“Cassie?”
Khristos’s voice snapped Cassandra erect. Disengaging her fingers from Ambrose’s grip, she twisted on her chair to loop her arms around her little brother. “What is it, Khristos?”
“I’m scared. Is Doctor Mosley cutting open Papa’s chest to fix him inside?”
The thought made Cassandra nearly vomit. “Oh, no, sweeting. He just has to remove the bullet, that’s all. It’s way deep inside Papa, you see. I think he’ll pluck it out with tweezers, sort of like we do your slivers.”
“Why’s it takin’ so long, then?” Khristos asked.
“Well, I think because he has to wait until he thinks Papa is strong enough.”
Khristos shuddered and clung more frantically to her. “I want to see him.”
“We can’t, love. Not right now. Papa’s lost a lot of blood, and that has made him go to sleep. It’s the body’s way of conserving its strength.” She ran a hand over her brother’s hair, thinking rather nonsensically that it was time for a shampoo. Between washings, Khristos’s hair felt silky at first, then began to feel coarse as the grime accumulated. She pressed her face against the strands, inhaling the smell of him, a curious blend of soap, wool, wood smoke, little-boy sweat, and dog. A smile curved her mouth, a smile that made her chest twist with pain. “Oh, Khristos, I love you so. Do you know how much? You mustn’t be afraid. No matter what happens, you’ll still have me and Ambrose and Lycodomes.”
“And Luke?”
She stiffened. “No, not Luke, sweeting. He hasn’t turned out to be as grand a friend as we thought he was, I’m afraid. He’s done some very bad things, told lies about Papa and Ambrose. That’s why that drunken man shot Papa, you see…because he believed the lies Luke told about our papa.”
“Luke said he was sorry.”
“I know,” Cassandra whispered hollowly. “But sorry is as sorry does. Sometimes the words are useless, like a candle flame in a high wind. Do you understand?”
Khristos rubbed his nose clean on the front of Cassandra’s hand-me-down dress, a drab gray thing that hung loose around her waist and stretched so taut across her bosom that the buttons strained. “I don’t think Luke meant for Papa to get shot,” he said.
A denial lodged in Cassandra’s throat. Remembering Father Tully’s lecture, though, and hoping to spare her little brother at least some of the pain that she was feeling by helping him to put the bitterness behind him, she murmured, “No, probably not.”
“He bought me new clothes and shoes.”
“Yes, he did do that.”
“And he saved Lycodomes by takin’ him to the doctor. He even brought home cuts of meat from the butcher for Lycodomes to eat, so he’d get well quicker.”
“Yes, I know.”
Khristos drew back a little to look up, his blue eyes pleading with her. “You know what I think? I think Luke got caught in a whopper.”
“A ‘whopper’? How so, Khristos?”
“Papa told me never to tell a whopper, because it could get me in a pickle and I’d wind up tellin’ more whoppers to keep from gettin’ in trouble for tellin’ the first one. And pretty soon, the whoppers would pile up and up, until they was like a mountain. That’s why Papa says we should never lie—’cause tellin’ one makes you have to tell another one, and pretty soon, you’re lyin’ more than you’re tellin’ the truth.”
“Yeah, well, your friend, Mr. Taggart, sure as sand did that,” Ambrose inserted bitterly. “Lie after lie after lie.”
Cassandra shot her older brother a warning glance, then returned her attention to Khristos. She ruffled the little boy’s hair. “You know, Khristos? I think Papa would be very proud of you for trying to understand why Luke did the things he did, instead of simply feeling angry at him.” She only wished she could do the same. “I know I’m proud of you, anyway. I think you’re growing up, and not only that, but into a very fine young man.”
“As fine as Papa, do you think?” the child asked shakily.
Cassandra blinked away tears. “That’s a mighty tall order to fill, but if anyone can do it, you can.”
“I want Papa to be here to see me all grown-up,” Khristos cried. “I don’t want him to die, Cassandra. Don’t let him go away, please?”
She caught Khristos close and held him while he wept, her own unshed tears welling in a gigantic lump at the back of her throat.
