What Comes My Way

by Tracie Peterson

  He climbed down from the horse and considered the cottage for a moment before tying the horse to a nearby branch. It was obvious he feared someone had already discovered his hideout. After several minutes, he seemed satisfied that no one else had disturbed the grounds and yanked Ella from the saddle.

  Walking toward the house, he kept Ella in front of him like a shield and drew his pistol. She might have laughed at his efforts had the situation not been so grave. Jefferson was at least a foot taller than she was. Ella hardly offered him much protection.

  She coughed, and he squeezed her arm in a viselike grip. “Be quiet, you fool.”

  The two-story cottage was larger and more rundown than Ella had expected. She remembered her father and brother’s stories of coming here with the Spiby men to hunt. It was a place where they could escape the cares of the world. Her father had been quite fond of it and sometimes wished for a place of his own just like it. She doubted he’d feel the same if he could see it now. The wood siding was in sad need of paint and the front porch was sagging. The entire property was overgrown.

  As Jefferson pushed her forward, Ella tried to memorize the surroundings and come up with ideas for places to hide. When they were finally inside, Ella strained to see in the dim light. The cloth-covered furniture rose up like ghostly specters from long ago. She shivered and hugged her arms to her body, but Jefferson didn’t seem to notice or care.

  He left her standing alone while he checked out the first floor. Ella thought about making a run for the door, but Jefferson was quickly darting from room to room. She still felt certain that her best chance was to convince him she was too weak to be a threat. With that in mind, she feigned a spell and collapsed to the ground. Just that brief movement had Jefferson at her side in a flash.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m afraid sleeping in the cold last night has brought on a relapse. I feel quite faint.” She curled up and closed her eyes.

  He gave a growl and left her where she was as he finished his exploration. She heard him pulling covers off the furniture and wondered if he would also get a fire going. As far removed as they were from civilization, surely he wouldn’t worry about the chimney smoke being seen.

  After several minutes he returned and without warning picked Ella up off the floor. She remained limp in his arms, surprised that he was gentle as he placed her on a sofa.

  She looked up and coughed. “If . . . I die . . . please tell Mother that I love her.”

  He shook his head. Ella didn’t know if he disbelieved how sick she was pretending to be or if he was genuinely concerned. She had a hard time believing this callous, unfeeling man cared about anyone or anything. Still, if she could stir a bit of pity in him, it might be to her benefit. She coughed and gave little gasping breaths as she had done weeks ago when she’d first taken ill. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought it seemed to urge Jefferson toward making a fire a little faster.

  With a fire ablaze in the hearth, the room began to warm, and Ella felt her body begin to thaw. She was grateful to be able to rest on something soft, but her mind wouldn’t allow her to let down her guard and sleep. Her anger gave her a strange sort of energy. This man had killed innocent people and would harm her family if he got a chance. She had to find a way to beat him at his own game.

  Jefferson continued to pace from window to window, keeping watch for anyone who might have followed them. He made Ella more than a little nervous, and finally she couldn’t take anymore.

  “Jefferson, you said there was food. I feel so weak. Might I have something to eat?”

  He stopped mid-step and looked severely at her. She wasn’t sure if she’d angered him or if he was still lost in his thoughts of what to do next.

  “Figure it out for yourself. There’s food in the kitchen. But don’t get any ideas about running from me. Even if you were in your best condition, I’d have you back in a matter of minutes . . . and I’d make sure you never considered doing something so foolish again.”

  Ella sat up. “Do you plan to stay here forever?”

  “Hardly. The authorities will eventually find out about this place. We’ll be long gone. I have friends in California. A pretty town called Riverside. You’ll like it. We’ll leave here and catch a train west. Once we’re there, I’ll have money and all the help I need to completely disappear from the authorities and start my new life. With you.”

  “Why haven’t we heard anything from Robert?” Mrs. Fleming questioned, pacing the room.

