A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5)

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Absolutely,” Abigail replied. “Whatever needs to be done.”

  ***

  Not knowing how long they were going to be gone, Gabe and Abigail checked out of the hotel. They arrived back at the station just in time to catch the westward-bound train. Abigail was grateful for the timing—she didn’t want to spend another day waiting in Wichita when they were this close to getting answers.

  They rode the train west for another day. It was hot, and standing out on the back platform didn’t do much good. Several times, Abigail wished for a lake or a river she could jump in to cool off, but there just wasn’t such a thing.

  They finally reached their stop and got off, noting where the tracks split off and headed north. “We’ll find Mr. Thomas out there somewhere,” Gabe said, nodding toward the spot where the tracks disappeared in the distance. “Is there a place to rent a buggy?” he asked the station master.

  “No, not anywhere around here.” The man scratched at his bushy red beard. “But we can lock up your bags here in the office, and I have a horse you can borrow, if you don’t mind sharing with your lady.” He gave a friendly wink.

  “How far is it to the end of the line?” Gabe asked.

  “Oh, I figure, it’ll take you two hours or so to ride it. You could wait for the men to come in on their handcar, but then again, they already came in this morning and loaded up on supplies, so they might not come in again for a day or two.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’ll go ahead and borrow your horse,” Gabe replied, glancing at Abigail for her approval. She couldn’t say she was excited at the thought of sharing a horse, but then again, sharing one with Gabe would be something all on its own.

  “One thing that might make it easier—this horse can be ridden with or without a saddle,” the station master went on. “That might be more comfortable, seein’ as how there are two of you.”

  “That sounds like a very good solution.” Gabe tried to offer payment, but the man wouldn’t hear of it, saying he wanted to help the law. That made Abigail’s mouth twitch a little—he almost sounded as though he had a good reason for keeping the law on his side.

  Fifteen minutes later, their luggage locked up inside the ticket booth, Gabe and Abigail mounted the horse. She felt sorry for it—one animal to carry two humans—but it was a good-sized horse with sturdy-looking legs. Without the saddle, there was a lot more seating room, but she felt as though she could slip off at any moment. Gabe solved that problem by wrapping one arm around her waist.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Gabe called out over his shoulder, and the station master waved a hand in salute.

  Abigail kept a tight grip on the sack that held their water supply, not wanting anything to happen to it on such a hot day. They rode along the tracks, and she noticed how different new tracks looked compared to tracks that were used multiple times a day. These would be worn and scratched up soon enough once this line was connected to another. Someday, the whole nation would be connected by railway lines, or so the men who ate at the Brody liked to say. It had become a favorite topic of discussion at mealtime—that, and land speculation.

  She wished she knew enough about land speculation to start up a conversation about it. Anything to distract her from Gabe’s arm around her waist. He was so close, holding her against his chest, and even though the horse wasn’t going fast, he had to maintain a fairly firm grip to keep her from sliding right off. She’d never stopped to consider how slippery horsehair might be.

  “How is it that you know how to ride bareback?” she asked.

  “Well, that story goes hand in hand with how I got my buckskin jacket,” he replied. His voice was low, and rumbled through his chest and into her back.

  “It had something to do with your Indian friend, if I remember.”

  “That’s right. He was a member of the Pawnee tribe. The summer I was sixteen, I rode out into the wilderness, deciding it was time for me to live on my own and be my own man. Things at home were difficult, and I figured I couldn’t do any worse for myself than what I was already living. I took a few blankets, my knife, some food supplies, and rode until the sun went down.

  “The next day, I realized how foolish I’d been. My food was already gone, the direction I’d chosen was actually into a very barren stretch with little chance of providing me with more water, and I wished I’d taken more time to prepare and come up with a plan. I thought about all my options, which didn’t take long because there weren’t many, and realized I’d need to head back. Chances were, they hadn’t even missed me yet, but I was disappointed that I couldn’t carry out my plan.”

