Her gaze slid over to the bald man to his left. He was dressed in formal preacher cloth and clutching a bible to his chest. His expression was stern as he observed her coldly through the iron bars.
“If you would like to offer your repentance,” he told her as explanation.
She stared at Roy Emerson. This was the man who Sam had grown to love and respect. When he held her gaze without blinking, Ivy relented and turned away.
She heard him quietly thank the preacher before sending him off. To her surprise, he did not follow. Instead, he turned the key in the lock and came towards her with a set of shackles.
“You’re being transferred to the Hubbard station to await your execution in the morning.”
The heavy iron rings he held locked over her wrists. Attached to them was a hefty link of chains that connected to a set of cuffs he fastened around her ankles. “Come on.”
He took her elbow in his hand and propelled her out of the cell. She stumbled from the awkwardness of the restraints, but managed to straighten herself before she could fall. Her ankle had healed well enough several days ago allowing her to put weight on it again, though walking at anything faster than a shuffle was impossible. Her restraints, thankfully, prevented her from doing exactly that.
They passed the old drunk who pressed his face between his rails. “Hey, what about me?”
“Sit tight old man,” Roy said. “You’ll be released soon enough.”
As they moved slowly up the stairs, the marshal unexpectedly said, “Sam is like a son to me.”
She turned slightly toward him at the sound of Sam’s name.
“Twenty something years ago, he came to me a hurt and angry young man. Not surprising when you realize where he came from. But I saw something in that boy. Do you know what that was, Ms. McGregor?”
Her gaze shifted, but she refrained from answering.
“A soul. There was good in that boy even after all he had gone through. Perhaps too much. He had a soft heart. Too soft. As a young lad he brought home strays by the dozen. Something about their vulnerability struck a chord with him. There was this dog, part wolf, a real beauty. She stayed with us the longest. Sam grew real attached to her. I thought it would do him good, maybe help his heart heal, but when the poor creature got sick and needed to be put down, Sam was livid. Had a powerful right hook even at that age.” He reached up and stroked his cheek as if he could still feel the sting of Sam’s punch. “I don’t think he ever forgave me for that, but he did come to realize I was right. As I am about you. His soft heart had always been his greatest weakness. Apparently still is.”
His eyes met hers in the darkness. “He wanted to believe in the virtuous of others. I think a part of him needed it. Some type of retribution for his mother’s actions. Hard to live in a corrupt world when one is so young and impressionable. Whether he would admit it or not, he became very gullible. Laying his trust where it had no business lying. That mistake cost him.”
“I’m not Daphne Sweeney.”
One brow arched. “He told you about her, did he? You must have gotten close out in that wilderness, just as I suspected.”
She fell silent once again, refusing to fall for his bait.
“I thought after her, his heart had grown a thick protective layer over it. It took some damn bruising, but in the end I think it only made him harder.”
Looking up at her hair, he reached into his coat pocket, retrieved a cigar and told her, “You look like his mother, did he tell you that too? She had fiery red hair as well. Never spoke of her often, but I knew he loved her dearly. All the more reason why her betrayal cut deep.”
Ivy closed her eyes. She could relate to that feeling. Sam’s own betrayal had felt like a laceration to her heart. Inside, she was slowly bleeding to death. If she were not already going to die by hanging, she was certain she would have eventually died from the inside out.
“It killed me to see the pain on his face and swore never again would I allow someone to hurt that boy.” Outside a paddy wagon waited. Roy Emerson easily loaded her into the back before following her inside.
“Thing is, I took the blame for what happened with Ms. Sweeney. You see I wanted him to trust again, give his heart to another. I encouraged his belief in that woman. Hell, I was just so damn happy to finally see him go soft toward something actually human.”
He paused, before continuing, “After, I felt partly responsible. That boy ain’t never had anyone to believe in. No one to trust but this sorry old face. I let him down. So I made it my goal to track her down and ensure she paid the price for what she’d done. Both for her crime and for what she gone and done to Sam. I eventually tracked her into Mexico, but by the time I located her she had gone and taken her own life. But not before she put a bullet in her old man’s skull in a fit of jealousy. Seems he had taken another lover.”
He pulled out a cigar and lit it in the darkness. His face momentarily reflected in the small flame. “But I felt cheated, you see. I wanted Sam to know this woman paid for her crime. Just like his momma had. But this time I wanted to give him the satisfaction of watching her swing for what she’d done.”
Ivy felt her heart grow hard. The wagon bumped along the cobble roads, jostling her slightly in her seat. Even in the dim interior, she felt him staring at her long and hard.
“I figured I owed it to him, seeing I was somewhat at fault.”
For some reason, she had an urge to cry. She wasn’t entirely sure why. It had been days since she shed her last tear. But sitting there in the dark, listening to this man’s account of Sam’s past, stirred a pain in her she had thought numb.
The wagon came to a stop and someone opened the back door. Roy got out first, then waited as Ivy climbed out on unsteady footing. A huge gray and somber building confronted her. But it was the large wooden scaffold silhouetted against the night sky in the courtyard of the prison that caused her sharp intake of breath.
