by Cameron Judd
“It doesn’t even tell us whether it was illness or injury. This is a hurriedly written letter.”
“Probably written by a physician with more work than he can handle. Can you imagine how mystifying, and frustrating, it must have been to have a patient who for weeks was unable to reveal who she was or who to contact about her?”
“I wonder if Kenton knows where she is?”
“Well, if he doesn’t, you can tell him when you find him. I doubt he knows.”
“How will you explain your New York journey to Roxanne?”
“I think maybe the time has come to do something radical.”
“Tell her the truth?”
“Exactly.”
* * *
Connery’s living quarters were small, cheap, second-story, and within easy walking distance of the Illustrated American. Typical of an unmarried young male, he lived amid his own mess, clothing strewn all about and the remnants of three-day-old meals still lingering on molding plates in dusty corners.
He usually was oblivious to the clutter, but at the moment it was a problem because he was trying to pack, which involved having to do some serious digging amid the smutty heaps. With every atrocity he uncovered he grew more disgusted at his own slovenly ways.
One of these days he’d do better, he vowed to himself. Especially when he had a woman to impress. At the moment, there was none. Connery’s romantic efforts of late had been faltering failures. But maybe, someday, there’d be a knock on his door, he’d open it, find some lovely creature on the other side, needing directions or help carrying something or to borrow a cup of flour, and a great romance would be born. It was a common fantasy for Billy Connery, though so far nothing remotely like it had happened.
There was a knock on the door. “I’ll be!” Connery muttered. “Wouldn’t you know she’d show up right when I’m about to leave for Colorado!”
But it wasn’t the girl of his dreams. It was exactly who he knew it would be: J. R. Randwick, who lived in the rooms across the hall. He played a dual role in Connery’s life: friend and annoyer.
“Come in, J. R. What brings you over this evening?”
“Hearing you bumping around. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m packing.”
“Getting ready to travel, eh?”
“You know, you ought to go into detective work, J. R. You’re wasted back in the bowels of that bakery.”
“Where are you going?”
“West. Colorado. Some isolated mining town called Culvertown.”
“Big story, huh?”
“You might say.”
“Alex Gunnison going with you?”
“No. This one’s on my own.”
“What? You’re writing the story, too, not just drawing?”
“No, I’m not writing.”
“So you’ll just be publishing pictures, no story?”
“Questions, questions. You’re full of them, J. R.”
J. R. wandered over to Connery’s table and tore a hunk from a loaf of bread there. Connery glowered at him. “Don’t you have food of your own?”
“Sure. I just like this bread you’ve got.”
“You should. You baked it yesterday.”
“That’s why it’s so good. Hey, let me go with you to Colorado.”
“What? You’ve got to work, my friend.”
“Nope. The bakery is closed for two weeks. They’re rebuilding the whole inside of it while the boss is off taking care of his sick father. I’ve got free time, and plenty of money saved up. I’m going with you.”
“You can’t, J. R.”
“Why? Will I break your concentration while you scribble your pictures?”
“This is a different kind of a trip. I’m not going to be drawing.”
“Then what?”
“None of your business, but I’ll be looking for someone.” There was a moment of inner warning: You’re about to say too much. But what did it really matter? J. R. was harmless, and if he didn’t give him solid explanations about why he couldn’t tag along on his journey, J. R. would push and push and push some more.
“Who you looking for?”
“A man. A missing fellow. Somebody that Mr. Gunnison wants to find.”
“Why not just hire a detective?”
“There’s reasons.”
“Aha! Secrecy. Something sneaky and covert. Now I know I’ve got to go with you.”
“J. R., you can’t. I’m serious about that. I’ve been given an assignment to carry out for Alex Gunnison, and I have to keep it quiet. This is a very important thing.”
Connery noticed the way J. R. was looking at him, intrigue mixed with jealousy. Despite himself, Connery felt a boyish surging of his ego and added an extra detail he would later wish he hadn’t: “You might say I’m going to see if we can’t bring a man back from the dead.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“No. You tell me what that means. You can’t throw out something like that and not tell me what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t say any more. I wish I could.”
“You’re looking for somebody who’s dead?”
“No.”
“Somebody who people think is dead, then.”
Connery said nothing.
“That’s it! You’re looking to find somebody who people think is dead. Maybe somebody pretending to be dead.”
“You better go, J. R.”
“I’ve figured it out! Who is it? Tell me!”
Connery would not tell, though J. R. prodded and probed until Connery could hardly stand it. When J. R. left, he was angry and frustrated.
Connery finished packing and knew he’d made a mistake. Probably nothing would come of it, but he’d be sure not to let Alex Gunnison know what he’d just done.
He’d be much more careful from here on out.
* * *
It took some time for her to grasp what he told her, and when she did, her reaction made Gunnison wonder if he’d done the right thing in opening his mouth.
