Redeeming Lies
The Sawtooth Range, Volume 4
Samantha St. Claire
Published by Samantha St. Claire, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
REDEEMING LIES
First edition. April 6, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Samantha St. Claire.
ISBN: 978-1732736702
Written by Samantha St. Claire.
For Seiji
Redeeming Lies
by
Samantha St. Claire
Redeeming Lies
Copyright © 2018 by Samantha St. Claire
All rights reserved.
First Edition: September 2018
Cover by MK McClintock
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Redeeming Lies is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
For information please contact:
[email protected]
www.samanthastclaire.com
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank the librarians of the Ketchum Historical Library for their assistance with the factual representation of Ketchum, Idaho in the late 1800s. Specifically, I am grateful to Christina Jensen for her book suggestions. The Ketchum librarians enthusiastically provided me with stacks of books and photos that made the story come alive.
For the details concerning the Oregon Short Line, I must thank Evan Filby for his patient response to my many questions. South Fork Companion
For constant guidance, I am grateful to MK McClintock.
For constant encouragement, I am exceedingly grateful to my desert muse Shirley Kamada.
For unwavering support in all matters of the heart, I am grateful to Hisaji and my ohana.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
Chapter 1
Idaho Territory, April 1889
Maddie Jennings pressed back against the brick wall, taking in a sharp breath and swallowing hard. She removed the pin from her hair and pulled off her wide-brimmed hat, taking a moment to slow her hammering heart before lifting a gloved hand to the corner of the building. She peered across the street once again. Everything about the man screamed out to her, lawman. The bulge just below his hip kept his oilskin duster from falling close to his body as it should. He wore a gun strapped down to his thigh, probably a Colt.
She discerned him to be a man who paid particular attention to his appearance, but not so much as to be mistaken for a dandy or a gambler. His black hat, free of trail dust indicated he’d traveled by rail as she and her father had and not on horseback. That deduction was further confirmed by his boots which appeared polished. He wore the hat low on his brow, shadowing keen eyes that swept the crowded train platform, the look of a man on the hunt.
Maddie let out the breath she’d held, again flattening herself to the wall until the rough brick edges dug into her back. Into what scam had her father become embroiled this time? She had to get back on the train—fast.
Minutes later, she collapsed onto the seat beside her father and told him of her observations.
"Are you certain, Maddie? Maybe he was a policeman. Maybe he was out of uniform.” She detected the desperate tone to his words. “Your imagination sometimes. . . "
Irritated by the implication she had read him wrong, Maddie interrupted him, her tone terse. "Yes, Father, I am quite certain."
"But what makes you think he’s a Pinkerton agent?" A vein bulged above his stiff white collar. Nervous fingers fiddled at the starched fold pressing against his neck. "More likely he’s a simple local constable. Surely, not. . ."
She shot back, "I saw his badge when he showed it to the conductor. Is that proof enough?" He knew better than to question her in this, the talent she'd cultivated under his instruction. What she now saw written conspicuously on her father's face lifted fine hairs along the back of her neck. Maddie gnawed the inside of her lower lip, regretting her harsh response.
In her head, she heard the polished voice of Miss Emma Willard, almost as though the woman sat beside her. A lady never lets her face or body betray her emotions in public. With a breath that drove her ribs against her corset stays, she squeezed her eyes shut and drew her hands into her lap, her facial expression again impassive.
She leaned in close to her father, her voice low. "I heard his description of the man he’s searching for. The name was Alex Carlisle."
This was the name her father had assumed with his latest money-making scheme, Carlisle, a name he wore like his expensive Brooks Brothers overcoat. He'd told her it sounded more at home with the names of those with whom he was rubbing elbows and, not coincidentally, soliciting funds.
He turned, facing her, his complexion paling. "At least they haven’t discovered my real name."
"We don’t know that!" With another ragged breath, she reined in her anger.
All the years of mysterious deals that moved their fortunes like ships on unpredictable seas seemed to have brought them into the face of a storm that would capsize them at last. She wanted to rage at him, demand the truth, something she'd rarely asked of him before. But this was not the time for explanations. She pulled her lips into a thin line and said with a calm she did not feel, "Father, you must alter your appearance." When he didn't respond, she reached for his hand, squeezing it hard. "Did you hear me? There’s no time to delay. The agent appeared to be heading toward this train."
He continued to stare at her as though she was unrecognizable to him; his mouth opened and closed twice, no words, just the mechanical workings of his jaw.
Maddie reached for the top button of his traveling coat as she said, "Father, get ahold of yourself. It isn't like you've not done this before." She helped him extract his arms from the sleeves. His traveling valise lay beneath the seat. With a grunt, she tugged it onto the seat between them.
