Margaret Brownley (40 page)

The coyotes’ cries faded in the background and his eyes drifted shut.  To stay focused he recited the recently memorized Ten Commandments.  He tried to read the Bible but his eyes burned and the word blurred.

Noel was crying. He needed his breeches changed. Libby’s sweet musical laughter filled the very air with a lovely gurgling sound that he associated with spring. She had a summer laugh too. And a winter laugh that reminded him of snowflakes falling to the ground in a crystal whirl.

Her laughter faded away and she called his name. Her voice was urgent and persistent. His eyes flew open and his finely tuned senses grew alert. Something was different. And then he realized the tom-tom had stopped.

He sniffed, but all he could smell was the lingering dank order of the wolf family that had once dwelled in the cave, and the eternal coyotes outside.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he inched his way toward the opening of the cave. The coyotes had moved away. So there was something…

Keeping his leg rigid, he inched himself along the ground by his arms until he was able to overlook the valley below. The banging sound had started up again. Perhaps because the sound had grown closer, he realized his earlier mistake. It was not Indian drums he’d heard. Someone was chopping wood.

Raising himself on his elbows, he was able to see men in the distance. There were six in all. Knowing they would never see him, he nonetheless waved his arm and pushed a few loose rocks down the mountainside. Failing in his feeble attempts to create an avalanche, he untied the rifle bracing his leg before he remembered he was out of ammunition. He crawled back into the cave and tore through his leather pouch in search of bullets. Drat! Had he really wasted that much ammunition on the first day following his accident?

He dumped out the contents of his rawhide pouch and pored over the last of his survival tools. The charred can of baking soda rolled away as he pawed through the clay Indian beads, the vials of bear grease, and fish bladders filled with resin and camphor in search of a stray bullet. It was a well-stocked bag and included everything from a cork and length of string to be used for fishing, to a bone needle and flaxen thread. But there was not a single bullet to be found.

With a violent thrust of his arms he scattered his belongings. It was then that his gaze fell on the tin can that had rolled next to the jagged wall of the cave. Libby’s baking soda.

The can reminded him of something from his youth. During a rendezvous attended with his father, his hero, Jim Bridger, had entertained the young ones by disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. Logan recalled how he’d begged Bridger to show him how to make such smoke at will.

Jim revealed the source of his magic, but only after swearing young Logan to secrecy. Recalling that magic formula now, Logan reached for the can. Baking soda had been a key ingredient. Also needed was alum, which could be found in the Indian beads, and sulfur. This last he kept to clear the nasal passages.

Everything he needed he found in some form or other among his supplies. For the next hour or so, he pounded and scraped until he had a pile of shavings in front of him. To this he added baking soda, scraping the caked powder with the tip of his knife. At last, he reached for his buckskin fire bag and drew out his flint, steel striker and char cloth.

Logan fought his way through a dark tunnel with only a male voice to guide him.“We thought you were a goner for sure.”

Shadows floated around him. Forms darkened and moved closer. Instinctively, he reached for his rifle only to grab thin air.

“Whoa, there, boy. Where do you think you’re going?”

Logan stared into the dark familiar face that began to take shape in front of him. “Big Sam?”

“In the flesh,” Big Sam replied. “And right here is Sharkey.”

Logan turned his head. Sharkey wiggled his fingers and gave him a silly grin.

“Where am I?” Logan asked.

“In Calico Corners,” Big Sam replied.

“Calico….” Logan closed his eyes. “How did you find me?”

“You made enough smoke to be declared a human volcano,” Big Sam said. “How’d you do that?”

Recalling how Libby’s baking soda had saved his life, Logan managed a weak smile. “Jim Bridger’s secret.”

Sam scratched his head. “Your horse told you how to make smoke?”

“He means his mountain friend.”  Sharkey helped Logan sit upright before handing him a cup of steaming coffee. “You’d better get some food down you.”

A wedge of white goat cheese and soft piping-hot biscuits seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Logan fingered a biscuit before taking a bite and was surprised at how easily it went down. Food would have to be digested slowly for the next day or so. He’d eaten sparsely for the last ten, fifteen days and it would take time for his body to adjust.

He began to feel better, though, and his head was clear enough to take in his canvas surroundings. He was in a tent. Outside, the sound of hammering and sawing filled the air. Strange as it seemed, the sound that once drove him to distraction sounded like music to his ears. “See you’re at it again.”

Sharkey grinned. “Yep. In no time at all, I’m gonna have myself the biggest and bestest barbershop in the terr’tory.”

“Got any more of those biscuits?” Logan asked.

“As many as you want.” Sharkey said. He set a basket full of biscuits next to Logan. “Help yourself.”

Logan reached for one and then his hand froze. He looked up at Big Sam. “No one makes biscuits like this except—”

Big Sam exchanged glances with Sharkey. “We didn’t tell Miz Libby you were here. We didn’t think you were going to make it and…”

Logan’s heart raced. “What do you mean, tell her? She’s here? In Calico Corners?”

Big Sam nodded. “She’s helping us rebuild the town.”

Logan dropped the biscuit and stared at Big Sam. “Has the woman gone crazy or what? This is no place to raise a child! She knows that!”

“We tried to tell her that,” Big Sam said. “Didn’t we, Sharkey?’

“We did. Honest. But she ain’t hearin’ none of it.”

Logan looked from Sharkey to Big Sam. “What do you mean, she won’t hear of it?’

“She said this is where she wants to raise Noel.”

“That’s crazy.” Logan rubbed his forehead with both hands. “What else did she say?”

Sharkey tugged on an ear. “Said she’s stayin’ right here ‘til you get some sense into you and admit that your trappin’ days are over.”

