Ten Thousand Charms (17 page)

“I wish you could, too.”

“And it doesn't bother me to know.”

“Know what?”

“About the killing. The prison.”

“I didn't tell you as a confession,” John William said. “I just wanted you to know the truth.”

“It doesn't change anything.”

“It should.” He crossed behind her to reach into the wagon and pull out his bedroll. He shook it out and laid it down a safe distance from the dying fire.

Gloria sat on the wagon's back step, unlaced her boots and let them drop to the ground. “Well, good night,” she said before climbing into the wagon to the nest of blankets in the back. She thought she heard his quiet “night” behind her, but didn't turn to acknowledge it.

She lay there, looking at the canvas above her, imagining the stars above that. John William's words echoed in her head. So many words. He'd never talked so much at any one time. She tried to piece them all together, but they wouldn't form. She tried to remember his face, his mouth in speech, but she only saw his eyes, piercing, sincere. Pleading with her to listen, to hear. Bits and strands came back. A life taken. A life saved. For God so loved…what? The world? Believe. Forgiven. A promise.

A promise.

Gloria sat up and turned her body, careful not to jostle the sleeping Kate and Danny, worming her way to the opening at the back of the wagon. She peered out and saw him lying on his back, hands folded behind his head.

“MacGregan?” Gloria whispered to the darkness.

“Gloria,” his voice floated back.

“I'm sorry”

“For what?” His form shifted, and she imagined he was turning toward her.

“You were in a fight.”

“I know.”

“I made you break your promise.”

She thought she heard him smile.

“You didn't make me do anythin',” he said, his voice full of warmth.

“But you were protecting me.”

“No, if I was protectin’ you, he wouldn't have had a chance to talk to you in the first place.”

“Well, thank you anyway”

“You're welcome.”

“MacGregan? Are you still…”

“Still…”

“Still…safe?”

“What do you mean?” He was sitting straight up now

“You promised God you wouldn't fight again, but you fought tonight.”

“Don't worry” John William stood up and walked over to Gloria, his features getting clearer with each step. “It's like I'm God's child. He won't abandon me.”

“My father abandoned me,” Gloria said.

“I know, and I'm sorry. But God won't.”

“I'm going to leave Danny”

“You haven't yet.”

“But—”

“Listen to me,” John William said, his voice close and serious. “My life is secure not because I made a promise to God but because He made a promise to me. Do you understand the difference?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Not to me.”

“Maybe not to you, but to God. And to me. Now let's get some sleep. It's late. The babies'll be up in a few hours.”

He dropped the canvas flap leaving Gloria in her cocoon. She lay back again, resuming her study of the canvas and her vision of the stars. Once again she tried to recall the conversation.

Nobody had ever cared about what she believed. Nobody had ever given her anything to believe in. But now everything was different.

Jewell's warning about John William, the danger, his secret— tonight everything was clear and defined. If nothing else, she could believe in him. She had never considered the value of a man's knowing God, but tonight she saw that it made him different. Made him better, kinder, steadier. John William would never let himself be like all those others. This was a man who could make a promise and keep it.

Until he met her.

he next morning John William woke to the sounds of life bustling around him. Muted conversations drifted through the dark morning as his fellow campers loaded their wagons and harnessed their teams in an unofficial race to be the first to ferry across the Snake River.

But John William felt no need for such haste. Getting Gloria to move in the mornings was a daily battle under the best of circumstances. Last night they stayed up talking long past midnight, and he thought he'd heard her up with the babies even after that. This morning he'd do well to get her out of the wagon at all, let alone to rush around and break camp and wait with fifteen other families for their chance to cross the river. No, today would be a day of leisure. They hadn't spent one single day in the same place since leaving Silver Peak. As long as they stayed outside the adobe walls of Fort Hall, last night's ugly business could be forgotten; most of the witnesses would be ferried away by noon.

Perhaps today he would follow Glorias decadent example and sleep past dawn. The ground here wasn't any more comfortable than the ground anywhere, but he turned on his side, shifted around a bit, and waited for the noise around him to drift away Maybe this was the morning she would get up first, get the coffee going, walk over and nudge him awake with the toe of her little black boot.

He opened his eyes for one last look and realized something was wrong. He raised himself on one elbow, rubbed the last of the bleary sleep from his eyes. Maybe it had been just a trick of
the shadows. He sat straight up and looked again. Gloria's boots were gone.

He flung off his blanket and walked over to the back of the wagon.

“Gloria?” he whispered through the narrow canvas opening, just as he had countless mornings. But this morning there was no grumbled reply. He drew back the flap and looked inside. She wasn't there. He placed one foot on the step and leaned in, reaching into the dark until his hand landed on the soft head of one of the babies, warm with sleep. He groped around until he found the other, also sleeping. Left undisturbed, they might not wake for a couple of hours.

John William took up his bedding and snapped it, scattering particles of dust and grass, before rolling it up and tucking it just inside the back of the wagon. He built up a small fire and got some water boiling for coffee—she would want a cup when she came back—and took down the basket of Indian flat bread he'd traded for last night. Between each little chore, he alternated between checking on the babies and scanning the area for any sight of her, nodding a silent “good morning” to anyone who chose to do the same.

