The Telegraph Proposal

  By the time she finished, she’d regained her composure, but Hale was drained of every bit of his. Simply put, he was a wreck. His uncle was the counterfeiter at Bear Gulch.

  Hale took off his glasses. Polished them with his vest. Replaced them, but his vision was still blurry. “Do you have any proof?”

  She shook her head. “None that’s usable.”

  “Meaning what?” Mac leaned forward in his chair.

  Madame Lestraude pulled a necklace from around her neck. The pendant was a key. She unlocked the top right drawer of her desk and pulled out a single piece of ledger paper. Every line was filled, but the handwriting varied. One edge was torn. “I ripped this from one of the ledgers at The Resale Company before it burned. I was looking for proof that Jonas purchased the printing press but couldn’t find any because I had no idea when the press was purchased, and David Pawlikowski has recorded every transaction since the beginning of time. Nevertheless, I thought it prudent to pretend I did. I showed this”—she waved the paper—“to Jonas today. I don’t think he believed me, but it will keep him from doing anything rash until Jakob gets back to town, which should be in a couple of weeks at the most.”

  “What does Jakob have to do with any of this?” Mac put his hands on his knees, elbows out.

  Madame Lestraude returned the ledger sheet to her desk drawer, locked it, and replaced the chain around her neck. “He’s escorting some of the girls I and my little ring of rescuers have liberated from prostitution to a private school in Kansas.”

  “Including Finn,” Mac added with a sidelong glance at Hale.

  “Wait.” Hale put up a hand, palm facing the madam. He looked at Mac. “How long have you known that Finn was killed because he was helping rescue girls?”

  Mac pushed his arms straight and sat back in his chair. “Since the week before my wedding.”

  Madame Lestraude cleared her throat, drawing the eyes of both men. “He wasn’t killed for that.”

  “He wasn’t?” Mac and Hale spoke in unison.

  Mac recovered first. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t have proof.” She looked to the side. “I still don’t, and accusing a territorial judge who is friends with the President of the United States without irrefutable proof is not good for one’s health.”

  Hale’s head filled with bits and pieces of the conversation at the hospital. “Are you telling me that Isaak was right?”

  “About what?” Madame Lestraude snapped her attention to Hale.

  He closed his eyes to keep his focus on the memory. “We were discussing the notes Yancey and Carline received warning them to stop talking about phony money. It made us think that perhaps they were right to think Joseph Hendry’s death was tied to counterfeiting after all. Isaak remembered having a printing press he and his father couldn’t fix, that they sometimes sent work to Finn, and that if the press was being used for counterfeiting, perhaps Finn was killed before he could make the connection.” Hale opened his eyes to gauge the madam’s reaction. “He was right, wasn’t he?”

  “And you didn’t think you could trust me with that?” Mac asked.

  Hale was about to answer that he assumed Quinn had passed along the information, but the question was directed at Madame Lestraude.

  She bowed her head. When she looked up, the regret on her face made her appear ten years older. “This relationship we have forged”—she waved her hand between herself and her son—“has been tenuous at best. We’re just learning to trust each other. I wasn’t about to endanger it when I was accusing a sitting judge, a man you admired, and an uncle or pseudouncle to some of your best friends without proof.”

  Mac hung his head. “I need you to trust me now, Mother. With the whole truth. All of it.”

  By the time she was finished with the second round of revelations, Hale was covering his mouth and swallowing down bile.

  Not only was his uncle involved in the counterfeiting, he had admitted to orchestrating Joseph Hendry’s murder. And though she had no proof, she firmly believed he’d killed or hired someone to kill Sheriff Simpson—maybe more people—and to set fire to The Resale Co.

  “What are you going to do?” Madame Lestraude directed the question to her son.

  “Find proof.”

  “How?” Her tone was sharp with either scorn or concern. Maybe both. “You can’t let him know you suspect him.” She slid her gaze to Hale. “How are you at acting?”

