Death Train to Boston (30 page)

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Authors: Dianne Day

BOOK: Death Train to Boston
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It was all over by the time Tom and Feather rode up a few minutes later. We let the two of them do the honors of taking Braxton Furnival to Hiram's town jail.

We stayed on in Hiram, Utah, Michael and Meiling and I, as long as we dared. Until the snow threatened to lock us in for the winter, which was around the tenth of December. By the time of our leaving I had fully regained my strength and was beginning to walk again with the aid of only two canes.

I had purchased a small wire cage with a padded bottom for Hiram the Cat to ride in. Michael pretended not to approve of my pet, but I had caught him stroking the kitty a time or two when he thought my back was turned.

Hiram was in his cage, which was being carried by Meiling, and she had gone ahead to the wagon. I was making one last circuit of my room preparatory to turning it over to Sandra Hunter, saying my silent goodbyes and being sure I had not forgotten anything. I had asked to be left alone to say goodbye in privacy to this place that had been so very special to me, in ways I could not begin to put into words.

So I was startled when I heard Michael's voice.

"Fremont," he said, "may I come in?"

Distracted, I glanced over my shoulder, not sure I was ready yet to go. I felt as if I were leaving a haven. "I'll be out, there's no need for you to come in here."

"Oh, but there is," he said, "because I have something for you. Something very special that I've been saving for this moment. Something I had made in San Francisco, because—well, you'll see."

My curiosity overcame me. "Oh?"

Michael came into the room slowly, his hands behind his back.

"Turn around," he said, "so that your back is to me, and close your eyes."

"I don't know if I can trust you," I remarked lightly, but I did as I was told.

I heard a faint sound like a curtain falling, and then felt something soft on my shoulders, down my arms, against my neck—and Michael's arms enfolded me.

He, this man, was my real home, my true haven.

He said, "Don't look yet. No peeking. Just, um, move a step to your left, now half a step more . . . that's it. That's fine."

I teetered a little, for I was standing without the help of my two canes. But I scarcely noticed because my curiosity was overwhelming me.

"Now?" I asked.

"Now. Open your eyes and look into the mirror."

In Sandra Hunter's oval dressing table mirror I saw my reflection, and Michael's gift.

He had wrapped me in a new aubergine cape.

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