by C. A. Asbrey
A struggling Richards fought and bellowed, held by two members of staff while his wife sat on the bed, her arched back wracking with heaving sobs. Jake laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt? What did he do, ma’am?”
She sat with her head in her right hand and shook her head. The night manager pointed at the bell boy, dressed in his uniform pants over long underwear. “Johnny, go fetch the law then run and get the doc.”
The boy nodded snappily and bolted from the room. The manager turned to Nat. “She needs a woman to see to her. Would your mother be able to help?”
“I’m sure of it,” he headed for the door. “She was all for coming here with us, but I told her to stay put. I’ll go fetch her.”
♦◊♦
‘Mrs. Cadwallader’ entered the room having donned a cotton robe over her expansive figure. A pair of embroidered slippers peeped out from the hem as she bustled over to the distressed woman. She sat on the bed beside Mrs. Richards and spoke softly but with authority, examining the twisted, deformed arm with mute alarm.
“Has anyone called a doctor?”
“He’s on his way.”
“Get me a pillow.” Abigail took it and nestled it on the woman’s lap. “Victoria, put your arm on there. It’s not high enough, get me another.” She rearranged the support. “There, oh, my. I know. It hurts. I think it’s broken. Let’s rest it on here and keep it supported until the doctor comes, shall we?” She turned to the men. “Can you get me some laudanum?”
The woman gasped in pain as the limb settled on the downy cushion.
“We’ll get you something for the pain, shall we?” Abigail stroked back unruly hair from the woman’s face, noting the livid finger marks on her throat and the swollen eye, congested and closing. “What happened? You can tell us. We can all see you’ve had a fight.”
Jake stepped in to grab Richards’s swinging arm, landing a punch on the man’s soft belly. “You ain’t fightin’ a woman anymore, you coward.”
The man’s wife wailed in distress, and Abigail frowned. “Get him out of here. You’re upsetting her,” she returned to her patient, assessing her replies. “Were you unconscious at all?”
Victoria shook her head. “No. I wished I was when he swung me about and I heard the arm break. But no, I wasn’t unconscious.”
Abigail’s stomach turned over at the very thought. “You poor thing. What brought this on?” She glanced at the bellboy who arrived with the laudanum and measured out a dose. “Here take this. It’ll help with the pain.” She watched the woman swallow the drug. “I don’t want to give you too much before the doctor sees you. What happened? Why did he do this?”
“Denham’s been fired, something about financial irregularities. He was so angry when he came back. I just knew things would blow up. They’ve already replaced him. We have to leave right away.”
“Does he blow up often?” Abigail asked, fixing her with gentle brown eyes.
Mrs. Richards hesitated. “Sometimes. It’s never been as bad as this, though. I thought he’d kill me this time. They called the sheriff. What will happen to him?”
“He’ll be fine,” Abigail’s voice hardened. “His kind always are. We will make sure you’re well-looked after. Where’s that doctor?” She paused, but decided this was her only chance to ask, so pressed on. “Mrs. Richards? Did you scratch your husband a couple of weeks ago?”
She darted a guilty glance at Abigail. “Why?”
“I saw the scratches on his hands. They were newly-healed but still very red, indicating they were very deep. Somebody scratched him. Was it you, Victoria?”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a man at the door. “You called for a doctor?”
Abigail gulped back her frustration and stepped back to make way for medical help. The doctor strode over and appraised the injured woman, noting the deformity in her left arm. He stepped forward deposited his leather bag on the floor. “What’s your name?”
“Victoria. Victoria Richards.”
“Well, Mrs. Richards.” He examined the swollen eye before pulling up the eyelid on the healthy one and gazing into it. “I’m Dr. Walsh, and that arm is broken. I’m going to have to splint it.”
“Broken?” Mrs. Richards blanched.
“I’m afraid so. I have to deal with it or you might lose the arm. It’s a displaced fracture, and I need to get the bones back in position and stabilized. I will get the men to carry you very carefully downstairs after I get your arm secured in a splint. We’ll take you over to my office. Please don’t worry. Dealing with a lot of farmers and ranchers means I’m very experienced with broken bones. I'll have you as good as new before you know it. I promise.”
