Hannah's Dream

by Lenore Butler

  Adam passed the new "women's" house and went to the stable next to the barn. He was thinking about that Hannah, the one he'd seen on the hill, and he couldn't understand what had put her nose out of joint. He thought the picture was nice. Was that a bad thing to say?

  He slid off Blue's back and took the horse into his stall. He brushed him down and filled his stall with fresh hay.

  "I'll be back," he said.

  He went to the ranch house and walked to the kitchen. James usually had bread and cheese in his larder and Adam would make himself a sandwich before heading out to the pasture where he would check on the other cowboys, Willie, Rufus, and T.J.

  The house was empty. James had gone to Denver and left Adam in charge. As he passed the parlor, his eye caught the glint coming off the silver frame around Hannah's picture. He stopped and walked over to the fireplace.

  He looked at the picture. Hannah had struck a serious pose, but her eyes showed a hint of mischief. Adam took the picture from the mantle and looked closer. He ran his finger over the outline of her face.

  When he went with James to the train station to pick up the ladies, Adam had stayed in the wagon while James went to fetch his sister and her family. As they walked toward the wagon, Adam saw Hannah for the first time. His experience with women was limited to his monthly visits to the saloon in Denver, during the spring and summer months, where the women upstairs charged two bits an hour.

  He was a cowboy and a ranch hand. He didn't expect to get married. He thought he would punch cows the rest of his life and be like James, a bachelor with a small ranch and a porch where he could smoke his pipe and watch the sun go down.

  But that curly-haired strawberry blonde had taken him by surprise. She wasn't beautiful, but there was something about the way she smiled that made him blush. She smelled good, too. Since bringing her home to the women's house, he thought about her all the time. When he saw her on the hill alone, he tried to think of something smart to say. When he saw the picture, he told her it was nice because it was, and she'd acted like he'd insulted her. Now he wondered if she'd ever talk to him again.

  He put the picture back on the mantle and went to the kitchen. He made a sandwich and ate it alone at James' small wooden table. The kitchen window faced the women's house and he saw Hannah come out the front door and stand on the porch. She was a petite little thing and he thought about putting his arms around her and he sighed.

  Chapter 27

  New Beach, New Jersey

  Margaret Mason sipped her tea as she read the Red Bank Register. She found the articles dull and put the paper aside. Louise came down for breakfast and Margaret smiled.

  "Good morning," she said.

  The girl walked to the table and sat down. She was wearing the new dress Margaret had ordered from Mrs. Weis's Temple of Fashion and she looked nice. Margaret wished she could find some way to make Louise more attractive, but the girl wasn't blessed with good features. Fortunately, Jenny, Margaret's lady's maid, was a talented hair stylist and had managed to give Louise a style that accentuated her one good feature -- her eyes.

  "Where are you off to today?" Margaret asked.

  "I'm going to the beach," Louise said.

  "Why am I not surprised?"

  Louise smiled. "I'm going to finish the painting I started last week. Mrs. Tinsdale said she would buy it if I finished it today."

  "It's a bit windy out there. How do you anchor the canvas?"

  "I use sandbags."

  Margaret raised her eyebrows. "Very clever," she said.

  "I can't take credit for the idea," Louise said. "Hannah told me to do it."

  "You miss her, don't you?"

  "Every day."

  "I can buy you a ticket to see her if you'd like."

  "I couldn't ask you to do that. You've done so much for me already."

  "Louise, when someone offers you a gift, take it and smile."

  Louise smiled. "I haven't been invited."

  "I'm sure Hannah would love to see you. I don't think an invitation is required. You can stay in a hotel."

  "I have some money from the sale of my last painting."

  "Oh, pish posh. I will pay for the hotel as well."

  "Why do you do this for me?" Louise asked. She didn't understand Margaret's kindness toward her.

  "It's quite simple, really. You have a rare gift, Louise. I believe in nurturing truly gifted people. I have money and you do not."

  "And it really doesn't bother you?"

  "Not in the slightest. So, do you want to go to Colorado?"

  "I'd love to go!"

