With Endless Sight

by Allison Pittman

  I opened my eyes to the muted darkness under the covers and remained still, listening to heavy footsteps move around the room. There was a thud of something heavy being thrown onto the table and the thunk of wood being tossed into the stove. A fire in the afternoon must mean a reason for celebration. I pulled the top of the covers down just far enough to peek.

  Even with his back turned to me, I knew this wasn’t Laurent. This man took up so much more space, made so much more noise. A long, black coat stretched over broad, thick shoulders, and his bare head was covered in straight, closely shorn hair. The simple act of putting on coffee was a matter of rattles and bangs laced with intermittent curses.

  I knew this voice.

  I covered my head again and tried to stop breathing.

  A chair scraped across the floor and creaked when he apparently sat on it. More rustling and rattling, then a match was struck and the room soon smelled of sweet tobacco. The chair scraped again, and footsteps fell heavy on the floor. Even through the covers I could feel the blast of cold air as the door opened. The footsteps walked back in and over to the shelf, then stood there, still. Then they were here, so close to me I flattened myself against the cot and prayed for God to make me small enough to disappear.

  Somewhere, outside, my name was winding its way up the mountain, coming out of the trees.

  “Belindaaaaaa!”

  The covers above me were gathered up and pulled away, and then there was deep, rumbling laughter. I saw Laurent grasping the doorway, bent over, fighting for breath. He lifted his head and found my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, even as the covers were thrown to the floor.

  Laurent looked at the man standing over me. “Didn’t expect to see you till spring, Hiram.”

  “Well, little brother, maybe spring came early. Besides,” he crouched down, eye level with me, “looks like you’ve had enough here to keep you warm.”

  “Get away from her.” Laurent wedged himself between Hiram and me. “I mean it. You’re not to lay a hand on her.”

  “Relax,” Hiram said, almost on the verge of laughter. “Where’d she come from?”

  Don’t tell him, I screamed inside my head.

  “That stagecoach,” Laurent said. “Them people we killed was her folks.”

  “Ah.”

  Hiram stood up and went to the table, where he rummaged through his bags and found a bottle of whiskey. He poured a generous amount into one of our cups and held it out to Laurent, who shook his head.

  “And that, Brother, turned out to be a complete waste of time.” Hiram took a long drink and narrowed his eyes, holding out the cup to point to Laurent. “But I get a feeling you knew it would be.”

  Laurent bent low, bringing his face close to mine, and whispered, “It’s goin’ to be fine. I promise you. You’re safe.”

  “Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s rude to be whispering in a corner? Ah, look who I’m talking to—the man that can’t stand the thought of any human company. Apparently at least not till now—”

  “I’m warnin’ you, Brother.” Laurent stood to face him.

  Hiram threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa, there. Don’t get me wrong. I’d never deny you your right to a little company. Matter of fact, did you know that not ten miles from here, up at Silver Peak, there’s the sweetest little whorehouse run by a—”

  In one swift motion, Laurent unsheathed his hunting knife and, after knocking the whiskey cup out of Hiram’s hand, laid Hiram out on the table, pinning him there with his forearm, holding the knife to his throat.

  “Not another word, understand?” Laurent said, panting with the effort. “I’ll kill you here.”

  “Stop it!” I was out of my bed and at Laurent’s side, my hand on his arm. “You’re not a killer.”

  “Well, that’s true enough,” Hiram said. “He’s about as worthless at that as he is everything else.”

  The blade—the same one that had once been held against my throat—trembled in Laurent’s hand.

  “Saw your horse down there,” Laurent said, not relaxing a bit. “You go on away from here now, or tomorrow mornin’ we’re takin’ it—just the girl and me.”

  “That all you want, little brother? All this for a horse?”

  If his light reply was intended to make Laurent relax, it didn’t work. If anything, Laurent bore down harder and held the knife steadier.

  “Fine,” Hiram said at last. “Take it.”

