Dorothy Garlock (8 page)

Chester took the man’s advice and a deep gulp of the amber fluid. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Doc Jenkins selected a long knife from the table, holding the blade to the light. As he bent down toward the bullet wound in Chester’s leg, something that could have been glee filled the doctor’s face.

“Just keep on a-drinkin’,” the doctor said. “This is gonna hurt a bit.”

It was well into the night when Chester finally stumbled from the doctor’s room and into the saloon. All around him, men shouted and swore, swilling cheap beer and whiskey and covering the room with a blanket of cigar smoke. Here and there, a whore tried to interest a prospective client in her wares. All in all, it seemed to be just another ordinary night in Whiskey Bend. No one paid him any attention as he slowly, achingly made his way to the bar.

Once he’d settled into a position that left him only
hideously
aching, he fished into his trousers for a coin and slapped it down onto the counter where it was quickly replaced by a bottle of whiskey. Greedily, he pulled out the stopper and drank as if he were a man dying of thirst. Even if it took all night, he swore that he would drown the pain.

Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to forget the raw hurt he had felt with the first cut. From that moment, pain had been perched on his shoulder like a crow on a barn. He’d occasionally passed out, only to awaken long enough to slip into unconsciousness yet again. When he had last come to, he’d found himself alone, his leg crudely bandaged, and the bullet that had caused so much trouble lying harmlessly in a pan of blood.

Squeezing his eyes shut when another bout of pain seized him, he downed the last of the drink and brought it down hard onto the bar. His leg still hurt like hell, but he did feel
better
.

“’Nother?” the bartender asked.

“Goddamn right.”

Chester stared ahead, gazing deeply into the grime-streaked mirror that hung behind the bar. Through the dirt and dust, as well as the pain and alcohol that clouded his head, he could see the anger blazing in his eyes.

Slowly, a thin smile curled the edges of his mouth.

This raw anger, the fire that drove him, that threatened to consume him, would be very hard to quench. He had no idea where the two whores had taken Mary, but he was not a man without resources. It would take time and it would take favors, but he knew if he were persistent, he would find them. Then, sated by revenge and blood, he would be able to rest.

Chester Remnick had never been a religious man. Still, it would take one hell of a fool not to think that he’d survived through the grace of some sort of miracle. He’d been given a chance, a chance to make right all the things that had conspired to strike him low. In the end, he knew that one chance was all he would need.

As laughter broke across the saloon, he laughed along through the pain.

Chapter Seven

“W
HY CAN’T WE
stop here?”

“Because it ain’t safe, Hallie,” Pearl explained. “There ain’t but a couple of saloons and a store down there. There ain’t even a church. I’ve heard of this place. It ain’t nothin’ but a nest of
rattlesnakes.
Their eyes would pop right out of their heads if they saw three women coming into town. We’d not stand a chance there, no more than we’d had in Whiskey Bend. You know that.”

Hallie frowned and turned her gaze back to the small town. From where the wagon had come to a stop at the top of a high hill on the northern slope of the long valley, the view was breathtaking. Nestled between two towering crags as if it were a baby in its mother’s arms, the town of Lancaster was as pretty as any picture; a small stream wound and curved lazily, and tall stands of trees dotted the countryside. The sounds of birdsong and the smell of pines drifted on the cool breeze. Even the clumps of dark clouds that mottled the sky, like deep bruises on a pale blue skin, did nothing to take away from the beauty of the scene.

In short, it seemed the perfect place to settle and build a new life.

“I don’t know any such thing,” Hallie protested.

“Yes, you do. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Hallie wasn’t sure if it was that she was too stubborn, but she was certain she was
tired
enough to admit to just about anything. It had been five long days since they had left Chester Remnick writhing in the dirt, his curses chasing them into the distance. They’d only made stops to cook a hot meal, to rest the horses, or to grab a few fitful hours of sleep. On and on they had moved, fear nipping at their heels as if it were a pack of wolves. The thought of bringing their travels to an end was appealing.

