by Amanda Cabot
“Don’t worry,” Aimee had said when Thea explained the problem. “I’ll see if Widow Jenkins can watch him. If not, he can go to the pharmacy with me.”
And so, Thea was on her way, eager to meet her new patient. The directions the woman had sent with her request were excellent, leading to an obviously prosperous ranch. Two friendly barking dogs greeted Thea as she approached, while the well-fed cat sunning itself on the front step did not deign to acknowledge her presence.
Thea was hitching Maggie to the porch railing when a heavyset woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes emerged from the house. Her face brightened, and her lips curved into a welcoming smile.
“Helen! Where you been? I expected you weeks ago.”
Thea stared at her patient. Why was she calling her Helen? Was she touched in the head? But as Mrs. Harris rushed down the porch steps toward her, a sinking feeling filled Thea. There was another reason why the woman might have mistaken Thea’s identity. The unwelcome memory of a sheet-draped body forced its way into her brain.
“Good morning, Mrs. Harris. I’m Thea Michener, your midwife,” she said firmly.
The woman stared at her, cataloguing her features. “You’re not Helen?” She appeared unconvinced.
“No, I’m not.” Knowing Mrs. Harris had just sustained a shock, Thea took her arm and led her back up the steps. “Let’s go inside. You shouldn’t be standing when you’re this distraught. It’s not good for you or the baby.”
The woman kept her gaze fixed on Thea’s face for a long moment, then opened the door and led Thea into her parlor. “I don’t understand. You look like Helen.” She tipped her head to one side, obviously considering something. “You’re not as tall.”
Thea nodded. Stuart’s mother had been at least four inches taller than Thea. Thea swallowed deeply, trying to control her emotions. It wasn’t only her patient who had sustained a shock. She had come here to call on a patient, not to solve the mystery of Stuart’s mother. But she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Helen might not have been Stuart’s mother.
“Who is Helen?” Thea wouldn’t use the past tense. Not yet.
“Helen Bradford. She’s my cousin what lives near Leakey. I oughta say what lived there. Poor dear.”
It sounded as if Mrs. Harris was aware of her cousin’s death, and yet that made no sense, given the way she’d greeted Thea. She was obviously still expecting Helen to come here.
“Helen’s husband died three or four months ago,” Mrs. Harris explained as she sank onto the horsehair settee. “The man just keeled over, leaving Helen alone with a baby on the way.”
Thea shuddered. Not only had Helen Bradford looked like her, but their stories were eerily similar. The only difference was that Helen’s son had lived.
“Helen din’t know what to do. Her bein’ family and all, I tole her she could live with me and Angus fer a while. She was gonna come once she had the baby.” Mrs. Harris frowned. “I expected her more than a month ago.”
Thea’s patient stared at her again, then shook her head in amazement. “I cain’t get over how much you look like her.”
All the pieces fit. There was no doubt that Helen Bradford had been Stuart’s mother, but still Thea asked, “Do you know whether her child was a girl or a boy?”
“A boy. I don’t rightly remember what she named him, though.” She frowned. “I cain’t figger out where she went. She oughta been here by now.”
Thea wished there were an easy way to tell Mrs. Harris that she would never see Helen again. She’d never been comfortable delivering bad news, but sometimes there was no alternative. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before she began. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your cousin is dead.”
Though Mrs. Harris’s eyes widened, she said nothing.
“She and her son were found outside Cimarron Creek earlier this month. The baby’s doing well, but Helen died.” Thea wouldn’t tell Mrs. Harris that Helen and Stuart had been separated or how brutally her cousin had been killed. “The sheriff and a Ranger tried to learn who she was, but none of the towns they contacted knew anything.”
Mrs. Harris appeared perplexed. “Helen and Hiram din’t have no other family, and they kept purty much to themselves ’cepting for goin’ to church. They done that every Sunday. I woulda thought the minister woulda remembered them.”
