Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (18 page)

“Then why—“

“Because they’re my grandparents!”  Maggie’s hands
clenched into fists, and she turned on him.  “Because I love them!  Because
when I stayed with them, it was the best two years of my life!”  She drew a
deep breath and turned away from Flynn again.  “And because, even if I’m too
late, I need to make sure they get a decent burial.”

Flynn shut his eyes.  He saw the graves in Elmira,
row upon row.  He opened his eyes and nodded.  “Yes.  That matters.”

Maggie looked surprised.  She turned away.  “Let’s
eat.  I’m starving.”

They ate a little dried beef and drank from the
stream.  Maggie stood up with water dripping from her chin.  She stared
eastward.  “Let’s go.”

Flynn grinned at her.  “Yes, Miss O’Brien, ma’am.”

She smiled back.

They mounted and rode until twilight.

Flynn reined in Scout and dismounted.  He dug a hole
in the soft ground by the river.  He lined it with stones and found dry
branches and bracken.  He used flint and steel to set the bracken alight.  He
heated some water in a pan he took from his saddlebag.  While it was boiling,
he poured flour into a pan and added water and pinch of baking powder.

While he made supper, Maggie saw to the horses. 
Flynn watched her for a moment, admiring her quiet competence.  Then, the water
boiled over, hissing on the fire.  He took the pan off the flames and began to
mix the dough for the biscuits.

“Baking powder biscuits?” Maggie asked.

Flynn nodded.  “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

“I can’t, but I help Mrs. Hamilton in the kitchen.”

Flynn sat back and sighed.  “Mrs. Hamilton.  Now
that’s a cook.  Her biscuits are light enough to float away.”  His stomach
growled.  Ever since Elmira, he was always hungry.

Maggie nodded.  “I tried to learn, but I always burn
stuff.”

Flynn laughed.  “You’ll outgrow it.  When you find a
young man who takes your fancy, you’ll learn how to cook all right.”

Maggie sighed ruefully.  “That’s what my grandmother
said, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“You’re still young.”  He stirred some herbs into
the pot of water and added the dried beef, tasted it with a wooden spoon and
added a little salt.

Maggie put her hands on her hips.  “I’m fifteen!”

Flynn’s mouth twitched into a grin.  “So you’re
practically an old maid?”

Maggie blushed.  “And I suppose
you
are a man
of mature years?”

“I’m twenty-four, if it’s any of your
business.”

Maggie sighed dramatically.  “I’m traveling with an
old man who is likely to drop dead at any moment.”

Flynn laughed out loud.  Maggie reached for the tin
of coffee, but Flynn snatched it out of her hand.  “Oh no, you don’t.  I’ve
heard stories about your coffee.  Sam says it’s worse than Frank’s.”

Maggie laughed.  “Who?”

“Frank Lennox.  You’ve met him.  He and Ben share a
room in the spring.  He’s our cook on the wagon train.”  Flynn measured the
coffee and the water.  He took something from a pouch at his waist and put it
into the coffee pot.

Maggie frowned.  “What’s that?”

“Chicory.  Coffee tends to be bitter when you make
it over an open fire.”  He took a pinch and put it in the pot.  In a few
minutes, the aroma of coffee mingled with the herbs from the pot of stew.

Maggie’s stomach growled.  She blushed.  “Sorry.”

Flynn laughed.  “Nothing to be sorry about.  In
fact, I’ll take that as a compliment.”  He served up the stew and took the
coffee from the fire.  “No milk or sugar, I’m afraid.”  He poured her a cup.

She reached into her saddlebag and brought out a tin
of milk and a tin of sugar lumps.

“Smart girl.”  Flynn put a one lump in his cup.

“I have plenty, Mr. Flynn.”

“You noticed that I had a sweet tooth, huh?”

Maggie nodded.  “You and your horse.”

Flynn threw in another sugar lump.  He took a sip
and smiled.

They ate in silence for a time.

Maggie broke the silence first.  “I’m sorry if I was
rude earlier.  I wanted to prove to you that I won’t be a burden to you.”

“Maggie O’Brien, I don’t think you’ve ever been a
burden to anyone in your life.”

Maggie shook her head.  “That’s how my parents see
me.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”  Flynn smiled at her.

