by Jo Goodman
“I believe you.” She crossed her heart to add emphasis. “Did you speak to him at all?”
“Of course I did.” Without releasing her braids, Sue recounted her conversation word for word. “And then he shut the door.”
“Well, had you finished your piece?”
“Yes, but he did not know that.”
“Perhaps he did.”
“I should have known you would take his side, Emily Ransom. You already have it in your mind that you can flirt with him.”
Emily was not at all offended. “What I would like to know is why you don’t have it in your mind. The man is as handsome as sin, and he’s traveling alone.”
“Maybe that’s because no good woman will have him.” Sue let go of her braids and set her hands on her hips. “And how do you know he is handsome as sin? You didn’t see him.”
“Ah-ha! He is handsome. I knew it. You only get yourself in a knot when they are prettier than dew on a rose.”
Sue flushed. “Now you’re speaking nonsense.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he was wearing his guns. Did you think of that? Maybe that’s why I’m tongue-tied.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“Could you see them in the room?”
“No.”
“Do you think Rabbit and Finn were lying about the guns?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if they were. They like to make themselves important.”
Emily could not disagree with that. “Maybe I’ll ask him about the guns.”
Sue’s mouth parted, snapped shut, and then parted again. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might.” She showed Sue her saucy smile, the one that rarely failed to get noticed by male guests at the Pennyroyal. “I just might.”
Sue pursed her lips in disapproval. She was one year Emily’s junior, but in ways calculated by maturity and common sense, she was her senior by a decade.
“Oh, do not be such a prude,” Emily said dismissively. “What color are his eyes?”
Sue hesitated.
“Did you even look at his eyes?”
“I looked,” said Sue. “I’m thinking. It’s not easy to describe that color that sits on the horizon in winter. You know, when the sun is still low in the sky, and the day is going to be nothing but cold. Bitter cold.”
Emily blinked. “Why, Sue, you did look.”
“I told you I did. Looked away, too. That’s the kind of eyes he has. You want to look, but then you want to look away.”
Emily was thoughtful. “Maybe the boys weren’t telling tales. It sounds as if Mr. Coltrane has the eyes of a killer.”
“I did not say that.”
“Eyes like a wolf, I bet.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Emily ignored her. “Was he still wearing his hat?”
“No.”
“What about his hair?”
“What about it? Do you think there is such a thing as hair of a killer?”
“I won’t know until you tell me about it,” Emily said practically.
“It’s thick and unruly. Too longish for my tastes, riding on his collar the way it does. Maybe he’ll want the barber. You could point him in Mr. Stillwell’s direction. Better yet, tell him to ask for Dave Rogers.”
“And see him scalped? I do not believe I will, no.”
“Then perhaps you’ll suggest a shave.”
Emily lightly rubbed her cheek and pretended to think about it. “I suppose that depends on how much his stubble burns my tender skin.”
Sue had had enough. She put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and gave her a push. “Go. I know who you’re sweet on even if you won’t say. Just put Mr. Coltrane out of your mind. I have work to do, and I have to find Mrs. Berry.”
“You found her,” Raine said, entering the dining room from the lobby. Both girls flushed deeply, unsure how much she had heard. “Emily, I believe you have better work to occupy you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She turned sharply on her boot heel and hurried toward the kitchen.
Raine watched Emily go before she set her sights on Sue.
Without preamble, she asked, “Mr. Coltrane?”
“He asked for a table and chair,” said Sue. “He says if he has them, his accommodations will be entirely satisfactory.”
“Entirely satisfactory. He said that?”
“His exact words, ma’am.”
“You told him we don’t serve meals in the room.”
“I told him. He said they have other uses.” When Raine did not immediately respond, the maid added in confidential tones, “I had a premonition that he was going to be bothersome.”
Raine felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. It was a relief to know amusement was still possible. She was certain she had lost all appreciation for it upon making the acquaintance of Kellen Coltrane. “A premonition? Really? What do you suppose provoked it?”
Sue looked at Raine in surprise, as if the answer should be obvious. “You saw he has two trunks same as I did. A man hauling two trunks across the country must be persnickety about his person. I don’t know anyone in Bitter Springs with enough clothes to fill two trunks.”
“And a bag,” Raine said, tempering her smile. “Do not forget he also has a valise.”
“Well, yes, but we know there are guns in the bag.”
“Rabbit and Finn say so. Did you see them?”
“No, ma’am, but then Mr. Coltrane kept the bag close. Carried it in himself and didn’t hand it over for Walt to carry up to his rooms. I say that’s a man who is persnickety about his belongings, and persnickety about every other thing. Mark my words; it’s a table and a chair today and johnnycakes in his room tomorrow. Plain bothersome.”
“Let us hope you are wrong, but remember, what cannot be changed must be endured, and Sue…”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“We will endeavor to endure in silence. Please keep your premonition to yourself. If you’re correct, everyone will realize it soon enough.” Raine waited to receive Sue’s assurance that she would not breathe a word before she went on. “There’s a small table and some chairs in the storage room. Help Walt clear the table and give it a polish, then tell him to deliver it and a chair to Mr. Coltrane.”
