Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  “Alive?” Susan whispered.

  Alive.

  The revelation came to her quietly, not as a blare of trumpets or a burning bush. A part of her, deep inside, crumbled and dissolved. The guilt began to sift through her veins like fine sand until she was left feeling weightless and enervated. Gazing up at Sister Mary Margaret, Susan felt as if a heavy veil had been lifted from her sight. All at once she became conscious of the beauty of the woman in front of her, the rich shadows and light that played across the room, the diamondlike glint of the sun on the windowpanes.

  How many years had she deluded herself into thinking this was her calling? Looking back now, she saw how much she’d cheated the order. She hadn’t performed her duties out of love and joy; she’d completed them much the way a child reluctantly finished a dreaded chore. She had forgotten that life should include pleasure as well as pain.

  She didn’t belong here. She didn’t.

  Mary Margaret chafed Susan’s chilled skin. “You won’t be returning with me.” It was not a question.

  Susan opened her mouth to demur, but she knew she couldn’t lie. “No.” Saying the word seemed to lift her spirits. She wanted to confess everything that had happened in the last two weeks, but she couldn’t speak to a nun about warm flesh, moist kisses, and a man’s strong arms? How could she possibly explain to Sister Mary Margaret that she wanted to leave the order in exchange for the pleasures of the flesh?

  “He’s a fantastic man,” Sister Mary Margaret prompted when Susan didn’t speak.

  “Yes.”

  “And he makes you feel …”

  “Wonderful.” The word burst from her lips, and Susan could no longer contain her eagerness. “He cares for me, Sister, I know he does. He’s made me happy. When I’m with him, I don’t think about anything but how much I love his company. When he leaves, all I wonder is when I’ll see him again. And when he kisses me—” she broke off. The woman she was talking to was a nun. But Sister Mary Margaret smiled encouragingly. “When he kisses me, I feel as if I could conquer the world single-handedly.”

  “And you can.”

  “No.” The panic rose as brackish memories threatened to overwhelm her. “No, I can’t.” Wrapping her arms around Sister Mary Margaret’s knees, she hid her face in the folds of her skirts. Her exhilaration turned to dust in her veins. “I can’t leave the order. I can’t. God would punish me if I did.”

  Daniel’s mount galloped into the valley, easily trailing the path of churned up snow leading away from the orphanage. The foothills of the mountains closed in, enshrouding him in a wintery silence until even the heavy breathing of his horse became an intrusion.

  What in the world was Susan thinking, disappearing into the wilderness this way without so much as a by-your-leave? At the very least she should have told someone where she was going—should have told him where she was going.

  But as Chief eased his pace and picked his way over a slippery frozen streambed, Daniel knew that Susan didn’t owe him anything, especially since it had been Daniel’s impatience that had driven her over the edge.

  Why couldn’t he learn to restrain his brutish instincts? Why couldn’t he learn more tolerance, more diplomacy? More compassion?

  Because he didn’t deserve someone like her. He had surrendered any claim to a woman of her ilk long ago. His job had thrown him into a world of killers and desperate men. Although he worked for the right side of the law, Daniel had become more like the men he tracked than he cared to admit.

  His horse had clambered up the steep embankment when a sharp sliver of warning seeped into his bones. He had been so involved in his thoughts that he hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings. No woman had ever managed to blunt his instinct for survival. Until now.

  When he emerged into a clearing and a horseman rode toward him, he saw the extent of his folly. Soon another rider came into view a few degrees to the left, another to the right. The way they closed in on him left no doubt that they meant to stop him.

  A sick feeling of dread settled into his stomach. If these men had encountered him so easily, they’d seen Susan as well. It wouldn’t take a genius to conclude that he’d been following her.

  Anger burned white-hot inside him. He whirled Chief in the snow, hoping to create confusion and draw the men away from Susan’s path. To his horror, he found another half-dozen horsemen behind him.

  The rifle slid effortlessly into his hand and he hunkered low over the horse’s neck, castigating himself for letting a few days in a woman’s company weaken him so completely.

