“I think you are extraordinary.”
She smiled.
“And I am grateful to you. For my life, and for Evelyn’s.”
She turned to look at him then, and placed her cool, soft hand within his own. When he opened his eyes and gazed upon her, he found himself yet amazed at the ancient wisdom she portrayed through her silence. Her green eyes shone with a light akin to that of the stars; old as time, yet somehow brilliant with youth and vivacity. He did not know all the things she had seen and experienced in her lifetime, but she had the appearance of an unearthly being, somehow transcendent, like a heavenly creature acquainted with the sorrow of mortals.
She was fourteen, with no parents, no family, and no country. But here she was, comforting a man who had foolishly surrendered everything, and yet she offered him every good and intangible thing he could never find on his own. Peace. Courage. And absolution.
Yes. What he had done was wrong. But as she looked at him, her innocence seemed to swallow his guilt, and he knew he was better than his mistakes. What was done was done and could not be erased. But it could be redeemed, and it would be. He had spent the entirety of this night dwelling upon his death, upon which all things were settled. If Lucius Flynn died, his interests would be well looked after. Though no longer rich, Evelyn would be in good hands, and, in them, she would know no lack of wealth.
Thinking of Evelyn, he spoke once more.
“How was she,” he asked Josephine, “when you left her?”
Josephine squeezed his hand in response.
“She was all right?”
She nodded.
“Still asleep?”
Another nod.
Lucius sighed.
“You will look after her for me, won’t you?” he asked her then, his voice threatening to break at every syllable. “You will nurse her when she is sick? And hold her hand when she is afraid?”
Again, Josephine tightened her grip on Lucius’ hand.
As I am holding yours now, she seemed to say.
Lucius could say so much more, but as he no longer trusted himself to speak, he fell silent. What was said must suffice, even though the most important words had not been spoken.
Will you go to her when she wakes, and tell her that I am sorry, and tell her that I love her? That if things were different, if I were to live, I would spend the rest of my life making this up to her?
Josephine smiled up at him then.
For things might be different. And Lucius might live.
And what then? Yes, indeed! What then?
Brock Donnigan would be gone. But killed? Lucius was uncertain of the way he wanted this scenario to end. Lucius could just as well wound the outlaw and walk away. Brock might never take the opportunity to be the better man, but Lucius could. He did not have to murder anyone to prove a point.
But if Brock Donnigan fell, whether by wound or death, it was left to Lucius to decide what to do with him. Wasn’t that the agreement? Lucius could regain what he had lost. Honor, yes; but more importantly, his fortune.
Wasn’t that the upside of gambling? When playing with high stakes, you could lose tremendously. But you could also take the pot.
It was the gold at the end of the rainbow indeed.
He could win. And if Lucius Flynn won, all would be restored. His money, Evelyn’s inheritance, his life… His life!
Lucius nearly jumped out of his seat. He could take back what was stolen, and before the bells stopped ringing, he could return to Evelyn and say everything that needed to be said with his own words, from his own mouth. Their troubles could be over, and they could live happily ever after. Just like in the fairy tales.
Only, first, Lucius had to survive being shot at.
* * *
The roosters started crowing when it was still dark. On a normal day, Lucius might have turned over on his mat and cursed them. But today, he was eager for the sound, for it meant his sleepless night would soon be ended.
As the moon was swallowed by the sea, the light of day began to infiltrate the atmosphere. The sun remained hidden beyond the ridge of the earth, but the globe groaned beneath its approach. The roosters continued their crooning herald, while the last of the nocturnal creatures fell into silence, and the birds took their places as lords of the morning.
Josephine never went to bed. She remained at Lucius’ feet, and when the first cock crowed, she stood and went to the fire, where she heated a kettle of water.
Lucius watched in awe as the maid prepared three cups of coffee. One for Lucius, one for Samuel, and one for herself.
He didn’t bother asking what she was doing. The task was evident enough, though he had never known the girl to take coffee. She was a tea drinker, like Adele. Not too black, served with cream and sugar.
“I didn’t know you liked the hard stuff,” he chided, as both of them enjoyed their first sip.
Josephine smiled.
There was a stir near Samuel’s tent, and Lucius watched as Samuel emerged, gun in hand.
“Mr. Davies,” Lucius said somberly, “I see you were able to secure a weapon.”
Samuel responded by turning the gun over and holding it by its barrel. He offered it to Lucius, who looked it over quickly, gulped, and looked away.
“Thank you, Samuel. If it’s all the same to you, I would rather not touch it until I must.”
Samuel nodded briefly.
“I understand, sir.”
“I trust it will do?”
“It was my master’s sir. It will do jest fine.”
“You would lend me your weapon?”
“I would offer you nothing less, Mr. Flynn.”
Samuel took a cup of coffee and a seat beside the others, the pistol resting across his lap. Josephine watched the fire reflect upon the metal while she offered silent prayers to God. The three of them sat silent and pensive for several moments, the only sound between them the crackling of the flames. Gradually, Lucius felt his exhaustion lift with the help of the invigorating stimulant, and when he had drained his cup, he nodded to his ‘second’.