“I gave her a dose of laudanum, Doctor,” Abigail stood. “I thought you should know. Ten drops.”
“Thank you, madam. I can take over from here. Can you ask a couple of men to fetch a stretcher from my office?”
♦◊♦
They all rose early the next morning, but the disturbed night etched tiredness across their pale, pinched faces and made spirits flag. Abigail was no longer in disguise, and she wore a simple dark green riding habit. She had snuck off to the railway station to ensure her precious chest was booked back into left luggage while the men checked out of the hotel.
Jake’s sharp blue eyes watched his nephew’s every move and stolen glances. The days spent with the rotund matron seemed to exemplify the difference between the disguise and Abigail’s lithe figure, and he had noted his nephew’s dark eyes in their hungry exploration of her lubricious sway and enticing curves. The younger man was being drawn in by her reckless headlong run at life. Nat had always been drawn to danger and sensation, and it was Jake’s mission to damp that down. Abigail was dangerous, and he was ruing the day he had agreed to nurse her at the cabin. He should have left her to Pearl. He bit back his feelings and carried on. Once today was over, Jake had determined they would leave. Nat just didn’t know it yet.
♦◊♦
The Schmidt place sat about ten miles from town. It was just far enough to convince tired travelers to stay there close to nightfall rather than try to make it into town before it got too late to travel in unknown country. Tiredness could be the only reason anyone would stay at this bleak, stark place. Homey, it was not.
Jake saw a lone figure in the distance, riding away from them, leading two horses behind. He was too far away to identify much, he guessed the rider was male because this wasn’t the kind of country where women would ride alone. The man rode from the wild land which led to the rocky lowlands of the mountains out toward Paris. This was not an area for anyone to take the air. It was full of bears, mountain lions, and wild men. Nat threw Jake a look, knowing it would take someone quite confident in their ability to defend themselves before they’d ride out in country like this.
“I want you to stay here, Abi. Hang back.” Jake shot over his shoulder. “We’re goin’ to talk to him.”
Jake recognized the figure as they approached.
It was the German boy with the twisted mouth from the Schmidt’s place. Kurt Schmidt paused, clearly recognizing the blond one who had come to their house looking for the two women who had disappeared. He stopped and gave a crooked smile. “Guten Morgen.”
“You speak English, boy?” Nat asked.
“He didn’t speak any when I was at their place, just his sister. Don’t trust him. He followed me out.”
Nat shuffled in his saddle. “How we gonna find out what he’s doin’ out here?”
Kurt grinned at them.
“Why’s he got two horses with him when he’s riding alone?” Jake asked, his suspicions rising.
Nat rode over to him and pointed to one of his bags. “What’s in there?” he yelled.
“He ain’t deaf, Nat. He’s German,” Jake snickered.
Nat stretched out a hand and gestured with his fingers, indicating he wanted the bag, but Kurt gave him an empty stare and did nothing. Nat rode rig
ht up to him and took hold of the bag, but Kurt shook his head and pulled back. When he saw the chilling look in Nat’s dark eyes, he reluctantly let go.
“What’s this? A dress?” demanded Nat, pulling out the contents.
“Must be his sister’s. She’s real pretty,” Jake answered. Scarlet silk and ribbons tumbled and unwound their way out of the bag.
“Doesn’t look much like a farm girl’s dress,” said Nat, looking at the low cut front of the evening gown.
Jake scanned the length and matched it to the petite redhead he had met. “Too big for her, too.”
The German boy looked even more uneasy as Nat put a hand out to take another bag. Jake caught the keen look in the boy’s eyes and a flash of movement as the boy went for a gun, but his lightning reflexes felled him with a single shot through the shoulder. He toppled to the ground with an ominous thump, uttering a soft groan. Nat glanced back at Abigail and threw Jake a worried look before he jumped from his horse to check the boy.
