Shadow of Legends

by Stephen A. Bly

  Perhaps this is my time.

  If it’s not, may the Lord have mercy on us.

  Todd spent the rest of the afternoon going over detailed drawings of an addition to the Hallelujah Mine’s stamp mill building. His desk was piled high with bolt catalogs, charts of stress tolerances, and wholesale steel company price lists. In the milk bucket used for a trash can was deposited the twenty-five-page price guide for Olene Steel Company. He was calculating a bid on the hardware and had just tallied his final sums when Carty Toluca poked his head up the stairs.

  “That attorney fella is downstairs wanting to talk to you.”

  Todd kept his thumb on the total at the bottom of the page and glanced down at Carty’s head. “What attorney?”

  Carty scooted close so his thin face was between the perpendicular wooden rails of the stairs. “Mr. Watson Dover.”

  “He’s still in town? I thought he left.”

  His hands on the rails, Carty looked caged, or jailed. “He came back.”

  “Why?” Todd fastened the top button on his shirt and straightened his tie.

  “There’s another man with him. A doctor.”

  Todd pushed back from the desk and marched toward the stairs. “Doctor Gordon? Did he bring Abigail’s husband with him?”

  Carty remained halfway down the stairs, his head peeking up into the second-story room. “I don’t know. I just told ’em I’d announce they was here. I told ’em you was busy.”

  The man standing next to the Chattanooga attorney was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, with premature, solid white hair. With tailor-made, charcoal gray suit and four-in-hand forest-green tie, he dominated the dusty hardware filled with grubby prospectors and white-aproned clerks.

  Todd marched right up to them. “Mr. Dover, I really didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  A wisp of dark hair shot out from under the attorney’s round hat, drawing attention to his furrowed forehead. “The doctor was waiting for me in Spearfish.”

  “He came all the way to Dakota and then sent you into the hills to do the dirty work?”

  “I think I do a good job of representing my client.” He turned to the white-headed man. “Dr. Gordon, this is Mr. Fortune, who I have described.”

  Neither man exhibited much enthusiasm in the handshake.

  “Fortune’s a younger man than I thought.” Gordon’s complexion was pale, but he looked like the type that could easily redden. “I understand you are representing my daughter’s mother?”

  Todd surveyed the well-dressed Tennessee doctor. “I’m a friend of Abigail’s, that’s all, not an attorney.” I wonder if he feels as out of place as he looks?

  “I would like to know where she is; I don’t intend on staying in this wretched hole in the ground any longer than possible.” The doctor’s bushy eyebrows narrowed, his lips tightened. “I understand she has not been in her room at the Gem Theater, nor the hotel room she rented for her mother and daughter.”

  Todd Fortune stared at the scowling steel-gray eyes of Dr. Gordon. “I’ll be quite happy to pass the word along. Did you want to meet with her?”

  The doctor tugged at the starched French cuffs and tweaked the gold and onyx cuff links. “I didn’t come this far to enjoy the scenery.”

  Todd folded his arms across his chest and nodded toward the hills. “That’s too bad. It’s nice scenery.”

  Gordon pulled a gold pocket watch from his silk brocade vest. He flipped it open, closed it, then dropped it back into his pocket without glancing at the time. “Will you assist us, or should I turn to the sheriff?”

  “The sheriff’s out in the hills trying to catch some bushwhackers. You have my permission to try and track him down. I presume your words were meant as a veiled threat.”

  Impatience swept across the doctor’s face. “Perhaps that was a poor choice of words.”

  “Perhaps it was,” Todd said. “Here’s a primary rule of life on the frontier: every threat, veiled or not, will be taken seriously and challenged. Now, if you would like to schedule a meeting with Abigail, give me a time and location, and I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Gordon looked over at the attorney, then back at Todd. “How about in one hour at my room in the Merchant’s Hotel?”

  Todd pointed back over his shoulder in the general direction of Forest Hill. “How about in one hour on the front porch of my house? Mr. Dover is well aware of where it is.”

  The doctor reached into his coat pocket as if to retrieve something but pulled his hand out empty. “On the front porch?”

