Sundance

by David Fuller

  They rushed to be together, making up for lost time, to prove that this moment was real and true, amazed to be holding each other, the years spent apart now slipping into an envelope that sealed behind them, as they touched that special one known from a thousand dreams and now made flesh, palms touching, fingers interlaced.

  She grinned with the joy of discovery, her fingers inching back his bowler, fondling the fabric of his suit, the soft collar of his shirt.

  His lips near her ear. “It’s you.”

  Curling her arms back around him, she felt it against his low back and laughed aloud. “Sweetheart, you’re packing.”

  “You’ve been associating with a bad lot. Thought I’d bring a friend.”

  “I’m well away from those people.”

  He leaned his head so she could see his eyes. “No. You’re not. They’re coming.”

  “But—”

  “I wasn’t quick enough. They’re coming tonight. For you.”

  She took a full breath and held it a moment, her eyes looking over his shoulder. “I should never have used my name.”

  “I was too slow. I only found out after someone else put it together.”

  “But you found me, so it was worth it.”

  He touched her left hand, felt the wedding ring on her finger, and smiled. Mrs. Matthews. Then he affected a lopsided grin. “So. No corset.”

  “Nope.”

  “And that’s a dress.”

  “That’s red, Kid, and I knew you’d come.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still want us.”

  “Yes you were.”

  His breath caught in his chest and he felt his smile tingle his fingertips and support his knees. The right answer. “Okay. Yes, okay.”

  She moved to adjust his collar, fingernail rubbing at her own lipstick, when she felt the bandanna.

  “What’s this?”

  “The old one was lost at Henry Street.”

  “This is no good.”

  She loosened his four-in-hand, opened his collar, and pulled the too-green too-new bandanna away from his neck as if it must never be allowed to touch him again. He was surprised by the intensity of her dislike.

  “Wrong color,” she said.

  She held it with two fingers over the wastebasket and let it drop.

  She then gathered up the fabric of her dress to mid-thigh to reveal her petticoat. It was cream colored and constructed in two parts, the main section running from waist to just below the knee, and a bottom piece that fell almost to her ankle. Connecting the two parts was a series of evenly spaced fabric strips sewn to connect top and bottom with an open space in between. Weaving in and out of that open space was a decorative ribbon. An olive-colored ribbon. She took hold of one end and pulled the whole length of it out. His fingers went instinctively to his pocket where he kept the other pieces.

  She let her dress drop back over the petticoat, brought the ribbon to his shoulders, and he felt her fingers slide the ribbon around his neck and feed the ends down inside his shirt to lie flat against his chest. The electric touch of her fingers stayed on the back of his neck, and the ribbon was alive against his skin. “That will have to do until we get a new one.”

  He drew the smaller ribbon pieces from his pocket. “Mystery solved.”

  “I needed something you’d recognize.”

  “I didn’t, at first.”

  “Ran out of time that day. Just hoped you’d see them.”

  “You were so sure I’d know what they meant?”

  “I bought this petticoat because of that ribbon. Only you would recognize the color.”

  He laughed. “We can discuss all this later, right now we have to go before they get here.”

  She looked at him seriously. “I can’t leave the Armory.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.”

  “No, I mean there’s something I have to do here.”

  “Wait, no. Etta, your life is at stake.”

  “I know.”

  “And I just found you.”

  “I know.”

  He fought himself, trying not to say the things that came to his mind, trying not to be unhappy. He had found her and she was all he hoped she would be, except she was also intransigent, with an agenda that did not immediately include rekindling the marriage after the years they had been apart. He was here now, he had found her in time to get her out of danger, and she refused to go. He knew times were changing, it was everywhere and touched everything, but was it so absolute that a man was expected to let his woman willingly throw herself into the line of fire? He tried to hold his tongue but the words stumbled out. “I’m finally here after all this time, can’t you let this go?”

  “Are you asking me? Because this is something I have to do.”

  “Putting yourself in danger?”

  She put her hands on his jaw, fingers on his cheeks. She touched the olive ribbon through the shirt fabric. She traced fingertips through his hair at the back of his neck. She looked him steadily in the eye, and he knew this was not up for discussion. “I have never wanted to run away more than I do right now. Be with you, run back to all that we are together. But there are things I learned once I got here. Maybe I didn’t want to know them, but once you know, you can’t just stop knowing because you wish you didn’t.”

  He nodded. He wished he could disagree.

  “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she said, “and until now I didn’t realize how terribly I’ve missed you, and I was already missing you more than I could bear. But some things you have to see through.”

  She was certain, mature, and strong. That was no surprise, as he had been hearing about her from everyone he’d met along the way, but he hadn’t expected it to be this way after he found her. He had thought she would see him and need him and go back to the good way it was. Good, except for maybe the railroads and the law on his tail. Good, except for maybe needing to use an alias and watching his back every day of his life. He was impressed by what she had become, without wanting to be impressed. Conversely, her strength made him want to protect her that much more.

