The Piper_The Eleventh Day

by Amanda McIntyre

  Not exactly the celebration Genevieve had had planned.

  Stomping across the room in a huff, Seamus opened the door and once more the gusty winds assaulted them. He impatiently ushered the half-frozen men inside. The group ambled inside, stamping their boots, slapping their arms and eyeing the warm wood stove on the other side of the room. All avoided eye contact with the waiting bride. As instructed, they huddled around a table shoved to the side of the room, a few finding chairs. Most leaned against the wall, arms folded across their chests, dubious of the whole thing.

  All at once the tree shook with a life of its own. It’s branches, laden with select ornaments denoting each Noelle marriage thus far, bobbed and swayed precariously as the goose made known his displeasure at being imprisoned behind the tree.

  “Don’t go scaring him, Storm,” Molly admonished her new husband. “He’s bound to have a fit if we don’t calm him down.”

  With a sigh and wondering how much more chaos God truly needed to perform His miracles, Genevieve rose to see if she could lend a hand at capturing the goose.

  A thud outside stopped her in her tracks as the door flew open. A fierce winter gust grabbed the door and sent it back against the log hewn wall with a loud bang.

  Reacting on instinct, several of the men had drawn their guns and had them pointed towards the man, his face partially hidden by his wool neck scarf. He raised his hand in the air. “Pff-astor,” came a muffled voice. Seeing the guns pointed in his direction, the man removed the scarf.

  Chapter 2

  Zeke brushed the skiff of snow from his brother’s tombstone. Heating the harmonica with his breath, he put it to his lips, and tried to get through a stanza of “Amazing Grace” on the early dawn of this frigid January morning.

  It’d been three years since Clem’s death. An accident at the mine had claimed his life. Damn fool. It’d taken Zeke and several men to clear the rock that had buried him. All those years Zeke had survived the war, glad that his brother had been safe at home on the farm. He’d agreed to come west after the war to support his baby brother’s pie-in-the-sky dream of claiming his gold strike and making it rich. More than anything he’d come to watch out for him.

  Damn lot of good that had done

  A lump clogged Zeke’s throat. He tucked the harmonica—his constant companion during the war--back in his coat. He only played it now when he came to visit Clem.

  He blew out a frosty breath and straightened, gazing out over the spot where several markers dotted the landscape. Some had been killed by hostile Indians, some by harsh winters, others by disease, and the quest for gold had taken its share. He glanced down at the marker, still unable to purge himself entirely of the guilt.

  The pounding of horse hooves on the frozen ground brought his head up. A lone figure on a horse broke the early morning shadows, it’s rider headed north toward the mountains. It was rare to see anyone out on this edge of town before dawn and that’s precisely why Zeke chose this time to visit Clem’s grave--for the solitude. He didn’t care much for small talk or talking in public. People always have a lot of questions. The folks in Noelle had finally accepted that about him. They lived their lives here. He lived his in the mountains. It worked out.

  The rider slowed and Zeke recognized Silas Powell, foreman to Hardt’s miners. Zeke nodded in greeting as the man tugged on his horse’s reins. The mare appeared skittish, nervously pawing and prancing about.

  “Headed up north to find work. This ain’t the only gold mine in these parts. Don’t supposin’ you’d be interested? I could use a man with your Indian skills. I’d pay you handsomely when I make my claim. What do you say, Kyi-yee?” He narrowed his gaze on Zeke.

  Zeke shook his head. There were times he rarely remembered his real name. Everyone from the elders of the small Ute tribe to the townspeople in Noelle called him by the name that meant “the bear.” “As tempting as the offer is, no thank you. Gold no longer serves any interest I have in this life or after.”

  Silas huffed. “Suit yerself. I’m giving you fair warning, bad luck has come to this town.” He pointed a finger at Clem’s tombstone. “And I don’t plan to stay around and end up like your poor brother.”

