Margaret Brownley (31 page)

Hoping it was David, but fearing it was the marshal, she looked around for a place to hide. She would never be able to explain her presence out here so late at night.

Before she could move, the hoofbeats grew louder and a magnificent white animal burst out from among the trees. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The legendary white mustang really did exist!

His lean body was powerful, his coat luminous. In the pale moonlight he looked like polished marble. His silvery tail held high, it cascaded down like spouting water. Stopping no more than twenty feet in front of her, he stared at her with diamond bright eyes. He then rose on hind legs and pawed the air.

Intrigued and strangely mesmerized, Lucy made a frame with her fingers and pretended to look through the lens of a camera. What she would give for such a photograph. Someone had actually succeeded in photographing landscape in the moonlight but it had required nearly eight hours’ exposure time, a luxury no living being would allow her.

Some things could not be caught by a camera. Even if, by some miracle, the stallion stood still long enough to be photographed, she could never capture its power or grace. Was the same true of a man’s innocence? A man’s secrets? A man’s soul?

As if suddenly noticing her presence, the stallion looked straight at her. Head held high, ears forward, the amazing animal opened his mouth and whinnied. The high-pitched cry sent shivers down Lucy’s spine.

Next to her Tripod frantically tried to escape, and it was all Lucy could do to hold on to him. “It’s all right,” she soothed. She stroked her horse’s smooth slick neck until the stallion galloped back into the woods.

Still Lucy couldn’t pull her gaze away from the streaks of silver that flashed between the trees. At last the horse vanished altogether.

With the stallion gone, the mission and surrounding woods seemed more menacing. Was it dark when David ran away at the age of ten? Probably. No doubt he had the same purposeful strides, the same determination as he did now. Ostracized all his life, she marveled at how he still maintained a sense of humor and dignity. A wave of sadness swept through her for the boy he once was, but her feelings for the man he had become were much more complicated.

Anxious to escape the deserted mission, she quickly mounted her horse and rode away as fast as Tripod could carry her.

Fearing David may have already been arrested, her heart was so heavy it was a wonder that her horse didn’t cave beneath the weight.

The following morning she made Caleb promise to let her know if he heard any news. Feeling as if her world were falling apart, she paced the floor, stopping every so often to gaze out the window. No news was good news, right?

It was nearly noon before her brother returned. Dreading what he would say, she ran outside to greet him.

He sat astride Papa’s circling horse and shouted, “Mr. Wolf hasn’t been arrested yet. The marshal and his men are still looking for him.”

She sighed with relief and waved him off. Head bent low, he quickly galloped away, both hands on the reins.

She spent the rest the afternoon in the shack out back that was her darkroom. Usually developing plates made her forget her worries, but not today. Today she couldn’t stop thinking of David.

The ruby-glassed lantern bathed the room in a soft red light. Though Caleb had drilled holes in one wall and covered them with a wooden light trap for ventilation, it was still necessary to step outside on occasion to escape the fumes.

Darkroom explosions were a common occurrence. For that reason she purchased her chemicals ready mixed and stored them on a single shelf in clearly marked bottles.

She was particularly pleased with the photograph of the Wells family. Elizabeth had the most endearing smile. Little Matthew with his big blue eyes and chubby face looked good enough to eat. Sarah would be so pleased. After thoroughly washing the print to assure permanence, she hung it on the line to dry and turned her attention to the next one.

Shocked to see her own image emerge in the bath, she lowered her head for a closer look. She’d forgotten that little Skip Owen had snapped a photograph of her with David. It was the first time she had seen her own likeness captured in a photograph. The picture grew brighter and more revealing, like the gradual illumination of an early morning sky,

It wasn’t a good photograph. The composition was all wrong and it was underexposed. David stood in the shadows so his expression was lost, but the slanted rays of sunshine made hers perfectly clear. Her white waistcoat was all wrong. Dark colors were more photographic. Her hair, too, was wrong, piled on top of her head in her usual haphazard way. But it wasn’t her clothes or hair that captured her attention, not by any means. It was something else entirely, and she was stunned by what she saw.

A photograph was but a moment in a person’s life that revealed an inner truth. She always assumed that the lens revealed only those truths known to the subject. How, then, was it possible for the camera to uncover something of which she was not aware? How could she not know her own heart?

The sleepless nights. The lack of appetite. Now it all made sense.

She pulled the photograph from its bath and studied it. Oh yes, it was abundantly clear.

She hadn’t recognized the feeling but she certainly recognized the expression. For she’d seen that very same look on Monica’s face.

On Sarah’s.

On Jenny’s face. Mary Lou’s and Brenda’s too.

It was the look of a woman in love.

The following day she sat outside her father’s store next to her camera, staring at the letter in her hand.