  He did the best he could. “I know you understand the danger, I’ve tracked you from Lillian to Queenie to Moretti, then Prophet to this Fidgy. You know how much Moretti wants a piece of you, and he’s damn close. Whatever you’re trying to do, you can’t finish it if you’re dead, and Moretti will not let go. Come with me.”

  “There’s more going on than you know. More even than I know.”

  “I want you safe, if I’d been here earlier, maybe I could have protected you, or, I don’t know, maybe I have it backward, but you have to understand, it’s not like I’m trying to keep you my little girl—”

  Her smile came up sideways. “Your little girl?”

  “That was just, after talking to, never, never mind, forget all that.”

  She touched his cheek. “Sweetheart. I’m in this because of you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When you wouldn’t see me that day at Rawlins, when you sent the guard with the letter, you hurt me. But then I understood. It was a gift. You sent me to New York, and I realized you did it because you trusted me. I could take risks, because you trusted me.”

  “Etta—”

  “You didn’t want me waiting. You gave me permission to live. I knew you’d catch up when you could.”

  “Damn it, Etta.” He closed his eyes. “You could always charm me.”

  “I should certainly hope so.”

  He had yet to tell her about his promise to Siringo. He didn’t trust himself to share that just yet, as if he hoped to find some way out of it. But now more than ever, he had to find a way to keep her safe. He could not face the prospect of returning to Wyoming in custody if she was still in danger. He was going back to face a murder charge. He would n
ever be able to beat that. If he had to kill Moretti or Hightower to keep her safe, he would. A second murder charge would make no difference now.

  “One thing. I think I have most of it. But there’s a loose end. You learned about Moretti and Fedgit-Spense from Queenie.”

  “I thought I was helping her. Lord, I was naïve.”

  “But why use Prophet to get to Fidgy?”

  She looked utterly confused until she put it together in her mind. “Oh. You’ve got it backward. I knew Jonah, Prophet, through that awful Mabel, and only hid out with him because Moretti’s people were so close. Nobody disappears like an anarchist. I was after Fidgy before that. I thought I could get to him through his antique gun collection. Then I realized he’d never trust a woman about guns. Soon after that I heard about this exhibition. An attractive woman in the art world? That got his attention. Fidgy would never give Jonah the time of day. I didn’t get to Fidgy through Jonah, I introduced Jonah to Wisher.”

  “But Jonah, Prophet, he was jealous of Fidgy.”

  “That was all his imagination, he assumed there had to be something between us. He wondered how I could even think of leaving him.” She grew quiet, knowing how it sounded, and looked in his eyes. “My darling. You keep their attention when you give them nothing. Then you’re mysterious. You give them any more, and you’re used goods.”

  “Why Fidgy? I mean, I know what he does, but why go after him?”

  “He stands between countries with more power than any individual should have. And I think he’s trying to do something quite despicable. As it is, I’m not sure anyone else knows about it.”

  “Why do you have to be the one to know about it?”

  “I was there, showing him a piece of art, and we were joined by a visiting member of Parliament. He had a very frank conversation with the man while I was standing there. I think he wanted to impress me. He did, just not in the way he hoped.”

  “Can this one man really be so important to world politics?”

  “No. Not so important. He’s one more small piece of what seems to be a universal march to war. But it’s the only part I can affect.”

  “What makes you think you can expose him?”

  “I have Lillian Wald. She has access to most everyone, including presidents of the United States. I haven’t seen her in two years, but she’ll be here tonight.”

  He was amazed. He had so many questions that he had essentially hit a dead end.

  He shrugged and shifted the subject entirely. “So. Where are my letters? You’ve got more letters for me, and I want them.”

  “Back at my place.”

  “Good. You can read them aloud.”

  She fit her body up against his and moved in close, her warm, sweet breath filling his mouth and nose. “Pillow talk.”

  They held each other close again, remembering what they had missed and what was yet to come. This time it was different, quieter, as they were no longer in a hurry to confirm their connection. They eased up in their embrace, her nose nuzzled against his neck, as they took one last, quiet moment together.

  He spoke seriously. “If we’re going back up there, you need to stay close. He won’t hesitate, he’s coming, he’s mad, and when he sees you, he won’t give you a chance.”

  “Why do you think I married you. Nobody better than the Kid.”

  • • •

  LILLIAN WALD was under the main arch as they came up the stairs hand in hand. She was delighted to see Etta, and Longbaugh saw the strong mutual affection they shared. Lillian took Longbaugh’s hands in both of hers, knowing what it meant to him to be with Etta again.

  Etta spoke quickly to Lillian, as a great deal had happened since they had last seen each other. Longbaugh listened with half an ear. He had been away from the exhibition for too long, Hightower and Moretti might already be in the crowd. It was difficult enough to find someone in a small room. The Armory was an enormous space, and it continued to fill up. But Moretti had an edge—he would have no trouble finding her once she met up with Fedgit-Spense. Longbaugh watched the entrance, trying at the same time to also scan the big gallery and beyond.

  Etta mentioned anti-preparedness. Lillian nodded. Etta said Lillian had been right about Fedgit-Spense.

