The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11

by Beth Williamson

  Her beautiful green eyes flickered open and she leaned back to look at him. “I think I know how to wrestle the wagon and oxen back from the Beckers.”

  “How?”

  “Poison.” The word was barely a whisper, sliding out of her mouth on a breath.

  He stared at her, wondering if he was dreaming the conversation. No, she was there and speaking of poisoning their kidnappers. He wasn’t opposed to the idea but he was surprised she had suggested it. Poison had been a woman’s weapon all though the ages, but Isabelle was different. She was pure of heart and mind. Not a poisoner like Lady Macbeth.

  “Tell me.”

  She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the collar of his shirt. “I am an amateur herbalist. I had been learning about them for years and helping Maman with healing herbs and plants. I learned more during the journey from others who knew the plants of the west.”

  He didn’t like where the story was going, but he kept his mouth shut, willing her to continue.

  “I’m not planning to kill anyone, only to incapacitate them. There is a plant called monkshood—”

  “Wolfsbane? You’re going to use wolfsbane?” He pressed his mouth to her ear and kept his words as soft as he could. “I hope you know a great deal about it because it can kill very easily in the hands of an amateur.” He didn’t want her to suffer the throes of guilt if she killed the Beckers. Isabelle was walking a very fine line between dark thoughts and dark deeds.

  “I know. I took copious notes, but they are in my catalog and that’s on the wagon. I asked Charlie to get it for me, but Camille kept her inside since then.” She touched her side. “I collected some in a handkerchief.”

  “It’s in your pocket?” he almost shouted.

  “Wrapped four times. It’s perfectly safe in this temperature and with the layers of clothing between it and my skin.” She frowned. “Or at least I hope so.”

  “Holy shit, Belle. You have the balls of a man.” He almost laughed at the comical expression on her face. “I would apologize, but you have courage unmatched in any woman of my acquaintance. I find that makes you even more appealing.”

  She blinked. “I’m appealing?”

  He chuffed a laugh. “More than I can ever express with mere words.”

  “Oh.”

  “I am not a good man, but I am selfish enough to accept your gifts of your love, your kisses and your body.” Mason’s stomach quivered with trepidation and self-doubt. He had to either speak what was in his heart or risk losing her. “I cannot say that I am well versed in what it means to love someone, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you and cannot cease thinking of you. You have become my everything, Belle.”

  A few excruciating moments passed before she cleared her throat. “Are you saying that you love me?”

  It was his turn to take a moment to find his voice. “Yes, I am.”

  Her mouth curved up into the most beautiful smile he’d ever witnessed, and it was all for him. His heart slammed against his ribs at the notion his entire life had changed with three little words. Now he had something to lose aside from his life.

  “And since I have such an affinity for your person, I am very worried about you carrying monkshood in your pocket.” He knew it was used as a deadly poison throughout history and didn’t want an accident to cause her any harm.

  “I learned how to work with herbs and plants. Please don’t worry.” She kissed him and he had to stop himself from deepening it further.

  “I will try to stop worrying.” A ridiculous notion because he knew he wouldn’t be able to, but he could try. “What do we need to do?”

  “I need that catalog. Charlie knows the book, so if we can distract the rest of the Beckers, she can get it and slip it to me. From there, I will know how much to put in to make them sick but not kill them. Then we can take the wagon and leave.”

  He considered the possibilities. “I can provide a distraction.” He grinned ruefully. “You plan to drug all of them?”

  “It’s the only way.” She swallowed audibly. “I don’t want to hurt Catherine, but I don’t know what she will do if we only poison the others.”

  “I think you’re right to be cautious. She is a mouse, but mice can bite.” Mason ran a finger down her cheek, the skin as soft as a flower petal. “You are a lioness.”

  Her cheeks pinkened. “You would be the first to say so.”

  “Then people are blind to how fierce you are. Let’s put your plan in motion and take back our lives.” Mason appreciated the silent way she devised the plot to overthrow the dictator.

