Walking on Air (30 page)

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m not becoming a better person, honey. I’ve tried to reach the angels, but they aren’t answering. I’m on my own. And none of this seems
right
to me. Making love to you with a lie between us didn’t seem right to me. Letting that dog starve to death didn’t seem right to me. Ignoring that poor boy didn’t seem right to me. And letting that little girl die when I have the power to stop it sure as hell doesn’t seem
right
to me.”

“Perhaps it isn’t for you to second-guess,” she said softly. “We truly shouldn’t question heavenly messengers.”

“Yeah?” Gabe stepped around the bed to get his guns. He bent his head and avoided his wife’s gaze as he strapped them around his hips and anchored the holsters to his thighs. When he finally looked up, she stood with her arms clutched at her waist and tears swimming in her eyes. “She’s such a pretty little girl, Nan, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a cute little button nose. I can’t stay home to bake cookies and let her die before she’s had a chance to experience life. I’ll burn in hell first.”

Nan stood frozen as Gabe circled around her to leave the room. At the door, he stopped with his hand on the knob. “I hate making you cry. For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

She whirled on him, her pale cheeks suddenly slashed with vibrant red, her eyes flashing with anger. “Is it so much for me to ask that my husband do everything within his power during this life to be waiting for me in heaven when my time comes to pass over?”

Standing sideways to the door, Gabe gave her a long look. “That’s just it, Nan. If I let that child die, I won’t be in heaven. I’ll be in a hell of my own making.”

G
abriel’s parting words hung in Nan’s mind much like a song played on one of those newfangled phonographs, only the tune was hauntingly sad.
If I let that child die, I won’t be in heaven. I’ll be in a hell of my own making.
And though Nan wanted to cling to her own opinion and stop her husband from doing something so dreadfully misguided and at such a cost to himself, she also had to admit, deep in her heart, that she understood exactly what he’d been trying to tell her.

All during her morning ablutions, Nan thought about that, asking herself what she would do if she were in Gabriel’s position.
What if it was Laney who was about to die?
Nan wrestled with that question, wondering if she would still ask Gabriel to stay away from the doctor’s office and not intervene if her little sister’s life were the one at stake. And in the end, Nan couldn’t honestly say one way or the other. She adored Laney, but she also deeply loved her husband. He was a wonderful, caring, intensely thoughtful man who deserved a heavenly reward, not eternal suffering.

He was also far too young to die. Nan left the bedroom with a racing heart. Right now Gabriel was still very much alive. If he could alter events simply because he had foreknowledge of them, why couldn’t Nan try to do the same? No angels had whispered in her ear, but she
did
have knowledge of what would happen to her husband just before dawn on Christmas morning.

In the kitchen, Nan decided that she and Laney could breakfast on bread and cheese. Nan had more important things to do besides cook. She took a pencil and a piece of stationery from the secretary in the sitting room and then sat at the long table to draft a letter to her sister. According to Gabriel, the angels could see and hear everything, but Nan doubted that they were watching over her just now. And she wanted to keep it that way. No word could be spoken between her and Laney that might draw attention. Not even so much as a whisper could be uttered.

Nan had just finished writing the missive and folding the paper when she heard Laney’s footfalls coming up the stairs. The girl burst into the room, her cheeks as pink as the artificial tulips Nan had on a shelf downstairs. She tossed her satchel on the floor next to the door and beamed a smile at Nan.

“I had the best time, Mama! Melody’s father got the family a phonograph for Christmas! He took the stage clear to Denver to buy it!” Laney spun in a circle, her skirt whirling at midcalf around her white stockings. “We danced, and we sang! It was so much fun!”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Nan said with a smile. “Have you had any breakfast?”

“Melody’s mother made all of us girls battered toast and eggs. We had maple syrup, too! I’m stuffed!”

Nan started to tell the child that young ladies said, “I am more than sufficiently satisfied,” but all of the rules suddenly seemed trivial. “Mmm, maple syrup. I need to buy some for our table.”

Laney bent to hug Nan’s neck and kiss her cheek. Then she fetched her satchel and dashed to her bedroom. A few minutes later, when the child had finished unpacking and returned to the kitchen, Nan laid a finger over her lips, signaling silence, and pushed the letter across the table.

Laney frowned in bewilderment. “What?”

Nan waved her hand, signaled for silence again, and tapped the paper with her finger, gesturing for Laney to read. The girl gave her another puzzled look, but she obediently sat down and opened the letter. Nan watched the child’s gray eyes shift from left to right as she assimilated the message in its entirety. When finished reading, Laney glanced toward the ceiling and then leaned toward Nan to whisper, “
Champion
idea!”

