Sanctuary Among Strangers

by Josie Finch

  Joseph bit his tongue but the next question burning inside of him couldn’t be held back.

  “We’ve both traveled all over the country and met so many people and yet we’ve always been alone. Warren… Were we meant to meet?”

  “As in, divinely?”

  “Yes.”

  “That I honestly don’t know,” Warren answered. “But… If you ask me… it sure feels like it.”

  Their smiles melted together into another long, deep kiss. Their kissing eventually dissolved into gentle rocking, with Joseph’s face against Warren’s chest. The stars watched over them, until the fire had nearly burned out.

  Finally, Joseph spoke. “I guess now would be a good time to bring up I only have one bedroll… and it’s going to be a very cold night.”

  Chapter Seven

  Warren awoke in the middle of the night. Not a drowsy surface into consciousness, but a sharp, sudden revival in the cold night. At once his eyes were wide and his senses alert. He must have gasped out loud because Joseph’s voice, thick from slumber, whispered in his ear, “Warren… What’s wrong?”

  Warren and Joseph’s bodies were wrapped up blissfully in each other and Warren clumsily untangled their limbs and scooted out from under the blanket.

  “My sister,” Warren said, sitting up. Joseph joined him, pulling the blanket around their shoulders to preserve the warmth that they had managed to build between them.

  “Your sister? Did you dream about her?” Joseph asked.

  “No… she’s here. Well, somewhere nearby. On earth, at least.”

  “That… narrows it down,” Joseph said. “But how do you know?”

  “Since we’ve been young, the three of us… we know when we are near each other. It's like an intuition.”

  “Is it the sister who gave you the baby?”

  “No. That’s Lettie. This is Clara. The one who can talk to the dead.” Warren swallowed hard, then said low, “And that worries me.” He pushed the blanket off his shoulders.

  After a less than graceful effort to stand up on his own, Warren gave up and let Joseph help him to his feet. It was still warm next to the low fire. But before Warren could step away, Joseph had picked up Warren's stolen coat and held it for him to put on.

  Warren shrugged the garment on and clasped the buttons over his protruding abdomen.

  “Thanks,” Warren said. He turned and captured Joseph’s lips with a quick kiss, but it turned sloppy when Joseph didn’t reciprocate. Warren pulled away and looked into Joseph’s wide eyes, reflecting the campfire in the centers.

  “Sorry,” Warren said. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

  “No, it’s fine… I… I’m just not used to it.” Joseph’s shoulder’s relaxed and he gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe try it again?”

  Warren smiled softly. “Thank you,” he whispered, and met Joseph in a much sweeter, slower, and warmer kiss.

  When they parted, Warren said, “I’m going to see what I can find out. I won’t go very far. Stay here where it’s warm.”

  Warren started walking into the open prairie. Outside the circle of firelight, the stars were twinkling bright and the moon was pale. A thin line of purple on the horizon hinted at the first moments of sunrise. The cold wrapped around his body like an icy fist. Warren pulled the coat closer around him. The chill, the aches, the hunger of his body seemed to vanish as he made out a lone rider on the dark horizon.

  Clara—his sister and an angel who could talk to the dead. She seemed to gleam brighter than the moonlight. But Warren knew that was just because he held her in such high regard.

  Clara was a skilled rider. The young Appaloosa she was on didn’t look particularly keen on having a rider. But Clara had tossed away the social taboo of riding side-saddle and kept firm on the rein.

  They didn’t need to say anything to each other as she rounded up to dismount next to him. Wherever life had taken them, they always picked up where they left off, seamless, without explanation. But this situation would surely require some explanation.

  Clara’s skirt swished wide as she kicked off and landed gracefully on the cold ground. She wore a fitted, short cape that held her shoulders tight and ended at her elbows. The wool material was dark, making her snow blonde hair and pale green eyes seem brighter in the moonlight. Her pink lips twisted in a smirk.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she said, voice even.

  “You’ll excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” Warren countered.

