Breathe: A Novel of Colorado

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Bryce watched Odessa enter the sunporch that afternoon on the arm of her younger sister. She glanced his way, lifted a hand as if she had just remembered the bandages on her face, and then quickly looked away. Her sister helped her into the cot, then efficiently covered her with the blankets, tucking her in so thoroughly that Bryce was sure she couldn't move. She remained still, trying to catch her breath for several moments.

  "It's terribly cold in here," her sister complained. "Surely this cannot be entirely edifying for the patients." Her green eyes looked Bryce's way, and he noticed they were the exact same color as Odessas. Like their brother's. Family trait.

  "Take a blanket and wrap up," Odessa said to her. She tiredly glanced from him to her sister. "Mr. McAllan," Odessa said. "I ... I was most sorry to hear the news of Sam's passing. Please accept my condolences. He seemed like a kind man."

  Bryce stared at the ceiling. "Thank you, Miss St. Clair. He was." He paused. "I gather you encountered some mishap of your own. Are you all right?"

  "Fair to middling, as my grandmother used to say," she said. A smile briefly spread across her lush lips, but then faded. "I was up and prowling when I was ill prepared to do so."

  "Ahh. I, too, have fallen victim to the consumptive's faint."

  "Yes, well, I did it quite elaborately, don't you think?" She gestured toward her swathed face.

  "Quite." He picked up his paintbrush again, intent on giving the sisters a sense of privacy, even if he could hear their every word.

  "Odessa, what has come over you?" Moira asked in an undertone. "I am the dramatic one of the family."

  Odessa leaned back into her pillow and closed her eyes and sighed. "I know not. Only that being here, so narrowly cheating death, then seeing Sam, so alone in his room ... there's an air of madness about me. It's as if I've lost any sense of propriety."

  Moira remained where she was, silent. She pulled the blanket a bit closer around her shoulders.

  "Where is Nic today?"

  Moira looked down and to the left.

  "Moira," Odessa prompted.

  "He is seeing to business matters. Busy."

  "Busy?"

  "Indisposed."

  "Indisposed? In what way?"

  "Now, now. Don't get alarmed. It's not good for your breathing." She leaned closer and then glanced nervously toward Bryce. "Please, Dess. If the doctor finds I've upset you enough to send you into another fit, he'll never let me return."

  Odessa nodded, silently urging her on, while taking her note of warning to be cautious, aware of her mind, heart, and lungs. "Please. Quickly. Out with it."

  "He was fighting again, Dess. And Reid Bannock, the sheriff here, won't abide by any brawling. He's as firm on street fighting as General Palmer is on drinking in this town-they'll have none of it. High and dry, peaceful, orderly. That's how they like it here. And Nic ... you can see that train wreck about to occur. He spent the night in jail."

  "Jail?" Odessa sputtered, forgetting to keep their hushed undertone. "He spent the night in jail?"

  "Don't fret, Dess. Sheriff Bannock only wanted him to remember the lesson. He assures me he'll be out tomorrow at the latest."

  "How? How do you know all this?"

  "From Sheriff Bannock himself. He took me to supper last night."

  Odessa groaned and leaned her head back on the pillow. "Don't even speak of it, Moira. Tell me you were not out on the arm of the town sheriff."

  Moira stuck her chin up. "Well, why not? Surely there are worse men in this town."

  Odessa raised her head and stared at her. "You promised Papa. No suitors for a year."

  "He's not a suitor. He's the sheriff. And he's holding our brother."

  "Moira. Tell me what's happening."

  "No, Dess." She rose, glanced Bryce's way and then back to her sister. "You know all you need to. I shouldn't have told you anything. I'll return tonight to stay with you, and tomorrow Nic and I will call upon you. You just concentrate on getting better."

  "Moira-"

  She leaned down to kiss Odessa on the forehead and then fled.

  "Moira!" But she was already out the door.

  Several long minutes passed by and Bryce began to believe she had fallen asleep.

  "Mr. McAllan," she said then.

  "Bryce, please call me Bryce."

  "Bryce, do you have any siblings?"

  "An older brother, back East. But we barely speak. Had a falling out some time ago."

