Defying the Darkness

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Can you tell me where her ticket was for?” Perhaps she’d only said she was going to San Francisco when in reality, she was headed for Denver or some other such place. He didn’t think she’d lie, but he had to make sure before he went gallivanting all over the country.

  “Well now, I do seem to jot these things down. A record kept is a history maintained, you know. Now, where did I put that . . .” Mr. Abernathy looked around on his desk and patted his pockets as though expecting the needed information to appear magically. “Oh, probably over here.” He turned to a shelf on his right. “Yes, here we are.”

  “You found the ticket?”

  “No, I found the ledger. Just hold on to your horses there, young man.” He paused and looked up from under bushy eyebrows. “Occurs to me that you might not have the rights to this information. Might I ask what you plan to do with it?”

  “Well, you certainly know I’m not some sort of criminal,” Bradley said with a chuckle. “You’ve watched me grow up.”

  “Yes, I have, but I still need to know. It’s my duty, you see.”

  Bradley nodded. “The truth is, I’ve heard from the man who hired Lydia, and he says she never arrived.”

  “Never arrived?” Mr. Abernathy’s eyes grew wide. “So you’re investigating?”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve spoken with the marshal, and he says what I thought he’d say—we need evidence that she didn’t disappear of her own choice. So I’ve taken it upon myself to figure it out.”

  Mr. Abernathy let out a low whistle. “Well, I certainly wish you luck. Now, let’s see.” He opened the ledger and began flipping through. “Oh, look. Here’s when I sold Mrs. Harmon that ticket to New York City. She was so excited to go—but she came back with that awful hat. You’ve seen that hat? Stuffed pigeon on it? Gave me nightmares for a week.”

  Bradley nodded. It certainly was a ghastly hat. “About Miss Pullman . . .”

  “That’s right. Let’s see.” He flipped another couple of pages. “Here we are. She bought a ticket through to San Francisco, California.”

  “And do you know where the train would have stopped along that route?”

  Mr. Abernathy scratched his head. “Sure I do. I have that right here. Now, where did I put that . . .”

  Ten minutes later, Bradley had a list in his hand of all the stops Lydia would have made on that particular journey. He sat down on a bench on the train platform and studied it. It was over eighteen hundred miles from his home of Ames, Iowa, to San Francisco, if he did his math correctly. And so many stops along the way—so many places where she could have gotten off instead. The task was rather daunting, and the temptation was to give up. But if something had happened to her and he was the only one who could help her . . . the thought was too much. He wouldn’t give up. He was not going to shy away from this task simply because it was difficult.

  He walked back over to the ticket counter and purchased a ticket—the same ticket Lydia had purchased. It would leave the next morning at eight o’clock. Carl had already promised to keep things afloat while he was gone. He would visit his mother, tell her goodbye, and be on his way—hopefully to find Lydia safe and well, wherever she’d gone.

  ***

  Marshal KC Murray invited Lydia to take a seat in his office. “I appreciate you for coming down here, Miss Pullman,” he said. “We’ve been watching Mrs. Deveraux’s place of business for the last two days, and we haven’t noticed any suspicious activity. That being the case, we decided to bring her in and question her. As you’re the only witness we have, we’d like you to be present and to add your testimony.”

  Lydia pressed her lips together. “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m accusing her of anything,” she said. “Mrs. Deveraux has been very good to me, and I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”

  “I know you feel loyalty to your employer, but if she’s willfully breaking the law, we need to know it,” KC replied. “Your testimony today will help us determine her guilt or her innocence.”

  “I understand. I just hope she doesn’t hate me forever.”

  “I doubt that she will. I’ll try to phrase it as nicely as I can.” He paused. “I think being married may have softened me up a bit—I’ll call on those new skills of mine.”

  Lydia smiled. She understood that he was trying to put her at ease, and she appreciated that, but she didn’t know of anything that could be done to ease the pit in her stomach.

