by DiAnn Mills
“We’ve traveled to San Quentin for a reason,” Morgan said. “And we won’t go home without what we need. A statement from Leroy Wilson adds that much more to your defense.”
The clang of keys beating against the metal door rang like a bad omen. The guard unlocked the area separating the prisoners from the visitors.
I hope I never hear the same sound against a door for me. Oh Lord, is it wrong to ask Your help? I understand I should have left Jenkins when Tim and I first joined up. I understand a whole lot of things now. Sometimes my life is so horrible that I wonder if I can ever be respectable. She shook her head. She had God right beside her, and she had Morgan.
A sideways glance revealed his confidence. A tousle of amber-colored hair fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. She took a moment to appreciate his calm and handsome face and the square chin that gave him a determined look. His eyes were what she treasured most—the color, the brilliance. She loved this man. If only she could rid her memory of what men had done to her in the past. She loved him in her heart, but her heart and body were frozen, unable to respond to his love.
A much-aged Leroy and a guard entered the small area. The old outlaw looked tired and more hardened than Casey remembered. Line upon line dug in around his face as though his deeds had branded him. From his sunken jawline, she gathered he must have lost the rest of his teeth. Four years hadn’t affected his memory, because his small beady eyes immediately reflected a strong dislike for the lawyer who had led his prosecution and proved instrumental in his sentence at San Quentin.
“I ain’t got anythin’ to say to you, Andrews.” He spit through the metal bars dividing him from Casey and Morgan. For a moment he leered at her—the cold look of lust.
She’d nearly forgotten his crude mannerisms. Strange how being among respectable folks caused her to forget outlaw ways. Rose and her girls weren’t much better. They swore, drank, and ate like the hardest men.
“Sit down,” the guard said. “They’ve come a long way to see the likes of you.”
“You can’t make me talk to him.” The old man snorted like a pig. “What do you want to do now? Get me hanged?” He peered up at the guard. “Might as well take me back to my cell.”
Leroy failed to glance her way. He has no idea who I am. Do I interrupt? Expose myself to the guard? Or let Morgan handle this?
“Calm down, Leroy. Just hear me out.” Morgan’s voice rang smooth and even. “All I’m asking is a few minutes to talk.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to you ’bout nothin’. Leave me be, Andrews. Yer wastin’ yer time.” He pulled his bent body up to stand.
Morgan glanced at the guard, but the stoic, uniformed man didn’t offer any assistance. Leroy faced the lawyer defiantly and again asked the guard to take him back to his cell. Jerking the outlaw around to face the door, the guard escorted him from the visitation area. The door creaked and slammed shut, echoing as though it sealed Casey’s fate.
Morgan pounded his fist onto the narrow ledge before him. He clenched his hand until his knuckles glared white. His face reddened. Fury threatened to explode through the pores of his skin. He took a deep breath, and for several minutes he paced the floor until the frenzy of the moment no longer creased his face.
Casey waited. He had to calm down before she could help him reason through what had happened. He’d been so sure about battling it out verbally with the old outlaw and leaving the prison with a signed document, but Leroy never gave him an opportunity. All this way for nothing.
Watching Morgan sink back into the chair, she deliberated what to say. Perhaps nothing until he was ready. The room smelled musty, nearly suffocating. Telltale odors of unwashed prisoners lingered in the room much like the cheap, sickly sweet perfume of the soiled doves who worked the pleasure palaces. Old sounds and smells and the taste of whiskey washed over her. She’d do anything to keep from being locked up in a place like this. She’d rather be dead.
She glanced at the ceiling and studied the spiders in the corners. Their lacy webs continued on and on in an endless pattern. Their weaving was purposeful. They didn’t allow anything to stop them.
She considered the brief meeting with Leroy Wilson. The prisoner needed an incentive to listen—or rather a bribe so enticing he’d be a fool to pass it up. Some things naturally require more effort than others.
