Authors: Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig
All or Nothing (2 page)
Chapter 2
“It’s nothing, Mara. Just like the hill behind Daddy’s barn. We’ll race to the top like when we were little!” RuthAnne held out a hand, abraded with injury but still strong.
Her sister took it, gingerly at first, then tight enough to grind RuthAnne’s finger bones. Mara followed as RuthAnne began climbing up the crumbling granite incline. They carefully avoided the sharp branches that tore at flesh and anything else that fell within their reach.
Within minutes, RuthAnne discovered the decomposing rock slipped and slid under the leather soles of her boots. The going was slow and unsure as small boulders loosened and tumbled from her grasp.
Checking her grip, she heaved herself up a boulder with all of her strength. A wobbling stone beneath her fingers gave way. Small pebbles pattered down. Her frantic hands and feet scrambled for solid surface; she watched as the stone she’d held tumbled down the drainage and into open air.
“Mara! Careful, the rocks are loose.”
“Just like back home, right? Just lean forward and crawl our way to the top!” Mara braved a smile. She cried out as a rock tumbled away from her grasp. RuthAnne gasped, reaching desperately for her flailing sister.
“Ruthie! I’m slipping!” Mara yelped. She fought to regain her footing and failed. A wave of rock and rubble slid underneath her shoes.
RuthAnne forced her foot into a tangle of the brambly bushes for solid footing and grabbed her sister’s skirts, hauling with all of her might. The seams ripped at the waistline with a sickening sound. Mara’s eyes were wide, her fingertips bloodied with effort as she scrambled for purchase and found none.
RuthAnne pulled, found her sister’s hand, and dragged her closer. Mara tumbled into her, legs scratched and bleeding. They clutched each other tightly.
Mara’s voice quivered. “Not quite like home. I don’t recall cactus in Alabama.” She wiped her arm against her forehead, dripping with sweat from exertion, and plucked a thorn from her thumb.
“We can’t trust this slope, it just crumbles underfoot. These bushes have deep roots.” RuthAnne yanked at one, proving her point. “They’re not going anywhere. We’ll have to climb up through them.”
She moved them up through the tangle of manzanita, gritting her teeth as she climbed through the small forest. Branches tore at her calves above her traveling boots, scratching the leather, while brambles snagged and loosened her hair, now tangled with leaves and broken twigs.
RuthAnne prayed as she trudged up the slope, Mara close behind. Her thoughts went out to Evan. To God. But there were no answers. The impossibility of their situation ripped at her like the brushwood grabbing at her skirts. Her breath hitched when her boot soles slipped and skidded over unstable ground.
Pebbles rained down, gathering speed. She heard them plunk almost musically against the hollow stagecoach and bounce into oblivion.
“We’re almost there. Just need to rest a moment.” RuthAnne’s heart thundered. She gulped the thick, midday air while Mara sank next to her on a solid ledge.
They clasped scraped hands, eyes full of the void below, RuthAnne’s throat tight with their loss.
They had reached the debris from the wreck. Their gray and black steamer trunks were splintered to ruin; all of their worldly goods had scattered to the four winds. She spied the black dress she’d worn to Evan’s funeral and, being the best wife she knew how to be, for what had seemed like an age afterwards. Why had she even kept it? Faded to charcoal gray, it baked in the sun along with petticoats and sensible work skirts. They were shredded, dirty, and useless now.
Mara’s trousseau, carefully packed with the dreams of a sixteen-year-old girl with hopes for the future, lay scattered about the mountainside. Hand-embroidered linens and lace were tattered to ruin and whipping in the growing wind. Almost nothing looked salvageable, and anything that could have been saved was too dangerous to retrieve. Things could be replaced. Their lives could not.
RuthAnne looked upslope, and she estimated one or two more places to rest until they could make the flat of the road. Her thoughts turned to the accident.
Why? Why had this happened? Why had they been driving so fast? So out of control? What had caused the rockslide that blocked their way? She’d trusted stagecoach driver Ed Bingham, who’d met them at the end of the line in La Junta, Colorado. He’d seen them safely through the mountains of New Mexico to Arizona. They’d managed to avoid the Apaches she had been so fearful of. They were now less than a day’s ride from Tucson, where the two sisters planned to wait for the army wagons to transport the remainder of their belongings.
Our belongings...The claim checks! Do I still have them?
Her stomach dropped. She clapped a hand to her inside breast pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. The metal tabs remained safely nestled where she’d placed them; one for each waiting crate. Something had told her to keep them close to her at all times. Without them, she and Mara would be destitute.
Thank You, Lord,
she prayed and then turned her thoughts back to the accident.
The falling rocks must have spooked the horses. But what had caused the slide? RuthAnne thought she recalled a loud noise of some sort. Perhaps thunder? A low, deep rumble from above answered her question.
“Let’s get going.” RuthAnne rose to her feet.
