Fate's Intervention

by Barbara Woster

  “There’s speculation that you killed them because they got too old for your tastes,” Matthew said bluntly, and Lilith gasped.

  “Hardly, dear lady,” Stanharbor assured quickly. “I have a taste for good food, not murder.”

  “Then why the secrecy?” Matthew said.

  “Embarrassment,” Stanharbor said quietly.

  “Embarrassment?” Matthew asked, not sure he’d heard right.

  “You know, in a way, I did cause my wives deaths. The last seven anyway. The first two died giving birth to their last child,” Stanharbor sighed sadly, “but no, I didn’t deliberately murder any of them.”

  “Then how?”

  “Quite accidentally, I assure you,” Stanharbor said. “My fourth wife, Danielle, died when the balcony out our bedroom collapsed. I’d never gone out there prior to that night because I was fearful of that very thing happening, but Danielle was insistent. She wanted to see the stars with me. The minute I stepped onto the balcony, however, it gave way. The debris crushed her. My seventh wife, gentle Annie I called her, hung herself. Her note said that she couldn’t handle the strain of raising so many children. My fifth wife, Marianne, was shot.”

  “By you?” Matthew questioned softly.

  “Actually, yes,” Stanharbor said, his voice equally soft. “Marianne liked the sport of foxhunting. Fairly begged that we hold the event on her birthday. I hadn’t been hunting in some five years, but since I thought it would make her happy, I told her we’d do it. I lined up a shot, but then my finger got stuck in the trigger guard. When I was trying to pull it free, the gun fired. The round hit Marianne in the head. The rest are just the same. Unintentional circumstances brought about by my love of food. One of my wives, number three, died in my bed. I rolled over on top of her in my sleep and she suffocated. I wasn’t even aware of any struggles, nor her death, until morning. I’ve not spent the night in the same room with a wife since.”

  “Perhaps you should consider losing a little weight before remarrying,” Lilith said gently.

  “Perhaps, but I fear my love of food is too great. In reality, I had considered not remarrying at all, but I need someone to care for the children.”

  “Hire a nanny,” Matthew offered as a possible solution.

  “Perhaps,” Stanharbor said again, “but I enjoy the female company.”

  “So much so that you can overlook the harm you’ve caused them?” Matthew asked.

  “You’re right,” Stanharbor sighed. “Perhaps I’ll join a club for overweight people when I get to New York, and then I’ll start looking for a wife.”

  “Well, I certainly wish you luck, Clifford,” Matthew said in all sincerity.

  “You too, son,” Clifford smiled. “Now, what’s say you pass over that menu so I can see what there is to eat.”

  “Mr. Daragh?” A man wearing a porter’s uniform approached, looking directly at Stanharbor.

  “I’m Matthew Daragh,” Matthew supplied at the same time that Stanharbor pointed in his direction. “What can I do for you?”

  “There’s a telegram for you, sir. If you’ll just sign here,” the porter said, pointing to a line on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard.

  “How long before we get underway?” Matthew asked, eyeing the telegram.

  “Shouldn’t be long, sir. This was an unscheduled stop to pick up that there telegram for you. Came down the line that it was urgent.”

  Matthew’s brows knitted and he eyed the telegram more closely, a tight feeling clinching his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “Think nothing of it, sir.” The porter waited expectantly, but Matthew was too preoccupied with the telegram to take notice of him further, so Lilith reached into her reticule and handed him two bits.

  “Thank you for bringing the telegram forthwith, sir.”

  “My pleasure, Ma’am,” He beamed and moved away.

  “Who’s it from, Matthew?” Lilith asked, noticing the concerned knit of her son’s brow.

  “Nancy,” Matthew answered simply.

  “Who in blue blazes is Nancy?” Stanharbor asked.

  “The Weatherman’s housekeeper,” Matthew said.

  “Well, aren’t you going to open it and read it?” Stanharbor demanded.

  When Matthew didn’t answer, Lilith leaned over and placed a reassuring hand on her son’s arm, “Would you like me to open it, dear?”

