Deadman's Fury (The Deadman Series Book 2)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Amelia wondered how Sarah was doing or if she had survived at all. She remembered how brave and strong the girl was and briefly entertained the thought of a whole tribe of fierce Indian braves coming to Seattle to rescue her and her fellow captives. Realizing her ruminations were ridiculously fanciful, she closed her eyes against the reality.

  She heard footsteps approaching and opened her eyes to see Margaret standing in the doorway of the small room. The woman was nicely dressed in a gown of gray wool and a plumed hat. Her cheeks were very pale, though, and Amelia could see the woman’s hands trembling from where she sat. Strangely, Amelia saw something approaching concern—even pity—in Margaret’s eyes as she stared at one girl after another.

  Holms rushed up and cried, “Miss Donnelly, I don’t know how these girls got to be in such rough shape! The doc has been in and says there’s no disease as far as he can tell. But there’s certainly something wrong with this lot.” Wringing her bony hands together, she added, “And it ain’t my fault!”

  Ignoring the woman’s denial of guilt, Margaret stepped past her and approached Amelia. Standing before her, Margaret lifted the girl’s chin.

  “What happened to her face?” she asked.

  “Ack! That one’s a fighter! Every time, she rejects the fairy juice…she keeps her lips sealed or tries to spit it out! We can’t have that, of course, so Harry pries her mouth open. That’s all.”

  Margaret could think of nothing but her own girlhood…the terror, the cruelty and the hopelessness of her situation after she started her first menstrual period. She remembered her own auction, and how it had made her feel. She recalled the pity and revulsion shining from her brother’s eyes, a look that had never quite gone away.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her ears and, for a second, Margaret couldn’t breathe. She stared at the sick, grief-stricken girls and understood she was visiting her own demons upon these innocents; she wanted to run screaming from the room in horror and shame.

  She snapped back into the present and, rounding on Holms, she snarled, “Never put your hands on this girl again! Do you hear me? The auction is in two days. If this one is passed over by the sheik, I will hold you personally to blame.”

  Margaret looked at the owlish, lavender circles ringing Amelia’s eyes. “And for heaven’s sake, remove this horrible paint. You’ve made her look like a circus clown!”

  She glared at Holms’ ugly, pinched face. “Take these three girls up front,” she said as she pointed to Amelia, a Chinese girl by the name of Han Lin, and a beautiful Latin girl with glossy, black hair. “Put some proper clothing on them and stop giving them the Green Fairy juice. It’s obviously making them ill. Feed them well and let them rest.”

  Starting to leave, Margaret stopped and turned around. “Remember this, Holms. These girls are not your playthings to ruin as you see fit. If anyone around here is a sad, silly clown, it is you, not them.”

  Holms, the men who assisted her in her duties, and the prisoners watched as Margaret Donnelly swept from the room. Holms’ cheeks were flushed bright red with embarrassment and she snapped, “Alright, then. Help me get these three into the front of the warehouse while I find some different clothes for them to wear.”

  Swaying, Amelia stood up from her chair and thought about the look on Margaret’s face and the words she had said. Warning herself, she nevertheless felt there might be some hope after all.

  Chapter 23

  A Family Gathering

  Iris stepped off the train into the waiting arms of her sister-in-law, Muriel Winters. The plump, matronly woman was trembling with fear and sorrow, but her embrace was warm. Giving her another hug, Muriel stepped back and searched Iris’s face.

  “Have you heard anything yet?” she asked.

  Iris shook her head. “Matthew is still looking for her and he is close, dear. But, no, I have no good news yet.”

  Right after she had boarded the westbound train in Gold Bar, Gertie had rushed to the hotel and sent a telegram to Iris’s brother, Lewis, in Marysville.

  But Iris felt terrible about the delay. The first couple of days after Amelia’s abduction, she had stalled, thinking that Matthew would catch up to the girl sooner rather than later and there was no need to worry her parents. Then, after she received her husband’s telegram, she had simply forgotten in the mad dash to help Matthew in his search. Now though—with her sister-in-law’s wide brown eyes staring into her own—Iris knew her hesitation to contact them was unforgivable. Lewis and Muriel were angry and hurt at Iris’s seemingly callous behavior.

