Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  “I’m so sorry,” he told me. “You are not to blame.”

  “But I brought her the tea. Ginny found out…it was horrible…” I brought both fists to my eyes, an ancient gesture of attempt to block away the sights from my mind, though it had never worked. They came anyway.

  “You are not to blame, sweetheart,” he said again, low but insistent. “Though I am sorry you lost her, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t even know where they took her to bury,” I said, withdrawing my fists and leaning back into him. Just the thought of having to stop touching him was more than I could bear. Sawyer sensed this and held me close and secure.

  “I hope you know,” he said gently, before pausing, collecting his thoughts. I sensed his desire to speak his words with delicacy. He said, “I hope you know that you may always tell me these things. I am not easily shocked, and you must never feel as though something you tell me would offend me. I despise that you had to live through such things. I wish I could run backward through time and save you from it.”

  “Sawyer,” I whispered. “I know you would.”

  After a time he continued, “After the War, I spent so much time wondering why we’re here upon the earth. I would think back to Sunday school, sitting with Ethan and Jere, and the Carters, and there we’d laugh and then get our palms struck. The pastor’s wife told us what she believed. But I could never quite swallow what old Mrs. Wheeler dished out. She could never quite explain the things I really wanted answered, such as what it looked like in heaven. Or why people had to die to go there.”

  “Mama used to say we wouldn’t appreciate life, if not for death,” I whispered, eyes closed. “If you lived always, nothing would be precious to you.”

  “I have heard that too,” he said, and there was a slight catch in his throat.

  “I used to ask my daddy the same question, about why we’re here,” I said.

  Sawyer caressed the back of my hand gently with his long thumb, a slow, repeated motion, the way I’d seen him stroke Whistler’s neck.

  “What did he say?” he asked then, his voice soft.

  I closed my eyes and saw my father. Sometimes, at Ginny’s, I would not be able to picture him clearly, nor Mama, and I would fall over a cliff of panic. But here, with Sawyer and my new family, I found their faces restored to me, gone but not forgotten, so long as I lived.

  “He said we were put here to love, that there is nothing else worth dying for. Or living for.”

  “He was right,” Sawyer whispered, and he cradled my hand before drawing it to his heart and holding it tightly there. I could feel the powerful beating and my own heart responded in kind as I looked up at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He was truly beautiful. I didn’t dare blink for fear he’d vanish like an apparition. His golden-green eyes rested upon mine and he smiled at me, so tenderly, as the cord that bound our hearts, our souls, pulsed and throbbed. No words were necessary, not when our eyes held in such a way.

  Malcolm was on the horizon then, riding our way. Sawyer lifted my hand and held it to his cheek before kissing my palm, and with the greatest of reluctance, I slipped back to my own side of the seat.

  I took a turn on Whistler, staying near the wagon as Malcolm chattered at Sawyer. I rode between Angus and Boyd, who were speculating on who was best to teach me a few novice lessons on the Winchester.

  “Well, Boyd is the best shot by far,” Gus said. “In the War, he could squeeze off two shots before another man loaded the second round. I can’t even imagine having to muzzle-load, not anymore.”

  “I recall my lips would be a-burning with having to tear those papers, load that shot,” Boyd said. “An’ the goddamn Enfields got so hot, didn’t shoot as straight as the Henrys the Federals had. Lucky any of us survived. Jesus.”

  “Now this here is a fine weapon,” Gus continued, indicating his Winchester. “If we’d had these years ago…”

  “You see, it’s a lever action, so’s you can squeeze off a couple a shots before you reload. We’ll let you take a couple a practice shots this evening, I reckon.”

  From the wagon Malcolm contributed, “I shoot it right nice, Lorie, an’ you’ll get the hang of it.”

  “It does kick, though, so you must mind your shoulder,” Sawyer told me, and I looked up at him. His brows were knitted with concern. “It could bruise you.”

  “Mayhap a bit,” Boyd allowed. “But you’ll toughen up, Lorie-girl.”

  “It’s more that you learn to hold it properly,” Angus added. “Have you ever shot a firearm?”

