Rosa's Land: Western Justice - book 1

by Gilbert, Morris

  © 2013 by Gilbert Morris

  Print ISBN 978-1-61626-758-2

  eBook Edition:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-696-7

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-695-0

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part 2

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part 3

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part 4

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About the Author

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  New York City, 1886

  “I wish Faye would hurry up and get home. I’m starved.”

  Caleb Riordan was a massive individual, large and strongly built, with salt-and-pepper hair and penetrating brown eyes. He had an air of aggression about him, and his enemies had long since learned that he did not know the meaning of the word quit… or mercy. At the age of fifty, Caleb was indeed a successful man by anyone’s standards—at least those who counted money, power, and possessions as marks of that quality.

  He was seated now in the parlor of his home, and as he pulled a cigar from his inner pocket then lit a match, he looked around the room with a sense of displeasure. The parlor was decorated in cream and a muted tone the color of dry sand, with touches of cool liquid green and one splash of pale coral provided by a single chair. On one wall was a fireplace with a painting of Bosphorus looking down from a palace. Fleets of small boats plied the blue-green waters, and in the distance blurred by the haze of heat loomed a distant scene. Caleb had always disliked the picture but had said little since his wife loved it.

  Eileen Riordan was almost a perfect example of opposites attracting, at least to the eye. Whereas Caleb was massive and aggressive, Eileen, at the age of forty-six, was far more gentle than her husband. She had classic features, a wealth of auburn hair, and light blue eyes. Her skin was fair, and there was a grace in her movements. Next to her husband she looked diminutive, although she was larger than the average woman.

  She watched as Caleb puffed on his cigar, sending purple clouds upward toward the ceiling. Caleb knew she yearned to tell him not to smoke in the parlor. She did not speak, however. Instead, her eyes went over to the two large young men seated on the horsehide-covered sofa.

  Leo, their oldest son, was strongly built. He had Caleb’s size and strength, his brown hair and eyes, and some of the same aggressive qualities. Maxwell, at the age of twenty-seven, looked much like Leo. As a matter of fact, they were often taken for twins. They had the same sturdy frame, height, and coloring. Father and sons together made a picture of power that, at times, overwhelmed those they met.

  “You know, Dad, I think pulling this deal with Herron was a smart move.”

  Caleb nodded at Leo, and a look of satisfaction scored his features. He looked at the cigar, knocked the ashes off, and then said, “He’s probably sorry he ever got involved with the Riordans.”

  Maxwell leaned back, locked his large hands behind his head, and studied his father. “We gave him quite a going over. I think he’ll go down.”

  The three men continued to talk about the business deal.

  Eileen finally interrupted, saying, “Is this Edward Herron you’re talking about?”

  “Yes, it is, Eileen,” Caleb said. A smile curled his lips at the intense pleasure he felt. “We had a real struggle, but in the end the three of us managed to put him down.”

  “What do you mean, dear, you ‘put him down’?”

  “Why, I mean we put him out of business. We’ve been trying to buy his foundry, and he wouldn’t sell, so we had to put pressure on him.”

  Eileen was silent for a moment then asked, “What kind of pressure?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t be interested, dear. Nothing personal. Just a matter of business. We did some manipulating and some maneuvering, and poor Herron got into a spot where he didn’t have any choice but to sell his business to us.”

  “And at a cheap price, too.” Leo smiled. “It was a steal.”

  Eileen considered the three men and finally asked, “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, Eileen. He’ll be all right.”

  “No, I want to know. I like his wife very much, and they have three young children.”

  “Well, he’s pretty well broke now. He had to pay off the mortgage on the factory. But don’t worry. If he can’t find anything else, I’ll put him to work at some kind of minor job at the foundry. He knows the business. We can get him cheap.”

  The three glanced at each other, and finally Leo said, “Mother, you must understand. The business world isn’t like your life. You’ve got a nice, easy way here with everything you want. But out there in the real world that Dad and Max and I have to live in, it’s a matter of survival.”

  The brothers began trying to persuade Eileen that their dealings with Edward Herron were not immoral, but Caleb saw that she was displeased. For a moment longer, Caleb sat silent, but his mind was racing. Finally he said, “I don’t want to bring it up again, but this is the sort of thing that I hate to see Faye unable to face.”

  “We settled that when he was one year old, Caleb.”

  Indeed, there had been almost a warlike attitude over their youngest son. Caleb was accustomed to his wife agreeing to anything he said, but when their third son was born, Eileen showed a streak of steel in her backbone. She had come to him and said, “Caleb, you are raising Leo and Max to be hard men. I think that’s a mistake. I think a man needs some gentleness.”

