THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER

by Judith B. Glad

  Emma, by Jane Austen

  ~~~

  Lulu tossed the blanket aside and sat up, her bare legs hanging over the edge of the cot. "I've changed my mind. I want to go back to the apartment."

  "How--"

  "Don't you have some work clothes here? Give me the britches. Wrap the blanket around me and carry me to the buggy. Just get me home."

  "Now take it easy. Lie back down, will you?" He pushed against her shoulder, but she resisted. "Lulu, damn it, the doctor said to stay off your ankle."

  "Then help me." She tried to stand, winced when she put weight on her ankle. "Look, we don't know who pushed me. It could have been anybody. Mr. Teller--"

  "It wasn't him."

  "How do you know?" She didn't really think it had been, but Imajean's husband had been right there. "Just get me some britches and a shirt. Please, Tony?"

  The britches were grease-stained and far too big for her, except around the middle, where they wouldn't quite close. She tied the edges together with a piece of cord and pulled the shirt down enough to hide the gap. While she rolled the shirtsleeves up past her wrists, he took care of cuffing the pantlegs. "I'll bet I look like a clown," she remarked, once she was covered.

  Tony's grin told her he agreed. Someone knocked at the front door. "I'll be right back," he said. "It's probably Teller."

  It was. "I've got my buggy outside," he said, when he followed Tony into the small storeroom. "How are you-- Good God!" He eyed her getup. "Are you sure you want to appear on the street dressed like that?"

  "I'll wrap myself in a blanket and Tony will carry me," she told him. "The sooner I get home, the sooner he can talk to the sheriff about the...about what happened." She'd been about to mentioned the note he'd shown her, but thought better of it. Mr. Teller might be extremely helpful, but she wasn't willing to trust anyone except Tony at this point.

  With little fuss, and only one rap of her injured ankle against the side of the buggy, she was driven home. When they drove up, Xi Xin came running from Mrs. Graham's door. In a very few minutes they had Lulu settled in bed, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of sitting in the rocking chair.

  "Humor me," Tony told her with a wry grin. "I know you'll be out of bed as soon as I turn my back, but until I do, just obey me this one time."

  To herself, Lulu admitted that bed felt very good. She had, on the ride from his office, discovered an assortment of minor aches and pains she hadn't noticed before. I'll be black and blue and stiff as a board tomorrow. "I'll be good," she said, as she caught his hand, "if you'll kiss me. "

  He knelt beside the bed and did so, thoroughly and tenderly. She sensed passion held on a tight leash as he covered her face with butterfly kisses. "You scared the dickens out of me," he whispered. "If anything happened to you... Oh, Lulu, you could have been killed." His arms were tight around her, his face buried against her neck.

  "Shhh. I'm all right." She ran her fingers through his sleek hair, soothing him. "You're the one who's in danger. I'm sure of that. I think what happened to me today was simply an accident."

  "No!" His arms tightened. "No, I can't believe it was an accident. The bastard who's behind all this has realized that hurting you is the surest way to get at me. As soon as you can walk, I'm sending you to Boise."

  In this mood he was not going to listen to reason, so Lulu didn't bother arguing. Privately, though, she vowed they would both go, or neither would.

  What really frightened her was the probability that Tony would insist on staying here and fighting his enemies. He'd see retreat as defeat. She knew that from having lived with courageous, strong men all her life.

  Wonderful, brave, protective men, willing to risk their lives for those they loved.

  Wonderful damn fools.

  * * * *

  Reluctantly Tony left Lulu in the tender care of Mrs. Graham and Xi Xin. Jacob Teller had volunteered to send one of his men in to watch the apartment, but Tony had refused. At this point he was not sure he trusted any white man in Hailey. Not even Teller.

  When he stepped inside Mr. Yu's laundry, the old man seemed unsurprised to see him. He briefly related the morning's events. "I need some men, two or three, to keep watch over my wife. Someone you trust."

  "Very wise. She is an exemplary woman, worth protecting. One moment." Mr. Yu disappeared behind the curtain covering a doorway in the back wall. In a moment he returned. "One goes now. Another will go soon. Two men will always watch, day and night, until there is no longer a need."

  Tony bowed. "I am in your debt, Uncle." He would pay the men, but he knew Mr. Yu would take nothing for his assistance.

