“But the stagecoach … How did she get to Prescott?”
“I took her there. We walked to the next stage station, and we waited there until the posse came through. Then we rode to the capital.”
“You … you were alone with her?” Holden said slowly. “How long?”
“As long as it took us to get to Price’s station.” Freeland decided not to mention the handcuffs, or the fact that he’d been overpowered by his prisoner, but he needn’t have tried to save his pride.
“That man, Dix,” Holden said, eyeing him narrowly. “He said he saw you together the day after the robbery.”
“That’s true,” Freeland said. “I had to subdue him.” He waited, but Holden didn’t mention the fact that he and Carmela had been chained together. Maybe Dix had been too embarrassed to tell the others he’d been overcome by a man and a girl in handcuffs.
“A night and a day is a long time to be alone with a young lady.” Holden’s eyes narrowed. His calculating gaze disturbed Freeland.
“I don’t like what you’re implying, Holden.”
“Oh, don’t you? A strong man like yourself, out in the desert alone with an attractive young woman? Most men would take advantage of that situation.”
“Close your mouth,” Freeland said. “I know how you treated Carmela these last seven or eight years. If you want to talk about taking advantage, maybe you should think about that.”
Pure hatred glittered in Holden’s eyes. He sank back on the bedroll and turned his face away.
“You’re Miss Wade, the one who was to speak at the Silver Cactus last Friday?”
Carmela swallowed hard. Yet another stranger had come to Mrs. Finney’s to seek her out.
“What can I help you with?” she managed.
“I’m Alfred Cox. I own the Silver Cactus. I heard you was held up on the way here, and we had to cancel the performance.”
“I’m so sorry.” For the first time she thought about the other people affected by her misfortune. Mr. Cox, of course, would have taken a cut of their admission sales and also profited by selling lots of liquor in his establishment when she had finished speaking.
“But you’re here now,” he said. “Maybe you could speak this week instead?”
Carmela gulped. “You didn’t sell advance tickets, did you?”
“No, but I had posters printed at the Arizonan office. I figured we could just change the date on ’em.”
Carmela’s chest felt tight, and breathing was difficult. She hadn’t considered that she might have to honor obligations Uncle Silas had arranged.
“My uncle,” she gasped. “He was shot in the holdup. I don’t know yet whether or not he survived.”
“Oh. Sorry, miss.” Cox fidgeted with the wide-brimmed straw hat in his hand. “Well, you think about it. It’d give you some money, if you need it.”
That was true. Carmela had settled a way to pay her bill at Mrs. Finney’s, but she would need some income if she wanted to leave Prescott. Even if Uncle Silas came back alive, he probably wouldn’t have a cent on him. She had no doubt the robbers had taken his money belt the minute they discovered him in the stagecoach.
“C–could I think about it?”
Cox grinned. “Sure. Why don’t I come back in a couple of days? Maybe you’ll know more then, and you can let me know.”
“All right. Thank you for understanding.”
She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, sucking in air. She should have refused. But then what would she do if she learned she was truly alone and destitute? She didn’t think she wanted to stay in Prescott the rest of her life, and Freeland McKay couldn’t be expected to fund her transportation back East. Even if she went, she had no home there now. Who would she stay with? How would she support herself, if not by speaking?
She heard Mrs. Finney clattering about in the kitchen. Carmela’s three hours were done for the day, and she didn’t need to do any more chores. That was good, because she felt lightheaded and short of breath. She hurried to her room and shut the door then walked slowly to the washstand. She poured water into the basin and splashed some on her face.
She gazed at her reflection in the little mirror for a long time. The tattoos were quite faded, although they were still noticeable, and people who had never seen her before wouldn’t realize the difference. Why had she said she would consider Mr. Cox’s request? She had already made her decision not to renew the ink. Her stomach clenched at the thought of doing that.
