HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “I made a promise,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been a long time since a man kept his promise to me.” She withdrew and looked up at him. “You were shot. I saw it.”

  He lifted his chin and tried to smile. “Winged me. But didn’t kill me.”

  “You rode all that way … wounded?”

  “So did you.”

  A girl peeked around the corner of the hall. “Mrs. McAllan, he took her?”

  “He took her,” Daniel said with a groan and slid into a kitchen chair. “Come in here, please, Cassie. Sit down, Moira. We need to find a way to save your sister.”

  Manuel said nothing more to Nic after that night tied to the mast, but his words echoed through his mind as clearly as his father’s. At last, the northern territory of Baja California dominated their view, a long and desert-like peninsula in Mexican territory that would go on for days, by all reports. Giant sharks inhabited these waters, and Nic was glad for the ship’s shallow draft, not eager to hit a reef here. The sandbars and coral raced upward and descended just as quickly. It stole Nic’s breath when he dared to watch, but the captain stayed at the helm, unperturbed, under full sail, the steam engine silent. They were blessed with constant, steady winds and, the captain obviously preferred the free wind power over that which cost him in coal.

  The men relaxed, half of them given leave to rest in their hammocks, half on deck dangling from their sitting positions across the lanyards or against the deck walls. Some whittled wood, others told stories. Some sang. Others, like Nic, only gazed out at the peninsula, willing it to pass by more quickly. He dreamed of that moment when he would stand again upon steady American soil, remembering how he would likely still feel the swell and release of the sea for days as he acclimated to life on land.

  Alejandro, clearly bored, trolled by on occasion, trying to get a rise out of Nic by calling him names. But Nic ignored him, thinking about the wounds on his back still healing and why those were there. They were scabbed over by now, but once in a while he would move in such a way to break one open, and his shirt would become soaked with blood. Healing was a long process, one he was not eager to begin again. But if Alejandro ventured ashore in California, then he could give him everything he had without threat of a captain’s repercussions. The man passed him, whispering taunts, and Nic’s eyes went from him to the captain. The captain saw it all, absorbed it, looked past what he could, addressed what he had to. Nic was determined not to force him to address his behavior again. All he wanted was his pay for the voyage and to be off, back in his own country.

  Nic looked over the starboard rail, watching as a pod of dolphins raced the ship, gleefully jumping in graceful arcs, then diving down to gather speed again. The dolphins always made him feel lighter, somehow, like watching children play. They didn’t have a care in the world. Nic glanced back at the captain and returned to his thoughts. He looked past what he could and addressed what he must. He seemed a reasonable, peaceable sort. Could Nic do the same—address only what he must? What was Alejandro to him once he was on shore? He would likely never see the man again. Could Nic walk away and not look back? He had never been much good at looking past things that irritated, angered, or frustrated him. How did one do that? Was it inborn or something he could learn?

  Manuel passed by him, and Nic quickly looked away, not wishing to engage the man in conversation. But he caught the smile in Manuel’s eyes, the sense of peace about him. Was it his faith that gave him that? The coal boss thought he had it all figured out. Give in to God—until you do, you won’t find rest. How did he know that it would work for Nic? Nic hated people who were so smug about their faith, as if they lived in the light and he was in the dark.

  He looked down at his hands and slowly unclenched them. He considered all the men he had punched with those fingers. Even on nights he had been severely beaten, afterward he would find a moment’s rest, a bit of the peace he sought. His mind, his body were spent, and he could sit in a place of nothingness for a while, sleep without dreaming. He wished he could stay in that place, day and night. Calm, at rest. Yet it was impossible.

  “You are wrestling inside,” Manuel said, leaning against the rail beside him.

  Nic looked up to the sky, trying to mask the irritation he felt. He had not invited the man to stop. Could not the captain decide to set the steam engine to work again and aid the sails? Then, at least Manuel would be down in the hold, attending to the coal rather than up here, idle, with nothing to do but pester Nic.

