The crowd made way for the marshal as he pushed Abner forward, down the steps, onto the street. The noise picked up again as Tom escorted his prisoner next door to the Gold Dust Saloon.
Numb with shock, Amy in her arms, Lucy trailed behind the ever-growing mob. When she went up the steps of the Gold Dust, Cordelia came alongside. In a horrified voice she asked, “Oh, Lucy, what has he done?”
“It has something to do with Molly.”
Someone shouted, “Americus Washburn’s been appointed judge!”
Cordelia shouted out, “And just who appointed him?”
“The crowd, ma’am.”
Inside the Gold Dust, two rows of six chairs each had been hastily set up for the jurors, a chair and a table up front for the judge, and a chair for the witnesses. After seating Abner in another chair up front, Tom Stewart stood behind the judge.
Lucy and Cordelia found two seats in the back. Holding Amy tight, Lucy watched the unruly crowd choose the jurors. The selection proved easy enough. Without asking a single question, they pointed to the first twelve men who stepped up and volunteered. The whole process took less than two minutes.
Someone in the crowd called, “Where’s his lawyer?” but was quickly stilled by hisses and boos.
“I guess it’s just the judge, Abner, and the jury,” said Cordelia.
“This can’t be happening.” Abner was about to be hanged? She couldn’t get it through her head.
Cordelia squeezed her hand. “You must be brave. There’s nothing you can do now except pray.” She flicked Lucy a glance. “That is, if you want to pray.”
In a daze, Lucy sat and watched what passed for a fair trial in Hangtown. The jurors were immediately sworn in. The marshal called the first witness, Doc Sawyer, who swore to tell the truth with his hand on the Bible and seated himself in the chair beside the judge.
“Doc, tell us what happened,” said Americus.
The town’s only doctor, ordinarily a pleasant man with kindly eyes and an easy manner, today sat clutching his fists as he testified, his mouth set in an angry line, a muscle twitching along his jaw. “This afternoon my daughter, Molly, was watching the Schneider baby. I was working in my office, which, as you know, is in my home. All of a sudden, I heard screaming. It was Molly. She burst into my office.
She ...” The doctor choked up. He needed several seconds to pull himself together. “She said Abner Schneider came upstairs and threw her to floor, demanding she submit. My daughter refused and started to fight him off. It was then he tore her dress and hit her in the face. I saw the blood!” Eyes blazing, the doctor stood, raised his arm, and pointed an accusing finger at Abner. “That man tried to rape my daughter!”
The room exploded into angry shouts. Not having a gavel, the judge pounded on the table with a heavy whiskey glass. When the noise died down, he asked, “How did Molly get away, Doc?”
“She hit him in the eye and ran.”
“So he didn’t—?”
“No, he did not.”
“How’s she doing now?”
“Fine, but she’ll be doing a lot better when they put a noose around that bastard’s neck.”
“Hang him!” came incensed shouts from the crowd. Americus had to bang the whiskey glass again.
When the doctor stepped down, young Chad Benton was sworn in and took his place in the witness chair. More composed now, he looked expectantly at the judge, waiting for a question.
“Tell us what happened, lad.”
“Well, uh, Mister Schneider and I were working in the store. Then he went upstairs. Then pretty soon Molly came running down and out the door.”
“Was she screaming?”
“Yes, and her dress was torn.”
“Did you see any blood?”
“On her face I did.”
“Then what happened?”
“Mister Schneider came downstairs. He acted like nothing was wrong, but he looked terrible, like he was upset about something. His eye looked awful, real red like somebody punched it.”
“Anything more?”
“Pretty soon I heard yelling outside. So did the customers. When they all went outside to see what the yelling was about, I got scared and locked the door. Then Mrs. Schneider knocked, and I let her in. Then I let the marshal in, and he took Mister Schneider away. That’s about it.”
Chad had nothing more to add. When he left the witness chair, the judge addressed Abner. “What have you to say for yourself?”
