Morning Light by Catherine Anderson
“How is that?”
“She has no trouble touching your blanket and tuning in to see what you’re doing. But now you aren’t able to summon visions by touching Trevor’s bear. They just come to you or they don’t.”
“True, but there’s a special link between my mom and me. She has also practiced, making her ability stronger when it comes to Deirdre and me. We are her daughters. She couldn’t do the same with a stranger.”
“Hmm.”
Frowning thoughtfully, Clint said nothing more. Loni was greatly relieved. She’d been half-afraid he might return to the subject of her dreams about him. The last thing she wanted was to get backed into a corner and confess that she’d fantasized about falling wildly in love with him for most of her life.
Several hours later Loni realized she hadn’t had a vision of Trevor in over twenty-four hours, and she couldn’t stop worrying about him. Frightened for his safety, she fished Boo from her saddlebag. But when she held the still-damp bear in her hands, nothing came to her.
Still riding abreast of her, Clint watched as she stuffed the bear back into the bag. “Nothing, huh?”
“No. It really worries me.”
He gave her a pointed look. “Maybe you should try harder. Your mother has mastered the art of tuning in on you at will. If she’s learned to focus her concentration that well, why can’t you?”
“I’ve always shied away from trying to strengthen my power.”
“Why?”
She struggled to put her feelings into words. “As it is, I leave it up to God. If I strengthen my gift and circumvent Him, how will I know for certain that what I see is sent by Him?” She gave him an appealing look. “It’s extremely important to me that I not use my gift in any way displeasing to Him.”
“Damn, you’re starting to sound like a Catholic.”
Loni was so tempted to pluck her rosary out of her jacket pocket and wave it under his nose. It was all she could do to stop herself. “What if I were a Catholic? Would that be so difficult for you to conceive? And for your information, it isn’t only Catholics who want to comply with God’s will.”
“Of course it isn’t only Catholics who—” He broke off and sighed audibly. Then he slanted her a crooked grin. “Are we having our first fight?”
Loni refused to smile, absolutely refused. “You didn’t answer my question. What if I were a Catholic?”
“You’d probably be so riddled with Catholic guilt over being a clairvoyant that you’d be hiding in a closet, afraid to come out. It would be very difficult for someone like you, so innately and powerfully gifted as a clairvoyant, to find peace with her gift and be a practicing Catholic. You’d be so worried about misusing your abilities that you’d—” He stopped his horse and gave her a study so intense that her cheeks burned. Then he said, “I’ll be damned!”
His outburst was so loud and vehement that Loni flinched and Uriah snorted.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
She drew Uriah to a halt. “There was never a good moment.”
“You’re a Catholic?” He phrased it as a question, but it was more a statement. Then he jerked off his hat, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and stared off into the trees. “Suddenly all the pieces fit. A clairvoyant who’s afraid to use her gift. It was staring me right in the face, and I didn’t see it.”
“I’m not afraid to use my gift,” she corrected, stung by the accusation. “I simply refrain from trying to control it. It’s not like athletic ability or being artistic, you know.”
“Why isn’t it?” He nudged Malachi back into a walk and whistled to the packhorses to fall in behind him. “Forget everything you were ever taught in religious education about clairvoyants, Loni. Your gift doesn’t fall into that category. If you were ever told different, put it straight out of your mind. It’s an ability given to you by God, and He surely wants you to use it. Otherwise why would He have given it to you? Take this thing with Trevor, for instance. Why do you think God has sent you visions about the boy?”
“So I can possibly save his life.”
“Exactly. Saving a life isn’t evil. Taking a life is. Do you think God wanted Michelangelo never to hone his talents as an artist? What a loss to the world that would have been. Do you think Joan of Arc covered her head with a blanket, trying not to have her visions? No. Instead she prayed and meditated, opening herself to God so He could communicate His will to her. Do you think Saint John felt evil when he had visions that inspired him to write the Book of Revelation?”
“No, of course not. But I’m not a saint, and I don’t receive profound messages.”
“The hell you don’t. It’s pretty damned profound when you see things that could help you save a life.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. Every life is precious. You can’t save every kid in the world, and you can’t save every Cheryl Blain. What you can do, though, is hone your skills to the utmost of your ability so you can save a lot of people in your small corner of the world. Prayerfully, of course, and with God’s help. It’s my opinion that you can’t go wrong if you strengthen your gift through prayer and never use it in any fashion contrary to God’s teachings.”
“I can’t believe that you are lecturing me. On Friday night you explicitly told me that believing in clairvoyants was against your religion.”
“Yeah, well, I was wrong. Look at me. I’m a goat roper. What the hell do I know? When I talked with my dad, he set me straight. There are clairvoyants of the bad sort and clairvoyants of the good sort. You have to be a thinking Christian to realize the difference, and I never bothered to think about it because I didn’t believe people like you really existed.
