Colman stepped forward. “I’d recommend heading out in the morning. There’s an early train, if you can get Charlie up and on it. He might be hurting bad, but he’s got more grit than most men.”
Serepta gave him her steeliest look. “McLeans don’t run.”
Colman glanced at Charlie, who had subsided into the sofa with a groan. “I don’t guess Charlie’s a McLean.”
She looked at the only man she’d ever trusted, laid low because he was associated with her. “That he is not,” she said. “And never can be.”
Colman held Ivy’s hand tight in his. Something about the day’s events made him feel protective of her. “Maggie’s alright, and we’ve done what we can for Charlie. We could take a late train back to Hinton. Sleep all the way.”
Ivy shook her head. “I want to give that mother and child every chance I can. Maggie needs one more night of rest before I leave her on her own.”
Colman sighed and squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I’ll stay the night with Dad. Be looking for me first thing tomorrow. Maybe Elam’s rubbing off on me, but I have this notion you need to put Thurmond behind you.”
Ivy laughed and patted his shoulder. “I’ve done more good for folks the past two days than all last month back home. It’s fine to hand out tonics and ease aches and pains, but Maggie and Charlie truly needed me.” She lowered her gaze for a moment and then looked at Colman again in a way that set his pulse to racing. “It’s the best feeling I’ve ever known.”
Colman swallowed a lump in his throat. “Well then. You see to Maggie. I’ll be back in the morning.” He left and made his way onto the bridge crossing the New River, pausing out in the center to be still for a moment. The moon was little more than a sliver in the inky sky, yet what showed caught its reflection in the river beneath him. Often he’d tune out the abundance of sounds that came to him. At this moment, though, he really listened.
A dog barked. Someone spoke, soft and quiet, maybe a mother to a child or even one lover to another. The wind sighed, and the river whispered against the bank. A train whistle sounded so far off that even Colman could barely make it out.
Then there was a sound that didn’t quite fit. It was a rough scraping sound, maybe from the direction of the hotel. Colman tuned in to footsteps and turned to see a man approaching from the Thurmond side of the bridge. He moseyed along, in no hurry, and his shape and height put Colman in mind of his father. But it wasn’t Dad; it was Uncle Webb out for a late-night stroll.
“Hear you’ve been busy,” Webb said, drawing closer.
Colman tried to look relaxed. “That I have.”
“Doing the Lord’s work?” Webb leaned on the railing beside Colman and spit into the water below.
Colman pondered how to answer. “You know, I believe I have been.”
“Hunh. Always did find God to be meddlesome.” Silence hung between the two men, thick as the night. Webb shifted. “Your work wouldn’t have anything to do with Serepta’s houseman, would it?”
Colman held his tongue.
“’Cause if it did, I might take exception to that. It’s one thing to go into enemy territory to preach”—the word sounded like a curse on Webb’s lips—“but it’s something else altogether to aid the enemy in your own town.”
“Charlie didn’t shoot Caleb.”
Webb straightened and turned to face Colman. “You think that’s what this is about? That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ve tolerated the McLean hold on this whole territory for as long as I intend. It’s time power shifted, and Serepta’s days are numbered.” He leaned closer. “As are the days of anyone who sides with her.”
Colman threw his hands into the air. “So, it’s about power? And money, and who’s stronger? Do the men you’ve got helping you know that? Do they know you’re just using the murder of your son as an excuse to wrestle the reins of control from Serepta McLean?”
He didn’t see the fist coming, just landed on his hind quarters on the bridge. Webb stood over him, breathing heavily as Colman rubbed his jaw. “If you think I don’t mourn my son every day, then you’ve got—”
“If you mourn him, why don’t you march over there to the Dunglen and claim his boy? Help the mother of your grandson build a life for herself and that child.” Colman stayed down, figuring he’d be harder to hit at this angle. He could see that his uncle had a pistol tucked into his waistband.
