Black Noon (6 page)

More than half of the townsmen had gathered at the mine entrance, along with some of the women, including Ethan's mother and Deliverance, who was doing her best to comfort the nearly hysterical woman.

“How did it happen?” Caleb asked one of the young boys.

“We were playing . . . playing ‘hide-and-seek.' Ethan, he was ‘it,' and then after we hid we heard a crash . . . and then we heard him . . . hollering from inside . . . and crying . . .”

“Oh, William,” Pricilla Bryant sobbed to her husband, “why did you let him do this? Just a short time ago he couldn't even walk.”

“He wanted to play with the other boys . . . he seemed so happy . . . you saw how he was this morning . . .”

“Well, he's not happy now . . . if he's still alive . . . and you could have . . .”

“William, Pricilla,” Caleb intoned. “Please . . . talking to each other that way won't help get him out. If you . . .”

“Is there,” Keyes interrupted, “is there another way into the mine?”

“No,” one of the men who had worked there replied. “The way in is the only way out . . .”

“So says the book,” Joseph added. “‘This is the way . . . walk ye into it' . . . Isaiah thirty, twenty-one.”

Two of the other miners who had previously entered came out, their faces dirty and sweating.

“He's stopped calling for help . . . At least we can't hear him anymore. There's timber and rocks . . . maybe he's . . . he's . . .”

“Dead!” Pricilla Bryant cried out.

“And maybe he's not,” Keyes said.

“With all that timber and rubble that fell,” one of the miners shrugged.

“We're not doing any good out here,” Keyes's voice was calm but strong. “Get shovels, pick axes, anything that can dig and hack through timbers . . . we're going in there.”

“More's liable to come down anytime,” a miner warned.

“All the more reason to get a move on,” Keyes said, leading the way into the entrance. Sam Hawkins went in with the others.

For over half an hour they worked inside the shaft, clearing debris—stone, shale, planks, and crossbeams that had collapsed, edging inch-by-inch, foot-by-foot, inward. Bryant was desperately calling out his son's name.

“Ethan! Ethan!! Ethan!!! It's your dad . . . please son . . . can you hear me?!”

Finally there came an answer, faint and shallow.

“Dad . . . dad . . . back here . . . I'm hurt . . . I'm scared . . . I'm . . .”

“Ethan . . . It's Reverend Keyes. We're all here to help you. I've helped you before, didn't I?”

“Yes, sir. But I'm going to die. I'm going to die here . . . I know it.”

“You're going to live, Ethan. Your father's right beside me, and your mother's just outside waiting for you . . . have faith . . .”

“But I hurt . . . there's a big post on top of me . . . I can't move . . . and I hurt . . .”

“Faith, Ethan . . . we're getting closer—can you hear what I'm saying?”

“Yes . . . sir,” his voice faltered.

“Ethan, remember the words that helped you before . . . ‘There is hope in the midst of despair' . . . ‘Your young men shall see visions' . . . ‘draw upon the spirit within' . . . remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We're almost there.”

The men renewed their labor, as if a new set of reflexes and mounting strength had empowered them, lifting rocks that were too heavy, timbers too weighty.

“Ethan, ‘There is a candle in the darkness' . . . we can see you—‘for darkness shall be lifted' . . . and so will that timber.”

Keyes motioned to the other men and to the timber now in sight.

“Reach out to me, Ethan . . . as you did before . . .”

“I . . . I can't . . . I hurt . . .”

“Yes you can. Reach out. Take my hand . . . take it . . . they're lifting that timber . . . one side of it . . . help us help you . . . give me your hand. I'll get you out . . . that's it . . . I've almost . . . Faith, Ethan.”

Keyes strained . . . he touched the boy's outstretched fingers . . . then grasped his hand.

One side of the timber rose inches higher.

“‘Wings of eagles,' Ethan . . .”

Keyes pulled slowly, but with all the will at his command.

“You're free.”

