by Jane Steen
“The hell he will,” said Judah. For a moment, he seemed to coil in on himself, and then he sprang, as quick as a cat, and sent Martin flying backward into me with a double-handed push.
I landed on my side in the snow, coming down hard on my hip but without any real injury. Martin twisted around onto one knee to avoid falling on top of me, giving Judah time to leap on the gelding Martin had ridden. He pulled it around, heading not along the trail but across the prairie. The horse’s hooves churned out chunks of soil and grass from under the snow as it leaped forward, eyes rolling, the unused stirrups flying around Judah’s knees.
Reiner fired, pumped the rifle’s lever, and fired again. The horse gave a sort of sideways leap and landed badly, all four legs scrabbling for purchase on the snow. Judah rolled around the saddle so that he was halfway down the horse’s side. For a moment, I thought he would pull himself up again—and then the gelding’s foreleg buckled, and Judah slid into the snow, the horse landing heavily on top of him.
We ran.
Time stretches when something unthinkable happens right before your eyes. It must have been no more than ten seconds that the horse’s massive body rocked back and forth over Judah’s outflung form as it struggled to get its legs under itself and find a footing, but the scene passed in agonizing slowness.
And there was blood. Fat droplets flew out over the snow and stained it with pink-edged crimson splashes that steamed, just for a second, in the frozen air.
As the horse finally got to its feet, it became clear that some of the blood came from a wound in its flank, a livid gash around six inches long that glowed red against its shaggy side. It sidestepped skittishly as we drew near and regarded us with bulging eyes, as if daring us to approach.
We all ignored it and came to a halt near the broken man who wheezed faintly, his legs twitching. A flailing hoof had crushed one hand, leaving the bone and gristle of the fingers and the knuckle joints horribly exposed. The thumb was almost completely torn away and lay at a gruesome angle to the rest, attached by a mere flap of skin, from which the blood seeped into the mud the horse had scraped up from under the snow.
“What are we going to do?” I gasped, crouching and putting uncertain hands on Judah’s shoulders as if I could raise him up. His eyes were glassy with shock and pain, but at my approach, his body gave a convulsive jerk and then flopped back into the snow, heavy and useless.
“Don’t touch me.”
I snatched my hands back as Judah’s lips drew back from his teeth in a long shudder. “It hurts.”
Reiner had taken his eyes off the injured man to fix them on the horizon. He stood, gesturing to the west. “The party from the mission is coming. Perhaps they can help.”
Judah’s gaze was directed at the sky, but his words showed he had heard. “Is the pastor with them?”
“Pretty sure he is.”
“Good. I may—have need.” The words came out at jerky intervals as Judah fought for breath.
I took a long look at Judah’s body, limp and helpless on the snowy ground, and turned my gaze to Martin. He read the question in my eyes and nodded. He too saw that Judah was dying.
“Better if you send the pastor on here and go with the rest of the men to fetch Tess and Sarah,” he said to Reiner. “There’s not a whole lot any of us can do for him.”
Reiner set off at a run, and Martin put a hand on my arm. “Do you want to go with him, Nell?”
“No.” My answer came so fast that even I felt surprised. “I’ll stay with Judah.” Suddenly, I had a strong sense that both Sarah and Tess were safe—safer than they had been for a long time. I had not seen my stepfather die, and it seemed oddly important that I should bear witness now. As if some greater force than myself was telling me that this, for the moment, was where my duty lay.
Judah turned his head a fraction and smiled at me. Despite the bloodied nose and the split lip, there was still beauty in his face, and I felt my breath catch with a kind of sadness.
“You—almost loved me—once, didn’t you, Nell?” Judah whispered.
I knelt beside him, feeling the chill of the snow through my skirts, and took his uninjured hand in both of mine as gently as I could. “Almost.”
Judah grinned, blood showing between his teeth. The smile turned into a grimace of pain, and the hand I was holding twitched.
“You looked—at me—and loved me. It’s always worked. When I—wanted it to.”
