Harris Channing

In Sarah's Shadow

by Harris Channing

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Copyright 2012 Harris Channing

In Sarah's Shadow

by

Harris Channing

Chapter 1

Colorado
, 1872

There was a sudden howling of the
wind. It raked across his deadened nerves and had him covering his ears. Damn
the wilderness and her trickery, for didn't the howling sound like that of a
lost soul crying out for redemption?

He shuddered and forced himself to
calm. Slumping back in his chair, he glowered at his surroundings. It had been
a long time since he had set foot into the cabin and used the luxuries the
place provided for her. "Luxuries, indeed," he mumbled, taking a
swallow of weak coffee.

Even now, he could almost smell her
perfume and sense the warmth of her presence. Despite the dust and cobwebs in
the murky blackness of dusk, he could see in vivid color the way she flounced
around the place, so young, so beautiful, so full of dreams.

"It's
a lonely place, David, but we can fill it with life. I want flowerboxes alive
with whatever flowers we can find and I can stencil the walls. Mrs. Barber did
that in her home and it looked divine. It'll be a grand little home, you'll
see."

Home
.
He almost laughed at the irony. For looking through the glasses of time, this
place was hardly a home. You're safe at home, comfortable, secure. No, this was
not her home. It was her tomb.

With a sigh, he pulled a
half-smoked cigar from his pocket and lit it from the stub of a candle that
struggled against the oncoming dark. He only had a handful of the 'smelly
instruments of torture' left. He fought tears at the memory of her shooing him
onto the front porch to smoke.

And with the memories came a new
surge of guilt. Her death, he once again reminded himself, was a stain on his
soul that could never be erased. For his determination to keep her to himself
had been the reason for his choice of locale. Why hadn't he stayed in Tennessee?
Why had he stolen her away to this desolate place? Damn his soul to hell. He
was a selfish bastard.

Setting his gloved hand to the
window, he wiped a small circle clean and gazed out into the snowy evening.
Huge flakes flew by on Mother Nature's icy breath. Again the wind screamed and
again his mind sped to the past.

Did she scream as sharply when they
came and took her life? Did she suffer? Did she call for him?

More guilt piled atop the already
mountainous slopes.

But when he found her, broken and bleeding,
he hadn't cried. No. His heart had grown cold, his soul black, his thoughts
bitter. He became the soldier he had been and with a ruthlessness that belied
his usually genteel manner, he tracked the evil that invaded his home and with
the blade of his knife, ended their miserable lives. And from the deep pit in
which he had fallen, he had yet to climb free, content to stay there and wallow
in his misery.

He leaned over and rummaged through
his filthy canvas bag. Locating the flask, he doctored his coffee with Henry's
latest batch of rotgut. The chill in the room eased when he took a long
swallow. The fire was going out, but the liquid burned and he didn't care.
Staring at the fireplace, he watched the embers slowly fading, but his eyes
were growing tired and maybe if he let the flames die, he would finally sleep
and wake up in Sarah's loving embrace.

***

She screamed, oh how she screamed.
The snow blinded, the wind bit and the world around her disoriented. If she
didn't have the advantage of gravity, she wouldn't know what was up and what
was down. Swirling flakes battered her cold deadened flesh and each drift she
conquered with her struggling steps was met with yet another freezing mound.
Dear Lord, how was she supposed to survive this?

Her dark hair blew, sticking to wet
flesh and adding to her discomfort. Every bit of her was beyond cold and
despite the woolen scarf that covered much of her face, she could no longer
feel her cheeks, lips or nose. She could taste the blood from her split lip,
but that was all. Everything, everything was so cold that nothing ached except
the fear that pinched her gut. Fear that she would die in the wilderness and
become some scavenger's next meal.

"Mother! Father! Robert! Where
are you?" she called their names as she had upon first awakening to find
them gone. Had they not come looking for her before leaving? Had they thought
her dead?

She had slipped upon a smooth rock
while trying to get water from the frozen creek. Bumped her head and blacked
out only to awaken some time later under a blanket of fresh October snow. Her
head aching, her forehead creased by an ugly gash.

How could they so heartlessly leave
her there beneath that canopy of scraggly pines? If her tears hadn't been
frozen, she would have shed an ocean, but instead, she walked on, pushing her
way forward, but to where? There was nothing beyond the darkness except more
darkness. And yet she continued. By God she would expel her last breath in her
fight to survive.

Her heart suddenly surged from its
icy depths. Was that a light? Was she heading toward Heaven's gate or did a
small rectangle of light beckon her to continue? Either way she would happily
go.

She pressed onward and hope sparked
anew. Yes! It was a window.

"Please God!'" she
shrieked. "Please, you must help me!"

***

His eyes flew open at the shrill,
panicky sound that the wind offered. It almost sounded human. He pulled off his
woolen cap and raked his fingers through his matted hair. He stared at the now
empty flask. What had Henry put into the brew? Whatever it was had him hearing
things.

"Please, help me!"

An ungodly chill raced through his
body. Had Sarah come to take him with her? He welcomed death, for living had
become unbearable. Rising from his chair, he waited, straining to hear the
call, the call that would lead him home. If he heard it again, he would stumble
out into the cold and lie down atop the snowy earth.

At the sound of banging upon the
wooden door, he leapt forward and pulled it open, ready to see her, to welcome
her.

The sight before him had him
recoiling. There she was, dressed in rags, frozen blood leaching through a
yellow scarf. Her hair hung in icicle laden strands. She lifted her eyes and
his heart sank. It wasn't a snow angel, but a human.

Gray, bloodshot eyes, not loving
brown eyes, pleaded with him. "Let me in…p-please. I'm dying."