  "Then I'll have Harrison make the arrangements."

  Margaret rang for Harrison, her butler of twenty years, and he appeared at the dining room door.

  "Yes, Madam," he said.

  "Harrison, I'm sending Louise to Colorado and I want you to make the arrangements. She'll need a train ticket and a hotel in...what's the name of that town, dear?"

  "High Bend," Louise said.

  "High Bend," Margaret repeated.

  "Yes, Madam. Will it be a Pullman car or a private car, Madam?"

  "Oh, a private car, Harrison. She'll be traveling without a chaperone. Or should we find someone to go with you?"

  "I think I'll be all right. What does a private car mean."

  "It means no men allowed. It also means you can eat in your room if you'd like. I know you're uncomfortable around strangers."

  "Then, I will be fine."

  "Private, Harrison."

  "Very well, Madam."

  "So, I'm truly going?" Louise asked.

  "Yes, dear, you're truly going."

  Louise jumped up and threw her arms around Margaret's neck.

  "Thank you, thank you," she cried.

  "You're welcome, dear. Now eat so you can finish Angela Tinsdale's painting."

  Louise returned to her seat and smiled. She was so excited she would see Hannah again. As she brought the teacup to her lips, there was a knock on the front door. Margaret saw Harrison pass the dining room. He returned a minute later.

  "Madam, there's a policeman are at the door. Shall I show him to the parlor?"

  "Yes, Harrison. Tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

  Louise looked concerned. "What does he want?" she said.

  Margaret thought of Pierre. He had been gone overnight and hadn't told her where he was going.

  "I must find out, mustn't I?"

  Margaret rose from the table and walked to the parlor. Harrison was standing by the policeman, a plainclothes detective named Smith.

  "That will be all, Harrison," she said and the butler bowed and left the room.

  "Mrs. Mason," the detective said.

  "And you are?"

  "My name is Orin Smith. I'm a detective with the Red Bank police department. I've been sent here to inquire after a Pierre Rousseau."

  "Mr. Rousseau is a guest in my home."

  "I'm aware of that, Mrs. Mason. May we sit down?"

  "Will you be staying long?"

  "Please, Mrs. Mason."

  Margaret sat in her chair and Detective Smith sat on the settee.

  "Where is Mr. Rousseau?" he asked.

  "Mr. Rousseau left early yesterday. He didn't inform me of his itinerary."

  "So, you don't know when he'll be back?"

  "No. Tell me, Detective Smith, why are you looking for Mr. Rousseau?"

  "We received a bulletin at our office, ma'am. Another agency in Cherry Hill is asking us to make inquiries."

  "And they didn't say why?"

  "I'm not at liberty to discuss it, Ma'am."

  "The man is a guest in my home, detective. Surely you would tell me if he posed a threat to my safety."

  Detective Smith looked at his feet. He was a slight man. Harrison had offered to take his bowler hat, but Detective Smith had declined to take it off. He looked tired. His mustache needed a trim.

  "I don't believe he poses a threat, ma'am."

  "But your posture would
suggest otherwise, detective."

  He looked up. "ma'am, I don't even know if Mr. Rousseau...I don't know if he's the man we're looking for. I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily."

  "What is the name of the man you are looking for?"

  "His name is Jean-Pierre Renault. He assaulted a sheriff from Cherry Hill. He'd stolen goods and had absconded to Toms River."

  "Why does the sheriff think he's here?"

  "He saw Mr. Rousseau's picture in the paper, ma'am. He said it's the man."

  "I assure you, Detective Smith, I've known Mr. Rousseau for several years now and he isn't a violent man, nor is he a thief."

  "I'm sure, ma'am, but like I said, I have to make inquiries."

  "Well, you have. If you leave a telephone number with Harrison, I'll have Mr. Rousseau call you when he returns."

  Detective Smith understood the interview was over and stood.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said. He bowed slightly and left the room. Harrison was at the door with a piece of paper and a pencil. Smith gave him the telephone number for the station and left.

