“Ain’t good. Doc Felden fears he’s done the boy a disservice, savin’ his life when this may be all he has left to it.”
Quillan’s jaw tensed.
Cain fought a wave of despair. “It didn’t use to be this way. You don’t remember, but up in Placer we had a miner’s law. Hardly needed enforcing.
Folks could leave their gold dust dryin’ and no one would touch it. Life was precious. We depended on each other. Now …” He squeezed his hands together. “It’s gotta stop.”
“It will.”
Cain looked up. Something in Quillan’s eyes, the set of his jaw … he was Wolf all over. The Wolf who had stanched the whispers with a look, withstood the insults, and left men dumb who thought to provoke him. With the same quiet intensity, Quillan was the image of his father. He was a force to be reckoned with. But it was a force without brutality.
Quillan took Cain’s hand between his. “It will, Cain.”
Father Antoine felt as though his heart had been ripped out. He prayed to Almighty God that his eyes lied, but he knew they didn’t. He knelt beside the bed in the pale morning light and reached a shaky hand to touch Èmie’s. Her swollen eyelids quivered. Her upper lip was the size of his thumb and split in two places.
Tears came to his eyes, brimmed, and ran over. “Èmie …” His voice was choked and rough.
She was curled into a ball on her bed, but now she tried to roll, and one bruised eye opened a slit.
Antoine gripped the bed frame. “Who did this to you? Was it Henri!”
Her eye blinked slowly, and her tongue dampened the damaged lips. “Please. Find Carina. You must—” She winced with the effort.
The priest brushed her hair with his hand, forcing a calmness he couldn’t feel. His rage would not help her. “Lie still. I’ll bring your friend.” He rose. How could he leave her alone even for the time it would take to find Miss DiGratia? Where was Henri? Would he return?
Antoine shook with anguish as he hurried out of the cabin and made his way toward Mae’s, praying that Carina would be there. Holy God. He climbed Mae’s porch. Mighty God. He rapped on the door, then remembered this one was kept open. Merciful God. He yanked it open and went in. Precious Savior. Carina was there before him, speaking with Mae at the desk. They both turned, and by their expressions he must look like death. He felt like death.
“Father?” Carina’s eyes were wide.
“It’s Èmie.”
Carina gave a little cry and rushed for the door.
“Carina!” Mae called after, but Miss DiGratia was already running toward the slope where Èmie’s cabin stood.
“What is it, Father?” Mae demanded, hands on hips.
“Èmie’s been beaten. I need the doctor.”
“Well, they’re here, both of them.” She ushered him into her rooms.
Antoine stopped in the doorway of the bedroom where Doctors Felden and Simms were discussing Daniel Cain. The boy lay in the bed, a victim like Èmie. Haggard beside the bed sat Cain Bradley.
“What’s the matter?” Dr. Felden asked.
Antoine told them.
“Èmie …” Young Dr. Simms paled. “Are not even the women safe now?” He snatched up the medical bag.
Antoine took the slope as though he could conquer the mountain itself, but it wasn’t enough. Why Èmie, Lord? Why?
Carina felt sick as she dropped to her knees beside her friend. A wail started in her throat, and she didn’t stop it as she looked at this woman she had endangered. Better that she had never come, never befriended her, never brought her to this….
One swollen eye opened, and Èmie reached for her. “Carina.”
Carina dropped her head to Èmie’s hand, clutched between her own.
Èmie’s tongue parted her lips. “You must do what Mr. Beck wants.”
Carina shook with rage. “I will tear his heart out! I will—”
“Listen to me.”
“I won’t listen! I will put a bullet in him and your uncle and—”
“Carina.” The voice from the doorway was intense.
She spun and faced the priest defiantly. “I don’t care. He will pay for this!”
Dr. Simms pushed through behind the priest. “Èmie needs healing, not vengeance.”
Carina resisted, then allowed Father Antoine to pull her aside. She covered her face with her hands. Sciocca! She had defied him at Èmie’s risk. “It’s my fault,” she moaned.
