West of Paradise

by Hatch, Marcy

  The day was drawing to a close, and the late summer heat that had settled over the city made her think of her house on the Cape and the beach only steps away. What she wouldn’t have given for a nice swim in the ocean or even a barefoot walk along the shore. She repressed a sigh and resisted reminding herself whose fault this was, closing her eyes and feeling the comforting hardness of the book in her valise. All she had to do was get back to Leavenworth and that cigar shop with the storeroom in the back. The one with the fancy lock her key fit.

  The carriage rolled up before the station, and George jumped down to open the doors, calling for one of the many boys loitering about in the hopes of making a few coppers. Jack gave Katherine his arm, and they soon made their way up through the doors and across to one of the ticket booths.

  “Where are we going?” Katherine asked.

  “We’re going to visit an old friend of mine,” Jack answered.

  “Oh? Who?”

  “His name is Harlan Harris. He’s . . . ah, been a friend for a while now.”

  “And what aren’t you telling me?” Katherine asked, having heard the hesitation.

  Jack gave a small guilty smile. “He’s in law enforcement, but don’t let that worry you. He may not seem it, but he’s pretty smart, and he’s fair.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “With my life,” Jack answered simply.

  Jack took their tickets from the agent and they made their way to the train platform where their train was beginning to load. George and the boy followed with Katherine’s trunk and Jack’s leather satchel. The platform was loud with the huffing of the trains and crowded with people.

  Katherine limped after Jack who was weaving his way through the crowd to their train. Once inside they found their compartment, which, while not as luxurious as the one she’d enjoyed coming east, was at least private. Their baggage was stowed, the boy tipped, and Jack had a few words with George before joining her, shutting the door behind him.

  Katherine settled in to wait, turning her thoughts away from the moment in an effort to relieve the pain in her leg, which was nearly unbearable by this point. Leavenworth. That should be her priority. She had the key now, after all.

  But then she thought of Alanna, who was alive and free rather than lingering and dying as she was supposed to. Where was she now? What was she going to do? What if she killed someone important, someone who wasn’t supposed to die?

  “You sure you’re okay?” Jack asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

  Katherine nodded.

  “It’s your leg, isn’t it,” he said. “I know, it hurts. I have laudanum if you want some; it’s a long ride.”

  Katherine hesitated.

  “There’s no reason not to be comfortable,” Jack said.

  “All right. But I’ve heard it isn’t something one should become too dependent on.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack said with a grin. “I don’t have enough for you to get dependent on.”

  He found the bottle in his satchel and gave it to her. “Sorry, I don’t have a spoon or glass. If you take a small sip, it should take the edge off.”

  Katherine tipped the bottle back, careful to do as he said and take a small sip. He tucked the bottle away and she soon relaxed against the seat, closing her eyes. It did not take long before she was drifting along the border of sleep, her mind skipping back . . . back to the last time she had seen her parents.

  It was August and she’d been in the upstairs gallery at her grandfather’s house in Boston, looking at his Daniel Merriam Collection. Her father was already in the car, waiting. Her mother was downstairs in the entry. They were about to head west, another one of their trips in search of some elusive relative.

  “Don’t go,” her grandfather was saying. “You know how much I need you here right now.”

  “And you knew this trip has been planned for months,” her mother replied. “We’ve had this discussion.”

  “Let Steven go on ahead. I’ll fly you out on Monday. Then we can both meet with the board.”

  “I’ve already signed my proxy over to you. You don’t need me.”

  “I do need you. And Katie needs you.”

  Her mother had laughed and even at the time Katherine had thought it strange, that laugh. There was something about it that wasn’t happy. Now she recognized the laugh; it was the bitter sound of someone who doesn’t believe what they’ve been told.

  “She doesn’t need me. She has you.”

  Katherine had stepped away from the painting, Living It Up. It was one of her favorites, depicting exactly the sort of house she would have loved to live in: an impossibly tall white Victorian in the trees. She peered over the balcony down to the entry but all she saw was the robin’s egg blue of her mother’s coat flying out the door with her.

  A moment later someone came out from the living room, a man in a gray suit. Katherine didn’t recognize him. He spoke to her grandfather, quietly, and then he, too, went out the door. Katherine never saw her parents again, nor the man in the suit. In fact, she had quite forgotten about him. Who was he? she wondered now. What had he said to her grandfather? And who was it her parents were so interested in? Alanna McLeod?

  It had to be, Katherine told herself, unless there was yet another infamous relative lurking about.

  “Well, I must say I am disappointed.”

  Katherine’s eyes flew open.

  A man stood in the doorway, a plainly dressed man who Katherine didn’t recognize. His hair was trimmed short beneath his bowler, his beard and mustache neat. He didn’t smile, and he had a gun aimed at Jack who hadn’t moved a muscle. Katherine felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Please come with me, miss,” the man said, keeping his eyes on Jack.