  “Crocker!” The name was followed by a shrill whistle. The circle of antagonists halted at least fifty yards away—far enough to make their winter-clad shapes indiscernible, but near enough to make Daniel an easy target.

  With a keen eye developed over years of such encounters, Daniel picked out the leader of the band and raised his rifle.

  “Shit, Daniel, can’t you tell one of your own kind when you have to?”

  The gravelly voice, coupled with the way the figure dived to one side and hugged the neck of his mount to avoid being shot, pierced the haze of anger clouding Daniel’s judgment. His finger paused on the trigger. The tension began to drain away as quickly as it had come.

  “Braxton, you bastard! What the hell are you and your men doing sneaking up on me like a herd of no-accounts?”

  Seeing that Daniel had lowered his rifle, the Pinkerton eased upright, drawing his hat from his head to swipe away the sweat beading his brow. “Sneak! Sneak? A herd of buffalo could’ve tromped all over you without you payin’ them any mind.” Signaling to the other men, Braxton closed the circle.

  Daniel regarded the toothless, scrawny man with something akin to pleasure. He’d worked on and off with Braxton Hill and most of the other men for the past decade. A strange bond had formed between them, one that went beyond friendship and yet held a curious emotional distance in case one of them should die in the line of duty.

  Braxton chortled. “I saw the little filly you was chasin’, Daniel—and I ain’t talkin’ ’bout the horse. Can’t blame you if’n you got things on your mind.”

  A familiar possessiveness took hold of Daniel, but Braxton wasn’t finished. “Got a message for you from Kutter. He wants to see you. Now.”

  “Kutter?” Daniel’s brow creased, and he scanned the faces of the men present; they were the cream of the crop from a half-dozen western territories. “What the hell is going on?”

  The men eyed one another uneasily, but none of them volunteered to speak.

  “He’s waitin’ in that shack up Munster Fork we used last year,” Braxton continued as if Daniel hadn’t spoken. “We’d be happy to take you there.”

  Daniel scowled at them all. “I’m on vacation.”

  Braxton considered that point, shifted the tobacco he chewed to the other cheek, then spit on the ground. “Maybe you is and maybe you isn’t,” he muttered cryptically. “Make sure you see Kutter ‘fore too long. I got no belly for his complainin’ and groanin’.” He leaned close to say confidentially, “An’ I got no time to ferret you out at the orphanage so’s you can keep your personal business … personal.”

  Snickering at his own verbal cleverness, he saluted Daniel with two fingers. “All right, men, head ’em up an’ out. We got a thing or two t’ do yet ’fore the sun sets.”

  The Pinkertons cantered away, leaving only the pitted snow and an eerie sense of unease.

  The abrupt winter silence settled around Daniel as he thought of years of duty, a weariness for his rootless life. As the time ticked by, he acknowledged that Susan was not the only one who had gradually lowered her barriers. Daniel had been so concerned about her feelings, her fears, that he hadn’t admitted to himself that she’d punctured a few of his own.

  The rifle slid from his numbed fingers back into the scabbard at his side. But it wasn’t the cold January weather that held him in its strength-robbing grip. It was a strange, overpo
wering fear. Somehow he had allowed himself to need.

  Squinting against the ebbing glare of sun on snow, he tried to ignore the panic. His feelings for Susan were becoming too strong, too intense, and he feared their outcome. Nothing could ever happen between them. Though he longed to possess her, she wasn’t a woman to be kept like a bauble in a box and retrieved whenever he felt the urge. She was more like a flower that would need constant attention and care. She deserved a real home and a real husband.

  The longing to provide that for her struck him with the power of a fist to his stomach. For one flashing instant, he considered hanging up his hat and becoming a normal man with a normal occupation. He could marry her, install her in his house up Trapper Pass, build a life for them. They could have chickens and milk cows and ducks. He could carry water for her, and she could cook for him.

