The Watchman (13 page)

When we'd been in the air a few minutes, George turned his dark gaze my way. “You in trouble, Noah?”

I hedged. “Not doing anything immoral.”

He nodded and fixed his gaze on the instrument panel. “Maybe not immoral, but how about illegal?”

I adjusted my sunglasses and stared out the window. “Sometimes, George, things that are legal are immoral. Take abortion, for instance. That's as immoral as it gets, and it's legal.”

He grunted. “Just cover your backside, my friend. You can't save the world.”

No, but I could try.

As the plane banked for landing, light rays bounced off cotton clouds below. We descended through the white mist, and the ranch house came into view, a tiny dot in the valley's landscape. George set the bird down on the blacktop road leading to the ranch house.

The plane taxied to a stop, and Bill met me when I stepped to the ground. I introduced him to George.

Bill shook George's hand. “Come on back to the house. I'll fix you guys some breakfast.”

Bill eased into step beside me “I have to check on the sheep herders in the mountains today. They'll be running low on supplies about now. Want to come along? I need to talk to you.”

Bill and his mother had put their lives in jeopardy to help Rachel and her son. It seemed only fair to give Bill a half day of my time. “I'll be glad to if you'll loan me some warm gear. I'm not dressed for a ride in the mountains.”

He nodded. “I can do that. We'll leave after breakfast.”

We entered the kitchen and Rachel emerged from the den. Her eyes twinkled with pleasure as she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around my chest with a tight lingering squeeze.

I looked down at her. “You doing OK?”

She shrugged. “As well as can be expected for a fugitive from justice.”

She gave George a hug. “Thanks again for yesterday.”

Over breakfast, Bill told Emma about our trek to the sheep camp. “We should be back before supper.”

Cody's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He wiggled like he had ants in his pants. “Can I go, Bill, please?”

Bill shook his head. “Not this time, champ.”

Cody lowered his gaze, his mouth turned down at the corners.

Bill lifted Cody onto his lap. “You know I'd take you if I figured it would be safe. But you're not a good enough rider yet for such a long trip. I'll take you hunting when we get back. OK?”

Cody's eyes focused on Bill, shining with admiration. He wiped away an escaping tear with the back of his hand. “Really? Will you really let me hunt with you?”

“You bet. I promise. As soon as I get back, we'll go track down a moose. If Noah's good, we might even let him tag along.”

I shook my head. “Over my dead body. I have a pact with the wild animals. I don't bother them, and they don't bother me.”

Bill turned to George. “What kind of plane is that? I've never seen one like it.”

And George was off on his favorite subject.

After breakfast ended, I handed Rachel a shopping bag I'd brought with me. “I purchased some things for you in Hebron. See what you think.”

She took the sack, and a smile of anticipation touched her face. One by one, she removed brown contacts, hair color, fake eyeglasses and a blue dress.

“Hopefully, the disguise will help when you visit the doctor.”

She replaced the items in the bag and turned to leave. “Thanks, Noah.”

Bill found some thermal clothing for me. We stuffed our gear into saddlebags and set them beside the door in the den, reluctant to leave the warmth for the cold ride ahead.

Bill picked up the fire poker and shifted the logs in the hearth. “Anything new with London?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Have you gotten back all the doctor's reports?”

“We have Dr. McCall's report and X-rays back. He's the local doctor at the clinic here.” Bill said. “Doc Moore is semi-retired. He's been our family doctor all my life. I explained Cody's situation.” Bill placed a booted foot on the hearth. “He agreed to testify if we need him. The X-rays prove ongoing mistreatment—six broken bones in a child Cody's age aren't normal. Unfortunately, the films don't prove who's responsible. I'll take Rachel as soon as the doc can see her.”

“You've done a good job, Bill. But I'm beginning to regret pulling you and Emma into this mess. Things could get worse before this is over. You could both be in serious trouble for harboring fugitives if the sheriff shows up.”

