Echoes (41 page)

Most of the cattle had been recovered early in the morning. By suppertime, the remaining stragglers were shepherded back inside their makeshift corral. Only two beasts remained missing.

The body of Alice Ann O'Keefe was found not far beyond the outskirts of camp. She'd been trampled by the oxen and come to rest beneath the low scrub. Her mother, heavy with child again, huddled within their wagon, weeping and wailing her daughter's name for the rest of the day and long into the night. Mr. O'Keefe and his four oldest sons dug a grave for her and Adam carved a cherub to mount atop her wooden cross. Though more times than not Alice Ann brought mischief where she went, they all felt the loss of her youth and vitality.

Each of the many times Molly went in search of Adam, she found Brodie by his side. So far, she'd managed to leave without being seen by either. Brodie had known exactly what he was doing when he'd threatened her with Arlie. While she would have faced him one on one no matter what the danger to herself, she could not do the same with Arlie's life at risk.

Just before supper, Molly unexpectedly came upon the Captain engaged in deep conversation with Mr. Tate and Mrs. Imogene. She hesitated, not wishing to interrupt, but their words drifted with the smoke from the campfire and froze her in place.

"She was trampled, Captain," Mr. Tate was saying. "How could he tell what else had happened to her before that?"

Captain Hanson glanced at Mrs. Imogene and then quickly away. "Mr. O'Keefe said things were done. I believe him to be speaking the truth."

Molly's gasp drew Captain Hanson's attention. Taking Mr. Tate by the arm, he lowered his voice and guided the other man away.

Mrs. Imogene looked pale and shaken as she made her way back to the wagon and began her supper preparations. Molly followed, wanting to question her about the men's conversation. But Mrs. Imogene's silence felt thick and sullied, coating them both in an impenetrable residue until at last Molly could stand it no longer.

"Were they talking about Alice Ann?" she finally asked.

Mrs. Imogene bit her lip. "I'm afraid so, child."

"But what happened? I thought—"

Arlie cried out from the wagon where he'd been napping, interrupting her. Frustrated, she considered letting him cry for a few minutes but Mrs. Imogene jumped up and hurried off, calling over her shoulder, "I'll get him," before Molly had the chance to argue or delay her.

The Captain had said things were done. The horrifying images that hovered in that ill-defined statement filled her head and made her sick to her stomach. But what followed on the heels of it was worse still. In her mind, she replayed the moments before Lady had jumped from the embankment. Arlie had cried out, "Ay Ay" and Molly had assumed it was Lady that he'd tried to say. But now.... She pictured Alice Ann pressing against Brodie, saying "I will," to his retreating back.

Numb she moved away from camp, needing to find a place to be alone. Overhead a black arrow of geese glided through the turbid sky, honking to one another as they flocked in formation. She found a rock close enough to the wagons to be safe, yet far enough away that she could think.

She stared at the settlement of wagons, but what she saw was Alice Ann's chubby face, eyes gleaming with longing as she stared at Brodie during Rosie's funeral. And then Alice Ann, coarsely suggestive as she rubbed her body against Brodie's in an open invitation for trouble. And then Alice Ann, forever still beneath a crude cross and a carved cherub.

She didn't know how long she'd sat there before footsteps drew her from the horrible inner world. Before she could turn to see who approached, an all too familiar voice said, "Evening, Molly."

She jumped to her feet, and faced Brodie while the urge for flight slammed against the numbing fear that pinned her in place. What did he want? How long had he been watching her? He came closer, his footsteps shuffling over the dust packed ground with a furtive sound.

Things were done to Alice Ann. What things? What terrible things was Brodie capable of?

"Why are you out here all by yourself?" he asked.

"I was praying and you've interrupted me."

"What are you praying for?"

"For the soul of young Alice Ann," she said.

He nodded. "Sure is sad what happened to her."

His pale eyes shone like granite and the dark spikes of his lashes framed his absolute sincerity, his total bafflement over the twists of fate that could snatch a young girl from her family and leave her for dead beneath a stampeding herd of oxen.

