Another Dawn (19 page)

      
"I believe," Luke said quietly, trying to ignore the slight slur of his words, "you're destined for heaven, Zeke. Even if this lawman catches up with you."

      
"Then I'll hang."

      
"You called those two men sidewinders, and I assume that means they weren't exactly good men."

      
"Good?" Zeke's voice sounded low and ominous now. "They raped and murdered at least two women. Prob'ly more."

      
Luke held his breath and stared, waiting for Zeke to explain, but he didn't. "But why didn't the law arrest and try them for–"

      
"Hell,
Padre,"
Zeke said, his voice edged with bitterness,
 
"you prob'ly wasn't even born during the War of Northern Aggression. Some of them bluebellies raped and killed whenever and whoever they wanted, and nobody did nothin' about it."
 
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "So
I
did."

      
"Who...?" Luke wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but he sensed Zeke needed to tell all. "Who were the two women, Zeke?"

      
"Angels,
Padre
. Angels."
 
Zeke yanked off his battered hat and mangled it in his hands as he continued. "In 1865, I was thirty-three and felt a hundred."
 
The older man's voice sounded distant, as if he'd also traveled through time to relive his own personal hell. "The war was over, and I was the only one of my brothers goin' home alive. Home..."

      
In Luke's mind, his grandparent's house appeared, complete with lilac bushes and a picket fence. He blinked, blotting out his own memories to focus on Zeke's.

      
"Found two Yankees at the farm when I got there," Zeke said. "I didn't know what they was doin' there in front of the house, and I didn't care until after they rode away and I went in the house."

      
"Oh, God."
 
Luke's stomach pressed upward against his throat, the sour mash churning and burning.

      
"Them thievin' bluebellies had..."
 
Zeke's chin dropped to his chest. "They raped and murdered my ma and baby sister,
Padre."
 

      
Helplessly, Luke reached out to touch Zeke's shoulder, but the man didn't look up. Still looking toward the ground, Zeke drew a shaky breath.

      
"Them scalawags bolted when they seen me, but one of 'em dropped some papers."
 
Zeke nodded and lifted his chin. "Had their names right there in my hands. The law didn't do nothin', so I hunted 'em down myself."

      
"My God."
 
Luke drew a shaky breath.

      
"Took me twenty-three years."
 
Zeke sighed again. "Sure, I got married and raised a family, but I never forgot. Never forgave..."

      
"Why would the law hang you for that, Zeke?" Luke shook his head. Even in his time, judges had shown leniency to those who'd committed justifiable homicide, though there'd been none for an innocent man like himself. "I don't understand."

      
"I didn't have no proof."
 
Zeke laughed with no trace of humor. "My wife had been dead over a year when I heard about two outlaws livin' across the border in Indian Territory. My girls' husbands had the farm well in hand by then, so I did what I had to do."

      
"You went after them, and..."

      
"Made sure who they was first, then I killed 'em with my bare hands."
 
Zeke's voice trembled with fury even now. "In my mind, it was like that day when I first come home and found..."

      
"So you were arrested, tried and convicted of murder," Luke said, remembering his own ordeal.

      
"Yep. Marshal hunted me down near Tahlequah and took me back to stand trial. I told him the whole story."
 
Zeke chuckled and shook his head. "I believe he woulda turned me loose, if not for his oath and all."

      
"Oath?" Luke closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if a U.S. Marshal's oath was as binding as a priest's vows? "Yeah, right. Justice and retribution."

      
"Somethin' like that."
 
Zeke seemed calmer now. "Judge Parker let me speak my piece, but the jury said guilty. The war was over, they said. Next thing I knew, they was buildin' the gallows."

      
Guilty...guilty...guilty...

      
A shudder rippled through Luke as he remembered being restrained in the electric chair all over again. The terror. The pain.

      
The injustice.

      
Zeke exhaled. "I never got a chance to tell my girls the truth. Ab broke me outta the jail there in Ft. Smith, and we run like the devil was on our tails."
 
He slapped his thigh with his crumpled hat. "Ab thought he owed me, 'cuz I saved his hide at Pea Ridge. I shamed my family and turned Ab into a criminal right along with me, though nobody knows who sprung me, 'cept you. Them's my only regrets."

