Chapter Twenty-Nine
Days went by, and Lucy contemplated leaving town. She knew not where to go and feared for her meager savings, but it didn’t feel right to stay in town and take advantage of whatever charity Mr. Miller was willing to provide. Besides, she had no way of knowing how long his good graces would last.
Still, after sending her letter to Mrs. Mayhew, it wasn’t long before she received an urgent reply from the dear old woman, begging her to stay put until the woman’s arrival. According to the reply, Mrs. Mayhew herself would be traveling just as soon as she could arrange for passage to Tuckerrise.
Lucy couldn’t imagine what the woman would want with this far-flung town, and why she didn’t just advise Lucy to come home. Perhaps Mrs. Mayhew was finally heading back east to her family, but was kind enough to allow Lucy to accompany her? But since she had no way of knowing how soon after sending the letter Mrs. Mayhew could have departed, Lucy had no choice but to do as she was instructed.
The only thing out of the ordinary had been the presence of yet another watchful man who seemed to always be in the hotel dining room whenever she came down for her meals. He sat on the other side of the room and ate in solitary silence, never uttering a word or even seeming to look in her direction. Yet Lucy couldn’t help but feel as though he was watching her.
“Excuse me?” Lucy said quietly to one of the serving girls before pointing stealthily across the room. “That man over there. Is he a guest here?”
The girl looked where Lucy had gestured and shook her head. “No ma’am, that’s one of the sheriff’s men. A deputy. I ‘spose he just takes his meals here to keep from cooking for himself. But now that you mention it, he’s always around here somewhere. The girls and I just thought he was looking out for the hotel and keeping the peace.”
The girl shrugged and continued through the room, filling glasses with water from a pitcher she carried. Lucy narrowed her eyes, a sudden realization dawning on her.
The sheriff has someone watching me! He still assumes the worst, that I had something to do with that horrible man!
Learning his identity should have been a comfort, but instead it only raised more questions and irritated Lucy even further. She was of a mind to go speak to the sheriff herself and clear her name, but with what proof? Once he’d decided the worst about her, how would she prove otherwise?
More importantly, what did she care if he thought her to be a young lady with ill-repute, one who cavorted with lawless people? Matthew’s opinion had been the only one that mattered, and now that was mere dirt beneath her foot, too. As soon as she met up with Mrs. Mayhew, they would leave this wretched town forever.
The days ran together, and a most disturbing visitor at her door nearly became her undoing. One evening, the proprietor’s wife took it upon herself to rap her knuckles sharply on the door and stand before her looking very grim. She’d not been a woman with an eager smile to begin with, and now she looked particularly vexed.
“Yes?” Lucy asked, opening the door.
“Miss Jones, we’ve received word from Mr. Miller that your time here has run out,” the woman explained, holding out a hand-written note. Lucy took it and read it silently before being flooded with shame and embarrassment. “As of tomorrow afternoon, he will no longer be funding your room and board.”
Lucy nodded tearfully, noting his wording in the letter. In truth, she had taken complete advantage of his charity, but that could not be helped.
“Mrs. O’Brien, if I may,” she began, keeping her voice low so no one else could be privy to her shame, “I have made arrangements to leave Tuckerrise but the person who’s coming to fetch me simply hasn’t arrived yet. Here, I’ll show you.”
Lucy retrieved Mrs. Mayhew’s letter and held it out for the prim woman to read. “Go ahead, it’s nothing private.”
Mrs. O’Brien took the letter and held her pince-nez to her eyes as she read. She took in every word, then let the glasses fall until they dangled from their thin gold chain.
“I see. It does appear as though you’ve taken the appropriate steps to remove yourself from town,” she replied in a clipped tone that was anything but friendly. “I will send word to Mr. Miller that you’ve attempted to be rid of him, but that I will not allow you to be cast out. He made the arrangement to fund your stay, and he will uphold it, mark my words.”
Her sour expression and aloof mannerism confused Lucy when she connected them to what the old woman was saying. Was she really going to help Lucy?
“Thank you, ma’am. That does my heart good. And I assure you, as soon as my traveling companion arrives, we will inform you at once and be on our way. I’ve been a great deal of trouble to many people here in Tuckerrise, and I’m sure they will be glad to see me go.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. O’Brien answered. “You’ve been the picture of respect and good breeding, at least as long as you’ve been under our roof. And quite frankly, this town is now short two wanted criminals. If that was in any way your doing, then you should be named mayor, not run out of town like a cowpoke!”
Lucy wilted against the door frame, gratitude and relief filling her. “It’s most pleasing to know that not everyone thinks the worst of me.”
“I’ll have you know, word has gotten out about how you’ve been treated since your arrival,” the woman said, refusing to lower her voice. “Stranger though you may be and with a past that none of us can fathom, that is notwithstanding. What we know about you, we can see with our own eyes! Again, I will inform Mr. Matthew that I expect his bill to be paid in full once I have bid you goodbye. Have a good evening!”