“Help me,” he groaned.
They glanced at one another in surprise. “I thought you didn’t speak English, boy,” barked Jake.
“I do, please help me. The pain is terrible—”
They exchanged glances, the description of the blond young man with a twisted lip given to them at the stables in Paris consolidating in their minds now that they’d discovered the boy spoke perfect English with an American accent.
Abigail thundered up on her horse and leaped to the ground to tend to the wounded youth, throwing an accusing look at Jake. “What have you done?”
The boy’s eyes flickered and rolled in his head as he passed out with a hollow groan.
“What did you do?” she raged.
His glare was cold. “He’s Kurt Schmidt. He was gonna shoot Nat. I had to.”
“What? The sheriff told me he’s simple. He wouldn’t have meant any harm.”
“He’s dangerous. He was going to kill. I saw the look in his eyes.”
“How could you? Did you think I’d just watch you shoot a boy and do nothing?”
Nat bent over the lad. “He’s passed out. We need to get him into town.”
“He speaks perfect English, so he now fits the description of the boy who sold the missin’ horses in Paris. He’s the one who sold Bessie and Dora’s horses,” Jake dismounted.
“That’s no reason to shoot him. You didn’t have to. You can outdraw a farm boy.” Abigail’s hard stare held Jake’s glower. “Even I could outdraw a farm boy!”
Jake’s glare chilled, every word a jab. “I did what I had to do.”
She met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “I won’t be hanging back again. I’ll be right up front to see exactly what you do and how you do it,” her eyes narrowed. “And I’ll remember it all.”
Jake strode over to her, his eyes boring right through her as the truce stared to disintegrate before their very eyes. “I was tryin’ to protect you both. If you don’t want to accept that, we’re headin’ for trouble, lady.”
Abigail tilted her head back so she could match the much taller man. “You'll shoot me too? Go ahead. Let’s see where that gets you.”
He remained tense, scowling at her in silence. He drew in a breath and opened his mouth to reply before Nat’s call distracted him. “Jake, look at this.”
Nat had opened the other bag. Another dress, this time a child’s in blue silk spilled out along with jewelry, trinkets and books. The dress was splattered in blood. “The books are in English, so I’m guessing they’re not his.” He opened it. “A family Bible, embossed in silver, name of Clark.”
Abigail ran forward to look at the garment in shock as a bitter Jake looked daggers at her back. “I told you he was dangerous. Are there any children at the Schmidts’ place?”
“No.” She watched a muscle in Jake’s granite jaw flicker as realization set in. “I’m sorry.”
“You went with your instincts,” he shrugged, not meeting her eyes, “just like I had to.”
She understood this comment was laden with meaning beyond this incident, but he was cold. His gentle side had gone. Had she killed it?
“No.” She insisted. “I’m sorry. I truly am. ”
Jake ignored her and took off his hat, running his hand through his tousled hair before strolling over to Nat who stood staring at the sad collection of belongings.
“Where’d he come from?” He raised his head and gazed out toward the pass, the expanse of sky reflecting in his deep blue eyes. “Let’s get over there. I’ll tie him on his horse.”
♦◊♦
It didn’t take them long to see smoke in the distance as they retraced Kurt’s route. The small fire sat in the dip cut out of the landscape by the river as it wound its way through the valley. A horseless wagon sat beside the small, smoldering pile where a woman and a man lay on the ground covered in blood. A small, almost naked girl wandered around the site, bawling her heart out as the sharp stones cut into her little soft feet. She could have been no more than two-years old and the thin mountain sun had already beaten onto her bare skin making it raw and angry. The contents of various bags lay scattered around the area with fabrics fluttering in the breeze in a scene of utter devastation. Abigail sucked in a breath of horror and leaped down to her, but Jake was faster and snatched the girl in his arms before she reached her, cuddling her close.
“Hey, my baby. You’re fine now.”
He clutched at a piece of cloth and wrapped her in it, covering her sunburn before he sat with her and hugged her to his hard chest. “Get me some water.”
