Echoes of Dark and Light (2 page)

“I understand, I really do. But isn’t there some other way? A less dangerous alternative?”

I sighed and switched my gaze over her shoulder. The autumn sun had made a valiant attempt to greet the day, with bright rays reaching through the dense tree branches, setting the vibrant golds and reds into a brilliant glow. Then I looked toward Marquette village where the rays glinted off the store front windows and painted shadows on the ground. I’d lived here for eight years, ever since my brothers and I had escaped from our pa and stumbled into our grandmother’s life. I had been nine years old then, a life time ago. My heart would miss this place.

“Emma, I’ve thought very hard about this. Yes, I could come up with a different plan, but I really believe that this is the best way to go. The letter said ‘missing in action and presumed dead’. Well, I know from the depths of my heart that the last part isn’t true. Robert is alive, I know he is!”

“And I believe you!”

“So that leaves me with the first part of the letter. Robert is missing in action, so where better to look for him than in the middle of the action? Maybe I’ll find soldiers who have seen him or heard from him.”

“Yes,” she interrupted again, “but you could travel down there as yourself, a seventeen-year-old woman, and comb through the hospitals and check the hotels and talk to people that way.”

“Travel as girl? With all of the renegade ex-soldiers running around? That sounds more dangerous than sneaking up behind a grumpy mama bear.”

“Then search for Robert disguised as a boy—”

“And get arrested for desertion? Almost all the boys our age have either volunteered, been drafted, got wounded or gone to their grave. I’d stand out like a lone piece of pie in the middle of a fruit stand! Me being stuck in some prison won’t do Robert any good.” My obvious frustration and harsh tone cast a glimmer of hurt in Emma’s eyes. I grabbed a deep breath of air and forcibly swallowed my sparking temper. I knew Emma just worried for me, and I really appreciated her concern. But I’d made up my mind, and I knew what I had to do. This arguing just wasted time. I sighed. “Emma, look—”

She held up a hand to stop me. “I know, Bobbi. I just can’t help but worry about you.”

The anger growing in my gut fizzled out with her gentle voice. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; just promise me you’ll be careful!”

“No worries.” I grinned wryly as I pulled back the edge of my coat, revealing the handle of a .36 Colt Navy Revolver.

“Goodness, Bobbi! Where did you get that?” she gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“Gran.” I pulled the six-shot revolver from the waistband of my britches and held it out for Emma to examine.

She looked closely, but refused to touch the weapon. “Your grandmother has a gun? Somehow, I didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah, the fact came as a shocker to me, too. How long can you live with someone and not know she keeps a Colt in her top dresser drawer? She handed it to me this morning with strict instructions to bring it back without a scratch, after I’ve found Robert. I think that’s her way of saying come home safe.”

“Now that sounds more like your grandmother.”

I nodded, carefully replacing the revolver and pulling my jacket closed. We stood there in awkward silence for a moment or two, neither of us quite sure how to say goodbye. The black mare snorted and stamped her foot in impatience, and a door slammed closed somewhere in the village behind us. We both turned to look and witnessed a heavyset man leaving the harbor office, heading towards the dock where various boats waited impatiently, tugging at their lines and rocking wildly in Superior’s waves. Marquette had begun waking up and embracing the day.

“Um, I should probably get going. I want to catch the early train, and I still need to stop in at Mr. Wilson’s store and get some ammunition for the gun.”

Emma nodded, looking down at her hands. When she finally met my eyes, hers had filled with tears. She dropped the reins and threw her arms around me with such force that she knocked the cap off my head and I stumbled back a few steps. I fought my own tears as we hugged, then I reluctantly released my hold on her. Emma sniffed loudly and wiped her damp cheeks as she reached for the dropped reins. I squatted down to retrieved my cap, stuffing it in my back pocket.

“So,” she gave me a watery grin, “will you take pity on a girl with short stature and give me a boost?”

“It’s the least I can do.” I laced my fingers together and bent down for Emma to get a foot up. She swung her right leg over the horse’s furry back, and then reached down to straighten her skirts. As she sat up and her eyes passed over me, she did a double take and a big grin spread over her face.

“Did you know when the sun hits your red hair, it looks like a haystack on fire?”

Self-consciously, I ran a hand through my new shaggy hair that ever since Gran had cut short had a tendency to stick up in all directions.

“I do miss your long hair, Bobbi. Promise me that when you get back, you’ll grow it out again.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. But I have to admit that short tends to be much easier. And, as for the haystack look,” I pulled the cap out of my pocket and fit it on my unruly hair, “that’s where hats come in handy.”

We looked at each other for a few moments and when I noticed her eyes filling with tears again, I knew time had passed for me to go. In another moment, Emma would have me bawling, too. “I’d better go.” I turned to walk away from my best friend.

“Wait, one more thing.”

Somewhat impatiently, I turned back to see what she wanted. Saying goodbye had been hard enough; this prolonging of our farewells just made it more agonizing.

Emma had dug into the saddlebag resting over the horse’s withers. She pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and an envelope, leaning down to place them in my hands.

“What’s this?” I asked, curious, despite my anxiousness to leave.

“An apple pie and a letter.”

“A letter?” I asked, confused.

“It’s for you,” she said shyly. “You told me we could exchange correspondence. I thought I’d start now.

“Oh, Emma.” A warmth glowed in my chest.

“Only, you can’t read it now,” she quickly added. “You have to wait until tonight, or tomorrow night.”

“How come?”

“I want you to have a big hug from home when you start getting homesick.”

