by Lisa Harris
“I apologize. I wanted to stay until I knew you were home safely.”
“Thank you. Where’s Lily?”
“Mrs. Morrilton took her upstairs. She was so tired, but I didn’t want to leave her until I found out what had happened.”
“Yes. Thanks for staying with her. I appreciate it.”
“Mrs. Morrilton wasn’t too pleased that I was here so late—or that I’m still here. And while I suppose I should have joined the posse, I felt that Lily needed me here.”
“Mrs. Morrilton makes an intimidating chaperone, I’m sure.”
“We were allowed to sit across the room from each other and talk.”
Catherine laughed despite the somber events of the evening. “Thank you. For staying with her and putting up with the antics of the doctor’s wife. She does care.”
“Did you find your father?”
Catherine glanced at the bottom of the staircase, dreading what she was going to have to tell her sister.
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Murdered.” Fresh tears began to flow.
“I’m so sorry. And Lily…” John pressed his lips together. “I don’t know how she’s going to take this.”
“I know you care about my sister.”
“I’m in love with her.”
“I know.”
“There’s something I need to speak to you about.” John waited while she poured them both a glass of water. “I know the timing for this isn’t right. I’d planned to speak to Mr. Morgan, but now…”
Catherine handed him a glass of water. “You want to marry her, don’t you?”
He took a sip of his drink. “I’d take care of her. Provide a good home.”
“You have my permission. All I ask is that you wait until after the funeral to ask her. Give our father the respect he deserves.”
“Of course.” John set the glass on the counter. “Does the sheriff have any leads? Anything that might point in the direction of whoever did this?”
She shook her head. “Not enough to catch the person. There was a set of other footprints, but it was too dark to follow them. I suppose if they got lucky, they might be able to pick up the trail tomorrow, but by then I’m afraid it will be too late.”
Catherine thought about sharing the possible connection between her father’s death and the leader of the Masked Gang, but decided to respect Corbin’s wishes.
“I’ll go now. Please tell Lily that I’ll come by and check on her in the morning. Perhaps we can go for a ride to help clear her mind.”
“Thank you, John. For everything.”
Catherine locked the door behind him before mounting the stairs. A peek in Lily’s room showed that she was fast asleep. At least she was able to rest. The news could wait until morning.
“Mrs. Morrilton. Thank you so much for staying.”
The older woman got up from the rocking chair. “It was no problem. And your father. Did they find him?”
Catherine stepped from the room with Mrs. Morrilton, wondering how many times she was going to have to repeat what had happened. “They found his body near the creek. I’ll tell Lily in the morning.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Many of us have fond memories of him from years ago. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be. If there is anything you need…”
“Thank you. I’m fine for now.”
“Then I’ll let myself out.”
Catherine stood in the doorway of her room for a moment then knelt in front of her mother’s hope chest.
Why, God? I might never have told him I forgave him, but this isn’t what I wanted.
Catherine lifted the lid of the wooden chest that was full of the few treasures she had of her mother’s. Handmade baby clothes, embroidered tea towels, her mother’s wedding dress…There were a few things she’d already passed on to Emily the day she’d married Grady. Others she planned to give Audrey and Lily on their wedding days, but for now, she simply needed to find a connection with all that she’d lost.
In the bottom corner of the chest was a stack of letters from her father. The week after her mother had died, she’d considered burning them, but in the end had decided to keep them, even though she’d never been able to bring herself to read them. But things had changed. And while she knew they might never find out who had killed her father, it was a place to begin. If there was any record of him finding gold, this was the one place she knew where to start looking.
She slid off the pink ribbon that held the letters together, opened the yellowed paper of the first envelope, and began reading.
September 12, 1877
My dearest Sarah.
It’s only been four months since I left Revenge, but it seems more like decades. I am well, but I miss you and the girls so much, I often wonder if I made the right choice in leaving. If it weren’t for the chance of giving us a better life, I think I’d be headed back to Ohio.
I’m sending this letter with a man who came through camp selling newspapers today. I have no idea how long this letter will take to get to you, or even if it will. But if you do eventually receive it, don’t worry about me. I have a place to sleep at night and enough food…
Catherine continued reading through references of freezing cold temperatures, long days of hard labor, and little food, but nothing about what he’d found. Or that he’d ever come to understand that family would always be more important than a better life financially. But all she needed now was something that might give her a clue to someone who might have wanted revenge against him. Or perhaps something that might distract her from Corbin’s kiss.
There have been enough secrets in this family.
She squeezed her eyes shut remembering Corbin’s words. Why hadn’t she been able to tell Corbin her own secret? Today might have been filled with a tangle of emotion that had ended with him kissing her, but Corbin hadn’t returned to Revenge for her. Nothing had changed between them. When all this was over, he’d realize his mistake and leave Revenge forever.
