Behind His Blue Eyes (9 page)

At the edge of the camp, a lone figure leaned against an aspen trunk, the red tip of his cheroot glowing in the dark. Ethan made out the darker shape of a Western-style hat, rather than the woven dishpan-shaped hats favored by the Chinese, and the glint of moonlight off the silver handle of a whip tied to his belt. Tim Gallagher. Even though he couldn't see the Irishman's face, Ethan felt the menace in the stare that followed them as they rolled by.

“Are they sorry they came here, do you think?” Audra asked, pulling his attention away from the man watching from the shadows. “I've read how the tracks of the Central Pacific are laid in their blood. One death for every mile.”

“It's a dangerous undertaking,” Ethan admitted. “But I've never met harder-working people. Unlike many other railroads, at least we pay them a decent wage.”

“Have you always worked for the railroad?”

“Only the last two years.”

“And before that?”

“I was in California.”

“Why did you leave? I've heard it is beautiful country.”

“It can be. Here we are.” Relieved to avoid further questioning, he pulled the horse to a stop in front of the hotel, set the brake, and hopped down. “I'll take the buggy around to the livery,” he said, lifting the dog basket from behind the seat and setting it on the ground. “If we haven't caught the arsonist by tomorrow afternoon, I'll check by the cabin to make sure everything is all right.” He slid his hands around her narrow waist and swung her down, taking more care in the task than he probably needed to.

“In that case,” she said, avoiding his eyes, “I should probably go with you. If we stay in town much longer, we'll need more clothing.”

Ethan smiled at the prospect. “After dinner then?”

“I'll be ready.” Picking up her bundle of clothing and the basket holding Cleo, she gave her “good nights” and went inside.

Still grinning, Ethan climbed back into the buggy and headed around to the livery. Another evening with Audra. It was almost like courting.

Nine

A
wall of glass.

That's how Ethan envisioned the back of the hospital at Salty Point. Windows overlooking the Pacific, stretching all the way to the ceiling, forming a fragile barrier between the sick sailors and the sea they loved.

Since the existing structure faced more northwest than due west, there would be plenty of light, but without the intense glare of the evening sun. In winter, when the sun dropped lower to the horizon, it would partially warm the wards with heat radiating off the expanse of glass. But in summer—if he designed the lower panes so that they were open to the breeze off the water—the sound of the surf pounding against the rocks below would be a soothing rhythm to men trapped in their beds.

But when Ethan presented his drawings to the board of architects overseeing the renovation, there was grave doubt that it could be done.

“How will you support and stabilize all that glass?”

“We have gales here,” another protested. “What assurances do you have that the wind won't blow the glass inward?”

“Too risky,” a third decided. “We need a solid stone structure, not one made of glass.”

“It's just one wall,” Ethan had argued. “The rest will be of stone.”

“This is a hospital, Mr. Hardesty. Not a hilltop retreat.”

But Ethan couldn't let the idea go. It became his obsession. A revolutionary idea, never before attempted, that would stand as a monument to the fallen sailors and a trademark of his expertise.

Because of her compassionate nature, he sought out Nurse Eckhart. “Think of the patients,” he had implored her. “And how much they will benefit, being able to watch the sea they love so much. Please, Miss Eckhart. Help me convince the board.”

She did.

And construction began in the summer of 1868.

* * *

It seemed the whole town gathered outside the Heartbreak Creek Hotel several days later to see Pru off to Indiana and her new teaching position at the Hilltop Christian Academy for People of Color. It was an emotional leave-taking, and although Edwina struggled to be brave, tears overcame her when Yancey pulled up in Lucinda's fine buggy to take her sister to the train stop at Boot Creek—the same one where Audra and her charges had arrived only a short while ago.

Another round of hugs, more tears, then Pru took her seat. Audra was surprised to see Thomas Redstone climb into the buggy behind her. “I didn't realize Mr. Redstone was going with her,” she whispered to Lucinda, who stood with her husband beside her.

“Only to see her safely there, then he'll return. These mountains are his home. I can't imagine him living anywhere else.” Shaking her head, she dabbed at her eyes. “This is wrong. So wrong.”

“Now, sweetheart,” her husband murmured.

“She belongs here, Tait. With us. And you know it.”

When Tait dipped his dark head to whisper in his wife's ear, Audra turned back to watch the leave-takers—the warrior, stoic and unsmiling, staring straight ahead—Pru, weeping and waving a tear-sodden hanky. She could sense the tension between them, but just as the buggy pulled away, she saw Thomas slip his arm around Pru's shoulders and pull her close against his chest, and she knew he wasn't so stoic, after all.