William Bryant carried his son outside, followed by Keyes and the other grime-covered men.

There were cheers of joy and relief as Pricilla ran to take the boy in her arms, then turned to her husband.

“William! You saved him! You saved our little boy!”

Bryant shook his head . . . then pointed to Jon Keyes.

Deliverance looked at Keyes and smiled.

“I'll ride ahead and tell the folks the good news,” Joseph announced. “The Lord has shown His glory.”

And he galloped toward San Melas, as Caleb, Deliverance, and Keyes followed in the buckboard.

“We'll have a celebration in your honor,” Caleb said to Keyes, “for what you've done for Ethan . . . this time saving his life.” Deliverance nodded in agreement.

“No. Please. I did no more than the rest of those men in the mine. Just so he recovers.”

“Whatever you say, m'boy. But you saw that he already took a few steps before we left.”

“Yes. That's wonderful.”

“We'll have the mine sealed so nothing like that can happen again,” Caleb added.

“That's a good idea,” Keyes agreed.

“But, you've got to promise one thing, Reverend.”

“What's that?”

“That you'll go easy on yourself. Get some rest. Pardon my saying it, but you look a little the worse for wear. You need to take care of yourself.”

Once again Deliverance nodded in agreement. She hadn't taken her eyes away from Keyes since they started back.

But there was another pair of eyes, atop the spine of a crest—looking down from his stallion.

Moon's eyes were fixed on Deliverance.

“I'll put the buckboard away,” Joseph said as they pulled up by the porch.

“Thank you,” Caleb nodded.

Keyes helped Deliverance off of the wagon. There was appreciation on her face, then she turned and walked toward her workshop.

“Your daughter is quite a . . .”

“Yes, she's quite a lady. And brave. I'm very proud of her.”

“I wanted to ask you . . .”

“Let's go inside. I've a bottle of brandy for just such occasions . . . unless you'd rather have something to eat.”

No, the brandy sounds better.”

“What is it, m'boy?” Caleb asked as both men sipped their brandies. “What's on your mind?”

“Caleb,” Keyes paused, “this affliction of Deliverance's. . . how did it happen?”

A veil of sadness came over Caleb's face. He set the snifter on the table and spoke slowly, painfully.

“When she was a child she had a series of bad dreams. Evidently, they were horrible nightmares. She'd wake up terrified . . . but wouldn't . . . or couldn't tell us what she'd dreamed. One night she woke up screaming. That was the last sound she ever uttered.”

“I see.”

“Reverend, you've already done so much . . . but, do you think you could . . . help her?”

“I don't know.”

“She has so much faith in you.” His voice quavered, “If you could, m'boy, I'd be . . . well, she's everything I have.”

“I understand. But . . .”

Bethia was at the staircase.

“Pardon me, Mr. Keyes. Joseph told us what happened at the mine. Your wife . . . she's been asking . . .”

“Thank you, Bethia. I'll go right up.”

 

 

“Lorna, I was coming right up to see you.”

“It took long enough,” her voice was hollow.

“We were at the mine . . .” He moved toward the bed.

“Yes, Joseph told us all about it. You've become quite a hero, haven't you?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned closer.

“I did no more than the other men. The boy's all right, that's the important thing.”

Her manner softened.

“Yes, Jonathon, that is important . . . and I'm glad you could help, and Joseph said you did more, much more. But you haven't forgotten . . . there's something else that's important.”

Keyes said nothing, but waited for Lorna to go on.

“Saguaro. The promise you made to Reverend Mason. He's waiting for us. You haven't forgotten that, have you?”

“No, of course not.”

“You seem so . . . settled, so comfortable here . . .”

“I'm only settled and comfortable until you're well. You're not ready yet. You know what happened when you went out to the sermon . . .”

“Jonathon, I'll make you a promise if you want to hear it.”

“What is it, Lorna?”

“I'll get well soon. I promise.”

