Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

When we emerge into the cold day, we find White Cloud, Colonel Blair, and Gabe all staring at each other. The rest of Clara’s band is staring at the three.

“It appears we can go.” Colonel Blair immediately jumps to his feet when he sees me.

“You have just enough time for a hot bowl of stew before the storm worsens,” White Cloud says, getting to his feet. He says something to the others in Northern Paiute.

Clara takes my hand and directs me to a fire. “You can help serve the stew.”

“Miss Harris should stay off her ankle,” Colonel Blair objects. “Furthermore, we need to get her out of the weather.”

“I think this is fun,” I tell him. “It is not every day I get to eat with Paiutes.”

He crosses his arms and frowns.

“Would you like some tobacco, Colonel Blair?” White Cloud offers.

I give them both a dirty look. White Cloud breaks into hysterical laughter while passing Colonel Blair a small pouch. I’m not surprised to see Colonel Blair pull out a pipe. He must have another stash in the Mansion. I make it a goal to locate and destroy it.

Once at the fire, I’m given a ladle. Clara’s small band gets in line. I serve each and every one of them stew, which isn’t very many. There are only twenty-three in all, including White Cloud.

After making sure Gabe and Colonel Blair have their lunch, I join Clara and a group of small children.  I play with the beautiful children until Colonel Blair comes for me.

“Miss Harris, I must insist we leave,” he growls.

I put down a cute little boy.

“You are a very impatient person,” I retort. “Maybe you should pray for patience.”

“I did, and then you came to town. God definitely has a sense of humor!”

“It’s good someone does, because you certainly do not.” I stand, looking at the gray sky.

“Yes, it is time for you to leave,” White Cloud says, holding out the reins to Colonel Blair’s horse.

I hesitate for a moment, wanting to spend more time with Clara.

White Cloud smiles at me. “Miss Harris, we will see you again. I guarantee it.”

*     *     *

“I shudder to think of what you told that poor girl,” Colonel Blair says in my ear on the ride back to Virginia City. “She looked like she had seen a ghost.”

“In a way, she had,” I answer, holding tightly to him.

“You are squeezing the life out of me.” He forces a laugh as he tries to loosen my grip around his chest.

“You may like horses, but they frighten me.” I hold tight.

“I already promised I would not let you fall. Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you or the horse.”

He laughs a real laugh, not one dictated by his southern manners. He holds me tightly around the waist. “Open your eyes. The storm has blown over.”

I squint through my eyelids, and he’s right. The clouds have opened, revealing a stunning sunset. I slowly open my eyes the rest of the way. The sky is full of reds and pinks. I look over the horizon, appreciating the view. Suddenly, Colonel Blair’s horse leaps over a tumbleweed bush.

“Stop showing off!” I hiss with fear.

He just laughs in response.

As the sky begins to darken around us, we round a turn overlooking a small field. Several soldiers and Native American warriors are yelling and screaming at each other in the grass. When Colonel Blair doesn’t react, I know he can’t see them. I glance at Gabe, and his eyes go to mine. An unspoken understanding passes between us. We have to prevent Colonel Blair from joining their phantom ranks.

By the time we arrive at the Blair Mansion, I am shivering under my damp cloak. Colonel Blair takes me off the horse, easily carrying me into the house.

“What done happen to her, Massa James?” Rose asks as she meets us in the foyer.

“She is soaked to the bone and twisted an ankle,” he answers, carrying me up the staircase. “Have Ida draw a hot bath.”

Once inside my room, he gently sets me on a chair. He removes my wet cloak. Then, very unexpectedly, he awkwardly pats my head like a father does to a small child.

“Good night, Miss Harris. I will have your dinner sent to your room.”

I watch him go, unsure of what to think. The ghost of Colonel Blair had open contempt for me, and the feeling was mutual. The flesh and blood Colonel Blair just threw me for a loop.

Wednesday, March 10, 1875

Screaming makes me jump in my bed. I open my eyes and find myself surrounded by darkness. I use the smoldering coals in the fireplace to light a candle. The screaming continues, and I recognize it as Colonel Blair’s. Worried that Samuel is attacking him, I hobble from my room to his. When I open the door, I find the room empty, except for Colonel Blair thrashing about in his bed.

“Colonel Blair,” I say, dashing to his side. I put the candle on the table next to his bed. “Wake up! It’s just a dream.”

The moment my skin touches his, he opens his eyes and points a pistol in my face. There is a crazy glazed-over look in his eyes.

I should be worried that a guy suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome is pointing a gun in my face, but I’m more worried about his safety.

“Colonel Blair, put the gun away,” I tell him calmly while slowly raising my hands. “I’m unarmed.”

He blinks his eyes several times before he realizes he’s threatening me with a gun. He quickly drops it into his lap before covering his face with his hands.

“My sincerest apologies, Ma’am,” he barely whispers.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, wiping sweat off his head with his blanket. “I’m glad you sleep with a gun. You never know when you will need one.”

I put the pistol under his pillow before fluffing it. I gently push him onto his back, removing the hands from his face. His eyes go to mine. I trace a large circular scar on his chest.

