.com
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Blog - http://joelqblog.blogspot.com
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Aaron_JoelQ