Texas Twilight (28 page)

Chaim sat up, making his dozing horse jump in
surprise.

“
He looks
like Matt. He looks like Mark. Heck, he even looks a little
like
you
.” Even as
she said the words, she knew she wasn’t being completely honest
with him. Luke did have a wildness about him that made him stand
out. No matter if the three boys dressed identically, with the same
hair cut—Luke always got the second look.

“Okay, I can see I’ve said too much. Let’s
get moving.” Chaim turned his roan gelding and started for the
trail.

Charity waited a good minute before she
followed. It all just stuck in her craw. She’d never be ashamed of
Luke—ever! She loved him and wanted to protect him from hurtful
words. Just like she did with John, when people went to whispering
about what happened when he was just a boy. How they looked away
causing darkness to pass over his expression. But even worse than
that, and boy did it gall her, was how so called friends would ask
questions, or let slip a little comment, oh so innocently of
course, as if they didn’t know what they were doing. Did they
really believe they were fooling anyone? Shameful. But, she didn’t
fault Chaim for trying to familiarize himself with family. That was
different.

Charity clucked and the mare, already antsy
to follow Chaim’s horse, plunged eagerly down the hill, sliding on
her haunches and breaking her speed with her powerful front feet.
Charity leaned back in her saddle, dropping all her weight into her
stirrups. When she was almost at the bottom a gun shot rang out.
Almost instantly, another blast ripped the air, and a bullet
whizzed past her ear, imbedding into a tall saguaro cactus with a
thud. She ducked to the side of her horse and spurred hard, wanting
off the face of the hill where she was vulnerable to take a bullet
herself.

C
harity reined
up behind some rocks. With a thumping heart, she pulled her Colt 45
from her bag and spun the chamber, checking to see that it was
loaded. All still quiet, she looked carefully around, holding the
gun close to her chest. Where was Chaim? Descending the hill she’d
been deep in thought and hadn’t seen what had happened. She waited
a moment longer. Still nothing.

“Chaim!” she shouted.

Carefully, she nudged her horse forward,
warily scanning the edge of the brush as she went. Twenty feet in
front of her she spotted the roan with Chaim slumped over his
neck.

“Oh, my God!” A shiver of dread spiked though
her. Forgetting her own safety Charity galloped up to her wounded
cousin. His chest was soaked in blood. “Chaim, can you hear me?”
She gave his shoulder a shake. “Chaim! Please, say something!”

Some garbled words came out of his mouth
before he sank forward again, and like a one hundred-eighty pound
sack of grain, almost tumbled to the ground. She grasped his shirt
and fought to keep him in the saddle of his spooked horse.
Galloping hoof beats over the crest of the hill made her want to
give chase. Give the devil, whoever he was, a taste of what he’d
given Chaim.

But she couldn’t. Chaim was in a bad way. If
she didn’t do something fast, he would die. Reaching for her bag,
she tossed her gun in and pulled out her night shirt and rolled it
into a ball. She stuffed it under his shirt next to his chest and
then pushed firmly to stop the flow of blood that now glistened on
her hands like liquid rubies. With her home-made bandages in place,
she took his horse’s reins and started forward, but Chaim slipped
to the side again.

This wasn’t going to work. She’d have to ride
behind him and try to keep him aboard. Without dismounting, Charity
slipped over behind his saddle and settled onto the roan, praying
the gelding was broke to ride double. She reached around Chaim with
one arm, holding him as securely as she could, and took the reins
with the other, all the while still holding the reins to her
mount.

Dear God, she felt the need to hurry, but
knew if she did, it would risk Chaim falling. She was thankful they
were already off the side of the hill, because now it should be
smooth riding all the way into Rio Wells. If she could just keep
him in the saddle. The roan moved forward steadily. And her horse
came along, too. A small sigh came from Chaim as he tried to sit
up.

“Just stay down. You’ve been shot.” A plop of
rain landed on Charity’s rein hand. When she glanced up, another
splashed her face and one landed on her thigh. Time was of the
essence.

