Half past five. I needed to milk Buttercup and take warm water to the chickens. I couldn’t get myself to move.
It was a few minutes past seven when Nels pounded on the door, calling my name. “There’s been an accident,” he said as I let him in. In the lamplight, his gray eyes watered from the cold and his wheat-colored eyebrows and mustache were crusted with ice. “Get your coat,” he said. “Hurry.”
“An accident?”
“It’s a lawman. His head’s hurt bad, maybe cracked.”
My heart knocked against my ribcage.
“He’s at my cabin. Now hurry.”
“Your cabin? He’s here? What happened?”
Nels took my coat from the wall peg and thrust it at me. “Hurry.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get Nels’ words to make sense.
“Wouldn’t bring you into this if I didn’t have to,” he said. “But when other lawmen get here, there should be a woman tending the hurt man. That way they’ll see we’re doing what we can. We can’t give them one more thing to hold against us.”
The marshal hurt. At Nels’. The marshal who knew Braden had been here. They’ll burn our orchards down.
“It can’t be me looking after him,” Nels was saying. “I’ve got to get Braden hid.”
“Braden? But you took him—”
“He’s at my place.”
I reared back as if I’d been struck. “He’s here? With the marshal?”
“I know it. It’s bad. Now let’s go.”
Black spots floated before my eyes. Our homes taken from us. Junction deserted. Samuel not able to find me.
Nels’ hand was on my arm, propping me up. I blinked the spots away and saw the deep worry lines between his eyebrows. I said, “Tell me what happened.”
“Not now. Later. We’re wasting time.” His tone was sharp and shook me into doing what he wanted. I got ready, my thoughts scattered, while Nels put the flames out in my lamps. The cabin went dark and then we were outside.
Nightfall had come on quick but the snow cast a glow. It was still coming down but was heavy with ice and even though the brim of my hat was wide, it stung my face. I slitted my eyes against it. Nels’ horse, Bob, was at the hitching rail off to the side of the cabin. Straining to see, I stepped high in the foot-deep snow, holding up my coat and skirt with both hands. Nels grasped my upper arm.
His horse wore only a blanket and Nels helped me up. He hoisted himself up behind me and put his arms around me to take the reins while I held on to the mane. Bob pressed forward, wanting to get home but the deep snow slowed him. Behind me, Nels felt tight with nerves. He looked over my left shoulder and leaned in to me so that I leaned forward, too, helping Bob fight against the snow.
We followed the creek east. It wasn’t all the way frozen over and in the middle it roared as it rushed over the rocks. All afternoon I thought Grace would come to my cabin and tell me the marshal had questioned her. She’d demand to know what was behind all of this. But Grace hadn’t come. Just like nothing else had played out as I’d imagined.
I strained, looking into the dark. We weren’t close enough to Grace’s to see a light in her window.
“Me and Braden split up this morning,” Nels said from behind me, his voice startling me. “Because of the tracks. Couldn’t have double prints. I had to throw off the marshal.”
I nodded.
“Braden got lost. I had to backtrack, find him. Lost a lot of time.” His words came out in quick puffs. Like a confession, I thought.
“Then the snow took up harder. I couldn’t read the landmarks for the cut to Floral Ranch. We were going in circles and his horse was near to give out. Once I got my bearings, Braden and I turned back. Didn’t want to get caught out in the dark, not in this weather. Not without shelter.” Nels paused, then, “That’s when it happened. When we came across the marshal. He was on the ground. Hurt bad.”
“How bad?”
Nels didn’t say anything. I thought he hadn’t heard but then he said, “He’s got a knot the size of an egg on his head. He can’t walk, can’t hardly talk.”
“Oh Heavenly Father.”
I felt Nels nod. I said, “Could he die?”
“Maybe.” Then, “If he pulls through, he’ll talk.”
My breathing was shallow and quick. It was like the marshal was here, standing over me and bearing down with accusations that I couldn’t deny.
