The Widow and the Warrior

by Sarah Winn

  Downstairs, Mrs. Moore was in the kitchen busily stirring something in a sizzling frying pan. Alice was rushing out of the kitchen with a platter stacked with toast. Everyone else, even the Coylers, were gathered around the table in the servant’s dining room. Gerald briefly wondered if the servants and stable hands realize they were sharing a table with one of the wealthier men in England.

  Once they were seated, Gerald took healthy portions of eggs and ham from the platters passed to him, not because he was hungry, but because he knew he needed strength to face what lay ahead of him that day. After he finished one mouthful of food, he said, “Mr. Sam, do you still have that old single-shot carbine?”

  “Yes, but don’t you have a fancy five-shooter?”

  “I’ll be carrying that. You don’t have any objections to helping us out today, do you?”

  “You try to leave me behind, and there’ll be trouble.” Mr. Sam replied.

  Coyler spoke up. “But I’m supposed to go alone.”

  Gerald turned to him. “The people who are doing this know they’re facing the gallows if they get caught. If it’s just you, they might decide to make sure there are no witnesses against them. With you riding in the buggy and me on horseback, they won’t know who has the money or which target to go after.”

  “What if there’s a bunch of them?” Tully asked.

  That was a question Gerald didn’t want to think about, but after a moment’s hesitation, he looked at Silas and asked, “Who knew you were coming to Hemsley to see your grandchild?”

  The old man’s bushy eyebrows nearly came together as he considered the question. Then he said, “I wired my manager in Leeds that I’d be in Hemsley for a few days and some people at the hotel helped me make travel arrangements, but none of them knew I had a grandchild here.”

  “So, this sounds like something that was arranged at the last minute, not the work of a well-organized gang. It very well might be local people doing it.”

  Mr. Coyler nodded. “Yeah. Anybody who really knew me would have asked for more than five hundred pounds.”

  Tully and young Jim stared at Mr. Coyler with their mouths agape.

  “So, what are you planning, Captain?” Mr. Sam asked.

  This suddenly felt like his army days, with everyone looking to him for leadership, but he had to remember, this was not the army and everyone might not be willing to follow his orders. He looked at Jim. “I’m thinking we might need someone who can ride one of the new horses in case there’s a chase that requires speed and clearing obstacles. Would you be willing to go with Mr. Sam?”

  The young man’s face lit up. “Yes, sir. I’d be happy to.”

  “Well, here’s what I’m thinking. You and he will ride down our lane until it joins Briarwood Road. Go slow and make sure you aren’t seen. Walk your horses through the woods if necessary. Get as close to the intersection as possible without being visible. After we go to the bank, Mr. Coyler and I will come straight from Hemsley down Old Mill Road. If you hear a loud noise from our direction, come as fast as you can.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Tully asked.

  “Since we don’t know who’s doing this or what their real goals are, I want you to stay at the stable to be sure no one tries to take the horses. Mr. Moore will stay at the house to be sure the women are safe.”

  The men all nodded as if they were in full agreement with him, and the women looked at him with horror-stricken expressions.

  “Eat up everyone, we need to get started. Horses have to be saddled, and the buggy horse watered.” Gerald looked at Tully. “You’re familiar with this area, how long will it take to ride from here to the meeting place?”

  “No more than half an hour,” Tully replied.

  “But we need to go slow to be sure we don’t ride up on anyone,” Sam added.

  Gerald nodded in agreement. “You and Jim decide when you should leave to get in position before high noon. Mr. Coyler and I will be leaving right away in case we have to fill out papers at the bank. If necessary, we’ll hang around town until we can be sure of arriving at the meeting place a few minutes before the noon hour.”

  A few more mouthfuls of food were scraped from plates and then chairs were pushed back and most of the men headed to the stables. As Mr. Coyler dropped his napkin on the table and stood, he asked, “Do you think we might have trouble at the bank? All I need is three hundred pounds.”

