Forever.
Loralee was right. The future was an unwritten page, and the only thing standing in her way was her own fear. Fear had kept her locked inside herself, unwilling to give life—to give love—a chance. It had trapped her in the tunnel, almost taking her life.
Michael's love had carried her safely out of the dark, but now it was up to her to take it the rest of the way. The decision was hers. It had been all along. She had to believe in Michael, to believe in their love. In the end, if she'd let it, love truly would conquer all.
And suddenly, in the darkness of the cavern, in the flickering light of her candle, with two witnesses who'd long ago joined the ranks of the angels, Cara realized that no matter what tomorrow brought—past, present or future—her place was with Michael.
Always and forever.
She stumbled to her feet, heart pounding, praying that her epiphany hadn't come too late, that her fears hadn't contributed to Owen winning the day. With trembling hands, she felt along the rough hewn walls of the shaft, trying to find handholds, a way to climb out.
She had to reach Michael, to stop Owen from hurting him. She pushed up off of the floor of the mine shaft, her fingers jammed into a crevice, her other hand groping for purchase. She managed to climb a foot or so, before her hand met nothing but roughly shorn rock. Nothing to hang onto. She tried to cling to the wall, but her arms were too tired and she couldn't support herself.
With a cry of frustration, she let go, dropping back to the floor, the grinning skeletons a testament to her failure. She fought for control, but her nerves were shot. Michael was up there somewhere, alone with a madman. And there was nothing she could do.
Nothing at all.
"Cara?" A voice filtered down through the dark, and Cara's grief-numbed brain struggled to respond. "Cara?" It called again, its tone insistent, urgent.
Cara blinked, trying to focus, her brain finally clicking into gear. Michael. The voice belonged to Michael. Adrenaline surged on the wings of hope, and she scrambled to her feet, wincing as her weight hit the injured ankle, her eyes locked on the light shining from the top of the shaft. "I'm here. Michael, I'm here."
"Are you hurt?" The concern in Michael's voice carried down to her, washing through her, rejuvenating her.
"I'm fine. It's just… Is Owen there?"
"He's dead." The words drifted down to her and she felt a rush of relief.
"Cara?" Michael's voice was gentle. "I'm going for the rope. I'll be right back. Hang on, sweetheart."
The light disappeared and she settled back onto the floor of the shaft, leaning back against the hard wall. Everything was going to be all right. Owen Prescott was dead.
Michael was safe. It was finally over.
"Just a few more feet," Michael called.
Cara could see his face now. It was strained from the effort of pulling her out, but it had never looked so wonderful. With one last tug, she was up and over, arms pulling her onto the rocky floor of the tunnel. She rolled onto her back, gasping for breath, and smiled up at the three pairs of eyes staring down at her. Loralee, Patrick and Michael. All present and accounted for.
She sat up slowly and began to fumble with the knotted rope around her waist, her hands shaking too badly to accomplish much of anything. Michael knelt beside her, his hands covering hers. "I'll do it."
With something approaching reverence, he untied the knot and slid the rope away, his hands leaving a trail of fire where they touched. With a groan, he pulled her forward, settling her on his lap, his lips taking possession of hers. She opened her mouth, drinking in the taste of him, knowing she would never be able to get enough of him.
"Uh hmm." Patrick cleared his throat loudly. "Not to interrupt, but I think we ought to think about getting out of here." As if in echo of the sentiment, the mine walls began to rumble ominously, the noise crescendoing and then dying away. "All the shooting has made things a bit unstable." Patrick pointed at a timber that had cracked. Dirt was trickling from the ceiling.
Cara scrambled to her feet, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. "Wait a minute. You need to see this." She handed Rose's ring to Michael. He stood up and held it to the light.
"My God, was this—" He looked down into the dark shaft.
"Yes, I… I took it off her finger, I figured she'd want you to have it." What had seemed right in the dark of the mineshaft, suddenly felt really wrong in the flickering light of the tunnel.
