Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) (19 page)

Frank looked sheepish.  “Someone told me that it helps people who have had a shock.”

“Whoever she was, she was lying,” Maggie muttered, but she smiled at Frank, and he grinned back.  She finished her tea and went to bed, but her dreams were troubled.

*  *  *

Flynn dreamed of Elmira.  He smelled the rotting corpses and shivered with the cold.  He walked from man to man, trying to give them comfort because that was all he had to give.  He lost track of the numbers of letters he wrote to the wives of the dying.  His eyes burned with tears he could not shed.

Another man died, Corporal Louis Addison, the man who had written down the names of the dead.

Grief tore at Flynn’s throat, but still he could not cry.

He organized a burial detail and stood over the grave.  He was shivering so hard that he was afraid his bones would break.  He lost his balance, and fell into the open grave.  He tried to crawl out, but he couldn’t move.

And he was so cold.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Maggie dreamed of the day she killed the Vaughns.  She saw Flynn, bound and vulnerable, as Nick Vaughn tormented him.  She wanted to go to Flynn, to cut him loose, but she couldn’t move.  Nick Vaughn drew his knife and laid it against Flynn’s throat.

“Flynn!”

“Wake up, Maggie!”  Ben’s voice cut through the nightmare and brought her back to the present.

Maggie sat up and rubbed her eyes.  “What is it, Ben?”

“It’s Flynn.”  Ben looked worried.  “He’s sick.”

Maggie’s heart skipped a beat.  Fear tore at her like the claws of a mountain lion.  Maggie shut her eyes a moment and drew a deep breath.  Then, she opened her eyes again.  “Bring him here, Ben.”

Ben nodded.  He and Frank carried Flynn beneath the tent that housed Luke Devereux.  Maggie knelt beside him.  Spots, as hard as birdshot, covered his face and hands.  He shivered uncontrollably.  His head thrashed back and forth, and he spoke in Lakota.  Maggie wished she knew what he was saying.  She took his hand and smoothed his hair, but he continued to twist his head back and forth.  “Jennie!”

It hurt.  It hurt that he still called for that woman.  Maggie stood up and ran out of the tent.  She stood at the edge of the quarantine area.  Tears streamed down her face.  She heard footsteps and turned.  For a moment, she hoped it was Flynn.

Instead, it was Ben.  “Maggie?”

She turned away from the concern in Ben’s face.  “He called for
her
.  For Jennie!”

Ben sighed.  He turned away and looked eastward.  “Do you know who she is?”

“No.”  Maggie shook her head.  “Do you?”

Ben shook his head.  “No.  I asked him once, back when we were prisoners in Camp Sumter.  He was delirious and kept calling for her.  I asked him who she was, and he hit me.”

Maggie nodded slowly.  “Sam told me about that.”

Ben was silent for a few moments.  “Have
you
ever asked him about her?”

Maggie nodded.  Tears blurred her vision again.  “He said he’d tell me someday, but he never did.”

Ben squeezed her shoulder gently.  “Flynn always keeps his word, Maggie.  Always.”  He grinned.  “But he won’t be able to if you let him die.”

Maggie sighed.  “Thanks, Ben.”  She turned and walked back to Flynn.  He was thin and pale, and lines of pain etched deeply around his mouth.  Suddenly, her wounded pride and hurt feelings seemed insignificant.

*  *  *

Flynn dreamed of Jennie.  He watched as Nick Vaughn fastened the noose around Jennie’s neck.  Jennie turned to him.  “It’s all right, Flynn.  I’m not afraid.”  Jennie’s voice was soft and calm.

“I don’t want you to die!”  Flynn struggled helplessly against the men who held him.

Jennie was silent a long time.  “I want you to listen to me, Flynn, and remember what I say.”  She drew a deep breath.  “I used you.  May God forgive me, I used you.  I didn’t want to live after my husband was killed.  I prayed to God every night that He would take me, too.  And every morning, I woke up, cursing a god who would take my husband and leave me to live with my grief and loneliness.  So when you showed up on my doorstep, I thought you were the answer to my prayers.  I took you in, certain that Colonel Ewell would send someone after you.  Or, failing that, a Union patrol would find me harboring an enemy soldier.  But when they came to my door, I found I couldn’t just turn you over to their tender mercies.  So I sent you away, praying that Colonel Ewell would follow your tracks back to me.”  She turned to her brother.  “I’m sorry that I deceived you.  Forgive me if you can.”

Then, Nick Vaughn struck the flank of Jennie’s mare.  The animal bolted, and Jennie fell from its back.  The rope tightened around her throat.

