Grace of a Hawk

by Abbie Williams

  “It is indeed,” I agreed, resting my forehead briefly against Trapper’s warm neck, an age-old habit, a seeking of comfort in the familiar scent of animal hide. I dearly missed my Fortune but had grown fond of the mule in his own right, a creature I’d found to be far less stubborn than most horses I’d ever known.

  “Let’s ride!” Malcolm enthused, heeling Aces, his arms secure about Cora, tucked before him on the saddle.

  I climbed atop the wagon seat, disengaged the brake, and slapped the reins over Trapper’s rump. Malcolm and Cora rode ahead, keen-eyed under the gold dust of the morning sun, but for a spell Royal stayed abreast of the wagon.

  “I intend to wire the Turnbull family in Kansas, inquiring after Virgil’s current location, first thing,” Royal said as though thinking aloud; we’d spoken often of our plans upon arrival in St. Paul and I was well aware of his intentions, but he was the sort that preferred to mull aloud in this fashion. “We know the man named Johnston was killed but the others remain unfortunately at large. Further, we must suppose they have been made aware of the fact that you and your brother, and indeed my niece, remain alive. That is, if Hoyt Little has made contact with them.”

  We figured this for a certainty; Royal and I had taken turns with guard detail, trading off each night of our journey, and we both remained armed at all hours. I remembered all too clear the day I’d first crossed paths with one of the Littles, Bill with his scarred face, and the words were bitter in my mouth as I acknowledged, “The Littles are bad seeds all around, I reckon. Grady said as much the first night I met him, back in St. Paul. I knew I shoulda taken it upon myself to kill Hoyt at the fort, I knew it that very morning.”

  “Now, Carter, let us refrain from such violence if possible. Justice will be served, and served well, I will see to it. I am a man of no small reputation and wealth, and I refuse to be ignored in any matter, let alone one as criminal as this.” Royal adjusted his hat, shoulders lifting with a sigh. “Though I would never confess such in the presence of my wife, I am not above admitting I would glean a fair amount of satisfaction from firing upon Turnbull, watching the light go from his eyes. The puny, one-handed bastard, daring to tell such lies to my face when he is but a murdering coward of the lowest order.”

  I thought of everything I had to lose as I admitted, “I wouldn’t mind seeing him die, myself. Let’s hope it ain’t at our hands.”

  We did not stop to build a fire or take a meal, impatient to reach our destination before nightfall. A quickening in my blood made it insufferable to remain stationary as the hours of the day burned past; I longed to jump to the ground, knowing I could run much faster than the ponderous flatbed. I yelled after Malcolm to take a turn driving Trapper but the boy pretended not to hear and heeled Aces, he and Cora racing for the horizon. I rolled my eyes heavenward, muttering about how I would thrash his misbehaving hide. Royal too had deserted the wagon, riding ahead, every inch as twitchy as me; at least he was able to travel faster than a plodding walk. As the evening advanced I peered over my shoulder at the western horizon, taking a moment’s pleasure in the blaze of bright orange present there, letting the auburn rays bathe my face.

  I heard approaching hoofbeats seconds before Malcolm shouted, “We seen the town!” Aces reached the wagon and Malcolm turned the chestnut in a neat circle, bringing them abreast. Excitement rolled from him as he extended his right arm to indicate. “Just beyond yonder rise, Boyd!”

  “Where’s Royal?” I asked, arching to stretch my back, ordering Trapper, “C’mon, boy, gidd-up!”

  “He rode ahead at a clip now that we’s so close, said to tell you he’d meet us at the sheriff’s office.” Malcolm squeezed Cora with his left arm, kissing her cheek. “We made it. We made it here!”

  “Stick near.” I fixed the boy with my sternest eyebrows.

  My heart took up a swift thumping as the first structures came into view on the horizon. We approached from a southwesterly angle while twilight claimed the landscape by inches; I heard the river and thought I must be imagining the sound of a harmonica tinkling through the gray light to my ears. A few hundred yards ahead I spied the glint of a cookfire to the right of the trail; the music seemed to be coming from this camp. As we neared I made out the shapes of two covered wagons and a few head of horse, one with a paint hide; a man and two children were seated around the fire’s warmth and all three, roused by the rumbling sound of our approach, turned to look.