“I’m not gonna—”

“You can’t fool me, Bobbi Rivers. You may be big and strong and tough, but I know deep down you have a soft heart, and that you’re going to miss us dreadfully.”

I couldn’t honestly deny her statement, so I didn’t say anything. I just avoided her eyes and knelt down to safely stowed both the letter and the pie in my pack.

“Bobbi, you come home safe and sound. That’s an order,” she spoke with all seriousness.

“Yes, ma’am,” I matched her tone. “And don’t worry. I’ll be back home to greet the Canada geese returning in the spring.” I motioned above at the noisy geese flying overhead.

“Can I hold you to that?” Emma sighed, but then smiled. “Goodbye, my friend.”

I held up a hand in farewell, and then watched as she reined the horse around and walked back down the road, disappearing into the forest. I heaved a sigh myself, re-shouldered my pack, and turned toward Mr. Wilson’s general store.

The bell above the door jangled loudly in the quiet store. I glanced around at the shelves of toys and tools, bags of dried beans, bolts of cloth, crates of potatoes, barrels of cider, boxes of nails, and dried herbs bundled for teas and spices wafting out crisp scents to tickle my nose, without spotting Mr. Wilson.

“Hello!” I called. “Anybody here?”

A loud thump coming from the front counter area grabbed my attention. Curious, I went to investigate.

“Hello? Mr. Wilson?”

A dark head bobbed into view from behind the counter, a startled expression crossing his face as he caught sight of me.

“Flippin’ flapjacks, you startled me! Well, um, good morning, young man. What can I do for you?” He straightened up from his kneeling position and gave me his full attention.

“Where’s Mr. Wilson?” I’d never seen this man before, and I knew Mr. Wilson didn’t have any employees.

“What? You’ll have to speak up. I don’t hear so good these days.” He leaned in across the counter, and in turning his head slightly to the side, revealed a nasty looking scar cut across his scruffy cheek.

“I said, where’s Mr. Wilson?” I repeated, raising my voice a notch.

“Oh, Mr. Wilson is, uh, unavailable. Is there something I can get for you?”

The uneasy feeling in my stomach clenched tighter. “Thanks,” I said slowly, “but this is kinda important. I really need to see him.”

“Sorry kid, you’re out of luck. Now either tell me what you want, or come back later. I’m a busy guy and I don’t have time for your dithering.”

I narrowed my eyes as I searched his face for some answers. Suspicion swelled in my chest. Almost instinctively, I reached for the Colt revolver and pointed it at the stranger’s chest.

“What the—”

“Okay mister, what’d ya do with Mr. Wilson?”

“Are you crazy, kid?” the man yelped. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, or worse, me!”

“First of all, you of all people have no authority over me; add in the fact that I’m the one holding the gun and you’re kinda screwed. Second of all, there is a distinct possibility that I could indeed be crazy but that’s beside the point; I’m just a little protective when someone threatens a friend of mine. Third, I can assure you, I am a perfect shot; I never miss. So I ask you one last time, where is Mr. Wilson? Now!”

The stranger jerked back from my outburst and lost his balance, his arms waving in the air before he crashed into the wall and slid to the floor. As I rushed around the counter, the curtain to the back room yanked aside, revealing Mr. Wilson.

“What’s all the racket out here, eh? Whoa, geeze!” Mr. Wilson dropped to the floor next to the stranger. “Andy, my boy, what happened?” He struggled to help the man to his feet … or rather, his foot.

Stunned at what the counter had hidden, I watched as Mr. Wilson steadied the Andy fellow on his one good leg, the empty pant leg rolled up neatly and pinned about mid thy. Mr. Wilson handed Andy the crutch leaning against the wall, and then turned to me.

“Bobbi, what’s with the gun?”

I hastily lowered the barrel of the Colt. “Mr. Wilson,” I mumbled, “you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay, and you haven’t answered my question. What’s with the gun, and why are you pointing it at my nephew?”

“I’ll tell you what he’s doing,” Andy grumbled as he positioned his crutch under his arm. “He’s robbing the store, that’s what!”

“I am not,” I protested, anger overtaking my bewildered concern.

“Then why are you going around waving your gun in my face?” Andy yelled.

“’Cause,” I yelled back, “I thought
you
were robbing the store and had Mr. Wilson tied up in the back somewhere!”

“Now that is just ridiculous! Why would I tie up my own uncle—”

“I didn’t know he was your uncle! You wouldn’t tell me anything!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, both of ya.” Mr. Wilson ran a hand through his thick white hair and readjusted the bowler hat he always wore. “Now, obviously we’ve had ourselves a little misunderstanding. But I can assure you,” he directed to me, “that my nephew Andy is here under honorable conditions. I agreed to give him a job after he left the army. He arrived last night and today is his first day.” Then he turned to Andy. “And as for her, she would never rob this store.” He grinned. “Looks like I’ve got me my own guard dog, eh?”

I smiled hesitantly in return, but Andy refused to be subdued.

“He’s a she? Good gravy! And I thought fighting the trickery of the Rebels had proved dangerous! I never would have thought shop keeping would so hazardous!” He shook his head and mumbled as he hobbled through the curtained doorway. “A gun put in my face on the first day, who would’ve thought…”

His voice died away as the curtain dropped behind him. Mr. Wilson came out from behind the counter and clapped me on the shoulder. “Bobbi, I know the circumstances are a little out of whack, but I do thank you for your concern.”

“Well, you’re a … welcome, Mr. Wilson. I guess.” I stuck the revolver back in my waist band.