by Lori Wick
Sean wondered at his own stupidity in thinking the luxury would last forever. They could only live high until the money ran out, and then Hartley was back at his thieving game. He didn’t care from whom he stole, just so long as the victim was outside of Tulare. They rode into some towns in the dead of night, and Sean knew if he’d been questioned he would not have been able to tell anyone where he had been.
He also realized with sobering clarity that even though he was not a part of the robberies, his presence made him an accessory. There were times when he asked himself why he stayed, especially when he stood waiting in dark alleys and back streets for Hartley to appear. It never took more than a few minutes to remind himself, however, that he had been the one to walk away from Santa Rosa and his family. With that in mind and convincing himself they wanted nothing more to do with him, he knew he had no place else to go. He stayed on.
Weeks passed. Thanksgiving came and went and still they were on the road. Christmas passed, as did Sean’s nineteenth birthday, with little or no notice. Finally, after an especially profitable night, Hartley stole some supplies, loaded them on Sean’s horse, sat a comely barmaid he’d been taken with onto his own mount and headed them up into the foothills outside of Visalia.
When Sean woke, fully dressed and in an unmade bed, he realized how long and exhausting their midnight ride had been. Once again he had no idea where he was. He emerged from his bedroom to a spacious, if rundown cabin. The view out the dirty windows was glorious, and not bothering to close the door behind him, Sean went outside. Beauty notwithstanding, Sean was already feeling restless, and was glad when Hartley joined him.
“You’re up early,” the smaller man commented as he rolled and lit a cigarette.
“What are we doing here?” Sean came directly to the point.
“It is necessary, Sean, to lay low for a time. I have a few more jobs to do, but they will take some planning.”
“I don’t care to be stuck up here with nothing to do.”
“But there is plenty to do. There is money to count, food to eat, beds to sleep in, and of course, there is Anita.”
Sean gave him a blank look. “No, thank you.”
Hartley had been looking forward to a rest, but he could see that Sean was not going to stand for it. He was a little surprised to find that he liked Sean enough to alter his plans. Sean was one of the best men he’d ever ridden with; his sharp eyes and usually calm ways were a valuable asset. There was much about him that remained a mystery, but Hartley was sure they’d be together for a long time, plenty of time to someday learn it all.
Hartley returned to the cabin without a word, and told Anita to start breakfast. Sean, telling himself to relax, let the matter drop for the time. Just 24 hours later he was calling himself a fool for doing so. He woke and found that Hartley had ridden out, leaving him and Anita alone.
five
Sean was in a tower rage as he packed his saddlebags and gear. He hoped to never see Hartley again, because if he did, he was going to strangle him. The woman at the house watched in surprise as he took supplies from the kitchen, leaving disaster in his wake. She then watched from the front door as he rode away from the cabin without a word. Had Sean cared to put his emotions aside, he’d have noticed her calm, and understood that Hartley hadn’t left for good, and was, in fact, planning to return as soon as possible.
As it was, Sean returned also. Try as he might, he could not find his way out of the hills. It seemed that each trail he found became impassable within several miles of the cabin. Angry and frustrated, he returned late at night, now wishing Hartley was on hand so he could choke the life out of the man. He dropped on his bed, fully clothed and asking himself how he’d come to be in this place. At last he fell into a restless sleep.
In the morning Sean’s mood had not improved. Anita had put some breakfast on the table, but was nowhere to be found. This was fine with Sean, who sat down and ate like he’d not had a meal in weeks, still asking himself why he’d let himself be suckered in by Hartley.
Having lost his razor, he hadn’t shaved since they’d left Tulare, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to be clean. “I can hardly stand myself,” he grumbled as he stripped to the waist after his meal and scrubbed up at the basin that stood next to the cabin’s only door.
He was just finishing his wash, changing into the last of his clean clothes, when two riders came into the yard, Hartley and another man. Sean was out the door and reaching for Hartley before he could dismount. He yanked the smaller man from the saddle and held him in the air by the front of his vest.
“I will not be toyed with,” his voice sent a chill down Hartley’s spine, and he actually smelled fear, thinking Sean was about to kill him. “I am not your slave. Now you can get back in that saddle and lead me out of these hills, or I’m going to put a bullet through you.”
Sean dropped a gasping Hartley in a heap at his feet and strode back into the house to collect his gear. Hartley followed, and for the first time Sean saw him lose his perfect composure.
“I’m sorry, Sean. Listen to me,” the older man begged. “I never dreamed you wouldn’t know I was coming back. I left Anita. Didn’t she tell you we needed another man? I didn’t think you’d want to come. Honestly, Sean, I was just thinking of you. You’re my partner, Sean—I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
This last sentence was the only one to arrest Sean’s attention. Hartley had never called him a partner before, and for some reason the word had a calming effect on him. Hartley, smooth as a snake-oil salesman, saw that he’d penetrated Sean’s anger. In the blink of an eye he had everyone gathered around the table, talking to them and including them in his plans as though they’d been friends for years.
It took Sean the better part of the next 15 minutes to fully understand that Hartley was planning something bigger this time. The man who had come with him, Rico by name, was a bit dim, but seemed all for the plan.
