Head in the Clouds

by Karen Witemeyer

  He would fix this. He would. Bella and Adelaide depended on him. Whatever it took, he would see to their protection and ensure their future happiness.

  His jaw clenched in conviction as he finally let the covers float down over Adelaide’s sleeping form. Gideon pulled the curtains closed against the daylight and turned to leave but came up short. Bella was standing in the doorway, her eyes huge in her tiny face as they darted from him to her teacher and back again.

  Gideon held a finger up to his lips and tiptoed to where Bella stood. It wasn’t until after he had closed the bedroom door behind them that he recognized the irony of shushing his mute daughter.

  She pointed toward the door, jabbing her finger over and over as her eyes pled with him for answers.

  “Miss Proctor is fine, sweetheart.” He hunkered down in front of her and rubbed her arm. “She had trouble sleeping last night after the party and is very tired. I talked with her in the study this morning, and she fell asleep in one of the chairs. So I carried her up here and put her to bed. Like I do with you when you fall asleep in the wagon during the long ride back from town.”

  It took a while for her to accept his words. Her reaction reminded him of the day she found Miguel wearing that bloody shirt in the kitchen, only this time, thankfully, it was less severe. That memory triggered another thought: the blood on Stuart Petchey’s shirt when he came staggering out from the forest.

  Bella hadn’t been speaking to him at all when she’d said the word Papa in the kitchen that day. She’d been remembering her father’s fatal injury. Lord help her. She watched her papa die.

  Chapter 20

  That same morning, two hundred miles northeast of Westcott Cottage, Reginald Petchey sat tapping his cane against the floor of the Fort Worth Land Office, waiting for Farnsworth to stop blabbing with the squinty-eyed clerk and bring him the documents he’d requested.

  The letter Lady Westcott’s maid had so kindly supplied them was addressed to General Delivery, Menardville, Texas. It would have been easy enough to ask for directions to Westcott’s residence from the people in that small town, but he preferred to keep his presence— and purpose—hidden. A British gentleman would stand out like a Thoroughbred among mules in a backward little mudhole like Menardville. And if Westcott should happen to suffer a fatal accident following the esteemed Mr. Edward Church’s arrival, it could generate unwelcome suspicion.

  Reginald preferred to hedge his bets. With access to the deed and property surveys, he could plot his own course while maintaining a low profile.

  “Farnsworth,” he called out through clenched teeth, “I’m waiting.”

  “Coming, sir.” His assistant turned, a smattering of documents in his hand and a long paper roll tucked under his arm. As he scurried across the floor, a bell sounded above the door. A well-dressed gentleman entered the office, satchel in hand.

  “I have another lien for you to file, Dan.”

  The clerk waved him forward. “Bring it in, James.”

  The man nodded to Farnsworth as he passed, then headed to the counter. Reginald ignored him after that, concentrating instead on the survey map his assistant unrolled upon the tabletop. He pushed to his feet for a better view.

  “The deed indicates that the Westcott ranch lies 9.65 miles west of Menardville, along the San Saba River,” Farnsworth said. “So that would place it about …”

  “Here.” Reginald thumped his cane over the spot. “Make a sketch, Farnsworth.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

  Reginald jerked his head around to find the newcomer standing behind him. He bit back an oath and twisted his mouth into a smile. “Thank you, sir. But that won’t be necessary. We have all we need.”

  The man smiled back yet made no move to depart. He had a steady gaze. Friendly, but there was something behind it that bothered Reginald, something firm that indicated this man would not be easily duped or deterred.

  “Dan told me you were looking for information on a piece of property owned by Gideon Westcott. I brokered that particular sale and thought I might be able to aid you in your search. James Bevin at your service.”

  The man extended his hand, leaving Reginald no choice but to shake it. “Edward Church.” Bevin looked past him to the table, a question in his eyes. “Oh, and my assistant, Mr. Farnsworth.”