Morgan had never been a man prone to give up easily. Today his efforts had failed, but what about tomorrow? She flatly refused to walk out of San Quentin beaten and depressed without a fight. Leroy could be convinced to talk to them.
“Don’t give up.” She studied Morgan’s face. “We need to ask God for wisdom.”
“I’m not beaten. That old man thinks he won today, but he hasn’t seen the fighting side of me.” He rose from the hard wooden chair. “I’m taking you to the ferry, and then I’m heading straight for the warden’s office. Tomorrow he’ll talk to me or face the biggest regret of his life.”
The next morning, Morgan and Casey again seated themselves in the visitation room and waited for a guard to bring Leroy into the area. After the experience of the day before, Morgan had requested a different guard who had the reputation of keeping the convicts in line. This time Leroy would sit there until Morgan finished.
The old prisoner took one look at Morgan and stopped in the doorway. “Told ya yesterday, I ain’t talkin’ to ya. I’ll send ya an invite if I change my mind.”
The guard, a stocky man who looked no better than most outlaws, shoved him down into a chair. “Wilson, you’ll stay here and listen to this man, or I’ll make it real tough on you. Do you understand?”
Morgan thanked the guard and settled back in his chair. “I may need you to make sure he listens to what I have to say,” he said to the guard.
“Or what?” Leroy said.
“You might break this partition between us and try to slit my throat or harm this lady.” Morgan smiled.
“I could, providin’ I had me a knife.” Leroy wiped his whiskered chin. He glanced at Casey and squinted.
I do look familiar to him.
“Maybe so.” Morgan was unbelievably calm, reminding her of how still the prairie lay just before a twister. “But we’re going to talk first. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Like what?” Again the old man’s attention swerved in Casey’s direction.
“You help me, and I’ll help you.”
“How can you help me?” Irritation wrinkled Leroy’s brow.
“By talking to the warden and recommending parole if you cooperate with me.”
Casey saw the confidence in Morgan’s face, but she knew he feared the same outcome as the previous day.
Leroy cocked his head. “You’re lying. Somethin’s in this for you.”
“How will you know unless you hear me out first?” Morgan leaned back in his chair.
Leroy blew out an exasperated sigh. “State your business, Andrews. I ain’t got all day.” He sat sideways on the straight-backed chair, as though he might spring from the room like a trapped animal.
“Well, since you’re such a busy man, I’ll get right to the point. I need your help in getting a pardon for one of Jenkins’s gang.”
“Where were they when I needed ’em? Now yer wantin’ me to help ya? Yer crazy.”
Not a trace of emotion touched Morgan’s features. “This person is innocent. Wasn’t even around during the train robbery or some of the other jobs you pulled.”
“Who is it?” The convict peered down his nose.
Morgan glanced up at the guard. “Could you let me have a few moments alone with Mr. Wilson?”
He nodded. “The warden said you might ask for that.” He stepped through the metal door. “I’ll give you five minutes. No more.”
“Agreed.” When the guard disappeared, Morgan leaned in closer to Leroy. “I want to prove Casey O’Hare is innocent of robbery and murder. Don’t you recognize her?”
Leroy squinted at Casey and chewed on his lower lip. “Is t
hat really you, Miss Casey?” The soft manner in which he spoke her name eased the anger etched into his face.
“Yes, Leroy, this is me. I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Her heart thumped faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
Leroy grinned and displayed a toothless mouth. He whipped his attention to Morgan. “And what did you say you’re gonna do for me?”
Morgan cleared his throat. “Told you before, recommend parole. I’ve already talked to the warden, and he’ll draw up the papers if you’ll agree to help Casey.”
“I want it in writin’.” Leroy rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.
Morgan opened his leather satchel for pen and paper and waited until the guard reappeared. “If you can write all this down for Leroy to witness, I’ll sign it, too.” The uniformed man unlocked the door separating them and took the writing material. All the while, Morgan continued to talk to Leroy about the latest news from the outlaw trail.
