by C. A. Asbrey
“I’m old enough to get married,” said Lizzie.
Nat glared at her. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make it any better. It’s 1869 in Pettigo, not 1809 on the frontier with no law. You can’t get married without the consent of your pa, and if he gave it, I’d punch his teeth out. Where’s he live? I’ve a good mind to go and have a good long talk with that low-life right now. I’m just in the mood for him.”
“Well, the joke’s on you. He ain’t got no teeth.” She sniffed in annoyance and sashayed off, leaving behind the sickly scent of cheap perfume unsuccessfully attempting to cover stale sweat and old sex.
“I can find him if I put my mind to it,” Nat snarled. “I ain’t got anythin’ else to do.”
Jake watched the younger man glower at her back as she flirted and toyed with patrons as she worked her way around the saloon. “Calm down. You can’t save the whole world, Nat. If you want to worry about women, I’d suggest turnin’ your mind back to Abi. Back off from that girl’s pa.”
“Abi’s done. So am I.”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “She reacted to me bein’ a butthole. Who wouldn’t? She took a big risk comin’ here, and I rubbed her nose in the dirt. It’s my problem, and I need to get help. It’s just plain selfish to keep lashin’ out at people. I gotta deal with this. I can’t keep makin’ it everyone else’s problem, especially when it’s tearin’ apart the lives of everyone who matters. Give her a chance.”
“It sounded pretty final, Jake.”
“For cryin’ out loud, speak to the woman, will ya?” Jake clattered his shot glass on the bar in exasperation. “Why do you have to look behind every word and action like a damned old biddy?”
“I can’t help it if I’m a thinker.”
A muscle in the older man’s jaw flickered as it clenched. “If you want to analyze anythin’, do somethin’ useful and explain that picture.”
Nat glanced at the painting over the bar. It was an unclad Rubenesque blonde covered in fruit in a sad replica of a sylvan nude buried beneath a disgorging cornucopia. “What’s to explain? They’re trying to make her look classy like the pictures in the museums and grand houses. They failed.”
“What’s classy about bein’ covered in fruit? It don’t even look good on a hat.” He arched a brow and nodded toward an area under scrutiny. “Let alone on that bit. I ain’t sure those grapes will be wholesome enough even for the goat to eat.” A wicked smile simmered. “I ain’t complainin’, though.”
Nat’s cheek dimpled in spite of himself, recognizing his uncle’s old tactic of distraction. “I dunno. I suppose it’s a tasteful way of hiding the worst bits, and it titivates.”
“Titty what?” Jake’s eyes glinted. “And there are worst bits? That’s news to me. I like them all.”
The brown eyes warmed and properly engaged with his uncle’s at last. “It means to make her look better.”
“She’d look better without them damned grapes gettin’ in the way.” His eyes gleamed with hunger. “Do you think she was painted from a model? Who got to polish the apples?”
“Maybe that’s the type of work I need?” Nat mused over the lip of his glass. “Except I can’t draw more’n a stick man.”
“Why’s there a goat there?”
“I dunno.” Nat shrugged. “Maybe it was hungry, and the fruit attracted it.”
“You leave all your food outside and it’s gonna attract livestock. Why’s it lookin’ straight at me? It’s real distractin’. You take a beautiful woman, cover her in fruit, and stick a damned goat in there with its eyes followin’ you around the room. If you ask me, the man who painted it didn’t know what to do with her once he got her clothes off.”
“At least he got them off.”
Jake ignored the bitter reply. “Maybe that stupid goat got in the way. It’d be real dumb to give up on a beautiful woman because of a dumb goat.”
Nat sighed and rolled his eyes as Jake continued. “Look at it, starin’ out at us as like it’s king of the world because it found a pile of fruit when the real treasure is underneath.” Jake tossed back the remains of his drink. “And that artist wants us to see he’s real clever with all them shiny apples and that thing there with the pointy leaves.” His eyes scrunched as he peered at the huge picture. “I don’t even rightly know what that thing is. My point is, he’s concentrated on the wrong stuff. Look at all the time he spent on fruit and goats when the whole point is the woman. That’s a man who took his eye off the prize, that’s for sure. Ya gotta be real dumb to concentrate on the goat more than the girl.”
