Sullivan: Cowboy Protector: The Kavanagh Brothers Book 4

by Ball, Kathleen

  “He’d been to visit a few times.”

  “It was more like courting you and not an affair?”

  Sheila drew in a swift breath. “It was neither. We were just friends. There weren’t flowers or candy and we never rode in a buggy to have a picnic. I think he liked to talk to me. The war wasn’t gentle on anyone.”

  “You had your daughter out of wedlock, did you not?”

  She frowned. “Yes, yes I did. I was attacked and the result was my daughter.”

  “Able Langton’s child, correct?”

  She gave a start. How on earth did he know that? “Listen, if this is how you ask questions, then you can leave. I won’t be insulted by you or anyone else.”

  “These are the same questions you’ll be asked in court,” he said, meeting her gaze with his clear blue eyes, “and I need to know what the answers are so I can help you.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? You’re dressed like a cowboy back from a cattle drive, though you talk like a well-educated man. Just how do you know Sullivan?”

  He nodded. “Sullivan and I served together in the army. He saved my life a few times.”

  A sigh slipped out. “That sounds like him.”

  Ben Whittaker chuckled his agreement. “He likes to be the protector of everyone.”

  Protector, that was a good word for Sullivan. She’d mull it over later.

  “So, what I know is Ed Wren brought his daughter into town first. The doctor wasn’t here, and he came to you. He’s claiming it was a bad cough and you gave her poison.”

  Her jaw dropped. The lies got bigger and bigger. “He says he rode to town with Jenny because of a cough? Why didn’t he send one of the men to get the doctor? Mr. Whittaker, this is the first I’ve heard of a cough.”

  “Call me Ben.”

  “I’m Sheila.” Frustration made her edgy. “Ben, Jenny’s body was badly burned, and the poor child must have suffered dearly making the trip to town and then to my place. She’d been dressed in nice clothes and just doing that, changing her clothes must have been excruciating. I don’t know if she was given anything for the pain. But she was dead when Ed Wren carried her inside. I no sooner told him I was sorry that I couldn’t help before someone shouted ‘witch.’ I grew fearful for my life, and I ran and was chased by the men he brought.”

  “How many men did he bring?”

  “At least four that I could see,” she answered. “Behind my house there is nothing but woods, and I’ve spent time in them since I could walk. I knew the trails and I had hoped to get to the Kavanagh Ranch.”

  “I see.”

  “Becca and I were reunited at the ranch house. We hid in a cabin for a while and they burned my house down. Then we moved back to the Kavanagh ranch and soon enough the sheriff came and got me, brought me here. Sullivan married me thinking he would have a legal right to Becca, but her real father who has never even seen her came here declaring his intent to take my daughter.” She leaned toward him, hoping he would understand the importance of her next words. “I don’t want to hang, but I’d rather you keep Able Langton from getting her than waste time defending me. I just want my daughter safe.”

  Ben stood. “I have enough background to start. Seems odd to me that no one saw Jenny in town that day. I would have thought it would be something everyone remembered. I’m sure there was shouting and panic. I’ve seen men severely burned in the war and touching them brought too much pain.” He shuddered. “Those who could make a sound… screamed with the agony. Seems to me, if she wasn’t screaming, maybe she was already dead. Maybe even before they dressed her.” He nodded to her. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Kavanagh. I’ll be back.” He waited by the cell door, his face showing no expression, while Ganes took his time shuffling over with the key.

  Chapter Eight

  The trial was to be tomorrow, and the gallows were already being built right outside her cell window. The town must be confident she would be convicted. She had complete faith, and that faith had gotten her through all the days of her life. If she was to hang, then she’d have to accept it. With her faith, though, came an abundance of pain. She’d never see Becca’s first day at school or her wedding. She’d never see her grandchildren. She’d miss so many important moments. Would Sullivan marry again? He might just find love. It was a gift she’d experienced; a love that ran deep. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother, accepting of everything with a smile on her face?