  “You are a passionate man, Dominic,” the coal boss said. He bit off the end of his cigar and spit it out to the sea. He left him for a moment to go and light the cigar in a hatch lantern that always remained lit. Nic braced himself for his return. “The key to passion is to find the appropriate outlet.”

  “Yes, women,” Nic said with a grin.

  Manuel laughed, and Nic softened a bit toward him. “A good woman, a wife, is a good place to put some of that passion to work,” he said, waving his cigar at the ocean as if he were talking to the dolphins as much as to Nic. “But God can take our passion and give us fulfillment.”

  “See here,” Nic said, straightening, “I’m not in the mood for another of your sermons.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Manuel said, still leaning on the rail. “If a man is on the run he does not wish to pause for instruction.”

  “I’m not on the run.”

  “Aren’t you?” Manuel squinted at him over his shoulder, blew out some cigar smoke, and looked back out to sea. “You don’t belong here, aboard ship. I believe you didn’t belong in Argentina, where you began your journey. How far back did you cease to belong?”

  Nic frowned and rubbed his face, trying to get hold of his rising anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh you do, you do, amigo. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “How far back did I cease to belong? What does that mean?”

  “When did you lose your way? When did you begin to fight anyone who threatened you in the least bit?”

  “I was a kid. A hotheaded kid.” Nic leaned against the rail again, this time with his back to the waves.

  “So … soon after one of your brothers died?”

  Nic thought back to the first time he ever scuffled with another boy. There had been skirmishes at school here and there. But the first time he punched another until he bled? Scrabbled until he himself bled? That was the day after little Clifford, the brother he had felt closest to, died. Nic clenched his lips a moment and then said, “It means nothing.”

  “It does,” Manuel said softly. “If you are not on the run, then you are adrift. You are like a ship without a mooring, weathering one storm after another.”

  “Isn’t that life? Don’t we all make our way through the storms, hoping for calm weather ahead?”

  “No, life, life as God intended it, is sailing in a certain direction, with good bearings. Yes, there are storms. Sometimes there are shipwrecks. But we sail with a goal in mind. Before you were shanghaied—”

  “How do you know I was shanghaied?”

  “Because a man such as yourself does not sign on to sail unless he’s forced to it. Before that, where were you going? What were you doing?”

  “I was in Buenos Aires, fighting in the ring. Making a pretty good living at it too.”

  “And did you intend to stay there? Do that forever?”

  “No one fights forever. They get too old, too broken.”

  Manuel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So what did you intend to do then, when you became too old or too broken?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “See what captured my interest next.”

  “Adrift. Passion without an outlet.” Manuel turned to lean his back against the rail beside him. He watched a few sailors pass by, nodding in greeting. “You are like this ship, with sails lashed and coal sitting in a pile. You are pent up, waiting for something, wishing you c
ould move. Who is your captain? Who will give you the direction to haul sail or feed coal to the fire? How do you know which direction to point your ship?”

  “You don’t know me,” Nic said, turning to face him. He wished he could knock that knowing expression off his face, but Manuel remained at ease, leaning back, puffing on his cigar and scrutinizing him. “Why not go and bother someone else? Why me?”

  “Because God is after you,” he said, gesturing toward him with the cigar between his second and third fingers. “And my direction is to follow God’s direction. It is what keeps me from being adrift. It fills my sails with wind, keeps my steam engine’s stove with burning coal.”

  Nic considered him for a moment. “How is it, Manuel, that a philosopher became a coal boss? Did you lose your way at some point?”

  “I have lost my way on occasion, yes. But God always leads me home.”

  “Why did you not give your life to Him then? Become a priest?”

  Manuel grinned. “I loved my wife too much to ask for an annulment.”

  “You are married?”

  “Yes, yes. Twenty years or more, now.”

  “She does not mind that you go to sea?”