Thea summoned a mental picture of the state map and tried to calculate distances. “It could be that the sheriff’s inquiries didn’t go as far as Leakey.” She had never asked Jackson or Travis how wide a circle they’d established for their search.
Her patient was silent, digesting the news. When she spoke, it was to say, “I hope somebody done give her a Christian burial.”
At least Thea could reassure Mrs. Harris about one point. “They did. She was laid to rest in the Cimarron Creek cemetery. Now that we know her name, the town will have a headstone carved.” Travis had assured her that he and Lydia would pay for that.
“Good. Now, what can you tell me about this baby of mine?”
What about Helen’s baby? Thea wanted to shout the question. According to Mrs. Harris, she was Helen’s only living relative, yet she displayed no curiosity about her cousin’s child. What kind of woman was she?
Though Thea had told herself she wanted to find Stuart’s family so that he could be raised by relations, now that she had, she was no longer convinced that uniting him with this cousin would be a good thing. If Mrs. Harris didn’t care about him enough to ask where he was and who was ensuring that he was fed and clothed, how would she treat Stuart if she became his foster mother?
Thea bit the inside of her cheek to keep from spewing angry words. Family was important for children, but love was even more critical to their happiness. Perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps this was nothing more than another example of her poor judgment of people, but Thea could not imagine Stuart being happy here. She wished—oh, how she wished—that Jackson were here so she could ask his opinion, but Jackson was gone.
Jackson stared at Miss Millie. That was not the answer he’d expected, but perhaps the story of having been raised in an orphanage was yet another of Daniel Michener’s lies. He’d obviously lied to Thea—if only by omission—because he hadn’t told her of his activity with the Gang, and then there were the perfumed shirts and the probability that he’d been unfaithful to her. It was possible that he’d never lived here, and yet Jackson’s instincts told him that much of Daniel Michener’s story had been true. He’d try another tactic.
Pulling the sketch from his pocket, Jackson unfolded it and handed it to the former matron. “Are you sure you don’t remember this man? He would have been younger, of course.”
She gave the paper a cursory glance. “I most certainly do remember him. He and those two scalawags were always getting into trouble.”
Jackson blinked as he tried to absorb Miss Millie’s words. “I thought you said he didn’t live there.”
Though he hadn’t thought it possible, the woman’s spine stiffened. “Young man, you asked me about Daniel Michener. This is Danny Klein.”
Another lie. By now Jackson ought to be used to that. “He must have changed his name.” Honest men rarely did that, but Thea’s husband had not been an honest man.
Miss Millie’s lips thinned with what appeared to be contempt. Though Thea had found the man charming enough to marry, the boy had not fooled his teacher.
“He never did like being called Klein. Once someone told them that klein was the German word for small, the other boys began to torment Danny about being little. He was thin and shorter than normal until he was about fourteen.”
The former matron pushed her glasses back onto her nose. “You said he’s calling himself Michener now. It’s not difficult to figure out why he chose that name instead of Klein. I told you there were three scalawags. The other two boys were Micheners—Will and Rob.”
She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge unpleasant memories. “The three were thick as thieves
and caused more trouble than all the other children combined. I don’t mind telling you, Ranger, that every night I prayed they would come to their senses before it was too late and they ruined their lives. The way they were acting, they were headed for a bad end.”
If what Jackson believed was true, Miss Millie’s fears had been justified. It seemed likely that Daniel and the Michener boys were the three men in the Gang of Four.
“What did they do?”
She pursed her lips as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “What didn’t they do? It started with harmless pranks like tying bootlaces together so another boy would trip, but then it escalated to setting fire to the schoolroom and dropping a dead armadillo into the well.”
Jackson nodded. While some might consider those typical boyhood shenanigans, he shared Miss Millie’s opinion that they were serious. “Was there anything else?”
She fixed her gaze on him and shrugged. “I could never prove it, but I believe they were responsible for Violet Baker’s death.”