  But that kind of life was an illusion, a pipe dream. He didn’t know if he could ever make it happen. He’d been involved with the Pinkertons too many years to untangle himself that easily. He didn’t know if he could content himself with such a tame way of life, and he knew Susan couldn’t survive in his harsh world. She would wither and die as surely as a daisy in winter.

  Regret overwhelmed him. Their stolen embraces invaded his senses like fine wine. What had he done? To her and to himself? He had awakened Susan to a world of sensual pleasures and had removed her naive belief that entering a convent would wash away her problems. In doing so, he had failed to look at the future. He was too firmly entrenched in his ways to change. And his world held no place for a woman of her innocence.

  Susan wasn’t meant to live alone. She would find someone else eventually. And Daniel didn’t think he could survive it when she did.

  Nudging his horse in the flanks, he resumed his pace. Perhaps he should have left well enough alone. If Susan did enter a convent, she would be out of his reach.

  But no one else could have her, either.

  Sister Mary Margaret ran her hand over the top of Susan’s head, calming her, but Susan barely felt the motion. Instead, she was grappling with the turmoil that threatened to consume her.

  “I can’t leave, Sister Mary Margaret.”

  “Don’t you think that God has already made the decision for you?” She tucked a finger under Susan’s chin, forcing her to look up. “Susan, very few people are called to such a service. That’s why women complete a novitiate before they can become nuns—so that they can determine the truth of their own hearts. You haven’t taken your vows yet. There’s no shame in leaving the order if God has other things for you to do.”

  Sister Mary Margaret smiled at her, a smile that for some reason brought a hazy image of another beautiful woman. Visions of the past swam in front of Susan’s eyes.

  Mama?

  Run, Susan.

  She must have gasped, because bit by bit, she noted the way Mary Margaret’s palms framed her face, her thumbs gently wiping away the tears.

  “Let it go, Susan. God isn’t demanding your own life in penance for the past. Let it go.”

  The words struck Susan to the core. She had used her service at the academy as a form of self-inflicted punishment. And for what? Something that had happened to her as a child? An accident?

  “I don’t regret having served with the sisters.”

  “And you mustn’t regret leaving them now that the time has come.” Margaret reached out to pull her close, folding her in an embrace that smelled of wool and soap, roses and herbs. Susan tried to hold back the tears, but they bled through her lashes and silvered her cheeks.

  “What am I going to do?” She managed to force the words from the tightness of her throat. “I don’t belong out there.”

  Mary Margaret lifted Susan’s chin again. “Oh, but you do. Don’t you see? God has another calling for you, one outside the cloister walls. He will have prepared the way for you. You need only to find the courage to take the first step.” She held Susan’s cold hands. “Do you know that I had only just begun my novitiate when you came to the academy?”

  Susan shook her head.

  “I was a student at Saint Francis before that time—and I do believe I nearly drove the sisters to drink. My mother wouldn’t allow me to attend school until I was nearly fourteen, so I was much older than the other girls. I was also wild and rebellious and angry with the world. I thought that Saint Francis Academy was the end of the world, and I was doomed to stay there until my mother remembered to fetch me. I fought with everyone. I even climbed over the walls and disappeared into town for days on end.” Her chuckle was wry. “I probably broke every commandment as I tried to survive those frantic years.”

  Susan couldn’t imagine Sister Mary Margaret even treading on a flea, let alone breaking God’s laws. Her eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Then one day a friend came to me. He’d run away from his guardians and needed a place to stay. I was twenty at the time. I felt battered and dirty but I wanted to show him how worldly I’d become, how free. I think, deep down, I longed to shock him.”

  “And did you?”

  “If so, he never showed it.” Mary Margaret’s eyes softened with nostalgia. “He never chastised me, never blamed me, but I could see that he was disappointed in what I’d become. To my infinite surprise, this young boy decided that I needed his help. He began to teach me things I had forgotten: that I was still a person of worth, that there were people in this world who cared for me, that I didn’t have to become anything I didn’t want to be. Soon after that I admitted that my behavior was a way of rejecting God before God rejected me—because I so desperately wanted to be a member of the order.”

