Cindy Holby (2 page)

Cade pulled his.45 from his holster and checked the load. He had three bullets left. His belt was empty. He could only hope the three would be enough. He opened his mouth to pray again, and then clamped it firmly shut. No use tempting fate or God. He didn’t need any help killing. That was something he was good at.

He holstered his Colt and staggered a few steps down the slope. The ground wavered and he had to grab onto an aspen to settle his spinning world. Cade closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the gnarled bark. It felt cool against his skin, but there was only a moment of relief. He took a deep breath and the smell of burning wood filled his lungs, along with the scent of meat sizzling on a fire. He opened his eyes and saw a trace of smoke hanging just above the trees on the opposite bank.

“If you want it,” he reminded himself, “you’re going to have to get it yourself. There are no handouts in this world.” With a determined step he moved onward.

The sun, weak in the wintry sky, was gone, chasing the horizon that hid behind the mountains. The air around him grew colder, so sharp that it felt as if you could break it off in great chunks and shatter it against the ground. It was so quiet that Cade could hear his heart beating in his chest. Each thump-thump weakened him, like a spinning top that slowly lost its momentum and finally spun over on its side.

The soft glow from the fire kept him moving. Somewhere in his mind he knew the heat he felt on his skin was from a fever and not the fire. That didn’t keep him from shivering. He wrapped his arms around his body and kept trudging onward, not even caring when his foot slipped off a rock
and splashed into the icy cold water of the stream. He was so desperate to get to the fire that he kept stumbling onward until his instinct for self-preservation, always so strong, screamed
slow down, look around, and make sure you know what you’re getting into
. He had to take a moment to remember what he should do. Finally his mind caught up with his instincts. Cade changed his angle of approach and moved from tree to tree until he was able to crouch down and observe the site, with gun in hand, from behind a deadfall of pines.

“You are most welcome to join me brother,” a voice boomed out.

A man stood before the fire, fully exposed to Cade’s shot, if he decided to take one. Cade could not make out his features. The entire scene wavered in his vision, as if he were dreaming. The man wore a long heavy coat and held his arms outstretched to show he was unarmed. In his left hand he held a book. The fire snapped and popped behind him and the scent of coffee filled his senses. A pale horse stood off to the side with his ears pricked toward Cade’s hiding place. Whoever he was, he’d chosen his site well. It was close to the trail and within a copse of evergreens that grew beside a huge boulder that had probably lain there for an eternity. When the snow finally came, he’d have the benefit of some shelter and the reflected warmth of the fire off the boulder.

“I have food, coffee and an ear for listening if you are so inclined,” the man continued.

Cade wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He had two options before him. He could shoot the man down, eat his food, drink his coffee and steal his horse. Or he could holster his gun and join him.

“I may be a lot of things, but a murderer isn’t one of them.” He holstered his gun and stood with his hands up.
Liar,
his conscience said as he stepped forward into the
light. Cade looked side to side, to make sure it wasn’t a trap, but for some strange reason his eyes couldn’t focus. If it was a trap, there wasn’t much he could do about it. It took every bit of strength he had to walk the ten paces that led him to the fire.

“Welcome brother,” the man said. He extended his right hand. Cade looked at it, willing his mind to accept the fact that there was no danger here. Slowly he lifted his hand to grasp the one offered. It floated before him as the fire burned brighter. The trees spun around him as he finally gave in to the fever and his wound and sank to the ground.

It was the dream again. The one that haunted him ever since Sand Creek and the death of his mother and baby sister. The one where he ran through the smoke and the falling bodies while the sound of the howitzers drowned out the screams. He tried to escape the dream but something held him back, suffocating him, just as the smoke had that day. Something grabbed him, held on to him, and he swung out, fighting his father who held him as they watched his mother struggling beneath a soldier…

“It’s a dream!”

Cade slowly opened his eyes. His lids felt heavy and the weight upon him was oppressive. He looked down and saw that he was covered with a heavy coat. A man knelt by his side and smiled encouragingly at him. “You were having a bad dream,” he said.