Abner stood and faced the crowd. “All lies! I never touched the girl. I didn’t do it.” His gaze swept the room until he spied Lucy. “Strumpet! Harlot, this is all your doing.” He pointed an accusing finger, quoting a verse she recognized from the Book of Obadiah. “ ‘As thou hast done, it shall be done unto thee.’ ”
“String him up!” came shouts from the crowd, but Americus again pounded for order.
The marshal leaned over his shoulder. “They can’t hang him yet, Judge. The jury’s got to give its verdict.”
Americus addressed the jury. “We’ll find a room for you if you want to deliberate.”
One of the jurors, a seasoned old miner with a straggly gray beard, stood and spoke. “T’won’t be necessary, Judge. I think we all agree.” He turned to his fellow jurors. “What do you say, boys?”
“Guilty!” came from the throats of eleven men.
“Then we all find him guilty, Judge, and we think he ought to hang.”
The marshal bent and spoke to Americus again. Above the noise of the crowd, the judge declared, “Tom says we’ve got to do this right. We need a vote from the spectators, as well as the jury’s decision. Now, who makes a motion this man be hanged?” The motion was instantly made and seconded. “Should Abner Schneider be hanged?”
A vengeful, rancorous, roaring “Yes!” issued from the throats of hundreds of men, both in the Gold Dust Saloon and gathered outside in the street. Immediately, a group of men lifted Abner over their heads to carry him outside. They were jabbing, punching at him, and shouting terrible things.
“Lucy, they’re taking him to the hanging tree,” Cordelia shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Do you want to follow?”
“No, I don’t.” Lucy shook her head decisively. She knew this trial was a farce. She knew no one should be hanged in such a manner. Yet, when she thought of all the people Abner had hurt, including herself ... his sanctimonious, superior attitude ... his cruelty ... she couldn’t pretend to care and wasn’t going to try. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
They returned to Cordelia’s boarding house and sat in the parlor, both numb with disbelief. Holding the baby tight in her arms, she fought for whatever fragile control she had left, telling herself she couldn’t afford to break down now. In the distance, she could plainly hear the noise of the crowd. Suddenly a jubilant roar went up.
“Oh my Lord,” Cordelia exclaimed, “he must be swinging from that tree right now. Sorry, but I can’t cry.”
“Don’t apologize. I can’t cry either. All I can say is, may God have mercy on his wretched soul.”
“At least you still have the store. You can run it every bit as well as Abner ever could.”
The store! In all the tumult, Lucy had forgotten. “I’d better pull myself together.” She handed Amy to Cordelia. “Will you watch her for me? It just occurred to me the store has been left untended.”
The first thing Lucy saw when she stepped from the boarding house into the crowded street was a wisp of black smoke curling toward the sky. It came from the direction of the store. As it grew heavier, she choked back a cry. It couldn’t be! Not ...
“They’ve set Schneider’s on fire!” someone shouted.
Oh, God, no! Lucy picked up her skirts and ran. By the time she reached the store, she found it engulfed in flames, the volunteer fire department only now arriving. An unruly crowd milled around in the street in front, some holding merchandise they’d looted.
Lucy watched in stunned horror as the store burned t
o the ground. Was it only hours ago she was having a lovely day, taking tea in Cordelia’s parlor with the cream of Hangtown society?
But now?
Abner gone ... the store gone ... in the wink of an eye she’d lost everything except Amy and the clothes on her back.
Chapter 22
Sacramento, California
Charlie Dawes smiled gratefully at his partner. “You were right. Guess I did need a little help.”
Clint suppressed a smile. Charlie’s back had been in such bad shape he had laid in the back of the wagon most of the way to Sacramento. “I’m glad you’re better now.”
“Yep, I can get on my horse again. I know how anxious you are to find Lucy, and I surely appreciate—”
“You’d have done the same for me.” Anxious was hardly the word. Since the day they began the last leg of their journey—the trek out of the Sierras to the flatlands of Sacramento—he’d had to curb his desperate urge to find her. “Now that you’re all right, I’m going back. Leaving today. Right now.”
