She finished her luncheon in the dining car, staring out at the endless plains that passed by outside, fields warmed by the high, bright sun. She could feel the stares of passersby, but she ignored them. She knew her veils gave her an air of mystique; she also knew that if any of those intrigued by her visage got a look beneath, any sense of mystery would disappear.
The group of four, at a table across and down from her, were loudly urging their companion on to something. She glanced up and studied them. A well-dressed man smiled and rose from his table, walked over to a small piano in the corner, and sat down. He pulled music from his coat pocket, set it in front of him, and began to play.
Moira’s breath caught. “The Veil Song.” One of her favorites, from Verdi’s opera Don Carlos. She closed her eyes and fought to keep from swaying with the slow crescendo of it, the hint of the chorus already in her mind. She didn’t know how long she was humming along when she abruptly opened her eyes and glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed.
But all appeared to be engaged in the pianist’s work. He was a small, mousy, nondescript man, but he was quite accomplished. Moira had to grip the table to keep from rising, walking over to him, and singing. The play was about an ill-fated love that ended in devastation. Moira laughed under her breath. No wonder it was a favorite of hers. Like its protagonist, she had longed to be with her one true love, but the selfish machinations of others kept them apart—like those of Reid Bannock.… She only hoped her story would have a happier ending.
She looked out the window again. Another day would soon be over. How many would she spend striving after the unattainable, rather than accepting what she had? She sighed and gave her head a little shake. She was merely weary. Overwrought. Sleeping on trains was difficult, far from the quiet nights of the ranch. Perhaps this night would be better.
She rose and set her napkin on her chair.
And that was when she saw it. A piece of paper in front of her, with “Moira Colorado” written across it. She looked up and around her quickly, to see who might’ve slipped it onto her table, but everyone was staring toward the pianist, not at her. Holding it closer to her, she unfolded it and took a peek at what was inside. It was one of Gavin’s old posters, sent to towns ahead of her during her tour to help publicize her appearance.
I know who you are. I think you’re still beautiful. Will you sing for me?
A chill ran down Moira’s back. Again she glanced around, but there was no one looking in her direction. She gathered her bag and shawl and rose, exiting the dining car as fast as she could. She looked over her shoulder and then down the hallway of the sleeper car.
It was empty.
She saw no one who looked ill placed, no one moving as if to follow her. She rushed down the hallway, keeping her hands out to steady herself as the car rocked back and forth around a bend. With shaking hands, she pulled a key from her pocket and tried to get it into the lock. “Come on,” she whispered, feeling as if the eyes of her enemy were upon her. “Come on.”
Finally, the key slipped in, she turned it and opened the door, thankful that the steward had already been there to turn down her cot and light her small oil lamp. With some agitation, she managed to get the key back out of the lock, slammed the door, and threw the bolt into place. She backed away from it, as if she thought someone might crash through. But no one came.
Her knees felt weak. Moira sank to her narrow cot. The room was nothing more than two beds, a desk, chair, and small window. But it was hers alone.
What was she to do? Go to the conductor? And tell him what, exactly? That someone was following her, claiming to know who she was? What peculiar kind of threat was that?
She rose, pulled the heavy wooden chair to the door, and jammed it underneath the knob. Whoever was following her, whoever thought they “knew” her, would have a hard time getting through the door now. And if they didn’t want to get her, what did they want?
Moira stared at the door for hours, until her eyes grew heavy with sleep.
Common sense told her no one was coming, not with neighbors on either side and no easy escape route. But fear kept her rooted in place. She adjusted a pillow behind her back and pulled a light wool blanket to her shoulders, intent on keeping watch until daybreak.
But in time, she drifted off to sleep.…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What are you doing, Mrs. LaCrosse?”
“Sabine. Please. If we’re going to be trapped in this mine together, facing death, I’d prefer you call me by my first name.”
“Sabine?”
“I’m looking for rope. There used to be one over here.…” She reached out, wishing for any bit of light. Her hands met the wall, then, feeling along it, found the hook, awkwardly driven into the tunnel wall. She smiled as her hands closed around the prickly woven twine of the rope that had saved her and Nic before. She hoped it was strong enough to do the job again.
“We need another section,” she said, “if my plan is to work.”
“Plan?” She heard his voice shift from her left side to the right.
“Careful where you walk!”
He coughed, and by the sound of it, the action was more from nervousness than the dust still circling in the air. “What are you planning?”
“We can’t dig ourselves out. Even if there was someone outside of the tunnel digging toward us, it might take weeks to clear a path. Fortunately that water below us might give us a way out.”
In the dark she couldn’t read his expression. And he was deathly quiet before saying, “Are you mad?”
“I think not. I believe it’s our only avenue of escape. Through the tunnel and then onward, out to the spring on my lower property.”
“That’s a big gamble.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
He sighed. Then, “What about our surveyor?”
The man hadn’t said a word since the cave-in. Sabine had thought him swept away with the others. “Is he unconscious?”
She listened as he moved toward the other man and assessed his condition. “Never mind. He’s gone.”
