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Fred heard Carrie yelling at the deputies who refused to let her in. It rang out high as the sky, shaking the walls around him.
"What do you mean I can't see him?" she said. "I demand you let me in at once!"
He chuckled. She had tried to see him the last two days in a row. She knew they would not let her in, yet she persisted anyway. It was one of the many reasons that he loved her. She was as stubborn as she was bold.
Fred lay back on his cot, listening to the sound of her voice carry through the air and into his cell. Even though he could not see her, he could still picture her in his mind's eye. He could see the tiny lines forming around her heated blue eyes as she yelled at the deputies. Her passion showed most clearly in those eyes. The creases in her forehead were small, but the angrier she became the more they would grow. The color in her cheeks would be up now, red or pink, depending upon the level of her outrage. The glow would make her especially pretty.
She was the only woman he knew who could make his body temperature rise because she was angry. Whenever she looked upon him with fury, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. It drove her mad, he knew, but that was the fun of it.
"I must see him!" Her voice was loud, yet smooth. Like a violin gone out of control. He heard her take several paces toward him. His eyes flew open.
"Carrie! Don't!" he yelled, sitting up.
She was going to get herself into trouble. He jumped from his cot, clinging to the bars that surrounded his cell. There was one lone window for him to look out at the world. It was barely big enough for a rat to fit through. His cot was the only piece of furniture in the cell.
"Fred!" she cried. "Can you hear me?"
"The world can you hear you," he laughed.
"Take your hands off me," she yelled at the deputies. "I have a message from his mother. Would you deny a dying man the right to hear the last message of his mother? Have you no mothers of your own?"
Fred's heart stammered. His mother? If Carrie was trying this frantically to see him, the news must not be good.
Apparently, her plea to the deputies' mothers worked. She had tugged just hard enough on their heartstrings to allow her access to him, if only for a short while.
The sudden appearance of her face stirred something in Fred's stomach. His insides spun in wild circles, his head went dizzy. He felt his body heat rise in reaction to her. She ran to him, pushing her hand through the bars and grabbing ahold of him, drawing him as close as possible.
"Hey there now," Deputy Gage said, "you need to back away from him, miss. We can't have none of that."
Carrie refused to move, though. Her lips met his through the bars. Had she been able, she would have squeezed her head through. Fred tried but could not hold her back. His tongue had no problems finding her mouth. It swam into her, forcing her mouth to open wider for him. His forehead touched the hard steel of his cell. He did not care that the bars dug into his forehead. The feeling was welcome so long as it also meant he got to feel Carrie on his face. The cold bars were such a contrast to the warmth of Carrie's lips that for a moment he felt as though an icicle were slithering down his back. He wanted to throw her onto that cot and taste of her body.
"I love you," she said.
"As I you."
"All right now, miss," Deputy Gage tried again, this time stepping between them. "Deliver your message before the sheriff gets back."
Carrie nodded, taking a breath. "Your mother says that you shall be a happy man when the Lord finds you."
Fred paused, cocking his head to the side. "Is my mother all right? Has she taken a turn?"
"She is well," Carrie replied, her eyes burning into him. She balled her hands into fists at her sides, steadying her gaze. She was trying to tell him something. "She wants you to know that on your birthday, you should be a good man."
"My birthday?" he asked.
"Yes, tonight at midnight, when your birthday hour draws near, look out your and window and you shall be a man who has made his mother happy."
"What the devil are you talking about? My birthday isn't—"
Carrie pushed past Deputy Gage, who groaned, and sealed Fred's mouth with a kiss. He brushed his tongue along her bottom lip, tugging it gently between his teeth. Her soft, milky hand found his, grabbing onto it and holding it tightly, as if her life depended upon it.
"Be a good husband," she whispered, "and do as I say."
"All right, I think you've had enough time together. Your message is delivered. Tell Pearl we shall wish him a happy birthday for her."
Deputy Gage ushered Carrie away from him. Her hand withdrew from his, and he felt something in it. He looked down at the scrap of paper she had slipped to him. Scrawled across it in her hand was, Follow the smoke.
He stared at it a full minute, his head aching. He could not decipher her strange message. He resumed his place on the cot, twirling the paper around in his hand. Follow the smoke? What smoke? His birthday was still many months away, what did it have to do with anything? He replayed her words over and over in his mind. Be a man who has made his mother happy. You shall be a happy man when the Lord finds you.
Nothing came to his mind. He had the suspicion that her message to him had nothing whatsoever to do with his mother. He muttered the phrases out loud.
"You shall be a man—" He paused, something clicking in his brain. Bia. "Look out the window at midnight, and you shall be a man who has made his mother happy." He looked back down at the message in his hand. Follow the smoke.
For days, Bia had been out in the forest sending smoke signals high into the sky, trying to signal to her tribe. The guards had talked about it, laughed about it. The women in town had worried she would start a fire. Everyone thought her a fool.
He looked out the pinpoint of a window now and saw that the smoke was gone.
Deputy Gage came down the hall. "That woman's got it bad for you," he said, shaking his head. "I almost feel bad that you've gotta die. It's gonna break her heart."
Fred glared at him. "I have not even stood trial yet."
