“You don’t? Haven’t you read about the seducers lying in wait? Doesn’t the call for purity and holiness cover our intentions, not only our actions?”
Stoker was right. Finally Bailey was hearing the words he’d known were his due. Finally someone agreed with him on his sin.
“I can’t stomach it, either. I don’t know how he could justify himself.” Bailey peeked at Stoker, still florid. “And then there’s Molly, whose sole desire was to please her parents, but instead she’s ruined. It dries up any mercy I might’ve felt for this man.”
Stoker’s eyes narrowed. “Molly used bad judgment. Had she prayed over her decision, surely God would’ve protected her.”
“I agree that Molly made a horrible mistake, but while I was thinking about her, I thought that maybe I should introduce her to this man. He wants a wife and everyone seems to believe Molly is unmarriageable now. Perhaps—”
“Molly’s misfortune shouldn’t leave her at the mercy of ruthless men. She shouldn’t be shackled to someone without a conscience.” Stoker shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing.”
Bailey fell against the hard pew. He wasn’t good enough for her. She wasn’t good enough for him. Obviously they weren’t fit for anyone else, either.
He’d made it through the account, and now it was time to take the blame. Bailey paused. Stoker’s perception of him would change. Was he ready to lose his mentor’s respect? And what if Molly refused to marry him? What if Nicholas found a job for her and she never returned? Was he making a needless sacrifice?
Bailey loosened his collar. He needed to deal with his hypocrisy even if Molly was out of reach. Besides, he’d do almost anything to clear his conscience. This secret had festered too long. It was time to come clean.
“Pastor, this is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to tell a soul. When I stood up in church that Sunday and asked y’all to pray for me, I didn’t need protection from an enticing woman. I needed God to protect me from my own bad decisions. I cut Molly a wide swath in the beginning, but when I saw that Pierrepont fellow, I knew her parents would be hot on his trail. I knew Molly couldn’t tell them no. So when the opportunity came, I tried to take advantage of her.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “That was my story I told.”
Bailey hung his head, unwilling to watch the disappointment grow on Stoker’s face. He’d told him. No going back. His pastor would never think of him in the same light.
“You didn’t.” Stoker sounded more hurt than anything. “You wouldn’t.”
“Mr. Lovelace had that spell and Molly looked to me for comfort. What did I do? Instead of offering her friendship, I pressured her. I knew what to say to earn her trust and silence her doubts. I told myself it was for the best because I was keeping her from making a mistake. If Sheriff Colton hadn’t caught me—”
“You could’ve done her as much harm as Pierrepont did. Still could, if Colton talks.” Stoker pulled out his hankie and mopped his face. Folding it carefully, he leaned back and sighed. “If Thomas Lovelace knew this, you’d be run out of town.”
“But how do I make it right? I’ve been miserable hearing people talk about her, knowing the reason they can say such things is because I ruined her reputation.”
“Are you talking about your confession last fall?”
“No, there’s more. I’m the reason that Edward Pierrepont escaped jail. The trial wasn’t canceled because Molly didn’t have a case. It was canceled because of me. At the hearing, they asked me under oath to describe our relationship, to tell them about our last . . . encounter. Do you think she’d want this repeated at a trial with a jury and a galley full of people?” His voice rose. “He went free, I went free, and Molly bore all the blame.”
And she’d borne it with grace while he’d cowered, unwilling to be counted with those who needed forgiveness.
Stoker’s words stung. “If I was Molly, I’d never speak to you again. You’ve been prancing around scot-free while she’s been scorned.” He shook his head. “Even I’ve been unfair.”
“I’ve tried to make it up to her. I’ve tried to help out when I could, but then people will hail me and cut her. I don’t know why she’s stood it. I don’t know why she hasn’t called me out.” He watched Stoker for a reaction, but the man was still stunned. “I want to marry Molly if she’ll have me. If that means I’m not cut out to help around here, then so be it. I’m willing to take my licks. It’s not fair Molly’s been taking them alone.”
