Beyond the Fire Page 15

  After mounting quickly and pulling the lad up behind him, John turned and was off. Bill looked at the others and then began to run in pursuit, hoping not to lose sight of the retreating pair. The horse bearing his master disappeared over an embankment, and Bill pounded on. His legs began to feel like jelly, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.

  Upon reaching the summit, he saw a meadow stretching out below him with a rocky butte protruding from its rolling slopes. Tents were pitched about the butte’s stony crown, and that was where John Stafford was headed. Gasping for breath, Bill plunged over the edge, determined to stay near the one he was called to serve.

  Green Meadow was a high mountain meadow located between the Guardian Range and the Independence Mountains. This narrow strip of grassland served as the only access to Amity from the western slopes. It was about three miles wide at the narrowest point and contained several deep valleys and many rocky buttes.

  James Stafford had been assigned to guard this mountain pass, and in so doing he had divided his men into four command centers. These centers were strategically located to thwart Jabin’s movement, and the plan had been largely successful. However, a fair number of Jabin’s men had managed to slip past Amity’s archers and form a dangerous army behind James’s defenses.

  This fraction of Jabin’s army had pillaged and burned everything of value east of Green Meadow. Unchecked, they had turned toward Headwater. Though they met organized resistance at Headwater, it did not take long to dispatch the city’s defenses. After killing every man, woman, and child in Headwater, they turned their attention farther east.

  When they met John Stafford on the road above Shepherd, they feigned retreat only to regroup in smaller bands, spreading their terror far and wide throughout all of Amity.

  “Mother!” Mary gasped as she rushed into the store. “Mother, I’ve heard the most terrible news!”

  “Good gracious, child!” Dolly scolded. “Think of the baby! Mary, you mustn’t run like that, and you mustn’t get so excited. Calm yourself, and then tell me your news.” Dolly never stopped dusting the knickknacks on the shelf.

  Mary’s voice caught as she tried to speak. “Oh, Mother, John Stafford is dead! The army was routed, and thousands have been killed!”

  Dolly stopped dusting, and her face turned pale. “Where did you hear this nonsense?” she demanded sharply. “It’s a lie, I tell you!”

  Dolly’s confidence settled Mary somewhat, but the thought of Bill lying dead somewhere was devastating. “But Mother, I heard the news from Gary Longbottom, and he lives near the barracks. It was the talk all over town.”

  “Well, if that’s the talk of the town,” Dolly bristled, “people had better be quiet! Now, for you, young lady, you get yourself upstairs and lie down to rest. I won’t tolerate any more of this foolishness!”

  A sense of calm poured through Mary as she climbed the stairs. It was good to have someone take charge when the world was turning upside down. Dolly helped Mary slip from her dress and poured water in a basin so she could bathe.

  The cool water helped calm her nerves, and Mary felt much better after slipping into her nightgown. The sun was still up but hung low on the horizon. She wanted to stay up and talk, but Dolly would have nothing of it.

  “You get into that bed and rest!” Dolly said, tucking in the covers and soothing the worried wrinkles from her daughter’s brow. “You’ve heard fear talking in the streets, child, and fear says the most outrageous things.”

  Mary marveled at her mother. She wavered between loving and hating the woman. Times like these couldn’t shake Dolly, and tonight Mary was glad.

  Watching the shadows lengthen in the room, Mary thought about the last few days. It had been fun to learn more about her mother. This was the first time they had exchanged more than simple courtesy. They had actually shared their dreams and desires. Much had centered on the coming baby. Would it be a boy or a girl, and what would they name it? Mary rubbed her swollen tummy and whispered, “Everything is going to be all right, William.” She couldn’t say why she knew it would be a boy, but she did. “Your grandmother is right. Everything will be all right.”