Turning to go back inside the hotel, she almost bumped into Ethan Hardesty, who stood directly behind her. Had he been there all along?

“Good morning, Miss Audra. I trust you slept well?”

It was apparent he hadn't. Dark shadows circled his deep-set eyes, and there was a weary cast to his beard-stubbled face. “Exceedingly well. And you?”

He gave that crooked grin that foretold teasing. “I was beset with regrets, I'm sad to say. Mostly about you, fair lady.”

Refusing to be drawn into his game, she pretended disinterest. “I'm not surprised, sir. You do aim high.”

A laugh burst out of him, drawing a glance from a man entering the hotel. It was the first honest, open expression of amusement Ethan had ever shown her, and it pleased her to have caught him off guard.

Ethan.
How easily she had begun to think of him by his Christian name.

“Audra, you do lift my spirits.” Taking her elbow, he moved her to the side as an older couple walked by. “But the regrets are because I must renege on my offer to take you out to the cabin this evening. With Thomas gone, Brodie is shorthanded, and I'm as intent as he is to stop whoever is responsible for the vandalism. Perhaps tomorrow?”

Audra hid her disappointment behind a bland smile. “Perhaps.” But if they didn't catch the perpetrator soon, what was she to do? She couldn't stay at the hotel forever. Besides, why would the vandal pose a threat to her? It seemed his main target was the sluice. “Will you be taking Curtis with you again?”

“If you don't have need of him. Plus”—that crooked smile was becoming addictive—“riding with us is helping him overcome his fear of your horse.”

Audra reared back in surprise. “Curtis is afraid of Cricket?”

“Cricket?” He chuckled. “What kind of name is that for such a fine horse?”

“What kind of name is Renny?” she countered.

“Actually, Renny was named after a famous man, James Renwick, Jr.”

“Famous for what?”

A shadow moved behind his eyes. “Architecture. And Curtis is more wary than afraid,” he went on quickly. “But he's improving. I'll keep an eye on him.”

Apparently he thought they were all as helpless as Father. Yet it was nice to be looked after for a change. And he was so good at it.

After the men rode off, she went in search of Lucinda. She found her in her office, commiserating with Edwina, who was still in a state over her sister's departure and heaven knows what else. Not wanting to become involved in another tearful discourse on the trials of childbirth and the state of Edwina's marriage, Audra excused herself and sought out Lucinda's husband, Tait, instead.

He was at the usual Rylander table in the deserted dining room, a satchel stuffed with papers by his feet and designs for the new Heartbreak Creek depot spread across the tabletop.

“Mr. Rylander, if I might interrupt for a moment?”

“Of course.” Setting aside his pen, he rose and pulled out a chair. “May I offer you coffee or tea?” he asked, returning to his chair after she was seated.

Such lovely manners. But then, Southerners were known for their chivalry.

“Thank you, no. I only stopped by to ask if you might recommend someone to teach me to shoot?”

He blinked.

“I would ask Sheriff Brodie,” she went on, when he didn't respond, “but he just left to hunt down the person doing damage to the sluice, so I thought I'd check with you.” She smiled.

He didn't smile back.

She liked his eyes, too. Pewter gray. Not as striking as Ethan's vibrant blue, but still compelling. A shade darker than those of the Brodies' daughter, Brin, and certainly less lively. In fact, they could be disturbingly direct. Like now.

“You want to learn to shoot a gun?” he finally asked.

What else would one shoot? “Precisely.”

“Good Lord.”

Not the reaction she had hoped for. “Living as we do in back of beyond, it's sensible that we know how to protect ourselves, don't you think? From bears, and marmots, and . . . suchlike.”

He pressed the fingertips of his right hand against his temple just above a long scar. Winnie had learned through kitchen gossip that he had sustained it in the same fall that had also left him with a slight limp. From a train, no less.

“You've been talking to Lucinda, haven't you?” he asked.

“Of course. But not about this—wait! Does she have a gun? Could she teach me to shoot?” Audra would much prefer taking lessons from another woman. Men took such things so seriously.

A deep sigh. “I wish Ash were here. He's our gun expert.” He must have seen her disappointment. “But all right,” he went on. “I'll talk to Declan. As long as you ladies are armed, you should at least know how to handle your weapons.”

“Would he also be able to advise me on what kind of gun I should have? I'd like something that could easily fit into my pocket. Nothing too big or heavy.”

“Selecting a firearm isn't like shopping for shoes, Miss Pearsall.”

“Of course not.” Did he think her a complete nitwit? Realizing she would get no shooting lessons that day, she thanked him for his help and went to take Father and Cleo for a walk.