“Why you—”
Whatever Webb was going to say was cut off by a flash of light and a burst of voices behind Colman. He scrambled to his feet and glanced back toward the Dunglen. Flames shot into the sky, reflecting in the fast-running water of the river. He and Webb stood slack-jawed for a moment before breaking into a run toward the burning building.
chapter
twenty-four
Once Charlie had settled into a deep sleep, Serepta went into the adjoining bedroom and checked to see that Emmaline was also sleeping. Seeing she was, Serepta turned away, pressed a pillow to her face, and wept. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shed tears for any reason. Even now they were no comfort to her, but felt like acid pouring from her eyes and burning her cheeks. She wondered that the pillow didn’t dissolve in her hands.
If someone had asked, she would have had difficulty telling them why she was crying. It might be for the suffering forced upon the only man she’d ever thought good. It might be for the orphaned child splayed in the bed behind her. It might be for the way her sons had disappointed her. It might even be for the life she had been denied . . .
Serepta forced herself to gain control. She’d never allowed emotion to sway her or sidetrack her before. Now was not the time to begin. She wiped her face with a handkerchief smelling of rose water and took a shuddering breath. Moving to the window, she raised the sash wide and leaned out into the night air. It must be after ten by now. She took in the starry sky, then allowed her gaze to roam over the trees and mountains beyond. She almost wished she had the heart to find it beautiful.
A figure darted out of a door below, looked all around, and then sprinted for the tree line. Serepta furrowed her brow. If she didn’t know better, she would say the man looked a great deal like Mack. But that couldn’t be. He was back in Hinton overseeing business while she was away. Suspicion twisted her gut. If she learned later that he’d broken the trust she was beginning to give him . . .
Someone cried out from inside the hotel. Then another shout. Serepta could just make out the sounds and assumed it was an angry gambler or a drunk. She turned back toward Emmaline to make sure the child continued to sleep, then peered into the sitting room where she saw Charlie’s eyes were open, starkly white against his dark skin. She knelt beside him and took the hand that wasn’t injured in her own.
“I don’t often say I’m sorry, but I regret that you were placed in a position to be so badly hurt.”
Charlie started to laugh but it clearly pained him. “Did I just hear the great Serepta McLean admit she made a decision that might not have been for the best?”
Serepta scowled at him. “Make light of it if you will, but I do not like seeing you laid low. I will discover who is to blame and—”
Charlie squeezed her hand and interrupted her. “No, you won’t. I don’t often contradict you, but tonight I hurt too bad to dance. I’m tired of people hurting each other. Let’s not pay back evil with evil.”
Serepta stood and stepped away. “You always were the most infuriating man. If I didn’t . . .” She hesitated.
“Didn’t what?” Charlie tried to smile, but his fat lip wouldn’t allow it.
Serepta cleared her throat. “If I didn’t want the best for you.”
“Hunh. Thought you were gonna say something else.”
Serepta closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow. “Charlie, I bow to no man. But even I know there are some rules you don’t break.”
“Seems to me we’ve already broken a few.”
“And no one need ever know that.”
> Another cry came from downstairs, louder this time. Serepta moved to the door, cracked it open, and glanced into the hall.
“Fire!” This time the cries were clear. Serepta stepped into the hall and saw a man surge up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “The hotel’s on fire! Everybody get out as quick as you can!” He tore off down the hall, pounding on doors as he ran. Guests began to appear, doing up buttons and wrapping robes around themselves.
Serepta stepped back inside and looked wild-eyed at Charlie. “We have to leave,” she said. “People will see you.”
Charlie was already struggling to rise. Serepta moved to help him as he grunted and groaned. “Get Emmaline. I’ll turn my collar way up and pull a hat way down. No one will pay attention in the hubbub.”
Serepta nodded and roused the child, who was still sleeping soundly. Once her shoes were on, she hurried her toward the door. Charlie waved them on. “You go ahead. I’ll come after you so’s folks won’t know we’re together. I’ll go around back and mix with the help.”