  Margaret sat in the parlor thinking about Pierre. She remembered the day George found Pierre shivering in her garden shed, his clothes covered in mud, with no explanation as to how he came to be in her shed. She stood and went to the dining room. Louise was just finishing her toast.

  "Dear," Margaret said. "You'd better be off soon."

  "I'm going right now," Louise said. She thought Margaret seemed distracted. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, dear, I'm fine. Did Mr. Rousseau mention where he was going to you?"

  "No, he doesn't speak to me."

  "Yes, well, have a good day," Margaret said as she left the dining room.

  Chapter 28

  Theodore Aumack regretted sending Detective Smith to Margaret Mason's house alone. He knew Margaret Mason and was sure the woman would eat Smith alive. But he'd held Smith back for months now and he had no choice but to send him out, or Mayor Smith would be on him like flies on flypaper.

  Sheriff Aumack stood outside the police station smoking a cigar. Smith had left for New Beach hours ago and should have returned by now. He contemplated sending an officer out to look for him, but Smith would be mighty embarrassed knowing Aumack felt it necessary to hunt him down. So, instead, Sheriff Aumack walked home and sat on his porch while he finished his cigar. The sun was going down. It would be dark in two hours. The road from New Beach was dark. Aumack had a bad feeling in his gut.

  He stamped out the butt of his cigar and walked into his house. He went to the telephone in the kitchen and rang up Detective O'Connell.

  "Smith hasn't come back yet, has he?" he said.

  "Haven't seen him come in," O'Connell said.

  "I want you to take Calvin and go look for him."

  "I'm sure he's on his way..."

  "He left seven hours ago. It's a two-hour ride at best. Go look for the man or you'll tell his father why."

  "Yes, sir," O'Connell said before hanging up the phone.

  O'Connell, a stout and hardy Irishman from County Cork, stood and looked around for Calvin. He saw the uniformed policeman sitting at a desk filling in a report and whistled.

  "Calvin," he said.

  The officer looked up and saw O'Connell waving him over. He dropped his pen and walked toward O'Connell, who was fast approaching him.

  "We have to go find Smith," O'Connell said.

  "We have to find Smith?" Calvin repeated.

  "You deaf, man? Yes, we have to go find Smith. Go get the horses."

  Calvin left the station for the livery and O'Connell told the man at the night watch he was leaving to go find Smith.

  "Tell the sheriff we left at," he looked at the clock on the wall, "six-thirty."

  Calvin was waiting by the station door with two horses when O'Connell emerged. He was already on his horse and O'Connell climbed aboard the big, white mare named Sadie.

  "Did you have to bring Sadie?" he said.

  "Why, she's a grand horse," Calvin replied.

  "You know darn well me mother's name was Sadie. I feel right stupid riding this horse."

  "She was the only one left in the livery," Calvin lied. He liked making O'Connell ride Sadie.

  "Fine. Let's go."

  Pierre Rousseau saw Detective Smith leave the house. He had come home, seen a strange horse at the front of the house, left his horse on the road, and looked around for George. George was in the shed sharpening the blades of his lawn mower and hadn't seen Pierre return. Pierre saw that George was occupied and went to the window by the parlor. Margaret always left the windows open during the day in the summer. He overheard Detective Smith and realized that the police were looking for him.

  He went back to the road and got on his horse. There was only one road leading into New Beach. Pierre quickly rode to the halfway point on the road and went into the woods. The mosquitoes were biting, but he was determined to catch Detective Smith before he got to Red Bank.

  It wasn't long before the small detective came along. He passed Pierre. who followed him. staying a few yards behind. Pierre had made a plan while swatting mosquitoes. He'd decided the only way to keep Detective Smith from getting back to Red Bank was to hit him over the head. But to do that, he would have to knock him off his horse.

  Pierre was taller than Smith by a good six inches. As he came alongside Smith, the detective heard him and turned his head around. As he did, Pierre pushed him off his horse.

  Smith landed on his back. He was trying to sit up when Pierre pounced on him and hit him. The smaller man tried to push Pierre away. He managed to crawl out from under Pierre and turn around. He got to his feet and began running down the road.