Michael handed the ring to his brother and pulled Cara into his arms. "You did the right thing. She can rest now."
"Is she alone down there?" Loralee's question was low, almost unintelligible.
Cara broke away from Michael and reached for her great grandmother's hand. "No. Zach was there, too. At least I'm assuming it's Zach."
Loralee nodded. "Is he…I mean…was he…"
Cara tightened her fingers around Loralee's. "I think he's at peace, too. I have a feeling he knows about Mary and you. About how much you loved him." Again she ducked her head in embarrassment. There just weren't any words.
The mine shook again, this time sending a shower of rocks and pebbles. The timber cracked and fell forward, leaving a yawning cavity behind. Cara froze as the candlelight glittered off of something wedged behind the fallen beam. It spilled out of the opening, neat stacks collapsing into random piles, each bar marked with a single rose.
"The silver." Cara breathed the words, just as Patrick and Loralee said them almost in unison.
The walls shuddered again and she was thrown off balance, stumbling forward, hands out to break her fall. Her left hand slammed into the pile of gleaming metal, pain shooting up her arm. Strong hands grasped her elbows, pulling her upright.
"We've got to get out of here." Michael's voice was hard to hear over the cracking and groaning of the mine. The whole place was beginning to break up. Large chunks of rock and timber were falling everywhere. Dust swirled, filling the air.
"What about the silver?" Patrick yelled above the din.
"Leave it." Michael's words were sharp and he was already moving toward the main tunnel.
Cara choked on the dust and Michael pulled her closer, protecting her from the falling debris. As they came through the opening into the main tunnel, the shoring broke and crashed to the ground behind them. Cara whirled around, eyes searching the swirling grime for Loralee.
"Patrick." Michael yelled, his voice lost in the rumbling.
Cara waited for them, her heart beating out the seconds, then suddenly, they were there, emerging from the cloud of dust. "Which way?" Patrick mouthed and Michael motioned toward the glimmer of light at the east end of the tunnel. With a nod, Patrick ushered Loralee forward. Michael's arm tightened around Cara and they hurried forward, too, dodging and ducking as the walls crumbled around them, heading, literally, for the light at the end of the tunnel.
They burst out into the bright afternoon light. After the gloom of the mine, it was almost blinding. The wooden planks shuddered as the tremors from the mine rippled outward. Cara looked down at the tiny ribbon of the creek below. "I don't suppose there's an elevator?"
Michael squeezed her shoulder. "You're looking at it."
She eyed the cables with resignation. "I guess it was pre-ordained."
The platform shuddered again, the entire entrance collapsing into a solid wall of timber and rock. Michael shoved her toward a car already occupied by Loralee. "There's no more time. It's now or never."
Cara looked deeply into his eyes. "I choose now." She kissed him and jumped into the already moving car. With one last shove, she and Loralee were airborne.
As Cara locked her arms around her great-grandmother's waist, Loralee's laughter filled the air. "I've always wondered what it felt like to fly."
The landing wasn't quite as wonderful as the take off. The little car jerked as it hit the station and ground to a halt. Michael's car skidded to a stop inches from theirs, bumping them as it landed on the platform. And behind Michael, Loralee heard Patrick swear
ing as his tramcar slammed down with a crunching thud. At least everybody was in one piece.
"You all right?" Loralee turned to look at Cara. Her great-granddaughter's eyes were still tightly closed. "We're on the ground."
Cara opened an eye. "You're sure?"
"Yes indeedy, and we all made the trip just fine."
Cara opened both eyes, looking relieved when she saw the inside of the rickety building. "So how do we get out of here?" The two women laughed, giddy with relief as they worked to untangle arms and legs and climb out of the car. Finally, they were each in charge of their own limbs again. Loralee stood up and took the hand Cara offered her. Clutching petticoats to belly, knickers in full display, she straddled the ore bucket one foot in, one foot out.