  She pulled him close and even through the layers of her wool and the bulkiness of his coat he could feel her love and warmth in her hug.

  He kept his hands on her shoulders. “So… what’s going on?”

  "Well,” Clara slid his hands from her shoulders, holding both his in her gloved ones. “Let's just say you aren't the only sibling I've brought back from the dead now."

  Relief and joy burst in Warren’s chest, but that feeling fell swiftly to apprehension. Warren swallowed. "Where is she?"

  “Now? Who knows. We landed on earth for a whole two minutes before she left, just long enough to fill me in on what she had done with you. I tried to get her to come with me but some of her friends had tried to save her before I showed up. They got out, but she said she was going to check up on them. She promised to lay low but…”

  “It’s Lettie,” Warren finished dully.

  Clara sighed then shrugged. “Yeah.”

  "Do you think she is going to be all right?" Warren asked.

  "I mean… It’s Lettie." Clara squeezed his hands. "Regardless, she’s alive and I’m here now. I tried to get here sooner. It took me a bit to get properly supplied. I forgot how much a woman traveling alone really riles small town sensibilities."

  “I didn’t have a very good time in White Spring either,” Warren confessed.

  That smirk was back on Clara’s lips. “In town I spotted a badly drawn wanted poster for a Warner Hartman…. Looked nothing like you, but I was suspicious.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s a whole other story,” Warren said. “Did anyone question you about me?”

  “No. And there was no reward offered for your capture, so, I doubt anyone cares.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Warren muttered.

  Clara shrugged. “I had sense enough not to ask around about you. I could feel you weren’t there. I figured you were heading to the hub so I started riding toward Cunard. Picked up your presence a few miles out.”

  “Does it feel like being back home?” Warren asked.

  Clara turned her gaze to the dark line of the murky horizon. “Not back there in town. Here, though.” She smiled, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Well, I’m only all right because I had some help,” Warren said. He pulled her hand gently and guided her toward the fire.

  Joseph stood in the firelight. He had put on his hat and buttoned his coat. His hands were in his pockets. Warren smiled.

  "Joseph, this is my sister Clara. Clara… Joseph."

  He gripped the brim of his hat. "Ma'am."

  Clara stepped right up to shake his hand. "Good to meet you. Thank you for helping my brother. It must not have been easy. I saw the wanted poster.”

  Joseph smiled sheepishly. “For my first time breaking an angel out of jail, I did all right.”

  Clara took the joke in stride. “Did he tell you he was an angel before or after you broke him out of jail?”

  Joseph shrugged. “After.”

  “You’re a saint.”

  Joseph just blushed.

  Clara waved her hands to clear the conversation. “I brought food. Are you hungry?”

  A pang of hunger shot through Warren’s core.

  “Very,” Warren said. He stepped aside as Clara rushed off to retrieve her horse. He had started grazing on the sparse grass and it took a moment for her to rouse him from his stubbornness and let her lead him closer to the campsite.

  From her riding saddle she unloaded a le
ather haversack, cowhide canteen, bedroll, and leather rucksack, setting the items next to the rumpled blankets Warren and Joseph had been sleeping in next to the fire.

  “Did you bring all this with you?” Warren asked, watching her wares pile up.

  “No,” Clara answered, “I barely managed to have a warm enough shawl when I landed in the cemetery.”

  “Then where did you manage to get all this stuff?” Warren asked.

  “It was a miracle, really,” Clara said. “I just happened to be in town for one night when three of the girls at the White Spring saloon were down with a dreadful winter cold. And I even gave Madame Sylvie twenty-five percent for the evening.”

  Warren noticed Joseph’s eyebrows shoot up.

  Clara giggled. “There are more saints in brothels than churches nowadays, you know.”

  “That I believe,” Joseph sad. “But, if it’s the same Madame Sylvie I know of… I’m surprised she didn’t make you hand over fifty percent.”

  “You a regular at the saloon?” Clara asked with an impressed tone.

  “No. I’m a traveling pastor,” Joseph answered.

