Under Starry Skies

by Judy Ann Davis

  “You don’t honestly believe a person would attack this boat, do you?” Abigail’s blue eyes flashed cold like a winter sky. “Who would be crazy enough to want two coffins, two women, or the U.S. mail?”

  Tye ignored her. Fool woman. Even without Brett downstream about to launch his ruse, they could be blown to human splinters. He silently prayed whoever packed the bottles, packed them well and spared no straw. One jagged rock or one floating tree limb could jar the boat and excite the unstable liquid inside the bottles. His gaze circled the group. “Many a man, down on his luck, has been known to rob, just to scavenge for any little articles which could net him a decent meal or a bottle of whiskey,” he explained. “Now, ladies, sit down, remain seated, and don’t move no matter what happens, hear me?”

  He took up his pole and dug it into the swirling water. Amos moved forward to stand beside him. “How the devil did you ever get tied up with the likes of those two?” Tye gestured with his head to the back of the boat but kept his eyes keenly trained on the current ahead, looking for any floating debris.

  “Their father, sir—”

  “Don’t call me sir,” he snapped, still disgruntled.

  “Mister—”

  “No mister, either. It’s Ashmore or Tye.”

  “You’re a rancher?” Amos asked.

  Tye nodded. “I once lived in Virginia on a farm, then came west before the war with my father, three brothers, and a sister. I thought it was the longest, most miserable trek I’d ever experienced in my life. Now I’m only praying I get forty miles to Pueblo in one piece. Hell, I could sure use a stiff drink of whiskey.”

  The black man stared curiously at him a moment and chuckled lowly. “Maria and Abigail’s father was a small storekeeper in New York. When their mother died from pneumonia, he asked me to help him with the household and a small orchard he tended. When he decided to try his hand in Utah, he asked me again to help with the move and his new store. ’Course when the War broke out, the store’s profits went downhill fast. Mr. O’Donnell was a kind gent. Much too kind and generous. He let people run up some mighty big bills. Said the War was hurtin’ everyone, and he didn’t want no starving children on his conscience. God rest his soul! He gave to others and left his two daughters near destitute. When Miss Maria decided to take a job in Golden and convinced her sister to relocate too, the least I could do was accompany them. Not safe for young ladies to travel alone these days.”

  “And Joshua and Adam?”

  “Who?” Amos looked confused. “Oh, yes, Cousins Joshua and Adam. The coffins,” he stammered. “Pity them, sir…I mean, Tye. These cousins died unfortunate deaths in a mine accident, but their last wishes were to be laid next to kin.”

  Tye’s forehead wrinkled. “I thought Abigail said they died in a wagon mishap.”

  The old man’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Oh, yes. Yes…you’re right.”

  Tye looked at him curiously. “Well, let’s hope we don’t accompany them to their resting place.”

  Both men fell silent, lost in their own thoughts as they watched the shore where aspen grew thick, spilling their leaves into the dark water like floating gold coins. Tye carefully guided the straying boat into the current as they rounded a bend in the river. Despite the pleasant day, Tye was still irritated. He removed his hat and pushed his fingers again through his damp hair. He was sweating enough to raise the river level an extra inch. By now Brett Trumble had checked at the station and inquired about the mail and was probably waiting somewhere along the riverbank downstream. Why, oh why, did he ever agree to Brett’s shenanigans? All he wanted was to be left alone, to be a common rancher, to be tending the cattle with his brothers. In peace. But even Brett wouldn’t leave him to his dreams. Gently, yet persistently, Brett was hounding him to become a scout for the army, especially since he had a talent for speaking many of the local Indian languages. Tye rubbed his right leg, stiff and sore from being broken when he fell underneath an Indian pony he was trying to break a few months back. Luckily, his brother, Flint, had dragged him away from the bucking bronc or he might be dead, just like the two corpses onboard.