  Maybe it was time for him to admit to the world he was Chinese. Maybe Lulu was right. He'd been living a lie for a long time.

  With a lighter step, he entered the sheriff's office.

  * * * *

  Aching all over, Lulu found inactivity welcome. Kept in bed the rest of Monday by Xi Xin's almost continuous watchfulness, she arose Tuesday stiff and sore. Jacob Teller had dropped off a bundle of clothing Imajean had worn when she was expecting. So she spent an hour hemming up skirts and petticoats and feeling filled with virtue, before attacking her neglected correspondence. So many people to inform that she would be taking a less active role in the suffrage movement for a while.

  After a light meal at noon, she worked on a story for the Ladies' Home Journal, but it didn't go well. Her mind kept returning to the voice on the telephone. Tell the yellow heathen to get out of town, or worse will happen. Where had she heard it before? It had a curious timbre, almost musical, despite the speaker's attempt at anonymity.

  For perhaps the thirtieth time, she tossed her pencil down atop the papers on the table and leaned back in her chair. Her shoulder ached, and there was a place on her back, where it pressed against the chair, that was tender. And the cut on her wrist twinged every time she moved her left hand.

  You're whining, she scolded herself. You need to find something to take your mind off your infirmities. Yet nothing appealed to her. The only books in the house were some of Tony's engineering texts he was trying to salvage, and her copy of Tom Sawyer, now missing its cover and the title page.

  Picking up the broom that was leaning against the table, she used its handle to tap on the wall. In a few seconds, Xi Xin came in the back door. "You call?"

  "I did. Would you ask Mrs. Graham if she has anything to read, please?"

  "I be back pretty quick." The girl pulled the door closed behind her.

  While she waited, Lulu looked around the kitchen, wondering if there was anything to bake with. She was sure she could make a dried apple pie sitting down. Moving stiffly, she went to the cupboard and looked inside. Yes, there were enough apples, and plenty of sugar. Now, where did Xi Xin put the flour?

  By the time the books arrived, she was happily cutting lard into the flour while dried apples simmered on the range in a mixture of vinegar, water and sugar. While she would have preferred cider, she had learned at a young age to contrive. Cherry Vale had been a long way from the nearest grocer's.

  "What you cook?" Xi Xin asked, when she'd put the books in the parlor.

  "Dried apple pie. Tell Mrs. Graham I'll send some over for her supper."

  When the pie was assembled and in the oven, she went to the parlor to look over the pile of books. "Oh, dear." Waverly and Vanity Fair, two books by Jane Austen, and one by an author she had never heard of, titled Middlemarch. Since Lulu had never been fond of novel reading, she wondered if she'd be able to convince Tony to take her to Burkhardt's tomorrow. Their selection wasn't extensive, but at least they had something other than romances.

  Unable to sit idly, she picked up one of the Austen books, opened it.

  She was still reading, completely captivated, when Tony called, telling her to go ahead and have supper because he would be late. It came as no surprise, because he had done the same thing twice already this week. Both times some part of the telephone system had failed, and neither failure ha
d been suspicious. The trouble with new inventions, she'd decided, was that they usually didn't work.

  She went back to her book, eager to discover if Emma would, as she had, succumb to masculine charm. And other attractions.

  * * * *

  The telephone was ringing when Tony arrived at the office Tuesday morning. "Can you come over right away?" Jack said as soon as he answered. "I think there's something wrong."

  What now?

  "Gee, I'm glad you're here. All the batteries are really low, and I don't know why." Jack said as soon as he entered.

  "Let me see." Tony got the electrometer and started testing the charges on the switchboard batteries. All of them were low. Definitely a problem. "Did you check them before you went home last night?"

  "I sure did. They were a little lower than in the morning, but we'd had an awful lot of traffic. I almost called you."

  Just in case it was the instrument, Tony went to get the other electrometer. Even with heavy traffic, the dynamo should be keeping the batteries charged better than this. "Called me? Why?"

  "Folks were getting mad. They'd get a call, and when they answered, nobody would be on the line. So they'd hang up. All the calls came from stores, but when I called them back, they said they hadn't called anybody. I don't think I had a minute's rest all day, starting just after you left in the morning. Didn't Eph tell you?"

