“To stop the flow of food and supplies into the States mostly. Our navy sent twenty war ships out to capture it, but they weren’t successful.”
“Why not?”
“It was bigger, faster, and far better armed, but the Kearsarge was its equal in terms of size and guns. We were a war sloop, too.”
“Was the Kearsarge named for someone famous? I’ve never heard that name before.”
“No. It’s a mountain in New Hampshire.” The confusion and humor on her face made him smile. “I’ve no idea why the navy named it that.”
“Okay, go on.”
“When word spread the Alabama arrived in France, the French refused to let them dock.”
“Why?”
“Because the French supported the Union in Lincoln’s war. When our ship arrived three days later, the Alabama was anchored in the English Channel and the battle began.”
“How long did the fight last?”
“Once we traded gunfire—less than an hour.”
She startled. “Really?”
“Yes, the Rebs had been raiding Union merchant ships for almost two years, and after sailing around the Horn to reach France, their crew was tired, the ship needed overhauling, and their gunpowder was stale. A few good blasts from our cannons, and she started taking on water. Sank less than an hour later. Our captain wanted to bring the Reb officers back to the States for trial, but never got the chance because an English ship sitting in the Channel watching the fight rescued the Reb sailors.”
“The English didn’t turn them over?”
“No. The British supported the Confederacy. In fact, they’d built the Alabama for the South.”
He then told her about the loss of his friend during the battle. “He was a Colored steward named Charles Foster. Knowing him changed me from an illiterate, shoeless country slave into a seasoned seaman.” He quieted, thinking back. “Because of his duties as steward he was allowed to go into the cities where we docked to buy meat and vegetables for the crew, and he’d take me to help carry things back. Tagging along gave me the opportunity to see all kinds of new places and people not only in Europe but in places like the islands of the Caribbean and Cuba. He was also a member of the ship’s band. When we were in Cadiz, Spain, he bought instruments: guitars, violins, cellos.”
“There were navy bands?”
“Yes, and sometimes there’d be competitions with the bands on other ships. Foster was quite talented and had an excellent singing voice. Everyone thought very highly of him, even the White sailors and officers. When he died in the battle, the entire ship grieved.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “How many other Colored sailors were on the ship with you?”
“About fifteen. A couple were freeborn and the stories they shared about their families opened my eyes to the differences between their upbringing and mine. One man from Massachusetts had been a sailor for over thirty years. His family had been whalers since before America broke with Britain. Some of the freeborn had no slaves in their family whatsoever. That shocked me.”
“My brother said he met a few men from Howard whose families had never been enslaved. One was a Colored student from Ireland whose mother was Irish and whose father was a Colored English sailor.”
“I never knew there were Colored people all over Europe until I became a sailor. Being in the navy also turned me into a reader. A freeborn man named Harris helped me learn, and it was life changing. Once I began I never stopped. I have a book or a newspaper with me wherever I go.”
“You said you and your uncle signed up together. Was he on the ship, too?”
“No. He, along with many others, were separated out and sent to fight with one of the USCT units. We were reunited after the surrender.”
“Were you and the other sailors treated well?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged. “Sometimes yes, but most times not. Many of the officers were prejudiced. Sometimes the White sailors wouldn’t allow us above deck. We kept to ourselves mostly. The only time no one cared about color was during battle.”
She nodded understandingly.
“But the most valuable thing I learned in the navy?”
“Was?”
“How to walk in this world as a free man. Like reading, it changed me forever.”
After dinner Spring left Garrett to his resting and reading, and she took a seat on the front porch to enjoy the evening breeze. She thought back on their conversation about his service in the navy, and for the first time in her life found herself considering what it might be like to travel outside of the Territory. There’d been no interest before. She had her land, her horses, and didn’t need more. But listening to Garrett speak about far-flung places like Spain, Holland, and the Caribbean, piqued her curiosity. She’d never seen the ocean, nor a ship large enough to sail on one. What type of food did the people of Cadiz, Spain, eat? What did they wear? Could you hunt elk in the Caribbean? Did herds of wild mustangs run free in Holland or France?
She had no answers. Being around Garrett McCray had altered her thinking about life and her place in it in ways that were new and challenging: from how she defined respect, to what she deserved from a man in bed. In his calm, quiet way he’d changed her, not necessarily into a better person but a different one. She didn’t know how he’d magically accomplished this, nor put her finger on when it occurred, but she was not the same woman she’d been before finding him lost in the snow. And for the most part, she was fine with her transformation because it enabled her to open her feelings to him in ways she’d never done with a man before. She enjoyed his company and the ways he made her laugh. He accepted her as she was. Unlike some men in her past, he didn’t waste time trying to best her at everything. She’d become accustomed to having him in her life, and she cared about his safety and well-being. It made her wonder if this was love.
Her musing was interrupted by an approaching rider. As he dismounted and made his way to the porch, she recognized him. Zach Hammond. Years ago they’d both worked for Mitch Ketchum, but in the time since, he’d moved away. Tall, gangly, and good-looking, with dark hair and eyes, she’d been sweet on him for a minute or two. He’d married the daughter of a Laramie preacher. Men like him used women like Spring for sport, not to take their name. Truthfully, she hadn’t held it against him. She still didn’t.