The streets of San Melas were silent. After sundown the boardwalks were unpopulated. Only the whisper of a vagrant desert wind wafted through the village structures. The light of oil lamps filtering through the curtained windows disclosed the silhouettes of citizens at supper.

Inside the Hobbses' house, in the dining room adjacent to the parlor, sat Caleb, Deliverance, and Joseph, at a table illuminated by two ornate candles.

Bethia, carrying a tray, made her way down the stairs, followed by Keyes, voicing his thanks.

“Bethia, Lorna and I do appreciate your bringing supper upstairs. The boiled New England meal was delicious . . . and we did want to be together.”

“More than happy to oblige, Reverend,” she acknowledged and walked toward the kitchen.

“And thank you, Caleb.”

“Of course, m'boy. But we did miss you.” Caleb was lighting his pipe. “Won't you sit with us for a while?” He pointed to an empty chair next to Deliverance. “It's early yet.”

“Thank you.” Keyes nodded, pulled out the chair, and took a place at the table. “I did want to come down and say good night. I see you had supper by candlelight.”

“Yes,” Caleb blew out a perfect smoke ring. “Thanks to Deliverance. And aren't they beautiful?”

“Beautiful,” Keyes repeated. He looked at Deliverance. It was not easy to determine whether he was referring to the candles, or the candle maker.

Deliverance's serene face was aglow, her silver-blue eyes reflecting the glimmer of the candle's flame.

There was a moment of silence.

“Mr. Bryant came by to express his thanks to you,” Caleb broke the silence, “but we didn't want to disturb you and Lorna at supper. We told him we'd convey his message.”

“How is Ethan doing?”

“Quite well, considering. Jon, how about another sip of brandy, a . . . what is it called . . . a nightcap?”

“No, thank you . . . but it is a beautiful night. The desert can be . . . enchanting, after the sun goes down.”

“Yes,” Caleb said, “and it's been a long day and very rewarding, thanks to you.”

“How is the missus feeling?” Joseph asked.

“As well as could be expected.” Keyes took a breath. “She . . . she's anxious to . . .”

“To leave San Melas?” Caleb finished.

“To get settled in Saguaro.”

“Of course,” Caleb nodded, “but your wagon is still being repaired . . . wheels and the axle . . . and Mrs. Keyes is still in some need of repair. We wouldn't want her to go through what happened before . . . in her weakened condition. She's got to gain strength.”

“I did mention that to her.”

“‘Therefore, shall the strong glorify thee,' the Book says,” Joseph quoted.

“Yes, well, I'd better be getting upstairs. Lorna will be waiting.” He rose. “Good night . . . and thanks again for that supper.” His glance went again to Deliverance as he touched her shoulder, “Good night, Deliverance.”

 

 

Lorna's hands held the open Bible. She placed it on the bed beside her as Keyes entered.

“Did you say your good nights, Jonathon?”

He nodded, then looked at the open Bible.

“My favorite passage.” She spoke without looking down at it. “‘The voice of my beloved! Behold he cometh . . . leaping upon mountains . . . skipping upon the hills.' Remember? The Song of Solomon . . . our song.”

“Yes, I remember,” he said softly.

“Jonathon, last night you tossed and talked in your sleep . . . I couldn't understand what you were saying. Was it the war again? Shenandoah? Was it what happened there?”

“I . . . I don't remember.”

“I had hoped those dreams were over. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes, there is, Lorna. Sleep. Rest and get well. I'll sit beside you until you fall asleep.”

 

 

Inside the candlelit shed, the thumb and forefinger of Deliverance applied pressure to the temples of the wax image of Lorna Keyes. The cat purred as Deliverance smiled.

Lorna had fallen into the pit of a deep sleep.

Keyes started to undress but stopped. He took the Bible from the bed and placed it on the dresser.

With cautious footsteps he started for the door.

He sat on the stump of a tree and thought . . . and wondered . . . and remembered.

