A Lady in Defiance (2 page)

And what about Rebecca?
Widowed seven years now, Naomi could see a change blossoming in her older
sister. She held her head higher than she had in a long time and her shoulders
were no longer slumped as if she was carrying a weight. Rebecca was done, too.
Done with grieving, done with paying penance for having survived a fire that
took her husband and her daughter. Done with living in the past. They were all
ready to discover some new horizons. Hannah’s scandal had at least brought that
about and Naomi was grateful for small favors.

She almost sighed in
contentment. She loved an adventure and as long as she had that man up there on
the horse, she would be fine. John was her rock, her oak, her everything. With
him, she would cross a continent and not think twice about it. She wished she
could be in the saddle with him, his arms, the size of small trees, wrapped
securely around her. Oh, how safe and wonderful she had always felt with
him. 

A rumble of thunder drew
her eyes to the west end of the valley where a mass of black clouds were
carving their way through the jagged peaks. Even that made her smile. She could
curl up beside John in the tent tonight, listen to the rain, trace that wide
jaw and those broad shoulders, and kiss that silly grin right off his face.
Warm. Dry. Safe. Yes, indeed, she was filled with all kinds of hope for their
future.

Apparently John's
thoughts had drifted as well. Interrupting her musings, he hollered back to the
girls, "That must be the Animas River down there. My map says it isn't far
from here. How do y'all feel about trout for our dining pleasure this eve—“

Sampson didn’t see the
rattler sunning on the outcropping until it was inches from his head. Startled
out of its slumber, the snake coiled and struck out angrily. The
thirteen-hundred pound horse neighed, jerking his head away from the fangs with
a mammoth movement of muscle. John, nearly flung out of the saddle by the
unexpected reaction, clawed for the saddle horn and tried to hang on with his
legs.

At the horse's commotion,
the mules snorted and jolted the wagon backwards. Rebecca and Hannah squealed
in fear. Naomi tightened her grip on the reins and fought for control of her
own spooked animals, yelling, “Whoa, boys! Whoa!”

Busy wrestling her team,
she could only focus on the battle up ahead in snatches. Sampson attempted to
bolt, but, clawing his way back into the saddle, John grabbed the left rein and
yanked Sampson’s head around, trying to get the panicked animal to walk in
tight circles. The snake rattled in fury again, throwing Sampson into another
round of pawing, prancing, snorting terror.

“Easy, Sampson,” John
commanded. “Easy…”

But fear in prey animals
is as contagious as a cold. Mindless panic gripped the mules. Naomi seesawed
back and forth with the reins as the pair tossed their heads, whinnied in panic
and side-stepped, rolling the wagon away from the hysterical horse but toward
the ledge. One wheel went over and the wagon lurched, tilting hard and then
sliding further back. Gasping, Hannah and Rebecca clung to the seat and each other
with white-knuckled grips.

"Oh, my Lord!"
Hannah screamed. "We’re slipping!"

"Hold on,
Hannah," Rebecca croaked. "Hold on!"

Gritting her teeth and
praying, Naomi jammed her foot firmly on the brake as she struggled with her
team. "Whoa! Whoa!" she raged at the mules, sweat breaking out on her
lip as she yanked on the reins. Frantic to get the team moving forward, she
released the brake and snapped the reins. “Yaaa, get on now!” Rock and sand
made a grating noise as the the wagon slid again, and tilted at a sharper
angle, but the mules obeyed the snap and tried pulling.

“Jump,” Naomi commanded
her sisters but they didn’t move. She couldn’t worry about them, too, and their
foolish hesitation incensed her. She yelled again, this time with fury in her
voice, “Jump!”

Hannah and Rebecca
flinched at her tone then leaped from the wagon as it bucked again. The mules
couldn’t get that back wheel up over the ledge. In front of them, John abruptly
gave up trying to calm Sampson. He sprang from the saddle and raced toward
Naomi’s team. The mules, seeing Sampson rear and then run in the opposite
direction, made an attempt to follow.