  “Ah.” Clara winked. She turned her attention to the horse, patting the Appaloosa as he nuzzled her hand. “At the stable they pretty much gave me this fellow. He is rather ornery. But we managed.”

  “There’s a line out with my mare,” Joseph said. “I can set him up for you.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll get it. You boys eat. You both look like you need it.”

  She led the horse off and Warren wasted no time digging into the pile of things Clara had unloaded to find the parcels of food.

  He uncovered a bounty of oatmeal, dried fruit, and salted ham. Joseph stoked the fire and filled the pot they had used to make their tea to boil the oatmeal.

  Along with the food, Warren found a small pouch with the remaining coins Clara had earned in town and a lacy set of pantaloons she must have purloined from the house of ill repute in case she needed to make more. Warren quickly packed them back before Clara could catch him.

  Joseph procured a bowl from his mess kit and Warren took the tin cup. They filled them both to the brim with hot oatmeal.

  They had both devoured a good amount when Clara returned, dropping lightly on the ground next to Warren, pulling her skirts and shawls about her like a nest. In the firelight she could see his face properly, and leaned in, frowning.

  “What happened?” she pointed to his bruised face.

  Warren wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I wasn’t very steady on my feet when I landed in the cemetery. I fell and hit my face on the Harting family monument.”

  Clara shook her head and pulled her haversack close. From inside she procured a small jar and used the pad of her fingertip to gently smooth salve over the bridge of his nose. The pain lessened instantly.

  “There you go,” Clara said. She put the salve away and took a handful of dried fruit with her graceful fingers from the picnic the three were sharing.

  “So,” Clara said between bites. “Let’s see if I have the story right. Lettie knocks on your door. She’s taken a soul into her as a last resort. She has to give it to you so she won’t get caught. Something went wrong in the transfer and the only way she could get you both out alive was to throw you back to earth at our parent’s graves.”

  “Sounds right,” Warren muttered between bites of ham.

  They ate together in silence for a minute. When Warren finally felt full he set the tin cup aside and continued their conversation.

  "You know Lettie wasn't going to keep the baby."

  "Yes,” Clara said. “I know. But I don't blame her. It wasn't a baby to her, it was a soul that needed brought to earth. A mission. Things are a lot different on the other side. You do what you have to.” Clara sighed. “When we get to the hub we’ll deliver the soul. Then I'll help you find a family for the baby before I leave."

  Warren swallowed. He knew he should be afraid to say it out loud, but he just felt calm. "Clara... I've decided to keep her."

  Clara paused for a beat, then replied, “The baby or our sister?”

  Warren couldn’t help but smile. “You know what I mean.”

  “You know you don't have to do that.”

  Warren bit his lip then said, “Yeah, I know.”

  Clara shook her head. “We could find a good family. An angel family committed to life here on earth. Not like ours where we are always running around trying to get killed in the war.”

  Warren sat up straighter on his tree stump. “I want to, Clara. I've been through a lot. A lot has changed. If I’m going to live here on earth, there are more important things to do with my life than wander around being a photographer. I could settle down and have a family.”

  Clara glanced to Warren, over to Joseph, then back to Warren. A look Warren couldn’t interpret shadowed her features. The wheels turned for a moment then Clara said lightly, “Well, well. If we had set a bet on whether you, me, or Lettie would get married and have children first, I would never have said you.”

  Warren felt a hot blush flush his cheeks despite cold. “Technically, Lettie was pregnant before me, thanks much. And I’m not married. Yet.”

  Joseph thunked his bowl onto the cold ground with enough force to make both Clara and Warren notice. Though he hadn’t been contributing to the conversation, he excused himself quickly.

  “I should… Go check on the horses… Now,” Joseph sputtered before he jumped up and rushed out of the circle of fire light.

  Warren shifted and tried to look like everything was normal. His relationship with Joseph was hours old and he didn’t know how to explain it to Clara. So, I just kissed the pastor who broke me out of jail and I’m hoping maybe, just maybe, he’ll stay with me after I have a baby. Yeah, that sounded good.