“You’re about a subtle as a brick to the side of the head, Jake.”
“Good. That saves me diggin’ through the snow to find one.”
The brown eyes slid sideways. “You’ve made your point. Let’s go back to Clancy’s, Jake.”
The older man smiled and slapped Nat on the back. “It’s about time. Come on. Finish your drink and we’ll go.”
“Sure, and on the way, I’m going to remind you who was the goat in the analogy.”
♦◊♦
Clancy ushered them in, closing the door to crush the sucking cold slithering in behind them. “The sheriff told me who did it. Shocking, huh? That boy. Who’d have thought it? Ben Gibson must’ve missed you or he went to the wrong bar. He wanted to celebrate.”
Nat’s brow creased. “Boy?”
“MacGilfoyle. Tommy MacGilfoyle. It was him who really stabbed Cussen, and that’s who Kathleen was really covering for. MacGilfoyle was really her brother, and she changed her name to pass as Protestant. Cussen was shouting at Tommy’s aunt and he lashed out. MacGilfoyle covered for them both.”
“That wasn’t what was being said when I Ieft,” said Nat, his brow creasing. “I thought his pa did it.”
“Abi surprised Tommy and he admitted it.” Clancy ushered them toward the kitchen. “He was protecting the woman nobody knew was his aunt. We told the mayor, and he’s keeping it quiet because they can’t make it stick. They get to head off and have a second chance at life. Cussen preached a hate sermon and provoked the riot which killed the sister. Tommy stepped in when Cussen got angry at being confronted, but he didn’t kill intentionally. It’s all a bit of a mess.”
Nat and Jake exchanged a conversation in a glance.
“So, no charges are being brought?” asked Nat.
“What’s the point? Kathleen admitted it and she’s dead. The case is closed, and pushing it further will probably ruin the Williamses’ good name. They’ve been punished enough. It’s how things are done in this part of the world. This isn’t New York. Everyone called for jury duty will know Tommy. They’re also likely to be very sympathetic to him. ”
“I guess.” Jake nodded. “If the mayor’s decided that’s it. Have you seen Abi?”
Clancy shook his head, frowning. “She didn’t tell you? She’s gone. A couple of men came and collected her chest. All I’ve got is a note thanking me for her room and the help.”
Nat’s eyes widened. “Gone? Gone where? The town’s shut off.”
Clancy shrugged. “I’ve no idea. The road’s passable with care to the north now, and they’ve been working on the avalanche for over a week. The railway should be open soon. Maybe the agency arranged something for her? She did say she had another matter to deal with.”
The young doctor turned back to the sideboard where a few bottles and decanters glittered in the lamplight, failing to notice the consternation on the faces of his remaining guests.
“On the bright side, it means one of you has a bed. Who’s for a brandy? We’ve got the end of this to celebrate, and I’d like to drink to Kathleen’s memory. Who knew she was carrying so many secrets and lies? You really can’t judge a book by a quiet little cover.” The amber liquid gurgled into one glass before he turned. “Gentlemen?”
“Sure.” Jake nodded. “That’d be great. Nat? You might as well. She won’t get far at this time of night. We’ll find out tomorrow.”
The dark eyes dimm
ed with resignation before he pulled himself together. Nat’s cheeks dimpled and he smiled at his host. “You must have a lot of mixed feelings. Your mother-in-law died, but she was protecting the boy who was protecting her. She was angry at injustice. She looked after her family. On top of all that, she gave you a fine woman to marry. It’d be my honor to raise a glass to her memory.”
Clancy’s eyes misted over before he cleared the caustic lump from his throat. “Thank you.” He handed the glasses out to his guests. “That means a lot.”
Jake raised his drink for the glasses to chink against as they gathered in front of the roaring fire. “To Kathleen.”