  Gabe shifted a little and helped Abigail reposition herself more securely. “Well, I was riding back toward home when I heard a cry. I turned in that direction and found an Indian boy about my same age. His name was Kuruk, which means ‘bear.’ He’d been bitten by a rattlesnake. I helped him up on my horse, and he pointed the way to his lodge. Once there, the medicine man was able to help him, and I was given my jacket as a token of friendship.

  “I started to leave, but they asked me where I was going, and invited me to stay. I lived with them for about six months, and they taught me all kinds of things about hunting and surviving on my own.” He paused and chuckled. “You might be interested to know that in the Pawnee tribe, the women make many of the decisions for the whole tribe.”

  Abigail laughed. “I bet Olivia would enjoy hearing that.”

  “I bet she would too. It seemed to be a very balanced culture, and while I was there, I learned a lot about who I was and who I wanted to be.”

  “I’ve often thought that you seem to have a strong sense of yourself,” Abigail said, and then promptly wished she hadn’t spoken. “I mean, you’re very confident, and you don’t second-guess yourself.”

  “If someone’s life is in danger, hesitation is the absolute worst thing. But I do second-guess myself and wonder if my methods are always what they should be.”

  They stopped to take a break, and Abigail was infinitely glad to get off the horse. She enjoyed riding and always had, but that was by herself, with a saddle, and she was starting to wonder if she’d ever be able to walk normally again. Gabe seemed totally unaffected by it, though, as he walked around to rub the horse’s nose.

  “Tell me more about your time with the Pawnee,” Abigail said. It was interesting to hear about the Indians, but what fascinated her even more were the things she was learning about Gabe as he told the story. The things he said and the things he left out told her more about his character than almost anything else had.

  “Kuruk’s grandmother was a beautiful woman who had been rescued from being sacrificed during a Morning Star ritual,” he said. “Have you heard of the Morning Star ritual?”

  She shook her head. “I know very little about Indian ways and customs.”

  “Well, for many, many years, the Pawnee held a ritual to ensure the fertility of the soil and abundant crops. They would kidnap a young girl from an enemy tribe, feed her through the winter, and then, in the spring, when the morning star came out and it was ringed with red, they took this as their sign that this was the day. They would tie her to a scaffold, and then they would shoot her with multiple arrows. Her blood was allowed to drain into the earth, where they believed it would bless their harvest.”

  Abigail stared at him with an expression of horror on her face. “That’s . . . that’s just awful.”

  “Well, you have to keep in mind, this was a tradition that had been passed down for generations. We don’t know how it started or what the mindset was behind it. Are you ready to go again?”

  She blinked a few times. “Um, all right.”

  He made a cradle for her foot with his interlocked fingers and gave her a boost, then he seemed to climb up behind her almost effortlessly. As they continued their ride, she asked, “So, you said this woman was a survivor of that ritual.”

  “That’s right. I almost forgot to tell you the best part of the story. She was from an
enemy tribe, and she’d been taken by the Pawnee. This happened about fifty years ago—she was a very old woman when I knew her, although still beautiful. Some U.S. Indian agents had been out to visit the tribe and discussed their need to stop this ritual. News of it had reached the East Coast, and it was upsetting the European immigrants. Well, I don’t know why the Indian agents thought the Pawnee should care what some immigrants thought, but the practice did start dwindling. It took about twenty years to disappear altogether.”

  “And … the rescue?” Abigail prodded.

  “Well, she was all tied up to the scaffold, and the men were just about to shoot her when a young brave from the village came riding up on his horse, as black as midnight, and took up a position between her and the marksmen. He said he was ready to sacrifice his life to protect hers, that this practice was wrong and that the killings had to stop. The men were so astonished that they let him cut her loose, and she became his bride. It was a very romantic story, or at least what I consider romantic “

  Abigail laughed. “That is a very romantic story. So tell me, Deputy, would you ride in front of a line of arrows to rescue a damsel in distress?”

  “Why do you think I took a job at the marshal’s office?”