She swallowed hard, then pulled down the rope and tied it around her waist. “Feel around the floor. See if you can find a second rope.” She knotted the rope, again and again. Then she reached down and felt for the timber just at the top of the shaft. Clawing at the soil, she tunneled out a space behind it. Then she slipped the rope around the timber, tying it tight as her anchor in case anything went wrong.
“Ah. Found one,” Mr. McManus said in satisfaction.
Sabine smiled. “That’s good. Very good.” She waited, feeling her impatience rise as he moved slowly toward her. She had to know about Nic and Everett. Were they alive in the cave? Or would it be horribly silent when she reached it, all of them drowned?
He dropped the rope between them on the ground with a thump.
“All right, so this is my plan. I’ve tied the rope to my waist—”
“Sabine—”
“I’ve attached it to my waist,” she repeated. “I’m going through the tunnel below again. Hopefully, I’ll reach the cavern and find some of our … party. Then I’ll take this second rope—” she paused to place it on to her shoulder—“and use it to go through wherever that second tunnel is that drains to my spring pool.”
“But—”
“If I’m right, and if it’s large enough to fit through, we’ll all have a way out.”
He was silent for a couple of seconds. “Our way out. Or our entry into a deeper tomb?”
“Our way out,” she insisted, rising in front of him. The rope was heavy on her shoulder. Could she swim to the cavern? It was their only chance. Mr. McManus was clearly reluctant. It was up to her. And having been through it before, it was far less terrifying.… “I will go through. You’ll feel me tugging as I swim. I think it will take a good thirty, forty seconds. Count it out with me so you know. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi.”
“Three-Mississippi,” he joined in.
; “Good. When I reach the cavern, I’ll turn and give you three yanks on the rope. So you’ll know I’ve made it. Here, let me show you.” She reached out, found his hands, and gave him a section of the rope. “Three clear yanks, got it?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I’ll attach the second rope and go on through the next tunnel. Give it some time. Probably fifteen or twenty minutes, all right? If we’re successful, we’ll have a rope train to safety. We’ll let you know by yanking on the rope six times. Then you’ll know it’s your turn to come through.”
He paused. “It’s an audacious plan, Sabine.”
“It is.”
“If we get out of here, I’ll owe you my life.”
“If we get out of here, Mr. McManus, all I’ll want is a check for my land.”
He laughed softly. “We can arrange for that too.” The trace of a smile left his tone. “Three clear yanks. You’re there. Six, and I’m to come through myself?”
“Six clear yanks. If you’re unsure, give a yank. We’ll think of one yank as a question mark. Two as a ‘don’t come.’ All right?”
“All right,” he said. His voice sounded as if he was pretending more assurance than he felt. “Three that you’re all right and the way is clear. Six as an invitation to follow.”
“Right.” She reached out to him. “Take my hand. What’s your given name, Mr. McManus?”
“Michael,” he said. He found her palm and she shook it.
“God be with you, Michael. I’ll be glad to see you again in the light of day.”
“As will I, Sabine.”
She climbed down the shaft, reaching for supporting timbers she half remembered, then forced herself into the icy waters. Her skirts billowed around her and she wished she had worn her trousers today. She took several breaths and then was under.
She prayed she’d surface alive.
o
Nic heard the bubbles first, then the sounds of someone breaking the surface. He looked up at the pool and saw, in the dim light of the candle, a woman’s face. “Sabine?” He pulled his arm from around Everett, who was shivering uncontrollably, and stood up.
Sabine tread water, then moved toward him. She smiled. “Nic! Everett!”
She appeared as a vision, rising out of the pool. He met her halfway, sweeping her into his arms and hugging her to him, lifting her, dripping, out of the water. But then a surge of fury swept through him. “Why did you come? Why have you endangered yourself?” he said, moaning, cradling her face.
“The tunnel has collapsed. There’s twenty feet of rock between us and daylight. Nic, there were gunshots. This is the only way.” She backed away a step and untied the rope from around her waist. Then she tied it to his. “Stay right here. Mr. McManus is waiting on you.” She looked toward the tunnel, then yanked three times. Then she pulled the other rope off her shoulder and tied it around Nic’s waist too. “What are you doing, Sabine?” he asked in utter confusion.
She pulled the other end of the second rope around her waist and started tying it. “I’m going on, Nic. I think we know the only way out.”
“And that is …?”
“Through there,” she said, with a swoop of her head over her shoulder.
He looked in confusion to the far wall. “But we have no idea if that way is passable!”
But then she was swimming away from him. She paused, ten feet off. “If I get through, I’ll tug six times, letting you know it’s safe to come. Send the same signal to Mr. McManus. If I can’t make it, I’ll haul myself back.”
Nic frowned. “Wait,” he said, lifting his hand. “No, Sabine. Sabine.”
“Three times means all is well. Six times means come ahead. Got it?”
“Sabine!”
“Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Then understand this too, Dominic St. Clair. I’m in love with you. Like I’ve never been in love. I love you. Do you hear me?”
How could he not hear her? Her voice echoed around the chamber. But as clearly as her words reverberated, they seeped deep into his mind, his heart. She loves me. “Sabine, I—”
But she was already gone.
o
Sabine swam, feeling lighter without the rope over her shoulders, but conscious of the rope that connected her to Nic. Tell me, Lord. Tell me if I need to turn back. Give me the strength to make it if I can. For Nic. For Everett. For me.
