Fox leaned on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "I sure hope so, because we don't need this right now. We've got a hell of a mess out on the claims. I had to hire two more men this morning to keep claim jumpers at bay. The workers are having a bad time keeping the walls up of that last pit we dug. The carpenters are supposed to be building the barn to house the equipment—" He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "And don't ask me how well the timber walls of the shaft are going up, because you don't want to know."
She pointed to the table. "Set the plates. I made stew and biscuits. We'll eat and discuss the operation. We've got to have a plan once the miners start hauling the ore from underground."
His anger over Tate and the troubles with the mine faded, and he flashed a boyish grin. "So we're moving onto another conversation. That's good. Does that mean I'm out of hot water now, and there might be a place for me in that bed of yours tonight?"
She smiled sassily. The way he watched her made her warm all over. It wasn't that she could so easily forget the problems between them, only that she was desperate for every shred of happiness she could find. Life was too short not to enjoy; Margaret and Pearl were proof of that. "It's a possibility." She turned away. "Now get the bowls. The stew is ready and I'm starved."
After the meal and a thick piece of chocolate velvet cake, Celeste and Fox sat down with ink and pen and paper and began to write down what needed to be done at the MacPhearson's Fortune to get the first mine in full operation. People outside the mining business had the idea in their heads that a miner just dug a deep hole like a well and brought up ore in buckets on an ordinary windlass or some other crude convenience. The truth was, Celeste and Fox were quickly learning, that mining silver ore was far more complicated. The sides of the pits they had initially dug were already beginning to slump, and a timber shaft would have to be dug.
First a building had to be constructed over the shaft. The building, resembling a small factory, would house the shaft and housing works. If their first mine were as prosperous as the assayer guessed The Celeste would be, additions would have to be added to the main building to house carpenters, blacksmiths, and machinists. Once the five foot by twenty foot shaft was dug, cages would have to be set in place to hoist and lower men, ore, and supplies. A pipe would have to be set in place to pump water from the depths of the mine, and fresh air would be blown in to keep the miners alive. Then there were steam-hoisting engines and hoisting spools and a myriad of other equipment to be put into place.
It was near midnight when Celeste finally laid down her pen. "Who ever thought getting rich could be so complicated?" she said, as she stared at the stacks of paper and columns of numbers.
"Who'd have thought it?" Fox echoed, sounding equally grim.
"We've got to get some of that silver out of that hole so we can buy more equipment, hire more men." She glanced at him, not sure how to approach the next subject, yet knowing she had to. "But we need the equipment and the men to bring the ore up."
Fox leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head. "Doesn't put us in a good position, does it?"
"Fox?"
He leaned forward, scribbled another number, and rocked back in the chair again. "Mm hm?"
"I . . . I know this is a joint effort. Half and half, straight down the middle, but do you think—" She moaned silently. It was so hard for her to ask anyone for anything, but this was even more difficult. "Do you think you could put a share of your money into the operation and loan me an equal portion? Just to get started?" His face was suddenly expressionless. "I . . . I'd pay you interest of course."
"No." He let the chair rock forward and hit the hardwood floor with a bang.
She was completely taken aback by his curt answer. "No?"
"We'll have to make do." He rose from the chair and grabbed his coat off the back. It was the same coat he'd worn when he'd first come to Carrington. He'd never bought a single piece of clothing since he'd arrived. "We'll have to start out using manual labor to do the hoisting. We'll take the cash from what we've sold, and sink that into the operation and buy the engines when we can."
Celeste didn't know what she'd said wrong, but he was obviously upset with her. And even though she tried not to be, her feelings were hurt by his response. "All right," she said quietly. "We'll make do." She got up from the table to clear away the dishes. As she turned her back, he walked out of the kitchen. Celeste heard Fox's footsteps as he ascended the staircase.
Hastily, she wiped away the silly tear that had gathered in the corner of one eye. It wouldn't have been a good idea to borrow money from him anyway. Just another tie to bind . . .