Lucy watched her turn and march down the carpeted hallway, her long skirts swishing as she went. It was the first idea she’d had that perhaps there were kind, gentle people in Tuckerrise after all.
* * *
It was two more days before Mrs. O’Brien again knocked on her door, and Lucy’s heart sank. Had Mr. Miller refused Mrs. O’Brien’s request? She was already shaking while she waited for the woman to deliver the word of his decision.
“Miss Jones? I believe your traveling companion has arrived and is downstairs,” Mrs. O’Brien said in that same firm tone. “She inquired about you by name, but I couldn’t remember her name from the letter you showed me. I wouldn’t give her your whereabouts due to the circumstances surrounding your arrival, but I did offer her some tea on the pretense that I would ask at the other hotels. She’s in the dining room at this moment.”
“Oh thank you!” Lucy cried, standing up straighter and feeling a great weight lifted from her shoulders. “I’m coming straight away!”
Lucy looked in the small glass on the wall and checked her appearance, not wanting to give Mrs. Mayhew the impression that she’d been treated sorely. She then smoothed her skirts and felt of her collar at her throat to ensure she looked all right, and followed Mrs. O’Brien down the stairs.
“Lucy, dear girl!” Mrs. Mayhew nearly shouted as she stood to greet her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes! Come here and let me look at you.”
Mrs. Mayhew inspected Lucy critically, intent on determining whether or not she was in good spirits and well-fed. Finally, she took Lucy’s hands and squeezed them together, smiling at her adoringly.
She gestured for Lucy to join her at the table and poured them both some tea, then said, “Now I read your letter a hundred times if I read it once. I know every word by heart now. But I want to hear it from your own mouth. Tell me everything.”
Lucy sighed, unhappy with reliving it all when she’d been so diligent about not letting it weigh on her all these days, but complied. By the time she’d finished, Mrs. Mayhew was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“But sweet Mrs. Mayhew, I don’t want to burden you with so much heartache,” Lucy finished by saying. “Tell me instead, why did you insist that I remain here instead of returning to Shortcrag?”
The old woman looked around as though ensuring no one was overhearing them. “You told me the sheriff app
eared to suspect you were connected to this Nelson Greer, is that right?”
“Yes,” Lucy replied. “At first I think he merely believed it because I chanced to arrive here when that awful man did. But after what Mr. Miller and I heard him say, his suspicions only became more founded. But what does that have to do with my staying in a place where I’m clearly not wanted?”
Mrs. Mayhew shook her head sharply. “Not here, my dear girl. We’ll discuss this matter in full in front of the sheriff… and that barn rat Matthew Miller.”
* * *
Lucy and Mrs. Mayhew waited an uncomfortably long time for word to be sent to Matthew and for him to arrive at the jail. From time to time, Lucy could spy John Miller at the far end of the hallway, still imprisoned while waiting for the judge to make his rounds and stop in Tuckerrise. She wanted to muster a shred of pity for the old man, but was horrified to discover that she could not.
Have these people really made me so cruel? she thought miserably. There was a time when my heart would have broken at the sight of one so old and seemingly frail locked away behind iron bars.
When Matthew finally entered, removing his hat and looking for a chair, Lucy averted her gaze. She wanted nothing to do with him, and sat uncomfortably still to avoid having to see him.
“Well, ma’am,” Sheriff Cooper began, addressing Mrs. Mayhew, “we’re all ears. What was so important that you had to come all this way?”
Mrs. Mayhew reached around in her leather bag and produced a thin stack of papers before speaking. When she did, she glared fiercely at the lawman with dark determination.
“Sheriff, I have had the distinct discomfort of learning that you think Miss Lucy Jones, a girl I practically helped raise to the fine young lady she is today, to be not only a liar but also an associate of a certain criminal element. Is that true?”
Sheriff Cooper looked immediately uncomfortable, accustomed as he was to being the one to interrogate others. He looked from the older woman to Lucy to Matthew, then nodded.
“Well now, ma’am, I’m the sheriff and I have to look out for the people of this town. I have to look at every incident from all sides, and—”
Mrs. Mayhew interrupted him. “I don’t recall asking you what your job entails. I asked if you accused Miss Jones of unspeakable smears against her character.”
The silence in the room pounded loudly in Lucy’s ears. This was not the kind old woman who shared her best white sugar or a batch of cookies with the children. This was a determined woman who was both superior in countenance and filled with a quiet rage that one she cared about had been so badly slandered.
“Perhaps I did, Mrs. Mayhew,” the sheriff replied, mumbling slightly, “and I’m heartily sorry.”
“No, you’re not, you’re only sorry that I’m sitting here in front of you with the proof that you’re no better a lawman than the criminals you pretend to catch,” she answered.
Lucy and Matthew both went wide-eyed, and even the sheriff was suddenly at a loss for words. Mrs. Mayhew flung the stack of papers onto the sheriff’s desk and let them skid to a stop against his chest.
He reached for them and sifted through the pages, trying to make sense of them all.
