“Tell me about your parents.”
She saw his gaze shift. He looked down to the left, and she could almost feel him creating a story. She knew what he’d say next was a lie.
He talked of his father, a lawyer. A successful one. And his mother, a lovely society matron. He was an only child.
Since Win assumed it was all a lie, she wondered for the first time if her father wasn’t an only child. Did she have aunts and uncles? How could she find out?
He went on, talking about a happy childhood. A fine school that made him want a finishing-school education for Win.
On he went, and Win prayed as she listened to a made-up life so grand and pretty it was only fit for a fairy tale.
Lord, how do I honor my father? Is there a rule in the commandments that allows a believer to abandon this one commandment if there is only dishonor in the parent?
She’d told Kevin that honoring was not to let her father’s lies and mistreatment, possibly even to the extent of murder, go on to the next generation. She would honor him by not living as he did. And she would honor him by being honest. That was the hard part. To honor him by speaking truth to him and giving him a chance. He might change his life. He might become worthy of honor. But she couldn’t do that as long as Molly was in his house.
God, is that right? It has to be right. Because there is no way, as honor is traditionally understood, to honor such a man.
Her pa talked of meeting Ma, and she wondered if there was truth in that. Even if he wasn’t the well-connected young man he pretended, he might have lied his way into Ma’s social circle. Charmed a pretty young woman. Married her while keeping the falsehoods alive. These lies might be of long-standing, lies he’d told in his youth and clung to even now.
As she wondered what to say, what to do, what to believe, words pressed to be spoken. The truth. She needed to speak the truth. She’d be honest, then she’d leave here, Molly and Wyatt with her. She had to challenge his stories, and she felt God goading her to speak right here, right now.
She opened her mouth to do it.
Molly walked in, and Win’s mouth snapped shut. Had God been goading her? Or had God sent Molly just in time?
“I thought coffee might be welcome. Kevin will join you soon, but I didn’t wait for him.” Molly got very busy setting the tray up, pouring the coffee. She didn’t sit down.
Molly was as good as a sister now. And yet, Pa didn’t invite her to join them. And Molly hadn’t brought a third cup. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome. She hadn’t brought a cup for Kevin, either. Win wasn’t sure what that meant.
“M-Molly.” Win ransacked her mind for some topic of conversation beyond the only one Win could think of: Have you proved my father is a killer yet? “Look at these pictures Pa gave me.”
Molly came and looked. Win felt her father stiffen at the invitation. He’d been able to accept the intrusion when it was nothing but a servant bringing coffee. But to join the conversation annoyed him.
What’s more, Molly knew. Win saw a slight tremble to Molly’s hand as she reached for the pictures of Win’s grandparents. They were small, and Win knew two prominent, wealthy Chicagoans would have had full-sized portraits painted. Large, well-done portraits. And there should be paintings of her mother, too. Possibly even one of Win as a small child. Where were all those pictures? Had Pa burned them? He’d dug deep for these in a book in a forgotten corner of his study. Possibly he’d meant to burn them and neglected these small portraits and had only remembered them when Win asked.
A poor family setting off across the continent hoping to homestead eighty or one hundred sixty acres might be forced to leave valuable family heirlooms like portraits behind. But a wealthy man like her father? Who had moved luxuries across four states?
If those portraits were gone, it was an act of spite. Win couldn’t help but wonder if he’d forced Ma to watch him burn them. It seemed like the kind of thing her pa might do. Maybe she couldn’t speak truth to her father today, but she could demonstrate right and wrong, at least as Win saw it.
“Molly, go get another coffee cup. Get two, one for Kevin and one for you, and join us.”
“Now, Win . . .” her pa began.
“Molly is my sister.” Win cut him off before he could say whatever unkind thing he was preparing to say.
“Sister-in-law,” he corrected her. “And she’s my housekeeper. You can’t expect me—”
“I do expect it, Pa.” Win met his gaze. As their eyes met, she realized how rarely she’d done it. Every lifelong reflex she possessed pushed her to look down, look away, and mind her father. Don’t provoke his wrath. But in this way, she could truly honor him. By expecting honor of him.