  Gerald shrugged. “It’s a small-town bank. I don’t know if Mr. White will take my word on your identity or not, but if necessary, I’ll sign a note myself.”

  He glanced over and saw Ellen staring at him with a stricken expression. Was she doubting his ability to do this, or worried about his safety, too? He’d like to think it was the latter. Stepping closer to her, he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll get Toby back.”

  “I know you’ll do everything you can, but do be careful,” she said and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  By God, she does care about me. He gave her a quick hug and vowed that no matter what it took, he would succeed in this mission and bring her son safely back to her.

  * * * *

  Gerald didn’t know what to expect at the bank. He’d had some dealings with the president, Mr. White, when transferring his aunt’s estate to his name, but he’d never tried to borrow money from the man. His worries were quickly dispelled when he introduced Silas. The banker’s eyes lit with recognition and Mr. White eagerly offered to assist Mr. Coyler in any way possible.

  He treated the request for three hundred pounds as a mere pittance that could immediately be issued on the strength of Mr. Coyler’s signature and made no inquiries as to its use. He even provided a small cloth bag to carry it in.

  Gerald wondered if the small-town banker knew who Silas was through national banking connections or village gossip. In any circumstance, it was the easiest dealings Gerald had ever had with a banker.

  It was still too early to head for the meeting point, when they left the bank, so Gerald suggested they go to a nearby coffee shop. After they were served, he was shocked to see the stoic old man’s hand tremble a bit as he lifted his cup.

  Gerald tried to reassure him by saying, “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get the boy back.”

  Coyler frowned at him. “Are you sure you should go with me? Maybe you could hang back. Let me do the actual meeting by myself.”

  Remembering the several other customers in the shop, Gerald leaned across the table and spoke in a near whisper. “Do you have any way to protect yourself?”

  “I’ve got a derringer in my pocket,” Mr. Coyler replied in a raspy voice.

  “One barrel or two?”

  The old man curled under three fingers of the hand lying on the table.

  Gerald nodded. “That will give you two shots that probably won’t knock a man down. I’ve got a five-shot, Colt revolver under my coat, and I have experience killing men. We have no idea what we’re riding into, so we have to be as prepared for trouble as possible.”

  “But the important thing is to make sure the boy is safe,” Coyler hissed back.

  “I absolutely agree. I care for the boy, too, but I know the best way to protect him is from a position of strength.”

  After a long moment of silence, Coyler said, “Do you really care for the boy or is this another payment on the debt you owe my son?”

  Gerald gaped at the man before asking, “What do you know about that?”

  “I made inquiries. I know Philip died saving your life.”

  Gerald took a long sip of his coffee and reviewed the events of yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Coyler and Ellen had been alone for a while, and afterward Ellen had seemed—what? Not cold exactly, but distant, as if her feelings had been hurt by something. Had Mrs. Coyler told her how Philip died? If so, why would that hurt Ellen’s feelings? Did she think Gerald had lied to her, or could she possibly have been disappointed over the fact that he had felt obligated to marry her?

  Coyle
r cleared his throat. “Well? How strongly do be feel about little Toby?”

  The old man was really hard to like, but Gerald considered his answer carefully before saying, “His mother is my lawfully wedded wife, so as far as I’m concerned, the boy is my son. I will do everything in my power to protect him.”

  Coyler nodded as if satisfied with that answer.

  They finished their coffee mostly in silence, while Gerald thought about his wife. He had never told Ellen of his growing feelings for her. Knowing that her heart was still dedicated to Philip, he had thought such a declaration would put her in an uncomfortable position. But now, considering the possibility that he might not return from today’s venture, he wished he had. He did not want her believing that he had bedded her only out of a sense of duty.

  Chapter 20

  Bill Blake stepped outside the ramshackle old building that had once been a grist mill. He pulled his cheap pocket watch out of his vest pocket and compared the time to the position of the sun. The watch read 11:30 and the sun was almost overhead. He didn’t have a lot of confidence in the watch’s accuracy, so he decided it was time to start for the meeting place.

