Dark Witness (8 page)

"If only we could get a doctor here," he sighed. "But there we have so little fuel, there is ice on the river. You know the boat is in need of repair. Besides, neither of them could make the journey even if the boat could. It's up to us to watch out for this sparrow fallen to the ground. Make no mistake. He has seen her. And Billy. And He's watching you, too. This is your greatest test, Teresa."

Melody's murmurs were background music to Duncan's tune.

We'll pray.

We'll watch.

We won't cause more harm

As always, Duncan shamed Teresa with his judgment and his sense. They could not get these young people to a doctor until they were stronger. Duncan ran his hand over Teresa's shoulder and down her back. He said:

"That leg needs a cast, Teresa. Do you understand?"

"I'll try," she promised.

"Treat her as if she is your daughter," Duncan said and then he chuckled. "I mean, the way you would treat your own daughter now."

Teresa's jaw locked. He took one last long look at Hannah and went to see about Robert and Glenn and the all the rest to make sure the house was once again in order. Teresa went in search of what they would need to cast Hannah's leg.

Melody stood alone in the twilight room trying not to think about how beautiful Hannah would be when she was well. But then she had a second thought. Hannah wouldn't be quite as beautiful as she probably was before. Teresa's stitches would leave an ugly scar.

That, Melody thought, would be a pity.

Sort of.

***

Duncan opened the door of Pea's room and found her as he always did, bowed in prayer, waiting for God's call. He walked across the room and knelt on the large pillow directly opposite her. It had been like that since they were children: Pea
Within
herself and he waiting
Without
; Duncan listening to Pea; everyone else listening to Duncan.

"So, Pea, it has happened. I expected something a little different. Heaven opening up. Seraphim. You know, like that. A big sign that it was time for me to, well, you know, heal everyone. That's what I expected. Ah, well. This is interesting, isn't it?"

She remained silent and still,
but Duncan knew she heard him. His voice was her link to this earthly world and hers, when she used it, linked him to heaven.

"I don't know what to make of it. This is beyond me, Pea. Not my faith – I've always had that – just my understanding. That's all, Pea. What am I to do with them? Really? What? What, indeed."

To pass the time, he picked at the carpet. He reclined, his long legs spread out to his side, his elbow on the pillow. When he got tired, he lay down with his hands laced behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He considered the walls and his handiwork. He hoped the room was warm enough for her. He stared at her and wondered about her face. It had been so long since Duncan had seen her face that he had forgotten what it looked like. It must be so different now, womanly and not girlish. He couldn't remember a time she was upright. He wondered if she could even stand upright any longer.

The hours bled away. He may have slept or dozed, but at some point he began to think that there would be nothing for him that day. He was on his own, and he didn't like that one bit. Just when he decided to leave, just as he was about to stand up, Pea made herself known.

Her legs did not quiver under her gown.

Her feet did not move.

Her fingers remained tented on the rug.

Her head stayed down, her face hidden by her fall of hair.

From her throat came a trill, followed a balloon of sound, and a trill once again. Duncan got on his knees, clasped his hand, bowed his head, turned his ear her way to hear her clearly. When she spoke, the words and numbers tumbled out so quickly it was all Duncan could do to stick them away in his head.

Hebrew: 13:2

Galatians 5:14

Leviticus 25: 35-38

Jeremiah 22

Jeremiah 22

Jeremiah 22

On and on Pea went. When there was a final trill and swelling and trill again, Duncan's shoulders fell. He sat back on his heels, filled with awe and gratitude.

"Thank you, sister," he whispered.

He rose, took her head between his hands and leaned down so that his lips rested upon her hair. He breathed her in but could not smell her scent; he kept his eyes open but could not see her. One day, when they were all worthy, after the healing, all would have the pleasure of Pea and God.

He went on his way as he always did after his time with Pea. If Melody or Teresa had come out of the room next door he would not have noticed them. If Hannah had appeared on the stairs in front of him he would have passed through her as if she were a ghost. If Robert's great person had blocked the front door, Duncan would have simply raised a hand and disappeared him into the darkness. If Billy challenged him, he would swat him out of the way. That was how Duncan always left Pea: entranced and empowered.

Duncan went down the stairs and out the front door. He walked through the freezing cold with only his light jacket. When Duncan walked past his own house, Glenn, who was sitting with Billy, got out of his chair to watch until he was past the stand of saplings. Duncan went by the old outhouse and finally came to the store where he veered off the path, climbed over the rock wall, pushed through the brush that almost covered the back door, and let himself inside the building. He flipped the switch and a bare bulb was illuminated. There were boxes stacked against three walls. He moved some of them and pushed open a panel in the wall that led to his private and sacred room.

He sat down at a very old table that had been fashioned from the bow of the Ark, and had come to him by way of a trader he had met on his journey to this place. There were books on a small shelf along with his drawing tablets and paints. On the desk was the Bible that had been Duncan's mother's bible. She had not been worthy of it. It took him a long while to understand that the tradeoff – a good mother for the word of God – was not a bad one.

Duncan put his hand upon the Bible, gave thanks for Pea's guidance, and prayed that he was a worthy servant. He wrote down the verses exactly as he heard them, set the paper aside for reference, and opened the book.

Hebrew 13: 2

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

Leviticus 25: 35-38:

If your brother becomes poor and cannot maintain himself with you, you shall support him as though he was a stranger and a sojourner, and he shall live with you.

Jeremiah: 22
:

Do no wrong or violence to the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place. For if you are careful to carry out these commands, then kings who sit on David’s throne will come through the gates of this palace, riding in chariots and on horses, accompanied by their officials and their people. But if you do not obey these commands, declares the Lord, I swear by myself that this palace will become a ruin.

