My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2)

by Lori Copeland

  “Now? I’m more concerned about Quincy. The meat will be done in a few minutes. We’ll eat and then ride back to the mission.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he stood up and walked away, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion.

  Abigail had been right about one thing: Men could be one big headache.

  Eighteen

  The gold?” Quincy asked. He carried a cane pole and a small stringer of fish. Creed and Anne-Marie had searched the area late into the night and found no sign of him.

  “Gone. The outlaws outsmarted us,” Anne-Marie dished up a plate of eggs, avoiding Quincy’s eyes. She couldn’t stand to see the disappointment there. If it hadn’t been for her, the gold would still be in their hands. Creed appeared to be taking the loss better than Quincy. Maybe because he was still bent on regaining that shipment.

  “Here.” She set the plate in front of Quincy. “Eat. Creed’s wound is bleeding.”

  “Cortes and his thugs could be counties away by now.” Quincy picked up his fork.

  “Maybe, or maybe like us they might hope to get a decent night’s sleep before they move on.”

  Anne-Marie knew she should be moving on herself. She still had her sisters to consider. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to go.

  A cold wind rattled the old mission windows and whistled down the chimneys. Thunder rolled overhead, and lightning lit the kitchen as bright as day.

  As if they didn’t have enough trouble, more arrived when they were about to turn in for the night. The sound of an approaching rider brought Creed and Quincy quickly to their feet.

  If Cortes had returned, she hoped Creed would shoot him this time. She was sick of that man and his evil ways. Absolutely sick of him. Because of him, Creed’s mission had failed and the North would suffer even more.

  Stepping away from the window, Creed went outside to greet the rider. Anne-Marie followed. They were met by a solemn-faced Bold Eagle.

  Creed frowned when he approached the lathered horse. “What brings my brother out in such a storm?”

  Rain pelted from the sky and thunder rolled as the chief faced them astride his war pony.

  “Bold Eagle comes with bad news, my brother.”

  Creed’s smile faded. “What is this news my brother brings?”

  Emotions played across the chief’s features. Pain, anguish, deep sorrow. “Bold Eagle brings his brother Storm Rider sad news of Berry Woman.”

  Creed stepped closer, his features a mask of concern. “Is Berry Woman ill?”

  Bold Eagle’s composure broke now, overcome by the heavy burden he carried. “My sister is gravely wounded.”

  Anne-Marie felt Creed tense. “When did this happen?” His voice was barely audible above the wind and thunder.

  Straightening, the chief fixed his eyes beyond Creed, his features contorted in pain. “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? How?”

  Bold Eagle’s tired features showed the strain of the past few hours. His shoulders stooped, and he looked much like a defeated man.

  “Berry Woman was digging wild roots. When Plain Weasel heard her cries, he raced to help her, but there was little he could do.” His voice broke. “My sister happened upon a nahkoheso—she was not swift enough—”

  Creed recoiled. “A bear attacked her?”

  A soft gasp escaped Anne-Marie. Bold Eagle fixed his gaze straight ahead as another thunderous explosion split the sky.

  Turning back to Creed, Anne-Marie saw he was standing, head bowed, trying to absorb the severity of Bold Eagle’s words. Finally he lifted his eyes and met his brother’s solemnly.

  “I am deeply saddened, Bold Eagle. Thank you for making the long ride in the storm to bring me this news.”

  “The Wise One works now to spare my sister’s life.”

  “Berry Woman is strong,” Creed told him.

  Nodding, Bold Eagle turned his horse slowly and rode into the worsening storm. When Anne-Marie turned after watching him depart, Creed was gone.

  Stepping into the chapel later, she found him sitting in front of the railing, knees crossed, studying the large crucifix. Quietly seating herself beside him, she shared his grief in the lonely silence. Berry Woman was young—too young to face death like this. Many times in Anne-Marie’s years, the subject had troubled her. She and Sister Agnes had shared long talks about dying and about eternal life. Considering all the rules she broke, even as a young girl, Anne-Marie often worried about where she would spend eternity. How could she ever become good enough—change enough—to be worthy of heaven one day? Yet Sister Agnes had reassured her that Christ had paid the price. Throughout this long journey she had gained a sense of peace about the matter. And tonight, sitting in the chapel listening to the rain and thunder, she felt no fear. Instead she felt a gentle peace for Berry Woman. If a power so strong could create the sun, the moon, the thunder, the lightning, and the wind, then that same power would have the power to welcome a lovely young maiden into the folds of His love.