Logan stared at Sharkey through spread fingers. “Oh, she did, did she? Well, we’ll see about that!” He overturned the basket of biscuits as he struggled out of bed.

“Now hold on there, Logan. You ain’t going nowhere.” Big Sam threw his body against Logan’s. Logan was too weak to fight him. “If you want to see Miz Libby, Sharkey will go fetch her.”

It was by far the better plan, but Logan was determined to do it his way. “I have to go to her.”

Big Sam released him. “You’re not in any conditions to go anywhere.”

“I said I have to go to her,” Logan repeated, this time louder. Big Sam looked puzzled and Logan couldn’t blame him. How could he explain that before he could prove to Libby that they had no future together she had to see him for what he was; a man without a profession. A man without a home. A man who couldn’t even walk let alone ride a horse.

He didn’t have the strength to fight Big Sam and he considered this for several moments before motioning the man to come closer. “Tell me what it was like to be a slave.”

Big Sam’s eyes widened. “Now what do you want to know that for?”

“They tied you up?”

“Sometimes.”

“Chained you?”

Big Sam tugged on the collar of his shirt. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“They had complete control over you.”

“I said—”

“They controlled your every hour.”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll—“

“Your every thought.”

“No!” Big Sam shouted. “Not my thoughts. They couldn’t control my mind.”

“They controlled minds,” Logan said.

“But not mine,” Big Sam insisted. “That’s why I had the courage to escape. Others could have escaped, but they didn’t. They let white men fill their heads with fear.”

“But you didn’t, Big Sam. You have spirit, and it was this burning spirit that set you free.”

“I never looked at it that way before, but I guess you’re right.”

“I have to go to Libby. I have to let her see me as I really am. It’s the only way I can set her free. I know that a man of your great wisdom and intelligence would understand. Help me to set her free.”

Big Sam stared down at Logan for several moments before stepping aside. “If you got your mind made up, I ain’t gonna stop you. But if anything happens, you have only yourself to blame.”

Sharkey offered to give Logan a shave and haircut, but Logan resisted. Libby was going to see him at his worst. There wasn’t going to be any more pretending, especially about his physical affliction.

Sharkey fashioned a set of crutches out of tree limbs, then he and Big Sam helped Logan out of bed. Logan hadn’t even left the tent when Sharkey confronted Big Sam.

“Do you mind a-tellin’ me what all that talk about spirits and sl’very was ‘bout?”

“Search me,” Big Sam said.

Sharkey groaned. “Some wisdom and intell’gence you got.”

Big Sam’s booming voice followed Logan out of the tent. “I have a feeling I have more wisdom and intelligence than even I know.”

*****

Logan hobbled along Main Street on crutches like a man possessed. He fought off dizziness. He had to make her understand; her place was in Boston. She had to know the truth of that. Boston. Not here. Not with him.

His beard itched and his hair stood up. He’d lost at least ten, fifteen pounds during his ordeal and his eyes looked sunken and his clothes hung from him.  Let her see him at his worse.  Maybe then she’d give up this ridiculous idea and go back to Boston where she belonged.

His resolve weakened as he made his way through tent city. Her presence was everywhere. Each tent had a small vegetable garden in front, divided by a neatly graded walkway.

One tent was designated as a church, with a little white cross in front. Another had a sign that read Shakespeare’s Theater. A barber pole marked Sharkey’s tent, and next to that, Beaker’s wood objects were displayed in front of his canvas door, including a baby cart just like the one he’d built for Noel. Hap was already set up for business, and his voice could be heard harping on a customer who had apparently displaced some merchandise. Next to Hap’s General Store was a tent marked Duncan McGuire, First Mayor, Calico Corners.

Everyone, it seemed, had found a home in this place called Calico Corners. Everyone that is, but him. It struck him as strange that this should affect him. His home was in the wilds. Up north, in what was left of beaver country. Not confined to a town where people were forced to live in close proximity.

As he continued passing row after row of neatly placed tents he continued reading signs until he spotted one that made his heart skip a beat. The sign read
Libby’s Bakery
.

He hobbled the remaining distance and tore open the flap of the tent. Tossing his crutches to the ground, he hopped inside on one foot.

Libby stood in front of a table rolling out dough. She looked up and stared at him dumbfounded. At the sight of her, he stilled as he so often stilled when coming across something in nature of such indescribable beauty that the full splendor of it could only be absorbed over time.

Even his heart seemed to freeze mid beat until he’d had a chance to sort through her every essence, from her sweet fragrance to the faintest sound of her breathing. As his overwhelmed senses gradually adjusted to the overload, he felt himself grow stronger. His heart began to beat so rapidly he could hardly breathe fast enough to keep up.

“Logan!” Her voice barely a whisper took a long time in coming. It was as if she, too, was obliged to absorb him fully before she could respond. She wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron, her gaze drifting down to his bandaged leg. “What happened to you? Your leg…”

“The leg feels terrible,” he said gruffly. Let her know just how bad things are! Drive some sense into that stubborn head of hers. “The leg is no good to me at all!”

She looked so devastated by this he was almost overcome by the need to hold her and comfort her, to repeat the lies of the past and tell her he was on the mend.

But knowing what a fatal mistake that would be he forced an even harsher tone. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on your way to Boston?”

“My plan has always been to take Noel home,” she said quietly.

He frowned. “So why didn’t you?”

“I realized that home is Calico Corners. Home can never again be Boston.”

Staggered by this news he stared at her, willing his one good leg not to buckle under him. Finally he managed to find his voice again. “What about Noel’s education?”