Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

  Brock Donnigan on the ground. Brock Donnigan grimacing with pain. Brock Donnigan with a hole just below his abdomen and a pool of blood soaking through his shirt and trousers.

  His second was busily pulling papers from his pocket.

  “Give them to him,” Brock growled.

  The papers were transferred to Lucius.

  All the while Lucius stared back at Brock.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “A bribe.”

  “For what?”

  “My life.”

  “I thought this was a duel to the death.”

  “Hence the bribe.”

  “And my tickets?”

  “Everything is there, Mr. Flynn.”

  Lucius looked down at his overstuffed pockets.

  “This was all mine to begin with,” he said.

  “You gave it up. And now I’m returning it. With interest.”

  “How much interest?”

  “Enough.”

  “Well, that depends on your self-esteem now, doesn’t it? You’re buying your life. Enough for you may not be enough for me.”

  Brock smirked through the pain.

  “It may be more,” he said.

  Lucius pursed his lips. The reality of the situation was becoming clear to him. He was the victor here. He, Lucius Flynn, had won.

  The enormousness of his relief settled upon him and he laughed. It was a sudden, unexpected chortle that somehow missed his mouth and came out his nose, dislodging a bit of dust and snot. Distractedly, he rubbed his sleeve across his face, and caught sight of a bit of fresh blood that had stained it in passing.

  He had scraped off a scab from the day before, from when Brock had smashed his face into the table.

  This gave Lucius an idea.

  He looked down at Brock Donnigan, saw him burrowed in the dust like Goliath, that great, arrogant cock, and saw the look on the bird’s face just before Pigmy pecked his eyes out.

  Goliath would have died eventually, even if Pigmy had not struck him blind. His wounds were fatal, just as Brock’s were surely fatal. But in a duel, someone was bound to get shot, just like in a cockfight when one rooster must fall.

  The real insult, in Goliath’s case, was the final blow dealt by his opponent.

  Lucius smirked. Dueling with faulty pistols left a lot up to chance. Brock had taken the hit, and now it was up to Lucius to decide what to do with him. No chance involved. This part of the duel was conducted completely according to taste and style. Lucius had no desire to cut off Brock’s head, or run him through the heart with a knife, or shoot him to pieces. Let his body deal with the consequences of his wound in whichever way it chose. Lucius was not about to tie him to a horse cart and parade him around the city. These were all things Brock Donnigan might do had their places been reversed. But the situation being what it was, Lucius found he simply wanted to repay the evils committed against him the day before.

  Dollar for dollar, blow-to-the-face for blow-to-the-face.

  As his pockets were full, his lost fortune was more than restored, and only one thing remained to be done.

  As Lucius glared down at a coughing, sputtering, writhing Brock Donnigan, he thought of a series of smart comments.

  Sleep tight.

  I always keep my promises.

  Guess my luck didn’t run out after all.

  However, when Lucius opened his mouth to speak, he decided against all of them. After all, Brock Donnigan had a bullet in his gut. The man knew he had lost. All he lacked was a good kick in the face.

  Lucius walked around his opponent’s body and reared back to deal his final assault.

  This was going to feel so good.

  Just then, the ground trembled as a deafening shot boomed through the atmosphere, startling Lucius into stillness.

  In dismay, the others looked around. Brock peered out from tightly shut eyelids, having anticipated Lucius’ blow. But Lucius’ foot never fell. Instead, he staggered backwards as his eyes darted to the horizon.

  Someone’s voice chased the echo of the blast.

  “The cannons!”

  At once, everyone looked to the west.

  Out on the long empty sea, a distant ship was approaching.

  Chapter Forty-One

  There was no time to lose. Not even time enough to finish what Lucius had been about to do. Besides, he had his money. And Brock was still bleeding.

  They should just call it a day.

  “It seems I have other business to attend, gentlemen,” Lucius proclaimed, his eyes still on the sea. “Donnigan, I think this is where we say farewell.”

  Brock spit into the grass.

  “You’re not going to finish me, Flynn?”

  Lucius took a quick glance at the gushing wound near Brock’s hip. Things didn’t look so good for the Australian, and Lucius did not have the patience for benevolent bedside manners.

  “I think I might have already, Donnigan.”

  Brock winced in reply, for he knew Lucius was probably right.

  Lucius turned to Samuel.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  Samuel responded with a single nod, and together the pair took off; running towards camp, leaving Brock Donnigan and every threat he had ever imposed, behind.

  “I must warn you,” Samuel shouted over his shoulder at Lucius, “there will be a riot on the docks. You must get there as soon as you can.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I will stay behind with the women. You find out what’s going on down there and then you let me know.”

  “Hell, you know I will, Samuel! We’re getting out of here once and for bloody good!”

  Samuel laughed. He returned to camp while Lucius ran for the docks, and Lucius was halfway there when he heard a female voice calling after him.

  “Mr. Flynn!” Adele cried. “May I accompany you?”

  She had heard the cannons and seen Lucius running from the field towards port, alive and unwounded. She was overjoyed at the sight, and she knew if Stephen were alive, he would be heading in the same direction. Now it was up to her, as the head of her family, to see that the Whitfields had a proper chance of getting on that ship to California.