  After a time, it was too hot to talk, so they rode in silence. As much as Abigail enjoyed having Gabe’s arm around her, she wished it wasn’t quite so necessary—with the sun beating down on them like it was, being so close to someone wasn’t very comfortable. She was sure her dress was stuck to her back where she leaned against Gabe’s chest.

  “There they are,” Gabe said after a little more time had passed. Abigail squinted. Sure enough, up ahead appeared to be a railroad camp, and she breathed a big sigh of relief.

  When they reached the first tent, she slid off the horse with Gabe’s help, and he dismounted right after. She pulled the fabric of her dress off the skin of her back—it almost felt as if it had been pasted on—while Gabe approached the first man they saw.

  “Afternoon. Is your foreman available?”

  “Right over there,” the man said, indicating with a tip of his head.

  “Thank you.”

  Gabe and Abigail crossed the dusty ground to the man who had been pointed out. “Excuse me, sir. I’m Deputy Hanks from Topeka, and this is my associate, Miss Peterson. We’re here in search of Timothy Thomas. Can you tell me where he might be found?”

  The foreman nodded. “I can. He’s down the track, but I’ll send someone for him.” He hollered over his shoulder, and a much younger boy came running up. Abigail guessed him to be about fourteen. “Go get Thomas and bring him back here on the double.”

  As the boy ran off, the foreman turned back to Gabe and Abigail. “May I offer you some refreshment? You had quite a ride to get out here.”

  “I’d like some water, and some for my mount, as well. Are you thirsty, Miss Peterson?” Gabe asked.

  “I’d like a drink also. Thank you.”

  They drank the tepid water that was offered them and rested in the shade of the tent. It wasn’t anywhere near as nice as the lake Abigail had been imagining, but it was better than being out in the glaring sun.

  A short time later, a man strode up to the tent and pulled off his hat. “I’m Timothy Thomas. I understand you wanted to see me?”

  Gabe stood up from the stump he’d been using as a chair. “Mr. Thomas, I’m the deputy marshal from Topeka, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “The deputy marshal?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mr. Thomas’s face was tanned and weathered from working in the sun, but even at that, Abigail was sure she saw him go a little pale.

  “Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Thomas?” Gabe motioned toward the stump, and Mr. Thomas sat heavily.

  Abigail immediately realized that Gabe wasn’t just being courteous by giving up his seat. He’d just created a distinct height advantage. He now loomed over Mr. Thomas, adding to his air of authority.

  “Mr. Thomas, did you return to your home in Wichita for a visit last week? I hope you realize I only ask you this as a courtesy—I can check your answer with your foreman. He’s just outside.”

  Mr. Thomas took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Yes, I did go home.”

  “And how long were you there? Again, I can check your answer.”

  “I . . . wasn’t there long at all.”

  Gabe glanced over at Abigail and raised an eyebrow. She thought it was odd too.

  “And why was your visit so short?”

  Mr. Thomas leaned forward and put his face in his hands. “I should have known you’d figure it out. I should have known. Why . . . why did I even try . . .?”

  Abigail’s heart nearly leaped into her throat. Was this man really saying what she thought he was saying? Her eyes flew to Gabe, who was much calmer than she was at that moment.

  “I’m going to need your full statement, Mr. Thomas. Would you please tell me what happened?”

  Mr. Thomas straightened and dragged his hands down his face. He wasn’t very old—twenty-eight, maybe—but he looked so much older than he was. Even realizing he was about to confess to murder, Abigail felt somewhat sorry for him.

  “I’d been working hard and earned some extra time off, so I took the train to Wichita, excited to see my wife. I thought I’d surprise her. As I was walking up the lane, I passed our neighbors’ house—the Smiths’, of course—and I heard yelling coming from inside. Then everything went quiet, like a strange sort of quiet. I walked up to the house, and the front door was a little open. The door sticks, so sometimes they’d just leave it ajar during the day, which was easier. Anyway, I stuck my head inside. Edward was standing over Margaret, his hands clenched in fists, and she was lying on the hearth. She looked dead, but then I saw that she was still breathing.”

  Mr. Thomas paused. Gabe gave him a minute, then said, “Go on, please.”

