Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  He kissed my hair again, his heart beating against my cheek. He said softly, “I wouldn’t have forced you to make that choice, I would have stayed away. I was ready to face that.”

  “I know. I know that’s why you left.”

  He said, “If fate had kept us apart, we would have found each other after we died, our souls would have found each other again. I feel it, I know it.” He implored, “Please don’t feel guilty. I loved Gus too, I loved him like a father. He was the closest thing to a father I’d known for years. But he didn’t love you the way I do. You are mine, Lorie.”

  I clutched his arms against me. I whispered, “And you are mine.”

  Sawyer said, “I regret that I left in anger, I do. But he knew I loved him, despite everything.”

  “Of course he did,” I whispered. “He told me as much the next day, but all I could think of was you, going away from me. I could feel you, sense your thoughts.”

  He rested his chin atop my head before he replied, “I could sense you too, sweetheart, and it nearly destroyed me. I couldn’t hurt that much and figure I could go on living. I left and you weren’t even fully well yet.” His voice was hoarse, trembling on those words, and I knew he was exhausted beyond measure.

  “We can stop, we can rest. I worry that you haven’t slept,” I told him.

  He laughed a little then, low and with a touch of his old humor. He said, “Honey, don’t you dare worry for me right now. I will get us there, I promise you. Can you rest more? Are you cold?”

  “I’m not cold,” I murmured. “I love you, Sawyer, I love you with everything in me.”

  He tipped up my chin and my heart flared at the sight of his eyes, fierce and tender above me. He kissed me gently and said, “My Lorie, my darlin’. You don’t know what it means to hear you say that.”

  I dozed periodically, more exhausted than I’d realized. Sawyer lifted me carefully down at a creek in the late afternoon as he refilled our canteen and let the horses drink. I was stiff and sore, though I could draw a full breath today, as I hadn’t been able to since Sawyer rode out, nights past. I knelt in my stained dress and cupped my hands, catching water against my palms and washing it over my face, repeatedly. I couldn’t imagine how I must look, bruised and bloodied, my hair a mass of tangles.

  I waded carefully through the water to hug all of the horses, breathing against them, stroking their familiar flesh. I pressed my cheek to Aces’ warm brown hide and thanked God that Malcolm would yet ride him. And Admiral, Gus’s beautiful dappled gray. I caressed him between the eyes and thought back to the night he’d carried me away from Ginny’s place. I found I could not think of Ginny without beginning to panic, and so I pushed all thoughts of her away, tucked them inside for when I had healed some, could begin to comprehend the depths of her hatred. I prayed she would never know that her brother was shot dead on the prairie, his eye punctured out.

  Rain began to spatter over us, gentle at first and then more steadily. Sawyer was crouched a ways down the creek bank, filling the canteen, and he tipped back his hat and lifted his face, letting the rain flicker over him. I smiled a little, minding my split lip, as I watched; for a moment he stuck out his tongue, like a little boy catching raindrops. In that instant, far to the west, the lower edge of the sun broke free from beneath the line of clouds, sending slanted beams across the prairie. Sawyer looked over at me and smiled back. His eyebrows lifted then, as his gaze moved to something behind me, and he called over, “Lorie, look there!”

  I did, dragging my eyes from him, and gasped in surprise. A full-fledged rainbow had been painted across the wide canvas of the eastern horizon, radiant with color. It was stunning, so dazzling to the eyes that I blinked in disbelief.

  “I know the last time I saw such a sight,” Sawyer said as he joined me.

  I moved into the shelter of his arms, which were open to collect me. He drew me against his chest, so that we both faced east, rocking me side to side as we imbibed the glorious sight.

  “When was that?” I asked softly.

  “August of ’sixty-four, camped with my regiment. It was evening. We were between battles, and we’d spent the day mending tack and cleaning firearms. I worked like something made of mechanical parts in those days, no feelings at all. Ethan and Jere were gone, and Beau and Graf.” He released a slow breath before finishing, “I was paying no mind when one of the boys called over for us to look. It was a double arch and I stared at it and felt something stir inside of me, felt that perhaps there was an end to the War somewhere in sight. That there was still beauty in the world.”

