by Heidi Betts
Bart balanced on two legs of his chair, a game of solitaire spread out in front of him on the table.
"You worthless son of a bitch!” Sabrina screamed and sent the cards flying in every direction. “Can't you do anything right?"
Bart was on his feet in less than a second. He pressed Sabrina back against the door and glared down at her with cold gray eyes. He turned his head to the side and spat a stream of brown tobacco juice across the floor.
"I did what you wanted, honey. I killed the bitch."
"No, you didn't, you stupid bastard.” She put her hands to his chest and pushed him away. “The bullet only grazed the girl. And you didn't even shoot the right one!” She pummeled his shoulders and face with her fists.
Bart grabbed her wrists, but she only kicked him instead. He pressed her to the floor and covered her with the weight of his body.
Sabrina struggled. “You were supposed to go to the house. She was there. You were supposed to go to the house and kill Rebecca.” Tears of frustration filled her eyes. “Beat her, rape her, do whatever you liked, but she was supposed to be dead!” Finally she closed her eyes and went limp.
Bart moved to the side and got to his feet, leaving her on the floor and going back to his chair. “I was on my way through the woods to the house when I saw the wagon leavin’ it. Two men and a woman. How was I s'posed to know it weren't the right one? You didn't never tell me there was two females livin’ there."
Because I didn't know, Sabrina thought, chastising herself for sending Bart to get facts rather than finding things out on her own. She had known Caleb's sister had come to Leavenworth from New York, but she'd also remembered that Caleb had wanted to send her back. How was she supposed to know the little baggage was still here?
You were too caught up in learning about Rebecca, her mind chided. You should have paid more attention. You should have found out every detail about the Adams family—their relatives, their routine, their likes and dislikes. But you were too eager to be rid of Rebecca. From now on, you must be more careful.
Yes, she had to be more careful.
Sabrina glanced at Bart, who was busy gathering up the scattered deck of cards. He would never be able to help her. He acted without thinking, which could get her in trouble.
No, she had to find another way to murder Rebecca. The shooting had attracted too much attention. She needed something more subtle. But what?
She shook her head. No hurry. It would come to her. And when it did, it would be perfect.
But first, she had to convince Bart to leave town. She couldn't trust him to keep his mouth shut or not be a bother to her. She dug into the bodice of her gown and pulled out a fairly thick fold of bills. She set it on the table in front of him.
"I want you to go as far away as this will take you."
"Why, honey?” he asked, eyeing the money and then her breasts. “You gettin’ tired of me already?"
"Of course not, darling. Things are getting too dangerous here. I heard some men in town talking about forming a posse and hunting down the man who shot Megan Adams. They'll find you, Bart, and they'll hurt you. The Adams family is very rich and important; they aren't going to let something like this pass. It's best for you to leave."
"What're you gonna do?"
"I'm staying here. No one has recognized me yet, so I'm still safe. Oh, darling,” Sabrina cried, throwing herself against a startled Bart, “you must leave. I couldn't bear it if they were to catch you."
"You that stuck on me, huh?” Bart asked, squeezing her buttocks.
Sabrina swallowed and forced herself to smile. “Oh, yes."
"Then I'll go,” he said and tucked the bills into his vest pocket.
Sabrina sighed with relief and started to straighten up.
"Not so fast there, honey. I'll go, but not ‘fore I get another roll outta ya.” He winked. “Somethin’ ta remember ya by."
Chapter Eighteen
"Would you like thum more tea, ma'am?"
"Yes, please, Bessie.” Rebecca swallowed the last drops of tepid tea and held out her cup for more.
She smiled at Bess, thinking the new girl they had hired to cook and clean was working out wonderfully. She had been wary at the beginning, realizing Bess was below average in intelligence. And for the first two days everyone thought her name was Bethie until they figured out that it only sounded that way because of her lisp. Bessie had finally, painstakingly, written her name for them in big, childlike letters.
Rebecca liked Bessie. She was a bit slow and sometimes had to be instructed several times before doing a task correctly, but she was more than eager to please and beamed when given even the tiniest word of praise.
