He lifted a split of pine off a woodpile and nudged her beneath a set of stairs. “No matter what you hear, stay put.”
“But—”
“Just do it.”
With a kiss to her forehead, he went around the back of her clinic. Susanna stayed still, breathing silently, counting the seconds, praying for Rafe until she heard a metallic rasp. It sounded like a sword being unsheathed, but that made no sense. Rafe cried out and then she heard a thump and the sound of a body hitting the boardwalk.
Susanna sped around the corner with her heart in her throat. Her eyes went first to Rafe, standing with the wood still in his hand and bleeding from a cut across his cheek. A man lay sprawled facedown at his feet. She dropped to a crouch and took his pulse.
“Tell me he’s alive,” Rafe said, wiping the blood from his cheek.
“He’s breathing.”
Moonlight glistened on her bloody fingers as she did a cursory inspection of the wound and felt the start of a lump. Her best guess was that he’d live. Without better light, she couldn’t see his pupils or his face, but her fingers traced a jagged scar. “Oh, God. It’s Thomas Smith. The rifle we saw had to be his cane.”
“It’s a sword cane,” Rafe muttered. “I was sneaking up on him when he pulled it. All I saw was the blade. So help me, God, I didn’t mean to do this.”
Susanna looked up at Rafe and saw his bloody cheek. “How deep is that cut?”
“It’s not bad.”
Susanna didn’t know whether to be horrified by the circumstances or relieved. “Is this man your brother?”
The look in Rafe’s eyes tore her to pieces. “Yes, it’s Garrett. Susanna, I’ve got to go.”
“No!”
“I hate myself for this—for everything.”
“Then stay! Face up to what you did.” She pushed to her feet and reached for his hand, but he stepped out of her grasp. Knowing he was poised for flight, she stayed still and tried to make her voice soothing. “You’re a better man than this, Rafe. I know you.”
But her husband was shaking his head. “This doesn’t change a thing. I’ll write to you when I get over the border. If you don’t want to come, I’ll understand.”
“We just got married!”
“I’m doing this for you, Doc.”
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re doing it to save your own skin.”
Rafe took three breaths, each one fainter than the last. “I’ll write. The rest is up to you.”
A cold fury settled in her belly as his footsteps faded into the night. Not only had he run out on her, he’d left her with a mess to clean up. Where was the man who’d risked his life for Nick and sworn to protect her? She had no desire to chase after him. He needed to see for himself that running would do no good. She could only hope that he’d come back on his own.
She also had a patient who needed her attention. Putting aside thoughts of Rafe and a wedding night, she went into the clinic to retrieve smelling salts for Thomas Smith. At least one mystery would be solved.
For the next week, Rafe traveled along remote trails that led south to Mexico. Braving an onslaught of wind and rain, he pushed his horses as hard as he dared, but a blizzard forced him to hole up in an abandoned shack for a few days. He was behind schedule and painfully aware that he’d done the wrong thing by leaving.
Swinging the wood had been a knee-jerk reaction, but he’d had only one thought when he’d seen a stranger lurking in the shadows. Susanna needed protecting. Without a firearm, he had decided to sneak up on the stranger, grab him around the throat and ask a few questions. He hadn’t made a sound, but Garrett had sensed the danger and whipped out the cane sword.
Rafe had seen a few of those weapons in his time, but they weren’t common. They were usually carried by officers wounded in the War Between The States or men who couldn’t handle a gun. When the blade had sliced his cheek, he’d clobbered his attacker with the split of pine. It had made sense until Garrett’s head snapped back and Rafe had recognized his brother, scars and all.
He knew it was wrong to run, but he’d been besieged with a loathing that had filled him like a fever. He hated his father and he hated Garrett. And mostly at that moment, he’d hated himself. Running hadn’t been a choice—it was his true nature. He’d been too panicked to think about Susanna when he’d left, but he’d spent the past several days composing letters in his head.
I’m sorry…I’m coming home.
I’m in Mexico…the choice is yours.