Pastor Lombardi had come silently up to us, and a look of deep sadness suffused his face as he heard Judah’s words. “Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “This is not the time for pride. You’re about to meet your maker, man. For the sake of your soul, repent now of any sin that stains your conscience.”
Judah began to shake, and for a moment I clasped his hand tighter, believing his death convulsion was upon him. But then I realized, with a thrill of horror, that he was laughing—until a spasm of pain seized him so hard his back arched, and he screamed.
The pastor dropped to one knee beside him. “Repent,” he whispered again, sounding as horrified as I felt.
“Thought—I had—time.” Judah’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and he screwed his eyes shut against the rising sun. “Put—the world—right—later. When I had—all I needed.”
I felt Martin’s hand rest on my shoulder as he came to stand behind me. “Was it true?” he asked Judah. “All those things that were in the letter?”
“Never read it.” Judah’s legs moved feebly. “Probably—true though. Missed some things, I’ll bet.”
“Did you kill him?” I had to know. “Professor Wale?”
“Not personally.” Judah sounded almost indignant. “Don’t—don’t go looking for the half-breed who pulled the trigger. He—ugh—he’ll be long gone.”
He took a few deep breaths before he continued, staring straight up at the pale sky shading into blue.
“I confess to the mercy killing of Hendrik Adema.”
The last word came out in an anguished grunt as another spasm of pain took him, and I winced. The movement made me realize how cold I was, and I hugged my arms around my body.
“Martin, he must be so cold. Would you please fetch your coat? I can’t—let’s ease him as much as we can.”
“You’re kind, Nell.” Judah smiled at me again and licked the blood from his teeth. “Don’t bother. Can’t—feel cold.”
“Did Dr. Calderwood have anything to do with those deaths?” Pastor Lombardi’s voice was a thread of sound.
“No. But he—knew. Compromises—lives for his own—glory. His wife—doesn’t know.”
Judah’s whole body had started to tremble. The color faded from his face, leaving it a sickly white against which his bloody nose and mouth showed crimson.
“Repent.” The pastor’s voice rose to an anguished moan. “For God’s sake, man. Your hour has come.”
“Of all—these many things and more—I—“ Judah’s eyes widened. “I—repent.”
The last word turned into a gurgle as a small gout of blood gushed from Judah’s mouth and flowed down both sides of his face, bright and steaming in the cold air. And then he was still, his beautiful blue-violet eyes open to the azure dawn above.
For a few moments, we were all silent, our eyes fixed on the still form that lay crushed and broken on the snow. I began shivering, not the violent shudders of the night before, but a continuous trembling due only partly to the cold.
The pastor’s eyes were round with shock at Judah’s sudden end. His normally genial face was gray, all its lines drawn downward, his mouth hanging open.
And then he took a huge, shuddering breath, breaking the silence. He stooped to urge the eyelids gently down over the staring eyes. He wiped the blood from Judah’s face with a clean handkerchief, using a little snow to aid the process. He then settled down to pray for the dead man, his voice steady as he performed the familiar ritual.
I bowed my head and tried to listen to the pastor’s prayers until I felt a larg
e, warm hand just above my elbow, urging me upward.
“You’re shivering,” Martin whispered. “Leave them. Reiner will be back soon with Sarah and Tess, and you won’t be much use to them if you’re faint with cold.”
He led me toward the cabin, briefly draping an arm around my shoulders and then dropping it again, with a backward glance at the pastor. The horses—Martin’s gelding and the big Percheron—had made their way to a spot not far from the cabin and were companionably nosing through the snow to find grass. The blood had stopped flowing from the gelding’s side, and it appeared untroubled.
Martin ushered me into the dark cabin and draped his coat around my shoulders. Shutting the door, he went back outside, presumably to hobble the horses and do what he could for the gelding’s wound.
