An Act of Providence

The sun sneered down at me, mocking my chapped lips and cracked face. My aloneness overwhelmed me. It went on and on for miles in every direction. Still, I uttered a few hoarse cries for help, but the sandpaper my tongue had become muffled any noise I tried to make. Endlessly I deluded myself into hearing the approach of hoofbeats or booted footsteps, but there was only the sweeping sound of parched desert dust rustled by the wind.

I swallowed hard, dryly, forcing down the rising desperation inside of me. Seeking some semblance of reassurance, I groped around inside my coat’s inner pocket to feel the corners of the little, black notebook hidden there. I smiled wryly at the foolishness of this action. No book, no amount of money concealed within its pages could do me any good out here. It was just useless paper now. There was nothing more I could do. I closed my eyes, resigning myself to the fate of many before me - to die lost and alone in the desert.

I became aware of the warmth gradually. I knew unconsciously that it was a different warmth than the sun. It did not bake and broil from above, but cradled and cocooned me on all sides. It was dark now. Convinced I was still lying on the ground, I flexed my fingers, trying to bury them in the warmth of the dirt. But my fingers slid smoothly across soft cotton instead and I suddenly became aware of the heavy weight of a blanket covering me. I blinked furiously, forcing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Squinting, I could make out the posts of a bed frame looming up from near my feet. And then beyond that, a door. I slumped my head back on the pillow, flooded with relief.

But just as quickly as it came, a sharp stab of panic overtook it. I clutched a hand to my chest, searchingly, but I was no longer wearing my coat. I sat up and glared around at the darkness, willing the gray shapes to form into recognizable objects. To the left, an odd rectangle jutted out at me. A chair. I lunged for it, feeling blindly along its edges until the burnished wood beneath my fingers turned into folds of fabric, and the folds opened familiarly. My coat. I fumbled around frantically before finally worming a hand into the inner jacket pocket. The door opened and a light floated in.

“I thought I heard something. Was wondering when you were gonna wake up.”

The light was a flickering candle and it was being held by a girl. I slunk back into the bed, pulling the coat in with me, my hand still prying the empty pocket. It had to be here.

“You don’t have to be afraid, you’re safe here.” The girl had followed me to the bed and sat down in the chair. She set the candle on the small nightstand and settled back into her seat, watching me curiously.

“Buzzards almost got you, you know. I mean, you weren’t dead yet, but they were waiting. Dunno how long you laid there, but Ma was coming back from seeing the Sheriff in town and found you sprawled in the dirt. Divine intervention, she called it.”

She stared at me, but I said nothing. I had drawn my knees up under the blanket to hide my hands’ frantic search of the coat. Maybe in my delirium I had forgotten which pocket I had put it in. But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true.

She continued, “Some adventure you must’ve had, Ma said, to leave you in a state like that.”

She paused, expectantly, as if waiting for me to confirm that it had indeed been some adventure.

“We made you drink some water, but Ma said not too much or we might shock your system. A little at a time, she said. I’ve never seen anyone as sunburned as you before. Ain’t you got a hat? One time, my brother Joe sat fishing in the arroyo with his shirt off all day and he got burned something fierce. But at least he had a hat.”

She paused again, surveying me. When I did not reply, she continued.

“Anyway, you’re safe here. It’s just Ma and I. My brother’s gone up North gold mining.”

All the pockets were empty. It was gone. I sagged under the colossal weight of this disappointment. A cruel twist of fate. In the desert, I had been twenty thousand dollars richer and as good as dead. Yet, here I lay very much alive, and pining the loss of a fortune two men had already died for. I felt a familiar anxiety nestling into my chest. The girl was still talking incessantly. I tried to focus on her words. She had said something about her brother… I looked up at her. Could she have it? I tried to speak, but my throat was so dry, the words sounded like nothing more than croaks. The girl looked at me pityingly.

“Poor thing, can’t hardly even talk you’re so dried out.” She said, leaning forward towards the nightstand, pulling a pitcher and a small cup into the ring of light from the candle.