The journey toward Saguaro—his dream of the burning church with an image that could have been Deliverance. The wagon breakdown. Near death in the desert. The rescue. Caleb, Joseph, and Deliverance. Lorna, “recovering,” wanting to get to Saguaro. The misfortunes of San Melas. Without a church. Deliverance's affliction. Young Ethan on crutches for the rest of his life. The mine run dry of gold. Moon, evil incarnate . . . his hell sport and promise to return. The Sunday service and Ethan's miraculous walk to him. Then the young boy trapped in the mine. His vision of the man in the mirror, bruised and burned. The battlefield of his mind . . . and the bloody battles riding with Custer.

Shenandoah.

Shenandoah.

Shenandoah.

Had it all started with Shenandoah?

He remembered.

Shenandoah. It began at Shenandoah.

 

 

“Shenandoah?” Sheridan asked rhetorically. “I'll tell you the answer. The answer is the Carthaginian solution, without salt . . . but with gunpowder, fire, and dynamite. Leave nothing standing. Homes, bridges, barns, crops, rail yards. What it took generations to build . . . blow it all apart, burn it, destroy it . . . structures and soldiers. Leave nothing or no one in enemy uniform standing.”

The Shenandoah Valley. Geography and fate destined the Shenandoah Valley to be among the bloodiest of battlefields. The valley, more than one hundred fifty miles long and ten to twenty miles wide, nourished by the Shenandoah River, was rich in farmlands, orchards, and pastures. Between the Blue Ridge Mountains on the east and the Alleghenies on the west, the region was one of varied scenery and natural wonders.

Unfortunately for the valley, it was, also, the ideal avenue of approach between the forces of the North and South. Both sides considered it the passport to victory or defeat.

Philip A. Sheridan had chosen George Armstrong Custer to lead the North to that victory.

Ironically, the opposing commander, General J.E.B. Stuart, was a West Point friend of Custer's. Together, they had led the Yankee forces that defeated John Brown at Harper's Ferry. But since the war, the two had taken divergent paths to glory except when they crossed each other in the fields of battle.

“Jeb” Stuart, the charismatic Rebel general, was the military and spiritual inspiration of the South with victory after victory by his Invincibles, also known as the Black Horse Raiders. Never defeated—except by Custer—first at Brandy Station, where the reckless twenty-two-year-old Captain Custer led the First Michigan on what everybody thought was an impossible charge—and at Gettysburg where General Custer prevented Stuart from hooking up with Pickett, dooming Pickett's valiant charge.

And in the Shenandoah carnage Captain Jon Keyes rode with Custer in the midst of slaughter and devastation.

But with them, someone who Keyes could not help but notice, respect, and admire, Reverend James Mason, who carried no rifle, pistol, or saber—only a Bible, and who even during the crossfire gave words of solace and hope, before, during, and after the bloody conflicts.

During one of the respites from battle Keyes had asked the minister why he risked his life to be with the wounded and dying.

“To help heal the wounds.”

“Isn't that a doctor's duty?”

“My friend, there are different kinds of wounds. Some visible, horribly visible, others are not, but just as deep. Sometimes deeper and more horrible. I can try to help, the only way I know how.”

It was inevitable that there would be more deaths and more wounds, when Custer and Stuart would converge for a third time and Captain Jon Keyes would be there . . . at Yellow Tavern.

 

 

Keyes sat on that log at San Melas, quivering, with the fingers of his right hand stroking the side of his head just behind his ear where he could at times recall, and feel the effects of the wound, and then he felt other fingers, soft and soothing, between his own, gently brushing the same area.

He turned, the figure of Deliverance now stood near him, bathed in moonlight, as beguiling a figure as he had ever seen—or any man could hope to see.

She reached across and touched his face with cool, consoling fingers for just a moment and with a questioning look in her eyes.