“You’re going to rob a bank.” Anita too, had been slow on the uptake, and Hartley patted her cheek when she understood.
“I thought we were going to break into someone’s house,” Rico admitted, sounding just a bit unsure.
“How about you, Sean, did you understand?”
“Only just. Have you done this before—robbed a bank?”
“Never in Visalia, but elsewhere.” Hartley spoke with casual ease. “There’s nothing to it, Sean; you’ll see. And if there is some danger, we’re talking about thousands of dollars here—well worth the risk.”
“Who gets the money?” Anita wanted to know, catching Hartley’s excitement.
“We all do,” Hartley told her with a smile.
Sean knew that this was a now-or-never point in his life. His father’s face suddenly sprang into his head, and Sean wondered where he was. It doesn’t matter, he thought after just a moment. He doesn’t want to see me anyway.
In an effort to hide the pain Sean bent low over the bank plan now laid out on the table. “Count me in” was all he said before everyone fell quiet and allowed Hartley to explain.
six
Santa Rosa, California
Rigg was exhausted, but sleep would not come. He was sure this stemmed from the fact that his wife was not in bed with him. He rolled onto his side to better see the woman who sat in the rocking chair, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight flooding through the window.
Katie had been sitting motionless for more than an hour. She knew she would never be able to get out of bed in the morning if she didn’t lie down and get some rest soon, but her heart was so heavy with thoughts of her brother, Sean, that sleep seemed hours away.
How long had it been since they had seen him? Nearly two years—Molly had been an infant. Nearly two years since Aunt Maureen had written, beside herself that he had gone off on his own. They had been forced to accept Sean’s decision, but there had been times when it had been close to torture to sit and wonder where he might be.
So why, tonight of all night
s, was he so heavy on her heart? Every day she thought of him, and prayed that God would guide his path and someday bring him home, but tonight was different; tonight there was an urgency in her thoughts. Something was happening this night, and Kaitlin knew she had to pray.
She also knew that if Sean had been in the room, she would have held onto him with all her strength to keep him from . . . to keep him from what, she was not sure. But somehow Kate was certain that Sean needed protection of some type at that very moment. Not that he would have welcomed her interference in his life. He had wanted as little to do with her at 16 and 17 as any teen could. He hadn’t wanted advice or even affection, from her or anyone else.
Nineteen and a half now, Kate thought to herself. Surely he would feel some different.
Rigg stirred in the bed when someone knocked on the bedroom door. Kate, not wanting him to be disturbed, started to rise, but Rigg was already to the door. He opened it and found Marcail, now 14, waiting outside in her gown and robe. Rigg, not understanding why Kate was awake, also wondered at the fact Marcail wasn’t sound asleep.
Rigg stepped back and allowed her to see Kate at the window. She moved forward and stopped beside the rocking chair, letting Kate see her face in the moonlight.
“I can’t sleep.”
“No,” Kaitlin spoke softly, “I can’t either. Are you worried about Sean?”
Marcail nodded, misery written all over her young face. “Where is he, Katie?”
“I wish I knew.”
“I can’t get him out of my mind.”
“I can’t either.”
“Do you think he’s in trouble?”
This time it was Katie’s turn to nod. “We’ve got to pray, Marc. God knows all about this, and we’re going to give it to Him right now.”
Both girls bowed their heads. As sisters, each in her own way, they petitioned God on behalf of their brother.
Marcail, really still just a girl, asked God to keep Sean safe, and to bring him back to Santa Rosa right away so they would know he was all right.
Kaitlin, a mother, prayed differently. She prayed that Sean would make wise choices and seek God’s will above his own. She also prayed that God would be glorified in Sean’s life, even if it meant her beloved brother would have to know a season of pain.
seven
Visalia, California
We all experience seasons, Sean. They’re not the predictable seasons, such as winter and summer, but the unpredictable seasons that come into our lives. I’m talking about times of loneliness or grief, or seasons of joy and peacefulness. But no matter what the weather in our hearts, Sean, we’ve got to keep our eyes on God.
Why Katie’s words of long ago would come to Sean so strongly at that instant was beyond him. He felt another trickle of sweat run from his temple down into his beard, but still he didn’t move. How he had gotten himself into such a mess, he couldn’t for the moment remember. But then he heard the low whistle—the signal—and there was no more time for thought.
As Sean rushed through the rear doorway of the bank, he nearly stumbled over a body. Stopping dead in his tracks, he felt a sudden jolt as Rico, the man behind, ran into him.
“What are you doing?” Rico sounded as breathless as Sean felt, and Sean turned to find his features in the darkness.
“Nobody said anything about killing.”
“He’s not dead you idiot, now get over here with those sacks!”
These words were ground out by Hartley from his place by the safe, and the two young bank robbers rushed forward to comply. Sean had never heard Hartley sound so tense. Suddenly the enormity of what they were about to do froze Sean in his tracks.
“Get behind something, it’s almost ready to blow.”
