River of Mercy (6 page)

What is this, that keeps watch over me
When I thought myself to be alone?

ANONYMOUS

G
ant had a sparse supper, cooking for just himself with Asa having been gone the better part of three days now. He wandered outside and began walking with no particular destination in mind. It was good to just get out and exercise his still less than agile leg. Perhaps Doc was right, and the slight limp would be with him for the rest of his life. No matter. Being able to get out and around as he was doing tonight was enough. An inconvenience, but enough.

He came to a stop on the crest of the hill behind his house. He lifted the lantern a little higher, using his free hand to hike up his collar around his neck as he stood thinking.

A man who couldn't find some wonder in a night like this was either blind or numb. The November wind had blown its way down the mountains and moved on, leaving a stillness behind in which even the softest night sound seemed to echo. Fog hung heavy over the trees up here and even thicker on the valley below. Only the thinnest of the moon's light managed to squeeze its way past the clouds, spraying a fine, shimmering mist over the woods and the small settlement of Riverhaven.

From here, the smell of the river retreated, overcome by the spicy scent of pine and falling leaves and wood smoke. Every now and then the mournful sound of a boat's horn could be heard.

Gant felt a little guilty about leaving Mac back at the house. The great hound loved their nightly walks. But with Asa gone and more fugitives due to show up any day now—in addition to the runaways who arrived the night before last and were now lodged in his barn—he felt more comfortable with Mac on the premises to alert him to visitors. He'd saved him a beef bone from supper to help make up for any perceived neglect.

In any case, he should be getting back. He'd been gone long enough.

He almost always delayed going indoors after a walk, especially at night. He loved the nights here. After years of living on the crowded, noisy streets of New York and working in the nearly deafening clamor of a Brooklyn shipyard, this quiet, idyllic little river valley settlement was a balm to his spirit.

Even during the days of piloting his boat on the river, he had never known the gentle peace he'd found here in Riverhaven, the healing calm of this place that so subtly but surely nourished his soul. In this blessedly tranquil valley, he could live and work and breathe in cleanliness and purity and freedom and simply
be.

His life had taken on a previously unknown clarity and purpose. Most days he felt nothing lacking, nothing wanting.

Except for Rachel. His want of her, his love for her, was like a raw and open sore that burned continually within, as if to remind him that his long-sought peace was a fickle, fragile thing.

He pulled in a long breath and started walking again, only to stop dead at a rustling sound somewhere behind him. He glanced up, peering into the stand of trees that lined the rise of the hill.

He waited, and the sound came again, this time with a low rumbling.

Gant stared hard into the dense fringe of woods. He saw movement, a shadow—and then the glint of eyes looking into his.

His throat went dry, and he thought to run. Instead he remained still as a stone, watching the thing that stood watching him.

If it was what he suspected, should he back off or stay as he was and make some noise? Maybe a lot of noise. But he still wasn't exactly sure what he was seeing, so he waited.

Suddenly a cloud passed across the moon just enough to give him a better look. At the same time the shadow emerged from the foliage around the trees and became real.

He'd seen wildcats before, but never one this big. It was easily forty or more pounds of muscle. Had to be a male. A
big
male. Those steady, staring eyes measured him intently, and Gant measured the cat right back. Clearly he was trying to decide whether the human creature was prey or just a nuisance.

Wildcats—
bobcats
they were called around here—weren't known for attacking people. They were more elusive and sometimes downright shy. This big fellow, however, looked anything but timid.

He could also be rabid, and then all bets were off. Still, rabies was rare among the big cats. Gant held the lantern up and out a little, not liking the way it flickered from the slight trembling of his hand. It was too dark to tell much about the creature other than his intimidating size. His coat looked to be gray with dark spots. He would be fairly young because the spots hadn't faded yet. Black bars wrapped his forelegs like mourning bands.

The cat gave another low growl, but somehow Gant didn't feel threatened. The sound seemed almost halfhearted, as though he'd been judged and deemed not worthy of any real attention. He wouldn't have been surprised if the creature had yawned at that point. Clearly, he was a lot more impressed with the cat than the cat was with him. And despite that menacing stare, Gant did find him impressive. He was an intimidating but handsome animal.