“I lived with Molly so I know what a hard worker she is, what a fine cook.” Win looked at Molly and then reached out to grab her hand and hold on when Molly might’ve left the room. “You are blessed to have such a fine housekeeper. But that doesn’t mean she’s not my sister. We will include her. I’m sure when Kevin comes in, he’d be shocked not to find Molly with us. He’d find it terribly wrong, and so do I.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Winona.” Something burned in Pa’s eyes that Win knew, as an adult woman, was frightening. She’d always known this was part of him, but before, she’d looked at him with the eyes of a child. She’d avoided him and been polite and lived away from him as much as she could manage.
She squared her shoulders and stood to face her father. “The only tone was to ask you to treat Molly as my sister. I expect it of you, and what’s more, I demand it of you. I won’t slight her.”
“You’ll do as I say. You’re my daughter, and my word is law around here.”
“Your word isn’t above God’s, Pa.” She softened her voice, wishing she could reach him. She doubted it was possible but honor demanded she try. “Pa, God calls me to honor you. But the only way to do that is nearly the same word, honesty. I have to tell you honestly that you need to humble yourself before God. I need a father who is worthy of honor, and you are not.”
The burn in his eyes turned to a raging fire. Win braced herself to be slapped.
Eighteen
Look at this, Falcon.” Cheyenne held up a picture she’d found buried in a drawer in Kingston’s bedroom.
Falcon came to her side and stared at the picture.
Cheyenne tapped on a mostly grown boy in the front row. “That’s your pa.”
Falcon leaned close. “It’s like looking at a picture of myself. That has to be Pa.”
“And look at who he’s standing behind.”
“That has to be Randall Kingston.”
“Yep. And they look alike. I wouldn’t have thought of it if he didn’t have your eyes.” She stared at the group of young men. “They’re so young.”
“Just boys.”
“Some kind of school picture. There are . . .” She counted swiftly, then she quit counting as a jolt went through her that felt like lightning. She tapped her finger on a young man in the back row. “Wait, look who’s standing behind Kingston.”
“That’s Oliver Hawkins.”
With a grim nod, Cheyenne said, “They knew each other. Or is he another brother? Hawkins doesn’t have your eyes, and it seems to run strong in your family.”
Falcon shook his head. “So Kingston, who I shot today, is my uncle? And maybe Hawkins is another uncle?”
“I’d say for sure with Kingston. With Hawkins, an uncle or a very old friend.” She flipped the picture over. “Jeffers House of Refuge for Young Men.” She looked up at Falcon. “What is a house of refuge?”
Falcon shrugged.
Then she tapped another line of words. “Jeffers, Tennessee. 1839. I’ve never thought I heard a single note of Tennessee in Oliver’s voice. He sounded nothing like Clovis.”
“Can I look at the picture again?”
Cheyenne handed it to Falcon, wondering what it felt like to have a pa with such a twisted past. “Your Bible says Clovis married your ma in 1840. He l
ooks old enough here to be nearly out of school, if this was a school.”
“Never heard tell of no little brother for my pa. But Kingston might have changed his name, or Pa did, or both. Whatever made ’em do that, they didn’t end up, all three of them, out here by happenstance.”
“I don’t know when Kingston moved out here, but Hawkins was definitely here ahead of Clovis.”
“Pa and his little brother must’ve followed Hawkins out. If they knew he hit the mother lode marrying Win’s rich ma in Chicago, then headed west to escape any harsh judgments from his wife’s friends, the others might’ve come hoping to get in on the money.”
“Kingston sets up as a cheating lawyer, and Clovis sees what a smart move it is to marry for money and latches on to my ma. You know, I told you Hawkins was Clovis’s only friend out here. I always just thought they met and got on well. Instead, they knew each other from before.”
“Jeffers House of Refuge for Young Men. That sounds strange,” Falcon said. “Refuge from what? What kind of school is it? I don’t reckon it matters, but this connects three men at the center of a lot of trouble.”