“Well, I sure hope you find the little lady.” Charlie’s bushy white brows drew together in a frown. “Where will you look? There are mining camps all over the Sierras, and she could be in any one of them. Angel’s Camp. Dutch Flat. Rough and Ready—”
“I’ll find her.” A mixture of rage and frustration welled up within him every time he thought of Lucy in the hands of that sick bastard, Abner Schneider. “I’ll find her if it takes the rest of my life.”
* * *
Had it not been for Cordelia, Lucy didn’t know how she would’ve survived. What would she have done if Cordelia hadn’t insisted she and Amy stay at her boarding house? For the first few days, she’d remained in such a state of shock she could hardly function. Cordelia stood by her, treating her like an honored and cherished guest. “Stay as long as you like. You have a home here. I’ll help in any way I can.” Lucy was grateful but soon realized she couldn’t continue to accept her friend’s charity. She began to help around the boarding house, cooking, making beds, washing clothes and linens, scrubbing floors. The hard work earned hers and Amy’s keep, but she soon realized she couldn’t work in a boarding house forever and must make other plans.
“Where would you go?” Cordelia asked when Lucy expressed her desire to leave. “I love having you here. Nothing would make me happier than if you made this your permanent home.”
“I can’t keep imposing.”
“Imposing!” Cordelia declared indignantly. “You more than earn your keep, even though I’ve told you many times you needn’t lift a finger.”
“Even so ...” Lucy stifled a sigh. These days she had to fight to remain cheerful, especially when she felt as if the bottom had dropped out of her world. She didn’t mourn Abner in the slightest, but since that horrible day he died, she couldn’t keep herself from constantly wondering why so many things in her life had gone wrong. She had worked so hard—gone through so much—only to end up penniless and alone, living off the kindness of a friend.
Cordelia sighed. “If only you had a bit of money. You could rebuild the store and run it yourself. I know you could make a go of it. You were as responsible for the store’s success as Abner was.”
“I think so, too, but you know I lost everything in the fire.” A rueful smile curved her mouth. “Perhaps I could get a job as a dancing girl at the Gold Dust.”
“No, you won’t.” Cordelia didn’t return the smile. “And if you think all those girls do is dance—”
“I know. Only joking.”
“You could always go home to Boston.”
“If I did, I’d have to ask my father for our passage.” Her spirits plunged even further, just picturing herself returning to Boston, appearing on the Beacon Street doorstep clutching the baby, ragged, penniless, a charity case depending upon Pernelia’s benevolence for the rest of her life. “I could never go back.”
“Didn’t Abner have an account at the bank?”
Lucy was reminded of the bag of coins Abner had taken away from her—stolen from her and felt indignant all over again. If only she had them now! “He has an account there all right. Opened with my money, I might add.”
“If it’s your money, then why don’t you just go get it?”
“I can’t. Don’t forget, I wasn’t married to Abner. By law, the money will probably go to Abner’s relatives back East.”
Cordelia regarded her with astonishment. “So, he can send them your money?”
Lucy shrugged. “What else can I do?”
“Do?” Cordelia fairly leaped from her chair. “I’m surprised at you! Have you lost your spunk? Aside from me, does anyone in this town know you weren’t married to Abner?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then you’re going to get that money.”
“But—”
“Grab your hat. We’re going to the bank right now, Mrs. Schneider. Mrs. Abner Schneider.”
“So what can I do today for you two lovely ladies?” Americus Washburn sent his most gracious smile across his desk to Lucy and Cordelia.
Cordelia cast a troubled glance at Lucy and patted her hand. “As you know, Mister Washburn, my dear friend has suffered a terrible loss.” Lucy had never heard Cordelia talk with such a thick, cloying southern accent.
