Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (49 page)

Lastly, the duel would take place at dawn. As the bells chimed sunrise, Brock Donnigan and Lucius Flynn were to meet in the field, backs turned to one another, until issued the following command.

Turn, gentlemen. And shoot.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lucius could not sleep, and as he sat awake by the fire, the canvas of the females’ tent was thrust aside and Josephine emerged, untouched by sleep. He had thought himself alone, but with the weight of the coming dawn resting heavily upon him, he had longed for the comfort of a friend.

She must have sensed this, as she did not appear to have any other duty in mind than to approach him and sit softly at his feet.

He closed his eyes, and in that moment he knew without a doubt that he believed in God.

For some time, the pair of them said nothing. Josephine watched the fire as it danced before them, and Lucius closed his eyes. He did not trust himself to open them, lest the tears that had pooled within spill over his cheeks and wet the crown of Josephine’s head. He did not wish to appear weak before the young girl he had sworn to protect, though if he died in the morning, he supposed it would not matter much. Besides, he suspected Josephine was the least likely person in the world to judge a wretch like him. Even on the
Steam Rose
, when his character was utterly and observably unreformed, she had gazed upon him without the least trace of contempt. Indeed, it was during that time, when he had nothing to recommend him, that she had delivered him from the cholera.

It was funny, really, that for all his promises and intentions, it was she who always came to his rescue. Where would he be this very moment if she had not gone looking for him only hours ago? Evelyn would have lost her innocence, and Lucius would have wandered into oblivion and never put anything to right. Josephine had found him and given him the chance to end well. And he was determined to end well, whether he lived or died.

With her at his feet, Lucius knew this was yet another opportunity to settle things.

“Josephine,” he began.

He sensed her listening, though her face remained towards the fire.

“I think you are extraordinary.”

She smiled.

“And I am grateful to you. For my life, and for Evelyn’s.”

She turned to look at him then, and placed her cool, soft hand within his own. When he opened his eyes and gazed upon her, he found himself yet amazed at the ancient wisdom she portrayed through her silence. Her green eyes shone with a light akin to that of the stars; old as time, yet somehow brilliant with youth and vivacity. He did not know all the things she had seen and experienced in her lifetime, but she had the appearance of an unearthly being, somehow transcendent, like a heavenly creature acquainted with the sorrow of mortals.

She was fourteen, with no parents, no family, and no country. But here she was, comforting a man who had foolishly surrendered everything, and yet she offered him every good and intangible thing he could never find on his own. Peace. Courage. And absolution.

Yes. What he had done was wrong. But as she looked at him, her innocence seemed to swallow his guilt, and he knew he was better than his mistakes. What was done was done and could not be erased. But it could be redeemed, and it would be. He had spent the entirety of this night dwelling upon his death, upon which all things were settled. If Lucius Flynn died, his interests would be well looked after. Though no longer rich, Evelyn would be in good hands, and, in them, she would know no lack of wealth.

Thinking of Evelyn, he spoke once more.

“How was she,” he asked Josephine, “when you left her?”

Josephine squeezed his hand in response.

“She was all right?”

She nodded.

“Still asleep?”

Another nod.

Lucius sighed.

“You will look after her for me, won’t you?” he asked her then, his voice threatening to break at every syllable. “You will nurse her when she is sick? And hold her hand when she is afraid?”

Again, Josephine tightened her grip on Lucius’ hand.

As I am holding yours now
, she seemed to say.

Lucius could say so much more, but as he no longer trusted himself to speak, he fell silent. What was said must suffice, even though the most important words had not been spoken.

Will you go to her when she wakes, and tell her that I am sorry, and tell her that I love her? That if things were different, if I were to live, I would spend the rest of my life making this up to her?

Josephine smiled up at him then.

For things
might
be different. And Lucius
might
live.

And what then? Yes, indeed! What then?