“Hey, Zach.”
“Spring.”
“What brings you to my door?”
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
She waited while he assessed her.
“You still look good,” he said, showing the slow smile her younger self once loved having turned her way.
“How’s the wife?” she asked pointedly.
He went red and laughed softly. “You’re still hard as nails, Spring. My wife is well.”
“Good to hear.”
He drew in a deep breath and said, “I have a problem. Actually, Perry has one.” Perry was his younger brother. “He wants to claim the reward Doc Lee’s wife’s offering.”
Spring tensed. “Was he involved?”
“Not saying yes, not saying no. But if he was, he wants to tell what he knows secretly.”
Spring remembered Perry. He’d been a friend of Matt’s, but she hadn’t seen him in quite some time. “Does he still live around here?”
“No. Cheyenne.”
That confused her. “Why would he be involved?”
“Because he’s stupid,” he replied, looking and sounding exasperated. “Always has been where Matt’s involved. They were good friends growing up. Still are, according to my brother. He said Matt showed up at the saloon in Long Pine, angry about the fight he’d had with your man. Matt was trying to get someone there to help him teach your man a lesson. Perry being Perry, and drunk at the time, was the only one to volunteer.”
“And now?”
“His wife’s been sick. Real sick. He wants the reward money so he can take her back East to one of the big hospitals. The doctors i
n Cheyenne say they don’t have the skills to treat her.”
“Why come to me?”
“The woman putting up the reward is your sister-in-law. You know the sheriff real well. Your man didn’t die, so I was hoping you’d see if Perry could come in, point the finger at Matt, and get the reward.”
“And he wants to do this anonymously, because he doesn’t want to testify publicly?” she asked, making sure she understood.
“He’s afraid of Matt.”
“But not of his wife dying if she doesn’t get treated.” It was more statement than question. She also noted Zach hadn’t mentioned Perry expressing any remorse for the shooting.
Behind her, she heard Garrett say, “Your brother will have to testify. Publicly. Before a judge.”
She swung around to see Garrett standing behind the screen door. Her first instinct was to fuss at him for being out of bed. Making a note to do that later, she did introductions instead. “Zach Hammond. Garrett McCray.”
Zach gave a short nod. “Sorry about the shooting.”
“I appreciate that,” Garrett replied. “Your brother needs a good lawyer.”
He sighed. “Not sure how he can pay for one. I certainly can’t.”
Spring said, “I’ll be letting Whit know you came to see me, and that Perry was involved.”
“Understood.” He stared off into the distance for a few moments before saying, “I’ve been rescuing him from dumb mistakes since our parents died when we were young, but this . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked to Garrett again. “He won’t hang, will he?”
“They didn’t kill me, so probably not.”
Zach nodded as if finding that reassuring. “My brother said Matt had some back-East fella in a suit with him who was egging him on about getting revenge. A lot of talk about your man not having the right to put his hands on a white man, and that Matt owed it to his race to put McCray in his place. No offense,” he said, looking up at Garrett.
“None taken.”
Pretty sure the man in the suit was Jarvis, Spring wasn’t happy.
Zach said, “Okay, I need to get going. Thanks, McCray. You, too, Spring. I’ll talk to Perry and see if I can get him to do what’s right. His wife will probably die if he doesn’t.”
He touched his hat in parting and walked back to his horse.
Spring rose to her feet and said to Garrett, “Finally, some solid evidence.”
Garrett nodded as she stepped inside.
“I want to fuss at you for getting out of bed,” she said.
“I know, but I heard you talking, and being a nosy reporter, I wanted to know who it was.”
She rolled her eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I should’ve stayed in bed.”
A few minutes later he was lying beneath the quilts. “Do you think Hammond will convince his brother to come forward?” he asked.
“I hope so. I’d love to see Matt Ketchum go to jail.” Matt’s father had always stood between him and punishment. With Mitch dead that wouldn’t happen this time.
Garrett quipped, “If times were different I’d be tempted to represent Zach’s brother myself, if only to make Matt and Jarvis more furious.”
“That would be a nice twist,” she said, standing over him. “But now no more playing nosy reporter, or lawyer, Garrett McCray. Rest. Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”
“I might like that. You could have your way with me.”
She snorted and gave him a mock stern look.
He replied, “Okay. Rest.”
Still amused, she placed a soft kiss on his brow and left the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Spring rode into town the next day to talk to Whit about Zach Hammond’s visit and found the town abuzz. Dovie had been tied up and robbed by Avery Jarvis in the middle of the night. With him and Hazel and Swan being the only guests at the boardinghouse, she hadn’t been found until morning. By then, Jarvis and the others were long gone.
“This happened last night?” a shocked Spring asked Whit as they talked about it in his office.
Lips thinned, he nodded tersely. “Yes. Heath found her on the floor in the kitchen when he came in for breakfast. He said she was furious.”
“Was she hurt?”
“Just her pride. She said she woke up with Jarvis pointing a gun in her face. Made her open the strong box and took every dime. Then tied her up. They tied up her boy, too, but he’s okay.”