“Stay on’em, Naomi!” John
shouted, fear lacing his voice—his tone frightened Naomi even more than the
cliff. She obediently whipped the reins again as he grabbed a mule’s halter and
whistled the plowing command to
pull
.

The mules strained
forward again, then backed up a step. Naomi quickly slammed her foot down on
the brake to stop the backwards motion, snapped the reins and urged them forward,
releasing the brake when she felt some traction. Working the lever was
exhausting but she was determined not to lose the wagon without a fight.
Suddenly more gravel gave way beneath the back wheel; the wagon bucked and
jumped as gravity and the mules fought it out. Naomi heard Rebecca and Hannah
shriek
.

“Get off a there, Naomi!”
John yelled. “Just jump!”

“Not yet,” she cried,
meeting his gaze. They couldn’t lose everything. “Not yet!”

Not wasting time to
argue, John cut the air with another whistle, this one much louder and longer.
Naomi slapped the reins again as John pulled on the mule’s halter. Sampson came
running back at his master’s call, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, reins twitching
and jumping on the ground like live snakes.

John gathered the reins,
tied them quickly to the yoke then grabbed Sampson’s halter. “Yah, back,” he
yelled, coaxing Sampson to pull.
Naomi popped the
reins hard across the mules’ backs
, praying to God Sampson would be
strong enough to get the wheel back up on the road. The strain was tremendous;
the mule’s legs quivered with the exertion. “Yah, come on now, mules!” She
barked.

John switched from
Sampson to the mule closest to the ledge. He yelled, “Gee, Gee,” while pushing
the mules forward but away from the ledge. The wagon jumped and bucked again as
it tried to crown the road. The path was so narrow John had to work with the
mules and Sampson mere inches from the ledge. “Almost, Naomi! We’re almost
there!” She could see the veins bulging on John’s neck as he pulled the mule
forward.

She felt the tension on
the wagon and the mules. Sampson was straining using his massive bulk to pull
backwards; his leather reins looked as tight as guitar strings as he tried to
bring the team with him. She heard her sisters’ voices lifted up in desperate
prayer and added her own
Please, God, help us...

At the moment that the
rear wheel jumped back up on the road, a cracking, shattering sound exploded
from the front of the wagon. In a blur of a motion, the mule closest to the
ledge and Sampson broke apart; half the yoke hung from the mule’s harness and
it swung round like a hammer, catching John in the side of the head. Naomi saw
in a split second the look in his eyes, that he knew what was coming, but there
was no stopping it. He and the mule, loosed so suddenly from the wagon tongue
and harness, simply launched like projectiles over the ledge.

Naomi saw John reaching
out for her but before she could even react, he disappeared over the ledge.

She heard her sisters
scream. Or was that her? She heard the mule’s panicked, desperate braying and
then…silence.

Chapter
1

Charles McIntyre stared placidly at his cards and stifled a
yawn. He had not expected young Isaac Whicker to present such an entertaining
challenge. Their little game had started at three and by seven they were still
playing, though in a nearly empty saloon. This was the calm before the Saturday
night gale.

Absently noting the low rumble of thunder, McIntyre decided
it was time to finish the game. He had better things to do. Glancing across the
table at his sallow-looking, gangly opponent, he could see the boy swaying and
blinking as he fought against the effects of the whiskey. Hunched bleary-eyed
over his cards, Whicker had fought surprisingly well to keep from losing his
mercantile, but he’d never really stood a chance. McIntyre needed the store
back and would have it back if he had to crush Isaac Whicker like a bug to get
it.

Ironically, he realized, that wasn’t the best way to start
this new venture of making Defiance
respectable
, as the railroad gents
had termed it. A lawless town would be a trackless town, they warned. Fine. Get
a few legitimate businesses running, calm the town down, put a nice hotel where
the mercantile is. Then the great American iron horse would come steaming into
Defiance, bringing with it opportunity, success and wealth. Not to mention,
carrying his gold away to the mint in Denver.

