“And me too,” I added.
“I didn’t have a choice,” said Lincoln unapologetically. “Only a small handful of men could know the truth. That shipment was always going to be a huge target for thieves. We decided early on we’d put out the word it was heading to Chicago. Even told the other members of the legislature it was the plan.”
“Three separate stagecoaches along the Chicago road were attacked yesterday by banditti,” said Simeon. “Several travelers have arrived here in town this morning with similar reports.”
Lincoln nodded. “But no one was injured. We gave instructions to all the stage drivers that they should consent freely to boarding and a search.” He turned to me. “That’s why I was out of town yesterday. I wanted to oversee that aspect myself.”
“It was all a ruse?”
“Exactly,” said Lincoln. “We told enough people ‘in confidence’ that we felt certain word would spread about the gold being on the Chicago road yesterday. Meanwhile, early yesterday morning, Belmont’s men loaded the trunk carrying the gold into a stage across the river from St. Louis in Alton. They traveled dressed like merchants, ready-made shoe salesman. And atop the gold in the trunk was a layer of ready-made shoes, just in case anyone forced them to open it. The stage arrived in Springfield as scheduled in the middle of the night, and the men took the trunk and moved it into the bank’s vault. Where it safely rests.”
“Amazing,” said Martha, her eyes wide.
“And now, the State Bank can resume its activity,” continued Lincoln. “I’m going to persuade the committee in the legislature to get work on the canal restarted right away. That’s the only path to long-term prosperity for the state.”
“You could have trusted me,” I said to Lincoln, feeling a little hard done by.
“We didn’t trust anyone,” said Lincoln. “And the events on the Chicago road yesterday prove we were right not to. If you’ll excuse me, I’m due to meet up with Belmont and the banking committee at this very hour. We’ve got to explain to them what happened. They’re going to be madder than a nest of hornets, but I’ll make no apology. I was charged with fixing the banking crisis, and it’s just what we’ve done.” And he walked off, a lopsided smile of satisfaction spread wide across his face.
CHAPTER 27
As I lay in bed that evening, I thought again about the deception Lincoln and Belmont had pulled off regarding the gold shipment. I felt irked with Lincoln; he should have trusted me with their true plans. But as I turned the situation over in my mind, I realized I had been part of spreading the false story. I didn’t have a perfect memory of the evening with Rose, but she’d said something about needing to know about the shipment for her family’s contracting business. She’d get the good word, along with the rest of the state, that the gold had arrived safely and that canal work would soon be resuming.
In the middle of the night, I awoke with a start and sat up straight in bed. What if Miss Flannery’s interest in the shipment was nefarious? I wondered. What if she was allied with one of the banditti gangs intent on its theft? Beside me in our bed, Lincoln gave a loud snore and turned over, mumbling to himself. I lay back down, resolving to seek out Miss Flannery first thing in the morning.
I took breakfast at sunrise and proceeded directly to the American House. Major Iles was at his usual stand.
“Is Miss Flannery still in residence?” I asked straightaway.
“Afraid she was running off without leaving her address?”
“I have a message to convey, from Lincoln. Will you send up my compliments?”
Iles handed my card to his boy, who hurried with it up the staircase. Then I waited, increasingly impatient, trying to avoid Iles’s knowing, growing grin.
Ten minutes later, Rose swept down the stairs, looking more beautiful than ever. My heart did a flip, and I came forward to give her my hand.
“This is early, Mr. Speed,” she began.
I flushed. “Normally I would have waited a few days after … a few days after our previous visit, but I had a matter of some importance to discuss.”
“I meant it was early in the morning for a visit,” Rose countered, light playing behind her eyes. Behind me, Iles chortled. “I was barely finished with my toilet.” She indicated her freshly scrubbed face and carefully brushed hair.
I drew Rose a couple of steps away, where we could speak in confidence. She gestured for me to continue, but suddenly I was at a loss for how to proceed. “Yes?” she prompted, after an uncomfortable moment.