  She crawled onto her bed, stood, and looked out the window. Of course, Ed Wren and his boys were all helping to build the gallows. She’d never heard of anyone hanging from a gallows in these parts before. Many took justice into their own hands. Horse thieves were often hanged from the nearest tree. If a person had witnesses everything was fine, she supposed. Too bad she had none. She’d probably draw a big crowd. It would be good for the town businesses.

  There was always a silver lining, though, if folks just took time to look for it. Movement at the edge of the crowd building the gallows caught her attention, and she gasped. Able was out there with his hammer swinging away. He deserved to be hanged for what he’d done to her. She’d avoided men all the years since, except for her friendship with Sullivan. She’d never have made a good wife. There was no way she’d sleep in the same bed as a man. Not that she would have to worry about doing that, she realized. Despair engulfed her. It was hard acting brave when she was afraid of her own shadow.

  The Lord had sent Sullivan to look out for Becca, and for that she was forever grateful. At least once Sheila was dead, she’d be free of her excruciating heartbreak. Should she tell Sullivan how she loved him so? Would it make things harder for him? Perhaps. Or maybe he could carry her love in his heart for a while.

  She never had gotten a chance to see Gemma and Teagan’s baby. There would be plenty of babies born on that ranch. Life would go on without her. Sullivan wouldn’t come around; she’d asked him not to, but now regretted that. His reassuring smile would have been wonderful.

  She climbed down and curled up on the cot. If she was home, she’d have a good cry, a loud cry. But she wasn’t home. So many things raced through her mind. Sullivan knew to try to break the cycle of the women in her family, didn’t he? She never wanted Becca to suffer at the hands of any man. Did he know she was afraid of thunder?

  Chapter Nine

  Sheila’s palms were sweaty, and her legs barely supported her body as she walked between the sheriff and another man she didn’t know. This was it. Her fate would be declared in the saloon of all places, since the town didn’t have a proper courthouse. She took a deep breath of freedom. It could be her last. As she was wound through the loud crowd, hands reached out and her hair and dress were pulled. The sheriff acted as though he didn’t notice. Nary a hopeful face was to be seen.

  She knew she had shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept all night. She mourned her daughter. She mourned life. It would go on without her, but it was hard to know that once she was gone, that was that. She’d left no lasting impression in the world, nothing to be remembered for. Oh, people would probably talk about the witch that was hanged for a good many years, but that was the kind of remembering she didn’t want. She had always tried to live her life in God’s light. It had been a good, understanding, comforting light.

  They entered the saloon, and it appalled her to see the bartender serving drinks. She was fighting for her life, and it was entertainment for them. Her hands shook. This was bound to be over quickly. Men who worked for Ed Wren took most of the chairs. Then she saw Teagan and his brothers and Dolly. When she got to the front, she saw Able with a sneer on his face. If it had been possible, she would have run.

  Sullivan wasn’t supposed to be there, he’d told her as much. But her heart cried out for his. She needed him. How was she supposed to remain calm without him? A sense of panic went through her. She sat at a table next to her lawyer, Ben. Thank goodness he seemed confident.

  She watched as one man after another told the judge s
he was a witch who had killed Jenny. Hearing such things made her die a little inside with each testimony. She needed Sullivan to hold her hand. How soon after a verdict did, they hang people? Would she ever see him again?

  Jumping up and crying liar wasn’t allowed, but she wanted to do it. Her heart broke at the words she heard. Why hadn’t she known that people hated her? Why had they come to her if they hated her so?

  Ben gave her some hope. He asked questions that made some witnesses seem dim-witted and others downright liars. A few of the men who took the stand hadn’t even been in town during the time this all happened. He made some great points.

  Sheila glanced around but didn’t see Ed Wren’s wife. Why wasn’t she here?

  Finally, it was her turn to take the stand. She told the truth, but she didn’t have any reason to think the judge believed her. Was he even paying attention? He had certainly seemed interested when Ed Wren told his lies, sitting and watching the man intently. Ben was able to get in his theory that Jenny was already dead when she got to Sheila’s.

