Kitty's Deputy

by Renea Westlyn

“Yes Abby, I too am going to Oregon to marry. I’ll barely be a week behind you. I have to take care of things here and then I will be on my way.” Kitty watched as Abby’s eyes widened in shock.

  “You are getting married? I thought you never wanted to marry?” Abby questioned.

  “I don’t, but I am. It is the only way I can remain close to you. I tried to find a set of brothers looking for brides, but Papa disagreed on each one I found.” Kitty swiped away the tears and tried to give Abby a smile of encouragement.

  “We will be okay then, as long as my groom truly accepts me when I arrive. Did you tell him of my heritage, of my mother?” Asked Abby.

  “I did not, but he will accept you, Abby. You are beautiful and everything he asked for, down to the baking.” Kitty smiled. She loved Abby’s baking, she could own a bakery if she’d believe in herself just a little bit and stop fearing what everyone else thought of her. After a few negative experiences and hateful remarks, Abby rarely left Rosendale, content to remain at home away from the judgmental eyes of others.

  “But, Kitty,” Abby lowered her head in shame, “I’m tainted,” she whispered.

  “Abigail Jane O’Byrne! I never want to hear you say that again. You cannot go believing the vile things that evil woman has said to you. Do you hear me?”

  “But Kitty, it’s true. You know it is. Look at me. I’m not white like you. I’m different.”

  “Thank the good Lord above. You, my dear Abby, are simply not as pale skinned as I. You look as if you’ve been baking in the warm Georgia sunshine and that it has blessed you with a golden glow versus the red raw skin it bestows upon me. It’s nothing more than that, Abby. Reverend Bates will fall head over heels the moment he lays eyes on you. You are not to worry and those words are not to be repeated,” Kitty said, matter of fact, as she patted her sister’s knee and drove the wagon toward Mr. Allen’s office.

  “Look Kitty, there’s Mr. Allen, there,” Abby said as she watched the man quickly approach them with a white rectangular box under his arm and an odd expression on his face.

  “Miss O’Byrne and Miss O’Byrne, I’m glad to see you made it. I was beginning to worry. Were there any problems?” he asked.

  “No sir. However, Stepmother is aware of Abby’s absence. I do believe she was watching me as she instructed me to take the wagon instead of the carriage to Father Jacob’s. She did mention this morning that she had found Abby other employment.” Kitty rolled her eyes.

  “That she did. I am sorry to say, Abby, we must get you safely stowed away onto that train immediately,” Mr. Allen explained, as he shuffled uneasily, his feet kicking up dust that peppered his pressed gray trousers with brown specks.

  “What employment did she find for me, sir?” Abby inquired.

  Mr. Allen looked back and forth between Abby and Kitty, coughed once and then answered, “The word around the rumor mill, Miss O’Byrne, is that a Mr. Douglas Bloomberg, to whom you’ve been sold, will be arriving to collect you in two days’ time.”

  Abby gasped, as did Kitty, “She, she sold me? I—I am not a slave! My own momma wasn’t even a slave. She was freed, right Kitty?”

  “How could she do this? Who is this Mr. Bloomberg?” Kitty bravely demanded, as she slid across the wagon seat, making room for Mr. Allen, who would be riding with them to the train depot. She wrapped a comforting arm around her sister who sat shaking.

  “Mr. Bloomberg is one of the richest, most notorious con-artists, and owner of saloons from here all the way to Colorado.” He said as he handed the rectangle box to Abby and climbed into the wagon, taking the reins from Kitty.

  “You mean to say…” began Kitty.

  “…that she sold me to be a whore?” finished Abby, lowering her head in defeat.

  “There is no other explanation, which is why we must get you to the train depot and as far away from here as possible,” explained Mr. Allen as he set the wagon in motion once again. “I promised your father upon his death bed that I would see to the safety of his girls, and I will not break that promise.”

  Within moments they had arrived at the train depot, where Mr. Allen helped them both from the wagon. “The train leaves in twenty minutes. You’ll need to quickly say your goodbyes and get Abby tucked safely onto that train.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Allen, for all you’ve done,” said Abby, as he again handed her the white rectangle box. Kitty took it and she and Abby walked toward the train hand in hand. The train was massive and smoke billowed from its smokestack. They stared in awe, having never traveled by train before. They watched as the other travelers milled about, laughing and crying, as they parted ways.

