Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (40 page)

Nic looked at Odessa. "It will be all right, but we need to get to
him. Go and get dressed. Moira, you, too."

When Odessa turned to go, she saw Moira had already disappeared into her room. In minutes, they met Nic outside, waiting with
the carriage. He helped them into the back. Reid was gone.

There was none of the gaiety that had surrounded the night
before, Odessa thought gloomily. By now, Father would have
received their telegram, would be making plans to come so he
could attend the nuptials. But if he came now, before Bryce was
fully healed, if he thought him the sort of man who was foolish
enough to head out for Colorado City in the dark of night ... She
shuddered. Her father would be furious, and rightly so.

Lost in her own concerns, she barely saw the town as it slid by.
Suddenly, they were in front of Doctor Ramsey's, and Nic pulled
the carriage horse to a halt. Reid was standing outside the door, one
boot against the wall, arms folded across his chest, casually waiting on them. He wants to bear witness to our grim tragedy unfolding,
Odessa thought. It brought him pleasure, this. Some sort of justice
to assuage the pain rent by Moira.

"Shouldn't you be out be chasing the highwaymen, Sheriff?" Nic
asked drily.

"No point. Already long gone, I'd wager."

"I see," Nic said, clearly saying by his tone that he didn't. He
walked past the man and opened the door for Odessa and Moira.
Reid remained outside.

Inside it smelled of fresh linens and pine, antiseptic potions
and ... tea. Odessa was instantly comforted. She had met the good
doctor and his wife at the Palmers' home, and thought him both
knowledgeable and kindly. The doctor emerged from behind a curtain, with his wife right behind him. Both were in white aprons,
making the bloodstain at his waist all the more apparent.

"Miss St. Clair," he said, moving toward her. "You are looking so
well, my dear. The sanatorium and Doctor Morton have done a fine
job, have they not?"

They nodded at one another in greeting, anxious to get along to
news of Bryce. Doctor Ramsey hesitated.

"Please, Doctor," Moira said, wrapping her arm around Odessa's
waist, "just tell us what you must."

"He arrived unconscious and was beaten pretty badly." He shook
his head in wonder. "He could lose an eye. We won't know for some
time if it will heal completely."

He studied them to judge how they were taking it, and then plunged
forward. "He has a broken rib, which I've wrapped, and that will heal.
But obviously we're most concerned that he regain consciousness. Once
that bridge is crossed, we'll hope that the eye will heal as God wills."

"We must pray that the young man returns to you," put in Mrs.
Ramsey.

Odessa glanced up at the doctor, the depth of concern slowly
sifting down into her consciousness. "He might ... die?"

The kindly doctor paused, looking to her and her sister from
beneath sagging lids. And then he nodded. "We've done what we
can. The rest is indeed up to the Lord."

"And good medical care," Nic said. He wrapped an arm around
Odessas shoulders from her other side. "Can we see him, Doctor?"

"Straightaway." He turned and held back the curtain, allowing
them entrance to the other side of the room. There, they saw three
pristine white beds, one of which Bryce occupied. They moved over
to him slowly, as if in procession, wanting to be near him but fearing
the worst.

They stopped, Odessa beside him, Nic and Moira behind her.
Odessa reached out so she could touch him where it might hurt the
man least. "I will pray for his recovery," said Mrs. Ramsey. And then
she disappeared behind the curtain again.

Bryce was bandaged, but it was evident that he was grotesquely
swollen and bruised.

"I ... I don't have the words," Moira said, looking toward her
sister in misery. Twin tears tracked down either cheek.

"I do," Odessa whispered, bowing her head. "Father God, be
with us now, here. You once heard Bryce pray for me. I ask that You
hear my prayer for him now. Please, please, God. Do not take him.
Heal him. Make him whole again. Restore him to consciousness,
give him complete sight. Heal his wounds." Odessa was crying now.
She sank to her knees and ignored Dominic moving away. "We beg
You, Jesus. I beg You. Please."

"Please," Moira whispered in echo.

Bryce awakened the next day and felt Odessas hand in his. He smiled,
wondering if he was dreaming, if she was truly here, if he was truly
alive. And then he remembered.

He sat up. Too fast. Pain shot through his head and he was
instantly nauseous.

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Odessa cried, a hand now on
his chest, another at his back, easing him back to the blessed crisp
sheets.

"Odessa," he panted, eye shut now. "Are you all right? Wherewhere am I?"

"Shh, shh, Bryce. You must rest. You were attacked but you're
safe now. You're at Doctor Ramsey's. Please-"

"Odessa!" He forced his good eye open and focused on her.
"You're ... we're in danger."

