Nissa (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 3)

by Zina Abbott

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Wildcat Ridge, Utah

  June 28, 1884

  B

  irdie carefully notated a zero balance on the ledger page for her savings account. She carried her till into the safe for the last time. Opening it with her key, she scooped out the personal funds she had withdrawn and locked the till once more. Glancing behind her at the back of Oliver McCartney, the other teller who still stood at his cage counting his till, she unfastened the bottom few buttons on her suit jacket and secured the money inside the pouch in the cummerbund Maggie had crafted to hold enough padding to thicken Birdie’s waist beneath her clothes. She closed the hooks on the flap and once again buttoned her jacket.

  Birdie flinched when Mr. McCartney spoke. “Are you about finished in there, Miss Templeton? I’m ready to put my till away and lock the safe so we can go home.”

  With her head down, Birdie scurried away from the safe and returned to her teller station to retrieve her reticule. She pulled out the envelope that held her letter of resignation, slipped the key inside and tucked the flap inside. Glancing up to see her coworker still busy with the safe, she raced to Mr. Humphries’ desk and pulled his center drawer open far enough for her to view the contents and slide the envelope inside. Without making a sound, she carefully pressed the drawer closed.

  “What are you doing, Miss Templeton?”

  Birdie jerked upright and worked her mouth as she sought words to explain her actions. “I didn’t receive my pay draft this morning. I…I thought maybe Mr. Humphries might have left it in his desk drawer.”

  The man shrugged. “Mine was on top of his desk. I figured you already picked up yours.” He held up and waggled the key to the bank’s front door. “Let’s leave.”

  “Of course.” Returning to her teller station long enough to retrieve her parasol, she followed Mr. McCartney. She pushed down her apprehension. She had her money from the account. She turned in her letter of resignation and her till key. However, no matter how carefully she had searched Mr. Humphries’ desk or her shelf where she kept her till, she never found the promised letter of recommendation. In addition, Mr. Humphries had not left her a draft for her weekly pay.

  The front door to the bank burst open. Mortimer Crane, wearing a conniving expression, marched into the building. “I see the bank is closed for the day and all is in order.” He turned to Mr. McCartney. “You may leave, Oliver. I’ll lock up.” He turned and focused his gaze on Birdie. “I have some business matters to discuss with Miss Templeton.”

  Birdie watched her coworker who, like a rat abandoning a sinking ship, ran out the door and closed it behind him. She backed up several steps as she witnessed Mortimer lock the two of them in. Try as she might, she could not stop the trembling that shook her entire body as her employer turned and advanced upon her.

  “So, Miss Templeton, were you planning on going somewhere?”

  Keeping her head down, Birdie swallowed. “I…I was just leaving for the day.” She glanced up long enough to catch his expression of disbelief.

  “Leaving to where?” Mortimer reached into an inside jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope that had been ripped open roughly enough the diamond-shaped flap was separated from the rest. “Perhaps you can explain this.”

  Birdie sucked in her breath. In spite of the distortion caused by her spectacles, on the front she clearly saw her name written in William Humphries’ script. Her manager had not neglected to write out a recommendation; it had been intercepted.

  Mortimer took another step closer. “I’ll deal with Mr. Humphries on Monday. I want answers from you now. That’s why I held this and your pay draft. Why did you ask for a letter of recommendation, Miss Templeton?”

  Birdie shook her head as she struggled to find her voice. “I…I…well, I overheard a conversation a while back about you possibly closing this bank and…” Birdie’s voice hitched as she glanced up and caught the disdain on Mortimer’s face. She swallowed. “Mr. Humphries corrected my misunderstanding about the matter, of course. He assured me you plan to keep this bank open. However, since I know there are fewer accounts now, and especially since you do not intend to renew all the leases on your properties in town, I thought…well, just in case, as the most junior teller, the decision is made you no longer need my services, I hoped by having a recommendation I would be prepared should I need to look for work elsewhere. I really need to leave, Mr. Crane.”

  “Sit down, Miss Templeton.”

