Siren's Song

by D. L. Snow

  Chapter 14

  As I stood on stage under the glare of the spotlights, I tried searching the dark mass of people for any hint of Morgan Hawes. I felt certain that if he was in the crowd I would sense his presence. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t detect him.

  During the performance, there was only once when I faltered. It was while singing my first encore, singing my now signature song, Promised Land, that the knife I’d painstakingly tucked inside my corset, the one I’d stolen two days ago from the kitchen, jabbed me in the ribs making my breath catch during the line, “I’ll go first…and wait for you.”

  If anything, the catch only made the song more poignant and the men jumped to their feet in an ovation when the song came to an end. It was now, as I made my way backstage to await the second encore, that I had to enact my plan and I had to do it quickly. I headed straight for the back door and snuck outside. There was an eleven o’clock freight train that ran ore from the Ellis mines to Missoula. I knew this tidbit of information, thanks to James Ellis and his tour. If I changed quickly I could jump on that train before it left in fifteen minutes. Once I was in Missoula, I’d figure out what to do from there.

  The crowd was still whistling and cheering as I located a burlap sack left for me by the back stoop. I opened it and checked the contents – a set of men’s clothes, a hat and a canteen of water.

  “Bless you, Camille,” I whispered to the chilly night sky. I hurried out of my clothes, slicing the beautiful fabric of my gown and corset because I didn’t have time for buttons.

  Moments later I was dressed and shoving the contents of my tattered clothes back into the bag and piling my hair inside of my hat when I heard footsteps behind me.

  “Going somewhere?”

  I spun around. James Ellis stood there, his cane tapping methodically against his boot.

  “What do you want?” I cried thrusting my hands behind my back.

  “My, my, my. Look at you.” He used the end of his cane to tilt my chin up. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, Dove, it’s all the same underneath.”

  “You can’t have what’s underneath.”

  “Oh, but I can. In fact, it has already been settled upon.”

  I tried to make a run for it but he lunged and pinned me against the back wall of the opera house. His lips pressed against mine, cold and wet, as he worked a hand down between us, rubbing the front of my trousers.

  “Let me go!” I struggled against him but was afraid to scream, afraid to draw attention and ruin my chances for escape.

  “Why should I let you go? So you can go running to Hawes? Sorry to tell you, Dove, but Hawes is gone and he won’t be coming back any time soon.”

  “What have you done?”

  “Only what those fools should have finished ten years ago.” He squeezed between my legs as if to punctuate his point.

  With a swift upwards movement that was spurred on by fury, I thrust my knife into James Ellis’ side.

  He screamed in pain as I pulled the knife from his flesh. I grabbed the sack at my feet and ran, tears streaming down my cheeks as I ducked down darkened alleyways heading in the completely wrong direction.

  He’d killed Morgan! Oh God! Morgan was dead!

  The sound of men on horses had me ducking behind a broken down miner’s car. Holding my breath, I crouched low and waited for them to pass. They stopped not twenty feet from where I hid. “Is she here?” one man asked. The other man replied but I couldn’t make out his words.

  “Josslyn Jones?” a soft voice called.

  I gasped in surprise at the use of my real name. Only one man knew my name but this wasn’t him.

  By the light of the moon, I saw a shadow of a man slide down from his mount. He stood in the alleyway facing my hiding place. “You need to come out. Quickly now.”

  I lurched out from my hiding place, wielding the knife in front of me like it was a sword. I’d already used it once, I wasn’t afraid to use it again.

  My actions didn’t seem to surprise the man. Instead of backing away, he came closer as if I posed no threat at all. When he entered a beam of light, I caught sight of his face and I squealed in relief.

  “John? John Black Plume?” I ran up to him and hugged him. He stood stock still, neither moving away nor returning the hug.

  “You must come quickly. The mountain travels tonight. There’s not much time.”

