Ransacker

by Emmy Laybourne

  * * *

  OUT IN THE STREET, she went quickly. She didn’t see James straightaway, and that was a good sign. Usually he popped out from one of the stores nearby, as if he’d been shopping.

  The work of the day was coming to an end, and the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the young town. She saw workmen, shirts stained with sweat and sprinkled with sawdust, breaking their work on the town hall. She passed a mother scolding an errant child as she carried him toward home and the supper table. Reverend Neville nodded to her as they passed. She dipped her head in return and hoped she looked innocent.

  Finally clear of the main street, Sissel headed toward the thatch of scrub oak that bordered the stream. There was such freedom to be away from prying eyes, she felt like skipping.

  She pressed through the scrub on the grassy footpath. When she came to the stream, she looked on it with affection. Here she had learned what she was!

  First she made her preparations. She tucked the square of cloth into the pocket of her dress, that she might have it at hand. Then she dipped the pail into the stream, filling it halfway with water.

  Sissel looked around to make sure no one was near; then, drawing in a great breath of air, she opened her mind to her Nytte. She felt so strong today. Strong and robust. There was a thick, pleasurable feeling in her legs, almost as if she could draw power from the very minerals of the soil itself. Her Nytte was getting stronger.

  Sissel was beaming as she knelt to place the fingertips of her right hand in the water.

  She sensed gold in the waters, buzzing both upstream and downstream. Her heart flooded with the warmth of it. She knew she must stay alert and watch in case someone came, but, oh, it did feel good to use her gift.

  Sissel pulled, and the tiny bits of gold came tumbling through the water, responding to her call with soft, friendly resonance.

  It felt like minnows were nibbling her fingers. She pressed her entire hand down into the water, palm flat, providing more surface area for the gold to cling to.

  She called, called some more, but it seemed she had gotten all within the expanse of her reach, because the sensation of gold coming to her palm slowed, then stopped.

  While maintaining her pull on the gold, Sissel withdrew her hand—it gleamed and glowed in the fading light of day. Sissel laughed.

  She looked around sharply, remembering she would not be able to hear if someone came upon her. There was no one there.

  Now Sissel lowered her hand into the pail. The gold still clung to her, but she used her power to push it off her skin, just slightly. It released in a glimmering flurry, settling to the bottom. There was at least as much as before.

  Sissel couldn’t keep from grinning. She had done it again! Gold, real gold, and she’d just skimmed it out of the stream! She had the feeling that if she came again, she wouldn’t be so lucky. She had likely pulled all the flake out of the waters, and it would take more time for it to flush down out of the mountains to the north of town.

  Sissel carefully poured off the water, and then, when there was just a bit left, she made a little bag of the rough cloth and strained the water through it.

  The brush moved nearby, and Sissel’s heart lurched.

  But it was a small movement, just from a chipmunk or such creature passing through. Sissel put a hand to her chest. She could not hear her heart in her ears, but she felt it thumping.

  Now feeling some urgency, Sissel squeezed out the bundle over the water, getting it as dry as possible. The gold felt warm in her hand, even though the cloth was wet.

  Then she folded the handkerchief in quarters, then in eighths, and tucked the little wet linen packet within the bosom of her corset. She knew the heat of her body would dry the cloth, and in the meantime, having the gold next to her heart felt good.

  The light was failing now, and she knew Stieg would be finishing his dinner at the hotel at any time. Sissel walked back along the footpath to the main road.

  The town glowed before her, candles and oil lamps alit in the windows of the buildings. Above Carter, the broad sky was shot through with a band of sunset. Sissel hurried onto the board walkway on the southern side of the street, the same side as the boardinghouse. As she walked, sound returned to the world. She nodded to people she passed on the street, all of them hurrying home as she was.

  Sissel was passing two dark buildings, the Oswalds’ store and the bank beside it, when her head was abruptly jerked back. Someone had her by the hair! She was dragged off her feet, hauled into the alley.