Minutes later, both Nan and Laney, garbed in their winter cloaks, left the shop. Nan’s task was to visit every business along the far boardwalk of Main. Laney was to work the opposite side. Together they walked to one end of the street, where they parted company to begin their mission. Nan could only hope that her plan worked. If she dared to pray for that, the angels would surely get wind of what she and Laney were up to, and Gabriel would be lost for certain.

•   •   •

By eleven o’clock, Gabe had convinced himself at least a hundred times to hightail it to Nan’s shop and forget his lofty intention to sacrifice himself to save a small child. It was crazy to knowingly embrace eternal damnation. It wasn’t his place to intervene. One man couldn’t save the whole world.

Only, every time Gabe started to abandon his post in front of Peterson’s office, he couldn’t quite make his feet move. He wasn’t trying to save
everyone
, dammit, only one small person in a tiny Colorado town. Maybe his sacrifice today wouldn’t make a hill of beans’ difference, but at least he would die the second time knowing that he had tried. He didn’t want to lie in the street again, with black spots veiling his vision and the breath slowly leaving his body, knowing that his passing would be considered by others to be more a blessing than a tragedy. Not that the little girl would understand the magnitude of what Gabe was doing. Hell, as far as that went, her mother wouldn’t grasp it either.

But I’ll know
,
he assured himself,
and whatever happens later, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better about my time here on earth.

When Rose Wilson rounded the corner onto Oak Street with her daughter in hand, Gabe swallowed hard a couple of times. Damned if he didn’t feel nearly as scared as he had during his first shoot-out. All his instincts told him to run like a scalded dog. But he managed not to budge.

Rose Wilson gave him wary looks as she approached Peterson’s office door. Fearing that she might dash inside the building to avoid him, Gabe stepped between the woman and the doorway. She jerked to a startled stop and pinned a frightened blue gaze on him.
Blue eyes, very like her daughter’s.
It pleased Gabe to note the resemblance. It gave him a picture to hold in his mind of what little Charity might look like when she grew up and had babies of her own.

“Mrs. Wilson, there’s—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I don’t know you, sir, and you’re blocking our way. My little girl has an appointment with the physician, and we’re running late.”

“It’s an appointment you shouldn’t keep,” Gabe told her. “You and I haven’t met, but Doc told me to wait out here to waylay you before you went inside.” It was yet another lie for Gabe, who had seldom uttered falsehoods during his first try at life.
Shit.
Maybe instead of becoming a better person, he was trading one set of bad habits for another. “There’s a contagion going around. It’s hitting the little ones and the elderly really hard, and because of your daughter’s weak heart, Doc thinks it’s a bad idea for her to be exposed. He says he’ll drop by your house as soon as he can. That way Charity won’t be around all those people”—Gabe gestured toward the waiting room—“inside who are sick. Doc has no proof of it, but he believes that contact with sick people spreads this kind of illness.”

Rose Wilson retreated a step and flicked a worried glance at the closed door. “Dr. Peterson told you this?” She looked up at Gabe. “I don’t get out very much. My husband mentioned that a contagion was going around, but he never indicated that I should skip Charity’s weekly exam with Dr. Peterson because of it.”

Gabe was just happy that his lie had eased the woman’s mind. Apparently, however much he felt that he’d changed on the inside over the last month, he still looked meaner than a snake on the outside. The little girl peered wide-eyed up at him, and he smiled down at her. She pressed her head against her mother’s coat, peeked at him again, and giggled. Gabe’s smile widened into a genuine grin.

“Maybe your husband didn’t think about it. A write-up about the contagion was on the front page of this week’s paper, a headline in bold type so it really stood out. I guess maybe you missed it?”

“We don’t buy the paper,” she replied.

Judging by her worn cloak and the faded hem of her dress, Gabe guessed the Wilsons couldn’t spare the coin. “Well, it’s lucky that Doc asked me to wait out here for you then,” Gabe replied. “If you take Charity inside, he’s afraid she’ll come down sick with this ailment, and it’s a dangerous one.”

“My husband mentioned that a couple of old people died.”

“More than a couple,” Gabe corrected. “Even Mrs. Barker, the lady who used to own the milliner’s shop, is dead.”

Rose Wilson retreated another step, tugging her daughter along with her. “I’m sorry to hear that, and thank you for the warning,” she said. “It was good of you to wait out here, especially in this cold without a coat.” She turned to go and then stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

Gabe tipped his hat. “Gabriel Valance, ma’am, and pardon me for my lack of good manners. I should have introduced myself.”

She smiled shyly. “I shall tell my husband of your kindness, Mr. Valance. He stocks shelves for Mr. Redmond at the general store. If you stop by there tomorrow, perhaps he can arrange for you to receive a small discount on a purchase.”