Sue left in search of Walt, and Raine contemplated her next step. It was a certainty that she had to speak to Mr. Coltrane. Their brief exchange was wholly unsatisfactory, taking place as it did in front of an audience.
Kellen waited until the table and chair arrived before he began to unpack the valise.
Are you figurin’ on endin’ trouble in Bitter Springs or causin’ it?
Finn had posed a good question, and Kellen had no answer for it. He was hoping the contents of the valise would provide a clue. Nat Church’s intentions remained a mystery.
Should find her…tell her…she’s waiting. That told him exactly…nothing. Nat Church’s message did not seem cryptic when Kellen thought Pennyroyal referred to a person, not a place. Now that he knew differently, he had at least as many questions as Finn Collins and nowhere to direct them.
Kellen removed the guns and examined them one at a time. The lighter model was a .45 caliber centerfire Colt with a four-inch barrel and pearl grip. It was the preferred weapon of shopkeepers and sheriffs. Kellen was not surprised that Nat Church owned one. The second weapon was another in the Peacemaker line, a .44-40 caliber centerfire six-shooter with a seven-and-one-half-inch barrel and ivory grip. With a practiced hand, it was renowned for its accuracy at longer distances, the kind of weapon drawn by one man with the express intention of killing another.
The chambers of both guns were loaded. Kellen left them that way. Under his shaving kit, he found two boxes of ammunition, one for each of the Colts. He set them beside the weapons before he dug deeper into his valise. He removed two shirts, an extra pair of suspenders, a nightshirt, the brush and comb set, and his journals before he came to the books that filled the base of the bag.
He removed the books and riffled the pages of each one.
He found one letter tucked between the pages of Nat Church and the Watchers. Two others had been secreted in Nat Church and the Committee on Vigilance. Kellen could only shake his head. The man who called himself Nat Church had a deeply ingrained sense of the absurd.
Kellen glanced toward the door when he heard footsteps approaching. He waited, sensing a hesitation in the footfalls as they neared his door, but the person in the hallway passed on. It wasn’t until quiet returned that Kellen realized he had dropped the letters and that his right hand was hovering over the .44.
Kellen stretched his legs under the table and leaned back, then he examined the letters for their chronology and began to read.
July 22, 1888
I hope you will accept this letter as a proper introduction when there can be no other. A notice in the Chicago Times-Herald dated June 3 has recently come to my attention. It is by mere accident that I was in possession of the paper as it was left behind by a guest at the Pennyroyal Saloon and Hotel and was saved for the purpose of cleaning windows. I mention this because you might wonder at the delay in my correspondence and question my sincerity. Upon spying the notice, I rescued the Times-Herald from the bin. There was much to consider before setting my pen to paper, and for such delay as was caused by my cogitation, I accept responsibility. I want you to know this because I am now firm in my intentions, and this should be a consideration in my favor.
If I have understood the full meaning of your notice in the Times-Herald, and I believe I have, then I would like to invite you to travel to Bitter Springs and apply your talents on behalf of our town. I can promise you compensation commensurate to your skill and at least the equal of your most recent engagement. You might think I have consulted with others before making this offer of hire, but you would be wrong. I own this decision, and you would be working for me. If it is not clear to you already, I am a woman, and if working for a woman is a circumstance too grievous to contemplate, then you should not reply.
Having stated my aim to employ your services, I find that I am hesitant to lay the whole of the problem before you. If you are sufficiently interested and not otherwise engaged, I remain hopeful of your reply.
The letter was unsigned. Prudent, Kellen thought, given the nature of the correspondence. He turned the paper over, saw it contained no afterthoughts, and set it aside. Choosing the letter dated September 2, he began reading.
I am in receipt of your inquiry from August 13. While I am resolute in pursuing this action, I must remain guarded in my responses to your questions. It is understandable that you require more information, but I am also confident that if you journey to Bitter Springs and learn of our troubles, you will be persuaded by what you see and hear. You can be sure I will pay for reasonable expenses you incur on your journey and a ticket for your return trip if you elect to leave.
You asked me to be more exact in explaining my expectations. I expect that your involvement will save lives. I can be no more exact than that. It is my most fervent hope that your presence in Bitter Springs will put an end to bloodshed, not contribute to it. I want to be clear that it is protection I desire, but know that I have come to understand that protection in Bitter Springs requires more than the weight of law and judgment from the bench.
Mr. Benton Sterling, a fine husband, father, and grandfather, a man of principle and purpose, and the town marshal for five years, was ambushed and murdered twenty-two months ago. Mr. Moses T. Parker, a lawyer from Rawlins who stood for the people, also came to a bad end. Mr. John Hood, our mayor and a juryman, left town before Christmas and came back in a box at Easter. No one has heard from Mr. Hank Thompson, another juryman, and some of us, myself included, fear the worst. His mother suffers in his absence as his good humor was a source of comfort to her.
I am of the opinion that a Peacemaker will be required.
Perhaps you are not interested in our troubles and do not wish to involve yourself. If that is so, then I am much mistaken and give you yet another opportunity not to reply.