  Clearing her throat, she decided to take the bull by the horns. “I am SO sorry that I didn’t let you know about what happened sooner. Please know, though, that Matthew and his deputies are hot on Amelia’s trail. We will get her back, I promise!”

  Her brother stood behind his wife, hat in hand, looking as lost and forlorn as a man could be. He blamed himself for his daughter’s disappearance and Iris was determined not to let him wallow in self-recrimination. Stepping forward, she took his hand and said, “Lewis, this is NOT your fault! Matthew believes these thugs have been doing this for quite some time and to many young girls.”

  Lewis’s eyes grew damp. “I was the one who said she could go alone to Spokane. Muriel told me Amelia was…is too young.” A tear trickled down his whiskered cheek and Muriel stepped to his side.

  “Doctor, what your sister says is true. This is not our fault!”

  Muriel had met Lewis Winters when she was twenty-six years old, an overweight and lonesome woman without prospects or fortune. From the Ozark Mountains and poor as dirt, she had left home at eighteen and, through sheer guts and determination, trained to be a nurse. Little did she know that she would meet the man of her dreams during one of the ugliest battles of the Civil War…the battle of Antietam in Sharpsburg, near Maryland.

  She was assigned to the medical tent of a new doctor named Lewis Winters. Although tall and handsome, the poor man was afflicted with a nervous disposition and a lisp from the slight cleft in his upper lip. Knowing she stood no chance with this aristocratic northern gentleman, Muriel had nevertheless stepped forward with brisk efficiency, taking the place of younger and prettier nurses assigned to the tent.

  After a while, he requested Muriel’s presence as head nurse and they worked side by side for the duration of the war. After hostilities ended, Lewis asked her to be his bride and she accepted his proposal with barely masked disbelief. Muriel never stopped calling her husband Doctor, even after following him and his father to California, then to the Pacific Northwest, and giving him two children.

  Lewis drew himself up to his full height and declared, “Iris, I know you asked me not to call on the authorities but I did anyway. Matthew is a capable man but this is my daughter we’re talking about.”

  Iris sighed. She didn’t blame her brother; if it was one of her children, she would have done the same thing. Still, she understood that her husband sometimes operated on the far edges of the law. He did things in a roundabout manner that cut straight through legal machinations and by-passed dictated rules and regulations to gain maximum results. Although Matthew had received many accolades during his career as sheriff, he had received almost as many citations for his unorthodox methods.

  She smiled. “That’s fine, Lewis. Believe me, I understand.”

  He gave her a nod and muttered, “We’re ready to go. I know you must be tired after your journey but I’m scheduled to meet with the King County Sheriff’s Department tomorrow at 9:00 am.” Lewis gestured toward a carriage and four horses standing in wait about twenty feet away. Iris returned his nod and started walking toward it as her brother picked up her valise.

  “When was the last time you saw your father, dear?” Muriel asked.

  “He came to call after Chance was born but that was about four years ago. How is he these days?” Iris asked.

  Muriel grinned. “Oh, as flamboyant as ever, I’m afraid. The Doctor keeps telling him to cut back on the brandy but�
��”

  “Yes…but!” Iris finished her sister-in-law’s sentence with a sigh of disgust.

  “Oh well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Muriel gave Iris’s arm a squeeze and stepped up into the carriage.

  Iris and Lewis followed and the driver gave the horses’ rumps a light slap.

  ~

  Awhile later, the carriage pulled up in front of the opera house in downtown Seattle. Iris watched as Lewis paid the driver his fee, plus a handsome tip.

  Her nostrils were instantly assaulted by the smell of a show night and, for a moment, her heart yearned to be back in the business. Shaking her head ruefully, she allowed the fragrance of caramel apples, kerosene, and the sharp, yeasty aroma of ale, perfume and popcorn to fill her up. As her nose identified each specific odor, Iris’s mind traveled back in time to when she was a young girl in her teens.

