The Night Angel (37 page)

Jeb couldn’t place the accent. “That depends on who you might be and why you’re interested.”

“My name is Vladimir.” His boots, trousers, shirt, vest, and hair were all one solid black. His eyes, however, were wintry smoke—almost clear they were so light. Yet they revealed nothing of the man within. Jeb had the impression of looking into windows without a room behind them.

“I seek a man,” Vladimir said.

“Yeah, well, ain’t nobody here but us.” Cody slipped the cocked pistol from his belt and aimed it at the stranger’s gut. “You’ll be looking elsewhere if you want to see another sunrise.”

Vladimir paid the pistol no mind. “I seek the same man as you.”

“I’m telling you, that ain’t of any interest to us, so you best—”

“Hold on, now, Cody. Hold on.” Jeb smiled at his brother. His empty, dangerous smile. “This feller ain’t done nothing to rile us. Not yet.”

“I ain’t sharing my take with nobody.” Cody’s response to the stranger was as visceral as that of an angry dog. “Especially the likes of him.”

The stranger spoke with a raspy voice. “I have no interest in your reward money.”

“There, you hear that?” Jeb nudged his brother. “Pack that shooter back where it belongs.”

Reluctantly Cody slipped the pistol back into his belt. “He riles me, is all.”

“Even so, let’s hear him out.”

“I will pay you,” the stranger said. “In gold.”

“That so.” Jeb eased himself to his feet. He disliked looking up to anybody, especially when they were talking business. “Well, you know who we are and you know the man is holed up in the jail down by the town hall. Soon as the judge declares him guilty of freeing slaves and hangs him, we get paid. The problem is, the regular judge is laid up with something awful, and the new judge is busy at the other end of the state.”

“The sheriff won’t pay us until we testify,” Cody complained. “So we’re left sitting round here, with our gold in someone else’s pocket.”

“I have no interest,” Vladimir said, “in waiting for this judge.”

“That so.” Jeb grinned once more at his brother. “Out for a little revenge, are we?”

The stranger did not respond.

“Well, maybe you can tell us one thing. Just to show we’re dealing from the same deck of cards, you understand. What’s the feller’s name you’re after?”

Vladimir spat out, “He is called John Falconer.”

Chapter 30

The afternoon following the princess’s final portrait sitting, Nathan and Serafina took advantage of a sudden break in the weather and walked for miles. They did not return until dusk was gathering. It seemed only natural for Nathan to let his boots dry by the fire and join the family for a light supper. He was not so much invited as simply included, the sort of gesture one would make to a long-time friend.

Their conversation continued until the candles burned low. Mary and Gerald had long since bid their farewells and retired to their respective chambers. The rest of the family remained in the parlor. The fire was ignored until it almost went out. Nathan went for more firewood and rekindled the flames, taking over the duties as if he had been part of the household all his life. Serafina was the only one who took any notice.

When the fire burned well once more, Nathan remained on his knees before it. He said to the flames, “Unless we can pinpoint Falconer’s location, the document supplied by the princess remains utterly useless.”

“Worse than useless,” Alessandro Gavi corrected. Clearly the same thought had been running through his own mind. “I feel as though a flame has been lit within me. I wish to go racing off with it.”

“But in which direction,” Nathan said, still to the fire. “For what purpose?”

Bettina made to rise. “I for one am so weary I can scarcely keep my eyes open.”

“I could not hope to sleep,” Alessandro said. His gaze was dark and so intent it was hard for Serafina to tell whether he was looking at Nathan’s back or the fire or something only he could see. “Daughter, I would ask a favor of you. Before my wife retires, do you think we might pray again together?”

Serafina watched her mother sink back onto the sofa. “Of course, Papa.”

“I am so distressed I feel as though I shall never find peace again without . . .”

“Without God,” Serafina finished softly.

“Precisely.”

“Would you say the words?” he now asked.

Nathan resumed his seat upon the sofa opposite Serafina, next to Alessandro, and nodded to her. “Your father asked you, Serafina.”

She bowed her head, but no words came. She sought inside her mind and found the only words she could think of were in Italian. So it was in her mother tongue that she began, “O gentle Jesus, my Lord and Savior, the One who came to me in my darkest hour. O the giver of everything in my life that holds meaning, the maker of heaven and earth. I beg you, great Lord of all. Come to us now.”

Her mother began weeping softly. Serafina went on, “We are very helpless, great Lord. You are strong when we are weak. Wise when we are blind. You search in the darkness of earthly pain and worry. You love us when we do not deserve it. You promise peace and wisdom and light. Illuminate our way forward, great Lord. Give us peace.”

She heard a strong breath from across the room. She now changed to English. “Most of all, dear Lord, we pray for our friend. Our brother. The man who feels strongest when walking the path of danger. You know his name, great Lord. If I say it, I shall not be able to continue this prayer. So I ask that you speak the name for me. I ask that you find him and protect him.”

Her father spoke then. A low sound with a slight tremor. “John Falconer.”

Serafina clenched her hands tightly. Still she prayed. “We ask for a miracle, great Lord. We ask you to reveal where he is. We ask that you keep him safe. We ask that you bring him home. In the name of your Son we pray. Amen.”

She was slow to raise her eyes. When she did, she found Nathan looking at her. He spoke very slowly, “I have heard some of the world’s greatest orchestras play the music of the ages. Never, though, have I heard a song quite so lovely as that.”

Unshed tears created an illumination around his figure. “Are you weary?” she asked him.

“Tired, yes. Sleepy, no.”

“Would you mind—would it be possible for me to do a sketch of you?”

Nathan seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary in her request. “If your parents do not mind.”