"Yeah, yeah. That begins tomorrow down at the courthouse. Judge Foster says it won't take long. It's just a formality."
Fred looked away from the man. Deputy Gage, despite some of his lesser qualities, was a good man. He did not wish harm unduly upon others, and Fred knew the only reason he was siding with the judge was because he truly believed in Fred's guilt, as did most of Helena.
He looked back out the window. "What happened to the smoke the Indian woman's been sending out? I don't see it anymore."
"Hard to believe, but her smoke signals worked. That tribe of hers found her late last night. It's the talk of the town today."
"They found her?" Fred asked, surprised. He turned back to the deputy.
"Yep. Her plan worked. They rode off with her this morning." Deputy Gage scratched his head.
Fred smiled, glad to hear it. Bia deserved to have her family and friends back. Perhaps that was what Carrie had been trying to tell him, but why could she not come right out and say it? It sounded as if the matter was common knowledge.
Look out your window at midnight. Follow the smoke.
Fred's mouth twitched. What was Carrie up to? Ideas began to swim in his head, none of them good. Deputy Gage walked away from him, mumbling something about coffee. Fred stood at the window, staring at the forest until his feet grew tired. He did not see any smoke.
Evening passed. Fred checked his window often. He had no clock to tell the time by, so he'd resorted to asking the deputies. Deputy Gage had finally told him he could ask no more until tomorrow, so irritating was his persistent question.
The moon rose in the sky, the stars began to trickle out. Fred finally lay back on his cot and closed his eyes. Not more than ten minutes had passed when he heard a sound at his window. He scrunched his brow, watching it from his cot. It sounded as if someone was outside, but that was impossible. He was two stories up and there was no balcony for anyone to cling to.
He heard the noise a second time. It was not a person, he realized. It was stones. Someone was throwing pebbles at his window. He rose from his bed and moved quickly to the wall with the rat-sized slit in it. He looked down to the ground, getting the best view that he could with the narrow opening that he had, and saw golden hair moving in the moonlight.
"Carrie?" he said, barely a whisper. He dared not say her name louder. He had no idea what she was up to. He could not yell down to her without drawing attention. She could not yell up to him without doing the same. Instead, she pointed. Up.
Fred looked toward his ceiling but saw nothing except some cracks. He looked back to her but she had disappeared. "What the devil?" he muttered.
Sheriff Hardy's voice rang suddenly out. "Fire!" he shouted. Several pairs of footsteps pounded the floor around him, trampling for the stairs.
More cries of "Fire! Fire!" rang through the air. Fred looked out of his cell and saw smoke rising in the air. It was near to the floor at the moment, but it would not be for long.
"Hey!" Fred yelled, fear lighting in his belly. "Hey!"
He heard a man pause out in the other room. "Fred's still in there!" Deputy Gage said.
A second later, Sheriff Hardy showed his face. He had his gun drawn.
"Make one move, and I'll end it now."
Fred nodded. The sheriff opened the cell door just as the smoke reached their knees. The sheriff began to cough. He reached to his holster, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Where in bloody Helena are my cuffs?" he said to himself. He checked the other side of his holster, but it was equally empty. The smoke was at their waist now. Sheriff Hardy stopped looking for his cuffs and ushered Fred quickly down the hall. There was a set of stairs that led down to the first floor. It was relatively free of smoke. The second set of stairs leading up to the roof was covered in it. Sheriff Hardy was having a coughing fit. He jumped ahead of Fred, unable to catch his breath, desperate for clean air. He ran down the stairs, gasping.
Follow the smoke.
Fred made a split-second decision. He drew in as much breath as he could and held it, running for the stairs leading to the roof. Sheriff Hardy was coughing so much below him he did not even notice. The smoke stung everyone's eyes. It was hard to see anything. The others were already down the stairs. They were banging on the front door. They couldn't get it open.
"It's jammed!"
"Break it down!"
"Get us out!"
"Hurry!"
Fred reached the panel to the roof and pushed it open. He inhaled a great gulp of air and climbed up, shutting the panel behind him. The roof was sloped only at the sides, the rest was flat.
"I am glad you have made it," a woman's voice said. He turned toward it, his eyes blinking through a haze of tears, and saw Bia. She was sitting beside a pile of embers with a blanket in her hand. "We have little time," she said, grabbing his arm and leading him to the side of the building.
The smoke she'd been directing down the stairs settled, moving up into the air and away from the panel he had just come through.
"What's happening?" he asked. "There's a fire. The men inside are trapped."
"No," she told him. "There is no fire. The men inside will be let out as soon as we are clear."
She pointed to the side of the sheriff's building, where a ladder had been set. At the bottom of it waited Carrie, three Indian males, and Bessie.
"You're breaking me out of jail?" Fred asked, bewildered.
"It was your wife's idea," Bia told him, a smirk on her face. "She spoke to our elders. The chief conferred with the spirit of our grandfathers. They offered no reason why we should not help. My family is happy for my safe return. They repay my debt to you."
"What are you two doing up there?" Carrie squealed. "Hurry!"
Bessie whinnied at him, adding her agreement. Hurry.
Who was he to contradict them?
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