  His eyes fell to the mailbag at Abigail’s feet. Brett had recently received word the final batch of discharge and war-related papers had been released by the army, and his papers could possibly be inside the bag. But Brett’s papers wouldn’t read the way he would have liked. Crazy Brett had left his credentials with a Union soldier when he sneaked behind enemy lines in civilian clothes to spy on the Southern ranks. When a Northern detachment finally recaptured the Southern unit and the captain had been caught with them, his papers couldn’t be located. The Northern soldier holding his papers had been killed and sent home in a lowly pine box. Brett’s papers were never found among his belongings. For almost a decade now, Brett had been petitioning the U.S. government to take him off a list that threatened to mar a flawless military career and list him as a deserter and traitor.

  Tye was so absorbed in his thoughts, he neglected to see the small skiff dart out of a stand of scrub oak along the riverbank behind them and glide silently and swiftly to the side of the flatboat.

  “Look! A thief!” Maria screamed, jumping up.

  Tye whirled about as Brett’s small boat plunged swiftly through the water and drew up beside them.

  “Have care,” Tye shouted in warning to the masked individual. He could see sunlight flash off the barrel of Brett’s drawn gun. “We have women and explosives onboard.”

  “Allow me to board,” Brett’s muffled voice demanded from behind the bandanna covering his lower face.

  Abigail jumped up beside Maria. “You’re not going to let him do it,” she said with a hiss. “Stop him!”

  “May I point out to you the obvious, Miss Abigail—he’s holding a gun?” Tye shook his head in disbelief. “Unless you have a monumentally better idea, I would remain seated. One bullet in those crates and we’re feeding the catfish. Sit down. Let me handle this!”

  Brett Trumble leaped lithely aboard and threw the rope from his skiff around a tie-down along the side of the flatboat. Tye could see his green eyes swing a wide arc around the boat and come to settle on the crates. There was no mistaking his surprise and puzzlement.

  Beside Tye, Swamp rose and instead of growling, cocked his head curiously at Brett. Tye motioned to him to sit, but as soon as he obeyed, his tail began thumping wildly on the bottom of the boat. Tye prayed no one noticed the dog’s affable behavior.

  “You carry unusual cargo, my friend,” Brett drawled. “Coffins, a dog, women, and explosives. All worthless when a man needs some quick money.” He pointed his pistol at the mailbag. “Perhaps the mail might hold something of more value.” He walked to where the women had resumed their seats on the trunk and reached for the bag beside Abigail, but her hand flashed down and clamped onto it.

  “No, you can’t have it,” she said through clenched teeth. “This mail is worthless to you, but people are waiting for these letters with news from loved ones and home. They need to be delivered.”

  “Give him the bag, Abigail,” Tye ordered, his voice low and insistent. “Let’s not join your dear cousins.”

  Abigail’s jaw tightened, and she flashed an irritated glance at him. “Whose side are you on? This is worth two dollars if we deliver it to Pueblo.”

  “Side?” Tye’s voice raised an octave. “What the blazes are you thinking? He’s holding a gun!”

  “Give it to him. Please, Abigail,” Maria pleaded. She stood. Her face was the color of newly fallen snow, and her hands trembled as she tugged at her sister’s sleeve. “Please, Abigail, don’t be difficult.”

  Tye watched Abigail reluctantly release her grip. Brett quickly scooped up the bag, then turned to survey the flying petticoat. “Yours, miss?” He looked at Abigail.

  She blushed. “Sir, you are no gentleman!”

  He laughed and hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the coffins. “Oh, I suppose they were?”

  “But, of course. My cousins
were gentlemen to the very day they died.”

  From behind his bandanna, Brett chuckled. “Next you’ll be telling me they were men of the cloth.”

  “No, of course not. The O’Donnells were honorable men who worked the mines and never once stole from others, I might add.”

  “Irishmen, eh? I knew it!” BrettBrett flapped his hand in front of his concealed face. “Shoot-fire, it seems they died with the best Irish whiskey still on their breaths. My daddy said there are many men who’ve been known to hit the sauce with one foot in the grave. These miners are living proof.”

  Tye watched Abigail’s eyes widen and her face blanch, and for a brief moment, he swore he could smell whiskey on the gust of wind seeping over them from the north riverbank. He squinted curiously at her, then at the coffins. He hoped Brett would not further enrage her. She had the temperament of a cornered rattler.