Then, her face melted and ran.  When it solidified again, it was Maggie’s face.

Terror ripped through him, like the claws of a bear.

“Maggie!”  He broke free of his captors and tried to run to her—and fell.

But he only had one leg, and Ewell held his crutch.  Grinning, the little man snapped it in two.

“No!  I have to get to Maggie!”

Ewell just kept on grinning.

Flynn turned back to Maggie.  Her body swung, back and forth, back and forth, from the end of a rope.  Pathfinder stepped between them.  “You betrayed us.  You are no son of mine!”

Flynn nodded.  “You’re right.  The Dakota are starving, and I am helping to take away their way of life.”

Pathfinder faded.

Flynn cut Maggie down and laid her on her back.  Her eyes were open and staring as the snow fell from the sky above Elmira.

“Maggie!”

*  *  *

Flynn’s head twisted back and forth.  “Maggie!  Maggie!”

Maggie took his hand and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.  “I’m here, Flynn.  It’s all right.  I’m here.”

His eyes opened, and for a moment, he focused on her face.  “Maggie?”

Maggie nodded.

He shut his eyes again.  “I dreamed you were dead.”

Maggie squeezed his hand tightly.  “I’m hard to kill, remember?”  Her voice was unsteady.

Flynn managed a faint grin.  “Good.”  He shut his eyes and sighed wearily.  “Don’t think I could make it without you.”  He drifted into sleep.

Tears slid slowly down Maggie’s cheeks.  She took his hand and held it tightly.  “I’m not going anywhere, Flynn.”

His eyes opened, but he didn’t seem to see her, just like it was in the cabin.

Maggie’s throat ached.  She drew a deep breath and scowled in her best imitation of Sam.  “Robert Sean Flynn, you are
not
going to die, and that’s an order.”

His eyes focused on her face.  “Maggie?”

She nodded.

Flynn sighed and shut his eyes.  His hand relaxed in hers.

But his breathing was shallow, and his hand was hot and dry.

“Flynn?”

His eyes opened again.  “Yes?”

“Are you too old for stories?”

He smiled faintly.  “Nope.  But if you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you.”

Maggie started to laugh, but she was too close to hysteria, and she stopped herself.  She cleared her throat.  “Once upon a time, there was a handsome, red-haired prince...”

Flynn’s smile broadened, and he closed his eyes.

“A beautiful princess loved him from afar, but she was too proud to tell him.  Then, one day, a wicked sorcerer kidnapped the princess.  No one in her kingdom was brave enough to face the sorcerer, but the red-haired prince wasn’t afraid.  He tracked them until he found them, and then, he rescued her and brought her back to his castle where they lived happily ever after.”

“I like your stories, Magpie.  They always live happily ever after.”  Flynn sighed.  The muscles in his hand went slack.

Terror cut into Maggie like a knife.  She rested her ear against Flynn’s chest.  His heart raced, and his breathing was shallow.  “Please don’t die, Flynn.  Please don’t die.”

Only his labored breathing answered her.

Maggie kept vigil with him all night long.  Fear gnawed at her, and weariness weighed her down like a stone.

Flynn’s crisis came near dawn.  His head thrashed back and forth, and his hand was almost too hot to touch.

Maggie held his hand tightly.  The ice around her heart began to crack, and that frightened her.  She wanted to run.  She wanted to scream at him to live.  She shut her eyes.

And suddenly, she remembered.  She remembered the night she almost died, the Presence that had enfolded her.  She let down her guard a little.

And it was there, strong and warm and comforting.

Maggie’s breath caught.  “I don’t know what you are, if you’re God or Jesus or what, but please don’t let him die.  I don’t know if I can ever trust him again, but I don’t want him to die.”

Nothing changed.  Flynn’s skin was still hot.  His heart still raced.  His head still thrashed from side to side.

But Maggie wasn’t afraid.  She sat still and held on, pouring her own strength and the strength of that Presence into Flynn’s rough hand.

The sky began to lighten.  Flynn’s pulse grew weaker and weaker.  Maggie’s eyes filled with tears, brimmed over.  She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it.

Flynn sighed and was still.

Maggie rested her head against his chest and listened to his heart.  It was very, very weak, but even as she listened, it slowed and strengthened.  Tears of relief streamed down her face.

She got up and started to tend the other patients.

*  *  *

That night, Maggie brought Flynn a bowl of gruel.  He opened his eyes and smiled at her.  “Hello, Magpie.”

Her hands shook so badly that the liquid spilled over the rim.

Gently, he took the bowl from her.  “What is it, Magpie?”