Squinting in the light from the window across the room, she studied her complexion. She was glad the markings were going away. For the first time in years, she could imagine herself without them. Her adult face had never been clean but had always borne the inked pattern. But it could cause her trouble if people saw her with them now and then a few weeks later without it. If she let them continue to fade, the boarders would soon remark on it, and if she saw the Rootes again, they would notice the difference. How could she explain it?
And if she agreed to perform at Mr. Cox’s saloon … Yes, she supposed she would have to redo the inking as best she could by herself. Would she be able to accomplish it? Uncle Silas always did it before each performance. Would Mr. Cox remark that they seemed more pronounced than they had today? And how would she explain to kindhearted Mrs. Finney? Would she want a boarder and kitchen helper who lied for a living?
An even deeper concern plagued her. Was she breaking any laws now? Even though she wasn’t speaking for cash at the moment, she continued living the lie. She had let the Roote family believe the captive story was true. Without taking money from people anymore, she still might be crossing some legal line. Freeland had said it wasn’t her fault, but she feared the marshal might still charge her with the past fraud she participated in with her uncle.
And what would happen if Freeland brought Uncle Silas back? That possibility scared her even more than facing the marshal. She admired Freeland, and she thought he would protect her if he possibly could. But he was a lawman, and he wouldn’t cover up her history of crime, would he?
Tears filled her eyes. She sat down on her bed staring at the window without seeing it. If only she had someone to confide in. She supposed Mrs. Finney was the logical one, but she dreaded making the woman think poorly of her. What if Mrs. Finney turned her out of the house? Maybe she could borrow enough from Freeland or Mrs. McCormick to get her to Yuma by stage. If Captain and Mrs. Owen were still at Fort Yuma, they might take her in. That was far closer than any distant relatives she might still have in the East. The Owenses had been kind to her. But would they understand and forgive what she had been doing since they last saw her?
They would understand, she told herself. They would have to. Maybe she could hide at their house until her tattoos were completely gone. Then she could start fresh.
She sighed, knowing it was unlikely the couple was still at the fort. It had been nearly eight years, and she had a vague notion that army officers were moved around often. She and Uncle Silas had planned to avoid the town on this trip, just in case. And she still didn’t know how she would provide for herself once she left Mrs. Finney’s care.
Freeland McKay. He was the only one who knew the truth now, if Uncle Silas was dead. He’d had time to think about it, and he might have some insight for her. She wished more than anything that he was here. She could ask him what to do. He was a thinking man, she was sure. Every minute she was with him in the desert, he had acted nobly.
With a shock she understood how much she missed him and how deeply she cared for him. But he wasn’t here. She might never see him again. The marshal might come back and tell her that Freeland had left his posse and headed on south to Tucson. She’d better not hope too hard that he would come back here.
A quiet knock on her door startled her.
“Yes?”
“It’s me, dear,” Mrs. Finney said. “You have another visitor.”
Carmela’s heart raced. Could Freeland be back so soon? She had expected his mission
to take a few more days, at least. She jumped up and hurried to open the door.
“Not the deputy?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Mrs. Finney smiled in sympathy. “It’s a young lady. Or a young woman, at any rate.”
Carmela frowned. What could this mean? She followed Mrs. Finney along the hallway. To her surprise, her hostess had seated the guest in the dining room, not the parlor. The girl—for she appeared to be at least two or three years younger than Carmela—stood as they entered. Her calico dress was of one piece and somewhat ragged. It hung loosely on her thin frame. Her hair, in contrast to Lucy Roote’s lovingly combed tresses, hung in wild disarray, with no part and some ratted clumps that gave her an unkempt look. Her eyes were large in the dim room, and she seemed to drink in the sight of Carmela.
“May I help you?” Carmela stepped forward slowly.
“Don’t know,” the girl said.
“Sit down, won’t you?”
As the girl moved to resume her seat, Carmela noticed her feet. She was wearing worn deerskin moccasins. Her heart sank. This couldn’t be another.
“I am Carmela Wade.”
“Rilla Landis,” the girl said.