"Sad is a rather mild euphemism for what happened to her, wouldn't you say?"

Brodie eyed her warily. "I guess."

"Bad enough to have her body thrashed by the hooves of stampeding oxen, but the other was even worse..."

"What are you talking about?"

Molly shrugged and let her silence and shrewd look speak for her. Reactions began to play across Brodie's face. Suspicion, surprise, fear, confusion, cunning, anger...

"Well she got trampled," he repeated. "They can't blame anyone but herself for getting run down by a bunch of dumb ox."

"Oh I think they can. The Captain said things were done to Alice Ann," Molly said. "Apparently whoever hurt her wasn't very smart."

"She was trampled."

"Oxen don't have hands or fingers, though it is true that they aren't very smart either."

"You can't prove anything."

"Maybe not. I don't know exactly what
things
were done to her. But you do, don't you Brodie? Do you think Adam would lie to the Captain if asked about your whereabouts during the stampede?"

Brodie closed the distance between them with such sudden ferocity that she had no time to step back. She braced for his violence, fearing in that split second that she'd gone too far, but he stopped inches from her and leaned in. He'd grown so much over the months of travel that she had to tip her head back to look into the coldness of his eyes.

He still had the baby smooth skin and the downy soft facial hair of a young boy. It would be months before he would shave for the first time. Longer still before he would fully mature into a man. But there was nothing innocent in the expression that masked his features. Nothing childlike in the gleam of malice that shone from within.

In his face she saw everything he could and would do. She saw cruelty without conscience. She saw jealousy that had festered into something so twisted, so perverse that it struck her mute with fear. How had this monster come from the same woman as Adam? How could the goodness of Rosie be any part of Brodie?

"Are you scared?" he whispered in her ear. He trailed his fingers up her arms like a lover, pausing as they drew level with her breasts to brush the sides in an intimate caress. The dirty white bandage on his hand scratched and her shudder brought a hateful stillness that reeked of satisfaction.

"No one's going to believe I touched that fat girl," he murmured his breath a flutter against her ear. "I'm just a boy, myself. Isn't that what Adam says?"

She was afraid to move. Afraid to stand still. The violence beneath his soft words and gentle touch terrified her more than wild ranting and vicious blows would have. This Brodie was more dangerous than any she'd seen so far.

"I see the little wheels going round and round in your head, Molly," he said, moving closer, still holding her in that deceptively light grip. Now his thighs pressed against hers, the slope of his belly fitted at the base of her ribs. His breathing was a little ragged now, his touch greedy and insidious. "You don't want to speak against me, Molly. I know you don't want to tell anyone stories about what I might have done when you know I'll have to prove you wrong. You'd be a fool to do that." He pressed his damp mouth to the hot skin below her ear and nibbled.

Her voice felt like sandpaper against her dry throat. That she managed to push it past the quaking inside her was unbelievable. "I've already talked to Adam and he does believe me. He's probably looking for you right now."

Brodie's fingers tightened on her arms and slowly he raised his head and looked into her face. She tried to meet his eyes, she tried to boldly stare back, but he was like a wild animal feigning tameness to lure his prey closer. He would hurt her without qualm. He could kill her without conscience. He'd all but promised to do the same to Arlie. The sour smell of his breath and pungent odor of his body rushed at her in a wave.

"Did I ever tell you how Vanessa liked to call me up to her little room when no one was around? She liked to show me things. She showed me lots of things, things I wanted. She thought she'd use me against Adam. But, I couldn't let her do that. Adam, he's all I got."

She lifted her chin higher and forced herself to look at him. "The Captain knows everything, Brodie. He knows about Dewey and Alice Ann. And if you hurt me, he'll know it was you who did it. He's not Adam. He has no love for you and he owes you no loyalty."