Maggie stared at him.  She opened her mouth and shut
it.  Then, she looked away again.

The look in her eyes reminded him too much of the
day Pathfinder sent him away.  He cleared his throat.  “I was only teasing
you.  About not wanting to come.”

When they had finished supper, Maggie gathered up
the dishes and washed them in an enameled basin.  Flynn leaned on one elbow and
watched her.  There was something clean and innocent about her, as if all the
ugliness in life had left her unscathed.  He sighed and went over to Scout.  He
took out the brush and began to curry the stallion.

Maggie came over to Patches, who was munching
happily on the grass that grew beside the water.  She took a brush from her
saddlebags and began to groom him.  “I can’t tell where you are from,” Maggie
said.  “Sometimes, I think you’re from the south, but your accent isn’t quite
right.”

Flynn stopped for a moment.  Then, he continued to
brush Scout.  “You’re good.  I was born in Virginia, but I grew up in Nebraska. 
How could you tell?”

Maggie smiled.  “I grew up in Manhattan.  It was a
game I used to play with Brother Joseph.”

“You have a brother named Joseph?”

Maggie laughed.  “No.  He was a monk who brought
food to the beggars.  Most of them were veterans.  There were a lot of them in Manhattan. 
Sometimes, it took all day for us to feed them.”

Flynn stared at her.  “You went with him?”

Maggie nodded.  “We made a game of it, trying to
guess where the men were from by their accents.  He was almost always right.”

Flynn tipped his hat back.  “You are the most
unusual woman I’ve ever met.”

Maggie turned to him and planted her hands on her
hips.  “Mr. Flynn, did you just call me a woman?”

Slowly, Flynn grinned.  “It must have been a slip of
the tongue.”

Maggie grinned back and nodded.  “Must have been.”

Flynn laughed.  Instead of making him uncomfortable,
her innocence seemed to rub off on him a little.  He felt lighter and cleaner
than he had since the day he lay on Matthews Hill.  They finished grooming
their horses in silence.  Then, Flynn unrolled his blanket next to his saddle.

Maggie copied his movements with her own bedroll. 
“Mr. Flynn, can I ask you a question?”

He rolled over to face her and grinned.  “Well, you
can
ask
.”

Maggie laughed, but she sobered quickly.  “Are you
really the best scout this side of the Mississippi?”

Pain jabbed him.  He was silent a long time, hoping
she would roll over and go to sleep, but she just looked at him with her solemn
face and her large green eyes.  He sighed.  “No.  I’m the second best scout.”

After a long silence, she asked, “Who’s the best?”

“Alexander Ridgeton.”

Maggie blinked and her eyes lit up with excitement. 
“
The
Alexander Ridgeton?”

“Yup.”

Maggie’s eyes widened.  “You know him?”

Flynn nodded.  “He took me in when...”  He almost
told her about Pathfinder.  He shut his mouth and rolled over with his back to
her.

“Your parents are dead, then?”

“Yes.”  His voice was hoarse, and his throat ached.

“Is he still alive?”

“He died, too.”  The memory of finding Ridgeton’s
body still hurt.

“I’m sorry.”  Maggie’s voice was soft and gentle,
stirring feelings in him that he thought had died during the war.  She sighed.

He turned to look at her.  She lay on her back with
her arms behind her head.  “What is it, Maggie?”

She nodded.  “It’s just the stars.  They look so
different out here.  It’s as if I could reach up and take one right out of the
sky.  I wish I could stay out here forever.”

Flynn stared at her.  “Maggie O’Brien, where did you
come from?”

She blushed for a moment.  Then, slowly, she
grinned.  “Well, I was born in Manhattan...”

He laughed.  “Good night, O’Brien.”

“Good night, Mr. Flynn,” she said softly.  She
rolled over with her back to him.

Reluctantly, Flynn turned away from this remarkable
girl.

But he was very much aware of that she lay just a
few feet away on the other side of the fire.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Maggie woke when it was still dark.  She lay utterly
still for a moment, trying to remember where she was.  Then, she saw Flynn. 
She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him sleep.  The lines of pain
that always bracketed his mouth had smoothed out, making him look younger.  Suddenly,
his face contorted with fear, and he cried out.  Maggie touched his shoulder
gently.  “Mr. Flynn?”

Flynn woke instantly with his pistol in his hand.

