The Heart of Mary: A Thorn Novel

by Brandy Golden

  "Funny how something so incredible and symbolic of godly influence can produce a spawn of Satan," replied Thorn tersely, his mind never far from Clary and her captor.

  "Have to agree with you there, old buddy," muttered Boxcar. He pointed to the four turrets on the walls, one on each corner of the courtyard. "We need a man in each of those towers, to cover all four directions."

  "Let's go see Father Vincent," offered Nelson, taking the lead down the incline. "He'll be waiting for us."

  They made their way through the wide-open gates, and Thorn noted the statue of Mary immediately. In the center of the spacious courtyard was a huge fountain with sparkling water, and on the right side of the fountain, nestled in a ten-foot alcove, was a beautiful statue of the Virgin Mary. Her hands were crossed over her breasts, and she wore a beatific smile on her face. Right above the left hand was an empty space, presumably where the ruby would go if it were recovered.

  In front of them, a small boy appeared and raced to the front doors, yelling, "They're here, they're here!" He pulled the big door open and yelled his message inside. As they dismounted, a fatherly looking figure came bustling out of the doorway, the sleeves of his white robe flapping around his rotund figure. His thinning brown hair lifted slightly with each step as he bounced along. Behind him, were the sheriff and five other men, all wearing deputy badges.

  "You're early," observed Nelson, as they swung down, his face somber.

  "You said come early." The reply was short and succinct. Sheriff Prescott was a man of few words. His sparse, lean figure with his full head of dark hair and black eyes portrayed his Spanish heritage. 'We figured the time it'd take for you to get here. What do you need from us?"

  Thorn quickly outlined what was happening and what they wanted. Father Vincent's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the mention of the ruby.

  "The Heart of Mary is here?" he sputtered. "By all means, get the shovels!"

  "We don't need any special dispensation or permission from the courts?" asked the sheriff dryly.

  "I have full jurisdiction regarding anything happening on the property of the mission," assured Father Vincent, leading the way into the cemetery. "The shovels are in the maintenance shed," he added, pointing towards a low-slung building to the right of the tombstones.

  The sheriff turned to Thorn. "Anyone else know about this hiding place?"

  Thorn understood his concern. If news of the ruby had spread, they could be inundated with people wanting to see it or wanting to rob the grave. "Only myself, Boxcar, Doc and Mary. And now you eight." He waved his hand at Nelson, Father Vincent and the six law enforcement officers. "Anna is officially dead, after twenty some years now."

  "Right, let's get to it then."

  Father Vincent led them to a row of six stone markers, all in a row and all sacred and holy white. Each had a crucifix engraved above the name. The last on the right was Anna Martinez. Below her name was an engraving of the side view of a nun wearing a flowing habit down the side of her face and holding lilies in her hands.

  "This is where the nuns, who were killed in the attack, were buried." Father Vincent took out a kerchief and wiped his forehead as he genuflected in the symbolic gesture of blessing. "God rest their souls."

  It didn't take long for the deputies to come into contact with the wooden box, and then two of them brushed the sandy dirt away. "Can't lift it or it'll fall apart," said one of the young deputies, leaning on the shovel.

  "Just take the lid off," replied Thorn grimly. "According to Doc, there should be a leather satchel buried with the body. He was here to help bury his sister when she wasn't really dead." They all looked confused, and Thorn waved his hand impatiently. "Look, it's a long story, just trust me."

  The two men in the grave nodded, then carefully took the lid off the coffin and set it aside. Remains are always grisly, no matter how old they are, and the men grimaced as they put on gloves and tried to turn over the old cloth clinging to the bones and decomposition. Finally, they located a satchel, underneath the body, and one of them cut the strap to get it out. They handed it up to Thorn.

  After shaking debris off the satchel, Thorn opened it, his heart beating fast. Clary's future was in here and that damned stone had better be here. The first thing he pulled out was some papers, and he gave them a cursory glance before handing them to Boxcar. He felt around in the bottom of the satchel and found a soft leather pouch but nothing else. He threw the satchel to the ground, his fingers trembling as he untied the laces on the pouch. When his finger touched something hard inside the pouch, he pulled it out into the open. Then he laid it in the palm of his hand and stared at it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "The Heart of Mary," breathed Father Vincent, tears in his eyes. "I can't believe you've found it, after all these years."