“It’s not your fault.” The priest’s eyes were intent.
“I angered and defied him.”
“I left her here and went traipsing after lost souls.” The priest’s hand on her shoulder shook with emotion.
“Will you two stop blaming yourselves and get me boiled water?” Dr. Simms spoke with more authority than Carina had heard from him before.
He was right. The first thing must be tending Èmie. She hurried for the stove. “I need wood, Father. There are coals.” Her hands shook as she shoveled the ashes that buried the coals still glowing in the oven.
The priest chopped wood from the pile out back, and she lit the stove and heated water while Dr. Simms performed his examination. With nervous energy she scoured Èmie’s place, recalling as she did Papa’s admonitions on the part of cleanliness in healing. Carina swept the pressed dirt floor as though she could take it down to bedrock. As soon as the steam blew from the edge of the lid, she poured a bowl of water and took it to Èmie’s bedside with the cleanest cloth she could find.
The work had helped her to think straight. She couldn’t shoot Berkley Beck. Not for revenge, even though her heart burned for it. But she could get Quillan the ledger. Her rage gave her courage. Now. She must do it now before she lost the nerve.
When Dr. Simms sent them out, Carina left the priest standing with his back to the rough log wall. She stalked to the livery, turned outside the door, and searched the street. From this vantage, she would see Mr. Beck leave. Would he look for her or send one of his dogs? Would he expect her to come to him remorseful and pliant?
She clenched her fists at her sides. He would never break her. He had lost whatever hold the threat of hurting Èmie had given him. The act had made her a tiger. She waited and watched. She would get the ledger and then—
His door opened, and Mr. Beck stepped out. Her heart clamored as two men came forward immediately to speak to him. Beck nodded twice, then went with one down the walk toward the Emporium. The other moseyed back across to the corner and stood there. She would have to enter under that one’s very nose.
But what had Quillan said? She would be expected. Drawing a jagged breath, she crossed the street and made her way along the sidewalk, looking suitably subdued. A group of miners tipped their hats, and she recognized one from Joe Turner’s operation. He gave her a bright smile, but she was too tense to return it.
A man in a striped coat and yellow cravat stepped into her path. “A small act of prestidigitation, miss?”
“No.” She shook her head, but he reached out and drew a coin from her hair. She pushed by. If only she could secure the ledger so easily. But God would determine that. And so far nothing had been easy. She went inside, almost too tense to breathe. The room was warm and smelled of Beck’s pomade. It made his presence almost palpable, though she had seen him leave.
What if he discovered her there beneath his desk? Or simply found the ledger missing? Of course he would think of her. Who else? Regardless of that, she hurried to Mr. Beck’s desk and lifted the board underneath. Let him guess. Let him know. After what he did to Èmie … She tugged the board free. The ledger lay there among the papers and engraved plates. She snatched it up, then removed the box of Nonna’s silver.
She had no idea how long Berkley Beck would be out. He could return at any moment, but she couldn’t just walk out with the ledger in plain view. Quickly she pulled open the box and removed the spoons and forks and knives. These she tied into her underskirt, then pulled out the velvet forms that had held them in place. She tucked those
back under the floor, and into the empty box, she fit the ledger.
With a sigh, Carina replaced the board and stood. The silver clinked when she walked, but only softly. She peeked out through the window. No sign of Mr. Beck. Was it possible the Lord had finally seen fit to aid her? Grazie, Signore. But it was a scornful gratitude.
She went out the door and started along the walk. The man was still on the corner, and she noticed it was the one who had escorted her to Mr. Beck the day before. She was certain he would hear her heart pounding as she passed. She waited for his challenge.
Would she run? What if he asked to see what was inside the box? She averted her gaze and came within three steps of him, then two. Then she was past. He didn’t stop her, and she carried the box around the corner at Drake and, with an effort, kept herself from running to Mae’s.
She went inside and started for the stairs, then changed her mind. If Mr. Beck came looking for the ledger, he’d search her room first. She went instead to the room where D.C. slept. For once Cain was not beside the bed, and she breathed her relief. Though he was Quillan’s friend, she felt safer alone.