  Lucius stopped and spun around. Adele had pursued him at a good clip, and she nearly pummeled into him.

  Lucius took her flushed face in his hands and gave her a wet kiss upon the cheek. Only hours ago, he had not known whether or not he would ever see this woman again. He realized he should have returned to camp to invite her along, but amidst the adrenaline from the duel and the cannons, he was rather preoccupied.

  “Of course!” he told her. “Forgive me for not coming to get you myself!”

  She waved him off and together, they continued their journey towards the incoming ship.

  “By all means,” she said, “I am merely grateful that you are alive!”

  Lucius nodded.

  “A triumph that’s rather anticlimactic in light of this unexpected frenzy, is it not?” he chided.

  She flashed him a brilliant smile.

  “In my heart of hearts,” she said, “I am most pleased.”

  “As am I!”

  They were shouting at one another as they joined a flood of other transients.

  “I apologize for not returning to camp in celebration,” Lucius said. “The cannons sounded immediately following the duel. There was no time.”

  “No need for apologies, Mr. Flynn. There will be time enough for celebration when we get on that ship.”

  “So confident, are you?”

  “Hopeful, rather!”

  They reached the docks as the ship made its slow approach, growing in size and clarity. Men were already clamoring along the wooden planks and wading along the shallows just beyond the docks, eager to be as close as possible. Panama City’s port was similar to Chagres in that it was too shallow for ships to come near. They were forced to anchor further out to sea, while their goods and new arrivals were ferried to shore. The ferries
themselves were tied to the docks, and their boatswains were struggling to push past the horde of transients in order to climb aboard and reach the ship once it lay anchor.

  Lucius turned from left to right, seeking information from those around him, but the scene was loud and chaotic and no one seemed to have a clue what was going on. There was incessant shouting, grunting, and cursing, as the mob swelled, pushing and shoving against one another. Port laborers tried to be about their work while desperate travelers grabbed hold of their shirts and demanded to be given passage on the coming ship. Some even tried to shove payment into the worker’s trousers as bribes, but the papers were flung back into the transients’ faces, for the natives refused to grant favors. Since the beginning of this rush for gold, they had learned that mollifying one man was not worth the wrath of many.

  With Adele clutching his arm, Lucius trudged through the crowd, squeezing as close to the docks as possible. Conscious of the many careless elbows and shoulders about, Adele placed one hand in front of her face, so as not to receive another blow like the one that had given her a nosebleed aboard the Steam Rose.

  As they neared the front of the violently undulating mob, the din increased so much that they could not discern one man’s voice from another’s. There was only a massive roar, which was suddenly sliced in half by three shots of a skyward-facing gun.

  All eyes turned towards the gun, which was held aloft in the clutches of a man. He stood aboard a ferry that had purposefully drifted away from the docks, maintaining a small distance from the unruly crowd. Armed men had spread out along the docks nearby, wielding their weapons menacingly.

  “Your attention, please!” the man in the boat exclaimed. It seemed this was not the first time he had cried these words, as his face was bloated from the exertion, and his voice was threatening to crack.

  The gunfire had the desired effect, as the mob quieted considerably. Relieved by the silence, the man took a moment to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at his brow, which had already begun to sweat in the harsh sunlight of early morning.

  “You have all gathered here with the hopes of gaining passage to San Francisco. Lucky for a small group of you,” he pointed out to sea, “that ship is sailing for California.”

  There was a cacophony of applause and shouting, and the noise did not die until the gun was fired once more.

  With the smoke of it absconding above him, the announcer continued.

  “As there are thousands of you, we may only transport a fraction of your number. Two hundred and sixty souls may board the Galloway, but there are conditions as to whom of you that may be. First, we shall only accept those who purchased through transportation to California with the Panama Star Line, to whom the Galloway belongs, at the beginning of your journey. If there are less than two hundred and sixty through-transients, we shall hold a lottery, and those whose names are chosen shall be allowed to purchase passage. Those of you with through passage, please see me with your ticket ready for examination.”

  The man motioned to the ferry’s boatswain to return him to the docks, but in that moment a transient jumped into the water and began to swim towards the distant ship. The orator called for him to stop, insisted that he stop, but the man paid no attention. The announcer nodded to one of the armed men, who pointed the nose of his gun and fired. The splashing of the desperate man grew still, his blood spreading like scarlet ribbons in the turquoise water.

  Adele Whitfield screamed and turned her face away.

  When the announcer disembarked, he was greeted by a man in a suit. The two conferred while the crowd looked on, too unnerved to make any more noise or movements. When the two men were finished, the one with the suit raised a paper in the air and climbed onto a crate, declaring that those who wished to enter the lottery must submit their names to him.

  The crowd began to stir once again. Some produced their tickets and approached the first announcer while others went to enter their names in the lottery. A handful of men held their tickets above their heads and shouted, “no through passage? Don’t wanna take a chance with the lottery? We’ve got tickets for you!” They were swindlers who had increased the price of fare so much that only the richest could pay, and it was not long before they grew silent, because the rich did pay.