Maggie raised her hands slowly.  “Easy, easy.  It’s
just me.”

“Sorry.”  He holstered his pistol and looked away.  “I
was having a nightmare.”

Maggie turned away to give him privacy.  She stirred
the embers of the fire.  Flynn made trail bread.  Maggie sliced the bacon. 
Flynn fried it while the bread baked.  Maggie sighed.  “I wish we had some
eggs.”

Flynn laughed.  “I’ll buy you breakfast when we get
to Lawrenceville.”

Maggie smiled shyly at him.

They ate quickly and saddled the horses.  The
eastern sky was red, like the flames of their cook fire.

Flynn rummaged in his saddlebags and held out his
long canvas coat.  “Here.  You’re going to need this by nightfall.”

Maggie shook her head.  “I’ve got one of my own,
thanks.”  She patted the yellow slicker tied to Patches’ saddle.

Flynn nodded approvingly.  They rode off side by
side.

As the sun climbed the sky, the clouds thickened. 
By noon, there were cool puffs of wind.  Flynn stood up in the stirrups.  “There’s
a stand of pines ahead.  We stand a chance of staying dry under the trees.”

Maggie nodded.

They rode under the branches just as the first few
drops of icy water began to fall.  Maggie unrolled her slicker and shook it
open.  Flynn sidled Scout over until he stood next to Patches.  The rain pelted
them despite the shelter of the trees.  Flynn took off his coat and made a
rough canopy over them.

Maggie smiled at him.  “Thanks.”  She turned and
watched as the rain swept across the plain like silver spears slanting from the
clouds.  Her smile faded, and her lips parted.  “It’s beautiful.”

“The rain?”

Maggie nodded.

“You know, you’re the first girl I ever met who didn’t
hate the rain.”

“Why?  I mean, why do they hate the rain?”

Flynn shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I guess they’re
afraid it’ll ruin their hair.”

Maggie laughed.  “My mother is like that, but my
grandmother isn't.  We used to nurse the sick together and deliver babies and—.” 
Her voice broke, and she looked away from him.  “I hope we get there in time.”

Flynn touched her arm gently.

Maggie smiled faintly at him.  They sat and watched
as the rain moved past them.  The sun came out, and the grass glittered with
raindrops.

“Oh, it’s like diamonds!”

Flynn stared at her a long time.

Maggie turned to him and frowned.  “What?”

Flynn looked away.  “Nothing.”  He clicked his
tongue, and Scout moved out from under the trees.

*  *  *

That night, as they made supper, Maggie talked of
her grandparents’ farm.  “When my father got consumption, my grandfather came
to the city and got us.  I had seen horses before, of course.  There were milk wagons
and carriages.  But never up close.  Caesar is his plow horse, and Calpurnia is
Caesar’s partner.  Cal calms him down a little, but even Cal was afraid of the Hudson
River.”

Flynn laughed.  “Smart horse.”

Maggie smiled at him.  “Anyway, my grandfather
calmed them down by talking to them.  It was like magic, and I wanted to learn
how to do it.”

“You have.  I’ve seen you with green horses, and you’re
good.”

Maggie blushed.  “Thank you, Mr. Flynn.”  She
sighed.  “I can’t wait for you to see Rosalind.  Scout has a very smooth gait
for his size, but Rosie just seems to float over the ground.”

Flynn laughed.  “They named you wrong.”

“Oh?”  Maggie raised one eyebrow.  “What should they
have called me?”

“Magpie.”

She frowned.  “What’s a magpie?”

“A bird who talks all day long.”

Maggie looked down at her hands.  “I’m sorry, Mr.
Flynn.  I didn’t mean to talk too much.”

Flynn touched her hand.  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

She started and pulled her hand away as if he had
burned her.  She looked frightened.

Flynn’s face felt hot.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean
to offend you.”

“You didn’t, Mr. Flynn.”  She busied herself with
pouring the coffee.  She handed him a cup and poured one for herself.  Her hand
trembled slightly.

Flynn cleared his throat.  “I probably shouldn’t let
you drink it.  You’re probably too young.”

Maggie grinned and the shadow of whatever fear his
touch had raised in her disappeared.  “There you go, forgetting that I’m an old
maid.”

Flynn smiled at her.