  "Ahh. There might be some measure of blessing in that."

  Bryce laughed under his breath.

  "Mr. McAllan-" she began, forgetting.

  "Bryce. Did Sam have any enemies?" Slowly, she turned her wide green eyes upon him and he frowned at her.

  "Miss St. Clair-"

  "Odessa."

  "Odessa, why would you ask such a question?"

  She continued to study him, measuring him with her eyes, weighing her decision. "Because," she said at last, "I think ... I believe someone murdered him."

  After Dominic's jailers had taken away his lunch tray, Sheriff Bannock approached the cell and grinned at Dominic as he tossed in a copy of the city newspaper.

  Frowning in suspicion, Nic bent and retrieved the paper, then slowly rose. It had been neatly folded in six segments, the article about Dominic's arrest calling out to him with the headline, "Newcomer Jailed for Brawling." He sighed and pinched his nose, trying to hold back the rising anger. That's just what the sheriff wanted to see after all-him unable to control his fury, giving him further excuse for punishment. Use your brain as well as your brawn, Nic.

  He handed the Gazette back through the bars to the sheriff with a thin-lipped smile. Just his luck to land in jail before the weekly paper went to press.

  Sheriff Bannock raised his hands. "You keep it. Some reading material would probably be welcome 'bout now."

  "I read enough. Shame the reporter-or his source-neglected to mention the three miners making inappropriate comments to my sister. Shame, too, that the sheriff didn't jail the men who started all of this."

  The sheriff studied him. "No laws against a man flirting with a pretty girl. You, man, just have to figure out how to deal with that pretty sister, protect her, without resorting to fighting."

  Dominic met his eye. "Agreed. Now can you release me?"

  "Tomorrow. One more night in the cell. You'll be free at daybreak, providing that you can give me your word about the things we've discussed."

  Dominic shifted, trying to maintain his composure. He licked his lips. "Sheriff, this has been quite enough to prove your point. And my sister Moira, she's pretty young to be on her own in a strange town. She must be frightened, all alone. That's how all this started-"

  "I understand, Mr. St. Clair." The sheriff shook his head and then looked him in the eye. "But I don't want you to fret over your sister. I'll have no woman fear for her safety in this town. I'll be certain to look in on her myself. You have my word."

  Biting back a retort, Nic gripped tightly to the bars and watched the sheriff saunter away.

  He should be mollified, encouraged that Moira would be looked after.

  Why, then, did he feel as though he had just been had?

  It took Bryce several moments to say anything in response to Odessas audacious claim. He glanced toward the door, then wearily pulled the blankets from his torso and came to his feet. This was not the sort of conversation they should have from across the room. And he had to give her the envelope.

  Odessa glanced his way and then away as if she had forgotten she had said anything. A self-conscious hand went to her bandages and then she wrung her hands. He sat down in the chair that Moira had vacated. The hallway was still empty, quiet. "Tell me what you saw. Or heard. Please, Odessa. For Sam."

  "I-I am uncertain. Perhaps ... you know how this disease is. Half the time I feel as if I live in a fog. Do you?"

  He rested his forearms on his legs and leaned forward, waiting. Odessa St. Clair did not seem the sort of woman to ma
ke idle statements for effect. "That night ..." he led.

  "I was feverish," she said. "I awakened, terribly thirsty, not sure where I was. I realized I was thirsty, but that wasn't what had brought me around."

  "It was ...n

  "Sounds. Terrible sounds."

  Bryce frowned. "What sort of sounds? Moaning? Shouting?"

  "Gasping. Suffocating. Silence."

  Bryce leaned back. "Odessa, Sam was old. It could've been his heart, the consumption-"

  "And I heard footsteps, and a floorboard creak. And then saw a shadow, fleeing ..."

  Her eyes were wide and still, staring at the ceiling as if reliving the terror.

  "Someone was with him," Bryce filled in.

  Her eyes met his again. "Someone was with him," she returned.

  "And so you went in there? You got up out of your bed and went in there?"

  "After the other one departed." She gave him a humorless smile.