Kneeling down, she took the ledger from the box and slipped it between the mattress and springs. Then she replaced the silver into the wooden box and shoved it against the wall under the bed. She sat back on her heels and pressed her hands to her temples. Then she stood and headed for the kitchen.
The breeze billowed the curtain at the open window, but the room was still stuffy. Mae looked up from the stove, her face a steamed mixture of fatigue and concern. “How’s Èmie?”
It was an innocent question, but at the thought of Èmie, Carina crumpled. The fury that had carried her through the theft drained away, leaving only pain and guilt. She shook her head with a throat too tight to answer, then covered her face in her hands.
Mae crossed to her and stroked her head, then pulled her into a soft embrace. “What’s this world coming to?”
What indeed? Carina pressed her face to Mae’s neck as tears stung her eyes.
Mae patted her shoulder. “There must be some rhyme or reason to it, but only God knows what.”
Did He? Did God know that she had just placed herself in peril? Maybe even of her life? Did He care that Èmie lay in pain? Èmie who belonged to Him, who loved Him like a papa? She felt her heart pounding and remembered Father Antoine. “God is all and in all.”
Not in Crystal. There was no God in Crystal. She swept out of the room, ran up the stairs, and flung herself onto her cot, releasing the tears held too long.
TWENTY-EIGHT
What miracle joins one hea rt to another?
—Rose
QUILLAN RUBBED THE weariness from his face. He’d spent the better portion of the night sitting with Cain, the rest of it trying vainly to sleep. His thoughts wouldn’t give him any peace—thoughts of D.C.’s beating, and now his struggle for life. Thoughts of Cain’s agony. Quillan almost worried more for him, and it put a hollow in his belly to think what Cain must be feeling.
Quillan sat up. There was a steely taste in his mouth, and his eyes felt like sand. The thoughts still roiled. Carina’s news about Beck’s activities wasn’t altogether unexpected, for Cain had suggested as much before William Evans was killed. What was new was her part in it.
Why had she involved herself to that degree? It was not only stupid; it was dangerous. If he brought Beck down, would it endanger Carina? He shook the thickness from his head. She was already endangered. He’d just have to protect her from the storm.
He rubbed the kink from his left shoulder, tipped his neck to one side till the spine popped softly, then to the other. Then he forked both hands through his hair and pulled it back. With his fingers clasped through it at the back of his skull, he tried to think. Things would happen today. He could feel it. Maybe his return would precipitate them. He released the hair and blew out his breath. Better to face it head on.
He tensed at the stealthy knock on his tent frame. “Who is it?”
“Ben Masterson.”
Quillan sprang to his feet and admitted the city trustee.
Masterson’s countenance was troubled, the ridge above his brows dipping into a V. He wasted no time. “It’s not wise for you to be here, Quillan. Beck’s raised a hue against you, and this morning he’s put the brand to the fire.”
Quillan flinched inwardly. “How?”
“Èmie Charboneau.”
Quillan scrunched his own brow. “Èmie … I don’t know her except in passing.”
“She was beaten last night. Savagely. Beck has witnesses that swear they saw you running from the cabin.” Masterson’s eyes veered away. “On all fours.”
Quillan felt a chill and a knot in his belly.
“One of your neighbors claims you didn’t come to your tent before nearly dawn.”
Quillan bristled. “I was sitting with Cain. Do you know about D.C.?”
Masterson nodded. “It’s not enough. Even if Cain vouches for you, there’s too much sentiment against.”
Quillan straightened, thinking of Carina. “I just need a little time. There’s proof of Beck’s infamy.”
“You’re beating a cracked drum.”
“A ledger, hidden under his floor. If I can get my hands on it …”
Masterson shook his head. “You’ll be lucky to get out of town alive. I’m warning you, Quillan.”
“I won’t run. Certainly not on all fours.” He felt his lip pull into a sneer and didn’t try to hide it.
Masterson sighed. “How will you get this ledger?”