  Laurent slowly stood straight and resheathed his knife. Hiram stood too, rubbing the spot between his ribs where Laurent’s elbow had pinned him to the table. All this time, Hiram’s thin cigar had lain smoldering on the cabin floor. He bent over, picked it up, tapped off the excess ash, and put it back in his mouth.

  I don’t know if it was the proximity of my father’s killer, the previous excitement, or my temporarily forgotten hunger, but suddenly the floor seemed very unstable, and my feet and legs turned to liquid. Laurent’s arms caught me just on the verge of collapse and held me standing against him.

  “Hold on there.” Hiram’s voice maintained that irritating thread of near laughter. “Doesn’t look like she’s going to be fit to travel anytime soon.”

  “I’m fine.” I gathered my strength. “Your cigar’s making me sick is all.”

  Hiram laughed, expelling more smoke. “Well, I’m truly sorry if this is going to ruin your appetite, because I think you both could use a little beefing up. You look like you died a week ago and forgot to fall over.”

  “Been a long winter,” Laurent said, his voice controlled. “Now it’s over.”

  “So it is,” Hiram said. “Now, I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m starving. You are, of course, welcome to join me. I only brought enough for two, but she looks little—a bit too little, Brother, if you ask me. But I’m not one to judge—”

  “Just shut up right there, Hiram. You don’t say nothin’ disrespectful to her. Or about her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hiram said with exaggerated courtliness.

  By now the fire Hiram had built up in the stove had warmed the room, and he made a grand production of taking off his coat and hanging it on the peg before going to the table, rubbing his hands together, and tearing into the packages.

  “To start, I’ve got a nice venison sausage.” Hiram held up several links. “Then a nice round of sourdough bread, some coffee, some whiskey,” he winked, “and some beans. Though it looks to me like you all might have had your fill of these already.”

  Neither of us spoke. Just the sight of the meat caused my mouth to water. But then I looked at the man who held it, the malicious glint in his eye, the cruel smile stretched beneath his mustache, and even the imagined savory taste of the venison turned rancid.

  “No, thank you,” I said before turning and going back to sit on my cot.

  Behind me I heard Hiram say he was going to go outside and enjoy a little nature while Laurent and I came to an understanding. Then Laurent was sitting on the cot with me, his hand on my shoulder, leaning close to whisper.

  “You got to eat somethin’, Belinda.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Just to build up your strength. I know I got to. Can’t ride like we need to like this.”

  “I said I’m fine. I won’t touch anything that comes from him.”

  “I can understand that, but food’s food. It ain’t got no sense of evil to it.”

  “But he does.”

  A winter’s worth of isolation had numbed much of my pain, and there were times I was ashamed of how long I’d gone without dwelling on the memories of all I’d lost. But seeing this man again brought me back to that moment, huddled in Phoebe’s arms, hearing that shot. And I hated him.

  “Think on it, Belinda,” Laurent said. “When it all comes down, he ain’t no worse than me.”

  “There’s nothing the same between you two. He’s not sorry! He doesn’t even care.”

  “Maybe he just ain’t had a chance to y
et. Now, you want to stay here and starve to death? Or you want to get down off this mountain and leave Hiram up to God?”

  I looked down at the floor, refusing to answer.

  “Remember, he’s got bread. We can say that prayer right again. I figure we dole that out, take a few days to get our strength back, and—”

  “No!” I spun around to face him. “No few days. You told him we would leave tomorrow!”

  “But it might be best to wait just one day to—”

  “No! It’s always one day. Then another day and another. Tomorrow!” I felt the tears gathering in my eyes, and my voice was growing hoarse with the effort not to scream.

  He smiled. “Will you eat, then?”

  “Yes.”

  The joy and relief I felt at the thought of leaving this place lasted only as long as it took for me to realize that I might never see this man again. A tiny pocket of fear opened up, and even though I was sitting just a breath away, looking into his soft brown eyes, I began to miss him.

