Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  They walked quickly. Trailing behind them like a gentle giant, Max carried the trunks of supplies Mary Margaret would take to the convent in Ashton.

  Since Sister Mary Margaret had made most of the arrangements for the journey, Susan was content to let the older woman worry about such things as tickets and baggage. Susan concentrated on the thrill of the adventure ahead of her and the box of oatmeal cookies she’d brought for the children at the orphanage.

  “Susan, would you be so kind as to stay here with Max and watch my bag while I inquire about the track conditions and our estimated time of arrival?”

  “Of course, Sister.” Susan took the valise, not surprised in the least to find it relatively light. As she watched Sister Mary Margaret approach the conductor and interrogate him like a general drilling a cadet, Susan thanked heaven that the reverend mother had seen fit to send Sister Mary Margaret as her traveling companion. Susan didn’t know what she would have done if she’d been forced to spend the whole day with the dour incommunicative Sister Mary Simon, or the befuddled Sister Mary Catherine. Now the hours spent traversing the three hundred miles to Ashton in the Wyoming Territory didn’t seem quite so long.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Sister Mary Margaret retrieved her bag. “According to the informative Mr. Digby, we should arrive shortly after suppertime, weather permitting.” She turned to Max, waiting for him to focus on her and to clear the perpetual cobwebs from his mind. “Max, take the trunk to the rear platform,” she stated slowly and succinctly. “Then return here so that you can join us for the train ride.”

  Max eyed her blankly for a moment, then offered a shy, boyish smile that belied his forty-plus years. “Yes, Sister Mary Margaret. Miss Susan.”

  Susan watched as he lumbered away. Gentle, sweet Max was what the sisters called “special.” Head injuries sustained during the war had caused Max to return to a kind of second childhood. At times he could be as lucid as any man; then his expression would become vague and he would trail people around the academy like a little brother. He doted on Susan with an endearing charm and had been so upset to see her leave the academy, even for a short time, that Sister Mary Margaret had arranged for him to accompany them, take care of their bags, and help her once she arrived at the abbey in Ashton. Since the nuns at the convent were a cloistered order with little or no contact with the outside world, they relied upon Ursalines from other areas to help them exchange supplies and distribute the honey and medicines they made each year.

  Susan automatically watched Max’s progress, making sure that he placed the trunk in its proper place. Then, straightening, he waved to her with his hat and came back.

  Sister Mary Margaret consulted the watch hooked to the metal chatelaine on her cincture. The chatelaine, with its half dozen chains suspended from a bronze clip, held the watch, a tiny pair of scissors, a brass key, a thimble, a needle case, and the minute whistle she used to call the academy students to morning devotions. “Once in Ashton, I will see you safely to the doors of the orphanage. Then Max and I will journey to the nearby convent where I am scheduled to exchange supplies and information.” Dropping the timepiece against her long dark skirts, she asked, “Ready?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” Since leaving the academy walls earlier that morning, Susan had been filled with exhilaration. Grabbing the iron handrail, she pulled herself up to the first step leading into the rear car. She had just attained her position when she felt a strange tingling sensation. The hairs at the back of her neck pricked slightly. Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the crush of people, but the feeling of being watched could not be confirmed.

  “Miss Susan? Is something wrong?”

  She offered Max a comforting pat on the shoulder. Shaking away the disturbing notion, she selected one of the few empty benches and slid next to the window to make room for Sister Mary Margaret. Max completely filled the bench on the opposite side.

  Max peered out of the window with the eagerness of a spaniel. “Where are we going?” he asked for at least the hundredth time.

  “Ashton, Max. In Wyoming Territory.”

  Susan was going home.

  Daniel waited until he saw Susan and her companions safely swallowed by the interior of the passenger car. Then, ignoring the stabbing pains shooting into his side, he led his horse toward a boxcar filled with sweet-smelling hay. After securing his sorrel gelding, Chief, and supplying him with a healthy measure of oats, Daniel eased into a mound of straw and tipped his hat over his brow. Settling deeper into the heavy warmth of his huge calf-skin coat, he prayed for sleep to come.