  Mara shook her head. She didn’t like the situation any better than her former mistress, but without Robert to tell them where the hunting lodge was, Mara knew they would be hard-pressed to find it. They’d even asked among the few remaining workers, but none of them had ever gone with Mr. Fleming or his son on any of the hunting trips.

  Twice a day, Abe went to town to check for telegrams from Robert, but nothing had come. It had been two days since they’d returned to find Ella gone. Mara feared Jefferson might have done a great deal to Ella in that time. She knew exactly how cruel he could be, and if he felt inclined to make a person suffer, he would do so. Still, Mara didn’t feel she could be honest with Mrs. Fleming about such things. She doubted Ella’s mother knew about the rape Mara had endured at Spiby’s hands. Women of her social standing were shielded from such things, and while Mr. Fleming knew full well what was going on, he would never have told his wife.

  “What if we send Abraham to Washington, D.C., to find Robert and bring him back?” Mrs. Fleming suddenly asked. “It surely would not be that difficult. We have the name of their hotel. He would simply have to go there and wait for Robert and then bring him here. George might also be free to come.” She looked at Mara with such hope that the younger woman could only nod.

  “I ’spect he could go, but what if Mr. Robert is makin’ his way here?”

  Mrs. Fleming frowned. “I hadn’t considered that. I suppose he could be, but surely he would have telegraphed us to say as much.”

  Mara heard the sound of an approaching rider on the long gravel lane. “Somebody be comin’.” She went to the window and saw a single rider racing hard up the drive. “Maybe somebody be bringin’ us a telegram.”

  She made her way to the foyer with Mrs. Fleming close on her heels. Mara hadn’t even reached the door when it flew open and Robert Fleming rushed inside.

  “Mother! I came as soon as I could. Have you had any word from Ella?”

  Mrs. Fleming fell into her son’s arms. “No. No word at all. Jefferson took her. That’s all we know.”

  “And you feel certain he went to the family hunting cottage?”

  “Yes.” She pulled back just enough to see his face. “One of the stable boys followed him for several miles. He took the old river path—the one that you and your father took to the hunting lodge. I had Abraham go to the Spiby house, but no one there had seen anything of Jefferson.” She tried to look around Robert’s broad shoulders. “Is your father here with you?”

  “No. The authorities wouldn’t allow him to leave, but it’s all right. I remember the way, and I’ll bring Ella home safely.”

  “But you can’t! Not without help. He’s a madman.” She looked to Mara for confirmation.

  “My Abe will go with you.” Mara and Abe had discussed the idea of Abe going. He had already intended to head out by himself once he learned the whereabouts of the lodge. “He’s just been waiting to know where to go.”

  Robert nodded and led his mother to the nearest chair. “We’re wasting time. Let me go change my clothes. I’ll wear something of Father’s if you don’t mind.”

  Mrs. Fleming nodded but said nothing. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the tears that flowed freely down her face. Mara wished she could offer the older woman some comfort, but they had never been close, and she feared it might be seen as an intrusion. Still, something inside her urged her to cross that line.

  Mara went to Ella’s mother and took her hand. Giving it a squ
eeze, Mara glanced up to see Mrs. Fleming give her a questioning look.

  “Times have changed, Miz Flemin’. I figure God would have us pray together and encourage each other even if our skin be different colors. Your Ella is precious to me too.”

  Beatrix Fleming considered this for a moment, then nodded. “God is our only hope—Ella’s only hope. I know what that man is capable of doing. I’ve heard the talk.” She looked away. “I try not to allow such thoughts into my mind, but I’m tormented by them. Jefferson will ruin her—perhaps even kill her.”

  It was clear that Mrs. Fleming had already imagined the worst. Mara held her hand tight. “Mr. Jefferson is an evil man, but our God—He be good, and He’s more powerful than Mr. Jefferson and the devil he serves.”

  Mrs. Fleming sniffed back her tears. “Yes. Yes, He is.”