  “No,” Matthew sighed and broke the seal. After another minute, he leapt to his feet, dropping the telegram. “Porter! Wait!” He yelled, running down the corridor.

  “What in heaven’s name was that all about?” Lilith asked as Stanharbor strained to lean over and retrieve the fallen dispatch.

  “We’ll soon find out,” he groaned. His fingers latched onto the paper and he flung himself back against the seat, hauling in a large breath. “Now!” He pronounced after catching his breath, “Let’s find out what all the hubbub is about, shall we?” He unfolded the paper and read the telegram aloud, ‘Terrible trouble. Stop. Get back soon. Stop. Nancy.’ That’s it? That’s what caused Matthew to get so riled? Sounds nothing more than an easily distraught female to me. I mean, trouble could be anything from a ranch hand quitting to a leaky barn roof. Certainly nothing to pay good money on a telegram for.”

  “Mr. Stanharbor, sir,” Lilith said, watching her son conversing with the porter, “if the situation wasn’t urgent, then a telegram wouldn’t have been necessary to begin with and it most certainly wouldn’t have been sent by the housekeeper. Obviously, something untoward has befallen Marcelle and her father, or both. Something bad enough that the housekeeper sought out my son for his assistance. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to find out what Matthew intends.”

  Stanharbor struggled to a standing position and Lilith quickly sidled by.

  “An overly distraught female, I’d wager,” Stanharbor muttered again after Lilith had moved away. “Waste of good money it is.”

  He looked out the window in time to see Matthew mounting a rented steed, and then the train started moving again. “I wouldn’t be all that eager to get back to that lunatic you intend to propose to, Matthew,” he muttered, wadding the paper up and tossing it aside before signaling to a passing waiter and ordering half the menu for his breakfast.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Marcelle!” Matthew barreled into the house, searching every room for anyone in the residence. “Peter! Nancy!” He yelled, his voice reverberating through the abandoned house. When a complete search turned up nothing and no one, he ran from the house and across the clearing to Nancy’s house. He raised his fist and banged on the door, rattling its frame with the intensity of his blows, “Nancy!”

  Nancy pulled the door open with a cry of relief, “Oh, Mr. Matthew, sir. Thank God above you’ve come. I didn’t know whether the telegram would reach you and something terrible has happened. I know it has!” Nancy tugged on Matthew’s arm, pulling him into her small living space before slamming the door behind him and settling back onto a chair at the table.

  He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and his tension mounted. It was obvious she’d been crying over a long period, and even though she was happy at his arrival, her state of despair was such that she didn’t readily tell him what had caused such a state.

  “Nancy,” Matthew whispered, trying to keep his voice calm, “can you tell me where Marcelle and her father are?”

  Nancy shook her head violently, new tears streaming from her eyes.

  “How do you know something has happened to them?” He tried another avenue of approach.

  “Because,” Nancy hiccupped, wiping her nose with a dirty kerchief, “he came, and then they were all gone. Oh God! Oh God! Something bad’s happened to the missus, I just know it!”

  Matthew controlled the urge to shake the housekeeper until her teeth rattled. He pulled the only other chair occupying the room in front of Nancy and settled into it. He leaned forward and gripped Nancy by the upper arms.

  “I need you to look at
me, Nancy,” he said in a quiet urgency. When she complied, he continued. “It’s imperative that you calm down and tell me what you know or I won’t be able to help Marcelle and her father. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nancy sniffled.

  “Very good. Now start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.” Matthew released his grip and took a deep breath.

  Nancy wiped her nose again and breathed deeply, “Some man came. Mr. Mark . . . ,”

  “My brother?” Matthew interrupted, stunned.

  “Yes, sir,” Nancy clarified. “At least it looked like the man that stayed here last week. Anyway, he showed up again yesterday, but this time he didn’t have no luggage or a smile on his face, and he didn’t step near the front door. He seemed to be full of rage, he did.”

  “Damn!” Matthew muttered and Nancy gasped. “Pardon my language, Nancy. What happened then?”