  After a long, shuddering breath, Mr. Thomas continued. “I asked him what was going on. He whirled around and gave me this kind of bitter laugh. He said that he might as well tell me what was going on because soon, everyone would know. He’d been seeing my wife, and now she was having his baby. He was waving his arms in the air, stumbling around a little. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or upset, or maybe he was still worked up from hitting Margaret, but he came after me with his fists.

  “Well, I’d just found out that my wife had been cheating on me, and I was furious. I looked around, saw a knife on the table, and I picked it up. The next thing I knew, I’d stabbed him right in the chest.”

  Mr. Thomas dropped his head again. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It all happened so fast. I stood there for probably a whole minute, just staring at the body. I’ve never been a violent person—I couldn’t believe what had happened. And then Margaret started to stir. I panicked even more. I realized that if I went to jail, Nellie would be left alone to care for that baby, and even though it wasn’t mine, I couldn’t put her in that position—I love her, even though . . . even though she did what she did. So I had to hide what I’d done. I helped Margaret to her feet, wrapped a shawl around her, and gave her my train pass. I sent her down the road to the train station, telling her to hurry. She was woozy, but she nodded and headed that way. Then I took a horse from the Smiths’ barn and went out of town another way, hoping everyone would think that a thief had killed Edward and stolen the horse, and if that didn’t work, that they’d think Margaret had done it.”

  “Well, you got your wish,” Gabe said. “Margaret has been under investigation for murder.”

  “And see, that’s not what I wanted. I hoped they’d think it was a robbery.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you hoped they’d think, Mr. Thomas. Your desires don’t matter. The fact is, you killed a man.”

  Mr. Thomas nodded. “I did.”

  “What happened after you rode out of town on the horse?” Abigail asked. “It’s a fair distance from Wichita out here—I don’t think you would have ridden
all that way.”

  Mr. Thomas shook his head. “No, I rode to the next station, where I sold the horse to a man just getting off the train and used some of the money for a ticket back out here. I’ll give you the rest of the money, and you can pass it along to Margaret.”

  “You’ll excuse me if it seems a very paltry apology,” Gabe said. “You’ve killed her husband, cast a shadow of doubt on her name, caused her to flee her home, and at this moment, she’s holed up in a church seeking sanctuary so she’s not hanged for murder. Mr. Thomas, my reasons to dislike you grow more by the minute.” He stepped over to the door of the tent and asked the foreman to join them. “I’m placing this man under arrest for the murder of Edward Smith. I request transportation back to the train station—I understand you have a handcar.”

  “We do. I’ll ask the men to finish unloading the supplies off it, and we’ll hook another car behind it for a more comfortable ride. We’ll have you back at the station in no time.”

  Abigail stood out of the way as Gabe tied Mr. Thomas’s wrists with a length of rope. She understood that it was a precautionary measure, but she didn’t think he’d be trying to go anywhere—he looked as though everything had been drained right out of him.

  A short time later, Gabe, Mr. Thomas, and Abigail were seated on the small car that had been attached to the handcar. Two of the railroad employees were up front, ready to move the seesaw mechanism that would power the contraption. The horse would be ridden back at a slower pace by the fourteen-year-old boy Abigail had noticed earlier, and then he would get a ride back to camp on the handcar. Abigail was pleased by how quickly this plan had been put into action.

  The evening sun was setting as they started their journey. The foreman had offered to let them spend the night at the camp, but both Gabe and Abigail felt that they’d rather head back in the cool of the night. What they’d already gone through that day was quite enough. The foreman agreed, fed them some dinner, and sent them on their way.

  Gabe made sure that Mr. Thomas’s hands were secure. He then slipped the rope through a metal ring that stuck out from the side of the car. “Just so we’re clear, if you try to jump off, you’ll get dragged behind this thing for quite a ways, bumping over tracks and rocks and any other thing that happens to be in our path. You might even get thrown under the wheels. Your best choice is to come along nicely, and maybe the judge in Wichita will take some pity on you, considering the unusual circumstances of Mr. Smith’s death.”