by Craig, Emma
Immediately, Sophie returned her attention to the note. Juniper was sleeping the sleep of the innocent, which was as it should be, but she’d kept a lamp burning low on the dresser for Sophie. Bless Juniper’s kind heart. Sophie tiptoed to the lamp and held the paper up to it.
“Los Angeles?” The two words hissed through the room, and Sophie turned quickly to see if she’d disturbed Juniper. She hadn’t.
But—Los Angeles? That was at the end of the earth, for heaven’s sake. Sophie and Juniper had been to San Francisco several times, but—Los Angeles? Didn’t they grow oranges there or something? Good God.
As she removed her clothes, every inch of her body ached with fatigue. She couldn’t recall being this tired in a long, long time. And now she had to go to Los Angeles. To chase down and kill Ivo Hardwick.
When she’d set out on this trek, she never realized she’d be seeing so much of the country. It was certainly a vast one. The states and its territories engulfed the span of an entire continent. And she’d soon have traveled it from one end to the other. That should probably afford her some satisfaction, but it didn’t. She’d rather have Joshua back.
Lord in Heaven, she didn’t need to start thinking things like that now, of all times.
She eased herself into bed with a tremendous sigh, rolled over, and sank into the soft feather mattress. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Gabriel Caine, and of how much she wished he were here with her in this bed.
Her dreams were filled with violent men chasing her and of Gabriel Caine protecting her. She woke once, around three o’clock, with her heart trying to rip itself out of her chest in panic. She pressed a hand to her bosom and stared into the blackness of the room. In her dream, Gabriel had turned against her, and at the end, she’d been trying to escape him.
How typical.
Sophie cried herself back to sleep.
Chapter Ten
“Tarnation, Miss Juniper, I do believe the world’s gone mad.”
“Really, Mr. Caine? I must say I’m not surprised. It’s always seemed a little off kilter to me. Why is it mad this time?”
Gabriel glanced at Juniper from behind his newspaper and grinned. She’d laid her mystical trappings aside in favor of knitting this morning. It looked to him as if she was working on a sweater crafted from bright red yarn. Pretty, that. Gabriel liked red. If he didn’t wear black as a matter of principle, he’d probably wear more red.
Actually, what he’d like to do is dress Sophie all in red, himself all in black, and take her out to paint the town. Which town didn’t much matter to him, although a highfalutin’ one would be the most fun. San Francisco, maybe.
He almost laughed at his too vivid imagination. If he didn’t watch out, he’d find himself entangled in a full-blown infatuation, and that would never do. What would happen to his image then?
The train was chugging its way across Arizona Territory, on its way to California, and he felt pretty damned good today. He’d taken a room at the Cosmopolitan last night, because he’d wanted to be close enough to the Madrigals to waylay Sophie if she got any murderous ideas, or if Patterson or the desk clerk decided to pay her a visit for illicit or immoral purposes. He didn’t have any faith whatever in Sophie’s claim to be able to take care of herself. Why, the whole of Tucson might be chock-full of slime like Patterson. Sophie might be tough, but she wasn’t tough enough to take on an entire town.
The hotel clerk hadn’t protested when Gabriel had demanded a room—indeed, he’d gone out of his way to be pleasant to him. Gabriel recalled the incident with a spurt of cynical satisfaction.
Of course, it had been pure-D luck that he’d run into Dmitri first thing this morning. Dmitri had told him right off that the Madrigal ladies aimed to set out for Los Angeles at noon today. Gabriel had hied himself to the train station directly, bought a ticket, and here he was.
Thus far, Sophie had been keeping to the Madrigals’ sleeping compartment. Juniper said she’d passed a restless night, poor dear. It had been Juniper who’d added the “poor dear,” although Gabriel agreed with her. Poor Sophie. He’d had no idea her life was fraught with so much pure crap. No wonder she seemed to hate men, if they were all like that Patterson oaf and that pipsqueak of a hotel clerk.