  Now he could only hope her plan would work.

  Chapter Twelve

  Isabelle walked beside the wagon and watched for an opportunity to speak to Charlie. Camille was back to her tricks and kept the youngest Chastain confined to the wagon. The monkshood sat heavy in Isabelle’s pocket, reminding her of her own nefarious scheme.

  She stared out at the open prairie and wondered if she would ever live within four walls again. She had a flash of cooking in her mother’s kitchen in New York and stoking the big black cookstove to make coffee. A pinch of longing raced through her. She wanted a home again, someplace to wake up in every day, to fall asleep in at night, something that didn’t have wheels or strangers controlling it.

  Perhaps this home would have a husband too. Someone with chocolate brown hair, a quick wit and an affinity for family trees and history. The longing grew into a need that sat heavy on her heart. Hurting others had never been her way nor was it her first choice. But the Beckers had pushed, bullied, taken and abused. Isabelle had discovered the warrior that lurked inside her and she was ready to unsheathe her weapons and fight.

  When the next settlement came into view, Isabelle’s stomach dropped to her feet. That could only mean she would be singing again that night for a group of strangers. Nausea rolled through her. Isabelle wanted this over. Now.

  “Shit.” Mason spoke under his breath.

  “It might be a good thing.”

  He looked at her with both brows raised, mouth open. “Pardon me?” His Southern drawl was more pronounced, so it sounded as if he said “Paaaahdon meee?”

  “It’s a distraction.”

  “Oh. That it is.” He glanced at her pocket as though he could see the monkshood that lay within. “Perhaps we will have a memorable supper, then.”

  “Perhaps we will.”

  Isabelle didn’t want to sing, but she didn’t have a choice. The settlers stopped to stare as the wagon rolled into their midst. This group was rougher than the last, if that were possible. A ragtag group of perhaps thirty tents, a handful of wagons turned into temporary dwellings and one enormous tent labeled Johnson’s in crude lettering at the top.

  “Where are we?” She sidled closer to Mason. His arm draped around her shoulders and more than a few dark looks were directed their way.

  “The gateway to Hades from the look of things.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I promise you, Belle, I won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will Gunther.”

  Isabelle had always relied on her parents to protect her. Now that they were gone, she had relied on herself. It was strange to give someone else that responsibility, but at the same time it was a small relief. She needed to know someone else would be there for her, by her side.

  “Charlie knows what you need?” He spoke close to her ear.

  “Yes. She will get it to me. Charlie is tough and smart.”

  “And mouthy, but that’s all part of her charm.” Mason had his own charm, and his sense of humor was a large part of it.

  They found a place to park the wagon outside the circle of settlers. This place had no stage or banjo player. They had nothing but dirt and some raggedy late-season gardens. These folks had been here for quite some time judging by the settled-in appearance. She expected they would construct buildings and form a tow
n. It wasn’t an ideal location in her estimation, but she did not see what they did. This could be home to them.

  She saw a few dogs but no children running or squealing as they were wont to do. Most of the settlers were men, but the rest of the women could be within the tents and wagons, hiding until the strangers were assessed for their threat.

  The afternoon sun was waning and Isabelle wondered if it was too late in the day to put on a show. It was not grounded in any fact, but only in hope. Camille dashed those hopes with only a few words.

  She emerged from the wagon, stretched and pointed with one sharp finger. “Gunther, set up those boards over yonder. Karl, find that banjo and get ready to play.”

  Isabelle didn’t know Karl could play banjo nor that he had one. Then she recognized he must have taken it from the player in the last settlement. Maybe the musician had been the man Mary had been with when Karl found her. Nothing the Beckers touched was safe from the darkness of their deeds.

  She would climb down to their level and dabble in that darkness herself. Sometimes there were choices made a person couldn’t undo. This would be one of them, but seeing the banjo in Karl’s hand made her plan more solid. Yes, she could do what needed to be done.