  It was a long time before Creed finally broke his silence. Anne-Marie waited, respecting his burden.

  “I learned about God from Father Jacob.” He spoke quietly, his voice lacking its usual assurance. “I still do not understand why He permits these things to happen.”

  Sighing, Anne-Marie studied the image hanging on the cross before the altar.

  “I don’t think He brings bad things upon us purposely. Sister Agnes thinks our hurts and joys are a part of life. She says if we didn’t hurt, then we’d never know the full degree of happiness.”

  “I do not understand this way,” Creed repeated.

  “No one understands. God doesn’t ask that we understand, only that we accept what is entrusted to us.”

  “I want to go to Berry Woman, yet I cannot.”

  “Why not? Quincy and I can look after things here. The gold is gone and we’re not likely to regain it.”

  “I cannot. My heart is not only with her. My going would be unfair. You have accepted many things in your life,” he said. “You have spoken of losing both parents when you were very young. You speak of the strong bonds that tie you and your sisters. I too have felt this bond with Father Jacob and Bold Eagle. Yet at this moment, confronted by death, I cannot feel the forgiving spirit that lives in your heart.”

  Outside, the howling wind and rain lashed the mission, almost as if venting nature’s rage at life’s unfairness.

  “You really do love her, don’t you?” Anne-Marie knew her timing wasn’t the best, but the words slipped out in a whisper.

  He took a long time to answer. “Bold Eagle is my brother, and I would have honored my brother’s wishes.”

  She turned to face him now, her eyes shining in the flickering altar candles. “She is still alive, and there is the matter of miracles.”

  “These miracles you speak of—do you believe they happen?”

  “Sometimes—not always, but if we both pray, the Lord might see fit to answer our prayers. He loves and responds even to the weakest prayers.”

  “Then we must pray.”

  Getting to their knees, they bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

  “Creed?”

  “Yes?”

  “You do love her? I mean, you’re not just fond of her like a brother would be for a sister, but you honestly, deeply love her?”

  “If she is spared, I will marry her. I have given my brother my word.”

  “But you’ve never said you were in love with her.”

  Creed’s eyes returned to the cross and remained there. “So many things fill my mind. So much has happened in so short a time. I respect Berry Woman very deeply, but the woman who now sits beside me creates a sense of longing within me, a sense I have never known before.”

  Anne-Marie reached for his hand and held it as they knelt side by side. Christ prayed for those who were crucifying Him; she could pray for His grace to spare Berry Woman.

  Anne-Marie loved Creed. How would she feel if he were the one lying near
death instead of Berry Woman? The resulting pain made her petitions to God more urgent.

  Then they sat in silence, hand in hand, until the cry of a rain dove ushered in a new day.

  Loyal Streeter patted his lapels and watched the last of the gold being stored in the icehouse. “That’s it, boys—handle it real easy.”

  Ferris Goodman stood beside him, overseeing the activity. When Cortes had appeared toting the gold, Ferris had been surprised. He hadn’t expected to ever see it again, but then Cortes had been promised a hefty reward for returning the shipment.

  “You done a good job, Cortes, good job—and you’ll be rewarded for it,” Loyal had promised.

  “Sí, señor.” Cortes had flashed a proud grin.

  When the last bag of coins was safely tucked away, Loyal turned, leaving the gold under heavy guard. Walking toward the saloon for a celebratory drink, he appeared to forget Ferris for the moment.

  Ferris quietly fell into step behind him.

  “Mind if I join ya, councilman?”

  Grunting something that sounded to Ferris like, “Do whatever you want,” Loyal headed for the Gilded Dove. He didn’t take his customary table this afternoon, but headed instead to the bar.

