The house was silent now. Ian felt his heart skip a beat; he felt a light go out inside him, and he was cold. There was a noise from the door and he heard Mason’s footsteps—they were too heavy to be Faith’s. Ian knew she would never come out of the house again.
Storm sensed the man and charged him. Ian watched as Mason dove away and drew his gun. Storm never broke stride as the shots sailed over his back; he just kept running until he disappeared into the darkness.
“Your wife is dead.” Mason was standing over Ian with what was supposed to be a smile on his evil face. “She hit her head on the hearth when I slapped her. She never was any fun at all.”
Mason looked at the barn door. “I heard you had a couple of brats. It sounded like I got both of them with one shot. I guess I should make sure they’re finished. I wouldn’t want any witnesses left to tell the tale.” He started towards the barn.
“No.” Ian felt as if he had screamed it, but all he managed was a whisper.
Mason suddenly froze in his tracks as he heard the distinctive sound of a bullet entering a chamber. He cautiously stepped back towards Ian, his eyes never leaving the door of the barn. “Maybe it’s better revenge to leave them as orphans. I’ve always heard that parents suffers more for their children than for themselves. As for me, I’d never want the nuisance.” He backed away from Ian and mounted his horse. Ian heard the sounds of Mason riding off into the darkness. The darkness was closing in on him, too.
“Dad?” It was Jenny sobbing over him. Her left arm was held at a funny angle, and she was covered with soot and blood.
“Jenny,” Ian managed to get out. “Jamie?”
“He’s hurt—he’s burned, but he’s alive,” Jenny cried. She reached up with her right hand and pushed Ian’s hair out of his eyes.
“You’re so much like your mother. . .” Ian smiled at her. He wasn’t cold anymore, and it didn’t seem to be as dark. Jenny looked towards the dark, silent house. “Do you know that your mother is an angel?” She could barely hear him. “Look, I see her now. She’s waiting for me.” Ian looked beyond Jenny, to where Faith was standing in the light, her arms outstretched towards him, like the angel on the carved box at their bedside. She was smiling, and the light had turned her to silver. He couldn’t wait to be in her arms again, where he belonged. “Faith,” he whispered as his deep blue eyes closed for the last time.
“Dad!” Jenny screamed. She fell against his chest, her hair dragging through the blood that had poured out of his body. His face looked so handsome, almost serene. He couldn’t be dead—he was her father. Her cries filled the night.
Chapter Twelve
Jenny felt sick and dazed from the injury to her arm, and her head swirled with images of the events that had just taken place. She had been in the loft with Jamie playing with the kittens when the stranger had ridden into their yard. They were so absorbed with what they were doing that they had not realized anyone was there until they heard the bizarre sound of Mason’s laughter. Jamie had taken one look out of the loft door and begun to scramble down the ladder to get the rifle. His dad needed help; he did not know who the man was but one look had told him his intentions were not good. A bullet came whizzing into the barn through the boards and struck the lantern hanging on a hook by the ladder. Jamie was just even with the lantern in his descent when it exploded from the impact of the bullet, spraying flaming oil over the left side of his face, down his neck and onto his shoulder and chest. His clothes burst into flame, and he fell screaming from the ladder. Jenny watched in horror from the loft above as Jamie tried to put the flames out by rolling on the floor of the barn. Jenny scrambled down to help, but her usually agile feet got tangled in the dress she still wore and she fell to the floor, landing on her arm, the impact shattering the bone of her forearm. She didn’t even look at her arm, she just threw herself on Jamie’s screaming, squirming body, her dress finally smothering the flames. A sob came out as she raised herself and looked at his blistered, bleeding form. Jamie was blessedly unconscious, but the pain had penetrated his darkened state and he moaned as his sister examined the blackened skin under the tatters of his shirt. Jenny had heard the shots outside, heard her mother screaming, heard Storm giving voice to his fury and the pounding of his hooves. She staggered to her feet and pulled the rifle down from its place on the wall. She crept over to the door and looked through the cracks to see a man standing over her father. She tried to raise the rifle to shoot but couldn’t manage it with her injured arm. She bit her lip and willed her trembling body to stay still as she saw the man start towards the barn. Without even thinking she cocked the rifle, its barrel still pointing into the ground. The man stopped when he heard the sound and backed away from the door. She watched him mount his horse and ride away into the night. As soon as he was gone, she ran to where her father lay.
She was still there, her sobs having given way to exhaustion, when Gray Horse rode into the yard the next morning. He quickly dismounted and pulled Jenny off Ian’s body. The blood from his chest had dried in her hair, and he had to detach her unconscious form from his. A quick look told him that Ian was dead, and he turned his attention to his dear friend’s daughter, who was now stirring in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her face into his bare shoulder when she recognized the sharp features of the Indian. Gray Horse let her cry a bit, then sat her up on the ground before him. Her left arm hung at a funny angle at her side as she pulled up the blackened bloody tail of her dress to wipe her tear-filled eyes.
“Your mother?” he asked.