  “Mr. Dover has been banished from entering our home by my wife. Surely an attorney that represents his client well told you about that.”

  With a tone like he was instructing his staff, Dr. Gordon announced, “We need to find a more neutral place. I have important matters to discuss with her . . . alone.”

  “You mean, Mr. Dover will not be there?” Does this man always get his way?

  “Of course, I’ll be there. There are legal matters to decide.” Dover patted the coffee-colored leather briefcase at his side.

  “Good,” Todd added, “I was afraid you meant just the Dr. and Mrs. Gordon. I understand the last time they were left alone, the doctor threatened to give Mrs. Gordon a broken jaw.”

  Dr. Gordon clenched his fists at the accusation. “I’ll have you know that I never intentionally struck that woman.” The air in the hardware was a stale mixture of oil, leather, and cold iron. Gordon’s large round nose widened as his face flushed. “I do not intend to stand here and be accused by a complete stranger.”

  Todd took a deep breath. He could feel his heart race. Lord, help me not to say and do what I very much want to say and do. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I know it is my Christian duty to be more charitable. I just have a difficult time being civil when I’m in the presence of someone who mistreats women. In the West, such actions are considered by most men to be a capital offense. My wife and I will, of course, be with Abigail, if she chooses to meet with you.”

  “I said I wanted a private meeting,” Dr. Gordon huffed.

  “What you said was, you wanted your attorney with you so that you two men could badger one lone woman. I will not insult Abigail by taking such a request to her. I will tell her you agreed that we should come along. Now, as far as a neutral place is concerned, how about the private banquet room of the Merchant’s Hotel, providing it’s not in use this evening?”

  Mr. Dover, shorter than either of the others, stepped between them. “That sounds fine. Shall we say, in one hour?”

  Todd rubbed his temples in an attempt to force himself to relax. “If we are not there in an hour and a half, Mrs. Gordon has rejected the arrangement.”

  “I want to know one thing, Fortune.” Dr. Gordon jabbed his well-manicured finger at Todd, stopping only inches short of his chest. “What is your interest in this matter? Why are you interfering with my former wife’s business? I presume she’s living at your home. Could it be you have a romantic interest in her?”

  The short-barreled .45 Smith and Wesson that normally stayed concealed under Todd’s suit coat was yanked out and cocked so fast, Todd could hardly believe it himself. With the barrel prodding his midsection, Gordon lost all color, and his face was almost as white as his hair.

  “Wait!” Dover called out, his hand on Fortune’s left arm.

  Todd’s heart throbbed through his temples, shot down through his arm, and pulsated in his trigger finger that pressed the cold steel of the .45. “Dr. Gordon, you have insulted the honor of a fine lady, and cast a shadow on my marriage and my morality. This is the frontier. Men have died in this town for much less than that, and I assure you no Deadwood jury would hold me guilty of a crime if I pull this trigger.” He backed away one step, turned his head toward Dover, but left the gun pointed at the doctor. “Get him ou
t of here, Mr. Dover. Get him out of here . . . now!”

  With sweat beaded on his forehead and trembling hands, Watson Dover tugged at Dr. Gordon’s arm. “Mr. Fortune is right in some of what he said. This is a different country out here. It would be expeditious for us to adjourn now.”

  Dr. Gordon, color returning to his face, said nothing. He shuffled along under Dover’s tow.

  The banquet table did not have a centerpiece. Nor did it contain place settings, glasses, or a tablecloth. It was a bare, round, quarter-sawn oak tabletop with pillar and paw feet. Along one side were three straight-back wooden chairs. Across from them, two chairs with well-dressed, slightly nervous men standing behind them.

  Todd tipped his hat toward them. “Dr. Gordon, this is my wife, Rebekah.”

  He nodded, but did not take his eyes off Abigail. She stared back at the doctor. Her face poised, her voice steady. “I do not intend to shake your hand, Doctor, if that is what you are waiting for.”

  “I did not expect you would.”