  Zeke eyed him sharply. He’d seen greed in a man’s eyes before. He’d also seen its consequences. In a gesture he felt only fit, he pulled the leather necklace from his shirt. It had been strung by the Ute elder who saved his life from the bear attack that nearly killed him. It had since, served to protect Zeke. But Silas, on his journey would need all the help he could get. That and a word of caution was all he had to give to the man. “Take this. It might be helpful in trade if you encounter unfriendly Indians. Anything else and I’m afraid you’re on your own, Silas.” Zeke gave the man little chance of lasting the week in this rugged country. There was still much unrest between the white man and certain Indian tribes. Many tribes were being forced from their land in search of the elusive gold the government wanted/needed to replenish its reserves after the war that had depleted most of the country. If irate Indians didn’t get Silas, then there was a good chance that marauders would. Thieves and scavengers were always on the hunt for guns, gold, horses--whatever they could find from an unsuspecting rider.

  Silas grabbed the necklace, tossed it over his head, and hastily adjusted his hat. “Much obliged. Good luck to you and take my word. You’d be better off making plans to head back east.” He dug his heels into the horse’s sides and off he flew like the devil himself was on his tail.

  Zeke’s gaze followed the man until he rode from sight. He shook his head. He hoped Silas made it to his destination, but in truth, his odds weren’t good.

  With a sigh, Zeke picked up the reins of the horse. “Come on, Blue,” he said pulling his flatbed sled he’d built to transport his fur pelts. It had been weeks since he’d made a trip down the mountain. The better part of that time he’d been in the high country hunting a bear that had attacked the goat of one of the Ute tribe elders. With a short break in the weather, he’d decided it was an opportune time to bring in his pelts and trade with the local business folk to lay in supplies for the harsh winter months ahead.

  The town seemed eerily quiet, even for dawn. He paused. Not even the constant sound of the stamping mill—known as the “drum” echoed out over the town this morning. Odd. Zeke glanced around, glad that perhaps the bitter wind had kept people inside today. He shrugged and pulled out a list of his chores in town written on a piece of yellowed paper and the stub of the only pencil he owned. He checked the short list of supplies he needed—flour, sugar, a bag of oats-he traded pelts for goat’s milk from the tribe elder, but would need a new can of kerosene and a box of matches as well. Trudging up the ice and snow-covered street toward Culver’s Livery, he hoped his friend wouldn’t mind housing his sled of pelts in the stable while he did his errands in town. He made a mental note to speak too, with Woody about a runt donkey he’d talked into buying last spring. The little animal made a nice company, but lately hadn’t been eating well and Woody was hands down the best source of animal care in the area.

  He glanced up at the barber’s sign and ran a hand down his long beard. It was matted and tangled. In dire need of a trim, he knew. Being back in civilization made him aware of what a sight he must be. Then again, at present he had no plans to prolong his stay in town.

  He led the horse around the curve of the livery, reaching the stables just as Woody ran past him with nary a glance. Zeke searched further up the road expecting to see a cougar or bear causing the man to run like his tail was on fire. Whatever the cause, Woody--one hand planted atop his hat to keep it on-- was in one heck of a hurry.

  “Morning, Woody,” Zeke called, raising his hand in greeting. “Just going to get Blue some oats…if that’s okay with you.” Woody didn’t slow. “Woody!”

  With a quick glance over his shoulder, Woody kept right on running. “Help yourself. Be back in a bit. Got pressing matters here.”

  Zeke stared perplexed after the funny ma
n--heart as big as the sky and there was no one he trusted more with his animals--but the man could be a bit tetched in the head at times.

  He led the horse to the barn, lifted off the harness, and tied him in front of one of the watering troughs. Placing a bucket of oats in front of the animal, he patted its back, and grabbed one of the bundles of fox and deer pelts, tossing it over his shoulder as he lumbered back to the blacksmith shop. His bow knife, one given to him by his father, was in need of a good sharpening. The sound of clanking metal being hammered welcomed him as he came around the corner of the blacksmith’s shop. The sound echoed in the still-silent street. Zeke glanced down the street, but Woody was nowhere to be seen. This had been one damn strange morning.

  “Mornin,’ Culver,” Zeke said tossing the stack of pelts over a split fence rail. “Town sure seems quiet this morning. Where is everyone?”