  Pierre chased him. He saw a rock, stopped to pick it up, and continued the chase. Smith kept looking around. His legs were short and he didn't run fast. Pierre's longer legs gave him the advantage. Soon, he was close enough to knock Smith down again. He hit him on the head with the rock. One blow was all it took. Smith's skull was broken.

  Pierre looked around. The road was deserted. He got up and pulled Smith's body into the woods and covered it with old leaves. These woods were filled with small rodents and they would soon destroy any evidence left of Mr. Smith. By the time they found his body, if they did, he would be unrecognizable. To make identification more difficult, Pierre took Smith's wallet and his coat. He also took his shoes.

  Pierre didn't like the idea of leaving Smith's horse on the road. He felt sorry for the animal. It was an innocent bystander. He took the reins and led it back to New Beach. He'd leave it at a farm near the end of the road as though the animal had wandered there on its own. When it was found, people would believe it had thrown its rider. They would look for the unfortunate Detective Smith, but they wouldn't find him.

  Pierre went back to Margaret's house. He left Detective Smith's personal items in his room in the carriage house. It was dinnertime, and he walked into the main house where he found Margaret sitting in the parlor with that lump, Louise.

  "Well, well," Margaret said. "You decided to come home."

  Pierre had changed his clothes and washed the dirt from his hands and face, but there was a scratch on his face.

  "I couldn't find a proper easel in Red Bank," he said.

  "So, you were shopping for an easel. I didn't know the shops in Red Bank were open all night."

  Louise giggled. Pierre glared at her.

  "It was too dark to return home. I stayed at the hotel."

  "It's odd you should mention Red Bank," Margaret said.

  "Why is it odd? You know the dry goods store has art supplies."

  "A detective was here this morning looking for you. He came from Red Bank."

  "Why was he looking for me?"

  "He saw your picture in the paper and wanted to talk to you."

  "My picture?"

  "Yes, the one with Louise. The one where she'd won the art contest."

  That stupid photograph, he thought. That's how they
found me.

  "Did he say why he wanted to talk to me?"

  "He said he was sent to make inquiries by another agency in Cherry Hill."

  Cherry Hill? "I've never been to Cherry Hill," he said.

  "Then you've nothing to worry about. He left his telephone number for you to call. I suggest you do before he returns. He's a strange little man."

  "I'll call him tomorrow. I have some errands to run and it may take me a while."

  "More errands. My, aren't you a busy boy?"

  Louise giggled again.

  "By the way," Margaret said. "Louise is going to Colorado."

  "Why?" he said. His tone was a little sharp.

  "She's going to visit Hannah."

  He felt heat rise from his throat. He hoped he wasn't turning red.

  "Well, won't that be nice?" he said. He looked at Louise. "Tell her I said hello."

  "I don't think she wants to hear from you."

  Louise hadn't told Margaret about Pierre's visit to Marian Dawes.

  "Why wouldn't she want to hear from Pierre?" Margaret asked.

  "You must be mistaken, Louise. Hannah and I have a great mutual respect."

  "He went to Mrs. Dawes and asked if he could court Hannah."

  "He did. Now isn't that interesting?" Margaret said. "Pierre, aren't you a bit old for Hannah? Aren't you at least thirty?"

  Pierre straightened his back.

  "I'm twenty-six. And Hannah is eighteen. We are well suited to each other."

  "Mrs. Dawes told him no," Louise said.

  "Mrs. Dawes told me to wait," he said.

  "Wait for what?" Margaret asked.

  "She said Hannah needed time following her broken engagement."

  "Mrs. Dawes told him if Hannah was interested in him, she'd write to him," Louise said. "She didn't tell him where they were going."

  Margaret looked at Pierre. "Poor Pierre," she said in mock sympathy.

  "If you will excuse me," he said. He turned and left the room.

  The adrenaline in his veins had subsided since his encounter with Detective Smith and he was feeling tired. He didn't feel like going into town, but he had to keep up the pretense of doing his errands. He also had to kill some time before disposing of Detective Smith's personal effects.