It angered Serepta to be forced to leave Charlie to sneak out on his own, although she saw no other way around it. She started toward him one more time, but he waved her on. So she grabbed Emmaline by the hand, and they scurried out of the room.
She saw flames as she rushed her charge through the hotel lobby but was soon outside and on the front lawn where a crowd had gathered to watch the growing inferno. She examined the shape of every person who exited, hoping to see Charlie, but he would likely find a different exit. She cursed the fire, the men who hurt Charlie, the circumstances, and the fact that all she could do right now was stand and watch. If her purpose in life was to never feel powerless, then she had failed.
By the time Colman and Webb reached the hotel, people were spilling out into the grass in a chaotic mess. Colman examined the face of every woman he saw, searching for Ivy. He’d lost track of Webb, and good riddance. He saw Serepta and Emmaline standing back from the flames, watching the crowd as intently as he was.
“Where’s Ivy?” he yelled as he grabbed Serepta’s arm. He’d never been this close to the woman before, and he was shocked by the ice in her eyes gleaming in the firelight.
There was a flicker of emotion before she stiffened and replied, “How should I know?”
Colman released her and began pushing through the crowd, looking for Ivy, Maggie and the baby, but failing to find them. He drew nearer to the building. One side of it was engulfed by the fire now. He spotted Webb, pistol in hand, his eyes on . . . Jake McLean, staggering out of the smoke-filled lobby with a baby in his arms and a woman clinging to his side. They practically fell down the stairs. Jake shoved the baby at the woman—Maggie, Colman realized—then turned and ran back inside. Seconds later, he came out carrying another woman, nearly falling before he reached the grass and set her down.
Colman ran forward and dropped to his knees beside Ivy, who was coughing and covered in soot. The hem of her dress was scorched, but other than that, he could find no damage. “Are you alright, Ivy?”
She coughed and smiled. “I think I will be. Good thing . . .” She coughed some more, then caught her breath again. “Good thing I know how to treat a cough.” She looked around. “Where’d Jake go? He saved us. Maggie fell, and we were afraid for the baby—”
Colman spotted Jake just as a shot rang out above the bedlam.
Serepta saw it but couldn’t make sense of it. Jake was here. And he’d helped two women and a child escape the fire. She would have assumed Jake would save his own skin rather than risk it for anyone else’s. And then she saw Webb Harpe. He was pointing a pistol at her son. She almost closed her eyes, unwilling to watch her flesh and blood gunned down while she stood helpless. Instead, she steeled herself to witness what she would surely avenge.
Webb seemed to be taking a long time. Serepta began to think she might be able to reach him, to stop him. Then he shifted his aim and fired the pistol.
Colman spun in the direction of the shot. Webb stood, pistol in hand, his expression an unreadable mask. He then stalked off into the roiling crowd.
Jake glanced at Colman, a surprised look on his face. “He missed!” Patting himself all over, Jake looked around. They were standing near an outbuilding. Jake pulled out his pocketknife and dug at a spot in the wood. He held up a slug, glinting in the firelight. “He missed by more than a little.”
Colman, arm around Ivy’s shoulders, couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. Webb was a crack shot. No way would he miss at such a range, even at night with all the chaos around them. He locked eyes with Jake again, and something passed between them. It was almost as if Colman could hear the other man’s heart begging for forgiveness . . . and hoping it might look like a slug buried in a piece of wood.
But where was Charlie?
Serepta and Emmaline stood watching the fire until after midnight. The Mount Hope and Oak Hill Fire Departments finally arrived on the scene after winding their way down the precipitous mountain into the gorge, but it was much too late by then. The building had been largely destroyed. Eventually, everyone made their way to the Lafayette Hotel, with its veranda extending to the tracks in Thurmond. Ivy met Serepta out front.
“They have Charlie,” she said.
“What do you mean ‘have’ him?” Serepta was exhausted mentally and emotionally, and poor Emmaline needed a bath and a bed.
