by Amber Stokes
Seth let the barrel dip before tossing it into the dirt and heading toward the barn, walking away from Sally’s weeping and his brother’s blood-covered body in her arms.
***
The tune of the wind whistling through the canyon floated around Myghal, mingling with memories of Lydia’s laughing blue eyes and Sally’s somber blue gaze…of Lydia’s lighthearted grin, and Sally’s awed smile at the sight of a hillside full of lupines.
He was happy for both of them. Well, as happy as he could be for Lydia when she promised herself to him and then married another. But at least Sally, who had only ever been his friend, was married to a good man who would give her a good life.
With a glance up to the twilight sky and the specks of silver beginning to appear, he let go of a breath he had been holding in for far too long.
There’s a time for everythin’, right, God?
He clung to the hope that someday there would be a time for him to keep instead of always having to learn to let go.
An eerie feeling descended on him the closer he got to the ranch. It was probably due to the tension left over from his talk with Joe earlier in the day. He should have come back from his ride much sooner so that he could leave before nightfall.
A dark shape lay on the porch. Maybe Joe had been waiting for him to return, or…
Finally, Myghal understood. He remembered seeing a mother cradling her grown son’s crushed body after he helped bring him up out of the mine. One of the shafts had collapsed. She had crumpled to the ground, too shocked for tears, holding her son in her lap and brushing the hair from his disfigured face. The picture was as cold and unreal as the sight of Sally holding Joe’s limp body. He reined in by the barn, then jumped off the horse and ran the last few yards to the house, another deep breath catching in his throat.
“Sally…what…what happened?”
His eyes told him that Joe was dead, but his brain couldn’t comprehend it, and his heart wouldn’t believe it. He took one step, then two, hesitantly. Sally didn’t respond; she just continued to run her small fingers through Joe’s hair.
Then Myghal saw it and knew. The blood – it was dried and almost black in the encroaching darkness, but there was no denying what it was. It was all over Joe’s shirt and the surrounding floorboards and even on Sally’s hands.
Sinking down onto his knees next to the body, he clutched Joe’s sleeve, willing him to wake up. This death… It was so sudden and painful and wrong.
“How…?” The word drew tears from his eyes. He lowered his head, unable to even try to meet Sally’s gaze.
She was silent so long, he thought she might not ever speak again. Finally, she whispered, “He shot him.”
“Who shot him?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he realized the answer. Rufus O’Daniel. He clenched his hands into fists. “How long ago?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was small, fragile, like a child afraid of receiving a scolding. “Hours. Forever.”
He finally looked up. She watched him, nothing but misery in her gaze. “It’s my fault…”
She began to weep, cradling Joe’s head in her lap and clinging to the neckline of his shirt as she bent over him and released heart-wrenching sobs.
Myghal couldn’t respond. He stood, his shoulders unbearably tense and his head throbbing with the thoughts he couldn’t allow himself to process. He pounded his fists once on the doorframe, his heart shattering into thousands of pieces of broken glass scattered across a sea of darkness that would soon swallow them up.
Chapter 18
Sometime during the night Myghal must have brought Sally into the house and tucked her into bed, because the last thing she remembered of the end of that horrible day was the feel of Joe’s blood-soaked shirt in her hands. For a while, she had imagined that he was lying next to her in their bed, his shirt soaked with sweat – not blood – from a hard day’s work, and Joe too exhausted and too comforted by her presence to get up and change his clothes.
Sally squeezed her eyes shut tight. He would never lie next to her again. Not even in death.
At some point after…he…left and before Myghal came, she had decided that Joe must be buried in the Virginia City cemetery, among all of the other good Catholics and Christians. Sally would be buried with the outlaws and Jews. A soiled dove could fly about all over the town, but she could never land among the church-goers.
Joe, however, deserved better. He was a respected man with a respectable life, and she would see to it that he got a proper burial.
That goal was the only thing that helped her push aside the blankets and get off of the bed. Padding slowly to the mirror, she brushed and styled her hair, washed her face, and applied some cosmetics. Then she put on her nicest decent dress, which was rather plain but would have to do.
She glanced once more at her reflection in the mirror, and anger filled her at the sight of the calm, silent woman gazing back. Didn’t she know that nothing she did would make things right? Didn’t that woman know that she would never have a chance to be the wife Joe had deserved? Picking up her hairbrush, Sally aimed at the woman’s heartless eyes, her hand drawn back and her thoughts murderous.
The slam of the front door – the sound that proved she wasn’t alone – caused her to break her gaze with her reflection. She brought her hand over the dresser and dropped the brush onto it. It clattered in time with the stutter of her heart, and in just the same length of time it took for her white knuckles to return to their normal color.
“Sally? Are ye awake?” Myghal appeared in the doorway, concern quickly flashing to surprise as he took in her appearance. “Sally-girl…”
He didn’t finish the thought. He just stared at her with a mix of uncertainty and apprehension that made her long to break something, to do something to release the emotions hidden somewhere beyond her reflection.
“I want Joe to be buried in Virginia City.” She pushed past him into the hallway. Finding the front room and kitchen empty, she asked, “Where is the body?”