  “He stood in the yard, yelling something fierce. Scared the wits out of Joseph and me. So much so, that I shoved little Joseph out the window and told him to run down the lane to the neighbor’s house and to stay there until I came for him.”

  “What did Mark say, Nancy?” Matthew asked.

  “Well, at first he told them that he wanted them to come on out so that he could talk to them, but when they wouldn’t, he started getting madder.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t go up to the front door?” Matthew wondered aloud, “I mean, Marcelle wouldn’t have known there was any danger . . . ,”

  “Actually, she would have,” Nancy said, a trace of a sad smile on her mouth. “She got a telegram from your mom. Arrived yesterday. Told her to keep an eye out for Mark.”

  “I see,” Matthew smiled softly, “Good for Mom. I probably should have thought of that myself, but I figured that Marcelle and Peter would be safe from Mark here in Wisconsin. I guess I figured wrong, but that doesn’t explain why Mark didn’t just walk up to the door. He wouldn’t have known about Mother’s telegram.”

  “It may have had something to do with the rifles that Marcelle and her father had pointed at him.”

  Matthew laughed shortly. “Prepared, were they?”

  “Not prepared enough,” Nancy sighed. “When Mark realized that he’d been found out, his face got even redder and it didn’t seem to matter to him none that he might be shot. He started yelling as how you’d done him wrong, and that he was there to ‘extract payment’ were his very words.”

  Matthew closed his eyes and took another deep breath, “Go on, Nancy. You’re doing just fine.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nancy said, drawing in a shaky breath. “Miss Marcelle, she shouted for him to get his self off their property or she would send for the local sheriff and have him physically removed, and it seemed to work. He turned on his heel and disappeared down the lane. That was the last time I seen any of them.”

  “There’s no one in the house,” Matthew said, rubbing his chin. “I searched myself. You didn’t see them leave?”

  “No sir! As soon as I could, I ran to town and told the sheriff what I seen, but when he got back here with me, the house was empty.”

  “What makes you think that Mark managed to get his hands on them, Nancy?” Matthew asked, dread racing up and down his spine.

  “I can’t really say for certain, other than a gut feeling,” Nancy admitted, “but if you’d seen the crazy look on your brother’s face, sir, then you’d have that same feeling.”

  “It’s okay, Nancy,” Matthew said, “I happen to believe you. After all, Mark wouldn’t have come all this way to fail, and the house is empty of occupants, so what did the sheriff say about it all? Did he go after them?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Matthew, sir.” Nancy’s tears started up again and she sniffed hard. “I don’t think so. I mean, he said he would look into it, but I don’t think he meant it none.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He mumbled something about crazy females and then rode away.”

  Matthew made a mental note to have a chat with the sheriff and took another calming breath.

  “As soon as he went away, I collected my savings money and ran back to town to fire off that telegram to you. I heard Marcelle say when you was planning to leave, but I didn’t know where you were, so I used all my money and told the telegraph man to send a telegram to every place between here and New York.”

  “Bless you, Nancy,” Matthew sighed, “And you needn’t worry about your savings, you’ll get every penny back. I promise you that.”

  “I don’t rightly care, Mr. Matthew. All I care about is Miss Marcelle and her father. Something dreadful has happened, I just know it has.” Nancy said and promptly burst into another round of uncontrollable sobbing.

  Matthew wrapped his arms around her and held her, his mind in turmoil. If his brother had abducted Marcelle and her father, would he send word for ransom or simply take out his anger on them, since he’d been unable to get to Matthew in New York? Was this the plan B he made mention of to his mother – to hold Marcelle and Peter as hostages?

  The thought of Marcelle in the clutches of his brother made his blood run cold. He had to do something, but what? He had no leads, so even if he did strike out after them, in which direction would he go? They had a good head start on him, which means they could be anywhere by now.

  “Matthew Daragh!”

  Matthew stiffened at the sound of his name being yelled from outside. Nancy gasped and sat up, wiping her nose and sniffling.

  “There’s someone outside,” she said unnecessarily.