“They’re talking like . . . well, I don’t care to say it.” Serepta wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Ivy looked even paler than usual.
Serepta had no patience for this. “Just tell me.”
“Like he was staying with you.” Ivy paused, and a hint of color washed her cheeks. “In your room.”
“So he was,” Serepta said. “Take Emmaline.” She brushed past Ivy and stalked into the lobby as though ready to brace a pride of lions. But when she saw Charlie, she stopped.
He stood, head hanging low, his wounds painfully obvious in the well-lit room.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked in a voice that carried to the farthest corner.
Douglas McIver, the hotel manager who was married to a Harpe, stepped forward. “Several witnesses saw this man exiting your room during the fire.”
Serepta raised her chin, grateful she hadn’t changed into her nightclothes. “And they say they saw this in the chaos of a hotel emptying?” She looked around the room. “Let them step forward and say so to me.”
Douglas flushed. “They’d just as soon remain anonymous, but I can vouch for them.”
She looked daggers at him. “Can you?”
“Now see here, it’s been a difficult night, but we can’t be having any . . . untoward situations at the Lafayette.” He tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “We run a respectable establishment.”
Serepta snorted and braced her hands on her hips. “Charlie is a man in my employ, and I can vouch for him. I’ll thank you to let us all retire and get what sleep we can before sunup.”
A low drawl came from the far corner of the room. “But who can vouch for you?”
She turned and saw Webb Harpe separate from the crowd. The wild-eyed man she’d seen miss shooting down her eldest son looked calm and collected now. She kept her peace. She had nothing to say to him.
Webb stepped closer. “We may not be the most upstanding town in southern West Virginia, but even the Dunglen has standards.”
“Had,” Serepta corrected. “The Dunglen Hotel is no more.”
Webb colored, but quickly regained control. “If we had any notion something—” he paused, the gleam in his eye sharpening—“unnatural were going on, we’d have to take steps to remedy the situation.”
Serepta felt the emotions she’d tamped down after her fit of tears begin to rise and bubble. She prided herself on her ability to hide what she was feeling at all costs, but in this moment she was precipitously close to showing her hand.
“I snuck in there.”
Every head in the room swiveled to stare at Cha
rlie where he stood, feet planted wide as if to keep from toppling over.
“What’s that you say?” Douglas asked.
Charlie lifted his head and met Serepta’s eye. “I figured with everybody running around like headless chickens, it was my chance to sneak in and steal the missus’ purse.”
Serepta felt her mouth gape open and snapped it shut again.
“Figured it was a good opportunity to get some of my own back from her.”
Words failed Serepta. She gave her head a shake, but Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You’uns can’t be thinking I’d be there for any other reason.”
Someone in the crowd snickered, and Serepta felt heat tinge her ears. Webb moved closer still. “Don’t let—”
Serepta whirled on him, breaking her connection to Charlie. “You may not speak,” she hissed. “I will take my man home and deal with him my own way.”
Webb’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke low so that no one else could hear. “Don’t be too sure about that.” He raised his voice. “If he was stealing from his own mistress, who’s to say he wasn’t stealing from others in the hotel? Search him.”
Several men laid hold of Charlie, reaching into his pockets, touching every inch of him, and finally ripping his shirt open. And there, against his bare chest, hung a ring on a chain. Serepta gasped. It was the ring she’d given him years ago, a simple Art Deco design with a single diamond. Not ornate or even very valuable. She’d given it to him almost as a joke—probably the only sentimental thing she’d done in all her life.
Webb surged forward and snatched the ring, breaking the chain. “What’s this? Looks like a lady’s ring.” He glanced around the room. “Anyone missing a ring?”
One of the girls known for servicing the Dunglen bit her lip, glanced from side to side, and raised a tentative hand. “I’m missing a ring.”
Webb grinned. “Well now, missy. Step right up and see if this ain’t the one.” The girl eased forward, and Webb slid the ring onto her finger with a flourish. “Perfect fit. Looks like we have a thief in our midst.”
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