  They all stared at the blood ruby as if mesmerized by its stark beauty. It sparkled in the late evening sun, its facets enhanced by the fading light.

  "Damned cursed stone," muttered Nelson bitterly."That thing has caused too many deaths."

  Boxcar snapped out a question to the deputies. "Knowing it's cursed, how many of you men would be willing to steal it, if given the chance?" His eyes swiveled quickly from man to man, judging their reactions. The all looked at each other uneasily. "My sister's life depends on this stone," he grated harshly. "Whatever the outcome at sunrise, no one is to know about the discovery of this stone until the Diocese makes the announcement. If it comes up missing, we know it will be one of us who stole it. Understand? Save your hero stories until this stone has been disposed of the way it needs to be." They all nodded their understanding.

  "Right then, let's go to work," ordered Sheriff Prescott. "There's a lot that needs to be done before midnight gets here."

  It was late when Boxcar and Thorn went out the east doors of the mission, headed for the rocky incline. Thorn was in his psychopath-thinking mode but Boxcar wasn't making jokes this time, there was too much at stake. He'd been grateful for Thorn's ability to see himself in the role of the criminal mind before but never more so than he was right now, when Clary's life was hanging in the balance.

  Thorn stopped and pointed. 'See that spot up there, Boxcar, right behind that boulder? That's where I'll be. They climbed ten feet up the rocky slope and paused beneath the boulder, then turned around to face the mission. "From the top of the ridge, he'll be able to use binoculars to see the statue as soon as the sun barely peeks over the rim. It'll be enough light, just as the sun is coming up. It will also put him in my line of sight and, while he's using his binoculars, I intend to take the shot." His eyes were cold as he looked at Clary's brother and friend.

  Boxcar cleared his throat and nodded his head. "You think that's where he will come in?"

  "It's what I would do if it was me and, so far, I've been right. He'll expect the mission to be heavily guarded so he can't sneak in under cover of darkness to see if the ruby is there ahead of time. The best way he can view the statue is to use the eastern rim before the sun is fully up. And there's where I'll be waiting for him."

  Boxcar nodded uneasily. "What about his threat to leave Clary's body at the feet of the statue? How could he possibly make that happen, even if he could sneak in and find the ruby gone?"

  "It's a figure of speech, designed to infuriate us and make us lose all common sense—which it did for me... I was half nuts when he took her out of that room." Thorn lit up a cigarette, his mind systematically shuffling the possibilities, his fingers trembling slightly at the memory of the helpless tears shining in Clary's eyes when she had looked back. It still had the power to sucker punch his gut when he least expected it. He vowed silently that it would not be the last memory he had of her.

  "You're right, he wants to make us believe he's some sort of avenging angel when he's just a man like you and me," replied Boxcar quietly, his mood dark. "I'll stand guard in the alcove behind the statue. If he comes in that far, he won't live to walk out. Plus, I can make sure no one else tries to tak
e the stone. I don't like the looks of one of the deputies named Harmon. Prescott has him stationed in one of the towers at the back of the mission. I don't trust him."

  Thorn ground out the cigarette beneath his heel. "Just remember, if you hear two shots from any of us, come running and bring the ruby with you. Don't let it out of your sight."

  Boxcar nodded. "Prescott is going to keep a close eye on Harmon, too, he's stationed near him. We can't let him go, because of whom he might tell. Everyone is locked down to the mission until this is over, even the women and children.

  "Father Vincent knows where to put the women and children to keep them safe. Besides, Morgan isn't after anyone here; it's just the ruby he wants."

  The two men looked at each other, neither one willing to put their fear of a bad outcome into words, as if somehow the discussing of it might make it come true. Nothing was going to happen to Clary. It was as simple as that. Finally, Boxcar turned and started down the incline. It was time.

