A Lady in Defiance (33 page)

As Naomi pulled her coat from the tree downstairs, she
absently noted in the back of her mind what sounded like a soft, distant
rolling clap of thunder. However, the sound increased and she stopped to
listen. Strange, thunder didn’t happen in December. Instinctive fear blossomed
in her stomach. A rumbling, growling noise, she could actually
feel
it
now, vibrating up from the ground. The volume increased exponentially with each
beat of her heart.

The back door flew open and Emilio streaked through the
hotel, his eyes wide and his face ashen. “Avalanche!” the boy screamed, racing
to the front door. “Sounds like eet ees near the mine!” He flung the front door
open and skidded out on to porch. Naomi hurried to the door in time to see him
leap into the street and tear off towards the Iron Horse.

Terrified and confused by this growing roar, Naomi looked
back at Daisy and Hannah. Her sister was taking the stairs two at a time to get
to Billy and Daisy was racing toward Naomi with outstretched arms. The clamor
was deafening and the whole earth seemed to be shaking. Naomi and Daisy
clutched each other’s hands. After several seconds, the din started diminishing
then stopped, like a train grinding to a halt. The ground ceased its humming
and a silence like a death shroud fell over the town.

The girls stood frozen; Daisy had Naomi’s hand in a death grip
and Hannah stopped, nearly at the stop of the stairs. The quiet was so pristine
Naomi could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Afraid of moving, their eyes
roamed the hotel. Naomi could imagine a great explosion of snow crashing through
the walls any second.

Rebecca appeared at the top of the stairs holding Billy;
Hannah looked as if her knees nearly buckled with relief as she took the baby
in her arms and squeezed him tight. Rebecca looked at Naomi, terror in her
eyes. “What in the Sam Hill was that?”

“Emilio said it was an avalanche.” Naomi could hardly believe
she had just uttered those words.

Daisy shook her head and sighed. “Twenty-two people died last
season.”

“Died?” Naomi squeezed the girl’s hand, countering her
desperate grip. “Season? How often does this happen?” Her immediate concern was
for her sisters and the baby in Hannah’s arms. “Are we safe here?”

Daisy shrugged apologetically. “Mostly, I think. The folks up
near the mine entrance have it the roughest. It’s really steep up there.”

Before Naomi could reply, they heard a chorus of townsfolk
yelling in panicked voices from the street. The girls scrambled outside and saw
a crowd of men running hell-bent-for-leather down the street, past the Iron
Horse and out of town. Some were carrying shovels, others pick axes. A somber
Daisy inched forward and watched the panicked throng. “This is awfully early. I
guess it’s gonna be a bad winter.” Naomi heard the sound of doom in the girl’s
voice and rubbed her arms against the chilling prophecy.

The sound of a whip cracking and graphic curses drew their
attention to a driver trying impatiently to navigate his wagon through the
snaking sea of men. Breaking free, he cracked the whip again and the horses
lunged in the direction of the inn. Naomi frowned as she watched Mr. McIntyre
push the team of horses hard the last several yards then bring them to a
sliding halt in the snow right in front of her.

“I’ve an injured man here and there will be more coming.” He
set a firm gaze on Naomi, as if daring her to deny him help. “We need beds for
them. May we use the hotel?”

Naomi blinked. “Of course...absolutely.”

McIntyre leaped down from his seat. “They’re digging for
survivors now.”

As he dropped the gate at the back of the wagon, Rebecca
stepped forward. “What can we do to get ready, Mr. McIntyre?”

He grabbed something and started pulling. “First, help me get
him inside.” Naomi rushed over to offer assistance and realized Mr. McIntyre
was trying to pull a man from the wagon. Her shoulders sagged when she saw the
patient was Grady O’Banion.

“He’s badly injured.” Mr. McIntyre’s tone was solemn. “Doc
Cook said he’s pretty broken up.”

Naomi swallowed, recalling her last encounter with O’Banion,
but this was certainly no time to dwell on grudges−she glanced up at Mr.
McIntyre−grudges of any kind. Sucking in a resolute breath, she nodded.
“All right, give me his legs. You take his shoulders.”