“I wanted to see if you were true,” I blurted out.
She took a half step back. “What kind of question is that?”
“Er—that wasn’t what I meant to say. I wanted to see if what you said was true. About observing the Trailor brothers that night. But of course it was true. Why would you have told me otherwise? What I meant was, I wanted to see if you would be willing to say it in court. I’ve talked to Mr. Lincoln, and he says your testimony could be very important in getting Archibald free. Which is very important to me. So that’s what I came to ask you about.”
“It must be very important to you to come by before breakfast.”
“I’ve already had breakfast, but yes, it is.”
She giggled. I colored deeply.
“I’m usually more articulate, but around you, Miss Flannery, I seem to lose myself.”
“You’re very earnest,” she said.
“Is that bad? As far as you’re concerned, I mean.”
“It doesn’t suit most men.” She paused and contemplated me frankly. “But it does you.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m glad to hear it. And you’ll be glad to know, I think, that the bank rescue plan worked. Lincoln and Belmont transferred the gold successfully the other night. To the bank here in Springfield, not the Chicago branch. Which was a complete surprise to me, like everyone else. But at least it’s there safely, and now the canal work can resume. I believed you’d want to know, at once.”
“I heard the news last night.”
I tried but failed to read her expression.
“What is it?” she asked, catching me.
“Were you glad to hear it? That the gold transfer had been successful.”
“I was very happy to hear the canal work would be resuming, of course. But at the same time a little bit disappointed.”
“Oh?”
“Because it means we’ll be leaving Springfield soon.” She stared deeply into my eyes, and my heart surged.
“But not before you testify at the trial,” I said.
“But not before the trial.” She took my hands in hers and squeezed them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Patrick and I have a few matters to attend this morning.”
I could still feel the warm, electric touch of her hands on mine as she walked away. I veritably skipped out of the hotel. I was most of the way back to my store when I glanced over at the capitol and thought about William Trailor, awaiting trial in its basement. I still believed William had been behind Archibald’s attempt to confess to sole responsibility yesterday and that he might try again. But Lincoln had said we couldn’t warn him off without involving his lawyer Conkling.
A moment later, I corrected myself. Lincoln had said he couldn’t contact him. And he’d said so with a peculiar look on his face. I turned on my heels and headed straight for the capitol steps, nearly colliding with Big Red May, who was walking through the debris-strewn construction site surrounding the new building.
Inside, I wandered around until I found stairs leading down to the basement. The lower level, dank and musty, consisted of a warren of dark storage areas. There were occasional windows cut high into the walls that allowed slivers of light from outside to filter in. The jail cell was not immediately in evidence.
“Hello?” I shouted. “Trailor?”
“Who comes?” returned a weak voice.
Following the sound, I wound through several passageways and ultimately came upon a modest-sized space cut into an outer corner of
the basement. It was plain at once that the room hadn’t been completed. The stone-and-dirt sides of the room were jagged and unfinished. The rest of the room was enclosed by crude wooden walls and a set of iron bars running from floor to ceiling.
William Trailor squinted out through the bars in the dim light. His appearance was much changed from the haughty figure he’d previously cut. His face was smeared with dirt and grime. Instead of an immaculate frockcoat, he wore a stained work smock and jeans with worn and wrinkled knees. His fingers were similarly crusted with dirt.
“Oh, it’s you, Speed,” Trailor said as he belatedly recognized me. “What do you want?”
“To see a mole’s life, for one.” I gazed around his cell. “You should have stayed in the sheriff’s backyard. At least you had fresh air to breathe there. And well water for washing.” I glanced again at his unclean hands, and he quickly thrust them behind his back, not wanting me to dwell on his miserable condition.
“I’ve complained to the sheriff and mayor, but they’ve refused to move me. And they’ve had an easy time ignoring me, stashed away down here.” He kicked at a pile of loose dirt on the floor. “Soon enough, though, I’ll have the chance to prove my innocence. Tell me, is it Saturday?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. Two days until trial starts. Which means no more than five until I’m finally freed from this pit of hell.”
