by Jane Peart
The clinking together of jewels inside the bag was the only sound as one by one the women nervously dropped cameos, pocket watches, ropes of gold chains, strings of crystal beads, pearls, and rings of all kinds into the bulging leather pouch.
Addie's hand trembled as she unfastened the chain from around her neck, with the locket containing her parents' pictures. She held it for a second before relinquishing it, then she slipped out the garnet earrings, undid the cameo brooch. Lastly she drew out the narrow velvet box containing the opals she carried in her handbag and added it to the rest of the loot. The bag now heavy and lumpy, bulged with its horde.
"Thank you kindly, one and all. Be assured your treasures will be used for a good cause," the bandit said politely. He chuckled, drew the leather thongs closing the bag, and backed away from the carriage. He made a slight bow and tipped his hat.
At that gesture, something clicked in Addie's head—it came and went like the flip of a goldfish's tail before she could grasp it. Yet the something—of what she wasn't quite sure—hovered like a hummingbird on the edge of her mind. She tried to catch it, but it slipped away before she could even name what it was that occurred to her.
Then it was over. The horsemen rode away, vanishing into the thick woods. Everyone remained absolutely still until the sound of their horses' hoofbeats on the pine-needled path thudded away. The woods seemed to echo with silence. A collective sigh followed. They were safe. No one had been killed, no one hurt in any way. Then pandemonium broke loose. Everyone began to talk at once, loud voices, interrupting each other as the mixed reactions of fear, relief, and excitement reached a fever pitch. It was bedlam for several furious minutes. Calls for smelling salts mingled with cries of rage, anger, indignation, much of it directed against the driver and the guard. Recriminations, threats, declarations of revenge, demands for retribution, and wails of distress over valuable lost property filled the air.
Addie did not join in with the others. After all, her jewelry had nothing but sentimental value. Hers had no precious stones, no priceless diamonds. She felt a sadness for what had been taken. But they were only symbols of what she had already lost.
Once the immediate danger was past, Mrs. Amberly's howls of rage gained volume and vehemence. Addie winced at the woman's insulting condemnation of the driver for his lack of protection of his passengers during the robbery. She must not have noticed the gun pointed at Henessey's heart the whole time. She included the Union Express clerk in her recriminations, even though the poor man had been reduced to a quivering mass of jelly by the entire episode. His protestations that it would have meant his very life had he resisted did not seem to convince her. The tirade continued unabated.
Gradually Addie simply withdrew into her own confusing thoughts. An indefinable notion kept nagging at her, that there had been something vaguely familiar about the highwayman. Even as Addie told herself it must be her imagination, she could not erase the impression.
Finally the coach plodded into Calistoga and pulled to a stop at the sweep of the drive in front of the hotel. When the uniformed employees came out to assist the passengers, they were assailed by the story of the robbery. A whole new cacophony of attacks began, heaping blame on the driver. Henessey finally drove off in fury, leaving the hotel staff to deal with its guests.
Mrs. Amberly's voice could be heard above the rest as she stormed into the lobby demanding to see Brook. When told he was out of town, she stamped her foot in rage and ordered the cowed desk clerk to send at once for the sheriff.
Of the seven passengers, each had a different version of the robbery story to tell the sheriff, who arrived soon after having been informed of it by Henessey. Listening to the others, Addie began to wonder if she had even been there, the tales grew so tall in the telling. The robbers loomed much larger, bolder, more threatening to life and limb than they had been in reality. Actually it had seemed to her they were a rather orderly bunch, following the low-keyed orders of their leader. But even descriptions of him were so disparate, Addie began to doubt her own impression. But when it came her turn, Addie tried to relay as factual a picture of the bizarre event as she could and even surprised herself that she had remembered it all so clearly.
However, the sheriff was a canny fellow. "Well, now, I'm mighty sorry you folks had to go through such a bad time, and I'm pretty sure I got the picture now. I can't promise anything, but we think we've got a pretty good clue as to who these men are. They've pulled some fifteen or twenty robberies over the past two years. They're well-planned, and they usually happen about the same way—"
"I hope, sheriff, you are going to apprehend these vicious criminals!" Mrs. Amberly interrupted.
