Tomorrow's Sun (43 page)

Heat slithered from her palms to her shoulders. Though the color of an icy mountain lake, his eyes were anything but cooling. She breathed deep, pulling the night air into her lungs. She needed to keep her head clear. “Jake.”

His eyes closed briefly. His grip loosened. “Just once, could you say my name in a different tone?” He sat back in the chair. “I bet you were really good at playing Red Light/Green Light, Teach.”

Pulling her hands free, she stood. His sarcasm was justified. “I know. I know I’m sending mixed signals.”

“Emily.” He whispered her name and started to stand.

“Don’t.” She held one hand up. “I need you to listen without saying a word. I need you to hear all of it.” Wrapping her sweater tight across her chest, she turned to face the house. Looking at him, she’d never get through it. She told him about the day of the accident, the people she’d met, the little blue pill.

“So you blame yourself for what happened to Sierra.”

Emily nodded.

“And for losing the baby.” Again, he said her name. Again, she raised her hand.

“My injuries…” She pressed one hand to her temple and stared at him. She needed to see his reaction. “I hemorrhaged internally. The only way they could stop it was to do a hysterectomy.”

His eyes narrowed. His lips parted. He stood and took a step toward her, as she knew he would. She expected his arms to engulf her, expected words of sympathy. She steeled herself as he did what she knew he would and tried, with every ounce of strength she possessed, not to savor the warmth and hardness of his chest or the sense of being cared for and protected. Of being home.

The pain was physical. As he pressed his face against her hair, the ache in his chest grew. “I’m so sorry, Emily.”

She didn’t conform to him, didn’t soften in his arms. And then it hit him. All her red lights were about this moment, about his reaction to this reality. His eyes closed. He breathed deep of her spicy scent. Emily couldn’t bear children. If he stayed with her, he would never know what it meant to father his own child. Was this what God was calling him to? If he married her and gained custody of the kids, Emily would have a ready-made family. She would have someone to shower with maternal feelings. But he would never know what it was like to hold a son who looked like him, to pass on his name, his genes.

Emily’s hands rose and pressed against his chest. “It’s okay, Jake. I’m okay.” She looked up at him, eyes clear, not tear-filled. A faint smile tipped one corner of her mouth.

He pulled his arms away to brush the hair from her face. Emily shook her head. Her hand rested on his arm for just a moment, like a butterfly landing then taking flight. Then she turned. And walked away.

He didn’t follow her.

October 23, 1852

Isaiah’s deep, hushed voice sang into the thick blackness. “Wait not for tomorrow’s sun. Turn, sinner, turn O!”

Liam’s paddle adjusted to the rhythm of the song. It was hard work, going against the current, but his arms took to the task without complaint. An hour ago he’d been grateful for the blackness that shrouded them, but the clouds had shifted, exposing the moon. He gave thanks for just enough light to navigate the chain of lakes ahead. They were almost halfway to the bend in the river where he and Isaiah would part ways.

“About an hour,” he whispered when Isaiah paused between verses. An hour until Isaiah’s song would have to cease and he’d need to flatten himself on the bottom of the canoe, under the pile of flour sacks and next to two dead beavers.

How strange this past year had been for a farm boy who’d never had hopes of doing anything but buy his own land, find a good woman, and support a family. Yet here he was, training to be a blacksmith, more in love than he’d ever imagined a human being could stand, and part of something so much bigger than himself. He and Big Jim and the Shaws had only played a small role, but it was a necessary part. They hadn’t helped many, in the whole scheme of things, but some were children with hope-filled futures ahead. Some, like Isaiah, hoped to gain their freedom in order to return and help their loved ones break free.

If he harbored anger at being called to this mission instead of raising a roof on his own land with Hannah by his side, the anger was aimed not at God but at men who thought it their right to own other men and at those who tolerated such evil. Liam took a long, slow breath and let the words of the gospel song sooth his ire. “Turn, sinner, turn O!”

Liam stayed close to the shore and out of the splash of moonlight that lit the glasslike lake. He rounded the curve of the north shore and navigated the narrow channel that led him back onto the Fox. The Pottawatomi called this river
Pishtaka
. Buffalo. At times during his nights on the river, Liam imagined what it had been like before settlements dotted the river named for those majestic beasts.

“Wait not for tomorrow’s sun…” Isaiah’s rich voice soothed them both. “Turn, sinner, turn O! Wait not for tomorrow’s sun, turn, sinner, turn O! Tomorrow’s sun will sure to shine, turn, sinner, turn O!”

“Good words, Isaiah. I’m trying to put them to memory.”

A dog barked. Too close for Liam’s comfort. Not a wild dog, from the sound of it. A hunting dog, nose to the ground. “Get down.”

The barking grew louder. Liam stopped paddling, holding the end of his paddle against the current. The noise stopped abruptly. The canoe drifted in the silence. Gooseflesh rose on Liam’s arms as he strained to hear anything that didn’t belong with the chirping of crickets.