Chapter Fourteen
They think this silver strike will bring life to the town. Fools, stupid, mindless fools. It will bring nothing but filth. It will spread nothing but the filth that already eats away at mankind.
Duty. It is my duty to cleanse, to purify, to teach by deed, not just by word. I cannot sit by and watch the filth spread.
The blade is sharp. The time is right. I must follow my calling; put an end to their wretched lives and save the souls of the men they lure with their silken hair and lovely breasts.
I cannot rest until my duty is done. I cannot rest until they are gone. All gone, and godliness reigns again.
Celeste walked into the kitchen the following morning to find Fox standing at the window sipping a cup of coffee. He hadn't come to her room last night, but he looked as if he hadn't slept either.
His face was pale. He took a sip from the delicate teacup that looked so strange in his broad, callused hand. She wondered if he was feeling guilty for his refusal to put up his own money for the mining operation. He should, she thought.
"I didn't do it," he said softly as she entered the room. "I want you to know I didn't do it."
She froze in the doorway, her hands falling to grip the knot of the tie that held her dressing gown closed. She felt lightheaded. Thoughts of the mining operation and the encounter they'd had last night slipped out of her head. A chill crept from the floor to her knees, making them weak. "Another?" She looked up anxiously; her legs felt wobbly beneath her sleeping gown. "Someone I know?"
He nodded gravely. "Another, but no one you knew. The new girl who set up business in a tent by the station. They called her Lacey."
Celeste was immensely relieved that it wasn't one of her friends, but at the same time her heart ached for any woman like herself. What if she had had an Adam waiting somewhere for her? "How do you know?"
"I took Silver out for a walk just before dawn. There was a big fuss on the street. Someone had found her. One of Tate's men was just heading over to get him out of bed."
"So you were out again when it happened?" She stood where she was. She knew in her heart he wasn't the killer, and yet . . .
There was an edge to his voice. "I was walking the streets like I do. Silver was with me."
Sometimes men said the most ridiculous things. "Walking a dog doesn't exclude a man from killing, Fox."
He had lifted his cup to take another sip of coffee, but halted to stare at her over the rim. "I'm not a murderer and you know it, damn it!"
She moved to the stove. He had already put tea water on for her. She reached for her china teapot. "Did anyone see you on the street?"
"No. But I'm sure Tate will be here before we're done with breakfast. He's dying to throw me into jail."
"Maybe you should go to him first, or . . ." she hesitated as she poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot. "Maybe I should just say you were with me all night."
"I don't need you to lie for me," he snapped. "I didn't kill that woman by the tracks. I didn't kill anyone."
"Maybe you should tell me what Tate thinks he has on you. If I knew, maybe I could talk to him myself." She added tea leaves to the pot and carried it to the table. She was too sick to her stomach to think of food. She needed hot tea and a chair.
"I—I don't know what he thinks he has on me. It doesn't
matter, Celeste." He came around the table to her. "It doesn't matter because I haven't done anything wrong. I need you to believe that."
Silver shot out from under the table a second before a knock sounded at the front door.
Celeste started to rise, but Fox laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'll get it," he said tersely. "Probably a pair of handcuffs for me anyway."
She eased back into the chair. It was so easy for her to let Fox be the strong one for a moment. Too easy. She was growing weak. Her veneer was cracking. It felt so good to have someone she felt she could depend on, lean on. But Celeste knew she was making a mistake. She knew she couldn't really depend on Fox. At some point he'd turn the mining operation over to someone else, or he'd sell his share, and he'd be gone.
Celeste stirred her tea and listened at the door. It was Kate. Celeste knew she should get up and go see her, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't bring herself to hear the details of that poor woman's murder.
The door closed and Fox walked back into the kitchen. He halted and brushed back a long lock of hair over his forehead. He was sadly in need of a haircut. "Kate thinks you need to get down to the sheriff's office right away. She says she'll meet you there."
