Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (34 page)

Moira swallowed hard and colored prettily. "It was not my idea,"
she said, bringing a hand to her breast and shaking her head. "My
father has always favored this young man and encouraged me to
receive correspondence from Mr. Clarion, even though I was quite
clear that I had a beau here-"

The general leaned forward. "Clarion, did you say? James Clarion?"

Moira smiled. "Junior," she added, "of course. But as I was
saying-

"James Clarion of Clarion Iron?"

"Indeed. They are something of a first family in Philadelphia,"
Moira said, sounding almost dismissive.

The general sat back, but not before glancing at the ceiling as if
seeking guidance.

"I know James. He's had his eye on Moira for some time,"
Dominic put in. "But she so recently came of age ..."

"And so, my dear," the general said. "What has transpired? Do
you find his attentions ... acceptable?"

Looking appropriately miserable, Moira turned sad eyes upon
her host. "More than acceptable. He is delightful. Quite ardent in
his pursuit. A good conversationalist, having been schooled abroad.
And most ambitious." She paused and sighed. "He is very interested in our little city. I believe he might journey west to visit us and see
what all the fuss is about."

The general steepled his fingers before his chest, watching her
intently. Several seconds ticked by. "And so," he said at last, "you are
here to seek counsel on how to extract yourself from the sheriffs kind
intentions so that you might be free to receive this new suitor."

"Yes, I thought, as the parent of three young girls, that you might
have given thought-"

The general rose suddenly and turned, leaving a trailing hand
on the back of his chair. He looked to the wall, then back to Moira.
"You are a keen actress, young Moira St. Clair. But I am the director
of this stage."

Moira realized her mouth had fallen slightly open. She abruptly
shut it.

He moved the fringe of the carpet with the toe of his boot,
soothing it into place. "I will speak to the sheriff myself, this night."

"I-do you not think I should have a word with him before you
do?"

"No," he said. "You leave it to me."

"Thank you, General."

"Not at all," he said suddenly seeming tired, mumbling through
his words. He appeared years older. "Please, my friends," he said, gesturing a servant forward and whispering in his ear. He turned back to
them. "Take your leave here while we wait for the others to arrive."

"Thank you, General," Dominic said, rising and shaking his
hand. "Once again, the St. Clairs are in your debt."

"Remember that, son," he said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Remember that."

Never had Odessa been more glad to see night conquer dusk. Helen
had slowly hauled her from the water and remained where she was,
perched precariously on a tiny ledge, stubbornly holding Odessa
before her. Her meager body heat was blessed, keeping Odessa from
giving in to the deadly chill, but neither of the women could
pull their legs all the way from the water. There was not enough
room behind the falls. Their feet had become numb and almost
felt warm in comparison to the rest of their bodies, a trick of the
mind.

"Do you think they are gone?" Odessa asked through chattering
teeth, speaking as loudly as she dared to be heard over the falls.

"I think we have to move, or we'll die here of the cold," Helen
responded. She paused a moment, obviously dreading what would
come next. "There's no way past but through the pool again."

Odessa gazed at the black waters before them. They could see,
where the water parted as a curtain for a few inches, that a few stars
were now shining in the sky. "We can hardly get colder than this."

Helen laughed, the rumbling in her chest making Odessa smile.
How glad she was that this woman, this capable, strong woman, was
with her now! Helen's laugh faded. "Here's how it will go," she said
determinedly. "We'll swim across. On the far right, the falls drop
over another cliff, so steer clear of that. Aim for the left. Over there, the old Indian footholds can be found. Let's get to that side. Once
feeling returns to our feet we'll make our way down. Good?"

"As long as we're not shot while we wait for it." Before she
could have second thoughts, Odessa moved out, entering the water,
surprised that it could indeed still feel cold. Her limbs clenched in
protest. She had to demand they move, think through every inch of
movement, much like she demanded her lungs take breath during a
consumptive attack. At one point, she felt her mind slow, thicken,
her thoughts turning toward giving in, letting go.

Not since that day on the train had she toyed with the whispers
of death.

No, she whispered in her mind. No. I have come too far, worked
too hard to die this way!Father God, give me Your strength! Save me! She
was sinking, the frigid waters edging up her cheeks, then her nose,
covering her eyes ... A surge of strength came through her then, and
she managed to move one arm forward, and then another, kicking
all the while.

"Odessa!" cried Helen. She felt the woman's hand and clung
to it. Helen hauled her the rest of the way to the pool's rim. She
could feel the draining draw of the next falls and wearily pulled her
body out of it and to the far side. She glanced up. Blessedly, all was
dark. No moon. Only starlight. Even if their assailants wished to fire,
they'd be doing so blind. And with the pounding sounds of the falls,
there was little fear that they'd be heard.

Unless they were already down below them. Waiting.