Carmela closed her eyes for a second. Dear Lord, help me! I can’t keep doing this.
When she opened them, Rilla had leaned forward and was staring at her face, so close Carmela could smell her breath and see smudges of dirt on her cheek. She pulled back.
“Not with the Apache, were you?” Rilla said.
“No.”
“I thought not. Did they rape you?”
“I beg your pardon?” Carmela was so shocked, she couldn’t move. She had never heard the word spoken aloud, except once when Uncle Silas was having a conversation with a man in the next room and didn’t know she could overhear.
“The buck who caught me didn’t waste any time,” Rilla said.
“I–I’m so sorry.” Carmela felt ill. She looked around for Mrs. Finney, but the older woman had disappeared, probably into the kitchen.
“They made me leave my baby there.” Rilla’s brown eyes held sadness and also a hint of defiance, as though she expected Carmela to condemn her.
“You—you had a child there?”
Rilla’s gaze dropped. “Two, actually. The second one died.”
Carmela sat in stunned silence for a moment. She’d known captives suffered, but this poor girl had been through too much. Would she have been able to bear such sorrow and pain? She doubted she would have kept her sanity.
“People here say they’ll pray for me,” Rilla said bitterly. “Praying won’t help.”
Carmela thought it might, but she was sure this young woman didn’t want to hear that opinion. She took a deep breath. “Prayer can help us put things in perspective. It reminds us that God is there, even in our darkest moments, and that His own Son died a brutal death for us.”
Rilla held her gaze for several seconds. “He wasn’t there with me.”
“I’m sorry. To be utterly alone …” Wasn’t that what she’d thought she was experiencing, now that Uncle Silas and Freeland were gone? How foolish of her! Carmela had never been completely alone. Even in the awful days after her family’s deaths, she had prayed, and she had known God was there. She hadn’t understood why He had taken her loved ones, but she had never doubted that He was nearby, whether she lived or died. When had she lost sight of that?
“I believe God is real,” she said at last. “And I believe He is with us at the worst of times. He sustains us. And if the time comes for us to die, as it did with my family, He takes us home.”
“You truly believe that?”
“Yes.”
Rilla pressed her lips tightly together and folded her hands in her lap. “Sometimes I think I’ve gone mad. There are times …” She looked up. Her dark eyes had a haunted look. “I blame my parents. I think it’s their fault.”
“For not protecting you?” Carmela asked.
Rilla nodded. “My pa. Sometimes … sometimes I think of killing him. But then what would I do?”
Carmela had no words to soothe her. She pulled in a shaky breath, trying not to let the horror overwhelm her. Help me, Father! I can’t advise her. I don’t know what to say.
“I don’t know if I can do anything to help you, Rilla, but I want to.”
The somber girl’s eyes flickered. “Just talking to you and having you not say I’m crazy helps.”
“Really? I’m glad. Will it upset you if I remember you in my prayers?”
Rilla shook her head. “I don’t suppose it can hurt.”
When Rilla had left, Carmela went to the kitchen with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My dear, what is the matter?” Mrs. Finney wiped her hands on her apron and came to her, opening her arms wide.
Carmela leaned against her and sobbed. The landlady’s kindness brought her mother to mind so sharply that it took her several minutes to recover enough to speak.
“There, now.” Mrs. Finney pulled a handkerchief from her pocket when Carmela was reduced to gulps. “Tell me, child.”
“Oh Mrs. Finney, I can’t bear it any longer. That poor girl! Her situation was so much worse than mine, and yet she came to me for help. I can’t help her. I can’t help anyone.”
“Now, now, why do you say that?” As she spoke, Mrs. Finney guided Carmela to the dining room, where they sat down side by side. “It seems to soothe these girls to share their stories with you, because you have something in common with them.”
“But I don’t,” Carmela blurted.
“What do you mean?”
Carmela took two deep breaths. “It’s all a lie. I was never with the Indians. My uncle forced me to say it. I was earning money for him by telling lies. My parents died on the trail to California, but I was never a captive. Not for a single day.”
