by Danni Roan
Despite the lateness of the hour, the room still seemed to glow as if with ambient sunlight. He’d passed a few good nights’ sleep here before and welcomed the respite the soft bed would offer as he climbed in and pulled the white quilt to his chin.
The downy mattress reached up around him, easing the cares of the day, and lifting him to a place far from troubles.
The sound of children’s laughter echoed across a hazy plain as golden light filtered, in dappled splendor, through leaves of green.
Ty gazed around him, trying to understand where he was. He wasn’t home, he didn’t have a home. It wasn’t the long lost greens of the glen or the dark trails he’d ridden.
He raised his hand, shading his eyes against the streams of drifting light.
The laughter came again and he turned, looking for the source, seeing no one.
The sound of a brook as it gurgled over stones drew him and he stumbled toward the edge of a sparkling stream that glinted like diamonds in the golden glow.
His eyes turned, drawn to a dark space on the other side of the stream.
His heart trembled as he gazed at Jillian LeFort, a statue of stone and sorrow, fading into the deepening black.
The laughter turned to crying as he lifted his hand, trying to reach across the stream that now raced through a chasm.
Something small and soft tugged at his other hand and he looked down into the face of a small boy, his blue eyes swimming with confusion.
Ty looked up again. The darkness had all but swallowed the young woman’s form.
The crying grew louder and Ty dropped to his knees, trying to comfort the boy, who disappeared like a wisp of smoke.
Tywyn sat bolt upright in the soft bed, a cold sweat trickling down his spite like the icy hand of dread.
The sound of the baby crying had him scrabbling for the door in a shot and across the hall, where he wrenched the door open.
“He won’t stop crying,” Jillian said, bouncing the boy on her shoulder as she held him tight. “He never fusses.” Her voice was flat.
Ty placed a hand on the boy’s head, feeling his distress vibrate through his whole body. “He’s warm.”
“Ms. LeFort.” Polly Esther stood in the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and caring.
“I don’t know, Aaron never cries.”
“Give him to me and we’ll see.” Polly reached for the little bundle. “Come on now sweet, what’s ailin’ you?” she asked, turning the boy whose nose was red with crying as he rubbed a stubby hand along his ear.
“He’s got an earache,” Polly said, eyeing the two younger people. “My Lola, she was always getting earaches.”
“What do we do?” Jillian’s voice was direct.
“Come on downstairs and I’ll warm some sweet oil. That usually sets ‘em right.”
The young woman reached for the dressing gown hanging on a peg and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was too big, and she suddenly looked small and vulnerable.
Ty placed a hand gently on her shoulder, noting the way her hands were twisted in the light fabric. “Come on,” he offered gently.
In the kitchen, amidst the unhappy wails of Aaron, Polly Esther calmly filled a pan with water from the large black kettle and sat a tiny black bottle in it to warm.
“Mr. Spade, you fetch me the milk out of the ice-box would ya?” she asked, setting the man to moving.
“Dearie you sit yourself down here at the table,” she indicated to Jillian.
A few minutes later, she’d checked the temperature of the oil and dropped a tiny bit in Aaron’s ear. He fussed a few minutes more, rubbing at his nose, then settled with a sniff.
“Thank you,” Jillian said, her dark eyes studying the boy as she reached for him, cuddling him close.
“You’re welcome,” Polly grinned. “Now I think I’ll make us some warm milk, with a bit of sugar and vanilla.” She turned back to the stove, quickly preparing the soothing drink.
“I’m sorry we disturbed you.” Jillian’s voice was small and Ty’s heart went out to her.
“It’s fine. We have folks in and out of here all hours, so gettin’ up in the night don’t bother me.” Polly smiled, her eyes sparkling in the light of the oil lamp she’d lit earlier.
“I guess I’ll have to think about a place to live and all,” Jillian continued, her hand smoothing Aaron’s night shirt nervously.