  A moment later, the door opened, and Mrs. Deveraux stepped through in the company of a deputy. “I’m not at all sure why I’m here, Marshal, but this young man said you needed to see me.” She paused. “Oh, hello, Lydia. Have they brought you in as well, then?”

  KC came to his feet. “Afternoon, Mrs. Deveraux. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. Will you have a seat?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly say that I took the time to meet with you. Rather, this young man insisted that I come. He says I’m not under arrest, but when you’re asked to go somewhere without being given a choice, that feels like being under arrest, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I apologize if we made you feel coerced in any way. Please be seated, and let’s have you back to business as soon as possible.”

  Mrs. Deveraux sat down and turned to Lydia. “When I lived in Spain, the queen for whom I was sewing had a frightful run-in with the law—”

  KC cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I do need to ask some very important questions.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket, and Lydia recognized it as the one that had held her wages. “Do you recognize this, Mrs. Deveraux?”

  “Of course. I buy those envelopes from Toria Jackson by the dozens. That shade of eggshell suits me so much better than a stark white. White can be very abrasive to the eye, while eggshell is more restful.”

  “So this is one of your envelopes.”

  She exhaled impatiently. “Yes, Marshal. I believe that’s what I just said.”

  He withdrew a dollar bill. “And this?”

  “That’s money, Marshal. I’m assuming this is the money I gave Lydia the other day, as she’s sitting here. What’s going on, please?”

  “When Miss Pullman took the money to the bank to deposit it, Mr. Cromwell discovered that it’s counterfeit.”

  He said this calmly, no doubt to see what sort of response he could elicit from Mrs. Deveraux. She looked at him with wide eyes, blinking. “I don’t understand,” she said at last.

  “I need to ask you where you got this money, Mrs. Deveraux.”

  “I . . . I . . . Let me think. It was a week ago on Monday. A man and his wife came into the shop and said they were just passing through on their way to Denver, but she’d spilled something on her dress and wanted to buy a new one. At first, I thought I might be able to help sponge out the spot, but it was something dark and sticky, and they were in a hurry to get back on the train, so I sold them one of the ready-made dresses we carry. He paid me in cash—that cash—and she changed in the backroom and they were on their way. I don’t think they stayed longer than ten minutes.”

  “Had you ever seen them before or since?”

  “No, just for those few minutes. Are you saying they paid me with counterfeit money, and I passed it along to Lydia?”

  “That’s what it looks like, ma’am, but I will need to see if we can find someone to corroborate your story.”

  “But . . . I was alone in the shop. Lydia didn’t come in for another hour, and I don’t know who else . . . If you need a second statement, does that mean you don’t believe mine?” Her eyes grew wide again. “Am I some sort of suspect?”

  Lydia felt terrible for Mrs. Deveraux. This was everything she’d tried to avoid.

  “Our only goal is finding the person responsible, Mrs. Deveraux,” KC said gently. “Counterfeit money hurts our economy and is bad for the whole town. We don’t want that floating around in Creede, so we want to put a stop to it as soon as we can.”

  “Well, of course, but thinking I’m somehow i
nvolved is just silliness. I run an honest business.” She glanced at Lydia. “I might embellish some of my stories just a little bit, like adding a piece of lace onto a bodice, but I’m not in the habit of lying.”

  “And I believe her,” Lydia chimed in. “I’ve worked for her since I came to town, and I’ve never known her to act dishonestly.”

  “Thank you for your statements, ladies. We’ll do our very best to bring this situation under control. In the meantime, please be very careful about the money you accept, and if anyone tries to give you a bill that looks suspicious, please tell us right away.”

  “Yes, Marshal. Most certainly.” Mrs. Deveraux gasped and turned to Lydia. “If the money I gave you has been confiscated, that means you didn’t get your wages. How terrible!”

  Lydia smiled. “It was disappointing, but I’m sure everything will work out in the end.”