But Juniper had asked him a question, and he guessed he might as well answer it. “Well, the world’s gone mad this time because there are riots in Chicago, and the police are shooting at striking workers—it says here they killed a couple of them—and the anarchists are throwing bombs in New York City, and the peasants are revolting in Russia.”
Juniper smiled almost gaily. Gabriel wondered why she thought all these terrible events merited a smile. She said, “If Sophie were here, she’d say in that dry, witty way of hers that peasants are always revolting. Then she’d probably say something about the benefits of using sufficient soap and water. I don’t know what she’d say about the riots and the bombings, but she’d come up with something, I’m sure.”Juniper began humming a tune that sounded familiar to Gabriel, although he couldn’t place it. He thought it was a hymn.
He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re right.” He continued his perusal of the newspaper and didn’t know that Sophie had joined them until he heard her say, in an unhappy voice, “You!”
Gabriel lowered the paper to his lap. Sophie stared at him with overt disapproval. Naturally, he grinned broadly in reaction to her hostility. “And a bright good morning to you, too, Miss Sophie. You’re looking healthy and chipper this fine day.” He took in a deep breath, as if of fresh air, and beamed at her. “Lovely day for a trip, isn’t it?”
Sophie, who had Tybalt’s wicker basket over arm and was wearing the same gown she’d had on when he’d first seen her, glared at him for a moment, then said, “I do wish you’d leave us alone, Gabriel.”
He wanted to eat her up. Right here and now. Pity she was being so damned prickly.
Juniper protested, “Sophie!”
Gabriel said, “Too bad, Sophie sweet. I’m going to get to Hardwick before you do, and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you from killing him.”
“I wish you’d just leave him to me. I’m sure that man who hired you would be just as happy to know Hardwick is dead.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Nope. I’m taking him back to stand trial.”
“Waste of the taxpayers’ money, if you ask me,” Sophie huffed. She set the basket on a seat and positioned her lovely bottom next to it. Gabriel would like to see Sophie’s bottom. He sighed.
Ignoring him, Sophie turned to her aunt. “That’s a nice color, Juniper. It looks like you’re knitting a sweater.”
“I am, dear. Isn’t this a pretty red?”
Sophie picked up a sleeve. “Yes. It’s very bright. Eye-catching. It’s awfully big. Are you making it for Uncle Jerome?”
“I don’t think so,” Juniper said placidly, and resumed humming.
That was it! Gabriel recognized the tune now. It had been one of his father’s favorite hymns. His dad had always favored hymns of praise and jubilation, often with bouncy melodies, which Gabriel thought was kind of sweet.
Because he felt good this morning, and because he had managed to hang on to Sophie Madrigal through another extended train trip, and because he suddenly remembered how much he used to love to sing, he began singing now. Very softly, he sang the words along with Juniper’s humming. “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation.” It really was a pretty tune. “O my soul, praise him, for he is thy health and salvation!”
Juniper’s knitting needles, which had been clicking along at a steady clip, stilled, and she turned to look at Gabriel, who smiled at her and nodded, encouraging her to keep humming.
She did better than that. In a clear, somewhat thready soprano voice, she joined in.
“All ye who hear, now to His temple draw near; join me in glad adoration!”
When Gabriel glanced over to see how Sophie was taking this new musical twist, he found her gap
ing in patent astonishment, not untainted with horror. He felt like laughing. Instead, he sang louder. He knew he had a superior bass-baritone voice. Gabriel’s voice had been a real boon to his father’s revivalistic efforts. The ladies had all but swooned when he sang.
“Praise to the Lord, who o’er all things so wondrously reigneth, shieldeth thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth! Hast thou not seen how thy desires e’er have been granted in what He ordaineth?”
Tybalt peeped out of his basket, propping his fat little feet on its edge and sniffing, as if he smelled something tasty in the air. Sophie petted him absently as Gabriel and Juniper sailed on into the third verse. By God, he hadn’t thought about his hymn-singing days for donkeys’ years. This was fun.
“Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy work and defend thee; surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee. Ponder anew what the Almighty can do, if with His love He befriend thee.”
Gabriel put an arm on Juniper to stay her from commencing the last verse. “Come on, Sophie, join in with us. It’s fun.”
“Oh, yes, do, dear. You know it’s your favorite hymn.”
Sophie frowned at her aunt. Undaunted—or only faintly daunted—Gabriel began the last verse. “Praise to the Lord! O let all that is in me adore Him!”
To his astonishment, another voice had joined them by the end of the second sentence. He glanced from Juniper to Sophie, who scowled, but didn’t stop singing. She was an alto or tenor, he noticed. He would have predicted such, if he’d been in the predicting instead of the soul-saving profession. Again, he felt like laughing.
“All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him! Let the amen sound from His people again; gladly for ever adore Him.”
And, in one final crescendo, the trio sang a long, tuneful, harmonic, “A-men!”
They sat in the smoking car, although this early in the day, they had it practically to themselves. The only other passengers were two gentlemen who looked to Gabriel like drummers on a sales trip. When their “amen” ended, the two men, who had turned to stare at the trio, applauded. Gabriel grinned and bowed from his seat. Juniper smiled shyly at the pair. Sophie didn’t even bother to turn around. Gabriel presumed she was embarrassed, the silly wench.
Her cheeks were as pink as roses. So were Juniper’s. Even Tybalt was wagging his tail. Gabriel didn’t know what he looked like, but he couldn’t offhand recall the last time he’d felt so lighthearted. Maybe there was something in this religion stuff. Maybe not. It was probably the beauty of the hymn and the glorious blending of voices that had stirred him.
Juniper clapped her hands, knitting needles and all. “Oh, what fun! Let’s sing another one!”
“Really, Aunt Juniper,” Sophie muttered repressively.”There are other people on the train, you know. They might not appreciate a concert.”
“Feel free, little lady,” said one of the drummers, gesturing with his cigar. “I ain’t heard nothing so pretty for a long time.”
Sophie said, “Really.”
Gabriel nudged her knee with his hand. “Come on, Sophie. Don’t be such a spoilsport. Even Tybalt likes it.” He reached over to scratch Tybalt behind his small ears, and got his hand licked. “See?” he said to Sophie. “You don’t want to disappoint Tybalt, do you?”
She rolled her eyes. Not very ladylike. Then she said, “Oh, very well, if it will keep you from fussing at me.”
“Come on now, Sophie. You know you like me underneath.”
She frowned at him. “Underneath what?”
He shrugged. “Everything.” Then he winked at her, and had the pleasure of watching her cheeks get pink again. Lord, she was fun to rile.
“What shall we sing next?” Juniper asked brightly. Her knitting needles had recommenced their clicking, and she looked happier than Gabriel had seen her for a while.
“Let me think. My father used to like the happy ones.”
“Oh, so do I, Mr. Caine,” exclaimed Juniper. “I always think that if one is going to sing to or about God, one owes it to His goodness to offer up joy.” Juniper, as if realizing she’d said something wrong, glanced sideways at her niece.
“If one can find any,” mumbled Sophie. She stared out the train’s window at the uninspiring scenery flitting past.
“You’re just being a grump,” Gabriel told her. “Come on, help me think of a good hymn.”
“I’m sure you can do quite well on your own.”
Since Sophie was obviously not going to enjoy herself if she could help it, Gabriel decided to leave her alone. It was enough for him if she’d keep singing with them. It was a start and, by God, he’d wear her down the rest of the way eventually.
“I have a good one,” he said suddenly, having thought of his father’s all-time favorite hymn. His father had loved it because it had been written by a man who’d been saved from sin and degradation by, one deduced, God’s grace, and Gabriel’s dad had experienced the same sort of salvation. He cleared his throat and began the hymn as a solo. Considering how long it had been since he’d sung anything, he was pleased that his voice still sounded good. Maybe he could seduce Sophie with sweet song, like the troubadours of old.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!” He peered at his companions to see how they liked his selection. To his surprise, he found that Juniper had dropped her knitting into her lap, and was staring at Sophie with worried eyes.