As they worked to get O’Banion out of the wagon, McIntyre
shouted orders at Rebecca and Daisy. “We need to turn the dining room into an
infirmary. We need blankets, bandages, anything else Doc Cook tells you to get.
He’ll be along momentarily.” He looked again at Naomi. “Let’s put him in front
of the fireplace.”

“I’ll move the tables out of the way,” Rebecca told them,
pulling Daisy along as she hurried back inside. “Daisy will get some blankets
for him.”

~~~

By midnight, a sixth victim had been brought to the hotel’s
make-shift infirmary. Four men were still missing. The casualties ranged from
compound fractures to concussions to O’Banion’s massive internal injuries. As
Naomi wiped the brow of a sleeping miner, Hannah slipped up quietly beside her.
“You wouldn’t believe who one of these patients is,” she half-whispered. Naomi
stared into the sleeping face of her own patient, bloodied, bruised and
swollen, and turned her head a little, just to let Hannah know she was
listening. “It’s that Pinkerton man.”

Naomi stiffened and met her sister’s gaze. “What’s he doing
here?”

“I asked Mr. McIntyre that. He said he was going to make him
our new marshal.”

Naomi frowned and put her towel back in the water bowl on her
lap. “The Pinkerton man?”

“Maybe he wants a tough law man to calm things down. But
really I came to tell you that I’m going to go check on Billy. I’ll be back
quick as I can.”

Naomi nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. Cook
step away from O’Banion and lightly clutch Mr. McIntyre’s arm. The two leaned
into each other, as if sharing secrets.  Unintentionally, she overheard
the doctor’s sad diagnosis. “Broken to bits like bread crumbs...won’t make it
till morning.”

She watched the men separate as Dr. Cook went back to
checking on other patients and Mr. McIntyre left, presumably to determine the
status of the search. Actively involved in the recovery effort, he had shown
(to Naomi’s surprise) great concern for the victims as they came in.  Why
was it that he cared for these men so much but had so little regard for his
Flowers, she wondered angrily.

The thought struck Naomi as hypocritical and a heavy guilt
washed over her. She looked around the dim, fire lit room as Rebecca and Daisy
tended to the miners, touched them reassuringly, held their hands, whispered
comforting words in their ears. She herself had barely muttered two words to
these men. Her gaze swung back to O’Banion, resting on a pallet less than two
feet from the fireplace. Would he die there?

Silhouetted by the fire, she could see his chest rising and
falling in labored, irregular movements. She didn’t want him to die. No matter
how much she disliked him, she didn’t wish that on him, to pass away here,
alone, most likely lost, with no one to mourn him.

Abruptly, Naomi took her bowl and rag, crossed the room and
knelt beside O’Banion. She gently touched his brow with the cool, damp rag and
wondered if she could bring herself to pray for him. His eyes opened and at
first he merely stared off into space. Momentarily, though, his expression
cleared and he looked at Naomi with gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank ye, m’am,” he whispered. “I’m no’ worthy of yer
attentions this night. Leave me to die. ‘tis what I deserve.”

“Nonsense, Mr. O’Banion. You’re a little banged up, but I’m
sure you’ll be fit as a fiddle soon.”

The Irishman shook his head and grimaced at the pain the
movement caused him. “No, m’am. It’s time to pay the fiddler.”

Her hand froze as she realized he was speaking of all the
sins in his life not discharged. “Mr. O’Banion, you needn’t fear death.” Afraid
she sounded cavalier, she lowered her voice and spoke with sincere compassion.
“There is one who has paid the debts for you, if you’ll only accept him. May
I...” A lump tightened Naomi’s throat and she swallowed to force it away. “May
I pray with you?”

Afraid she might do this wrong, Naomi didn’t wait for a reply
but timidly took Mr. O’Banion’s hand and held it to her chest. She spoke
tenderly to him, telling him of the love a Savior and the debt he came to pay.
O’Banion listened quietly but attentively and nodded in understanding at the
end.

As Naomi bent her head to pray for him, she saw, glistening
in the firelight, a single tear slide out from the corner of his eye. Before it
reached his sideburn, Mr. O’Banion took his last breath. His eyes glazed over
and she knew he was gone. Fighting a sob that threatened to rip lose from her,
