by Lisa Harris
“It has nothing to do at all with Mr. Hunter. It’s about Father.” Any lingering thoughts of matchmaking vanished as Catherine’s patience snapped. “I…I received a telephone call this afternoon from an old friend of father’s.”
“And he had news?” Emily’s eyes brightened as she squeezed Audrey’s hand beside her. “It’s been so long, but I knew he’d come back one day. I just knew—”
“He’s dead, Emily.”
Emily’s gasp made Catherine regret her words the moment they slipped unguarded from her mouth. Lily’s face paled, as did Audrey’s. She’d invited them to dinner so she could tell them in private and had wanted to ease into the discussion. Instead, she’d dropped the news on them like a weighted millstone.
“There has to be some sort of mistake.” Emily’s hand pressed against her stomach, as she looked to her sisters for confirmation that what Catherine said wasn’t true. “He told us he’s coming back. He has a grandchild coming. I even wrote him a letter last month…just in case.”
“It’s been eight years, Emily.” Catherine’s voice rose a notch as she attempted to downplay the emotion in her voice. She’d spent that time holding onto hope that she’d been wrong, but Isaiah Morgan’s death had confirmed the inevitable. “I know you’ve all waited for his return, but you didn’t really think he was ever coming back, did you?”
“Yes.” Tears welled in the corner of Audrey’s eyes. “He promised.”
Catherine twisted the cloth napkin between her fingers. “Just like he promised he’d strike it rich? Or promised to build us a big house? What about the things that really mattered? Like being there when Momma died? Or when the four of us were left alone to care for each other and run the family store?”
Catherine winced at the harshness in her voice, but she’d lost the softness in her mannerisms years ago. And besides, what other way was there to dispel the bitter truth that their father had broken every promise he’d ever made? She should have told them the entire truth before it came to this.
“He’s really dead?” Audrey’s fork clanked against her plate as it dropped against the table. “How?”
“He died in a mining accident several weeks ago. Mr. Peterson promised that he would try to find out more details, but beyond that I don’t know…I’m sorry.”
Emily pushed back her plate. “I remember how he used to go hunting every Christmas in order to bring us back a turkey.”
Audrey rested her chin in her hands. “And buy us penny candy when he went to Lancaster.”
“And peppermint sticks,” Lily added. “They still make me think of him.”
Catherine pressed her hands against the edge of the table. Memories of toys, candy, and Christmas dinners had been buried in her mind beneath his bouts of drinking, loss of temper, and the fact that their mother had died because of their father. Catherine shoved back her chair and excused herself from the table, wishing she could erase what she knew about Isaiah Morgan.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter and took a deep breath, trying to calm the guilt and regret that warred within her. Guilt for not telling her sisters the truth about their father sooner. Regret for what the truth would do to them now. Today reminded her too much of the day their mother had died. She’d sat them all down in the parlor on Momma’s fancy settee to tell them that she’d drawn her last breath during the night. It didn’t seem any fairer now than it had then.
“You’re lucky, you know?”
Catherine looked up at Lily, who’d entered the kitchen with a stack of half-filled plates in her hands. Apparently dinner was over. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you remember Momma and Papa. I have fuzzy memories of Papa bringing me peppermint sticks and Momma singing me to sleep at night, but I want to remember what it was like to sit down and eat Sunday dinner together, picnics at Clear Creek, hayrides in the fall, and all the other things you’ve told us about them.”
“Remembering isn’t always good, Lily.” Why couldn’t they understand it could be a curse? “Right now, the only thing I can remember is the day Isaiah Morgan walked out this very door and never came back.”
Lily set the plates on the counter and shook her head. “But it wasn’t his fault. Surely even you know that. He was only trying to provide for his family.”
“Provide for his family?” How could they have missed the truth that Isaiah had never planned to return? “In eight years he never sent more than a few dollars to provide for us. Instead, he caught gold fever and left us to chase after some foolish dream of finding his fortune. You would have thought that when his wife died, he’d return to look after his family, but even that couldn’t entice him away from the gold mines.”
Tears sprang up in Lily’s eyes. “Maybe he didn’t know about Momma.”
“He knew. I sent him a telegram. I have letters from him. They’re filled with his empty promises and excuses for not returning. His death doesn’t change the fact that he never planned to return.”
Emily stopped in the doorway behind Lily, her arms wrapped around her thickened waist. “Why didn’t you tell us years ago about this? Why now?”
Anger that had been brewing for years rose up and gushed out uncontrollably. “Because I didn’t want you to know that our father was nothing more than a greedy, gold-digging scoundrel who left his wife to die and his children to survive on their own.”
Emily reacted as if she’d been slapped.
“I’m sorry.” Catherine’s hand flew to her mouth, wishing she could take back the flood of emotion that had just erupted. But it was too late.
Emily blinked away a flow of tears. “You have no right to talk about Father that way. Whatever he did, it was because he loved us. All of us. And just because he never struck gold doesn’t make him any less of a father.”