  “A pleasure.” Bevin stared at Farnsworth for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face, then stepped up to the table to examine the map. “So, how do you know Mr. Westcott?”

  Reginald mentally scrambled. Refusing to be open would only breed distrust. He had to tell the fellow something. Something reasonable yet neutral enough to discourage further questions.

  The letter!

  “Westcott’s mother is a friend to mine,” Reginald said, lacing his voice with an appropriate level of resignation. “When she learned I was soon to be making the journey to America, she prevailed upon me to deliver a letter to her son in person. She expects me to give a full account of his well-being upon my return.” Reginald extracted the worn envelope from his interior coat pocket and held it out to Bevin. “You know how women are. Apparently her son has not written with enough frequency to put her mind at ease.”

  “Ah.” Bevin fingered the letter, then returned it. “Well, it’s good of you to pay him a call. I hope it’s not taking you too far out of your way.”

  “I don’t mind the side trip. I’ve been enjoying my tour of the American West.” About as much as he enjoyed a toothache. The place smelled of cattle dung, and his lungs were full of the dust that hung thick in the air. Yet he grinned like a vacuous tourist, not wanting to give Bevin a hint of his true feelings.

  “If you need a hotel recommendation, there is a new one in Menardville called the Australian Hotel. A fellow by the name of William Saunders built it a couple years back. Brought his wife here from Australia, as you might guess from the name.”

  Wonderful. As if the American colonies weren’t bad enough, now the penal colonies of Australia were adding their inferiority to the mix. But the topic of Menardville did give him an opportunity to pursue a line of questioning that might prove helpful.

  “I’ll keep the place in mind.” Reginald drew a circle around the Westcott ranch property with the tip of his cane and tapped it a couple of times as if cogitating a new concern. “I noticed on the map that Mr. Westcott’s ranch lies nearly halfway between Menardville and Fort McKavett. Do you know if he conducts his business more in one town than the other?” He shrugged then, as if the answer was of no great importance. “I thought to bring as many details as possible home to his mother. What merchandise the local shops carry, how many churches are in town, the level of refinement, etc. …”

  Bevin smiled his understanding. “The military fort is practically deserted, although there is a small civilian contingent that has put down roots there. Menardville is the larger community. I happen to know Westcott carries a line of credit at their general store.”

  “Excellent. I’ll make a point to visit there.”

  Actually, Reginald would make a point to avoid the place like he did his creditors. If Westcott had friends in Menardville, he would go directly to Fort McKavett. He needed to recruit a couple of men who were willing to get their hands dirty, and the fewer in town who knew Westcott, the better his chances of buying loyalty. If he were very fortunate, he might even stumble across someone who disliked the man as much as he did.

  His smile widened.

  Gideon Westcott wouldn’t stand in his way much longer.

  Bevin bent over the chart again, his brow furrowing. “This map is not very detailed. I traveled through this area several times while I finalized the sale of Mr. Westcott’s property. Would you like me to sketch out a route for you?”

  “How generous of you, sir. Thank you.” Reginald snapped at his assistant. “Farnsworth, give the man some paper and your fountain pen.”

  As Bevin began to draw, triumph surged through Reginald, just as it did whenever a respected
card player fell prey to one of his bluffs. He’d noted the intelligence in the American’s eyes and the confidence in his stance when he approached, but it was the nobility in his manner that Reginald exploited with expert precision. A man like Bevin would assume other gentlemen subscribed to similar values as he himself did. Integrity. Honesty. He wouldn’t expect deceit, so he wouldn’t see deceit. Not until it was too late.

  “Here you are.” Bevin handed over a remarkably detailed map, including numerous landmarks. Reginald’s satisfaction grew. Little did the man know, he was only making it easier for Reginald to destroy his associate.

  “This will be a tremendous help. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Church. When do you plan to leave?”

  “Tomorrow.” Reginald’s pulse accelerated in anticipation.

