The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  She could have cried with relief. “Why didn’t ye answer?”

  “I just heard you now. Is something wrong?”

  Yes. I thought I lost you.

  “No.”

  He raised his brows briefly, but nodded to the ladder and said, “You can come up. There’s a small hatch door on the far side, but it opens.”

  It startled her to realize how well he knew her. Placing her foot on the ladder, she reached up and grabbed the next rung. She made her way carefully upward, having to stop only the few times when her skirts got in the way.

  “You need any help?”

  She shook her head, but did not look up. She was never very fond of heights. Even though she knew better, she turned and looked over her shoulder. The floor seemed so far down.

  “Ivy? Are you okay?”

  Again, she nodded, but did not move. Her legs felt suddenly frozen, her fingers unable to release their grip on the ladder.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re nearly there. Just a little further now. Come on, you can do it.”

  It was the softness in his voice that had her chin rising. He leaned down through the small opening, his arm outstretched toward her. “Trust me.”

  She really, truly wanted to. More than she ever thought possible. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. Taking a huge swallow, she forced her heart back down out of her throat and into her chest. Then with shaky limbs, she reached up and grabbed hold of the next rung until she felt Sam’s fingers curl around her wrists and pull her up into the loft.

  Relieved to find solid ground beneath her once more, she quickly collapsed and released a huge sigh. Sam dropped down next to and gave her a wide grin, showing off those wonderful dimples of his alongside his mouth. “See, ma’am, you did just fine.”

  She actually was able to produce a smile, albeit a shaky one, while he took hold of her hand and propelled her toward the far end of the barn where indeed there was a small hatch door. Sam dropped her hand long enough to push it open and allow light inside. And air.

  “Thank ye.”

  “No problem.” He grinned again, then unexpectedly leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Stay here, and do your best not to draw any attention.”

  She nodded, then watched him leave, hating the feeling of abandonment that came over her as he did. He would return. He hadn’t deserted her in that church. He had come back for her. Even if it would have been far simpler to leave her behind. Allow the flames to consume her body. She had seen the cost of bringing her back dead. It would have been well worth it.

  This thought brought a nasty reminder to Ivy. Though Sam claimed to want to help her, in the end he would do what he felt was right. He would turn her into the law. It was what drove him all these years. His own personal justice for the crime his mother had committed thirty something years ago. If there was one thing she knew about Sam Michalski, was that the law came first.

  Yes, she didn’t doubt, he would do his best to clear her name. He wasn’t the type of man to allow an innocent woman to hang without doing all he could. But Ivy had come to learn over her lifetime, there were some things one simply had no control over.

  * * *

  Sam made his way quickly over the boardwalk and down the main street. He did his best to keep his head down while at the same time remaining very observant to those around him. The conductor had apparently been able to send word from the train after his discussion with Sam. Seven days ago, that would have suited him fine. Now, he needed more time.

  Up ahead, he saw the police station and decided to head for the doctor’s first even if it were furthest away. Ivy needed her ankle looked at soon. He feared she might have done some permanent damage to it over these last few days.

  Just as he passed the police station, the door opened and a man stepped outside. He was tall. A good seven inches over six feet. His Stetson covered a gray head of hair, and shadowed a face aged well beyond his years, though it was partially concealed by a bushy salt and pepper beard. Over his left chest, he proudly wore a silver badge in the shape of a star, depicting the words US Marshal Oklahoma Territory.

  Sam came to a dead stop. “Roy?”

  He didn’t look surprised in the least to see Sam. He gave him a grin before looking him up and down. “Glad to see you made it out alive.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard about the derailment. Mighty nasty accident. Combination of faulty brakes and a glitch in the track. Terrible event.” He told Sam. “Feared I’d have to take you back in a pine box.”

  Sam frowned. “You came all this way to claim my dead body?”

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t. When they finally got a rescue team down to the accident, it was mighty scary there for a bit. All those dead folks.”

  “How did you know I survived?”

  “They did a head count. Was informed there were no unidentified male bodies found. I always knew you had it in you to survive the worst of situations.”

  “I was lucky.”

  Sam noticed Roy’s attention move slightly behind him as if looking for something. Or someone. “There was, however, one missing passenger not accounted for. A maid by the name of Moira James.”

  Sam remained indifferent, not indicating the name rang any bells. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to tell Roy about Ivy.

  The marshal held his gaze for a few extra moments longer before smiling suddenly. “Where were you headed?”

  “The tavern. A man gets mighty hungry being out in the wilderness for so many days.”

  The marshal nodded, and then paused to study Sam closely. Hell, he knew him too well. Sam gritted his teeth and forced any revealing signs from appearing in his expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to Moira James, would you?”

  The door to the police station opened again and two men he did not recognize stepped out to stand next to Roy. Their matching stars, however, identified them as deputies. Unease swept over him. Trying to feign surprise, he arched his brows and asked, “You looking after this case? I would have thought it was under Canadian jurisdiction.”

  “Just the missing woman.” Roy’s eyes pierced Sam with a hard look. “Where is she, Sam?”

  “I can’t help you.” He remained blank as he stared Roy down.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’ve made this mistake before.”

