"Lewis!" he called, searching for any sign of his friend. He'd just seen Lewis in Sulfur Falls not an hour ago, and the man had only one passenger then-Charlie Daggett, a local from Timber Ridge. But judging from the woman's scream, Lewis had apparently picked up a second.
Peering down, James saw that the wooden tongue securing the harnesses to the stage was split down the middle. Meaning it wouldn't hold much longer. Worse, it also meant there was no way to use the horses to pull the coach free of danger.
Mindful of the slippery slope, he moved closer to the underside of the carriage, eyeing the distance from the stage to a stand of aspen anchored between boulders across the road. He heard something and stilled. It sounded like a woman crying.
He took a step closer. "Hello! Are you all right in there?"
The crying quieted. "Please..." Another soft sob. "C-can you h-help us?"
Moved by the pleading quality in her voice, James wondered if she had any idea how dire the situation was. "That's exactly what I aim to do, ma'am. The most important thing for now is to stay absolutely still. Do you hear me? Don't move and don't try to climb out:"
"I won't." She sniffed. "I c-can't move:'
Quickly sizing up his options, and considering how badly she might be hurt, he looped one end of the rope through a brace on the backside of the carriage body and tied it tight. "I'm working to get the stage secured, then I'm going to get you both out of there, all right?"
Silence.
"All right. B-but ... there are three of us."
Three? James winced, already having estimated the time and care it would take to get Charlie Daggett out. He was no small man. But three people? "Are the other two men?"
"Yes"
He wondered why the men weren't speaking. "Are they hurt?" Not waiting for her to answer, he backed his way across the muddy path, mindful of his footing, to loop the other end of the rope around a clump of aspen. It wouldn't hold the weight of the stage if gravity took over, but it would buy him some time.
"Yes ... and no;' she finally said. "One man has a gash on his head. He was knocked out when the stage flipped. The other man ... he doesn't seem to be hurt. But he's passed out too. From ... too much liquor:"
James easily guessed which man was the latter. Charlie Daggett was a regular in the Timber Ridge saloons. A quiet fellow who kept to himself, Daggett drank too much, but even well soused he possessed the strength of three men. If the town had a workday, he always showed up ready to pitch in. And despite Charlie's reputation for the bottle, James had never had to arrest him, or even issue a reprimand.
With the rope secured around the aspen, James tied an extra knot. "Who's the man that's hurt?"
"A Mr. Brandon Tolliver."
James sighed. This just keeps getting better and better. Walking back, he removed his hat and duster and tossed them on a nearby boulder. At least the woman's voice was sounding stronger. Good. She'd need every bit of courage she could muster to get out of this mess.
The horses surged forward again, whinnying and pawing at the soggy ground, causing the stage to creak and rock from side to side. The woman screamed, and James grabbed hold of the rear coach wheel, watching the already taut rope strain tighter against the weight.
But the rope held. For the time being.
Choosing the largest boulder he could manage, he hefted it, back muscles straining, and deposited it by the stage to use as a makeshift stair. He had a plan. He just prayed it would work, and prayed that the hundred things that could go wrong wouldn't.
He raked a hand through his hair. "What's your name, ma'am?"
"Molly." Timidity softened her voice and gave it a little-girl quality.
She'd only told him her first name, as though they were just kids. But she was probably scared witless, with good reason. "Well, Molly, my name is James, and I'm looking forward to officially making your acquaintance in a few minutes. But for now, the best thing you can do is to stay still. Okay?"
"Okay;" she said after a moment.
James was looking around for something else to use as a rope when a rustling down the trail drew his attention. A hand slowly emerged through the brush. Lewis! James ran to meet him and pulled him clear of the ledge.
Lewis held his head, panting. "I came to and ... heard your voice, Sheriff. I thought we were done for:'
Knowing that might yet describe the fate of those in the coach, James kept his voice low. `Are you fit to help with the horses? We need to get them unhitched:'
Lewis hobbled to standing, his left pant leg torn and bloodied. "You just tell me what you want done and I'll do it:"
James squeezed his shoulder and relayed his plan. Lewis stared for a few seconds, and James sensed he might offer up argument, but the man turned and set to work.