  “Hallo there!” Malcolm crowed, waving with typical enthusiasm, perhaps ten yards ahead.

  The man stood. “Good evening, young fellow!”

  My heart lurched. I squinted into the dimness. Surely I’d heard wrong…

  And then my brother yelped, “Boyd!”

  Relying on instinct, I yanked Trapper to a halt and jumped from the wagon, watching as though from an impassable distance as my brother dismounted and two little boys leaped at him. My boots seemed mired in mud even as I ran full-bore, arms churning.

  “Jesus Christ,” I gasped, realizing that what I was seeing was actually real, that I was not in the midst of a vision. Wild with disbelief, with an ardent hope the likes of which I’d never experienced, I choked, “Cort, Nathaniel! What…how…Uncle Jacob?”

  My mama’s younger brother, whose face I’d not looked upon since I was a boy in the holler, stood before me. Steeped in the shock of it, the stun mirrored on Jacob’s bearded countenance, I fell into his arms as though I was no older than the boy I’d been when last in his company.

  “Boyd,” Jacob acknowledged, thumping my back, rocking us side to side. “You’re alive! Thanks be to Jesus, you’re alive!” He drew back, gripping my shoulders, and regarded me with an expression of such abiding joy that tears bled into my eyes; Jacob looked next to Malcolm, hauling him into an embrace, knuckling his scalp, kissing the boy’s cheeks as he proclaimed, “And young Malcolm! Glory be! Near about everyone in these parts has tried their best to convince us you two was dead!”

  Cort and Nathaniel pounced at me and I hugged them close, delirious with exultation at what their presence meant. My voice gone hoarse and shaking, I begged, “Where is your mama?” I set them gently aside and flew for the wagons, certain she must be within them. “Rebecca!”

  The boys chased me; I all but ripped the canvas coverings from their moorings, hollering for her, finding both wagons empty of all but belongings.

  “Where is she? Oh Jesus, where is she?” I begged again, falling to my knees. The boys clambered into my arms, climbing all over me as they’d always done. I gathered them to my sides, Rebecca’s beloved sons, kissing their cheeks and cupping their heads. My heart thundered so hard my vision was blurry, blood roaring in my ears.

  “Mama rode to town on the wagon with Mrs. Lorie,” Cort explained.

  Nathaniel tugged on my beard to gain my attention, his round face alight with the excitement of it all. He announced, “Mrs. Lorie’s having her baby!”

  One shock atop the next, I tried to draw a full breath, utterly unable. Jacob caught up with us and stood with fists to hips, grinning wide enough to crack his jaws, shaking his head. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, young nephew. If you ain’t the spittin’ image of your daddy.”

  “Uncle Jacob,” I pleaded. “Where are they?”

  “Town, dear boy. Sawyer’s Lorie is delivering their young’un likely as we speak. Tilson and Becky accompanied them.”

  Knowing they were so close was almost more than I could bear. Again I hugged the boys, their faces against my neck; I was tear-stricken and unashamed.

  His voice tickling my ear, Cort said, “Mama’s been missing you something fierce, Mr. Carter.”

  ONCE I REGAINED a sliver of sense, I realized all of our livestock was present and wasted no time saddling Admiral, while Nathaniel and Cort crowded my elbows and Jacob did his best to offer a bare-bones explanation for what had occurred since we’d gone missing last autumn.

  “My letters never reached you?” I repeated, tightening the cinch, so eager to rid
e to town that my hands shook.

  “For whatever reason, they did not. I am more grateful than I can say to see you in one piece, Boyd. I couldn’t bear thinking I’d lost Clairee’s last two sons. You’ve a hell of a fine friend in Sawyer, and his Lorie, and a damn fine woman pining over you, I do not believe Becky would mind me saying. She’s been much aggrieved thinking you and young Malcolm dead.”

  “Mama’s been crying every night,” Nathaniel said, tugging at my pant leg, and my gaze flew to the rise in the earth that hid the town. Rebecca was there – just over that ridge. She had cried for me. She cared for me, Boyd Carter. She had not married Quade and done her best to forget my name; by the grace of God she had waited for me and I would never ride away from her again. I would catch her in my arms and never let go, not for a blessed thing.