Maggie smiled back, but her smile faded swiftly.  “It’s
getting late.”  She finished her coffee and gathered up the dishes.

And this time, Flynn helped her wash them.  He lay
awake a long time, watching her sleep.  Something stirred in his chest, an
aching longing for something he knew he could never have.  He rolled over with
his back to her and tried to sleep.

Eventually, he succeeded.

*  *  *

Two weeks later, Maggie began to recognize
landmarks.  She kicked Patches, and the little horse moved ahead of Flynn and
Scout.

“Maggie!  Wait!”

Maggie ignored him.  A sense of urgency filled her. 
She topped a rise and saw the farmhouse.  Flynn caught up to her.  Maggie
glanced at him and looked back at the farm.  Something was wrong, but she
couldn’t put her finger on it.  Then, she realized that the corral was
deserted.

“The horses!  There was no one to feed the horses!”

“I’ll take care of the horses.  You look after your
grandparents.”

Maggie nodded.  She rode down the hill to the house.
 She slid off Patches’ back and tied the reins to the hitching post.  She
opened the door and ran into the house.  She ran up the stairs to her
grandparents’ room and pushed open the door.

Both of her grandparents lay in their bed.  James
fought for every breath.  Tess was pale and still.

“Grandmother!”  Maggie ran into the room and knelt
beside Tess.  At first, she couldn’t find a pulse, but finally, she felt it,
weak and thready.  She went over to James and touched his forehead.

It was hot and dry.

His blue eyes opened, and he smiled at her.  Then,
he started to cough.  Maggie helped him sit up.  When the coughing stopped, he
fell back against the pillows.  His breath gurgled in his chest.

She heard shots, coming from the barn.  Fear stabbed
her.  She ran from the sickroom, down the stairs and out toward the barn.

Flynn stopped her at the door.  “Don’t go in there,
Maggie.”

“But Rosalind—“

“She’s dead, Maggie.”

Maggie started to pummel his chest.  “You shot her! 
You shot Rosalind!”

Flynn took her wrists in his hands and shook his
head.  “No, Maggie.  I shot the wild dogs that were eating her.”

Maggie pulled free.  She turned and vomited.  Flynn
handed her a clean, white linen handkerchief and his canteen.  Maggie moistened
the handkerchief and wiped her mouth.  She wanted to fall to her knees and
cry.  Instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze.  “They’re starving to death
upstairs, too.  Can you—can you make broth?”

Flynn nodded.  “But they need water first.”  He
handed her his canteen.  “This water is clean, Maggie.  I wouldn’t trust the
water here, not even from the well.”

Maggie nodded.  "You'll have to boil it for an
hour.  And wash your hands if you touch them or anything they used."

"I know, Maggie.  I nursed my men through
cholera during the war."

The pain in his voice resonated with Maggie's own
pain.  Ruthlessly, she thrust her feelings aside.  She took the canteen and ran
back to the house.  She went up the stairs and held the canteen to her
grandmother’s lips.  Then, she went around the bed and lifted James’
shoulders.  He swallowed when she gave him water, but he did not open his
eyes.  Maggie went down the stairs to the kitchen.  Flynn had a large pan of
water boiling on the stove.  After letting it boil for a while, Maggie took a
basin back upstairs.  She cleaned her grandmother first, gently, tenderly,
fighting back tears.  She went around the bed.

James was awake.  He held out his hands for the
basin.

Maggie shook her head and handed him the cloth. 
James sighed and cleaned himself.  Maggie changed the bed carefully, without
disturbing Tess any more than she could help.  By the time she had finished, James
was asleep again.

Flynn came upstairs with a tray and two bowls of
broth.  He put his arm around her grandmother’s shoulders and helped her sit
up.  He spooned a little broth into her mouth.  Her lips worked, and she
swallowed, but she did not open her eyes.  A few moments later, she started to
vomit.  Flynn grabbed the chamber pot and got it under her mouth in time.

James woke again.  He took a sip of the broth Maggie
held to his mouth and looked at her questioningly.  “Did you make this,
Maggie-my-girl?”

Maggie shook her head.  “Flynn did.”

James laughed softly.  “I wondered if you had
learned how to cook in St. Joseph.  Introduce me to your young man.”