Jackson’s breath escaped in a whoosh. Death, even if accidental, was a whole different order of magnitude than fires or well poisoning.
“Was Violet another orphan?”
“Yes.” Miss Millie’s gray eyes flashed with remembered pain. “She was a year younger than the three scalawags and the prettiest girl living there. The only time I saw those boys fight among themselves was when Violet came to the orphanage. They turned from friends to adversaries as they all vied for her attention.”
Jackson could picture the scene. Adolescent boys were not noted for their rational behavior. “How did she die?” Though he hoped it was nothing more than a prank gone wrong, Miss Millie’s expression told Jackson that was not the case.
“I found her with her throat slit.”
Just like Stuart’s mother. A shiver of dread made its way down Jackson’s spine. Though the Gang had never killed that way during their heists, only a fool would ignore the probability that they were behind Stuart’s mother’s death. Jackson was not a fool.
He looked at Miss Millie. “But you had no proof that they were responsible.”
“No,” she admitted, “but I don’t know who else would have done it. Two days later, the three of them ran away. I alerted the sheriff, and he looked for a while but could find no trace of them.” She hesitated for a second before adding, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m not certain he searched very hard. He may have figured we were better off without them.”
The orphanage might have been, but the State of Texas would have been a more peaceful place if the trio had been caught and somehow set on the right track all those years ago. There was, however, no point in speculating over what might have been. Jackson needed to deal with what the Gang had done and what they might continue to do if he didn’t catch the remaining members.
“Do you remember when they left?”
Miss Millie nodded. “I certainly do. April ’65. That dreadful War Between the States had just ended. Everything was topsy-turvy as folks speculated what that would mean to us. No one could believe that General Lee had surrendered.”
She pursed her lips again in what Jackson was beginning to believe was a characteristic gesture. “We might not have missed the boys right away if they hadn’t taken so much food. Cook was beside herself when she discovered a whole ham missing. That’s when I started looking for Danny. The boy’s favorite food was ham.”
The former matron closed her eyes for a second, as if remembering something less than pleasant about Daniel Klein and his fondness for ham. “You didn’t come here to listen to an old woman reminisce. Why were you looking for Danny?”
There was no point in lying. “I have reason to believe he was involved in some robberies.” And some killings, although Jackson would not burden Miss Millie with that piece of information.
Apparently unsurprised, she inclined her head in a regal nod. “I can see that happening. As I told you before, I was afraid he and the others would come to a bad end. And robbery? Definitely. I can still remember him telling the Michener brothers they were well named—Will and Rob. I recall Danny laughing as he called out, ‘Will Rob, Will Rob.’”
It seemed they had done just that. Jackson gave a silent prayer of thanks for Miss Millie’s reminiscences. He’d been correct in thinking that he’d find some answers here, and he had. Thanks to her, he knew the names of two of the three remaining Gang members.
“I’ve been tracking a group called the Gang of Four,” he told Miss Millie. “They specialize in robbing wealthy travelers and Army payrolls. I know that Daniel was one of them, because I almost caught them one night. His bandanna slipped enough that I could make the sketch I showed you.”
He’d done that while he waited for the doctor to patch up Leander as best he could. “I didn’t see the others’ faces, but from what you’ve said, I think it’s likely that the Micheners were his partners.”
Jackson paused in case Miss Millie had any questions. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “The fourth member of the Gang is a woman. It might have been someone they met later, but I wondered whether any of the girls left the orphanage around the same time.”
Miss Millie pursed her lips. “I don’t believe so.” She paused, then nodded. “No, that’s not right. There was one, but I can’t believe there’s any connection. Charity James was a model child. She was never in trouble, and I never saw her with those boys.”
If that was true, it was unlikely she was part of the Gang, but Jackson needed to be certain. “Do you remember where Charity went when she left the orphanage?”