  “Not this time.”

  Roy’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Sam closer. “You’ve gotten too close, boy. You need to step back.”

  “She didn’t do it, Roy.”

  “I’m sure that’s what she wants you to believe.”

  “Dammit, she’s not lying. She’s innocent.”

  “They all are.”

  “This one is.” He held his ground, not taking his eyes off Roy even though his deputies stepped closer. Sam wasn’t so easily intimidated.

  “Then do the right thing and bring her in, Sam. Let a court make that decision.”

  “No. I need more time.”

  “For what? To allow her to lure you further into her web?” He sounded harsh as if remembering the last time a woman had nearly destroyed Sam. Then controlling his temper, he softened his voice and said, “This isn’t your concern. Leave it in the hands of the law.”

  “She is my concern.”

  The look of disappointment on Roy’s face unnerved Sam slightly. He had always held his opinion in high regards.

  The marshal sighed and to humor Sam, asked “Do you have some new evidence?”

  “I might have an eyewitness.”

  “There is already an eyewitness. What can yours prove to counteract Rebecca Taylor’s testimony? And who is it, exactly? Where have they been? Why didn’t they come forward before?”

  Sam froze. “Whose testimony?”

  “Rebecca Taylor, the eyewitness. She signed a sworn statement claiming she witnessed Ivy beating Phillip Hendrickson with the iron poker.”
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  “Becky Taylor?”

  “Yes, I believe she goes by that name. Why?”

  “That can’t be right. There has to be a mistake.”

  “What are you getting at, Sam?”

  “Ivy said she saw Becky Taylor in the corridor that night after leaving Mr. Hendrickson’s room. She couldn’t have possibly witnessed anything inside that room.”

  “It is possible Ms. Taylor was witness to the aftermath of the killing. But no matter. The handkerchief covering the victims face belonged to Ivy McGregor. Hell, her initials were embroidered into a corner. What more proof do you need?”

  “She told me she misplaced it in her rush to escape the room. Phillip Hendrickson had struck her and she used it to wipe up the blood.”

  “How convenient for her,” Roy sighed, and then asked, “How does she explain it being found across the victim’s face?”

  “She couldn’t.” A frown tugged at Sam’s brows. “The real killer could have used it to help frame her.”

  “Why would they do that? Why her? There are a half a dozen other servants in that house.”

  Sam had no answer. He hadn’t been able to figure that one out yet either. “It could have been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “And what about Ms. Taylor’s testimony? Why would she lie? Is it not a fact that Ivy McGregor was close to both her and her mother?”

  Sam felt a horrible feeling of unease creep in. Immediately he pushed it aside. “You admit yourself she might not have even witnessed the actual murder. If Ivy was the last person seen leaving that room, there could have been a time lapse when the actual killer arrived.”

  “And what of the dress? In Ms. Taylor’s affidavit, she states that she saw blood covering the front of Ivy McGregor’s dress when she exited the room. The exact same dress the authorities uncovered a few hours later buried in the bottom of the laundry bin.”

  This made Sam pause. “That can’t be true. She must be lying.”

  “Sam. Think about it.” Roy’s tone of voice turned to pity. “What reason would she have? Ms. Taylor is not the one on the run. She isn’t the one hiding across the border using an alias.”

  When Sam’s head jerked up, signs of doubt creeping in, Roy narrowed in. “She isn’t the one trying to hide something.”

  Sam needed time to think. This couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake. He believed Ivy.

  Just as he had Daphne.

  “Where is she Sam?”

  He didn’t want to accept the possibility he had made the same mistake twice. He knew better than that. With Ivy he was sure she hadn’t lied. That she was innocent.

  And yet she admitted to mysteriously misplacing the handkerchief. Admitted that Becky Taylor had seen her exit Phillip Hendrickson’s room. Was it possible she had believed Stella’s daughter incapable of squealing on her. After all, as Roy pointed out, she was close to Stella and more than likely her daughter. Perhaps she had thought the girl would not have revealed Ivy’s involvement. She had spoken of Mr. Hendrickson’s habit of helping himself to the female staff. That could have included Stella’s daughter. In Ivy’s mind, perhaps she was doing all the ladies under the Hendrickson staff justice, and they would support her in her retribution.

  Roy made a valid point as to her being in Canada using an alias. Had she told Sam the truth? She had claimed Phillip Hendrickson had threatened her if she tried to run. Sam had never heard of any servant being that valuable. If Phillip helped himself as often as she claimed, then wouldn’t she be easily replaced?

  He looked up and saw Roy watching him closely, waiting. He had been there when Daphne had manipulated Sam and the subsequent events that followed. Had watched her betrayal nearly destroy him. The only person Sam could ever rely on, believe in. The only one who would not hurt him.

  “In the loft above the livery.”

  Roy reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  Then why the hell did he feel so horrible? “Give me fifteen minutes. I want to speak to her first.”

  A small hesitation, then, “Ten.”

  Giving a nod, Sam turned and headed back toward the livery. He knew Roy’s two deputies followed him as he made his way down the dirt road. He didn’t care. Instead he was full of rage. And remorse.