He'd been up for nearly an hour when he saw the boy who had offered to water his horses the day before. This morning the boy was hitching teams and seemed uninterested in coming over to John William—obviously not in need of his services—until John William held up one impressive silver coin.

“Ya need something, mister?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the coin.

John William bent his knees until he was eye-level with the boy. “Go down to the ferry landin'. Find out if they've made any crossin's yet this mornin'.”

“That it?”

“For now.”

The boy took off toward the river. John William checked in on the children one last time. Confident they were soundly sleeping,
he headed toward the fort's large wooden gate. Just as there had been the night before, a slovenly soldier reclined at his post.

“State yer business here,” the soldier said, giving John William a disinterested sideways glance.

“You been here all night?”

“Mostly”

“You see a woman come in here? Maybe a few hours ago?”

The soldier cocked back his head to look John William straight in the eye and smiled. “What kind of woman?”

“Blonde hair, wearin'"—he closed his eyes “—a blue dress.”

“Blonde hair, blue dress? Nope. Think I'd remember that.”

“And you been here all night?”

“Like I said. Mostly.”

He was lying, John William was sure, and nothing would feel better than to slam him up against the crumbling wall of the fort and pound the truth out of him. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side, but the memory of Gloria last night, distraught at being the cause of his violent outburst, quelled his anger. Without another word, he returned to his wagon to wait with the children.

Danny was awake first, as usual. He wasn't crying, but when John William lifted the flap, he noticed the boy's feet kicking through his covers, and when he whispered “Good mornin', Danny boy," the infant turned and looked straight at him. “Your ma's not here right now, son, but I've got you.”

He lifted the child out of the wagon, sat down on one of the campstools, and relieved the baby of his soaking diaper. For a few minutes it was just the two of them seemingly alone in the world. John William looked into Danny's brown eyes and wondered how Gloria could ever bring herself to abandon this child. “Don't you worry son,” he said. “I'll find her.” Then he closed his eyes and prayed,
Father, let her be safe.

“Hey, mister?” John William opened his eyes and saw the
freckle-faced boy standing, breathless, as if he hadn't stopped running since being dispatched on his errand. “The first ferry's just now leavin'.”

“Thank you.” John William gave a curt nod and stood.

“But she weren't on it. I asked, and the captain said there wasn't no ladies goin’ alone. And she ain't standin’ around waitin’ on the next one, neither.”

“How did you—”

“I saw you was walkin’ around like you was lookin’ for some-thin'. Didn't see her, so 1 figured that was it. Now I gotta go or my pall skin me!”

John William cradled Danny in one arm and reached the other out to grab the boy by the shoulder. “Did you talk to anyone else?”

“Nah,” the boy said, shrugging. “Don't figure it's any of their business.”

“Thank you, again,” John William said. He let go of the boy's shoulder and extended his hand. Beaming, the boy took it, and they solemnly shook hands before he turned and tore back toward the river.

So she hadn't crossed. And she was nowhere in the surrounding campsite. John William looked at the worn path that led up to Fort Hall. Certainly she wouldn't have gone off on foot; Gloria could be coaxed off her wagon seat for only about a half a mile a day. He smiled, remembering her laziness, now grateful for it. There was only one answer, and he wouldn't ask the guard at the gate.

The same blind Indian woman was sitting just inside the gate when John William barreled through, a baby clutched in each arm.

“You have come for your woman?” she said, causing him to stop dead center in front of her.

“What did you say?”

She beckoned him to come closer, and as he leaned toward
her, she reached up and took Kate out of his grasp. When she was settled in the woman's lap, he handed over Danny.

“Now you can go get her.”

“Is she safe? Is she all right?”

The old woman shrugged. “I just hear talk about the pretty lady Not good talk.”

“Where should I look?”

“The big cooking fire.”

John William stood and looked around the inside of the fort, seeing it for the first time in daylight as the sun was just now streaming over the eastern wall. There was no fire, but in the far southeast corner of the fort he did see a large ring of stones containing what must be the charred wood and ashes from last night's feast. The wall behind it was lined with a long, narrow two-story structure made of tightly fitted logs. Every few feet, the logs had been hewn to accommodate a door, and a wooden walkway, suspended by ropes attached to the walls, allowed passage to the single door on the second floor.

A small crowd of men stood just outside one of the doors, laughing and jabbing each other. John William headed straight for them. With each step their conversation became less animated, and when he was fully in their midst, they did little more than stare at their boots.

“I'm lookin’ for the woman I came in here with last night,” John William said.

“Ain't seen no woman,” one of the men said, not looking up from the steaming mug he held in his hand.

“She has blonde hair. Wearin’ a blue dress.”

“Don't tell me she's your wife,” another man said, sending the others into a fit of laughter barely stifled behind their dirty hands.

John William stepped back from the group and surveyed the building. “Gloria!” he shouted, fully expecting her to come to one of the doors. When she didn't, he stepped back a little farther and shouted a little louder, “Gloria!”