“I asked a few of the Jewish women if they might help prepare…for burial.”
She felt him come up behind her, and she didn’t know whether to turn around and thank him for asking someone else to do the task, or to slap him for not consulting her. Joe was her husband. As a good wife, she should take care of all the details, help him look his best.
Instead, she only nodded. “When will we be going into town?”
He walked around to stand in front of her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. She pulled back, not wanting any comfort, any contact. Myghal’s sigh filled the room like a ghost. She pinched her eyes shut at the thought.
“Don’t ye think it best to avoid town?”
His words were gentle, but anger simmered beneath them. For one irrational moment, she wanted to tease the sentiment out of him – to poke and prod at the emotional nest of snakes until he lashed out.
“Joe should be buried up there, not down here.”
She opened her eyes in time to catch the curse he mouthed without voice – a sight she never thought she’d see in connection with Myghal.
He swallowed forcibly. “I don’t want you in the same town as that man. As soon as we bury Joe, I think it best if we return to California, at least for a time.”
The front door had opened so silently, and she had been so focused on Myghal, she hadn’t heard Seth enter the house, but the force of his glare finally alerted her to his presence.
Seth spoke from the doorway. “And why should we run? If the law won’t hang him for murder, then I will.”
Myghal crossed his arms. “I’ll go into Virginia City to tell the sheriff what happened.” He snorted contemptibly. “I don’t expect him to be able or willing to do much, not when Mr. O’Daniel can pay off anyone he chooses.”
At the mention of the murderer’s name, Sally gasped and Seth sucked in a heavy breath.
“I don’t think it’d be wise for either of ye to go,” Myghal added.
He didn’t need to clarify. Everyone knew the danger. And Seth could very well seek to avenge his brother by causing another death. The thought of any more killings terrified her, because if Rufus deserved to die, then so did she.
Sally stomped her foot. “Joe has to be buried there.”
The door slammed again, and Myghal was gone.
Her gaze met Seth’s, and it was as if she was looking at her reflection again. Why were they burying their emotions? Why didn’t Seth yell at her or hit her? Didn’t he know that if it weren’t for her presence here, his brother would still be alive?
She watched his fists clench and unclench and wished that he would use them, but all he did was walk past her, down the hallway to his bedroom.
For a while, she remained rooted, unsure of what to do. Seth clomped around in his room, his booted steps loud and heavy, but what she most longed to hear was Joe’s voice, reprimanding her or laughing or asking her what was wrong. It wouldn’t matter what he wanted to tell her or how he wanted to say it. She wished she could remember him saying anything, but the only sounds she could recall were his dying breaths, choked and raspy and filled with pain.
With a cry, she ran to her room and threw her brush as hard as she could into the mirror. Over and over, she repeated the gesture until she drowned out the memories with the sound of breaking glass and the sight of her own cut-up hands. Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding…
***
The reverberating crash brought Seth’s pacing to a standstill. He stared at the door, waiting for Sally or Myghal or anyone else to break down the door and shoot him where he stood. For being a coward. For not protecting his home and family. For letting his brother and his wife and everyone he ever loved die.
A moment passed before he realized that no one was coming. He was tempted to stay in his room – any destruction of property was well-deserved, in his mind – but he opened his door and glanced across the hall, to Joe’s old room.
Sally sat on her knees, surrounded by pieces of glass, clutching a brush in her hand. She was shaking, but not crying, so far as he could see.
He should leave her alone. What good would his comfort be? Besides, he didn’t know how to give it. He had nothing good left to give.
The emptiness of his bedroom pulled him from behind, a force that was powerful, if not welcoming, in its promise of escape. Still, he couldn’t look away from the girl and her grief. His mother would have wanted him to do something to help her, quoting some verse from the Bible about mourning with others. His dear wife would have wanted him to be strong, to take charge of the situation and pray to God for all their sakes.
With halting steps he came to her side, the only sounds her heavy breathing and the crunch of glass beneath his boots.
She was Joe’s wife. Someone’s daughter. My sister-in-law. I have to do something.
He didn’t know what he would do with his life in the days ahead, but in this moment, he had a job to do.
As he awkwardly knelt down beside her, the pop of his knee startled her and brought her attention to his face. Something familiar in her eyes prompted him to say, “I know.”
Together, they cleaned up the room.
***
The little wooden cross and the solitary location seemed unfitting for a man who had sacrificed so much – a man whose heart, impulsiveness, uncertainties, and hope spoke of so much life to live.
Myghal stood beside Sally, his arms still shaky from the effort of digging the hole in the desert ground for Joe’s body. Sally had given up her fight for a Virginia City cemetery plot, which simultaneously relieved him and concerned him. He wished he hadn’t had to deny her request, but his trip to Virginia City had only confirmed his fears – Rufus O’Daniel had been a frequent visitor at all the saloons the past few days, and the sheriff refused to investigate any of Myghal’s claims about the murder.