Spring had definitely arrived. The poplars and cottonwoods along the creek behind the hotel were green with budding leaves, and already the first early wildflowers were pushing up through the damp soil. The sky was a crystal blue—almost the same color as Ethan's eyes—and not hazed with soot like in the city, and the air was filled with birdsong, rather than the constant clatter of metal-rimmed wheels over paving stones.

She might grow to like this little mountain town.

It seemed Father already did.

Slipping her arm through his, she smiled over at him. The daily walks had brought a glow to his cheeks and a bounce to his step, even though his mind continued to deteriorate: before they'd even reached the livery, she had heard the same recitation of President Lincoln's accomplishments two times.

But she didn't mind. He had practiced his lectures on her for as long as she could remember, and the sound of his voice was as comforting and familiar to her as her own heartbeat. The thought of it soon being silenced forever was too dreadful to contemplate.

“Is that a scarlet tanager?” she asked, nodding toward a bright red bird flitting through the branches of a mountain maple.

“More likely a cardinal. Tanagers are rarely seen here in Baltimore.”

While he launched into a discourse on the migratory habits of birds, and Cleo strained against her leash, searching out every scent that reached her nose, Audra wondered what she would do with her life when she no longer had Father to tend. She could always transcribe notes for other lecturers and researchers. But how boring it would be to live in the shadow of other people's creations when her dream was to craft her own.

She smiled, remembering how dangerously close to the truth Ethan had come when he'd accused her of wanting to become an author. Years of transcribing Father's notes had honed her skills, and loneliness had fueled her imagination. So why not give it a try? She could start with
The Lost Mine of Heartbreak Creek
. Or better yet,
Murder in the Lost Mine of Heartbreak Creek.
Or even,
I Lost my Love in the Lost Mine of Heartbreak Creek.

That would teach Ethan Hardesty not to mock her again.

Ahead, she saw Tait Rylander speaking to Mr. Driscoll outside the livery. A moment later, he rode out toward the canyon. He seemed in a hurry.

“Have I told you how lovely you look today, my dear?”

Startled out of her reverie, Audra glanced at her father. He rarely spoke directly to her anymore. More often, his remarks were directed to her mother, the ghost that drifted between them. Sadly, Audra recalled little about her, and had only a faded tintype image to remember her by.

“That dress is most becoming on you, Mary. I especially like the way you're wearing your hair. Perhaps later,” he added, leaning close to her ear, “you will let me brush it out for you.” Laughing softly he patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “That'll put you in the mood, eh, wife?”

Dear Lord.
Audra wasn't sure which disturbed her more—the idea that he still didn't recognize her, or the image of her father brushing out her mother's hair as a prelude to . . . whatever.

From Main, one street over, came shouts and the sound of racing horses. No doubt those idlers from the Red Eye Saloon. Without Sheriff Brodie to keep them in line, they were obviously in high spirits. Now they were clanging what sounded like a dinner bell. Resolved to ignore them, she and Father continued to the livery near the mouth of the canyon.

But it was suddenly in an uproar, too. Alarmed, Audra sought out Mr. Driscoll and asked what was amiss.

“Another fire,” the harried man said, tossing a long canvas pipe with a portable hand pump into the back of a wagon filled with axes, shovels, rakes, and leaking water barrels. “A big one. Better be ready to run if the wind pushes it down the canyon into town.”

“Run where?”

“The church should be safe enough. Nothing much out that way but grass, and two boys are scything it now. I'd hitch your buggy, but—”

“That's all right,” she assured him. “Do you know if Yancey is back?”

“Just came in.”

“Sheriff Brodie and the others?”

“Still out. Best stay close to the hotel, miss. We'll send word if you need to clear out.”

Picking up Cleo and guiding Father out of the way, she watched anxiously as wagons rushed by, water spilling out of the barrels in back as they tore down the street. When the last wagon clattered up the slope into the canyon, the clanging stopped and an eerie stillness settled over the town. For the first time, Audra saw the smoke rising out of the trees in the canyon, and realized the danger was very real.

By the time they reached the hotel, Audra's eyes were burning and the sun had become an orange ball suspended in a pall of smoke. They found Lucinda in the lobby, directing Yancey to box up her papers, and the kitchen staff to make ready for those driven into town by the fire. “Do you mind if Yancey readies your buggy?” she asked when she caught sight of Audra. “We'll need every conveyance we have should we need to move everyone to the church.”

“Of course. What would you like for me to do?”

“If Winnie can keep an eye on your father and Cleo, we can use help in the kitchen. We're preparing food for when the men return.”

“Winnie's a better cook.”

“We don't need cooks. We need helpers.”

“Then I'll help,” Audra said, grateful for the distraction from her fears.