  “Terrible.” It was why he hated arguing in front of a jury. They were usually more interested in the theater of a case than the truth.

  Madame Lestraude turned to her son. “What about you?”

  “Worse than terrible.”

  “Then I suggest you learn.” She looked between Mac and Hale. “Quickly.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday, September 22, 1888

  Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house

  Yancey wandered to the gazebo on the far edge of Mrs. Hollenbeck’s lawn. As it had been at Roy and Luanne’s wedding, the enormous back patio held two dozen round tables set with china and crystal. The only difference between now and then was the color and size of the floral arrangements. Luanne had chosen small bouquets of white carnations. Mollie Fisk—now Mrs. Jefferson Brady—had chosen pink and brown bouquets so large, guests had to duck or lean to see the people across the table from them.

  For the last hour, Yancey had fulfilled her bridesmaid duties with a smile on her face. But she was ten minutes away from taking her turn accompanying Hale from group to group, and she didn’t know how to behave around him.

  She stepped into the gazebo and sat on the bench. Usually, she loved weddings. Not this one. It had been a trial from the moment she walked down the aisle—the last of eight bridesmaids.

  Hale had said and done nothing in the past week to indicate he was planning to forgive his family so they could have a future. He was polite—if somewhat chilly—when they were together. Which wasn’t often. The next event on the campaign schedule wasn’t until next month at the Harvest Festival, and he was busy preparing for his debates with Mayor Kendrick.

  But the worst had been a few minutes ago, when Hale asked what she was doing on Tuesday. Thrilled that he was finally going to resume their as-yet-undeclared courtship, she was crushed when he said he needed her to ask his aunt to tea.

  She looked down at her pink-and-brown-plaid skirt. This was so much worse than the first bridesmaid’s dress. It was almost as though Mollie had deliberately chosen something unflattering. Had she always wanted a fall wedding and was trying to make up for these awful dresses with the first ones, which were so different—and so lovely?

  “Are you over here pouting?” Jakob put one foot on the floor of the gazebo. “Because if you are, I’d like to join you.”

  Yancey quirked a smile at the repeat of her exact words to him a little over a year ago. They’d been at the Independence Day picnic. Jakob was moping because he’d been trying to impress Emilia, but she only had eyes for Mac. Yancey was moping because Hale was ignoring her, and a good number of people were still looking at her with skepticism after the scandal linking her to Finn Collins and his scheme to lure unsuspecting women to Helena on the ruse of a mail-order marriage in order to sell them into prostitution.

  So much had happened since then. She picked up a brown leaf from the bench beside her and crushed it between her fingers. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you since you came home. How was your trip?”

  “Good.”

  She slanted a look at him. Leading up to the trip, he’d talked about taking some extra days to visit a few places along the route. His curt answer didn’t match his excitement before he left. She ought to ask him what was wrong, but then he’d ask her what was wrong with her, and she couldn’t tell him. Hale’s family background was his secret to tell, not hers.

  She chose another topic that would account for her melancholy. “Have you been by to see Carline?”

  Jakob blinked and stared at h
er for a long moment. “I took Carline to dinner a couple of nights ago. She shared that Windsor is courting her. Isn’t that a little soon, considering her parents died less than three months ago?”

  Yancey brushed bits of leaf from her skirt. “Better that she is here with friends and a man who loves her than for her to be in Butte with an uncle who wants to control her life.”

  Jakob nodded and stepped into the gazebo to sit beside her.

  With him no longer blocking her view, she caught a glimpse of Hale standing next to his uncle as they chatted with the groom’s parents. He looked like he’d eaten something sour but was doing his best to hide it. Was that because he knew her turn was coming and he didn’t know how to act around her either?

  “What is going on between you and Hale?”

  Yancey dropped her gaze to her lap. Between her staring at Hale and how everything up to this point in her life had always been about him, Jakob’s question was natural. But the thoughts plaguing her on this beautiful fall day weren’t about Hale per se. They were about her.