“Carina DiGratia.”
“Beck’s mistress?”
Quillan stiffened. “She’s not his mistress.”
Masterson looked unconvinced. “They’re to be married.”
Quillan dismissed that with a snort. “Only Beck thinks so.”
“Tempers are high. With this last attack on a woman …” He shook his head. “I can’t hold them back forever.”
“Give me today.”
Masterson stepped back, eyed the walls of the tent, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
When Masterson left, Quillan washed and headed for Mae’s. The morning was well advanced, and he had to convince Carina to get the ledger without delay. He held himself straight, confident, ignoring the whispers and stares and more than one hard look as he passed. But underneath he felt every one.
Cain stumped into the room and leaned over the face of his son bathed in morning light. “How you doin’ there, D.C.? The mine’s bringin’ out good ore, don’t ya know. Good as any you thought would be there.”
He settled into the chair and rubbed his stump, which was shooting pain up his thigh and down where no flesh existed anymore. “Cain’t say it ain’t time for you to be doin’ your share, though. You always was one to shirk the work. Not that I’m blamin’ you. It’s not always been easy.” He touched his son’s hand.
No, Lord, it ain’t been easy. I’m not askin’ it to be, either. I don’t need much. Nothing for myself. Just this boy here. Now, I know I’m goin’ on like that widow woman haranguing the judge till he cain’t stand it no more. But it’s in the Good Book to keep on that way, so here I am again, askin’ you to spare him.
It seemed the Lord had done that much already. Both docs guessed D.C. might live. I’m right thankful for that much, don’t ya know. But, Lord, I’m askin’ just a little bit more. You said ask and ye shall receive. I’d like him back walkin’ and talkin’, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll even take his gripin’ like music to my ears.
What he wouldn’t give to hear D.C. argue. You work all things together for the good of those as love you. Well, I’ve loved you most all my life and I’m not stoppin’ now. If this is the best I get, then I’m grateful for it. But I know it ain’t the best you can do, what with the loaves and fishes and all. I’m lookin’ for a bit more, if you get my meanin’. And thankful for it, Lord.
Cain sat back and closed his eyes. There were no Chinese firecrackers. Neve
r had been. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t one of those that demanded a sign every time. He knew God heard him. And things would work out according to God’s sovereign will. They always do, don’t ya know.
Tears spent, Carina hid in her room. She could not go to Quillan and tell him she’d taken the ledger. She knew now Mr. Beck would have her watched. Had the guard reported her coming and going from the office? Why didn’t Berkley Beck send for her?
Was it a small thing that a woman had been beaten to teach another to guard her tongue? Did he only wait until she was so tight with nerves she would break when he called for her? Carina swallowed the knot in her throat.
She would not break. But Quillan must come. Surely he would come. She got up and stalked to the window as she had a hundred times already. And this time, she saw him. The hat hid his face, but she knew his walk, so determined, so sure.
She threw open the door and rushed down. Hearing his voice with Mae’s, she hurried into the room where D.C. lay atop the ledger. Mae and Quillan and Cain all looked at her, but it was Quillan’s gaze she felt. Standing in the small bedroom, he seemed every bit as tall and foreboding as he had in his tent.
His hair was loose to his shoulders, his jaw still unshaved. If he’d been dressed in buckskins and carried a powder rifle, she’d have thought him a mountain man. Even so, there was something wild in him this morning, something she hadn’t seen last evening in his tent. Defiance maybe, like that of a cornered animal who meant to fight. She wondered what appearance she presented. Her tears must show, and she felt flushed and agitated.
Before she could speak, Mae pushed past. “Well, I’ve work to do.”
Now it was only Cain and Quillan, and D.C., who lay unseeing. Cain rubbed the knuckles of one hand with the palm of the other. Quillan watched her steadily.
She met his gaze. “May I speak with you alone?”
He shifted his weight with a fluid motion from the ball of one foot to the other. “I have no secrets from Cain.”
The old man looked up. “Eh?”
The Rose Legacy Page 36