When the boy had finally fallen quiet and lay in an exhausted slump against Cassandra’s chest, Ambrose whispered, “I think you should get the biscuits Father Tully brought us and take him home, Cassie. He’s worn plumb out. I’ll stay here. If there’s any change, I’ll come get you.”
Home. Cassandra pictured the cold, dank tunnel and nearly shuddered. She was ashamed to admit it, but the thought of going up there alone in the dark scared her half to death. The cave would be black as pitch until she got a fire started. Even more frightening was the realization that she’d be nearly three miles from town, without even a gun for protection. She tucked in her chin to gaze down at Khristos’s pale little face and chided herself for being silly. The dark had never hurt anyone, and her little brother needed to rest.
“I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “He is tuckered. I just hate to leave when Papa is so fragile. What if he—” she broke off and swallowed. “I want to be here if—well, you know.”
Ambrose pressed a big, strong hand over her shoulder. “I know. But, Cassandra, he could linger for days. We have to take care of Khristos meanwhile. That’s the way Papa would want it.”
Cassandra nodded and gave Khristos a little shake. “Khristos? Let’s go home, shall we?”
The words had no sooner passed her lips than the surgery door opened, and Doctor Mosley stepped out. The rolled-up sleeves and the front of his white shirt were smeared with crimson. He sighed and pulled off his spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I got the slug out of him, and the bleeding has finally stopped.”
“Oh, praise God!” Cassandra cried.
Doctor Mosley smiled wearily as he put his eyeglasses back on. “It’s early on to be making any promises, but if a bad infection doesn’t set in, I believe he may pull through.”
Cassandra felt like a tightly wound ball of twine that someone had suddenly slashed through with a knife, the severed ends flying in all directions. Letting go of Khristos, she hugged her waist and bent sharply forward over her knees, unable to breathe, scarcely able to form a thought, tears blinding her. When at last she could drag a breath into her lungs, she wailed like some crazed creature, then began to sob. The next instant, her brothers were hugging her, and their sobs joined with hers, an awful sound, a mixture of joy and pain held at bay for too long.
The three of them clung together and wept until exhaustion made them limp. They leaned into one another like a trio of saplings uprooted by high wind, their arms like frail limbs intertwined, the counter-support of their weights all that held them erect.
Doctor Mosley, no stranger to grief for a patient he’d lost or joy for one he’d saved, stood to one side, not speaking until the worst of the storm had passed. “His heart sounds strong and steady,” he told them. “If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on his making it. Just pray with all you’ve got that he doesn’t get an infection. As weak as he is, that could finish him.”
Ambrose scrubbed at his wet cheeks, his tanned face beaming, his blue eyes gazing out at the world from under swollen eyelids. “Thank you, Doctor Mosley. If not for you, he’d be lost to us already. I know you must be exhausted.”
The doctor smiled. “Well, there’s no point in all of us staying up the entire night.” He inclined his head at Khristos. “That boy should be fed some supper and tucked in for a rest.”
Cassandra pushed shakily to her feet. “We were just heading home when you came out.” She stepped over to give the doctor a fierce hug. “It seems you’re always saving my loved ones. Thank you so much for all you’ve done!”
Doctor Mosley returned her hug. “Go get some sleep
, honey. He’ll still be here in the morning. Maybe by then, he’ll be awake so you can go in to see him, hmm?”
Ambrose rose as well. “I’ll be staying, if that’s okay. Just in case there’s any change.”
The doctor looked relieved to hear it. “That’ll be fine. Move the chairs around, if you like, to fashion yourself a bed. I’ll come out, now and again, to give you a report.”
When Cassandra led Khristos from the doctor’s office, the night was even darker than she’d imagined, the blackness up and down the deserted street slicked with sleeting rain. The only lighted windows were those of the saloons, which seemed to make the darkness everywhere else seem all the more sinister. Looking up at the sky, Cassandra couldn’t even make out the silhouette of the mountains beyond the shadowy roofs of the buildings. The thought of traipsing three miles into that void of lightlessness without so much as a torch made a shiver crawl up her spine.