Bill's mouth formed a grim line. “We wouldn't have it any other way. If decent people don't stand up for what's right, the Harry Londons of this world win. Before I let him get his hands on this family again, I'll send them to a mission camp in Mexico. London couldn't find them there.” Bill punched his hands into his pockets. “What can I do? Waiting around for London to pounce drives me crazy.”

“Waiting is always the hardest part. Try to reassure Rachel as often as you can. Keep her spirits up. I've had to play this as I go. Jake Stein tells me there's nothing he can do with the kidnapping and jailbreak charges, at least, not until we can prove Harry abused Cody. When we have proof, hopefully Jake can work a legal miracle.”

I'd lost the advantage of sending the cell phone with Howie. London now knew Rachel hadn't left the state.

Bill poked the log again, sending sparks up the chimney. “I don't do patience well.”

The rustle of fabric attracted our attention, and Bill and I spun toward the sound.

Rachel, framed in the doorway, wore the blue dress with small white flowers and a white collar. Tortoise-shell eyeglasses perched on her nose, her hair now a dark auburn. Nothing could hide her beauty, but the change was miraculous.

“Well?” Rachel said.

I surveyed her appearance. “I don't think even Harry would recognize you in that getup.”

She turned to me with an impish grin. “Remind me never to let you shop for my clothes. No woman I know would come near this dress.”

“I never claimed to be a fashion expert. That's the kind of thing my grandmother wore.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

I got the picture and changed the subject. “Where did Cody run to?”

Bill paused, his gaze lingering on Rachel. “Uh...I think he's in the barn with a new foal born yesterday. He carries on like he's the mother.”

The door slammed and Cody rushed in, cheeks bright red from the cold. He did a double take at his mother's new look.

Rachel twirled around. “Well, what do you think?”

Cody shrugged. “I liked you better the old way.”

She laughed. “So do I, but extreme situations call for extreme measures.”

He reached and grabbed my hand. “You wanna come see the new foal? Did you see the Christmas tree?”

“I can only answer one question at a time. I would love to see the new baby, but not now. Bill and I have to leave. And yes, I saw the tree through the window when I drove in.”

Cody dragged me into the living room. “Bill and I chopped it down in the forest all by ourselves!”

The eight-foot tree sparkled in front of the picture window, decorated with traditional red and gold ornaments.

“Isn't it beautiful?” He gazed at the tree. “It's much prettier than the one we had at home.” He let go of my hand. “Do you think Mom's happy here? I sure hope so. This is the best place I've ever lived.”

“Your mother has a lot on her mind right now, Cody. But I know she likes living here as much as you do. She told me so.”

“Good, because I want to stay here always.” His small jaw clenched. “I'm never going back to my dad…not ever.”

 



 

The Unitas Mountains

Two words described the ride to the sheep station: long and cold. The temperature dropped incrementally as we climbed upward into the shadow of the mountains. The land belonged to the state Bureau of Land Management, leased to Hand ancestors for almost a century—handed down from father to son.

Shouts of welcome greeted us as Bill and I rode into the small valley. Amazed, I watched as three hundred or more sheep swept over the hill—rolling waves of white wool undulating down the mountainside. Two herders in their midst led the sheep into a makeshift pen.

They dismounted and Bill met them halfway to shake hands, their native language rolling off his tongue like a true Latino. Bill introduced me to the two brothers. Federico and Juan smiled affectionate, toothy grins, and both talked at the same time.

As a group, we moved across the clearing toward a wooden shack on wheels. Smoke poured from the black stovepipe sticking out of the tin roof, covering the stench of the herders for the moment. In winter there were few opportunities to bathe.

We unloaded the grub, and Bill went to work preparing canned beans, bacon, and corn fritters on a generous campfire. The men teased Bill about his cooking––company a rare treat for the herders.

Perhaps it was a masculine gene-thing to want to bond with these pleasant men and to experience nature in the rough. A peaceful solitude eased into my soul, removing the concerns that lay back in Hebron, if only for a brief period.

“If you'll put plumbing in that shack, I'll come up and work for you,” I said, half seriously.