  ~

  When Iris was eleven years old, her beautiful mother died. Martha Winters had always been frail but scarlet fever left her already thin body emaciated and her nerves in a constant state of high anxiety. Trembling with fear and pain, she wasted away in front of Lewis and Iris. To make matters even worse, Martha seemed to blame her husband Gerald for her ill health. When the end finally came after a bout with pneumonia, it was a blessing for her and her small family.

  Guilt-stricken and remorseful, Gerald couldn’t help but sigh with relief when his lovely bride finally succumbed to death’s early embrace. Martha was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever clapped eyes on. With her long red hair, green eyes and rosebud mouth, her fair, flawless skin gleamed with a light of its own. She seemed infused with a steady, solemn wisdom that appealed to his own reckless nature like a ballast on the high seas.

  Gerald—better known then as Gerry—had arrived from London with his father, a stern and formidable professor of English literature. They were moving to Boston where Edward Winters would teach English at Harvard University. Much to his father’s dismay, Gerry yawned at the study of that subject and shuddered at the thought of entering law school. What he did enjoy, however, was drama. He read every play he could get his hands on and never missed the chance to see Shakespeare performed. Still, being his father’s son, Gerry was expected to finish and graduate from college, and he did so with honors.

  Then, one rainy afternoon, Edward was run over by a half-broken gelding while shopping for new clothes for the upcoming school year. Although teaching English literature was the last thing Gerry wanted to do with his life, he stepped into his father’s shoes after Edward’s untimely demise.

  Three years after he started teaching for a living, he met Martha—the daughter of one of his father’s colleagues—at a school function. Although she seemed a rather solemn sort, he was overwhelmed by her physical beauty and, after only five or six chaperoned meetings, he proposed marriage. At first, he was delirious with joy. Martha was the epitome of charm and she came from a well-to-do Boston family. It didn’t take long, though, for Gerry to understand that Martha was one of the grimmest and unhappiest people he had ever met.

  She seemed to think his fascination with the arts—and brandy—would fade with time and that his unseemly fondness of the theater could at some point be drummed out of his head. He, in turn, tried everything he could think of to interest her in the finer arts but she remained unimpressed. Finally, he stopped talking to her about the theater and eventually stopped talking to her about anything at all.

  Understanding that she was driving her husband away, Martha tried to interest Gerald in “society” but he just laughed at her, stating she was free to pursue her own interests but not to expect him to fit into her schemes. They were at an impasse by then and the only thing that bound them together was their children. Try as they might, the husband and wife were polar opposites and would probably have ended up hating each other had the fates not intervened.

  Although Gerald missed Martha’s soft voice and beautiful visage, he finally decided to follow his dreams after her death. He quit his job, emptied his bank account and started up his own group of players. Luckily, he had enough money to buy entrance into society’s best theaters. Although he and his troupe endured hard times and “the assorted slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, he and Iris traveled about the country in peace and happiness. Lewis, much more staid in his approach to life, elected to stay behind in Boston and study for his medical license.

  Gerald followed his dreams all the way to California and opened a small theater. He did not strike it rich but genuinely felt that he was a wealthy man, surrounded as he was with good friends, culture and the love of his beautiful daughter. And it was there that Iris met her future husband, Kevin Imes, a gold miner who had indeed struck it rich just outside of the San Francisco Bay area.

  When Lewis and his new family moved from Boston to the Seattle area, Iris and Kevin followed them to Washington. Not long after, so did Gerald and his players. Gerald bought the little theater next to the opera house and had been in business ever since, catering to the cultural needs of the masses rather than the high-brow needs of the city’s elite.

  ~

  Glancing up at the billboard, Iris saw that “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” was in its second week of production and she grinned. Of all of Shakespeare’s plays, “Dream” was the most popular but it was also the most controversial. The goat-headed Pan and the blatant sexual overtones in the bard’s play often drove the more conservative citizens in town mad with fear and self-righteous indignation.