  Warren just hoped Clara didn’t sense anything.

  But of course, she did. Her left eyebrow rose as she stared him down.

  “What?” Warren asked.

  “You’ve ah… been through a lot, huh?” Clara poked.

  Warren nodded. “Yeah.”

  “A lot's changed…” Clara said.

  “Mhm.”

  “So much you’re just…suddenly ready to have a family.”

  “A baby makes a family,” Warren said vaguely. He scooted close enough to wrap his arm around her. “It's good to see you.”

  “Not trying to change the subject, are you?”

  “I am, but it's true. I am happy to see you. Besides keeping us from starving, I was really hoping you'd be there when I... when they..." he awkwardly brought his hands together and pulled them apart.

  Clara bumped her shoulder into his. “Oh, I see. You want me to be your midwife! I'm honored."

  "No, not exactly. I mean, I want you there right after… in case something... goes wrong."

  Damnit, Warren, can't you just say you're afraid something will go wrong and the baby might die? Death is her thing, she’ll understand.

  But Clara’s features softened and Warren knew she realized what he meant.

  "Here," she said quietly. "Let me see."

  Warren turned his shoulders to face his sister. Clara leaned in, bringing her hands up to frame his face. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  Warren trembled, but it wasn’t from the cold. He let his fear wash over him.

  After a moment Clara brought her hands down to his abdomen. She nudged her hands through his coat and held the swell between her hands. She took several deep breaths then a smile broke on her features, sparkling in the firelight.

  “Nope. Nothing to worry about.” She opened her eyes. “Lights are bright. You both have a will to live that's strong. Some of the strongest I've seen. And I'm not just telling you that to make you feel better. It's true.”

  She pulled away and Warren straightened his coat.

  “Thank you. Still… I’m happy you’ll be there.”

  “Me too.” Clara grinned. “Wow. By this time tomorrow, you'll be a father.”

&
nbsp; Warren nodded and let out a deep breath. Though he didn’t say it out loud, he thought, I already am.

  Chapter Eight

  Joseph didn’t object when Clara insisted they rest for a while into the morning to allow the horses time to rest and to allow Joseph and Warren time to digest the much needed meal she had brought them. Even with the delay they would make it to the church at Cunard well before sunset.

  When they set out across the barren land a couple hours later, the sunshine warmed their faces and lifted their spirits. The Appaloosa was skittish so Joseph rode him and let Warren ride Belle. The prairie grass was still short enough in the season Clara could walk alongside, holding Belle’s reins, to talk to Warren. Their voices were bright like the sunshine and Joseph kept a comfortable distance behind to let them speak freely.

  The relationship that Warren and Clara shared was clearly important and special. Joseph enjoyed keeping his distance and watching the two of them talk to each other, easy and endearingly. Though he had his pistol holster high and tight, Joseph allowed his mind to wander as time wore on. He speculated if he would have grown to have such a relationship with his own sister had she not died when they were children. Joseph’s heart ached and he reminded himself why he never let his mind wander. Even after all the years that had passed, the memory was still too painful.

  Joseph pushed the thoughts about family away and forced himself to think about something else.

  It wasn’t difficult to choose a different subject.

  Warren is gorgeous and he’s an angel and I spent the evening kissing him and I’m the most blessed man in the history of the world.

  Joseph knew those were the kinds of thoughts 13-year-old Abigail Larson would be writing in her diary but he didn’t care. Yesterday Joseph had felt in charge and protective. Today Joseph felt in charge, protective, and like a lovesick 13-year-old.

  Joseph remembered the previous evening’s conversation only in snippets and mostly out of order. But he remembered every second of the soft brush of lips, steady pressure of tongues, and pads of fingertips. When Joseph and Warren had climbed under the blanket together, there had also been running fingers through hair, tracing stubbled jaws, and protective hands on the swell of Warren’s stomach. Those blissful moments before exhaustion sunk his body into sleep had been everything Joseph ever wanted to experience in his life. Never before had he felt so close to another person.