  “Matthew Daragh!” The voice outside repeated more loudly.

  Matthew stood and walked stiffly to the front door. He opened it just enough to see into the yard in order to assess the danger.

  “I ain’t here to cause you no harm, mister, so come on out so I can be getting on home to the missus, if you don’t mind.”

  “Who are you and what do you want?” Matthew called, opening the door a little further. No matter what the man said, he wasn’t about to risk sticking his neck out where Mark could shoot a hole through it.

  The man sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, “Who I am don’t matter none. I’m here cause your brother paid me to wait for you, and then I was to deliver a message to you. That’s it.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “He said you are to take a ride one day north of here until you reach an old abandoned fort. He’ll meet you there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. He said to come alone and that you’d know what it would mean if you didn’t.”

  Matthew pulled opened the door, preparing to go outside and talk with the stranger further, but Nancy’s hand tugging at him prevented him from leaving, “Don’t go, Mr. Matthew. You’ll get killed!”

  “I don’t think this man is here to shoot me, Nancy. I can’t explain everything to you, but I think that I’m needed alive. Now, you’re going to have to let my arm go or I won’t be able to go after Marcelle.”

  Nancy blushed and removed her hand, “Do be careful, Mr. Matthew. You’re the only hope that Miss Marcelle and her dad has.”

  “I know,” Matthew drew in a deep breath and stepped cautiously onto the front porch, his hand on the butt of his gun. “Keep your hands where I can see them and I’ll feel a whole lot happier about conversing with you.”

  “I told you I ain’t here to harm you none,” the stranger said, sticking both hands up in the air, his eyes reflecting concern at seeing Matthew’s gun pointed at his chest.

  Matthew made his way down the steps and stopped a few feet from the man, eyeing him warily. “How many men does my brother have at his disposal?” Matthew asked.

  “I don’t know nothing about nothing, Mister,” the man said, keeping his eyes trained on the gun. “All I am is a lowly farmer who thought it might be nice to earn a little extra cash for my family by delivering a message.”

  “How’d you meet up with my brother?”

  “At the saloon in town,” the ma
n said, “I done finished my work for the day and stepped in to quench my thirst. Your brother was there sitting on a stool next to me. I said ‘howdy’ and he asked if I was interested in earning some money. That’s how it started – honest to goodness, Mister. Of course, had I known that I was going to be standing here with a gun pointed at my chest, I may have reconsidered.”

  “How much he paying you to deliver this message?” Matthew asked, returning his gun to the holster. The man seemed to pose no danger, and in fact, looked as if he would wet his britches if Matthew continued pointing the gun in his direction. If Matthew’s instincts were wrong he could always draw his gun, lickety-split, and do away with the guy.

  “Five dollars,” the man announced, drawing in a deep breath at seeing the gun disappear.

  “You any good with a gun?” Matthew asked.

  “I done my fair share of hunting in my day,” the man smiled. “Why? You need to me to get rid of some varmints for you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Matthew smiled grimly. “You know the abandoned fort my brother spoke of?”

  “Yes, sir. Want me to act as a guide?”

  “No, I want you to find a few more men and act as backup,” Matthew said.

  “But, didn’t your brother say no backup?”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll be the invisible kind,” Matthew said, a plan forming in his mind. “Can you find a couple more men?

  “How much extra you willing to pay, Mister?”

  “Wanna earn ten more dollars?” Matthew asked, a plan forming in his mind.

  “Hell, yeah!” The man exclaimed, mentally ticking off how many gambling debts he could repay, or better yet, how much money he could make to get away from those trying to collect that debt. Heck, if he played his cards right, he could end up with a pretty penny, maybe buy a farm somewhere far away from Wisconsin. A sudden thought had him backpedaling away from such a tempting offer. “Is it going to be dangerous, Mister?”

  “Shouldn’t be on your end,” Matthew assured him.

  “Names Ed Brixton,” he said, extending his hand. “And you’ve hired yourself some extra help for ten bucks. Now, how much do I tell my friends you gonna pay them?”