  Encouraging Susan with a steady, kindly gaze, Sister Mary Margaret reached for the ties and pins that held the heavy black cloth wrapped around Susan’s hair. “Then he brought me a very precious gift.”

  Susan eyed her questioningly, somehow sensing what Sister Mary Margaret would say.

  “A little bright-eyed girl with red pigtails and freckles.”

  “Daniel,” Susan breathed. “You’ve known him all along. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want you to know that you had a guardian angel of sorts. And he thought you’d feel better about your accomplishments if you knew you’d earned them and they weren’t the result of some sort of favor he’d done on your behalf.” She touched her cheek. “You know, the two of us aren’t so very different. When I began my novitiate, I suffered through a turmoil of the spirit similar to what you’re experiencing now. I had done some horrible, horrible things. I agonized over whether or not I deserved God’s goodness. His forgiveness.”

  She paused, then continued. “I soon realized God was much more willing to forgive me than I was. It took some time and some training, but the day I took my vows and donned this habit I knew what it meant to feel truly free. I knew I’d made the right choice and God approved.”

  The black scarf fell away from Susan’s head, and Sister Mary Margaret began searching for the hairpins that secured the heavy coils of hair to her neck. “Somehow I think those same vows would make you feel imprisoned.”

  Susan wondered how Sister Mary Margaret had read her so perfectly.

  “You’re not slighting God by leaving the order, Susan. I think that particular path was ordained all along.” Bit by bit, pin by pin, she loosened the heavy auburn tresses until they hung loose and flowing around Susan’s shoulders.

  “By releasing you from your obligations to the order, he heals not one heart but two.”

  Sister Mary Margaret’s quick smile held the joy of a woman at peace with herself. “There, doesn’t that feel better?”

  Susan took Mary Margaret’s wrists and kissed her palms. “Thank you, Sister.”

  “Nonsense. I haven’t absolved you of anything—there’s no need. I’ve simply helped you onto the proper course, the one you should have been following all along. If you need a reason, let’s say I did it for a friend.”

/>   “For Daniel.”

  “No, Susan. For you.”

  Much later, after Susan had gone to the tack room to say good-bye to Max and wipe away his desperate tears, she eased through the squeaky convent gates and stepped into the sunshine. Pausing, she breathed deeply of the spicy winter air. Then she turned, intent upon her horse and home.

  She had taken only two steps when she saw Daniel … and he saw her.

  His gaze immediately leapt to the auburn tresses tumbling unencumbered about her shoulders. Slowly, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes, he dismounted and walked over to her, his boots squeaking in the snow.

  “Why in the hell did you run off like that, Susan?”

  She laughed at his scolding. Daniel was astonished at the way she glowed with childlike enthusiasm. She lifted her face up to the sunlight as if basking in the caress of the golden rays. Then, squealing, she threw her arms out and twirled on her tiptoes in the snow. Coming to a breathless halt, she grinned at him, her expression as eager and joyful as that of a new bride. “I won’t be returning to Saint Francis. I’ve left the order.”

  Daniel had been trying to persuade her to make such an announcement for weeks. Now that it had actually come, he felt a burst of uncertainty. “Mary Margaret—”

  “She knows.” Susan didn’t tell Daniel all that Sister Mary Margaret had revealed about him, about the way he’d protected Susan, even from afar.

  Daniel didn’t speak. He knew he should have felt exultant. He should have been shouting his thanks to the skies. But he didn’t feel very triumphant, especially when she stared up at him with big green eyes. Her exhilaration over her decision glittered in their depths, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before it was dimmed by an old familiar fear. The panic would return. As soon as he touched her.

  If he were a gentle man, if he knew the right things to say and the right way to approach her, the situation might be different. But he’d grown too cynical, too hard, too bitter. He didn’t want to taint her joy with his own black moods.