Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

  Lucius could no longer speak of glory. Could not even whisper it. It stuck thick as blood in the back of his throat and there it remained, slowly trickling down and around his heart like a cold, black frost.

  She watched him as these hopeless thoughts manipulated his mouth into a grimace. His chest heaved, his skin flushed scarlet with fury. Evelyn hated to see him like this. In the years they had grown up together, they had seen the best and worst of each other. Evelyn had seen a dejected Lucius on more than one occasion, but this rampage was different. This was evidence of a deep pain that she could not heal, and her heart ached because of it.

  She stepped beside him and tenderly touched his wounded hand.

  The contact startled him, for in his rage, he had forgotten she was there.

  He wrenched his hand away and in one thoughtless instant, struck her passionately across the face. His bleeding knuckles marked where the violent blow fell, and she pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, eyes wide with pain and apprehension.

  Lucius stared at her in equal shock.

  Neither one of them said a word. The only sound was of the wind as it blew through the rafters.

  Her skin tingled with pain and her ears burned with embarrassment. She turned her back to Lucius and stood, rigid and still, not knowing what else to say or do.

  Lucius was mortified. He wanted to say her name, to reach out and touch her shoulder, to beg her forgiveness. He didn’t mean to do what he had done, would never deliberately injure her. She was his oldest friend; indeed, she was his only friend. He had watched over her, protected her for as long as he could remember.

  In his passion, he had created a divide that no apology could breach. Even as a child, Evelyn was proud. She had come to comfort him, and he had wounded her. The damage done would not be easily repaired.

  Words failed him, his muscles disobeyed his intentions, and he did nothing but watch from the lowest seat of remorse as Evelyn took one step, then two. When she came to the door, her cape caught the wind as she stepped away from the stables and onto the emerald grass. She walked away from him, the rift between them growing with her every step.

  * * *

  The power of the memory forced her to look away, her skin flushed.

  “I am so very sorry for what happened when you were a boy, Lucius,” she told him. “For everything you lost, and everything that was taken from you.”

  Lucius dropped his eyes as his mind returned to that same time and place.

  “You are sorry, Evelyn?”

  “What happened in the stables that day-”

  “Was my fault entirely.”

  “But your father had caused you so much pain. If only I had understood then…”

  “I overreacted.”

  “It broke my heart.”

  “And my hand.”

  “I am sorry,” she said again.

  “So am I.”

  They were silent a moment. They had never spoken of that day before now. It was a bit more than either of them knew how to handle.

  Evelyn wrung her hands, and Lucius kicked at the dirt. Both of them waited for the other to speak.

  “The cord between my father and I has been severed,” Lucius finally said. “I am my own man now, free to reclaim the lost adventures of my youth. Free to dream again. I can already feel the good it has done me. I no longer toss and turn at night, wondering how in God’s name I am to survive tomorrow. On the contrary, I embrace tomorrow. I long for it, for it is mine to do with what I wish. That is my liberty, such as I have never known before.”

  The sea and sky were marbled like the pearlescent hues of an abalone shell, and as the sun breached the morning clouds, Lucius’ chest rose with sharp breaths of exhilaration, as the sight of dawn burned away painful memories and recalled his present happiness.

  “Look, look, Miss Brennan!” he cried, pointing to the west, eyes glittering with the ethereal vista. “Do you see the beauty? This is the reward of taking risks, which my father will never know! I think we should claim this ground. Yes, we should name it. Liberty Hill. And here, at Liberty’s feet, lies the great sea of peace, the Pacific. How profound! Did you ever believe you would see such wonders in your lifetime, Miss Brennan? This is history. Right here, right now. The world will remember this moment, and we shall always be able to say, ‘We were there. We were a part of it, because we were not satisfied to sit back and watch, or simply read the newspaper. We took liberty for our own. We snatched it up, and used it to chisel our names into the Ebenezer stones of the past, so that future generations will know: we grasped prosperity, freedom, and opportunity, and we made them a part of our story.’”

  Evelyn took her place beside Lucius and gazed into his young, eager face, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

  “This journey is about more than gold, isn’t it, Mr. Flynn?”

  Lucius nodded towards the horizon.

  “Of course, Miss Brennan. It is about so much more. It is about everything more.” He smirked. “Though the gold is a terribly attractive incentive.”

  “Of course,” she teased in response, then grew sober. “You must forgive me, Lucius. I misunderstood you. I thought you shallow, and greedy, and-”

  “And you were right to think so,” he confirmed. “Do not allow my pretty speeches to cover my faults. I am still the raucous boyo who made a jolly scene of New York, who ever shamed his father’s reputation outside the office, who loves to flirt and sing and gamble and have a pint or ten. I am not the saint of my namesake, but I do have aspirations, if not principles, and this…” He stomped his foot. “This is the first of many hills I plan to take.”

  “Liberty Hill?”

  “Aye, lass. Liberty Hill.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As the company mounted their horses, Evelyn took one last look over her shoulder. Brock Donnigan was nowhere to be found.

  Lucius noticed her wandering eyes and sighed. He knew whom she sought.

  “He’s gone,” he told her.

  She wheeled around to face him.