She poured water into the cup and handed it to me. I drank deeply, gratifyingly. She immediately took back the cup, raising the pitcher again to refill it. I drank more slowly this time, my mind still racing. Maybe it had fallen out of my pocket. She could’ve picked it up. I scanned the room hopefully, praying to see it. Instead, I felt a cold shiver down my spine as my gaze fell on a face leering at me from a photograph in a wooden frame. I never thought I would see his face again. I recoiled, suddenly terrified to be in this place where he still existed. I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes. He was dead, I killed him. But how was he here? How could I have traveled so far to escape his ghost, just to come face to face with it?

In spite of myself, I asked, “Who’s that?” pointing at the photo.

“That’s my brother Joe.” She pointed at a younger man, who’s presence in the photo I had not even noticed. Then she pointed at the man pictured next to him.

“And that’s his business partner, Mr. Henry. I don’t much care for him. Neither does Ma, she said she wouldn’t trust him far as she could spit. But Joe says he knows where the gold is, so he has to trust him.”

My stomach plummeted and my head swam, but the girl noticed nothing. As if an impossibly wonderful thought had just occurred to her, she smiled widely and snatched up the photo, shoving it into my lap for closer examination.

“Do you know him, my brother?” She sat down again, leaning towards me eagerly.

“We haven’t had a letter from him in ages. Ma made the sheriff send a deputy to try and find him. She’s worried something bad happened.”

I was speechless. I stared down at the men. I did recognize her brother, his stoic features and sharp chin. His eyes twinkled up at me, alight with the prospect of gold. But when I had come upon him, his eyes had been clouded and unseeing. My mind was tripping over itself in my haste to comprehend. I looked at the girl’s eager face. Her hopeless optimism. She was so ignorant. She knew nothing. And then there it was, my reprieve. She knew nothing. I shook my head slowly.

“No, I’m sorry.” It was only partially a lie. I reasoned that you could not know a man if you had only met him after his death.

The girl slumped in her chair. She looked pathetically disappointed. I leaned back in the bed. She had said they sent a sheriff’s deputy to find him. They would find his body and beside it, that of Mr. Henry.

Just the thought of him and the hair on my neck bristled, as if feeling his breath there again, as he had loomed over me. I had been so surprised to discover the dead man that I hadn’t noticed him sneak up behind me. He had yanked me brutally by my hair, dragging me backwards and twisting me round to face him. A shiny, pearl grip of a gun had winked at me from his belt and in a split second, I pulled it from its sheath and buried the muzzle in his belly. Then I had ransacked his pockets and discovered the fortune concealed in the little, black notebook. The one thing that had made any of it worthwhile.

I stared again at the photo and reality settled in. Impossible as it seemed, here I was in the same place as this picture. I cursed my bad luck. I had unwittingly fled right into the arms of the enemy. What had she said? Divine intervention. I had to leave immediately.

“Where’s the book?” I demanded, sitting up and glaring at her.

She looked completely bewildered.

“What book?” She asked.

“The little, black notebook that was right here.” I snapped, pulling the coat out and jabbing at the inner pocket.

She just shook her head at me, her eyes searching mine for an explanation.

I threw the coat at her angrily. It smacked her in the face before crumpling lifeless in her lap. She didn’t move, but her eyes filled with tears.

“You took it from me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” I growled.

The door slammed open and we both jumped. A woman stood in the doorway, almost swallowed by the darkness of the hallway behind her. The candle flickered and I squinted at her, forcing my eyes to carve a face out of the dimness. She stepped forward into the candlelight and my eyes found hers, then moved down to meet the empty sockets of the double barrel shotgun she had pointed directly at me.

“Ma, what’s going on?” The girl whimpered.

The woman ignored her, but cocked back the hammer and narrowed her eyes menacingly. Then she spoke.

“I went to see the sheriff this morning. He had a letter from the deputy he sent to find my son. He has found him and his partner, Mr. Henry, both shot to death.”

The girl cried out, “Joe!” But her mother ignored her, continuing, “You know, I was sure surprised when I found you. I thought, I could not save my son, but perhaps I can save this poor soul. It wasn’t till I realized you were clutching my own son’s notebook that I knew. You were delivered to me as an act of Providence.”

She pulled the trigger. I felt the force of the impact before I felt the pain. I tried to speak, but felt heat rising in my lungs and clogging my throat. Their figures blurred, the candle guttered and my aloneness overwhelmed me.