  “Kitty?”

  “Yes, Abby?” The words stuck in her throat. How could she send her Abby away?

  “Don’t you see now? I’m different. Please come with me. What if this, this Samuel you wrote to won’t accept me after all? What then, Kitty? What do I do?” Abby whimpered.

  “Abby, come here.” Kitty reached out her arms and wrapped her sister in them, hugging her tightly, wishing she never had to let her go.

  “I’d be all alone Kitty, I—I don’t think I can do this.” Abby sobbed into her shoulder.

  “Sadly, Abby, you don’t have a choice, and neither do I. Samuel will accept you. You must have faith. I will only be a few short days behind you, and then we’ll be together again. I vowed to your mother that I would protect you with my life, and I aim to do just that Abby. I need you to be brave for a short time while I settle the affairs here.” Kitty reached down and picked up Abby’s carpetbag and placed it over her good arm—the arm Natalie hadn’t broken, then handed her the white rectangular box. She hugged her once more as they approached the steps to the train car. The pain in her chest seared as she let go.

  “Be so very brave, Abby. You can do this. I know you can. I will be there soon; a Mr. Black will be expecting his bride.” Kitty put on her best smile for Abby.

  Abby nodded once and straightened her shoulders—a trait they’d both inherited from Papa. Abby held her head high and stepped onto the train. The train that would take her away.

  Mr. Allen approached and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Abby is far safer on that train than she is here, Kitty. You are doing the right thing.”

  “I know I am. It just doesn’t feel right. I’ve never been apart from her, not from the moment she was born.”

  It seemed like yesterday when her father had ushered her into Lucy’s room to meet her new sister. Lucy looked exhausted as she weakly lifted her hand and beckoned Kitty to her.

  “Kitty,” she had said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I need you to take care of your sister for me.”

  “Okay, Miss Lucy. Are you leaving, like Momma did?” She struggled with the tears building in the corner of her eyes.

  “Yes, Kitty, the Lord is calling me home. Can you love, care, and protect your sister?”

  “Umm-mmm.” She nodded. “Wh-what is her name?”

  Lucy coughed. “What do you want call her?”

  “Abby. Can I call her Abby?”

  “That’s perfect, Kitty. Abigail means: ‘my Father’s joy’. Promise me, Kitty, you’ll love and protect Abby forever.”

  “I promise.”

  It had been a big promise for a four-year-old girl to make, but in that moment, Kitty had grown wise beyond her years. She knew what it was like to be without a momma, and she knew how much her new little sister was gonna want her momma, ‘cause she wanted her momma every day. So, she promised to be the best big sister ever and would protect Abby with her life.

  She could still see Lucy kissing Abby’s little cheek, just before her eyes closed and never opened again. Kitty hadn’t had time to be mad that God had taken Lucy from her or even to cry, because Abby cried enough for both of them. However, today, as she put Abby on the train, sending her thousands of miles away from her, that anger that had been buried for nineteen years began to seep through the cracks. And Kitty realized for the first time that she was beyo
nd mad, she was furious.

  Chapter One

  Atlanta, Georgia 1899

  “What now, Mr. Allen?” Kitty asked as she slowly turned from the train that carried her beloved sister away from her. Like her sister, she squared her shoulders, then inhaled deeply, releasing it slowly as if preparing herself for battle. What else could she call it really? It would be a fight and, in the end, she would lose the only home she’d ever known. The home she had shared with her momma, Miss Lucy, Abby, and her Papa. A home that had once been filled with love. Sure, there had been heartbreak and loss, but love had always remained…until that fateful day Natalie walked through the front door.

  “First, we give your Pa a proper burial, and then we get you out of here. Rosendale has already been sold, the funds are in your account. The new owners will take possession the day after the funeral. We will give Mrs. O’Byrne the amount of funds your Pa has left her and let her know she has to vacate the property. However, there has been some new developments regarding the situation with Mrs. O’Byrne. I did not want to discuss them in front of the young Miss O’Byrne and cause her further worry.” Mr. Allen said as he turned to help Kitty into the wagon, but she stopped and stared at him.