All was eerily quiet, then without warning, a
bright flash lit the area and Charity prepared for the crack of
thunder that would follow. When it hit, both horses tried to bolt
but Charity fought to keep herself and Chaim aboard, as his horse
danced around. Hers jerked free and ran off in a frenzied
panic.

***

“Lily,” Tante Harriett called from the
kitchen, “I’ve made you a nice cup of hot tea. Come drink it before
it gets cold.”

Happy that her aunt was feeling so much
better, Lily set her work aside. “It’s starting to rain,” Lily
remarked, opening the back door to look out. The musty smell of wet
earth wafted in on a warm breeze as the tin roof started to sing.
“Let’s leave this open for a while and let the fresh air in. I love
the smell of rain.” She scooted a chair over by her aunt and went
and picked up her cup.

“Yes, let’s.” Tante Harriett peered out into
the alley. “I’m actually anticipating a trip to the
mercantile—soon.”

Lily looked at her in surprise. “You are?
Would you like to go today? I could close for a few minutes and we
could go over now.”

“Oh, no.” Her aunt’s face clouded over and
Lily realized that going to the mercantile was just hopeful
thinking on her aunt’s part. That was okay. One day at a time. At
least she was here now, downstairs, having tea in the kitchen. The
rain started coming down in earnest and soon was a deluge,
splashing on the wooden step and onto Lily’s shoes.

“I need to close this,” Lily laughed as she
went to the door. Just then the little white cat bolted inside as
if the devil was on its tail, almost tripping her. “Come in, come
in, before you drown.” She was looking down at the cat when she
heard her aunt gasp.

“Close the door. Quickly.” Her aunt was out
of her chair and pushing it closed. With shaky hands she bolted the
lock and quickly drew the window curtains closed.

“What is it?” Lily asked in alarm, following
her aunt as she shuffled toward the stairs.

The sound of the rain was now deafening.
“Just a summer storm,” she replied, looking over her shoulder. “I
feel tired, Lily. I’m going upstairs.” The fear in her eyes was
evidence enough for Lily that her aunt was not telling her the
truth. At another sound of thunder, the frightened cat, her back
arched and her black eyes wide, dashed up the stairs in front of
them.

Lily placed her hand on her aunt’s shoulder,
stopping her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, dear, just the storm.”

The back door rattled as someone knocked with
force.

“Don’t answer it.”

“Why?”

“Please, Lily, just do as I ask. And go and
lock the front door and close the curtains. No one else will be
shopping in such weather. Go quick.”

Tante Harriett’s expression held such concern
Lily had no choice but to do as she asked. She ran over to the
front door and yanked the medal rod into its slot with force. Then
she drew Mrs. McCutcheon’s heavy drapes across the front window
just before she saw a figure in a black coat hunched in the rain,
hat pulled low, come out of the alley next to the store and
approach her front door.

Tante Harriett motioned to her from half-way
up the stairs. “Come upstairs with me, Lily,” she whispered, as a
loud knock rattled the front door. Lily looked back and forth, not
knowing what she should do. Perhaps Tante was having hallucinations
from the drugs. Maybe they weren’t out of her system yet. But that
didn’t seem possible, for it had been quite some time and John felt
sure she was better. Could she have gotten into his safe?

“Lily.”

This was only the second time Lily had ever
heard anything but love in her aunt’s tone. Now there was fear,
laced with authority, demanding that she obey. In the darkened
store, Tante Harriett’s face was an unreadable mask.

“I insist you leave that person and come
upstairs with me.”

Lily turned away from the door, praying it
wasn’t a matter of life and death. Was John hurt? It could be
anything in the world.

J
ohn and
Emmeline were almost back to the ranch. They were huddled on the
buggy seat beneath the blanket they’d used for their picnic trying
to ward off the rain. Suddenly, a horse came out of nowhere,
galloping up from behind, and passed them with ease. It was saddled
and the reins flipped around wildly. John pulled up on the startled
buggy horse as it tossed his head and pulled on the bit, calming
him with his voice. “That looked like Charity’s bag on the back of
the saddle.”

Emmeline grasped his arm. “That’s the grey
horse she was riding yesterday. Something must have happened to
her.”