"Come," Helen said, hauling her backward, her legs now out of
the water for the first time in hours. "Rest here." She took the small
pack from Odessas shoulders, unrolling the bedroll, hoping for some dry areas. No luck. Both shivered uncontrollably. She placed a small
leather pouch beside Odessa. Odessa touched the soggy material and
leaned her head back against the rock. Inside was Sam's note, probably disintegrating by now. Oh, Sam, she thought, is it really worth
all of this?

She closed her eyes, teeth chattering, and wondered what it
would be, to be free of the consumption, feeling better than she had
in a year, with nothing to worry over but Bryce missing from her life.
She longed to be unencumbered, with little but matters of the heart
to concern her. Had Bryce abandoned her for good? How could he
have simply left her behind, forgotten what seemed to be growing
between them? Was she a fool to have believed it was ... love?

Odessa leaned forward, strained to see her friend in the dark.
Her teeth were still chattering, but feeling was returning to her feet
with definitive pins and needles. "Life is never ... easy. Is it?"

Helen hovered near, quiet for several seconds. "Sister, I've lost
most of my family, buried two husbands, and endured more than
twenty years of consumption. I've moved many times, becoming
close and then tearing away from people. I've had books that were
well received and others, dear to my heart, that sold not enough to
pay the publisher's costs. And now ..." She laughed lowly. "I have a
young friend who has drawn me into a curious battle for life. So no."
She laughed again. "Life isn't easy."

She paused and then took Odessa's shoulders in her strong hands.
"But this ... this is life. Do you feel it? I know you've felt death near
us this day, several times. When one recognizes death, she certainly
also knows life better as well."

Odessa wished she could see her friend's eyes, draw strength from what she knew she'd see there. Is she right, Lord? Is this a part
of finding out what it means to live, to breathe? Can I find this tiny
glimmer of hope and hold on to it?

"I've talked to God, Dess. Had a little chat, just me and Him,
when I was holding you across this pool. I'm convinced this is not
the day that God has ordained we join Him."

Odessa swallowed past a swelling throat and nodded. But Helen
couldn't see her. "Yes," she croaked through sudden tears. "Yes."

"Good. Now let's get moving."

Bryce McAllan rode into town almost three weeks after he had left.
Every day, every waking hour, his mind had been on Odessa. It was
dark, past supper, but he knew he had to get to the sanatorium, at
least lay eyes on her before he could sleep. So he left the hotel and
rode out into a dark night, riding by feel, if not by sight. His horse
knew the way. She could've done it in her sleep.

The sanatorium was a beacon in the night, many of her rooms
still lit, weary consumptives undoubtedly walking her halls. He
coughed, as if reminded by the sight, of his own illness, his own
weakness and fallibility. For the thousandth time, he wondered if he
was the man that Odessa St. Clair needed.

Was he strong enough? Did not a woman battling her own illness need a man twice as strong?

He pushed away his doubts, the desire to see her again overriding any other consideration. Two weeks. Nineteen days.

Nineteen days, twenty-two hours too long.

He licked his lips as the sanatorium drew closer. His gut was in knots, fear and hope entangled. All he wanted was to hear that Odessa
was safe, see her coming down to greet him. Bryce dismounted and
tied his mare's reins to the front post. Then on stiff legs, he climbed
the stairs to the front entrance.

The attendant opened the door. "Mr. McAllan," he said.
"Welcome back! Feeling poorly?"

All at once, Bryce remembered how awkward it was, coming to
call at such a late hour.

"No, I'm feeling well," he said. "I came into town today on business and decided I would come and call on Miss St. Clair."

The guard paused oddly and glanced back at the night nurse.
"Miss St. Clair?"

"Yes," Bryce managed. Why was the man acting so strangely?

"Miss St. Clair isn't here."

Bryce frowned and took a step toward the guard. "Not here?
Where is she?" Panic edged into his mind.

"I ... uhh ..."

"Where is she?" Bryce demanded. "Is she all right? What has
happened?"

The night nurse put her hands out in a calming fashion. "Mr.
McAllan, Odessa is fine. She's fine!"

Relief flooded through Bryce, leaving him weak where a moment
ago, every muscle was strong. He took a breath and leveled a gaze at
her. "Then where is she?"

"She has so greatly improved, she moved into town with her
sister more than two weeks ago," Nurse Packard said. "Doctor and I
check on her daily, but she only continues to improve. She stopped
by today to borrow that mare she favors for trail rides. She and Mrs. Anderson were heading up to Divide to take some photographs, as I
understand it. They are not due back until late tomorrow."

Disappointment flooded through Bryce. "Tomorrow?" he
asked.

"Tomorrow," she returned, eyeing him knowingly. "Surely you
can wait one more day to see your Miss Odessa."

Reid arrived. Moira knew the general had had no time to tell him.
He came to her directly, taking her hands in his and kissing each
of them, looking her over with warm greeting and joy, as if it had
been three weeks, not three days, since they had seen each other. She
dropped her eyes, fear overwhelming her. "What's wrong, Moira?"
he asked.