Falcon reached out and caught Cheyenne’s arm. “And if Kingston knew about Rachel, then Hawkins does, too. And if he knows about her, he’s likely to know Molly and Wyatt are up to something in his house.”
Cheyenne’s eyes locked on Falcon’s. “We’ve got to get them out of there.”
“She found something?” Wyatt’s eyes flashed with excitement, and maybe relief, when Kevin handed him the envelopes.
“She said to open them carefully. If there’s nothing criminal in them, then she’ll try and slip them back in his—”
Wyatt tore open an envelope, shredding it in his hurry. Then he looked up at Kevin and grinned. “Sorry, big brother. I can’t get too upset about how I treat Hawkins.” While he talked, he dragged out a white, embroidered handkerchief. “Spending time over here has been a mighty fine lesson in how to treat animals, hired hands, women, and probably God. Just do the exact opposite of Oliver Hawkins.” He handed the handkerchief to Kevin and looked in to find a single sheet of paper.
Wyatt read it aloud. “‘Dear Hannah, too many days have passed since I last saw you. No better woman has filled my days, and no one can take your place. If only you had been as good to me as I was to you. Now I must go on alone.’”
Kevin held up the handkerchief. A delicate, lacy thing with an embroidered corner. A single letter H.
“Who’s Hannah?” Kevin glanced nervously at the house. “I’ve got to get back in there.”
“Maybe one of those other housekeepers Rachel said was missing. She said a killer of the type Hawkins might be would keep some token or memento from a victim. That kerchief would qualify.” Wyatt tore the second packet open. This one made of brown paper like that used to wrap parcels at the general store. A jeweled pin fell out, like the kind that could be fastened to a woman’s dress bodice. There was another note. This one read, “‘Dear Lydia, with your vibrant red hair, you called out to me from the first moment.’” Wyatt jerked his head up. “There’s more here but the end is the same. ‘Now I must go on alone.’”
Kevin had the third and final envelope open. This one flat and lightweight. There was nothing in it but a sheet of unlined paper. He read, “‘Dear Amelia . . .’ That’s all it says. It must be a note he began to Amelia Bishop before she vanished.”
Kevin’s eyes met Wyatt’s for a single grim second.
“I’m going to pack my things,” Wyatt said. “This isn’t much, but I’m through here and so is Molly. I’ll saddle the horses Molly and I brought over, then I’ll come to the house and tell Hawkins I quit. We’re taking Molly with us whether she agrees or not.”
They’d already next thing to kidnapped her from the parson’s house. They were getting good at it.
“I think she’ll agree. She wants out.” Kevin handed his letter to Wyatt. “You hold on to all of these. I’m going in.”
Wyatt wished they had better evidence than odd poems, only one of them with the name of a woman they knew had worked for Hawkins. “I’d like to have more proof to take to the sheriff but . . .”
“We’ll show these to Rachel.” Kevin clapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s right, she knows the names of the two missing women. These poems, along with what evidence Rachel has, might be enough to bring Hawkins in for questioning, then the sheriff can go through that safe. Having left any other letters in there might be better proof than if we have them and the sheriff has only Molly’s word where they came from.”
“I’ll be ready to leave with the women when you get up there.” Kevin turned for the house.
Wyatt watched him go at a run. Wyatt’s heart sped up as he thought of how close they were to stopping a murderer, and if they didn’t accomplish that, at least they’d be getting out of here.
Nineteen
Cheyenne didn’t want Rachel alone with Kingston, even if alone included the sheriff and the doctor. They might not be suspicious enough.
She was running by the time she reached the doctor’s office. Rachel lay unconscious, a good bandage covering her dress that the doctor had cut open. Her coat hung next to her. Blood soaked, too, but it would serve for modesty.
“As soon as she wakes up, we’re going home,” Cheyenne said. “Kingston has connections back near Bear Claw Pass and my brother and sister may be in danger.”
The doctor stopped working over Kingston and turned to listen to every word.
The sheriff came up out of his chair, his brow furrowed. “Tell me what you’ve found that’s upset you so much.”
