“So, you say you’re a friend of Mr. Barbour, and you’re here on a legal matter?”
Hill nodded. “One requiring discretion and your unique talents.”
Hoxie looked at his visitor’s attire. It was plain and unpromising. “I’m expensive, Miss Hill.”
“Don’t let the clothes fool you. I couldn’t very well walk through the Barbary Coast looking like the queen of England, could I?”
“Go ahead.”
“I need a marriage contract prepared, one that will hold up in court, should that become necessary.”
“Why are you asking me? Any lawyer can prepare a marriage contract.”
From her purse, Hill withdrew a letter bearing Benjamin Gillette’s signature.
“The marriage contract has to have this signature on it, and it has to be prepared by an attorney who’s willing to swear, under oath, in a court of law, that the contract was signed in his presence by both parties. Are you up to that?”
Hoxie leaned back and folded his hands across his ample stomach. He studied Hill long enough to make her uncomfortable. Then he sat up as far as he was able.
“For the right price, I might be,” Hoxie said.
CHAPTER 28
Matthew’s health was improving; he no longer needed to lean on Heather’s arm during the walks that had become their daily routine. This morning, the rain had stopped, the sun was shining, and the air was cool and crisp. Being with Matthew every day made Heather happy, but she sensed that something was bothering him.
“What’s troubling you?” she asked.
“I didn’t sleep well again.”
“Did you have another nightmare?”
Matthew nodded. “I was in Barbour’s yard, and there was a wall of flame that went from the ground to the sky. It was terrifying, and Roxanne raced toward me. She had her arms spread out.” Matthew raised his to demonstrate. “Her eyes were wide with horror, and she was screaming.”
This was not the first nightmare he had recounted to Heather. On two occasions he had talked loudly enough in his sleep to bring her to his room.
“What did Roxanne say?” Heather asked.
“I think she was just screaming. If she said something to me, I can’t recall what it was.”
“You’re just remembering what happened when you rescued Roxanne. She must have been in a panic. She’d been beaten and violated. She was escaping from a burning house.”
“What you say makes sense, but . . .” He shook his head. “It just seems that there’s more to it . . . something happened that I can’t remember that would explain the dreams.”
“They’re just dreams, and dreams are often nonsensical. You’ve been through a brutal and frightening experience. You saved Roxanne from fire and violence, and you were beaten unconscious trying to protect Mr. Brown. That would unsettle anyone.”
“You’re probably right.” Matthew said. “Let’s not talk about my dreams anymore.” He looked up at the sky. Clouds were gathering in the distance. “I don’t think this weather will last for long. Let’s enjoy the day.”
Matthew took Heather’s hand, and his mood changed for the better. When they had begun these therapeutic walks, Matthew had needed to lean heavily on Heather for support. When he could make do without her help, they had walked side by side without touching. But yesterday, midway through their stroll, Matthew had reached for Heather’s hand, and she let him take it. That simple act had signaled a change in their relationship. Neither had spoken about it, but the heat from Heather’s hand filled Matthew with joy and made him feel the way he used to feel with Rachel.
While they ambled through the garden, Heather did most of the talking, and her enthusiasm made Matthew smile. Heather was so positive, so upbeat, that Matthew found it hard to be depressed in her presence, despite the pain from his injuries and his concern for Worthy Brown. As they neared the woods, Heather talked about a story she was writing for the paper. Then she switched to a discussion of a dish she was thinking of asking the cook to make for dinner.
Matthew let his mind wander when they entered a path that led into the forest, and a thought occurred to him. Over the past few days, bits and pieces of his attempt to rescue Worthy had come back to him. Most of his memories were fuzzy, but he had a vivid memory of seeing Barbour’s badly burned corpse sprawled along the front porch steps when he’d raced into the front yard where Brown was being assaulted. He’d also had another vision while out walking with Heather in which Barbour was dead but his flesh had not been ravaged by the fire.