"We are certainly goin' to do our best, Ma'am."
"I had some very valuable pieces of jewelry stolen, you know—," she began, ready to repeat her story again. But the sheriff was moving toward the door, nodding his head.
"Yes, Ma'am, my deputy has a description of everything that was taken. We'll let you know as soon as we have any more information. Now, thank you ladies and gentlemen, for your cooperation." The sheriff tipped his broad-beamed felt hat and left, followed by his deputy.
It wasn't until later that night, after Addie, with the assistance of the hotel maid, had helped a still furious Mrs. Amberly to bed, that she had a chance to be alone, to sort out her own reaction to the episode. She felt exhausted but was too wound up to sleep. She had always wondered how she would react to danger. Many times during the war she had wished she were a man so she could do more than stay behind when so many she cared about were on the front lines fighting the invaders of her beloved homeland. The young men she knew never talked about fear. She had grown up believing bravery was the highest and noblest attribute one could attain—to face danger and death and not be afraid.
Now, she had learned that you can be both afraid brave. At least, she had not become hysterical or disgraced herself. Although her throat was dry from fear and her heart banging so fast and hard she thought it might explode during the robbery, she had not fainted, collapsed, nor made a spectacle of herself.
Addie recalled how she had repeated the Scripture, "Thou, O Lord, shall be my shield" during the robbery. It sprung into her mind from the realms of her childhood when as a self-willed, stubborn little girl she had been sent to her room and made to memorize a verse. Addie smiled, remembering that was the only kind of punishment her gentle mother had ever inflicted. Its reward had been a supernatural calm throughout the frightening ordeal.
As frightening as the experience was, it was not only that that made her strangely restless, unable to relax. She couldn't get hold of the fleeting impression she had about the leader of the band of robbers. It kept eluding her. What exactly was it?
First, he had not fit her idea of an outlaw. For instance, there was a theatrical air about him. Almost as if he had been playing a part. And his politeness as he conducted the crime—even if it had a certain mockery in it. He had an air of unquestioned authority that the other men recognized and obeyed. Then there was his voice—had she been mistaken or had she heard it somewhere before? Or one like it? Not a decided accent but there was a slight drawl to it.
Unable to put her troubled thoughts in any kind of order, Addie prepared for bed. After a while she fell asleep, but her slumber was shallow, interrupted by startled reawakenings and confused dreams.
The following afternoon, a very concerned Louis arrived at the cottage. The news of the stagecoach robbery had spread rapidly, even to the outlying areas, and he had ridden into town at once to see if Addie was all right.
"It must have been a terrifying experience," he said solicitously, taking both of her hands in his.
"Actually not as much as one would think, Louis. It was very strange; after the first few minutes, I felt very calm. The leader was so—I know this will sound incredible—but he was so polite, even while he was stealing from us—so gentlemanly—"
Louis frowned. "Then you've heard?"
"Heard
what?"
"I stopped at the sheriff's office before coming over here.
I wanted to get the story directly from him of just exactly what had happened. I assumed you women had become hysterical and may have been unable to give all the details of the incident, but I thought the driver would have given a straight report and that the sheriff could then tell me exactly what had taken place."
Addie had to suppress her annoyance at Louis's assumption that she, along with the other women passengers, had become hysterical.
"And what did the sheriff tell you then, Louis?" She tried to keep from sounding sarcastic, but it annoyed her for Louis to be so condescending.
"Do they know who the robbers were?"
"You say the leader acted gentlemanly right? Well, they suspect the man who robbed your stage was none other than the famous, or I should say the notorious Gentleman Jim. He's been the perpetrator of many successful stagecoach robberies. He seems to have it down to a science—knows when and where to attack—usually he goes for a stage carrying a payroll or the claim payoff of mines, or a bank's supply. He's gotten away with it. A real rascal." Louis shook his head. "But always described as gentlemanly."