“I don’t guess I understand. What is all this?” he asked. “And how does it prove Miss Jones isn’t a part of the Greer gang?”
“What was it that the outlaw said that made you so certain Miss Jones was involved? That she was ‘important’ somehow?” Mrs. Mayhew asked before turning a sympathetic look to Lucy. “That’s because she is important to him… she’s his daughter.”
Chapter Thirty
Lucy fought against the distinct feeling that she was going to faint right there in front of the sheriff and Matthew. Her head began to swim and her words failed her while simultaneously the blood roared in her ears. She could feel the heat rise in her face and her only wish at that moment was to fall down dead so she wouldn’t have to hear anything further.
It was not to be. Try as she might to will herself to disappear, she stayed put, all eyes in the room watching her closely.
“Is that so, Miss Jones?” the sheriff asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Matthew move to the edge of his seat in anticipation.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “and that is the honest truth. I can only hope there is some mistake, and that I’m in no way that horrible man’s flesh and blood.”
“Lucy, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “Sorry for who he is, but also for not telling you sooner. I’d hoped you might never need to know about the man who sired you, as being a poor, abandoned orphan girl was better in every way than having anyone discover you’re the child of a notorious killer.”
Mrs. Mayhew paused to make sure everyone was all right with her retelling, then began by saying, “Your ma was a teacher at the school a great long time ago. Nelson Greer and his bunch rode through town, and when he saw her, he set his sights on her. With nothing more than sweet-talk and promising of being a changed man, he convinced her to ride off with him to get married.
“I do not rightly know if they ever did marry, Lucy. And I’m sorry that I never pressed your mother for more details than what she willingly told me. She came back to Shortcrag in such sorry condition that I didn’t have the heart to demand answers. Some months after returning, she gave birth to you, but she took ill with child-bed fever and did not survive.”
Mrs. Mayhew stopped, ignoring the looks from the astounded men to focus only on Lucy. Seeing that the girl had nothing to ask, she continued.
“I tended to you myself for that first year, and you were the best baby that ever was. Shortly after your ma had passed though, Greer’s men returned to town. I hid you in the cellar when I learned he was asking about your mother, and there you stayed for nearly a week! I wrote first to your uncle—your mother’s brother—to inquire about him taking you in, but he was already in such poor health. He had no money for your care and keeping, so I knew then that I had to give you up to the school.”
The room was silent. Lucy felt ill, so sick to her stomach she was grateful to have not eaten much that day lest something unspeakable should happen. The sheriff looked both relieved and embarrassed for his hand in this, but it was Matthew whose expression divided Lucy’s soul.
While somewhat apologetic, he had the sheer nerve to look elated, hopeful even. He sat forward in his chair, watching Lucy and looking as though he might speak to her.
“Sheriff, if we’re done here, I’d very much like to be on my way,” Lucy said coldly, rising to her feet and already walking to the door without waiting for an answer.
“Of course, Miss Jones. And you have my apologies,” Sheriff Cooper answered, jumping to his feet and opening the door.
“Miss Jones! Wait a moment!” Matthew called out, hurrying to follow her. But Lucy refused to stop. She kept walking, Mrs. Mayhew racing along beside her.
“Miss Jones, please. I wish to speak to you!” Matthew called out and finally, Lucy turned.
He hurried to close the distance between them and smiled. “Miss Jones, I’m so very sorry. But this is wonderful news! I know now that you had nothing to do with the harm to me and my property!”
“And what of it, Mr. Miller?” Lucy answered coldly.
“Why, this is a cause for celebration,” he began, still not understanding her temper and carriage. “Please let me take you to dinner, and we can talk—”
“No thank you,” Lucy replied, her voice stiff as a cold wind. “I only wish to return to the hotel so I can gather my things and pay my bill, then be on my way.”
“You mean, you’re leaving? Now that your name has been cleared and everything?” he asked, turning ghostly white.
“Yes, Mr. Miller. There is no reason for me to stay here,” she explained, still staring at him with a measure of contempt. “This has been a most unpleasant experience and I wish to be rid of this place.”
“But… but I want to see you. I would be so grateful if you’d return to the ranch w
ith me. Mrs. Mayhew is welcome too, of course!” Matthew smiled, as though the invitation could undo all the hurts he’d heaped on her in recent time.
“I have no wish to see you, though.” Lucy stepped closer, the anger and pain rising up inside her. “You never once asked me if I was involved in all of this. Instead, you listened to a man who sits at this very moment in a jail cell, awaiting trial for murder. It was his word that you believed over mine. Mr. Miller, you will never be able to erase this pain and therefore, I shall not waste another moment of my time in entertaining what it is that you want.”
* * *
Matthew’s heart stung as though Lucy had physically injured it with her words. How could he have been so stupid as this? He’d cast her aside and even allowed his mother to send that awful letter to the hotel, informing them that she was no longer their guest. And for what?
A Love Defying The Odds (Historical Western Romance) Page 24
