Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (13 page)

Moira turned to the pianist. "Do you know `Funiculi Finicula ?"
she asked in a whisper.

The young woman smiled and gave her a quick nod.

She paused. "I shall sing the English version, I believe."

"Understood."

"In honor of a new freedom I feel in this country," Moira said,
"please permit me to share with you a favorite folk tune of mine."

She began to sing, noting the three Palmer girls in starched
white nightshirts, now with hair pinned in curls to their head,
peering in the doorway again, obviously delighted by the happy tempo. Moira smiled at them, again remembering happier days
with Odessa, dancing together to the happy tune of "Funiculi
Finicula" in the center of the parlor floor, their mother at the
piano, singing. She remembered her parents as young and hale
and hearty, the boys constantly at play all about them, the future
spreading before them like some glorious, undiscovered road.
Had her mother known any heartbeat's pause, or had she always
been of the ever-forward mind-set?

Moira remembered her mother, her distant father, remembered
what it felt like to wrap her arms around each of them at once, nestled
between them. She knew it forced an extra edge of desperate joy, a
defiant choice to her tone, which added a jaunty attraction to it. She
imagined her family again in that parlor, all together, all well. Before
death. Before so much death ...

The song now complete, she let her arm drop to her side.
There was a breath in the room, then two. Then grins and applause
erupted in the grand hall of Glen Eyrie's castle, the men drawn out
of their den-the children shooed up the stairs-the women rising
to their feet.

And Moira St. Clair knew she had arrived.

Dominic stared at the newspaper on the cell floor, watching the
shadows dance from its curling far edge. The only light was from
the lantern on the deputy's desk. The man now snored softly in
his chair, his head leaning against the wall behind him, his knees
sprawled. The sound grated at Dominic's ears. He forced himself
to stay still, to not get up and resume his pacing, worrying about
Odessa and Moira.... He lay on his side on the cot, one arm tucked beneath his head. He looked about the wooden walls, devoid of
any artwork, and thought of his home in Philadelphia, with its fine
papered parlor and vast dining room that had harbored many an
author or publishing associate. But those were memories ofyears past.
More and more, the nation's publishing empires had moved north to
New York, and the flow of visiting businessmen and authors slowed
to a trickle. But still, his father remained as stubbornly attached to
Philadelphia and St. Clair Press as he had been to Dominic's mother.

Friends had encouraged him to join them in New York, but still
he stayed. The country was young, he said, too young to become so
centralized in any industry. He turned a blind eye to the purchasing
might that the combined conglomerate wielded, stuck, as if his feet
had been planted beside his wife's grave.

And he not only expected Dominic to open a bookshop here in
Colorado-Dominic sighed. There was so much Father wanted him
to do. On his shoulders rested the hopes of five dead children. Of a
dead wife. Of two daughters, now Dominic's primary concern.

But he was in a jail cell in his new hometown.

He stared at the newspaper, shadows dancing, laughing at him.

He closed his eyes, willing strength into his movements, and then
he rose, bending over to reach for the paper that Sheriff Bannock had
thrown in. Where was the good sheriff now? Looking in on Moira, as
promised? Where? How?

He gripped the rough-ground paper, symptomatic of the West's
paper poverty, and pulled it closer, eyes not yet focusing on the
words.

Father, you knew I wasn't up to the task....

"Newcomer Dominic St. Clair, heir apparent to the St. Clair Press enterprise of Philadelphia and hopeful book merchant in
Colorado Springs, was placed under arrest today...."

I am a man. But a man who wants to make his own way ...

"St. Clair was arrested for disorderly conduct on Colorado
Springs' Wahsatch Avenue, for brawling with three miners visiting
our fair city from ..."

I cannot bear the entire burden of the St. Clair clan. I cannot be the
one hope ... I've already failed you.