  With these words swirling through her mind, Mary drifted off to sleep.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Dolly poured a large cup of black coffee. Leaning over the table, she sipped the hot brew and tried to sort things out in her mind. What if the report were true? What if John Stafford was dead and the army defeated? What of young Philip in Stonewall? Many said he was too young and inexperienced to be a good leader. What then? Where should she go? She even wondered if maybe, just maybe, she should have taken the advice so many had offered and moved to Waterfront.

  “Well, it’s too late for that now.” She sighed. “We’ll just have to put a brave face on it and try to ride out the storm.”

  The light burned late in the shop as Dolly checked and then rechecked the locks on the doors. She felt a strange uneasiness. Stepping out briefly, she thought she smelled smoke in the air. That was not unusual in fall, winter, or springtime, but this was the middle of summer. “Something’s afoot,” she muttered, and a chill ran up her spine. Turning, she stepped inside and bolted the door.

  “Mary, wake up!” Dolly’s whisper was demanding, but it fit so well into Mary’s dream that she merely rolled over. Insistent fingers poked her ribs, and again Dolly’s voice whispered, “Mary, come to the window and look outside.”

  Finally she opened her eyes. The room was dark, but she could see her mother step past the window. It was a moonless night out, or else clouds had covered the moon, for it was very dark.

  Suddenly Mary was wide awake. “What is it?” she hissed, pulling the covers up to her chin in defense against the darkness.

  “Come and see,” Dolly whispered.

  Slipping from the protection of her blankets, Mary tiptoed across the room to the window where her mother was standing.

  “Something is coming down the street.” Dolly pointed north along Orchard Creek Avenue.

  Mary peered into the darkness, thinking her mother must be seeing things, but suddenly she too saw movement. She saw one, then another object move on the dark street below. Her voice caught as she spoke. “I see, but what is it?”

  Glancing at her mother, Mary realized that Dolly was fully dressed. “Mother, haven’t you gone to bed?” she whispered.

  “Hush and get dressed,” Dolly snapped. Mary was turning to obey when her mother suddenly grabbed her arm. “Look!” she hissed.

  Passing directly below their window were five darkly clad figures on horseback. They rode quietly, but the faint clatter of hooves could be heard on the cobblestone pavement.

  Mary felt her throat constrict, and fear wrapped its bony fingers around her heart. Her dream was coming true! Outside her window, the agents of evil stalked her very soul. She had to escape, but where?

  Dolly sensed the growing terror in her daughter’s posture. She turned to shush her, but too late. Mary’s fear had reached a mighty crescendo, and it poured out in a loud, airy scream.

  Shocked, Dolly clamped a firm hand over Mary’s mouth and hissed, “When will you ever learn to control yourself? Should we invite them in for tea?”

  Mary clung to her mother, but her eyes frantically searched the room for an escape. Glancing out the window, the street seemed clear. Maybe the men hadn’t noticed!

  Suddenly Mary noticed a shadow moving near the wall directly below them. She gasped. Both women heard the faint, almost imperceptible tinkle of glass breaking downstairs.

  They stood still, not daring to breathe or make a sound. Holding each other tight, they waited. They didn’t hear the latch lift, but when the front door swung open, the maiden merrily played her tune.

  There was complete silence for a few moments, and then coarse whispers drifted up the stairs. Mary tried to check the rising tide of fear she felt. She concentrate
d on her mother’s strong arms wrapped around her. I will not scream again, she told herself firmly. I will control myself. I will come out of this alive!

  Suddenly Mary felt a stab of pain in her lower back. She needed to move, to shift her body’s weight to ease the cramp that threatened to engulf her entire body, but she dared not move. The pain grew and spread in intensity, and she stifled the agony she felt.

  Dolly must have felt the muscles tighten in her daughter’s swollen tummy, for she breathed a nearly silent prayer. “Lord, deliver us!” Slowly the pressure subsided, and both women sighed with relief.

  The intruders were chatting downstairs. They had opened a music box, and a melody filled the air. Both women relaxed—maybe too much, for the pain that hit Mary with her second contraction was so intense and unexpected that she cried out without thinking.