  Jacob laid his hand upon my shoulder, just like Daddy would have done, and I put mine atop his; I’d not beheld an elder member of my family in many years. I’d been the eldest, the one responsible, for so damn long. “Young nephew, you ride after your woman. They’s at the Jeffries’ boardinghouse, a block east of the river. I’ll keep watch of the young’uns.”

  “Thank you kindly,” I whispered.

  Polite enough to have retrieved Trapper, guiding the mule by his bridle with the wagon grinding along behind, Malcolm hollered, “Not without me, you ain’t, Boyd!” To Cora, who hovered near him as though attached by a string, he said, “Cora-bell, you warm by the fire with Uncle Jacob an’ the boys, have somethin’ to eat. I know you’s hungry. And Stormy needs holding.” Malcolm had already draped the big gray cat over his shoulders like a fancy fur stole; I could hear the critter purring.

  Cora nodded acceptance and reached to take Stormy into her slender arms.

  Jacob looked between Malcolm and Cora with eyebrows curled in question, and I promised, “I’ll explain everything once we’s returned.”

  I took the saddle and yelled to my brother, “Hurry if you’s coming!”

  I heeled Admiral, bending low over his familiar neck, knowing Malcolm would catch up with us; sure enough, I heard him and Aces gaining ground within fifteen seconds. Admiral responded by increasing his speed, powerful legs a blur beneath us, fine mount that he was; he’d seen Gus through the entirety of the War. I grinned, stunned by the level of my joy; it had been so long. Such unfettered happiness left me almost fearful, and decidedly lightheaded. My heart seemed to be repeating Rebecca in a wild, three-beat clip.

  “Can you believe it?” my brother cried as Aces nosed abreast. We rode as if racing each other at the county fair, laughing and hollering, startling those folks camped along the edge of town; parked wagons, settled in for the night, increased in number as we drew closer to the outskirts of St. Paul. A man crouching at his cook fire yelled after us, hollering, “Pipe down, you dern fools!” but we only laughed all the more, giddy with relief and anticipation.

  The main road into town, which Malcolm and I had traversed so gravely last fall, was once again beneath our horses’ hooves. The river bluffs loomed into immediate view, the water a rushing artery tinted black with evening, its many docks like the rungs of a ladder laid atop the river. Forced to rein to a slower pace or risk trampling an unsuspecting soul, I scanned the busy street for the boardinghouse of which Uncle Jacob spoke, damning the bustling, lively crowds. The rush of the river seemed to crash through my skull and pour out my ears; sudden tension kept straight my spine.

  Out of breath, Malcolm puffed, “They ain’t gonna…believe their eyes, Boyd!”

  “We gotta find them first,” I said, rabid to do so. My eyes roved over the hanging shingle of each business we passed, scarce a drop of daylight left to help; the street lanterns set at the corner of every block cast golden light over faces of passersby, all unknown to me. I eased Admiral closer to my brother and Aces and reminded, “Keep a lookout for the Jeffries’ boardinghouse.”

  “I know, I know. I am!” Malcolm sent me a grin. “Uncle Jacob said Lorie’s having a baby! Aw, I can’t wait to see it. I’ll bet Sawyer is beside himself.”

  “Them two’ll have a half-dozen…in as many years,” I predicted. I’d not caught my breath, not with the promise of seeing Rebecca this night, maybe within this quarter-hour. It was all I could do to sit the saddle without falling, to keep my shaking grip firm about the reins. We angled north, Admiral and Aces forced to walk as we navigated the busy route bordering the river. Sweat gathered on my spine and along my hairline as we drew closer to the far side of town, my tension growing; I despised admitting that I felt something was wrong, but something was –

  “Look there!” Malcolm pointed.

  Just ahead, a knot of bodies gathered around the swinging doors of a saloon. Excited voices lifted from the group like birds taking wing. Without waiting for my response, Malcolm heeled Aces, drawing to a halt and angling so he could peer over the shoulders of those standing; coming abreast, I saw the assembled crowd was bent over a man crumpled on the edge of the road, his boots lolling.

  “He’s been stabbed!” someone hollered, and the cacophony swelled. “This man’s been stabbed!”