“A father? Can’t you see that he was never a father to us? If he hadn’t died, he’d still be looking for gold. He had the fever, Emily. Gold fever. And it cost him everything he had.”
Tears spilled down Lily’s cheeks as well. “You’re only saying these things because you think you lost Corbin because of him, but don’t blame what you lost on Father. It’s not his fault.”
Catherine grabbed her coat from the hook on the back door and bolted outside. Her own tears that had remained unshed began to flow. She’d spent her entire life protecting her sisters from the reality of who Isaiah Morgan really was. Never one harsh word against him. Never any indication that he’d simply neglected coming home because of the lure of the gold. His excuses had been plentiful, and because of them, she’d long ago accepted that he wasn’t returning. She somehow expected her sisters to have given up hope that the man would return. Apparently she’d been wrong.
Instead, they’d held on to her reassurances that one day he’d return and they’d be a family again. And now, in one foolish moment, she’d destroyed their perception of their father forever.
Corbin’s long strides led him toward the outskirts of town. The telegraph he’d just received had put him one step closer to the proof he needed to arrest Harrison Tucker. But while he longed to watch his father’s murderer pay for what he’d done, he also knew that the apprehension of Tucker would mean breaking another piece of Catherine’s heart. Something that shouldn’t matter to him, but it did.
He strode down the endless dirt road and studied the familiar terrain, hoping the serenity around him would help calm the turmoil he felt. He’d missed it here. Even with all the bittersweet memories that had become continual reminders of why he’d left, a part of him regretted not staying and setting down roots here. Thick oak and hickory forests stood tall in the distance, interspersed with giant hemlocks and bushy ferns. Farms scattered across rolling countryside. He’d hunted with his father here for turkeys and deer, and fished in the summer for fat brown trout out of Clear Creek that his mother used to fry up for supper. He might not yet have seen thirty years, but it all seemed like a lifetime ago.
A drop of rain splashed off the tip o
f his nose. The sky had darkened to the east, but from the looks of the clouds above him, he didn’t expect much of a downpour. He strode toward the town cemetery, wishing his mother were here with him instead of buried beneath the rich Ohio soil. She’d always been an unending source of advice and wisdom, and there were a dozen questions he wanted to ask her today.
A moment later, the heavens unleashed a torrent above him. He’d been wrong about the rain. Dashing toward the shelter of a stand of trees, he hurried beneath the heavy, open boughs then stopped short. Catherine huddled against one of the thick trunks.
“Miss Morgan.”
“Sheriff. I…” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”
“Anyone who’s smart isn’t.” He chuckled, more from nerves than the humor of the situation, and then tugged his hat down farther onto his head. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was out walking and didn’t expect the downpour.”
“Me neither.”
She pressed against the trunk of the tree and lowered her head. She’d been crying and tears streaked her rosy cheeks.
He fought the urge to tip her chin back with his thumb so he could look into her cloudy eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.” She brushed her hands across her face before she shoved them into her coat pockets. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
She wasn’t a good liar. Something was obviously wrong.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s see. You’re standing in the middle of a cemetery during a downpour and your eyes are red and swollen.”
She opened her mouth then shut it again before saying anything. Her hesitation surprised him. If there was one thing he remembered about Catherine, it was that she never lacked for something to say. Nor did she typically hesitate to say what was on her mind.
He glanced beyond the cemetery fence to a green field sprinkled with black-eyed Susans and wild rhododendrons. The rain fell at a steady pace, dousing any hopes of escape that either of them might hold. Unless the rain dissipated as suddenly as it had started, they were both stuck together for the moment.
“My mother’s buried here,” he began, needing to break down the curtain of silence hanging between them.
“And mine as well. I used to come out here every afternoon to talk to her. I missed her so much after she died, though there was little time to mourn. I had Emily, Audrey, and Lily to take care of and the store to manage. And today…I just miss her.”
“I know how much it hurts to lose someone.” He leaned beside her against the rough bark. He wasn’t going to tell her about his father. Not now, anyway. “I don’t know that I ever had the chance to tell you, but you did an amazing job raising your sisters.”
“Whatever good I did, I just destroyed in the course of one meal.”
He studied her defeated expression. “What do you mean?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I found out yesterday that my father is dead.”
“Dead?” The tall, broad-shouldered stature of Isaiah Morgan filled Corbin’s memory. He’d stayed up an entire night trying to find enough courage to ask permission to court Catherine that summer. The fact that Catherine’s stern father said yes had left him flabbergasted. He never had understood exactly why the man had decided to let him marry his eldest, but back then he’d been cocky enough to believe that he was the only one for Catherine. That was before everything changed between them.
“There was an accident in one of the mines. I don’t have any details other than the fact that they found his body along with those of two other miners.” Catherine stared at the ground. “After eight years of hoping he’d return…”
Corbin shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I know how hard this must be on you and your sisters.”
“The only problem is that they remember Christmases, handmade dolls, and penny candy. All I remember is that I had to take care of the store and raise my sisters because he was too selfish or stubborn, or both, to come home.”