  “Who?” she asked stupidly.

  Her pretense was disappointing.

  “You know who,” he replied.

  “How do you know he’s gone? Did you speak with him?”

  “I did not have to. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Mr. Donnigan is a nomad, Miss Brennan. It was time for him to move on.”

  “That’s silly,” Evelyn laughed mirthlessly. “We are all heading in the same direction.”

  “Yes, but perhaps he was tired of our company.”

  For the first time since her parting conversation with Brock, Evelyn felt a pang of remorse.

  “Oh, right. I see.”

  She had driven away the first man to whom she had ever felt attracted. She had earned his favor, yet all her efforts had not won his loyalty. His will would not be broken, and she could not persuade him to become the man she wanted him to be.

  She lifted her chin defiantly.

  A lady must never stoop for a lesser man, no matter how charming. In twenty years, Brock’s lovely face would be gone, and there would be nothing left to compensate for everything else he lacked. It was just as well Evelyn discovered this before it was too late.

  * * *

  Evelyn was not the only one searching for a missing member of their party. As they set out for Panama City, Adele Whitfield cast fitful glances about the surrounding trees in hopes of seeing yesterday’s new acquaintance, the curious and delightful Winston. He had run off after seeing Lucius that morning, and had yet to reappear.

  Adele was beginning to think he had vanished for good when the creature dropped from an overhanging branch and landed directly upon her shoulder. It gave her a bit of a start, as she was not accustomed to monkeys falling from the sky; but she soon laughed, as did all who witnessed Winston’s sudden return. Adele offered a finger in place of a handshake, and the animal took it with what seemed like joy. He reacquainted himself with her scent and proceeded to pick through her carefully arranged hair. T
he disruption was happily received, for Winston’s presence brought warmth and comfort to the widow’s broken heart, and he remained her companion throughout the rest of the day.

  Despite his frenzied entrance into their lives, it seemed as though God himself had lured that creature out of the jungle. Winston was like a tiny point of light that had worked its way into the darkest place of Adele’s heart, bringing the slightest bit of illumination, and with it, hope.

  * * *

  The descent of Lucius’ Liberty Hill was as steep as the climb, and the horses struggled to keep their footing. In places, large, sharp rocks protruded from the path, and the space between them was so narrow that all had to dismount their animals to maneuver them safely through. The mules, with their stout legs, rotund bellies, and the added girth of baggage had the most difficult time of it. There was much kicking, balking, and braying before they emerged on the other side. The trunks they carried took a good beating as they were scraped along the rocks, and several times they were jarred open, flinging the company’s belongings into the mud. On account of this, Evelyn had to stifle an irate scream more than once.

  They presently emerged from the overgrowth of the jungle. The road opened up before them, exposing them to stark, merciless sunlight. The heat was harsh, the humidity unbearable, and all were so eager to reach the ocean that the day seemed especially long. They gritted their teeth against complaining, lest the hours drag on further.

  Come afternoon, they could sense they were getting closer when their guides stopped for a small break. The natives washed their faces, pulled white linen garments from their bags, and proceeded to cover up their lustrous brown skin.

  As they dressed, Evelyn leaned over to Adele.

  “Now they decide to put on proper clothing?” she whispered.

  “Oh, but my dear,” Adele giggled, “we are coming upon a city. One must keep up appearances.”

  Evelyn clucked her tongue.

  “Pity,” she said. “I so enjoyed watching them from behind.”

  “Miss Brennan!” Adele gasped.

  “What is it?” Lucius butted in.

  The women immediately stuck their noses in the air and began fanning themselves as though suffering from boredom.

  “Nothing,” Evelyn replied. She cast a sideways glance at Adele and it was all they could do not to burst into laughter.

  After some miles, the foot of the mountains smoothed into a plain, which rolled invitingly towards a white city and the sea beyond.

  “Is that-” Evelyn started.

  “Panama City!” Lucius finished. “We’ve arrived!”

  He released a whoop while the ladies sighed in relief.

  “Do you see a ship, Mr. Flynn?” Evelyn asked. “Shall we sail for San Francisco today?”

  “Oh, I think not,” Lucius replied. “The port’s empty now, but there’s no reason to doubt we shan’t sail within the week.”

  They descended upon the old city with a throng of other travelers, eyes wide to receive the ancient panorama. The place was devastated by the developing northwest, for the discovery of gold had forged a highway along the old stones, which were turning to dust beneath the weight of promised prosperity.

  Lining the streets were dilapidated buildings, crumbling under the gravity of entropy and halfway hidden beneath a meager façade of whitewash. On every corner rose a turreted tower, with bells that had once been ornate and lovely, but were now cracked and eroded. Customers of every race and creed burst forth from the booming inns, brothels, eating houses, and saloons. They studied the faces of the newcomers, searching for a friend, a family member, a criminal, or a woman. When they saw Evelyn and Adele, their eyes widened. Some even removed their hats, and one man burst into tears.

  This odd reception gave the females a queer feeling, and they subconsciously drove their horses closer to Lucius, who cried out in agitation, “oy! Ladies! Leave a man’s horse some room to walk!”

  He leaned towards a nearby rider.