Maggie looked away.  “It has been a long time since you called me that.”

Flynn nodded.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I deserted you.”

Maggie drew a deep breath.  She spoke haltingly, as if the words hurt her throat.  “I—I abandoned you, too.  When you were sick.  In the cabin.”

Flynn’s breath caught.  “You were really there?  I didn’t just dream it?”

“No.”  Her voice sounded very small and very young and very frightened.  “You didn’t dream it.  I was there.  But then I—I ran away.”

“Why?  Was it because I was insane?”

Maggie hands curled into fists on her thighs.  “You—you called for that woman!”

Flynn’s breath caught.  “Jennie?”

Maggie nodded.  She turned away.  “You wanted her instead of me.”

Remorse stung him.  He sighed.  “Oh, Maggie.  I should have told you about Jennie a long time ago, but—”

“Maggie!  Come quick!  It’s Marie!”  Frank’s raspy voice cut through the strained silence between them.

Maggie sighed and pushed herself to her feet.  “I’m coming, Frank.”

Maggie got up and walked over to Marie Devereux.  Like Flynn, she was reaching the crisis.  Either she would live or she would die.  Maggie shook Luke’s shoulder.  “Luke?  Marie needs you.”

Luke Devereux nodded.  Frank helped him to his feet.  They led him to his wife.  Luke sat down heavily and took her hand.  “Marie.”  His voice was hoarse with emotion.

Her eyes opened and she smiled at him.  “Oh, Luke.  I’m so sorry.  But the fine people of San Francisco would never have accepted me anyway.”

“Marie, no!”  His hand tightened on hers.

“I’m sorry, Cherie.”  She shut her eyes and sighed.  She did not breathe again.

“No!”  Luke’s cry was jagged and harsh.  He began to sob.

Maggie squeezed his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Luke.  She’s gone.”

He shrugged her off angrily.

Maggie opened her mouth to protest, and then she remembered what Frank had said, that women needed the comfort of others while men needed time alone to lick their wounds.

*  *  *

The passengers got well or died.  They buried Ramon, and Slim wept openly at his grave.  On the morning they left the Humboldt River, Luke Devereux stood for a long time at Marie’s grave.  Then, he put on his hat and walked over to Julie Evans’ wagon.  “Ma’am, you took good care of my wife when she was ill.  I’d be honored if you would let me escort you to San Francisco.”

Julie smiled shyly.  “Thank you, Mr. Devereux.”

Luke cleared his throat.  “Most of the things in my wagon belonged to Marie.”

“You’d be welcome to share mine, Mr. Devereux.”

Luke nodded.  He went back to his wagon and brought out his violin and a carpetbag.  He hitched his team to Julie’s wagon and tethered her horses behind them.  He climbed into the box and picked up the reins.

Julie frowned and took them out of his hands.  “Oh no you don’t.  You don’t want to ruin those hands of yours, not if you’re going to be the first violinist for the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra.  Get up, Mozart!”

The wagon lurched forward.

Maggie watched them for a few moments, and then she shook her head.

*  *  *

They made good time, and on the last day of August, they reached Spanish Springs.  Maggie and Flynn stood side by side in front of the small grave.  Maggie’s throat ached, but she could not cry.

Flynn traced the letters Frank had carved into the wooden cross.  “Sarah,” he whispered.  He turned to Maggie.  “You named her Sarah?”

She nodded.  “After—after your mother.”

Flynn knelt beside the tiny mound.  He bowed his head and wept.

“You’re crying.  You never cry.”  Maggie’s voice shook.

Flynn stood up and turned to her.  He nodded.  “I couldn’t cry, Maggie.”  He turned back to his daughter’s grave.  “When I was five years old, my father sent me away to boarding school.  I had never been away from home before, and I missed my mother terribly.  She had—she had just miscarried, and I didn’t know if she was alive or dead.”  He drew a deep breath.  “Crying was frowned upon at Lewisburg Academy.  The other cadets beat me until I lost consciousness.”

Maggie’s breath caught.  “And the headmaster did nothing?”

Flynn shook his head.  “He said that they saved him the trouble of caning me himself.”  For a moment, anger edged Flynn’s voice.  Then, he sighed.  “After that, I couldn’t cry.”

Maggie took a step toward him with her hand outstretched to touch his back, but she couldn’t.  She shut her eyes and saw her mother one Valentine’s Day.  Michael had brought her a box of chocolates, and she went away with him, leaving Maggie alone in the boarding house.  She saw her mother lying on the floor of their wagon, her blood flowing across the floor to mingle with the moonshine, her blue eyes open and staring.