“First you drink this,” Polly said, “and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I rock the little fella ta sleep?” Her smile was soft and wistful. “I miss having youngin’s around.”
Ty took Aaron from his mother and handed him to Polly with great care as his eyes connected with the dark gaze of the boy’s mother. “She’ll be just in the other room,” he assured, feeling the nervous tremor in the woman as his shoulder brushed hers.
Polly wrapped the babe in her arms and stepped into the parlor next door. The sound of her rocking chair set a soothing cadence a moment later as she hummed soft and low.
Tywyn shifted the mug of warm milk from the table, then took a seat next to Jillian. “He’ll be alright,” he spoke, his words a warm purr.
Jillian’s dark, roiling-river eyes met his once more and he caught a glimpse of the worry in their depths; her hands were a tight knot in her lap.
“I’ll have to find a place to live,” she stated again. “Get a job.” Her fingers twitched again and Ty laid his hand over them, trying to offer some comfort.
“I’m paid up through the end of the week here, there’s no hurry,” he offered.
“I’ve been on my own before. I’ll manage.” Her words were hard, though not meant to be harsh.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Ty offered lamely. “I’m sure he was a good man.”
“He was,” Jillian said, her features never registering her feelings. “He found me in Wild Oak serving food to the miners.”
“You were in Wild Oak?” Ty asked, a bit surprised that a woman on her own would have ended up there.
“I went there with my Pa,” she said. “He worked the rails as a ramrodder for a long while, then branched out into the mines when the rail wasn’t paying as well.”
“Didn’t he worry about taking you to a place like Wild Oak?”
Jillian shrugged. “It was only Pa and me,” she said. “I went where he had work, that’s just how it was.”
“Couldn’t you have stayed with other family?”
“No, when Ma died, Pa packed me and Jeb up and took us with him.”
“Who’s Jeb?”
“Jeb was my brother.” The young woman tipped her chin up, her eyes going cold. “He died in an accident on a river crossing when I was nine.”
Ty squeezed her hands again as his heart constricted. “I could take you back to your father if you want,” he offered, hoping that the thought of family might break the icy barrier that was quickly filling her.
“Pa’s dead, too,” she said, all emotion gone from her tone. “He died in Wild Oak. I was working for a woman who did the cooking there and she kept me on.”
“So you have no family?”
“None.”
“It’s alright to cry.” Ty’s words were the merest whisper that drifted from some long-forgotten space.
Jillian’s eyes, dark as Abyssinian in the dim light, turned on him.
“I’m afraid if I start, I’ll never stop,” she said. “I have a boy to raise, someone to feed and care for. I can’t break now.”
Tywyn had seen some dark things in his years as a marshal; dangerous men, terrible crimes, and deep sorrow, but nothing had ever frightened him like watching the woman next to him slowly turn her soul to stone.
“What kind of life is that boy going to have with a mother who can’t feel?” he replied. “Sorrow comes and we can’t give in to it, but we can’t let it steal our spark, either.”
Her hands trembled under his. “I feel like if I let go, I’ll shatter into a million pieces and there will be nothing lef
t, nothing for Aaron, nothing for me, nothing for anyone.”
Her eyes searched his. “It’s like when my pa was a ramrodder. It’s dangerous work and it pays well. First, they drill holes in the rocks, then they push the dynamite in real slow, packing it tight. They used to use gun powder and it had to be tamped in to get the best blast. The tiniest spark could blow the whole thing to smithereens.”
Her voice stopped as her breath became uneven.
“Is that how you lost your pa?”
“No, another man set his charge too short and it took out the entire crew,” she said, her eyes suddenly going wide as if seeing it all again, and her hand shook.
“If I let go, it will be an explosion that might take out all of us.” A single tear slipped from her eye as the tremor rolled through her body.
Ty wrapped his arms around the young woman, trying to offer her what strength he had.
A verse from years gone by tumbled through his mind, the words a hint at hope. “For a three cord strand is not easily broken.” And he lifted his heart to a God he’d not bothered with in a long time.