Expressionless, her father sat beside her. His lack of responsiveness caused her to lay her fingers upon his sleeve, speaking each command as though he were a child. "Father, find the wash room, use your shaving kit, and shave off your mustache and beard."
He gripped the valise handle, his knuckles white. Grabbing for her hand, he pleaded, "I'm sorry, Maddie, so sorry. I never thought...I thought that..." His mouth twisted as if conjuring the words from the air above them.
&n
bsp; His stuttered apology only increased her anxiety. Father never apologized. Maddie forced a smile to her lips, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. "We can talk later. Now go!"
He hesitated and her smile faded. "Go."
She drew another painful breath, convinced the corset had cinched on its own. Think, Maddie. Devise a plan, then execute it. She reached for her father’s black silk topper and flattened it. Next, she hid it under the coat draped over her arm. With her eyes squeezed tight, another wave of anger surged. This part of her life was supposed to be over, and yet here she was trapped in her father’s schemes yet again. He’d promised her he’d not involve her again. Promises, no matter how sincere, wouldn’t save them now. As much as she felt revulsion for being forced into this, love for him compelled her to act. She bit her lip, rose to her feet and stepped into the aisle—in a moment transformed to an accomplice.
Maddie lifted her chin, her purpose clear. Composed, she smoothed her skirts and strolled down the train car aisle with the casual pace of someone on a touring holiday. While she appeared unintentional in her movements, her eyes searched the racks and vacant seats. Within ten minutes, she was back in her seat. A worn derby hat and simple woolen coat awaited her father. In ten more, her own appearance altered. The peacock feather in her hat replaced with a simple beige ribbon and the removal of the expensive lavender brocade jacket made her appear far less the cultured lady. She hid her French lace collar and cuffs by slipping on a modest, brown tweed wrap, borrowed from the woman sleeping two rows ahead.
Her gut constricted. She'd just stolen the man's hat and coat. She justified it. The man had come out ahead, hadn't he? Her father's garments were shamefully expensive, far costlier than those she'd taken. It was little consolation for her actions. She'd believed this life was behind her, but once more she’d become what she abhorred—a liar and a thief.
With slow, faltering steps, her father lurched back down the aisle his movements gave the appearance of a drunkard or someone ill. His shaved face exposed pale, sunken cheeks. Rather than appearing younger, he looked older by a decade. Her heart pricked with remorse to see him thus affected. Perhaps the stumbling gait was not an act. This was not the cavalier father who'd for years played at life as though it were a game of cards. What had he done?
She scooted closer to the window and peered down the platform, searching for the agent. Sudden movement several yards behind their car caught her attention. The brown duster spread taut over broad shoulders looked right. The agent she’d seen earlier was engaged in discussion with a porter who was waving his arm toward the Central Pacific train heading west. His face showed clearly as he turned to observe the departing train. Seconds later, the agent sprinted across the platform, the duster lifting to reveal the Colt strapped to his thigh.
The agent’s failure should have been satisfying, but it also gave her a curious pang of disappointment. In her flights of fancy, fed by her fascination with the Pinkerton agency, she'd created a fictional character patterned after Kate Warne, their first female agent. She'd give much to speak to one, but not as a prisoner. She shuddered.
Laying her hand gently on her father's sleeve, she whispered, "I think we may have lost him."
"Really?" Alex leaned around his daughter, following her gaze to the train pulling away on the next track. "You're sure?"
"I saw him board the Central Pacific train for Nevada." She squeezed his arm again, attempting to read his expression as she asked, "But we don't know he was the only one, do we?"
His momentary elation appeared to deflate like a popped balloon, his shoulders sagging.
"Are you going to tell me now why Pinkerton agents are after you? Surely you've never been involved in anything big enough to warrant their involvement. What did you do?"
He slumped back against the seat, seeming to shrink before her eyes. His chin fell to his chest while his hands fluttered in his lap like injured birds. "I violated my first rule. I didn't get out before greed made me blind. Fool!" He reached for her hand, grabbing for it, desperate. "I made some powerful enemies, Maddie."
Chapter 2
The two men waiting on the train platform next to the puffing eastbound Oregon Short Line might have passed for brothers. Jonathan Winthrop and David Reynolds both looked out upon the world with large expressive eyes veiled by thick lashes. On Jonathan those eyes looked dangerous, while David’s made him appear sympathetic and kind, as befitted his calling as a physician.
Jonathan wore his Stetson low on his brow, the brim casting shadows across his rugged features. The doctor wore no hat, his dark hair swept back over a broad forehead. He lacked the wide shoulders of his counterpart, but shared his lean, loose-limbed physique. David, keenly aware of that distinction, noted his deficiency, sometimes catching his reflection while passing a shop window.
