Chapter 19

© Copyright 2009 by Elizabeth Delayne



To the east, the sky had opened up in golds and pinks that spread out from the ends of the earth like wings of a bird.

How priceless is your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings.

For Rachel, James prayed as he headed south. Keep her in your wings.

His heart trembled, for it knew death. It had held onto death, when he’d needed to live. And he knew it wasn’t enough. He knew it was a dark, cold place when one walked with it on earth.

He concentrated on the cadence of Belle underneath him, of the majestic movement of the horse. He wanted to feel alive.

I long to dwell in your tent forever and take refuge in the shelter of your wings.

I need your shelter

And even so, her name was on his lips—even as the wagon came into view.

Closer. It seemed to take so long to get closer.

The wind picked up just enough to lift the dust and dirt, it swirled gently around. And then, there she was, bloodied and bruised, crumpled on the ground where she must have walked.

Until she’d collapsed.

Was it him shouting? His voice echoing against the western wind?

He clamored off of his horse, reached for the still form.

Reached for his Rachel.

His hands shook. His lips trembled. He saw the cut, long and harsh on her pale cheek. He saw the bruises, the fatigue.

“Rachel.”

He knew the mark. Could see it on the man’s face in his mind, like a flash of lightening, even as he drew her still form against his chest.

“Rachel,” he murmured, pressing his dry lips to her caked hair. “My darling.”

She was so still. Breathing, but still.

He glanced up, saw the silhouette of the Judge looking down at them from atop his horse.

“Get her back to town,” he said, a crack in his voice. He took his canteen, draped the strap over the horn of James’ saddle. “Get her some water when she wakes. Get her to town … tell them …”

James could not see his face, did not know his thoughts, but he felt the Judge study Rachel.

“Tell them,” he drew up his reins, “what you know.”

Then he raised his wrists and turned his horse to follow the trail.

James let out a breath and looked at Rachel. “Darling,” he said again, as he lowered her back so he could see her face.

Relief cascaded through him when her eyes cracked open.

Eyes … so full of life.

Still his Rachel.

“James,” she reached up a trembling hand, her fingers touched—ever so gently—his face.

“My darling,” he struggled to see her around the tears. “I love you.”

A hint of a smile trembled on her lips, echoed in her eyes. She closed them, briefly, then looked at him again.

“Matt?”

“Waiting on you.”

“Take me home.”

* * *

Delirium.

When Rachel awoke again it was to feverish muttering. She talked to her sister, to her mother, then to Mrs. Petterson. She was in Chareston, then in Lenox. She tried to get up to get ready for school.

She asked if the mail had come.

The latter made James smile a little, but it did nothing for his heart. Not married to her, he was not allowed to sit with her more than a few minutes–and even that was when the doctor’s wife took pity on him.

Millie stayed in Cartersville, thanks to a church with parishioners that had openned up a few homes for them. James went to the borrowed home at night, awoke in the morning to help with a few of the chores, then headed back into town.

Three days past. She seemed to be sinking deeper into fever. Matt stayed with Millie in the home that had been offered to her. They came to town for a few hours in the morning and then again in the afternoon.

James just stayed. He had nothing to do in Cartersville. Only a scattering of aquaintances from the church who dropped by to check on him and Miss. Lynne. Courtesy calls. Moments to pray. For once they focused him–kept him from slipping deeper into fear.

The posse returned. Shatler and his men had disappeared. The Judge stayed gone an extra day, but returned on the third afternoon of James’s vigil.

James was sitting alone on the front steps of the boarding house where he had been offered a few free meals over the last few days. He held his hat in his hands. Repeated verses in his head, over and over.

Then he would close his eyes. His head would drop. He didn’t have the strength to remember all the way through another one. And he would pray that.

The process would start all over again.

The Judge rode up on his horse, slid down from his saddle. James watched him, saw the weariness and sorrow in his eyes. He took off his hat, held it in both hands.

He said nothing, not at first, simply sat down on the step beside James. He blew out a breath.

“How long’s he been doing this? Robbin’ towns, ridin’ free like this?”

The Judge shook his head. “Hadn’t pin pointed it to any man before now. I think I could place him at several ... disturbance over the last few years. Maybe even to a few murders.”

“Then why is he still out there?” James bit off, his fingers curled into his hat.

“Until now, we just knew it was the same man. No name. He was careful.”

“And now he leaves a witness? Doesn’t seem careful.”

“Personality like his,” the Judge mused, “must be tired of anonymous success, even if it is on the wrong side of the law. He wants people to know. He left her alive to tell his story.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

The Judge hesitated. His fingers fleced on his hat, his jaw worked out the words. “I don’t know. My guess ... he’ll find someone else to tell his story. Coming back to punish, to finish off the job ... I don’t know. I don’t know if it would be worth it to him.”

“So she lives with this the rest of her life,” he spit out. “In fear. Looking over her shoulder. With the scar. Her face ... the doc says ...”

The Judge nodded. There was nothing he could say.

“Mr. Forester.”

At the female voice, the two men stood from the porch and faced the doctor’s apprentice that had walked across the street to meet them.

“Your Miss—your lady friend. The doc sent me—she’s awake sir.”

James let out a breath. Found he couldn’t breath in.

“She’s awake.”

“Fever broke this mornin’. Doc says she’s fine. Weak, he said, but fine.”

James took a step, his hands trembled on his hat. He looked back. “My son—“

”I’ll find him,” the Judge put a hand on James’s arm, all but pushed him forward. “Go.”



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