Celeste half rose from her chair. "Tate's office? Why me?"
"Ace needs you. One of Tate's deputies just hauled him in for questioning."
She jumped up to go dress. She had to get to the sheriff's office as quickly as possible. She knew Ace had always been both frightened and intimidated by Tate. "Questioning? Questioning for what?"
As Celeste passed Fox in the doorway, he brushed his fingertips against hers. "For the murder of the whore."
"Not another one." One of Tate's nameless new deputies stood in the jail house doorway, a toothpick protruding from his mouth. "That boy's already got a room full of visitors."
Celeste pushed her way past the deputy, leaving Fox no choice but to follow. "Ace has a right to have someone present when he's questioned. Truth is, he ought to have a lawyer, and you know it." With one hip, she pushed open the swinging half door that led to the rear of the jail.
"Lawyer? That half-wit don't need no lawyer!" The deputy followed Celeste and Fox. " 'Sides, 'e ain't been charged with nothin'. Sheriff Tate just wants to question 'im."
Celeste hurried down a shabby, narrow corridor, through another door that led to the cells. She spotted Ace inside a small cell that resembled a straw-strewn cow stall with bars. The young man clung to the iron bars with white knuckles, pathetically staring out into the room.
He reached for her with one hand.
"Tate, what the damnation do you think you're doing?" Celeste couldn't see the sheriff because he was blocked from her view by Kate, Reverend Tuttle, and Rosy. Everyone was talking at once, but appeared to be accomplishing nothing.
Fox remained in the doorway. Celeste had only allowed him to come to serve as personal protection. She was still angry with him about last night, but after another murder, she had welcomed his escort.
"Ah, Miss Kennedy. I wondered how long it would take you to git here." Tate's cheek protruded from his wad of chewing tobacco.
"Expecting me, were you?" She walked to the barred cell and took Ace's cold hand. To her horror, she could now see that his face was beaten and streaked with dried blood, his shirt spattered as well. An icy shard of fear crept up her spine. Surely Ace couldn't have . . . wouldn't have . . .
"I was expecting you because the half-wit won't speak."
"He can't speak," she answered tartly.
"He won't even talk with his hands the way I seen him do. Just stares at me with that mule-stupid look on his face."
Celeste stared into Ace's black Indian eyes. The young man was scared out of his wits. "How did he get this blood all over him?" She directed her question to Kate.
"Don't know. Sheriff's right. He won't talk. Not even to me. He just keeps signing that he wants you. Wants Miss Celeste."
Reverend Tuttle approached the jail cell and thrust his face in front of Ace's. "Save yourself and confess if you have, indeed, committed this sin, son." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Confess and save your immortal soul."
Celeste glared at Joash. "Really, now. Do you think that's going to help Ace get out of here?"
Joash lifted his chin haughtily. "My first concern must be for our dear friend's afterlife; you know that, Celeste."
"Well. Let's get him out of here and then deal with his soul, shall we?" Celeste turned on the sheriff. "Let Ace out of here. He's hurt. His wounds need to be cleaned."
Sheriff Tate sauntered up to the cell, the keys jingling on a key ring on his belt. "And what if he's the murderer, Miss Kennedy. What if he intends to make you his next victim?"
Celeste never flinched. It wasn't that she hadn't considered the possibility that the killer might come after her, she just refused to be intimidated by Tate's bullying. "Ace didn't kill anyone and you damned well know it! Let him out!"
"You look into that Reb character I told you about?" Fox questioned from the doorway. "I told you last night that he attacked Miss Kennedy on the street."
Tate turned slowly to Fox as if he barely deemed him worthy of a response. "Yeah, I looked into it. Talked to Reb. He says he was just funnin' with Miss Kennedy. Besides, he was at Kate's most of last night. I've got witnesses."
Kate gave a nod of her fleshy chin. "Aye, Reb was at my place all right. Nearly drank me dry."