  Ferris noticed this. If he didn’t know better he’d be tempted to think that Loyal was trying to brush him off today. He didn’t know why. After all, he’d gotten the gold back for him, hadn’t he? He’d done his job.

  The two men engaged in stilted conversation as they stood at the bar drinking. Ferris knew something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Loyal should have been doing back flips that the gold was here—and he was, to a degree. But it was a reserved degree.

  “Guess you’ll be wantin’ to move that gold on to proper channels,” Ferris remarked. He toyed with his half-empty whiskey glass.

  Tossing the last of his drink down, Loyal didn’t answer him.

  After a few strained moments Ferris tried again. “I’ll put a couple of men on it first thing in the morning. The quicker the gold is out of our hands, the quicker we can relax.”

  When Loyal still remained silent, Ferris continued. “Should be able to have it signed, sealed, and delivered by this time tomorrow night.”

  Loyal reached into his vest pocket and drew out his watch. Checking the time with the clock hanging across the room, he wound the stem and absently returned the timepiece to his pocket.

  Ferris was positive that Loyal was ignoring him now. “Somethin’ troublin’ you, Loyal?”

  Loyal glanced around the nearly empty bar, lowering his voice. “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “Concerning the gold?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ferris lifted his glass. This didn’t surprise him. Loyal had been acting real antsy lately. “What’s the change?”

  “You’ve read the latest paper, haven’t you?”

  Ferris nodded. Richmond had fallen. Lee was making a desperate push to regain ground, but the situation looked grim.

  “The South can’t hold out much longer.”

  “Looks that way,” Ferris agreed.

  Motioning to the bartender, Loyal drew his handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. Last night’s storm had blown in some unusually warm spring air, and inside the stuffy bar it was already hotter than a smoking pistol.

  “What’re you tryin’ to say, Loyal? That you’re keepin’ the gold? That there’s no sense wasting good money when the situation looks hopeless?” Ferris had given the idea thought, but he wasn’t a crook. He loved his country.

  Ferris didn’t know until that moment that he’d figured it out. Sure, that was what was eatin’ Loyal. He’d been acting real strange all week, so his decision to keep the gold didn’t come as a surprise.

  “Can you think of any reason why we shouldn’t?” Perspiring heavily now, Loyal mopped at the sweat streaking the sides of his face. In his youth he had been a handsome man, but time and too much drink had altered his features.

  “I can think of one. The South is dependin’ on that gold,” Ferris returned quietly.

  “With the war over, the South’s gonna have to fend for itself,” Loyal grunted. “I’ve worked hard for the Confederacy and haven’t heard one word of gratitude out of them.”

  “The Confederacy’s in bad shape, Loyal. They’ll need that gold to rebuild.” Pushing his glass aside, Ferris turned to confront Streeter. There wasn’t a thing that he could do to stop him from keeping the gold, but it wasn’t right. “I can’t do anything about your plans, but Cortes and I want our share, Loyal.”

  Loyal looked up. “Of what?”

  “Of the gold. I was responsible for gettin’ it back for you, just like I said I would. If you’re plannin’ on keepin’ it, then we split it three ways—you, me, and my men.”

  Sipping from his glass, Loyal appeared to consider the ultimatum. “You know too much, Goodman. And you’d just as soon cross me as spit in my face; you think I don’t know that? Loyalty flies right out the window when the chips are down.”

  “I haven’t betrayed you. I’ve kept my word and I promised I’d pay Cortes and his men handsomely if they got the gold back. We want our cut.”

  “All right.” Loyal tossed the last of his drink down and then set the glass back on the counter. “A fourth. You can split it up anyway you like. In return, I have your word you’ll say that the woman, the black, the Indian, and the gold were never found.”

  “What do you plan to do? Stash your part, live high on the hog until the next shipment comes along?”

  “Your job is to do as I say. I am in charge of that gold.”

  Ferris eyed him. “And I’ll bet you will. Squirrel it away until the ruckus cools down and then take your cut and leave town. Or take it all when nobody’s looking.”