  He boosted me up onto his horse and then crawled up behind me. More quietly than I thought was possible for a horse to move, we raced towards the woods at the base of Turtle Mountain. No words were exchanged as we navigated a steep path up the side of the mountain, taking switchbacks higher and higher until the town seemed impossibly small below us.

  Finally the horses stopped and John slid off, extending a hand for me to follow. His grandfather joined us and motioned for me to sit in a little clearing while John tied the horses. The old man had a leather pouch and from it he took a pinch of something, I couldn’t tell what. He set the pinch on a flat rock and then lit the substance with a flint, all the while humming softly under his breath.

  “You need to smudge before you journey,” John said as he sat down beside me.

  “Journey? You mean I’m going home?”

  “Yes, Crow came to Grandfather in a vision.”

  Using a feather, the old man wafted pungent smoke in my direction. In soft, halting English he said, “You waited for us, clever girl. Just like Crow said.”

  “You speak English?”

  The old man chuckled. “Yes. I speak a little white man’s language. Not so good as Grandson.” He hummed a bit under his breath and then passed the smoldering rock to me.

  “Cover yourself in the smoke,” John instructed, “like this.” He waved his hand toward himself so the smoke passed over his body. “It will help you find your way.”

  I did my best, waving the sweet smelling smoke towards me. Then I passed the rock to the grandfather who did the same.

  The old man set the stone down and said something in his language. Then he turned to me. “Time is not straight line.” He waved his feather in a circle, dissipating the smoke in all directions. “Time is smoke, going many directions.” Then he closed his eyes and began speaking softly in his language again. It felt like a prayer and I closed my eyes in reverence.

  When the prayer was over, the grandfather stood and nodded for me to follow him. He led me through the trees to the side of the cliff where a black hole yawned before me. It looked like an abandoned mine shaft.

  “Turtle is careful creature. He poke head out of shell three times before decide to move. You - inside,” he pointed to the cavern, “before Turtle move.”

  The old man leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Crow cannot put mountain back together, but Crow can pick up stone and fly it to mountaintop. Now it is between Mountain and Creator what happens to Stone Traveler.” Passing me a lantern, he said, “God speed, Little Traveler.”

  John and his grandfather disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone. With my canteen slung over my shoulder and holding my knife and lantern out in front of me, I took a deep breath and edged into the mouth of the cave.

  “Hello?” I called softly. The only reply was my echo and a muffled thud.

  “Hello?”

  There was the thud again. My heart practically clambered up my chest and out my throat. “Is anyone there?” My voice was even higher now as I imagined all of the scary creatures that could be lurking inside of a cave; a bear, a wolf, a mountain lion. On trembling legs, I moved forward and stopped when I heard the sound again.

  Mmmph.

  The noise sounded strangely human and after taking a deep shaky breath, I inched further and further inside. My lantern hand shook as I walked, throwing crazy shadows on the rough hewn walls of the cavern. The muffles sounded closer now and I lifted the lantern high in order to throw the light further.

  “Oh my God!” What had first appeared to be a pile of rocks about twenty feet away, mo
ved. I rushed forward because I realized I was looking at a person sitting up against the side of the shaft, bound and gagged.

  Setting my lantern down, I sliced the ropes around his hands and feet and untied the gag around his mouth. When he looked up at me with half-dead eyes, I promptly screamed. “Morgan!”

  “Are you a dream?” he said through dry and cracked lips.

  “No, Morgan. It’s me. It’s really me,” I cried as I unscrewed the top of the canteen and held it to his lips.

  He took a long, greedy drink and then started to cough weakly. I cradled him in my arms, tears of joy streaming down my face.

  “Where am I?” he asked, his voice sounding so weak.

  “In a cave on Turtle Mountain.”

  “A cave? My claim? Are you sure?”

  “Yes Morgan. I’m sure.”

  “Oh.” He seemed confused by this.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He looked as if he couldn’t remember then his brows lifted. “I came up here to give you time to think.” He coughed. “But then I went somewhere else. It was a place I’d never been. A city. The buildings were so tall and…shiny. It was so strange…” his voice trailed off into an incoherent mumble.