  Dolly’s face twisted with rage, and her hand swung in reflex action. The slap landed on Mary’s face, echoing across the room.

  Mary’s eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t meant to cry out! Her pleading eyes were met with scorn. Suddenly both women froze as they heard the heavy scrape of a boot on the bottom stair.

  Bedtime Ends Grandpa Bill’s Story

  “Ahem!” Mary cleared her throat.

  Bill glanced in her direction. The light was dim in the room, but he could see stern lines upon his wife’s brow. The wind moaned outside, and snow pecked against the glass window panes. Every child sat breathless, waiting for Grandpa to continue.

  “That’s all for tonight!” Bill said decisively.

  “But, Grandpa, you can’t stop there!” wailed a chorus of young voices.

  Once again, Bill glanced at his lovely bride, her eyes now sparkling with approval. “I’m sorry, everyone, but it is bedtime. Maybe I can finish the story tomorrow.”

  Destry grimaced but said nothing. She desperately hoped the wind would abate so they could begin their journey home in the morning. She hurried to gather her son from Bill’s lap. “Come, Robbie,” she almost scolded. “It is way past your bedtime.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he responded quietly.

  Gradually the room emptied amid the grumpy protests of weary children.

  BOOK TWO

  Facing the Defiler: Enduring the Flames

  CHAPTER 13

  Christmas Morning at the Cottons’

  The wind did not abate. In fact, it moaned around the house all night and into the morning. Huge drifts surrounded the buildings, and still the wind raged on.

  Destry was grateful to be inside. She’d caught a glimpse of the snow as the men returned from feeding the livestock. The house was warm and filled with food and good company, at least from the ladies.

  She glanced at her mother-in-law. Mary’s snow-white hair bobbed as she moved about the kitchen, as lithe and spry as a child, yet the woman was seasoned with years of experience and love. How can she love that brute of a man she married? Destry wondered.

  Peeking into the parlor, she witnessed eight small children helping Grandpa stoke the fireplace. Chagrined, Destry wondered why everyone seemed to love the scary old man with only one hand, especially her own Robbie.

  But her chagrin turned to fear and then outright rage when Bill suddenly caught Robbie around the waist and tossed him nearly to the ceiling, catching him deftly as he came down. Robbie’s squeals of delight kept her lips sealed, but her heart was pounding, and her face was flushed with fury.

  Along with Robbie’s peals of laughter was a chorus of voices calling, “Grandpa, finish the story. You promised.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the ladies?”

  “No!” came the immediate response.

  “Where should we begin?”

  “Right where we stopped last night!”

  “How about we back up and bring some other people into our story?” Bill asked.

  “But why, Grandpa?”

  “There was a lot happening in the world, and the Creator of all mankind was not just working in the lives of your grandmother and me. He brought many people together to show us His power and mercy. If we leave out the stories of others, we might miss some of the majesty of our Lord.”

  “Oh, all right,” the children reluctantly agreed. “But let’s start right now!”

  “Well, I doubt the ladies would mind too much,” Bill said with a smile. “Now, long before I ever saw Green Meadow …”

  In his command center on a rocky bluff outside Green Meadow, James massaged his temples to ease the throbbing in his head. Things were so different from one year ago. He’d been a hero then. Thomas, Seagood, and many others had joined Gaff at the Battle of Great Bend and beaten back a marauding band of thieves that threatened to invade the land of Emancipation. After that battle, people cheered whenever the army rode through town. People who had been fearful were no longer afraid. It was a wonderful feeling.

  However, nine months had passed since James and Thomas had volunteered to serve with a garrison stationed at Green Meadow. The purpose for the garrison was primarily to secure the border and bring security to the people of Amity, but if trouble came on the western slopes, as it had during the battle of Great Bend, troops from Amity would be able to respond much more quickly. When the garrison had arrived at Green Meadow, they’d been met with open arms. Everyone, except Devia, had been thrilled to have them there. The people donated food, and even Devia had felt a certain obligation to assist.