  Manuel shrugged. “It makes my homecoming all the more sweet.” He studied Nic a moment and said. “Listen, I do not wish to bother you. I will not say another word to you about this after today unless you ask. But, Dominic, when God sets His sights on someone, it always goes better if that someone learns to accept Him and appreciate Him. Like our captain there.” Both men glanced to the man at the helm. “You can follow him the easy way and enjoy the voyage. Or you can ignore his orders and suffer the consequences. But one way or another, you will do as he says.” Manuel stared Nic in the eye. “You think you were put here on this earth by happenstance? That God has no particular interest in you?”

  “I don’t know,” Nic said. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “Think about it. God has a particular interest in every person on this ship.”

  “Even Alejandro?” Nic said.

  “Even Alejandro.”

  Chapter 27

  Reid handed Odessa a mug, filled with strong coffee, from the scent of it. She took it from him without comment and sipped at it, knowing she needed to keep up her strength if she was to make it through the battle ahead. The man sat next to her on the log, and Odessa fought the urge to move away, reviled by his proximity. Instead, she stared at the fire, wondering what was happening at the Circle M. Who was injured? How were they all faring? Who was caring for Samuel, who would feed him? Her breasts seemed to ache in response.

  “I take it you know where the gold is,” Reid said, leaning down to rest his forearms on his thighs and look back at her.

  She scoffed. “You think if we knew where it was, we wouldn’t have come up here to get it?”

  His mouth settled in a grim line. “So you think you know where it is.”

  “I have an idea, yes.”

  “And how have you come to that idea?”

  Odessa stared at him. Did he think she’d give it up? Give him their future, their hope? Even if she did know how to find it?

  “Odessa, we’re an hour’s ride from your house.” He looked up at the men, lingering nearby, listening in. “I’ll send my men back. Daniel will be no match for them. They’ll kill him, and they can do what they please with Moira and your kitchen girl. And your baby … your baby, why, I think I’d have them bring him back to me.”

  She stared at him, hard. Clearly, they’d been watching the ranch for a while. Knew far too much about what happened there.

  Bryce, you and I have no future if either of us dies. Forgive me … “Remember Louise O’Toole’s cabin?” she finally said.

  He gave her a wry look. “I have a fair recollection of it, yes.”

  “Inside the old Bible, in Genesis, there are markings in the center. Comparing it to our Bible in English, we think they’re markings near every reference of ‘gold.’”

  “All right …” he said, in a warning tone, as in, You better have more than this.

  “The first time gold is mentioned in Genesis, the description includes plants of bdellium and onyx stone—a true black rock—and a land called Havilah.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s a valley where they take the horses in high summer, and several small canyons. One is called Avilla Canyon.”

  “Havilah, Avilla. You’re assuming they’re one and the same.”

  “But Tabito and Bryce already went up there, looked around for days, searched a hundred caves. And found nothing. There were other clues—onyx, a black rock, and bdellium, a gumlike plant. They found a black stripe in the rock, but nothing more.”

  He stared at her a moment, his face eerily shadowed by the flickering light of the fire. “That’s it. That’s all you have. A valley name similar to what you found in the Bible, and the thought that there is supposed to be black rock about.”

  She stared back at him. “That’s all I have.”

  He studied her a moment and then moved so suddenly, she didn’t have time to react. His hand was on her throat, pinching in hard. “You better pray, Odessa,” he hissed, “that when we reach that canyon, we find the right cave, or your baby will end up an orphan.”

  He released her then, tossed his cup aside and rose, striding away. The men looked from their boss to Odessa with curiosity and concern, but none moved. Odessa struggled, gagging still to catch her breath. She went down to her hands and knees, praying, calling to God for help.

  But He was silent.

  Moira sat next to Daniel on the front parlor settee, watching the door, as the day, and the gunfire, faded. She leaned her good cheek against Daniel’s uninjured shoulder and willed the knob to turn. Cassie was pacing with Moira’s nephew, sweet little Samuel. Cassie kept going upstairs to look for approaching riders. Where was Bryce? Why had he not returned? Moira wanted to fight her weariness. Honor her sister by staying up the whole night, thinking about her. Praying for her. It had been a long time since she had considered praying. I don’t remember, God. How to pray. The right words. Do You even hear us, in the midst of all this madness?