Celeste glanced at Ace, who still held her hand tightly, and then back at Tate. "You going to let him. out or not?" she demanded.
"First some questions." Tate studied his prisoner. "Ask the half-wit where he was last night. How he got the blood all over him?"
"Don't let that blubber wind scare you," Rosy said, approaching Ace's cell from the other side. She looked directly at him so that he could read her lips. "Tate don't really think you killed that poor girl. He just wants the town to think he's doing something about these murders, only we all know he ain't."
Ace looked anxiously into Celeste's eyes.
Celeste gently took her hand from Ace's. "What happened?" she asked. She touched her own face. "The cuts on your face." She touched the bodice of her striped blue and green morning gown. "The blood on your shirt."
Ace looked anxiously at the sheriff, then back at Celeste. He drew back his fist, punched the air slowly, and then pulled his head back as if he'd been struck.
Celeste glanced at Tate. "He got in a fight."
"When? Where? Who are the witnesses? He was seen down by the tracks last night. He can't deny he was there."
Celeste met Ace's gaze again. "You were seen near the train station last night. A woman in a tent was murdered. Did you see the woman?"
Ace nodded adamantly.
Celeste's face went hot. "You saw her?" She wondered now if she was doing Ace more harm than good by questioning him in front of the sheriff.
Ace nodded again, and then drew his hips back and thrust them forward in an obscene gesture.
Celeste's eyes went wide with surprise. Rosy and Kate chuckled. Joash drew in a deep breath and began to mutter under his breath.
Celeste gripped the bars. "You were with the woman in the tent?"
Ace nodded and made the same gesture again.
"See that," Tate exclaimed. "Told you he'd seen her."
"Being with a whore doesn't make a man a murderer," Fox said, stepping into the room.
Celeste could tell by the look on his face that he'd been patient and quiet as long as he possibly could.
"You can't convict a man for murdering a woman on the basis that he screwed her," Fox continued. "Seems to me I heard that first one that was killed at Sal's was a favorite of yours."
Tate huffed and took a step back.
That was news to Celeste, but she didn't doubt Fox's word. She only wondered how he knew.
"You damned well know I didn't have anything to do with Mealy Margaret's murder," the sheriff sputtered.
"No. I don't think
you did. Not any more than I think that Indian boy had anything to do with the whore's death last night."
"Then how'd he get that blood all over him?" Tate seemed to be taking the defensive now.
Fox's gaze met Celeste's. Celeste turned back to Ace and touched her bodice again. "Where'd you get the blood?" she asked.
Ace flung a fist in the air again.
"He got in a fight," Celeste said.
The sheriff moved his wad of chewing tobacco from inside one cheek to the other. "Before or after he was with the girl in the tent?"
"Before or after the woman?" Celeste questioned.
Ace blinked. He didn't understand. He was scared, and he was having a hard time following the conversation.
"The fight, before or after," Celeste repeated.
Ace shook his head in confusion.
"Wait a minute," Fox said. He stepped up to the jail cell, made a swinging motion with his fist, and then copied Ace's hip thrusting motion. Then he repeated the gestures in the opposite sequence.
A light seemed to go off in Ace's head. He broke into a grin. He thrust his hips, tipped back an invisible drink, then swung his fist.
Fox glanced at Sheriff Tate. "He was with the woman and got in a fight later after drinking at one of the bars."
"You got all that out of that half-wit?"
Just then the door to the cell room swung open and one of Tate's deputies, Addie Morris, walked in. He was sporting a black eye and a swollen lower lip.
"You're late. What the hell happened to you?" Tate barked.
Addie stroked his bruised chin. "Got in a little brawl at that new saloon at the end of Peach. Had to crack a man over the head a few times to get him to see things my way." The clean-cut deputy craned his neck. "Hey, what you doin' with Ace locked up?" He walked toward the cell. "You all right, boy? That was a mean lickin' those men gave you last night."
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