  Lucius fumbled in his pockets to find his papers, his heart beating rapidly. The truth was he had no idea whether or not he and Evelyn had through passage to California, as he had hired someone else to make all the arrangements. Until this moment he had just assumed their tickets were good all the way to San Francisco.

  Details had never been Lucius’ strong point.

  As he thumbed through bank notes, personal notes, and general rubbish, Lucius prayed that the God who spared his life from Brock Donnigan might be the same God to get him on the Galloway.

  “Please God please God please God,” he mumbled. “Aha!”

  He pulled his and Evelyn’s tickets free of a crumpled mess. Anxiously scanning the surface, he discovered the words he had most ardently wished to see.

  Panama Star Line.

  Through passage.

  He kissed the words and jubilantly spun around to face Adele, who was already staring back at him, her skin ashen.

  He knew, the instant he saw her eyes, that the dead man in the water was not the only thing bothering her.

  “We paid our way to Chagres,” she said. “The agent said it was the quickest way to get to California.”

  Lucius scrunched up his face in confusion.

  “To Chagres?”

  “Other ships were said to pass through Panama. We were told we had a greater chance of securing one more quickly if we purchased our tickets as the opportunity arose, rather than being promised to a particular line.”

  Lucius stared at her disbelievingly.

  “You don’t have through passage,” he said aloud, more for his own ears than for hers.

  Adele slowly shook her head.

  “Mr. Davies has inquired of the ticket vendors every day,” she continued. “We have all been waiting for that opportunity. It has not come, Mr. Flynn.”

  Once more, Lucius looked down at his tickets. The words blurred together, suddenly meaningless. Suddenly hopeless.

  “I know what you are thinking, Mr. Flynn.” Adele’s voice was slightly tremulous. “But I won’t allow it. Not for one second.”

  Lucius shook his head in dismay.

  “No,” was all he could think to say.

  He could not leave them. He could not take Evelyn to San Francisco and leave them behind. It was unethical. He had promised them his protection.

  “Your wife is your priority, Mr. Flynn,” Adele insisted. “After everything that has happened, you have a responsibility to take her away from this place. She is sick and devastated, and God only knows how long it will take for her to recover. I will not allow my family to sabotage her well-being, nor yours. God is delivering you. You must not hesitate to accept his good will.”

  “And why should God deliver us and not you? I cannot leave you here alone.”

  “Mr. Davies will watch over us. We will be all right.”

  Oh, God. Samuel Davies would be left behind as well. The Galloway was to be yet one more ship he would be forced to watch as it sailed away without him. There might be a lottery, yes, but there was no telling whose names would be chosen. There were three thousand men waiting to go to California, and only a handful of them would make it onto that ship.

  Adele looked once more towards the docks, where men had gathered around the announcer, waving their tickets in the air. She started at the sight and reached out to grab Lucius’ arm.

  “Now you must go, Mr. Flynn,” she said. “You must not delay! You have to show that man your tickets to secure your passage!”

  Lucius hesitated.

  “GO!” Adele cried.

  * * *

  Evelyn Brennan winced. She lay stiff in her tent, trying not to move lest her head pound harder. With every beat of her heart she
felt a stab of pain behind her eyes.

  With consciousness came an onslaught of pain and discomfort. Her stomach was sick, and she narrowly opened her eyes to see a tin pot resting beside her. She had neither the strength nor the desire to see what was inside. She could just as well guess.

  She had been dreaming- she could not remember what- when the sudden boom of the cannons worked its way into her sleep and woke her up with a shock. At once she thought it was a storm, but as she lay listening, there were no other rolls of thunder. She thought it odd, but not odd enough to get her out of bed. She felt miserable, and she wanted to lay there forever. Oh, how she took her good health for granted when she was feeling fine! Now it seemed as though she had never felt well in her life. She wondered when this sickness would pass, if ever. Every moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

  Evelyn groaned.

  When had she fallen ill? She tried to think back to yesterday. It had been hot, so dreadfully hot. And she had been restless.

  She remembered her exertion of independence, remembered wandering into the Buck’n Burro in search of food and solitude…

  And then, the following events came rushing into her memory like a strong wind, swirling over her in a confusing myriad of color and clamor and emotion. It brought with it a powerful wave of nausea, and Evelyn pitched to her side to grab the tin pot. She heaved painfully, and when the wave had passed, she lay back down and felt burning tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. They had watered from the vomit, and now they overflowed from sadness and shame.

  She had allowed herself to be deceived, abused, and nearly sold. Sold! Like a prostitute! She had not understood what was happening at the time, but as she looked back it was all too clear. The absinthe was meant to make her acquiescent, the clothing was meant to make her desirable, and the auction was meant to make Mr. Dupont rich.

  It was all her fault. She had foolishly denied caution and willingly sauntered across the threshold of reason.

  Would she be here, safe in her tent, if Lucius had not come for her?

  She felt her cheeks flush.

  She had pushed him away, yet still he was there. He had not, would not abandon her. In her moment of greatest need, he had stood up against Brock Donnigan, against Mr. Dupont, against the whole of American camp and fought for her.