Minutes later, with the horses unhitched and tethered across the road, James tested the slipknot in the lasso he'd fashioned from one of the reins. It should work well enough. Molly hadn't said anything else, but he sensed she was waiting for him to tell her what would happen next.
Murmurs came from within the carriage, and he saw it begin to sway.
"Molly, don't move! All of you, stay still!" he shouted, steadying the coach as best he could with Lewis's help. "Tolliver? Daggett? Can you hear me?"
The men answered in unison.
"We're going to get you all out of there, but it's going to take working together. I've done some figuring on this, and ... Molly?"
"Yes?"
"We're going to get you out first:"
"I ... I don't think that will work, James;' she answered.
"Why not?" He stepped up onto the rock and tried to peer through the opening above the door, but the curtain was tied shut from the inside.
"Cuz I'm layin' on top of her, Sheriff."
Recognizing Daggett's voice and the predicament inside the stage, James exhaled. The woman was pinned beneath Charlie Daggett? God help them...... Which one of you is closest to the door?"
"That'd be me, Sheriff." A hand appeared through a slit in the curtained window.
James wished there were a way to get Molly out first, but apparently there wasn't. "All right, then, Tolliver. Looks like you're up. As carefully as you can, see if you can get that door open. And try not to move too much."
Tolliver untied the curtain from the window, and his head slowly appeared through the opening. The stage shifted beneath him. The man's customary smirk was noticeably absent as he worked at the latch. The door finally gave, and he eased it back against the side of the carriage.
James tossed up the rope. "Slip it over your upper body and we'll steady you as you climb out. And remember ... move slowly."
Tolliver did as instructed. The man was agile and fit and climbed out with little trouble. James steadied the coach as Tolliver eased himself over the side.
Gaining his footing, Tolliver removed the rope and eyed James for a second, no doubt recalling their argument that afternoon in Sulfur Falls. "Thank you, Sheriff." He held out his hand. "Much appreciated."
"You're welcome, Tolliver" James quickly shook his hand, then refocused on the carriage. "Okay, Molly. You're next" He didn't know what size a woman she was but felt safe in betting she wasn't the likes of Charlie Daggett. "Daggett, I want you to raise up nice and slow, and keep your weight to this side of the carriage. Not toward the ravine" Daggett wasn't slow-witted, but James wasn't taking any chances. "You understand what I'm saying to you?"
He waited, hearing murmurs coming from inside.
"Yes, sir, Sheriff McPherson;' Daggett finally answered. "I understand. Me and Miss Molly, we got it worked out between us:"
Hoping they did, James tossed the rope up again, and seconds later, a pile of blond curls appeared through the doorway. He blinked to make sure he was seeing right. It was her! The woman he'd spoken with in Sulfur Falls. Their eyes connected and her expression mirrored similar surprise and recognition.
"I'm ready ... Sheriff McPherson;' she said, her voice higher pitched than befor
e.
Wishing she'd stuck with his first name, James began pulling her up as she climbed through the door, watchful of where the coach was on the cliff. Judging from the resistance on the rope, she didn't weigh much. "You're doing real well, Molly;" he said, seeing the fear in her eyes. "Just come on the rest of the way."
Halfway out, one knee on the carriage, she tossed him a weak smile ... then stopped, frowning at the reticule on her arm. "It's caught on the door hinge:" She braced herself, tugged it free, and started to climb again. But then she turned and glanced behind her.
"No, Molly. Don't look back!"
She slipped. Screaming, she slid back inside the opening. But not far. James held the rope taut as the carriage rocked from side to side. Lewis and Tolliver anchored the rope behind him.
"Look at me, Molly," he said, his breath coming heavy, more from fear than from supporting her slight weight. "Look at me!"
She did. Fear widened her eyes.
"Don't look behind you. Just concentrate on coming to me. We've got you, and were not going to let you fall:"
She finally offered a tentative nod and managed to climb through the doorway again, James anchoring the rope. As she slid over the side, he caught her at the waist and lowered her down.
