Daphne couldn’t decide if she should be irritated with Joshua for speaking when Mr. Pratt had addressed his question to her or if she should admire him for the careful yet truthful reply. She decided on the latter for the sake of peaceful coexistence.
As Joshua slid a slice of meatloaf from a platter onto his plate, he asked Mr. Pratt about the products he sold, and throughout the remainder of the meal, he peppered the others with questions, easily drawing out information from each one of them. It was quite the artful display. Daphne couldn’t help but be impressed. He must have been a crackerjack reporter back in St. Louis. She had the feeling their interview with the Coughlin brothers wouldn’t take long. Whatever they knew about Richard Terrell, Joshua would have it out of them quickly—and perhaps even more than they intended to tell.
And judging by the way Fiona Hannigan stared across the table at Joshua, she would have told him anything he wanted too. The girl wore a star-stuck expression. Dazzled no doubt by Joshua’s charisma and good looks. Or maybe it was the intense blue of his eyes. Whenever he looked at Daphne, she felt—
No, she wouldn’t allow her thoughts to go there again. In the weeks since she’d first seen Joshua Crawford in the South Fork Restaurant, she’d given far too much thought to his eyes. Of course it was only because she wanted to include a character with similar eyes in her book. Purely a literary interest. That was all.
September 9, 1872
Thanks be to God! Our daughter, Angelica Ruth, was delivered safely today. I would not have thought it possible that one glimpse at her beautiful little face would cause me to be overwhelmed by such indescribable joy. I am a father. I had a part in giving this child life. She is in my care. I am responsible for her well being, for her education, for helping her to know Christ from an early age. It is my duty to show her how to live a righteous and honorable life, to grow into a giving and caring young woman. It is not a charge I take lightly. May she never know what a wretched man her father was in the early years of his life.
Annie had a difficult time of it. The labor lasted more than forty-eight hours, and the doctor told me it would be unwise for her to have more children. He warned that another labor like this one might take her life and the life of the child too. I haven’t had the heart to tell Annie that news yet. Tomorrow or the next day will be soon enough. I know she will be heartbroken, for she has spoken often throughout these months of wanting several children. Not impossible for a woman of thirty-six, but it appears now that it is not God’s plan for us to have a full quiver. (“As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.” Psalm 127:4-5)
During Annie’s labor, while I waited, worried, and prayed, I thought of my parents. My mother was Annie’s age when she died, my father just two years older. I had not considered before how young they were when their lives ended. But at least I know, now that I am in Christ, that I shall see them again. What a blessed hope that is.
TWELVE
Despite Joshua’s hopes to the contrary, Daphne did not rest well. She tossed and turned much of the night and arose before dawn with a headache that pounded in her temples and made her eyes squint. She hoped a hot cup of tea would ease the pain. Otherwise, the long drive back to Bethlehem Springs would be a miserable one.
She was surprised to find Joshua already in the dining room when she entered it. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well.
“Morning,” he said when he saw her.
“Good morning.”
He pointed to the sideboard that held several covered plates and bowls. “Mrs. Hannigan said to help yourself.”
Daphne’s stomach rolled at the suggestion of food. She would begin with tea. A couple of minutes later, she sat at the table, holding a cup between both hands.
“Frank Coughlin said in his reply that we were welcome to call early this morning. If you think you can be ready—” He checked his pocket watch. “—I thought we would leave here at eight o’clock.”
She took a sip of the hot beverage before answering, “I’ll be ready whenever you say.”
“It seems our drive back to Bethlehem Springs will be a cold one. The temperature dipped sharply during the night.”
A headache and frigid weather. Oh, how she longed to be home in her own cozy cottage. She hoped Joshua’s interview with the Coughlins wouldn’t take long. At the moment, she couldn’t care less what they had to say. She didn’t care whether or not her portrayal of Rawhide Rick was accurate. She just wanted to go home.
She continued to take slow sips of tea, her gaze focused on the centerpiece on the table, a rather strange-looking glass object that seemed determined to worsen the pain behind her eyes.