These words were enough to propel Sean into action. He dove for cover just as the entire world seemed to explode. The next minutes were a blur to Sean as he choked on the smoke and tried to be in all six of the places he was being commanded.
He froze again when he heard shots outside, and felt completely rattled as a vision of being shot raced through his mind. Still stunned, he watched in fascination as his companions ran out the back, their arms full of sacks hastily stuffed with United States currency.
“Donovan!”
Not even the furious shouting of his name could compel his feet forward; by the time Sean reacted, it was too late. He spun around as men with guns came pouring in the front door. He turned and moved after Hartley and Rico, but he hadn’t gone two steps when another man came through the back door with a gun. Sean listened in stunned disbelief as the men yelled that Sean’s partners had escaped.
Sean felt numb. He was barely aware of the man who laid hands on him until he gave a cruel yank to Sean’s arms. Now painfully alert as his hands were being cuffed behind his back, Sean started as a face suddenly pressed close to his own and snarled in a voice full of hate, “If he’s dead, you’ll hang.”
“He’ll hang either way if I have anything to say about it.”
Sean’s confused mind barely registered this last comment as he was escorted to the door. He was surprised at the number of people on the streets, but then remembered the deafening sound of the explosion and wondered how in the world they had believed they could get away with such a robbery.
The back wall of the jail cell was the only obstacle that kept Sean from hitting the floor as he was pushed violently past the bars. The clanging of the door was like the sound of a death knell in his ears.
Squinting through the gloom of the small cell, Sean saw a cot. He sat down with his hands still tied and leaned slowly back against the wall. If they left his hands tied until morning he was certain to be disgraced as the need to relieve himself was pressing in stronger with every passing moment. That, along with the receding fear, caused Sean’s anger to return. He was working himself into a fine rage, telling himself he was going to kill Hartley as soon as he was released, when he heard voices in the outer room.
“It’s what he deserves I tell you! This waiting is utter foolishness.”
“Yet we will wait for Judge Harrison, and I’m telling you, you’ll have to go past me to get to the prisoner.”
“Be reasonable, Duncan. Why wait two whole days and have the trouble of feeding and watching him?”
There was no reply to that question, and Sean realized that every muscle in his body was as taut as a well-strung bow. He waited in the dark silence, and after a few more minutes he thought he heard people leaving.
He must have been right because his jailer returned to the cell holding a lamp and a shotgun. He was with another man, and this man let himself into the cell to remove Sean’s bonds. Sean was more than a little aware of the way the barrel of the shotgun never wavered from his chest. If he could have spoken, he would have told the men he couldn’t run. His legs would never hold him.
They didn’t speak to Sean or to each other, but before the men left the cell they stared at Sean for a few intense seconds. His fear returned fullscale at having these two men staring at him. Knowing he was completely at their mercy was even more frightening than when the safe blew.
If the light had been better, Sean might have noticed that the older man’s look was regretful, not cruel.
“He’s nothing but a kid.” The deep voice was soft, contemplative.
“How could you tell under all that hair?”
“His eyes. Clear as glass and angry, but scared out of his wits.”
The deputy only nodded, sure that Sheriff Lucas Duncan, “Duncan” to all, was right. He usually was.
“Want me to stay the night?”
“No. I’m restless as it is, but stop and let Lora know that I’m all right and ask her to bring breakfast for two.”
“Right. I’m off.”
An hour passed before Duncan moved again. He’d been deep in thought and knew that his hunch had been right: There would be little if any sleep for him tonight. Had he gone home, he’d have tossed and turned for hours, disturbing Lora.
Duncan pushed away from his desk then, the chair creaking in protest. He had planned to question the boy at daybreak, but if he was as restless as the sheriff, now was as good a time as any.
Duncan was surprised to find his prisoner asleep. He was stretched out on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. Duncan let his eyes run the length of him. He was big. He covered the cot and then some. It was easy to see why Hartley picked him; his size alone could be intimidating.
But Duncan wasn’t fooled. He guessed him to be somewhere around 20 and as wet behind the ears as they came. And at 54, Duncan had seen more than a few prisoners come and go.
He walked back to his desk, sat down, and propped his feet on the flat surface. After laying his gun across his stomach, he tipped his hat forward and his chair back. He caught about an hour’s sleep before his wife came in with breakfast and a smile.
eight
Lora Duncan set her tray on the desk and went immediately to kiss her husband. His arms came around her plump figure as Lora looked anxiously into his eyes. He was exhausted.
“Hartley?”
“He was behind it, but he’s not in the cell.”
Lora nodded and moved to unload her husband’s breakfast. She left the prisoner’s food on the tray and followed Duncan to the cell. She hung back slightly until he signaled her forward, and then entered the cell and put the tray on the floor. She didn’t linger within, but once outside took a moment to look at the man sitting silently on the cot. He was watching her, and Lora was immediately struck by his youth.
“I’ll be coming back to talk to you as soon as I eat.”
Lora barely heard her husband’s words to the man before she was gently ushered back to the desk.
“He’s young and trying to hide it behind his anger,” she whispered with tears in her eyes.
“Yes, he is young, and I think I’d better warn you, they plan to make an example out of him.”