Oh, he knew he could simply bribe the right people, grease
the wheels as it were, but he preferred to seek that as a last option. He even
had the funds now to build his own railroad, if he desired, but McIntyre liked
his money right where it was–in his own pockets. For the time being, he’d
decided to take the easy road.

Ending the game with more boredom than ceremony, he laid down
his cards. A royal flush. He thought he heard Whicker’s breath catch and looked
up. The boy had turned impossibly pale and his blond hair looked suddenly dull
and lifeless, like that of an eighty-year-old man. The tiniest speck of
compassion attempted to make itself known to McIntyre, but he irritably flicked
it away, like a greasy crumb on his silk vest.

Scratching his thin, black, and perfectly trimmed beard, he
leaned back in his chair. “Unless you can beat that, I own the mercantile.”

Whicker shook his head and slowly placed his cards face down
on the table. “No,” he whispered, “I don’t reckon I can.”

Satisfied that was an admission of surrender, McIntyre rose
to his feet. This game was over and he was ready to spend some time with the
intoxicating Rose, catnapping in his bed. “You played a good game, Whicker,” he
drawled in a deceptively charming Georgia accent. “The best I’ve had in some
time, but you were destined to lose. I’ll give you forty-eight hours to clear
out. As we agreed, the inventory and gold stake are mine. You may keep all of
your personal effects, including the wagon and your horse.”

That last was overly generous, but taking a man’s horse was
just plain mean and McIntyre did not consider himself that
callous−although he was quite sure Rose would have something to say about
it. That feisty Mexican wench held on to things with the death grip of a
mountain lion. Whicker replied only with a lingering blank stare. McIntyre
concluded that the boy was neither in a hurry to accept his fate nor leave the
saloon.

Unwilling to be held up by the gloom in the air, he reached
for the deed sitting forlornly in the middle of the table. “Let yourself out,
Whicker, and have a safe trip back to…” Kansas, was it? He waived his hand
dismissively. “Wherever you’re from.” Then he added generously, “You’re an
enterprising young man. I’m sure you’ll be able to start over again.”

McIntyre was almost surprised at himself for offering the
words of encouragement and raked his hand through his black, wavy hair as if
that would clear these dark thoughts. He supposed it was that accursed Southern
upbringing which equated rudeness with horse stealing. In the cold light of
reality, though, Whicker was nothing to him but an obstacle. And now an
obstacle removed.

Well, nearly. The boy still hadn’t moved. Sighing, McIntyre
tucked the deed into his breast pocket and headed upstairs to his room. He
paused ever-so-briefly at the top of the stairs to again flick away that crumb
of compassion. After all, it had been a truly fair game. McIntyre hadn’t
cheated. He hadn’t forced the boy to drink, nor had he forced him to bet the
store.

Slapping the rail twice as if dismissing Whicker from his
conscience, McIntyre strode across the hall to his room. Imagining a bath and
Rose’s heady kisses, he turned the brass door knob and entered his room. From
below, and barely above the soft thump of rain drops, he heard the boy mutter
miserably, “Missouri. Hannibal, Missouri.”

But the words were lost. McIntyre eyed the voluptuous Rose
seductively draped in his silk sheets and, undoing his tie, closed the door on
Whicker.

~~~

In the dream, Naomi sat alone at the campfire waiting for her
guest. She tended to the fish in the skillet and kept a watchful eye. Shortly,
Jesus joined her. He sat down on the other side of the fire and offered her a
tender smile.

“Naomi, do you trust me more than these?” She was surprised
to see that Rebecca and Hannah had joined them, too, though they acted unaware
of her or Jesus.

“Yes, Lord, you know I trust you.”

“Then go where I send you.” She put the fork down on the rock
next to the fire and looked at him, puzzled by his statement. Again he asked,
“Naomi, do you trust me?”

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, Lord, you know I trust you.”

“Then go where I send you.” She sat back and crossed her
legs, puzzled, but sure there was more. Staring at her with dark, intent eyes,
Jesus asked again, “Naomi, do you trust me?”

She sighed, frustrated with him. “You know everything; you
know my heart. So you should know that I trust you.”