Hands on his shoulders, she tightened her grip. "Thank you, Sheriff'
Smiling, he removed the rope from around her. "You're most welcome, Molly." She stepped to the side as he widened the loop in the rope, then tossed it back inside the open doorway. No sign of Charlie yet. "You 'bout ready in there, Daggett?"
"Yes, sir, I reckon I am. But I don't think I'm gonna fit through that door as easy as she did:"
Humor laced Daggett's tone, and James found himself admiring the man's calm. "You got into that carriage and we're going to get you out. Do you have the rope around you yet?"
Daggett answered with a tug.
"All right, then. Stand up, slow and easy. We'll hold you steady" James shot a look behind him and saw Lewis dig in his heels. Tolliver stood behind him at the ready. And at the end of the rope-God bless the woman-stood Molly, white-knuckled, bent at the knee, ready to pull.
The carriage creaked beneath Daggett's weight. His head appeared through the doorway and his massive shoulders filled the portal. He angled sideways and lifted one arm through at a time, but after several tries at hoisting his body through-the stage inching dangerously closer to the cliff each time-shades of acceptance darkened his eyes.
"It don't look like I'm gonna fit through here, Sheriff. Not without me givin' it my full strength. And if I do that, I'm afraid I'll-"
"Yeah ... me too, Daggett" James blew out a breath. He had no doubt Charlie had the strength to heave himself through, especially with them pulling. What he hadn't counted on was gravity working against them so much. Going through a coach door sideways, with the stage right side up, was one thing. Climbing up and out while it balanced on a cliff was another.
But he wasn't going to lose this man. Not after coming so far. He tried to think of another idea and couldn't. "Listen, let's try it again. Except this time, on the count of three"-James glanced behind him-"we're all going to pull ... hard. And, Daggett, I want you to suck in that gut of yours and push through there like a case of fine Irish whiskey depends on it!"
A smile ghosted Daggett's face. "Yes, sir, Sheriff."
Gripping the rope tighter, James said a quick prayer. "One ... two ... three!"
They pulled, and Daggett-red-faced, neck muscles bulging-finally managed to push through the door, looking like a prize-winning calf two months overdue. Panting, he paused on the upturned side of the carriage, a big smile lighting his face. Just as the stage began to tip back toward the ravine.
Daggett's face went white.
"Hold the rope!" James yelled, realizing what was happening. The weight of the luggage was pulling the stage over the cliff. He hoisted himself up beside Daggett, heart pumping.
"What're you doin; Sheriff'?" Daggett shouted. But as the coach steadied, Daggett gave a quick nod, seeming to understand.
James stretched out, pulse racing, and strained to reach the ropes that tied the luggage on. In the space of a second, an image flashed through his mind ... that of sharpening this knife two nights ago with his younger nephew, Kurt, on the front porch. He sure wanted to see that little guy again, and his older nephew, Mitch. Emotion tightened his throat. Death had never felt so close. He was ready to die and meet his Creator. That wasn't a question, and it was strangely reassuring to know that. But he still had things he wanted to get done. People he needed-and wantedto take care of. But God knew all that. Don't you, Lord ...
He slid the knife beneath the rope. "When I cut this, Charlie"-his breath would hardly come-"we're going to shift back toward the road, but we won't have long. You're going to have to-"
"I know what I gotta do, Sheriff. And I'll do it! I make my oath on it."
With a single cut, James sliced the rope and sent the luggage plummeting. As gravity dictated and as he'd banked on, the stage shifted back toward the mountain. Only not as far as he'd estimated. Or for as long. He scrambled back, trying to make it in time. But momentum stalled as the stage angled back toward the mountain for the final time.
He saw Lewis and Tolliver straining to hold on to the rope and felt Charlie Daggett's grip go viselike around his wrist. But nowherenowhere-did he see Molly.
And oddly enough, hers was the face he would've liked to have seen again. Just one last time.
4
olly dug in her heels and pulled hard on the mare's harness. "Come on, girl! Move!" she screamed, but the animal was slow to obey. Overlong reins trailed the muddy ground. Lewis and Tolliver yelled, and Molly turned to see the stagecoach dipping back toward the mountain.