  My gut jumped. I dismounted, handing Admiral’s lead to Malcolm, and elbowed without apology through the gathered, rumbling men. It took no more than a second to realize that the man whose left side bloomed with a growing red stain was no other than Royal Lawson. I fell to my knees and grabbed for his arm, desperate to believe he was not yet dead, that he would be able to tell me who’d done this to him. His face was stark in the lantern light, lips gaping; I could see the bottom row of his teeth and the arch forming the upper curve of his mouth. His eyes had rolled back into his skull and whoever administered the knife to Royal’s side knew what he was doing – grab the victim’s left shoulder, aim for the heart by angling the blade downward between the ribs beneath the armpit, a swift, sure kill. Even if I’d never served three years of my life as a soldier, I’d have known he was a goner.

  “Royal,” I implored, leaning close. I didn’t believe he saw me, headed as he was for what lay beyond. I shook his arm, cupping a hand under his head, witnessing as this man in whose company I’d ridden hundreds of miles bled out. “Royal!”

  He issued a low gurgling and then was still.

  “Who is this man?” asked someone at my shoulder. “Do you know him?”

  I looked up into a gaggle of male faces, all curious, all strangers. Malcolm remained astride Aces at the back of the crowd, watching with lips compressed, his earlier gaiety having dissipated like dew beneath an unrelenting sun. I demanded, “What happened here? Who saw it?”

  A thousand thoughts tried to gain purchase in my head, fighting for the strongest hold.

  If Royal’s dead, then Fallon’s nearby.

  They’ll be looking next for you, if they ain’t already.

  May be that you’re in their sights just now, Carter.

  The darkening air seemed thick, my vision rippling with dizzy revulsion. The busy street listed and I fought the sensation, voices growing hushed, distorted; words made no sense, becoming instead a rushing stream of sound. My eyes darted about like those of a prey animal seized by the steel teeth of a sprung trap, knowing the hounds approached and there was nothing to be done. The first thing I saw was the gaping mouth of an alleyway, next the upper-floor windows of a nearby saloon, where a sniper could easily position to strike. Coldness clawed my nape.

  Hold up. They stabbed him, kept it quiet. They didn’t risk shooting in the crowd.

  One of them is near, hidin’ until it’s safe to emerge.

  “Sheriff’s been sent for,” someone behind me said. “This here feller got himself killed not but five minutes past.”

  “Did anyone see who done it?” I asked again, but more than one man answered and I understood plainly I would get no reliable information. I squared my jaw and ordered, “Help me!” sliding my arms beneath Royal’s dead weight, hooking my hold about his torso, a rush of furious energy allowing me no time to grieve, or to consider what C
ora would feel to know her uncle was gone just as surely as her daddy. Two men assisted and we carried Royal’s body into the nearest saloon, where men surged anew, babbling with anxious questions.

  “What the devil?”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Is he dead?”

  I couldn’t linger, but promised, “I’ll return as soon as I am able. I rode with this man from the Territory. His name is Royal Lawson and I believe the man who killed him is named Virgil Turnbull.” And then I asked, “Where is Jeffries’ boardinghouse?”

  Malcolm had remained in the saddle, waiting for my instruction; I hurried to him, ordering, “C’mon,” as I put my boot in the stirrup.

  “Royal’s dead?” Malcolm was breathless and fearful, and trying not to let me see it.

  “Yes,” I muttered grimly.

  “You think Fallon’s near, don’t you?”

  I looked over at my brother, the two of us exchanging words without speaking. At last I nodded, just a fraction.

  “How will I tell her?” he whispered.

  I had no good answer; with renewed desire to reach our destination, I heeled Admiral. We rode up to a deep front porch at a clip, dust swirling. I dismounted before Malcolm and saw a small flatbed wagon, with Juniper hitched to it, parked in the alley between the buildings. I tethered Admiral fast as my fingers could fly and took wide steps leading to the front entrance at a dead run; fortunately the door was propped open to the evening air. A plump woman and a young girl were stationed behind the long, chest-high counter and I startled them as I broke my run with both palms against its wooden length and rasped, “Davis!”

  The woman reeled away from my wild appearance, grabbing for the girl’s elbow, calling urgently, “Harold!”

  The girl’s eyes snapped with excitement and she squirreled free of her mother, declaring, “They’re right up these steps, come along, mister!”

  “Meggie!” the woman cried, but the girl was already clattering up the stairs leading to the second floor; I followed, hearing commotion in the wake of my uninvited passage, not caring. Voices rose behind me, Malcolm’s included, but I was single-minded with purpose now, too close to the promise of Rebecca to pay heed to anything else.