The Eyes of the Wind, Part Seven

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG

LINK TO PART ONE

~

With Peter running after the horses and Brian searching for the driver and his companion, I was left alone with Adam. Well, not quite alone. The two unconscious strangers were still with us--but they weren't worth counting.

There was nothing for me to do but crouch at Adam’s side and listen to him bandage his leg. I despised Adam at that moment. I despised him because his sight allowed him to take charge, I despised him for casually usurping my authority over my servants and I despised him because our present circumstances made it impossible for me to take him to task for his presumption.

“What’s wrong?”

Adam’s words broke into my thoughts. I cocked my head at him and curled my lips.

“We’re sitting here in the wake of a coach wreck with two unconscious strangers--one of whom, you've assured me, is likely to die soon.,” I reminded him. “As of this moment, we have no horses and no means of transporting you and the other injured parties to shelter. And no means of seeking help. What could be possibly be wrong?”

I don’t know how he reacted to that little speech, for he made no sound. That angered me so much that I spoke without thinking. “How the devil do you look right now?” I demanded.

That took him aback. “How do I look now?” he repeated blankly.

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Never mind,” I said. “I just--I didn’t know how you reacted just now.”

There was a long pause. I could feel him staring at me, still wondering what to make of my outburst.

“Oh, I was amused at your irony,” he said at last. “You know what I meant. I wanted to know what was troubling you this minute--not what’s troubling you about our situation.”

I forced myself to shrug. “There’s nothing else,” I lied. "It's just that. Our situation, I mean."

I could still feel him regarding me. But I suppose he decided to let it go, for at length I heard him turn back to his bandages.

We sat there without speaking for some time. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, so I decided to break it. “How’s your leg?” I asked.

“Not much better,” he answered, “but at least it’s bandaged now. Would you help me up again?”

I nodded and moved to his side. He put his arm around my shoulder as I put my arm around his back. I hoisted him back to his feet and then I felt him tug me toward our left.

“There’s a good spot to sit a couple of yards from here,” he said.

I nodded and we made our way over there. I could feel Adam breathing heavily as we walked--he was in far more pain than he would let on. I bit my lip, wondering just how much of a problem his leg would be.

He led us to a large rock that, at a guess, overlooked the wreck. I helped him down onto it and then took a seat beside him.

Adam sighed. “We’ll need water,” he said. “There were canteens on the coach--we’ll have to sort through the wreckage and see what we can find.

I smiled a little. It was hard to imagine the two of us struggling down the slope, with all its steepness and all the debris--me without my sight, and Adam without the proper use of his leg. But if I knew Adam, that’s just what he intended us to do. I tried to imagine the determined expression he was wearing.

“Would you mind if I touched your face?” I asked him.

“What?” he asked.

I could tell that he had turned toward me. He was probably giving me an incredulous look.

I felt myself redden. I had spoken without thinking. To touch someone’s face was the only way I had of truly seeing it--but I seldom made that request. It required far too much intimacy for my taste.

“I--I’m sorry,” I managed. “I spoke out of turn. I just wanted to feel your expression--and to know what you look like. But I forgot that you’re not my brother or one of my servants.”

I think he smiled at that. “Do you want me to describe myself? I’m an inch or two shorter than you, I have black hair--”

“Stop,” I ordered, shaking my head. “Colors don’t mean anything to me. I've been blind since birth.”

That seemed to startle him--not that I’d been blind since birth, but the fact that I had no concept of colors.

“Colors have no meaning to you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I know what they are symbolically, I suppose. I know that orange, red and yellow are like fire.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “They’re the colors of warmth and heat. But there are cold colors too. Blue is like the cool water of Lake Tahoe. And grey is the color of rain and storms.”

“And black is the color of death,” I said.

He chuckled at that. “For us, yes. For others--including the Chinese, I think--white represents death.”

I nodded and fell silent, wondering if black was as cold as death.

Adam was silent for a moment too, but then he spoke up again. “I keep my hair cropped short and I’m clean shaven--are those more useful descriptions?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling again. “I know what short hair and a clean-shaven face feel like. I’m always after Jack to describe how high a person’s cheekbones are and such.”

In response, Adam took hold of my hand. My first instinct was to pull back, but I fought that and allowed him to guide my hand to his face. Then he released me and left my hand there, free to explore.

Despite my reliance on my sense of touch, I’m not a tactile person. I don’t mind Jack’s touch and I’ve learned to accept Brian’s, but I don’t make a habit of touching faces. Yet I couldn’t resist this chance to get a real feel for Adam--this man was chief among my opponents, after all.

As I suspected, there was a hard, determined feel to the set of his jaw. But there was humor written in his face as well--as I brushed past his lips, I could tell that he was grinning. That, no doubt, was due to a combination of amusement and embarrassment on his part. He must have found it strange to have my hand exploring him this way.

His face was shaped differently than I had expected. His brow was not as lofty as I had imagined, his cheekbones were too low to have any sort of grandeur to them and his nose was neither aristocratic nor aquiline. But it was a strong face regardless. And I liked the combination of humor and determination in it. And when you combined his face with the sonorous bass of his voice--well, it was no wonder that men looked up to him and obeyed him.

His sight, it seemed, was not the only reason he had taken charge today.

I let my hand drop. We looked nothing alike, Adam and I. I had high cheekbones and an aquiline nose to match. True, I had the same determined look that Adam wore, but I didn’t have his good humor to temper it. Perhaps I should work on that, for I knew how well Adam used that good humor to his advantage.

But I couldn’t muster that good humor at the moment. I was too conscious of the liberty I had just taken with Adam’s person. Nonetheless, I forced myself to smile at him.

“Thank you,” I said. “I have a better idea of you now.”

He didn’t answer that--not with words. He put his arm back around my shoulders instead.

He meant it as a casual gesture of friendship--or at least of camaraderie. I knew that. I didn’t know if he was aware of my discomfort. I suspected that he was, but I bit back any complaint regardless. Under the circumstances, I could allow him such ruthless familiarity.

LINK TO PART EIGHT