Duncan didn't know how long he had been studying the book, but suddenly he was aware that the cold in the tiny room had become tortuous. He shook himself like a wet dog, envying Pea her constant state of
Within
. How wonderful it would be to never feel anything. Duncan shut the Bible just as he heard the crackling and buzzing of the ancient radio. He smiled more broadly and put on the headphones. God and the radio were both chatty today.

He heard nothing more than a trucker talk to his dispatcher about the meat he was carrying to Anchorage. Pity he was so far out of the way. Duncan would have liked steak. He took off the headphones and made a mental note to ask Robert what else was in the truck. Surely it was more than human cargo. After all, that was why Duncan had sent him out to look in the first place.

Duncan left the backroom of the store the same way he had come. He walked across the compound, through the cold, the light snow and the wind. All the while, the words he had read were like neon in his brain, like a dry bush burning bright, like lightning striking:
hospitality to angels. . .if a brother becomes poor he shall live with you. . .do no harm to foreigners and the King will ride through the gates . . . harm them and God will ruin this place.

By the time Duncan went into the main house his step was lighter. He always felt better when there was something important to do. He felt better still when he saw the congregation gathered around the dinner table waiting for him.

Waiting just for him.

CHAPTER 7

The seven-dog team pulled Andre Guillard's sled smoothly across the early snow that blanketed Denali Park. In the distance, Denali, the mountain itself, rose majestically. It, too, was covered in white. The weather had turned mid-September, which was unusual but not strange. Most of the people who had won lottery tickets to drive the one road that wound through the great park had not made it as far as Savage River because of the unseasonable snowfall. Andre needed neither permit nor car to travel here. Every inch of Denali – and then some – was in his care. He was an Alaskan State Trooper whose job it was to keep peace in what appeared to be a perpetually peaceful land.

Which it was not.

Dark days of winter made people fickle and fearsome or just downright crazy. Some were happy to hibernate and wait out the snow; but some were gripped with cabin fever and massacred each other over how the fire was stoked. Add to that the problems with poachers, subsistence hunters without licenses, and rescue missions, and winter was a trooper's challenge. At the moment, though, Andre wasn't challenged at all. It was almost sinful that what he was doing was considered work.

"Gee!" he called to the dogs and they turned right at his command.

"Haw!" he called again and they went left, landing back on track, responding as if they and the sled were one living thing.

Andre had not been raised in Alaska. He migrated there when he was twenty-two because he was no more comfortable in Florida's humidity and heat than he had been in the midst of his large family of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, first, second, and third cousins. He grew tired of his mother wondering if he would ever get married and his father telling him that marriage was not all women cracked it up to be. He was unnerved by his sisters' squealing babies, their complaints about their husbands' lack of attention, or the fact that grown women seemed to cry for the sake of crying. Andre was befuddled by his brothers who thought a car engine was beautiful yet had no use for a clear blue sky. His one brother's two ex-wives were scary as were his other brother's parade of girlfriends teetering on very high heels and wearing very short-shorts. It wasn't that Andre didn't like women; he just liked women of a different sort. So he left Florida behind, confident that he was now more a part of his family than he ever had been. His life in Alaska gave them something to talk about while they grilled their steaks and drank away their Sundays.

Andre leaned forward, calling out to let his huskies know he was still part of the team. They had covered ten miles and had another three to go before they made it to the field, and they still ran as if they were morning fresh. He pedaled the sled. The cold air was like champagne fizzing against his skin. A fringe of ice had formed on his mustache and beard. There were deep lines around his blue eyes, earned in the hours spent straining to see the point just beyond the furthest point on the horizon. Andre hoped he never saw it, but he kept trying. His jaw was square under his trim beard and his cheekbones were high. He was tall. He was broad of chest, slim of hip, and comfortable in his skin. He was twenty-nine years old and the summer campers or winter visitors who came upon him often took pictures so they could show people at home the beautiful man they had come across in Alaska. The criminals he apprehended, the abusive husbands he confronted, the poachers he tracked down more often than not simply gave up when Andre showed up so impressive was his appearance. Andre, though, was oblivious. However handsome he might be, his looks paled in comparison to the wilderness around him.

Today's sky, for instance, reminded Andre of Boris' coat. A true Siberian husky, the blue-eyed dog was white on the belly and black and grey on his back and ruff. His coloring was as dramatic in contrast as the deep and threatening colors of the sky above and the bright white of the snow below. Andre pedaled once more, and the dogs pulled faster to please him, and all too soon they arrived at their destination where Nell was waiting. She called out as he came close. She beamed at Andre, but threw her arms out to the dogs as the sled came to a stop. First Boris and then all the others in turn, talking as she would to well-reared but excitable children.

"You're happy aren't you? Yes, you are. You had a good run." She ruffled their fur and unhitched them one by one. "I thought maybe you'd mushed your way to Russia, Andre."

"I would have if I could have." André joined her and together they managed the rigging.

"I hope you would have at least stopped for a chat on the way," Nell laughed as her work-worn hands buried themselves in one dog's dense coat.

Andre admired those hands. They were as rough as any man's and aged beyond their years. The fact that Nell wasn't ashamed of them was damn sexy. She didn't notice him looking and soon the team was free, sent off for their food and a well-deserved rest. Andre released the straps on his gear and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Nell put her hands on her hips and gave him the once over.

"You look like you had a good run yourself, Andre."

"Can't complain." He swung his pack forward again and dug into the side pocket for her mail. "By Pass Service, ma'am"

"Thanks."

Nell took the stack of envelopes, but showed no interest in the mail. She had no family, her friends were in Alaska, and her charters were picked up online or through the state offices. Any news that came by mail could wait. She was more interested in Andre.