Rebecca had taken time out the past few days to sit down and help Bessie better learn her numbers and letters. And Megan simply adored the girl. She had taken Bessie outside to gather flowers or investigate animal tracks in the woods, causing meals to be late on more than one occasion.
The fact was, with Bessie, Rebecca often found herself doing more work than she had when there was no housekeeper about. But she truly enjoyed having Bessie around and was willing to give a new definition to the term “hired help."
"Anything elth?"
"No, thank you, Bessie. I'm expecting some visitors soon. When they arrive, will you please bring them in here?"
Bessie's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"When the women come to the door,” she explained slowly, “bring them in here to me."
Bessie smiled brightly and nodded.
Rebecca smiled back, wondering if Bessie had really understood her. No matter. She or Megan could answer the door if Bessie forgot.
Within a quarter hour, the Wednesday Group piled into the parlor, Anabelle Archer most unhappily in tow. Her mother gave her a stern look and pointed to a chair in the corner. The young girl stomped over and dropped into the seat to sulk.
Rebecca welcomed them all, and Bessie stood in the doorway, bobbing up and down merrily because she'd done well at what she was told.
"Very good, Bessie. Thank you,” Rebecca said. Bessie bobbed some more. “Would you please bring the ladies some tea now?"
"Yeth, ma'am.” She nodded and turned toward the kitchen.
After serving the group of women steaming cups of Rebecca's special cinnamon tea, Bessie ran off to find Megan. Rebecca wondered if the girl would remember to put the roast in the oven for dinner and then made a mental note to check within the hour.
"You're such a dear to take in that young lady,” Thelma Wilkes commented. “Octavia would be proud of you. That poor thing has been wandering around town for a week now. I felt so sorry for her, I started feeding her dinner out back of the hotel kitchen."
"She's quite sweet.” Rebecca said.
"Oh, I'm sure.” Hariette agreed. “A mite slow, but an angel."
"How is she doing here? Is she helpful?"
Rebecca chuckled. “At times, she's a godsend. At others. I find myself cleaning up after her."
"Get used to it,” Mary said. cocking her head at Anabelle. “It will prepare you for motherhood."
The room filled with the tinkle of knowing feminine laughter.
Rebecca glanced at Anabelle and felt nearly frozen by the icy daggers being cast in her direction.
"Don't mind her.” Mary said, patting Rebecca's hand. “She's acting spoiled, and you know very well why. She's been pouting like this for months. I tell you, I can hardly stand it. Her pa and I are about ready to send her off to boarding school."
Rebecca noticed the girl's eyes narrow at that statement, but they both knew full well that Mr. and Mrs. Archer would do no such thing.
"My, my, Rebecca!” Hariette squealed, pulling her off the settee to her feet. “You're filling out beautifully. I knew you and Caleb would start your very own brood soon enough."
Rebecca placed a hand on her belly, turning away in embarrassment. She certainly had gotten larger of late. It now looked as if she was hiding a small throw pillow benea
th her skirt and blouse. She only hoped no one was counting back to the time of her wedding. She would surely melt into the hardwood floor if someone accused her of being with child before the nuptials.
Seeing the brilliant smiles on the ladies’ faces, she breathed a sigh of relief, deciding they weren't going to say anything, even if they did suspect.
She returned to her spot on the sofa and took up a day dress one of the women had brought. She put on her spectacles and tried to determine what work would need to be done.
Thelma quickly explained that the hem needed to be lengthened, but there was no hurry. Hariette ordered a calico bonnet, and Mary asked Rebecca to make a set of embroidered handkerchiefs for Anabelle, with her initials, of course.
With all that settled, the ladies seemed much more interested in hearing about Rebecca's life.
"Have you and Caleb discussed names for the little tyke yet?"
"No, not—"
"Oh, you must. You have to have them ready. One for a boy and one for a girl."
"Then you simply use whichever applies."
"Well—” she tried again.