  The large man swiped his sweaty brow with his forearm. His undershirt was covered in soot and grime. He scratched his cheek with his thumb as he gazed down the empty main street. “Just saw Woody headed to the saloon. It’s Wednesday. ’Spect that’s where the most folks. Mine’s closed for the day due to--”

  Zeke’s gaze followed Culver’s as he turned to greet the statuesque woman who had come from inside Culver’s quarters behind his shop. Her dark wavy hair was tossed over one shoulder, her dark eyes smiling as she carried a cup of steaming coffee to Culver. The scent made Zeke’s mouth water. “Ma’am,” Zeke said, nodding politely. He didn’t recall ever seeing the woman before in town.

  “Oh, Kyi-yee, this here is Kezia. My wife,” Culver’s chest puffed out a bit, his smile adoring.

  “Wife?” Zeke blinked, taken aback, unsure he’d heard the big man right.

  “And a new papa, as well.” Culver took the cup, his gaze glued to the lovely woman.

  “What?” Zeke said, unable to hide his surprise. “Did you say…father?” Had it been that long since he’d spoken to Culver?

  Culver’s expression clouded. “My Kezia has a six-month-old babe.” He frowned. “You don’t think I’m fit to be a father?”

  Zeke put up his hands in defense. “No, no…I’m just…so happy for you, my friend.” Zeke glanced around and wondered what else had changed in town. “When was this happy occasion—the wedding, I mean?”

  Culver’s surprised look turned contemplative. “Guess it’s been nine days now.” He winked at his new wife. “Yessir. Been nine whole days. Can’t say it’s been too bad, neither.”

  The woman looked at the ground where her leather slippers peeked out from beneath the gown. A heavy blanket covered her from head-to-foot. She offered a shy smile, speaking quietly. “I just came to tell you the baby is sleeping.”

  “Is she now?” Culver raised his brows and then grinned.

  Rather than risk life and limb by asking more questions-in particular about the child—Zeke pulled out his knife from his tooled leather holster. “Uh, I just wondered if I might leave you my bow knife. It needs a good sharpening.” Zeke wasn’t at all sure that his friend heard him. “I uh, brought you some pelts. Thought maybe we could do a trade.”

  Culver put one arm around the woman’s shoulders and started back to his room. Using his free hand, he pointed a nearby table. “Leave the knife and the pelts there. I should have them ready in…say, an hour?”

  “Sounds fine.” Zeke couldn’t wait to move on to his next chore.

  “Make that two,” Culver called after him.

  Zeke cast a look to the sky and raised his hand, trying to ignore the fact that he actually thought he heard his big friend giggling.

  First Silas’s strange departure, then Woody, now Culver. What the hell was going on in Noelle? He fished out the letter he’d written to his parents and noticed the light on in the window of Peregrine’s Post and Freight. He stepped inside and as always was in awe of Jack Peregrine’s cabinet-making talents with his polished wood counter, shelves, and display cases. He had a deep regard for the skills of both Jack and his grandfather, Augustus—known by Gus to most of the townsfolk. Self-taught Gus had honed his craft in creating exquisitely detailed leather works. Having been close to his grandfather back home, Zeke had been immediately drawn to Gus when he and his brother had arrived in Noelle. Their mutual interest in learning their craft made them fast friends. Gus often bought Zeke’s animal skins for his projects and Zeke, in return used to sit with Gus in the evenings and show him the art of whittling, as Zeke’s grandfather had taught him. Since the mine accident and the events thereafter Zeke had spent little time in Noelle. Only coming down off the mountain when it was necessary.

  It was quiet—almost too quiet. He glanced around. There was something different about the place. Zeke’s gaze followed the wall behind the gleaming wood counter, similar to the one at the Nugget—which also was Jack’s handiwork. His brows rose as he realized a newly finished shelf behind the counter. Stacked on the shelves were rolls of fabrics—bright, flowered prints, plain muslin, even lace—a very feminine addition to be sure. On the lower shelf were boxes offering buttons, needles, and trim. He looked around to make sure he was in the same store.