  The crackling flames of the campfire felt good as Clary held her hands up to the warmth. The desert was hot during the day but, at night, the temperatures could drop drastically. She watched her captor as he warmed some beans on the fire. He hadn't spoken since this morning but had maintained a steady pace on the big black horse, following a track only he knew. Their only interaction had been the giving and receiving of water and some jerky. Clary wasn't used to riding for long hours, and her thighs trembled when she was finally lifted off the horse and her feet hit solid ground. She would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed the scruff of her neck as he got off and held her upright. Her backside had ached when they first started out after the spanking he had given her, but it had eventually turned numb. She wasn't exactly afraid of him, but she'd seen the light of madness in his eyes, and she knew he would kill her in the morning if he felt he had to. She shivered, dreading the coming sunrise. Someone would die tomorrow, and she didn't want it to be her or anyone she loved. She had thought all day on the things he had said to Thorn this morning, about his mission from God to return the ruby and about how nothing else mattered. What had brought him to this point? she wondered.

  When he handed her the plate of beans, she took it gratefully, pleased to have something besides jerky and water. "Thank you," she said hoarsely. It was almost as if her throat had forgotten how to speak, it had been so long.

  "You're welcome," he said, his voice short. He took a big bite of beans and stared at her from across the campfire, his eyes dark and brooding. "You done good today, not one complaint. That Thorn is a lucky fella."

  Her hand stilled with the spoon on its way to her mouth. Why had he bothered to compliment her? "Yet you'll still kill me in the morning and take me away from him," she whispered painfully, locking eyes with him. "Do you hate him that much?"

  He continued to eat in silence but he watched her carefully as if considering her words. Finally, he spoke. "Don't hate him a tall—he just has what I want. If he brings me the ruby, I'll release you just as I said. I never go back on my word." Then his hands stilled for a second. "But if he don't, then I'll have to kill you—just as I said."

  Clary lowered the plate, her appetite gone. "It doesn't have to be this way, Joseph," she pleaded quietly, calling him by his first name. "Thorn is a fair man, so is my brother. Whatever problem you have, they can help you."

  He finished his beans and took a drink of his coffee, as if he were considering her words. "Only God can help me. He's the one I sinned against, and he's the one I have to repent to."

  Clary was flabbergasted. Repenting of sins and a cold-blooded killer didn't belong in the same sentence. "What sin? What are you talking about? Help me understand, Joseph," she begged gently. "If I'm going to die tomorrow, I'd like to know why."

  He looked undecided and dangerous in the firelight, as if he was ready to scream in agony but trying to control himself. She could see pain in his eyes as his thoughts raced to the source of it. "It was my job to care for the statue of the Virgin Mary and to look after her heart," he began, as if he were seeing it all over again. "That heart shaped ruby that Father Benedict told me was important to Mary, to the mission, was my responsibility. It was my personal job to keep it safe, and I failed. He told me bad things would happen if I failed, and he was right. When the Indians attacked that day, the statue was destroyed and the heart stolen. So many people died that day. Most of the nuns, Father Tobias, the settlers, even my family. They all died, and it was my fault." His big fist slammed over and over into the top of his thigh, and Clary was stunned.

  "How old were you, Joseph?" she inquired bravely, her body shaking. As far as she knew, the ruby had been missing for years.

  He wasn't looking at her anymore; it was as if he was lost in his own personal hell, in the flames of the firelight. "I was twelve-years–old, at the time, I was an altar boy," he droned on. "Father Tobias warned me that God would test me, test my will to protect Mary and that I should be ready at all times. And God did test me—he sent the Indians to attack, and they shot me with an arrow but, still, I had to protect Mary's heart. I tried—I tried so hard to get there, but by the time I did, Mary was destroyed, and her heart was gone. I failed." His huge shoulders slumped and his head dropped into his hands. He made no sound, but his huge frame was quaking. Finally, he looked back into the fire, the insanity glazing his eyes, his voice droning on.

  "They all died—all of them—and it was my fault."