  “Jim, you don’t want to do this.”

  The man didn’t answer and Katherine looked at Jack, who had fixed his gaze on the man with the gun. She hesitated, not sure what to do.

  “Now, ma’am,” the man said in a tone that demanded obedience.

  Katherine set the cane on the floor and rose unsteadily. The man flicked his eyes toward her then, noting the cane and the hitch in her step, and before he could look back Jack was already moving, so fast Katherine couldn’t follow.

  The gun went flying while the man was propelled backward through the open doorway. Jack lunged forward and grabbed hold of him by the collar. He yanked the man inside the compartment, slamming the door shut, and flung him onto the seat he had just vacated.

  “Get the gun, Katherine,” Jack said.

  Katherine stared, too shocked to move.

  “Katherine!” Jack barked.

  She blinked and found her voice. “What?”

  “Pick up his gun,” Jack said, grabbing his satchel. “We need to go.”

  “But . . .” She shook her head, confused, feeling herself begin to tremble.

  Jack held her gaze as he spoke. His voice was calm. “He’s not dead, but we need to be far away before he wakes up. Now get his gun and let’s go.”

  Katherine bent down to pick up the gun, wincing, and handed it to Jack. He emptied it of bullets and laid it on the seat next to the man.

  “I hope you have clothes in your valise because we won’t be able to get your trunk.”

  Katherine thought about the trunk; she didn’t care about anything in it. The gowns she had so carefully chosen, the lovely cloak, the shoes, none of it moved her. The only thing that mattered was the valise in her hands because it contained the book with the key and that key was her ticket home and away from this awful, violent place.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Harlin Harris, US Marshall

  Katherine was hot—again. Her blouse clung to her and the chemise beneath it was damp with sweat. She’d taken her bonnet off, unable to be
ar it a moment longer and was now fanning herself with it. How women managed in such heat wearing so many clothes she couldn’t imagine.

  Jack was surely no cooler in his black frock coat and vest; a line of sweat rimmed his hairline. He, too, had taken off his hat and held it at his side, scanning the town. The sign said Hays City but what Katherine saw was a small town in the middle of nowhere.

  “Come on,” Jack said. “We’ll get a room for the night.”

  “How about two rooms. I’ll pay.”

  “Under different circumstances I’d accept your offer, but I think it best if we draw as little attention to ourselves as possible. A woman alone arouses questions.”

  Katherine nodded her agreement and the two of them made their way across the tracks to a building whose sign proclaimed Drugs & Chemicals. Inside, she could almost imagine it as a modern day drug store, until she looked closer. Instead of shelves of pain killers and antibiotic ointments and snap tests there were brown bottles with bold lettering offering cures for interrupted menstruation, purgatives, carbolic spray, castor oil, and Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Bitters.

  Jack grabbed two bottles of the carbolic spray and soon found the proprietor, an elderly gentleman wearing a striped shirt and a white apron. He had a pleasant if tired expression on his face.

  “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “We’re hoping to find a nice place to stay for a few days,” Jack said, placing the carbolic spray on the counter and handing over the appropriate coin.

  “Ah, then may I suggest the Windsor Hotel. It’s over on Walnut Street, near the new high school.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, tipping his hat. He put his purchases in his satchel and led Katherine out of the store. They were soon outside in the wilting heat again; she almost said something before reminding herself how useless it would be. There was no AC or fancy fans or icemakers. It was just plain hot.

  And so they walked, all the way to the Windsor Hotel, which turned out to be a boxy three-story building with white clapboards and green trim. Katherine let Jack do the talking, though a part of her wanted to push him aside and take charge. It was hard to bite her tongue, hard to remember there had been a time when women were entirely subservient to men.

  Inside, the place reminded her of the hotel in Leavenworth. A large dining room took up the better part of the first floor with doors leading to what Katherine guessed were the owner’s quarters and kitchen. A stairway curved around to the second floor where two hallways went off in opposite directions and a second set of stairs wound up to the third floor.

  She followed Jack up to their corner room, which was occupied by a single double-sized bed, an armoire in one corner, and a folding screen in the other. A mirrored dresser with a cushioned stool stood against one wall and next to the double windows was a large comfortable chair and ottoman. But the best thing Katherine found was a porcelain tub, which was not quite hidden by the oriental screen.

  An hour later the bath was filled with lukewarm water and Katherine was sitting in it with her eyes closed.

  ❧

  Jack left Katherine to her pleasures and sent a wire to Harlan in Abilene, careful to be brief and vague, signing it Mr. Jack Smith. Then he went outside for a smoke. After their wretchedly hot walk to the hotel he felt the need for a moment of relaxation and contemplation, and this was best served by a short glass of whiskey and the last cigar he’d been saving for some particularly miserable occasion.

