by Regina Scott
He eyed her. She’d always considered him striking, but his smooth chin and fashionable haircut lent him an air of sophistication, power. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d look in his new clothes. The ladies of Seattle would be swooning.
Not her, of course. She was beyond that.
“I don’t usually let anyone talk me into anything.” He turned toward Mill Street, and Beth fell in beside him.
“You have somewhere else you expect me to be?” he asked with a glance her way.
“Not today,” she said. “Feel free to do whatever you’d like.”
“Generous of you to leave me time to myself.”
Beth shook her head. “Oh, come now. This is for your own good. I never knew a gentleman who didn’t appreciate a good shave, a new suit.”
He snorted. “In gray.”
“Surely you could see the wisdom of the gray material. It’s as durable as brown and more suitable to your coloring.”
“So you said. Never gave the color I wore much mind.”
“That’s why you have me,” Beth assured him. “When did they want you to return?”
“Two weeks.”
Beth pulled up. “Two weeks! What nonsense. Why, Nora could have the fabric cut and marked in two days, besides doing her other chores. I have half a mind...”
Hart caught her arm before she could head back to the shop. “I told them there was no hurry.”
Beth frowned at him. “Certainly there’s a hurry. You need those clothes before Easter services, and I was hoping to show you off at one of Fanny Morgan Phelps’s performances before she leaves town the end of the month.”
“Show me off?”
Anyone else might have quailed under those narrowed eyes. Beth refused to be cowed. “Yes. Surely you know Seattle has been visited by its first truly professional theatrical troupe.” Joy pushed her hands together in front of her bosom. “Just think—thrilling melodramas like The Lady of Lyons, moral lessons like Uncle Tom’s Cabin and, wonder of wonders, Shakespeare.”
“Shake what?”
Beth dropped her hands. “Shakespeare. Surely you’ve heard of him. He’s the most famous English playwright ever. I thought everyone had read at least one of his works in school.”
He started off once more, stride lengthening. “Never finished school.”
Her heart went out to him. She’d loved school—literature, history, science, even arithmetic. “Didn’t they allow orphans to take part? That seems unwise and unfair.”
Without the stubble on his chin, she could see it grow tighter as he walked. “They sent us to school. I liked learning, but school mostly taught me my place.”
Her own jaw tightened. “Small wonder you didn’t finish. I’m very glad you didn’t take that to heart. No one can define your place except you.”
“So I understand now.” He cast her a glance. “But I didn’t understand until I ran away.”
“Really?” She could picture the defiant boy, determined to make his own way in the world. “Where did you go?”
“As far as I could get from St. Louis. Which, in my case, was only the Ohio Valley.”
“And what was it about the lovely Ohio Valley that made you want to stay?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Beth glanced at him to find him staring down the block. She followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything among the wagons and pedestrians that would warrant such a fierce look.
“This Shakespeare,” he said. “I take it you’ve read his work.”
“Oh, certainly,” she assured him, twitching her skirts around a rain barrel. “I especially like his sonnets. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’”
If Shakespeare had seen Hart’s frown, he might have rethought his poetry.
“Well, not everyone likes sonnets,” she allowed. “Levi favors the dramas—all that murder and mayhem.”
His steps slowed as if he was allowing her to keep up. “Murder?”
Trust a lawman to find that interesting. “Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. I understand Fanny Morgan Phelps tends more to the comedies, which I love. The Tempest, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he was gagging. Beth nudged him with her shoulder. “You’ll like them, I promise. I just have to see when tickets might be available.”
He sighed. “I’ll take an extra shift to cover the costs.”
Beth waved a hand. “No need. I’ll pay.”
Once more he stopped, and this time she did quail.
“A gentleman,” he said, “does not allow a lady to pay his way.”
“I’m not a lady in this case,” Beth countered. “I’m your matchmaker.”
“And only the fine ladies of the Literary Society are aware of that,” he reminded her. “To everyone else, it will look as if Beth Wallin is cozying up to the deputy sheriff.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Perhaps I could give you the money, and you could buy the tickets.”