      
Shame and guilt...
      

      
Sofie stretched and swung her legs over the edge of the narrow bed. As she sat upright, the floor seemed to rush toward her again. She swayed slightly and grabbed her head. Placing one hand on the bed frame, she assured herself that falling was not imminent.

      
What had Mrs. Fleming given her? A strange sweetness coated her mouth and she grimaced. She'd kill for her toothbrush and some potent peppermint toothpaste. The corner of a clean, wet rag wrapped around her fingertip just wasn't the same.

      
Feeling more stable, she searched her mind for information. She'd fainted, but why?

      
Her mother. She'd remembered her parents. Hearing Mrs. Fleming tell Jenny about her mother had triggered a painful childhood memory. Would more memories follow?

      
Then she'd had a bizarre dream about a television game show. That memory made her look around the room, wondering again why there were no electric lights, phones, or televisions in Redemption. She shivered. Or a wall thermostat that would produce instant warm air.

      
She
remembered
those things. They were real.

      
Weren't they?

      
She shivered again, but not from cold this time. How could she remember things that couldn't possibly exist? Why had she been wearing men's clothing upon her arrival in Redemption? What was the significance of the tattoo on the side of her breast? No amount of scrubbing had made it fade, and she felt certain it never would.

      
Rising, she walked over to the mirror and pulled down the neckline of Dora Fleming's voluminous flannel nightgown. There it was, the circle with lines drawn through it, and a butterfly beneath it. The word "peace" appeared just beneath the symbol.

      
Mrs. Fleming had said Sofie was branded like a steer, and she'd said it with extreme disapproval.

      
Then another memory intruded. Following the strange game show dream, she'd had another, much more pleasant one. Redness crept up her neck and flamed in her cheeks. Warm lips, a heated embrace, her breasts swollen and–

      
My God, she'd kissed Father Salazar. A priest!

      
No, no. Only a dream.

      
Her breath froze in her throat as she remembered the sound of his voice when she'd begged him to kiss her.

      
"Then will you go back to sleep?"

      
Had
it been a dream? Uncertain, she watched her blush intensify. Her ears felt as if they'd blow off the sides of her head any minute. How could she be sure without asking Father Salazar?

      
Instantly, she shook her head and regretted it. Pain stabbed through her skull and she made her way back to bed. Of course it was a dream. A priest would never have kissed her that way.

      
So thoroughly. Deeply. Hungrily.

      
Trembling, she sat on the edge of the bed again and stared across the room at the lace curtains. A dream, Sofie. Nothing but a dream. Get it straight and don't forget it again.

      
A soft knock sounded at the door, thankfully interrupting her disturbing memories. "Come in."

      
The door opened and Mrs. Fleming walked in carrying a tray and smiling. "My, you look much better this morning."
 
She closed the door behind her and crossed the room. "I brought some tea and toast. Dr. Wilson didn't want you to have anything else until we're sure you're all right."

      
"I feel a little woozy, but I'm okay."
 
Sofie watched Mrs. Fleming place the tray on the bureau. When the older woman turned around, she saw a frown crease her brow. "Is something wrong? More smallpox?"

      
"No, not that, thank the Lord. Roman–Dr. Wilson–thinks we may be near the end of this. I pray he's right."
 
Mrs. Fleming gave a weak smile and took a few steps toward the bed, then paused.
 

      
Though Sofie was relieved to hear there were no more cases of smallpox, she knew there was more the woman wasn't saying. "What is it, Mrs. Fleming? What's wrong?"

      
"Well, it's just..."

      
"I can tell something's wrong."
 
Sofie rose and waited for an explanation. Had she bumbled someone's care so badly they'd died? Please, not that. "What?"

      
"I know you don't remember why you were with Father Salazar when you came here, but..."
 
Mrs. Fleming sighed, then thrust her hands outward in a gesture of helplessness. "I guess there's nothing to do but just say it."

      
"All right."
 
Sofie's sense of dread increased with each beat of her heart. "I'm listening."

      
"Late last night, I saw Father Salazar running out of your room...."

Chapter 8