  But he found himself thinking of Susan. She was wearing the sober uniform of a novice—severe black dress, black shoes, black cape. Even her hair was completely swathed in the heavy ebony scarf she wore around her head to hide the coils of auburn beneath.

  The sight of her had hit him like a mule kick to the gut. Not because the inky garb had drained the color from her pale, delicate features, but because Susan had spent the last few years hiding away from the world he took for granted. Unless he did something soon, it could become a permanent situation.

  He willed himself to relax, to sleep. He hadn’t decided what he would do once they both arrived in Ashton, but he knew one thing for sure. If Susan wanted to lock herself away from the male sex, so be it. But not before he was sure, damned sure, that he’d wiped the fear from her eyes.

  The train made several stops for water and passengers on its way to Wyoming. At each station, Daniel roused himself enough to melt into the crowds of people. He watched Susan and Mary Margaret, glaring at anyone who rudely stared at them or jostled them. Several times Susan turned as if sensing his surveillance, but Daniel had learned too well how to fade into the background.

  Only once, when Susan, Mary Margaret, and their beefy bodyguard disappeared into a café did he adjust his tactics. The throbbing in his side and the pounding in his head warned him that he wouldn’t stay standing too much longer. He’d just taken his medicine, but so far it hadn’t eased the pain; it had only seemed to make him weaker.

  Knowing he couldn’t withstand the cold in his present condition, he climbed into the rear passenger car. On his way through, he paused at Susan’s seat. Seeing the strings of her reticule trailing onto the floor, he frowned at her carelessness and tucked them more firmly into the depths of her carpetbag. In doing so, he dislodged the lid of a box nested carefully on the floor.

  Cookies. Oatmeal raisin cookies.

  Something inside him warmed, and Daniel tried to attribute it to the medicine and not the fact that, as a child, oatmeal raisin cookies had been his definition of heaven.

  Regretfully, he placed the lid back on the box. He took a step away, two, three. He stopped. The siren song of freshly baked cookies held him captive.

  He tried to shrug the impulse off. He tried to ignore the sweet scent that lingered in his head.

  Then he succumbed.

  Looking around him to ensure that he hadn’t been noticed, he lifted the cover. The cookies gleamed up at him with a golden warmth. Studying them more carefully this time, Daniel could see they contained a double batch of raisins and were still soft and chewy. Just the way he liked them.

  He took two. Then four. Then eight. Then, peeking out the window to ascertain Susan’s whereabouts, he snatched the entire box and dodged down the passage-way until he’d put several railway cars between Susan and him.

  One empty bench remained this far forward. Wincing, Daniel sank into the seat. Though the journey had not yet resumed, the smells rising from the box became irresistible.

  Prolonging his anticipation of the pleasure that lay ahead of him, Daniel waited until the train was again under way. Then, deliberating his choices with great care, he took one big raisin-studded delicacy. He inhaled. He broke it in half and appreciated the texture. With the care and patience of a true connoisseur, he bit off one succulent, savory piece. Manna from heaven could not have tasted so good.

  For
the next few hours he rationed each bite. Over a half dozen cookies kept him company, easing the aches and pains of life as no liquor or drug ever could. And if anyone questioned the sight of a longhaired, pale-cheeked, dangerous-looking man huddled over a cache of cookies like a miser guarding his gold, he never glanced up long enough to find out.

  The train was fifty miles from Ashton when the snow began to fall. Not idle drifting flakes but a lashing, sleeting snow driven by gale-force winds. Therefore the passenger cars didn’t creak to a stop in front of Ashton’s platform until well after midnight.

  Exhausted and aching from the long journey, Susan was one of the last people to step from the railway car. When she emerged onto the top step, and found Esther and Donovan Reed standing in the darkness, she felt a sting of tears threatening to fall.

  “Susan! Susan, welcome home!”