"I always preferred names from the Gospel,” Hariette said. “Simon, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, Thaddeus."
"Or you could use old family names. I'm sure Holbrook would be happy to tell you about Caleb's ancestors."
"Yes, well. Caleb and I haven't discussed it yet, but I'm sure we will before long,” Rebecca said. In truth, she didn't know how her husband truly felt about the child. He didn't seem averse to becoming a father, but he didn't seem overly excited, either.
With her increasing girth, she was beginning to wonder if Caleb even found her desirable. She hadn't missed the fact that he now turned down the light each night before climbing into bed with her. Nor did it escape her attention that he seemed to be staying in town longer and longer of late.
Suddenly, Rebecca was overwhelmed by insecurities. What if Caleb found her body repulsive? What if he felt trapped, having a wife and a baby on the way? What if ... dear God, what if he'd taken to visiting the Dog Tick for more than a drink? Or what if he was keeping another mistress at the hotel? He'd done it with Sabrina Leslie, so Rebecca shouldn't be foolish enough to put it past him.
No, Caleb couldn't have a mistress staying at the Wilkes Hotel. If he did, Thelma would certainly have informed her of her husband's licentious behavior by now. And none of the ladies would be bubbling with happiness over her marriage and pregnancy.
Her muscles relaxed, and she forced herself to listen as the Wednesday Group suggested more baby names. Still, she couldn't dismiss the idea of Caleb's infidelity. It was more than plausible; it was distinctly possible.
Oh, why had she ever allowed herself to get into this blasted situation? She had been much more content living in her tiny cabin, sewing her fingers raw for just enough money to get by. Now she lived in a beautiful house, didn't have to do a lick of work if she didn't want to, and she was miserable.
The baby chose that exact moment to tickle the inside of her womb, and she smiled. He'd been doing that a lot lately, reminding her that things weren't as terrible as they sometimes seemed. She couldn't feel the movements from the outside yet, but inside it felt as though he was doing flip-flops.
"Yes, yes, she likes that idea."
Hariette clapped her hands together in delight, and Rebecca realized they thought she was smiling at one of their names.
"What is Caleb's middle name, by the way?"
"Caleb's middle name?” Rebecca searched her brain for a moment. “Zachariah, I believe.” Yes, she distinctly remembered a large, fancy Z on the hotel register the long-ago night she'd gone to collect her money. Her cheeks heated a bit at the memory of what had happened there. And when they had wed in such haste as a result, Reverend Patterson had surely said Zachariah.
"Oh, yes, I knew that,” Thelma chimed in. “Zachariah is a perfectly wonderful name for a little boy."
"Zachariah Adams. Hmm. Yes, I like it,” Mary said.
"And it's a Gospel name,” Hariette put in. “I like it very much, indeed."
Rebecca held back a chuckle, amused by the decision the Wednesday Group had made. Of course, if the baby was a boy, and if she and Caleb chose a different name, they would be very cross. Very cross, indeed.
"I hate you."
The harsh whisper came from the corner of the parlor and startled Rebecca. Everyone turned to stare at Anabelle Archer, who stood panting, her face beet red, the pulse at her throat pounding fiercely.
"Anabelle! Sit down!” Mary ordered.
But the girl didn't heed her mother's words. “I was going to marry Caleb when I got old enough, and you stole him from me. You seduced him away from me and ruined my life, and I hate you for it.” Anabelle ran out of the house, leaving a roomful of gaping, astonished women.
Rebecca felt a viselike grip around her hand and looked to see Mary Archer's face streaked with tears. “I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice quiet and ragged. “I'm so sorry she said those things. She didn't mean it, I'm sure."
Rebecca nodded but knew that in her sixteen-year-old mind, Anabelle truly felt that Rebecca had ruined her life.
Mary rose somewhat unsteadily and made her way to the door. The other ladies soon followed. Rebecca hoped the incident would blow over quickly and things could return to normal before their next visit. She wished each visitor a fond farewell.
