Another Dawn (10 page)

      
Determined, he kept pace with the lanky widower, until he stopped in front of a modest house built of stone. Zeke knocked once and removed his hat, then pushed open the door and stepped inside.
 

      
Candles burned on an upright piano across the room, and a small woman rushed toward them, tears trickling down her cheeks. Her red hair was piled high on her head, and like Mrs. Fleming, she wore an old-fashioned black dress that went to the tops of her shoes. Luke's earlier suspicions about Redemption being some sort of religious cult or retreat returned.

      
No electricity, no cars, old-fashioned clothes, so many non-immunized citizens... The evidence pointed toward something bizarre.

      
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Judson," the woman said. "Fanny was one of my favorite people."

      
"Thanks, Miss Dora."
 
Zeke lowered his gaze as the woman patted his hand reassuringly. "Lots of folks set quite a store by my missus."
 

      
"A priest? How fortuitous."
 
Dora turned her attention to Luke and held out her hand. "It was good of you to come, Father. I'm Dora Fleming."
 
She wiped her tears away.

      
Like mother, like daughter? "I'm...I'm Father Salazar," Luke said, still cringing inside each time he uttered the words. He'd never forget the man whose name he'd stolen. Swallowing hard, he shook the woman's small hand. "Zeke asked me to...uh..."

      
"Oh, yes, Fanny would want that, Father. Thank you so much."
 
Dora kept his hand and led him across the room. "Mr. Judson probably told you about the pastor and his wife."
 
She paused and placed her hand over her heart with a sigh. "So much tragedy."

      
"Yes, I'm sorry to hear about the epidemic."
 
And I'd sure as hell like to know what it really is
.

      
Luke couldn't help but notice the body stretched out on boards across the room. Several women fussed over the dead woman, sniffling and sharing stories about the good things Fanny Judson had done in her life.
Damn waste.

      
Dora opened a huge book on a desk near the front door. "This is where Reverend Bodine recorded deaths, marriages, baptisms and such," she explained. "If you'll enter her name here, and the dates of birth and death here, we'd be much obliged."

      
Luke looked down at the pages, where his predecessor had written in previous events for the citizens of Redemption. The entire page was filled with deaths–not a single birth or wedding.

      
All these senseless deaths...

      
Luke paused for a moment to consider the irony. Today, he was supposed to have died. Instead, here he stood trying to comfort the grieving by playing a role for which he was unworthy. More than unworthy.

      
His eyes focused on the most recent entry, just above where he would record the name of Fanny Judson.

      
Elizabeth Ann Morton,
he read silently.
Born August 19, '86.

      
Died September 11, 1891...

      
The date reverberated through Luke's head, then finally reached his lips.

      
"1891?"

Chapter 4

      
"Father?"

      
Luke winced when Dora touched his sleeve, but not from the sudden pressure against his sensitive burned skin.

      
A loud roar filled his head, rivaling even the explosions that had saved his miserable life this morning. The day's events replayed through his mind at warp speed.

      
1891. Bizarre. Unbelievable.

      
Impossible? After this morning, how could he consider anything impossible? By all rights, he was the one who should be dead. Very dead.

      
"Father, are you all right?" Dora slipped her arm beneath his and guided him toward a chair. "Perhaps you should sit a spell. Did you get caught in that storm we had earlier this afternoon?"

      
"Storm? Yes, the storm. Yes. Uh, we were caught in the storm."

      
"It came on so suddenly..."
 
Dora's expression left no doubt she questioned his state of mind.

      
As did he.

      
1891? He looked around the room. Victorian furnishings. Long skirts and upswept hair. Either he'd really fallen back in time somehow, or Redemption was the Rocky Mountain equivalent to Brigadoon.

      
Of course, and smallpox. Yes, it all made sense now. Sick sense. But how?

      
"You must be exhausted."
 
Dora nudged him, urging him to sit. "It may not be very Christian of me to say so, but I'm glad you came to us today. Fanny Judson was one of the kindest women I've ever known. She...she deserves a prop...proper funeral."
 