  Reaching the barn, he climbed the ladder to the loft and found Ivy waiting where he had left her. The knowledge that she had not tried to run, eased some of the misery from inside his wretched chest.

  She turned toward him looking full of anticipation. Immediately, he hardened his heart and simply said, “You lied to me, Ivy.”

  She froze, having taken note of his expression. Then a look of puzzlement crossed her face. “What are ye talking about?”

  “You lied to me,” he repeated, a bit harsher. “It seems Becky Taylor didn’t cover for you as you might have hoped.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh come on!” he barked. “You can go ahead and wipe that innocent look off your face. It was Becky who came forward. She was the eyewitness.”

  The blood literally drained from her face. For a moment, Sam had thought it resulted from a mix of shock and hurt, before he decided it was from the realization that she had just been caught.

  “Dammit, Ivy. I believed you.”

  She didn’t respond, but continued to sit there staring up at him. Her face slightly pinched, but otherwise bland.

  “What was it? A conspiracy? Were the female staff plotting his death in revenge? Except one of you got frightened and squealed?”

  When she continued sitting in silence, he grew more agitated.

  “Well? Is that what happened?”

  But Ivy simply sat with her chin tucked into her chest in repose.

  Lifting his hand he rubbed his fingers hard across his brow and squeezed his lids tightly shut. Then taking a long, drawn out deep and steadying breath, he dropped his hand and shoved it into his back pocket. “The marshal will be here in five minutes.”

  Her eyes glazed over and he wondered if she even heard him. Turning to leave, he was brought to a halt by her voice. “Ye asked me to trust ya.”

  There was a crack in her voice which nearly had him turning back around and gathering her in his arms. Begging her to tell him the truth. To tell him she had not lied. That she was innocent of all charges. He felt as if he were indeed abandoning her.

  Movement from the opposite side of the loft drew his attention. Roy stood there waiting patiently.

  Addressing him, he said, “She’s got a bad ankle that’s in need of immediate medical attention.”

  Roy gave him a silent nod, but still kept a watchful eye on him. It made him angry. For it was a reminder he had been a fool once more. “Watch her on the cuffs. She’s a talent for picking them.”

  “You’re doing the right thing, Sam.”

  If it was, then doing the right thing hurt like hell. “Do me a favor, Roy. Wire me once it’s all over.”

  Chapter 14

  “So, is it true? Are you really the Handkerchief Murderer?”

  Ivy cuddled into her dark corner, the only light source coming from a kerosene lantern hanging at the far end of the cell corridor furthest from her. The darkness and tiny space could have driven her close to insanity when she was first brought to her holding cell in Chicago five days before. But amazingly she remained calm, sound. Listless.

  She supposed she owed Sam for that.

  A feeling of bleakness came over her simply remembering him. Those five days had been unable to ease the grief in her heart. She had wanted to hate him for his betrayal, for leading her to believe she could trust him. But all she could seem to recall was the sweet memory of their lovemaking up in the wilderness.

  “They’ve built you a mighty fine gibbet in the jail yard.” The drunk in the first cell told her. “Gone and hung your halter pretty dang high up, they did. Must’ve figured that’d be the closest you’ll ever get to heaven.”
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br />   His words, surprisingly, left no terror in Ivy’s heart. Five days ago might have been different. Then she would have wanted to run, as she always had done in the past. But her injured ankle had prevented it. She was forced to remain cooped up in the correctional office's damp basement cell. Now that her foot was feeling better, she should have been contemplating running. Especially with her hanging scheduled for the next morning.

  However, calmness had settled over Ivy. Acceptance. When Sam had betrayed her trust, she had been crushed. No other betrayal had ever hurt so much. No other person had she ever loved so great.

  The pain of his abandonment had eaten away at her spirit, taken what was left of it. She had cried for the duration of the trip from Canada back to the United States. Then the tears suddenly stopped flowing. As she sat there now, staring dry-eyed at the damp wall in front of her, Ivy supposed she must have finally surrendered. Allowed death to claim her once and for all.

  “Word has it; they’re goin’ to use your remains to feed the scavenger dogs roaming the streets.”

  Ever since they threw the old drunk in his cell earlier that afternoon, he hadn’t closed his trap even though Ivy hadn’t bothered responding to him once. His words could not hurt her. Nothing could hurt her anymore. She closed her eyes and listened instead to the distant hammering over in the jail yard as the men built the scaffold specifically for her.

  Tomorrow it would be over. No more pain. No more loneliness.

  Her mind drifted back, as it constantly did, to that morning in the livery loft. Sam’s face permanently scarred in her memory along with his words. The realization the eyewitness was Becky, had stunned her. Though looking back, she shouldn’t really have been surprised. Not after that last conversation she had with Stella. The only question that remained unanswered, was why.

  The sound of the heavy iron gate opening at the top of the stairwell, echoed down to the cells. Footsteps descended the wooden steps as Ivy curled further in her corner to await the sheriff as he handed out meals. But the man who stood there was not the sheriff.

  “Good evening, Ms. McGregor.” Roy Emerson stood on the opposite side of her cell along with another man. “This is Father O’Malley.”