  Between bodies in the crowd, there was a momentary space, and his eye caught someone familiar. Then the space closed and Longbaugh doubted his eyes. It seemed unlikely he would have come, but Longbaugh leaned, craning his head to see around fancy hats. No luck. Lost to him. Probably imagining things. He ran his eyes from entrance to gallery.

  Etta speculated on why Fedgit-Spense so often traveled back and forth across the Atlantic. She had noticed an oddity, possibly coincidental, that he traveled only on American ocean liners. Lillian did not grasp the importance. Etta grew more passionate as she said he was transporting crates, as if moving oversized furniture. Lillian thought the information interesting but did not understand the connection. Etta pressed harder, determined to make Lillian follow.

  “I think he’s transporting the same crates back and forth without bothering to open them.”

  At that, Lillian straightened up. “It’s not important what’s inside. It’s the fact that he’s transporting his goods via an unexpected venue—he’s using passenger ships for oversized cargo.”

  Etta nodded vigorously, pleased to be understood. “In time he’ll stop traveling, but his ‘luggage’ will not.”

  Lillian cocked her head, looking off as she thought it through. “He wants someone else to know what he’s doing.”

  “He wants the Germans to know what he’s doing.”

  This time Lillian nodded. “So that the Germans will fire on American ships carrying American citizens, because they’re also carrying enemy ordnance.”

  Etta’s anger animated her words. “Which will infuriate America and bring another paying customer into the war. He’s a dangerous war profiteer, Lillian, and I need your help to stop him.”

  Lillian patted Etta’s hand and nodded. “Yes, we’ll do it together.”

  Longbaugh saw him again through a hole in the crowd, and this time there was no doubt. Charlie Siringo. Son of a bitch couldn’t wait. He turned his back as Siringo looked in his direction. This could further complicate matters that were already complicated enough.

  “How close are you to proving this?”

  “I overheard a conversation. I can’t prove it. But this isn’t just Fedgit-Spense. He’s not doing this alone. This is bigger than that.”

  “Yes,” said Lillian, “it is.”

  Longbaugh casually took both their elbows and escorted them through the galleries toward the back, away from Siringo.

  Neither Etta nor Lillian seemed to mind. Etta leaned her head forward and addressed Lillian on the other side of Longbaugh. “I didn’t say anything to him on the way over. I wanted to speak with you first.”

  Lillian craned her neck to answer. “Learn what you can, see if you can get him to brag to you.”

  As they reached the large gallery under the clock, Lillian nodded toward where Fedgit-Spense was standing in the breezeway between Gallery H and the Cubist Room, speaking to a man in a tuxedo.

  “Straight off the ship and he’s already working,” said Lillian. “Chatting with Garrison.”

  “That’s Lindley Garrison?” said Etta. “He’s here?”

  “Yes, my dear, the secretary of war is pretending to be interested in art. And if you’re correct, Mr. Spense is no doubt urging him to prepare for the worst. Or, in his case, the best.”

  “You think Garrison knows what Sydney is up to?”

  “Perish the thought. Mr. Spense would never let the Americans in on that sort of thing, and it’s way too soon to show his cards. I imagine he’s partnering with some sympathetic American entrepreneur. No, Mr. Spense is just watering the dirt to keep it moist for future seeding. We’re
Americans, after all, we don’t acknowledge the threat of war. That’s way over there with a great big ocean between us.”

  Roosevelt came in from another gallery. The moment he saw the secretary of war, a spring came into his step and he went right for him.

  Lillian put her hand on Etta’s arm to hold her back. “Wait, here comes Theodore. You won’t get a word in edgewise. He wants a military commission so he can go fight the Hun.”

  Hightower emerged from the middle of the crowd that surrounded the Duchamp in the Cubist Room. The moment was so natural, and Hightower so familiar that it was an instant before Longbaugh recognized the danger. Longbaugh now looked for Moretti, eyes scanning the room, trying to see through the patrons, ready to move Etta quickly in the opposite direction. But Moretti was nowhere to be seen. Hightower appeared to be alone. Longbaugh kept Etta beside him, still watching, not choosing an escape until he knew from where the Black Hand would come.

  Fedgit-Spense graciously backed away from Roosevelt and the secretary of war to let the former president have his moment.

  Etta saw Fedgit-Spense moving, momentarily alone. This was her chance. She started toward him, and Lillian’s hand came off her arm and fell to her side.

  Hightower crossed the room, working his way around the crowd, and went to the exit door, pushing it open. Moretti came in from the rain.

  Longbaugh reached for her arm. “Etta, now.” His hand found only air. He was startled, he looked, and she was halfway to Fedgit-Spense, moving in the direction of the Cubist Room, in the same direction as the leader of the Black Hand.

  Longbaugh went after her.

  Hightower stood beside Moretti and scanned the gallery as Moretti shook off the rain. Hightower was astonished at his luck, because right then his eyes met Longbaugh’s. He smiled, shook his head, clearly wondering how Longbaugh had gotten away from Siringo.

  Hightower yelled over the band. “Place!”