“Perhaps you could keep your money, and let me buy the tickets.”
Stubborn. Beth sighed. “Very well. But I don’t intend to bankrupt you with new clothes and entertainment. You will shortly have a wife to support, after all.”
He raised a finger, ready to tell her off, no doubt, when a man stumbled out of the alley just ahead of them. Both hands cradled his head, and blood dripped between his fingers.
Beth gasped. No time to think. She grabbed Hart’s hand and darted forward. “Hurry! He needs our help.”
Chapter Seven
Hart had little doubt he was looking at the latest victim of the gang. Two ships had docked earlier in the day. He had thought the passengers wouldn’t disembark until the evening tide and had planned to meet them even though it was his afternoon off, but at least one must have been in a hurry to reach town.
“Ach, mein kopf,” the fellow moaned, staggering forward.
Beth brought herself under one arm to steady him. Even though she prized her gowns, she seemed heedless of the potential damage from the blood. How could he not admire a woman like that?
As Hart stepped forward to help her, the man flinched away. “Nein! Nothing have I left. Leave me be.”
Hart touched the badge on his chest. “We mean you no harm. I’m Deputy Sheriff Hart McCormick. What happened?”
The fellow moaned again, clutching his head. A short, stout man, his light blond hair hung limp around his round face, and a thick mustache drooped on either side of his mouth. Hart had the odd thought that Beth likely wouldn’t approve of the rusty color of the man’s rumpled coat.
“Easy, sir,” Beth said in a soft tone. “We are friends. We only want to help.”
The man lowered his hands cautiously, then his bleary blue eyes widened as he stared at the red stain across his fingers, and what color he had fled. Hart caught his elbow as he swayed.
Beth’s eyes were just as wide. “Oh, you poor man. Let’s get you cleaned up and comfortable. There’s a chemist just down the way.”
Hart had a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he knew Beth was right. The man would be in no state to answer until his wounds had been tended.
Yet even though Beth had offered help in such a caring manner, the stranger hesitated, gaze darting between them. “You are friends with the polizei?” he murmured to Beth.
“Polizei, police, yes,” Beth assured him, moving forward and forcing him to keep up. “And we have medicine, this way.”
He stumbled along beside her.
Confident they would make it past the next few shops, Hart took a moment to glance in the alley. He hadn’t expected to see anyone—the gang would be long gone with its spoils. The only evidence that something untoward had happened were some overturned empty crates and mud scuffed by boots. At least this fellow had put up a tussle.
Hart caught up with Beth and the newcomer in the store. The chemist Mr. Cassidy had been persuaded to bring out a chair, and the victim, who Beth was explaining wa
s a Mr. Schneider, was sitting on it while Beth cleaned his wounds with a damp cloth Cassidy must have provided. At least their surroundings should have brought Schneider some comfort that he’d be well cared for. Whitewashed shelves behind the center counter held jars of every compound imaginable, the blue-green glass betraying strange shapes and sparkling powders known for their medicinal or chemical properties.
A tall, lean fellow with a narrow face and thatch of graying brown hair, Cassidy leaned closer to Hart, the scent of the men’s cologne he sold hanging around him like a cloud. “What’s he done that you had to strike him, Deputy?”
Beth must have heard, for she rounded on the chemist. “Deputy McCormick didn’t do this.”
Cassidy quailed under the fire in her eyes. Hart leaned closer to her and Schneider. “No, I didn’t, but I’d like to know who did.”
The man winced, but at Hart’s presence or Beth’s ministrations, Hart wasn’t sure. Beth’s look hardened, mouth compressing. Likely she thought Hart should wait to interrogate the fellow, but every moment counted when dealing with the gang. More passengers would be arriving soon. Hart didn’t want them to be met with the same fate.
“How did you come to our shores, Mr. Schneider?” she asked, patting his face carefully to remove the last of the blood. He’d taken a blow to his eye, breaking the skin along his bone. Hart could only wonder what other bruises lurked under his plaid waistcoat and linen shirt.