“Some wounds do not leave scars,” I say.

“Sometimes I feel I have lost my mind.” He stares at the ceiling in the flickering candlelight.

“You haven’t.” I limp to his dresser to wet a handkerchief. “I always dream of the worst moments of my life, too.”

“I see their faces,” he whispers. “The faces of the boys I killed. I was fourteen when I took my first life, and there have been so many since I have lost count. One should not lose count of the lives they have taken. I may not be a church-going man, but I know what the good book says about murder.”

His words stun me. It takes me a moment to find my tongue.

“You are not a murderer. You were just a boy, too. You went to war. It was kill or be killed. You fought to survive. That does not make you a murderer.”

“How would you know what makes a murderer?” he asked.

I swallow laboriously. This is a topic I’ve never discussed with anyone, except Mama.

“I know you are not a murderer because my papa was. He was truly evil. He walked into a home and shot a family to death, including two young children. He killed four innocent people.”

Tears fall on my nightgown, and I close my eyes. It is a difficult thing to live with, knowing that your dad is a cold-blooded murderer.

“What happened to your parents?” Colonel Blair asks quietly.

“My papa was executed for his crime. My mama drank herself to death.” A man in 1875 doesn’t know about overdosing, but he can understand alcoholism.

I wipe the tears off my checks.

“War makes people do things they would never have done before,” he says in a hushed voice. “I should take you back to your room before…”

“I don’t know if you have noticed, but I really don’t care about social protocol.”

I limp back to his bed with the handkerchief. I dab his forehead with it. I wash the sweat from his face before cleaning his neck and chest as he tries to calm his labored breathing. I try not to notice how beautiful he really is.

“Colonel Blair, I am only here for a short time,” I explain. “It will not hurt my social standing if I break a few rules. Besides, you are not well. You really need to stop smoking and drinking. You would be much healthier if you did.”

“My vices help me make it through the day.”

“Then you need to replace your bad habits with good ones.” I put the handkerchief down and tuck the blankets around him. “You can start by getting more sleep.”

I close my own eyes and pray I can protect him another day. I quietly repeat the words of Psalms 59, “Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God: defend me from them that rise up against me.”

*     *     *

I wake up with my head resting on Colonel Blair’s bed. I’m shivering uncontrollably in the cold room. Seeing that he is sleeping peacefully, I decide to return to my bed with the warm fire and thick quilts. I rise on my wobbly legs, finding my ankle stiffer and sorer than the day before. I slowly begin limping from the room.

I stop at the door when I hear giggling next door.

“What would the Colonel think if he knew I was here?” a woman asks contemptuously.

“I don’t care,” Samuel’s voice sounds. “This should be my house, not that fraud’s!”

Not knowing what he’s talking about, I continue on my way to my waiting bed, until the floorboards squeak beneath me in Colonel Blair’s doorway.

“What was that?” the woman asks.

“Probably just Rose, but I’ll check.”

The next moment, I find myself face to face with the would-be murderer.

“Miss Harris?” Samuel’s eyes narrow when he sees that I’m leaving Colonel Blair’s room. He shuts his own bedroom door behind him.

I don’t worry about my reputation, but I do worry about ruining Colonel Blair’s.

“The poor Colonel was not feeling well,” I tell him.

Clearly there is a debate going on in Samuel’s mind. He clears his throat, indicating he has made a decision.

“Miss Harris, I think it is best for you to know that a relationship with James is ill-advised. He is not what he appears to be.”

I wrinkle my brow. “And what exactly is he, Mr. Blair?”

Samuel’s face pales as his gaze goes to something behind me.

“Uncle, you have gone too far,” Colonel Blair says in his signature, soft-spoken voice. “It is best if you spend the day in town.”

“James…”

Colonel Blair shakes his head. “Go before I permanently disown you. And get your whore out of my house.”

Samuel’s door flies open. A scantily dressed, wicked-looking woman with dark, frizzy hair glares at Colonel Blair. Her dress is reveling enough to show she isn’t wearing a corset or even a chemise. Although she is beautiful and can’t be much older than me, sun lines around her eyes indicate that she’s lived a hard life.

“What did you call me?” she shrieks. “I have plenty of other customers. I have never charged Samuel…”

“If you give it away for free, that makes you worse than a whore.  Samuel, get your loose woman out of my house!” Colonel Blair growls.

The woman’s lips purse as she glowers at Colonel Blair. Her eyes flicker to me, and her jaw drops. Her eyes narrow like she knows that I somehow don’t belong here. I can tell this woman is very dangerous.

Apparently, so can Colonel Blair. He pulls a pistol out of his waistband and points it at Samuel.

“Leave and do not come back until you learn some manners.”

“Come along, Cassandra. We have better things to do!” Samuel snarls, marching down the hallway. Both Samuel and Cassandra leave without argument. However, her eyes remain on me as she disappears down the staircase.

“Miss Harris…” Colonel Blair says hesitantly as he waits for a reaction.

“Your uncle is very charming,” I say sarcastically as I go to the door to my bedroom. “Please excuse me. I have a lot of tasks I wish to accomplish today.”