He glanced over at the toddler’s parents and adjusted his position so she was shielded from the horror as Nat handed him his canteen so the thirsty child could drink. “Here, darlin’, be a good girl and drink this while the lady sees to your ma and pa.” Abigail watched him rock the girl back and forth with a gentle hum before soaking fabric and bathing her cut feet as the child screamed in protest. “Ssshh, darlin’. Let me sort those for you. I’ll make it all better.”
Abigail frowned, struck by his gentle patience before she turned away and took the woman’s hand, looking closely into her face. “She’s still breathing.”
“So’s he,” yelled Nat. “Jake, help me get those horses back on the wagon and let’s get them into Bannen as soon as we can.”
♦◊♦
They took just under three hours to get the injured parents to the edge of town. Abigail sat in the back of the wagon and tended their wounds as best she could, trying to give whatever medical help she was able. The man had the worst injury, with a shot right through the arm. The woman moaned on Abigail’s lap and her eyes flickered open. “My Ethie, where’s Ethie?
“Ethie? Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, where—”
Abigail stoked her cheek. “She’s safe. Jake, hold her so her mother can see her.”
He turned in the seat, facing the flat bed and held up the wriggling child. “She’s fine, ma’am. Just a few little cuts on her feet. I washed ’em clean and we’re takin’ you all to see a doctor.”
“Clive?”
“Is that your husband’s name? He’s alive and we’ve stopped the worst of the bleeding. Is your name Clark? We read it in the Bible. What’s your first name?”
“Pamela. Pamela Clark.” Tears pricked at Mrs. Clark’s eyes. “We were going to Bannen for Clive’s work. He'll be the new headmaster. How is he?”
“We’ll get you to the doctor,” purred Abigail.
“He’s still unconscious, but his breathing is strong and we’ve stanched the blood.” She dabbed the woman’s forehead with a damp cloth. “What happened?”
“Two men held us up. Clive told them we had nothing worth stealing, and they got angry. He went to step from the wagon to reason with them and the littlest one shot him in the arm.” She sobbed and turned into Abigail’s lap. “I grabbed for the rifle we kept under the seat, and the other one came at me. The last thing I saw was the butt coming straight at my face.”
“Shhh, you’re safe now. We’ll get you to the doctor.”
“But Clive? What if—”
Abigail’s hand tightened on the woman’s arm. “We’re doing the best we can for you all. He’s doing fine. It’s best for him to be out right now because he’s not in pain. The doctor will do the rest very soon. I’ve met him. He’s very professional.”
She clutched at Abigail’s arm. “Promise Clive’ll live.”
Nat shot a worried look at Abigail who smiled at Mrs. Clark. “It’ll all work out. I promise. It always works out.”
The wounded woman nodded and closed her eyes. Her breathing soon became slower and deeper as she drifted off to sleep. The wagon rattled and jounced across the rocky terrain and Abigail shifted to rest her back against the board. Nat turned, his hands still full of reins, and shot her a look of concern.
“How could you say that? How could you promise her it’ll be fine?” he hissed under his breath.
“What else could I say?”
“You promised her.”
She faced him with a disquieting lack of expression. “I promised her it’ll work out. I didn’t promise her it’ll work out the way she wants. We both know life’s not like that.”
He frowned, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he turned his attention back to the horses. “Yeah, we do. Sometimes, the best we can hope for is they wait until we’re dead to throw dirt over us and feed us to the worms.”
Chapter Seventeen
The family were deposited at the doctor’s office and Abigail sprinted over to the sheriff, acutely aware he was about to see her without her disguise for the first time.
“Yes, miss? Can I help you?” Sheriff Thompson gallantly stood as she came into the room, puffing out his chest and holding in his belly.
“I don’t expect you’ll recognize me, but I’m Abigail MacKay. We spoke earlier about the murders?” She watched the confusion reign behind his eyes as he recognized the voice but not the slight, girlish figure standing before him. “I was dressed as an old lady?”