“I don’t know, I’m afraid. But I think I’ll write to my friend back in Shortcrag. She’s an older woman and her family is all gone. Before I answered Mr. Matthew’s letter, she’d once offered to let me stay on with her. Perhaps her offer will still be good.” Lucy looked down at the small purse she still owned. “Before you leave, though, can you help me? I’ll need to purchase some things and I don’t know how much money I have.”
Susanna peered down into the purse and her eyes grew wide. “Miss Lucy! That’s quite a tidy sum of money! Don’t go showing that to anyone, do you hear? Don’t let anyone see it, neither. Keep that hidden away!”
“Is it truly a good deal of money?” Lucy asked, frowning. “I had no idea.”
“Wherever did you get so much?” Susanna asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“It was my compensation from the Aid Society for losing my position. I’d never had a salary since I’d been a student there myself, and since all of our needs were provided. The woman who informed me the school was closing brought it to me and said it would get me started somewhere else.”
“I should say so!” Susanna replied, looking somewhat relieved at Lucy’s explanation. She laughed lightly and said, “That money right there, why… I’m sorry to say so, but I thought perhaps you’d robbed a stagecoach!”
“You cannot be serious, it surely cannot be so much money as all that!” Lucy whispered, looking around. “I merely need to buy another dress, a comb, things like that.”
Susanna looked around at the town and set her lips firmly in a grim expression of determination. “I don’t have to hurry right back to the ranch. We’ll find you a room here and then I’ll take you to a shop. They’ll have just what you need, but we’ll make sure you don’t get cheated from not knowing how to spend it.”
True to her word, Susanna entered the hotel with Lucy and gave the proprietor the impression she was her serving girl. After securing lodgings and requesting Lucy’s meals on a regular schedule, she led Lucy across the road to a row of shops.
“Your boots do seem old but still rather sturdy, so I shouldn’t think you need any shoes. You cannot know how long your funds have to support you, so we’ll only get the few things you must have,” Susanna explained.
She walked past the milliner’s shop and the two dress shops, instead seeking out the more practical and meagerly priced mercantiles. Leading Lucy inside one of the stores and to a section in the back, Susanna smiled brightly and pointed out several choices of women’s clothes.
“They’re not so stylish, but you don’t have need of fancy gowns or hats. Besides, if you look too fashionable, the wrong sort of person might take an interest in you… and your money, if you know what I mean. Here,” Susanna said, holding up a perfectly serviceable skirt and a white cotton blouse. “These will look very nice and serve you well.”
A short time later, Lucy had all of her purchases in order. Apart from a few articles of clothing she needed, she now possessed a comb, some hairpins, and other sundry personal items.
“I wish I’d thought to smuggle you out a cake of Mrs. Miller’s soap!” Susanna said in a conspiratorial whisper, but Lucy shook her head ardently.
“No, that would be stealing. That would make me the kind of person they believe me to be, and I won’t have it. I’ve lost everything I have in the world except my good name, despite their efforts. I won’t become what they must think of me, no matter how they’ve hurt me.”
Susanna smiled sympathetically before hugging Lucy again. “I wish you all the best. I’m ever so sorry to see you go. You’ve only been with us such a short time, but already the ranch won’t be the same without you!”
“I feel the same way. Please give Constance my best, and Gertie. It will break my heart if someone so good and smart as Gertie would believe the worst of me, but if she does, I’ll have to make peace with it,” Lucy said. She smiled at the girl one last time and crossed the street to the hotel, back to the solitude she’d feared for so long.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You ready to give your side of the story?” Sheriff Cooper asked through the bars. John Miller looked up at him for a brief moment and shook his head. “You do know that you’re charged with theft, kidnapping, abetting an outlaw, assaulting your nephew, and whole host of other crimes, dontcha?”
“I didn’t do none of those things,” John said firmly. “I only sought what was rightfully mine.”
“That may be, but you went about it the wrong way. Worse, the moment you hired on someone to do all that, well, that’s when you joined them as the guilty party. Oh, I almost forgot one more thing…” the sheriff added lightly as he began to walk away. “…you’re charged with murder, too.”
“Who’d I kill?” John demanded, finally looking the sheriff in the eye and coming to stand in front of him.
“For one, you confessed to killing your brother, and Matthew Miller has pressed charges. The other? Well now, that’s on me. I think you had Frank Fisher killed when your little scheme didn’t play out. Too bad we can only hang you once, though.”
The sheriff sauntered out of the jail and stepped onto the sidewalk. He knew his swaggering tone was mostly talk, trying to goad John Miller into a confession. While he was inclined to believe Matthew Miller about what he’d heard, it might not be enough to hang a cold-blooded murderer, one who would raise a hand against his own flesh and blood. But Cooper knew in his bones that John had killed Jacob and then tried to kill his nephew, all for greed.