  "I attempted it. But didn't get very far before I saw him, Bryce. Saw his mouth open, knew he was dead, and then there was no more strength within me and I fell. Must have hit my head on the way down. I have the goose egg right here to testify to my folly."

  "It was very brave of you, Odessa. Foolish, but brave."

  She smiled too and leaned back against her pillow as if weary and stared up at the planked ceiling.

  "Odessa-you've had a rough go of it. Are you certain it wasn't a nightmare? A horrible nightmare that coincided with the terrible moment of Sam's death? Perhaps you heard him struggling for breath and your imagination invented the rest."

  "I know what I heard, Bryce." She glanced at him, then lifted a hand to her brow as if battling a headache. "I wish I hadn't. I can't get it out of my mind. And I've told you because I could see you and Sam were dear to each other. He liked you, trusted you."

  Bryce sat back and considered her, then gave her a brief nod.

  "Who would gain from his death?"

  Bryce shook his head, his eyes flitting about as if he was thinking it through. "I have no idea. Listen, before anyone comes-at Sam's funeral I was approached by an attorney. He gave me two envelopes, one for me, and one for you."

  "For me?"

  Bryce nodded. Nurse Packard came in then, saw Odessa take the envelope from Bryce. The nurse gave him a wise look and her eyes slid to Odessa and back to him. "Dr. Morton does not abide fraternization," she sniffed.

  "I understand," Bryce said gravely. The nurse left and Bryce winked at Odessa.

  She smiled and glanced down at the envelope, as if disbelieving that her name was across the center front. "Why ...?"

  "Sam had his own ideas about things. Kept his own counsel. No doubt he was up to some sort of mischief."

  She slid her finger under the flap and opened it, then pulled out a single piece of paper. It took everything in Bryce not to ask what it said. She appeared to read it through several times before leaning back, her brow furrowed.

  "Odessa?"

  She started, as if she'd forgotten he was there, and glanced his way. "It's a poem, directions of a sort. Yours, too?"

  Bryce hesitated for a moment. "The deed to his land. He left it all-a couple hundred acres and his cabin."

  "He had no family?"

  "None for some time. Guess I was as close as it came." He stared at her. "Odessa, I don't mean to pry, but Sam's poem for you-is there something in there that confirms your idea that someone took his life?"

  "Yes," she said. "I believe so. Was Sam a wealthy man?"

  Bryce shrugged. "He got along. Made his living as a sheep rancher. But once in a while, he'd spend money that surprised me. The private room here. A new suit."

  Odessa considered that.

  "If ... if you're right, Odessa, does it place you in danger, having that note from Sam? Should we go to the sheriff?"

  Odessa shook her head, raising her fingers to massage her temples. "No. He'll only remind me that I saw nothing. Only heard sounds that anyone could say was merely Sam, giving in to the consumption. No, I'd say the fewer people who know about this, the better."

  Bryce paused. "What is it, Odessa, that makes you not fear me?"

  Odessa glanced at him, knew she was blushing. "I am a fairly good judge of character. Let's just say that I feel inclined to gamble that I'm right about you."

  She closed her eyes, intending to end the conversation at this most improper and forward juncture, but as she did so, she stole one last glance at Bryce. And he was smiling.

  The sheriff flicked the reins over a fine black mare, and the horse lurched their small cart forward. In spite of herself, Moira was pleased to be getting out, to see more of what Colorado Springs had to offer, to "making familiar what was unfamiliar," as Nic had repeated. Reid drove her down Tejon Street, which was becoming the city's main thoroughfare more than the intended, flashier Pikes Peak. A few brick buildings were going up, standing in stark contrast to their smaller, more modest wooden neighbors.

  Down one street, Moira caught a view of a massive building of limestone blocks. "What is that going up down there?"

  The sheriff smiled proudly. "That's General Palmer's new opera house. It should open within the year."

  "Oh! I had heard he was building it, and I simply could not dare to believe it."

  Reid glanced down at her, curiosity rife on his face. "You like opera?"

  "I do. I adore singing and always dreamed I'd be a part of the theater."

  The sheriff nodded, a measure of concern lifting a brow. "After dinner, General Palmer and the men will retire for cigars in his den. But Queen, Mrs. Palmer, she always likes to take the ladies and share some music. I think you will enjoy it."