“Sister Deborah, we couldn’t leave him.” I felt Nels take in some air, then let go of it. He said, “He could have frozen to death. If the coyotes didn’t get him first.” Nels’ words came slow. It was like he was sorting through them, deciding what to tell me. He said, “Leaving the marshal would work on me. Braden said the same. So we brought him back, hard as it could go on all of us. We had to.”
Nels’ horse dipped and staggered, the snow-covered ground uneven. His arms tightened around me. Bob steadied and lurched forward. I wanted the marshal to go back to where he’d come from. I wanted it to be yesterday so I could close my door against Braden and tell him I couldn’t help.
If only Nels and Braden hadn’t found the marshal. If only nature had been allowed to take its course.
Nels went on, “If we’d left him, we’d be no better than our enemies.” He shifted his weight. “The marshal’s a gentile but he’s still one of God’s children.”
My face flamed with shame. I pushed away my ugly thought about nature taking its course. I swallowed hard, then said, “You did right.”
Nels went quiet. My thoughts darted and clashed. The marshal. An accident. Our enemy. But one of God’s children. And I had to take care of him.
“There’s ice under the snow,” Nels said about the bridge when we got to it. He dismounted, took the reins, and began to walk us across, sliding some while trying to keep Bob from going too fast and falling. I clutched the mane and my legs gripped the horse tighter.
“Brother Nels,” I said, raising my voice so he could hear me over the crunch of his footfall and the rush of the creek below us. “I did something bad.”
He was a dark figure against the snowfall but I saw him turn his head quickly toward me to let me know he’d heard. I said, “This afternoon when the marshal came, he found water in a trough where there shouldn’t have been any. I didn’t think to empty it but the marshal saw it. He knew Braden was in my barn. He knew to keep looking.”
Still walking, Nels looked over his shoulder at me. “It doesn’t matter. A man like him would have pressed on.”
I wasn’t so sure about that but I kept it to myself. I said, “Maybe things aren’t as bad as you think. When you found the marshal, he was bad off. And probably half frozen. He might not have recognized Braden.”
Nels didn’t say anything.
I said, “The fall could have made his eyesight fuzzy. If he gets better and talks, he might not remember seeing Braden. Isn’t that so?”
Nels stopped. The horse skidded to a halt. I leaned forward on Bob and waited for Nels to tell me there was a chance we’d come out of this all right. Surely even a gentile jury knew water in a trough wasn’t enough to condemn us.
His back to me, he began to walk, leading Bob off the icy bridge like he hadn’t heard me. Nels had, though. Otherwise, he would have mounted the horse for the last of the way to his cabin. Instead, he stayed away from me, trudging through the snow like he didn’t want to hear any more questions.
A great trembling took hold of me. My teeth chattered. I clamped my mouth shut but couldn’t stop the shaking that came from deep inside of me. Nels was keeping something from me. Something that could ruin us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DEBORAH – THE BRIDGE
January 12, 1888
Ruin. Blood thumped in my ears. The bridge behind us, everything happened in a rush: Nels’ brown dog bounding through the snow to meet us, Braden letting us in, the overheated one-room cabin, the musty smell of wet wool, the stench of vomit, the marshal in Nels’ bed with the blankets pulled to his sho
ulders, and Braden backing up to the kitchen table to make room for us.
“Is he. . . ?” Nels said.
“Still the same,” Braden said. He glanced toward me where I stood by the door. I looked away from him. I didn’t want to see his face in the lamplight. When more lawmen came, and I was sure there’d be more, I had to be able to tell them I didn’t know the man they were looking for.
“Has he said anything?” Nels said.
“Tries but I can’t make out what it is.”
Nels gave Braden a narrow-eyed look. He didn’t believe him, I thought. Nels said, “Is he moving any?”
“Not much other than his foot. Sometimes it jerks.”