  "He had troubles of his own." A tree had come down on the line to Broadford, its root system weakened when the rising river had eaten away the soil that supported it. They'd had to shut down the switchboard long enough to go out, untangle the wires, and reconnect the broken ones. Tony finished testing and sat back on his heels. "Did Lew say anything about problems between here and the dynamo when he came in last night?"

  "Not a word," Jack said. "There is something wrong, then?" He looked almost relieved, as if he'd been afraid Tony would blame him for the low battery charge.

  "Yes, and I'm going out there to see if I can figure out what it is." As he put on his coat, he said, "Keep an eye on every line. If anyone stays on more than five minutes, cut 'em off. We'll make it good later, when we figure out what's going on."

  "We've got more problems," he told Lulu when she answered the telephone in the apartment. "I'll probably be late for supper again." This was the third time this week he'd failed to go home at a reasonable time. The first night she'd waited. After that she'd made up a plate for him and left it in the oven.

  Wise woman that she was, she only said, "Be careful." In another minute, Tony was running toward Nelson's Livery Stable.

  Once he'd picked up a horse, he headed east, toward the dynamo site. The trail alongside the wire was well worn, having been ridden twice a day for the past two weeks. There were old and new hoof prints, but nothing unusual about any of them. Only one set looked fresh. Lew O'Bannion's, he imagined, made earlier this morning.

  The waterwheel and dynamo house were just below the sharp bend in Quigley Creek. They'd narrowed the creek and built a low dam, setting the waterwheel in a side channel to which they could regulate water flow. No sense in letting the spring floods destroy their work. On the rock wall beside the channel stood the small log house in which the dynamo sat. It appeared undisturbed. The waterwheel was turning smoothly, if a little fast. But the creek was running high, and the current was probably swifter, even in the side channel.

  Dismounting, he climbed the slope to the dynamo house. Yes, the shaft from the waterwheel to the dynamo was turning freely. He looked through the small hole in the side of the house, but could see nothing in the unlit interior.

  The key didn't want to work. He checked. Yes, it was the right one. He tried again, wiggled the key. Swore. The padlock stayed stubbornly closed.

  Was there something fouling the keyhole? Tony bent to look closely. Something about the lock...

  It took him a moment to see what was different. When he started carrying almost a dozen keys, he'd used a die to mark the padlocks and keys to all of Eagleton's various enterprises, because he got tired of sorting through them all every time he needed into anywhere. This padlock bore no mark.

  Because he'd chosen the best lock on the market for the dynamo house, he had to ride back to town to get a crowbar and sledge. On his way in, he stopped and reported the changed lock to the sheriff.

  "I'll be along in a bit," the sheriff said, "soon's I finish up dinner. I imagine whoever did it is long gone."

  "Not much doubt about it," Tony agreed. "I'll meet you out there." He was having a hard time holding on to his temper. While it would do no good to shout curses so the whole world would hear them, or to smash the sledge against the nearest solid object, he wanted to. Great God, how he wanted to. He could just imagine what he would find inside the dynamo house when he got it open.

  The door, built sturdily, yielded reluctantly to the sledge. Pausing only long enough to grab and light the lantern sitting on the top step, he pushed through the wreckage of the door. He held the lantern high. In its golden light he saw why the batteries hadn't stayed charged.

  The dynamo, the beautiful, finely made dynamo, with its shining copper wire, was smashed. The field magnet coils had been split like so many overripe melons. The windings on the armatures were cut and dented, with short stubs of wire sticking out in all directions. Deep gouges in the brass fittings showed that a heavy ax or a maul had been used. Even the substantial timber on which it was mounted was gashed and split.

  Tony picked up one of the copper knife switches, still attached to a shard of its mahogany base. The switch itself was surprisingly undamaged.

  Filled with a vast rage, he turned and walked out of the dynamo house.

  Something struck his ribs an awful blow.

  As he fell, all he could think was Now I'll never see my son.

  Chapter Thirty-one

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  Wood River News-Miner - Occasional Advertisement

