by Megan Besing
“No, I suppose it wasn’t.” He heaved himself onto the boulder and reached down to pull her up beside him before meeting her gaze again. “I can’t deny I’ve killed before. I’m not proud of it, but it had to be done. God has forgiven me.”
She wrapped her arms around her shivering body, determined not to move from this spot until they’d had it out. “But the law won’t.”
“I am—” He pressed his lips together then shook his head. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still going to get us both out of this gang. I’ve already told General Lorde this is my last time riding with the Renegades. He wasn’t too keen on that or the idea of you leaving, but he feels like he owes you something after what happened with Jack, so he’ll let us go once the job is done.”
Relief mixed with frustration. “Well, I’m glad for that, but why can’t we go now? You don’t need to help them rob the train.”
“Yes, I do. That’s the cost of your freedom. I have to help them with the last job. After that, I promise I’ll be done with all of this forever.”
“But you’ve already committed so many crimes. If you get caught—”
“Mariah.” He waited until her panicked gaze met his calm one. “Trust me.”
Trust him? How could she when he was asking her to live the rest of her life with him on the run? As unsure as she’d been about God’s plan for her life, she knew that couldn’t be it. Ultimately, her trust shouldn’t be in Wyatt, anyway. It was supposed to be in God. He was the only one who could truly rescue her from all of this.
Mariah pulled in a deep breath then said the only thing that would satisfy everyone. “I trust You.”
Ear pressed to the cold, steel rail, Wyatt listened as a low hum filled his ear. “Train’s coming.”
General Lorde tossed his cigar aside and ground it with his boot. “Light it up.”
Wyatt smashed his lantern into the logs, saplings, rocks, and boulders the gang had piled onto the tracks. The fishy smell of whale oil filled the murky purple air of twilight as orange flames sizzled and spread. Tossing the lantern onto the pile, Wyatt backed away from the tracks, pulling a kerchief over the bottom half of his face and melting into the woods where the rest of the gang lay in wait.
The ground rumbled as a train thundered around a curve in the track. Sparks flew as its brakes screeched, and steam hissed before it finally came to a stop. The gang sprang from the woods. Wyatt, tasked with subduing the rear brakeman, dashed toward the caboose. He immediately recognized the brakeman as an old Pinkerton friend of his. Wyatt held up his hands in surrender. “James.”
James pulled down Wyatt’s kerchief to confirm his identity then practically threw him into the dimly lit caboose. Wyatt’s immediate supervisor managed to catch him. The short, stocky man grasped Wyatt’s lapels. “We’ve got the rest of the gang taken care of. There’s no way they’re getting away, but you need to escape. Go back to the valley. Clear it out and shut it down. Bring in all of the aiders, abettors, and harborers.”
That wasn’t what they’d agreed to in Wyatt’s last letter to his “sister,” but there wasn’t time to argue, which was probably exactly why Stevens was relaying the orders now. “You want Doc Tillman and Hawk?”
“And Snow Wescott.”
“Snow? Why? Is there a warrant out for her that I was unaware of?”
“We don’t need a warrant. We have probable cause. Bring her in.”
Bring her in.
This was not what Wyatt had planned. Nor was it what he’d promised Mariah. It certainly wasn’t what he’d hoped for…and he had hoped. As much as he’d tried not to acknowledge it, he’d hoped he and Mariah would have a future beyond this job. Now she’d likely never want to see him again. Why would she? Not only would he be the man who’d put one brother in prison and sent the other to the hangman’s noose, but he’d also be the man who’d arrested her and possibly sent her to jail as well.
“Luke, did you hear me?”
That’s right. He wasn’t Wyatt Coulter anymore. He was Detective Luke Bellamy. A man who had prayed and believed that God would work all of this out for good. A man who had made a promise to the woman he loved. A man who kept his word. He couldn’t give up now. Not when he was so close to receiving everything he’d prayed for—not only for himself but for Mariah.