  “Shh,” I said. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” I ran my hands through Morgan’s hair and found an area at the back of his head where his hair was matted and sticky with blood and there was a lump the size of an egg. James Ellis, or one of his henchmen, must have cracked him on the skull and left him for dead. Again.

  He shifted in my arms, “You were there,” he whispered. In the low light of the lantern, his eyes gleamed with fever. “But you were different.”

  “You’ve been here a long time,” I said. “You’re hallucinating.” I pressed the canteen to his mouth again and this time he held it himself, though his hands shook.

  Morgan needed medical attention. Now. In his dehydrated, delusional state he was more dead than alive.

  Yet he was alive and right then I knew there was only one thing I cared about. It didn’t matter where or when we lived. All that mattered was that Morgan was alive and I was with him.

  “Do you think you can stand?”

  “I-I think so.”

  I helped him to his feet and he wobbled before falling against the wall of the cave.

  “Lean on me, that’s it.”

  We’d taken no more than a couple of steps before the mountain groaned and loose rock fell from the cavern ceiling, raining debris on top of us.

  “On no!” I cried. “The mountain’s moving. Come on Morgan we have to get out of here.”

  He stumbled and fell and I tried to help him to his feet but he was too big, too heavy. His breathing was labored as if even the act of breathing was too much for him. “Water,” he whispered. “I need a little more water.”

  I gave him the canteen and he drank but he was so unsteady he spilled more than he swallowed. When the mountain rumbled again, the ground shook beneath our feet. Oh God! We weren’t going to make it and whatever journey the mountain had in store, in his weakened state, I doubted Morgan would make it through alive.

  “Come on,” I said trying to drag Morgan to his feet but he didn’t move, he simply stared off into the distance. I started to panic. “Morgan, get up!”

  His head bobbed as if he was about to fall asleep. “Morgan Emerson Hawes,” I shouted. “You get up right now because I’m planning on marrying you when we get home.”

  “Morgan?” There was confusion in his eyes as he looked up at me. Then understanding dawned and a smile tilted the corners of his cracked lips. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and leaned on my shoulder. “Mrs. Hawes,” he murmured. “I like the sound of that. I knew you’d come to your senses.”

  A wave of relief washed over me as we moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave but then the next tremor hit. It was a big one and this time rocks fell from the cavern walls and ceiling, knocking me back one way and throwing Morgan and the lantern towards the entrance.

  “No!” I cried but the rumbling didn’t stop and a pile of debris cut me off from Morgan, leaving me in the dark.

  In a blinding vision I suddenly saw my life flash before my eyes – a life I had never lived. Morgan and I married; the house we built located high above the creek, our family, the birth of our two boys and daughter the happiest days of my life. I saw us going for long walks in the sunshine, singing together around the family piano. I saw Morgan and I holding hands and making love on cold winters’ nights. As quickly as the vision came it ended.

  “Morgan!” I cried, digging frantically in the pitch blackness. “Morgan!”

  “Josslyn!” I heard boulders tumbling on the other side of the rock wall that separated us. “I’ll get you.” His voice sounded faint as the mountain continued to groan and creak around us.

  “Morgan,” I shouted. “Morgan!”

  “Everything’s going to be okay. I won’t let you go.” I heard him grunt and then a shaft of light shone between two cracks in the rock. “I’m almost there, okay? Just wait. I’ll get you out.”

  I reached around my neck and removed my mother’s cross. “Grab my hand,” I said. He reached through the hole and I pressed the necklace into his palm. “I love you,” I whispered as the entire wall of rock shifted and came crashing down on me, crushing me.

  Chapter 15

  I opened my eyes to find myself flat on my back looking up at the late afternoon sky through a patch of trees. My chest felt heavy and bruised. I stumbled to my feet and followed a narrow path that led down the slope, having no idea where it would lead. My mouth was dry and full of dust. I needed water and through the trees I saw the lake glistening like diamonds in the sun.