Joe couldn’t be buried in the small Jewish cemetery in the canyon, either, so Myghal dug a grave a little ways behind the ranch house. He wished he could do better for his good friend. He wished so many things could be changed…
The sound of a clump of dirt hitting the wooden casket cut off his ponderings. Sally knelt next to the grave, one of her dirt-dusted hands tracing the words on the cross:
Joe Clifton
1863-1886
“I never thought he would leave me first,” she said quietly.
Myghal knelt next to her, and Seth did the same on the other side. The day was still and cold, the heavy clouds threatening rain, or possibly snow. The coming weeks would see the canyon filled with deep and blinding white.
He wanted to say some words about Joe, to help them all somehow, but his memories felt frozen and too far out of reach.
Sally held up a little coin purse, one he had glimpsed her toying with on occasion. “Do ya think Joe would mind…?”
Myghal shook his head. “No, lass.” He didn’t know what exactly she was asking, but he knew that Joe would’ve wanted her to embrace healing.
A part of him wanted her to open the tiny bag and show him what she had treasured for so long, but she didn’t. She held it tight for a moment, her eyes gazing blankly at the grave as if she were trying to quickly relive all the memories that pouch represented. Then she dropped it onto the casket with the thump of a slamming door.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she simply stood and walked toward the house, leaving Seth and him to cover the casket with dirt.
As he shoveled, Myghal longed to face the past, to accept the memories and let go of the doubts. Instead, all he could think about was the future – how he could best help Sally and Seth, and how he could keep Sally safe. What would Joe have done if he had realized how serious the danger was?
Seth spoke into the stillness. “I’ll help you convince her.”
Myghal looked up in surprise. “What do ya mean?”
“I mean that we shouldn’t stay here.” The admission creased his forehead, a look of painful acceptance and determination. “I know you want us to come with you to California, and I think that would be best. Anywhere away from here.”
Myghal nodded, and they shared no more words as they sweated with effort, despite the chill, and finished filling the grave.
Seth wasted no time in heading back to the barn when the deed was done, but Myghal lingered beside the little cross. “I wish I knew what to say, what to do. I wish this hadn’t happened, Joe.”
He clutched the shovel tight in both hands, the little cross blurring in his vision. Lifting his gaze to the sky, he asked, “Why did it have to happen? Why, God? How could Ye let O’Daniel murder him?”
Throwing the shovel to the ground, he brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes and his tears. “Could I have done anything differently?”
He stayed standing beside the cross for a while, until Sally came out and walked with him back to the house.
Part III: The Causes of My Soul
“O Lord, thou hast pleaded the causes of my soul; thou hast redeemed my life.”
Lamentations 3:58
Chapter 19
Several months had passed since Sally, Myghal, and Seth left Nevada. With the money Seth received from selling the ranch, they bought a small, two-bedroom home and a nearby shop in California, in a little place known as Ferndale, about half a day’s journey from Eureka.
The three of them decided on Mended Heart Bakery as the name of their shop. Sally had initially wanted to name it Bleeding Heart, in reference to the little heart-shaped flowers that Myghal had given her on her wedding day. But Myghal suggested a more hopeful name, one that could still allow them to paint flowers on the wooden sign outside of their shop while suggesting that the sweets they offered could ease any heartache.
Myghal had also somehow charmed his way into a deal with Noah Falk. He and Seth would take turns working in Falk’s mill, switching every other week, so that one man would always be around to help Sally with the shop while the other man earned additional incom
e as a woodsman. Sally suspected that Zachary Taylor’s good word, as a loyal and needed cook at the lumber camp, greatly helped Myghal’s cause.
So they all found a routine and started a new life together.
***
“Did you get more sugar?” Sally didn’t look up from where she was making cinnamon rolls. She had forgotten to add sugar to the list, but she assumed that Myghal, with his sharp eye for details in all areas of life, would know that they were in need of more.
“Sally?”
Sally’s hands froze over the partially rolled dough. His voice rose a bit with uncertainty, but it was still as deep as she remembered.
A sharp feeling in her chest made Sally wonder if her heart was literally cramping with the pain and shock of hearing his voice again. He couldn’t possibly be here. He had his own life, and she had hers.
The fluttery feeling that arose within her contradicted the twisting sense of dread wringing her insides. She did her best to keep all of the emotions hidden, but she couldn’t look up for fear that one glance would tell him everything.
“Sally, is that you?”
Her resolve to ignore him might have lasted if the door hadn’t creaked open once again. He was leaving? She glanced up to find Jack looking at her, his head cocked, while Myghal stood behind him in the doorway, hefting a heavy-looking crate.
“Oh, dear…” The words slipped past her lips because something had to. She worried that the contents of her stomach might soon follow.
“Sally, lass? Are ye all right?” Myghal looked between her and Jack, wariness shadowing his gaze. He shifted his stance, his arms straining as he clutched the crate.
Sally snapped her mouth closed and wiped her hands on her apron. “My goodness! I’m sorry, Myghal. You can set that over here by the cabinets.” She gestured to a spot on the floor next to her, behind the counter, frustrated that she couldn’t seem to stop her hand from shaking. She went back to rolling the dough, hoping to hide her reaction to Jack’s presence.