“You’re awfully confident in the outcome of the trial.”
Trailor managed a grin.
“Which is the other thing I’ve come about. Stay away from your brother Archibald.”
He gave a harsh laugh and gestured at the bars between us. “As if I have a choice.”
I shook my head. “I’m sure you have a way of getting messages to him. I imagine you heard he tried to confess yesterday, before Lincoln and I stopped him. I know you put him up to it. Don’t do it again.”
William Trailor’s face displayed neither surprise nor anger. Instead he said, in his usual supercilious tone, “You’ve no right to tell me what to do.”
“I have every right to protect Archibald. You know better than anyone, he’s got no ability to protect himself from you.”
“That’s what makes him an ideal younger brother,” said Trailor with a sneer.
“Stay clear of him.”
“I’ll win in the end.”
“I wouldn’t be so confident.”
“I always win,” he repeated. “Now, leave. I’ve business to attend to, and the least you can do is afford me privacy while I do it.” Trailor gestured over his shoulder at a crude metal chamber pot pushed against the wall. I was about to leave when I saw what was next to the pot: the trunk from the Edwards hayloft.
“How’d you get that in here?” I asked, pointing.
“Not that it’s any of your concern,” he replied, “but the mayor finally agreed to let me have it. So I would have appropriate clothes during my period of confinement in this hole.” He gestured at his dirt-covered uniform. “I have my smart clothes stored inside for safekeeping. I want to look my best when I’m a free man next week. Now, I insist on privacy.” He turned his back on me and walked stiffly toward the chamber pot, and I left him to it.
Back outside, I blinked against the bright sun. I couldn’t last two hours in such dark, depressing conditions, I thought, to say nothing of the two weeks William Trailor would have endured by the time trial arrived. He was strong-willed; I would give the man that.
“Joshua!”
My sister was striding toward me across the green. At her side was a small, slight boy, surely not more than eight or nine years of age, his little face all but obscured by a mass of curly brown hair. Martha’s fresh face was alive with excitement.
“I’ve found a witness for Archibald!”
“Where?”
“Right here.” She patted the boy’s head, and he rewarded her with a shy smile. “I’m bringing him to Mr. Lincoln right now. Come along. You won’t want to miss what he has to say.”
Inside Hoffman’s Row, we found Lincoln at his table, scrawling away. He looked up and saw the boy at Martha’s side. “Who’s this?”
“This,” said Martha, “is the witness you’ve been looking for. Wait till you hear what he saw on the night of the gala.” She gave the boy a gentle push on his back, and he started walking uncertainly toward the lawyer.
Lincoln got down on one knee and beckoned the boy over. Even kneeling, Lincoln towered over the child.
“What’s your name, son?” Lincoln asked, a kindly expression on his face.
“Bill.”
“I’m Abe. Nice to meet you.” Lincoln reached out his right hand, and the boy rested both of his on it. “Do you have a last name?”
The boy nodded.
“Well, what is it, son?”
“Davidson.” The boy drew out his surname carefully, pronouncing each separate syllable as if it were its own word.
“I knew I recognized you!” exclaimed Lincoln. “You’re one of Caleb Davidson’s boys.”
The boy nodded again.
“Now, what is it you told Miss Speed?”
“I ain’t in trouble?” the boy asked. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder at Martha.
“Not at all,” said Martha. “Just tell these men what you told me earlier. They’re trying to help a good, kind person who is in a spot of trouble. He needs our help.”
The boy nodded seriously. “All right.”
“What’d you tell Miss Speed earlier?” prompted Lincoln softly.
“I was herding my pa’s cattle, like I always do. He calls me his ‘chief herdsman.’” Bill pronounced this last phrase carefully, as if it had been the subject of much practice, and he gave a tentative smile. Lincoln broke into a broad grin.
