“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?”
“Your wife, she said.”
“That’s right; she’s my wife.” Gabe repositioned his hat, nudging up the brim to make his face more visible. “She’s a good woman with a gentle heart.”
“Fussy as can be, though. She likes usin’ big words and actin’ fancy. I don’t understand what she’s talkin’ about half the time.”
“A really good cook, though.”
The boy nodded. “True enough. I never ate meat as tender as what she puts in my sandwiches. She makes ’em so thick I can hardly open my mouth wide enough to sink my chompers into ’em.”
“She doesn’t want you going hungry.” Gabe rubbed behind his ear. “She wants to take you in, give you a real home, and raise you like you were her own, you know. I told her absolutely not.”
The kid shot Gabe a glare. “Why? You figure I’m not good enough to be around her kind?”
“Pretty much. I bet you’d squeal like a stuck pig if she told you to take a bath.”
“I would not!” The boy pushed at his hair. “My mama made me take baths regular-like, at least once every two weeks, and in between I took whore’s baths.”
Gabe deliberately winced. “There, you see? You talk like a guttersnipe. I was right to tell her no. She’s a lady, and she’s trying to raise her daughter to be one. She can’t have some rough-talking kid in her home. You’d be a bad influence on Laney, for sure.”
“Laney. Is that the fussy little snot with ribbons on her pigtails?”
Gabe almost grinned. “That’d be Laney, only she’s not a snot. Fussy, maybe. Most females are.”
“My mama wasn’t.”
“My mama wasn’t, either. But ladies of the night, like your mama and mine, don’t have much chance to be particular, do they? They lead hard lives, and it’s a challenge just to keep food in their bellies.” Gabe gazed out at the street, watching a couple of wagons pass by. “Somebody in this town ought to start a whore-saving place, some nice building where women like your mama could stay, and even be given money so they could leave this town and try to make a new start. That way they wouldn’t feel the need to take off with some sweet-talking cowpoke and end up in a world of hurt somewhere along the trail.”
“Ha.” The youth shifted and hugged his bony knees. “You go on and do it, mister. All the highfalutin folks in this town would tar and feather you up, then run you out on a rail.”
Gabe chuckled. “Random doesn’t have any rails. I reckon they could tie my ankles to the back of a stagecoach and drag me out of town, though.”
“I doubt it. They’d be afraid of gettin’ shot for their trouble.”
Gabe couldn’t argue the point. Not many people felt inclined to take Gabe on.
“You reckon that’s what happened to my ma? That she ran into a world of hurt?”
The boy’s voice rang with dread, but Gabe also heard a note of resignation. The kid knew his mother would never come back. He was still clinging to a fragile hope because that was all he had. “I’m afraid so, son, though I’m sorry to think it.”
“That cowpoke—he wasn’t no good. He told Mama he loved her. He promised her the moon. Even said once they got settled somewhere, she could come back for me. I tried to tell her he was a lyin’ bastard, but she believed him and went.”
“So what do you plan to do now?” Gabe asked.
The boy rested his chin on his knees. “I haven’t got past waitin’ for her yet. Mama loves me. She’ll come back if she can.” He slanted a look at Gabe. “She’s a good mother. You probably think no whore can be, but if you do, you’re wrong. When she got pregnant with me, the madam where she worked told her to get rid of me before I got born or else she’d lose her job. Mama kept me and ended up on the street.”
Gabe’s heart gave a painful twist. “What’s your name, son?”
“Christopher.”
“Well, Chris, I—”
“It ain’t Chris. You got bad hearin’ or somethin’? My mother named me Christopher, and she held real tight to that. Said it was a proper name, one for me to be proud of.”
“It’s a very proper name,” Gabe agreed. “It has a real important ring. Does it come with a surname?”
�
��Broderick. That came from my mama. She didn’t know for sure who my daddy was.”
“Christopher Broderick,” Gabe mused aloud. “That’s real fine. If I were to invite you to come home with me and spend Christmas with my family, do you think you could clean your mouth up, take a bath, suffer through a haircut, and condescend to wear some new clothes for a few days?”
Christopher favored Gabe with a disgusted look. “That your idea of doin’ a good deed for Christmas? What happens after? Do I get tossed back on the street in my holey clothes to stay under this staircase again until my mama comes back?”
“That would depend on you,” Gabe replied. “I won’t countenance any foul language in the presence of my ladies. Absolutely none, and if you’re inclined to pitch fits, hurting others in the process, I don’t countenance that, either. And if you steal so much as a penny from my wife’s cash drawer, I’ll skin you alive and hang your hide over the back line to dry. Are we pretty clear on what I expect?”
“What, exactly, do you count as foul language?”
Gabe met the boy’s questioning stare. “If you say ‘shit,’ I’ll serve you some on a spoon and make you eat it. If you say ‘hell,’ you’ll think you’re there for a nasty visit. If you say ‘damn,’ I’ll kick your behind so hard your tonsils will ache. Is that exact enough for you?” Gabe waited a beat. “And no calling my daughter a fussy snot, either. You can call her fussy if you’re inclined, but watch out for her right hook.”
Christopher grinned. “Are you really gonna take me home with you?”
“Only if you agree to my terms. And if something happens that I’m no longer around, I want your word, as Christopher Broderick, that you’ll continue to abide by my rules until your mother shows up.”
“Hot damn, what’re we waitin’ for?” The kid scrambled to his feet so fast his head came into contact with the bottom of the staircase. He barely seemed to notice. “You . . . I mean, this is for real? You mean it?”
Walking on Air Page 30