He had the oddest feeling the animal was waiting for him to leave. After another moment, and keeping the lantern high and well in front of him, he started to back away. Slow steps, carefully, quietly, taking his time. The cat's gaze held steady, watching his every move.

Finally, when he was almost convinced the creature wasn't going to lunge and run him to the ground, Gant turned his back on the cat and started down the hill toward the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back, intent on feigning indifference.

Unnerved and still a bit shaken from the encounter, he wasted no time going inside and throwing the bolt on the back door, inordinately glad for Mac's loud and eager greeting.

“Make all the noise you want, pal,” he said, stooping to rub the big hound's ears. “We've got company out there, and I'd just as soon he knows I'm not alone.”

He straightened and went to get the beef bone he'd left on the stove after supper. With Mac watching his every move, Gant put the bone on the rug by the back door and gave a nod, at which point the dog licked it indifferently a few times as if to show a lack of interest. Only when Gant walked over to the sink and began washing the supper dishes did the hound snatch up the bone in his powerful jaws and begin to attack it.

When the dishes were done, Gant was still too keyed up to sleep. He took his fiddle out of the cabinet and played for a solid hour. He stopped twice to listen for any sound coming from outside, but he heard nothing. Yet somehow he sensed their visitor hadn't moved on.

Later that night Gant heard its screech. From his place beside the bed, Mac stirred and gave a low growl. The chilling sound clearly came from somewhere close by, yet Gant felt no real threat at the cat's presence.

He lay completely still, listening, but it didn't call out again. Finally, he fell into a fitful, restless sleep, only to dream about a creature with a large, whiskered face and black-tufted ears pacing back and forth on the hill behind the house, keeping watch.

5

I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end.

W.B. Y
EATS

B
y four o'clock Gant gave up trying to sleep. He'd tossed and twisted for hours, so he decided he might just as well make some coffee and start work early.

Mac stirred and lifted his head with a grumpy look as Gant lighted the lantern. “No need for you to get up too, lazybones. Go on back to sleep.”

The big dog needed no coaxing. With a somewhat exaggerated sigh, he turned over and was snoring again before Gant was out of the room.

In the kitchen, he set the lantern on the table and looked out the window. There was nothing to be seen. No doubt their night visitor was long gone. All the same, he didn't step outside the door to brace his lungs with cold air as he usually did first thing in the morning.

He wasn't hungry, so he settled for a leftover biscuit and a hot cup of coffee for breakfast. Later he'd need to take some food out to the runaways in the barn. Maybe he'd fix something more for himself then.

He sat idly at the table, drinking his coffee and wondering what had kept him sleepless for most of the night. Surely not the bobcat. He should pose no real problem, after all. And even if he hadn't moved on by now, he probably wouldn't come any closer to the house or the barn. Not if he was a typical cat.

And if he wasn't typical?

Gant shook off the thought. He'd been in a strange mood for a couple of days now. Restless. On edge. Even a little jumpy. His imagination seemed to be working overtime, and last night was no exception. Something about the cat had spooked him, as though the creature was out of the ordinary.

He'd been alone too much lately. That must be it. Not that he'd ever much minded being alone. Most of the time he preferred it. He'd always been a loner, guarding his privacy and feeling far more comfortable with himself than in a crowd. But being alone didn't always mean being lonely. At least it never used to.

Too often of late though, his state of mind bordered on loneliness. For one thing, until recently, Asa had been around more than usual. But now with Asa somewhere near Zanesville, familiarizing a new conductor with the territory and several of the safe houses, Gant felt his absence. Then too, he gave Gideon a day or two off every now and then to do some extra work out at his mother's place, so at times the shop was quieter than normal.

Well, Asa would be back soon, and so would Gideon. Then there would be a bit more life about the place.

Of course, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he knew it was Rachel who really accounted for his melancholy these days. When the loneliness moved in on him, as it often did lately, Rachel was the one he wanted to be with. Sometimes her absence felt like a weight crushing his spirit; other times like a cold, black night heavy with rain. He missed her and wanted to be with her every minute of every day. At times the missing made him ache as if he carried a fever.

Thinking about Rachel inevitably led to the thought that the new bishop would soon be chosen—a thought that never failed to make his heart race. The harder he tried not to think about what this change in the Amish community might mean for Rachel and him, the more he couldn't tear his mind away from it.