Maggie blushed.  “He’s not—“

“I’m not—“

Maggie and Flynn spoke in unison.  Maggie blushed.  “He’s
not my beau, Grandfather.”

James raised one eyebrow skeptically.

Flynn laughed and held out his hand.  “My name is
Robert Sean Flynn.  Major Anders sent me to escort Miss O’Brien.”

“I’m James MacMillan.”  James took Flynn’s hand.  “Major
Samuel Anders?  Michael’s commanding officer?”

Flynn nodded.

“He’s a good man.  He was decorated for valor at the
second battle of Bull Run.”  James shut his eyes and leaned back against the
pillows.

Flynn looked surprised.  “Sam never told me that.”

Maggie cleared her throat.  “Do you feel up to
eating a little more, Grandfather?”

James shook his head.  “Not right now, thank you.”  He
shut his eyes.

Maggie looked down at her grandfather.  His face was
thin and pale.  Her throat ached.  She reached for the dirty dishes.

Flynn took them from her hands.  “I’ll take these.”

Maggie nodded.  She sat next to her grandmother and
took her hand.

Tess opened her eyes.  “Maggie?”

Maggie nodded.  Her throat ached too much for her to
speak.

Tess smiled at her.  “I knew you would come.”  She
sighed and shut her eyes again, but her breathing seemed a little easier.

Maggie shut her eyes and tried hard not to cry.

A little while later, Flynn came upstairs.  “I made
some supper for you.  You go on down and eat.  I’ll call you if there’s any
change.”

Maggie bit her lip.  “I should stay with them.  I
should—”

Flynn shook his head.  “You’ll be no good to them if
you get sick because you didn’t eat.”

Maggie sighed.  She stood up and walked slowly down
the stairs.

*  *  *

Flynn watched her go.

“She’s a good girl,” James said softly.

Flynn looked at him.  “Sir?”

“I said she’s a good girl.  She’s in love with you,
you know.”

Flynn frowned.  “She argues with me all the time,
and—“

“That’s a sure sign of it at her age.”  James started
to chuckle, but his laughter twisted into a coughing spasm.

Flynn recognized the awful gurgling sound of
pneumonia and his gut tightened.

James shut his eyes until he caught his breath.  He
opened them and stared at Flynn with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. 
“She’s been through a lot, with her father.”

Flynn nodded.  “I heard about some of it.”

James nodded.  “You’ve got feelings for her.  That’s
good.  She needs a strong man, an honorable man.  Someone who has been through
the fire like she has.”  He started to cough again.  Flynn held him up and gave
him a little water.  When he could breathe again, James said, “It was the war,
wasn’t it?”

Flynn nodded.  “I was a prisoner in Elmira.  I tried—“ 
His voice broke as memories of the dead and dying overwhelmed him.

James took his hand and squeezed it with surprising
strength.  “You take care of people, Mr. Flynn.  I can see that in the way you
treat Tess and me.  Take care of Maggie for me.  Please.”

Flynn’s heart ached.  He nodded.  “I’ll do my best,
sir.”

James smiled at him.  “That’s all anyone can ask.” 
He shut his eyes.  After a while, he slept.

Maggie came back into the room with two cups of
coffee.

Flynn smiled at her and took the cup and saucer from
the tray.  He put his finger to his lips.

Both her grandparents were asleep.

Maggie sat beside their bed and sipped the coffee. 
Flynn made up a fire in the hearth.  “Keep it going,” he whispered.

Maggie nodded.

 
A Tale of Two Cities
lay on the table next
to James.  Maggie came around the bed and picked it up.  She checked the lamp
for oil, and it was full.  She opened the book.  “It was the best of times, it
was the worst of times...”  Smiling, she began to read.

James started to cough.

Maggie helped him sit up.  Flynn came into the room
with a mug of something that steamed.  He held it to her grandfather’s mouth. 
James spluttered and turned his head.  “It’s bitter.”

Flynn nodded.  “I know, Mr. MacMillan.  But it will
help with the fever.  Drink it.  For Maggie.”

Muttering, James drank the liquid.

Maggie bit her lip.  “What about my grandmother?”

Flynn shook his head.  “She’s vomiting too much. 
And this is hard on the stomach.”

Maggie nodded.  “What is it?”

“Willow bark tea.”  Flynn took the mug and left the
room.