“No need for that,” Gabe assured her. “I’m pleased to have been of help.”

Gabe watched as Rose Wilson scurried along the boardwalk with her daughter. He felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off his chest. He took a deep breath of the crisp, cold air.
What is it about women and coats?
He shook his head, wondering at the differences between males and females. Then he turned to enter the physician’s waiting room.

The place was packed with sick people, standing room only. Gabe wove his way through the throng, fleetingly worried about getting sick himself, and then silently laughed at the irony. If he caught the contagion, it would have to work fast to beat the bullet he was destined for. A harried, gray-haired woman in a brown dress stood before the closed door of what Gabe guessed was the treatment room. She looked to be about Doc’s age. In one hand she held a small writing board, and in the other a pencil poised over the paper. Head bent, she went over a list, scratching things out and adding at the bottom. Gabe assumed she was the doctor’s wife and that she was keeping track of which patient’s turn it was.

“Mrs. Peterson?”

Her gold-rimmed spectacles had slipped to the end of her nose, so when she glanced up, she stared at him myopically. “Yes?”

“My name’s Gabriel Valance. I’m married to Nan over at the hat shop.”

Mrs. Peterson smiled wearily. “Ah, Mr. Valance. The good doctor mentioned meeting you. He came away with a high opinion of you, I must say.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Gabe replied. “Listen, I didn’t drop in to pester you when you’re clearly so busy. I just happened to run into Rose Wilson outside. She was about to bring Charity in for her weekly appointment. Given the girl’s weak heart, I didn’t think Doc would want her in here with all these sick folks, so I warned Mrs. Wilson away. Doc told me that he believes illness is spread from person to person and that this sickness is hitting the little ones and the old people really hard. Charity is probably frailer than most children her age.”

Mrs. Peterson winced. “Oh, dear, how
right
you are, Mr. Valance! My husband wouldn’t wish for Charity to be here. She’s so very fragile! I should have thought to get a message over to Rose myself, but I’ve been . . . well, extremely busy, and I just didn’t think of it.” She seemed to wilt before Gabe’s eyes, like a picked flower left too long in the sun. “It’s my job to keep track and make other arrangements for patients like Charity.” She pressed the hand holding the pencil over her heart. “It’s just that so
many
are sick. I’ve barely had time to think. I’m so glad you warned Rose away. If something were to happen to that precious child because I failed to . . . Well, I’d simply never forgive myself.”

“Can you ask Doc to stop by the Wilson place when he has a chance?” Gabe asked.

Mrs. Peterson jotted a note to one side of the patient list. “I certainly shall.” She sent Gabe another strained smile. “It is God’s work that you did out there. It settles in the chest, you know. My husband keeps telling people to stay home, or if they must go out, to wash their hands thoroughly after shopping, but very few listen. His belief about how illnesses are spread hasn’t been proven, and most people think he’s gone a little dotty.”

Gabe left the waiting room feeling as if he were walking on air. And, he thought with wry amusement, he was one of the few people on earth who actually knew how that felt.
God’s work.
As he strode along Oak Street toward Main, he grinned broadly. Maybe in hell he’d get to perch on a fire-warmed rock and wouldn’t have to stand with his feet in the flames. At the corner, he stopped to pull his watch from his pocket. Not yet noon.
Maybe he’d be home in time to help Nan and Laney make cookies.

As he passed the saloon, Gabe was picturing how gorgeous the tree would look tonight with lighted candles on it. He felt as excited as he imagined a small child might.
Christmas.
It was such a special time of year, and he was about to experience it firsthand. Well, not all of it. He’d miss Christmas Day. But he damned sure meant to enjoy the bits that he could.

His feet dragged to a stop in front of the brothel stairway. His chest tightened. Then he thought,
Why the hell not? In for a penny, in for a pound.
He took a sharp left and ducked under the stairs.

The boy huddled in the corner. Gabe saw that he now wore new boots, compliments of Nan, but from the ankles up, the kid was a sorry sight. He shrank into the corner formed by the two exterior walls. Nan’s pretty quilts, which he’d been keeping warm with, were now even dirtier than he was.

“If you’re gonna shoot me, take careful aim,” the youth said loudly. “I don’t want no slug in my kidney, either.”

Gabe realized that the boy had witnessed his confrontation in the street with the aspiring gunslinger. That led Gabe to wonder what other awful things he had seen. He was hiding right in the middle of the devil’s playground, and what he hadn’t actually witnessed, he’d probably overheard.

“I’ve never shot anybody who didn’t try to shoot me first.” Gabe sat with his back to the clapboard siding, about three feet from the kid. He said nothing for a moment, and when he did speak, he weighed his words carefully. “You know that nice lady who brings you food and bought you the boots?”