  I shook my head. “That was one thing my brothers did not teach me, though I begged. Mama just about had fits that I learned to ride so well. It wasn’t ladylike, she thought. She would have never allowed me to shoot a rifle.” I considered a moment and then allowed, “Though I believe she would understand now.”

  “It’s a good skill,” Boyd agreed. “Even for a lady.”

  After we’d set up camp, hours later as the sun was reclining westward, all four of them spent time debating at what I could shoot, and how we’d gauge accuracy.

  “A row of bottles would be right nice!” Malcolm suggested, hopping about as he always did. I was sitting cross-legged on the grass, watching as Sawyer and Boyd, after much dickering, set up the iron grate and balanced atop it several empty tins Angus had rooted from the wagon. Angus walked over to me, carrying his Winchester in the crook of his arm. He helped me to my feet.

  “Now, Lorie, if you hit the grate, you won’t hurt it, but you’ll aim for the tins. It’s a bit lower than I’d like, but we’ll start you at about ten yards, give or take,” he said.

  Sawyer and Boyd left off the tins and jogged over to us, Boyd pretending to take aim at the row they had created. Malcolm was attempting to stand on his hands, yards behind us.

  “Now, take this in your hands and feel the heft of it,” Angus said, passing the rifle to me. “Keep the muzzle pointed at the ground, for now. It’s loaded, so you must always take care. Never point it inadvertently at someone.”

  I nodded seriously. I was wearing Malcolm’s clothes, my hair pulled back into a braid. The evening sunlight fell over our shoulders from behind as I took the firearm; it was much heavier than I had anticipated. The barrel dipped low and I overcompensated, swinging it up too high. Boyd laughed and pretended to duck for cover. I bit my bottom lip in concentration and managed to hold it properly, though I kept my fingers from the trigger.

  “Now, balance the barrel in your left hand, thus,” Angus said, indicating. He stood to my right side, pantomiming motions. “Your right will clutch the receiver, just here. Good,” he added, as I caught it properly. “After you aim, you squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it, just squeeze gently. Catch the stock into your shoulder, there,” again I followed his instructions minutely, drawing it to my right shoulder. I could sense Sawyer’s tension, from just to my left, though I knew he was only worried I would be hurt.

  “Don’t shoot yet, just practice aiming. You sight down the barrel, just so,” Angus went on, approving as I closed one eye and practiced aiming. The rifle was heavy, but I was determined to shoot it at least a few times. “Make sure to hold aim square in the middle of those cans, keeping your breath steady.”

  “It’ll be loud,” Sawyer warned. “Your ears will ring, after.”

  “All right, now take aim. That’s good, just so. Remember don’t pull the trigger, squeeze it…” Angus reminded me.

  “Now?” I asked.

  “Brace yourselves, boys!” Boyd whooped, and I let out all of my breath, aimed as squarely as I could, and squeezed the trigger.

  The report of the bullet was deafening and the stock slammed into my shoulder much harder than I’d expected. But through it all, I heard the sharp ping of a can being hit.

  “Good hit!” Malcolm sang out, though my ears were indeed ringing. It so
unded as though Malcolm was speaking through a layer of wool.

  Boyd yelled, “That can had nothing on you, Lorie-girl!”

  I grinned, letting the barrel tip to the ground, noting that one of the cans was blown clean off the grate, yards behind it now.

  “Well shot,” Angus said.

  “Did it hit you hard?” Sawyer asked, and he looked so concerned that I smiled at him tenderly, shaking my head. His lips softened then and he added, “It was a good shot.”

  “There’s three more!” Boyd said, rubbing his hands together. “See if you can blow ’em away too!”

  I shot five more rounds and hit two additional tins, and was deemed a novice rifleman. My shoulder did indeed ache, but I was proud of myself. Angus showed me how to load and unload, and I practiced chambering a round. By the time we headed back to the fire, it was well into evening. Malcolm caught my arm and kept me with him as the men walked ahead, pointing at the heavens and saying, “Look at that big dipper in the sky, Lorie, the big ol’ dipper.” He was in his hoop snake mood, silly bordering on boisterous. “I’m a-gonna get me a drink from it!”