  “Where are we going to go?” I said.

  “Someplace to get you started home.”

  “What about you?”

  “Same thing.”

  21

  There’s something wonderful about going to sleep on a full stomach. That last night in the cabin, I slept like a little candlewick that had just been snuffed out. Laurent cooked the sausage with beans and added the last bit of our flour to make a thick, rich stew. I sat at the table all the time it bubbled on the stove, growing further and further away from my initial misgivings as the warmth of the stove and the aroma of the meal worked to soothe my troubled spirit. Behind me, on the other cot, Hiram slept, having complained about riding through the night to reach his brother.

  “You just sleep then,” Laurent had said, and he seemed relieved to be rid of Hiram’s presence for awhile.

  In the meantime, we sat, our spirits and bodies buoyed with fresh coffee and bread, and resumed our long-abandoned card game, whispering our bets and raises, not wanting to stir the evil on the cot. At the final hand, I was up twenty-seven beans, and declared myself the winter winner.

  Hiram roused himself just as our supper was ready to eat. He and Laurent waited until I had eaten my fill—which I thought might mean the entire pot but in the end turned out to be less than one full bowl—before they would sit down together. After taking a final bite of meat and soaking the last of my bread in the rich broth, I made my way to the bed, so full and warm and excited about the next day’s journey, I wasn’t sure I’d make it across the floor. Of course I did, but my eyes were closed before I’d even brought my feet up, and I fell asleep without pulling up the covers.

  Neither man was inside the cabin when I woke up, even though the light coming through the window said it wasn’t quite dawn. I bounded out of bed and over to the washbasin, which had been unused for weeks. Now it was full, the water not quite ice cold, with a clean towel folded next to it.

  I felt for the first time in months like a normal girl ready to face a normal day, and I rolled up my sleeves and splashed water on my face. I didn’t want to think about my hair, even as I felt my scalp crawling with dirt and oil, but I took Laurent’s comb and raked it across the top of my head. I plaited my hair in two long braids and tied them with fabric strips torn from the red flannel shirt I used to sleep in. Finally, I slipped my feet out of the rabbit-skin moccasins and sat down to pull on my boots, feeling my feet rebel against the confines of the leather.

  When I walked to the stove, the sound of my heels against the wooden floor was so surprising, I looked over my shoulder to be sure I was alone. Once there, I poured myself a cup of coffee and tore off a hunk of the bread to dunk in it. Short of our last Christmas supper, nothing had ever tasted so delicious.

  The second surprise of the morning came when I opened the door to step outside. I almost turned right around to escape the blinding glare of the sun, but the pure, genuine warmth on my face was too enticing. The snow on the ground was soft and wet and made a slushing sound as I walked through it. We hadn’t had a fresh snowfall in days, and what surrounded the cabin was mixed with mud. Everything sounded different. Perhaps it was the absence of the ever-blowing wind, because today the air was thin and still. In the dead of winter, the world felt thick and muffled, but this morning I sensed I was being set free from an oppressive grip. I took in a deep breath of it, then another.

  I walked around the cabin looking for Laurent, but he was nowhere to be seen. Most likely he was with Hiram checking on the horse, and the thought of it brought a bubbling of joy.

  Getting off this mountain. Leaving Hiram to God.

  I went back inside just long enough to grab my coat—smiling at the fact that I would only need one—and left again, closing the door behind me.

  It was hard to believe that even yesterday this walk would have been impossible, and I pushed down any sense of fatigue, telling my legs and my feet that they were just fine. The walk would be worth the sacrifice.

  I wasn’t sure if I would be able to find the grave; the winter snows would have certainly erased all traces of it. But Laurent had erected a sturdy wooden cross at its head, and as I came up over the final small hill, it beckoned to me, straight and tall, if a little weathered. He had also marked the grave itself with large stones, and I could see the shape of them mounded beneath their winter covering.

  Phoebe.