Addie recalled her own reaction to the masked leader. He had been almost gallant in his manner. Still, something in her memory caught her attention, but Louis was speaking and she lost track of what she was trying to grasp.
"You've had a severe shock. It would be good for you to come out to the house, be our guest for a few days. Estelle agrees with me."
Addie was startled at this. Privately she wondered how long it had taken Louis to persuade his sister to accept what must have been his idea.
"That's very kind of you, Louis, and of Estelle too. But I couldn't possibly come. I have to stay with Mrs. Amberly. She was very upset by all this, and I'm sure she would be most indignant if I went away. She would feel as if I had deserted her when she needed me most."
Louis frowned but finally conceded that this might happen. "Tomorrow is your regular day off anyway, isn't it? I'll come for you early, and we'll take a drive. It will get your mind off all this."
Chapter 16
Of course, the robbery was the topic of everyone's conversation that evening and even the following morning at breakfast. Those hotel guests who had not gone on the fateful trip to Lakeport crowded around the ones who had and wanted the story retold. Nothing delighted the tellers more. They were basking in the reflected glory of their experience. As one witty old gentleman commented to Addie, "They'll dine out on this for months—maybe even years!"
Addie could not help agreeing with him. Mrs. Amberly was milking the episode for all it was worth. She held court, and each retelling was more embellished with details Addie could not remember. No pistol had even been held to anyone's head, least of all hers. Even the driver and his aide were treated with courtesy. But Addie held her tongue. If anyone asked her for her version, she was brief and factual. This seemed dull in comparison to what the others who had shared the experience were saying. Eventually she was not asked for her story anymore.
There was no one Addie could really talk to about it. She wished Brook were back. She knew he would listen. He would help her sort through her fragmented impressions of the robbery, perhaps recall some clue that would aid the sheriff in identifying the robbers.
It was a relief when Louis came to take her for a drive. She was tired of the constant talk of the robbery and hearing the exaggerations that grew larger with every successive telling. As they left Silver Springs Addie lapsed into a reflective silence. They had driven quite awhile before Louis asked. "Why so quiet, Addie?"
"I'm sorry, Louis, I didn't mean to be rude."
"Not rude at all, my dear. It's understandable. You've been through a terrible ordeal; it's bound to have an effect." He reached over and took her hand. "I wish I could help some way."
Louis guided the buggy over to the side of the road, reined his horse, then leaned toward Addie. "I wish I could protect you from anything unpleasant. Take care of you, always. Does that surprise you, Addie?"
Addie drew back a little. "I don't think I—"
"Addie, don't you know? Haven't you guessed what I feel? That I am—very fond of you? I haven't said it in so many words. I know you're under contract to stay with Mrs. Amberly until the end of the year. And also I wanted to have my own plans settled, the house completed, the winery under way before . . ."
Addie controlled an involuntary shiver. She didn't think she wanted to hear the rest of what Louis was going to say.
"I've been looking for someone with your qualities for a long time. Almost as soon as I met you I knew —I couldn't wait to tell Estelle, to have her meet you . . . " Louis's hand tightened on hers. "Addie, I have so much to offer you—want to offer you."
"Oh, Louis, don't—"
"Why not, Addie? It's true. Maybe, you don't love me now—not yet, but you do care for me a little, don't you? You must. I think we get on very well together. You would enjoy having a home like ours, a position in the community, wouldn't you? You were born to it. I know you would be a grace to my home, be an asset in every way. And I'd try very hard to make you happy."
"Oh, Louis, I'm sure you would. But I—I just haven't thought—"
"If I should marry—when I marry, my wife would be mistress of Chateau Montand. Estelle plans to travel extensively in the next few years. She has spent her life caring for me, but once I am happily settled, she would pursue her own interests."
Addie understood what he was implying. In case a sister-in-law in residence would present an obstacle to her, Louis wanted her to know that would not be the case.
"I don't have to have an answer right away—," Louis continued. "Just consider what it would mean to both of us. Think of what it could be like—all your problems, your financial worries, the future—all taken care of for you. That's what I want to do. Please, Addie, think about it, won't you?"