“Now I know people like you exist and I have thought about it. You don’t use your gift for financial gain. You don’t use it to your advantage at all. In fact, it appears to me that it has adversely affected your entire life. I was flippant that night, and I was rude to you as well. I’m sorry. All right? I never meant to hurt you. I thought you were a fruitcake who’d find someone else to bother once I got rid of you.”
“You just said it.”
“I just said what?”
“The words that never fix anything.”
He scowled at her. Then he plopped the hat back on his head. “It’s a good thing nothing between us is remotely possible, because I swear, you’d drive me to drink. I’m apologizing to you from the bottom of my heart, and you throw the words back in my face.”
“I didn’t mean it that way at all.”
“How did you mean it, then?”
“They worked. The words, I mean. They just fixed my hurt feelings.”
He gave her a wary look. “Are you having me on?”
Loni smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “No. I feel better. It did hurt my feelings when you said people like me are against your religion. It bothered me even more when I realized your religion is my religion. It’s something of a sore spot.”
His mouth quirked at the edges, a telltale sign he was trying not to grin. “I imagine it is. But we’ll take care of that.”
“How?”
“We’ll sit down with Father Mike. He’ll set you straight.”
Loni shuddered. “No, thanks. I’ve come to a place where I feel good about who and what I am, but I don’t discuss it with priests—or nuns, for that matter. It’s one of those things I’ve decided is a matter of conscience.”
“Well, from where I’m standing you haven’t worked your way through it enough to take charge of your life.” At her resentful glare, he held up a hand. “Hear me out. Instead of controlling your gift, you’re allowing it to control you. Do you think God meant for you to be miserable your entire life? Tell me I’m wrong. Are you or are you not miserable a lot of the time?”
“You have no idea what this is like for me.”
“No, probably not. But judging by the little I’ve seen, you’re definitely miserable. There has to be a way to block some of the stuff that comes
Loni rubbed her temple. “Can we drop it for now? I’m getting a headache.”
“Sure. Just think about it. Okay?”
Loni fell back to the end of the line and did little else but think about it. It was true that she’d never tried to control her visions. In a way Clint was right. She’d always been afraid to do so because her gift was so powerful and multifaceted. What if she attempted to focus, really focus, and gained control of it? Wouldn’t she be running a terrible risk of only thinking she was in control? There were dark, evil forces in the world. She’d looked into the eyes of a serial killer and seen true evil. People who didn’t believe in the dark side were living in a bubble. She was terrified of opening up a channel of communication and receiving signals from the wrong sources.
But was that having true trust in God? If her gift was heaven-sent, which she knew it was, and if she attempted to control it only through heartfelt prayer and meditation, why should she be afraid? God wouldn’t answer her prayers if she’d be opening herself up to evil forces. He’d just say no.
Hands shaking, Loni drew Boo back out of the saddlebag. Clutching the stuffed bear to her breast, directly over her heart, she prayed for the first time in her life to gain control over her visions. Please, God. Not just for my sake, but also for Trevor’s, help me, please help me. Holy Mother, in all your goodness, please pray for me and also for Trevor.
Clint had just checked the time and decided they had approximately three good hours of daylight left when he heard Loni shout his name. Pulling Malachi to a halt, he shifted on the saddle to look back. She had urged Uriah into a trot to reach the front of the line, and she bounced on the saddle with the horse’s every step. Just watching her made Clint wince. He’d be rubbing her down again tonight with Hooter’s miracle cure. That was a given.
“Right here!” she said breathlessly as she brought the horse to a sudden halt, sending up a cloud of dust. “This is where they left the water.”
Clint glanced around. There was some white water a way upstream, and the current was swift, but he’d seen a dozen likelier places over the course of the day where two adults might have drowned.
“Did you just have a vision or something?”
Her eyes glowed with inner light. “No, not a vision. I just know. This is where Trevor and Nana left the water.” She flung her arm to indicate a rocky draw between two tree-studded hills. “They went that way, right up through there.”
Clint had been keeping an eye peeled for tracks. All he’d seen were footprints left by searchers. But he’d been around Loni long enough to know she wouldn’t be telling him this without good reason.
“All right.” He loosened the packhorse line from his saddle and looped it over her saddle horn. “Stick tight with the horses. I’ll ride up and have a look. If I can pick up their tracks, we’ll start in here.”
To avoid missing anything, Clint headed up the draw in a zigzag pattern, leaning forward over Malachi’s neck to scan the ground ahead of them. At first he saw nothing. He was about halfway up and starting to think Loni had to be mistaken when there, right in front of him, shielded from the wind by a boulder, was one large paw print. Only one, but it was enough to set Clint’s heart racing. A few feet farther up he saw a small shoe print. He drew Malachi to a halt, dismounted, and covered the next fifty yards on foot, leading the horse behind him. Though wind had obliterated most of the tracks, he saw enough to convince him.
“Damn, she’s good.”