Spring was stunned and had so many questions, she didn’t know which one to ask first.
Whit, seated at his desk, handed her a flier. “That came through in the mail Odell delivered this morning. Probably the reason they hightailed it out of here.”
It was a Wanted poster featuring the drawn face of the man they’d known as Avery Jarvis. His real name was Walter Abner and he was wanted for embezzlement, robbery, and theft by authorities in New York, Cincinnati, Chicago, and St. Louis.
“Busy man,” Spring noted as she continued to read.
“Agreed. I sent that on to the sheriff’s office in Denver in case they’re headed there.”
Spring said, “Says here: known to be traveling with his daughter and an unknown man. Seem to be making their way west. So his talk of investing and mills and trees was just a flimflam?”
Whit shrugged. “I heard he managed to convince a few people to invest in the mill he supposedly wanted to build. Their money is probably long gone now.”
“Do you think he was tipped off about this poster coming to you?”
“I don’t know, but con men and grifters always say they can sense when it’s time to pull up stakes and move on, usually one step ahead of the law. Maybe that’s what happened here.”
Spring had so many questions her head was starting to spin. “So him telling Matt Ketchum the land sale was illegal was just a ploy to get access to the people here so he could rob them? Matt isn’t smart enough to have come up with something like this on his own.”
“Who knows. There’s also the unanswered question of who burned down Porter’s mill and why?”
Spring had no answers.
“How’s Garrett?” Whit asked.
“Healing.” And she told him about Zach Hammond’s visit.
“Good news. Not for Perry and Matt though. I’ll ride over to the Long Pine Saloon and talk to the bartender. Maybe he can give me names of some of the men there that night who can verify Zach’s story. It’s a start. Perry’s best bet is to turn himself in. He’ll be charged and arrested but if he testifies against Matt, the court will probably go easy on him.”
“Garrett told Zach the same thing. You’ll let me know what you find out in Long Pine?”
“Yes, and I’ll be talking to Zach, too.”
Satisfied, Spring left.
Over the next week Garrett gradually improved. The laudanum was discontinued. He slept less and ate more. Colt, having returned home, stopped by to evaluate his progress. Pleased with the wounds’ healing, he replaced the mummylike wrappings with small cotton bandages attached by plasters.
Spring was pleased by his progress, too. His strength steadily increased, and by his tenth day at her place, he was better able to tend to his own needs like bathing and getting dressed, but still lacked the natural ease of movement he’d had before being shot.
After dinner that evening, they were sitting on her back porch enjoying the quiet of the evening. “I think I should be able to head home in another four or five days.”
She turned his way. “Are you sure? You’ll have a two-day ride back to Laramie on horseback. Maybe take the stagecoach or hitch a ride with Odell on his wagon when he goes to pick up the mail.”
“That’s a thought. Both might be less taxing. I’ll think about it.”
Spring was pleased by his response. The last thing he needed was to set himself back by doing more than he was physically capable of.
“Evening.”
She looked over to see her brother walking toward them. She hadn’t
seen him or Regan in a few days. “Evening, brother. How are you?”
“Doing well. Came to check on my patient and to talk to you about something.”
The serious set of his features gave her pause. “Concerning?”
“Ben.”
“He isn’t dead, is he?”
“No. Not yet.”
She searched his face.
“Let me see to Garrett first and we’ll talk after.”
While the two men went inside, she sat wondering what her brother wanted her to know about Ben.
He returned a short while later and she asked, “How’s the patient?”
He sat on the bench beside her. “Almost good as new. He says he’s thinking of heading home in a few days.”
“Can he handle a two-day trip on the gelding? I suggested he ride over with Odell or take the stagecoach.”
“I think he may have less strength than he realizes so I suggested the same.”
“So what’s this about Ben?”
“He’s dying. He has a growth in his upper chest and one on his spine.”
Her heart stopped. “How long does he have?”
“Not sure. Could be six weeks, could be six months. You can never tell with these things.”
Unsettling emotions filled her.
“Might be time for you two to make amends,” he said.
That didn’t sit well. “I doubt that his staring at the grave is going to make him apologize to me. When we bury him he’ll still believe he was right.”
“Then maybe consider forgiving him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“For your own peace of mind.”
“I’m already at peace,” she lied. Probably never would be, but she’d be damned if she’d give him absolution.
“Let go of the past, Spring.”
She knew he was trying to be helpful, but it irritated her nonetheless. Setting aside what she’d lived through wasn’t something as easily done as dousing a lamp. “Do you know what I had to give Mitch Ketchum in order to work for him?”
He shook his head.
“My virginity.”
His eyes widened.
“Imagine an eighteen-year-old child giving up her innocence so she wouldn’t starve to death, brother. Imagine her other choice was to marry an old man three times her age, who also wanted her innocence. Ben was my grandfather. He was supposed to protect me and watch over me when our mother died, but he saw me as a burden. You weren’t here and he refused to let me live on my own. Not even wild animals sacrifice their young to the wolves, and you want me to forgive him?”
Wild Rain Page 16