  The man pulled her roughly into his body so that her back was to him.

  She felt a knife jab her in the hip.

  Sissel cried out.

  “Quiet!” he said, spitting the word into her ear. The stench of whiskey hit her. She felt long whiskers and a raspy growl to his voice. She knew who it was. Ebbott, the trapper. Her flesh crawled. “Now, where is it?”

  “What do you want?” Sissel asked.

  “I seen you come from the stream.” He gave her a shake. “I know you been prospecting. Where’s your gold?”

  He started to pat down her body with the hand not holding her hair. He pushed a grimy hand down her neckline.

  “Let me go!” Sissel cried out.

  Then James was there, stepping into the alleyway.

  “Sissel?” he said.

  Ebbott cursed and pushed her hard toward James. He caught her, but James lost his footing and they both went over, limbs tangled.

  “Stop!” James shouted. Sissel turned to look, but Ebbott had run down the alley toward the back street. James pushed free of Sissel and scrambled down the alley, but Sissel heard the sound of hooves retreating.

  A moment later, James rushed back toward her, into the space between the buildings and to her side.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He lifted Sissel to her feet.

  The fright of it had taken Sissel’s breath away. She gasped for air, as if she’d just run for miles.

  “Shhh,” James said. “There, there.”

  He fumbled into his vest pocket for a handkerchief and gave it to her. Sissel wiped her eyes. She could not get her heart to slow. She felt panicked and sick.

  “Was that Frank Ebbott?” James asked.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “What on earth did he want?”

  Sissel saw that the corner of the cloth with the gold was sticking up out of her neckline. She tucked it in, in the guise of straightening her dress. James began to brush the dirt off her skirts.

  “I suppose the usual thing a man wants when he drags a girl down an alley,” she said.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m angry, but not hurt,” she said.

  “I’ll take you back to the hotel,” James said.

  Out in the street, where there was more light, Sissel found her sleeve was torn and there were stains on the front of her dress from Ebbott’s grimy fingers. Worse were the scratches on her chest from where his filthy hands had raked her skin.

  James put a protective arm around her and walked her to the hotel.

  As they neared the hotel, several carpenters Sissel knew from meals at the boardinghouse stopped.

  “Miss! Are you all right?” one asked.

  “Frank Ebbott attacked her,” James said.

  “I’m all right,” Sissel said.

  “Sissel!” came Stieg’s voice. He had seen them through the windows and had rushed out to them. “What happened?”

  “This young lady was mauled!” a farmer told him.

  “Who was it?” asked Mrs. Denmead, pushing through the growing crowd.

  “That old scoundrel Ebbott!” one of the carpenters said.

  “I’m fine,” Sissel said. “He was drunk and he grabbed me, but he’s gone away and I’m fine.”

  “Nonsense, we can’t let that kind of lawlessness stand. Not here in Carter!” Mrs. Denmead said. “We will wire Fort Benton and tell the sheriff to come!”

  “W
e can’t wait for the sheriff,” the farmer said. “I know where Ebbott lives!”

  “Let’s go get him!” one of the carpenters shouted. “We’ll keep him prisoner till the law can get here.”

  Shouts of agreement went out. Sissel and Stieg shared a look—they didn’t want a posse formed, nor did they want the attention of the sheriff.

  A crash of summer thunder resounded overhead. Startled, the townspeople looked up. Sissel sneaked a look at her brother, who had a finger to his temple.

  A warm and thickly humid wind tunneled down the street, whipping up skirts and dirt. Horses whinnied. More thunder boomed overhead, and a sheet of rain overcame the street. As it neared, the small crowd dispersed.

  James led Sissel to the hotel and stood there holding the door, getting soaking wet, as she and Stieg passed inside.

  “Thank you,” she said as the door closed. Through the rain-splattered glass, she saw James watching her, concerned. She put her hand to the glass and mouthed the words Thank you again.