He’d bared his soul. It’d be hard looking Stoker in the eye for a while, but Bailey had no regrets. He finally felt clean.
“I’m glad you told me, son. I know it wasn’t easy.” Stoker paused before laying a hand on his shoulder. “I owe an apology to Miss Lovelace, as well. Unfortunately, I said some things to her today that, in light of your story, were unwarranted. I figured the trial would clear her, and when it didn’t . . . well, I thought she was somehow to blame.”
“We can go together to apologize,” Bailey said. A first step toward bringing Molly back into society and taking him off his pedestal. “I was on my way to deliver these ledgers to her.” He rose in time to see a horse thundering down the dirt lane. The roan flew by them with the rider crouched low, head inches from his mount’s neck. Covered by a bandanna and slouch hat, Bailey didn’t recognize the man immediately, but it rankled that he’d be as careless as to barrel through town.
“Who was that?” Stoker asked, peering out the door.
Before Bailey could comment, another rumbling was heard, louder than the first.
“Posse coming.” Bailey could hardly contain his excitement. “That was Michael James.”
“You take my horse,” Stoker called. “I’ll find another and be right behind you.”
He nodded as Stoker hobbled to untie it from the hitching post. Bailey sprinted across the lawn to the parsonage and banged on the door.
“Here are the account books.” He pushed the door open wider to see more of Molly’s shocked face. “I’ve got to run. The posse. Be back in the morning.”
And he clomped off in a rush to do his civic duty.
29
The barking of the neighbor’s dog woke her. Molly rubbed her eyes and groaned. It had been a late night, although a profitable one. She’d labored so long over the ledgers—trying one theory after another—that she hadn’t felt like changing into her nightgown but fell asleep fully clothed. She blinked. Why was it still dark outside? Had morning not come?
Pushing the quilt aside, Molly stood and made her way to the window. What was bothering that dog? A firm knock on the door startled her. With a surprised laugh she smoothed her hair.
“Bailey, is that you?”
“Yep.”
“You scared me coming over this early.” She swung the door wide to see a pistol thrust into her face.
Grabbing the barrel, Molly tried to push it aside, but Michael James shoved her away, stumbled into the cabin, and fastened the door behind him.
Oh, how he stunk. Molly covered her nose, feeling ridiculous. Her life was in danger and her biggest concern was his hygiene. She’d better be careful unless she wanted her last breath to be the foulest. He motioned her to light the lamp while he pulled the curtain over the lone window. With shaking fingers she adjusted the wick and replaced the globe, only then getting a good look at the man who’d caused so many tragedies in their community.
Bareheaded, face haggard, and filthy gloves smeared in . . .
Molly gasped.
Blood—bright and wet, with a dark crust already drying in the creases. His gloves were slick with it.
“Not Bailey. Please, tell me that Bailey is all right.”
“Shut up!” He raised his arm as if to strike her but instead yelped. His arm dropped and he had to catch the back of the chair to steady himself.
“You’re shot, aren’t you?” Molly picked up the lamp and held it between them, only then noticing the thick dark fluid seep
ing through his shirt above his waist.
“I thought this cabin would be empty, since everyone is with the posse. Just as well. You can sew a few stitches to keep me from bleeding out.”
Molly had avoided Michael for most of their childhood and had never thought to compare his looks with his father’s. Even with her discovery over the account books last night, she still couldn’t reconcile the connection.
“What makes you think I can sew? I don’t even own a needle.”
His lip curled, exposing a chipped tooth. “You are completely worthless.”
The dog outside barked once, then whined in pleased recognition. Michael raised his gun.
“Don’t open the door. Whoever that is, get rid of him.” He turned a full circle. Then holding his side he shuffled to rest against the wall next to her bed.
“Molly, it’s me,” Bailey called through the door. “Is everything all right? I see your lamp is lit.”
Her heart pounded. Bailey wasn’t hurt, but he would be if she wasn’t careful. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m looking over the account books.”