He had pretty much decided to send the second one. Unless he didn’t write to her at all. Either way, he needed to buy supplies. Leaving the shelter of the mountains, he rode into the desert town of Los Manos. Dusty and dry, it was nothing more than a strip of buildings at the crossroads of a cattle trail and a set of train tracks. A lone cottonwood marked the edge of town. Judging by the scars on its lowest branch, more than one man had met his fate at the end of a rope.
Rafe turned his head and saw a splintery building that served as the railroad station. Guilt and anger welled in his belly like a bad stew, and he nudged his horse into a faster walk until he reached the general store. After making his purchases, he walked into a restaurant and ordered a bowl of soup.
He’d just raised the spoon to his lips when he noticed a waitress giving him the evil eye. He’d never seen her before, so he blew on the soup to cool it and swallowed the broth. With his nerves jangling, he listened as she spoke to an adolescent boy. The kid scowled at Rafe and headed out the door. At the same time, a cook came out of the back room and blocked the exit.
Trying to look casual, Rafe ate the soup as he watched the door. When the town sheriff walked into the restaurant, he set down his spoon and waited.
The lawman put his hand on the butt of his gun. “Rafe LaCroix, you’re under arrest.”
Whatever had happened in Los Manos hadn’t involved him, but guilt still burned in Rafe’s belly. He tried to hide it, but he felt nauseous. “You’re making a mistake. I’ve never been here before.”
“The Bentons rode through here last week. Does that help your memory?”
“No, sir. I’m traveling alone, but I know the men you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I turned in Frank Benton for the bounty. You can wire the authorities in Colorado.”
“I’ll do that,” the sheriff replied. “But I also have a Wanted poster that says you rode with the Bentons in Colorado, and a witness who’ll testify to the rape and murder of Mary Jessup.”
The blood drained from Rafe’s head. Being accused of such horrible crimes sickened him. He’d left Midas to avoid false accusations and the gallows, and he’d ridden into a situation that was ten times worse. He knew about mistakes. People made them all the time. God only knows what a witness would say at the sight of his bearded face. Even if he shaved, he still bore a mark from Garrett’s sword.
With the spoon in his hand and the sheriff glaring at him, Rafe thought about the night in the stable and being tangled in fishing line. This time he felt like a fish in a net being scooped out of a stream. He was breathing just fine, but he couldn’t feel the air going into his lungs. His belly was flopping and wouldn’t stop.
The sheriff had a heavy mustache that hid his upper lip. As he spoke, his face stayed still, giving him the look of a corpse. Rafe decided he’d be wise to cooperate and gave the man a nod. “I’ll be glad to face a witness. I swear, I didn’t do it.”
“We’ll see about that,” said the lawman. “Ed Jessup was gone the day it happened, but their daughter saw the whole thing. If she says you’re the one, you’re going to hang. Now get moving. I’m locking you up.”
Rafe stood and raised his hands in surrender. The sheriff took a pair of wrist irons off his belt with one hand and jerked Rafe’s wrists behind his back with the other. After turning the key, he spoke to the waitress. “Martha, get word to Ed. He needs to bring Lucy to town.”
“They’re at the feed store,”
she answered. “I’ll send Ricky.”
With the sheriff at his back, Rafe walked out the door and saw Punkin and his packhorse tied to the hitching post.
The sheriff steered him toward the west edge of town. “I’ll have a deputy see to your horses.”
As they walked, Rafe counted a dozen sagging storefronts, a saloon and a shabby hotel. Dry and dusty, the town looked dead on the outside, but behind the smudged windows he saw angry faces peering at him through faded curtains. The sheriff’s office was an adobe set apart from the main street. It had a small window, a thatched roof and a sign that read “Tom Beck, Sheriff.”
When the man opened the door, Rafe walked into the office and headed for the cell. The bars were flat metal and welded in a grid, the surest way to keep a man from escaping. After undoing the wrist irons, Beck opened the cell door and waited for him to step inside.