Roy Emerson handed her chains over to the officer waiting for them. Then turning his gaze back down at her face, told her, “I guess one could say I still do.”
Ivy stiffened refusing to show any emotion. He wanted Sam to see her swing.
Roy Emerson suddenly smiled. “I suggest you get some sleep, Ms. McGregor. The morrow will be upon us within a few hours.”
Her attention could not be drawn from the gallows standing ominously before her.
“Goodbye, Ms. McGregor.”
* * *
Sam lay staring up at the ceiling. Hell, he should have been sleeping. But he hadn’t slept since Roy loaded Ivy on that coach bound for Chicago. No matter how much he hated it, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He followed her high profile case in the papers. The court trial had been held immediately upon her return and, as he suspected, went quickly and predictably. She had no lawyer to represent her. The verdict was swift. Guilty. The sentencing even swifter. Death by hanging.
He rolled over and tried to ignore the overwhelming sorrow those words caused. It was his own fault for allowing himself too close. He knew better, damn it. But still he fell once more under the manipulation of a conniving female. No matter how soft he had grown toward her, the fact was, she was guilty.
She had tried to plead her innocence as he had known all along she would, but the evidence was pointing elsewhere. As long as he lived, he would never come to understand her actions. Or forgive them. She had made a choice of her own free will that fateful night. For that, she would face her consequence as any other criminal.
As did his mother.
He closed his eyes at the unexpected raw emotion which tore at his chest. He was overcome by the sudden urge to cry. He hadn’t wanted to cry since the day they hung her. When the sheriff came to tell him it was all over, something had died inside Sam. Something viral. Without it, he knew he hadn’t been a full person since.
Ivy’s last words came back to haunt him. She had claimed he was unable to trust. She had been right. He had wanted to. God knew he wanted to. But ther
e would always be a part of him fearing the hurt and betrayal his mother had caused.
Only with Ivy had he felt that missing part begin to stir back to life inside him again. He had felt trust yearning to be released. Even now, as he lay there staring up at the ceiling, that little piece of him refused to believe she was guilty. He absolutely could not accept she did it out of jealousy, and he outright rejected the idea she did it out of pure hatred.
Whatever her reasons, he didn’t doubt in Ivy’s mind she had done the right thing. Her tortured past might have explained her behavior, even if it did not condone it. He would wait until the sentencing was complete, then return to Chicago to claim her body. She had no family left. No one to mourn her passing.
He would give her a proper burial. She would like that. After everything she had endured, it was the only thing left he could offer her.
Sitting up, Sam gave up all attempts at trying to sleep. His thoughts were in utter turmoil. His emotions in even further chaos. He could feel the clock ticking on her life like a huge weight on his heart.
His gaze fell on the newspaper folded on his night table, opened to the article regarding Ivy’s trial. He picked it up and skimmed through the piece, having already read it a dozen times. Immediately, his eyes fell on the likeness of her. Or what he could see of it.
She was being ushered through a huge crowd waiting at the courthouse, her head down, her face concealed. Roy stood to her right, doing his best to shield her from the angry mob. Sam’s fingers clenched the paper automatically. Even without being able to see her eyes, her pain reached out to him.
His eyes proceeded further down the page to the article. It quoted the judge as saying how much the crime had sickened him and never before in all his years in the judge’s seat had he ever seen a more deplorable act. The article ended with the judge’s final words. “May God have mercy on her soul.”
Before, Sam hadn’t paid much attention to that part of the clipping. He hadn’t really cared what the judge thought. But this last quote had him unexpectedly thinking the reverse. May God be merciful to all those who had judged and judged Ivy wrongly.
Judge not that ye be not judged.
He frowned and dropped the paper as a wave of nausea came over him. He was no better than the people in that article. He had condemned Ivy based on his own fears and prejudice. He had allowed his own perception of females to mar his ability to see her for who she was, rather than what his mother had been.
One does not burn the entire forest because of one warped tree.
Christ. What had he done?
A pounding on his door startled him. Immediately, he reached for his gun. Opening the door only ajar, he peered through at the man on the opposite side. It was the town’s chief of police. Even before he spoke, Sam felt his insides clench.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Michalski, but you told me to let you know the moment I received this.” He held out a piece of small, single sheet of yellowish paper. “A wire came in from Chicago.”
* * *
Sam didn’t know what the hell he thought he was doing as he made his way across town. The streets were completely quiet. Not a sole stirred. He had driven his horse hard through the night after he received the wire from Roy. It had only the one word.
Tomorrow.
He hadn’t ever felt such joy in one simple word. There was still time. Time for him to fix this horrible wrong.
The foul odors from the sewers emptying into the waterways, drifted over the city. To Sam, it smelled like bloody shit. Hell, he hated the city. The sooner he got Ivy and got the hell out of town, the happier he’d be.
At the correctional building, he saw a single lamp burning from the main office. Inside, he found one of the sheriff’s deputies sitting at his desk doing paperwork. At Sam’s entrance, he looked up, not in the least surprised to see him.
“Marshal said you might be by to pay us a visit.”