I sank onto the buffalo hide, reeling with the peculiar weariness that came from stepping indoors after being out in the wind and sunshine. And, I realized, the weariness that stemmed from the onslaught of emotion that had passed over me as I watched Judah Poulton take his last breath. There was relief, sadness, and horror at the terrible sight of his once-lithe body twisted and sprawled on the ground like a discarded rag. He was gone, and he could never threaten me nor anyone else again, but I couldn’t rejoice in such a passing.
A rush of air and burst of light told me Martin had re-entered the cabin. He perched on the broken bedstead and removed his hat, raking his hands through his thick pale hair and pressing a hand over his eyes. He squeezed and massaged his forehead, as if he were trying to expunge his thoughts.
“Do you need a fire?” he asked. “I don’t suppose it’ll be long before Reiner’s back, but if you’re cold—“
“I’m all right,” I assured him. “I’ve stopped shivering. Martin, you look dreadfully tired. Didn’t you sleep?”
“Not much,” he admitted and then grinned at me. “You, on the other hand, slept like a stone, which allowed me to pace and fret and step outside twenty times to look for Reiner. And to watch you sleep.” His voice softened. “You’re turning me into a sentimental fool.”
His words trailed off, and he stared at the dirt floor, then at the cabin door, as if he were trying to avoid my gaze. But finally he spoke, and when he did, his voice had a strange sound, bleak and hopeless.
“I need to tell you. Seems selfish in the face of death, but—I may not have another chance. I spoke to an attorney—one who deals with matters concerning marriage. Settlements and so on. Divorce.”
I nodded but didn’t reply. My heart began to beat faster, knocking at my chest, surprisingly painful. I knew from Martin’s face that he had not received the answers he wanted.
He cleared his throat. “The new law makes a divorce possible without special legislation, but it by no means makes it easy.”
He turned his hat in his hands, rubbing his thumb along the brim. “The man listed the possible causes so many times I have them by heart: Impotence. Bigamy. Adultery. Desertion. Drunkenness. Malice. Cruelty—or the interesting discovery that you’re married to an infamous criminal.”
I seized immediately on the one word that jumped out at me. Adultery. “You said Lucetta wasn’t faithful to you,” I faltered.
Martin looked at the hat he was twisting around in his hands and threw it across the cabin. It hit the wall with a soft swooping sound and dropped to the floor.
“Walters—the attorney—has urged me to engage a Pinkerton detective to follow her around, gathering evidence against her. Evidence that will be discussed in full in the courtroom. At the same time, I must remain above suspicion because if both parties to a divorce have committed adultery, there will be no divorce.”
He stared at me as if willing me to comprehend something. When I did not speak, he continued, enunciating each word with precision.
“It is possible, for example, that Lucetta’s attorney may try to procure evidence of my—affection for you as proof that I too am at fault.” He pressed the palms of his hands against his temples. “And I have corresponded with you in affectionate terms—sent you gifts—ensured your finances are on a sound footing. It’s highly likely that you—your past—would become mixed up in the proceedings, and that I could not countenance. Assuming, of course, that Lucetta is unwilling to divorce me—“
“And she is unwilling,” I interrupted. “She made it clear to me she would fight to keep you.” I felt a plummeting sensation in my stomach and curled my fingers into the coarse fur of the buffalo hide to stop the world from spinning round.
“It was bad enough to think I’d have to drag Lucetta into such a matter,” Martin said. “To bring a scandal down upon any woman—no matter what she had done—is repellent to me. But that it should be you—and by extension, Sarah—is unbearable.”
I quailed inwardly, knowing that what was worrying Martin was not the mere thought of dragging my name into court. It was the tide of public opprobrium that would come crashing down upon my head and Sarah’s once the fact of her illegitimacy became widely known. Me again. My decisions, my stubbornness, my weakness, my arrogance. The consequences of that May afternoon when I had followed Jack Venton behind a screen of young willows, my hand in his, his laughter hot on my cheek, were still rippling outward in an endless motion.
