Ghostwalkers

Epilogue

The summer burned away and fall came early to Paradise Falls. It was short and harsh and followed by a bitter winter. Snows fell deep and often and winds howled through the canyons and clefts.

But the winds were the winds. No spirits or demons lent their voices to those screams.

When spring came, it too was early. Rains fell heavily. No frogs or snakes. By mid-April there was green grass in the fields and flowers exploding along the sides of the trails.

The new bridge was strong and wagons rumbled across it every day, bringing supplies from all over the region. Bringing families of farmers. Bringing miners and a legion of scientists and their apprentices to work at the big factory Doctor Saint had built. Every store and building and house in Paradise Falls wore new coats of paint, and every person wore the finest of clothes. Larders were full and no one wanted for a thing.

The story of the richest find of ghost rock, gold, platinum, and other precious metals was news around the world. Hopeful prospectors flooded the town, but not a single one of them seemed able to find a good place to stake a claim. And no one in town seemed willing to explain just exactly where they’d dug up all those rocks and metals. Paradise Falls was a happy town, but a secretive one. It kept itself to itself.

Of a Sunday, though, everyone in town was in church, weeping for the dead, and thanking God for their salvation, and their bounty.

Thomas Looks Away did not go to church. He spent his Sunday mornings walking the grounds of his new estate. The damage from the attack had been repaired, and the vaults deep underground had been mostly emptied, their contents shared equally with the other survivors.

Mostly, but not entirely.

Even when he’d measured out equal shares with every man, woman, and child who had been standing after the battle, he still had a little over a ton of gold left for himself.

Life was good. And, if he spent a lot of time alone, talking to the shadows in empty rooms, no one commented. Not even when passers-by heard a woman’s voice speaking to him from those very shadows.

Brother Joe had been restored to full office and now ran his rebuilt church with equal measures fervor and humility.

On the sunlit porch of the Pearl farmhouse, Grey Torrance rocked slowly in his favorite chair and read the papers brought in from Salt Lake, Lost Angels, and even as far away as New York. It was a strange and busy world. Bad things were happening, but bad things always happened. There were wars and rumors of wars. There were fantastical machines. And there were reports of aborted coups in a dozen foreign countries.

He smiled and reached for his coffee cup. Like most things he did, Grey lifted the cup carefully. Even now, seven months on, his body hurt in more places than he could count, and he knew that some of those aches would never really go away. Some hurts could not be healed.

Others though…

Well, there was less pain in some places than he had any right to expect. Less agony in his chest, his heart. His soul.

He laid his paper in his lap, sipped his coffee, and looked out at the day. A man walked down the street toward the house. Tall and pale, with iron gray hair and broad shoulders. He paused only for a moment to pass the time of day with Doctor Saint. They both glanced his way, saw him watching, and nodded. He returned the nod.

Then the little scientist headed back toward his lab and Lucky Bob strolled off toward Mrs. O’Malley’s place, where dinner would be waiting.

That was a strange arrangement, mused Grey. Strange, but not entirely without precedent. And, after all, Paradise Falls was a strange little town. It always would be. How could it not?

“Penny for your thoughts,” said a voice and he turned to see her come out of the house. Blond curls and blue eyes and a smile that held so many wonderful mysteries.

Grey laughed. “You can have them for free.”

“And they are—?”

“Just that it’s another beautiful day in Paradise.”

Belle laughed.

That’s what he called her. It had been what he’d started calling her during the long weeks when he hovered on the cliff between life and death. Not Jenny, not Annabelle. Just Belle. She’d accepted it. Or, they had accepted it. It became who this woman was.

Life was so strange.

She pulled her chair close to his and sat, taking his hand.

“Another beautiful day in paradise,” she agreed.

They sat and watched white clouds sail across the sky. And every once in a while they glanced at each other and smiled.