"Here let me help." Michael stood by Cara, his amused gaze taking in the show.
Despite the fact that many a man had seen her in a heck of a lot less than her knickers, Loralee felt the heat of a blush steal across her cheeks. "Thank you kindly, but I can manage." She stepped out of the bucket, quickly releasing cotton and lace, allowing her skirts to tumble back into a more ladylike position. The clatter of metal striking metal filled the tiny station as silver bars tumbled out of the skirt and onto the platform.
Loralee froze, eyes on the silver, purposely avoiding Michael's gaze. Patrick stepped to her side, his face the perfect picture of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "We, ah, hated to see it all go."
"It was my idea," she put in hastily, trying to judge Michael's reaction.
"You could have been killed." Michael spoke softly, but there was a tremor in his voice.
"But we weren't." Patrick said perversely.
"Michael?" Cara stood by the oar cart, looking like that cat who swallowed the canary. She slowly pulled two silver bars from the pockets of her pants.
He ran a hand through his hair. "You, too?"
She smiled and shrugged. "It seemed like such a waste. And they were right there."
Michael sighed and removed a bar from the waistband of his pants. "I guess we all had the same idea."
Everybody started laughing at once and what started as a tickle soon dissolved into hysterics, everybody hugging everybody else, until Loralee figured they were bound to have used up all the laughter they had between them.
Loralee was the first to sober, and she walked to the edge of the platform, looking up at the remains of the mine.
"You thinking of Zach?" Cara asked, coming to stand beside her.
"Yes. I know his bones are trapped up there, under all those rocks, but, somehow, I think his spirit is free." She sighed, her eyes still on the mine. He'd kept his promise. Her hand automatically reached for the locket, surprised when she found nothing there.
"I think maybe you're looking for this," Cara said, handing her the locket.
Loralee's hand closed around the familiar silver, and a feeling of absolute serenity settled around her. Yes, indeedy, Zach Bowen was doing just fine. And now that she thought on it, so was she.
She held the locket out to Cara. "You keep it. I suspect you need it now more than me. It's the key to your going back."
Michael's face tightened at her words, but he didn't say anything.
Cara waved it away. "No, it's yours, Loralee. Zach gave it to you. And you in turn need to pass it along to Mary. A little piece of her father." She reached up and laid a hand against Michael's cheek. "Besides, I have everything I could ever want right here."
Loralee fastened the chain around her neck, turning once more to look at the mine perched high against the rocky cliff.
"God's speed, Zachariah. God's speed."
"Did you mean what you said?" Michael's voice was cracking with emotion.
"You mean about having everything I want?" Cara whispered, her heart reflected in her eyes. "Of course I did. Do you want me to say it again?"
He nodded, drinking her in, his heart hammering.
"Everything I want is standing right in front of me, Michael Macpherson. I love you. I think maybe I always have."
"And you don't want to go back to your own time?"
"No, I want to be here, with you. Now and for always." She kissed him lightly on the nose. "That is if you still want me."
"Want you?" Michael exploded. "I want you every single moment of the day, with every breath I take." He tightened his hold on her shoulders and drew a shaky breath. "I love you, Cara Reynolds, and I'll do everything in my power to give you the best that life in any century has to offer."
"Well," she smiled up into his eyes, "there is one thing."
"Name it."
"I'd really like a shower."
He laughed as he pulled her to him, his mouth tracing circles along the line of her jaw. "Now that, my love, is an absolutely marvelous idea."
They stood on the platform of the turning station looking up at the ruins of the Promise. A hazy cloud of dust still hung over what had been the entrance. Timbers hung at crazy angles, leaning drunkenly against each other. One shifted and fell end over end crashing against the hard rock of the cliff, a last tumbling testament to man's insignificant attempt to conquer the mountain.
Their insignificant attempt.
The Macphersons.