  As he walked back into the mill he was greeted by Zeke’s hang-dog expression. “What are you looking so pitiful about?” Bill asked. “It’s time for us to go get our money.”

  “I’m just wondering why I’m the one who’s gotta drive the wagon,” Zeke grumbled.

  “Like I told you, the old man knows my voice. If he recognizes me, we’ll have to kill him. Besides, he’s a tricky bastard. There’s a good chance he won’t follow the instructions, so one of us has to stay out of sight to protect the other. You said you don’t know how to use that miserable old shotgun you borrowed from your boss man, so I have to be the one guarding your back.”

  “That means I’m the one who’s in danger.” Zeke’s beefy lips drew into a pout.

  Anger flashed through Bill. Was the big coward about to back out on him again, like he had this morning, when he refused to go to the farm? Bill reminded himself that he really needed Zeke for this part of his plan and forced his anger down. He tried to make his voice reassuring as he said, “You’ll have the kid. As long as you hang on to him, no one will dare hurt you.”

  His panic evident, Zeke’s voice shook as he said, “But once I get the money, I can’t hang onto the kid!”

  “Just say what I told you to and threaten the kid with that old knife of yours.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t want to cut no little boy.”

  Bill held his hands palms up and shook his head. “You don’t have to cut him. Just look like you’re going to. You’re a big strapping fellow, Zeke. You don’t realize how tough you look. The old man will be scared that you’re really going to hurt his grandson.”

  Zeke’s shoulders went back a bit. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Bill assured him. “And as soon as I see the set-up, I’ll show myself and the shotgun. That will scare the old man even more.”

  A small grin tugged at Zeke’s lips. “Yeah, that will scare him.”

  Bill smiled broadly to conceal his exasperation with the big lummox. Too bad he’d promised Zeke a hundred pounds for helping him. The oaf would probably spend it all in the taverns in his home town. Oh, well, if Bill kept his eyes peeled, a chance to cheat someone as dumb as Zeke out of his share would undoubtedly present itself.

  “Cover your face and go get the kid. It’s time for us to leave.”

  “Why do I have to cover my face? He’s seen yours.”

  “I don’t live in Hemsley. Are you planning to leave town?”

  Zeke shrugged, pulled the handkerchief, that was already loosely tied around his neck, up over his nose and headed toward the small storage room where they had dumped the kid.

  Bill called after him. “Go ahead and put him in that old sack, like we talked about. That way there’ll be less chance of him doing something stupid and getting hurt.”

  Chapter 21

  Old Mill Road passed through several blocks of village buildings and then into land forested with tall trees that blocked the view of anything but the road directly ahead of them. Gerald kept Phantom apace with the slow-moving buggy, constantly scanning the tree-line for any movement that should not be there.

  Eventually the view widened. A flat strip, devoid of trees, with only grass and an occasional weed shooting up, proved be the intersecting road. A wooden bridge yards beyond the intersection showed where the river was. The roads were empty. There was no sign of movement anywhere. But the trees and undergrowth away from the roads furnished plenty of places where people could hide. Gerald hoped Mr. Sam and Jim were safely hidden in one of them.

  Mr. Coyler stopped the buggy a few yards from the intersection and removed his large gold watch from his vest pocket once again. “What time is it?” Gerald asked.

  “Twenty minutes until twelve.”

  “We can’t know if they’ve got timepieces or are going by the sun,” Gerald replied.

  He tried to think like a kidnapper. Which direction would he come from? There were thick bushes growing along the riverbank that obscured the road on the far side of the river. That approach could keep a man hidden until he reached the bridge. What would the brigand do when he saw Mr. Coyler wasn’t alone?

  He could shoot them both without warning, if he had a multi-shot revolver, or two single shot pistols. But he’d have to be a hell of a shot to hit both men before the horses bolted, and he would want to be sure they had the ransom with them before he did it.