      
Luke looked up at the woman and saw her lower lip quiver as tears rolled silently down her face. He should offer comfort, as the real Father Salazar certainly would have, but his mind was reeling from other matters.

      
Like time travel.

      
"I'm sorry, but if you'll just give me a minute...?" He patted Dora's hand and tried his damnedest to appear pious. Or at least something besides nuts.

      
"Of course, Father. Please forgive me."
 
Dora dabbed at her tears with a pristine lace handkerchief, then hurried back to the grieving Zeke Judson and his wife's dead body.

      
Okay, Luke, think
. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the items on Reverend Bodine's desk. A calendar with several dates circled–all the Sundays–also proclaimed the year was 1891.

      
What was he looking for anyway? Another sign? Another miracle? An explanation for all this? He opened the drawer, feeling like a thief, though he had no intention of stealing anything. Escaping from prison would be the last crime Luke Nolan ever committed. And the first...

      
"I'm free," he whispered, perspiration popping from every one of his fried pores. Then a rush of joy swept through him and his heart did a fair imitation of what his grandmother would've called the Snoopy dance.

      
Could it be true?
Hell, yes
. If time travel was possible, then Luke Nolan–wrongfully convicted and condemned man–was finally free.

      
Free!

      
No more prison, no more running for his life, no more electric chair.

      
A shudder gripped him and he closed his eyes, willing the moment of remembered terror to pass. There was no electricity here, and no electric chair. More importantly, there was no criminal record for Luke Nolan. He could make a new life for himself. Maybe now he could even become a teacher, as he'd dreamed of in his time.

      
My time
? No, this was his time now. Maybe he could teach Future History. He almost smiled as he closed the desk drawer, leaving its contents untouched.

      
He stared at his hands, flexing and spreading his reddened fingers against the desk's smooth surface, the open book only a few inches away. Why was he here in this time and place? With these suffering people?

      
Slowly, he brought the trembling fingers of one hand to the crucifix dangling around his neck, remembering Father Salazar's expression. With his fingertips, he traced the shape of the crucifix, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
Was
he here for a reason? His grandparents would've thought so, but despite this morning's miracle, Luke couldn't see himself playing a priest for the rest of his life.

      
A life that should've ended this morning.

      
Guilt slammed into him yet again. Yes, guilt was one part of Catholicism he'd learned very well. Father Salazar was dead because of those explosions. Because of Luke. If not for him, the old man wouldn't have been in that execution chamber in the first place.

      
And what about Sofie?

      
Luke jerked his eyes open and blinked several times, trying to focus. Sofie was in this mess with him, but she didn't even know it. Still, she'd be safe here in Redemption even after he left to begin his new life. After meeting more of the townspeople, Luke was convinced of that.

      
But what if she remembers?

      
A sinking sensation gripped him. So what if Sofie remembered Luke's true identity and the reason they'd been in that so-called cave this morning? What could she do about it? No one in this time had ever heard of Luke Nolan, or the terrible crime he was to have died for. No one.

      
Except Sofie.

      
Of course, no one would believe her if she claimed to have traveled back from the future with a condemned murderer. They'd all think she was crazy, and Luke would still be free.
Free!

      
"Father, are you ready now?"

      
Luke drew a deep breath and stood, clutching Father Salazar's Bible in his hand. "Yes, I'm ready."

      
No, it wouldn't matter at all if Sofie regained her memory.

      
To anyone but him.

      
And he couldn't
let
it matter.

      
Sofie bent over a cot near the front of the building, her hands trembling and her throat contracting. Self-doubt attacked from all directions. Again.

      
She couldn't be a doctor.

      
The young patient looked up at her and smiled weakly. Her rash was covered with dry red scabs, and Dr. Wilson wanted Sofie to bathe the girl and check her progress. If all the child's spots were dry, they would consider her on the road to recovery.