“Oh, Deliverance . . . I . . . was just thinking of something . . . something about the war . . . it's over now . . . it seems so far away . . . especially now that you're here.” He smiled. “I'm all right.”

Her questioning look was still unanswered. She persisted as best she could without benefit of speech.

She pointed at him, then opened both palms close together.

“Something about me . . . and a book?”

She indexed her forefingers as if in prayer.

“The book . . . a Bible?”

Deliverance nodded and pointed at him again.

“A minister?”

Her lips formed a
yes.
Then she stood stiff-back straight and simulated shooting a gun.

“A soldier? Yes. Before I became a minister I was a soldier.”

She touched the area of his head where he had been brushing. Her questioning eyes widened.

He nodded.

“A wound from the war . . . sometimes I can feel . . . part of the cartridge is . . . still there . . . and sometimes. . . well, I become aware of it”—he smiled—“but not now. You asked if I could help you, but now it seems you've helped me. Thank you.”

He looked toward the shed.

“You're working late with the candles.”

She smiled and nodded. Then motioned toward the trees and the star-studded sky.

“Yes, it is a beautiful night.” He looked upward. “The moon is almost full . . .”

This time it was Deliverance who trembled, and her eyes were disquieted.

He rose and came close to her.

“When I mentioned the moon . . . you thought of . . . him . . . you're frightened. Isn't that it?”

She did her best to cloak her anxiety but couldn't completely mask her apprehension.

Keyes put his arms around her.

“Don't worry, Deliverance. I'll . . .”—he almost said
I'll take care of you
. . . but said instead—“Things will be all right.”

He held her for just a moment more, then let his hands fall free.

“I'd better get upstairs now . . . Lorna . . . I'd better see how she is.”

He thought Deliverance was motioning her thanks to him, but didn't want to think more about it . . . or her.

He turned and walked away leaving Deliverance outlined in the moon gloss.

With just as silent footsteps as he left, Keyes entered the bedroom and moved toward Lorna.

He needn't have been so silent. She had submerged into a deep cavernous sleep. Her jaws clenched tight.

He made his way to the dresser, took off his shirt, then noticed the Bible was now open.

Even in the darkness of the room there was enough moonlight to make out a passage his eyes fell upon.

“. . . for judgment is toward you, because ye have been a snare . . . they have dealt treacherously against the Lord.”

Then to the mirror and his own reflection which became—

He turned away but was compelled to turn back, this time to see
the prior reflection of the man, bruised, bloodied, and burned, now even more severely than the first time—a desperate plea in his hollow, tortured eyes. Both arms were outstretched to his sides as if affixed to an invisible cross.

Keyes's hands tilted the mirror sharply upward on its hinges until he could no longer see any reflection at all.

 

 

Deliverance was at her workbench, a sublime look on her face as she manipulated the wax figure of Lorna, distorting the image with an uneven pressure of her fingers.

Keyes was at the bedside. He leaned closer to kiss Lorna's forehead. But she bolted up, her eyes wide in pain and horror, almost crashing into her husband's face.

“Lorna!”

“Oh, Jon! I . . .” She trembled and wiped at her eyes. “That pain . . . in my brain . . . as if it was being split with an . . .”

“Lorna, it was a dream . . .”

“The pain was no dream . . . it was real . . . worse than the sun in the . . .”

“Lorna. I'm here now. We're together.”

“Yes . . . and it is subsiding . . . the pain . . . but, Jonathon, there's something about this place . . . these people . . .”

“It's your imagination . . .”

“No! It's real . . . don't you feel it, too . . . something?”

He looked toward the tilted mirror now reflecting the moon in the sky.

“No, Lorna . . .”

“Jonathon, as soon as the wagon is fixed . . . let's get away from this place.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I'll see to it tomorrow.”

“It'll be better for both of us.”

 

 

Deliverance covered the wax image of Lorna Keyes with a damp cloth, blew out the candle, rose, and walked toward the door of the shed . . . followed in the darkness by the purring cat.