  He could move me so with his words, and I realized that the time he was describing was when he’d written most of the letters in his trunk. I said quietly, “There is much beauty in the world. It just gets lost sometimes. It’s as though not everyone can see it.”

  “We’ll always see it, mo mhuirnín mhilis. I promise you. We’re together now, and I aim to keep you at my side for the rest of my life.”

  I whispered, “Sawyer, I have a picture in my mind. I kept it close to my heart, even after you left, because I couldn’t bear to let it go.”

  His voice was hoarse as he said softly, “Tell me.”

  There was a catch in my throat as I described it to him. “I see you in a corral, working with horses. There’s our cabin in the background and when I come outside, you look over and smile at me the way you do. And you climb the corral fence and catch me close—”

  He turned me in his arms, drawing me against his chest and cupping my face with one hand. His eyes were so full of love and tenderness as he said softly, “And then I hold you to my heart, where you belong, and I kiss your sweet, soft lips and tell you again how much I love you.” His voice was rough with emotion as he said, “Lorie, if you had married Gus I would have lived to my last day alone. There’s no one for me but you.”

  I pulled him to me, holding him as hard as I could, though his arms were gentle as they enclosed my bruised body. I pressed my lips to his neck, hating that he had hurt so terribly. I whispered against his warm skin, “Nor for me, but you.” The agony of being separated from him was still raw in my soul. “You were hurting so much, I could feel it, oh Sawyer, I could see you. I’m so sorry.”

  He rocked against me and cupped one hand over the back of my head, holding me. Against my temple he murmured, “All I need on this earth is you, here in my arms. I will thank God for every second I have with you. Don’t be sorry, mo ghrá milis, my sweet love, never any more.”

  And together we watched the rainbow until it glittered into nonexistence, leaving a blue-gray heaven, washed clean.

  Whistler carried us through the night. I told Sawyer that we should stop so that he could sleep for a spell, though he was insistent that he could reach the wagon before he’d rest.

  “But you’ve not slept in days, nor has Whistler,” I said, so worried for them.

  “Lorie-honey, we’re all right,” he said. “You’re safe in my arms. I’ll sleep when we get there. I just pray that Juniper stayed put. I was so desperate to get moving that I couldn’t worry about him, I couldn’t even bury Gus.” He tipped his forehead against me in the way he had, collecting himself. He whispered, “I wrapped him in a blanket and then I rode. I knew I had to get to you, Lorie, as fast as I could. I spared not a moment for anything else.”

  “Sawyer,” I whispered. “I’ll help you. We’ll care for him together, love.”

  He nodded, then said, “You rest, sweetheart. You’re healing. Sleep against me, I’ll hold you.”

  In the gray gloaming-light just before dawn we came upon the wagon and two tents, one of which was mine, still erect. I woke as Sawyer drew Whistler to a halt, pausing to take in the scene: Juniper grazing contentedly, alongside a horse neither of us recognized. Sawyer moved instinctively and his rifle was in hand before I realized any potential danger. He held it loo
sely in the crook of his right arm, his left around my waist. Whistler shifted her front legs restlessly; behind her, Aces gave a loud whinny.

  The entrance to one of the tents trembled as someone untied the flaps, and Malcolm came bounding out. I began weeping at once to see him. Behind me, Sawyer’s shoulders relaxed and he shifted his hips to set Whistler in motion. Malcolm met us halfway, his face streaked with tears. He put both hands on my leg, crying as I had never seen him, and Sawyer halted the horses again. He dismounted and took Malcolm into his arms, holding the boy close to his chest.

  “I was so scared,” Malcolm cried, before breaking free and clutching my leg again. He sobbed, “Lorie, you’re safe, you’re safe.”

  Sawyer lifted me down, ordering Malcolm, “Careful now,” as the boy wrapped his arms about me. I clung to him, petting his hair repeatedly.

  “Lorie, oh Lorie, we was so worried,” Malcolm said against my neck.

  “I’m just so glad you’re all right,” I whispered, drawing back to see his sweet face.