Clancy nodded. “To Kathleen, and also to her poor sister, Margaret Mary.”
Jake silently swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding behind his collar. “To all the dead sisters. May they rest in peace, and may they allow us to have peace, too.”
Chapter Twenty Three
She gathered her tatty skirts and climbed the few steps into the railway carriage, smiling at the guard welcoming her aboard. Her red wig suited her skin tone and lifted the drabness of the homespun dress, which looked even dowdier when topped by a shabby gray coat. The glass in her spectacles was plain, and designed to distract from her features, as was the deep brim of her frayed bonnet. She settled into a seat and her stomach lurched as she glanced out of the window. That man in the long coat had a familiar gait, both strong and graceful, but was it him? He turned and she released a sigh of relief at the portly figure with a moustache peeking over the turned up collar. It wasn’t Nat. He was at least twice his weight.
It had been the longest week of her life, loitering among the single women being put up at the schoolhouse. Chattering aimlessly was not one of her strengths. She hated it, but she maintained the pretense of an abused wife hiding from her husband to ensure nobody gave her away.
Her cover had allowed her to work through the emotions she had bottled up; to be withdrawn, anxious, or even tearful. And she had been all these things in the last few days as loneliness engulfed her. Nothing sucked the life from a soul more than hungering for someone who didn’t need them.
She had travelled across the country to see a criminal; a man who forced people to hand over their money at the point of a gun. Men like them had murdered her father.
Except they weren’t like those men. It was more convoluted, and way more complicated.
Yes, they could be dominating and demanding, but then they were kind, generous, and perplexingly contradictory. They were dishonest, but they were brutally honest about it. They cared about people, but Jake, in particular, cared so much it broke him.
From the moment she’d bumped into that infuriating man, Nat had found a way of worming right into her heart as though made for it. He had invaded her world and made himself a permanent fixture in her heart almost immediately. Part of her resented Nat’s constancy in a world where her husband’s short life had only been temporary. Nat’s ability to permeate her thoughts grew to the point of obsession. Her husband had been a choice, where the magnetic pull of kindred spirits was not.
She had to walk away from this folly before it destroyed her life. There were only two places he could have found a bed in the packed-out snowed-in town; back at the church hall or in the bed of another woman; probably one he paid for. He hadn’t stayed at the church, but he had stayed at the Jagged Tick. She’d checked. The barman had even pointed out the provocative child he’d purchased for the night, and it had hit her like a kick to her stomach.
The train juddered to a start and her eyes darted around the carriage which contained just her and four men rows away, preparing to start a card game on the flat side of a suitcase they used as a makeshift table across their knees. She watched the countryside flash by as the train gathered speed, leaving Pettigo and its misadventures behind.
With any luck, Quinn and Conroy would have gone in the opposite direction so they could all put this embarrassing misjudgment behind them. She would head back to New York and go back to work. There was no doubt in her mind she would be requesting to work as far away from The Innocents’ territory as possible.
♦◊♦
They’d been travelling for hours and the afternoon had faded into a blue-gray twilight with ripples of silvering clouds crowding the low sky. The journey had been punctuated by only a few comfort stops at various icy stations with primitive facilities and even more primitive staff in the hill settlements between the largest towns. They were cursory habitations with basic latrines and poor food. In such places, it was a common ploy to take payment upfront and fail to deliver the food before the train departed. She was too experienced to fall for that, and had left with enough supplies to last her at least a day until she reached the hotel at Silverville.
She glanced at her pocket watch. Nearly three hours before they reached the last stage of today’s journey and she could sleep in a real bed again. All those disturbed nights on a cold draughty floor with nothing to do but overthink had drained her energy. The gentle to and fro of the train was comforting and subtly rocked her until her breathing slowed and her eyelids drooped. Her head dropped onto her chest before she abruptly snorted in a most unrefined manner and jolted upright. She blinked her bleary eyes and glanced around the carriage. Only two men remained. One of them, a mustached bear, snuggled into his great coat with his hat pulled over his eyes. The other was slumped across the aisle where she could only see the top of his gray head over the back of the seat. He was wedged into a corner trying to grab a little much-needed sleep himself. She sighed and leaned against the wall, gradually allowing herself to drift off. She didn’t feel the book drop from her hand and she certainly didn’t notice the gloved hand which caught it before it hit the floor. Most of all, she didn’t notice the dark eyes which smiled at her before he turned and walked away.