  “There’s no place for gentleness in the world,” Caleb had answered.

  “Well, there’s going to be gentleness in Lafayette.”

  “Lafayette! What a ridiculous name for a boy!”

  “One of my ancestors served with Marquis de Lafayette in the Revolutionary War, and my father had his name.”

  “Well, you should have named him Tom or James or something sensible, but in any case I disagree with you.”

  “You may disagree all you please, Caleb,” Eileen had said firmly, and her gaze had not wavered. “But this son is going to be mine. I’ll make all the decisions about his school, his clothes. I’ll raise him to be a gentleman. You got our two other sons, and you’ve made them hard, callous men.”

  Caleb Riordan had stared at his wife. “You think I�
��m callous?”

  “Of course I do! If you listen to what people said about you, you would know that.”

  The argument had gone on for some time, but in the end Eileen had insisted on her way. Since that time she had thrown herself into making a different kind of man out of her son Faye, as she called him. She had chosen different friends for him, and she had talked to him from the time he could understand about the necessity for a man to be honest and gentle and not be cruel to anybody.

  Caleb was thinking about that, and he wanted to plunge into the argument again, but he had learned that on this one item his wife was not to be reckoned with.

  Leo said, “Mother, you’re making a weakling out of him! And all this painting of pictures—what good does that do?”

  “He’s going to be a great painter. He has real talent.”

  “How many pictures has he sold?” Max asked sardonically. “Not even one.”

  “He’s learning, and his teachers all say he’s going to produce great work.”

  They kept trying to pressure Eileen, until finally Caleb saw that his wife was upset. Despite his rough ways with others, he had a soft and gentle spot for this woman. On this one thing she had displeased him, but otherwise she had been a good wife. He rose from his chair, went over, and pulled her to her feet. He hugged her and said, “We won’t argue about this anymore.”

  “Thank you, Caleb.” Eileen looked up at him and touched his cheek, then she turned and left the room.

  “You’ll never win that argument, Dad,” Leo shook his head.

  “No, I never will, but I’ve got two out of three sons that’ll make their ways in the world. You two will have to help me with your brother because Faye will never make it. You boys watch out and take care of him.”

  “Well, I wish he’d hurry up and get home. I’m starved,” Max said. He stretched hugely then leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.

  The afternoon sun was fading, but Faye wanted to catch exactly that light in the painting. He had set up his easel with a canvas before him and the paints on the collapsible stool. The scene he was painting was difficult, for the vista in New York at this particular spot stretched out in a way that was hard to catch.

  “My, that is pretty! I don’t see how you do it.”

  Faye came to himself and, holding the brush poised over the canvas, turned to see that a very pretty young woman with blond hair and large blue eyes was smiling at him. “Thank you, miss. I hope to catch some of the beauty of that scene.”

  The young woman said again, “I don’t see how you do it. Look how you’ve mixed all those colors together!”

  “Well, I don’t do it too well yet.”

  “Yes, I think you do. How long have you been painting?”

  “All my life, it seems.”

  “My, ain’t that a treat!”

  Faye glanced over and caught a glimpse of the Riordans’ driver, Pat Ryan, a hundred feet away. He was talking to a woman and waving his big hamlike hands in the air as he described something. Quickly Faye turned and said, “Well, I’ve got to catch this light if you don’t mind.”

  “You mind if I watch?”

  “Not at all.”

  Faye continued to paint the delicate leaves that clung to the trees. They kept just the right shades of green, and the young woman kept up a running commentary.

  Suddenly he heard another voice and looked up to see a large, husky man wearing a derby hat. His face was blunt, and he had small eyes. When he grinned, gold flashed on two teeth in his mouth. His clothes didn’t seem to fit him, for his arms filled the fabric of the shirt he wore, threatening to tear it. “Well, ain’t that a pretty little picture now.”

  Faye said politely, “Thank you. It’s not finished yet.”

  “That’s right sweet, ain’t it, girlie?”

  “I think it’s very nice.”

  “Well, you don’t need to fool around with this sissy painter. Come on with me. We’ll have a good time.”

  “Turn me loose!”

  Faye twisted his head and saw that the big man had the woman by her arm and was dragging her along. “Don’t do that!” he said quickly. He put down his brush and palette and moved toward the two.

  “What are you going to do, beat me up?” The big man grinned. “Go back to your painting, sonny.” The big man was squeezing the girl’s arm tightly enough to make her cry out.

  Faye reached out and pulled at the man’s arm. “Don’t do that, please. You’re hurting her.”

  “You’re going to stop me?”