  Sheila testified that the child was burned, and Ed had said she had a cough. Sheila’s stomach roiled; it was awful to be accused of something she had never done. Telling the truth meant nothing to these people who were drinking whiskey. She was fighting for her life and they were getting drunk.

  Mrs. Wren was called, and she shuffled in. Sheila had seen her before, but now she looked like a shell of that woman. Mrs. Wren sat in the chair next to the judge and stared with an unfocused gaze. She looked to be drugged.

  Ben stood. “Mrs. Wren, how was your daughter injured?”

  “Jenny?” She glanced around, clearly confused.

  “Yes Jenny. Did she get burned by the fire?”

  She nodded. “It was a horrible thing, the screams, the smell.” Then she shook her head. “She had a cough.”

  “Mrs. Wren, was Jenny alive when she was taken to the doctor?”

  “She wasn’t feeling any pain. I was able to put new clothes on her. Her skin came off in sheets when I took her burned clothes off her. I’ll never forget it.” Mrs. Wren glanced at her red-faced husband. “She had a cough.”

  “Has Sheila Kavanagh been to your house to tend to you before?” Ben asked.

  “Why, yes. I rather have a female looking at me than a man.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her face as she glanced at Sheila. “I didn’t know you got married, Sheila. Congratulations! Which of the Kavanaghs is yours?”

  “She is married to Sullivan,” Ben said gently. Then he redirected her. “Were you told that Jenny was alive when she was brought to Sheila’s house?”

  Mrs. Wren looked confused again. “She had a cough, but then she was silent. Ed promised to make her better, and he rode away with her and many of his men. My arms were so empty. I went inside to decide what she’d be buried in.”

  A loud cough came from the area where Mr. Wren sat.

  “She had a cough,” Mrs. Wren repeated in a weak voice. “I’m telling them what you told me, Ed, she had a cough.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wren,” Ben said.

  “We buried her in a beautiful blue gown that made her look like a princess. I had to find long gloves to hide how bad the burns on her arms were.”

  “I have no further questions.” Ben sat back down.

  Next, Alicia Goren was called.

  “You work for Dr. Bright don’t you Miss. Goren?” asked Ben.

  “Yes, I do. I’m his nurse.”

  “Were you the one who told Mr. Wren that Dr. Bright wasn’t in?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “The doctor was in his office, wasn’t he?” Ben pressed.

  Alicia shifted in her seat. “There wasn’t anything the doctor could have done. I checked the girl’s pulse. And she had already died. I tried to tell Mr. Wren, but he refused to believe me, so I sent him to Sheila’s place. I figured she could deal with him.”

  “Can you tell me why you didn’t come forward before this? Mrs. Kavanagh has sat in a cell for weeks now.”

  She shifted in her seat. “It—it wasn’t any of my business.”

  Doctor Bright stood and walked out of the saloon. Alicia’s shoulders slumped; she looked as though she’d lost her best friend.

  Sheila didn’t pay too much attention after that. That woman had known she was innocent but never said a word. Sheila’s spirit felt bruised. It wasn’t her business? How? Why? Who did that? Who didn’t help another when it was within their power to help? This was a life or death situation! People really had such cold hearts? She’d been betrayed at every turn… and for what? It was an accident that had killed poor Jenny. The world had gone crazy, and she was in the center of it. She couldn’t put her trust in anyone ever again. She might never get a chance. Her serene feeling of it being fine if she died was replaced by fury. Sheila felt more alive than she ever had. Her fate was in the hands of the judge, and she didn’t trust him to do the right thing. A person should be able to trust a judge, the sheriff, and witnesses. She was better than all of them combined.

  Ben put his arm around her and helped her to stand. Everyone was silent as they waited for the judge to announce the verdict.

  “Guilty.” The judge raised his gavel and brought it down hard on the table. “Her sentence is three years in the women’s prison.”