Bill shook his head and chuckled. “Putting the plumbing in is the easy part, finding water and sewer lines to connect them to are the hard part.”

“I knew it sounded too easy. I could get accustomed to this life.”

“It's harder than it looks. If you came up here in the dead of winter, you'd change your mind. You think it's cold now. You should see it in January at forty below. It can also be dangerous. I lost a man eighteen months ago.”

Stunned, I asked, “How?”

“Armando, Federico's older brother, was struck by lightning. One bolt killed him, his horse, and thirty sheep that were around him when it hit. The metal shoes on the horse's hooves apparently drew the electricity. You never forget a sight like that. Armando and his horse lay in the most perfect circle you can imagine surrounded by dead sheep.” Sadness clouded Bill's eyes at the memory. “Federico rode about a hundred yards behind or he could also have died. Armando left a wife and five kids back in Mexico.”

Suddenly the lives of the herders didn't seem quite so romantic.

We cleaned up the dishes, picked up their supply list, and headed home. Christmas lay only days away, and these two men reminded me that contrary to popular myth––shepherds had the world's oldest profession. God chose to send angels to announce the birth of the Messiah to such men as these. Not the rich and mighty of that time, but to men on the lowest rung of the social ladder―the first to worship the Christ.

The welcome sight of The Hand Me Down came into view in late afternoon, nestled in the valley below. Cold and hungry, we spurred the horses toward the warm food and comfort that awaited.

Emma opened the door with a smile. “You're just in time for dinner.”

“Food is the magic word. I could eat a saddle.”

She laughed. “I think we can do better than that.”

George flew me to the Salt Lake International airport later that evening to pick up Jake's Jeep. On the long drive home, despite the heaviness in my chest, I took the positive approach. Any day Harry London didn't find Rachel and Cody was a good day.

 

 

 

 

11

 

Jake's Cabin, Pine Lake

The trek home was long, and I arrived at Jake's cabin as a wild snowstorm struck. Gale-force winds bent full-grown trees almost to the ground, nature bowing to the preeminence of God.

Safe inside the dry, warm cabin I was heartened to find Heath had stocked the refrigerator and pantry. I loved Jake Stein.

I threw together a roast-beef sandwich and poured a glass of milk. As I took a mouthful, Junior's large feline face loomed over me from the breakfast bar, keenly interested in my meal.

I grumbled. “Cat, I'm in no mood for company.”

He didn't care. Just continued to covet my sandwich.

“Oh, for the love of Pete.” I grabbed a piece of beef from the platter and held it out to him. A dog would have gobbled it down and panted for more.

Not Junior.

He drilled me with gray-green eyes as if to say
barbarian
, so I placed the meat on the counter where he daintily ripped it to shreds.

Unaccustomed to long rides on horseback, every bone in my body ached as I climbed the stairs to the guest room. After a hot shower, I fell into bed and stretched out on the firm mattress. My sleep mirrored the tempest that still raged outside, and the nightmare drew me in.

I peek around the alcove into the kitchen. My mother pleads with my drunken stepfather. “Sit down and eat, Craig. You'll feel better after you get something in your stomach.”

Craig screams, “You want me to eat this? It's slop! I wouldn't feed this to a dog.” He picks up the dinner plate and hurls it against the wall. Food smears down the painted surface, and broken glass bounces onto the tile. He thunders to the stove, jerks up each pot, and dumps the contents among the shards on the floor.

He continues to rage. “I'm tired of you and tired of your son I can never find. If I ever get my hands on him, he'll be sorry he ever heard my name.”

Mom looks at him with narrow, hate-filled eyes. “I think you've already achieved that.”

Craig draws back his fist and slams it hard against her jaw. Her head bounces back against the wall, and she folds to the floor.

Invisible, I snatch one of the heavy pots from the floor and swing it like a baseball bat into his gut. Air leaves his body with a whoosh. A look of astonishment flashes across his face, and he crashes backward onto the floor. Too drunk to comprehend, he shakes his head and chokes as he struggles to replenish his air supply. Then like the coward he is, he rises and stumbles to the door.