“Archers!” Jake yelled, and almost immediately arrows flew back over the fence into the woods. Hearing several angry oaths and one sharp yelp of pain, Danny guessed that some of the arrows had found flesh.
Danny handed rock after rock up to Talon as the battle raged like a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake. Arrows flew in both directions, and so did rocks. Blazing torches lit the air. The savages threw themselves against the walls in twos and threes, like human battering rams, trying to break through it.
Shouts and screams tore through the night.
Talon screamed and fell from the rung on which he was perched. An arrow protruded from his shoulder, and as Danny scrambled to help him, one of the Tribe took advantage of the unguarded spot and dropped over the fence. Talon writhed on the ground between Danny and the blue-painted apparition who crouched there, glaring at them. The savage leaped and Danny fell back under his assault. Adrenaline took over as Danny realized that it was kill or be killed.
“Kill him!” Talon yelled, but his voice was weak. He struggled to get a hold on the arrow in his shoulder, but it had pierced him at an angle where it was difficult to grasp. Blue Face flung himself on Talon and pulled a knife carved from stone from his feathered belt. He raised it in the air, but just as he swung his arm to plunge his knife into Talon’s throat, Danny, with a strength he did not know he possessed, threw himself at the wild man. He managed to knock Blue Face out of the way, but the man jumped to his feet and turned on Danny.
“Bastard! You die first!”
Danny’s rage boiled over, as all the weeks of frustration and pain rushed to the fore. “You die!” he roared, in a voice he did not recognize as his own. Fury gave him strength, and even as Blue Face’s knife raked his arm, leaving a long bloody gash, he grabbed two large rocks and swung them at his enemy’s face. The man went down, but Danny could not stop beating him, even when he saw pink froth at his mouth and blood oozing from his eyes.
Martin pulled him off. “Hey, Pal, the jerk’s dead. No point in overkill.”
Danny grimaced. Martin could make jokes even at a time like this.
It had all happened so fast. Evan and Jake appeared. “We have to get Talon inside, Danny,” Jake urged. “You, too, by the looks of that arm.”
“You saved his life, Danny,” Evan said, as they picked up Talon’s limp form.
“We’ll never forget that.”
Danny tore his eyes from Blue Face’s body and looked around, suddenly aware of the silence. “Is it over?”
“For the time being,” Evan replied. “You never know with them, but I think we killed several.”
“They’ve retreated to a safe spot to lick their wounds like the dogs they are,” Martin said.
“Hey,” Evan joked, “you’re talking about some of my favorite animals, and not making favorable comparisons, either.”
They carried Talon into his cabin. Danny, supported by Martin, limped behind.
“This is what they usually do,” Evan said as they laid Talon on his cot. “But they’re never as prepared as we are. We built this village, and we’re determined to survive here. We’re always ready to do whatever it takes at the drop of a hat, while they tend to get themselves into a drunken rage and make a raid on us. When several get killed, they back off.”
“Until the next time,” Jake added.
Talon’s cabin was small and simple in the extreme. A bed made of twigs and dried leaves took up one corner of the one-room dwelling. A makeshift counter holding a few ceramic jars and bowls stood against another wall. There was a rough square table and two benches. In the center of the dirt floor, however, there were a number of wooden stakes, driven into the floor in an oblong outline.
Jake laid an experienced hand on Talon’s forehead. “He’s feverish. He might get an infection from the arrow, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Danny, I hate to ask you, But—”
“Of course, I’ll stay with him,” Danny said, guessing Jake’s question.
“He owes you his life,” Jake said. “We’ll bring your bed over here, and we’ll supply medicine and directions.”
“And food, until you can manage that,” Evan added, “although Talon is probably well supplied here.” He paused. “We wouldn’t ask you, Danny, but I don’t think he should be left alone. Not with that potential infection. Things could change in an instant.”
“Hey, it’s the least I can do.”
As Evan checked Talon one more time, Danny’s curiosity got the best of him.
“What is he doing here?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the stakes in the floor.
Evan glanced in the direction Danny had indicated.
“He hasn’t said anything about it, but I assume he’s building another canoe,” Even replied. “You know, he built one before, and someone smashed it one night. He never found out who did it or why. And the second one he built wasn’t sturdy enough for the ocean. I’d say he’s building this one inside, where it’ll be a secret until he’s ready to use it.”
“It’ll never fit through the door,” Danny observed.
Jake laughed. “Don’t sell Talon short. Whatever it may look like, I’m sure he’s got it figured out.”
Danny’s guts twisted with longing. Talon knew how to build a boat—a sturdy, Indian canoe that could withstand the waves beyond the rocks. And, hadn’t he said something about finding the source of the underground river that led to the sea between the rocks someplace? Maybe, just maybe, if he helped Talon build the boat—which looked like it would be a large, sturdy vessel—he could hitch a ride. Two of them, well-prepared, would stand a much better chance than one man alone. And once they reached another island, they could get help, either from the natives, if there were any, or a passing ship. It was a chance—a tiny chance, he knew, but one head to take.