She pulled open another letter dated the following spring from the last she’d read, not long before her mother died.
My dearest Sarah,
How time passes quickly. To think that last spring I was helping you plant the garden, and this spring, I’ve yet to thaw out. I staked a second claim on the outskirts of Juneau, and in less than three months, it’s already yielded two thousand dollars. More than many people find in a couple years. I know it’s been long, but I just need a little more time. I hooked up with a partner. We’re certain that given a bit more time, we’ll strike it big. I’m planning to be home before winter comes, so watch for me, but this could be the big one, Sarah. I can feel it. Remember I love you. Just wait a little bit longer.
Catherine read through the remaining letters. She needed a name, or a clue…anything that might give her an insight as to who might have killed him. Her father had never mentioned a partner to her, and it was more than likely that their relationship had dissolved years ago. Or could it have something to do with his murder?
What her father hadn’t expected was that their mother would be buried by the time those first letters arrived. And he’d never kept his promise to return by winter. Catherine shoved the letters back into the chest, wishing she’d had the chance to ask him about his partner. And if they had struck it rich, where was the money?
Chapter Nineteen
Catherine wrapped her arms around her waist and stood alone at the newly dug grave beside her mother’s, still holding the handful of wildflowers Lily had picked for her. She missed her parents. Both of them. Sometime during the past couple of weeks she’d seen a side of her father she’d never known. He’d gone from the selfish drunk she remembered to a doting father and soon-to-be grandfather. Yet she’d never acknowledged his changes, because she hadn’t been able to get beyond her own anger and hurt over what he’d done to them.
I didn’t know how to, God…
She knelt down beside the sandstone
marker, picked up a handful of the loose dirt with her free hand, and let the dark soil fall between her fingers. The entire morning had progressed in slow motion as Pastor Landon led them through the ceremony meant to put Isaiah Morgan to rest. But none of his words could subdue the discontent stirring in her heart. Instead, while the morning sun had cast its warm rays on them, and her sisters had wept over the father they’d lost, she’d stood beside them like the matriarchal figure of the family, wrestling with her inability to forgive her father’s betrayal, and at the same time, vowing to find the man who killed him.
When the last of the procession had left, she’d promised her sisters she’d join them later at the house, but for now, there were simply too many things left unsaid. So many emotions left to sort out. She’d gone over what had happened to her father a thousand times and asked herself at least that many questions, because the connection between her father’s killer and the leader of the Masked Gang continued to haunt her. Whoever had murdered him had to have known both Harrison’s habits and those of her father. Which narrowed it down to someone who lived in Revenge. Someone who knew how to con a town into thinking he was a loyal member of the community when, in reality, his only goal was to plunder the surrounding towns—with no regard to anyone who got in his way.
A horse whinnied behind her. Catherine looked up. Corbin sat atop his gray stallion, making the perfect silhouette in the Ohio landscape. Her heart quivered. Why did her heart always come back to that one regretful moment between them when she’d told him good-bye? And now his kiss had brought those turbulent emotions to the surface all over again.
“Miss Morgan.”
“Sheriff. I was just…saying good-bye.”
She stood and brushed the dirt from her skirt. Why was it whenever she was feeling the most vulnerable, Corbin showed up? And why hadn’t she been able to bury her memories of him like she’d buried her father?
“Are you all right?”
She wanted to laugh at the question. “Am I all right? In the past two weeks, my prodigal father returned, my future brother-in-law was arrested, then my father murdered.” She shook her head and tried to stop the flow of tears she’d managed to hold at bay so far. “No. I don’t suppose I am all right.”
Corbin dismounted his horse, wishing for the dozenth time that he could undo the past and set things right for her. But he, too, had lost his father by the hand of a murderer, and there was nothing he could do to change any of it.
She stood in front of him, her face pale above her dark funeral garb. He tried to erase the image of the last time he’d dared to hold her in his arms, but instead of sealing away the past as her rejection should have, the memory only managed to stir up feelings from the past that were better left forgotten.
He jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and caught her tearful gaze. “I was headed out to the Baldwin farm for supper and saw you here. I thought everyone had left.”
She brushed away a tear. “Everyone else did. I just had…a few more things to say before leaving.”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. If there is anything I can do…”
“As a sheriff or as a friend?”
“Both.”
She laid the handful of wildflowers on the fresh grave and started walking up the slight hill on the other side of the graveyard. Corbin followed her toward the grassy embankment that met the lazy creek below and waited for her to speak.
“A couple nights ago, I read through my mother’s letters from my father. I don’t know if they’re important, but they mention the fact that my father had gone into business with a partner, and that they had started finding a decent amount of color from their claim.”
“Who was his partner?”
“I don’t know. There was no mention of any names. And the money could have kept coming in for years, or simply a matter of weeks.”
“What if his partner came and killed him for his share of the money?”