“Gold fever’s done worse to a person. Murder, theft, even suicide…there’s no end to the problems it brings, nor the reality that few come home with their pockets lined with the gold they went after in the first place.”
“So we can just blame it on the gold, then? This fever, as they so conveniently call it, sounds more like a fatal case of cholera than the vice of gambling.”
“I’m not excusing at all what he did. I’m only saying that gold will do that to a man. Many a good husband and father have been destroyed because of it.”
“Even that doesn’t give me any right to say what I did.”
She fingered the folds of her navy blue dress. Simple…practical…Perhaps Grady O’Conner had been right after all. Gone was the girl from his past that he’d caught a glimpse of the other night. Today, she seemed to carry on her shoulders the problems of the world. And from what he’d just heard, she felt as if she did.
“I’m sure your sisters will forgive you. Give them time to absorb what has happened. In the end, they’re going to remember what you’ve done for them since the day your father left. Not a father who never came back to take care of them.”
Catherine shook her head. “You didn’t see the pain in Audrey’s eyes or the anger in Emily’s expression. They don’t remember him the way I do, and even if I were to tell them the entire truth about who Isaiah Morgan really was, that wouldn’t change how they see him. It would only make them resent me for it.”
“Do you resent the past eight years, and what you had to do to care for them?”
Their gazes locked for a moment. She’d given up far more than most would ever realize, and he knew it.
“No.” She shook her head. “I did what I knew was right.”
“And they know that. Just give them time.” Corbin glanced up at the sky that had cleared above them. “Come on. The rain’s stopped and it’s going to be dark soon. I’ll walk you home.”
He offered his arm as they started back down the lane, surprised when she took it. If he closed his eyes he could almost erase the past few years. Almost. But a glance down at her reminded him that they’d both changed from the innocent couple they’d been when he first had come courting. And nothing could erase what had happened between them. He’d been right to leave Revenge all those years ago, and as soon as he’d found his man, he wouldn’t hesitate to leave again.
“I never had a chance to ask you if you enjoyed Mr. Tucker’s birthday party last week.”
“The party?” He looked down at her again, the question drawing him from his place in the past to the present. “Yes. I particularly enjoyed meeting some of the new people in town, though of course most of them probably aren’t new. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m the newcomer.” He mulled over his next words and decided to follow the opening she’d just thrown his way. “I have been curious, though. What exactly does Mr. Tucker do for a living?”
“I’d say the man has done a bit of everything from peddler to prospector. A few months ago his grandfather died and willed him a piece of land outside town, so he decided to try his hand at farming.”
“Grady told me he was up in Alaska before that.”
“You’ve heard his stories, of course.” Catherine laughed. “He manages to keep everyone’s attention with his gift for storytelling, even though we all know that most of the details have been greatly embellished.”
Corbin stopped. The blurred colors of a rainbow framed the corner of the western skyline.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Catherine said.
“Yes, but…”
She looked up at him. “What is it?”
Corbin debated whether or not he should continue. Her nervous mannerisms when he was around had all but vanished for the moment, but he knew that what he was about to say would erase any unspoken truce that had come between them.
“You know I’m investigating the rash of bank robberies that have spread across the state.”
“I heard yo
u mention it to Grady. They killed a man last year, didn’t they?”
“They’ve killed five people.” Including my father. His jaw clenched.
A shadow crossed her face. “What is it?”
“They robbed the bank in Lancaster yesterday.” He started walking again, wishing he could bury the consuming bitterness growing inside him.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“One of the gang members was shot. I headed out there to join the posse, but we lost the trail pretty early on. It was as if they vanished into thin air. But it’s only a matter of time until they strike again, and the next time, we might not be so lucky.”
Catherine looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern. “These robberies, they seem…personal. Why?”
“Because whenever a life is taken because of greed, it becomes personal.” There was more to his involvement in the case, but for now, that explanation would have to do. Memories of his father were wrapped in a thick layer of pain and bitterness. He’d died for a handful of bank notes that the robbers more than likely spent on booze and women.
Corbin’s anger spiked. Catherine might see Harrison as her future brother-in-law, but his take on the man was completely different. Harrison had waltzed into a town with nothing more than an easy fortune on his mind as he weaseled his way into the Morgan home. And Audrey—along with all the Morgan girls—was naïve enough to believe that his tall stories of Alaska were as innocent as a realistic look at life out West. How was he supposed to convince her that Harrison might not be the perfect husband-to-be he claimed?
“There is one other thing about the robberies you need to know, Catherine,” he began. “I don’t know how to tell you this other than simply coming out and saying it. I have reason to believe that Audrey’s fiancé might be involved in the recent bank robberies.”
“Harrison?” Catherine stopped short on the edge of town where the outlying forests faded into the whitewashed storefronts and houses. “I don’t understand.”
“For the past few months I’ve been tracing his movements, and there is no record of him applying for a stake of gold anywhere in the Alaska territory.”