“We don’t know that it’s not safe,” Hallie continued to argue even if her heart told her that Pearl was probably right. “How can Chester follow us, let alone manage to track us all the way here? Not after what you did to him.”

“Do you want to take that chance?” Pearl prodded her friend. “It’d be one thing if you wanted to risk your own hide or even mine, but do you really want to put Mary’s life on the line? She’s suffered enough without us stoppin’ on account a bein’ tired.”

As Hallie let her friend’s words sink in, she stole a glance at the rear of the wagon. Mary lay huddled amid the blankets and their other belongings, her head turned in such a way that she might have been listening, but Hallie couldn’t be certain. The woman’s shoulders were slumped, her hair a tangled mess, and her eyes were smudged with deep, dark rings. Thankfully, she’d begun to eat a bit but like a bird, pecking at this and that and consuming very little. Her sobbing and crying, while still a daily occurrence, had lessened. More disturbing was the way in which she still spent all of her time staring into the distance behind them.
Was it in fear that Chester could be coming after them?
Hallie wondered.

“We can’t run forever,” she finally said.

“You’re right.”

“What place is ever going to be safe enough?” the younger girl continued. This was the question that had been plaguing her for days, nagging at her when she was most tired, hungry, or fearful.

Pearl sighed deeply, her eyes turning to the sky for a moment, as if she were looking for some kind of divine inspiration. When she spoke, her voice was calm but as firm as a preacher’s. “I don’t know the answer to that, Hallie. I really don’t.

“There ain’t a lot I do know in this here life,” Pearl continued, “but what I’m sure of is that this place,” she began, one arm sweeping over the town of Lancaster below them, “don’t seem right just yet. The next one might not neither. We’ve just gotta keep goin’ till we find that special town, that right place to quit runnin’. Somehow, I’m sure we’ll know it when we get there.”

As Hallie stared into her friend’s lined face, she knew that the older woman believed she was telling the truth. From the very first moment that she had met Pearl Parsons, Hallie had been struck by her confidence, by her unshakable belief in herself. If Pearl thought that this town wasn’t right, then it simply
wasn’t right
. They’d just have to move on to the next one. Now was not the time to begin doubting.

“All right,” she agreed.

“It’s for the best.” Pearl slapped the reins against the backs of the tired team.

As the wagon lurched forward, Hallie stole a last look at Mary. The girl’s eyes never lifted, she never so much as blinked, as she was carried off yet again as effortlessly as if she were a branch caught in the currents of a mighty river.

Somewhere off in the distance came the deep, guttural roar of thunder.

An hour before dusk the storm finally caught up with them. Constantly peeking over her shoulder, Hallie had watched, her nerves growing more frayed by the moment, as it had approached as steadily and relentlessly as a wolf stalking a wounded deer. No matter how hard they pushed the horses, the storm proved much swifter, and she realized that there was no shelter in sight.

The speed of the storm was matched by its fury. The sun had long vanished behind a wall of darkening clouds, and the only light by which they could see was provided by long forks of lightning that flashed, one after another, across the broad sky; the peals of thunder following them were as deafening as cannon fire. The air felt heavy, damp, and pregnant with the gale. When the rain finally fell upon them, it was preceded not just by the smell—a sharp moistness that stung the nose—but also by sound; it was as if thousands of booted feet were being stamped at once.

“This ain’t gonna be pretty,” Pearl said, her face turned anxiously skyward.

The first drops of rain struck Hallie’s face not with the gentleness of a soft spring squall but as if she were being pummeled by fists.
The storm was angry even at its beginnings; gusts of wind yanked insistently at her clothes and seemed to want to pull the very air from her lungs. Sheets of rain came across the ground toward them as if they were soldiers marching off to war. Try as she might to be brave, Hallie was afraid.

“What are we going to do?” she gasped.

“I don’t know!” Pearl shouted over the storm.

“We have to get out of this!”

“But where are we gonna go?”