  Beside Brett, Maria stood, obviously overwhelmed by his ribald humor and the commotion. She took one faltering step and started to speak, then collapsed, crumpling sideways onto the trunk before she rolled onto the worn floorboards of the boat.

  “Damn you.” Tye lunged at Brett. “Now look what you’ve done!” He swung his fist, connecting it solidly with Brett’s jaw. The blow forced Brett to stagger backwards, and before Tye could grab him, he toppled over into the river with his gun and the mailbag in tow.

  “The mail!” Abigail shrieked, jumping up and waving her arms frantically.

  “Forget the mail and that blackguard sinner. And stop rocking the boat!” Tye crossed to where Maria lay and stripped off his jacket. He knelt beside the fallen girl. “Help me with your sister.” He gathered Maria into his arms, turned her onto her back, then bunched his coat into a ball and settled it beneath her head for a pillow. He was so intent upon tending to the girl, he hardly gave Brett Trumble’s escape any conscious thought.

  Amos hurried to help him.

  “Get me a wet handkerchief, Amos, and my saddlebags. Then untie the skiff before it catches on a rock or collides with something, and we crash right along with it.”

  “But he’s getting away!” Abigail screamed above his head. “He’s got the mail. We have to stop him! You’re giving him his booooooat?”

  Tye glanced up to see Brett slicing through the water in clean long strokes toward the opposite shore.

  “Let him go, we’ve more serious things to worry about.” Snapping open his bag, he removed a small muslin bag and waved it under the unconscious girl’s nose.

  Abigail looked down at them. “What are you doing?” There was even more alarm in her voice. She knelt beside her sister.

  “It’s rosemary, basil, and mint. The Indians sometimes use piñon pine. After living among the Indians for a few years, I gained a little knowledge of their medicine. These are from my sister, Betsy, who runs the General Store in Golden. Even if doesn’t help to arouse those who have passed out or fainted, it sure does make my gear smell good.”

  Tye held Maria’s head gently in his hand as he placed the cold cloth on her forehead and flapped the muslin bag beneath her nose. He could feel the soft silky texture of her dark hair resting in his palm. Her delicate face was pale and flawless. How long had it been since he felt a woman in his arms? How long had it been since he touched the smooth skin of a vibrant beautiful woman such as this? A long time, he admitted to himself.

  “She’s not fainted from the excitement as much as from hunger,” Abigail admitted, her face growing red. “We haven’t eaten since noon yesterday.”

  “Why on earth didn’t you say something?”

  The girl moaned beside him. She raised her hand and pushed the bag of herbs away from her face.

  He gestured toward the bow of the boat. “I have food in a bag stashed up front. Excellent goat cheese and bread made by my sister-in-law, and some dried beef and apples. There’s a ring flask full of clear, cool water, too.”

  “We’re not charity cases,” Abigail said.

  Tye heaved an exasperated sigh. Beside him, Maria slowly came to her senses, and he gently helped her to sit upright. His hand traveled to her back where he continued to support her. “I’d take it easy for a moment,” he cautioned. “Get your bearings before standing.”

  She tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not generally prone to fainting.”

  “Empty stomachs have a tendency to cause it. At least now I can be the first to offer you a meal on behalf of Golden’s welcoming committee. I’m sure my oldest brother, Flint, would want me to greet you on behalf of the school board, too.”

  “Oh, no-ooo,” Maria groaned and lowered her face into the palms of her hands. “Don’t tell me your brother is a member of the school board?” She looked up at him, her cheeks taking on a glint of red. “This is embarrassing.” She stood with his help and sat on the trunk.

  Amos interrupted, handing Tye his saddlebags. “We’re obliged for even the slightest bite to take the edge off our hunger.”

  With the incident behind them, the group ate in relatively peaceful silence while Tye and Amos took turns with their poles guiding the boat. Minutes later, into the lull, the old black man looked over to Abigail still eating an apple. His dark eyes narrowed. “Take heed, missy, and remember what I’ve told you about apples.”

  Abigail’s mouth fell away from the MacIntosh, and she turned it round in her hand. “Land sakes, Amos, there’s at least a dozen more bites left, and I plan to devour all of them.”