  “You come over to the bank with me this minute and let’s get you paid.” Mrs. Deveraux stood up. “I’m supposing you’d like to examine any other cash I have at the shop.”

  “If you’d be so kind as to gather it up . . .” KC began.

  Mrs. Deveraux turned to Lydia. “You see? They make it sound so genteel and polite when what they’re really doing is bossing you around. Never mind all that. Let’s go over to the bank and withdraw some genuine money from my savings account, and then you shall have your wages.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Deveraux. I appreciate it.”

  The two women left the marshal’s office and made their way to the bank, holding their skirts out of the mud and muck they encountered along the way. Mr. Cromwell smiled when he saw them.

  “Hello, ladies. How are you this afternoon?”

  “I’m quite rattled, Mr. Cromwell. I’m quite rattled indeed.”

  “Oh? How’s that, Mrs. Deveraux?”

  She rested her arm on the counter. “It turns out that I paid this young lady’s wages with counterfeit money. I’d like to make a withdrawal from my savings account in actual, real money so I can make it up to her.”

  “Of course. Right away.”

  Mr. Cromwell handled the transaction swiftly, and within just a few minutes, Mrs. Deveraux’s account was a little bit lighter while Lydia’s was a little bit heavier.

  “I hope this didn’t cause you any grief,” Mrs. Deveraux went on. “Missing wages is such a bother.”

  “Thank you for taking care of it so quickly,” Lydia responded. It had been much more than a bother—it had meant putting off her departure from Creede—but now all was made right, and she could now go purchase that train ticket. She’d begin saying her goodbyes the next day—and she still hadn’t talked to Julianne.

  She groaned inwardly. Did she really have to do that? If she was leaving Creede and would never run into Julianne again, couldn’t she cross that off her to-do list? Even as she thought about it, though, she knew she needed to do it. She would have to face the darkness every night no matter where she lived, and if talking to Julianne would help her find peace, she should do it as soon as possible.

  She bid Mrs. Deveraux good afternoon, promised her to come in at eleven the next morning, and then walked down the street, hoping to catch sight of Julianne. Her friend lived in Bachelor, a town near Creede, so chances were that they wouldn’t meet up, but it was worth a try. Finally, she went into the general store to see if Toria Jackson knew when Julianne might be in town.

  “She placed an order that’s scheduled to arrive on the train day after tomorrow—the three o’clock train, so I’m sure she’ll be here then,” Toria said. “You look a bit rattled—is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’m fine, really,” Lydia replied. “Could you perhaps tell her I’d like to speak with her? I’ll get here as close to three as I can, but I work tomorrow, and I might be running late.”

  “Of course I’ll tell her. And please take care of yourself, Lydia. You don’t look well at all.”

  “It must be this chilly weather. I prefer it when it’s warm out. Have a good day.”

  Lydia walked toward home as quickly as she could manage. In truth, she didn’t feel well at all. The thought of sharing her fears with Julianne was almost more than she could bear—that’s why she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. But if she didn’t do it, she knew she’d regret it, and so it had to be done before she got on that train.

  “That’s just the thing,” Madeline said as she fell into step beside Lydia. “You shouldn’t be getting on the train.”

  Lydia stopped and whirled to face her visitor. “What? Why on earth not?”

  Madeline reached out and touched her arm. “I know you’re eager to leave this place, and I understand all the reasons why. But sometimes the paths we set for ourselves aren’t the ones we should take.”

  “But . . .” Lydia was so startled, she almost couldn’t find words. “I’ve been planning this and dreaming about this . . . Staying focused on this goal is what has kept me moving forward. I can’t just give up on it.”

  “What if there was something better? What if you need to let go of one dream so you can grasp another?”

  Lydia shook her head and kept walking. “I don’t have another dream. This is all I’ve wanted for years. If you’re an angel, like you say, you would know how strongly I feel about this and you wouldn’t be trying to talk me out of it.”

  “I would if you were making the wrong choice.”