Courage filled him as his gaze connected with Stevens’s. “I heard you, sir, but those charges won’t hold up before a judge. My testimony and that of her brothers will make that clear. Mariah Snow is a victim of circumstances, nothing more. Dragging her into the courts will cause undue harm to her and irreparable damage to her reputation once it’s revealed she has been living as the unlawful wife of a Pinkerton agent for the past several weeks.”
Stevens’s face clouded, but Luke continued on. “Although nothing untoward happened between the two of us during the investigation, it wouldn’t reflect well on the agency. After the debacle with the James’gang, I’m sure the last thing Pinkerton wants right now is more bad press.”
“That’s true,” Stevens admitted.
“Miss Snow is of far more value to us as an informant and state’s witness.”
“You think she would cooperate with us?”
“I’m certain of it.”
Luke sent up a silent prayer during Stevens’s quiet moment of deliberation. Finally, the man nodded. “Fine, but I still need you to bring her in for questioning and arrest the other two. Someone will contact you on the way back to the valley with more details. You have your orders. Now, go!”
“Yes, sir.” Luke scanned the suspiciously quiet track then slipped back into the woods. Taking all the horses with him in case one of the outlaws did manage to escape, he waited until he was several miles away before letting out a celebratory whoop. “Thank You, Lord!” Now he just had to break the news to Mariah about her brothers and the rest of the gang, secure her cooperation, and somehow convince her they still had a future together. Those were daunting tasks, to be sure. However, after what he’d overcome with his supervisor, it didn’t seem quite as impossible as he’d once thought.
Two other Pinkertons met him on the trail. They took him to an old abandoned log cabin where they spent a few hours planning their next operation. At dawn, they rode to Hidden Springs, where a wire confirmed the Wescott brothers and the Renegade gang had all been successfully captured at the attempted train robbery. Thankfully, that meant Luke wouldn’t be riding into a trap. With wounds painted on his right leg and left arm, he rode through the twisting, turning canyon, toward the valley.
Hawk descended down the cliff face looking sick at the sight before him. “What happened?”
Luke swallowed hard then spoke as though every breath was a labor. “The train was full of soldiers headed for Fort Laramie. It was madness. They captured everyone but me, Dave, and the General. We made a run for it. Got shot up pretty bad. Dave didn’t last long. General Lorde was breathing until dawn.”
Hawk let out a curse then glanced at the limp bodies that were covered in blankets and draped over horses. “Did you get any money out of it at least?”
“Couldn’t get near the safe.” Luke pressed a hand to his side, allowing the “blood” there to begin seeping through his clothes. “Where’s Doc?”
“On a ramble, as usual. I’ll get him for you. Meet you at the house.”
“Wait.” Luke pulled in a shaky breath. “Help me store these bodies out of sight. I don’t want Mariah to see them until I have a chance to break the news about her brothers.”
“All right, let’s get them into the valley first.” After Hawk quizzed him about the robbery and the possibility of a posse headed their way, they finally made it into the valley. Luke dismounted to help Hawk cut the bodies down from their saddles then returned to his horse. Hawk froze. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“One of them groaned.”
“That’s impossible. They’re both dead.”
“I’m telling you, Wyatt. One of them groaned. W
e’ve got to unroll them and check.” Hawk knelt beside the nearest body, cut the ropes binding the blanket, then tossed his knife aside to unroll them. Luke stepped up behind Hawk and covered the man’s nose and mouth with a cloth dipped in chloroform. Hawk struggled for a moment or two, but Luke held fast. Finally, Hawk went limp. Luke cuffed him then quickly unrolled the “bodies.” Gray-haired Pinkerton Detective Henry Henderson pulled in a deep breath. “Took you long enough. I was surely about to expire.”
“Couldn’t have gone any faster without tipping him off.”
They unrolled Jacob Miller, whose pale, freckled face had turned red. The man grimaced. “Man, it was getting warm in there. Henry, are you still up to going after Doc, or would you prefer I do it?”
