“How are you doing, Mary?”
“I’m fine.” She folded her hands and lifted her chin.
Stephen studied her. “We’ve known each other now for, what … a year?”
“Yes.”
“I know you well enough to know you’re not fine.” He took her hands. “You’re brave and you’re strong, but I’d also guess you’re scared.”
Her eyes misted.
“Jasper went off and left you. You and your children. Daisy told me how they all miss him. Now you’re having to deal with the lawmen coming every day. The loneliness—yours and theirs.” He nodded toward the bedroom. “The uncertainty.”
A tear streaked down her cheek, and she pulled free to brush it away. “Stop. Please.”
“Rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he take you with him?”
“He could travel faster without us. Get to safety.”
“That’s what he told you.”
She turned a heated glance on him. “What’re you saying, Stephen?”
He too brushed the wetness from her cheek. “I’m telling you that I’m right here. I haven’t left. I won’t leave. Not like Jasper did.”
“Jasper didn’t leave. He was facing a long prison sentence—so long he’d not get to see his children grow. This way he stays free, and when it’s safe we’ll join him.”
He attempted to tug her to him. “And in the meantime, I’m here.”
She swatted his hands away. “What are you saying? That because my husband is gone, I should bed down with you? I thought you were engaged—to Emma. Or is it Dolly?”
He drew back. How had she—
“Don’t look so surprised, Stephen.” Her eyes flashed. “If you don’t want things known, don’t leave your half-written letters where I can find ’em.”
“I haven’t left anything about! They were in my—”
“Saddlebags. Yes. Easy to find while you were in the barn with Jasper. I know about Emma. And Dolly. And other women.” She nearly tipped her chair over in her attempt to put space between them. “I may be considered the dregs of society by most around these parts, but one thing I know. Neither me or Jasper is unfaithful. If that’s what you’re wantin’, look somewhere else.”
Embarrassment blanketed him. She’d rebuffed him soundly. Called out his infidelity. And by Daisy’s admission, she’d been told of the men he’d killed. His gaze darted to his coat. “Fine, then. Do you want me to go?”
She glanced out the window into the dark beyond. “It’s frigidly cold out there now. Stay the night, but mind your manners. Then go early in the day so you don’t get caught here. Last thing I need is more trouble.”
Chapter 17
The following morning
Sleepless. Stephen had lain awake reliving Mary’s rejection. Thinking about what Daisy had said about the lawmen’s visit. Stewing over Emma and Dolly. Even about missing his haphazard shots at the cowboy. By the time the horizon grew gray with the coming dawn, he’d rolled out of bed and tugged his boots on, his thoughts careening.
Mary and the children lay sound asleep, their breathing even. That was just fine. He’d abide by Mary’s wishes. He’d be gone soon enough, but he had a few things to do first.
Soundlessly, he eased from the bedroom, donned his winter garb, and slipped out the back door toward the barn. After opening the doors, he grabbed the wheelbarrow and a shovel and pitchfork, and headed toward the haystack northwest of the house.
Where would he go from here? This whole last year, Jasper and Mary’s place had been a safe haven. Now that was gone. Using the shovel, he brushed aside the inches of snow on the ground, then began to dig. He could go back to Hastings—to the Roaring Gimlet—and see if perhaps Emma was still there. She’d always been the gullible sort, easily swayed. He could talk to her, explain. But …
Stephen heaped dirt into the wheelbarrow.
But she might feel he’d tried to kidnap her. And he’d fired at her cowboy right in front of her. Could he charm his way out of those things? The same with Dolly. He’d wrapped his hand around her throat and tossed her like a discarded rag. Would she be so easily charmed as she’d been the day they’d met? Mary had been right about the other women. There’d been plenty. All were women of loose morals—some soiled doves and others not. Emma and Dolly had been his favorites. Clean. Untouched. Impressionable.
The crisp morning air helped distill his thoughts. He knew where he’d go once he finished here.