“Ruthie...I can’t. I don’t think I can make it up there.” Mara rested against a boulder, her head between her knees, gasping.
RuthAnne sank to Mara’s side. The humid, hot desert air seared with each ragged breath. Sweat dampened her shirt, rolled down her back. Her mouth parched, throat screaming for water.
In awe, RuthAnne shaded her eyes, watching enormous storm clouds roiling from behind the mountain. Thunder echoed, and then answered itself with fervor. The white-hot sun disappeared behind the churning, blue-black sky.
The sisters fell into shadow, and the temperature dropped sharply. Fat droplets of rain began to fall. Thunder growled overhead. A ripple of lightning set the clouds aglow as the floodgates opened.
“Just a few more steps, Mara. We can make it.” RuthAnne grabbed her sister’s elbow as she helped her to stand. Together, they scrambled up boulders in the near vertical drainage and into the dark and pounding rain.
Water trickled at their feet as they pushed and pulled each other. The torrential downpour steamed the heated earth. Soon, the water ran freely around their ankles in rivulets that threatened to wash them over and into the void below. Lightning ripped at the sky with greedy fingers. Thunder cracked directly overhead. RuthAnne dragged herself up onto another ledge; she rubbed feeling back into her numb, scratched, and muddied hands.
Wind-driven rain plastered her traveling shirt to her body. Her brown skirt—now soaked, torn, and muddy—hung heavily about her legs. When they finally reached the flat surface of the roadway, the two sisters collapsed into a heap. RuthAnne focused on their survival as she hauled them up and set to moving once again.
Looking left through the driving rain, she saw nothing but the sharp curve that had finally done them in with the out-of-control stagecoach. It was all too easy to see why they had gone over the edge, with the sheer cliff on one side and the pile of rocks that had once been the mountain slope on the other. The rockslide blocked more than half of the narrow road.
RuthAnne’s heart sank for Mr. Bingham, who had tried so hard to save them, now lost to the world. Down the road in the other direction, muddy water ran a river that cut rills into the rough-hewn trail. No one would be traveling through this way for some time. The wind drove sheets of rain that stung and slashed with broad strokes. Making progress in this weather would be impossible
“How can it be so cold?” Mara’s teeth chattered. With thin arms wrapped around her body, she looked more like a child than a young woman of sixteen. Rainwater slicked Mara’s ebony hair, obscuring her pale face.
RuthAnne knew she’d pushed her little sister to the very limit just getting her this far. “We have to find somewhere to wait out the storm...somehow.”
With no help in sight, they trudged down the flooded path in search of shelter.
Chapter 3
“What’s that up ahead?” Mara pointed at a ledge to their left and a deep shadow obscured by a waterfall.
“I think it’s a cave. Come on, let’s find out.” RuthAnne dragged her stumbling sister. Hand in hand they trudged on through the mud. Through the rain, the scent of a bonfire filled RuthAnne’s nose. Perhaps lightning had struck further down the mountain. But what could burn in a torrential summer monsoon?
The waterfall poured freely in front of the odd opening in the rocks. They picked their way behind the curtain of water and out of the driving storm to dry ground.
RuthAnne trailed her fingers along the rough-hewn opening. Someone had carved out this passageway, its edges too even and too angular to be a natural formation. The narrow tunnel led through to a dimly lit chamber within. Fine dust powdered underfoot and turned to pools of mud where water dripped from their long and tattered skirts.
Mara leaned against the wall of the cave; her fingers trailed along a vein of white quartz in the granite rock face. “What is this place?”
RuthAnne blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. “We’re inside a mine...maybe gold or silver.”
“It’s dry. Thank God.” Mara shivered, sinking to the tunnel floor.
RuthAnne fell next to her and wrapped her little sister up in her arms. Chilled and exhausted, they drew warmth from one another as the rain pounded and the wind wailed outside. A low growl of thunder spoke in answer, and RuthAnne fell into a restless sleep.
****
Evan leaned against the wall of the cave, wearing the same herringbone suit RuthAnne had last seen him in. He fidgeted with the pocket watch in his breast pocket and smoked his pipe thoughtfully in that manner he thought made him appear older than his thirty years.
RuthAnne smiled sleepily. “You know, smoking doesn
’
t make you distinguished, Evan. It just makes you smell like my father
’
s office.”
“Your father isn
’
t anywhere near here, Ruthie.” He took another puff of the rich tobacco. She breathed it in, like coming home.
“No. We didn
’
t go back to him. You knew we wouldn
’
t.”
He was proud of her decision, she could tell; proud, but melancholy.
“Why are you sad, Evan?”
His eyes were tender but concerned as he faded from view. “It
’
s time to wake up, Ruthie...”
“Evan! Wait!” she called, but he was gone.