“Dead, in the house.” A sudden awareness hit Jenny. “Jamie— he’s in the barn. He’s hurt.” She stumbled unsteadily to her feet. Gray Horse sprang up beside her and grabbed her waist as she swayed dizzily. She pushed him away and headed towards the barn. Jamie was lying where she had left him. She fell to her knees beside him and bent over to listen to the sound of his labored breathing. Gray Horse knelt beside her, but one look told him the boy’s injuries were beyond his healing skills.
“Jenny, you must get him to a doctor,” he said. Jenny was looking down at her brother’s blistered face, her hand reaching out to smooth the charred ends of his hair off his forehead. Gray Horse grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. Jenny grimaced as pain shot down her broken arm, and she raised her tear-stained face to look at the best friend her family had. “I can’t help him. He needs white medicine, do you understand?” Jenny looked down at her brother and then past Gray Horse to where her father’s body was lying in the dirt. Gray Horse looked over his shoulder at his friend. “I will take care of your parents. Send someone out to get their bodies.” Jenny nodded at the man’s instructions. “Do you know who did this?”
“I don’t know. It was a man I’ve never seen before. I didn’t get a good look at him, and it was dark.” Jenny wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and nose, smearing the soot even more. “Will Jamie live?”
Gray Horse looked down at Jamie’s burned skin. “I don’t know. It’s in your God’s hands now.” Jamie moaned as they looked down at him. Gray Horse hated to think of the pain the boy must be in. It was good that he was unconscious. He got the buckboard ready for Jenny and then gently laid Jamie in the back.
He wouldn’t let Jenny go in the house. He had seen Faith’s body lying where she had landed against the hearth. The front of her dress was ripped away and there were bruises on her face and arms.
He had found a blanket and used it to help cushion the back of the wagon for Jamie. With the help of Gray Horse, Jenny climbed into the seat and took the reins into her one good hand, the other hanging at a strange angle on her left side. Gray Horse tenderly squeezed her right forearm, and she looked into the dark eyes of her father’s best friend.
“Take the horses and take care of them for us. I don’t want people coming here and helping themselves to our stock,” she instructed him. “Storm has run off. You’ll find him out there somewhere. Take care of him until Jamie can come for him.” She broke in
to a sob at her brother’s name. Gray Horse stood patiently while she talked. He hadn’t seen the children during the long winter, and now he was overcome by how much she had matured in that one season, how much she had grown up in the past few hours.
Gray Horse nodded as Jenny slapped the reins against the backs of the team. The Indian watched the wagon roll out of sight; then he turned to gather up the body of his friend.
When the marshal arrived, he found the freshly washed bodies of Ian and Faith lying side by side on the bed they had shared. Any tracks that might have been left by the killer had disappeared among all the others on the well-used road to town.
The next few days passed in a blur for Jenny. She had told her story to the marshal, her parents had been buried, and decisions had been made for the twins. They were to be sent to the mission orphanage in St. Jo. There were people there who could help the still-unconscious Jamie through his long recovery, and perhaps the two of them would have a better chance of being adopted by someone in a large town. The truth of the matter was that no one was willing to invest the time that Jamie needed for his recovery. It was springtime and everyone’s attention was on the work that needed to be done, not taking care of a young boy who might not recover from his injuries.
The Duncans’ property was forfeited to the bank; there was no way Jamie and Jenny could make the payments on the small balance that was left. Jenny was thankful that the stock was under the care of Gray Horse, she knew her father would be happy about that. Someday they would come back and claim what was theirs. For now, she just needed to make sure Jamie recovered. She wondered briefly about Storm as she rode in the wagon that took them away from their home. She hoped he was still running free, or that Gray Horse had managed to find him. She hated the thought of anyone else having custody of the stallion.
Jenny held the carved box close to her as she watched the doctor and the minister carefully place Jamie in the back of the buckboard that would take them to St. Jo and their new life. He had been given enough morphine to keep him unconscious for the long trip. The marshal had packed their things, Jenny hadn’t been able to stand the thought of going back. She still saw the dead body of her father every time she closed her eyes. The angel box held all the things her mother had thought important, along with the wedding ring that had been taken off her hand before she was buried. Jenny didn’t even look up as the minister drove the wagon out of town. All of her attention was on her brother and the look of pain that crossed his face each time the wagon went over a bump in the road.
The minister counseled Jenny as best he could on the trip. He quoted scriptures and talked about God’s plans. Jenny rode in silence. Too much had happened, she still couldn’t absorb it all. She just prayed with all her might that God would not take Jamie too. They arrived at the mission soon enough and the minister left them in the care of a kind nun and a rather stern-looking priest. The nun, Sister Mary Frances, immediately took over the care of Jamie. Father Clarence, the priest, tried to send Jenny into another part of the mission with one of the younger nuns, but Jenny flatly refused to leave her brother’s side.
“You will soon learn that we do not tolerate this kind of ungodly behavior,” he said to Jenny as he peered over his glasses at her. Jenny was sitting on the edge of Jamie’s bed, her good arm hooked through the headboard.
“I won’t leave my brother,” she told him fiercely.
“We believe here that if you spare the rod, you spoil the child. It is obvious that your parents neglected that part of your upbringing.” The priest looked at Jenny as if she were a hardened criminal. “The sooner you learn the rules here, the sooner you will fit in with the other orphans that God has given into our care.”