“My only hope,” Martin continued, “is that I can somehow persuade Lucetta to divorce me—for desertion, I suppose. I’m already living in a hotel, Nell, not in our house.” He gave a small snort of derision. “She may not have noticed, of course. I was in the habit of spending time away from home wherever I could. What a mess, Nell. What a damned idiotic mess I’ve made of my life.”
I wanted to wrap my arms round him, to give him what comfort I could, but of course I couldn’t do that. I drew my knees up under my skirt and stared miserably at the ground, the heavy weight of Martin’s coat the only nearness to him I could, in all fairness, aspire to.
It was almost a relief to hear a shout from Pastor Lombardi and to see Martin dart to the door. As I raised myself from the ground, hampered by my clothing, I felt as though I had aged ten years in one morning. Judah was dead, and I was free of him—but for a while I had allowed myself to imagine that freedom might include Martin, and this was clearly not going to be.
47
Dead end
“You’re exhausted,” Catherine said as she poured steaming water from the huge pitcher into the small tin tub by the kitchen stove. “Why don’t you rest, and I’ll bathe Sarah?”
I laughed. “Thank you, but I’m not lying on a bed until I’ve cleaned myself up as well. Tess and I have plans to take the large tub up to our room and draw lots for who’s going first, and I’m so happy you have a laundress we can hire. How one small and quite fastidious child can attract so much dirt is a mystery to me.”
I wrapped a cloth around the handle of the pitcher I had put on the floor and used another cloth to tip it so that the water cascaded into the tub. “There, I think that’s ready.”
“But it’s far too hot.”
“By the time I’ve found Sarah, dragged her away from Teddy, listened to her chatter about every animal and child at the mission, persuaded her it’s time to come inside and relinquish her overalls for her dress, and actually gotten her to undress, the water will be just about right.”
I straightened up, stretching my spine to iron out the kinks in my lower back. “Poor Teddy. It’s a lot to expect of a fifteen-year-old boy, playing nursemaid to a four-year-old girl.”
“I expect it makes a nice change from chopping wood, mending fences, drawing water, and running errands.” Catherine picked up both pitchers and headed for the door. “I must see to Roderick. He spent far too long out on the prairie with Mr. Poulton’s body. Although I do sympathize that you didn’t want a corpse sharing the cart, and leaving it—him—alone would have called the wolves, for sure. I’m going to insist Roderick let me apply a mustard plaster, for prevention.”
“Where’s Martin?”
“Asleep in a chair in Roderick’s study.” Cather
ine grinned. “He’s kept himself busy today, what with retrieving the body and helping to pack it in snow for the journey back to Springwood. He also oversaw the sewing up of his horse’s wound and ensured they tended to the carthorse. It’s a shame we haven’t found the other one.”
I nodded as I held the door open for Catherine. Reiner had offered to take the healthy horse back to the farmer with profuse apologies and enough money—supplied by Martin—to pay for a new team of Percherons. He would leave the next day. Martin planned to wait a day longer and then accompany the pastor—and Judah’s body—back to Springwood.
After that he, Reiner, and Pastor Lombardi planned to continue to St. Louis, which would take several days. From there, Martin would begin the journey back to Chicago, Reiner would go back to his desk, and the pastor would begin the delicate process of informing his denomination about Judah’s confession and the implications it had for the Calderwoods. Judah’s death would not be the only shock they received as a Christmas present. Serve them right, I thought callously.
Catherine was correct; I was exhausted. My legs and back still ached from the long walk through the snow. The very tips of the ring and little fingers on my left hand were white, numb, and tingling by turns. Frostbite, Martin had told me—he didn’t think it was serious, but his eyes had darkened as he informed me that if I ever took it into my head to risk a cold and lonely death again, he would personally lock me up and throw away the key.
I smiled at that, but I wasn’t foolhardy enough to forget the biting wind and the soft, deadly touch of the snow. Then there was the knowledge that if I’d passed by Martin and Reiner in the night without them seeing me—or if the night had been but a little colder—I would be just as dead as Judah.