  I looked up, seeing the familiar constellation sprawled across the heavens. Perhaps it was because my ears were yet hollowed out and echoing with ringing, or that I had not slept properly in nights, but a rushing dizziness gripped me like a fist, swimming across my vision, blurring the stars. It was so sudden that before I could stop the motion, I reeled and felt myself fall. Malcolm made a sound of alarm and didn’t quite let me hit the ground. There was a frightful spinning within my skull, so strong that fear overrode my embarrassment. Sawyer was there in an instant, helping me to sit. My eyes were closed but I could sense the concern and distress flowing from him, though his hands were steady and warm around my shoulders.

  “What happened?” he demanded of Malcolm.

  “It wasn’t me! She just fell!” the boy insisted. “Lorie, you all right? What happened?”

  I kept my face in my hands, unbalanced. Angus and Boyd were there too, everyone worried about me.

  “Lorie, tell me,” Sawyer implored then, low, and he was scared, I could tell, keeping his voice calm with effort.

  I drew a breath and looked up, focusing on the far horizon for a moment, then immediately seeking Sawyer’s eyes. In the gloaming light, his were begging me to tell him that I was all right. I explained, “I looked up and was suddenly so dizzy. I’m all right. I am,” I added, when he was not reassured.

  “You just fell to the ground,” Malcolm said, kneeling at my side too. “Like your knees just done give out.”

  “You’re tired,” Sawyer said. “You need rest.”

  Angus said, “Come, let’s get you fed, and then I believe Sawyer is right. You need to sleep.”

  I retired as soon as I’d eaten, my head still reeling. The pain frightened me desperately, but I assured them I was feeling much better, though I knew Sawyer did not believe me; he was too adept at reading my thoughts. I longed so for his arms, to be held to his chest. Sitting near him on the wagon had been a gift, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to how much more I wanted and needed. It was physically painful to go into my tent without him being able to join me.

  I’ll be right here, sweetheart, right here. Lorie, I’m so worried, his eyes told me as I stood to bid everyone good-night.

  I’m all right, I tried to reassure him.

  I lay in my shift upon my bedding, listening to them talk in quiet murmurs, as my head spun and swam. I felt alternately hot and chilled, and though I meant to stay awake to see if Sawyer was the one to stay outside my tent, I fell into a restless and fitful sleep. Into my dreams, a dark figure came prowling, stumbling behind me, muttering.

  He was just beyond the edge of my vision as I peered desperately into the dimness of my dreamscape. I was at the docks in St. Louis again, seeking old lady Cross and her murderous tea. Sam’s hand was brutally tight around my arm, biting into my flesh and scraping over my bones, and suddenly we weren’t at the docks but in the very camp where I lay sleeping, the sounds of the prairie amplified by a sudden breeze.

  I’m just behind you, Lila. Just behind.

  I wept at his vicious words, struggling to get away, but his fingers were unbreakable in their hold. When I looked over my shoulder at him, his eyes appeared as flames, reddish and demonic, his lips curled back over blackened teeth.

  Just behind, he told me again, and I woke with a sickening gasp, hot beneath the blanket. Immediately I looked to my upper arm, exploring it with tentative fingers, expecting to see again the marks of his fingers upon my flesh. It was very early morning, already warm and humid, and I flung the blanket from me, shuddering.

  It was a dream, only a dream, I told myself, willing it to fade to non-existence, as did most of what I dreamed. I sat cautiously, gauging the reaction in my head, and then cringed at the pain. It was worse than it had been last night.

  “How are you this morning, Lorie?” Angus whispered, just outside my tent. Surely he had been there since last night.

  “I’m just fine,” I lied. “I’ll be ready directly.”

  “There’s no hurry,” he told me.