Done at the haystack, Stephen returned to the barn. He fed Mary’s team and saddled his own horses. A couple more tasks, and he could be on his way.
By the time he headed back to the soddy, the morning sun cast its golden glow over everything. He entered the house and slipped back to the bedroom, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Once he could see, he watched the sleeping mother and children. A faint smile twitched his lips as sunlight streamed through the shabby curtains and fell across Daisy’s face. Pacing to the window, he tugged the fabric open another inch, just enough to bathe the girl in light. She shifted, throwing both her arms up over her head and causing her hair to partially hide her sweet face.
“Mama.” She muttered the word in her sleep then fell silent again.
Little Mabel didn’t stir at all, other than the even rise and fall of her chest. Jesse rolled to his side in the crib then also became still. A beautiful family. He would miss them. Stephen paced again to the back door and grabbed the smooth wood handle of the ax he’d set there earlier. Moving to Mary’s side, he gingerly brushed a piece of her hair away from her face. She really shouldn’t have rejected him. He could’ve made her happy.
Stephen raised the ax and, heart pounding, brought it down in a ruthless blow.
Juniata, Nebraska
Emma sat up in bed, suddenly awake, her heart racing. The last haunting images of a dream lay just outside her mind’s reach. In its wake, an intense heaviness pressed in on her, smothering and dark. Cold tentacles of fear and dread snaked through her, wrapping around her heart and squeezing her lungs until she almost couldn’t breathe.
Lord, help me! What is this? She pressed her palm to her chest in an attempt to slow everything. It didn’t help. A thick sweat dampened her skin.
She stumbled out of her bed, gulping for breath, and made her way into the main room of Zeb and Lula’s house. Lord, what is happening?
Startled, Zeb looked up from his coffee. “You all right?”
Emma shook her head. “No.”
He bolted up, came to her side, and guided her toward a chair.
“Lula!”
At his bellow, the petite woman barged from their bedroom, still buttoning her blouse.
“Get Emma some water.”
“No.” Emma sat when her calves hit the edge of the cane chair. “A Bible. Please.”
“A … Bible.” He pointed. “Get her my Bible.” Lula raced to fetch the book, and Zeb turned to her. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” The dream was … Remembering a few stark images, she turned on Zeb. “Something’s very wrong … with Clay.”
She must pray—hard.
Once Lula laid the Bible on her lap, Emma latched onto it. Lord, help. Where? Where do I read? What scripture could she pray? She flipped it open and thumbed the pages rapidly, pausing periodically to see where she was. Flipping some more, she reversed course until her eyes fell on something that offered a hint of peace.
“ ‘Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.’ ”
She lurched to her feet and paced, clutching the Bible to her chest.
Oh Father, be with Clay. Stop whatever this is. Do not allow him to be afraid or dismayed. She turned her face toward the ceiling. Send him courage and strength!
“I still don’t understand why you’re doin’ this.” PJ pulled the collar of his jacket tighter to fight the early morning cold.
“I
told you.” Clay reined Rio down the path to the Harlson homestead. “The kids.”
“The way you’re actin’, I’m surprised you didn’t load a wagon full of supplies for ’em.”
He’d prayed on it. If he’d felt any kind of a release to follow through, he’d have paid his own money for a month’s supply to see that the woman’s three kids were fed decently. Yet every which way he’d wrestled with God through the night, the answer had come back no.
“I just think the woman needs to know that if she’s dependin’ on Anderson for food or other help, it won’t be coming. I don’t want her expectin’, with no other way to supply for her kids, ya know?”
“Or maybe Emma’s turnin’ you soft, little brother.”
“You’re the one who pushed me to go for Christmas.”
“What was I thinkin’?” PJ’s grin belied his derisive snort.