  Within a short period of time, the makeshift stage was ready. Isabelle ran her damp palms down her dusty dress and wondered if she looked as dirty as she felt. Grit coated her teeth and eyes and she resisted the urge to scrub herself. If Camille thought that her appearance was going to draw the settlers in, then Isabelle would walk out there filthy and bedraggled.

  Mason took her hand and walked her through the gathering crowd with a frightening scowl on his handsome face. Gunther was in front of them, Karl behind. With Mary gone, Catherine stayed at the wagon with Charlie and Isabelle prayed this was the opportunity her sister needed to find the catalog.

  Camille stood on the boards, a smile on her face as she gestured to the crowd to come closer. “Good evening, everyone! I am so happy to see you. Please join us!” She nodded to Gunther, who brought out the baskets and handed one to Mason. It was a repeat of the nightmare from the other settlement.

  Liberally decorated with bruises and healing cuts, Karl looked as though someone had beat the hell out of him. Isabelle smiled at the sight. Mason had done that. For her. It gave her an elemental satisfaction.

  Karl plucked at the banjo and strummed a few bars of “Kathleen Mavourneen”. Isabelle took a deep breath and cleared her throat. Camille turned to Isabelle and bared her teeth.

  “Sing, Mrs. Bennett, or I will have Catherine slice your sister’s throat open.”

  The image of Charlie’s death made Isabelle’s fury twist and grow inside her. She would not feel bad for poisoning any of them. She bared her teeth back at Camille who stepped to the side of the stage.

  “Sing.”

  Isabelle opened her mouth and sang, her voice tired but true. Her natural talent could not be quelled by fatigue, dirt or anger. The sweet notes trilled in the air, pulling more men and some women to the stage. Isabelle closed her eyes and pretended she wasn’t there. She was in a meadow full of flowers and only Mason was there, listening, smiling, loving her.

  When the last of the notes died away, applause and hoots rang through the air. Camille returned to the stage and bowed as though she were the songstress who deserved the accolades.

  “If you want to hear more, gentlemen and ladies, the price is six bits. Eight bits for front row. She’s a beauty with the voice of an angel.”

  There were several grumbles and then one man spoke, his arms crossed. “That’s a steep price for songs.”

  “Isabelle Bennett is a famous songbird, the toast of New York City, who has sung at all the best concert halls. The price is little compared to what others have paid to hear her.”

  A few more grumbles and then the man spoke again. “This ain’t New York City and we ain’t got no money.”

  Camille’s expression hardened. “I am happy to take trade if you have no coin, including gold dust.”

  “I ain’t giving you nothing.” The man walked off, followed by half the crowd. The rest stayed, some digging in their pockets. Isabelle drew a measure of satisfaction at the inability of some of the people to pay Camille. Served her right for all the deeds she had perpetrated in the name of greed.

  Their take at the settlement was less than half or perhaps a third of the other. Camille would not doubt yell at Karl again for ruining the honey pot they had. After Mason and Gunther collected from the crowd, Camille gestured to Karl to start playing.

  After three songs, all of them familiar ballads, he got to his feet and took her arm. He pushed her into a bow while the crowd clapped. One of the few women had tears in her eyes and Isabelle was glad she had brought some pleasure to the settlers. If only they hadn’t been bilked out of money and goods they could scarce afford by Camille.

  “Thank you all for your patronage.” Camille walked through the crowd like a queen, nodding and smiling at the people.

  Although Isabelle wanted to shake off Karl’s touch, she allowed him to lead her back to the wagon because Mason was right behind her. She heard a low growl and Karl’s hand tightened. He heard it and was no doubt remembering his beating from the morning before.

  When they arrived at the wagon, Camille took the hats from Gunther and went inside the wagon, no doubt to tally her take for the evening’s entertainment. She must have recognized the crowd would not pay for more songs or for any extras.