  At Mortimer’s barked order, Birdie stumbled to the nearest chair and sat. She kept her face averted from Mortimer, even though she knew he had pulled Mr. Humphries’ chair out into the middle of the room and sat in it, staring at her like a cat playing with a mouse. She dared not say or do anything until he made his next move.

  Several minutes passed. Through the front windows of the bank, Birdie listened to the jangle of harness and the driver of the Wells Fargo stagecoach call to the mules as the vehicle traveled down Chestnut Street on its journey out of town.

  Mortimer pulled his watch out of his pocket, flipped open the lid to check the time, snapped it shut, and slid it back into his waistcoat. “Twelve-thirty-three. The Wells Fargo stagecoach has left, Miss Templeton.”

  Birdie bit her lip and said nothing. She felt her heart sink inside her. When the stage arrived in Curdy’s Crossing and Hal discovered she was not aboard, he would probably assume she had changed her mind.

  “Were you planning to be on that stage, Miss Templeton? You see, my men have been keeping an eye on you. They saw you with some cowboy after the auction yesterday, so one of them started following him. Funny thing. This morning, before you left the boardinghouse where you live, my man saw the cowboy, the one you were kissing last night, Miss Templeton, leave hauling a chest on his shoulder. They followed that same cowboy down to the Wells Fargo office where he deposited the chest and bought a ticket. He walked back to the boardinghouse and disappeared inside for several minutes. Afterwards, the cowboy went to the livery and soon came out riding a horse. He watched you for several minutes as you walked to work then he joined other men herding horses out of town towards Curdy’s Crossing.”

  Still, Birdie said nothing as she sat clutching the top of her reticule and her parasol while studying the pattern in the marble floor.

  “Look at me, Miss Templeton.” Mortimer snapped out his order with a raised voice.

  Birdie glanced at him long enough to know his gaze bored into her. She fought down panic as a thousand possibilities flitted through her mind regarding what he intended to do.

  Mortimer sat back and pulled out a cigar. He leisurely found his snippers and clipped the end then lit it. He blew a cloud of smoke in Birdie’s direction. “You know, I glanced through the window just before I came in here, and I watched you put a letter into Mr. Humphries’ desk. Let’s see what kind of a gift you left for him, shall we?”

  Birdie raised a hand to her face to cover her cough caused by inhaling the cigar smoke. She knew what he would find in the desk drawer. With a mounting horror churning her insides, she turned to watch him.

  Grinning at her discomfort, Mortimer sauntered over to the desk and opened the center drawer. “Well, look what we have here. An envelope addressed to Mr. Humphries in a very neat handwriting I recognize as belonging to you. Let’s see what’s inside.”

  Mortimer slid his pudgy finger into the gap between the flap and the back of the envelope and jerked across, causing the envelope to tear on a side fold. The key Birdie had placed inside fell out and pinged against the marble floor. Mortimer picked it up and examined it briefly before he tossed it on the desk. “It looks like a till key if I’m not mistaken. And a letter inside. Shall we read what it says?”

  Birdie stared at the envelope that held her pay draft and letter of recommendation which Mortimer had dropped on the top of the desk before he opened the drawer. If only she dared snatch it and run for the door in hopes of getting away from this man. With a sinking feeling, she realized such
an attempt would be useless. Mr. Crane had locked them in.

  Mortimer pulled out Birdie’s resignation letter and scanned it before he looked up and glared at her. “Miss Templeton. You do not decide when to leave my employ. I make that decision.” He ripped her letter in half and tossed the pieces to either side of him. His movements deliberate, Mortimer marched over to where she sat. “You are right about one thing, Miss Templeton. I no longer need you as a teller at this bank.”

  Birdie gulped. “Please, Mr. Crane, may I have my pay draft? Even if I am no longer employed here, I need to pay for my room at the boardinghouse.”

  Mortimer puffed on his cigar and leaned forward to blow another cloud of smoke in her face. “No. You will be enjoying a change of residence, Miss Templeton, and I will apply your pay towards that and the new wardrobe you will need. You see, I already have another position for you in mind, and it has nothing to do with banking.”

  Birdie cringed. “I…I cannot imagine what you are speaking of, Mr. Crane.” Only she could, and the prospect mortified her.