Silence fell for a moment before Clay continued on. “Truth is, the lion’s share of my thinkin’ is recallin’ my own past.” Before his death in Texas, Pa had begged Ma not to give up his “little piece of heaven,” as he called it. Yet they’d lived so remote—no neighbors for miles, the nearest town several days’ ride away. It was a hardscrabble life, and Ma had tried to be brave in the face of it. All these years later, Clay realized the loneliness and seclusion had stolen a bit of her mind every day. She fought so hard to honor Pa by stayin’, even though they were slowly starving to death. The only reason they hadn’t was because a neighbor forced Ma to come to town, and from there, they got her back to St. Joseph and her family. “I just remember my belly bein’ so empty some nights, I’d cry from the pain of it. I can’t abide the thought of those little ones facin’ that.”
“This isn’t the same as your ma’s circumstance. Mary Harlson’s got a town an hour’s ride away. And she’s no widow. She’s married to a criminal, one who shot two lawmen during his escape, mind you.”
“I know it’s not the same. Just reminds me … and I recall the compassion someone showed us.”
“Not sure how I feel about showin’ that woman compassion when I expect she’s in on her husband’s misdeeds, but I can appreciate your concern for her kids.”
They dismounted, and after knocking several times with no answer, Clay peeked through the front window. All was still inside, but the back door stood wide open. An uneasy feeling settled in his belly, and he eased the leather thong from his gun’s hammer. He circled around to the back.
“Mrs. Harlson?” He peered into the still soddy. “It’s Clay Timmons. We met the other day?”
PJ motioned to the barn, also standing open. “I’ll check out there.”
Clay stepped through the low doorway and glanced around the kitchen. The two pegs that had held a shotgun above the door were now empty. Had she gone hunting? Surely not with three children in tow. The stack of heavy coats still piled beside the front door would indicate they’d not gone anywhere. He hovered a hand over the stove. Cold. Had she left home and someone ransacked the place? It wasn’t ransacked … and again, she’d not have left without something warm on.
“Mrs. Harlson?” He eyed the bedroom door near the front wall. Drawing his gun, he inched toward it. The door was closed, and he stepped to the side and pushed it open, glancing around the frame. Seeing no one, he stepped in.
A heavy metallic odor assailed his nose, one that instantly launched his mind backward. Before he could grasp the familiarity of the smell, he spied the nearest bed. Sheets lay rumpled, tossed carelessly to one side. The once-white cloth was stained in three places, the bright red edges of each rounded pool muddling into one large black puddle in the center.
Panic gripped him, and he backed into the kitchen, nearly stumbling over the coats. He jerked on the front door but found it locked, so he raced for the back. Bursting out, he stumbled several feet into the yard, shaking.
From across the way, PJ appeared. “They’re not in here. Did you find anything?”
Gulping air like a banked fish, Clay settled his hands on his knees as memories of his family’s bodies, torn and bloodied, assaulted his mind.
“Clay!” PJ raced up and hunched beside him, hand on his shoulder.
“What happened?”
He couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “It’s bad.”
“What is?”
Knees going soft, he sank to the snowy ground. No words would come, so he waved toward the house.
He was only partly aware when PJ moved off. Minutes ticked, and Clay’s thoughts flashed between the carnage in the Harlson home and awakening years ago to see Cyrus Jupe standing over him, wielding a bloody knife. Heart racing, he rose on quivering legs to pace, trying to distance himself from the memories. Eyes focused only on the ground, he wore a path in the untouched snow as he tried to calm his galloping heart and spinning thoughts. But the memories of Jupe crashed over him no matter how hard he tried to shove them aside.
Waking to Jupe’s hulking form towering above. The stench of blood so thick he could almost taste it. Looking over to see Dori’s tiny frame bloodied and unrecognizable.
When something caught Clay’s arm, he loosed a startled grunt and jerked his pistol to bear, cocking the hammer as he did.
PJ threw his hands up in surrender. “It’s just me. PJ.”
Clay backed up a step, panting, and uncocked the gun as he lowered it. “Oh Lord. I’m sorry.” He sank into a squat, trembling. “I’m so sorry.”