“Let me understand this,” she said, a little icily. “All this time, Brady Kenton has been alive. The Illustrated American published a big story that was … a lie. Memorial tributes poured in from everyone from your father through the vice president of the United States … all for a man who really wasn’t dead at all.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“All because he asked you to.”
“Roxanne, you have to look at it from Kenton’s side, and from mine. You know how important his quest for Victoria was to him. Most people scoffed at it and thought him a fool for believing his wife might still be alive … but he was right. By letting the world think he was dead, he had the freedom to go to England and seriously look for her. I had to agree to his request, Roxanne.”
“But you lied to me, along with everyone else.”
“He made me promise. He didn’t want me to tell anyone at all. Only Rachel Frye, a Texas Ranger named Frank Turner, and I knew Kenton was still alive. He wanted to keep it that way.… Even to tell just one person opened the door to the truth getting out.”
“But I’m your wife, Alex! We’re not supposed to have secrets between one another.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d react so strongly.”
“It’s just that the vows we made to each other when we were married were more important than the vow you made to Kenton.”
“Oh, come now, Roxanne.… Are you trying to tell me that there’s nothing you know that I don’t know? That you’ve never kept anything secret from me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
She was obviously offended. “It makes me wonder what else you’re keeping from me.”
“What?”
“I’ve wondered at times … I’m sorry to say this, Alex … but I did sometimes wonder if it was really Brady Kenton who kept you away from me for so much tim
e over all those years. I wondered if you were away from me because you wanted to be.”
“Roxanne!”
“And I wondered if there were … other women.”
Gunnison wished now he’d not told her the truth about Kenton. He’d not had any notion that it would be such a catalyst for all this anger.
“There were never other women. Never. I’ve been forever faithful to you.”
She stared at him, eyes beginning to fill.
“Roxanne, what can I say to you? Do you not believe me?”
Her lip trembled.
“Roxanne, I love you. I would die before I would be unfaithful to you.”
Tears came. She went to him and put her arms around him. “I know. I know.”
“Did you really doubt me?”
“No. I’m sorry. I was just angry that you’d keep such a secret from me.”
“I hope you can understand why I felt that I had to.”
“I do.”
“And in the end, I did tell you. I broke my vow to Kenton today. Just like I broke it when I told Billy Connery.” Gunnison decided not to reveal to her that he’d told Connery the truth months ago. Given her reactions so far, it was best to let her think he’d told Connery only today. He’d be sure to tell Connery not to say anything around Roxanne that would indicate otherwise.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I acted like I did.”
“Forget all about it.” He hugged her. “You are glad to know that Kenton didn’t really die, aren’t you?”
“Of course … but I hope it doesn’t mean that he’ll come back and take you off on the road with him again.”
“That won’t happen. My days apart from you are finished. But I do have to go away one more time, just this once. I’ve got to go to New York.”
“Because of the letter … Rachel Frye.”
“That’s right.”
“Yes, you must go. But not alone. I’m going with you.”
“With me? Roxanne … there’s a chance, just a chance, that there may be some danger involved. Kenton may be hiding because someone is after him, or maybe Victoria. If so, they might be after Rachel as well.”
“If there’s danger, that’s all the more reason for me to go. I want to look out for you.”
“I’d rather have you safe at home.”
“Has it crossed your mind, Husband, that if someone is trying to find Kenton, it won’t take them long to come looking around Kenton’s workplace, and his friends?”
Gunnison hadn’t thought about that. It made sense, and scared him.
“They might watch this very house, Alex, thinking that Kenton might show up here.”
Gunnison nodded. “I think you may have a point, Roxanne.”
“I’m going with you to New York.”
“Yes. You are.”
“Will Billy be safe going to Colorado alone?”
“I hope so.… I’ll talk to him again before he leaves and tell him to watch out. He’s excited about his assignment and already packing even though his train won’t leave until day after tomorrow.”
“When will we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. I want to get to Rachel Frye as quickly as possible.”
CHAPTER 8
By the time the train carrying Billy Connery toward Colorado had left Missouri, the excitement of travel and adventure had given way to worry.
Connery sat by the window, staring out at the passing landscape, trying to figure out just how he’d go about locating Brady Kenton. His destination was Culvertown, one of the many Colorado mountain communities that had made the transition from mining camp to town. Though Connery had never been to Culvertown itself, he’d traveled once before in the Rockies and knew what to expect: a rough-and-ready town with a narrow main street, a few good brick edifices mixed with plenty of structures made of lumber, and with the mountains all around scarred from mining and covered over with rough miners’ huts like pox scabs on a sick patient. And since Culvertown was still an active mining center, the population probably would be large and fluid, people coming and going literally by the day.
How would he start to locate Brady Kenton in such a place? And come to think of it, how would he manage to make inquiries without looking like he was a candidate for an asylum? Pardon me, sir, but I’m looking for the celebrity journalist Brady Kenton.… Yes, I know you read all about his death.… Yes, it was a sad thing. You haven’t by chance seen the late Mr. Kenton on the streets recently, have you?