  Lydia turned to see that Madeline hadn’t moved from where they’d stopped before. “But isn’t God supposed to allow us our free will?”

  “You are always free to choose, Lydia. That will not be taken away from you. But if I knew that something good was on its way to you right now and I didn’t tell you, wouldn’t that make me a terrible messenger?”

  “But what is this thing that’s coming my way? I don’t understand.”

  Madeline smiled gently. “A second chance, which you can accept or refuse. Why don’t you wait just a little while longer and then decide? San Francisco will still be there in a month or two months or a year. You don’t need to rush into this.”

  “A year? Madeline, how long have I been waiting already? How hard have I worked to get to this point? I feel as though I’ve been patient long enough. I’ve lived simply, worked hard, and kept my head down this whole time, doing everything in my power to take back control of my life. And now, you’re asking me to wait . . .” Lydia’s voice broke off on a sob. “Don’t you see? I just want to feel like myself again. I want to be excited about something. I want to have confidence and dreams and to walk down the street like I’m walking toward something instead of running away from it.” She wiped at the tears on her face. “I want to live again.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Madeline wrapped her arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “I do understand. I’ve been here with you through it all, even when you haven’t been able to see me. What I’m asking is difficult, but it could mean all the difference to your happiness. Will you wait just a short time more? Will you put your trust in the possibility that I might have your best interest at heart?”

  “But I still don’t know who or what you are,” Lydia replied. “I want to believe that you’re an angel because that means someone is truly watching over me, but so many bad things have happened in my life that it doesn’t seem possible. It was so much easier to believe that I’d dreamed you up in my head.”

  “It’s easier to believe you’re crazy than to believe in angels?” Madeline asked, humor in her voice.

  “If you’d like me to be honest, yes. Quite a lot easier. The disappointment when I find out I’m wrong will be completely different.”

  “Again, I understand. And I’m not expecting you to change your goals and dreams just on my word alone. But if you’ll be patient just a short time longer, you’ll see what’s in store for you, and then you can decide with all the information in front of you.”

  “If I need information, why won’t you just give it to me? I’m sure you could make this a lot less complicated if
you chose to.”

  Madeline laughed. “That’s just it—it’s not a matter of my choosing. There are things you must discover in the proper time and way. There is an order to the universe, you know.”

  “I’ve heard that, but in my experience, it’s a chaotic mess.”

  “Maybe that’s what happens when people don’t listen to their guardian angels.”

  Lydia surprised herself by laughing. She hadn’t expected Madeline to have such a sense of humor, or for it to make her feel so much better. “How long am I expected to wait?”

  “Two weeks. I don’t think it will take that long, but if you hold that figure in your head, it will make the waiting seem easier.”

  Lydia pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. Two weeks. But I do hope you know how hard this is for me—to have my goal finally reached and then to be told to hold off on it.”

  “It will be worth it, I promise. Now, come. It’s dark now—let’s get you inside before Mrs. North starts to worry.”

  Madeline stayed by Lydia’s side the rest of the way home, although they did not speak. Instead, Lydia’s brain was a mass of indecision. She’d just told Madeline she would wait, but she was already second-guessing herself. And if you broke a promise made to a figment of your imagination, did it count?

  Chapter Six

  Bradley felt he would go mad before the train reached the west coast. The vibration coming up through the seat made him feel jostled and jiggled, and the noise was enough to drill holes in his eardrums.

  He had gotten off at every stop along the way and asked at the train station, the general store, and the police station if anyone had seen Lydia. He had a photograph of her that he shared everywhere he went, but no one claimed to have seen her. If she hadn’t surfaced at one of those three places by now, chances were excellent that she wasn’t in that town, and so he would continue on to the next stop. It was exhausting in the extreme, but he couldn’t think of a better way to go about it. He left his information with the police at each stop just in case something did turn up, but they all agreed that they’d likely know if she lived within their town boundaries.