PJ moved in and took the gun from his hand, then knelt and tugged Clay close. “It’s all right, little brother.”
After minutes, his heart rate began to slow and his breathing eased. “I’m so sorry, PJ.”
“Quit apologizin’.”
“But I coulda shot you.”
“You didn’t. All you did was make it so I need to change my drawers.” A chuckle rumbled out of him.
Laughter gripped Clay, and he shoved PJ, causing him to tumble into the snow. “I didn’t think you owned a spare set.”
PJ offered an impish grin. “I was planning to borrow some of yours.”
Clay stood, legs still unsteady. “You do, and you can keep ’em.”
When PJ stood, he offered Clay the pistol he’d taken minutes before. Clay’s mirth fled as he took the walnut-handled Peacemaker.
“I can pretty well guess where the sight in there took your mind, and I’m sorry for it. I don’t want to put more on you, but we need to find them, Clay.”
Wide-eyed, he shook his head. He didn’t want to find them. Didn’t want to see the carnage that would produce what he saw in that room. He’d seen it once fifteen years ago, and that was enough.
“What if one of those kids is injured bad but not dead?” PJ said gently.
His churning thoughts homed in on that. But … he couldn’t. Not like this. Again, he shook his head.
“Listen to me. I am not leavin’ you here, even for a few minutes, so I can come back and find you in a state like you just were. I need you to come with me. I’ll do the searchin’ and whatever else needs doin’, but I’m not leaving you here alone. Understand?”
Reluctantly, Clay eked out a nod. “I understand.”
But Lord, You’re going to have to see me through this.
Juniata, Nebraska
The next morning
The soft murmur of voices from outside drew Emma’s attention, and she withdrew her hands from the warm dishwater. Beside her, Lula pushed the kitchen curtain aside to peek out.
“Clay and PJ are back.”
Heart pounding, she shook the water from her hands and, after taking the towel Lula offered, rushed to pull open the door. She stepped outside as he dismounted, and once both his feet were on the ground, she flew into his arms.
He caught her in a bear hug and hung on, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“Is everything all right? Did you catch Stephen?”
He heaved a breath and shook his head. He clung to her with a fierceness, yet something in his touch was vulnerable and seeking
.
“What happened?”
Again, he shook his head, and she drew back, settling her hands on his cheeks. His green eyes focused just over her shoulder but finally drifted to her, haunted and lonely.
PJ came alongside them. “C’mon, let’s go in where it’s warm.”
Clay released her then, and she took his hand, drawing him inside. Once he’d stripped out of his coat, Emma led him to the wooden spindle bench facing the fireplace.
Fingers twined in his, she twisted to face him. “Tell me what happened.”
He cleared his throat and stared at the flames but said nothing.
“Clay, please talk to me.”
“This is really hard, Em. Hard to hear and hard to talk about. Honestly, I’m not sure I oughta tell you. It’s that bad.”
She brushed her fingers across his check. “Go slow, and tell me enough so I can get an idea.”
A full minute clicked by before he moved. “I never told you how my ma and sister died, did I?”
“Zeb did.” She glanced back toward Lula and PJ, though she found the main room empty. They must have slipped outside to give them privacy. “The night you were shot.”
“So you know about Cyrus Jupe killing Ma and Dori, then tryin’ to stab me?”
Her stomach knotted. “Not in great detail, but yes.”
“Stephen killed again, Em. In the last three days.”
“What?” She latched tighter to his hand. “What happened?”
“He killed one man—a fella named Peter Anderson. I can place him there in the house. Crushed his skull with … a hammer, I think.”
Emma sucked in a sharp breath and bit her lip.
“And I strongly suspect he’s behind the deaths of Mary Harlson and her three young children.”
“His business partners?”
He clamped his eyes shut and nodded. “Yes, though I don’t think they were partners.” Clay fell silent for a time, face twisting with pain.
The Scarlet Pen Page 24