Oh, well. He’d figure out a way. He pulled the envelope from his pocket and studied the drawing on the back of it. As an illustrator himself, he found it impossible not to be both admiring and envious of Kenton’s skill. With only a few strokes of a pencil he could capture depth, character, the play of light and shadow. Someday I’ll be as good as that, Connery promised himself.
As nervous as this whole undertaking made him, there was one aspect of it that he looked forward to very much: he would get to actually meet Brady Kenton, the man whose work had inspired him to become an illustrator himself. He’d wept when he learned of Kenton’s “death,” it having been a goal of his to someday meet the man.
Now he’d get to fulfill that goal … if he could find Kenton.
He could only hope that his reception would not be hostile. Having gone into hiding, Kenton would probably not be pleased to be found.
* * *
Connery was asleep when the train finally pulled into the station where he was to disembark. He lifted his head, tipped back the bowler hat he’d pulled low across his brows, and blinked a few times until his vision cleared. He’d been sleeping soundly, dreaming about Ireland, reliving a boyhood conversation he’d had with his grandfather, who was now laid away these several years beneath the green Irish sod.
Connery adjusted his hat, picked up his bag, and secretly patted his pocket to make sure the roll of bills he’d been provided by Alex Gunnison was still there. Alex had funded this assignment informally, avoiding an official expense report and simply forwarding Connery cash from one of the Illustrated American accounts. Gunnison was not about to go on record as having assigned someone to go search for a dead man.
Connery departed the train and took a deep breath of fresh mountain air … as fresh, anyway, as the air can be beside a smoking train in a mining town rich with belching chimneys. After having resided on a train since St. Louis, it felt tremendously good to stretch his legs and move about.
The first order of business was food, and he found this in the nearest restaurant. Eating at a table by a window, he watched people pass and tried to spot a place where he could obtain a horse. He was not yet at Culvertown. It lay high in the mountains, not yet touched by a railroad spur, though one was even now being constructed.
To reach Culvertown, Connery would have to either catch a coach or rent a horse and saddle. Gunnison had suggested the latter, in that having a horse would give Connery freedom of movement in and around Culvertown. If Kenton was hiding, he might be in some old miner’s cabin out in the mountains somewhere.
After fifteen minutes of striding around the town, Connery located a livery and shopped for a rental horse. He encountered an unpleasant surprise: the proprietor of the livery apparently had no use for Irishmen, and Connery had enough of a brogue to mark him as one. When the man refused to lower the price to anything approaching reasonable, Connery stormed off in a huff and spent another thirty minutes looking for another livery.
This time he put on his best flat American accent and quickly took possession of a fine roan at a reasonable cost. The horse came with assurances that it was a horse accustomed to the thin air of the mountains and would serve him well as he headed up to the higher altitudes around Culvertown. The saddle was old but comfortable to both horse and rider and for a little extra came equipped with a rifle sleeve. Connery strapped his bag on the back of the saddle, thanked and tipped the liveryman, and rode out onto the sunny street.
One more stop awaited before he began the last leg
of his journey. He rode to the nearest gun shop and purchased a used Winchester rifle and a new Colt pistol, with a shoulder holster for the latter and ammunition for both weapons. He felt very extravagant, spending so much in one day, but Gunnison had given him clear instructions to do all these things and not worry about the cost. The Illustrated American could afford it, and it was important that Connery be well armed and well mounted.
There were two other men in the gun shop when Connery made his purchases. They were examining rifles in a glass case, seemingly paying little heed to Connery, but when he pulled out his roll of bills he did get the feeling that they noticed it. He promised himself to be more careful in the future about showing the amount of money he had on him.
He left the gun shop and slid his Winchester into the saddle boot. A perfect fit. Connery swung into the saddle and rode to the next corner, pausing long enough to inspect a pole on which various slabs had been nailed, with arrows pointing in the directions of other towns in the vicinity. He found the indicator for Culvertown and rode off in that direction.
He did not notice that the pair in the gun shop had emerged and watched his departure. After he rounded the corner and was out of sight, they glanced at each other, speaking quickly and low, and trotted off to a nearby hitching post where their own mounts waited.
CHAPTER 9
On the road with Brady Kenton, Alex Gunnison had spent many days freezing in blizzards or roasting in the sun and many nights sleeping in barns, on the ground, in tepees, shepherd’s wagons, line camp cabins, and every other kind of rough shelter imaginable. Now that his professional life was more settled, it was difficult to adjust to the trappings of his family’s wealth. The money and mansions had been there a long time.… Alex Gunnison simply hadn’t been situated to take much advantage of them until Kenton’s “death” substantially ended his wandering life.
He was seated now in a passenger car on an east-bound train, Roxanne at his side. Surrounding them were common passengers—cowboys, sodbusters, traveling salesmen, all sorts. Babies cried and men smoked smelly cigars that made Roxanne cough.
“Alex,” she said to him, “how long are we going to sit here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. However long we want.”