Rafe froze in place. If he walked into the cell, he might never get out. Witnesses made mistakes. He could hang for a crime he didn’t commit. He’d also be a sitting duck with Garrett on his trail. Everything he feared was nipping at his heels. He wasn’t accustomed to asking God for mercy, but he felt that urge now. He couldn’t run and he had nowhere to hide. He needed a break in the worst way.
Please, God.
But instead of peace, he felt a terrible remorse. He’d had this moment coming for years.
Beck interrupted his thoughts. “Do you need a push, LaCroix? I’ll be glad to give it to you.”
Rafe stared at the wall at the back of the cell, taking in the shape of a man’s shadow. It was his own, but he barely recognized it. The angle of the sun made the figure tall and the sweep of the crossbars gave it outstretched arms. He felt the same awe he’d experienced when Nick’s leg had been spared and the same peace that had come from the tangled fishing line.
Staring at that shadow, Rafe knew that his running days were over. More relieved than afraid, he stepped inside the cell.
When the door swung shut, he felt the deepest contentment he’d ever known. He knew exactly what he had to do. As soon as the Jessup girl cleared his name, he’d sell his horses and buy a train ticket to Midas. He’d go to Susanna and beg her to forgive him. Then he’d find Garrett and face his brother like a man.
Rafe wished he didn’t look so trail-weary. He hadn’t shaved since leaving Midas and dust had caked in the creases of his clothes. He looked like he’d just crawled out of a hole.
As the front door creaked open, he saw a wedge of light followed by the silhouette of a stocky man wearing overalls and heavy boots. He looked directly into the cell, staring at Rafe with bitter eyes and the unkempt appearance of a man without a wife. Gray whiskers mottled his cheeks and his skin looked ashen. Behind him lagged an adolescent girl in blue calico. Unlike her father, she couldn’t bring herself to look into the cell. Instead she seemed entranced by the dust motes in the shaft of light.
“Good morning, Ed.” Beck stood and shook the man’s hand. “We’ve got one of the Benton gang. I’m sorry, but I need Lucy to identify him.”
Rafe saw no point in arguing about his association with the Bentons. Lucy reminded him of a sparrow and he felt like a hawk. It was best to seem friendly, so he made his voice bland. “Hello, miss.”
She barely glanced at him and then mumbled at the floor.
“Speak up, girl!” Jessup demanded. “Is that him?”
“I’m not sure.”
Rafe’s stomach dropped to his boots. The sheriff glared at him. “LaCroix, take off your hat.”
Rafe did as he was told and raked his hand through his hair in a vain attempt to look presentable. Dirt coated his palm. His whiskers itched and he smelled his own sweat.
Please God… Daring to hope for a break, he stood square in front of Lucy and her father. Still looking at the dust motes, the girl sniffed. Her father gripped her shoulder. “You have to look at him, Lucy. I know what you saw, but this is important. Your ma’s depending on you.”
She glanced at Rafe and then looked back at her feet. “That’s him. He hurt Ma. I saw him—I saw them and she was screaming.”
“She’s wrong!” Rafe gripped the bars and shook. The metal rattled like dried bones—his bones. He was going to die.
The sheriff gave him a thoughtful look, as if he was considering the possibility of Rafe’s innocence, but Jessup charged at the cell. “You son of a bitch! I want to see you hang!”
Rafe stared into the man’s eyes and saw a rabid dog. Jessup was past reason. Locked in a jail cell without an alibi and identified by a witness, Rafe knew he was as good as dead.
Sheriff Beck pushed up from his chair. “Settle down, Ed. LaCroix’s entitled to a fair trial.”
“I don’t give a damn what he’s entitled to,” Jessup declared. “He killed Mary. He violated my wife. He’s going to hang, damn it!”
“He probably will, but not today.”
Jessup wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears glistened on the patches of skin above his scraggly beard, but they did nothing to soften his rage. “There’s no probably about it. LaCroix’s going to die.”
Rafe was gripping the bars so hard that his hands hurt, but he was also aware of Lucy cowering by the door. He felt no anger toward the girl—only pity. She was making a terrible mistake and she knew it. Rafe had shared that exact misery. After maiming Garrett, he’d felt like a paper boat being carried down a river, racing with the current until it lost all purpose and form. Rafe hurt for the girl, but he couldn’t convey that understanding.