  * * *

  “YOU WENT RANSACKING,” Stieg said once they were safe in the privacy of Sissel’s room. Their wet clothes were making a dark patch on the carpet beneath their feet.

  Sissel handed him one of her two towels and used the other to blot her face and neck.

  “Yes,” she said. “But just back to the stream—”

  “And Ebbott saw you?”

  “I was so careful!”

  “He saw you!”

  Sissel pressed the cloth to her face. She did not want her brother to see her cry.

  “Sissel, how can I press upon you the need to be careful?”

  Sissel said nothing, only hid her face in the towel and waited until she felt calmer.

  “So he followed you, and then he cornered you?” Stieg asked, his voice more gentle. “Are you all right?”

  Sissel set the towel into her lap. She found Stieg had poured her a glass of water and was holding it out to her. She took a sip.

  “He dragged me into the alley between the bank and the Oswalds’ store. He tried to find where I had hidden the gold. But James came and scared him off.”

  Stieg’s mouth was drawn tight. “I expressly asked you not to go Ransacking!”

  “You did not ask me, you told me. You decreed it, as if I were your royal subject.”

  “Yes, fine.” He threw up his hands. “I decreed it for our safety. What if Ebbott tells someone?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sissel said.

  “You should be.”

  “Not sorry that I went, but that I was discovered!” Sissel said. She reached into her corset.

  “Sissel!” Stieg said, shocked.

  She drew out the cloth packet with the gold.

  “Look!” she said. She opened it. “I think it’s double what I got last time.”

  Stieg looked at the flat little disk of gold, pressed together by the warmth of her chest.

  “We can’t cash it in,” Stieg said softly. “We’ll draw too much attention.”

  Sissel set down the cloth and rubbed a finger over the gold flakes.

  “Did you hear me? We can’t draw attention to ourselves, Sissel.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I heard you.”

  Stieg exhaled heavily. “Please do not go out Ransacking again,” he said. “I should have asked, instead of ordered. I’m asking now. Your safety demands it and also the safety of our family. We cannot forget about the Baron. He is surely looking for us still.”

  “I know,” Sissel said.

  “I will hide that in my room,” Stieg said, holding his hand out for the gold. “After a few weeks, we can exchange it at the bank.”

  “May I keep it?” Sissel said. “I like to hold it. I know it’s odd, but I do think it makes me stronger.”

  Stieg sighed. He rubbed his head with one hand.

  “Oh, how I wish Rolf were here,” Stieg said. “There is so much about your gift we do not understand.”

  “Yes,” Sissel said, moving the gold this way and that to admire the glow from the lamp on the surface of the disk. “But we are learning about it, bit by bit.”

  “Perhaps we should try to reach Hanne,” he said.

  Sissel tore her gaze away from the gold. “Why?”

  “Because you don’t seem willing to understand—you are putting yourself in danger.”

  Sissel frowned. If Hanne came back, Sissel’s freedom would end. Hanne would mother-hen her to death.

  “Don’t call for Hanne,” she said. “She’ll smother me with worries.”

  “Then can you promise me you won’t use your power without me?”

  Sissel nodded yes, miserable to have made a promise she did not want to keep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The roof of Ebbott’s cabin was bowed and mossy. Several deer skins stretched on frames rested against the exterior walls. The trapper sat hunched in front of a small, smoky fire out front, muttering to himself.

  James felt his pulse pounding. He, Clements, and Peavy had come up on foot, following the rutted tracks by the light of the moon. Now they were spread out around the camp, hidden in the shadows.

  It seemed a pretty small life, James thought, watching the man eat some kind of gruel out of an old, dented pan. James wished he, Peavy, and Clements could just turn around and go back to town.

  Ebbott wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  Peavy stepped out of the darkness into the circle of light.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Ebbott got up to run, but Clements was right behind him. He grabbed the trapper by the collar of his coat.