“I’m tired of your jawin’. Now what did you want me to say about Casey O’Hare?” He gave Morgan his full attention. “What they pinnin’ on her?” Thank goodness he understood the risk she had taken in coming there. Her stomach still felt strange.
“Murder, train robbery—a whole list of things. You’ve seen the wanted posters.”
Leroy whipped his gaze around the drab room. “She ain’t never done nothin’, at least not while I rode with Jenkins.”
“What did she do for the gang?” Morgan’s implication startled her. A surge of anger trailed up her spine. What did he mean by that?
“I thought you wanted a pardon for her,” Leroy said.
“I do, but I have to know what she did do for Jenkins.”
Morgan, didn’t you believe me? The old hurt caused her to ache all over. Surely he had a reason for this.
“Just like I said, nothin’. Most times she just rode with us, so’s folks would see her with all that purdy hair and face. Jenkins liked that, ’cause he claimed she was his. But when it came to jobs, she refused to help. Why, she stayed back at the camp most times unless Jenkins was in a fit. Then he made her ride along to watch the horses or somethin’ like that. Miss Casey was a good girl, yes sirree. She never shot nobody or stole nothin’. All she did was bandage us up and cook.” Leroy stared at Morgan triumphantly. “So if you’re figgerin’ to get me to say somethin’ bad about her, forget it. I’m no fool, Andrews. You’re trying to get her in prison, too—or hung.”
Morgan shook his head and tilted back his hat. “I can’t trick you, can I? I have a hard time believing a woman riding with Davis Jenkins all those years wouldn’t earn her keep, but of course she was Jenkins’s woman.”
She clutched her hands tightly in her lap. She desperately wanted to believe Morgan had a good reason for the questioning. Later she’d find out why. Now she needed Leroy’s statement.
Contempt spread over Leroy’s face. “Jenkins just thought he owned her, but I knew better. She hated him.”
“Would you be willing to write a letter stating what you just told me?” Morgan said.
Bless you, Morgan. I’m so sorry.
“I don’t read or write good.”
“The guard will write down what you say, word for word. Then he’ll read it back to you. You can make a mark, and he’ll witness it.”
“Got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“I meant what I said. I’ll tell the warden you helped me. He’s already assured me of recommending parole,” Morgan said.
Leroy swung his attention toward her. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you see in this lawyer, but if I were you, I’d stay away from the likes of him.”
Thank you, Leroy.
A short while later, Casey and Morgan took in the fresh, fragrant air of a California winter day. For a while, she thought the stagnant smell of the prison had penetrated her whole body. And Leroy Wilson—she’d forgotten how he never bathed. But right now she could kiss him.
“I’m sorry about the questioning,” Morgan said. “We simply needed additional character references. He hates me for a good reason, and he got a full measure of my bitterness.” He paused. “I made sure he got a stiff sentence. At the time I felt hanging was too good for any of Jenkins’s gang. I wanted them to suffer . . . for Kathleen.” He patted her hand. “But yesterday’s gone. We have today and all the tomorrows we’re allowed.”
The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter, or maybe it was God’s blessings illuminating their souls. Morgan whistled a nondescript tune while they walked to the ferry that would take them across the bay to San Francisco. There, Jocelyn waited at a hotel. Casey leaned into his strong shoulder. “I admit I was ready to come after you myself. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset without waiting for an explanation. You were wonderful.”
He chuckled. “Wonderful, huh? I thought you might tear me apart right in front of Leroy and the guard.”
She smiled. “I strongly considered it. Fought it really hard.”
He planted a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll wade through this mess, and it will be worth it.”
“I can’t wait to tell your mother.”
“Yes, ma’am, anything for my lady.”
The train ride back to Kahlerville proved uncomfortable. The black soot settled upon their clothes, and the food tasted terrible. But for Casey, it was a time of victory. With Leroy’s testimony safely tucked in Morgan’s satchel, she had hope.
“I think we’re having an early Christmas,” Morgan said one morning midway through the journey home. “I think we celebrated early.”