Matthew stopped so suddenly that Heather asked again if something was bothering him. Matthew lied and said he felt fatigued. While they walked back to the house, Matthew worked out the only possible scenario that fit the facts. He had to have seen Barbour’s corpse on two separate occasions.
In Matthew’s nightmare, Roxanne had run out of a burning house. Matthew knew that Barbour had made it out of his house because his body was found on the porch. If his house was on fire, Barbour would have run out, too, and he would have run out before or shortly after Roxanne. How did his body get burned? There was only one possible answer. The roof that overhung the porch had caught fire and collapsed. If Barbour’s body was stretched out on the steps, he would have caught on fire.
Matthew concluded that he must have seen the unburned corpse when he rescued Roxanne and the burned corpse when he returned for Worthy. Who had slain Barbour if Worthy was not present when Matthew rescued Roxanne? As soon as he asked the question, Matthew’s memory of the events at Barbour’s house returned.
ROXANNE PULLED THE CURTAIN BACK a fraction of an inch so she could spy on Miss Heather and Mr. Penny as they walked in the garden. Her shoulder was pressed against the wall so she wouldn’t be seen if the couple looked up. She didn’t want anyone to see her. She didn’t want anyone to be in the same room with her. She felt soiled by the thing Caleb Barbour had done to her. She felt unfit to be in the presence of decent people.
When Matthew and Heather disappeared from view, Roxanne sat down in the wicker chair next to her bed. Miss Heather treated her so well, but how would she act if she knew what Roxanne had done with Mr. Barbour? She hadn’t wanted to do that thing; she had fought as hard as she could, but that didn’t change what had happened. And now her father might hang because of her.
Roxanne remembered the night her master came home drunk and made her shine his boots. She could have run away that night, but fear had paralyzed her. She deserved what Mr. Barbour had done to her. It was her punishment. She had known what would happen if she stayed in Mr. Barbour’s house; she’d seen the books in Mr. Barbour’s room and the way he looked at her. She knew and she’d stayed, and now her father would pay the price of her cowardice.
CHAPTER 29
Worthy Brown and Kevin O’Toole, who’d been convicted of murdering a man named Flynn, were the city jail’s only occupants. The paucity of prisoners had nothing to do with Portland’s crime rate. The jail was a disgrace. There were numerous cracks in the hewn-timber roof and walls, and the narrow passage up the center of the building had an earthen floor. Wind blew constantly through the chinks. During Oregon’s long rainy season, the floor turned to mud. If the roof had been repaired, the marshal would have used one of the rooms in the jail as officers’ quarters, but the city council refused to allocate funds for this purpose, so Marshal Lappeus refused to post his men in the jail when the rains came. This didn’t mean there were unattended prisoners in the jail. Scarcely a day went by without an arrest for drunkenness or some minor offense, but during the rainy season, insignificant rogues and scoundrels were released because of the marshal’s extreme reluctance to confine them in Portland’s shoddily constructed dungeon. An exception had been made for the two murder suspects, who could not be set free or left unattended, and the marshal had assigned guards to watch the prisoners.
On the morning Matthew visited the jail, a wall of rolling black
clouds hid the snowcapped mountains of the Cascade Range from view and erased the sun. Then rain fell with a vengeance, turning the dusty streets of Portland into a bog. Some merchants had laid planks across the swampy thoroughfares in hopes of encouraging trade, but most of the city’s residents had enough sense to stay out of the rain. Two men nursing coffees in a café on First Street watched sympathetically when Matthew, mud-spattered, distracted, and bedraggled, fought past their window, one hand on the brim of his hat and bent low into the wind like a sailor standing watch in a gale.
Matthew had to shout at the top of his lungs and rap three times on the jail door to be heard above the torrential downpour. When Amos Strayer opened up, Matthew saw a chair, an oil lamp. and a Bible in the only dry spot near the outer wall. There were beads of water on Strayer’s beard and poncho.
“Sorry I took so long, Mr. Penny. I couldn’t hear you.”