“I’m fine. You guard Hawk. Stick to the plan. Right, Luke?”
“Right. I’ll be back with the girl in a few minutes. If you aren’t back by then, Henry, I’ll come looking.” With a confirming nod, they parted ways. Luke took the time to change clothes, not wanting to alarm Mariah into acting out of the norm. He found her behind their cabin, taking laundry down from the line. He pulled in a steeling breath then couldn’t help but smile. “Mariah.”
Heart lurching in her chest, Mariah fortified herself against her husband’s voice, his presence, his charm, his kisses. None of that was going to work on her today. He’d promised he’d take her away from this place, and she was holding him to it. Once she was free, she’d find work as a maid or a shopkeeper or a cook—it didn’t matter how hard or lowly as long as it was honest and respectable. As for Wyatt…
Well, she’d likely never see him again. She’d miss him terribly, but there was nothing else she could do. Even so, she was determined to make their last moments together sweet. She spun to face him with a smile. “Wyatt.”
The vulnerability in his eyes gave her pause then made her step into his arms and whisper, “Luke.”
He held her closer and kissed her cheek. “How are you?”
“Fine.” She pulled away enough to survey him. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“My brothers?”
A shadow passed through his gray eyes. “Captured.”
Her breath stilled in her chest. “Captured?”
“Along with the rest of the Renegades. It was a trap.”
“A trap? But…How did you escape?”
“It wasn’t hard.” His jaw tightened a little as though he was bracing for something. “You see, Mariah, I’m the one who set the trap.”
She took a step back. “You did?”
He unbuttoned his shirt pocket, pulled out a badge, and gave it to her. “I’m a detective—a Pinkerton to be exact. I’ve been working undercover on a reconnaissance mission to infiltrate the Renegades’ hideouts, gather confessions of their crimes, take note of the comings and goings of visiting gangs, and determine the best possible way to capture them.”
“You’re a…” Dectective? Wyatt—No, Luke was a dectective. Eyes widening, she thrust the badge back into his hands. “You need to go. Now. Doc is on a ramble, but if he comes back and finds out—”
He shook his head as he tucked the badge back in his pocket. “Doc is being arrested as we speak. Hawk has already been captured. They’ll both be transported to the nearest jail.”
She stilled. “And me? What do you intend to do with me? Will I be arrested and put in jail?”
“I’d like to bring you in for questioning. I believe you can provide information of interest concerning the Renegade gang and perhaps even shed some light on where we might find the rest of the Wescott gang. Would you be willing to do that?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’m afraid I may not know very much. My brothers kept most of their business to themselves and you probably have far better information concerning what the Renegades have been doing.”
Gentleness filled his eyes. “You may know more than you think. Even things that seem small or insignificant could prove helpful.”
She nodded then hesitantly asked, “So I’m not going to be arrested or put in jail?”
“I’m not arresting you. And, unless there is something you haven’t told me about your depth of involvement with the Wescott gang…” He waited until she shook her head before continuing. “There should be no reason for you to be charged with a crime. Besides, you’re much more valuable to us as a witness.”
“I see.” Mind reeling, she tried to make sense of everything that had happened, cast it in its true light. “So our marriage…What happened between us…None of it was real?”
His eyes spoke of something warm, pure, and sweet. “It was real.”
“How could it be?” She lifted her chin. “You deceived me.”
“I had no choice. To do anything less would have put both our lives in more danger. You had to believe I was exactly who and what I said I was. If not, the men would have sensed something was off. As it was, I did the best I could by you. I tried to keep you safe. I know you have every right to be angry with me for not telling you the truth about who I am, but I’ve never lied to you about my feelings. I love you, Mariah.”
Her breath caught in her throat at the words he’d never officially said to her before. “You love me?”