  Essie rushed toward her and clasped Susan close in a welcoming embrace. “I thought your train would never arrive. I nearly popped from the worrying.” Her gray eyes glinted with delight. “I’m so glad the sisters allowed you to come home for a few weeks. You haven’t had a chance to visit since Sarah’s wedding three years ago.”

  Time hadn’t changed Esther Reed. Not really. She still stood tall and slim and proud, her toffee-colored hair shining in the pale light emanating from the station windows. She turned to the man who lingered in the shadows pooled beneath the awning of the station house. His dark brown gaze followed their progress as they tromped through the snow toward him. The possessive gleam in his eye had not abated in the last twenty years.

  Essie spoke over Susan’s shoulder, issuing orders and welcoming Sister Mary Margaret and Max to Ashton. She insisted that they stay at the orphanage rather than try to reach the convent so late at night. Donovan hunted for their trunks and inquired about Susan’s trip. Throughout the bustle and talk, Susan discovered this was the very thing she had been longing to experience for the past few weeks. She’d needed the comforting embrace of a family. In many ways, the Reeds were closer to being her parents than the hazy shadow figures she remembered from her childhood. The only person missing from the reunion was Daniel.

  Daniel.

  But she probably wouldn’t see him again, after the way they’d parted at the academy. Once again she frowned when she thought she was being observed. But the sensation passed as the next few minutes were filled with laughter and exuberant chatter.

  Just when the cold began to nip at her toes, Donovan Reed helped Susan, Max, and Sister Mary Margaret into the rear bench seat of a sleigh. He covered Susan’s knees with heavy furs and woolen blankets and squeezed her mittened hand saying, “We’ll be home in no time at all.”

  Home. When had such a simple word begun to sound so inviting?

  From several yards away Daniel watched the home-coming. He heard Essie’s fussing and fretting and Donovan’s good-natured complaints about baggage and feminine frippery. He knew that Belle had agreed to spend the night at the orphanage and that she would enjoy coming to the reunion in a few weeks. Most of all, he’d seen the expressions that had flitted over Susan’s face: joy, anticipation, relief.

  Turning to collect Chief, Daniel knew that he’d made the right decision in following her here. Susan might not know it yet, but she wouldn’t be returning to the academy or going to any other convent. In her mind she had already made the decision. Now it was up to him to make sure her heart agreed.

  Daniel took his horse into town, boarded it at the livery, then walked the familiar few blocks to the Delta Saloon. At the desk he ordered a room and supper.

  The clerk was already well acquainted with Daniel Crocker and was not surprised by the request. Once or twice a month, come rain or shine, this tall, fierce man arrived in Ashton, stayed one night, then disappeared again. The clerk knew Crocker had ties with the orphanage, had even lived there once, but he never stayed at Benton House when he was in town. Rumor had it that Crocker owned some land up Trapper Pass. The clerk didn’t know if that was true, but he thought it might be.

  Daniel’s limbs were trembling as he climbed the staircase and entered the corner room. He set his rifle against the wall and his saddlebags on the floor, then stripped off his coat and shirt. The fresh stain of blood on his bandage made him wince, but he ignored it for now.

  A soft tap on the door caused him to grasp his rifle. “Who’s there?”

  “I’ve got your supper, Mr. Crocker.” The feminine voice sounded as weary as his own.

  Daniel opened the door. The old withered woman barely acknowledged him as she handed him the tray.

  “Leave it outside when you’re done,” she said, then retreated down the hall.

  In the next hour Daniel picked at his supper. But the pain in his side had increased and his stomach roiled threateningly. So he took his medicine and washed it all down with a shot of whiskey. His stomach balked at the liquor’s fire, and he admitted he felt empty inside. Alone.

  Though he didn’t know why, he suddenly found himself rising from the bed. He donned his clothes, took his saddlebags and his rifle, then collected his horse.

  Dawn was still over an hour away when the gelding beneath him snorted and trotted to a stop at the gate in front of the orphanage. Automatically, Daniel took the Winchester from the saddle scabbard and eased to the ground. Grasping the reins, he led Chief into the barn, bedded him for the night, and gave him a measure of oats from Donovan Reed’s grain bins. Then, grasping his saddlebags, he decided he would spend the night on one of the settees in the parlor.