  Sheila wanted to sag into the chair, but she stood up tall with her head held high. Every single person knew for a fact she wasn’t guilty, yet there were no sounds of protest. She was immediately shackled, hands and legs, and hauled into a wagon. She fell against the side as they drove her out of town. Blood ran down her face.

  Should she be looking for the silver lining? Should she be glad they didn’t hang her but sentenced her to a slow death instead? She closed her eyes, but that didn’t help the tears that poured out.

  Chapter Ten

  Three years later

  They shoved Sheila out of the prison door. All they gave her was water and a bit of food. Other than that, she had on her threadbare prison dress, falling apart shoes, and a ripped scarf wrapped around her head.

  No one was there to greet her or take her away. She’d already known that was how it would be. Sullivan had never written one letter. She still wrote him, hoping Becca was getting her letters, though Sheila never heard back. It took a moment for her to stand up straight. She’d aged at least twenty years while in prison.

  The thought of going to the Kavanagh ranch made her sick, but she had to find out what had happened to Becca. She shuffled one foot then the other, heading north. There was a slim chance she’d make it, but she had to try.

  She was glad of her skills as she traveled. She was able to find roots to grind together for pain, and she knew how to make a fire. She even snagged a few rabbits and some fish. She stayed as close to the various streams as she could and even found a few treasures along the way; a cup, a pot, and a piece of a mirror.

  Perhaps the mirror wasn’t a treasure, she thought as she stared at her reflection. Her once shiny dark hair was now dull and thin. She tried to smile, but it felt too foreign to her. Her bones jutted out and she had a hideous scar on the side of her face just under her jaw. No one had cared when she had been injured. She’d had to beg for a needle and thread to sew it up herself. It surprised her she could still go on.

  She had helped as many as she could while serving her sentence. Few made it to the end of their stay in that prison. There was no room for niceness. Only the strong survived by making sure they got the food and water allotted to them. Some took more than their share. Everyone was on their own in there. It did no good to make friends, people died too quickly. There were lice and rats, and still no one cared.

  They took away bibles from those who had them. It was hard to find God in there. She’d felt forsaken more than once. She’d had so much faith, but it didn’t survive in there. So many died and the survivors had to bury them. It had been a place of despair, and how she made it out she had no idea. Still, she shuf
fled on.

  Her shoes were attached to her feet by pieces of tied cloth. She was cold, she was always cold it seemed, and she covered herself in dry leaves at night. It helped some. All that mattered was Becca. She’d decided not to disrupt her life. It must be hard trying to grow up with everyone knowing your ma was in prison. If she was safe and happy, Sheila would move on. But first she had to find out.

  Her mind returned to thoughts of the prison. She’d never known men could be so brutal, but somehow, she had survived. A few of the women went mad, and they were killed. Everywhere, every day there was the threat of being shot. Then there was constant sickness and no medicine.

  She wished she had happy things to fill her thoughts as she shuffled along, but nothing came to mind. Her heart was still in shreds after the years in prison, and it refused to heal. What she would do after she saw Becca, she had no idea. Ex-convicts weren’t welcome in any place she could think of. But it didn’t matter, she would willingly die as long as she knew about Becca.

  Did Becca have a new mother? Had Sullivan found a new wife and had he kept her daughter? Perhaps if Sheila could get enough food to make her look normal… No, it wouldn’t matter, she was unwanted. Becca would be going to school by now. Her one prayer had been that Able hadn’t gotten ahold of her. But were her prayers even heard anymore?

  There was so much bitterness inside of her. There would never be a normal life for her. She couldn’t bring herself to care for or trust anyone. After weeks of walking, she recognized landmarks. When she came to the familiar stream, although it was chilly, she undressed and walked into the water. She couldn’t remember when she had been clean last. She reached down and used sand and pebbles to clean herself. A sliver of soap would have been a luxury, but even the clean water was something she’d never expected to have again while she was in prison.