Sheriff Cooper had lived in Tuckerrise for more years than he had not, and as the only semblance of law and order in much of the region, he took his job very seriously. He’d seen firsthand what had happened to some of the outposts and mining towns when there wasn’t a body to maintain justice. They became lawless wastelands where it wasn’t safe to stop long enough for a horse to have drink, let alone try to make a living. Traveling the open highways between them was akin to putting one’s life in danger.
No, he wouldn’t have that in these parts. Tuckerrise was a thriving community filled with good people. If that ever changed, Sheriff Cooper would come down on the offenders with an iron fist.
He’d learned through questioning the Millers that the newcomer woman was still in town, and he’d be all the more grateful when she finally showed her face for the last time. There was something unsettling about her, and as such, he’d assigned a deputy to keep a close watch on the hotel. So far, she’d only ventured from her room to take her meals, but even that was highly unusual in his mind.
As Sheriff Cooper looked out at the street from the front of the jail, he chanced to see Lucy Jones walking down the narrow boards that ran along the front of the businesses. His ire was up immediately, and he settled only slightly once he caught sight of the deputy following a good distance behind her.
Good man, the sheriff thought. I knew I could trust that one.
While Cooper watched, Lucy looked up and down the row of buildings on both sides of the main street. She turned this way and that at every cross-street, looking for something. He had half a mind to go speak to her, to ask her what she was interested in finding, but then her expression softened and she entered the building she’d obviously been searching for.
The post office.
She emerged a few minutes later and hurried back the way she’d come, the deputy trailing behind her as she made her way up to the hotel and went inside. Sheriff Cooper’s relief lasted only a moment, though.
What if she’s sending word to some of her friends, telling them where to fetch her?
His mind was already reeling with visions of more of Nelson Greer’s gang roaming the streets of this town. The notion made him physically ill, and he was determined to prevent it.
He crossed the wide street and turned left to the post office, then entered the low building with its fortified cages. Almost as secure as the town bank and for the very same reason—the volume of money that passed through these doors each week was staggering—its small space affor
ded it some measure of protection.
“Morning, Sheriff! What can I do for you?” the postmaster called out. Appearances from the sheriff or one of the deputies were a regular occurrence, one that kept the post office safe, but they’d already had a visit that morning.
“I need to inquire about a letter you may have posted,” the sheriff began, looking around to see if he could spy it. “Did you just receive a correspondence from Miss Lucy Jones?”
The postmaster, an older man with an apron to keep the ink from his clothes and garters attending his sleeves, frowned before wiping his hands on a cloth.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Sheriff. Is there some reason you need to know, though?”
“I need to know who she’s writing to, that’s all.”
“Now, you of all people know the mail is protected. It’s a federal crime to go interfering. It’s even out of your jurisdiction. If we go looking around through all the mail, we’ll have federal marshals in here taking over things. You don’t want that, do you?” The postmaster tried to make the sheriff see the gravity of the situation, but Sheriff Cooper was far more concerned with a threat of a different nature descending on their town.
“I suppose I don’t need the letter, if you’ll just tell me who it’s addressed to,” the sheriff began, but the postmaster was already shaking his head.
“That won’t do either, I’m afraid. But I understand if you suspect a crime may be taking place. So here’s what I can do. That letter has already been paid for and stamped, and therefore, it stays put until it goes in a mail bag and is sent out for delivery. Understand?”
The sheriff nodded, although he certainly didn’t know where the postmaster was leading him.
“When I head over to the safe to check on our supply of government-issued bonds, then if you happened to take note of the letter just lying on top of the stack and maybe remembered the address, well…” He looked towards the pile and cocked his head slightly to the side. “…well, that wouldn’t be anyone’s fault now, would it? You can’t blame a person for what their eyes just happen to see.”
“No sir,” Sheriff Cooper said. “In fact, if you’re opening the safe, I think it would be far better for me to be standing right here and watching the post office to make sure no one crept up on you while your back was turned.”
“Why yes, Sheriff! That is a splendid idea,” the older man replied. “If you’ll just wait right here, I won’t be gone long.”
Once the postmaster turned back to the corner of the room and spun the dial to open the door, Sheriff Cooper leaned over the counter slightly and took a good look at the stack of outgoing mail. There on top was Lucy Jones’s letter, addressed to some woman in Shortcrag, Nevada. Having already made some inquiries into the young lady, Cooper didn’t need to write down the name or the address to know that it was unimportant.
“You done back there?” he called out, and the postmaster returned.
“Certainly! And thank you for your help, Sheriff.”
“No, thank you,” he replied, then left the post office feeling just as confused as when he’d entered.
* * *
Lucy returned from her brief excursion and sat once again in the chair by the window, watching the activity below. The town seemed like such a friendly place on the outside, but after all the events of the past week, she knew it to be a treacherous place where anyone could hurt others.
