Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (48 page)

As they took shape and grew closer, Odessa struggled to hold
on. Her fingers and thighs and calves ached. They felt frozen,
bent on holding their positions, but consequently weaker, more
fragile, as if-

It was then that Ebony lurched to halt, frightfully fast, and
there was no way for Odessa to cling to her back any longer. She
flew forward, over the mare's head, watching as if in a dream as she
somersaulted in the air and was then flying feetfirst. She braced for
impact, holding her breath, wondering how long it would be before
she hit....

She never truly hit the ground.

Because she was then going down, down the side of a hill, sliding, grasping ... wondering if she would ever hit bottom. And then
she did, the sudden stop jarring her, sending a wave of pain from
heel to head. Slowly, she opened her eyes and dared to look about.
She was in a ravine, an arroyo dug deep into the earth by the force
of spring rains and floods, about twenty feet from the rim and thirty
feet from the bottom. Her foot had struck a small, rocky ledge, one
of the few visible on the chalky, dusty cliff face.

Odessa heard the others arrive up top, the horses whinnying
traded greetings, Bryce calling out to her. She tried to call back, to
let him know she was all right, but no sound left her mouth. She realized then that she was wheezing, panting. A consumptive attack.
Its all in your head, she told herself. You have been fine; for weeks you
have been well, in fact. Get ahold of yourse f

"Odessa! Odessa!" Bryce was right above her now, peering over
the ledge. "Oh, thank God. Sweetheart, are you all right?"

She nodded, hoping he could see her.

"If I throw a rope down, can you grab it?"

"I ... I think so," she said in a whisper.

"Odessa?"

"I think so," she said a bit louder.

"All right," he said. "Hold on a minute."

The stiff rope fell beside her a second later. "Don't reach for it!"
Bryce called. "I don't want you to fall any farther." The rope disappeared and then a moment later fell across her belly in a loose loop.
"Put it around you," he called.

She swallowed a retort about not being some cow to rope. But
there was not enough breath or time for wasted words right now.
The large rock beneath her foot was loosening. She could feel it move
every time she shifted her weight.

"Do it fast, Odessa," he said. "Then hold on to it. We'll have
you.

Odessa gasped for a breath, lifted up her shoulders, and let the
rope's loop fall around her body. At the same time, the rock gave way.
The men called out from above, but Odessa froze, squeezing her eyes
shut and holding tight to the rope.

She was hanging there on the steepest incline.

"Odessa. Odessa, open your eyes."

She did as she was told, looking up at her husband.

"Try and put your feet against the side. We'll pull you up, but it
will go easier if you use your feet to try and walk at the same time.
Got it?"

She nodded, trying to breathe with the rope latched tightly
around her chest. She was feeling faint, a bit dizzy. But she did as she
was told, putting her boots against the dry and grassy bank, trying to
find purchase as the men hauled her upward.

They had her up in seconds, the two men gazing at her in triumph and relief. Bryce pulled her into his arms, loosened the rope,
held her cheek in one hand. He was smiling, half laughing, half fearful. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, and he kissed her, over and over he kissed her. "Oh,
thank You, God," he said, cradling her close, looking up to the sky
and rocking back and forth. "Thank You, thank You."

He stepped back again to examine her. "Odessa, your lips are
blue. Are you breathing all right? Odessa?"

She smiled weakly. "I'll be fine, Bryce. Just give me ... a minute."

"I'll put that horse on the train. She's too wild, too-"

"No," Odessa said, pushing herself out of his arms and upright. She
stared up at Ebony, who didn't appear the least contrite. "She's perfect."

Bryce helped her to her feet and together they stared out over
the ravine. "I don't know what I would've done, Odessa, if anything
had happened to you." He took off his hat and hit it against his leg,
then wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, as if he
had some dust in it.

Odessa glanced back to the ravine, suddenly seeing the negative
space as form. "Bryce. Bryce, do you see it?" She stepped forward,
looking slowly left, then right. She glanced up at him.

He recognized it too, a clue from Sam's poem. To their right,
the ravine was like a huge arm, complete with the bend of wrist and
bulge of fist, right below them. To their left was a finger outstretched,
as if pointing. See God's finger pointing ... They both looked up into
the mountains. "The Wet Mountains?" she said, already knowing the
answer. "Think we can track down land `in my mother's name'?"

"You're not going to let it rest, are you? Until we look?"

"Just once. Show me his property. Let's see if we can find it.
Aren't you the least bit curious?"

He hesitated and looked toward the mountains. "Just once?"

"Just once."

"I don't know, Odessa. I told your brother you'd be safe here."

"And the only danger that's presented itself is my new horse-a
danger we'll soon tame. Come now, it'll be an adventure. You go
to the land office and see if you can find out anything about Sam's
mother and land nearby. Then we'll see what we can see."

"And if we don't find anything? You'll let it rest then?"

"Most likely."

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought."