  Bevin frowned a bit and shook his head. “You’ll never manage to acquire decent rail accommodations. I have a contact at the railroad office. Let me make arrangements for your travel. I can have a private car set up for you on the Gulf, Colorado, and Santa Fe Railway in a day’s time. You can depart in comfort the day after tomorrow. The train will take you as far as Lampasas, and then you can rent a carriage for the remainder of the trip.”

  Reginald massaged the side of his head to alleviate an imaginary headache while he weighed his options. The sooner he could get to Westcott, the sooner he could return home with his niece. On the other hand, a private car would go a long way to soothe his nerves and his stomach while on the train. He could afford an extra day.

  “You are a man of great insight, Mr. Bevin. A private car is exactly what I need. We are staying at Clark House. You may leave the information at the desk. Once again, I am in your debt.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Bevin dipped his chin in a subtle bow. “I’m afraid I must be off. I have some other business to attend to. You will have the details within the hour. I wish you and Mr. Farnsworth a pleasant journey.”

  Reginald heard Farnsworth mumble his thanks from somewhere behind him as Bevin collected his satchel and exited the office.

  What a fortuitous meeting. He’d been given a map, a private rail car, and key information regarding Westcott’s habits. His luck was finally turning. And why not? He held a hand that couldn’t lose. All he had to do now was eliminate the other player at the table and collect the pot. Isabella and her trust were as good as his.

  Chapter 21

  Over the next two days, Adelaide hid her concerns from Isabella and endeavored to go on as if nothing had changed. She didn’t want Isabella to sense her alarm. Adelaide feared that if she did, the child would withdraw again and undo all the progress they had made. The poor girl had been through enough already. She was too young to do anything about the situation, so Adelaide reestablished their educational routine and concentrated on helping Isabella master her letters and numbers while secretly trying to master her own apprehension.

  Taking a seat behind her desk, Adelaide eased the top drawer open and removed the small pocket Bible she kept there. Searching for something to anchor her, she flipped through Psalms until a line in the fifty-fifth caught her eye. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. The verse reflected her personal turmoil so completely that she knew she had to read the entire passage. Adelaide went back to the beginning and drank in the words. The author faced a deadly foe, as well, one whom he had previously considered a friend. Even so, he had confidence in the Lord’s salvation and called out to him in full trust. And at the end, he seemed to reach through time to speak directly to Adelaide’s heart. Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.

  God was worthy of her trust. Adelaide believed that with all her heart. But at the same time, she couldn’t completely dispel her worry. She couldn’t ignore the fact that the same God who rescued Daniel from the lions allowed Stephen to be stoned. The God who shielded the infant Moses did nothing to spare the lives of hundreds of other Hebrew babies murdered by the Egyptians. What if Isabella was one of those other babies?

  Her parents had been righteous, godly people, and they had died at Reginald Petchey’s hand. So far, the Lord had provided escape for Isabella, but who could say that would continue? Christ never promised that his people wouldn’t suffer. In fact he warned them to expect it. What he did promise was to be with them, giving them strength and courage to overcome. But what if she didn’t want to overcome? What if she just wanted Isabella to be safe?

  I know I have to leave this in your hands, Adelaide prayed, but I beg you to protect this child. Please.

  Adelaide glanced up and studied Isabella as she counted out her sums with a pile of dried beans. Surely no natural mother could love a child more deeply than Adelaide did Isabella. Only God could love her more. And that was what she had to trust in. That and the fact that Reginald Petchey was far away in London. She hated to admit it, but at the moment, Adelaide took more comfort in that bit of geography than anything else.

  Needing to be close to her charge, Adelaide got up from her desk and circled around behind Isabella. She watched her take a handful of pinto beans from the Mason jar on her tabletop, and just as Adelaide had shown her earlier, she counted out the number of beans for each numeral in the simple addition problem, then pushed the beans together and counted the total.

  Adelaide quickly scanned the previous answers written in childish scrawl next to the appropriate piles of beans.