The truth was, David had grown stronger this year. Had he remained in the eastern damp with his diagnosis of tuberculosis, he'd likely be dead now or close to it. Despite the strength he’d regained, he believed he'd never be the equal of a man such as Jonathan Winthrop.
Jonathan gripped David's hand, giving it a firm shake. "I wish you the best, David, both Kat and I do. Ketchum will be fortunate to have you." Jonathan released David's hand, shoving his own back in his pocket. "You'll always be welcome. I hope you’ll remember that."
David nodded, recognizing in Jonathan's stiff posture the awkwardness he felt. Men were bad at this. He glanced over his shoulder at the train where the last passengers were boarding. "Thank you for helping me get all my equipment transported here. I appreciate it."
"Yeah, well, Kat and her father are pretty grateful for the equipment you left with them."
"It was the least I could do. Besides, the practice I’m taking over in Ketchum is well equipped, and I know Kat and her father will use what I left behind to help the folks of Snowberry. Good people settled there."
“I think so, too. I doubt that Kat and I will move away anytime soon. Our roots are already sinking deep into that green valley we've staked a claim to.”
David nodded again, biting his lip, then added, "Please, come to Ketchum to visit when you can. I’ve been told, it’s pretty country."
"Think Kat might be counting on that. Hear they've got electricity and telephones." Jonathan shook his head. "Hard to imagine. Not sure I want to see all those modern contraptions coming into our valley. It'll change things. Not sure for the best."
David laughed as he stepped up onto the car platform. He said, "You say that now, but once you have the conveniences, believe me, you won't know how you lived without them."
After tucking his bag under the seat, David slid close to the window. He ran a hand through his hair, then slid his fingers across his chin, rubbing two days’ growth of stubble. His reflection in the train window looked soberly back at him. He announced to himself, "You need a shave." He stared at his reflection for a moment, no longer seeing himself but the vision of the brown-haired woman who'd stolen his heart. Kat was everything he'd hoped to find in a woman—smart, funny, and utterly charming, all five feet and one inch of her. She was also married to the man who'd been fortunate to find her first, Jonathan Winthrop. Because he’d even entertained such thoughts was why he had to leave. She was too great a temptation, and he was an honorable man.
From the window, he watched as the miles rolled behind him. With each one he sensed an easing of the heaviness that had been compressing his chest over the course of these past months. The passion for the woman he could never possess had grown in his heart like a cancer. Suppressing it became more painful with each passing day. Far from her in Ketchum perhaps he’d breathe easily again.
From his coat pocket he pulled a slim book and thumbed through it until he reached his bookmark. He chuckled softly to himself. Edgar Allan Poe. Here was an author who knew about the pain that unrequited love could induce. He read the first line of the story he'd selected.
Paris! In Paris it was, in the summer of 1840. There I first met that
strange and interesting young fellow, August Dupin.
The clacking of the wheels, steel on steel, mile upon mile, melded perfectly with Poe's lilting prose. The young doctor let himself ease into the fiction. At this moment, fiction was preferable to reality.
Even with the modifications to her clothing—the dowdy, coarse cloth wrap draped across her shoulders, the broad-brimmed hat set at a less saucy angle, and her corset loosened to allow her waist expansion—she remained a stunning young woman. The approving eyes of the man one row ahead confirmed that. Her hourglass figure was difficult to disguise. Neither could she alter the smooth line of her nose or her full lips. Her attempts to blend in with the other female passengers were more greatly hindered by her almond-shaped, sepia-colored eyes. Those striking features gave her an exotic air. Compounded by having inherited her father's height, at five feet eight inches, she naturally drew attention to herself.
After passing through the train car, she was satisfied that no other agents or lawmen were traveling with them. Settling into their seat at the back of the car, she leaned in close to her father, whispering, "Can you tell me now?"
Her father's handsome features contorted. She measured his agitation in the quick movement of his hands, the stooped angle of his shoulders, the repeated licking of his lips. He held her eyes with his red-rimmed ones. "Are you sure you want to know?"
She hesitated only a moment before squaring her shoulders, lifting her chin. "Yes, Father, I think I need to have some knowledge of it, at least that which will allow me to help you. . .us evade our pursuers."
The steady rumble of the train car muffled his confession to all but Maddie's ears. When he'd finished his explanation, she sank back against the corner of the seat, her face pressed to the window, watching night descend upon a stark landscape. How gullible are people, so eager to believe a lie! She wondered at that for not the first time. Her father, partnering with a family this time, convinced hundreds of people that sugar was capable of being refined in minutes through some mysterious electrical process. Greed was quite effective to snare gullible people. When the lie was uncovered, the investors sought satisfaction for their losses.
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