“I just want five minutes.”
“You’re too late.” The man told him and Sam felt all his hopes come crashing down in one huge wave of pure anguish, until the man sighed and said, “He was here earlier and took her over to the jailhouse to await her execution in the morning.”
Christ. He flew out of the building, taking the steps two at a time. Leaping back on his horse, he kicked him hard and tore across town. A quick glance up to the sky and it still appeared black as the night.
He paid no mind to his surroundings as he flew past through the crowded city with its multi-story buildings. When he reached the station’s entrance, he came to a screeching halt when he saw Roy sitting calmly in a wooden chair.
“Where is she?”
“You made good time.” He calmly got to his feet and pulled out a cigar from the inside of his coat.
“Where is she, Roy?”
He looked at Sam and he could read the look of disappointment on his face. “You always had too soft of a heart. Knew it that day I had to put old Almo down, but in the end you came to realize I was right. It was the right thing to do.”
“You’re not right this time, Roy,” he told him. “She’s innocent.”
“Is that why you came? To break her out?” His brows rose. “And then do what? You’re going to be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
Instead of replying, he asked instead, “Why did you wire me before her execution?”
He took a long drag on his cigar before answering. “Because you needed closure. You weren’t able to do that with your mother or with Daphne, but this one you can.”
“You wanted me to watch her hang?”
“That’s right. See her for who she truly is.”
“And what if you’re wrong?”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at Sam closely. Then quietly told him with full sincerity, “I only wish I was.”
“Give me five minutes.”
He sighed, not happy with the request, but glanced over to the desk where a lone officer sat. “Would you escort Mr. Michalski to Ivy McGregor’s cell?”
Sam gave him a silent nod of gratitude. If it was all he had, he would use his five minutes effectively.
He followed the officer to a long corridor where a heavy wooden door sat at the far end. He opened it and proceeded down another corridor. This one made mostly of iron rails. It was at the end of these that he slid a key into the gated door and opened it for Sam to proceed. “Stay to your right. She’s in the last cell.”
Before him was a set of stairs leading to a row of cells located in the lower part of the prison. The officer removed a kerosene lamp from the wall and lit it before handing it over to Sam. After taking his first few steps, the gate locked shut behind him. Making his way further down the stairs, Sam took note of the thick stone and concrete walls. They smelled damp and moldy.
On the opposite side, the corridor was lined with iron cells no bigger than horse stalls. Raising his lantern, he peered into the first one. It was dark and filthy, but empty. The second cell revealed it too was unoccupied and when he reached the third, he almost thought it was also vacant until he spotted her huddled in a dark corner.
Inside, something felt as if it literally died. He winced, knowing her fear of small quarters. “Ivy?”
He knew she wouldn’t be sleeping. Her head slowly raised and she squinted over at him. He lowered the lamp to remove the light from shining in her eyes. “Sam?”
He paused to take in her appearance. She looked strained and pale, yet her copper hair stood out in contrast like a ball of fire in the glow of the lamp. “How’s your ankle?”
“What are y’doing here?”
“To finish this.” He spoke quietly, not wanting the officer to overhear. “Are you able to walk?”
A V formed between her brows. “What do ye want Sam?”
“I’m breaking you out of here,” he simply told her. “Can you jimmy the lock on those iron shackles?”
She didn’t budge. “Ye think I lied,” she reminded him. “Ye believed I kille
d him.”
“Trust isn’t one of my better traits,” he said with a grin, trying to fall back on his usual sarcasm, but one look at Ivy, and the humor died on his lips. “But I’m working on it, Ivy.”
Glancing toward the stairs, he said, “We don’t have much time. We’ll discuss this later. I’ll get the keys to the cell, but the shackles are the marshal’s. You’ll have to pick ‘em.”
When he received no response, he turned and found her staring at him. “Why are ye doing this?”
Their eyes met and held. Suspicion was clearly evident in hers. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Not more than five days ago, he had accused her of lying. “The dress.”
“Pardon?”
“The dress they found covered in blood and supposedly belonged to you,” he told her. “It was found at the bottom of the laundry pile. Didn’t you tell me earlier that Stella was the one to hire out the laundry?”
Something flickered across her face and with a start Sam realized Ivy had known all along. “You’re covering for her, aren’t you?”
She shook her head before dropping her chin. “I don’t know how or even if she’s involved.”
“Dammit, Ivy. You would have hung for a murder you did not commit, just to protect this woman?”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything? Tell Roy?”
“He would never have believed me. Even ye thought I was guilty.”
That stung. More so because it was true. “So you chose to remain silent instead?”
“I didn’t realize her possible involvement until ye gone and told me the eyewitness was Becky.”
He frowned. “What would be her motive?”
“I’m not entirely certain.”
“But you have an idea, don’t you?”
She gave a sad little shake of her head. “No, not really. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Dammit, Ivy, you need to find out. You just can’t sit back and hope things will work out for you.”
Something in her expression made him draw back. He nearly choked on his next words. “Ivy, why haven’t you tried to escape?”
The Color of Ivy Page 21