  There was however a strange urgency that filled me as I brushed and braided my hair and then dressed. I wore my own clothes today, as I couldn’t imagine riding with my head aching so. What I felt wasn’t an outright panic, though close, and the jittering awareness of it was all along my limbs. When I emerged from the tent, Angus had the fire going, the coffee kettle atop the iron grate, back in its place after holding the tin cans for my target practice. I managed a smile for him, my eyes darting to Sawyer’s tent, though I knew he wasn’t in it; he was shaving, with Boyd. I blinked at the brightening sun.

  “Did you rest well?” Angus asked, regarding me with his gray eyes worried. “You look a bit peaked, my dear.”

  “I’m fine, Gus, truly,” I said.

  But a terrible feeling in my gut insisted that I was not.

  It’s all right. You just need to rest, I told myself. Just rest on the wagon.

  I went to the river and knelt, splashing water over my face repeatedly, but was forced to draw several deep breaths before I felt able to stand.

  Oh God, what’s wrong?

  Malcolm was tearing down the tents, Sawyer just coming from the horses as I walked carefully back to camp. I wanted to go to him and be held in his arms, and I wanted this so much that my body tightened with pain. Sawyer moved to me at once and touched my right shoulder, caressing me for far too brief a moment. He was so worried for me and I tried to smile up at him, but he would not be fooled.

  “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

  Lorie, I’m so worried. You don’t look well, his eyes said.

  “I did,” I said, and I could sense his pain at not being able to take me against him. My own agony was as palpable.

  Boyd walked over, and his tone was full of a sense of forced lightness as he said, “Lorie-girl, me an’ you’ll take a turn on the wagon, how’s that? We’ll chat a spell.”

  There was a knot of tension between Boyd and Sawyer. I looked between the two of them and felt my stomach clench.

  I nodded weakly.

  “Why don’t you go an’ sit on the wagon an’ rest?” Boyd suggested. “We’ll get this camp tore down.”

  It’s all right, Sawyer assured me as my eyes went at once to his. He said softly, “Come, I’ll help you up.”

  He did, tenderly, one hand on the small of my back, the other grasping my hand. He squeezed my fingers gently, his hand lingering upon mine. I watched as he hitched Juniper and Fortune and then came to my side.

  “Are you and Boyd…” I asked, but I needn’t finish the question for him to know what I meant.

  “We’ve been at odds,” he said quietly. “We were up most of the night talking. But it’s all rig
ht. I don’t say that to placate you, I promise.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just worry so.”

  Angus headed our way and Sawyer said, low and quickly, “Don’t worry about anything but feeling better, sweetheart. Please.”

  Facing away from Angus, his eyes pleaded with me and I caressed him with my own, before nodding.

  Boyd took his place on the wagon seat. Angus, Sawyer and Malcolm rode just ahead, and try as I might I could not keep my eyes from Sawyer, from his wide shoulders in the white muslin shirt he alternated every other day with a dark green one, his suspenders criss-crossing his broad back. His hair was tied back beneath his hat, his hips rocking just slightly with Whistler’s gait, his posture even more rigid than usual as I sensed the difficulty he was having not looking back at me.

  I’m all right, love, I told him. I love you, I love you with all my heart. I haven’t said it in so many words, but I know you know it for truth.

  At my thought Sawyer did look back, and I felt the ripple of his own.

  I do know it, Lorie, and I love you so.

  Boyd and I rode in companionable silence for a long time and I found that if I kept my head still, the pain wasn’t as intense. Likewise, Boyd kept the pace of the wagon slow, and eventually Sawyer, Gus and Malcolm were many yards down the trail, out of earshot. Finally he said, quietly, “Lorie, I feel like I’ve known you far longer than I have. You were meant to be with us, I believe that, an’ I’d be happy to claim you as my sister, truly. An’ I didn’t mean to imply nothin’ unseemly the other night, when I came upon the two a-you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I told him honestly, my voice likewise quiet. My hat brim was pulled low, shielding my eyes as best I could from the brilliant sunlight.

  We watched Juniper and Fortune plod along another few paces before he continued, “I’ve knowed Sawyer all my life, an’ I love him like a brother. An’ if I don’t mistake myself, you love him too, don’t you?”