Because of his injured leg, she’d left Lycodomes up at the digs so he might stay dry. Now she almost wished she’d brought the dog along. Even with a splint to encumber him, Lycodomes would fight to the death to protect her and Khristos. Of that, she had no doubt. What if she and Khristos fell along the way? Or encountered a wild creature?
“How is he?”
Cassandra nearly leaped out of her skin at the sound of Luke’s voice. Khristos still clamped to her side, she whirled and peered through the shadows to see her husband sitting on the cobblestones, his back braced against the exterior of the building. Stripes of light came through the Venetian blinds at the window above his head to lie in golden lines over his tawny hair. His face was obscured in shadow—not that it mattered. She knew every feature by heart. The imperious arch of his brows, a shade darker gold than his hair. The strong, squared line of his jaw. The firm yet full shape of his mouth. The stubborn thrust of his chin.
“Luke…” she whispered.
An indistinct movement next to him drew her gaze. She bent her head closer to see. Lycodomes? The unmistakable outline of the dog’s head came into view, but from the shoulders down, the animal looked like a large, dark lump. After squinting for a moment, she finally determined that Luke had thrown his jacket over Lycodomes, to keep the canine’s leg dry, no doubt.
Her gaze shot to her husband, concern welling within her despite her attempts to tamp it down. The fool. He was sitting there in nothing but his shirtsleeves. “What are you trying to do, catch your death?”
“That depends. How is your papa?”
“The doctor says he’s gonna make it!” Khristos piped in.
Cassandra thought she saw Luke’s shoulders slump. With relief? She gave herself a hard mental shake and called herself a hundred kinds of fool. How could she have a single good thought about this man, whose lies had nearly cost her papa his life?
She bent to jerk the jacket off Lycodomes and tossed the garment to its owner. “Thank you for keeping Lycodomes dry.” She snapped her fingers. “Come along, Lye-Lye. It’s time to go.”
The dog lumbered to his feet, his splint going kerthump, kerthump on the stones as he fell in behind Cassandra and Khristos.
“Time to go where?” Luke called after them.
Several steps up the street already, Cassandra called back, “Home!”
“Home? Up to that mine, you mean? Cassandra, don’t be a fool.”
Cassandra quickened her pace. Her heart kicked against her ribs when Luke spoke again, somewhere close behind them. “Honey, please. Go to my house. I swear, I’ll stay away. You and Khristos can stay warm and dry there. Cook will fix you a nice breakfast as well. And you’ll be a lot closer, that way, if your papa takes a turn for the worse.”
Staring straight ahead at the endless blackness of the mountain she knew she’d have to climb, Cassandra yearned to take him up on the offer. Lord help her, she was pathetic. Even now, still shaky from the heartache he’d caused and knowing all that he’d done, something deep within her responded to that wheedling, tender tone in his voice.
“Go away!” she cried shrilly. “Stop bothering us! We don’t want your help. We want nothing to do with you!”
“So you’ll risk life and limb to go up that mountain in the dark? To do what, sit there by a sputter of fire, wet to the skin? Use the brains God gave you.”
“Don’t speak to me about God! You aren’t fit to utter His name.”
Khristos balked, straining to look back. Cassandra jerked him into step with her.
“Bye, Luke!” he called.
“Good-bye, Khristos. Watch after your sister for me.”
Sheer rage got Cassandra halfway up the mountain to the mining tunnel. After that, she was on her own, with only exhausted legs and flagging determination to keep her moving. Khristos huddled against her, so weary he needed to be pulled along half the time, and Lycodomes trailed behind, the ascent even more difficult for him because of his injury.
Once at the tunnel, it took all Cassandra’s courage to enter a hole that was blacker than black. Inside, she stumbled about, patting the air to find the rock Khristos had been sitting on earlier that day. “You stay right here, Khristos,” she said shakily when her hand made contact with the jagged granite, “while I build us a fire. All right?”
“I’m scared,” her brother squeaked as she pressed him down onto the rock.
Cassandra’s skin felt as if it were turning inside out. She thought she heard something outside the tunnel. She stared through the blackness, her heart pounding into her throat, her eyes feeling as if they were grapes popping out of their skins. “Don’t be silly, Khristos. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
Then she heard it again. A plunk just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. She groped to relocate her brother.