“Don’t apologize, Amos. Just let me in. I’m drowning.”
The guard stepped aside, and Matthew squeezed by.
“What’s that?” Strayer asked, suspiciously eyeing the bundle Matthew withdrew from under his slicker.
“A blanket and a change of clothes for Mr. Brown. I cleared it with the marshal.”
“I don’t know—”
“You want me to make Jim run across the street in this rain to clear this up? He’ll have you patrolling outside until the skies clear. Not that it’d make much difference,” Matthew said, just as a huge drop bounced off the brim of his hat.
Strayer smiled. “You made your point. Prisoner’s in the last cell.”
Matthew followed Strayer to the end of the muddy corridor, stepping carefully to avoid the largest puddles. The deputy opened a square peephole in the center of a thick wooden door and peered inside. The prisoner was curled up in his bunk on the moldy straw that served as a mattress, but he was not asleep.
“Stay where you are, boy,” Strayer commanded, “you got a visitor.”
Strayer opened the door, and Worthy lifted his head, staring at the lawyer with dull eyes. Strayer locked the door behind Matthew.
“Holler when you want out,” the deputy said before returning to his post.
Matthew’s nostril’s flared involuntarily when they were assailed by the dank, repulsive odor of decay that permeated the cell. Worthy shivered under the thin blanket he’d wrapped around his shoulders. When he sat up, he seemed less substantial than the muscular giant Matthew had seen chopping wood when he’d visited Worthy’s cabin.
Matthew shook off the water from his hat and revealed the dressing that covered the wound on his head and the yellow-black bruises around his eyes. Worthy’s jaw was still swollen, and he moved slowly as he tried to find a comfortable upright position.
“We’re a sorry-looking pair,” Matthew said with a tired grin.
“I been better.”
“How are they treating you?”
Worthy shrugged. “Mostly, they leave me alone.”
Matthew suddenly remembered the bundle. “I brought you a blanket and a change of clothes. Thought you might need them.”
“Thank you,” Worthy said as he stowed the package in a dry corner of his bunk.
“I would have come sooner, but I was pretty beat up.”
“I understand.” Worthy hesitated. Then he took a deep breath. “How’s Roxanne?”
“She’s staying at Gillette House with Heather. Heather’s a rock. She’s with her all the time.”
“How is my girl?” Worthy persisted.
“She’s quiet, Worthy. What Barbour did to her . . . She’s bearing up, but it’s been hard. Heather thinks she’s getting better every day.”
Worthy nodded, but he seemed to draw inside himself. Matthew thought about the best way to bring up the reason for his visit.
“Worthy, about your charges . . . ,” he said.
Worthy looked up. Matthew sat on the bunk beside him and looked away, unable to meet Worthy’s eye.
“I know you didn’t kill Caleb Barbour,” Matthew said. “I did.”
“You?”
“Barbour . . . attacked Roxanne.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word rape in Worthy’s presence. “After he’d . . . had her, she got away. I rode up just as she ran out of the house. She was naked, Worthy, and that bastard was pursuing her.”
Matthew was having trouble breathing. He grabbed his pant legs to stop his hands from shaking. When he turned to Worthy, there were tears in his eyes.
“I didn’t have to kill him. It just happened. I could have taken Roxanne away.”
Matthew paused to catch his breath. “I would have told the marshal or District Attorney Thornton, but I didn’t remember what happened until two days ago. I was too weak to see you until today. I’m sorry you were beaten and put in this place. You’ll be out soon. I’m going to see Mr. Thornton after I leave. I just wanted a chance to tell you what happened before they lock me up.”
Worthy digested what Matthew had told him. Then he nodded his head a few times like a man who’d made an important decision.
“They ain’t locking you up,” Worthy said firmly.
“They’ll have to. I murdered a man in cold blood.”