  His eyes grew wide and he said, “Lorie, you been hurt.”

  Boyd had appeared and he cradled me to him, cupping the back of my head.

  “Lorie-girl, thank God,” he said before releasing me. His jaw tightened at the sight of my face and his dark eyes flashed to Sawyer.

  Sawyer said grimly, “They paid for it, I made sure.” He asked, “How…”

  “It’s a long story,” Boyd said. “We cared for Gus, old friend.” He swallowed and their gazes held for a long moment before Boyd said to Malcolm, “Come, boy, these horses need care. Fortune, my girl, thanks be to Jesus.”

  Sawyer lifted me into his arms and carried me to the second tent, laying me at last on the bedding. It was my tent, I realized, just as I’d left it. Despite Boyd’s orders, Malcolm came hurrying in behind us, dropping to his knees. He said, “Lorie, we’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

  “Malcolm, will you give us a moment?” Sawyer asked him softly. “Go and fetch me a full basin, leave it outside.”

  He nodded and sprang to do Sawyer’s bidding. Left alone, Sawyer undressed me and then, using the washtub Malcolm had dutifully filled with water, helped me to sit within it, holding my hair over one shoulder, soaping and rinsing my entire body with such gentle motions that tears flowed over my face again. He worked with quiet competence, and then helped me from the water. Malcolm came back to the latched entrance, as I knelt naked before Sawyer in the first stirrings of a warm, humid dawn’s light, letting him dry the dampness from my skin. Through the canvas the boy asked sweetly, “Might I brush out your hair, Lorie? That always calmed Mama when she was fretful.”

  Sawyer smiled gently at this offering, kneeling before me, and he bent to kiss my neck, softly, before wrapping me into the linen.

  “I’ll get you something clean to sleep in, sweetheart,” he told me, moving towards my valise, still propped in the corner. Over his shoulder he asked softly, “What should I tell the kid?”

  I nodded that it was all right, and Sawyer called, “Malcolm, come in.”

  He did at once, his dark eyes concerned as they inspected me minutely, crawling on hands and knees to my side. He had a brush in hand already, and with gentle, considerate motions, he swept my hair free from the toweling. Starting at the bottom, he combed through it, inch by inch, his slim fingers so careful. Sawyer watched with his eyes aching with both tenderness and pain, and I reached for him so that he came to me and put his head on my lap, his huge, strong body stretched before me as I stroked his golden hair and he shook with sobs, deep, chest-wrenching sobs.

  Later, I slept in Sawyer’s arms, cradled there. I was relieved that he too slept for a time, resting and easing some of the strain of fatigue from his eyes. When I woke again, it was well into the evening, the sun soft against the canvas, tinting the interior the shade of brandy. Sawyer was leaning on one elbow, stroking my hair with gentle fingers, the sun catching the side of his face and glinting over his eyes. His hair was loose. I was still naked, wrapped in the linen, and I moved closer to him immediately, putting my face against his chest, just over his heart.

  He cupped his free hand on the back of my neck and kissed my hair.

  “Lorie,” he whispered. “Are you hurting, sweetheart? Boyd brewed up a tea for you. Are you hungry?”

  I was hurting, though not the way that he meant. Physically I was sore, but I would heal, the bruising would fade. None of that changed the fact that Angus had been killed by men sent for me. The guilt of that would never fully leave me, nor would the guilt that came from the ribbon of relief that I could only acknowledge in the deepest, blackest corner of my soul, the relief that I was free from obligation. Free to be with the man I truly loved.

  Sawyer, my Sawyer. I know you would understand, but I cannot acknowledge that now, I cannot admit that relief. Maybe someday.

  “I don’t want to move just yet,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I whispered, wishing I could convey the full depth of my sincerity with mere words, “You came for me, Sawyer. You came for me.” Though I knew he understood.

  “Nothing could have stopped me,” he whispered intently. “I would do anything for you.”