  “You women get to fixing supper. We need to eat.” Karl flung Isabelle’s arm away from him and sat down on a nearby rock, glowering at all of them. Gunther frowned at him and stood guard while she and Catherine used the meager foodstuffs to cobble together supper.

  The entire time she worked alongside the other woman, Isabelle’s mind was in the wagon with Charlie. Had she found the catalog? Was she waiting for the opportunity to give it to Isabelle? She barely tasted the food and chewed by rote, her anxiety growing with each bite.

  Mason sat beside her, his mood seemingly as pensive as hers. When Camille finally emerged from the wagon, everyone watched her silently. She allowed Charlie to step down as well, her gaze sliding to Isabelle’s. A nearly imperceptible nod told her that her younger sister had found the catalog.

  Hope bubbled up inside her. Perhaps the opportunity to escape would come in the morning if Charlie somehow found a way to get her the catalog tonight. Isabelle had been contemplating using the monkshood without knowledge of the dosage. It would be dangerous and deadly to do so, but Isabelle was desperate.

  “We made a pittance here. Some of the coins collected were not real. These jackasses dared to cheat me.” Her expression was frightening. “We’re leaving in the morning. Fort John is only about three days away. There will be real money there to be made. I know someone who can help set us up permanent-like too.”

  They were three days from Josephine! Isabelle’s heart leapt and her cheeks heated. So close to their first goal. Close enough to make tears sting her eyes. So much had happened since the last time she’d seen her older sister. Isabelle didn’t know if Jo was dead or alive. She had been deathly ill with typhoid and had to be quarantined at the fort.

  Isabelle could barely contain her excitement. If Camille had looked in her eyes, the older woman might have seen what was in Isabelle’s heart and mind. So she kept her gaze averted and shoveled food into her mouth.

  “Karl, you and Gunther go clean up the boards and stow them.”

  The men looked at Camille, forks in midair. Neither of them moved.

  “Now.”

  There was something in Camille’s tone that set everyone on edge, and it made her sons jump to their feet and do her bidding. She looked at the meager soup and biscuits with a sniff.

  “Once we get to the fort, I can get some food made by people who know how to cook. You two are pitiful.” She snatched a biscuit
and stood over everyone, her petite form radiating fury and something darker, more dangerous.

  Charlie accepted soup and a biscuit from Catherine and ate quietly, something unusual for Isabelle’s outspoken sister. She did not know what went on in the wagon while Charlie was kept hidden and a virtual prisoner. Whatever it was, it affected the life force within the fifteen-year-old, snuffing it from a roaring blaze to a flicker.

  The image of Charlie, meek and quiet, stayed with Isabelle through the evening. She blamed herself for allowing the Beckers to keep them hostage for so long. Every day was a stolen piece of their lives they could never get back.

  After an uncomfortable evening, she lay beneath the wagon, curled into Mason’s warmth. The temperatures had been somewhat moderate since the surprise snowstorm that had led them to the Beckers. However, the air had a bite to it that told her the weather was going to change soon, likely in the next couple days.

  As she breathed in Mason’s scent, his arms kept her safe and secure. When the first thump happened above them, Isabelle was instantly alert. A few more thumps and then a muffled shout.

  “What is it?” Mason whispered.

  “Charlie.” Isabelle stared at the wood, willing her sister to find a way to get her the catalog. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “I need to go now or I’m going to shit all over this goddamn wagon,” Charlie shouted as she jumped from the wagon and ran into the darkness.

  Isabelle sat up and strained to see where Charlie had gone. Several minutes passed while the fifteen-year-old apparently went off by herself to defecate. Leave it to her outrageous sister to use the excuse of having to go to relieve herself.

  “Did she say she had to shit?” Mason’s tone told her he was as amused as Isabelle was.

  “That’s Charlie.”

  “She will make some man crazy one day.”

  “That is a given.” Isabelle saw a shadow move and then something flew in the darkness toward her. She ducked her head, but Mason reached out and snatched the flying item from the air. His speed surprised and pleased her.