  During the winter months, while Devia’s warehouses stood nearly empty, he housed the garrison within their walls. However, as winter began to pass, Devia encouraged a shift in the public’s attitude. He had hoped to win the loyalty of James Stafford during his stay, but since that had failed, changes were in store.

  Under the pretense of making room in his warehouses for spring commodities, he booted the garrison out, and he privately encouraged people to stop selling their products to the soldiers. Many complied with Devia.

  James had struggled to relocate his troops and purchase supplies for his men. In the process, he had relied on Devia more than was expedient, thus incurring the wrath of Devia’s competitors. James no longer felt like a hero. He felt unwanted in town and disliked by his own men. He could not buy enough food to keep the camp’s larders stocked, and everyone was hungry. Morale was very low among his men.

  In a deep ravine not far from the command center and less than a mile from Green Meadow, Thomas watched as his archers hit nine out of ten bull’s-eyes. A young lad who sat watching laughed and said, “I’ll bet Samoth would like to see this!”

  Thomas smiled ruefully. “He never comes close enough to the camp!”

  “Sure he does!” the boy countered. “I saw him headed for Captain Stafford’s tent before I came down here.”

  Thomas spun and caught the boy’s shoulders in his broad hands. “How long ago was this?” he implored. Thomas spoke with such intensity that the boy cowered a little, wondering if he had said something wrong.

  Thomas relaxed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I just had a few things I wanted to ask Samoth if I had known he was here.”

  The boy gulped. “Maybe an hour ago. I didn’t know you wanted to see Samoth.”

  Thomas laughed. “And it’s a good thing too. I wouldn’t want my thoughts to be an open book to everyone.” With a gentle hand, he ruffled the lad’s curly hair. “Thanks for telling me now.”

  Thomas turned and called one of the other men. “Diedrich, you are in charge. Have each man shoot one hundred arrows more. By the time you finish, it will be time for lunch.”

  The young officer received his orders, grimacing at the long practice schedule. “How infernal ready can one get?” he muttered. Turning back to the men, he knew what their response would be. Their fingers were already tender.

  As Thomas turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “Diedrich, make it a contest! Highest score gets a dou
ble portion of tonight’s meal.”

  “All right,” Diedrich said with a smile. “That’s more like it!”

  Thomas strode quickly to James’s command center. Guards saluted smartly as he ducked through the tent flaps that were popping in the wind. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light.

  The tent was large and contained several cots for the guards when they were off duty. A second opening led to the commander’s quarters. Stepping to this opening, Thomas paused and gathered his thoughts. He could feel his heart beating fast and wondered if he would always be nervous around his elder brother.

  “Sir,” Thomas said as he pulled the flap to one side.

  “Who is it?” called an upbeat voice from inside.

  “Thomas,” he said, stepping into James’s barren quarters. “May I see you for a moment?”

  A single candle flickered from its perch on the rickety old crate serving as James’s desk. It illuminated a neatly made cot on one side of the room, with weapons carefully placed alongside. On the desk were several papers, neatly arranged, one of which seemed to be under consideration by the man behind the desk.

  Pushing back the crate upon which he sat, James rose. “Thomas, come in!”

  The brothers were much alike: tall, muscular, and about the same height. Both had thick brown hair curling about their temples. James shaved his rugged jaw, while Thomas allowed his beard to grow.

  Motioning to another crate, James sat down and asked, “What brings you here?”

  “Has Samoth been here?” Thomas asked bluntly.

  James’s face clouded slightly. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Did you need to see him?”

  Thomas bristled but kept his voice under control. “You know I wanted to talk to him the next time he was here.”

  James looked blankly at the desktop. “Sorry. I forgot. You were rather busy with archery practice, were you not?”

  “Rather.”

  Silence grew until James cleared his throat. “Look, what did you need to know? Maybe I can answer your questions.”