Most sincerely,
Mrs. Adam Berry
Kellen looked up from the letter to the pair of Colts. Nat Church had packed his Peacemakers. It was difficult to know if Mrs. Berry’s reference was to the gun or a diplomat. She might very well have meant both. He set the letter with the other but did not pick up the third. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his vest and removed the badge he had taken from Nat Church, a six-pointed star with rounded tips, engraved by hand and bearing the words “U.S. Marshal.”
He turned that badge over and examined the pin. It was bent halfway along its length. He didn’t try to straighten it. Nat Church hadn’t.
He had seen a great many badges, some of them on lawmen still living, too many of them on lawmen at death. They were a collectible curiosity in the East, where they could be purchased for a quarter. He knew women who wore them as brooches or as a garnish on their hats. Not all of them sold as genuine were in fact so, but he didn’t believe that was the case here. This badge bore the faint evidence that it had been pounded and sawed from American or perhaps Spanish coin. The tarnish at the points and along the outline of the letters added to its authentic look. The act of pinning and unpinning it to different vests over the years added a layer of sweat and oils to the back that polishing could never quite erase.
Kellen returned the badge to his vest pocket and took up the last letter. This one indicated it was written September thirtieth, less than a month ago.
I am now in receipt of your correspondence from September 22. I am heartened that you are accepting the offer I made and look forward to your arrival in Bitter Springs on October 14. Do not distress yourself if your arrival is delayed by heavy snowfall. Winter can arrive early and unexpectedly in the Territories, but the railroad is prepared for adversity and has constructed snowsheds for the protection of the passengers but mostly the engines. If I may offer advice in the best interest of your comfort, it would be wise for you to pack such foodstuffs as can sustain you in the event you find yourself several days in a snowshed.
Kellen’s mouth quirked. Here was the explanation for the sack of jerky, half a loaf of bread, and five apples they found when looking through Nat Church’s valise for clues. As it happened, the food was unnecessary, but perhaps Mrs. Berry would be comforted that Mr. Church heeded her advice.
Whether or not there is snow, you should expect to find cold weather in Bitter Springs at this time of year. The locals will tell you the wind is breezy, but I am a relatively recent arrival in town and will tell you the truth. As winter approaches, the wind is a gale, and the good citizens turn their collars up to their ears or wear scarves that cover every portion of their face save for their eyes.
I have taken the liberty of arranging accommodations for you. Unless you express dissatisfaction with the arrangement, you will be staying at the Pennyroyal Hotel where I am the proprietress. I manage a clean establishment with such comforts as you might find in hotels in Chicago, St. Louis, or as I have been told by guests, New York City.
Kellen looked up from the letter and glanced around the room. The wide, iron-frame bed was smoothly turned out with a colorful quilt, two plump pillows, and a second quilt folded neatly at the foot. Small tables stood on either side of the bed at its head, each one a resting place for an oil lamp. The one on the left held a carafe and glass for water. The walnut armoire easily held his clothes and had a sufficient number of drawers on one side to store his incidentals. There was a stove in one corner and a bucket heaped with coal beside it. Neither the maid nor Walt had considered the temperature sufficiently cold to fire it up. Kellen was sorely tempted.
The bathing room was a revelation with its hot and cold running water and deep, claw-footed tub. He had a modest idea of the expense involved in making those amenities available in a hotel and wondered about the depth of Mrs. Berry’s purse. Her first letter to Nat Church indicated she was prepared to pay generously for his servic
es, and her second letter offered compensation for his journey whether or not he accepted her terms.
He did not think the Pennyroyal could account for all of her income. On the way to his rooms at the end of the hall, he counted only five other doors, and when he inquired about accommodations on the third floor, he was informed that the Widder Berry was in sole possession of those rooms.
After consideration, I have concluded it is better that our arrangement remains private, and others see our association merely as hotel guest and hotel owner. Therefore, I will not be meeting you at the station, but you can be assured that transportation and assistance with your belongings will be made available to you as they are to all of our guests. You only have to inquire after the Pennyroyal Hotel.
Finally, I have noted that you chose not to sign your previous letters. The situation in Bitter Springs is such that I must be able to identify you beyond any doubt. At the very least I require your name, and if you can suggest some additional manner in which I will know you, I would welcome it.
I will depend upon hearing from you once more before your arrival.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Adam Berry
Kellen did not recall tipping his chair back on its rear legs, nor did he think he was so engrossed with reading and reflection that he would not hear someone approaching his door, but at the first knock he nearly upended the chair and himself. Grabbing the edge of the table saved him from an ignominious fall.
His guess was that it was Widder Berry herself at the door.
He carefully folded the letters and returned them to the bottom of his valise. He packed several more items on top, closed the bag, and nudged it back under the bed with the toe of his boot. The only items remaining on the table when he invited his caller to enter were the Colts.
Raine closed the door behind her but did not step away from it. She nodded briefly. “Mr. Coltrane.”
He appreciated her straightforward gaze. She could hardly miss the Colts, but she ignored them in favor of giving him her full attention. She had a husky, smoky voice that could not help undermining a good man’s resolve whether or not that was her intent.