“Yes. Those feelings are real. Everything we shared is real.” He seemed nervous for the first time since she’d met him. “I promised to take you out of this valley and help you find a new life. I plan on keeping that promise no matter what, but I want you to know I’m turning in my badge. I’m ready to settle down. Make a home somewhere. Live an honest life with the woman I love. With you. If you’ll have me. What do you say, Mariah? Will you marry me again? For real this time.”
She searched his face for the man with whom she’d shared kisses, a cabin, and her heart. He stared right back at her. Still strong. Still steady. Yet somehow more open and vulnerable than ever before. No longer Wyatt. Only Luke.
In his eyes, she saw everything she’d wanted, everything she’d hoped to find when she’d started out on her journey to become a mail-order bride. Love. Safety. Hope. A future—and a good one. One they could make their own. One better than should be possible for her.
God had come through. He’d made the crooked places straight, worked things out, rescued her just as He’d promised. Just as Luke had assured her He would. Now that the time had come, was she ready to live in His promise?
Smiling, she nodded, unable to wait another instant. “I say yes, Luke Bellamy. With all my heart, yes!”
Noelle Marchand is an award-winning author who graduated summa cum laude from Houston Baptist University with a BA in Mass Communication and Speech Communication. Her love of literature began as a child when she would spend hours reading under the covers long after she was supposed to be asleep. At fifteen, she completed her first novel. Since then, she has continued to pursue her writing dreams. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with family, learning about history, and watching classic cinema.
Train Ride to Heartbreak
by Donna Schlachter
Dedication
Dedicated first and foremost to God—without Him,
no story is worth telling.
To Patrick, who is the evidence of God’s love for me.
To my agent, Terrie Wolf, who believes in me always.
And to Word Crafters Critique Group—you know who you are!
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.
PSALM 30:11
Chapter 1
Groverton, Pennsylvania
September 1895
Mary Johannson plunged reddened hands into the dishwater and scrubbed at a crusty spot on the chipped china plate.
In the yard, the vicar, shoulders slumped from the cares of his congregation, held a small child in his arms while two toddlers clutched his pant leg. And Matron Dominus, the imposing head of the Meadowvale Orphan’s Home, towered over the small group huddled before her.
Mary c
hecked the plate. Satisfied it would pass muster, she dipped it into the rinse bucket and set the piece into the dish rack to air-dry. Next she set a burnt oatmeal pot into the water to soak while she dried her hands on her apron and surveyed the scene outside.
The vicar nodded and turned to walk the gravel path he’d traversed just minutes before, the wee ones in tow as he hoisted the child to his other hip for the mile-long trip back. No doubt he was waiting for space to open in the orphanage.
Her space.
Mary would turn eighteen in two months. And despite her desire to escape the confines of the orphanage, she wasn’t excited about making her own way in the world. The last girl who aged out—as the other orphans called the act of turning eighteen—now worked at the saloon.
And everybody knew what kind of girls worked there.
Mary swiped at the scarred worktable set in the middle of the kitchen floor, her washrag sweeping crumbs into her hand. She still needed to finish the dishes and report to Matron Dominus for her next order for the day.
By the time she returned to the sink, the vicar and his charges were out of sight. But Matron Dominus stood outside the tiny window staring in at her.
Checking up on her, no doubt. Making certain she wasn’t lollygagging. An activity all the residents indulged in. According to Matron.
Mary hurried through the rest of the washing up. She swept the floor, put a pot of beans on to soak for supper, and shooed the cat out from under the stove. After checking the dampers to make certain the range wouldn’t needlessly heat the kitchen—another of Matron’s accusations—she hung her apron on a nail beside the back door.
Stepping out into the fresh air, Mary drew a deep breath and leaned against the clapboard siding. Perhaps she could work at the seamstress shop. She was a fair hand with a needle and thread. Or maybe the general store.
“Mary Johannson.”
The screech like a rooster with its tail caught in a gate startled her, and she straightened. But in her haste, she overbalanced and stepped forward to catch herself, hooking her toe in the hem of her dress, which she’d let down just last week to a more respectable length.