October skies

Julian looked out of the window at the bustling foot traffic passing the bistro’s fogged window. ‘No, I don’t think so, Sean. No, I don’t think he’s losing it.’

‘Well then, let me ask you this. Do you think the author is reliable?’

Julian had considered that possibility. ‘You can never know for sure. But I’ll say this: he comes across as very level-headed. I know it sounds like an odd thing for a researcher to say, but I think I trust him.’

Sean picked up his fork and started tucking into his pasta once more.

Julian watched him in silence. ‘Anyway, have I snagged your interest?’

Sean placed his fork down and clasped his hands thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I think I might be interested,’ he replied softly. ‘It might be an idea to keep it to yourself for now, though. I’ll consider putting this on a fast-track footing within our editorial group, assuming of course it’s us you want to deal with?’

‘Well, Rose and I want to deal with you, Sean. We worked well together on Uncommon People. There’s no reason to think we wouldn’t work well together again.’

Sean looked up and smiled. ‘Yes, we did, didn’t we? It was fun.’ He gazed out of the window at a passing bus. ‘Look, I’ll make some discreet calls tomorrow, and maybe we’ll meet again later in the week?’

‘Sounds good to me. I’m flying back at the weekend. So if you want to meet again before I go… well, you’ve got three more days.’

CHAPTER 37

23 October, 1856

‘Are you certain that is what the Indian said?’ Preston asked again quietly, light from the oil lamp suspended from the crossbeam making his gaunt face look like a skull draped with fine silk.

Keats shook his head. ‘Nope. But it’s the best I could make out.’

Midday was gone and the low, sleepy sun already yearning again for the horizon by the time a meeting of the quorum was convened in the church. Ben was surprised to find himself and Keats asked to attend — although not surprised that Broken Wing, whom Keats insisted come along too, was stopped at the entrance and sent away.

‘Dark skin’s a mark of evil,’ Mr Hollander had grunted, standing like a sentry beside the flap.

‘The evil spirit took them? That’s what the Indian said?’

Keats shrugged. ‘Hell, he could have said that… other hand, maybe the words could’ve meant somethin’ else. The Indian was speakin’ all kinds of crazy.’

‘What other things did he say, Mr Keats?’ the minister pressed him.

Keats shook his head. ‘Said somethin’ about an evil spirit reaching out from the trees. Wasn’t makin’ any goddamn sense to me.’

‘The Indian was in a state of shock,’ said Ben. ‘His mind and his eyes were playing tricks on him. The wounds across his front could have been from some wild animal. Ragged cuts like… like a claw, not clean like a blade. Perhaps the bear?’

Keats shook his head. ‘Ain’t no bear.’

They sat in silence for a few moments. Outside the temple they could hear the muted sound of wood being chopped and cooking fires being prepared. The routine of survival went on, despite the traumatic event earlier in the day.

Preston winced painfully as he shifted his position, holding a protective hand over the linen binding around his torso.

‘And where is Mr Hearst?’ asked Jed Stolheim, running a tired hand through his thinning auburn hair. ‘He’s not been seen since this morning.’

‘I don’t know, Jed,’ replied Preston. ‘It’s been long enough that I’m fearful for Saul.’

‘It’s them Indians out there did it,’ someone muttered from the back.

‘I’m not even sure they are Indians,’ replied Vander. ‘Me and Mr Zimmerman saw ’em up close in the woods. Dark as the Devil himself, they were.’

Keats snorted. ‘If they ain’t Indians, what the hell are they?’

‘Demons, Keats… Satan’s imps sent to torment us.’

There was a sharp intake of breath amongst the quorum.

‘That’s enough, Eric,’ snapped Preston. ‘We have God on our side, so we have nothing to be afraid of.’

Ben heard a tremulous note of uncertainty in the elder’s voice. Or perhaps it was his weakness, or the pain, that robbed his voice of authority. Preston turned to Ben.

‘How is Emily Dreyton?’

‘She’s in deep shock. Her mind has gone for now.’

‘Has she spoken of what she saw?’ asked Vander.

‘She has said nothing. Nor do I imagine she will for some time,’ replied Ben. ‘So terrified was she at what she saw… her mind is gone, and it may never return.’

‘Poor girl,’ muttered Preston. ‘Poor Dorothy, poor Samuel,’ he added with genuine remorse etched across his face.

‘Who’s with her now?’ asked Vander.

‘Mrs Zimmerman.’

There was a murmur of approval amongst them. The woman had lost a daughter, Emily had lost her mother. Mrs Zimmerman was the best person to sit with her.

‘They may still be alive,’ said Ben. ‘All we have is Emily and some blood — most of it I’ll wager came from the Indian boy. They could still be out there.’

Preston nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you’re right, Lambert. We should send out a search party to-’