  I had no grave to visit in honor of my parents, but the grandness of this one sufficed for all three. It had as a backdrop the majesty of a mountain; as its covering, untainted white snow. There were no strangers bordering this final resting place, no sea of names carved in stone. Just one wooden cross, standing in the midst of so much purity.

  The softness of the snow hid the sound of his footsteps. It wasn’t until I heard his voice that I knew this sanctuary had been invaded.

  “What did you do to my brother?”

  I didn’t want to turn around. I kept my eyes trained on the mountain rising across the valley and tried to force myself to be calm. At least until Laurent got here. Instead, I was thrown into a panic as Hiram grabbed my arm and spun me around, holding me so tightly I felt my arm would be crushed to powder.

  “Let go of me,” I said.

  Perhaps being so near Phoebe gave me a bit of her courage. When he complied, I was proud of myself. But the next moment, my face exploded in pain from the shattering blow of his fist, and I landed on the ground, right on top of Phoebe’s grave. I looked up. He blocked the sun.

  “What did you do to him?” I asked, knowing Laurent would never let Hiram be alone with me like this.

  “Nothin’ I ain’t done a hundred times before,” he said. “Brothers fight, you know. But this time—” Hiram bent over and grabbed the front of my coat and hauled me to my feet, bringing his face within inches of mine. “He’s got some crazy idea that he’s going to go to the law and turn himself in. Did you know that?”

  I didn’t. We’d never talked about what Laurent’s future held, but it didn’t surprise me either. He’d reconciled himself to God; it only made sense that he would want to reconcile himself to the law as well. Actually, I was proud, and I guess some of it must have registered on my face, because Hiram hit me again, knocking me back to the ground. This time he threw his weight on top of me and grasped my throat in one hand. I couldn’t scream.

  “And if he goes to the law, how long do you think it will be before they come for me? Huh? He’d probably lead them right to me.”

  Bits of spittle frothed at the corners of his mouth and flew in my face. He emphasized his words by jerking my throat, slamming my head into the snow.

  Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? My breath was crushed within me under Hiram’s weight. My head and heart cried out to God, and I must have somehow voiced my plea because the sound of my prayer brought Hiram to a new state of fury.

  “Don’t you pull that on me,” he said.

  To my relief he let go of my throat and rolled off me to sit i
n the snow while I remained on the ground, gasping for breath.

  “That’s the other thing, him spouting on about God and forgiveness and such. You worked some kind of spell on him, little girl. You took my brother away, and it’s going to be the end of me.” He gave a low, bitter laugh and gazed out across the canyon. “Guess it’s natural, though. Being stuck out here and all. It’s bound to make a man crazy, make him think crazy things. Maybe even do some crazy things.”

  His voice changed then, became slow and soft as he turned his head to look at me again. “Maybe you just have a way with you, little girl. Though you’re not so little, are you?”

  He was above me again, his knees sinking into the snow on either side of my legs. Even though his hands were nowhere near my throat and his body wasn’t touching mine, I felt myself once again unable to breathe. Unable to scream. Above me he blocked out the sun and the sky, becoming one looming shadow speaking dark things. About me. About my body.

  Then I felt my skirt being lifted away. His hand between my legs, wedging them apart.

  Oh, God! No!

  And then he was down upon me again, my body shot through with pain. Hiram buried his face in my neck, and I opened my eyes, staring straight into the sun, thinking if I could see it, God could see me. I begged. Begged Hiram to stop. Begged God to save me.

  “Belinda!”

  Hiram was spewing such ugliness into my ear I could hardly believe what I’d heard. But then I heard it again, my name called out with such anguish I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Belinda!”

  Within seconds, though, I was flooded in light as Hiram’s body was torn away from mine. I looked up and saw Laurent, his face obscured by a trickle of blood that had been left unchecked.

  “You get away from her!”

  Hiram had been thrown to a pile beside me in the snow, and he sat there, panting like a dog before slowly rising to his feet.