Fear spurred her courage, and she swung onto the horse and gripped the harness-in time to see the stage slide off into the ravine. She sank her heels into the mare's flank.
It wasn't but twenty feet to where Lewis and Tolliver stood, gripping the rope, their bodies braced against the weight of Charlie Daggett-who lay hanging off the edge of the cliff, belly down, holding on to James McPherson one-handed.
Growling as he tried, Charlie strained to pull him up but couldn't.
"Hold on, Charlie!" Molly slid from the mare and led her as close to the cliff and to Charlie Daggett as the animal would go.
The horse reared, but Molly's instincts kicked in, sharpened by years of riding, and she held her steady.
"Mr. Lewis!" she called, and found him already there.
"Daggett! Grab hold of this!" Lewis yelled, tossing him the rein.
His shirt slick with sweat, Daggett reached for the rein behind him, finally grabbing hold. With surprising speed, he looped it around his thick wrist. One, two, three times. Then Lewis smacked the mare's rear, and the animal dug a slow path up the incline, protesting the load.
Unable to see James's face, Molly kept her attention glued to the wrist locked tight in Charlie Daggett's grip. Inch by inch, the mare pulled Charlie forward. But not until James lay on the ground beside him, panting and laughing, did Molly allow herself to breathe.
The men's whoops and hollers carried over the canyon and echoed back. And though she shared their relief, she couldn't share their laughter. Her legs barely supporting her, she turned away, not wanting them to see her tears.
The reality of what had almost happened to her-to them all-left her bone-chilled and shaking. She'd thought her life was over. Staring down into that ravine had been the closest to death she'd ever come, and she despised how it had felt, and the dark disturbing restlessness it awakened inside her. That throbbed in her bones even now.
Tears slid down her cheeks. She tried to gain her breath. Death was a thief, an intruder. Unwelcome and abrupt. And that it would seek her-and nearly find her-out here ...
She shivered, numb inside, recalling the undeniable knowledge that she hadn't been ready to meet her Maker face-to-face. That she still wasn't. And what of the child in her
belly?
Renewed guilt and shame washed over her as thoughts of Jeremy Fowler forced themselves back in. Following their one-and only-night together, his affections for her had cooled. And that was putting it mildly. Devastated, humiliated, she'd done her best to continue instructing her classes, but it had become increasingly difficult to concentrate, and her teaching had suffered.
One morning in early July, President Northrop had summoned her to his office to discuss her poor performance and to question her propriety on the rumor that her reputation had been sullied. She'd asked him to reveal his source, but he'd refused. Days later, when she'd read in the newspaper about Jeremy's engagement to Maria Elena Patterson, daughter of the college's largest donor, she'd found her question answered. And later that week when another article reported a record donation to Franklin College by Jeremy's future father-in-law, her humiliation had been complete.
By then, she knew she was with child, and though that didn't ease the betrayal, it had made her leaving her hometown more palatable. In the article that announced the donation, President Northrop had been quoted as saying, "This generous gift from the Patterson family marks an important day in the history of Franklin College, and its bright and promising future:'
Molly drew in a shaky breath. And it had marked the end of hers.
She twisted the wedding band on her left hand. It looked so odd and out of place, with good reason. She'd been so foolish, so trusting. And she was paying the price.
She glanced back at the men and saw James standing, brushing off his clothes. She'd recognized his last name when Charlie had used it earlier, from a telegram she'd received, confirming receipt of President Northrop's letter of recommendation.
In his letter, President Northrop had stated one of the reasons for her resigning her professorship was because she wanted to see the western frontier before it was tamed and settled and vanished into history. Such foolishness ...
But apparently, the council in Timber Ridge had believed it. Because in the same telegram, which came from a Sheriff McPherson, they'd offered her the job. Turning away, Molly clenched her hands tight to ease their shaking. The teaching position had been hers for the taking. And, in his own way, Northrop had made sure she'd taken it. She'd accepted, via telegram, and was scheduled to sign the contract upon her arrival.
Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 02] Page 3