Jillian LeFort fought to push her emotions back into the hard, little box she’d kept them in, but the grief, sorrow and pain of hurts old and new came pouring out and a sob ripped from her throat as she collapsed in the lawman’s arms.
Ty stroked the young woman’s hair and back as she wept against him, her whole body trembling as the cleansing tears poured from her soul.
Tentatively, he prayed for her, for Aaron, and finally for the retched man that his brother had become.
Bit by bit the trembling subsided as Ty rocked the woman in his arms. How could one so young have suffered so much loss?
His shirt was wet with her tears, and his heart full of her grief. He wished he could do more.
“Bring her along.” Polly’s quiet voice caught him by surprise. “I’ll carry this one, you bring her.”
Ty looked down at the still form sprawled across his lap. Somewhere in the storm, the gale had blown itself out and Jillian had collapsed in blissful sleep.
Shifting carefully, he ran his arms under her legs, cradling her like a child as he followed Polly Esther up the stairs.
“Sleep will do her good,” she said, as she placed the baby in his crib. “That girl has a powerful will, but an equally powerful grief.”
“What should I do?” Ty asked. He looked at the old boardinghouse keeper, completely lost. He could track an outlaw, face bank robbers, even wrestle his own brother into a cell, but he didn’t know what to do for the slip of a woman he’d just tucked into bed.
“It will come to you,” Polly said, patting his grizzled cheek affectionately as she left the room.
Chapter 8
Tywyn stepped out onto the quiet streets of Biders Clump, the soft sounds of darkness filling him with a familiar peace.
To his right at the jail house, a dim light reflected in its window, sitting still and solid, while to his left lay the open street that led out of town.
The tall lawman stood at the crossroads, uncertain which direction to go. He could walk to the jail and once more face the unhappy reality of his brother’s ways, or he could set out in the other direction, letting his mind drift where his feet led.
A half-moon pushed through the scuttling clouds, its pale glow illuminating the steeple on the little church.
The crunch of his boots on the dusty street surprised Ty as he drew close to the little white structure, scrabbled up the stairs and tugged on the doors, now black with night.
The door swung open on silent hinges and Ty stepped into a santuary, now painted in the soft silvery light of the moon.
How could a simple building be so peaceful, and yet it was. Old memories of Sunday School and hymn sings drifted through his mind like the feathery clouds in the sky, and he smiled.
Old Mags had brought all of the children to church. She’d done her best to teach them right and wrong, but the peace on the inside of the structure never seemed quite able to sift deep enough into Ty.
“Well, I’m here,” he said, his words echoing in the empty room. He didn’t know what had brought him, but the dream from earlier flashed through his mind again.
A sound like the rush of silent wings passed him and he looked up toward the rafters, expecting to see an owl perched in the beams.
Something warm and inviting seemed to permeate the building and Ty felt his heart rise. “If you’re there…,” he began, “if you’re really there, I’m willing,” he said, his deep voice rolling through the pews.
The night wind buffeted the doors of the church, but they remained closed as Ty tipped his head back in peace.
“You practicing to become a parishioner?” A cheerful voice roused Ty, and he gazed around him carefully in the dim light. “I’m Pastor Dalton,” the voice said as a stout man in trousers and a night shirt moved down the aisle.
“Sorry sir,” Ty said, rising to his feet, “I’ll be going.”
“Why? Something brought you here, so why do you want to go?” He shuffled closer, his house slippers covering his feet.
“I was out walkin’,” Ty offered.
“Happens sometimes,” the man called Dalton replied. “You put one foot in front of the other and pretty soon you end up somewhere.” He grinned, raising his bushy eyebrows for effect. “I tend to prowl around at night,” he added with a grin as he settled on the pew.
Ty wasn’t sure if he should stay or go, but as the pastor seemed ready to stay, he thought it would be rude to just leave.
“I take it something’s troubling you,” the older man said, studying him.