  Phillip looked around, hoping he might be able to get directions to Fleming Farm. The depot platform was abuzz with people, given a westbound train had come in moments before his train’s arrival. Phillip asked one of the depot baggage handlers, but the handler had never heard of the Flemings. He suggested Phillip try the depot master, but the master was busy with an old woman who declared her luggage was missing. Phillip glanced around and spotted the post office. That was probably as good a place to start as any. He hoisted his trunk on his shoulder and made his way to where the postmaster was receiving mail from the train.

  The old man eyed him curiously as Phillip made his way into the small building. He gave a smile as he pulled off his Stetson. “Howdy. Are you the postmaster?”

  “I reckon I am,” the man replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was wonderin’ if you could point me in the direction of Fleming Farm.”

  The postmaster frowned. “You family?”

  “No.” Phillip shrugged, putting on his guard at the tone in the old man’s voice. “I’m just a friend.” He lowered his trunk to the wood floor.

  “Well, they don’t have too many of those these days. If I were you, mister, I’d be mindful of that.”

  Phillip frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was stirrin’ a hornet’s nest. Fact is, I know the daughter and came to escort her back to the Brookstone Wild West Extravaganza.” He did his best to work his boyish charm. “If you’ve never seen her trick ride, you should do your best to make one of the performances. I’m just a wrangler, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The postmaster relaxed a bit and refocused on the mailbags. “I haven’t got time for such things. Fleming Farm is out the north road about seven miles—maybe a little more. There’s a big gate at the end of the drive. You can’t miss it—says Fleming Farm. If you don’t have a horse, you can rent one from Charles Meyers at the farrier shop on the west end of town.”

  Phillip gave a nod. “Much obliged.” He grabbed his luggage and headed back outside, pausing only to resecure his hat and lift the small trunk to his shoulder.

  The town was busy for its size. Main Street bustled with horse and buggy traffic, as well as riders. It was still rural enough, however, that there wasn’t a motorized car in sight. Phillip preferred it that way. He’d seen many an automobile in the cities but had no hankering to own one or even try them. They were smelly and undependable. He’d take a good horse over a car any day. A horse wasn’t likely to break down, and fuel was readily available in just about any field.

  He rented a mount at the farrier’s and left his trunk as assurance that he’d be back within a day or two. He told Meyers that if he failed to show up, he could always find him at Fleming Farm. The farrier grunted but seemed disinterested as he went back to work at the forge. Phillip thought his behavior strange, but he didn’t care. He was so excited to see Ella again. See her and propose.

  The ride out of town was quiet and pleasant enough, despite the cold. Phillip imagined Ella growing up in this part of Kentucky. He wanted to believe she’d been happy for most of her childhood. From what little she had told him, her life on the farm had been one of privilege and ease.

  Phillip pulled his collar close before reaching into his coat pockets for his gloves. The air was damp and had turned quite cold. It looked like they could expect snow or at least an icy rain. Hopefully he’d be at Fleming Farm enjoying a warm fire before that happened.

  In no time at all he saw an ornate wrought iron and stone gate. Overhead it read FLEMING FARM est. 1845. He smiled and urged the horse to pass beneath. “Get on up!”

  The horse picked up its pace, doing a fast trot up the long fence-lined drive. Pastures stretched out on either side. Phillip could imagine them full of horses. Ella had told him about her father’s passion for Morgans. He wondered where the animals were now. The fields were strangely empty.

  Phillip turned his attention back to the well-kept gravel drive. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep it in perfect order. When the large three-story house came into view, Phillip slowed his mount. The same meticulous care had been given to the columned white mansion. Beyond it there were stables and barns, fenced pens and pastures, but all were empty. The house, although regal in appearance, seemed almost ghostly and deserted. He frowned and made his way to a small hitching post, where he dismounted and tied up the horse.

  He looked toward the house and then the barns. He’d never been a front door sort of man, but he was calling on the daughter of the house. He wrestled with his choices a moment longer and then breathed a sigh of relief when a tall black man came from around the side of the house.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “I sure hope so,” Phillip replied with a big smile. “I’m here to see Miss Ella Fleming. I’m Phillip DeShazer.”