  With a swiftness Birdie did not know Mortimer possessed, he reached over and yanked her hat off her head, pulling several hairs with it where her hat pin had held it in place. He ignored her yelp of pain as he tore at her bun, sending hairpins flying. He snatched her spectacles off her eyes, threw them on the floor and smashed the lenses with his boot. He grabbed her chin and forced her to face him as he combed his fingers through her loose hair. “Just as I thought. You have been deceiving me, Miss Templeton. You are not the homely witch you have made yourself appear to be. Or shall I start calling you Birdie? Your first name is far more suitable for where you will be working from now on.”

  Birdie shook her head in denial and pulled her chin free of his hand. She rose to her feet and mustered all the courage she possessed to stand against him. “No, Mr. Crane. I don’t want another job in Wildcat Ridge. I resigned because I plan to leave the state. Even without the letter of recommendation, I’ll seek a teller position elsewhere.”

  “And how much of the bank’s money did you remove to take with you?”

  Incensed at his accusation, Birdie lifted her chin and glared at him. “Unlike some people, I am honest, Mr. Crane. I took nothing from the bank. When Mr. Humphries checks the accounts next week, he will find everything in order.”

  Mortimer stuck his face within inches of hers. “I will not be made a fool of, Birdie Templeton.” He yelled with a voice like thunder. “In spite of the difference in your appearance and dress, my man following you saw and recognized you at the dance before you ducked into the kitchen. He knew who you were when he watched you with that cowboy—the same cowboy who bought a stagecoach ticket yesterday and this morning carried a trunk from the boardinghouse where you live to the Wells Fargo office.” Mortimer grabbed for Birdie’s reticule.

  Birdie struggled against him.

  Eventually, Mortimer disentangled the strings wrapped around her wrist and stepped back several feet. He jerked the bag open. “What do we have here?” He pulled out her stagecoach ticket and tossed the reticule at Birdie, which she fumbled before she caught it. He waved the ticket before her face. “Do you know what I think about your attempt to leave town?” With a taunting leer, he slowly tore her ticket in half. Next, he grabbed her arm. “Come with me, Birdie.”

  “No!” Panic provided Birdie the strength to twist her arm free of his grasp.

  Loud pounding on the bank’s door distracted Mortimer.

  In desperation, Birdie cried out. “Help me!” Birdie used the opportunity to run back to the desk and grab her pay draft and letter of recommendation, which she stuffed into her reticule.

  Mortimer grabbed Birdie and clamped his palm over her mouth. Mortimer laughed in derision. “That draft is no good, Birdie. The bank won’t honor it or the recommendation.” He turned to the door with a shout. “The bank’s closed. Come back Monday.”

  Both jumped as the gunshot exploded into the lock on the bank’s door. Mortimer released Birdie and ran towards the front of the bank, but he veered to the side as several more shots decimated the lock and latching system. The pounding of a shoulder against the door and the sound of splintering wood followed.

  Hal Summers, his pistol in his hand, shoved the door open hard enough it slammed against the adjoining window frame, causing the glass to wobble, and stepped inside. He glanced at the petrified expression on Birdie’s face, the scattered papers and the mangled spectacles and hat on the floor. “Are you hurt, Birdie?”

  “No, but he’s holding me against my will. He’s going to force me to work in a…in a…”

  “You are breaking and entering, cowboy. I’ll have you arrested.”

  “For what? Stopping you from assaulting a woman? For preventing an abduction?”

  Mortimer’s smile did not reach his eyes as he assumed his oily salesman voice. “Surely, you jest. Do you truly believe I would do such a thing as assault Miss Templeton, here?” He turned slowly towards Birdie standing behind him. “An abduction?”

  Birdie’s eyes grew round, and she sucked in a breath as she watched Mortimer pull a double-shot derringer from inside his waistcoat.

  Mortimer spun back to face Hal. “You’re dead, cowboy.” He straightened the arm holding the pistol.

  Fearful of hitting Birdie, Hal side-stepped as he raised his pistol.

  Birdie jabbed the metal point of her parasol into Mortimer’s back, shoving him towards Hal, chest first.