Schneider’s shoulders came down under Beth’s tender care. “From the boat I came.”
“A traveler,” she mused. “And why did you choose Seattle?”
Hart shifted from foot to foot, but Schneider answered readily enough. “I buy hops from here to take back home.”
No need to ask the location of home. It was clear the fellow was of German descent. Some of his countrymen had been traveling to the area to purchase hops from farms to the south of Seattle. More pressing questions needed to be answered.
“Who hit you?” Hart demanded.
Schneider shuddered. Beth frowned at Hart, but she rose and spoke to the chemist, who hurried off. Then she touched Hart’s arm, tilting her head to one side. He withdrew with her away from the counter of the little shop.
“Why must we badger him?” she asked. “He’s had a terrible time of it.”
“He won’t be the only one,” Hart told her. “I wasn’t joking when I mentioned a gang the other day. Someone’s been preying on new arrivals, robbing them and leaving them hurting. I can’t stop them if I can’t get answers.”
She hissed out a breath. Then she squared her shoulders. “I understand. I’ll do anything I can to help.”
She marched back to Schneider with so much purpose Hart could only stride after her, a little afraid she was going to take the German to task herself.
Instead, she accepted the bandage the chemist had returned with and began to wind it around the little man’s head. “There, now,” she crooned as she worked. “What a terrible time you’ve had. I simply don’t know what the world is coming to that a newcomer would be treated so badly.”
She leaned back and smiled at him. The chemist sighed as he watched, doting smile on his face as well.
Schneider was no more immune to her sweet look. “Danke,” he said, gaze fixed on her like a drowning man a rope. “You are too kind.”
Beth patted his hand. “I’m just sorry this was your introduction to our fair city. I’m also sorry we must ask you so many questions, but it’s important that we catch these villains. Who did this to you?”
Hart held his breath as the man glanced between her and him.
Schneider dropped his gaze. “Oh, I could not say.”
Beth bent closer. “But surely you saw them. Your wounds indicate they struck from the front.”
Smart lady. She was right. Hart narrowed his eyes.
The German squirmed. “I saw nothing. I will go now.”
Frustration pushed him forward. “No, you won’t. Not until we talk.”
He blanched. “Nein! I will not speak. It is worth my life.”
Beth turned to Hart. “It’s as if he’s afraid of you.”
She sounded so puzzled. He could have told her any number of men feared him, for good reason. As one of a handful of lawmen in the entire territory, he stood between them and the crimes they planned to commit. Still, this man didn’t seem to be a criminal. He was the victim.
Hart spread his hands, but Schneider jerked away as if he expected another beating.
Beth’s brow cleared. “You have no need to fear, Mr. Schneider. Deputy McCormick is a fine man, an upstanding man. A...a...mighty warrior, a knight.”
Hart’s brows went up. Was that how she saw him? Small wonder she’d once offered undying devotion. Surely she knew better now.
Cassidy smothered a laugh, but Schneider’s face brightened in a smile. “I understand, fraulein. You trust him, jah?”
Beth glanced at Hart. “With my life.”
Was he blushing? He willed himself to stand taller. His glare to Cassidy sent the chemist scurrying back behind his counter.
Schneider glanced between them again. “Ser gut. I will tell you what I can, then. A lad met me on the path from the boat. He says he knows a clean place to stay with good food.”
Just like what had happened to the fellow in the plaid trousers earlier in the week. “Did he tell you his name?” Hart asked.
Schneider fiddled with the edges of his waistcoat. “This I do not recall.”
Didn’t recall, or wouldn’t say? “But you followed him,” Hart surmised.
“Jah. He says the alley is a quicker way, a small slice.”
“A short cut,” Beth guessed.
Hart nodded. “Only there were men waiting.”
“Two of them.” Schneider closed his eyes as if the memory hurt as much as his wound. “The boy told them not to hurt me, but they did not listen. He ran away then. They took all I had—the money to pay for the hops, my travel expenses.” He sank his head into his hands again. “I am ruined. My employer will discharge me. I cannot even pay my way home.”