"Well, I can't commit to what I'll wish to do five steps down the
road if we haven't taken steps three and four, right?"

Bryce took a deep breath. "Right."

"So we can take a few steps together, see what we see, then decide
together where we go from there. Deal?"

He studied her through narrowed, amused eyes. "A preliminary
agreement. A temporary agreement. No deal."

She smiled. "I'll take that."

Moira had sent James a note, to be delivered within the hour at the
hotel.

James,

Tonight you will be thoroughly disappointed with me
for being unforthcoming. I beg you to understand that I
could not pass up this opportunity. Never again will I have
the chance to know what it means to stand before so many
others and sing. It is what calls me, completes me. And so I
will try this night as "Camille. "IfI fail, I will know I tried.
And if I succeed, we will have more to discuss. Come to the
opera house. Decide for yourself if I have the talent, and
what that means for us.

-Moira

Moira pulled on her gloves and stared resolutely into the mirror.
If James cast her aside, so be it. There were always other potential
beaus in the wings. The general would be furious if her subversive
choices cost him business with the Clarions, but he would recover.
If she succeeded in winning good reviews, then it would bring
further accolades to Colorado Springs, and that would ease the general past his hard feelings. She might no longer be welcome at
Glen Eyrie or even in the Springs, but if she succeeded, she would
move on to sing in Denver, San Francisco, New York ... maybe
even Paris. The world was fascinated with the success of miners and
the people from mining towns alike. An opera star rising out of a
western town? She'd be the talk. Moira St. Clair would be on the
lips of newspapermen and society women everywhere. She smiled
at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, it was a gamble. But it was a
good gamble.

Nic sighed, weary but gleeful after reviewing the day's numbers in
the ledger. The city's citizens had swarmed the store and picked it
clean like locusts after a hearty corn crop. By tomorrow, the shelves
would be empty. He rolled his shoulder slowly in the socket. It still
was not completely healed.

"Hurt yourself?" asked Kathleen, the schoolmarm. She set
a steaming cup of tea down beside him and leaned against the
counter.

"A while ago. Better than it was," he said with a small smile
in her direction. She was a few years older than he, brusque in her
mannerisms, but more efficient than the brightest men at his father's
publishing press. If it hadn't been for Kathleen, Nic wouldn't have
been able to pull off the sale, even if Moira had stuck it out.

"Thank you for your work, ma'am. You saved me."

"It's been my pleasure," she said, running a hand over the counter.
"Only wish I had had the funds to buy the store. It saddens me to see
our only bookstore in town close down so soon after its opening."

He closed the giant ledger book, watching as dust floated up in
a cloud and then settled back to the desk. He tapped his knuckles
lightly on the wood table. "Yes. It was a good idea, a fine idea. It just
wasn't my idea for how I want to spend my coming years."

"What will you do instead?"

"Not sure yet." He shoved his chair back and moved out of the
office, back into the great storeroom, watching as people moved
back and forth along the street, either heading home or conducting
end-of-day business. The wind had kicked up, as it so often did here
in the Springs on a hot afternoon, bringing with it fierce thunderstorms and lightning such as Nic had never seen anywhere else.

His eyes scanned the skies. He decided he'd better change and
get to the opera house if he didn't wish to arrive as wet as a drowned
rat. He'd purchased a ticket weeks ago, intrigued to see how his little
sister would see this act through and what it would mean for all
of them. She was already entertaining offstage. Was the world fully
prepared for Moira St. Clair onstage?

Moira heard him coming. Heard Gerald delay him and James' raised
voice. Heard a third man join the group, trying to waylay him,
protect her.

She closed her eyes. Her makeup was on, heavy for the stage.
Her gown was buttoned up and they were just about to begin voice
warm-ups. She had hoped James would wait to do this later, afterward. She had hoped he would give her the chance to shine, to show
him and this town what Moira St. Clair could do.

The shouting escalated outside her door. She rose and opened it, hands clasped before her. James stilled at the sight of her and
the two men holding either arm released him. "Come," she invited
sadly.

He moved forward as if on feet of lead, but onward he came,
refusing the seat she offered with a gesture from her hand. "How
could you, Moira?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She closed the door slowly and turned to face him. "You gave
me little choice."

"Choice? I thought we agreed!"

"No, you decided it was for the best. But it was only best for you,
not for me. Don't you see?"

"How is it not good for you?" he sputtered. "How is it not good
for you, nothing more than a St. Clair, to be on the arm of a Clarion?"
He was shaking a finger at her, stepping closer to her. "How can
you be willing to trade that for ... this?" He waved about the room,
devoid of anything but mirror, table, makeup, chair, and candelabra.
He reached forward and she willed herself to remain still, to not
cower in the face of his wrath. He pinched her cheeks between forceful thumb and forefinger, dragging both down through her heavy
makeup. "How can you wear the makeup of a whore and expect me
to stand by, idle?"