“Are you feeling all right?”
She blinked, then looked at Joshua. “A bit tired is all.”
He arched an eyebrow, as if to say he didn’t believe her.
Forcing a smile, she said, “I’m not an early riser by nature.” That wasn’t entirely true. When she didn’t write into the late hours of the night, she often rose before the sun.
“That’s unfortunate. Morning is the best time of the day.”
She shrugged and sipped more tea. If it weren’t for this pain in her head, she would have gladly conversed with him.
“Well.” He slid his chair back from the table. “I’ll meet you at eight at the front door.”
She nodded, knowing she must appear to be in a foul mood but unable to do anything about it. She could only hope the hot beverage would work its wonders before they called upon the Coughlin brothers.
Per Mrs. Hannigan’s directions, Joshua turned the automobile left at the first street he came to and followed it north out of the small town of Stone Creek. Fifteen minutes later, he spied the single-story log house set back from the road, surrounded by lodgepole pines.
“There it is,” he said to Daphne.
He slowed the motorcar and drove into the clearing in front of the cabin. As the engine fell silent, Joshua said a silent prayer, asking that truth would prevail during his meeting with Frank and Lawrence Coughlin. Then he and Daphne got out of the car and walked to the cabin’s front door. His knock was answered after a few moments by a man with thinning white hair, pale blue eyes, weathered skin, and slightly hunched shoulders.
“Mr. Crawford?”
Joshua nodded. “Yes.” He removed his hat. “And this is Miss McKinley. Her brother is Griff Arlington’s son-in-law.”
“Pleased to meet you both. I’m Frank Coughlin.” He threw the door open wide. “Come in out of the cold and set yourself by the fire.”
Joshua placed his hand in the small of Daphne’s back, a brief touch that drew her gaze before she stepped away from him.
“This here’s my brother Larry.”
Lawrence Coughlin bore a strong resemblance to Frank, although he stood a few inches taller and his shoulders were unbent.
Joshua nodded at the other man. “I appreciate that you agreed to speak with us.”
“Glad to have you,” Lawrence Coughlin said as he motioned toward four chairs near the stone fireplace. “We don’t get many visitors out this way. Besides, your message made us kind of curious. Nobody’s asked us about Richard Terrell in more years than I can remember.”
Daphne took the chair closest to the fireplace. Joshua sat beside her and the two Coughlin brothers quickly joined them in the other chairs.
Frank looked at Daphne. “How’s Griff? We haven’t seen him in…What? Maybe twenty, twenty-five years. His girl Cleo was about seven or eight when we left Bethlehem Springs to come to Stone Creek to work. And she’s your brother’s wife. Imagine that.”
“No.” Daphne shook her head. “My brother is married to Cleo’s sister, Gwen.”
Lawrence rocked back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s right. I remember now. Griff wrote us about it. Gwen came out from the Ea
st where she was livin’ with her ma and ended up as mayor of Bethlehem Springs a few years back.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Joshua wanted to interrupt, to turn the conversation to the purpose for their visit, but he reined in his impatience. Better to let the Coughlins grow comfortable with him before he began quizzing them about his grandfather. He hadn’t long to wait. After a few more questions concerning long time residents of Bethlehem Springs, most of which Daphne was able to answer, Frank Cough-lin turned his gaze upon Joshua.
“So tell us what it is you want to know about Richard Terrell. Been a lot of years since he left Idaho. I didn’t suppose anybody but us old-timers even remembered his name.”
Joshua drew a deep breath. “I’m his grandson.”
“You don’t say.” Frank and Lawrence exchanged looks of surprise. “Legitimate? Never would’ve expected Judge Terrell would get hitched. He didn’t seem the kind.”
Judge Terrell? Gregory Halifax had written in his article that Richard Terrell had been a judge, but Joshua had thought that was just more fiction. “Yes,” he answered. “My grandfather married soon after moving to St. Louis.”
“And he had children too. Never would’ve believed it.”