Without another word, John hauled on the left
rein, turning the buggy around. “Heaaw,” he shouted. Leaning
forward, he slapped the reins on the wet back of the distressed
horse, sending it galloping back toward town. “You watch your side
and I’ll watch mine,” he shouted. “And hold on.” The buggy fairly
flew down the road, not meant to be driven so fast. It bounced over
ridges and groaned loudly as the wheels were punished in pot holes.
John prayed it would hold together long enough for them to find
Charity.

As the panic inside him grew, John scanned
the area. He had to pull up and walk at the part of the road that
was washed out, a place they hadn’t gotten to on their drive today.
It wouldn’t be far before they’d reached Dry Street, which would
mean they’d missed her somewhere between the ranch and town. If
that happened he’d continue into town and gather some men to go out
on a search. He’d seen everything they could from the road.

Emmeline touched his arm again, getting his
attention as he pulled into town. He slowed the horse from a gallop
to a trot. “What now?” she shouted. She’d long since let go of the
blanket she was holding so she wouldn’t get bounced out. Her hair
was one blob of black and she pushed it out of her eyes with cold,
shaky fingers.

“I’ll stop at the livery and gather some men.
Maybe you could run down to the sheriff’s office for me.”

“Of course.”

John pulled up in front of the livery,
bounded out of the buggy and ran to the other side to help
Emmeline. The horse was lathered, and his eyes were glazed in fear
after their breakneck journey. Just as Emmeline held out her arms
to John, she pulled up. “Look.” She straightened and pointed down
the street. “That’s Chaim’s horse at your office. Maybe they were
together.”

John hopped back into the buggy, scrambled
overtop Emmeline, and picked up the reins. He flipped them up once
and brought them down across the tired horse with a loud slap. The
buggy lurched forward.

Charity must have seen them drive up because
she met them outside.

“Thank God, you’re here,” John shouted, as he
wrangled the horse to a stop. “I thought something had happened
when we saw your horse galloping back to the ranch alone. What’s
going on?” Standing in the buggy he paused for the first time since
he’d seen the racing horse, and took a deep, calming breath.

She held the door open and frantically waved
him in. “It’s not me. It’s Chaim. He’s been shot.”

At
Charity’s words many emotions flashed thorough John, fear being the
strongest. It could’ve been an accident, or…
Who would want to kill Chaim?
Not waiting for Emmeline, John
leapt from the buggy and ran inside. Chaim was laid out on the
examination table shirtless with a bullet hole in the left side of
his chest, nerve-wrenchingly close to his heart. Tucker dipped a
cloth in the water basin and wrung it out as he cleaned the
excessive blood from Chaim’s torso, and Dr. Bixby shuffled around
the room, getting ready to go after the bullet.

“I’m glad you’re here,” the old doctor said
without looking up. Charity must have told him who had arrived
before he entered the room.

Emmeline followed him into the office but
stopped at the door, tears streaming down her face. Slowly, she
walked forward and pressed her palm to Chaim’s cheek as she looked
longingly into his face. A sob escaped her. Charity took her by the
shoulders and led her out of the room.

John pressed his finger to Chaim’s neck,
feeling for his pulse. “He’s awfully weak.”

“Yeah, lost a lot of blood.” For the first
time ever Dr. Bixby’s voice sounded shaken and old. Or, the
likelier probability was he was showing the love he had for Winston
and Winnie’s second eldest. Most likely Dr. Bixby had delivered
Chaim and seen to his needs for all these years. He no doubt felt
closer to Chaim than John did.

“Looks like it went deep.” John leaned
forward to get better look.

“By all that is holy, I think you’re right,”
Bixby responded tenderly in what John thought was a prayer. “It
doesn’t look good for our Chaim.”

Both doctors washed up and Tucker went into
the kitchen to get the tools out of the boiling water. When Bixby
took the opposite position his hands were shaking vigorously. As
Bixby attempted to take the tray of instruments from Tucker, he
almost spilled the lot.

John looked up at the old doctor.

Bixby shook his head. “It’s no use. I can’t
seem to make ‘em stop. Never’s happened like this before.” The
shaking got worse and his whole body trembled right before John’s
eyes.