  “What new developments could there possibly be? My papa is gone, we’ve lost our home, and that woman sold my sister.”

  “Miss Kitty, perhaps you ought to sit down for this.” He pleaded as he brushed a piece of straw from his vest.

  “Mr. Allen, I handle things better if I’m able to move about. From time to time, I’m required to stomp my feet in frustration. Papa always said, ’Your Irish is showing Kitty dear, ya might wanna tuck that back in a bit.’ It was his teasing way of telling me to control my temper.” She chuckled at the memory and swiped at the tear that had escaped and ran down her cheek.

  “You’re not the fainting type, are ya Miss Kitty?” he asked, looking at her cautiously as if to study her mettle.

  “Come now, Mr. Allen, how long have you known me? And, I do believe I just told you, I’m Irish.” She grinned, “We’re made of tough stock. I can handle it, whatever it is.”

  “We believe Natalie’s marriage to your pa was a ruse, and that she is working with a conman—Mr. Bloomberg to be exact. Which means the funds your pa left for her would go to you, as the marriage was under false pretenses and, therefore, illegal. Natalie might be headed to jail instead.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment she asked, “What all has she done and would the authorities truly put her in jail? I guess I never thought about a woman going to jail before.” She said crossing her arms in front of her.

  “Happens more often than most realize, but yes, if caught, Natalie would go to jail. It is believed that Natalie is actually married to Mr. Bloomberg and has been all this time, making her marriage to your father illegal and void, since her real husband is alive and well,” said Mr. Allen.

  “How is that even possible?” Kitty shouted.

  “Keep your voice down, Miss Kitty, we do not want any word getting back to her.” He spoke soft but sternly as he reached for Kitty’s hand. “Let’s get into the wagon, less people to overhear us as we travel down the road.” He said, guiding her back toward the wagon.

  Kitty climbed into the wagon, her mind spinning. If Natalie was already married, how in the world did she get away with marrying her pa, more than that, why did she even marry her pa? What woman in her right mind would want two husbands, one had to be bad enough. Kitty plopped down on the wagon seat and shook her head. This was too much, and it didn’t make any sense. Why would someone do these things?

  “Mr. Allen…” She turned and looked up at him. He was such a tall man and, if he were younger—much younger—she might have been attracted to him. “I don’t understand. How can she be married to more than one man?”

  “There are ways. A young woman sent a report claiming that a woman matching Natalie’s description married her pa, a Mr. Johnson. Her pa became ill and passed away after a few months. When the funeral ended, a man who was overly familiar with Natalie showed up. He thanked her for his new girl and said, ‘See ya at home, wife.’ The young woman had escaped from a saloon. She was badly beaten, and her injuries were severe.” He slapped the reins and set the wagon in motion, as Kitty digested his words.

  “Where did this happen? Is the young woman okay, could she come to Atlanta and identify Natalie?” Kitty asked, hopeful, though unsure exactly what for.

  “Colorado, but Miss Johnson did not survive her injuries,” Mr. Allen said as he turned the horses toward Father Jacobs house.

  “Colorado! If it was Natalie, how did she end up all the way down here in Atlanta?” Kitty asked, the flicker of hope had vanished and, in its place, set a heavy amount doubt. She knew Natalie was a bad seed, but how would anyone prove these accusations, and what could truly be done with Natalie?

  “We believe there are more cases like this one, though no-one else has come forward. We’ve speculated that Natalie travels from state to state, collecting temporary new husbands, wealthy husbands, with young daughters,” he said, dryly.

  “Temporary husbands?” Kitty could not control the shake in her voice as she spoke. A temporary husband, what exactly did that mean?

  “Yes, temporary. They die within a short time. We think Natalie is poisoning them; your pa lived the longest. The deaths appear to be by natural causes or accidents. Natalie then sells the man’s daughter or daughters and walks away with everything.”