Jenny locked her arm tighter around the bed frame. She saw Sister Mary Frances make the sign of the cross and take up her rosary. The priest came around the bed and grabbed Jenny’s arm above the splint and began to squeeze. Jenny grimaced as a pain shot down her arm, and she let go of the bed frame. “We will forgive your indiscretion this time due to the fact that you are new here and have yet to learn the commandments that we live by. Tomorrow we will begin your instruction.”
His face was just inches from Jenny by this time, but she didn’t blink, she just looked up at him with her wide blue eyes, eyes that had seen too much too soon. Something the priest saw in her eyes gave him pause, and he released her quickly. Jenny never said a word, and she never took her eyes off the man until he had left the room.
“Please go with Sister Abigail,” Sister Mary Frances said. “I promise that you can visit your brother.”
“When?” Jenny asked in an assertive tone. The nun’s eyes widened at her voice, but as she looked at Jamie’s bandaged face, she forgave the girl.
“We’ll let you know. Now please go before Father Clarence comes back.”
Jenny looked at the woman, then tenderly pushed Jamie’s hair back off his forehead. She picked up her box and followed the sister to another wing of the mission, taking note of the way. She was led to a large room that was bare of any ornamentation, with cots lined up in rows and a washstand at the end.
Jenny’s mind filled with images of the past as she wearily lay down on a cot and closed her eyes. She saw her father’s grin as he came bouncing up on the porch, full of some story to tell them at dinner. She heard her mother’s laughter ring in her head over some foolishness of her father’s. She felt the wind blowing in her hair as she raced across the prairie on horseback, Jamie at her side. She remembered the good-night kisses her parents gave her and lying in her bed at night, listening to the sound of Jamie breathing across the room and the quiet murmurs of her parents drifting up from below. Tears came out from under the tightly closed lids and trickled down the side of her face.
Jamie felt as if he had been lost for an eternity. He knew he was dreaming, but that knowledge didn’t help him. He was locked inside himself, trying to escape. He could hear his mother calling to him, he knew his father was standing there beside her, but he couldn’t find his way around the flames. They were everywhere. No matter which way he turned, the flames seemed to shoot up and singe him with their heat. The flames were behind him too, licking at his heels, driving him on, but there was no place for him to go. He could hear Jenny crying and calling out to him, but he couldn’t find her. He felt so tired, and he hurt, he couldn’t remember what it was like when he didn’t hurt. He knew there were bandages on his flesh, he knew someone was tenderly ministering to his needs, he felt the cool touch of gentle hands on his body, but he couldn’t find his way through the haze of pain that consumed him. He needed an anchor, a landmark, someone to pull him back. He agonized at the loss he felt within: he felt himself crying, and he felt all the worse for it because he was too old to cry. He was lost.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenny was awakened by the sounds of movement in the room. It took her a few moments to orient herself to her new surroundings; then she remembered. She was in St. Jo, in a mission. Jamie... she needed to go to Jamie. She cautiously looked around the room to find the source of the noise. She saw several small girls taking turns at the washstand. It must be time for dinner, she thought to herself. Her stomach certainly indicated it.
There was a nun standing in the doorway who carefully inspected each set of hands and each face as they were presented to her. She occasionally looked at Jenny to see if she was awake. Jenny didn’t move, she made her breathing steady, willing the nun to leave.
When Jenny heard the procession of girls going down the hall, she went to the door, peering around die frame to see if anyone was about. She didn’t know the workings of the mission yet, but she hoped everyone was at dinner. She quietly made her way back to the infirmary and found Jamie, still as death in his bed. She curled up next to the side of his body that wasn’t burned and put her arm around him. He turned his face towards her.
“Jamie, Jamie, can you hear me?” she whispered, afraid that someone might hear. His mouth moved; he was trying to talk. Jenny
sat up to see him better. “Jamie?” she asked, louder. She bent her head down to his mouth to catch the words he was trying to form.
“Hurts,” he barely whispered.
“I know,” Jenny pushed the ragged ends of his hair off his forehead. “Can you open your eyes? You need to wake up.” She watched the struggle on his face as he tried to fight his way back to the living. “Jamie, wake up, please, I need you.”
“Jenny?” he whispered, a bit stronger now. His eyelids began to flutter, die one on the left minus some lashes from the heat of the flames.
“Come on, Jamie, open your eyes,” Jenny implored him. His blue eyes appeared beneath a crack in the lids. When his eyes swam out of focus, she lowered her face to his and caught his gaze with her own. “Hey,” she said, smiling tenderly at her brother.
“Hey,” he barely managed to get out. “What happened?”
Jenny squeezed back the tears that were threatening to spill out and shook her head against the onslaught of grief that welled up inside her. He didn’t know, she realized. He had been unconscious since it happened.
“You got burned,” was all she said. Jamie weakly lifted his bandaged arm and held his hand to his face for inspection. It was whole, with just a few scabbed places on the back of the palm. He lightly touched the bandages on his face, then trailed his hands down his neck and chest.
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