“Who are you?” Cade managed to get the question out, even though his mouth felt as dry as sand.

“Reverend Timothy Key of Chillicothe, Ohio.” He offered Cade a canteen. “And the Baptist church.” Cade took it and Timothy helped him sit up so he could drink. The water inside was so cold that his head seized up as he gulped it down.

It was full dark now. Thick clouds hung just above the treetops, waiting with indecision to drop their heavy load of snow. “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” Cade returned the canteen.

“I’m on my way to my flock.” Cade looked around. Flock? This man wasn’t foolish enough to bring sheep into cattle country was he? He was relieved to see his gun belt lay close at hand. The movement also made him realize that his abdomen was tightly bandaged. He put a hand to his wound.

The preacher smiled as he doused his handkerchief with water. “I’m referring to the people of Angel’s End.” He motioned to the north and west with one hand as he dabbed the wet handkerchief on Cade’s forehead. “I was called to be their minister.” He handed the handkerchief to Cade and picked up his book. One glance confirmed that it was a Bible. Cade wiped his face and grimaced as he moved.

“I have my letter of introduction right there.” Timothy pointed to the pocket of the large overcoat that covered Cade. “A recommendation from Bishop Henderson himself. Unfortunately the stage driver didn’t believe me when I said the snow would hold off until we got there,” Timothy further explained. “And since there won’t be another stage until the spring melt I bought a horse and struck out on my own.”

“Trying to beat the storm?”

“Wherever God leads me.”

“Looks like he’s brought you to the middle of nowhere,” Cade grunted. His wound pained him and the fever was enough to make him wonder if he were still caught up in a dream.

“Or perhaps he’s brought us together.”

Yes. He was dreaming. Or else the preacher man was crazy.

“God led you all the way from Ohio?”

“To this very place.” Timothy smiled. Cade studied his
eyes. If he
was
crazy, the eyes would be a sure indication. But all he saw was a feeling of peace in the warm brown that was a shade lighter than his own.

I wonder what he sees when he looks into my eyes?

“Do you think you can handle some food?” Timothy turned to the fire. He had to be cold. He was dressed in a black frock coat, just like his father used to wear. He’d thrown his heavy overcoat over Cade, who’d had nothing but a short jacket over his shirt, pants and long johns. It wasn’t as if he’d had time to prepare when all the bad showed up.

Timothy looked expectantly over his shoulder. The man had to be crazy, turning his back on a complete stranger who showed up in his camp. Or was he?

Cade tried to recall the last time he’d eaten, and whether he should try to eat now. There was no telling if the bullet had nicked any of his internal organs. If they had he was dead anyway so he might as well go out with a full stomach as opposed to an empty one. “I’d appreciate it,” he said and Timothy once more graced him with his peaceful smile.

Timothy handed him a large slice of bread wrapped around a thick chunk of ham. “The cook at the stage stop was most generous,” he explained. Cade didn’t bother to reply as he sunk his teeth into the sandwich. Timothy handed him a cup of coffee. He’d thought when he’d started that he’d eat the entire thing but after a few bites and one swig of coffee he was exhausted.

“Thanks,” he said when Timothy took the remnants of his meal. He sank back to the ground with his head propped on the saddle and pulled the coat up beneath his chin. He knew he lay on the only blanket but the thought of getting up, and giving up this small comfort was more than he could bear at the time. “For the food, and for the doctoring.”

“Brother, you were lucky the bullet passed through,” Timothy said. “I’m afraid my skills of surgery are quite
lacking, even with the power of prayer.” He raised what was left of Cade’s sandwich in a toast and finished it off as he sat cross-legged by the fire on the cold hard ground with the Bible by his side.

“You really believe in that stuff?” Cade asked.

“Don’t you?” Timothy’s eyes seemed to see more than Cade wanted to reveal. How could he know that he’d just prayed for help? He’d been across the stream on the opposite side of this small valley when that occurred. It seemed like it happened days ago instead of moments.

“Not a bit,” he lied. “Every time I pray God laughs.”

“Really?” Timothy quirked his head to the side as if he was contemplating Cade’s statement. “What makes you think that?”