When she heard his voice again, it was closer—as if his forehead was resting against the door. “Did you find anything?”
Should she tell Bailey what she’d discovered? If she didn’t she might never get a chance to. Michael could kill her and burn the account books, and no one would know. Michael slid down the wall and crouched on his haunches, sweat gathering on his troubled brow.
“I found where Russell was cheating us.” Her voice wavered, but she forged on. “He was selling oak planks, billing out oak planks but recording pine planks in the ledger. It’s all here—thirty-six oak planks moved in the inventory book, thirty-six pine planks paid for. Again and again. Probably to help his son.”
Molly broke her gaze from Michael’s and looked at the two books laid out on the table. Hair ribbons of every color peeked from between the pages, blue ribbon in the inventory book corresponding with the blue in the account ledger. There were at least a score of ribbons, proof that once Russell had started siphoning the profits, he’d brazenly stolen at every opportunity.
Bailey’s sigh could be heard through the thick door. “You know, I’d almost rather the loss was due to my mistakes than to hear that about Russell. What is Mrs. James going to do now with both her husband and her son wanted?”
Michael’s face was gray. He’d given up all pretense of keeping his gun on her, appearing to struggle against pain and wooziness.
Well, he hadn’t murdered her yet. Molly reached for a dishcloth, dampened it, and passed it over the bed to him.
“We can take care of Mrs. James. Michael has enough to think about without worrying over his mother.”
The deep lines of agony around his eyes softened. He took the cloth and mopped his face, giving Molly a glimpse of the blood-covered arm that had been pressed against his stomach.
“Speaking of Michael,” Bailey said, “he can’t be far away. Got his horse shot out from under him. Colton said there’s blood in the saddle, too, so be sure and keep your door latched. We’re searching around town before we head to the James place.”
Molly nodded.
“Molly, I need you to answer me, hon.”
She swallowed. One more moment of silence and Bailey would bust in . . . and get shot in the process.
“I’ll be careful. I’m just . . . I’m sleepy. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll go, but some good news first. Michael’s saddlebags were as loaded down as a Wells Fargo coach. That must be the money Russell stole. Your pa will be happy.”
The pistol was lying on the floor now, although still in his grip. It was an odd-shaped gun. Her head cocked.
“And finding the gun will clear Anne of murdering Mr. Nimenko,” she said.
“What?”
“The strange gun. The missing foreign gun of Mr. Nimenko.”
Michael’s head bolted upright. He lifted the gun and pointed it at her again.
“If you find it, I mean. If you find Mr. Nimenko’s gun, then everyone will know that Anne is innocent.”
Silence.
“I’ve got to go,” Bailey said. “I’d better join the others.” His fingers tapped against the door. “I love you.”
Molly froze, unable to answer.
Michael’s eyes turned into mean slits. “Answer him,” he mouthed, “now.”
She looked away and tried to forget the murderous weapon pointed in her direction. One slide of Michael’s slippery gloves and she was dead. She might never have another opportunity.
“I love you, too, Bailey.”
The tapping stilled. “Good night, Molly.” And he was gone.
———
Bailey stepped off the porch but broke into a run as soon as he was certain his footsteps couldn’t be heard.
As much as he’d enjoyed hearing the words come from her mouth, he knew that something was wrong. Nothing could’ve enticed him to declare himself through a door except the fear that he wouldn’t get another chance. Her answer convinced him that she had the same concern. Michael James was inside.
Street by street the word spread and lookouts surrounded the cabin until Sheriff Colton was found. Every eye was trained on the only door and window in the structure. Soon Russell James joined the knot of men gathered behind the church. Then he drew his share of the glares.
“I hate to tell you, Russell,” Reverend Stoker said, “but it looks like your boy has been shot.”
“You think he’s in there?” Russell ran his finger under his collar, even though no necktie was present.
Bailey stepped up. “I could be wrong, but the signs point to it. I spoke to Molly through the door, and something had her upset.”