“You could say that.”
“It’s always good to have a quiet place to come and contemplate,” the pastor began, “somewhere peaceful like.”
“It’s right peaceful in here,” Ty said, but a flash of dappled sunlight raced through his mind.
“Churches can be like that, but then there’s other places, too. Places so beautiful you feel like you can reach out and touch the hand of God.”
Ty nodded. He’d seen a few things on his long hauls across the trails.
“Thing is, while we’re staring out there trying to reach Him, he’s standin’ right beside you the whole time.”
Tywyn Spade scratched his head thoughtfully. “And how do you know that?” he asked.
“You just accept it to be so and it is.”
Ty shook his head. “I don’t know, Parson.”
Pastor Dalton looked up at the rafters as the light of the moon continued to stream through the westward windows. “Have you ever been somewhere and it’s like a hush falls over everything? Almost like the earth is holding its breath for a split second.”
Ty shivered, knowing the feeling.
“Then, just when you wonder what’s happened, there’s this sound, like wings in the night.” The pastor’s voice was dreamy. “The hush of angel wings all around.” He nodded his head, folding his hands across a rotund middle.
Ty’s eyes lifted toward the rafters, seeking any sign of wings, as something soft settled into his soul.
“I reckon I’d better get back before the Mrs. wakes up and starts lookin’ for me. She worries, you know,” he added with a wink. “You feel free to sit a spell if you need to, son,” he finished as he turned and walked back into the night.
Ty rose, gazing around him as the first pale yellow gleam of morning touched the horizon, the light of a new day chasing away the shadows.
Chapter 9
"Good morning." The older woman's voice was cheerful as Jillian walked into the kitchen, a burgeoning sun painting the Eastern sky in palest gold.
"Good morning." Jillian's voice sounded raw as she bounced her son on her knee.
"If he's not needin' anything, why don't you put him down on the rug and I'll pour you a nice strong cup of tea," Polly offered.
"Yes ma'am," Jillian felt small as shame squirmed in her middle, like a rat gnawing at a cage for her behavior the night before.
Placing Aaron on the large, round rag rug, she made her way to the table. There was nothing for it but to push through. This woman had seen her weakness, but she had nowhere else to go.
"Where's Mr. Spade?" she asked, taking a seat as Polly placed a cup of dark red tea before her.
"I don't rightly know," Polly answered, her voice cheerful as if nothing had happened the night before. "George said he was out in the night and never come back."
Jillian's heart fluttered. Yet another unspoken good-bye. It didn't matter, though. The lean lawman had done his job; he could go. She wasn't sure she'd be able to face him after her breakdown the night before, anyway.
"You're feeling poorly, aren't you?" Polly slipped into a chair across from Jillian. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
Jillian snapped her head toward the old woman, whose blue eyes bore into her. "Life can be hard on a body and sometimes it's best to let it all out."
Jillian shook her head swirling the tea in her cup.
"Young lady," Polly's voice cracked like a whip, making Jillian meet her eyes once more. "You are not a pillar of stone, you know, and no one can manage all on their own forever. I know you've had loss in your life, but that don't mean you should shut others out."
Jillian blinked at the white-haired woman for a long moment. Who did she think she was, to tell her how to feel? She hadn't lived through all this loss. She didn't know.
"Sometimes you need a friend." Polly's voice softened and she reached for the girl’s hand. "it ain't easy, I know, when bad things happen, but they don't come because we aren't good enough or strong enough."
"It's too hard," Jillian said.
Polly lifted her eyes to the little boy who'd just climbed to his feet, holding tight to the leg of a chair. "What kind of life is that tyke gonna have if his mother's clamped her heart down so tight nothing can grow?" she asked, standing and turning to the stove.
Jillian turned, scooping her son in her arms. He was so precious and she loved him, but her heart ached so.
"Sometimes we need a friend, one who sticks closer than a brother." Polly Esther's words were a mere whisper.