  “What can I do for you, young fella?” Gus popped up from behind the counter, startling Zeke. “You’ll have to speak up as my hearing ain’t what it used to be.” The old man studied Zeke and snapped his fingers. “Yer that Kyi-yee, fella.” He nodded as though affirming his comment.

  “Got a letter here I need to send back home,” Zeke said, pulling out the envelope from inside his jacket.

  “Well, now.” Gus held out his hand and Zeke handed over the letter. The older man squinted to read the address on the envelope. “All the way back to Virginny?” He frowned trying to read Zeke’s penmanship.

  “My folks are still on the family farm, sir,” Zeke said.

  “’Spect that’s a mite difficult with you being all the way out here. Got any brothers helping out back home?”

  The question was an unexpected punch to Zeke’s gut. Had that accident slipped Gus’s mind? Everyone in town had known about the it.

  “My...um, brother. He died here in Noelle a few years back. Mining accident, remember?”

  The old man’s eyes widened in shock, then he seemed to return to the present. “I’m sorry, son. My condolences. My memory ain’t what it used to be.”

  “It’s okay, Gus,” Zeke said, eyeing the man whose stories he’d once spent many an evening listening to his colorful stories and learning about how Gus taught himself leather tooling. It was as though Gus hadn’t recognized him at first, nor seemed to remember that he and his brother had stopped by often to send letters back home when they’d first come to Noelle. Zeke hadn’t written for quite some time. His family knew of Clem’s death, of course. But Zeke’s guilt and then the long recovery from the bear attack had kept him from writing this letter—long overdue.

  Gus’s behavior only added to the strange goings on in town. From the moment he’d run into Silas nothing seemed what it used to be. It set his emotions on edge, bringing to mind the Great White Owl he’d seen last night as he carried in wood for the fire. Once dismissive of the great bird, he’d learned from the Ute elder who had saved his life that to the Indian, the bird signified a great change, an eminent storm on its way. Perhaps Silas had been right when he mentioned bad luck had come to Noelle? Something for certain brew on the horizon, he could feel it. Zeke cleared his throat. “You’ll send it for me, then?”

  “Oh, certainly. Certainly.” Gus tapped the letter against the counter. “It’ll only take a few weeks to get there by rail. Fastest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Fine, how much will that be?”

  The corner of Gus’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Say, you got any foxtails with you today?”

  Zeke smiled. “Indeed, I do. My sled is over at Culver’s Livery. I’ll go fetch one for you.”

  Gus held up his hand. “Before you leave town is fine, son.” He leaned forward slipping off his favorite cap. “Thought it might spruce up thi
s cap of mine.”

  Zeke grinned imagining how a foxtail would look hanging from the old wool cap Gus had worn as long as Zeke had known the old man. “Well, to be sure the right tail can look mighty fetching on the right hat.” Zeke glanced around the store. “Say, does Jack happen to be around?”

  Gus snorted. “Third time this week Sunny Boy’s been late for work.” He gave Zeke a wicked smile. “I suspect he’s worn out.”

  Zeke offered a curious look. “Worn out? Why’s that?”

  Gus looked around to make sure there was no one in earshot. “It’s that new wife of his.”

  Another single man in Noelle married? “Wife?”

  Gus frowned. “You gone deaf boy? You ought to have Doc Deane check them ears.”

  “No,” Zeke said shaking his head. “I mean, when did he get married?”

  “Oh, guess it’s been about a week…yes, about a week.” He grinned. “I’ve not seen Sunny Boy so pleasant in a long while. Does my heart good. Even heard him whistling in the backroom the other day.” Gus leaned his elbow on the counter. “His Birdie is a pretty little thing, but, mind you, tough as nails. A hard-worker, that one. Cookin’ ain’t bad. A whiz with sewing ‘n making things with her hands. I can see why he chose her to marry.” Gus’s offered a lop-sided smile. “That, ‘n he feels he needs someone to help look after me. But he don’t know I’m on to him.” Gus winked. “But I got a couple of things he don’t know, too.” He lowered his voice and offered an ornery grin. “Like I got me a lady friend.”

  Zeke grinned, imagining the man-about-town Gus might have been in his earlier days. “Do tell.”