  Faye could not answer. The man was six inches taller than he was and muscular. Muscles from hard work and hands that showed hard usage. The bully was grinning at him, and he could only say, “I’m asking you to let the young woman go, or I’ll have to—”

  “You’ll have to what? Call for a policeman? There ain’t none here.” Suddenly he threw his meaty hand out and caught Faye in the chest and knocked him backward.

  Faye caught his balance, but the big man had released the girl and came at him. Faye took a blow directly to his face and felt the blood suddenly run down his cheek. More blows rained upon him. He could not catch his balance, and finally he fell.

  The young woman cried out, “Please, don’t!”

  The man raised his foot to kick Faye and said, “Don’t worry. He needs a lesson.”

  There was a sound of footsteps just as the man delivered a kick into Faye’s unprotected side.

  The big man turned to find someone as large as himself coming at him. He got his hands up, but he could not ward off the tremendous blow that caught him in the mouth. He again threw his fists up and tried to defend himself. “Hey, cut it ou …,” he tried to yell, but once again a blow struck his mouth. Then suddenly he was struck in the throat. He began to gag. Without warning, Pat Ryan kicked in the side of his knee, and the bully fell to the ground. Pat then delivered a tremendous kick that drove the man’s breath out.

  “You’ll kill him!” the young woman cried.

  “Ah, he’s too mean to die.” Pat Ryan knelt down beside Faye. “You all right, sir?”

  Faye could only manage a moan in response.

  Ryan picked Faye up as easily as if he were a child and made his way to the carriage.

  The young woman followed and said, “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I hope so, ma’am.” He placed Faye in the backseat, shut the door, and then moved back to retrieve Faye’s painting and his easel. He returned and leaped to the driver’s seat saying, “Get up! Get up!”

  The carriage rocked back and forth as it bounced over the gravel, but Faye Riordan was in too much pain to mind.

  The Riordan family had finally sat at the dining table to eat, for Caleb had said, “Well, I’m hungry. Faye can eat when he gets here.”

  Before anything could be served, Charles Evans, the butler, came running in. He was a tall man, very thin and balding. Now his eyes were open wide. “Sir, it’s Mr. Faye. He’s hurt!”

  The whole family pushed away from the table.

  As they got to the front door, the driver was bringing Faye in.

  “What happened?” Eileen cried out.

  “He got beat up.”

  “Quick, put him in his bed. Charles, you get Dr. Baxter quick as you can. He’s just the second street down.”

  “Yes, madam. I’ll do it right away.”

  “This way, Pat.”

  Ryan carried Faye to his room and placed him on his bed.

  Eileen was trembling, for Faye’s face was battered and he was bleeding freely from a cut on his eyebrow. She took her handkerchief and covered the wound.

  “He looks terrible!” Max exclaimed.

  “What happened, Ryan?” Caleb demanded.

  “Well, sir, he was painting, and I was just wandering around, but I turned and saw this big guy was pounding Mr. Faye and starting to kick him.”

  “You shouldn’t have let him do that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I was too far away. But whe
n I did get to him, I fixed him good.” He grinned broadly and nodded. “I busted his front teeth out, I hit him in the throat so he couldn’t talk, and then I kicked his legs out from under him and gave him a couple kicks in the side. He was out, whimpering like a baby, when I left.”

  “I wish you had killed him,” Caleb said.

  “Well, sir, I couldn’t do that. They put a fellow in jail for that, but he won’t be fighting much anytime in the future.”

  “You did a good job.” Caleb reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He peeled off three or four of them and said, “Here, take this.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir.”

  “No, I want you to have it. Go ahead. If I find this fellow, I’ll break his neck!”

  “All of you wait outside,” Eileen said. “Faye doesn’t need any more trouble.”

  The three men left reluctantly.

  Within ten minutes, Dr. Lucas Baxter entered Faye’s room. He was a slender man of fifty with black hair and dark eyes. “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “Faye was beaten,” Eileen said. “He’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “Let me see.” Baxter removed the bloody handkerchief and said, “I’ll have to put some stitches here, and he’ll have a little scar.” He touched Faye, who groaned in response. “Must have hurt his ribs.”

  “Our driver said the man kicked him.”

  “Well, if those ribs are broken, it’s going to take awhile to heal. But maybe they’re just cracked.”

  He tried to get Faye to swallow something from a brown bottle and waited for a minute. When he saw that Faye was out, he began sewing the wound up. He worked rapidly. “Who did this, Mrs. Riordan?”

  “Some man in the park.”

  “Well, if your husband catches him, he’ll kill him.”

  “No, I don’t want that. My husband has made the other boys into what he respects, strong men but hard.”

  “Well, Faye’s not like that.”

  “No, he’s not. I spent my life making a gentle man out of him. He’s going to be a fine painter.”