“I agree,” Jocelyn said. “I’m anxious to get back home and start baking, but what you two received from Mr. Wilson is the finest gift.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Morgan turned to Casey and gathered up her gloved hand. “I wanted a Christmas wedding, like the reverend suggested, but I guess I’ll have to wait.”
Casey felt her pulse race, not in anticipation of the wedding, but in eagerness for all the legal matters to be over. Perhaps someday she’d busy herself with thoughts about Christmas baking, gifts, and family celebrations. But not yet.
Chapter 27
The few days before Christmas brought a chill to the morning, and sometimes the crispness lasted all day. The difference in the weather left a feeling of expectation in the air. Or perhaps it was the time of year. Casey realized so many things in her life were about to change. She wasn’t convinced the changes would be for the best, but for now she’d celebrate all those blessings that God had given.
Sarah grew worse. Every day that ticked by drew her closer to the end. Casey prayed she would not pass away before Christmas. Just a few more days, Lord. Let her have this one last Christmas with the reverend.
Casey pasted on a smile and looked for things to brighten the ill woman’s day. She made sugar cookies and let the smell waft through the house, although dear Sarah could not eat even one. The reverend spent more time in his wife’s bedroom. Every day the lines in his face increased.
Morgan had decided to wait until after January 1 to visit Governor Ireland. She realized Morgan knew best, but each day that passed chiseled away at her hope.
Christmas arrived quietly at the parsonage. The reverend and Casey had decided that Sarah needed rest and that an abundance of celebration and visitors would only weaken her.
“It’s enough for me to have Sarah this last holiday,” the reverend said at Sarah’s bedside. “God blessed me with this extra time to share the celebration of Jesus’ birth with my precious wife, and I refuse to leave her side today.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Sarah said. “I’m being selfish, but I can’t think of anything better than you right here with me.” She leaned back against the pillow, her hair pinned properly and her face a beacon of light.
“I want to prepare a good dinner for you,” Casey said. “I’ll bring it upstairs as soon as it’s ready.”
“No pumpkin pie for me,” Sarah said with upturned lips. “Often wished I liked it, but never acquired a taste
for it. John here loves it. ‘Pumpkin pies and roasted pumpkin seeds make my day,’ he always said.” She smiled up into his face. Her skin looked and felt like paper. “Tell her, John,” she said.
“We do have something for you,” the reverend said.
Casey shook her head. “It’s not necessary at all.”
“I know, but Sarah and I decided upon this some time ago.” He excused himself and brought her a fairly large package wrapped in brown paper and tied with red cotton ribbon.
“I’ve never had a gift this large for Christmas.” She glanced into his face. “In fact, I haven’t celebrated this time of year since I was a little girl.” She swallowed a lump. “I’m getting more like a woman every day.”
The reverend laughed, and Sarah smiled. Casey immediately set the package down on the rocker and touched Sarah’s cheek. She bent and kissed the woman. “Merry Christmas, Sarah. I love you.”
“And we love you.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled as though all of heaven radiated through them.
Feeling a bit giddy, Casey opened the package. She gasped. A dress, a beautiful green velvet dress fit for a queen. “This—this dress was featured in the newspaper.” Her gaze flew to Sarah. “The day I told you about my past.”
“Indeed it was,” Sarah said.
“But it’s so expensive.” Casey smoothed her fingers over the fine fabric. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
“But we wanted to,” the reverend said. “You are like one of our children, and this is a small token of our devotion.”
Casey lifted it from the package and held it up to herself. “I don’t know when I will ever be able to wear something so fine.”
The reverend chuckled. “If you would ever say yes to Morgan, I imagine he might take you someplace fancy after the wedding.”
She didn’t breathe a word of the misgivings mounting in her mind about marrying Morgan. This was a day of celebration, and she would not spoil it. “I have something for each of you.” She excused herself to retrieve the small gifts from her room. For Sarah she had a shawl that Jocelyn had helped her crochet, and for the reverend she had handkerchiefs embroidered with his initials, also with the help of Jocelyn.