  "Oh, I will!" Moira said, almost clapping, she was so happy. It had been weeks and weeks since she had enjoyed a nice evening of music, since the Frasier dinner party in Philadelphia, and before that, the Donnavon Ball, held at their estate just outside of the city. Just thinking about those two wondrous nights made her sick with longing. Despite the progress Colorado Springs was making, she could not imagine this town ever rivaling the fine society of Philadelphia. But if Mrs. Palmer cared to try, Moira was more than happy to support the effort.

  They drove on a narrow dirt road, crossing Monument Creek, then joining a larger dirt road that paralleled the mountains, what the sheriff called the stage road. Soon, they passed amazing red rocks bursting from the earth. Above and beyond them was the blue, snow-covered Pikes Peak.

  "Like it?" Reid asked, slyly glancing over at her. "That there is the Garden of the Gods. Used to be sacred land to the Utes."

  "I can see why. They are captivating! Like a bunch of hands all thrusting their way toward heaven!"

  Once they passed the Garden, the little black mare climbed a hill and then Reid directed her left, into a canyon. "General calls this `Queen's Canyon.' This whole parcel of land belongs to the Palmers."

  More red rocks jutted upward about them, like forgotten neighbors cast out of the Garden. Steep cliffs climbed on either side. To their left, in the dusk of evening, stood a ram, looking back toward the city as if he were a sentinel for others. To their right, a bald eagle landed on a ledge, atop a monstrous nest of sticks. Beyond the natural walls was the glen, made up of lovely meadows and twisting pinon pines. "The Utes, they liked to winter down in here," Reid said. "Natural protection, water source ... some of the prettiest land in all of the Springs."

  "How long ago were the Indians sent away?"

  "Back in sixty-eight," he said. "Most went with them to the reservation. Some stayed and learned the white man's ways."

  "You mean I might see one? A real Ute?"

  "Most likely," he said, mirth knitting his brows together.

  "Are they dangerous?"

  "Nah. Most are harmless. But there are beggar Indians, and I've had to jail quite a few for stealing. Had to string one up once for murder."

  "Oh! How awful." She sighed dreamily. "I've always wanted to see a real live Indian."

  "Should'v
e been here a couple of decades ago, then. You would've seen more than your share."

  The castle came into view then, as they crossed another small stone bridge that led them over the creek. The home was a magnificent structure, made of coarsely cut rectangular bricks of limestone. Beyond it, a red canyon fairly glowed, reflecting the last vestiges of sunset on her walls. Here and there, a dusting of spring snow clung to the shadowy crevices. But Moira's eyes were quickly drawn back to the castle, with leaded glass windows and turrets climbing upward and a massive courtyard facing the wondrous glen. They went around the structure, then pulled to a stop in front. A man impeccably dressed in servant's attire appeared to help her down. Another servant came out and greeted them both by name, then led them up the walk to the entrance, while another took the buggy away, presumably to the carriage house they had passed. The horse would be brushed and watered and rested, so that when they were ready to return, she would be fresh for the ride.

  Moira paused, imagining how angry Dominic would be if he knew she was here, intending to return home in the dark, alone with a man.

  But Nic wasn't here. And he wasn't her parent, but a mere temporary guardian. And her mother wasn't here. Nor was her father. Besides, this was for Nic's benefit as much as for her own.

  "Miss St. Clair?" Reid asked, turning back to study her in the entrance.

  She shook her head. "Lead on, Sheriff. I am most eager to greet our hosts."

  Odessa awakened at midnight, feeling a little sick to her stomach. She was certain it was the result of the two glasses of milk, three eggs, and large piece of meat the nurse's assistant had watched her consume for dinner. She didn't think she would ever eat again. But that was part of the regimen here at the sanatorium. According to Nurse Packard, it was what had made them famous. The massive amounts of food gave patients extra strength to battle the ailments of their lungs. Within a couple of weeks, they would expect her to double what she had consumed this night.

  She sat up and let her feet fall to the floor. It was after nine o'clock, when Moira had said she would come. Where was she? Was she not coming? Was something wrong?