  What if there was more than one of them? What if they didn’t have Toby with them? Phantom shifted nervously, as if he could feel his master’s tension, and Gerald got the animal’s message.

  The time to worry is over. Now you must do whatever is necessary to save Toby.

  Mr. Coyler snapped his watch shut and asked, “Should I keep going?”

  “Pull up to the intersection and swing around onto Briarwood Road, so you can go toward our men if anything happens.”

  “What do you expect to happen?”

  “I don’t know what to expect, but if shooting starts, whip the hell out of your horse.”

  Coyler nodded, and they started forward.

  When they were in position, Gerald and Phantom between the buggy and the river, Mr. Coyler asked, “Shouldn’t we pull off the road?”

  Gerald shook his head. “The weeds are uneven. There are probably drainage ditches. Don’t want to risk tipping the buggy.”

  As they waited, Gerald turned toward Coyler, as if they were talking and casually unbuttoned his coat. It had occurred to him that his usual method of cocking the Colt, by pushing the hammer back against the wooden hand, would be too cumbersome under these circumstances. Cocking it now would present a greater danger of a misfire, but would make firing a lot faster.

  He casually reached up and scratched his chest. Then his slipped his hand under his coat, down to his belt and pulled the hammer of the revolver back with his thumb. As his hand came out from under his coat, he scratched again. Maybe he had fooled anyone who might be watching.

  Mr. Coyler shifted nervously in the buggy. “Why don’t they come?”

  “We’re a bit early, and they might be judging high noon by the sun. When they come, whatever you do, don’t give them the money until we see Toby.”

  “This ain’t my first time dealing with vipers,” the older man grumbled.

  A distant rumble caused Gerald to jerk his head toward the river. A horse appeared above the shrubbery that lined Old Mill Road: a plodding horse attached to a wagon’s harness. A man came into view, sitting on the seat of a farm wagon. He was slumped over the reins and wore a large straw hat, pulled down over his eyes. The wagon slowly approached the bridge. Finally, it rumbled across the river.

  As the vehicle came nearer, Gerald stood in his stirrups, trying to see if anyone else was in the back of the wagon. All he could see was the top of a tied, gunny sack, but he knew someone could be crouching be
hind the driver’s seat.

  “Maybe he’s just a farmer,” Coyler said.

  “He’s got the lower half of his face covered.”

  Coyler did not reply.

  As the wagon came nearer, Gerald flexed the fingers of his left hand several times.

  The vehicle stopped just before it reached the intersection.

  “Which one of you fellers is Coyler?” the man called across to them.

  “I am,” Mr. Coyler called back.

  “Who’s that with ya’?”

  “I’m the boy’s step-father,” Gerald said.

  “You ain’t supposed to be here.”

  “Well, I am here, and I’m not leaving until I see my son safely returned.”

  The gunny sack moved and whined.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Gerald yelled, “Have you got my son in that bag?”

  The man did not answer.

  Coyler called, “Look! Look!”

  A man on horseback was galloping toward them from the riverbank. He had a long gun balanced across his thighs.

  The lanky rider, who also had the lower half of his face covered by a folded scarf, came to a stop near the wagon, but off the road, his horse’s legs half hidden in the grass and weeds. The rider looked at Coyler. “You can’t follow orders, can you, old man?” he spoke in a voice so deep that it sounded unnatural.

  “I’m used to giving orders, not taking ’em.” Coyler replied calmly.

  “Things will be different this time. Did you bring the money?”

  Coyler looked down at the little cloth bag on the seat beside him. The horseman started his horse toward the buggy, but Gerald tapped his heel against Phantom’s belly, urging him to come between the buggy and the horseman.

  “Not, so fast. I want to see that my boy is all right.”

  “What do you care? He ain’t really yours.”

  Gerald looked at the driver of the wagon. “Take that filthy bag off the boy.”