St. Agnes’ Stand

‘It’s a lovely night.’

They didn’t talk for a long time then. When Swanson finally spoke he was running a strip of fresh rawhide through the holster of his pistol.

‘Your church in New Mexico or Texas?’

‘Pennsylvania.’

Swanson turned his head and looked at the dark, thin shape of the old nun sitting beside him. ‘That’s a piece. How did you get here?’

‘By train, stagecoach, wagon, horse and foot.’

Swanson stared at the holster for a long while, then said, ‘Why would you come all the way down here to a place like this, a place you don’t know?’

She didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, ‘Faith.’ She looked at the side of his face. ‘Does that make any sense to you?’

‘Not much.’

‘We came because of Jesus Christ, Mr Swanson. The children were suffering and alone. We came to give them God’s love.’

‘No matter what the price?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Even if it costs you and the sisters your lives?’

She smiled. ‘You make us sound so important. We are only three small instruments in God’s hand.’ She was smiling broadly now, her two large front teeth plainly visible. ‘You don’t smile enough, Mr Swanson. God loves a cheerful giver.’

‘You aren’t from these parts,’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t know the Apache.’

‘They’re God’s children, same as you or I.’

‘And the lady, the Mexican, the boy and the others?’ He was still watching her.

‘Ignorance and evil.’ She stood up as if the conversation had suddenly pushed her away, dusted her robes and then moved from him toward the far side of the enclosure.

‘Where did the Mexicans go who were driving your wagons?’ he called softly after her.

She stopped and looked back at him. ‘They ran off the first night.’

‘Do you think they made it?’

He watched her. She was smaller than he had first thought but she stood straight and proud, her frail shoulders squared against the massive canyons. He was surprised he had asked her the question. There was no way she could answer it. He knew that.

‘I’ve prayed for it.’ She turned away again.

‘How often do your prayers work?’

She turned quickly, looking down at him, the first hint of annoyance flickering at the wrinkled corner of her mouth. Then she smiled. ‘They brought me you,’ she said, turning and walking to where the dog sat. The animal got up and moved away a few yards and then lay down and watched her.

He couldn’t see her very well in the dark, but he knew she was praying. He heard his name once and the awkward feeling came over him again. He figured the chances of the two Mexicans couldn’t have been good. The Apaches would have expected just such a move and would have been waiting. Nevertheless, there was a chance one of the two might have got through, and if he knew anything about staying alive in the desert, he could make it to Sonora in seven or eight days. Swanson didn’t hang on the chance, but he tucked it away in his head as a possible way out. There weren’t many.

Sister St Agnes sat studying the dark silhouette of the man sitting a few yards away. He was one of God’s mysteries. He was plainly handsome enough to be an angel of God, she thought, perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. But his looks seemed the only thing even partly angelic about him. She had seen enough wounds to know that the thin scar that ran the length of his jaw had been made by a knife, and the hole in his leg had been made by a bullet. And he had already killed one man in front of her and was ready to kill more. And he had used poor Sister Ruth’s torn body as a decoy, debasing it as much as the savages had. He swore a great deal. He showed no sign of religious feelings.

She couldn’t answer the questions pounding in her head. She tipped her chin forward on to her breast. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered, ‘I have never questioned Your wisdom or Your authority … I’m not questioning them now. I only wonder … wonder why You sent this man to save the children. And how I should deal with him. I thank You for Your blessings and Your guidance.’ She stared at her hands, knowing that she had received no answers.

DAY TWO … (#ulink_8a671353-5747-587b-905d-13aa29e61eaf)

The horned toad had wiggled itself down into the sand leaving only the spikes on its back and the longer horns on its blunt-snouted head exposed. He guessed it was hunting flies. Swanson was leaning against a large rock in the shade watching the lizard hunt. The Hawken lay across his lap. It was close to noon and Sisters Elizabeth and Martha had just finished feeding the children their dinner. Sister St Agnes was in the cave, probably praying, he figured. The dog was sleeping on its back in the shade of the wagon, its long legs helter-skelter in the air. The lizard dropped what seemed like a clear shade over its eye, then it disappeared. Lying half buried in the sand, it looked like a newspaper drawing he had once seen of something called a dinosaur.

The heat was brutal.

Swanson scanned the road and then looked to his right at the children. They were sitting quietly in a band of shade next to the cliff. They were tired and listless and hot. Their faces were burned and he knew that their throats were as parched as his own. He searched the sand around him and began to pick up and examine small pebbles. Some he kept. Some he tossed away. Then with a movement so quick it was hard to see, he grabbed the squat little lizard out of the sand.

The twins were closest to him. ‘Come take a look.’ He had pulled his sombrero off and laid it over the hand holding the horned toad.

The girls stood slowly and helped the little ones, Bonnie and Anna, to their feet. Jessica came too. Only Millie and the boy, Matthew, stayed where they were. The five girls formed a half circle around him.

‘What you got?’ Anna asked.

Sister Elizabeth had wandered over and was standing looking out at the canyon, listening. He knew she didn’t approve of him.

‘I’ve got a Texas devil under my hat,’ he said.

‘Go on!’

‘I do.’

‘Naw,’ said Jessica, ‘there ain’t no such thing as a Texas devil.’

‘There must be because I caught him. He’s under my hat. Go ahead and take a peek.’

Jessica reached a hand out slowly towards his sombrero and then jerked it back and ran in place on the tips of her toes for a few seconds. The others shrieked with the thrill of it.

‘If you’ve got him, what’s he look like?’

‘Well, he’s got horns on his head … and spikes on his tail and when he gets mad he spits blood.’

The children screamed and laughed.

Sister Elizabeth had turned and she was staring angrily at him, her arms akimbo. He paid her no mind.

‘I’ve got him sure enough. But before I show him to you, I want you each to take a pebble out of my hand and put it under your tongue and keep it there.’

‘Why?’ It was Anna. She was small and lightly built, but she was smart and bright-eyed.

‘Because it will make you feel better. These are magic pebbles.’

He held his hand flat and let each select a pebble. They put them in their mouths.