"You are curiously silent," Moira said to Reid. The lanterns, strung
out on arcing metal bands before the horses, barely illuminated ten
feet in front of them. The miles between Glen Eyrie and the city
seemed to crawl by, but Moira was comforted by a carriage both
before and behind them, other guests of the Palmers who had
declined their kind invitation to stay the night in the castle. The
weather was unseasonably warm, the mud puddles no longer frosting
over, even in the cool of night.

He smiled over at her. "Forgive me. Concentrating on the road.
If we suffer an accident, my lone prisoner might throttle me."

Moira smiled, covering a pang of pain at his reference to
Dominic. What were they to do if Reid refused to honor his promise
the next day? They were on their own here in the West, something
neither of them were fully prepared for. Moira constantly caught
herself looking over her shoulder, looking for her father, who had
always been there.

"I had no idea, Moira."

Moira focused on his words again, embarrassed to note he had
been speaking and she had been too lost in thought to hear him.
"No idea?"

"No idea you were such an accomplished singer. When you sang
that song ..."

Moira studied him in the yellow, pale light. He appeared visibly
moved. But this was the man who had made inappropriate advances
beneath the Palmers' table. Dangerous. Perhaps the most dangerous
person she had ever met, capable of wielding power over her and hers
that she did not care to fully acknowledge.

He coughed, clearing his throat, and glanced down at her again.
"It was perhaps the most delightful thing I've ever witnessed."

She stared into his eyes, melting in admiration and pleasure, but
knew that behind them was a steely strength that was a threat. She
had to tread carefully here, like a mule on a high, narrow mountain
path, a precipice on either side.

"You honor me with your favor, Sheriff," she said quietly, not too
warm, leaning slightly away.

"The favor is unavoidable. You are as talented as you are beautiful, Moira St. Clair. There has never been a woman who has caught
my eye as completely and suddenly as you."

Moira smiled. "Sheriff, I know many a woman would be so honored by your words. But I am ... conflicted. Like a bird caught in a
cage. Just as my brother is now in your cage." She stared at him until
he again glanced her way.

He caught her eye and held it a moment, then looked back to the
horses. "I'll go and release him tonight," he said, voice raw, naked,
hopeful.

"No," she returned softly. "Tomorrow morning, as you promised. Then, with my brother's blessing, we shall see where this leads.
He is the man my father entrusted with my guardianship. Would it
be befitting to proceed without him?"

Reid glowered over his reins, not answering. He knew she had him. He had made gains this day, but in holding her brother, the
brother she wished him to befriend, he had lost. How to free a prisoner and gain his permission to court his sister at once?

She could see him churning the idea over in his mind. But he was
not like the boys at home who had lined up to court her, young men
of means seeking a potential bride. He was a man. Life-hardened.
Moira felt his experience, his age like an iron rod within him and
knew she must proceed carefully.

Soon, the dim oil lamps of the Springs' downtown came into
view as they turned around a curve in the road. In minutes, they had
crossed the rough, narrow bridge and emerged on Cascade and soon
reached the Antlers Hotel. Reid pulled his horse to a stop, and the
mare stood there, breath crystallizing in the night air.

"I'll wait here and take you over to the sanatorium when you're
ready."

"No need. My sister is surely long asleep by now. I'll attend her
in the morning."

"Are you certain?" He seemed to be reluctant to let the evening
come to an end.

"Entirely," she said.

Reid set the brake and came around the carriage. He lifted her
slowly down. Moira pushed away, but he held her waist in his broad
hands, staring down intently on her.

"I have serious intentions when it comes to you, Moira," he
said.

She glanced up at him, playing up the flirtation to cover her
unease. "One never knows where these things shall lead. Speak to my
brother, Reid, and let time take its due course."

He bent his head as if to kiss her, but she tore away.

"I'm a patient man, Moira St. Clair," he called.

She moved up the hotel steps and then glanced over her shoulder. "We shall see how patient you are. Thank you for a delightful
evening."

She moved into the hotel, his gentle laughter echoing after her,
muted only by the closing glass door.