“One child. My mother. After my father died, my grandfather helped raise me.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Frank Coughlin shook his head slowly. “Just goes to show you never can tell what’ll happen in the future.”
A frown creased Lawrence’s forehead. “I’m guessin’ he passed away or you’d be askin’ him whatever it is you want to know.”
“He’s been dead fourteen years now.”
“Fourteen. Must seem a long time to somebody as young as you.”
“Mr. Coughlin.” Resting his forearms on knees, Joshua leaned forward and looked from Frank to Lawrence and back again. “There have been things written about my grandfather that simply don’t seem possible. The man I knew, the man my mother knew, was a kind, caring, hardworking, and God-fearing individual. He cared for the less fortunate and did all he could to alleviate suffering wherever it existed.” Joshua paused, searching for the right words. “But he was portrayed as a very different kind of man in some stories about the Old West that came to my attention a short while ago. I came to Idaho to discover the truth.”
Daphne saw the look that passed between the brothers, and she felt her heart sink. Joshua wasn’t going to hear what he wanted about his grandfather. These men were about to confirm everything D. B. Morgan had written in The McFarland Chronicles. She could see it in their eyes. While a part of her was grateful to know she hadn’t written falsehoods about Richard Terrell, another now larger part of her was heartsick for Joshua. This mattered to him a great deal. Far more than it mattered to her. A fact she found surprising. Hadn’t she come with Joshua because she wanted to be vindicated?
“This might take a spell,” Frank answered Joshua. “Why don’t I pour us all some coffee? Miss McKinley looks like she’s still feelin’ a mite chilled.”
She offered a brief smile; she was cold, despite the nearness of the fire on the hearth. “Thank you, Mr. Coughlin. I would be obliged.”
The elder of the brothers rose and went into the kitchen, a smaller area off the parlor of the four-roomed log house. A few minutes later, he returned with mugs of coffee on a tray. He offered it first to Daphne, then Joshua and Lawrence, before settling onto his chair again.
“About my grandfather,” Joshua said.
Frank nodded. “My brother and me was workin’ in the mines back when Terrell first came to Bethlehem Springs. That was in—” He scratched his grizzled jaw. “—I reckon about sixty-six. The Boise Basin gold rush brought lots of men to Idaho durin’ and after the Civil War. Men lookin’ to make new lives for themselves after all that fightin’ and destroyin’. That’s what we were doin’ too. Me and Larry.”
Lawrence took over the narrative from his brother. “Richard Terrell came to Idaho from California, but he’d lived in the Oregon Territory twenty years before that. Came west on a wagon train. Did some buffalo huntin’ and fur trappin’. That’s where he came by the nickname of Rawhide Rick. Minin’ in California. Gamblin’ and who knew what all before he wound up in Bethlehem Springs, where he got himself appointed as judge.”
Joshua shook his head. “He never mentioned to me that he’d been a judge.”
“Yep. Served three years on the bench,” Frank said. “And let me tell you, he wasn’t the kind of judge you wanted presidin’ over a case if’n you weren’t rich.”
“What are you implying?” Joshua’s voice was hard.
Frank grunted. “Ain’t implyin’ nothing, Mr. Crawford. Sayin’ it right out: if a man wanted justice, he needed to pay for it in Terrell’s court.”
“You got to remember somethin’,” Lawrence added. “Bethlehem Springs—just like most towns that sprang up during the gold rush days—was a wild and lusty place. Plenty more saloons and gamblin’ establishments than churches, that’s for sure. Not many women—least not ladies like you, Miss McKinley. All the men carried guns, and they weren’t shy about using them either. Vigilantes were quick to hang a man. Justice wasn’t easy to come by, with or without gold linin’ your pockets.”
Frank took a long sip of coffee. “Your grandfather knew how to survive in such a place.”
Daphne watched Joshua shake his head again, as if refusing to believe what the men had told him. Into the silence, she asked, “Did you know Mr. Terrell by more than reputation?”