  Hale was neither the knight nor the villain in her fairytale future. He was just a man with a flaw. She believed he’d one day fix it—or most of it. But how long would it take? Should she wait for him or let him go? She believed God was sovereign. That He would pursue Hale with a love more relentless than anything he’d ever experienced. That God would teach Hale to take the good with the bad. To forgive.

  Only ... what if it took another fifteen years? Or fifty? Or days instead of years?

  God knew but He wasn’t telling, so where did that leave her? In a jumbled sort of way, she needed to forgive Hale for not fitting into the mold she’d made for him. What did that look like? She didn’t know. And she was running out of time.

  Jakob was staring at her.

  She gave him the best smile she could muster. “I gave a friend some excellent advice a couple of weeks ago, and now I have about five minutes to decide how to follow it myself.”

  He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between them. She was just about to excuse herself when he said, “Hey. Did you ever find out who wrote those notes to you and Carline? If not, I have time. I can look into it.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve decided to leave that entire situation in God’s sovereign hands.” At least in this one case, she could take the good advice Hale gave her and put it into practice.

  “It’s never going to go back to the way it was between us, is it?”

  She jerked her attention to Jakob. Why would he ask such an odd question? They were friends. Almost siblings. Nothing could change that.

  And yet . . .

  Before now, they’d always shared the ups and downs of their separate romances. Yancey had known Jakob signed up for the Archer Matrimonial Company when no one else did. He was the only person outside her parents and Carline who knew she’d done the same. But if Hale didn’t overcome his unforgiving spirit—or even if he did, but never wanted Yancey to speak of it to anyone—she couldn’t reveal the reason she’d let him go. She always prided herself on her ability to keep a secret. Now it was a wedge between her and dear Jakob.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked to keep them at bay. “Maybe not.”

  “No one’s been the same since I returned.” He looked up, as though the ceiling of the gazebo held answers. “You’re all the same. It’s me who’s changed. I thought Helena needed me, but life continued on.”

  “Of course it did.” Mrs. Hollenbeck’s voice startled Yancey.

  Jakob jumped to his feet.

  Mrs. Hollenbeck eyed him narrowly. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.” She turned her gaze to Yancey. “It’s time.”

  Her five minutes were up and she still hadn’t figured out what to do. She glanced to where Hale was conversing easily with the Cannons. “Hale no longer needs me to help with his campaign.”

  “He needs you now more than ever.”

  She returned her attention to Mrs. Hollenbeck. She wasn’t talking about the campaign, but she didn’t know what had transpired at the picnic. Or did she? The lady had a way of inviting confidences. Had Hale told her about Yancey’s condition that he learn to forgive before they could be together? “I don’t know how to act around him.”

  “I suggest you start by being the same Yancey Palmer who thought he was the best candidate for mayor and agreed to help get him elected.” Mrs. Hollenbeck’s expression softened. “Don’t try to figure out everything, just the right thing to do at this moment. God will light your path—although maybe no more than two or three steps, so you must trust Him as you walk.”

  Now that was some good advice—which Yancey didn’t want to follow. She suddenly understood why Hale needed some time before getting back to her. Two weeks was a bit much in her opinion. But his lack of action would not excuse hers.

  Yancey rose from the seat. “You’re absolutely right.”

  Mrs. Hollenbeck smiled. “Dear girl, of course I am. Now go. And smile.”

  Tuesday, September 25, 1888

  The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs drew Jonas’s attention. “Lily?” She was supposed to be having tea with Emilia McCall and Yancey Palmer.

  “No, sir. It’s me.” Hale appeared in the doorway to the library. “We need to talk.” He stepped into the room, followed by Sheriff McCall and Nick Alderson’s younger brother, Eli.

  The serious expressions on their faces were worrisome. Could they know about the counterfeiting? Had Madame Lestraude delivered her latest blow in their ongoing war? No. He’d put the fear of God in her the last time they met.