  “Got any idea where they’re taking us, boyo?” he asked, indicating towards the guides.

  “American Camp, I hear tell.”

  “A camp? Not an inn?”

  “’Course not. Ship ain’t come through these parts in more’n two weeks. Inn’s are all full.”

  Lucius leaned in closer.

  “Two weeks?” he repeated.

  “Yessir.”

  “Blimey.”

  Lucius had not anticipated that answer. His party had reached Panama City, the final gateway to San Francisco, and he had been promised a steamer would be waiting to bear them hence. Had these other men received the same promise? He looked at them with fresh perspective. Some of them had been in Panama City for at least two weeks; but there were thousands of people everywhere. Americans, Europeans, Hispanics, Orientals, and free blacks. Had all of them been here for two weeks? A month?

  Lucius took a deep breath and released it through pursed lips. Peripherally, he noticed Evelyn looking at him, and he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze.

  She was not pleased.

  “I don’t care much for the sound of that,” she told him, confirming his fears.

  He winced against her disapproval, but there was nothing he could do. So, typical of Lucius, he shrugged and said, “my apologies, lass.”

  He wished he could think of something a bit more comforting, but those three words were all he could conjure. He shrugged once more and left it at that.

  * * *

  When American Camp came into view, the onlookers felt their jaws fall slack in wonder, for before them was a city of canvas. Three thousand men had settled here, awaiting passage to the gold fields. The air had gone slightly hazy with the smoke of their campfires and the mud-riddled avenues were lined with gutters full of their waste. Skinny chickens skirted here and there, clucking indignantly at the careless feet that threatened to kick them aside. Here the animals lived in close quarters with the men, and one’s nose could not differentiate between them.

  The guides led the company to the outskirts of the growing tent city, where the porters unloaded the mules, reined in the horses, and departed without a word of farewell.

  As they walked away, Winston leapt from Adele’s shoulder and perched in the dirt at her feet. He looked up at her with inquisitive eyes, and reached out his tiny hand to touch the hem of her dress.

  It was as though he was asking her permission to leave.

  Feeling a torrent of sadness and gratitude, she crouched down in the dust before him and patted his little head.

  “Do you think he will return to the jungle for good?” she asked Evelyn, who stood beside her.

  “If he is a gentleman, he will come back to visit you,” she replied.

  Winston made a little screeching sound.

  “All right, then,” Adele sighed. “Off you go.”

  She watched him turn and scurry after the natives, from whom he solicited a ride home.

  “A cheeky fellow,” Adele murmured. “I was happy to have known him.”

  Evelyn took her hand.

  “I am sure he would say the same of you,” she said.

  Lucius watched after the diminishing troupe of men and horses, then turned to take in the full vista of this makeshift city. The tents were so tightly packed they looked as one, only broken up by narrow lanes that stood out like dark veins along pale skin. There would be no chance of them settling near port, for that was where the congestion began, fanning out in all possible directions as more and more men collected in this cesspool, this bottleneck of the western tide. New arrivals had a nearly impossible task of finding a place to set up camp that was anywhere closer to shore than the very outskirts of the city. Lucius did some scouting while managing to keep the luggage and females in sight, and before long he discovered a promising location not far from where they had been deposited. The ground was somewhat level there, and someone else had pitched a tent nearby, with a firepit that could possibly be shared. With much grunting and grumbling o
n Evelyn’s part, Lucius and the others dragged their belongings to this spot, creating a very untidy pile. Lucius thought for a moment, wiped his filthy hands on his already filthy pants and said, “well, ladies, I suppose we must make ourselves comfortable. Let’s have a go at the tent, shall we?”

  He looked at his party and found all eyes looking blankly back at him, for none of them had pitched a tent in their lives.

  Lucius began to consider his predicament. Stephen Whitfield was dead. Brock Donnigan had deserted them. Lucius was the only man, alone with two women, a girl, a small boy, and an enormous lot of trunks, baskets, boxes, and sacks. How in the world was he to look after them all?

  He ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a wash. His clothes smelled like horse. He was hungry and tired, and all he wanted was a drink and a chance to sit down with a good set of cards. However, he could not foresee a time when any of these desires would be met. His lot had changed. He was a leader now. He was in charge.

  He was responsible.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  Evelyn took a step towards him.

  “What is it?”

  He was tempted to tell her the truth, to confess that their situation had just fallen like an anvil of inadequacy upon his shoulders. He had never anticipated this kind of liability.

  But what good could come of this confession? The women would lose their faith in him, Josephine would no longer trust him, Bartholomew would sense their fear and burst into tears.

  What was it Evelyn had told him as they left the Steam Rose?

  Pretend, Lucius. You have to pretend.

  All right. He could do that. He could pretend to be strong, to be fearless, to have all the answers.

  However, that did not change the fact that he was weak, terrified, and at a complete and utter loss.

  Sensing Lucius’ turmoil, Josephine softly went to him and placed her hand in his. He met her eyes, and it felt like days since he had looked at her, really looked at her. As he had appointed himself her watchman, he had been pleased to check on her, to assure her that everything was fine, that he was in control. He had not needed her as he believed she needed him.