He was warm, and as long as he didn’t move too much the pain was bearable, so he decided to humor the preacher. It had all happened so long ago that it felt as if it were someone else’s life. Or so he kept telling himself.

“I lived in an orphanage from the time I was ten years old. My dad dumped me and my little brother there after our mother died. Every night I prayed that he would come back and get us. After a while I realized he wasn’t coming back, so I started praying that a nice family would adopt us.” Cade looked up at the night sky, recalling the many nights he used to do the same when he was a boy. Praying to the heavens in hopes that God would hear him better without the interference of a roof or wall. And sometimes wishing on a falling star because his mother always did so. There were no stars to be seen through the heavy clouds. Maybe a prayer or two could get through the dense cover, but none of them would be his.

“When I was fifteen and my brother was eleven someone did come and adopt us. We couldn’t believe our luck. They were going to Oregon and needed a couple of strong boys to help them work their homestead. So we went with this
nice couple…”
He almost choked on the words. “I remember climbing up in the back of that wagon and being so excited I could hardly stand it.” Cade looked at Timothy to make sure he was paying attention. He was.

“That night when we made camp another man was waiting for us. I thought it was kind of strange, especially the way he looked us over, checking to make sure we had all our teeth and were healthy. Then he said he’d take my brother, Brody. And just like that he loaded him up on his horse and took off. I tried to follow them and the man who was supposed to be my new father caught me, tied me to the wagon wheel and beat me with a leather strap until I bled. Then he said if I ran off, or ever did anything that he didn’t like, he’d have his friend kill my brother.”

As he expected, Timothy looked appropriately shocked.

“Not exactly an answer to my prayers now was it,
brother
?” He sneered the word and a tiny bit of his conscience flared up for being an ass toward the man who helped him.

Timothy smiled. “We have no way of knowing where God’s path will lead us,” he began. “For instance the last thing I expected tonight was to be keeping company with a wounded man but here I am, listening to your tale and very grateful to the Lord for the company, as I imagine you are?”

“I already said so and I’ll say it again. Thank you for helping me.”

“So what happened to the people who adopted you?”

He didn’t want to think about those three years. The worry every day about Brody and if he was as scared as he was that he was going to die. About the things Jasper Middleton taught him to do and made him do. The things his wife Letty whispered in his ear and did to him when Jasper wasn’t around until he had to lock what used to be the good part of his soul up into the deepest recesses of his mind. He’d have been better off dying with his mother and sister. At least that way he’d have had a chance of getting into
heaven. Instead he was sure to go to hell, a place he was very familiar with.

Cade summed it up for the preacher. “He killed his wife. Then I killed him.”

“Bless you brother,” Timothy said. “The Lord will forgive you. All you have to do is ask.”

Obviously the preacher wasn’t listening. It was hard to argue with a man when he was practically flat on his back. Cade shifted and sat up. Timothy moved to help, adjusting the saddle so Cade could sit comfortably. Cade explained things to the preacher one more time.

“God doesn’t have the time, or the inclination to listen to me ask for forgiveness for all my sins.” He gritted his teeth as a pain shot through his abdomen. “And believe me,
brother
, the list is long. There is no doubt in my mind that I’ve broken every one of the Commandments.”

Timothy crouched beside him. “And yet God led you to this place at this time in your life. Did you ever stop to think that perhaps God’s answer was
not now
? To wait and be patient and see where he leads you?”

“God sure has a roundabout way of doing things if all he wanted me to do was to talk to you.”

“You never told me your name you know. When I introduced myself, you never mentioned your name.”

Cade had nothing to lose by telling him. Fortunately he’d managed so far to avoid getting his name on a wanted poster, or so he hoped. “Cade Gentry.”

Timothy smiled again and poked at a log in the fire. It popped as it settled and he added another piece of pine, which burned quick and bright. “So tell me, Cade Gentry, what did you pray for when you were stumbling around out there, gut shot, without a horse, with a blizzard bearing down on you.” Timothy looked at him. “You did pray.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of certainty.