Samuel nodded back.
It was time.
Lucius stepped close to Josephine and cupped her chin in his hand.
“You are extraordinary,” he told her once more.
And once more, she smiled for him.
Everything within him wished she would hold his hand during the long walk across the field, during the beginning procedures of the duel, during the duel itself. But she was a child and he was a man, and it was his responsibility to see that she remained here where it was safe. It was here where they were to say goodbye.
She took her hand and placed it over his heart. He felt the warmth of her touch radiating in his chest, and with it, he felt strengthened.
“All right,” he told her. “I must go.”
He then glanced back at the canvas that veiled the sleeping form of his wife, and sighed.
“You will remember what I asked, won’t you?” he asked Josephine. “You will watch over her for me?”
Josephine nodded, and he leaned down to kiss the tip of her forehead.
“As the sun rises, you will see what happens in the field,” he said. “Have faith for me, Josephine. Plead my case before God.”
He realized then that with her hand upon his chest, she was gently pushing him away. With eyes trained on hers, he stepped back once, twice, then turned towards Samuel, and the two of them began to walk.
Towards the beginning, or the end of all things.
He saw their silhouettes in the distance, watched them grow in detail as they drew near. What were at first shadows became faceless bodies, who then wore clothes and hats, who then grew lips and noses. Lastly, he saw their eyes, looking back at him as though he was a beast to be slaughtered.
He shuddered.
“Didn’t sleep, did you?” Brock asked, one side of his mouth turned up in a grim smile. “You look awful.”
“I’ll sleep when either of us is gone,” Luciu
s replied.
“And how did the duchess look when you told her goodbye?”
At the mention of Evelyn, Lucius’ heart leapt painfully.
“I didn’t.”
Brock cocked his head.
“So confident you’ll see her again, are you?”
Lucius shook his head. He didn’t feel like playing Brock’s games anymore. This was to be the final round, and he wanted to get on with it.
There was one other man present whom Lucius had never seen. He was a very clean man: laundered clothes, combed hair, smooth chin, clear spectacles.
“Are we ready?” the man asked.
He was overseeing the duel.
“Been ready for weeks,” Brock remarked.
The man nodded.
“Your weapons, gentlemen.”
The seconds produced their guns and handed them to him. He received them with a spotless white cloth, and requested that the seconds join him in confidence. Together, he led them some paces away to inspect the weapons. One bullet was allowed, and one bullet was loaded. All seemed well. There was to be no foul play, and the duel could proceed.
The trio returned to find Brock staring at Lucius, and Lucius staring at the ocean.
“Gentlemen?” inquired the clean man.
Both gentlemen broke their stares to look at him.
“Take your weapons.”
They did so, and neither Brock nor Lucius had any further comments to make, as the time for silence had come. Neither could know what would happen in the ensuing moments, whether they would live or die, or whether they would be severely wounded or slightly wounded, or whether anything or nothing would happen at all.
“Backs to one another, gentlemen,” the clean man continued. “Pistols up where I can see them. This is a gentlemen’s duel. You know the rules?”
Lucius smiled wryly.
“I’m Irish, boyo,” he said. “We wrote the rules.”
The man stared blankly at Lucius.
Seconds ticked by.
“Give me twenty paces.”
Brock and Lucius turned from one another and began to walk.
One. Two. Three.
The color of the sky was shifting from gray to a pale blue. The sun was rising, and the morning bells began to chime.
Six. Seven. Eight.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Lucius’ steps were taking him back in the direction of American Camp. He looked up and saw Josephine in the distance, standing in front of the tent, arms folded over her chest. A slight breeze rustled her hair, which hung like golden drapes about her shoulders.
He couldn’t see her face. Not from this far away.
A rooster crowed.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
He could turn right now. Shoot Brock Donnigan in the back.
No, Lucius. Be the better man.
Pretend.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
He looked up at the sky and saw a streak of white. A dove.
Eighteen. Nineteen.
One last step.
“Turn, gentlemen!”
And shoot.
Chapter Forty
“Bang! Bang!” Lucius cried.
He could have sworn he caught her this time, but as she disappeared behind a hedge of roses, she laughed.
“Missed me!”
Exasperated, Lucius’ arms fell to his sides.
“I cannot play this game with you,” he declared.
Her voice came from between the tangling vines.
“And why not?”
“Because you never let me kill you.”
“That’s only because you’re a terrible copper.”
“And you’re a cheating robber!”
He heard her sigh.
“Lucius, I am a criminal. Cheating is what I do best.”
Lucius looked longingly towards the house, where the Brennan’s cook was heating soup for the afternoon meal. He could smell the basil from here.
He and Evelyn were playing in the garden, and when he looked down at his feet, he realized he was standing in a patch of the herb.
“Right,” he muttered.