“What tasks?” he questions.

I glance around the dreary hallway. “Your house is absolutely gloomy. You will be both healthier and happier if it were properly cleaned. I will get straight to it after Ida’s reading lesson.”

*     *     *

“Try reading it again,” I say.

“Tw-twinkle twinkle little st-star,” Ida says, pointing to the words in the primer.

“Very good, I can tell you have been practicing.” I pat her hand.

She smiles proudly.

“Ida, I be needin’ you help,” Rose yells up the stairs.

“I better go,” she says, standing up.

“Don’t forget your primer.” I point to the book. “You need to practice.”

She grabs the primer before skipping from the room.  Ida is a very bright girl and a natural student. If given the opportunity, she will go far. I just wish I had more time to teach her. The thought is frustrating. There are only twelve days left until my time is up. I will need at least five of them to try to find a way to save Colonel Blair’s life, and there are countless things I want to do to improve the lives of the friends I’ve made. I have so much to do and not nearly enough time with which to do it.

My eyes go to the pile of clothes in the corner. They desperately need to be washed. It’s hard enough to wear the dreadful things; I definitely don’t want to wear dirty 1875 clothes.

Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I hobble across the room to the clothes. I grab the whole pile before heading out the door. I have so many things to do, but my laundry needs to be at the top of the list. There aren’t clothes dryers in the nineteenth century, so I need to wash them before I begin on the home renovations. This way I will have clean things to wear the next day and make it so I waste less time.

The well water is extremely cold, and it’s too much work to heat it.  I bite my bottom lip as I plunge my hands in the wash tub. I try to ignore the chill as I scrub my things with a ball of lye soap. The bitter cold makes me scrub faster.

“Rose, what do you make of Miss Harris?” Colonel Blair’s voice resonates from the partially open kitchen window.

Rose laughs. “Miss Rebecca be mighty spirited, Massa James.”

“At times she is too spirited.” He sighs.

“Yes, but she also gotta heart of gold. I ain’t never done met a nicer girl.”

I smile as I scrub. It’s good to know that Rose feels about me the same way I feel about her.

“She is kind to a fault,” Colonel Blair agrees with her.

Rose chuckles. “She always be tryin’ to help me not knowin’ she be makin’ more work.  She done help darn socks, and I done had to unpick dem.”

I fight back laughter, knowing how woefully inadequate my homemaking skills are.
Poor Rose!

“She must have been raised in a very fine household,” the Colonel says in a hushed voice. “She will have to be provided the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. Miss Harris is not to lift a finger.”

“Yes, Massa James,” I can hear delight in Rose’s voice and don’t understand why. “I’m a-gonna get a girl to help Ida.”

“I have already sent for someone to assist her,” he says.

The idea is just ridiculous! I already have too much help. Why would I possibly need another girl?

Colonel Blair speaks again, “Rose, I would like you to send someone to Barnett’s to acquire the things she is lacking and a few things from Berk’s.”

“Yes, Massa James. I’m a-gonna shut da window so da dough can rise. I can’t have no draft be ruinin’ it.”

I hear Rose’s footsteps but don’t think anything of it until a shrill scream pierces the air.

“Miss Rebecca, you a-gonna catch your death!”

The door flies open. Colonel Blair dashes into the cold.

“Where is your commonsense, girl? You’re going to catch pneumonia!” he shouts.

“I’m fine,” I counter. “My things need to be washed for tomorrow.”

“The washer woman will take care of them! This water is ice-cold, and you are not even wearing a cloak!”

“Heating water takes too much work, and I did not want to dirty the cloak. You may wish to return it when I leave.”

He unexpectedly picks me up. His eyes open wide when he sees my bare feet. He clenches his jaw. He throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“I am not finished!” I object, flailing my arms. “I don’t want someone else to have to do my work.”

“Miss Rebecca, da washerwomen be wantin’ work,” Rose explains as Colonel Blair carries me into the Mansion.

I never thought about it like that, but I still don’t like to be bossed around. I pound on Colonel Blair’s back.

“Put me down!”

He doesn’t respond. Hauling me through the house, he doesn’t stop until I’m back in my room.

Colonel Blair gently puts me down. There is an enormous frown on his face while Rose pulls socks out of one of the drawers.

She breathes in sharply as she picks up my hands. I didn’t even notice that my skin is so dry and cracked that my hands are bleeding. She moistens a cloth and washes away the blood before handing Colonel Blair a jar of salve.

“I’m a-gonna get Ida.”

He nods severely while taking the salve. He removes the lid as she goes out the door.

“I was almost finished,” I say crossly.

He silently takes my tiny hands in his massive ones. Salve is carefully applied to the raw skin. It is immediately soothing. He takes several deep breaths.

“Miss Harris,” he says, his soft-spoken voice having returned. “You have continually stressed the importance of good health, yet fail to safeguard your own. You have requested that I stop smoking and drinking, yet you have put yourself in grave danger. First, you walked unaccompanied in town and Indian Territory. Now, you have gone into the cold, improperly dressed to do laundry, which we both know you have no business even attempting.”