“Yep,” Lawrence answered. “Did some work for him on his place a time or two. And one thing was sure true of the man: he loved to tell his stories. If somebody was there to listen, he’d tell you all about the things he done and the places he’d been. Ain’t that right, Frank?”
“That’s right.”
Lawrence continued, “Said he grew up in Missouri but left the farm when he was still a young pup. Fourteen, fifteen maybe. Made his way out west anyway he could. Survival of the fittest. Ain’t that what they call it? I reckon he done whatever he had to to get by.”
“He was right fond of telling the story about the time he killed a grizzly. Winter of 1848, I think he said it was.”
Daphne smiled. Griff had told her that story, and she’d used it in her fourth book. She would love to know if she’d gotten the facts right. But now was not the time and this was not the day to ask.
Joshua stood. “Gentlemen, I thank you for sparing us the time, but I believe Miss McKinley and I should begin our drive back to Bethlehem Springs. If I have more questions, perhaps you would be so good as to answer them in a letter.”
“Sure thing. We could do that.” Frank rose to his feet as well. “But it seems you came a long way just to hear the little we’ve told you.”
Daphne happened to agree with Frank. She could think of another dozen or so questions to ask about Richard Terrell. But one glance at Joshua silenced them in her head. He was in no mood to listen to whatever else the Coughlins had to say.
After quick handshakes and another word of thanks, Joshua headed for the door.
Daphne wondered if he would leave without her if she didn’t follow at once. Taking no chances, she stood. “Thank you, Mr. Coughlin.” She nodded to Frank. “Mr. Coughlin.” She nodded to Lawrence. “You’ve been very kind.”
“Our pleasure.” Frank walked beside her. “Give Griff our regards, you hear?”
“I will.”
A blast of cold air struck her in the face when Joshua opened the door, but he didn’t wait for her before striding toward the automobile.
A man could change. Coming to Christ caused a man to be born again, to be raised up new in the Lord. Changed forever. But even when Joshua acknowledged that truth, he couldn’t reconcile the Richard Terrell of the Coughlin brothers’ memories—and the one of D. B. Morgan’s books—to the Richard Terrell he’d known as a boy. It simply wasn’t possible that his grandfather had done those things, had lived that kind of life.
; Perhaps his grandfather had gone west on a wagon train as a young man. Perhaps he’d even hunted buffalo and panned for gold in California and Idaho. But a dishonest judge? It stretched the boundaries of believability to the breaking point.
I came here for the truth. This can’t be the truth.
Neither Daphne nor Joshua said a word as he drove the motorcar into Stone Creek. At the boarding house, they stopped for their bags as well as the lunch Joshua had paid Mrs. Hannigan to pack for them. They were on the road again fifteen minutes later.
Thankfully, Daphne seemed inclined to leave him to his own thoughts. Thoughts as dark as the steadily darkening sky.
THIRTEEN
Daphne awoke with a start, feeling disoriented and confused, her body aching from head to toe. She heard the wind blowing before she realized the motorcar’s engine was silent. They were stopped in the middle of the road, and Joshua was no longer behind the steering wheel.
How long had she been asleep? A quick glance at her watch told her it wasn’t yet noon.
She straightened and looked about, only then realizing how dark it had become. Clouds hung low over the mountains, turning the world the color of slate. She shivered. It was unbelievably cold inside the automobile.
Where’s Joshua?
As the question passed through her mind, he appeared over the edge of the road, climbing up an embankment. He walked straight to the passenger door and opened it. “Good. You’re awake.”
“Why have we stopped?”
“There’s something wrong with the car, and you’re too sick to stay out here while I figure out what.”
Sick? Why would he say that? She’d fallen asleep, was all.
“I found shelter down below. There’s a cabin near the creek. Can you walk?”
What a ridiculous question. Of course she could walk.
“Come on.” He took hold of her arm. “We’ll take it slow.”
She stood…and immediately crumpled to the ground. A moment later she was cradled in Joshua’s arms, her head upon his chest.
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