  Todd held the middle chair for Abigail, the left one for Rebekah. After the ladies were seated, all three men sat down.

  Dr. Gordon rapped his long fingers on the tabletop. “Mr. Dover says you absolutely refused my offer. Is that right?”

  Abigail’s hands lay in her lap. “Yes, it is. And I’m sure that you didn’t journey all the way here from the train by stagecoach to hear me say that. So, why this meeting?”

  “I have a few more delicate matters that have come to my attention since we last spoke,” Mr. Dover asserted. “I believe it strengthens the doctor’s contentions.”

  “I trust you are talking about legal matters. I do not intend to sit here and listen to anyone dispel my character and castigate my choice of professions,” Abigail asserted.

  Watson Dover yanked a handful of papers from his briefcase. “I will do what I am paid to do.”

  “Well, go ahead Mr. Attorney, earn your keep,” Abigail encouraged.

  “In light of new evidence,” Dover announced, “I would like for you to reconsider Dr. Gordon’s offer.”

  “What new evidence?” Abigail asked.

  Dover handed her a piece of paper with a detailed list of allegations. “First, through some diligent work of some investigators hired by Dr. Gordon, we have received a telegram from Omaha, Nebraska, and learned that you have not raised your daughter, but she is, even as we speak, staying with your elderly mother. Second, you have chosen to work at a place called the Gem Theater. Its private boxes are notoriously known for being impromptu brothels.”

  Todd jumped to his feet. “Are you accusing Abigail of being a soiled dove? Because if you are, you haven’t even begun to see what I would do when I get angry . . .”

  Abigail held out her hand and gripped his coat sleeve. “Wait, Todd. I would like to hear the conclusion of these accusations.”

  Todd clutched his holstered gun.

  “Daddy Brazos,” Rebekah commanded, “sit down!”

  The words spun Todd’s head around. Well . . . well, perhaps I do sound like him, but . . . but . . . he’s right! This is untenable! Todd left the gun holstered but continued to stand alert.

  “I have a strong suspicion,” Abigail continued, “that it will become even more repugnant. Please sit down, Todd.”

  A red-faced Todd Fortune reluctantly sat on the edge of his chair. “I presume you will get to the point,” he inserted.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “The point is, unless you agree to this settlement, I will be forced to go to a court and seek to remove my daughter from your inferior custody and place her in a foster home where she can be properly cared for.”

  This time it was Abigail who leaped to her feet. “You came here with papers disinheriting your daughter, and yet you accuse me of providing improper care?”

  Dr. Gordon stood, his face a cold mask of fury. “I’m only saying that there are several options here, and I want you to understand the implications of your decision,” he shouted.

  Rebekah and Todd raised up beside Abigail. “Mr. Fortune,” Rebekah’s voice quivered with rage, “this might be a good time to go ahead and shoot Dr. Gordon.”

  “Wait!” Dover called out. “I believe my client perhaps had a poor choice of words.”

  “Dover, we had no idea how articulate you were until we heard the doctor rant and rave,” Todd grumbled.

  “I believe there is a better way to phrase this. May I continue, Mrs. Gordon?” Dover asked.

  “With that man in the room, I have nothing to discuss.” She pointed at Dr. Gordon.

  “This is preposterous,” he blustered.

  Dover, a good eight inches shorter than the doctor, swelled up his chest and shoved the bigger man toward the east wall of the room. “Dr. Gordon, you are interfering with my negotiations. Go over and sit in that chair near the door, or exit the room immediately.”

  “Do what?” he roared.

  Dover again shoved Dr. Gordon. “I do not tell you how to perform surgery. I do not need you to tell me how to negotiate. Go over there and sit down.”

  “I can fire you,” Gordon threatened.

  “And that would leave you alone with Mr. Fortune and his revolver, a situation that I am seriously considering. However, I believe you have threatened to fire me for several years. Somehow your threats seem far less enforceable in Deadwood than they do in Chattanooga. Now go over there and sit down. I know far too much about your life and practice for you to ever fire me. Shoot me, perhaps. But you will never dismiss me.”