  “Good work, Izzy,” Adelaide praised. “You answered all of them correctly.”

  The girl’s smile lit up the dim room, pushing back the afternoon shadows. Adelaide grinned in return and patted her pupil on the shoulder.

  “As a reward for such excellent problem-solving,” Adelaide announced, “you may either choose a story for me to read or we can play with the alphabet blocks.”

  Isabella dashed off to make her selection while Adelaide funneled the counting beans through her fingers and back into their jar. After cleaning the slate and putting the items away on the shelf, she joined Isabella in the center of the rug, alongside a jumble of wooden blocks.

  “Let’s see …” Adelaide lowered herself to the floor and examined several cubes, turning each over in her hand until she found the letters she wanted. “How about U-N?” She placed the blocks together on the carpet. “U and N make the sound uhn, like in the word sun. What letter should you use with U-N to make the word sun?” She emphasized the first consonant, hissing as she pronounced the word.

  Isabella began digging through the blocks, setting aside the C and the S as she found them. Her gaze bounced between the green S and the yellow C while her face screwed up in concentration. Adelaide could guess her dilemma. The yellow C looked more like a sun, but the green S was the better choice for the sound. Finally, Isabella reached for the S and pushed that block next to the other two.

  “Perfect!” Adelaide clapped her hands. “Can you make the word run?” She removed the S block and sat back to give Isabella plenty of space.

  They continued the process for bun and fun, but when they got to gun, the sound of pounding hooves approaching the house caused both teacher and student to look up.

  “You continue working, Izzy. I’ll see what it is.” Adelaide pushed to her feet and strode over to the window.

  A single rider dismounted in the yard near the stable. He seemed familiar. Miguel rounded the corner of the barn, rifle in hand, but once he saw who it was, he set his weapon aside, propping it against one of the corral posts. He held out his hand to the man, and the two shook a hearty greeting.

  The visitor gestured toward the house as he spoke and turned just enough to give Adelaide a good view of his face. Mr. Bevin! Happiness bubbled inside her. She’d only known him a few days as they traveled from Fort Worth, but he’d been kind to her. It would be a pleasure to have his company again.

  “I believe we’ll be having a guest for dinner.” Adelaide turned back to her charge and smiled. “Why don’t you stra
ighten the schoolroom while I inform Mrs. Chalmers about the new arrangements?”

  Isabella nodded, and Adelaide glanced out the window again in time to see Miguel pick up his rifle and bolt into the stable. Odd. He should have seen to Mr. Bevin’s horse first. Even from inside the house she could see the animal’s heaving sides and the lather on its chest and neck. Her throat tightened. Mr. Bevin had ridden awfully hard. What had driven him to such haste?

  Before she could begin to speculate, Miguel burst out of the stable astride a sorrel gelding. He galloped out of sight, heading north—the same direction Gideon had taken after lunch when he left to inspect his flock.

  Good news could wait. It was the bad that demanded to be imparted right away.

  Adelaide reminded herself not to jump to conclusions. She calmly sauntered out of the room, ignoring the hoydenish compulsion to pick up her skirts and sprint down the stairs. Her pulse raced ahead as she forced her feet to maintain their painfully decorous pace. Once she’d located the housekeeper, she asked her to set an additional place for supper and then strolled outside to greet their guest.

  Mr. Bevin was no longer standing in the yard by the time she stepped off the porch. Most likely he was giving his horse a good rubdown in the stable. Adelaide crossed the expanse of packed dirt separating the house from the horse barn and paused at the large double-door entrance. Disturbing memories sent shivers down her arms. She rubbed her hands over her sleeves to dispel the unwelcome feeling.

  This wasn’t the same. It might be early evening, as it had been the last time she’d walked into the stables alone, but this wasn’t the same situation at all. Her hands didn’t recognize the difference, though. They trembled something fierce as she tried to secure several stray hairs the wind had blown free from her pins.