Beth put a hand on his shoulder. “I belong to a group of civic-minded women, Mr. Schneider. I’m sure we can find a way to help.”
Schneider raised his head. “Vas?”
Beth nodded. “Have no concern. For now, answer Deputy McCormick’s questions. It may be he can track down those brigands and get your money back.”
She put a lot of faith in him. But as she looked his way, compassion and pride melding in her gaze, he found himself unwilling to deny her.
And that worried him as much as the gang.
* * *
Beth kept her hand on Mr. Schneider’s shoulder as Hart questioned him, interjecting when needed if the deputy’s words made the poor man shudder. Even with her here, he seemed hesitant to deal with Hart. Very likely it was the trauma of the moment. How horrible—to come to a new town, full of purpose and hope, only to be met with cunning and violence. She was certain Allegra, Mrs. Wyckoff and the other members of the Literary Society would be willing to help.
So would Hart. She could almost see the thoughts shining behind his dark gray eyes as he listened to Mr. Schneider’s story. Mr. Cassidy offered to pay for a night in the Occidental Hotel for the man, and the two went off to make arrangements after Beth promised to call on the wounded man soon.
“I’m very glad we happened along when we did,” she told Hart as they left the store together.
“So am I,” he answered. Hand to her elbow, he guided her toward the corner. “Thank you for your help. Even if he couldn’t seem to describe his assailants, this is the most information I’ve heard from one of the victims.”
“How many others have there been?” She cast him a glance as they turned onto Mill Street. His face was set, his steps firm.
“Enough to concern me.”
He wasn’t going to share. He was trying to protect her, just like her brothers.
Annoyance pushed her head up. “So
meone must know who’s in this gang.”
“Very likely.”
“I could ask around,” she suggested.
“You will not.”
Now, there was some force. “Why not? I know nearly everyone in Seattle.”
“You know all the nice people. These are not nice people.”
She’d give him that. When she thought of the blood on Mr. Schneider’s face, she shuddered.
He mistook her reaction. “It’s all right, Beth. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She knew that. Whatever their differences, he was a hero, and heroes protected people. Still, nothing said she couldn’t ask a few questions. What was the harm?
“I can see you’ll be busy the next day or so,” she said as they reached the bottom of the hill. “I won’t disturb you. The next phase in our plan to find you a bride will be to show you to advantage. I would have liked to include your new suit, but I suppose we’ll simply have to make do for church.”
“Church.”
He said the word as if pronouncing someone’s death. Beth giggled.
“I didn’t mean for a marriage ceremony. Just for Sunday services. Do you generally attend the Brown Church or the White Church?”
“Is there a difference, besides the color?”
She’d always thought it funny that the two main churches in Seattle were named after their paint rather than something more inspiring. “I favor the Brown Church,” she told him. “The Reverend Mr. Bagley is such a dear. I imagine Allegra and Clay will want to leave by half past nine. You can walk with us.”
His mouth twitched, as if he was struggling with his response.
Beth sighed. “Forgive me. Faith is so important. I wasn’t trying to make light of it. If you’d prefer to worship alone, I’ll quite understand. I’m just so used to worshipping with my brothers. It will feel odd to have only Allegra and her family in church beside me.”
“I’ll be at the door of the house at a quarter past.”
Relief flooded her. Goodness, was she homesick already? She’d only been in town two days. But the thought of sitting in a pew without her family was suddenly daunting. That Hart would be beside her made everything much better.
But Hart wasn’t the only one interested in escorting her to services, she saw Sunday morning. She was standing on the drive in front of Allegra and Clay’s house, waiting for him, when a buggy rolled up. Even now, the things were rare enough to turn heads, but even if they had been more common on the few roads around the area, people would have stopped to stare at this one. Painted a buttercup yellow with cocoa-colored silk fringe on the top and leather upholstered seats, the four-wheeled carriage was driven by a set of dapple gray horses with high heads, as if they were proud of what they carried.