Mrs. Finney stared at her. She was so still, Carmela wondered if she’d stopped breathing.
“Well,” she said at last. “How miserable for you.”
“Yes, but my misery was nothing compared to what Rilla and Lucy endured. Especially Rilla.”
“I’ve heard tales,” Mrs. Finney said darkly. “She bears a heavy burden, for certain.”
“What am I going to do?” Carmela’s tears welled up again, and she applied the soggy handkerchief. “I’ve prayed and prayed, but God hasn’t shown me any way to get out of this mess without making people angry. And I don’t want to get arrested.” She sniffed and looked into the landlady’s hazel eyes. Mrs. Finney looked sad, but full of wisdom and compassion. Maybe God had answered her prayer after all.
“My dear.” Mrs. Finney leaned toward her and patted her hand. “You have had a most stressful upbringing. Might we pray together for God’s guidance?”
“I would like that.” No one who knew the whole truth had ever prayed with her before. She clung to the landlady’s hand and bowed her head.
“Our heavenly Father,” Mrs. Finney said softly, “You know this child’s heartbreak. You know what she needs. We ask that Thy will be done. For the uncle, Lord, only You know what is best for that man. It seems to me he’s a scoundrel, seeing the things he’s put this girl through. But You know his heart. Only You can judge his motives. And so we pray that You would have mercy and spare him if that is part of Your plan for Carmela, but also that You would turn his heart to the right. And for Carmela, please give her a plain path. Guide each step along her way, dear Lord, even as You guided her across the desert and here to my house. For that, I thank You. Amen.”
Carmela’s tears flowed freely now. She could hardly believe Mrs. Finney’s kindness and her acceptance. “Dear God,” she choked, “thank You for Mrs. Finney. Please show me what to do.” She didn’t think she could say more, so after a moment, she squeezed the woman’s hand.
“Amen and amen,” Mrs. Finney said briskly. “Now, let’s be sensible about this. Are those markings on your face permanent?”
Carmela swiped at her cheek with the handkerchief. “I do
n’t think so, though I’ve lived with them for years. They grow fainter, and my uncle used to renew them often. I assume that, if left alone, over time they would wear off.”
Mrs. Finney frowned, studying her face and turning her chin to the side. “Well, we wouldn’t want to scour your skin off, but we could give it a good scrubbing and see what happens.”
“I think some of it is peeling off with my sunburn.” Carmela wasn’t entirely sure of that, but she thought she saw a difference. “I didn’t want to go to church until I saw what would happen.”
“That’s understandable.”
“And they’ve faded enough already that, if Uncle Silas came back and redid them now, I think people would notice and realize they’re false. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably so.”
“But then I think …” Carmela frowned. “When the posse comes back, it might be better to face them with the ink on my face. Maybe it’s best to face the marshal with it the way he saw me first, at the stagecoach stop. Otherwise, I fear he’ll arrest me for fraud. But I can’t do them myself.” She grasped Mrs. Finney’s wrist as fear welled up inside her. “Would you help me?”
“Me? Color your face? No, child.”
Carmela’s heart sank. Not only had she exposed herself to Mrs. Finney, she had asked the dear lady to take part in a crime of deception.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Forgive me.”
Mrs. Finney smiled gently. “You’re confused and worried. But the heavenly Father is neither of those. Let us trust Him.”
“So you think I should …” Carmela gazed at her with a tiny spark of hope in her heart, but it seemed infinitesimal beside the huge bulk of dark fear she carried.
“Stop lying.” Mrs. Finney nodded. “That’s always best. Always.”
Carmela let out a pent-up breath. “How do I begin?”
“The minister, I think.”
“You mean, go to church on Sunday?”
“No, I mean we’ll go round and see him today. Tell him all. The Lord can use him to give us guidance.”
Carmela’s pulse raced. “Do you really think—Oh, I don’t know! I’m not ready.”
My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains Page 15