Once again Miss Millie closed her eyes for a second. “As I recall,” she said when she opened them, “she found a position with a couple in Comfort. I doubt she’s still there, but someone might remember her.”
But no one did. When Jackson reached the small town late that day, he discovered that not only had no one ever heard of Charity James, but no strangers had come to Comfort in ’65.
Another dead end.
18
Thea settled into the chair and picked up the book she’d started reading the day before, hoping it would distract her. Perhaps she should have gone with Aimee when she took Stuart for his evening walk, but there was only one person she wanted to see today, and he wasn’t in Cimarron Creek.
Thea wished she knew where Jackson had gone and when he would return, and so she sat here, wondering when the handsome Ranger would ride back into town and what he’d say when he heard what she’d learned today. Although it had assured her that his absence was only temporary, Jackson’s note had given no details.
Like so many men, he was sparing with his words. The single sheet of paper said very little, and yet she kept it, because it was the first and only piece of written communication that she had from Jackson. That was silly. Thea knew that, but she also knew she was not ready to throw it away.
As she had feared, the book did not hold her attention. She had been staring at the same page for minutes, unable to recall a single word. Instead, her mind whirled with memories of what had happened at the Harris ranch. Mrs. Harris’s shock, her own shock, Helen’s story, Mrs. Harris’s lack of concern for Helen’s son—the pictures rotated through Thea’s brain, overlapping and changing like the colors in a kaleidoscope.
At times, she felt as if everything had changed today, as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet, but at other times, it seemed that nothing was different. Oh, how she wished Jackson were here to help her make sense of what she’d learned. When she’d stopped at the sheriff’s office to tell Travis that Stuart’s mother had a name, she’d found it locked tight.
“He’s at the county seat, testifying against the cattle rustlers he and Edgar caught,” Lydia had explained. “Do you want to leave a message?” But Thea did not. Her news could wait until tomorrow, and maybe by then Jackson would have returned.
She looked around the parlor and wondered if she’d made a mistake in not accompanying Aimee. There was no way of knowing h
ow much longer Stuart, the boy she’d come to love like a son, would be allowed to remain in Cimarron Creek. He now had a family, people with legal ties to him. Thea didn’t know what the law said and whether, once Travis learned about Stuart’s connection to the Harrises, he’d be forced to give them custody of the boy, even if they were not eager to accept him.
Though Thea’s instincts told her that was not the best alternative for Stuart, she had to acknowledge that she might be wrong. It could be that shock over Helen’s death had colored Mrs. Harris’s reaction. She hadn’t had a chance to meet Stuart, to hold him in her arms.
Once the Harrises saw Stuart, they might love him as much as Thea did. She doubted anyone could love him more, but if the Harrises adopted him, Stuart would grow up in a family with two parents. That was something Thea could not offer him.
She rose and walked to the window, hoping the simple act of moving would help settle her thoughts. The street was empty, the evening peaceful, but Thea’s brain continued to whirl.
Questions about Stuart’s future troubled her; so did what she’d learned of Helen Bradford’s past. Though she’d never met her, Thea felt a connection to the woman whose face and story had such an uncanny resemblance to her own. There were many similarities, but there were also differences. They’d both lost husbands, although Helen’s had died of natural causes. They’d both given birth to sons at almost the same time, but Helen’s son had lived. They’d both left their homes, planning to settle in or near Cimarron Creek. Thea had arrived safely; Helen had not. And that brought Thea to the question with no answer: Why had Helen Bradford been killed?
Jackson might know. Perhaps he’d learned something about Helen Bradford, and that was why he’d left Cimarron Creek. If only he’d return.
As she looked out the window for what felt like the hundredth time, Thea let out an exasperated sigh. Pacing was accomplishing nothing. She might as well sit down instead of wearing a track in the carpet. Maybe this time she’d be able to focus on the book. Everyone had told her that Jane Eyre was such a compelling story that they could not put it down.