Michael stared at the remains, his mother's tomb, and wondered if it had all been worth it. Cara stirred in the circle of his arms, her golden head lifted up to the cliff. The sun came out from behind a cloud, its rays catching the particles of dust, they glittered and twinkled in the light and then with a last flash were gone, leaving only the magnificence of the sun-washed mountain.
He tightened his arms around Cara, the day suddenly seeming bright with promise.
33
Silverthread, one month later
The railroad station was busy, the small frame building teeming with people. Miners mostly. The wide-eyed hopeful lot, in search of their fortune, and the weary-eyed, wounded lot, heading home with empty pockets.
And Loralee was leaving it all behind.
She watched as Patrick tipped an elderly porter. The old man hoisted her brand new trunk, settling it on his shoulder with the ease of long practice. She clasped gloved hands together and wondered for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing.
Patrick started back toward her, his green eyes narrowed against the noontime sun. "All taken care of." He took her hand in his. "You're sure this is what you want?" His voice was low, held in tight control.
She nodded. "I need to be with Mary. She's got a right to know her ma."
"But you could do that here."
She sighed, tipping her head back to meet his solemn gaze. "Folks here know who I am, what I was, and no one is likely to ever let me forget it. I want more than that, Patrick. For her, if not for me."
He drew in a deep breath, his mouth settling into a thin line, but he didn't say anything.
She licked her lips nervously, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. "You could come with me." She wasn't sure why she'd asked him. There wasn't anything between them. Only the promise of things that would probably never be.
He released the breath on a sigh. "You know I can't do that."
She nodded, the plume of her hat bobbing in front of her face. "I suppose I do."
"Loralee, my brother has spent all of his life trying to make a home for our family. And, now, I'm the only one he has left."
"He's got Cara." She heard the pleading in her voice and was ashamed. The right thing to do was to let him go. She'd always known there was no chance for them. Silly to wish for things she couldn't have.
"It's not the same and you know it. He built Clune for me, Loralee. I can't just run off and leave him here on his own. We're partners. Hell, it's more than that. We're brothers. And I belong here, with him."
"And I belong with my Mary." Which left them right where they'd started. She bit her bottom lip, trying to prevent the threatening tears.
"Thank God, you're still here. I was afraid we'd missed you." Cara rushed up t
he platform steps, taking them two at a time.
Loralee smiled. Her great-granddaughter wasn't fond of nineteenth century clothing. At the moment she was wearing men's jeans with one of Michael's flannel shirts, the tails knotted carelessly at her waist. The only concession she'd made to the century was her boots, and she constantly complained about that, saying that there simply wasn't anything that could compare with a good pair of Nikes. Whatever those were. "I'm glad you came."
Cara swept her into an exuberant hug. "We would have been here sooner, but Pete wanted Michael to take a look at one of the horses. Something with his foot, I think. Anyway, Michael said the trains always run late."
"And I was right." He draped an arm around his bride of three weeks, pulling her close to his side.
Cara laughed. "Listen to me, running on. Have you got everything you need?"
"More than that. I can't get over all this frippery." She gestured to the blue satin morning dress and matching hat. In all her born days she'd never worn such beautiful clothes.
"You have to look your best when you get to Richmond." Cara reached out to tuck a strand of hair back into the new chignon Loralee wore. They'd copied it out of the Sears catalog.
"It's more like I'm play-acting."
"You look beautiful." The tenderness in Patrick's voice, made her knees feel like taffy on a hot summer day.
"There's the conductor," Michael said.
"I guess it's time." Loralee smiled at the three people who'd come to mean so much to her, but couldn't quite make herself meet Patrick's gaze.
Cara hugged her again, pressing a small white envelope into her hand. "This is for you and Mary."
Loralee could feel the bills inside. "I can't, I mean…"
"It's not much, just our share of the money from the silver. We want you to have it."
Loralee felt the tears threatening again. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing Cara's cheek.
Cara pulled back, her cheeks wet with tears. "That's what family is for."
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 95