  Mortimer shouted an expletive as he windmilled his arms to regain his balance. His derringer still gripped tightly in his fist, he spun towards Birdie. As he dodged the sharp tip of the parasol, he futilely fought off the fabric attack as black silk flailed against his face while Birdie quickly opened and closed her parasol.

  Hal grabbed Mortimer’s shoulder and twisted him around to face him. At the sight of the derringer swinging in his direction, Hal lifted his own pistol.

  The crack of splintering wood echoed through the cavernous bank. The metallic sound of the derringer hitting the marble floor followed Mortimer’s howl of pain. Hal shoved his pistol back in his holster, balled his fist and slammed it into Mortimer’s jaw.

  Hal turned his gaze from the sprawled, unconscious form on the floor towards Birdie.

  Birdie stood frozen in shock as she stared at her wooden parasol handle bent at a ninety-degree angle just below the ruffled edge. Wide-eyed, she turned to Hal. “Did we kill him?”

  Hal shook his head. “No. We weren’t that lucky.” He stepped around Mortimer Crane and wrapped Birdie in his arms. With a hand shaking from the turmoil still pumping through him, he pressed her head against the crook of his neck. He tipped his face and kissed her forehead. “I have a newfound respect for parasols. We’ll take that flappy bat on a stick with us as a memento. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Hal’s arm around Birdie, the pair turned to see the curious faces of several townspeople either standing at the door or staring through the front windows. A commotion behind them distracted those by the door, and they fell back long enough to allow a woman wearing a split skirt, marshal’s badge and pistol on her hip to press through the crowd.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  O

  nce inside the bank, Cordelia Wentz, the town marshal, scrunched her face with confusion. “Birdie Templeton? What are you still doing here? Folks told me they heard gunshots and thought the bank was being robbed.”

  Birdie shook her head. “No, it’s all Mr. Crane’s fault. He refused to let me leave the bank to catch the stagecoach.” She told her story to the captivated crowd and introduced Hal. “When Mr. Crane refused to let him in, he shot the lock off the door to rescue me.”

  Her hip cocked and hand on her pistol handle, Marshal Wentz pursed her lips as she glared at Mortimer. “I’ll have to hear his side of the story, but it will probably be one of his usual sleazy tales. However, breaking and entering is against the law. He could file charges for that.”

  Hal held her gaze with hi
s. “So are abduction, stealing someone’s pay draft and white slavery for the purposes of prostitution. How can I be charged with breaking and entering when I did so to save someone in mortal danger?”

  As the crowd muttered behind her, Marshal Wentz nodded her head in understanding. “I agree with you there. Birdie, before you leave town, come by the office and pick up your share of the money from the horse auction that was allotted to the women in this town.”

  Birdie shook her head. “Oh, no. Give it to the mayor to use for someone else who is more in need.”

  Cordelia nodded. “Before Mrs. Stillwell left town, she told me the same thing.”

  “As for replacing the door and lock…” Birdie opened her reticule and took out her pay draft. She handed it to the marshal. “Mr. Crane told me the bank wouldn’t honor this. When he complains about the damage, tell him I left this for him to use for repairs.”

  Cordelia turned to the onlookers. “The show is over, folks. Time to go home or about your business.” At her urging, the crowd dispersed. As Mortimer started to stir, she shooed Hal and Birdie out the door. “I’ll deal with him. You two get on your way.”

  Hal found his horse he had ground-tied at the side of the bank. He grabbed the reins in one hand and extended his crooked elbow to Birdie. They walked towards the boardinghouse as quickly as Birdie’s skirt allowed. “I’d offer you a ride, but I about ran my horse into the ground getting here. I’m going to need to see what I can work out at the livery to get you up to Curdy’s Crossing.”

  They arrived at the back door of Maggie’s boardinghouse only to have the woman pull Birdie into an embrace as soon as Birdie and Hal entered.

  Tears of relief in her eyes, Maggie turned to Birdie. “I was so frightened for you once Hal told me you weren’t on the stage. I packed my old valise with some of the things you left behind. I also have a couple bundles of food, one for you and one for your driver. You go in and change into the skirt and shirtwaist I left on your old bed. Put on that straw bonnet with the veil. I’m giving it to you.”