Nels went to the back wall, stood over the bed, and looked down at the marshal. The marshal, his head on a pillow, was on his back. He didn’t look anything like the man who earlier today showed me his badge.
Nels took his gloves off and turned the blankets down far enough that I saw the marshal had on his vest and shirt. He’d been put to bed still dressed. The stink of vomit hit all the harder. I tried not to breathe it in but it filled the too-warm cabin and overtook the musty smell of wet wool. All at once waves of rank sweat came at me. I backed up even closer to the door, grateful for the drafts of cold air around the frame.
The marshal mumbled, then groaned. A shudder ran through me.
Nels placed the palm of his right hand on the marshal’s chest and bowed his head. He was either measuring the marshal’s heartbeat or praying. Before I could decide which, Nels pulled the blankets back up, went to the kitchen, and got the cloth bag that hung from the wall. “Let’s go,” he said to Braden, his back to him as filled the bag with the cans of food stacked on a shelf.
“No,” Braden said. “I’m not hiding. Not after what I did.”
Nels’ hands stopped. He turned around. “That’s not what we agreed to. Get your things.”
“Can’t. This is all my doing. Come dawn, I’ll go back and turn myself in. Tell them what happened.”
“No, you won’t.”
I didn’t know what to make of this. It didn’t make sense that Braden had come this far and now wanted to give himself up.
Braden said, “I prayed about it, Brother. God has spoken. He told me I have to do what’s right.”
“Is that so?” Nels put down the bag and stepped close to Braden, the two men square to one another. Braden was broader through the chest but Nels was taller. “And did God say that when you turn yourself in, when you tell how the marshal came to be laid up in my bed, that it’s not only your hide but ours?” Nels nodded toward me. “Hers, mine, and likely everybody else’s in Junction.”
“I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with it. This is between me and him. I’ll tell them I was by myself when I found him, that I brought him here for help.”
“You think they’ll believe you?” Nels kept his voice low. The marshal, bad off as he was, might be able to hear. “They’ve had us in their sights for a long time. They know we help people like you, they just haven’t caught us. If they find you here or if you turn yourself in, they’ll come after us. You’ll have more on your conscience than just the marshal. Now let’s go. We’re wasting time.”
“When he gets better, he’ll talk.”
“Then they’ve got us. If he gets better. Right now, I’ll take that chance. And so will you.” Nels inclined his head toward me. “Or you’ll have this woman’s fate on your head. And others’.”
Braden looked at me, then at the marshal. Nels’ face was set. He glared at Braden, his eyes dark with anger. I’d never seen Nels this way before. Something had happened that I didn’t know about. Whatever it was, Braden had to get as far away from the marshal and Junction as possible.
“Go with him,” I said to Braden. “Please.”
He shook his head. “God said otherwise.”
“You have wives? And children?”
“Yes.”
“Think of them. What’s best for them? You in jail? Or free to come home when this quiets down?”
Braden’s gaze was fixed on the marshal.
“My father once hid from gentiles. In Nauvoo.” My words surprised me. It had been years since I’d thought about this story that my father told about his first wife, Alice. “It was the night the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother were murdered. My father had been warned the mob was coming for him next, he and the Prophet were friends. My father’s wife begged him not to fight them. He was outnumbered. She convinced him to hide in a neighboring town. He didn’t want to but did it anyway. When the gentiles came looking for my father, his wife let them in the house. She told them she hoped they’d find her husband. He’d taken up drink, she said. Likely he was in a saloon somewhere, spending money they didn’t have. Her words were so bitter the gentiles left. It burned my father’s pride to have his wife lie for him. But he did it for his family, for his children.”
Braden ran his hand over his beard. For a moment I thought I’d made matters worse. Then something began to slide inside of him, a slight sinking of his shoulders.
“Let’s go,” Nels said.
Braden turned to me. “You’ll look after him?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Promise me, Sister. Tell me you’ll take care of him.”