Cheyenne took turns with Falcon telling them every detail.
She’d brought the picture along, too.
“I’m going to send a few wires,” Gatlin said. “Track down this school. If you’re right about him being a brother to Clovis, then that school oughta be able to tell me his real name. I can see if there are any wanted posters. I can also see if there’s any proof he ever studied the law. And maybe that’ll help me figure out how he paid for that big house. He had to’ve come in here with money because he sure as certain never made enough working here in Casper to pay for it.”
Cheyenne went to Rachel’s side. Her face was pale as milk. Her eyes remained closed. She breathed steadily. “You stitched her up, right, Doc?”
“Yep, she’s really not bad hurt except for that bump on the head.” The doctor abandoned Kingston. Cheyenne got a strong feeling the doctor, like the sheriff, had little use for the man. He bent over Rachel and tugged on one of her eyes to lift the lid. He stared for a few seconds, then shook his head. “She’s out stone cold. We just have to wait.”
Cheyenne saw Falcon rub the back of his head. He’d been clipped by a bullet there, and it’d knocked him out hard enough he woke up without any memory. Win had heard of such a thing and said it was called amnesia. Falcon knew a knock on the head could do plenty of damage.
“We can’t wait.” Cheyenne couldn’t stand to.
“Doc Reynolds,” Falcon said, “would it be dangerous for her to come along with us? We don’t have a wagon, but—” A train whistle cut him off.
“That’s it.” Cheyenne looked out the window in the door to the doctor’s office. “We can catch the train. Load our horses. We’ll be home in an hour. Can she make it, Doc? We have a decent doctor now living at the RHR.”
“I suppose.” Dr. Reynolds didn’t sound that happy about it.
“And will Kingston stay locked up?” Falcon asked. “We can come back in a few days, but he’s dangerous.”
“I take Cheyenne’s word for what happened. You’re a second witness, Falcon, and I saw Miss Hobart brought in. Yes, that’s enough to keep him locked up. I’m going to investigate him a bit, and I’ll wait for you to come back and testify.”
“I’ll go buy three tickets, arrange for the horses to get on board, and send another telegram to the Pinkerton Agency about the Jeffers House of Refuge.” Cheyenne turned
for the door. “You bring Rachel. The train usually doesn’t stay in the station long, especially not in a town this small.”
Cheyenne was gone, running for the train station, trusting her husband to handle Rachel. She enjoyed the sweet feeling of having a husband she could fully trust.
Kevin burst into the study just as Mr. Hawkins slapped Win across the face.
Win cried out and clutched her cheek. Molly rushed to her and pulled her away from Mr. Hawkins’s fury, and his hand raised to strike Molly.
Kevin charged at Mr. Hawkins and slammed a fist into his face, knocking him back hard enough he fell over the arm of his overstuffed chair. Hawkins’s feet caught under the low table holding the china cups and coffee, and it went flying.
Kevin kept coming.
“No, stop.” Win grabbed his arm and threw all her weight against him.
Molly jumped in and grabbed Kevin’s other arm. Not because she particularly wanted him to stop. She thought a few more solid fists to the face were just what Mr. Hawkins needed.
“Let’s go, Kevin.” Win sounded shaky, near tears. Her face had a red splotch on it the size and shape of an open hand.
“I’m going with you.” Molly had had enough. She wasn’t staying in this house another minute.
“No, don’t leave me, Molly.” Mr. Hawkins dragged himself to his feet. Holding one hand to his jaw, he kept the chair between him and Kevin.
“You’re just going to have to hire a new housekeeper. I didn’t like the way you treated me, Mr. Hawkins.” Molly made sure to load that formal name he’d always insisted she use with scorn. “But I would never stay working for a man who’d hit my sister!”
At that moment, Wyatt came in. “He hit Win?”
Win gave Molly a desperate look across the breadth of Kevin’s chest. Molly let go and plowed into Wyatt as he strode toward Mr. Hawkins.
They collided hard enough she almost went over backward. She clung to him, face-to-face, her arms tight around his waist.
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