Brock Donnigan would be gone. But killed? Lucius was uncertain of the way he wanted this scenario to end. Lucius could just as well wound the outlaw and walk away. Brock might never take the opportunity to be the better man, but Lucius could. He did not have to murder anyone to prove a point.

But if Brock Donnigan fell, whether by wound or death, it was left to Lucius to decide what to do with him. Wasn’t that the agreement? Lucius could regain what he had lost. Honor, yes; but more importantly, his fortune.

Wasn’t that the upside of gambling? When playing with high stakes, you could lose tremendously. But you could also take the pot.

It was the gold at the end of the rainbow indeed.

He could win. And if Lucius Flynn won, all would be restored. His money, Evelyn’s inheritance, his life…
His life!

Lucius nearly jumped out of his seat. He could take back what was stolen, and before the bells stopped ringing, he could return to Evelyn and say everything that needed to be said with his own words, from his own mouth. Their troubles could be over, and they could live happily ever after. Just like in the fairy tales.

Only, first, Lucius had to survive being shot at.

* * *

The roosters started crowing when it was still dark. On a normal day, Lucius might have turned over on his mat and cursed them. But today, he was eager for the sound, for it meant his sleepless night would soon be ended.

As the moon was swallowed by the sea, the light of day began to infiltrate the atmosphere. The sun remained hidden beyond the ridge of the earth, but the globe groaned beneath its approach. The roosters continued their crooning herald, while the last of the nocturnal creatures fell into silence, and the birds took their places as lords of the morning.

Josephine never went to bed. She remained at Lucius’ feet, and when the first cock crowed, she stood and went to the fire, where she heated a kettle of water.

Lucius watched in awe as the maid prepared three cups of coffee. One for Lucius, one for Samuel, and one for herself.

He didn’t bother asking what she was doing. The task was evident enough, though he had never known the girl to take coffee. She was a tea drinker, like Adele. Not too black, served with cream and sugar.

“I didn’t know you liked the hard stuff,” he chided, as both of them enjoyed their first sip.

Josephine smiled. 

There was a stir near Samuel’s tent, and Lucius watched as Samuel emerged, gun in hand.

“Mr. Davies,” Lucius said somberly, “I see you were able to secure a weapon.”

Samuel responded by turning the gun over and holding it by its barrel. He offered it to Lucius, who looked it over quickly, gulped, and looked away.

“Thank you, Samuel. If it’s all the same to you, I would rather not touch it until I must.”

Samuel nodded briefly.

“I understand, sir.”

“I trust it will do?”

“It was my master’s sir. It will do jest fine.”

“You would lend me your weapon?”

“I would offer you nothing less, Mr. Flynn.”

 Samuel took a cup of coffee and a seat beside the others, the pistol resting across his lap. Josephine watched the fire reflect upon the metal while she offered silent prayers to God. The three of them sat silent and pensive for several moments, the only sound between them the crackling of the flames. Gradually, Lucius felt his exhaustion lift with the help of the invigorating stimulant, and when he had drained his cup, he nodded to his ‘second’.

Samuel nodded back.

It was time.

Lucius stepped close to Josephine and cupped her chin in his hand.

“You are extraordinary,” he told her once more.

And once more, she smiled for him.

Everything within him wished she would hold his hand during the long walk across the field, during the beginning procedures of the duel, during the duel itself. But she was a child and he was a man, and it was his responsibility to see that she remained here where it was safe. It was here where they were to say goodbye.

She took her hand and placed it over his heart. He felt the warmth of her touch radiating in his chest, and with it, he felt strengthened.

“All right,” he told her. “I must go.”

He then glanced back at the canvas that veiled the sleeping form of his wife, and sighed.

“You will remember what I asked, won’t you?” he asked Josephine. “You will watch over her for me?”

Josephine nodded, and he leaned down to kiss the tip of her forehead.

“As the sun rises, you will see what happens in the field,” he said. “Have faith for me, Josephine. Plead my case before God.”