“I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see.” He turned to look at Sophie and stopped singing at once.
Her pink cheeks had bleached of color until her green eyes stood out like jade against white marble. She’d lifted a hand to her lips, and to his horror, Gabriel saw huge tears welling up in her eyes. He jumped to his feet.
“Sophie! For God’s sake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s nothing!” she cried, and lurched out of her seat. Without even waiting for Tybalt, who stared after her and yipped in bewilderment, she all but ran the length of the smoking car, past the two gentlemen who’d comprised their audience. She bolted through the door at the end of the carriage as if demons were after her.
Gabriel turned to stare down at Juniper. He held his hands out helplessly. “What did I do?”
“Oh, dear.” Juniper’s hand lifted to press her cheek. “Oh, dear. That played that at his funeral. Sophie hasn’t been able to listen to it since.”
“Who’s funeral?”
“Joshua’s.”
“Who’s Joshua?”
But Juniper only stared up at him, with gigantic, sad eyes, her face as pale as death, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Caine. Sophie won’t let me.”
Crap. Sophie and her damned secrets were about to drive him loony. Pausing only to lift Tybalt back into his basket so the poor little fellow wouldn’t try to jump from the seat and break a pudgy leg in pursuit of his mistress, Gabriel ran down the car after Sophie. He wanted to get to her before she could lock him out. He was heartily sick of being locked out by Miss Sophie Madrigal.
He made it to her sleeping compartment a bare second before she could shut the door on him. His flat palms slammed into it, and try as she might, she couldn’t out-push him.
“Give it up, Sophie. I’m going to get some answers, and I’m going to get them now.”
“Go away.”
“No.”
“Damn you!”
She let go of the door all at once, and Gabriel damned near fell on his face as he stumbled into the room. Sophie had flung herself on the cushioned bench that, at night, served as a bed, and beat her fist against the cushioned back. Gabriel’s heart pitched as he watched her. Immediately, he felt inadequate to soothe her monumental grief.
It was grief, too—he could tell. It wasn’t a transitory temper tantrum. This was honest-to-God anguish, and it almost broke his heart.
He sat next to her and put his hands on her shoulders. They were shaking as if an earthquake were happening inside her. “Soph
ie, Sophie, what am I going to do with you?”
“Nothing!” she choked out furiously. “Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.” Gabriel rubbed his hands lightly over her arms and back. He massaged her neck, feeling steel-like tension in the muscles there. “I’m truly sorry, Sophie. I had no idea that hymn would have such a sad connection for you.”
“I know.”
Her voice was so muffled, he scarcely heard her. But he appreciated the words. At least she didn’t think he’d done it on purpose. As if he could, since he didn’t know anything about her. Which galled him, as he wanted to know everything there was to know about her.
“Listen, Sophie,” he said gently. “Maybe you ought to talk about—”
“No!”
He sighed. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things.”
“No.”
For a few moments, Gabriel remained silent. For the first time in years, he tried to think about what his father used to do when confronted by another person’s unrelenting sadness. His father had never given up, no matter how troublesome the person was with whom he dealt. Gabriel had admired that quality in his father. No matter how many insults, denials, or fits of temper a body threw, Gabriel’s father had hung in there because—well, because it had been his calling.
While Gabriel had never felt any kind of calling, he knew good and well his father would have counseled revelation in this instance. He’d been a great gun for confession, the reverend Mr. George Caine, contending that the bitter things a body kept inside himself eventually festered and began poisoning the whole person. And, while the word confession might mean a host of different things to a host of different people, Mr. Caine had held that it wasn’t merely one’s sins one needed to confess. In order to cleanse oneself inside and out, it was best to get rid of one’s secrets, which could infect one’s soul as easily as a hidden crime.