Shoving his hat back, he took the measure of the terrain he’d have to take the horses through. It was rocky, but passable. He smiled grimly. There wasn’t a chance in hell that they’d find Trevor before dark. The rafting accident had occurred last Friday, and it was now late Monday afternoon, putting the kid three full days ahead of them. But if they busted ass, pushing the horses and not stopping to rest as long as there was enough light for the equines to see by, they might close the distance within two days. Maybe less if Trevor’s strength was flagging and making him stop more often.
Eager to share the news with Loni, Clint mounted up and turned Malachi back toward the river.
Chapter Eight
An hour later they had crested the ridge. Eager to begin the descent down the opposite side of the mountain while there was still enough sunlight for safe travel, Clint was mildly irritated when Loni hollered from the back of the line for him to wait. He turned in the saddle to watch her ride toward him.
“What’s up?” he asked when she drew her mount to a stop near him.
“That’s the wrong way.” Flinging out an arm, she pointed toward the setting sun. “He’s in that direction.”
Over the course of the last two days Clint had come to trust in Loni’s instincts as he’d never believed possible, but the footprints, not yet obliterated by the wind, didn’t lie. “Honey, I’ve seen a few of Trevor and Nana’s tracks, and they aren’t heading west.”
She frowned in bewilderment. “I don’t know how that can be. I feel it here, Clint.” She pressed a fist to her sternum. “He’s over there.” She pointed again. “I’m certain of it.”
Problem: Clint’s experience in tracking told him to follow the boy’s trail. If they went haring off in another direction, he might play hell finding the kid’s tracks again.
“Will you bear with me on this?” He indicated the faint tracks he was following. “All my experience tells me to stay on his trail, honey. Maybe your signals are crossed. You can’t deny the evidence of your own eyes. Right?”
“I have two pairs,” she reminded him. “And my second set never steers me wrong.” She studied the ground again. “I can’t understand it. But okay. Maybe I’m misinterpreting my signals.”
“Did you have a vision?”
She shook her head. “I can’t explain. Maybe it’s because I’ve been praying. I just know.”
Clint didn’t want to make light of her feelings. “Has it ever happened like this before?”
“No. It’s new. I’ve only ever seen things in visions until now.”
He thought it over. “Since it’s new, I think we need to stick with the tried-and-true methods. If you have a vision of him, and your feelings prove to be correct, we can always alter our course.”
She nodded in agreement, but her crestfallen expression told him she wasn’t happy about it. When she’d resumed her position at the back of the line, Clint dropped off the ridge, grateful that the steep terrain seemed to be a lot less rocky on the north slope. Protection from the south wind had also preserved Trevor’s and Nana’s tracks, leaving him a trail that was easier to follow.
The late-afternoon sunlight was starting to wane when Clint noticed the tracks had suddenly veered northwest. A few minutes later he was cursing under his breath. The boy and dog clearly had altered their course and were now headed due west, precisely where Loni had tried to direct Clint in the first place. It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of rushing water. Soon he came upon a creek.
After dismounting, he waited for Loni to ride the length of the line to join him at the stream’s edge. Offering her a shamefaced grin, he said, “I should have listened to you. I wasted a good hour following his trail.”
She swung off the horse. He was surprised to note that her legs didn’t appear to wobble, though she did walk stiffly. Most people took three or four days to break in to the saddle. “So I was right?” She looked around and beamed a smile. “At least he found water. That’s great. Isn’t it?”
Clint was relieved that she seemed to bear him no animosity for
“How long do you think it’ll take us to catch up with him?”
“He headed in on Friday, so he’s got a full three-day jump on us. It all depends on how fast we can cover ground.” Clint moved around the horses to see the lay of the land along the downhill course of the stream. The descent was peppered with huge ponderosa pines and a good deal of deadfall. “If he stops to rest a lot, maybe a day and a half. Two if he’s traveling at a steady pace.”
“I kind of doubt he’ll travel very fast,” she replied. “My nephews, Kirk and Kinnon, always fall behind when Deirdre and I go walking in her neighborhood.”
“They do?” Clint hadn’t been around youngsters very much. Judging from what he’d seen, the ones under ten were like farts in a hot skillet, darting every which way at high speed. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. Kids aren’t my specialty.”
She smiled. “For all their seemingly boundless energy, they get sidetracked easily and tire more quickly than we do.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Can we ride a little longer today?” she asked. “I’m anxious to catch up to him.”
“Me, too, but it’s turning dusk. If you’re up to it we can take a break and ride a little farther after it’s fully dark, using a flashlight to check for tracks. But my horses are sight-impaired right now. In uneven, steep terrain like this, that’s dangerous.”
She looked around, frowning in confusion. “I can still see fine.”
“An equine’s eyes are different. They have more rod cells than cone cells in their retinas. At night, when it’s fully dark, they have excellent eyesight, better than ours by far, but at this gray time of evening they can’t see very well at all, their version of night blindness. I don’t want one of my horses to break a leg.”