Thunder rumbled low in the distance. It was a cold, overcast day, and the children had been instructed to play outside until the rain began to fall.
Lucius rubbed his hands together to warm them.
The roses trembled as Evelyn moved. She was stealthy for her six years, but not stealthy enough. Lucius prepared himself for her emergence.
As soon as she popped out from the bushes, he was ready.
“Bang! Bang!” he cried once more.
This time, she clutched her hands to her heart, and feigned a dramatic fall. As she lay dying in the dirt, Lucius grinned.
It was about bloody time.
“Lucius, Lucius,” Evelyn croaked, “I’m dying, Lucius. You must save me.”
Lucius scoffed.
“I cannot save you,” he said. “You’re rotten. I would be committing a disservice to society.”
“No! You’re not a copper anymore. You’re a doctor.”
Lucius rolled his eyes. Evelyn was always changing the rules.
“I’m still a copper. And you’re dead.”
“You’re a doctor! And if you don’t rescue me, I will come back as a witch and curse you.”
“But shouldn’t you come back to haunt the copper who shot you?”
“No, because I am dying on your watch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I want to go inside. It’s freezing out here.”
The thunder clapped again. It was getting closer.
“And leave me out here?” Evelyn demanded to know. “Dying in the garden?”
Lucius sighed.
“How do you propose I rescue you, lass? I shot you through the heart.”
“You must kiss me.”
“Kiss you!”
“Yes.”
“And what good’ll kissing do?”
Now it was Evelyn’s turn to roll her eyes.
“Lucius, it must be done. It’s the only way.”
Lucius shook his head and began walking towards the house.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” he told her.
As she was lying in the path, he stepped over her, but she caught his ankle and tripped him. On his way down, he skinned his knee upon a stone.
“Ow!” he hollered.
“I told you I would curse you,” she laughed. “To the dust with you, villain!”
Lucius righted himself by sitting up and examining his knee. His trousers were scuffed but not torn, and blood began to seep through the fabric.
At the sight of him bleeding, Evelyn stopped laughing.
“Oh, Lucius!” she cried. “What have I done?”
This was a happy turn of events, for Lucius was pleased to see genuine remorse on Evelyn’s face. The wound stung something fierce, and he might have shed a tear or two if he did not feel the sudden desire to appear tough.
“It’s all right,” he told her. “It’s nothing.”
She was sitting up now too, and she shuffled about to get a better look at his knee.
“I did not mean to hurt you,” she said, and the idea that she had caused him pain brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucius saw the tears and reached out to pat her hand.
“I’m fine. Really.”
They sat in the dirt, their seats gone brown with earth, and the sky churning into darkness overhead. Evelyn’s face was flushed from play and emotion, and as Lucius sat opposite her, he thought of her strange request.
“Why did you ask me to kiss you?” he asked.
Evelyn shrugged.
“I just wanted to try it once.”
Lucius had seen a pair of servants kiss once. It seemed silly at the time, but now he was curious, too.
“If I kiss you, will you promise not to trip me anymore?” he wondered.
“Oh, Lucius, I really did not mean to-”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“All right. So what do we do?”
“I suppose we just touch lips.”
“Is that it?”
“I think so.”
“When?”
“Perhaps right now?”
Lucius was skeptical, but Evelyn looked so nice and soft at the moment, that he could not see how kissing her would hurt. Besides, she had already caused him to skin his knee. What more harm could she do?
He scooted towards her, and she closed her eyes. He bent forward, touched his lips to hers, and the warmth of his kiss sent goose flesh down her neck and arms. She shivered and pulled away, the smell of his breath still lingering in her nostrils.
For a moment, neither of them said a word. They merely breathed, in and out, and blinked at one another.
Then, a drop of rain descended in the space between them, and Lucius broke their gaze to look up at the sky.
He got to his feet and held out his hand.
“Come with me,” he told Evelyn, and together, they left the garden as the sky dropped a curtain of rain behind them.
* * *
The sound of the gunshot echoed through the field as the bells continued to chime.
Lucius stared ahead. For a moment, nothing happened. The earth itself stopped turning. Lucius did not even breathe. He did not dare to breathe.
The silhouettes were still in place.
The clean man. Samuel. Brock’s second. Brock himself.
Had Lucius even fired? Hesitantly, he pulled the trigger once more.
Click.
Empty.
His one bullet was gone.
Slowly, he dipped his head to check himself, to see if he was wounded. And as his eyes fell, so did Brock’s silhouette.
Without a trace of blood, Lucius was the one left standing.
The other silhouettes moved. Samuel was with Brock in an instant, surveying the damage.
“Step away from me, nigger,” the wounded man coughed.
Samuel ignored him and called to Lucius, and for a moment, Lucius forgot his own name.
He simply stood and stared, until Samuel called him a second time.
Oh, right. Lucius. That was him.
He approached the silhouettes slowly, disbelievingly. In a trance, in a dream. He barely felt his legs moving beneath him.
As he neared the scene, he took in the damage he had caused.
Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Page 38