He turned back to Evan, who had finished detailing the care Talon would need. “He’s strong, Danny; he’ll make it.” He grinned at Danny. “And you did real well for a broken-down old man. Amazing even. Didn’t think you had it in you, pal.”
Danny grinned back. “Jack Bauer moment.”
Danny waited with Evan while Jake and Martin brought his cot over from the other cottage. They placed it in the only remaining space in Talon’s crowded hut, behind the wooden stakes that marked the outline of a canoe.
He couldn’t wait to lie down, and as soon as the other men left the cabin, he sank down onto it, groaning, as every bone and muscle screamed in protest.
It was the deepest, most pervasive pain he had ever felt, and yet he was filled with a satisfaction he had never before experienced. He had saved a man’s life today and killed another man, an evil man, in order to do it. It was a primitive feeling, but a good one.
As he drifted off into sleep, he tried to envision Katie’s sweet face, but it refused to come clearly to him. He thought, with a pang, of all the years they had spent together, how much he had loved her, and the children they hadn’t gotten around to having.
Even if he somehow managed to make it back to civilization, Katie would not be there waiting for him, and how in God’s name did he expect to clear his name anyway? He would have to make a new life under a new name. He glanced at Talon, lying still as a stone on the bed across the room. Maybe he could go back to Montana with him. That might be the best solution. He wouldn’t be welcome in Northington, no way. He just couldn’t see housewives hiring him to work in their homes, where they were alone or with small children, after all that had been said about him.
Fate had intervened in his life in a harsh way, but if he ever got through this, he would be a better person for it. Yes, he might very well go west with Talon, if Talon would have him.
Sleep was coming for him, but his mind had one more picture to show him: Charlie. Had she seen the battle on TV? Had she watched him save Talon? She arrived in his vision, clear and fresh-faced, smiling that brilliant smile of hers, looking as real as if she stood there beside him. Then her expression changed, became more somber, and a tear
ran down her cheek. The gray background where she stood slowly turned blood red.
“Charlie,” he breathed. He reached out a hand, but only air met his touch.
The image faded slowly away, but just before sleep finally claimed his exhausted mind and body, he knew, with that certain knowledge that comes from somewhere beyond one’s ability to know, that she was in mortal danger.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie sat in the den, waiting. She’d poured herself a water glass half full of Chardonnay and added a few ice cubes. It wasn’t her first drink of the day, either. She glanced at her watch. Six thirty. Paul had said he would be home from the retreat by dinnertime. She was sure someone had called and filled him in on the meeting.
The door opened and slammed shut, hard. Oh, he was home. Now she would have to face the wrath of one irate husband.
“Charlie!” he shouted.
“In here, Honey,” she called, making her voice liquid sweet.
He strode in, his face red with the February wind, snow still dusting the shoulders of his coat. He unwound his blue scarf and threw it on a chair. “Where’s Courtney?” he demanded, looking around.
She glanced at the scarf. She could see the raspberry colored lipstick smear on the corner. “I asked Mindy to take her,” she answered, “so we could have an uninterrupted hour or two of unmitigated unpleasantness.”
He glared at her, his face frozen. “I have never been so angry with you in my life.”
“Who called you?” she asked, raising her glass.
“Head of Session. And he was livid. This is most unseemly for a minister’s wife, Charlie.”
“Unseemly,” she repeated, rolling the word around on her tongue as if she had never heard it before. She looked up at him. “Are they going to impeach me?”
“Will you be serious!” He was shouting at her. “I sometimes damn well wish they could impeach you!”
“Do you?” she asked. She was buzzed enough that his reply didn’t scorch her as much as it might have.
He sat down on the loveseat next to her. “Charlie,” he said in his let’s-be-reasonable tone, “I want you to send another letter to all those women and tell them—oh, I don’t know—that your sympathy for Danny Manning clouded your better judgment, and that you’re not going to—”
“No.” she said.
“Charlotte Elizabeth Adams Adjavon!”
“You sound just like my father,” Charlie said. She picked up her glass with a great show of nonchalance and swished the wine around before raising it to her lips. “But you’re not. You’re my husband, that is husband, not father or master, and I don’t have to obey you.”
“Charlie,” he yelled. “You cannot use my pulpit, my position as minister, to launch a campaign like this. I just won’t have it!”
“I’m not using your position,” she replied, fighting a rising tide of anger. “I’m using my position as a minister’s wife.” She glared at him, feeling her gaze turn stony. “And you don’t have to ‘have’ it, Paul. It’s my campaign, my responsibility.”
He paced around the small den in obvious frustration, tearing his hands through his full head of hair. “Charlie, you could cost me my job! How can I support you and Courtney without a church, not to mention that this is my life’s work. You’re going ahead with this even if it costs me my job, my reputation?”
She put the wine glass down. “You’re the one who taught me,” she said, keeping her tone even and spacing her words her words with care, “that right is right and wrong is wrong, no matter what it costs a person. How many times did I hear about your Uncle Jim, who stood up for civil rights, participated in freedom marches—”
“I know!” he yelled at her. “And the congregation fired him. Well, I’m not about to get fired because my wife goes off on her own ridiculous tangent.”
“You don’t want me to stand up for what I think is right?”