Americus looked properly grim. “A terrible, terrible thing. Mrs. Schneider, you know you have my condolences.”
“Thank you. As you know, my dear husband opened an account here, and I thought—”
“You’re wondering if we could put the account in your name,” Americus interrupted. “But of course, we can.”
“I’m familiar with the banks back East, so I’m wondering about papers to fill out ... legal procedures ...”
“This is Hangtown. I’ll have that money in your name in about one minute flat.”
“Thank you, Cordelia! I’m so glad you thought of it,” Lucy bubbled on the way back to the boarding house. “It’s wonderful to have money again. It was awful feeling so poverty stricken ... so utterly without hope.”
“Now you can go back to Boston with money of your own.”
“You know how I’d love to see my family again, but I shall stay right here in Hangtown.”
“Waiting for Clint?” Cordelia gave a wise nod.
“I know he’ll find me. If it takes forever, I shall wait right here until he does.” Lucy’s heart swelled with feeling. Never more than at that moment did she realize how strong and enduring was her love for Clint. He was going to find her, she was positive.
Days later, Lucy was surveying the blackened ruins of Schneider’s General Store when she heard someone call her name. The voice came from a wagon halted in the street. When she saw who it was, she exclaimed, “William Applegate! What are you doing in Hangtown?”
“Looking for gold, what else?” William Applegate went on to explain that Agnes and the rest of the family were still at Angel’s Camp, where he’d first gone to look for gold. “All the good claims were taken. Since then, I’ve traveled around, looking over several of the mining camps. That’s why I’m here.”
After they chatted for a while, Lucy asked the question uppermost in her mind. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mister Palance, have you?”
“Clint?” William Applegate looked thoughtful. “I ain’t seen him since he and Mister Dawes left for Sacramento with the rest of the wagon train.”
She swallowed hard, trying to mask her growing consternation. “That was after I left?”
“That’s right, ma’am, shortly after.”
“He didn’t say anything about wanting to search through the mining towns for ... well, anybody or anything?”
“Not that I know of. He seemed just his usual self, not caring about much of anything except leading the wagon train the rest of the way to Sacramento. I don’t believe he was coming back. If he was, he surely didn’t say.”
Chapter 23
San Francisco
Waiting to board the clipper ship Flying Cl
oud, Lucy stood on the dock, Amy in her arms, taking in the incredible sight of a city caught in the madness of the gold rush. In the bay, she could see a tangle of masts where hundreds of ships lay abandoned, their entire crews having deserted to head for the gold fields. Behind her at least a thousand tents and canvas houses dotted the hillsides of San Francisco. Across the bay, the land rose gradually, lifting up into mountains in the distance and stretching off to where the peaks of the Sierra Nevadas were just visible, their snowy caps dotting the horizon. Strange to think that only a short time ago she’d been there.
Lucy inhaled a breath of tangy salt air while she listened to the harsh squawk of a passing seagull. So like Boston! Soon she’d be home again, safe in the arms of her family, able to hold her head high, thanks to Jacob’s money. She ought to feel ecstatic right about now, but indeed, she didn’t. Instead, grief and despair tore at her heart.
How wrong she’d been to think Clint would come after her. She could’ve sworn he would, but now, thanks to William Applegate, she knew better. Clint hadn’t cared enough to conduct even the shortest of searches. He’d just gone on with his life, as if she’d been nothing more to him than a casual dalliance.
A seaman from Flying Cloud came by. “How long will it take us to get to Boston?” she called after him.
“Don’t know for sure, ma’am. Did you know we sailed New York to San Francisco in only eighty-nine days? Broke the record.”
Only eighty-nine days? Three months on the open seas seemed an eternity. Three months where she’d have nothing to do but think about Clint and how she’d lost him forever. At least, when she got home, she’d keep busy. She would never marry again, but she could spend the rest of her life doing good work. She would help with the poor—join an abolitionist group so she could do her part to free the slaves. She would—
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