****
Gray light filtered through the cave entrance. Mara still slept heavily, head upon RuthAnne’s lap. RuthAnne stroked the girl’s dark hair and pale forehead. She thought about Evan, the dream, and why they had left Kansas City.
There had been no earthly reason to remain in Missouri after Evan’s untimely passing. With no money and only the one prospect of completing their military contract, she and Mara were forced to finish their obligations with the Army Supplier.
RuthAnne had seen to it that their crates full of army uniforms, dress blues, trousers, and gray work shirts were checked through to the end of the line in La Junta, Colorado. The weight of responsibility was now up to the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe station; she held the handful of metal claim checks to prove it. If all went well, the army would claim her wares within a week, and she and Mara would be free to follow their own aspirations.
First, she would do what was necessary to build a life, so that they would be well settled when the railroad finally reached Tucson. She and Mara could have a shop for ladies, much like she had seen in the garment district of Kansas City. RuthAnne could envision every part of it and often had while slaving away long into the night, eyes straining by kerosene light. Fingertips raw from pushing fabric through the machine, RuthAnne dreamed of a store with wide open doors, where sunlight streamed in. Ladies would come and have tea. Discuss the latest fashions. She would sketch for them, measure and smile as she traded money for the dresses of their dreams. But things had gone wrong ever since they’d crossed into the mountains of Arizona. Her carefully laid plans had tumbled into oblivion with rocks down the mountain slope.
A loud crack echoed from deeper in the cave, snapping RuthAnne out of her reverie and into the present. Another pop was followed by a clatter of stones. Now fully alert, the girls jumped in unison.
“What was that?” Mara whispered, wide eyes peering into the darkness.
“I think there might be someone back there,” RuthAnne whispered back, a shot of adrenaline racing in her veins as she rose.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.” RuthAnne straightened her brown travel skirts out of habit more than vanity, considering their disheveled state.
“Hello?” Her own echo answered. RuthAnne shoved her uneasiness aside and let curiosity get the better of her. With renewed vigor, she squeezed through the tunnel, and she found herself inside a large cathedral-high chamber.
A light drizzle of rain dripped through a seam in the ceiling and trailed down the wall, forming a small pool in the rock floor. Dim, gray light filtered into the cavernous space and lit the surrounding stones and boulders from above. A small opening in the back wall led deeper into the mine and the utter blackness beyond.
“Hello! Is there anyone back there?” There was no response.
Only then did she begin to truly survey her surroundings. A small, well-used fire ring sat in the center of the floor; a long stick leaned nearby. She used it to poke the smoldering coals. White smoke lifted toward the ceiling through the crevasse above that acted as a chimney.
On the edge of the fire ring, a battered tin coffeepot held coffee; a matching mug rested, unused, nearby. A quick touch found the pot still warm. Necessity overtook nerves, and she quickly restarted the fire from the stack of branches left for kindling. Her skin drank in the warmth from the licking yellow flames. The roomy cave quickly filled with firelight and dancing shadows.
“Mara! It’s all right. Come and get warm.” Moments later, the two huddled around the campfire.
RuthAnne observed the crates and trunks stacked along the wall. There were no picks or shovels. This obviously was no longer a working mine.
“Who left this fire? Where did they go? Do you suppose that they’re looking for us?” Mara’s hopeful question hung in the dank and dusty air.
RuthAnne stood and stretched. No time like the present to investigate their situation. She pulled a canvas tarp away from the haphazardly stacked boxes, barrels, and trunks. They each had names she didn’t recognize emblazoned upon them.
Pickney Tulley, Incorporated
.
Ochoa Markets
,
the location stamp read Tucson, Arizona Territory. Her stomach tightened with trepidation.
A dark wood steamer trunk was wedged into a corner, its lock twisted and bent. RuthAnne lifted the lid; the broken fastening fell from the latch. One look at the contents told her all she needed to know. Someone had rifled through a woman’s carefully packed belongings. Clothing. Pictures. Broken china. Opened letters, scattered. Someone’s future, forever lost to them and now existing in a stone cavern.
The next crate over caught her eye, its lid at an angle, pried open with packing spilling out. She peeked inside to see red cylinders, green fuses, and the black lettering warning:
Dynamite
.
She dropped the canvas and backpedaled.
“What is it?” Mara rose, but RuthAnne waved her back.
This was no mine...
RuthAnne realized she and Mara had inadvertently stumbled into something worse than they could have imagined. They were in a hideout for thieves, people who were willing to use force to get what they wanted.
“The rain has stopped. We’re leaving.”
“Ruthie, can’t we wait here? What if they have horses? We could ride down the mountain. I don’t think I can walk another foot.”
“I’m not asking, Mara.” Her gaze darted to each entrance to make sure they were alone. But it was too late.
A shadow fell across the entrance to the tunnel. RuthAnne quietly closed the trunk lid and backed away from her discovery toward the fire. There would be no running. She would have to meet this threat head-on.