He stared at the creature, his
disappointment giving way to his duty. Pulling her inside, she fell into his
body, leaning hard against him. She was alive and yet he'd never felt a live
being that was so cold. Not one bit of warmth rose from her snow covered
essence. He shoved the door shut, fighting the wind that pressed and fought to
be allowed entrance.

She shivered against him, her arms
remained at her side, and yet she clung to him without moving a muscle.

He knew he should say something,
but no words came. How long had it been since he had spoken to anyone but
himself? Yes, he saw Henry from time to time, but he drank and Henry spoke.

"I-I'm scared to die. Please
don't let me die." Again the gray eyes searched his face for answers. He
had none. Death was something that came whether or not you were scared.

Pulling her further into the room,
he brought her nearer the fire. Taking action, he grabbed the blanket from the
bed, shaking out the dust before wrapping it around her narrow shoulders.

She stood stock still, her face
cast forward, her eyes suddenly unmoving. She would go into shock if he weren't
careful. Grabbing up his now lukewarm cup of coffee, he refreshed it from the
pot that warmed by the fire and laced it with whiskey before offering it to
her. She didn't move, but looked at him.

"My hands. They don't work.
Nothing works."

He set the cup down on the rugged
makeshift mantle and slowly unwound the scarf from her face. He expected to see
fiery red frostbite and feared she would lose her nose. To his surprise, a
split lip seemed to be the worst damage done. In fact, his heart clenched at
the youthful beauty before him. The large, honest eyes were but only part of
the gloriousness that God had bestowed upon her. Her cheeks rosy with the cold,
her nose pert and upturned, her lips…well once healed would be very suitable
for kissing.

He stepped back. He hadn't seen a
woman in the five years since Sarah's death. That was what attracted him. She
could have been polecat ugly and his body would yearn for hers despite the fact
that he would never be unfaithful to his wife.

He growled and took up the cup,
bringing it to her. Her jaw trembled as she opened her mouth and allowed him to
pour the liquid past her frozen lips. He carefully measured his pour and when
she pulled back, she sputtered and coughed.

"What's in that? Is there
whiskey in there?"

He ignored her protests.
"Drink it. It will warm you."

"I-I've never had the
drink."

"It won't hurt you in this
minuscule amount." He brought the cup up again and despite the uncertainty
in her eyes, she did as directed and gingerly took in more of the coffee.

A visible shiver raced across her
body and he took the cup away. He cleared his throat. "You'll need to get
out of those wet things." He pushed the blanket from her shoulders and
reached for the top button of her ragged and tattered coat.

What the hell was she doing on the
mountain, dressed for late spring? But he didn't ask, for he knew the answer.
People never took the warnings seriously. Never believed how unbelievably fast
a blizzard could rise up and whiten the world. Yes, it was only October, but
sometimes winter came early. You always had to be ready because when it came,
it overstayed its welcome.

He unfastened the top button and
then another and she still just stood there, her eyes cast forward. She was a
trusting soul, one that could be easily taken advantage of. Lucky for her she
had found the only mountain man in Colorado
who wouldn't ravage her, iced over or not.

***

She stood before the fire,
wondering what Ma would think of a wild man undressing her? But the question
went unanswered as Bobbie thought about her sweet, loving mother leaving her to
die. No, she wouldn't believe it. Her family wouldn't leave her…something had
happened to them, she felt it in her soul and yet her mind continued to search
for a contrary answer.

Finally, tears came to her frozen
eyes and slipped down her cheeks. Yet she wouldn't move, couldn't. Every bit of
her felt stiff beneath her ice covered clothes. The coffee and whiskey warmed
her insides but her extremities didn't tingle, they remained lifeless, even
when she tried to open her fists, they remained clenched.

He pushed the coat to the floor and
removed her cap. She looked up at him. He was a big man, burly and wide. She
should be afraid of him. He was a terrible sight all hairy and dirty. He was
verging on grotesque and yet she wasn't alarmed when he touched the tender spot
on her forehead, his green eyes flashing with concern.

"How did this happen?"

The memory of colliding with the
rock flashed through her fatigued mind. "I fell by a creek."

He nodded. "Well, it's a nasty
cut and it's dirty."

"I'm dirty. I've not had a
bath since we left Colorado Springs."

He blew out a breath, the stink of
booze overwhelming. "Who were you traveling with?"

"My parents and my
brother."

"Huh," he grumbled and
proceeded to undo the buttons that held her blouse together.

"I'm dry there," she
said, finally protesting as he reached her shift. Her coat and scarf were one
thing, but her shirt? He would have her naked if she weren't careful!

He chuckled, but there was no humor
in it. "No, you're not. You're soaked to the bone. You're just too damned
numb to feel the wet." He cocked a brow and glared at her. "You will
remain unmolested by me, I assure you. I'm not interested in you clothed or
naked."

"I hardly believe that."

He lowered his face to level with
hers. "You either get dry or you die. I'm not going to argue with you. You
want to live?"

His tone was harsh, his gaze
harsher. "Y-Yes."

"Then be still and hush."

His large hands quickly freed her
from her bodice and he moved to her back to untie her skirts. His breath
touched the nape of her neck and a shiver chased after the warmth. When her
skirt fell into a puddle at her feet, her teeth chattered.

"No fear, girl. Your shift is
dry enough." He removed her shoes and in one swift motion pulled her
petticoats down. She gasped at not only the abruptness of his movement but the
chilly air that whooshed over her nearly naked form. The man had obviously
undressed women before, for there were no questions asked, and very little
hesitation. Her modesty flared.

"Sir, I do fear," she
protested through chattering teeth. "You are v-very bold."

He set the dry blanket back over
her shoulders and coming face to face with her, wrapped her tight in the itchy
plaid wool. "There's no time to be a silly little virgin, girl. I intend
to keep you alive and intact."