She’d alleviated the boredom by requesting newspapers from the front desk, and they’d been kind enough to also send a small supply of ladies’ magazines. Lucy had marveled at the images drawn inside, the pictures of fashionable ladies from somewhere on the east coast.
So that’s what Susanna had meant by fashionable dresses, Lucy thought as she’d turned the pages, staring in wonder at the impossibly tall hats covered in silks and feathers, the yards and yards of wasted gingham and cotton in the dresses that gave the appearance of a shapelier figure. All Lucy could think was how the fabric in only one dress would have made a new outfit for every last one of the children at the school.
The children… she’d thought miserably during one of her many bouts of grief. I wonder how they’re getting on, and if they’re safe.
Lucy shook off the thought of the children in their new roles and returned to looking out the window. The letter she’d just posted had been an idea that had come to her several times over the past many days, and she’d finally broken down and asked Mrs. Mayhew for her charity. She hated the thought of once again being a burden to someone else, but just as she’d done all her life, she would be sure to make herself useful and earn her keep.
It had been a relief to pour out her grief in the letter, though. She told Mrs. Mayhew everything, of her first few days in near captivity, the shooting of the false Matthew, the elation and joy she’d felt to finally be at the real Miller ranch, and all the events that had plagued her since then. Worst of all was recounting the way Matthew had looked at her when he’d told her he believed her to be false.
Fresh tears rolled down Lucy’s thin cheeks but she didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? They would only be replaced by a fresh torrent. Besides, she’d already determined that her agony would only continue so long as she was in Tuckerrise. Once Mrs. Mayhew sent word that she could come live with her, she would shake the dust of this town from her shoes and never think of it again.
* * *
“Mr. Matthew?” Gertie asked quietly from the doorway to his study, “I have a tray for you.”
“Thank you, Gertie,” he mumbled in reply before waving to a low table in the corner. “You can set it over there.”
“Sir, I can’t set it over there. Your breakfast is still sittin’ there. You ain’t touched a bite!” Her tone shifted to a more light-hearted approach. “Are you getting’ tired of my cooking now? You’re not gonna send me away and replace me with no fancy French chef, are you?”
Matthew smiled, fully aware of Gertie’s game. “Of course not. If I wanted a plate of snails and livers, I could just go fetch some from outside, couldn’t I?” He saw her relieved smile and said, “I suppose I just don’t have an appetite right now.”
“Why do you think that is, sir? Are you still feelin’ poorly from getting’ all fought up?” she asked, but Matthew shook his head. “Is it grievin’ over yer low-down snake of an uncle?” He shook his head again. “Well then, Mr. Matthew, that leaves only one possibility. Yer heart is broken, but that’s all yer own doin’.”
Matthew looked at Gertie sharply. She had never ventured to say something so forward to him, or in such a harsh tone. Rather than admonish her, though, he knew she was right and the guilt that knowledge brought didn’t sit well with him.
“I know what I heard, Gertie. That scoundrel said he was looking for Miss Jones because she was important. If I’d had any notion that she was tied up in his crimes, I would never have let her stay here.”
“And what notion is that, exactly? Do you have some kind of proof? Did you find her speaking to him? Did you find a letter where she laid out their evil plan to run amok all over this ranch and send everyone last one of us for the hills?”
Matthew didn’t answer, but Gertie wasn’t finished with him.
“You never gave that girl a chance to explain herself, didja? She stood there silent and let you accuse her of the worst things, then she set out—on foot, no less!—to rid this ranch of her little bones! And you sent one of the maids to cart her off like a pile of manure instead of bein’ the man yer parents raised and tending to her yerself! You didn’t even have the guts to send her away on yer own, you made one of the servants do it for ya!”
Matthew seemed to shrink visibly in his chair as Gertie stormed at him. She dropped his tray of food directly on top of his desk, its contents splashing in every direction. Still, Matthew had no response.
“You just remember, Mr. Matthew. You remember who was the one who took every risk to come here. You didn’t have to lift a finger to bring her here, yo
u just had to wave a little bit of that money you’ve got hoarded up. Miss Lucy’s the one who left everything she ever knew for a man who’d sent her a handful of letters, letters filled with pretty talk about life on this here ranch. She rode for days in a stagecoach filled with strangers, driven by men she’d never met. Then yer own ranch hands put a fear in her for days, and she still didn’t let that make her leave you! And after all she been through, you send her off after eavesdropping on half a sentence between two murderers!”
Gertie straightened up and smoothed the front of her apron before glaring down at Matthew, who still sat like a boy being chastised for drawing pictures in the family Bible. Her expression was hard but her voice lowered to an ominous whisper.
“Honestly, Mr. Matthew, I’m right pleased she’s gone cuz it means she got away from the likes of you.” She turned on her heel and left the study, only to stop in the doorway and call out, “And I’m glad yer daddy’s not here to see the man you turned out to be.”
A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance) Page 23