  Jonas removed his reading glasses and stood. He wasn’t going to sit while the three of them towered over him.

  He came around the desk to greet them. “What can I do for you gentle—whoa.” Jonas jerked to a stop when the Alderson boy pulled out his gun.

  Fear and retribution filled the young man’s eyes. He was short, and his light brown skin announced his mixed heritage. His parents had come to Montana to escape the stigma of being the children of slave mothers and white masters. Jonas had performed their wedding ceremony when no one else would. Did young Alderson know that? If so, the hatred in his dark brown eyes said he didn’t care.

  Mac slowly raised his open hand, palm facing Alderson. “Put the gun down, Deputy.”

  Alderson didn’t move. “He killed my brother, Sheriff. I’m not letting him get away with it.”

  “We aren’t, but you promised you’d follow my instructions to the letter when I agreed to let you come. Now, put the gun down.” Mac demonstrated the action. “Judge Forsythe is under my protection.”

  Alderson flicked a look at his boss before letting out a huff. He lowered his arm to his side but didn’t return the gun to its holster.

  Jonas released the breath he’d not realized he was holding.

  Mac pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket. Jonas knew what it was even before Mac unfolded it and laid it on the desk. “This search warrant is for both your home and downtown office. It allows us to look for counterfeit money and any records connecting you to the operations of such.”

  Jonas glared at the warrant. The records they sought—and the ones for the mine—weren’t here. This was Lily’s home. He’d never tarnish it with his necessary evils. And now they wanted to make a mess by rummaging through their private belongings? No. Lily kept a neat house.

  But he needed to hear exactly what they suspected.

  “What proof do you have?”

  Hale brought his hands in front of his body, several sheets of paper in varying sizes and shades of cream in his left hand. “These are sworn statements from six men testifying that you hired them to print and distribute counterfeit bills, further testimony from a Mr. Smith that you hired him to set fire to The Resale Company and the printing press, and that he—under your orders—attacked Sheriff McCall and Deputy Alderson.”

  Jonas picked up the search warrant, needing to focus on something other than the di
sappointment on his nephew’s face.

  “We also have a written statement”—Sheriff McCall picked up the narrative—“from Miss Mary Lester that you admitted to inciting violence against Mr. Joseph Hendry, resulting in his death. Furthermore, she stated that you once employed Edgar Dunfree, that in his capacity as your employee he killed Phineas Collins, and that you murdered Dunfree to keep him quiet.”

  Jonas read the warrant. Each of the charges was listed, along with the proof garnered so far. He should have ripped the ledger paper out of Lestraude’s hand when she waved it at him as proof Edgar bought a printing press from The Resale Co. Because she wouldn’t let him see it, Jonas dismissed her threat as empty.

  It was empty, and yet it led to the full truth. At least about the counterfeiting. As he suspected, the woman knew nothing of his mining operation. Was there a way to save that? To make sure Lily had some income if he was convicted of his crimes? He needed to protect her as best he could. Admitting guilt often swayed judges to more lenient sentencing. And if he confessed to the crimes they knew about, perhaps he could keep them from searching his office and discovering the mine.

  Mindful of the gun young Alderson hadn’t returned to its holster, Jonas kept his voice calm. “I never told Dunfree to kill Finn Collins. I was as upset about that as you are, Sheriff.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Nevertheless, I didn’t know about it until after the fact. As for the rest . . .” He wet his lips and took a breath. “The rest is true.”

  “No!” The shocked cry of his wife jolted Jonas’s attention to the door. He started for her.

  Young Alderson spun around, his right hand swinging high.

  Mac shouted, Hale pushed against him, and Jonas tried to get to her before—

  Bang!

  Time froze for an instant as he and Lily stared across the space between them.

  Her eyes went wide, red blooming from her chest. She wobbled, her hands reaching for Jonas.

  He ran to her, caught her before she fell to the ground. “I’m sorry, my darling. I never meant any of this to happen.”