  ~~~

  A knock at the front door pulled Lulu from the story. Good grief! I've read the afternoon away.

  She peeked through the window and saw a strange man on the step. About to open the door, she hesitated, then stepped back and to one side. "Who's there?"

  "Deputy Goode, ma'am. From the sheriff's office."

  The shotgun Tony had brought home from the office was in the bedroom. Should she go get it? No, because if he meant her harm, he could break in while she fetched it. "Step to the left so I can see you."

  He stepped into sight. A tall man, perhaps thirty-five, and wearing a silver star on his chest. "Just a moment." As she unlocked the door, Lulu realized he could have kicked it in easily.

  He came only one step inside. "Mrs. Dewitt?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm afraid I've some bad news, ma'am. Your husband--"

  "Tony? Is he hurt? What hap--"

  "He's been shot, but--"

  The world turned gray and her knees gave way. She staggered to the rocking chair. I will not faint. I will not!

  "Tell me," she demanded, after a few, steadying breaths. "How badly?"

  "The doc says he'll be fine. The bullet hit a rib, left a furrow where it went under the skin. He lost some blood, and the doc wants to keep him quiet overnight."

  Thank God! "Which doctor? I'll go to him."

  "No, ma'am, you won't. He's just fine and dandy, honest. Sheriff says he don't want nobody to know where he's at, just in case whoever did it means to kill him."

  "But he's my husband! He needs me." As soon as she said it, Lulu regretted the words. Tony didn't need her. The doctor could do far more
for him than she could. She needed him. Needed to see that he was indeed alive, that he was only injured, not dead.

  Forcing herself into a semblance of calm, she said, "I'm sorry. Of course he's better off hidden from whoever is trying to harm him." She looked down, saw that she was wringing her hands. She sternly commanded them to clasp themselves gently in her lap. "Thank you for telling me. I gather the sheriff is investigating?"

  "Yes'm. He had tracks to follow, but he lost 'em at the edge of town. They was comin' thisaway, though, so he wants you to be watched over tonight. Sheriff says you're to go next door, but leave a light on like you're still here. I'll stay here, in case he comes after you."

  "Go next door? Are you out of your mind? It's enough that this...this desperado might be after me as well as my husband. You're saying you want him to be a threat to Mrs. Graham, too?"

  Goode scratched his chin. "Well, Sheriff says..."

  "Deputy, I don't care what the sheriff said. If you are supposed to stay here and watch over me, then you're perfectly welcome to. I will even feed you supper. But I am not going anywhere. Why on earth should we put someone else in danger?"

  Unable to even think about sitting still and reading, Lulu went into the kitchen. Goode followed.

  She opened the range, poked at the fire. Lifted the lid from the stew Xi Xin had fixed for dinner and gave it a stir. Opened the cupboard and stared inside, then slammed the door so hard the dishes rattled. "Do you have to just stand there? Can't you go in the parlor and sit down?"

  "Sheriff says not to let you out of my sight."

  "Deputy, you are not going to...to hover over me all evening." Turning her back, she stared out the window in the back door. "Look," she said, turning back, "if you want to protect me, do something about the locks. Good grief, even I could break in here. All it would take is one good kick."