Naomi squeezed his hand tighter and prayed anyway.

Chapter
29

The avalanche had been an early one. It didn’t bode well for
the rest of the season, McIntyre thought as he watched Willie Sackett toss
another shovel of dirt out of the grave and splatter it across the snow. Any
later in the year, and the ground would have been too frozen for O’Banion’s
body. That was one of the drawbacks to spring in the Rockies: it often started
out with funerals.

“I think that’s got it, Mr. McIntyre,” Sackett announced,
clawing his way out of the grave.

“Yes, that’s fine. Go down and tell Doc we’re ready.”

As a frigid wind whipped his coat and reached its icy hand
around his neck, McIntyre wondered again what Naomi had said to O’Banion. He’d
watched them for a few minutes from the doorway and had decided Naomi wasn’t
reading him the riot act. Instead, it had looked as if she was speaking kindly
to him. O’Banion’s breathing had smoothed out and he had looked almost
peaceful. Then, to McIntyre’s amazement, she had slumped over the man and
sobbed for him as if her own father had passed away.  Admittedly more than
a little curious, he had thought to ask her about the conversation. However,
the look in her eyes when he had approached her made this December wind feel
absolutely balmy and he had backed off.

McIntyre heard a noise behind him and turned. He was
astounded to see Naomi making her way up the hill to the cemetery, scrambling
clumsily through the deep snow. Knowing he was a glutton for punishment, he met
her half way and offered his hand. “Allow me. It is exceedingly deep up here.”

A flash of disdain crossed her face, almost instantly
replaced by a mere stony expression. “Thank you.”

As the two worked their way through the knee-deep snow,
McIntyre felt he had to try again. He needed to understand how she could go
from a complete contempt for O’Banion to mourning the man’s death. “I was
wondering, Mrs. Miller, about your last conversation with O’Banion...”

“What about it?” She sounded weary, or worse, indifferent to
him.

“Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t astonished to see
you here. And I saw you crying over him last night.”

They trudged on in silence for another minute, but he could
see she was working on an answer. Finally, she told him, “I didn’t want to be a
hypocrite...” Somehow, he knew that was aimed at him. “But even more,” she
continued softly, “I didn’t want him to die lost and alone.” Done with him, she
pushed away from McIntyre and stood at the edge of the grave. He stopped and pondered
her response, but the sound of voices in a very small funeral procession drew
his attention to the bottom of the hill.

Four miners carried one lone pine coffin over a narrow,
hurriedly cleared path. Dr. Cook and Wade trailed behind, coats and scarves
flapping in the biting wind. In a town of over seven hundred and fifty people,
only four neighbors had shown up to send O’Banion off. Today, he would be
buried and forgotten−McIntyre looked over at Naomi, staring into the
empty grave−except by her. Unbidden, a cold melancholy settled into his
bones. Was this to be his legacy as well? A handful of mourners? A lonely grave
site on the side of a windswept mountain?

 His heart started racing as he realized, like Ebenezer
Scrooge, he was actually seeing a foreshadowing of his own death. And to know
that Naomi might
not
weep for him troubled him deeply. He resolved at
that moment to somehow change his future…

~~~

On Christmas Day, as the girls, along with Ian and Emilio,
had opened presents, then sat down to a feast fit for a king, Naomi pondered
the direction her mind kept wandering. She slipped so effortlessly from
thinking about John and remembering last Christmas to wondering what Mr.
McIntyre might be doing with this most special of days. Since none of the
Flowers had accepted Daisy’s invitation to join them, she wondered if they were
keeping him company? Were they exchanging gifts of some sort? What exactly did
saloon girls do with a day off ? Would he do anything special for them?

Irritated at how she kept coming back to him, she turned her
mind to wondering about the avalanche and its victims. After O’Banion’s death,
the patients in the makeshift infirmary had only stayed another few days. Those
feeling better and able to walk had recruited comrades to help them dig their
cabins out of the snow. One patient, a Silas Biggs, had been moved to Doc’s
cabin for tending of a viciously snapped femur.