  Loyal’s gaze fixed on the mirror over the bar. “A fourth. That’s the offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Ferris fell silent. The clock ticked on the wall. Not a breeze stirred. Then, “You got my word.”

  Loyal smiled. “I thought you might see it that way. The men who stored the gold in the icehouse will be easy enough to pay off. A couple of bottles of rotgut whiskey and fifty dollars and they’d betray their own mothers.”

  “Then I guess we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

  They sealed the agreement with a gentlemen’s handshake.

  Smiling now, Loyal appeared to relax. “What’re you planning to do with all that money, Ferris? You’ll never have to work another day of your life.”

  Ferris settled back, thinking about the cushy life that lay ahead. It was a shame for the South, and his conscience might dictate that he throw in a few coins for the cause. You win some and you lose some, and Ferris just happened to have won the big one. “Guess I’ll buy me that hundred acres I’ve had my eye on just east of town. Settle down, maybe find a woman who’ll cook and clean for me—who knows, might even have me a young’un.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to leave my fortune to someone.”

  Elbowing him, Loyal winked. “Don’t plan to work that land, do you?”

  “No, don’t plan to work it.” Ferris grinned. “I’ll just sit back and take it easy. Real easy.”

  Smiling, the two men slapped each other on the back.

  “We’ll make the split first thing in the morning,” Loyal promised.

  Ferris nodded. “I’ll wire the sheriff in Firebrand and turn in my badge tonight.”

  The two men left the bar together.

  When Loyal entered his office he motioned for his clerk, Jake, to follow him.

  “You want somethin’, boss?”

  “Tell Skid Baker I need him.”

  Jake’s brows drew together. “The hired gun?”

  Loyal nodded. “Have him here within the hour.”

  The clerk hurried off to do Loyal’s bidding and the councilman walked to the window. Striking a match on his thumbnail, he watched Ferris walk jauntily toward his office.

  A fourth of the gold. There were times his job c
ame too easy. Like taking candy from a baby.

  High Bluff citizens awoke the next morning to tragic news. Overnight, four killings had taken place. Four. That was unheard of in High Bluff, a town whose folks prided themselves on law and order. Three were in the saloon. Nothing but broken glasses and occasional fistfights happened there. The night of March 18 would go down in the history books as one of the bloodiest the town had ever sustained. Three men were shot to death in a ruckus over a card game. Cortes and his two cousins, Rodrigo Moreze and Oliver—known as Ollie—Dunby. Eyewitnesses swore the bar fight broke out so fast no one was able to tell who shot whom. By the time the smoke cleared, a gunman had run out of the bar and disappeared.

  To top it off, Ferris Goodman, the town sheriff of over fifteen years, was gunned down by a lone assailant who broke into the jail and shot him in cold blood. Ferris was respected by almost everyone—a close friend of Loyal Streeter, the town’s honorable councilman. Not a single person could think of anyone who would want to harm a hair on Ferris’s head.

  Streeter, the town’s honorable councilman, was so outraged by the violence that he ordered the town to shut down for a full day out of respect to the deceased.

  Like Loyal said, the citizens were shocked by such brutality and they weren’t going to put up with it.

  Nineteen

  Anne-Marie stored the last of the supplies in the buckboard with a heavy heart. She had urged Creed to go to Berry Woman, and early this morning he had announced his departure.

  “You and Quince load up.” The three had gone over the new plan during breakfast. The outlaws would still be in the area and couldn’t be hard to track. Quincy and Anne-Marie would locate the tracks and trace them to Cortes’s location.

  Anne-Marie had tossed and turned last night, alternate plans skipping through her head. They could go after the outlaws and regain the gold. They could trick them, telling them they would pay double for the shipment, and when it was loaded Quincy could cause a distraction and she could ride off with the gold… but Cortes wouldn’t fall for anything that apparent. Yet with a little tweaking she could pull the wool over that sneaky little outlaw’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep up with Quincy on yet another wild goose chase, but she wouldn’t be left behind and they would not give Cortes the satisfaction of victory.