Russell’s face paled. “Molly is with him?”
Bailey didn’t answer. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Molly had told him about Russell’s guilt with Michael listening. As a witness against his father, Michael had every reason to want her dead. Bailey should’ve kicked in the door at his first suspicion.
Russell put a hand on Bailey’s arm. “Let me talk to him. He doesn’t want to hurt Molly. I can get him out.”
“I don’t know,” Sheriff Colton said. “He’s facing murder charges. Why would you help us capture him?”
“To atone.” Russell released Bailey’s arm. His voice rose so no one in the posse would miss his words. “That money you found—I stole it. I’ve been robbing Mr. Lovelace so Michael could have a fresh start in Mexico. I’d ruin my life to give him a future, but I won’t sacrifice another innocent person. I think I can talk him into turning himself in.”
Colton looked to Bailey as the sole representative of the Lovelaces’ interest. “I’ll arrest Russell right now if you’d rather. We’ve got a clear confession.”
Russell couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lit window across the lawn. Bailey knew that Russell wasn’t concerned about doing time, he wasn’t thinking about escaping—Russell wanted his son to have the opportunity to get it right in the end.
Shouldn’t Bailey, of all people, understand?
“I trust Russell. Let’s give him a chance.”
Spurs jangled in the darkness as the men fanned out and found barriers to hide behind. Bailey made it nearly to the porch and crouched behind the rain barrel.
“Michael! Are you in there? It’s your father,” Russell called.
A shadow passed across the curtain. Guns rose, but no one fired.
“Are you hurt badly, Michael?”
Bailey was close enough to hear his answer.
“It’s bad, Pa, and I’m not spending the last minutes of my life being harassed by no lawmen. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Bailey knelt on one knee and dug his leading foot into the soft ground. If he had to charge the door, he’d get a good sendoff.
“We could get Dr. Trench,” Russell said.
“It’s too late. Send everyone away.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Sheriff Colton
hollered. “If it’s as bad as you think, don’t you want to see your father before you pass?”
“You aren’t going to let me,” Michael called.
“Sure we will. Send Miss Lovelace out, and your father can come in to you.”
The door moved. Bailey leaned forward, ready for anything. Michael James appeared, leaning heavily on Molly, his pistol pressed into her side.
With the light behind her, Bailey couldn’t see her face, but her tiny steps told him that she was bearing Michael’s weight. The man kept his right elbow pressed tightly against his stomach and was bent almost double.
“Send him in,” Michael gasped. “She’s my guarantee.”
“Your father confessed to embezzlement,” Colton said. “I’m not sending another criminal in for you to plot with until you release the girl.”
“You’d better think again, Sheriff. You don’t want her blood on your hands,” Michael said.
Molly whimpered as he dug the gun into her side. Bailey gripped the rim of the rain barrel and half rose. If he could draw Michael’s fire, someone would pick him off before he could shoot Molly.
“Her blood wouldn’t be on the sheriff’s hands.” Russell took a step forward. “It’d be on mine. I’m the one who helped hide you after you were accused of killing Mr. Nimenko. I came between you and justice, and if you kill again, it’ll be because I believed in your innocence. You said you had nothing to lose, but you do. You still have a chance to make things right. You could leave this world showing mercy, and you still have time to find mercy for yourself.”
Michael panted, sweat rolling down his face. “I’m not ready to die, Pa. I want to talk to you . . . and Reverend Stoker. You promise they’ll let me?”
“I promise, son. Let her go.”
The gun dropped to the ground. Bailey was the first to reach Molly. But only after she and Russell had eased Michael to the porch did she allow him to lead her away.
———
“He wasn’t going to hurt me, not after I tried to help him.” Molly rubbed her arms, working warmth into them after her chilling encounter. From the way Bailey walked with his hands crammed in his pockets, she guessed that he disagreed. She might as well give up trying to convince him. Michael James didn’t need her to defend or accuse him any longer.
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