“Yes. I promise. Now go. Please.”
Braden looked at the marshal, then at me. “All right,” he said, reaching for his coat that was draped on a kitchen chair. “I’ll do it your way.”
Nels gave him a sharp look. He worked his right hand into his glove, then the left hand, the fringe on the cuffs swinging. He said, “The marshal’s horse is in the barn.” His words were directed to me but he was watching Braden get his coat on.
Nels didn’t trust him, I thought. He knew something about him that I didn’t.
His voice low, Nels said to me, “I’ll be back as quick as I can but if the deputies get here first, tell them I found the marshal like this.” I leaned close to Nels, straining to hear. “Say I found him on the bridge in the snow. His horse must have spooked and thrown him, the bridge creaking the way it is. The horse showed up in my yard and I went out looking for the owner. I brought him here, fetched you to look after him while I’ve gone off to get help from Sister Rebecca.”
“Yes,” I said. “All right.”
“Say it back to me.”
I repeated the lies, stumbling over them only once. After I got them out, Nels said, “The part about me going to Sister Rebecca’s is true. She’ll have herbs, something we can give him.”
“Go. Please go. Now.”
Nels’ gaze flickered to the marshal. “Fools.” His voice was low. I took that to mean all of us. Braden for having plural wives, the marshal for chasing him in January, and Nels and me for getting caught up in trouble that wasn’t of our making. Nels gave the marshal another glance, then got the sack of food supplies, opened the door, and whistled for his dog. Sally shot into the cabin, her coat covered with snow.
“She’ll look after you,” Nels said to me. “You’ll be all right.”
“I know. Now go. Go.”
Nels’ nod came quick. “Stay,” he told Sally. I held on to her collar as Nels went outside. Braden, behind him and at the threshold, stopped and turned around, snow blowing in through the open doorway.
“Didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said and before I could say anything, he went out into the night.
I let go of Sally and latched the door. Just that quick, I was alone with the marshal.
I turned around to face the bed, standing where Braden had just been. Didn’t mean for this to happen. His apology was heavy with guilt. But it wasn’t directed to me, I realized. He hadn’t even glanced at me. He was apologizing to the marshal.
Sally growled. She stood a few feet from the marshal, watching him, her nose twitching and her neck stretched long. “It’s all right,” I whispered. One of her ears flickered. She kept staring at him.
It wasn’t all right. Yesterday B
raden was running from the marshal. Now he wanted to turn himself in. Now he’d apologized. It didn’t make sense. The only thing that had changed was the marshal was hurt.
Still wearing my coat, I got a lamp and went closer to the bed. Sally came with me. I put my free hand on her neck. She quaked with tension. My own nerves hummed. This couldn’t be the same man who this afternoon had accused me of helping Lewis Braden. His eyes were closed. One side of his face drooped. Dark patches of dirt smudged his cheeks. The weather lines around his eyes were deeper. His nose was thinner as though pain pinched his features. In the dim light, everything about him was gray—his skin, his mustache, and the flop of hair on his forehead.
He scared me now more than he had this afternoon. It was one thing if he died in his sleep. It was another if he took to struggling to breathe. He could choke. His chest could rattle with death. I wasn’t a nurse. I didn’t know what to do. His dying could be slow and hard, and I’d be alone with him.
Or he could get better. He could say that he’d seen Braden.
I angled the lamp to see the marshal better. If there was a wound on his head, I couldn’t see it.
Maybe he hadn’t hurt his head. Nels might be wrong about that. He and Braden had found him like this. They hadn’t seen what happened. Years ago, one of my younger brothers, Solomon, hit his head on a tree branch when riding a horse. Blood poured from the wound on his forehead, scaring my mother and father. He howled when it was stitched together and for a few days he had to stay in bed. His eyes didn’t work quite right and the ache in his head was so powerful he cried each time he moved. As bad as Solomon was, though, he never looked to be on the edge of death.
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