“Lucy, let’s go,” Jessup said.
As the door slammed shut, Rafe dropped down on the cot. Air hissed from the pallet and filled his nose with the stench of urine and sweat.
Beck sat back at his desk. “There’s a circuit judge that’ll come down from Albuquerque. The trial will start when he gets here.”
“When will that be?” Rafe asked.
“Three days. Maybe longer.”
Three days of purgatory—of waiting to die and knowing that he’d never see Susanna again. To live with guilt was a daily torture. To die with it was a special kind of suffering. Rafe wanted to be mad at the Almighty for leaving him in this mess, but he couldn’t escape the sense that he’d had this moment coming for a long time. In the end, he’d brought this misery on himself.
The sheriff rocked forward in his chair. “There’s a new attorney in town. His name’s Charles Archer. I’ll ask him to come by.”
The news did nothing to allay Rafe’s fears, but he said, “Thanks.”
“As for the trial,” Beck continued, “I’ll do my best to see that you get one, but I can’t guarantee it. Jessup has this town pretty riled.”
Rafe had seen a lynching in Gunnison. A horse thief had been dragged out of a saloon and strung up before the law arrived. He and Lem had joined the crowd, watching with macabre fascination as the rope snapped tight. The man had kicked twice, lost control of his bowels and hung there like a piece of meat.
Blinking hard, Rafe recalled the cottonwood at the edge of town. He hated the thought of dying, but one thing bothered him even more. That was knowing Susanna would come to him if she got wind of this mess. He might have risked it if she could have given him a solid alibi, but the Jessup place had been attacked long after he’d left Midas and only shortly before he’d arrived in Los Manos. Besides, women lied for men all the time. Who’d take her seriously? Not the judge or a jury of men intent on revenge. Rafe would still hang, and her good name would be tainted by his. As much he wanted to clear his conscience in person, he couldn’t imagine asking her to share this hell. It was far kinder to send her a letter.
“I need to write to someone,” he said to Beck.
“I guess that’s all right.”
The sheriff opened a drawer and removed a stack of newsprint. He brought it to Rafe along with a pencil. “No man should leave this earth with a guilty conscience.”
Rafe nodded, but he didn’t see how a letter could wash him clean. With the trial in his
future, he’d be dead before Susanna read his amends.
As she had done every day for the past two weeks, Susanna closed her clinic at noon and walked to the post office to check for a letter from Rafe. If today was like the others, she’d find letters from friends but nothing from the man who had walked out on her. She’d go to the Midas Hotel and join Garrett for a lunch at the café. She’d report the lack of a letter and ask about his health.
The man had ended up with a lump on his head but nothing worse. What Rafe had lost had been far more profound.
As she opened the door to the post office, Susanna greeted the clerk with a smile. “Anything today, Will?”
“A couple of things.”
Her heart pounded as she took the two envelopes. One was from a classmate in Baltimore. The other was addressed in Rafe’s writing but had no return address. She peeled back the flap and started to read.
Dear Susanna,
Please know how much I love you and how deeply I regret leaving like I did. If I could, I’d go back to our wedding night and face Garrett. I’d stand there like a man and take my licks.
I’d trade my soul to have that chance, but the choice isn’t mine. I won’t go into the details, but I’m convinced you’re better off in Midas than you’d be with me right now. If by some miracle I can come home, I will. But if you don’t hear from me in a month, I want you to annul our marriage. Trust me that it’s for the best.
Nothing can take away the love I feel for you. It’s been a comfort in the past few days but a torture, too. I’m more lonely for you than I can say and wish that we’d had that first time. I wish a lot of things.
Tell your father he was right. Life without you isn’t worth living. Tell your mother that I wish I’d known her better. As for your brothers, I’m glad to have met them. Last of all, tell Nick I love him. Things aren’t working out as I’d hoped, but it gives me comfort to know you have each other.
I love you, Susanna. I pray that someday you can forgive me.
Midnight Marriage Page 21