 He realized then that with her hand upon his chest, she was gently pushing him away. With eyes trained on hers, he stepped back once, twice, then turned towards Samuel, and the two of them began to walk.

Towards the beginning, or the end of all things.

He saw their silhouettes in the distance, watched them grow in detail as they drew near. What were at first shadows became faceless bodies, who then wore clothes and hats, who then grew lips and noses. Lastly, he saw their eyes, looking back at him as though he was a beast to be slaughtered.

He shuddered.

“Didn’t sleep, did you?” Brock asked, one side of his mouth turned up in a grim smile. “You look awful.”

“I’ll sleep when either of us is gone,” Lucius replied.

“And how did the duchess look when you told her goodbye?”

At the mention of Evelyn, Lucius’ heart leapt painfully.

“I didn’t.”

Brock cocked his head.

“So confident you’ll see her again, are you?”

Lucius shook his head. He didn’t feel like playing Brock’s games anymore. This was to be the final round, and he wanted to get on with it.

There was one other man present whom Lucius had never seen. He was a very clean man: laundered clothes, combed hair, smooth chin, clear spectacles.

“Are we ready?” the man asked.

He was overseeing the duel.

“Been ready for weeks,” Brock remarked.

The man nodded.

“Your weapons, gentlemen.”

The seconds produced their guns and handed them to him. He received them with a spotless white cloth, and requested that the seconds join him in confidence. Together, he led them some paces away to inspect the weapons. One bullet was allowed, and one bullet was loaded. All seemed well. There was to be no foul play, and the duel could proceed.

The trio returned to find Brock staring at Lucius, and Lucius staring at the ocean.

“Gentlemen?” inquired the clean man.

Both gentlemen broke their stares to look at him.

“Take your weapons.”

They did so, and neither Brock nor Lucius had any further comments to make, as the time for silence had come. Neither could know what would happen in the ensuing moments, whether they would live or die, or whether they would be severely wounded or slightly wounded, or whether anything or nothing would happen at all.

“Backs to one another, gentlemen,” the clean man continued. “Pistols up where I can see them. This is a gentlemen’s duel. You know the rules?”

Lucius smiled wryly.

“I’m Irish, boyo,” he said. “We wrote the rules.”

The man stared blankly at Lucius.

Seconds ticked by.

“Give me twenty paces.”

Brock and Lucius turned from one another and began to walk.

One. Two. Three.

The color of the sky was shifting from gray to a pale blue. The sun was rising, and the morning bells began to chime.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Lucius’ steps were taking him back in the direction of American Camp. He looked up and saw Josephine in the distance, standing in front of the tent, arms folded over her chest. A slight breeze rustled her hair, which hung like golden drapes about her shoulders.

He couldn’t see her face. Not from this far away.

A rooster crowed.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

He could turn right now. Shoot Brock Donnigan in the back.

No, Lucius. Be the better man.

Pretend.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

He looked up at the sky and saw a streak of white. A dove.

Eighteen. Nineteen.

One last step.

“Turn, gentlemen!”

And shoot.

Chapter Forty

“Bang! Bang!” Lucius cried.

He could have sworn he caught her this time, but as she disappeared behind a hedge of roses, she laughed.

“Missed me!”

Exasperated, Lucius’ arms fell to his sides.

“I cannot play this game with you,” he declared.

Her voice came from between the tangling vines.

“And why not?”

“Because you never let me kill you.”

“That’s only because you’re a terrible copper.”

“And you’re a cheating robber!”

He heard her sigh.

“Lucius, I am a
criminal
. Cheating is what I do best.”

Lucius looked longingly towards the house, where the Brennan’s cook was heating soup for the afternoon meal. He could smell the basil from here.

He and Evelyn were playing in the garden, and when he looked down at his feet, he realized he was standing in a patch of the herb.

“Right,” he muttered.

Thunder rumbled low in the distance. It was a cold, overcast day, and the children had been instructed to play outside until the rain began to fall.