"What was that all about?” Megan said, coming up behind her. “I heard screaming and saw Anabelle run across the yard."
"She's upset with me,” Rebecca said vaguely.
"Very upset, I'd say. Why?"
"She's in love with Caleb. And she thinks I stole him from her."
"Oh, posh.” Megan waved away such a notion. “Caleb couldn't stand that clinging vine. He practically had to dig a hole in the ground to get away from her at the Harvest Festival."
Rebecca closed the front door and leaned against it, feeling tired all of a sudden. “I didn't say Caleb was in love with her,” she clarified. “I said Anabelle was in love with him. There's quite a difference. She seems to believe that I've done an admirable job of destroying her life."
"Oh, she'll recover,” Megan said, totally unbothered. She took Rebecca's arm. “Come into the kitchen. I'm teaching Bessie to make biscuits. She'll love for you to watch."
Rebecca lay awake in bed late that evening, feigning sleep when she heard the bedroom door squeak open. She had decided to stay awake until Caleb got home. She saw no reason not to get to the bottom of his late nights.
The minute the door closed, albeit silently, she bolted upright. She sat there, waiting for him to discover her. She almost chuckled when he did, for he jumped a good three inches off the floor.
"What are you doing up?” he asked, shrugging out of his suit coat.
"Waiting for you."
"Oh?” His eyes twinkled in the low lamplight. “Eager for me, are you?"
She would have flushed at his teasing if her mind had not been burning with angering images. “Hardly,” she said, her voice cold as chipped ice.
His brow furrowed, fingers stilling on the buttons of his shirt as he came forward a step. “Is everything all right? Are you ill?"
"Not at all.” She flipped back the covers and set her feet on the floor. “I simply have a question for you."
Caleb continued undressing. “What's that?” he asked.
Rebecca crossed the room and picked up his jacket. She brought it to her nose and took a sniff. Exactly as she'd expected. It smelled of smoke and stale beer. However, she could detect no traces of cheap perfume and so lost some of her ammunition.
"What were you doing at the Dog Tick?"
He shrugged. “Having a drink. What else?"
"Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe you'd been keeping some harlot company.” She hurled the piece of clothing at his chest, but he caught it.
And laughed. He actually let out a long, rather loud laugh. “What a vivid imagi
nation you have."
"Perhaps,” she said, grinding her teeth. “But then, what is a bride of only three months to think when her husband seems to enjoy the company of drunken cowboys to that of his own wife?"
"Now, Rebecca,” Caleb said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I hardly think I have to answer to you for my every action. I had a few beers before coming home, that's all."
"And I suppose you just happened to have those beers with a tall blonde."
"Yep. Come to think of it, I did."
"Oh!” She threw an arm out, hoping to catch him on the jaw even from nearly three feet away.
Caleb caught her by the wrist and brought her hard against his chest. He held her tight and nibbled on the lobe of her ear. “His name was Charlie."
She froze, letting her head fall back to look up into his soft brown eyes. “What?"
"The tall blonde. His name was Charlie."
"Oh, you ... you..."
"Yes?"
She shook off his arms and backed away from him. “What were you doing there in the first place?” she asked.
"I told you. Having a drink."
"I certainly don't believe you spent the last six hours in a saloon just because you wanted a drink when you have a whole bar of perfectly good liquor down in the study."
Caleb shrugged and gave her his back while he threw his shirt over the dressing screen.
"What is it, Caleb?” she asked. Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice became scratchy. “Do I disgust you so much that you can't bear to look at me in the light of day?"
He turned around, an odd expression on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?"
"Look at me!” Rebecca cried. She could see herself in the dressing mirror and wanted to cry all the more. Where her stomach had once been flat as an iron skillet, there was now a bulge that caused her nightgown to puff out. She more resembled a hot-air balloon than a human being.
"I look as if my bellybutton blew a bubble."
Caleb threw back his head and laughed.
Tears poured down Rebecca's face until she could no longer see the mirror image or her husband through the haze. Caleb was still bent over with laughter when she recovered herself and dried her eyes.