  The cold air stung his cheeks as he returned to the whitewashed house in the center of the yard. In the darkness he managed to decipher the small sign above the gate: Benton House Memorial Orphanage.

  Daniel walked forward. The cold of the iron gate seeped through his gloves, the hinges creaking softly as he passed.

  Vainly he tried to restrain the tumbling avalanche of emotions. But try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the familiar rush of pleasure … and regret. For a few short years he’d been a resident of this orphanage, a part of this world. An older brother to the other children, a self-appointed protector to Susan Hurst.

  Daniel climbed the front steps and turned to hold the newel post, his eyes sweeping over the inky wash of blues and blacks that bathed the snowy yard, taking in the barn and the smaller outbuildings.

  His shoulders shifted as he recalled memories of those precious few years at Benton House. He’d been a boy here, a carefree boy. But at fifteen he realized he didn’t belong. Not really. He’d always been uncomfortable with being loved, and he grew even more uncomfortable when he found himself wanting to love others in return. Hardening his heart and his resolve, Daniel had yearned to become a man—something he couldn’t do if he continued to take charity. So Daniel had packed his bags and left Benton House for Denver. But he’d never forgotten the warmth and the love.

  Nor had he been able to forget a frightened little girl who hid in the bushes to avoid her schoolmaster. Or the way she’d watched him leave with wide tear-filled eyes. So he’d returned a few months later, then had taken her to Saint Francis. Even though Belle was only a novice at the time, he’d known she would take care of Susan, just as she’d once taken care of Annie in Pennsylvania.

  Annie. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to think of her consciously. Remember her.

  Exhaustion gripped his muscles and weighed down his eyelids. All at once he regretted the impulse that had driven him out of his rented room. He couldn’t seem to summon enough energy to think straight. If he could find a quiet hole to rest in for an hour or two …

  Digging under the layers of clothing, he unhooked his watch chain. Dangling from the end was a pair of keys. Choosing one, Daniel let himself into the orphanage.

  Immediately he was inundated with familiar smells and impressions—fresh bread and lemon oil, polished wood and sparkling walls. He ran a palm over the rail where he’d taught the other boys to slide down the banister.
Prowling the dark halls, he explored the parlor and the kitchen. There he found a half-eaten dried-apple pie. The sight made his mouth water, but he didn’t have the strength to do anything about it.

  He was about to return to the parlor when he noticed that the door to the hall next to the boys’ dormitory room was ajar.

  The guest room wasn’t occupied.

  An idea that couldn’t be banished sprouted in Daniel’s head. The thought of sleeping in a bed with freshly laundered sheets, hand-quilted covers, and woolen afghans beckoned like an angel’s summons. He couldn’t resist.

  Minutes later he was snuggly cocooned beneath a wealth of quilts, his saddlebags draped over the rocker, his rifle propped against the dresser, his Peacemaker under his pillow.

  And the box of cookies hidden safely beneath the bed.

  Chapter 6

  Ashton, Wyoming Territory

  January 11, 1865

  Dawn tiptoed forward as the last few stars glittered in the sky like bits of mica embedded in steel. Defiantly ignoring each advancing tick of the clock, the hotels and shacks surrounding the freight yards seemed to grow bawdier, seedier. Daylight clashed with the night. Virtue with vice.

  The man who waited in the shadows smiled.

  Crocker would die soon.

  The thought brought a kind of pleasure he had never imagined. A sweetness coated his tongue like the lingering kiss of fine wine.

  Soon, soon.

  Noiselessly he climbed the back staircase leading from the kitchen to the upper halls of the Delta Saloon. In his opinion, Daniel Crocker’s affection for Ashton had made the Pinkerton agent careless. Crocker had returned to the rear corner room of this establishment with the nesting instinct of a wounded animal, unaware that he would sleep here, then bleed. Then die. An echo of voices in the stranger’s head repeated the words over and over again.