Anxiously, Hallie peered into the storm. As her gaze swept through the inky darkness, she hoped to find something,
anything
that could provide them with shelter. She knew that the land in which they found themselves had little to offer. After leaving Lancaster behind, they’d passed through a gap in the soft hills out onto a flat, rolling plain of tall grass broken only by staggered copses of trees. As the last light of the day had been squeezed by the coming storm, she’d even seen the faint outline of a river in the distance. But what she
hadn’t
seen was a single farmhouse or ranch, anywhere they could go for help; and the chance of finding one now seemed impossible. In the storm’s oppressive gloom, she could barely see her hand before her face.

Suddenly, a long tongue of lightning streaked from the sky, crashing hard into the earth below. Even though it struck miles in the distance, the air seemed to shudder. Light filled the sky; it was as if someone had lit a hundred candles in a darkened room.

“Sweet applesauce!” Hallie cried.

“Holy shit!” Pearl exclaimed.

Even as the last of the deafening thunder rolled off into the distance, Hallie’s eyes were locked on the sight that had greeted them in the lightning’s scant illumination; the wagon still sat in the wide, open plain of grass, but a long stand of trees lay only a couple of hundred yards in front of them.
If we can just reach their cover . . .

“Straight ahead, Pearl!”

“What?” The older woman turned to her, shouting to be heard over the raging storm. “What are you talkin’ about? What’s straight ahead? I can’t see nothin’ in all of this here rain!”

“Right there in front of us,” Hallie explained excitedly. She pointed toward where their salvation had been, even though the inky black of the storm had returned. “There are trees we can get under!”

“Where? I don’t see a damn thing!”

As if the storm wished to prove that Hallie had not imagined the trees, another fork of lightning lit the sky.

“Do you see?” Hallie shouted, nearly jumping from her seat.

Without uttering a word in answer, Pearl cracked down hard on the reins, and the two horses, both spooked by the coming of the storm, practically leaped at the chance to run. The wagon took off with a lurch, skittering off the narrow road and out over the uneven ground. Hallie feared that they would lose a wheel or that they would become bogged down in the mud, but the horses never slowed for a moment. With the thundering of hooves and the creaks and cracks of the wagon over every bump, they raced headlong for the trees.

Every passing second, the storm grew in intensity. Hallie’s clothes stuck to her skin with cold wetness. Her hair was soaked and stringy, matted against her face. As rain pounded against the wooden wagon in an incessant drumming, it shook like a child’s toy. Hallie held tightly to the long seat with one hand while shielding her eyes with the other.

“Almost there!” Pearl yelled.

Ahead of the wagon, the dark outlines of the trees suddenly loomed. As she tried to steady herself through all the rocking and tipping of the ride, Hallie had to strain to see them. When another lightning bolt pierced the sky, she could see how close they were to shelter, but she worried that they’d be no less safe. Branches swung wildly to and fro in the fevered wind as if the trees had come to life and meant to do them harm. The sound of the rain striking the leaves and limbs was different in pitch but just as steady.

Then, just as more lightning turned the black storm into the brightest day, they passed under the tree’s wide canopy, and the deluge seemed to have been left behind them.

“Thank heavens,” Hallie exclaimed.

“My daddy always done said that the last place you’d want to be in a storm was under a tree, what with the lightnin’ and all.” Pearl laughed, shaking the rain from her arms. “But I ain’t so sure that if he found hisself in a storm like this one, he wouldn’t be right here beside us!”

Hallie couldn’t answer. As she sat on the wooden seat, the water of the storm running off every part of her body, she felt chilled to her very bones. Even under the shelter provided by the trees, rain still fell on them, traipsing its way off one leaf and then another before finding them at the bottom. The weight of everything they had been through, from the confrontation with Chester to the mad dash through the deluge, seemed to press down on Hallie all at once. She had been pushed to this, forced to accept what life had to give without any choice of her own. This time, when the tears came, she felt a touch of anger mixed with the fear.

“What’s the matter?” Pearl asked when she noticed that Hallie was crying.

Try as she might, Hallie could not quiet the voice of frustration that rose in her chest. She knew that it would have been better to simply hold her tongue, to swallow the whole sordid mess, but she found it an impossible task. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rainwater. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “We should have stopped.”