“Th-there’s somebody out there,” Khristos whispered.
Cassandra was so frightened, she couldn’t reply. She quickly dismissed all thought that the noise might have been caused by mischievous leprechauns or evil goblins. But the possibility that a drunk might have followed them wasn’t so easy to thrust aside. What on earth could she do to protect them? The cave was so black, she couldn’t even see to find a stick to use as a club. She strained her ears, listening for Lycodomes to growl, which he would surely do if he sensed an intruder.
Just as she was about to whisper the dog’s name, light suddenly flared. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes. “Who is it?”
“You didn’t really believe I’d let you traipse up here all alone and try to build a fire in the dark?”
Cassandra squinted against the glare of a torch as it bobbed toward them, the dark hulk of a man behind it. “Luke?”
“Of course, it’s Luke,” he replied, his deep, masculine voice ringing with impatience. “Do you know any other damned fool who’d be up here on a night like this?”
With a mighty thrust, he drove the unlighted end of the tree limb into the earth so it would stand erect. A pitch bole about three-fourths of the way up from its base hissed and sputtered as flames licked over its surface. The light was most welcome; Luke Taggart was not.
“I told you to stay away from us!” she cried.
“I will! Just give me a few minutes to gather you some wood. Then I promise, you won’t see hide nor hair of me.”
He disappeared back into the darkness beyond the mouth of the tunnel.
“We don’t want your wood!” she yelled after him. “We don’t want anything from you! Why can’t you understand that?”
No response. Cassandra stood there, shivering beside her brother, for a moment. Then she glanced around for Lycodomes. He lay nearby, his plumed tail whacking the earth, a flag of welcome to their visitor. “Traitor,” she said bitterly.
She gathered what remained of the limbs and twigs they’d found on the hillside earlier that day, arranging the meager amount of wood for a fire. She nearly wept with frustration when the stick matches refused to ignite. Their heads had drawn moisture. She looked bleakly at Khristos. He was wet from walking up there in the rain. A night spent her
e without warmth wouldn’t be good for him.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, too weary to stand back up. “Oh, Khristos.”
“Now what’ll we do?” her brother asked.
Cassandra bit her lip. All day, she’d managed not to fold, but the urge was getting more and more difficult to resist. “Well, I guess we’ll cuddle together for warmth,” she suggested. “Won’t that be fun? Just like when you were little.”
With shaking hands, she tried again and again to get one of the matches to light. None of them responded. She was trying frantically to strike the last one when Luke’s voice came from out of the darkness.
“You could have used the torch to light it.”
She jumped and looked up. Arms loaded with odds and ends of wood, he strode up to the unlighted fire and dumped his burden, the limbs and twigs clattering upon impact.
“Not that you’re so tired you can’t think, or anything like that,” he added with a sharp glance toward her. “Maybe that explains why you’re up here, soaked to the skin, instead of at home, in a nice warm bed. Your brains have turned to mush.”
Heat scalded her cheeks. She looked toward the torch, not quite able to believe she’d become almost frantic trying to light a fire when she’d had a blazing pitch bole at her disposal only a few feet away. Luke was right, she realized. She was so tired she couldn’t think, and she was growing more exhausted by the moment.
He crouched and reached into his trousers pocket, withdrawing a corked vial of the sort usually used for gold dust. Inside were matches, which had been protected from the dampness by the airtight container. “I’ll leave these with you,” he said, his tone going husky. “Unless, of course, you don’t want my lucifers either.”
Cassandra swallowed, imagining her little brother shivering with the cold. To a point, stubborn pride could be commendable. After that, it bordered on sheer stupidity. “To keep Khristos warm, I’ll take them and be grateful. Thank you for thinking to bring them.”
“Actually, it wasn’t thoughtfulness on my part. I’m a man who likes his vices,” he said as he rasped the end of a match against a rock and cupped his hand around the spurt of flame. “I usually carry matches in my pocket in case I want a cigar or cigarette.”