  “How many husbands are we about talking here, and where did you get this information, Mr. Allen?” Kitty asked, suddenly curious as to whether or not the story was actually worth a grain of salt. She hadn’t heard of anything like it before. Sure, Natalie was hateful and most unpleasant, but murderous? And her papa had been fighting a sickness off and on before he married Natalie.

  “Miss Kitty, your pa was a smart man and, while Natalie may have pulled the wool over his eyes for a brief time, she struggled to keep up the farce as time wore on. However, as far as she knows, she succeeded. What she doesn’t know is your pa hired a Pinkerton agent, Detective Gibson, several months ago. He’s inside.” He nodded toward the small house up ahead.

  “Do you think she poisoned my papa?” Kitty asked. If Papa hired a Pinkerton agent… A sickening feeling began swirling inside, settling deep into her gut.

  “I do,” said he answered. “But I have no proof.”

  “She, she didn’t just sell Abby, did she?” Kitty asked, already knowing the answer before Mr. Allen spoke it.

  “No, Miss Kitty, she didn’t.” He said and looked away as if refusing to look her in the eye.

  “Then why didn’t I get on that train with Abby? She begged me to!” Kitty shouted. “You could have buried Papa without me. Wouldn’t that have been the safest course of action?” she asked.

  “Perhaps, but I believe you are strong enough to help us lay a trap. We hope to capture not only Natalie, but her real husband. After all, you did tell me that you are made of tough stock.” He grinned gently. “And your pa believed you were capable of this task.”

  “He did?” she asked softly as she studied Mr. Allen’s face. He may have been closer to her papa’s age, but she’d known him since she was in short skirts. He wouldn’t lie to her, would he?

  “Yes, he did. He believed in you Miss Kitty. He led me to believe that you are rather intuitive, and he may have said you’ve been busting imaginary crime for years. Now is your chance to do something real, to help real women, and to quite possibly save another young lady from not only losing herself to a life she didn’t choose, but also from losing her pa,” said Mr. Allen.

  “Thank you for telling me, but who is us?” she asked as he pulled the wagon to a stop in front of Father Jacobs’s house. Father Jacobs lived behind the Sacred Heart Church in a tiny white house with green shutters and a tidy walkway. It looked out of place next to such a large church, but it fit him perfectly.

  Father Jacobs was a short, spry old man, with more ene
rgy than those half his age. He had twinkly blue eyes that sparkled behind round wire rimmed glasses, and a neatly trimmed white beard. He was balding, but a few wisps of white hair remained and stood on end when the wind caught them. He always made her smile.

  “The us is myself, Detective Gibson, Father Jacobs, and Sheriff Riley. Of course, Bart Jones is in on it as well,” he said, setting the brake and then stepping down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t inform you of this any earlier. There are also a few bounty hunters seeking the man we believe to be her true husband, as well as a known accomplice by the name of Crowley. We do not know if it is a first or last name yet.”

  She watched as he walked around to her side of the wagon and offered her a hand down. She understood why he hadn’t told her of these developments until now; it wasn’t that he was keeping secrets from her or afraid she wouldn’t be strong enough to pull off whatever the plan was. Kitty had been scheming and planning since the day she learned to walk, she’d often dreamed of being a detective herself. She knew how plans worked. She knew Mr. Allen was protecting her, as she had done Abby. The less that knew the inside details, the better. All she had known until this moment was that Rosendale would be sold and she would be in Oregon with Abby, both married to men they didn’t know.

  “I understand, Mr. Allen,” she said and once again squared her shoulders.

  Mr. Allen smiled. “I thought you might. Shall we go in? We do not have much time left to discuss things and we do not want Natalie becoming suspicious of your whereabouts.” He said, offering her his arm.

  Kitty nodded as she took his extended arm. They walked up to Father Jacobs’s door just as the man himself opened it and joyfully welcomed them inside. It seemed to her that Father Jacobs excitable nature had intensified. If she wasn’t already aware of Father Jacobs exuberant nature, she would have been taken back.

  “Forgive me, Miss O’Byrne. I’ve never had a secret mission take place in my home before. I know we have sad things to discuss as well. Do come in.” He stood to the side, holding the door open. “Hello, Mr. Allen. Nice to see you again.”