“I have no interest in retiring,” Alessandro said to his wife.

“Nor do I any longer,” Bettina agreed. “Though I might doze off here upon this sofa.”

Serafina rose to her feet. “I shall just go get my pad. No, don’t move, Nathan. Don’t move.”

There was no mystery to this new sketch. Even before she finished outlining his eyes, she knew precisely what she wished to portray.

She sought to capture Nathan’s balance between strength and weakness. Pain and peace. Hope and worry. Wisdom and human frailty. Earthly responsibility and childlike trust. Hidden and revealed. This equilibrium defined him.

Serafina finished the first sketch, dropped the page to the floor, and started anew. She rose to her feet, crossed the room, and retrieved the Bible she used for her studies with Mary. She handed it to Nathan and asked, “Would you please begin reading?”

“Aloud or to myself?”

Her father retrieved her sketch from the floor and said, “Aloud, if you please.”

“Certainly.”

Her father lifted his gaze. “Daughter, this is truly wonderful.” “Thank you, Papa. No, Nathan, you can look later. Just please remain as you are and read.”

But as he began reading, she did not resume her sketching, rather stared at the empty page before her. Her hand was poised, but she was listening now to two different voices. One was Nathan reading the Word. The other was somewhere deep inside herself.

Falconer had asked her once if God ever spoke to her. She had considered it from the standpoint of her Lord imparting a message, not of God presenting a challenge.

She finally began sketching again. As she worked, in the drawing she saw her answer revealed.

The mystery was in herself. Not in her subjects, the people she studied and drew and brought to life upon the page. She was called to begin living
beyond
her past, its mistakes and pain. To accept that she
could
fulfill God’s destiny for her life. In truth, she carefully looked within and realized even the wound was gone.

There was no reason she could not love anew.

She looked up at Nathan Baring across the room.

He stopped reading to ask, “What is it?”

She only smiled and shook her head, turning back to the sketch.

He asked, “May I see what you have done?”

She took the page from her father’s hands and offered it.

Nathan rose and came to stand beside her, looking at it a very long while. Finally he said, “Is this how I look to you?”

“It is most certainly a remarkable likeness,” her father said. “She has captured you.”

Serafina turned to look up into Nathan’s face. The light in his eyes connected to a new light she felt growing within herself.

The process of farewells took a good deal longer than necessary, yet neither of her parents, still seated in the parlor, seemed to mind. Serafina stood in the front hall with Nathan near the front door.

She asked, “Would you care to take the portrait of your mother with you?”

“I could.” He paused, as though the matter required deep deliberation, then said in a low voice, “But if I were to leave it, I would have an excuse to return tomorrow.”

“You do not need an excuse, Mr. Baring.”

His smile required no further words.

“Would you like to take the sketch of you?” Serafina wondered.

“My mother would be utterly delighted to see it. I would very much like to show it to her.”

“I should be grateful if you would take the infant’s portrait with you as well.”

“Do you not care to offer it yourself to the child’s family?”

“I do not know them, nor they me. I should think it may mean more coming from your mother, the family friend who cared enough to suggest it in the first place.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “You are as wise as you are lovely.”

“Thank you. I must—

A faint sound came through the open front door. Only then did she realize she had been hearing it for some time. A carriage of some kind . . .

Nathan stepped outside. Serafina followed and saw the flicker of torchlight. Across the square, a small two-wheeled carriage had pulled up in front of the church, led by horsemen bearing torches. The church’s night watchman stood with his lantern hung from a long pole and addressed the leading horseman. Serafina saw the watchman point across the square to where they stood.

The horseman saw them then, spun his horse about, and shouted a command that carried across the square.

Serafina gathered her skirts and rushed down the stairs and across the night-dampened cobblestones as the horse pounded toward her.
Falconer!

The horseman called out, “You are Miss Gavi?”

“Yes! Where is Falconer?”

In response the man turned and waved the carriage on. Instantly the driver cracked his whip and urged his two horses forward. The other horseman followed close behind.

Serafina and Nathan ran to meet them. Behind her she heard her father’s voice calling from their front door.

The carriage drew up alongside her. Beside the driver sat a woman in a road-stained cloak. The driver was a burly man in a round-brimmed hat and a beard that spilled down over his chest. The woman was lovely despite the fatigue that strained her face. She looked at Serafina for a moment, then simply nodded her head.

Falconer awoke from his fitful slumber wondering what had changed. The absence of constantly dripping rain was as unexpected as it was welcome. Falconer dipped his hands into the water bucket and washed his face. He looked up, and sunlight speared the roof through the same holes where rain had fallen. Dozens of brilliant miniature pillars transformed the jail cell. Falconer stepped to the center of the room, standing in a puddle he had avoided up to now, and lifted his face to the light. He reveled in the blinding light and warmth.

He remained there until the jailer’s keys announced his arrival. “Done turned nice for a change.”

Falconer lowered his head and reached for the Book on his ledge. “I am a man born for waves and wind and infinite horizons. I have wondered if Paul himself ever yearned for earthly freedom while still praising God.”

Carl had taken to stopping by when his shift was over, and again before he started. He came into the cell, dragged over a three-legged stool, and seated himself. “I reckon if a man ain’t tempted, he ain’t strong.”

Falconer found himself chuckling as he sat on the corner of the bunk closest to the cell door.

“I say something funny?”

“No, brother.” Falconer opened the Book to continue their reading from Philippians. “You said something wise.”

Falconer’s greatest sense of freedom came during these times of study. He had no idea how long they had been seated there when the other jailer clanked his way across the brick floor. The other jailer demanded, “Carl, what you still doing here?”