“You saved my Roxanne. I ain’t gonna let harm come to you.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Penny. I’m an old man. Ain’t no one gonna miss me when I die, ’cept Roxanne. But you are a young man, a good man. You have your life in front of you.”
It slowly dawned on Matthew where Worthy was going. He shook his head vigorously.
“You’re not going to take the blame for something I did.”
“Ain’t your say. Everyone believes I killed Mr. Barbour, and I would have if I was in that yard when Roxanne came out of that house. It was God put you there to save Roxanne, and it was God put me in this cell so you can be free to do his work.”
“Worthy, they’ll hang you.”
“I know, but don’t you see, all I ever wanted was for Roxanne to be free. Now I got that, I’m ready for what comes.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t let you die for me. Believe me, it would be no gift. Barbour was scum, but even his death is an unbearable burden. Imagine what it will be like for me to have your death on my conscience. I couldn’t live with that. What kind of man do you think I’d be if I let you do this?”
“Mr. Penny, I’m free, and free men decide what to do with their lives,” Worthy answered calmly. “That’s the difference between being free and being a slave. You talk about living with yourself if I take the blame for killing Caleb Barbour. Imagine how I’ll feel knowing our troubles destroyed your life?”
Matthew argued with Worthy a little longer, but it soon became clear that he had no chance of changing Worthy’s mind this morning. Matthew stood and hollered for Amos Strayer.
“I’m going now. You think about what I said. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but it’s not the right thing.”
“Thank you for the blanket and clothing,” Worthy answered, avoiding further discussion of who would take responsibility for Caleb Barbour’s death. “Tell Roxanne I love her and think about her all the time, and thank Miss Heather for her kindness.”
CHAPTER 30
A group of miserable stevedores huddled together on the shore as the steamer Argentine slipped sideways toward its mooring. Sheets of rain had made the gentle slope that led down to the water treacherous. Boards covered the ground to give the drenched dockhands some purchase when they unloaded the Argentine’s cargo.
The driver stopped Benjamin Gillette’s coach as close to the dock as possible and scrambled down from his seat. He was wrapped in a poncho and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, but they were of little use in this downpour.
“I’m going down to the dock, Miss Gillette,” he shouted in
to the coach before trudging toward the steamer with a large umbrella. Heather could barely hear him over the rain, which rattled on the roof like a cascade of iron nails. She strained for a glimpse of her father through the rain-streaked window, but the downpour was keeping the passengers inside the lounge.
The steamer’s whistle blared as its gangplank was lowered to the landing. Moments later, Francis Gibney preceded Benjamin Gillette and Sharon Hill onto the deck. The driver held the umbrella over the heads of Benjamin and his mistress and they rushed over the gangplank toward the coach. Heather opened the door. Her father and Hill ducked inside while the driver returned to the ship to help Francis with the luggage.
“You shouldn’t have come out in this weather,” Benjamin told his daughter.
“I had to. Something terrible happened while you were gone, and I wanted to tell you right away. Caleb Barbour is dead. He was murdered.”
Benjamin and Sharon Hill looked shocked, but for different reasons.
“Who . . . ?” Benjamin asked.
“Worthy Brown.”
“The man who was suing Barbour for his child?” Benjamin exclaimed.
“The slave?” Sharon Hill said.
“Barbour raped his daughter,” Heather said.
“My God!” Benjamin whispered.
Heather told her father how Matthew had rescued Roxanne from Barbour and informed him about the injuries Matthew had suffered when he tried to protect Worthy.
“Is Matthew all right?” Benjamin asked.
“He stayed at Gillette House for the first few days, until he felt well enough to move back to his place. It’s Roxanne I’m worried about. She’s recovered physically, but she’s so quiet. Everything seems to frighten her.”
“Poor girl. I knew there was something wrong with Caleb, but raping a child . . .” Benjamin shook his head in disgust.
The coach shook as Francis strapped the luggage to the roof then climbed up next to the driver.
“I’ve put Roxanne in one of the guest rooms,” Heather said. “I hope that’s all right.”
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