Brodie's stare was deep and probing, his face inches from hers, his eyes opaque with suspicion. But within she saw something that gave her strength and courage. She raised her brows, curling her lips with all the arrogance she could muster. "I told you all on my first night in Ohio. I am not Vanessa. Don't imagine you can play me like you did her."

She wrenched herself free of his grasp and purposefully turned her back on him. Beneath her skirts her legs shook, but they held her up and carried her away without failing. Her ears rang with the effort of listening for following footsteps, but she heard nothing behind her, nothing but the sound of her own tortured breathing as she forced one foot in front of the other. She didn't dare look back until she was safely within the circle of wagons.

* * *

With the last of their hours of leisure dwindling away, lively trading went on between the emigrants and the band of Indians. While Molly worried over what to do, the other campers seemed to be unanimously caught up in festive gaming. Molly wished she too could lose herself like the others, but she was trapped in an agony of indecision. She knew that Brodie would never permit her to betray him. How he would stop her seemed equally clear. But guilt over poor Alice Ann rode heavy on Molly's shoulders. If she'd spoken out against Brodie earlier, perhaps the girl would still be alive. Molly could not risk delaying again.

After circling the camp several times without finding Adam or the Captain, Molly returned to the Tate's wagon. Mrs. Imogene was there, sitting in her chair stroking Lady's silky head and watching Arlie playing at her feet. True to his word, Adam had carved the boy a herd of horses which Arlie galloped happily over the dirt. When he saw her, he let loose a gleeful squeal. He grasped a horse in each chubby fist and lifted them for her to see.

"No, no!" he shouted.

Despite the worries that made her feel ancient and exhausted, Molly smiled. "Horse," she told him. "Horse."

"No, no!" he agreed, waving them in the air.

"Have you seen Adam, Mrs. Imogene?" she asked as she knelt down beside Arlie.

"He's with the men over yonder." She nodded in the direction of the teepees set up on the outskirts of camp. "Everyone's been talking about the things those Indians brought with them. About an hour ago talk started about some game they were planning for later. Mr. Tate says there's going to be a competition of shooting and riding between the Indians and us."

Molly had heard the rumors herself that the Indians had everything, from baskets—beautifully woven and tight enough to hold water—to skins so soft and warm that they were fit for a baby's swaddling. They even had rifles and ammunition. Some of the campers said they were of the Washoe tribes, renowned for their basket weaving. Some thought them Utes and still others suspected they were Snake Indians. Molly even heard talk that they were Apaches and must be watched round the clock lest they all wake to find their children's throats slashed and their women violated, though so far none of the Indians they'd encountered had shown the slightest tendency to violence. On the contrary, they'd been friendly and helpful, very different from her imaginings in Ohio.

No one knew for certain from which tribe these Indians came, but what was clear was that they had amassed an amazing store of goods to trade and barter. With time on their hands, the emigrants cared less about who they were as they did about what they had.

"I heard that the oldest O'Keefe boy is going to race," she continued. "Captain Hanson and your Mr. Weston are known for their aim, so I imagine they'll be chosen to shoot. Everyone is running around like the second coming is about. Guess their planning a victory party already." She shook her head. "Even Mrs. O'Keefe has come out to watch."

Surprised, Molly looked across the camp. Mrs. O'Keefe sat in front of their wagon, a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders, ends resting on her swollen belly. Molly knew that it was common for furious celebration to follow the sinking misery of death. She understood that survivors must at times rejoice in life to prevent themselves from lying down with the deceased, but it seemed wrong that the mourning of Alice Ann should be so short.

Later, Molly and Mrs. Imogene watched the proceedings from a distance. At the inner circle, stood Adam and Captain Hanson. He'd been inaccessible the entire afternoon and Molly's anxiety had worn a pain in her head that felt crippling. There was nothing she could do short of charging into the midst of things and demanding that Adam give her his attention. While the idea crossed her mind, she knew she had to approach Adam carefully. She had no doubt that Brodie had planted seeds of deception in his brother. She must be careful not to become entwined in the thorny sprouts of their growth.