  Todd Fortune stared at Watson Dover as Dr. Gordon shuffled to the east wall and slumped into a captain’s chair. He leaned across the table and spoke in hushed tones. “Dover, I’m proud of you. Spoken like a man.”

  “Yes, well,” he replied in a whisper, “it must be this Deadwood air that makes a man both foolish and brave. I suspect I have not heard the last of this.”

  Dr. Gordon called out, “I expect to hear what’s going on. No secret negotiations.”

  They all sat down.

  “Here is the point,” Watson Dover continued. “My client is extremely concerned about getting a quitclaim on his estate signed and will pay handsomely for it. If it is not signed, he will try to achieve a similar result, albeit by different methods.”

  “Methods of character assassination, slander, and threat to children?” Rebekah quizzed. “Is that the way you operate, Mr. Dover?”

  “I believe Mrs. Gordon and I both know the doctor is capable of just that,” Dover suggested. “I will attempt to keep this something that must be proved in a court of law. I will resign if I cannot. The doctor, however, will not quit until he gets his way. That much I can assure you. However low you think of me for suggesting them, the courts will view the quality of child care and character of the ­mother as serious concerns, no matter who the attorney might be.”

  “Mr. Dover, I’m sorry your practice is in such shape that you feel the need to have to work for such a man as Gordon. Under all this chicanery, I believe you’re a good man. This is bringing out the worst in you.” Todd realized that he was no longer angry with the attorney. “I presume such a case would be tried here in Deadwood.”

  “I believe the child resides in Omaha, so the trial will be in Nebraska,” Dover corrected.

  “Your information is insufficient in that regard,” Rebekah declared. “Mrs. O’Neill and Amber live here in Deadwood with Abigail.”

  “What?” Dr. Gordon called out from across the room.

  “That’s right,” Todd added, “they live in a home next to us up on Forest Hill. So the trial would have to be in Deadwood.”

  “No matter,” Dover added. “However distasteful the subject matter, I will represent my client well.”

  “Perhaps you’d like for me to introduce you to Judge Bennett. I believe I
saw him out in the dining room. Judge Bennett believes in awarding all children in a custody case to the mother. He is a firm believer that even a poor mother is better than no mother. So, let’s remove the threat of court action,” Todd continued. “Now, what do we have left?”

  “Then I must appeal to your Christian charity,” Dover shrugged. “The doctor wishes only to go on with his life unhampered by the past.”

  “There is no Christian grace in that woman,” Dr. Gordon ­shouted from across the room.

  Abigail stood. Her hands quivered so violently that even clutching them together didn’t quiet them. “Dr. Gordon knows very little about me and absolutely nothing about his daughter. As far as my faith in the Lord is concerned, it is all very new to me. But it is real. And here’s the first proof of charity and trust in His leading. I will sign the quit claim.”

  “You see,” Dr. Gordon shouted. “I told you threatening her would work.”

  Dover wiped the sweat from his brow that was no longer so severely furrowed. “Thank-you, Mrs. Gordon. And I will prepare you a draft for ten thousand dollars,” Dover assured.

  “Five thousand dollars,” Dr. Gordon called out. “I rescinded the ten-thousand-dollar offer after it was rejected the first time. She only gets five thousand dollars.”

  Abigail shook her head. “Thank-you, Dr. Gordon, for that graphic reminder of why life with you was absolute hell. But, it ­doesn’t matter what is offered. I will refuse any money. Only, I want it written in the contract that Amber is Dr. Gordon’s oldest child. And when she reaches eighteen, she may decide for herself whether to pursue her rightful place in her father’s estate.”

  “Absolutely not!” Dr. Gordon shouted. “That’s the whole purpose of this matter!”

  Dover marched over to the doctor and mumbled some words. They both nodded, then Dover returned to the table. “We will accept your offer. I will have an agreement drafted by morning.”

  “Undoubtedly you both feel that you can convince Amber otherwise when she is eighteen.” Abigail’s tightly clasped fingers whitened under her grip. “But that will be her decision. And that is my whole point. She should decide, not you and me.”