Trail Angel (39 page)

Josey had no interest in going there. He retraced his steps, calculating how far his valley lay between the two towns. The dream still was buried in his brain somewhere, drawing him to this place of grassy hills and gurgling water.

The wagons caught up late in the day. Lord Byron drove the front wagon, waving his hat in greeting. Josey looked for riders but didn't see Annabelle. He'd heard she had taken to riding off on her own during the days. He understood the solace of solitude.

“I thought you'd done got yourself lost,” Byron said when Josey rode up.

“Not like I didn't try.”

Byron smiled. “I thought we'd camp here for the night. Leave the hills for tomorrow.” He always seemed to know Josey's mind.

Josey looked past him to the row of wagons. “No trouble today?”

Again, Byron anticipated the true source of his curiosity. “She rode off ahead. I thought you might have come across her on that hill.”

“I didn't.” Josey wasn't used to Annabelle riding off alone. “Which horse did she take?”

“She took
mine,
” Byron said. His gap-toothed grin showed he didn't mind. “She said you killed hers.”

“Hers? I tried once to give her that horse. She didn't want it.”

He intended the remark as a joke, but nothing sounded funny to him. He watched the drivers maneuver their wagons into a corral without guidance. Many of them waved his way or called out a hello, but they stayed at their work.

While they unhitched the teams, Josey retraced his path to the hilltop, where the green land spread before him like folds in a bed comforter. Josey imagined he could see all the way to Omaha.
How far had it been?
Measuring the journey in terms of distance or days seemed insufficient. His whole life stretched out behind him in miles and months too many to count.

The laughter of the women and children gathering wood for cook fires drifted to him as Josey turned away. Nestled in the next valley was his favorite spot, a wide grassy field split by a stream with water so cold a man would never need ice, far enough from Bozeman and Virginia City that few would come here by accident. A horse grazing beneath a wide-canopied tree that shaded a bend in the stream surprised him.
Who else knows of this place?
He found his binoculars and looked again.

The late-afternoon sun reflected off the water and cast a white glare that dazzled his eyes. Shielding the light from his glasses he made out a form, a shadow against the glare, seated near the water beneath the tree.

The shadow rose. Even in silhouette, he knew her. Her back was to him as she watched the water play across the round stones in the riverbed. His eyes burned after looking so long in the light, and tears blurred his vision. The sunlight reflecting off the water created a glow around the outline of her body, the way artists drew angels in church paintings.
Dark and bright.
She had both in her, too.

He could go to her. He could tell her that's how he saw her. He could tell her a thousand other things that filled his head all the long days he lay in the wagon hoping she would come to him. But she hadn't come.
Wasn't that enough of a message?
If he let her go now, he wouldn't have to see the cloud in her eyes as she wondered if the dark in him might one day turn against her. He wouldn't have to see the regret or, worse, the fear, cutting through him more skillfully than any bullet ever had.

He watched her until the sun dropped behind the mountain. A final ray, like a pinprick of starlight, winked and disappeared. In the shadow that remained, a snow-cooled breeze descended upon the valley and surrounding hills. Josey shivered and imagined he saw her do the same. She moved to the horse. She would be leaving this place soon. Josey had to decide.

Riding off in search of another opportunity would always be easier than setting about the hard work of building something. Moving among strangers would always be easier than living with the hurt he caused those closest to him. Imagining all the things he could tell her would always be easier than saying them. Courage is easy at a distance. She was here before him, she and everything he wanted. All he had to do was get close.

Derek Catron
was born in Alexandria, Virginia, and divided his childhood between Detroit, Cincinnati, and Orlando. He's backpacked throughout the West and spent part of one summer camping along the emigrant trail to Montana. An award-winning investigative reporter and feature writer, Derek lives in Florida with his wife and daughter.
Trail Angel
is his first novel. Read more about the author and
Trail Angel
at
derekcatron.com
.