  The sound of someone sobbing slowed my pace. I stopped at the edge of the trees and peered cautiously around. I wasn’t sure where I was, or even when I was. Not until I saw the person crouching by the side of the lake, splashing water on her tear-stained face did I realize the truth.

  What compelled me to do it, I don’t know, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I sang the chorus to Promised Land – a heartbroken farewell to the man I’d left behind in that cave. The girl by the edge of the water whipped her head around trying to find the source of the song. I knew what she would be thinking; she’d be thinking she was going crazy and she’d be feeling lost and terribly alone. I knew because I was looking at myself.

  It was like watching something out of a dream, the way she turned back to the water, the way she stared at it, her startled cry as hands reached out and grabbed her, pulling her under.

  “God speed, Little Traveler,” I murmured as I emerged from the woods and crouched in the same place she’d been only moments before.

  I cupped my hands in the ice cold water and drank. Like her, I found myself sobbing, but I did not cry because I feared I was going crazy or because I blamed myself for my mother’s death. I cried because my heart had broken into a million pieces. Oh what I wouldn’t give to be her again, to be the girl who’d just been dragged back in time and do it all over again. I’d love Morgan right from the start. I’d stay and I’d make my home with him.

  But I wasn’t her, not exactly. We were a fractured part of the same person, like two stones that had broken off from the same boulder. I was home now, in Bandit Creek in the year 2011. Although now that I was back, it didn’t feel like home.

  Slowly I made my way up the path to my house. The Hawes House. I stood outside and studied it. It was the house that Morgan had built.

  My breath got stuck in my throat as I thought of him, as I thought of never seeing him again. I staggered up the walk and found the door open. Once inside, my heart leaped briefly in the vain hope that I’d find him there, but the sound I heard was only the radio that had been left on in the kitchen. Had I left it on? I didn’t think so but it seemed so long ago now that I could hardly remember the details of the day I’d left. Yet in this time period, it was still the same day.

  Walking around
the house, I had the feeling I was seeing it clearly for the first time. The rooms were organized in a way that was strangely pleasant, as if I planned them myself. There was the window seat in the kitchen that looked out onto the yard where children would have played. The size and location of the music room where the family piano sat was perfect and I could easily imagine a family sitting around laughing and singing with the big fireplace crackling merrily in the background.

  I sat at the piano, closed my eyes and played my song but I didn’t sing because the only sound I was capable of making was a soft moan. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that my notes, the original notes that I’d jotted down on the day I’d left – which in present time was this morning – were gone. I got up and looked under the piano bench. Nothing. I looked on the mantle of the fireplace, but there was nothing there. It was as if I’d never written the song at all.

  Oh God! I closed my eyes and leaned against the brick fireplace. I’d been lonely for so long but it was worse than ever now. How I missed him. My arms ached to hold him. Standing in the house that he’d built but not having him there was the worst sort of torture imaginable.

  My hand nudged a brick and it shifted, making a strange sound of mortar against stone. I absently wiggled it back and forth thinking it needed a little bit of mortar to hold it in place. Except that I didn’t want to put it back in place, I wanted to take it out.

  Once the brick was dislodged and in my hand, something fell on the floor – a soft velvet package. I turned the brick over and saw that it was hollowed out on the inside.

  The sight did not surprise me.

  With a familiar sense of pins and needles running up and down my spine, I bent and picked up the velvet pouch and carried it to the table in the kitchen. My hands shook as I emptied out the contents. A sapphire ring, a wedding photo, the photo of a new house with the happy couple standing in front of it. Another of the couple with a baby. Later, a family portrait, one of those stiff looking ones, with a husband and wife, two boys and a girl. There was also a note – written in a familiar hand.

  Never be afraid of living your life. Never be afraid of loving others. Time is not a straight line but a circle of smoke blown in many directions at once.