Addie moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and took a long breath. "Yes, of course, Louis. I will. I can't promise you anything but—yes, I can do that."
Seemingly satisfied, Louis picked up the reins again, and they continued to drive. He didn't force her into conversation and try as she might, Addie could think of little to say. Louis's proposal had pulled her wandering thoughts back into the present, to decisions that would soon have to be made about the rest of her life.
Much of what Louis said was true. What he was offering was, actually, an escape. Hadn't she been praying for a way out? Addie knew after she had fulfilled her year's contract with Mrs. Amberly she still had to find a way to earn a living. But how? She wasn't any better prepared than she had been a year ago. She assumed she would go back to Virginia. What then, she had no idea.
Now Louis was giving her a choice. But a marriage without the passion and romance like the Bairds had? To give that up would be giving up a cherished lifelong dream.
But perhaps, after all, life wasn't a love story. The hopes she had allowed herself to have about Rex Lyon had vanished, been crushed. Maybe she should consider a marriage of mutual respect, security, and companionship. Addie knew many such marriages had turned out to be good.
But in her heart of hearts she knew she could not settle for that.
After a while Louis suggested he take her back to Silver Springs so she could rest.
Before Louis left her at the main building, he said, "You'll feel better after a good night's sleep. I'll stop by again tomorrow to see you. Estelle told me to be sure and tell you that after the flurry dies down, she insists you come out to the house. She wants very much to get to know you better."
Addie wondered if Estelle knew he was going to propose to her today.
"I don't want to press you, my dear. But I shall be very busy when my first crop is ready to harvest—so I would like to know as soon as you feel you can give me an answer."
"Louis I—"
"No matter, my dear, don't fret yourself," he said quickly. "We have ple
nty of time to make plans."
"You are very kind, Louis."
She watched him ride away. Louis was kind, thoughtful. But marriage? She would have to feel something much stronger for him to seriously consider that.
Glancing at the verandah she saw Mrs. Amberly sitting in one of the rocking chairs, surrounded by a small group. Probably holding forth to those who had not heard the adventure or perhaps were listening to it again. Since Mrs. Amberly's back was to her, Addie saw no reason to make her presence known. It was still her day off, her free day, and she was going to enjoy her freedom as long as possible.
Besides, her head ached. The drive with Louis had not refreshed or relaxed her. In fact, after Louis's proposal, she felt even more tense. Maybe, if she lay down for a while it might help. She would soak a handkerchief with cologne and place it on her throbbing temples.
In her cottage bedroom, when Addie opened her bureau drawer to get one out, she saw, to her surprise, one of Brook's monogrammed handkerchiefs among her own. She remembered that one day when they were out walking, a cinder had blown into her eye, and he had taken his out of his pocket and lent it to her. She had washed and ironed it then forgotten to return it to him. Since his larger one would make a better size headache band, she decided to use his, then give it back later.
Dear Brook! She wished he were back from the city. She missed him. If he were here she knew she could confide Louis's proposal to him. She could trust him to be honest, to help her decide what was the best thing to do.
She poured water into her washbowl, added a few splashes of cologne, then dipped Brook's handkerchief into it. Soaking it thoroughly, then wringing it out, she folded it into an oblong. She lay down on her bed and pressed the fine linen cloth over her forehead and closed her eyes.
It took a long time for her to quiet her jumbled mind. So many questions to which she could not find answers. She longed for some simple solution to the turmoil churning inside her.
Addie stirred. How much later, she wasn't sure. She felt stiff and fuzzy-headed, almost as if she had taken a sleeping powder. But her headache seemed to be gone. She removed the cloth from her eyes, dry now but still fragrant from her violet cologne. Opening her eyes to darkness, she realized evening had come. She must have fallen asleep. Slowly she sat up. The bedroom felt hot and airless. She got out of bed. Fumbling for the matches she lit the lamp on the bedside table, then went to fold back the shutters, open the window.