  Clary was appalled and horrified. How could a grown man do this to a child? Tobias Benedict had literally driven Joseph mad with guilt and pain. Made him responsible for something so much bigger than he could ever handle—a ruby worth half a million dollars! Nelson was right, the ruby was cursed! Cursed by the foolishness of a weak priest who couldn't just give the ruby to the church. No, he had to hold onto it until he died. And in the dying—he had cursed the living.

  "No, Joseph," Clary whispered urgently. "It wasn't your fault. It was the fault of a weak and greedy man who set you to a job you had no business tending to."

  He stood up and bellowed, "No—it was my duty! I failed my duty!"

  Shaking but determined, Clary tried another tack. "Do you know who little Mary is?"

  "She's his child," he growled, breathing hard and running his fingers through his hair. "She is Father Benedict's child."

  "And doesn't that strike you as odd? A priest is married to God, they aren't supposed to have children."

  Joseph looked confused. "What's your point?"

  "Think about it, Joseph. That ruby belonged to Father Benedict, and he was going to leave it to the church because he didn't have children."

  "He said it belonged to Mary, it was her heart," he insisted, shaking his head in denial.

  "And it does belong to Mary—to little Mary," she replied urgently. "Her mother took it for her because it was her father's, and she knew he would want his child to have it."

  Joseph looked dazed, his fingers clenching into a tightly balled fist. "There...there was an angel," he whispered hoarsely. "She told me I did my best and not to worry. I saw an angel at the statue, and she spoke to me!"

  Clary realized it was probably Mary's mother but she was willing to go with what Joseph was saying."And if you saw an angel—then it was God who spoke to you, Joseph. He would have sent the angel to tell you it's all right because he knew how hard you worked and to make sure you knew it wasn't your fault. He wanted little Mary to have that ruby. It was all meant to be."

  Joseph grabbed his hair and groaned deeply. "No—no, you are trying to confuse me. Leave me alone," he shouted. He whirled and left the campfire, leaving Clary in tears.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She had tried so hard to get through to him, but he had killed people, thinking he was doing God's work. If he listened to her, then he had their deaths on his conscience. If he didn't, then he had all the deaths at the mission, including his own family, on his conscience. How would he reconcile his feelings? No surprise he was driven to insa
nity, it was too much for any normal God-fearing man to bear.

  When Joseph didn't come back, Clary looked around, feeling worried. Hearing the wolves howl made her uneasy. She could see his horse just beyond the circle of fire, but it didn't seem nervous or edgy. Just the same, she found herself creeping to the saddlebags to look for a knife or anything that could protect her tonight—and tomorrow. She knew most men carried an extra one. She had just pulled a large skinning knife from the pack when a hand grasped her wrist.

  "Little girls don't need to play with knives," was the low guttural warning.

  "I feel the need for protection," she explained, her voice quivering as she stared defiantly up at him. His anger had dissipated, and he seemed strangely calm.

  "I'll protect you from the wolves," he said quietly, putting the knife back into the pack. The white of his eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight.

  "And who'll protect me from you?" she whispered in anguish.

  As silently as he had appeared, he slid once more into the darkness. Knowing he was watching, Clary returned to the fire where he had placed a blanket in her spot. Wrapping it around her, she leaned back against the log behind her and finally dozed off in the warmth of the banked embers, her rest troubled by tortured images of Thorn's golden eyes, full of pain.

  It seemed no time at all when a hand shook her shoulder. "It's time to go." He held out his hand to help her up.

  Clary was tired and her body ached She didn't want to get back on that horse, let alone face the coming hours. "What time is it?" she asked dully.

  "It's two in the morning," he replied, folding her blanket and putting in into the saddlebag. "You need to tend to anything?"

  While Clary was behind a rock, she debated running, but she couldn't do it. She didn't want to die, but she couldn't let Mary die, either. The man had chosen well in his method of keeping her willingly with him. At least I'll see one more sunrise, she thought. She had always loved the sunrise. She wondered how far they were from the mission. It was about three or so hours before the sun would make its way across the sky. She returned to the big man and let him put her on the horse before he swung up behind her.