  Curiosity piqued, Tye waited quietly for an explanation.

  Abigail laughed, tossed the core into the water, and watched it bob a few times, before it slowly sank below the surface, only to pop upward again.

  “Amos is a trifle superstitious,” Maria explained. “He was born and raised in the South, but came north as a young man. He believes if an unmarried woman takes the last bite from an apple, she could end up an old maid for the rest of her life.”

  Tye met her cinnamon-colored eyes with ones as dark as molasses. “You don’t sound like a believer. However, at the rate your sister has been making friends, an apple might not have anything to do with her chance for marriage. No offense.” He grinned.

  Maria smiled. “No offense taken. Abby and I tend to humor Amos and his black magic.”

  They rounded a leafy bend in the river, and Tye stood and walked to the front of the boat. “Pueblo is straight ahead about a half mile.” He pointed to a tiny settlement coming into view. Mismatched structures of all types and sizes, fashioned of wood and stone, lined the steep riverbanks. The sun was beginning to sink on the horizon and color the sky in shades of pink. Behind them, the Rocky Mountains stood tall and proud in varying shades of blues.

  “The landing will be to our left.” Tye poled the boat to a shallow silt-bottomed area just below a huge wooden station standing high up on the bank like a guardhouse. Minutes later, with the help of Amos, he glided the boat into the docks along a hand-hewn pier and tied off, then helped the women alight.

  “Let’s give the Henderson Mining Company the pleasure of unloading their wares themselves and just light out of here,” Tye suggested.

  “No. Please.” Maria turned back toward the flatboat. “My trunk. Can you take my trunk? Inside are all my books for teaching. I can’t afford to get them wet or lose them.”

  Reluctantly, Tye limped back to the boat and retrieved the trunk, carrying it up the grassy bank and setting it beneath the canopy of a poplar, bowing down with heavy foliage.

  “The coffins, too?” Abigail asked.

  “They’re already dead.” Tye heard Amos give an anxious little cough beside him.

  Abigail’s voice was insistent. “I can’t stand by and allow the dead to be so ill-treated.”

  Tye gave her an unfriendly lengthy stare, then abruptly turned, whistled to Swamp, and moved toward the small footpath leading up to the inn. “Then I’d suggest you get them yourself.” He was glad to be alive. The only thing he really wanted was to get away from the nitroglycerin and these fickle females. He wanted
a warm supper, a good stiff drink, and a soft bed.

  “They’re worth a bottle of pure well-aged corn whiskey,” Abigail called out after him.

  He spun around. “Another ploy, Miss O’Donnell?”

  He looked over at Maria who shook her head. “No, she’s telling the truth.”

  He walked back down to the flatboat. Behind him, both women followed. Minutes later, with everyone’s help and a lot of muscle, they managed to drag the heavy coffins up the slippery grass, several yards from the landing under the tree with Maria’s trunk.

  Panting, Abigail knelt and patted the coffin. “My dear Cousin Adam thanks you, sir.”

  To Tye’s amazement, she fiddled with the coffin’s locks and flipped the lid open. The familiar smell of whiskey assailed his nostrils as he stared at the satin-lined coffin where rows upon rows of whiskey bottles were wrapped in cloth and stacked in thick layers of straw.

  “Ah-hhh, it looks like we lost only one.” Abigail examined the contents, then smiled, removed a bottle, and held it up with its amber liquid toward the fading light. “The best Canada has to offer!” She paused and smiled. “A deal is a deal, Tye Ashmore.” She handed it to him.

  Tye took the bottle from her outstretched hand and nodded at the other coffin. “And dear Cousin Joshua?”

  Abigail walked to the other coffin, knelt, opened the hasps, and flipped the lid. “Only the best imported French wine in the country.” She showed him a bottle. “Now all we have to do is get this delivered to Golden and stored properly in the Mule Shed Inn’s wine cellar. It took all of my mother’s jewelry and what little cash we had to buy out a saloon in Cedar City going belly-up. I bought only the finest from the owner’s stock.”

  “Mule Shed? Your uncle is Henry McNeil?” Tye asked.

  “The same,” Abigail replied.