could feel them lurking somewhere beyond the quaint buildings. She imagined the ground beneath her feet suddenly losing its balance and tilting upward, sending her tumbling toward the mountains like a pebble on a drawbridge. The entire city would slide downward, the screams and crashes drowned out by the horrible rumbling of the earth as it came undone.
Victoria shook her head. She had to get a grip on herself. No use adding to her real worries with imagined ones. Taking a breath, she focused her gaze on the golden cross that crowned the church in front of her. It was modest, perhaps three yards tall, but had its own understated appeal. The gold shone brightly in the morning sun, throwing shafts of light on the buildings across the street. Beneath it, saints watched the world with solemn eyes, their windows set into walls of brown stone. Such a modest church might have suited a small town in England, but it seemed at home among the crude buildings that surrounded it.
She walked up to the front door and pulled. The slab of wood, richly stained, refused to budge. Planting her feet, she wrapped both hands around the handle and leaned back. A breath of incense swirled around her as the door finally opened.
Once inside, the darkness of the foyer blinded her for a moment. She stood still, breathing in the scents of tallow and incense and candle smoke while her eyes adjusted. Carpet the color of wine spread out beneath her feet. Ahead of her, an arch opened into the small sanctuary. She took a few tentative steps through it, careful not to let her feet make any noise on the carpet. The room beyond was still and dark, but the saints still watched her from their windows. Candles flickered like stars along the rows of pews and around the altar. At the far end, a crucifix hung from the ceiling, the savior watching over this house of saints. A purple sash hung down from his arms, adding an air of royalty to the man carved in eternal agony.
"Welcome, child," came a voice near the altar. "Please, come in."
A nun robed in black and white stepped down from the dais and stood at the end of the aisle, her hands clasped in front of her. Victoria crept toward her, a sudden shyness slowing her steps. Having been raised Protestant, she felt out of place in this church, as though her mere presence angered the faces in the windows. The nun's face was kind and wrinkled, and she focused on that. She even offered the older woman a smile as she came nearer.
"I am Sister Alice," the nun said.
"Victoria Dawes," Victoria replied, dropping a curtsey.
"You're from England?" Sister Alice asked.
Victoria nodded. "I've only just arrived in Denver. I'm from Oxford, originally."
"What brings you to the house of God?"
How to answer that? Victoria looked down at her hands for a moment, biting back the first answer that appeared on her tongue. Catholics and their pride. She swallowed before looking back up. "Well, I'm looking for someone, and I was instructed to begin my search here."
Confusion deepened Sister Alice's wrinkles. "A member of the clergy?"
"Not exactly," Victoria said, "although I believe this person has worked closely with the priesthood in years past. Her name is Cora Oglesby."
"Can't say I've heard of her," Sister Alice replied. "What work did she do?"
Doubt began creeping into Victoria's thoughts. Had James Townsend been mistaken? "Well," she said, "as I understand it, she is a sort of bounty hunter. One of those rough-and-tumble gunfighters that populate the American frontier."
"That's strange. I don't know what need the Church would have of a bounty hunter. You said she worked for our parish?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure." Victoria watched the nun's confusion with a sinking feeling. "I'm working on information I received from an Oxford scholar who claims to have worked with this woman in the past. I have very urgent business with her, and he advised me to ask the Catholic clergy to help me find her."
Sister Alice gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, child. Can't say I've ever heard of any bounty hunter working for the Church, especially not one who's a woman."
"Is there anyone you might ask?" Victoria said.
"Father Baez may know," Sister Alice said, "but he's probably still asleep."
"I know it's terribly rude to ask, but could you see if he would speak with me?" Victoria unconsciously twisted her fingers together. "It really is dreadfully important."