  “Easy, there, Ebbott,” Peavy said. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

  James stepped forward to show he was there. His heart was hammering so fast he felt like a rabbit.

  “I didn’t do nothin’!” Ebbott said. He had stepped in his pan of mush accidentally, and now slipped, trying to keep upright. Clements got hold of his arms from behind and hauled him up.

  “That’s the one lie you get, you old badger,” Peavy said. “You tell me another and Clements there will start removing your teeth for you.”

  Ebbott’s eyes darted from Peavy to James and back.

  “This ain’t right,” he said to James, a tone of pleading in his voice. “This is my land you’re on. Y’all are trespassing.”

  Peavy slugged Ebbott in the gut.

  “Why were you watching the girl?”

  Ebbott heaved, trying to get his breath.

  “Gold,” he gasped. “Gold, I reckon.”

  “How so?” Peavy asked.

  “She and her brother have been panning, and I thought she’d lead me to their spot. Don’t hit me again. I’m an old man.”

  “What did you see?” Peavy asked.

  Ebbott shook his head.

  “She took something out of the water. I think it was a nugget. I was too far away to see.”

  “You think she fished a nugget of gold out of the stream that runs near our town.”

  “She had something and put it in a cloth. That much I saw for sure.”

  Peavy shrugged. “So then you tried to drag her into an alley, huh.”

  “Look, I drink too much. I do stupid stuff.”

  “James, see if Ebbott’s got himself a gun, would you?”

  He indicated the cabin with his head.

  “Now, look here,” Ebbott said. “I didn’t hurt her or nothin’. I didn’t even break a law, I don’t think.”

  James stuck his head into the dank shelter. It reeked of mold and urine. Several empty bottles clattered on the dirt floor when he accidentally kicked them. There were no windows, only a rectangle of moonlight to see by.

  He didn’t want to touch the old man’s bed—just a heap of furs and blankets on the floor. He turned and scanned the room. There was the gun, hung on two wooden pegs over the door. The oiled barrels gleamed.

  James took it down and brought it outside.

  Ebbott shrunk back against Clements when he saw the gun.<
br />
  “Fellas, come on. Let me buy you a drink. I got a good bottle inside.”

  Peavy turned to James. “Is it loaded?”

  James struggled to open the heavy stock. Two bullets were loaded into the chambers. Say one thing for Ebbott, James thought, he kept his rifle clean. He closed the gun again.

  “It’s loaded.”

  “Good,” Peavy said. “When Clements lets Ebbott go, you’re gonna shoot him.”

  “What?” James said.

  “No!” Ebbott shouted. “For God’s sake!”

  “You killed a man before?” he asked James, though he knew James had done no such thing.

  “Wait, Peavy. I don’t want to do this,” James said. “It’s not right.”

  “He assaulted one of our clients. We’re paid to protect her. It’s every bit of right.”

  “No!” James said.

  “You want to be a real Pinkerton, don’t you?”

  James felt sick with the pressure of it. He knew he was being goaded, but at the same time, he did want to prove himself to Peavy.

  But to take a man’s life? James found his hands were trembling badly.

  “Let me free,” Ebbott squealed.

  Peavy nodded to Clements.

  Clements let the old man go, and Ebbott staggered forward.

  “Shoot him, James,” Peavy said.

  “No,” James said. “I won’t.”

  Clements started to laugh, and Ebbott started to run.

  Tripping and sliding on the grass and leaves, the old man went careening off into the woods.

  “Shoot him!” Peavy shouted.

  James raised the gun. His arms were shaking so hard he couldn’t even get a sight. Ebbott was crashing through the brush. Getting away.

  Then BANG. The brush went still.

  Peavy lowered his pistol.

  “Lord,” he said, exhaling, disappointed. “I’m trying to make you a Pinkerton, son. You ain’t making it easy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sissel couldn’t get over how good Knut looked. He had come to town with the Lilliedahls for supplies, and they had given him the afternoon off to visit with his siblings.