"Who's in danger?" Sheriff Bannock was in the room. He hadn't
seen him.

Bryce groaned. He forced his eye open again and stared at the
man. "The men-"

"Who were they, McAllan? Did you recognize them?" Bannock
asked.

"No. They had masks over their faces. I didn't recognize any of
them."

"What'd they want?"

"I-I'm uncertain. I can't-I can't remember."

"They were highwaymen. You were robbed and beaten and left
for dead."

Bryce closed his eye and lifted a hand to his head as if it ached.
He shook it slightly. "They robbed me?"

"Nothing on you when you were brought in, anyway. Could've
been the highwaymen or the drunks who rescued you. Hard to
tell."

"Do you remember anything of the men?" Odessa asked. "What
they said? Anything about their horses? Something that could help
the sheriff find them?"

Bryce paused and then shook his head. "All I remember are trees.
And the dark."

"What were you doing out there, McAllan? At that hour?" Reid
asked.

"I ... I don't know."

"Well, give it time. Maybe your memory will come back as you
heal." He placed his hat on his head and nodded at Odessa from the
door. "We'll find the men responsible for this."

"I hope so," she said. She remembered her manners. "Thank you."

Reid exited the doctor's office and eyed Moira and her brother, sitting
on a bench. "He's awake."

Both rose, but Reid paused in front of the door, blocking them,
but staring down the street. "I imagine your Clarion will soon
arrive."

"He's due on the afternoon train, with my father," Moira said
softly.

He still didn't look her way. "The last time you two saw McAllan
was late last night?"

"'Bout eleven," Nic said.

"See anyone else? On the street?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone else on the way home? Anyone suspicious?"

"No."

"I'll ask it again ... Know why he'd be on his way to Colorado
City at that hour?"

Nic met his gaze. "Not my future brother-in-law," he said levelly.

"No telling what happened, then," said the sheriff. "Until his
memory returns, I'm afraid we're all in the dark."

They watched him lumber down the steps and down the street,
joining his deputy to converse about a block away.

"What do you think he'll do when James gets here?"

"Nothing. The general will see to that." She paused. "Right?"

"Let's hope so."

James Clarion climbed down the steep steps of the passenger car
and paused to direct a servant toward his cases and trunks. He was
as splendidly refined as Moira remembered-sandy-haired, thin but
strong-and yet with a new air of maturity about him. She wondered
if he sensed the same about her as they neared each other. He took
her hand to kiss it, then rose to smile into her eyes. "If it isn't the
lovely Miss St. Clair, Wild West adventurer."

"The Wild West is one thing. You've been to two or three continents since we last kept company."

"And do I have stories to share!" he said with a twinkle in his eye.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, as if they had been
courting for months, and turned to her brother to shake his hand.
"Dominic, Colorado appears to be as beneficial for you as it is your
sister."

"It's a fine place, a good place," he returned. His eyes shifted over
James' shoulder, looking for their father. He squinted in confusion
and then looked at James again. "Was not my father on this train
with you?"

James looked from one to the next and Moira watched the
twinkle fade in his eye. "I'm afraid he was not. Come, let us move on
to someplace more suitable and I will tell you all about your father. If
Miss Odessa is in good condition, she ought to be present too." He
turned as if to look for her, then added, "He sent several trunks for
you-" He turned away from them to speak to the servant again and
counted his luggage. Moira shifted her weight from one foot to the
other and back again-what could have detained Papa? "There now,
all is accounted for. I do hope your carriage is large. Since I come
bearing gifts, I am rather heavy laden."

"James," Moira said, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please. Is
Papa all right?"

He looked upon her with genuine sorrow and concern. "For
now, Moira. But he is ailing. It is rather dire, I'm afraid. Please, let us
get to your sister and I will share all I know."

The telegram arrived three days later from the St. Clair Press attorney,
Francis Bonner.

Regret to inform you of the death of Clarence St. Clair,
at 2:10 am 10 July 1883 STOP Funeral to be conducted
15 July unless otherwise directed STOP Request Dominic
immediate presence STOP Bonner

Odessa had read it so many times it quickly seared into her
memory as clearly as Sam's poem. But in this there was no light, no
hope, no intrigue. Only darkness, despair, death. James told them
that their father had been having difficulties with his heart for
some time, suffering a minor stroke right before James departed
for Colorado, which finally convinced him he should not travel.
She sighed heavily as she walked down the street to Doc Ramsey's,
wondering again if her papa had been alone when his heart beat
a final time, if he had called out for her or one of her siblings or
his wife. Only the knowledge that he was at last reunited with his
beloved bride, her little brothers and tiny sister in heaven gave her
any sense of comfort.