She kicked and crawled her way forward, through a bending tunnel that narrowed alarmingly, then widened again. Just as her lungs started to burn and she was considering turning back, she caught a glimpse of light. The black waters faded to a deep blue, then a blue-green. She was close.
She redoubled her efforts, kicking madly, pushing off the mineral-laden rocks, ignoring the cuts on her hands, focusing only on the light. The light. The Light.
She rose, breaking the surface, and resisted the urge to shout in triumph. She had not the air to do so anyway. She gasped and smiled and gulped in more air. She had made it. There was a way.
Sabine swam to the edge of the spring, turned, and yanked on her rope six times.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Come out. You can make it. Please, Lord, help them out.”
A cracking branch right behind her made her whirl and sink back into the waters.
Someone was in the woods.
She pushed back into the tall reeds that surrounded the pool, praying she wouldn’t be seen, praying no one would hear her chattering teeth.
o
“She’s out!” Nic shouted, feeling the tugs. “She’s made it!”
He turned toward the tunnel that led back to the mine and tugged on the rope that Mr. McManus was holding. “Everett,” he said to the boy, “you go first. You’re so cold—you need to get to sunlight and dry air as fast as possible.”
The boy came out to him, teeth chattering, his whole body visibly shaking. “I … I don’t know if I can swim that far.”
“You can do it,” Nic said, placing a hand on either side of his face. “You just take a deep breath, and pull yourself along the rope. Sabine’s on the other side waiting for you.”
“Is it … is it a long way?”
Nic tried to hide his grimace. “It might be. I don’t know, but it seemed to take Sabine a bit. But she made it, Ev. You can too. Can you be brave?” he asked. “Show me what you’re made of?”
“Yessir,” he said solemnly, his jaw bouncing up and down with tremors.
Nic hugged him for a moment, then urged him forward. “Go, Ev. To the end of the rope, then take three big breaths and kick like everything.”
The boy did as he bade, and then he was gone.
Mr. McManus popped up behind him, sputtering and coughing. “Sabine … she’s off again?”
“Out the next tunnel already,” Nic said with some pride. He reached out to steady the older man when he stumbled.
Sheriff Nelson was wading out to them. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go next. Make sure Sabine and the boy are not running into any trouble, considering those gunshots.”
“Good idea,” Nic said, feeling badly that he hadn’t thought of it first. All he could think of was getting the shivering child to warmth. “Take care of them, Drew. Tell them I’ll be along shortly.”
“I will.” He took several gulps of air and then disappeared under the water, tugging so hard along the rope that Nic had to adjust his stance in order not to be pulled off his feet.
o
The water was a heavenly, pearlescent green. Sabine glimpsed Everett’s hands as he came out of the tunnel. She could hear someone behind her—maybe on horseback? She did not dare to look. Had they figured out that there might be a way out through the waterways? Or were they merely looking around, making sure they were alone on the property?
Everett was rising, just eight feet away from her. She slipped under the water as quietly as she could and gestured to him to come to her, putting her finger to her lips. Did he even have his eyes op
en? She remembered being a child, learning to swim, and her father teaching her to open her eyes. It didn’t come naturally.
But he seemed to catch sight of her and sense, if not see, her lead. They rose together, and she prayed he would not be too loud when he took his first breath of air. They broke the surface and she quickly put her finger to her lips again, urging him to be quiet. His eyes were wide, but he concentrated on her, mouth wide, panting. She pulled him to her, hugging him, and then they moved back, among the reeds. They were a foot into the cover, then two, when she stopped. She prayed the swirling mud would settle and not alert anyone looking that there was something—or someone—among the pool’s grasses.
She could feel someone else yanking on the rope between her and Nic. But Sabine dared not expose herself or Everett again. The sheriff came up then, and Sabine whispered, “Look out!”
A gun fired, making Sabine wince and squeeze her eyes shut, waiting for the pain of a bullet. In her shoulder? Her head? But nothing pierced her.
She opened her eyes to see the sheriff whirl and dive back under.
The rope pulled at her, dragging her and Everett forward, making the tall reeds above wave.
No! No, no, no!
She heard the splash of boots in the water just behind her, two steps, then three. A hand clamped around her hair, pulling her upward. She gasped and turned to see who had a hold of her.
“Well, would you look at this!” Rinaldi crowed, ignoring Everett, who pounded at his arm and screamed for him to let Sabine go. “A little Indian squaw and her runt.”
o
Moira awakened with a start, and once she saw the chair, still securely in place, she looked out the window. She’d ignored the bell for supper and had fallen asleep again. It was a moonless night, but here and there she could see brush and hills within the few flickering lights emanating from the train.
For a long moment she wondered if she had dreamed the incident in the dining car. Surely no one had followed her onto this train with an old playbill in hand. For that to be true, they would have had to be watching the ranch for some time, waiting for just the right moment. And passage on this particular train was a luxury. Who had that kind of money in their purse without careful planning?
Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) Page 19
