October skies

Grace studied her and then shrugged. ‘Oops, I’m sorry. I thought I detected a little chemistry there.’

Rose managed a smile. ‘Nope, no chemistry.’

She bid farewell and closed the door behind her, heading back across the deserted camp site towards the road leading back into town. A fresh breeze played with her hair and sent a chill down her neck as she cast a glance around at the empty cabins and the sail dinghies lined up on trailers parked a few yards away from the lake’s edge. Their nylon halyards clattered against the masts with a rhythmic tapping.

CHAPTER 24

13 October, 1856

James Lock lived for three days. I was surprised he lasted that long — the wounding to his head was so severe. The bite crushed the right-hand side of his face and skull, destroying an eye in the process. It would have been merciful for him and his family if the bear had bitten down that much harder and finished the poor man then and there.

Preston, however, appears more promising. There were a series of deep lacerations around his waist, requiring that I sew them closed. My fear is that fever will set in. I cleansed the wounds as best I could with alcohol, and checked that the claws had not proceeded any deeper than opening his skin and had not damaged his organs. It does appear that he was lucky not to have suffered a greater injury. Nonetheless, only time will tell whether the wounds were properly cleaned.

I have been tending to Preston within their church. It is perhaps a tribute to how much I am trusted, or more likely, how much they value him, that I’m allowed in there. These people of Preston’s seem completely lost without him, unable to make the simplest decisions. He seems to be their compass in many ways. Without him they are directionless and frightened. Each time I approach their temple there is always a gathering of people outside the entrance eagerly enquiring as to his condition.

Despite my earlier reservations about the man, I have to admit to admiring his strength and courage standing between his people and the bear armed with nothing more than a stick, whilst I recall myself trembling with fear and rooted to the ground. I envy a man who can stand firm in the face of terror and not yield.

Sitting in their church, I feel I have a clearer understanding about how the affairs of these people are run. Preston has a council, a Quorum of Elders, amongst whom decisions are made. Senior amongst them are two men: Eric Vander and Saul Hearst. It seems whilst Preston remains incapacitated, these two have assumed responsibility for running things on their side of the camp.

Neither man, however, seems to command the same kind of respect and reverence that is freely given to Preston.

Ben leaned over and felt his forehead.

‘Fever?’ asked Dorothy Dreyton.

‘A slight one,’ he replied. Preston’s face felt hot and damp with sweat. He was in a restless sleep, stirring and murmuring.

‘Will he live, Mr Lambert?’

‘He’s strong, I’ll say that for him. A very strong and fit man.’

‘But?’

Ben offered her a tired smile. ‘But, there is infection in his wounds. His body will fight it as best it can.’

Mrs Dreyton’s face crumpled with poorly contained grief. ‘We would be lost without him. I… would be lost without him.’

She stroked one of his hands affectionately. ‘He’s our saviour, in so many ways.’

Ben studied her genuine fondness for him. Absolute devotion. He suspected she would happily surrender her life in a heartbeat, if it would guarantee saving his. And by the look of concern etched on the faces of those gathered outside in a night and day vigil, so would any number of them.

‘How has he saved you?’

She looked at him with an expression halfway between hostility and bemusement. ‘How? From following the wrong path, a path that would have led us to darkness and desolation. Like so many others of our church.’

‘Mormons?’

She nodded. ‘We departed from that faith, as we departed Council Bluffs. The message from God was corrupted by greedy men, who even now are fighting for control of the Mormon faith.’ She looked at Preston, lying still and breathing deeply. ‘William warned us that the faith was all wrong. That it would eventually turn on itself. God told him directly.’

He looked at her.

‘Oh, yes. William talks with God. He does so… through Nephi.’

‘Nephi? Who’s that?’

Dorothy closed her mouth. But her eyes momentarily darted to a metal chest lying beyond Preston’s cot.

‘He talks with God directly,’ she said again. ‘There are no other holy men who can honestly say that.’

‘But doesn’t every preacher say that?’

‘Only William does for real,’ she replied with a whisper. ‘Actually hears His voice. I would surrender everything just to hear what he hears.’ She stroked his face. ‘He’s so special.’

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the mournful gusting wind play with the flap of material over the entrance.

‘Why has Preston led you out west?’

She sighed. ‘We couldn’t stay in Council Bluffs. We had to leave everything behind. A storm is coming.’

‘A storm?’