  The evening sun fell over us and I clung to him, kissing his chin and along his jaw, pausing at his right temple and stroking my fingers over his loose hair. It was silken in my hands. The linen had fallen away from me, and he shivered and placed me down on the bedding, so carefully, before he tipped his head to my bare skin and with immeasurable tenderness, pressed his lips over the welt on my breast, where I’d been bitten.

  “Lorie,” he breathed softly, and he laid his cheek between my breasts, closing his eyes. I held him to me, so deeply and fathomlessly in love with him that my heart ached, almost unable to bear such emotion. He whispered, “Your heartbeat.”

  “Sawyer,” I whispered. Words could not do justice to what I felt, but again I knew that he understood, that my hands and my heart told him everything. After a time he lifted his head and moved over me, cradling me beneath him, my breasts pressed to the muslin of his shirt.

  He said softly, “I’m not a saint, not even close, though I will not make love to you until we are wed, because it’s proper.” His thumbs stroked over my chin, gently, as he asked, “My Lorie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I whispered back, “In my heart I already am.”

  He smiled into my eyes, whispering, “Then as your betrothed, I am going to insist that you get up and eat something.”

  I ducked outside minutes later to find the sky awash with fiery oranges and rippling golds, gilded in scarlet and flowing to the horizon like the waves of an endless body of water. Malcolm came to me from the crackling fire and I hugged him close; I’d not the energy to put up my hair, and Malcolm wound his fingers into it and leaned on me, uncharacteristically silent. Boyd and Sawyer were yards away, standing near one another and watching the sunset, though Sawyer looked over his shoulder as I emerged. I could hardly bear to let him from my sight either, but Malcolm needed me; he had buried Gus.

  Angus. I am so sorry, so very sorry. Please hear me, please. It is my fault that you are gone, no matter how Sawyer reassures me, and I can only pray that somewhere you are able to know this and to forgive me. Maybe my apology doesn’t mean a thing to you in heaven, perhaps you’re beyond all such there, or maybe that is just how I placate myself, but I ache with guilt for you here on earth. I know you would have cared for me, and for our child. Please forgive me.

  “I’m sorry, Malcolm,” I whispered, holding him and pressing my lips to his messy hair. “I’m so sorry about Gus.”

  He shuddered with an indrawn breath and finally said, “We buried him proper, yesterday. We buried him an’ he’s with his wife now, that’s what Boyd said. An’ his family, all waiting there for him in heaven.”

  I rocked him side to sid
e and he whispered, “But you’re safe, Lorie. We didn’t know an’ I’ve never been so a-feared, I tell you. Boyd said Sawyer would bring you back safe, or die trying. An’ then I thought I would never see the two of you again.” He drew back to look into my eyes, his own somber. “I know you told me to watch over Sawyer, an’ I tried, Lorie, I tried my best. He was so fulla tears that even Boyd was worried. An’ these past days me an’ Boyd walked miles an’ miles until we came to a homestead, an’ they was kind enough to borrow us a horse, Rambler’s his name, an’ we aim to return him when we head back north. We been waiting on you-all since night before last.” He paused for a breath, still studying my face in the setting sun. He said, “I woulda killed those men that took you, that hurt you. That would hurt a girl. They ain’t fit to live. I hope Sawyer made ’em suffer.”

  To redirect his bloodthirsty thoughts, I asked softly, “May we eat? I’m so hungry.”

  “Of course,” he told me, and led me to the saddle blankets, easing me gently to my usual spot. “I’ll fetch you a plate, Lorie-Lorie.”

  Rabbits were spitted and crackling-brown over the fire. Malcolm sliced me a sizeable chunk and I forced myself to eat slowly, as I had not eaten in what seemed days. Malcolm passed me the canteen, watching as though to anticipate what I might need.

  “I love you so,” I told him. “I was so worried for you.”

  “Aw, Lorie,” he said, his lips trembling a little. “I love you too. We’re right as the rain. But I do miss Gus, an’ I don’t reckon I’ll ever stop expecting to hear him talking. He called me ‘son,’ an’ I liked that so. I never did tell him, but sometimes I pretended he was my daddy.” His dark eyes swept to the fire, then back to mine, full of concern. He asked, “Do you think my own daddy would be grieved?”