“After all these years?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It could make sense except for the fact that as far as I know, my father returned to Revenge with little more than the clothes on his back. According to him, there was no fortune, and I don’t know why he would lie about it.”
“But whether he actually had the money or not might not be the real issue, if someone thinks that he had it.”
“Which means, for all we know, that person could be the same one who ransacked my house looking for the money.”
Corbin watched a small-bodied veery as it skimmed the top of the water and sang its loud, whistling call. There were simply too many odd pieces to the puzzle that didn’t fit with the rest of the picture. “If your father was hiding a fortune, and someone wanted his share, wouldn’t Revenge be the first place he would check?”
“Perhaps. And there is also the question about the bullet that killed my father and his implied connection to the Masked Gang.”
They started walking back toward the small cemetery. “I spoke with the sheriff in Lancaster. It’s definitely the same type of bullet, down to the letter marking on the base, which makes it unique. And while I can’t guarantee that the same gun was used, the odds of it being two different people are slim.”
“But all that does is bring up the question again as to how was my father connected with a gang of bank robbers.” She pressed her fingers against her temple. “None of it makes sense. I may not have liked the man my father was, but that doesn’t mean I believe he was connected to a gang of criminals.”
“The only conclusion that makes any sense to me is that someone assumed he returned from Alaska because he’d found a fortune.” Corbin studied her profile. “You look tired, and staying out here won’t answer any of your questions.”
“Questions like does the pain ever lessen?”
“After losing someone you love?”
She gestured toward her parents’ graves as they passed. “That empty feeling of loss, along with wanting whoever did this to hang. I may not have agreed with all the choices my father made, but he was my father. And my sisters loved him. They were so excited for him to be back home.”
“There will always be a hole left in your heart for what you’ve lost, but one day, the pain will lessen.”
“I don’t know if mine will.” Fresh tears welled up. “I never forgave him. He asked me to, but I wouldn’t.”
A rush of grief swept through him. Words left unsaid. Others he could never take back. He knew the feelings all too well. “Don’t do this to yourself, Catherine.”
“You don’t understand.” She shook her head and stopped beneath the shade of a towering oak. “He came to me one afternoon. I was picking raspberries to make preserves for Emily. All I could think about was how he’d left us alone, and how if he’d never returned, we wouldn’t have to deal with all the hurt he’d brought us in the past. But he just wanted me to forgive him. I couldn’t even do that.”
He grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him, so she had to look at him. “He’s gone, and nothing’s going to change that. What you can change is how you react from now on. Forgive him then let him go. For your sisters’ sake, and for your own, you can’t let this destroy you.”
Because that was exactly what he’d done—vowed not to stop until he found his father’s murderer at whatever cost.
“How can I forget what happened?” Catherine’s blue eyes peered up at him. “It was as if he were here one moment and now…he’s not coming back this time.”
Corbin dropped his arms to his sides. “I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I lost my father.”
I lost you…
Her smile tugged at the corners of his heart.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For telling me what I needed to hear.” She took a step back and pressed her fingertips against her lips as if she, too, were thinking about the last time they’d been together. Then she turned to leave. “I need to get back to my sisters.”
> He swallowed hard. There was still one more thing he had to tell her. “Catherine, wait.”
She turned back to him.
“I was wrong the other night when I brought you home and kissed you. With all the emotions of the evening…” He hesitated. There was no excuse for what he’d done. He no longer had any claims over her. “I’m sorry.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “Please, you don’t have to apologize. With all that has happened, I’m sure it’s natural for emotions from the past to come to the surface.”
He nodded. She was right. And once he found answers, and was no longer personally involved, he’d see things differently.
“Just promise me one thing,” she continued.
“Anything.”
“I want you to find the man who murdered my father.”
Corbin nodded. She was right. There was only one thing that was important right now. He had a killer to catch.
Catherine sat at the end of the long table in the dining room, not missing the significance of the moment. The last time the four Morgan women had eaten together at this table had been the night she erroneously announced that their father had been killed in a mining accident. How was it that two weeks later, they were burying his body?
The clicks of silverware on plates and the occasional shuffling of a chair filled in the silence of the moment. There was little to say. Their father was dead. Murdered. How did one respond to such horror? She glanced across the table at her sisters and, for a brief moment, wished she’d invited Corbin to join them. Emily sat beside Grady, and Lily next to John. Only Harrison’s seat sat vacant, with the wedding postponed indefinitely.
“I spoke to Father about what we were going to name the baby.” Emily broke the heavy silence surrounding them, reminding Catherine that life continued even in the face of death.
Grady nodded at her, and she cleared her throat. “I told him that Grady and I had decided if our child was a boy we would name him Mark Isaiah. Now that he’s gone…” Grady reached for her hand. “We…we’ve decided to name him Isaiah Morgan O’Conner.”