It was from the
Chicago Tribune
. Fearing it was yet another rejection, she took her time opening the letter. “We regret to inform you,” she said aloud, and didn’t read any further.

Now that she knew she was in love with David, this rejection had less of an impact than the others. She desperately needed money, but how could she leave David in his time of need?

She tucked the letter away in her portfolio, feeling very much alone.

When no one showed up to have a picture taken, she packed up her gear and headed for the mission. Heart in her throat, she wandered from room to room. It was cold inside, much colder than the air outside, and damp. The place smelled musty, maybe even moldy.

She finally reached the kitchen. It was a huge room with battered wood counters, high ceilings, and a wood-burning cookstove. Cupboards and drawers hung open, their shelves barren. A cast-iron sink was anchored by a rusty water pump.

Sun streamed through a tall narrow window, providing a lighted stage for dancing dust motes. She walked back into the main room. David was nowhere to be found. He’d asked her to meet him here today. So where was he? Why wasn’t he here? Had Marshal Armstrong already arrested him? Or had David simply left town? Neither possibility gave her any peace.

Feeling utterly miserable and alone, she hurried through the cavernous building intent on leaving, but the unfinished chair stopped her in her tracks.

Eyes closed, she fingered the chair and imagined David bent over it, working. What if she never saw him again? The thought left her even more bereft.

Trembling, she moved the chair closer to the window, turning it until the light hit the exquisite carved wolf just right.

She ran out to her wagon to fetch her tripod and camera, and for the next several moments nothing else existed but the image in her lens.

She had just completed taking her photographs when David entered the room and her heart skipped a beat. Never could she have imagined a more welcome sight.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“You d-didn’t,” she stammered. It was her newly discovered secret of the heart that startled her, not his commanding presence. “I was just photographing your chair. I think the light captures it just right, don’t you?” She went on to describe different qualities of light and exposure times, knowing full well she was babbling and not knowing how to stop.

He cocked his head. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

“No, no, of course not,” she said, feeling herself blush. “It’s just that . . . the marshal has a warrant for your arrest. He thinks you’re responsible for Barnes’s disappearance.”

David nodded. “I know. He came here yesterday looking for me.” He beckoned to her. “Come in the other room. It’s warmer.”

He led her to a sunny room behind the sanctuary, which, judging by the old desk, was once used as an office. The room was small and his nearness made her senses spin. Irritated at herself for letting her emotions take precedence over everything else, she backed away.

“We have another problem,” she said, willing herself not to babble.

Quickly, she told him about the doctor’s plan to wed Monica. “The wedding is planned for mid-July. If there’s the least suspicion that the doctor harmed Barnes in any way, Monica has the right to know.”

“I agree, but not yet. Let me talk to him first. Did you ask your friend about the night Barnes disappeared?”

She nodded. “Barnes came by to talk to the doctor that night.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Interesting. We have to assume the reason for the visit had something to do with me. What time was that, do you know?”

“I left the doctor’s house after eight thirty. So it had to be later.”

“A couple of hours after I saw him.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “It doesn’t take that long to drive to the doctor’s house.”

“Maybe he was working.”

He shook his head. “I went to the newspaper office last night to look around. He never finished the headline he was working on the night I was there. So now we have to wonder what he was doing for those couple of hours.”

So that’s where David was last night when she looked for him. She reached into her portfolio and pulled out a stack of glossy prints. “These are photographs of some people I know lived here for twenty years or more.” When she first got her camera she was so excited, she photographed anyone kind enough to pose. “People change over time but I thought you might recognize someone.”

A smile ruffled the corners of his mouth. “So you’ve decided to help me,” he said, his voice warm with approval.

Her face grew hot and she lowered her lashes. “I’m doing this for my friend Monica,” she said quickly. She wasn’t ready to admit to any other reason.

“Fair enough,” he said, though she detected a note of doubt in his voice.

She raised her eyes to his and found him assessing her with a bold frankness that took her breath away.
Please don’t let him see in my face what the camera saw
.

She handed him the photos, and one by one, he began flipping through them.

“That’s Peter Jefferson,” she said, tapping one image. “His father owns a ranch outside of town. He broke his leg as a child and it wasn’t set right.”

He rejected some photographs at once, handing them back to her. He flipped through the ones he wasn’t certain about, holding them up one by one in the full light of the sun. In the end, he handed the entire stack of photos back to her.

Feeling her spirits sink, she slipped the stack into her satchel. She wouldn’t give up, and she didn’t want him to give up either. “I can take more photographs.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. People change in twenty years. I think it’s time for me to confront Myers. He’s going to have to tell me what he knows.” Before she could respond, he beckoned her to follow him. “I want to show you something.” Reaching the corner desk he picked up a roll of paper. “I told Wells I would design a new church.”