Movement. On top of a small rise above the east bank. Moonlight silhouetted two men and a dog. Two men, and two muskets. Hunters? Liam’s heart slammed his breastbone. His breathing came in short, strained gasps. Dipping his paddle straight down, he searched for the river bottom. There, five feet down. But was it deeper toward shore? And, large as he was, would Isaiah be any match for the current?

“Mr. Liam?” Isaiah whispered, fear tightening his voice. “I’ll not put you in danger.”

“The water is up to your shoulders here. You’re better off fighting the river than those guns.” Liam paused, taking only a heartbeat to make a decision punishable by death. He lifted his pants leg and pulled out the only thing of value Da had ever given him—a Colt revolver. “Keep it dry,” he said, handing it to Isaiah.

“No, Mr. Liam, I cannot—”

“Hide on the bank. If I’m not back for you in an hour, stay close to the river and head north. There’s a farm, just west of the sharp elbow in the river. There’ll be a single lantern in the barn window. You’ll be safe there.”

Gaze fixed on the shadowy figures on the hill, Liam rode with the canoe as it rocked. Isaiah made a small splash. An involuntary gasp escaped as the cold water hit and his feet scrambled to find the bottom.
Lord, bring him to solid ground
.

“Ho! Stop!” The voice—loud, angry—rolled down the riverbank.

Liam lifted the paddle, dipped it in the opposite side, moving toward the voice and the guns and away from Isaiah. “Hello!”

The dog howled and broke into a run. Reeds rustled as he neared the water. One man followed, the other stayed on the hill, with full view of the river. Liam prayed the darkness would conceal Isaiah’s wake. He waved. “What are you hunting on this fine moonlit night?”

Man and dog reached the bank at the same time. “Sheriff Hiram Brown.” The man tapped his chest. Moonlight reflected off a silver badge. “Question is, who are you and what are you doing out here?”

Bounty hunters. The man probably wasn’t a lawman at all. “Checking my traps.” Liam eased up to the bank and grabbed onto a tree limb. “Liam Keegan. I work for the blacksmith in Rochester. Smith by day, trapper by night.” He fought to keep his tone light and casual. “What’re you looking for, Sher—?”

The dog shot through the sheriff’s legs and leaped into the canoe. His yowls ricocheted off the trees as he sniffed and scratched, his tail waving like a surrender flag.

“What’s in there?” The sheriff lifted the gun and cocked it. The sound reverberated across the water.

“Beavers. Have a look.” Out of respect for the firearm, he didn’t turn around. If any sign of Isaiah was left, he’d know soon enough. But the carcasses would explain the hound’s frenzy. The dead animals might well be Isaiah’s saving grace.

The sheriff picked up a stick and poked the bags and the animals. “Enough room for a man to hide.”

“I suppose.” Liam tried to add boredom to his voice. Maybe a touch of frustration. What would he be feeling if, in fact, he were only out here checking his traps? “Are you looking for a man?”

“We are.”

“What’d he do?” The more ignorant he sounded, the more believable he might appear.

“Ran off from his master.”

“Ah. One of
them
. There a reward?”

“One thousand dollars.”

Liam lifted his brows. Not that they’d be seen in the dim light, but he needed the appropriate mask. “A tidy sum. I’ll certainly keep my eyes and ears open.”

The sheriff called his dog out of the boat. For what seemed like an interminable time, he stared at Liam. Finally he touched the brim of his hat. “We’re camped up yonder. You hear anything, you come find us.”

“Will do, sir. Hope you find him.” The last words threatened to choke him. He pierced the water with the tip of his paddle and kept heading upstream, mouthing words as he paddled. “Tomorrow’s sun will sure to shine…”

H
olding the Percocet bottle up to the thin dawn light streaming onto the gray linoleum, Emily counted the pills and tucked the bottle in the toe of a shoe. Just in case. She zipped her bag and lowered it through the attic hatch on the end of a rope she’d found in the shed. There was no man in the house to hoist a tote bag on his shoulder the way he’d once carried her.

He hadn’t come after her. She’d spent the first three hours of the night on the church pew, wrapped in the rose wreath quilt, praying, reading, and listening. For her phone to ring, for a knock on the door, or the sound of a key in the lock. Around one a.m., she decided to call Blaze at first light and tell her she wouldn’t be making the trip to Missouri. And then she’d found a half page torn from Jeremiah and stuck in the Psalms.

“I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you, says the L
ORD
, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me; when you seek me with all your heart.”

Could God’s promises to the exiles of Israel apply to her? An unexplainable peace had wrapped around her, more comforting than the arms she hadn’t wanted to walk away from. As she folded the quilt, it took on new meaning.

Something died on her journey—shame, and the guilt she had no right to carry. She’d crawled onto her bed and slept for five straight hours without waking, without a pink-and-purple pill. When she woke, it was with anticipation. She would laugh with Blaze and Adam, hopefully stay on Lexi’s good side, see a part of the country she’d never seen, and maybe find out what happened to Hannah.