  He let his eyes wander out over Hays City, which was hardly that, but rather a collection of buildings, arranged in haphazard manner. He lit a match and puffed until he saw the red glow and the smoke wafting up into the air, thinking. About Katherine mostly, and how she happened to be in Leavenworth at the same time he was and how she happened to look so much like Alanna.

  If he closed his eyes he could see her in that hotel room, scared to death, trembling. He felt terrible about that now, even though he knew there was no way he could’ve known she wasn’t who he thought. Christ, they were practically identical! Thank God they hadn’t actually made it to Abilene. She could be dead by now.

  He shook his head and stubbed out the cigar before it was half gone, sipping from the glass. A smile curled his lips as he remembered how she swore at him—which had not been very ladylike, he decided, wondering about her upbringing.. He frowned and finished his whiskey, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stepped back inside, knowing he was missing some of the pieces.

  He shook his head, deciding to follow Katherine’s lead and have himself a nice cool bath. He knocked lightly on the door before entering, waiting for Katherine’s okay.

  “Come in,” she called.

  “You look more comfortable,” he commented, finding her stretched out on the bed, wearing a pale yellow blouse with half sleeves, ruffled, and a slate-colored skirt. Her feet were bare and she had pinned her hair up.

  “There’s fresh bath water in the tub for you,” she said.

  “Is that a hint?” he asked with a grin.

  “Do you want the polite answer or the honest one?” she raised a brow.

  “Never mind. I was planning on a bath anyway.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, putting her book away and taking up her stockings and boots. “Perhaps they’ll have something cool to drink downstairs.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jack said, wasting no time stripping off his clothes and repressing a smile at Katherine’s hasty exit.

  ❧

  Katherine gave Jack an hour, though she suspected he would use only a fraction of the time. She hadn’t met a man yet who couldn’t be in and out of the bath in under fifteen minutes, and while it might be 1881 she had a feeling men hadn’t changed all that much.

  She did not a find a cool drink but she did find some very tasty lemonade, which she enjoyed while perusing the dinner menu. She brought a glass up for Jack whom she found relaxing in the chair by the window and looking vastly improved for his bath.

  “I brought you some lemonade,” she said, handing him the glass.

  “Thanks,” Jack said.

  Katherine sat down on the edge of the bed and untied the laces of her boots, kicking them off and rolling the stockings off, sighing a little once the air hit her toes. It was far too hot to be wearing boots and stockings.

  When she sat up, she found Jack watching her, curious.

  “What?”

  He shook his head.

  “What is it? You’re giving me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “I don’t know, like I’ve done something wrong or unexpected.”

  “It’s nothing really.”

  “Well, it must be something or you wouldn’t have noticed.”

  Jack hesitated for a moment. “It’s just that sometimes there’s something . . . different about you.”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “I can’t explain it, just . . . different.”

  “Different from what?”

  “Most women.”

  “For example?”

  “Oh, you cuss a lot.”

  “Really?” Katherine tried to think when she’d last swore.

  “When you’re mad,” Jack added, as if he were offering her an excuse.

  “I apologize. My grandfather raised me and he used a great deal of colorful language. I’m afraid I tend to revert to old habits when provoked.”

  “Where was that?” Jack asked.

  “Where was what?”

  “Where were you raised?”

  “Are we playing twenty questions?” Katherine asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “I was raised in Boston and France. Where were you raised?”

  “Outside of Boston, a small town
I’m sure you never heard of.”

  “Oh? What is it called?”

  “Scituate. But that was two questions. When did your husband die?”

  It was Katherine’s turn to hesitate and Jack must’ve caught it because he smiled and shook his head in a way that said he knew there was no husband.

  “No husband, then,” he said. “So why the widow’s weeds?”

  “People tend to leave those in mourning alone,” Katherine said, refusing to apologize for the white lie. “Why are you a bounty hunter when you could be living well in Boston?”

  Jack was quiet a moment, and Katherine wondered if he was thinking up his own departure from the truth.

  “I guess I like the best of both worlds. It makes me appreciate home when I get back.”

  “Will you be able to go back?”

  “My turn,” Jack said, holding her gaze now. “Where were you headed before I mistook you for Alanna?”

  “San Francisco,” Katherine answered immediately, meeting his gaze and repeating her question. “Will you be able to go back?”

  “I hope so. I guess it depends on how all this turns out.”

  The game fizzled out on that somber note and later, when it was dark, and she thought Jack was asleep in the chair by the window, she wondered about it too. Would he be able to go back?

  Would she?

  ❧

  The next morning a light rapping on the door roused Jack. He rose without regret from the chair he’d been pretending to sleep on and went to the door, opening it enough to see who was there.

  “Yes?” he said to the boy standing in the hall.

  “It’s a Mr. Harris, sir. He says he’s come to show you the property.”

  “Has he?”

  “What shall I tell him?”

  “Tell him we shall be down shortly and that we are eager to see the property.”