“How do you know you’re right?” he demanded. “A jury of his peers found him guilty. Who are you to decide they, and the entire judicial system, was wrong?”
“I knew him,” she said, “I know him, Paul. He never killed those women, and he certainly never killed Katie.”
“I forbid you to go on with this!” He had paused in front of the window where the Manning’s dark, empty house loomed like a menacing shape in the faint moonlight.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking past him at the house in the distance.
“Okay,” he said soothingly, visibly relieved. He sat down on the sofa beside her and reached for her hand. “If you just write another letter, I think we can soothe all this over. I’ll say something from the pulpit on Sunday, explaining—”
“I meant,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his, “that I’m sorry I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. I’m going to try to free Danny.”
He jumped up, and stood there glaring down at her. “Is this all our marriage, our life together means to you, Charlie?” he shouted. “You’re going to throw it all away for this—this murderer?”
“He’s not a murderer, and I intend to prove it,” she replied. Then, her anger rising at what she perceived as his insufferable righteousness, she said, “And what about you, Paul? What does our marriage mean to you?”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
She sat silent, watching him.
“What are you saying, Charlie? You’re the one who’s rocking the boat here.”
“Am I?” she asked. “I’m not the one who’s out until all hours of the night—”
“Meetings!” He exploded. “You know damn well, Charlie, that I have committee meetings almost every night and counseling appointments on the others.”
She didn’t answer. As if he sensed an advantage, he continued with his rant.
“You knew when we married I would be working a sixty-hour week, not a forty-hour week like Larry the lab tech, or a thirty-hour week like Jack the teacher you were so crazy about.”
“Do you wish I’d married one of them?” she asked.
“Sometimes I do!” he growled, pacing faster.
“I’m not the one who came home with lipstick on my scarf,” she continued.
He stopped short and glared at her.
“What’s … this?”
He picked up the blue cashmere scarf he had thrown on a chair and looked at it as if noticing the pink smear for the first time. “Well, somebody probably did give me a hug and brush against the scarf. No big deal.” He threw the scarf back onto the chair, as if that disposed of that subject. “Now, do you have any more accusations? Let’s just get it all out there.” He walked back to the window, turned and glared at her, his face hard.
She took at deep breath, feeling her anger stir, deep and harsh. “Norma Harris warned me about Heather’s crush on you”
Paul shrugged. “Sure, Heather has a crush on me. Lots of women get crushes on their ministers. Some even think they’re in love with him. Heather is nothing to me, Charlie, except as a friend and member of the congregation.”
“I found Native American jewelry—a pair of earrings and some loose beads—in your file when I looked up that sermon for you,” she said. She watched closely for his reaction. Ironically, he looked puzzled.
“I don’t know how that got there,” he replied.
“You don’t.” She made it a statement, not a question.
“No, I don’t!” he expostulated. “You thought it was Heather’s and I had brought home a few keepsakes and stashed them in my file? Can you at least give me some credit for a little more common sense than that? Maybe you planted them in there yourself, so you could accuse me of infidelity.”
She laughed, unable to help it, but it was a laugh of ridicule, not humor. Just like the man to twist things around to blame her! “Paul, let’s not play games. Sarah told me she saw you and Heather together in New Haven, one of the days you said you had to make hospital calls down there. Several of them, you said, which gave you a nice, long, uninterrupted
afternoon.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “Sarah told you what?” She watched his face lose some of its color. Her heart sank. He never did lie very well. It had to be true. But the truth was sinking in at last: His lover wasn’t Heather, it was Sarah. And Sarah was trying to frame Heather for her own betrayal.
For a few minutes they regarded each other in silence. Then Paul picked up his coat and scarf and walked toward the door. He stopped and looked back at her. “Some friends you have, Charlie. I’ll sleep in the guest room. In the meantime, I suggest you start on that letter, and I’ll take a look at it tomorrow at dinner. Good night.”
She listened to his footsteps on the stairs, as familiar as her own or Courtney’s.
There was about an inch of wine left in her glass. She tossed it down all at once. Her eyes shifted back to the window and the outline of the Mannings’ house in the dark.
“I’m sorry, Paul,” she said in a low, resolute voice. “I’m not backing down on this. I’m going to do everything I can to free Danny. Right is right, no matter what the cost. You taught me that, now you’re going to have to live with it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Talon recovered more quickly than anyone could have predicted. Danny, too, was rapidly regaining his strength. The day came when Danny could wait no longer to bring up the subject of the canoe.
They were sitting at Talon’s shabby, makeshift table, drinking some of Evan’s makeshift brew. The brew, Danny reflected, was of much better quality than the table, or for that matter, Talon’s other furnishings. The table wobbled as Danny leaned his elbows onto it, giving him the opening he needed.
“Hey, Talon—if you were such an expert boat-builder, why is your furniture so badly put together? It looks like a third grader made it in shop class.”
Talon almost smiled. “On purpose,” he explained. “I didn’t want to build something beautiful that I wouldn’t want to leave. I get attached to my creations, and I never planned to be here this long. It’s different for Jake and Evan and some of the others. This is their life now.”
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