  I hear you. I am here.

  Moira remembered then, a prayer her mother had taught her. Father God, keep in Your tender hands … Odessa and Bryce and all the others. Grant them Your tender mercies. Cover them with Your tender care. Be tender with us all, Lord God. For we are Yours.

  Those last words rang in Moira’s thoughts, like distant echoes of a time long past. What did it mean, to belong to God? To receive His tenderness, rather than His wrath? She drifted off to sleep then, unable to think it through anymore, other than muttering a plea. Please let Odessa live, Lord. Please. Please …

  It felt like seconds later when she heard the baby crying and Cassie calling, “It’s Bryce! Bryce is coming!”

  She glanced at the clock. She’d been asleep for an hour.

  He burst through as Daniel opened the locked door, Tabito right behind him. Grimly, he looked from one to the other, then set aside his gun to take the screaming baby. He patted Samuel on the back and then reached out to gently embrace Moira. “Welcome home, Moira. I’m glad you’re safe. But Odessa … How long ago did he take her?”

  How did he know?

  “Not two hours past,” Daniel said. He rose and pointed to the west. “They disappeared across the fields.”

  “There were gunmen,” Bryce told them, “to our north. They had us pinned down all this time. One of our men, Holt, the traitor, took off with them. They kept us pinned down until now. And then they disappeared among the rocks.”

  “A spy,” Moira said.

  Bryce nodded and ran a hand through his hair as he paced. “So we’re down to four men, five, counting Daniel.” He studied the newcomer, a shadow of accusation sliding across his face. Did he think that Daniel, too, was a spy? Sent to infiltrate them? “How was it that Reid got Odessa?”

  “She gave herself up,” Moira said,
stepping forward, “for me. I’m so sorry, Bryce. I tried to stop her. Daniel did too. But Reid had men with him. We might all have died had she resisted. Dess seemed to guess that sooner than we did.”

  “Sounds like Dess,” he said, staring up at the ceiling, still patting his crying child.

  Cassie came and took Samuel from Bryce. She glanced shyly up at him and then away. “My family, they’ll come lookin’ for me, now that it’s dark. I never’ve stayed this late.”

  Bryce stared at the girl and closed his eyes as he drew in a long, deep breath through his nose. She was right. And if Reid was telling the truth, his men were liable to shoot anyone who came down their lane. He took a step left and then right, then paused, looking upward, his hands over his mouth. Lord, I need some help here.

  “Send me,” Tabito said lowly from where he sat.

  Bryce glanced down and studied his foreman.

  “I know this place,” Tabito said with a shrug. “I can sneak out and over the hills, tell the girl’s kin what is happening here. They can go for help. Bannock won’t know we’ve raised a flag of alarm.”

  Bryce thought his words over. He was desperate to grasp any measure of hope. But to risk Tabito, his friend, his foreman … one of the few men he had left. And yet, he would be endangering Cassie’s family if he did nothing. Had he not just asked God for help? He could not bear it if something terrible happened to his friend.

  Tabito reached out a hand and rested it on his arm. “I will go, Bryce. Let me.”

  Bryce studied him a moment longer, then he nodded. The men reached for guns, handing them to Tabito, but he shook his head. Bryce knew his belt was laden with knives, knives like those he had taught Bryce to throw … with deadly consequences. On a quiet night, under watch, with so many of Reid’s men in wait, knives would be their best defense. Silent killers, one by one.

  “Go with God, friend,” Bryce said, as he watched from the window as the older man padded quietly up the hill, melding with the dark in seconds. “God help us all.” He closed his eyes, aching at the idea that Odessa was once again in Reid’s hands. He couldn’t stand the thought, choking in frustration that he hadn’t been beside her, right when she needed him most.