♦◊♦
The shrill blast of the whistle shocked Abigail back to life. She blinked and shook herself awake, then took stock of the carriage once more. The burly man was still in the corner, snuggling under his hat. The door behind her rattled open and a smiling conductor strode though the car. “Just takin’ on more water, folks. Nuthin’ to worry about. We’ll be on our way shortly. Next stop after that’ll be Silverville.” He paused and looked at the set of seats opposite the mustachioed man and arched a brow. He chuckled under his breath at the sprawled figure and continued on his duties, departing through the clattering door at the other end of the carriage. A gray head bobbed up from the seats and the stout man wedged on a hat and stood. He spoke quietly to the burly passenger and headed out of the door the conductor had used toward the viewing platform.
She glanced at the book beside her and a frown flickered over her brow. She hadn’t put it there. Or had she? She was so tired she couldn’t be sure. She bent and rummaged in her bag, pulling out a little package wrapped in waxed gingham and stared at the bread and cheese. Nope, she didn’t fancy cheese and couldn’t stomach all that heavy brown bread, so she picked out the boiled egg.
She carefully peeled the shell into a handkerchief and ran her fingers over the smooth silky orb, feeling for grains of shell left behind. The rubbery albumen gave slightly under her touch. She worked at it until she was satisfied it was clean. It gave way at her bite, the neutral white soon melding with the slightly salty, sulphuric savoriness of the yolk as she chewed. Her stomach growled in anticipation like a grumpy beast prodded from a deep slumber. It had been a long time since she had eaten.
The train lurched and the whistle sounded once more, and they were soon on their way again. It was now dark, and the oil lights in the carriage made it difficult to see anything outside, so she picked up her book once more and flicked through to find her place, wondering why she hadn’t marked it before putting it aside. She must have been more tired than she realized.
She caught movement out of her peripheral vision as the burly man removed his hat and dropped into the seat opposite. He pulled off his moustache and wig, and leaned forward, his
dark eyes glittering with devilment as her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“You didn’t think I was going to let you sneak off like that, did you, Abi?” Nat reached over and placed a long finger under her chin and pushed her gaping mouth closed. “Egg, huh? How sophisticated.”
She gulped down her mouthful. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you. You’re not the only one who can use disguises.”
She tensed. “I’m going home. You can go to hell.”
“Been there.” His grin became brighter. “They threw me out for bad behavior.” He stood and unbuttoned his coat, removing the huge padded under-jacket which had provided his bulk, and tossed it aside. “Phew! You wouldn’t think you could be too hot in this weather. I could sell these if they weren’t so ugly.”
She looked at the rough stitching, binding old clothes together with rudimentary stuffing. “You made that yourself?”
“Yeah. I can’t see it catching on, though. It makes you look fat.”
She scowled at the hairpiece. “Where did you get that? And the moustache?”
“I thought you might recognize them. They’re from your chest. The one you hid at the railway station. We needed good disguises and you’ve got them all.” He frowned. “Did you think I wouldn’t find it? Really? Don’t underestimate me. It’s an insult to my intelligence.”
“You didn’t seem interested in bothering with me.” Her brows met in indignation. “Where’s Jake?”
“He was here. We were playing cards with two other men, but they got off. He’s in the next car, now. He thought we needed to talk. Oh, and he has some of your stuff, too.” His face fell into a mask of faux innocence. “A gray wig and a beard. I wouldn’t want you to accuse us of stealing from you. We only borrowed them. You can have them back, but I was surprised to find out how many male disguises you have.”
Her fists tightened, her breath shortening with irritation. “What do you want?”