  It was October though, which meant that the more free-spirited people in town were allowed their excesses while God-fearing citizens stayed home safe and sound behind locked doors.

  There was a flutter of activity as their bags were handed down from the top of the carriage and then Iris and her family walked toward the Globe Theater. Weaving their way through the vendors, the barkers, the finely dressed and the not-so-fine citizens that milled about in front, Iris saw her father come around from the stage entrance in the alley.

  His cheeks were bright red from too much brandy and hypertension, and his tall body seemed more stooped than ever. But he was smiling and his hazel eyes were alight with love. His long-time companion Trudy Showls, a gray-haired woman with heavy make-up and deep cleavage, stood by his side and they welcomed everyone with open arms.

  Iris felt equal parts exasperation and a deep upwelling of love for her brilliant but wayward Papa. She stepped into his hug with tears in her eyes and he held her tight, even as he stared at his son’s stricken face.

  “There, there now, it’s going to be alright. We’ll get Amelia back and soon, too. Look who’s here to see justice done!”

  Iris had to peer past her father’s jacket and squint into the shadows, but then she gasped with joy. “Mattie!”

  Matthew was walking slowly toward them. He had a cane in one hand and seemed to be moving gingerly. Yet his eyes were as hot as coals and the way he gazed at her turned her guts to jelly with longing.

  Breaking away from her Papa’s embrace, Iris dropped her valise and ran to her husband with a cry of delight. They kissed, deeply and passionately, as a few theater-goers clapped and hooted. A tiny, red-haired man standing behind Matthew stared at his new boss and his lovely wife, his mouth open in shock and awe.

  Chapter 24

  A New Plan

  Matthew and Iris snuggled together on the hotel bed, breathing hard and smiling in the afterglow of their frenzied lovemaking.

  When Matthew had first dropped his britches, Iris gasped out loud in shock, “Oh my God, Mattie!”

  He shrugged. “It’s only a flesh wound, wife. Nothing to be concerned over. Now come here!”

  Iris pushed his hands away, staring at the seven-inch long, bright red gash on her husband’s inner thigh. The still-seeping scar contrasted sickeningly with the lurid blue, purple and green bruises surrounding it, and Iris winced in sympathy.

  “Mattie,” she said, “lie down on the bed. We’ll do this, of course, but we’ll do it
my way. Okay?”

  And so Iris brought her husband to a shuddering climax with the deft use of her sure hands, soft lips and oh, so clever tongue. However, Matthew did not stay idle. Taking one then another nipple into his mouth, he licked her breasts until she gasped and squirmed, crying out as he worked sensuous magic with two of his fingers in a different place on her body.

  The young couple had rocked together in ecstasy, pouring every ounce of their love into each other until they finally fell back in exhausted laughter.

  “I needed that,” Matthew groaned happily.

  Iris smiled. “Me, too, my love.” Turning on her side, she faced him and propped her head on one hand. “Not to change the subject but are you angry that Lewis called in the King County sheriff?”

  Matthew winced a little as a trickle of sweat stung the raw scrape on his thigh. Standing up, he walked over to the basin and wetted a washcloth. Wiping the sweat away, he answered, “I don’t blame him, Iris. It’s just that I don’t think we’re dealing with your average criminal here. If the sheriffs start snooping around, I’m afraid that the quarry will go to ground. It’s a lot harder to find someone who is running than someone who is hunkered down and hidden.” He soaked the washcloth again and added some soap, running it over his chest and shoulders. “A lot more expensive, too,” he added.

  “I’m sorry.” Iris flopped back on her pillow in frustration. “I swear, I told him to keep quiet for the time being but he’s never listened to me!”

  Matthew grinned. “A full-grown man taking orders from his little sister? Surely you jest!” He walked back over to the bed and stared down at her face. “Seriously, maybe this is for the best. One way or the other, this gang has to be stopped. You know, don’t you, that prostitution is not considered a crime in this state…at least, not yet. Kidnapping is, though, and so is human trafficking.” Running his thumb up and down his wife’s cheek, he sighed.