  The man smiled. “I’ve heard you mentioned. They hired me on to be a wrangler with the Brookstone show after you left.” He held out his hand. “The name is Abraham, but my friends call me Abe.” They shook, and before Phillip could speak, Abe continued in sober tones. “You’re a welcome sight, I must say. We’ve got problems.”

  Phillip frowned. “With Ella?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Is she sicker? Henry Adler said she was on the mend.”

  “She is . . . or at least was before—”

  “Before what?” Phillip interrupted. He looked toward the house. “What’s happened?”

  “Mr. Jefferson Spiby is what happened. Do you know about him?”

  Phillip nodded. “He tried to kill Ella when he was in Montana.”

  Abe gave a nod. “Best I know, he escaped the law and came back. He found out Miss Ella was here alone, and he took her. We figure he’s taken her to his family’s hunting place on the river.”

  “Why are we wasting time standing here then?” Phillip untied his horse. “Let’s go get her back.”

  Abe nodded. “Her brother and I was just about to do that very thing. Guess God figured we needed more help. I’m sure Mr. Robert will be glad to have you along.”

  Phillip had a sketchy memory of seeing Ella’s brother in a hotel lobby. He had seen a man kiss Ella and feared he was a beau. Other than that, he couldn’t remember much at all, because he’d been drunk.

  “You’d best go on up to the house and pay your respects to Mrs. Fleming. She’s half-sick with worry, but it’ll do her good to know we’ve got another man on this hunt.”

  Phillip retied his horse, and Abe led the way to the house. Phillip paused in the foyer, gazing at the grandeur. Ella had grown up with so much more than he could ever hope to give her. The gilded mirrors alone were more than a year of his salary.

  “Mr. Phillip!” Mara declared, coming from one of the side rooms.

  Phillip met her dark-eyed gaze. “Ella’s been taken by Spiby?”

  She nodded to Abraham. “You done talked to Abe about it?”

  “I did. Abe thought I should introduce myself to Ella’s mother before I head out with him and Ella’s brother.”

  Mara nodded. “Come on in here and meet ’em both.”

  She led the way to a pale woman sitting in an o
verstuffed chair. A man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties knelt beside her. He looked up and assessed Phillip in silence. The woman turned to see Phillip. Neither spoke.

  “Miz Fleming, Mr. Robert, this is Ella’s beau, Mr. Phillip De . . . De . . .” She shrugged. “Ain’t never been able to say that boy’s last name properly.”

  Phillip smiled. “DeShazer.” He stepped forward as Robert got to his feet. “Abe told me what happened, and I intend to help. I’m a good tracker.”

  Robert nodded. “You’re a godsend.”

  “I just arrived on the train.”

  “The westbound?” Robert asked. “I was on that train myself.”

  “No, the eastbound that arrived about ten minutes later. The westbound was just leaving when I got here,” Phillip replied. “Made for a lot of folks comin’ and goin’.”

  Again Robert nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I know the general location of Spiby’s hunting cottage. It’s deep in the woods not far from the river, but quite a ways to the south. The trail won’t be easy. It’s not generally traveled, what with it being mostly on Spiby’s land. I’m sure it’s overgrown.”

  Phillip squared his shoulders. “If they went that way, I can track ’em.”

  His confidence brought a smile to Robert’s face. “Then let’s go. The sooner we do, the sooner we can get Ella back.”

  twenty-three

  Robert put them on the trail to the Spiby hunting lodge but made clear his concern that too much time had passed.

  “Surely Spiby would have moved on by now. He knows the Pinkertons are after him. He’s a murderer, and the law isn’t going to just let him go.”

  Phillip said nothing. He hated thinking of Ella being in Spiby’s control. He’d heard her talk about her former fiancé and knew from when Spiby showed up at the Brookstone ranch just what a threat he could be. Phillip remembered seeing bruises on Ella’s neck after Spiby tried to strangle her. The memory only stirred his anger and urged him forward. He would see that Spiby suffered for taking her.