“Does your pa have a large drove of cattle?” asked Lincoln.
“Near on thirty head,” said the boy. “I knowed every animal in his drove. Knowed who Pa bought ’em from and when they joined the herd. And I give them each names, my own names, cuz I wanna make sure I don’t lose none of them. That would make Pa angry.”
“Who helps you with the herding?” I asked.
“No one. Just me.”
“And how do you herd such a large drove all by yourself?” I asked.
“By riding old Ned.” The boy looked at me like I was slow.
“But you can’t possibly be large enough to even climb aboard a horse by yourself.”
The boy bobbed his head. “I ain’t. My pa, he sits me up on top of old Ned every morning. And he ties me to the saddle, so I won’t go nowhere. And my ma puts my dinner in my pocket and then Pa slaps Ned on the rear and off we go. I ain’t got no reason to get down till the end of the day.”
“You sound like quite a capable young man,” said Lincoln.
The boy nodded seriously again.
“You were telling me, Bill,” said Martha, “about what you saw out by the millpond, on the evening of the full moon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned back to Lincoln and waited.
“Go ahead, son.”
“The sun was going down, and Ned and I was herding our cattle. It was time for ’em to get back inside our paddock so Pa could water ’em. Ned, he’s a good herder, always darting after any of our herd that bolts. Ned darts so quick, can’t nobody else stay atop him. But it ain’t hard for me. I just lean forward and grab ahold of his neck and we dart together, see?”
Lincoln looked up briefly at me, amusement playing in his eyes, and then back at Bill. “Go on,” he prompted.
“The sun was going down and we’re getting the drove near to the paddock, and suddenly Bessie, she makes a run for it. She’s a naughty girl, always making trouble for Ma in the mornings when it’s milking time. She thought Ned and I ain’t paying attention to her, and so she goes and takes off. But I notice right away, and Ned notices right after me, and so once we make sure we got the rest of ’em inside, we turn and dart after Bessie.”
The boy swallowed, and Lin
coln nodded gently for him to continue.
“She got a head start, but we’re on the chase, and ’course we can run much faster than her. She’s heading to the old millpond for some reason. Bessie gets crazy ideas into her head. So she’s most of the way to the millpond when we finally catch up to her, and Ned rounds on her and gets her walking back toward our pasture. It’s nearly dusk now, so we gotta hurry.” He paused. “And that’s when I seen ’em.”
“Seen whom?” asked Lincoln.
“There were three of them. Three men, in a clearing. They was fighting with each other. Only, they wasn’t fighting with each other.”
“What do you mean?”
“They was fighting, but they wasn’t.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I protested.
“Joshua!” said my sister sharply. “Let Bill tell his story. You’re doing great, honey,” she added, coming forward and running her fingers through his unruly hair. “Do you have older brothers or sisters who give you trouble?”
“My big brother Jack’s an ass,” said Bill. “At least, that’s what Pa says.”
“Exactly! My big brother can be an ass, too. You just ignore him and go ahead and tell Mr. Lincoln what you saw.”
Bill looked again at Lincoln. “They was fighting,” he said slowly, his jaw tight, his eyes squinted, and his fists clenched, visibly straining to make the lawyer grasp his meaning. “Only, they wasn’t fighting. Not really. Do you understand?”
“Are you saying they were only pretending to fight?” asked Lincoln.
The boy’s face relaxed all at once, and he blew his hair out of his eyes. “Right!”
“And you told me,” said Martha, “you specifically remembered this was on the night of the full moon, isn’t that right?”
The boy nodded. “I gotta keep track of the moon, cuz the herd acts different with different moons. Specially with a full moon. That might of been what made Bessie go wild to begin with.”
Lincoln and Martha exchanged glances.
“Now, these three men you saw,” said Lincoln. “What did they look like?”
“Dunno. They were ’bout as old as my pa, but with more hair on their head. Pa ain’t got any.”
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