Carina motioned with her hand. “It’s there. Under the mattress.”
Quillan’s understanding was instant. “You got it?”
“This morning. After …” Her chest squeezed painfully. She couldn’t speak of Èmie. She knelt beside the bed and reached in for the ledger. She jostled the mattress, and D.C.’s arm came down, landing on her shoulder. With a cry, she jumped back.
At the same moment Cain lunged forward. “D.C.?” His voice broke.
“I’m hungry. Can’t we ever have a decent meal around here?”
Carina gasped, looking straight into D.C.’s eyes. She couldn’t move for amazement.
Quillan crouched beside her, taking the boy’s hand. “D.C., can you hear me?”
“ ’Course I can. What’s going on?” D.C. looked around him and flushed. “What am I doing here?”
“Hee-hee-hee.” Cain slapped his thigh. “Son, you are a living miracle. Praise God!” He threw his feeble hands up.
Carina could only stare. Each day she had expected to hear the doctor say D.C. was dead. She had grown used to him lying there, rolled one way or another like a pillow you fluffed and tossed in place. But now here he was awake and whole, and she felt a surging joy. Grazie, Signore!
How could she not thank a God who could do such a thing? She tugged her arm from under the mattress and rushed out. “Mae! Mae, he’s awake.” She landed in the kitchen where Mae was chopping potatoes. “He’s awake, Mae, and hungry!”
Mae spun. “Daniel Cain?”
“Yes!”
“Well, I … I never heard the like.” She rubbed her hands down her apron, then pushed past toward the bedroom.
Carina went to the stove and scooped a small amount of beef with plenty of gravy into a bowl. She carried it to the bedroom but couldn’t get through to D.C. “Someone should go for the doctor,” she said, thinking no one heard her over the questions and exclamations.
But then Quillan stood. “I’ll go.” For a moment their eyes locked, and he was gone.
Dr. Felden straightened and took the stethoscope from his ears. He looked across the bed to Carina and raised his brows. “Well, Miss DiGratia, it seems your hocus-pocus worked.”
She shrugged and looked at D.C. “I only told him you needed a hole in the head.” Laughter followed.
D.C. grinned. “I knew enough to run from you the first time. Guess I wasn’t quick enough the next.”
“Well, let’s see what your legs can do now.” Dr. Felden pulled aside the covers and put an arm around D.C.’s waist.
D.C. blushed furiously at his bare legs under the nightshirt. Carina wondered what he would say to the sponge baths and rubs she and Mae had given. She glanced aside and found Quillan’s eyes on her. He didn’t look away until D.C. got to his feet and stood on his own.
“Better than I can do.” Cain cackled. Again laughter.
Mae moved aside. “Can he walk?”
D.C. took a few steps, then sat down at the end of the bed. “I feel a little rickety.”
“And no wonder.” Dr. Felden snapped his bag closed. “Aside from the small amounts of water and broth trickled down your throat, you’ve had neither food nor exercise for days.”
D.C. shook his head. “I don’t remember anything. Not even what happened to put me here.”
Quillan scowled. “Probably just as well.”
Cain raised a hand. “If it’s all right with you all, I feel a mighty need to bow our heads and say a little thanks, don’t ya know.”
“That would be right nice.” Mae folded her hands, and they were swallowed up in her bosom.
Carina closed her eyes, surprised by the sting of tears. She tucked her folded hands beneath her chin and felt the crucifix against her thumb. How long since she’d prayed? Truly prayed?
“Dear Lord, I wanted to thank you with these friends here for restoring my boy. You gave up your own Son for our salvation, but I’m tickled you saw fit to pluck mine off the altar, just as you did Abraham’s Isaac. I’m much obliged.” Cain’s voice broke and tears came to his eyes.
Carina blinked her own away and saw Mae’s eyes grow moist as well. Cain spoke to God as to his closest friend. His compagno. One he loved and knew. Like Èmie. But how could he know God?
“Daddy.” D.C. took Cain’s hand. “I think this would be a good time for me to take Preacher Paine’s advice. I want to give my life to Jesus, seeing how He’s given it back to me.”
Cain’s cheeks reddened and the flesh seemed to soften with joy. “God works all things together for the good of those as love him.” With his palsied hands supporting him, he lowered himself down onto his one knee, the stump resting beside it, and took D.C.’s hands in his. “Just pray the way Preacher Paine told it, son.”
Carina’s chest felt tight. She had ignored Preacher Paine’s words, not wanting to face her own darkness. Now she was too confused to know how to feel, what to think. She looked at Quillan, but he stood quietly, his gaze on D.C. both gentle and keen.
“Well, Lord …” D.C.’s voice cracked. “I’ve messed things up a lot. I’m a first-rate sinner, and I need your pardon. Guess I need washing in the blood of the Lamb. You died for me, and now you’ve let me live. I’ll try from here on to do what’s right and hope to serve you well.”
“Amen!” Cain clasped his son’s hands. D.C. gripped his father in a tight hug, then Quillan helped Cain stand and got him back to the chair. Dr. Felden took up his bag.
“See you don’t overdo it. No baptisms in the creek.”
D.C. only grinned.
“Stay another night here, and I’ll check back in the morning. Miss DiGratia, a word?”
Surprised, Carina followed him out.
He stopped at the outer door. “Dr. Simms wanted you to know Èmie’s not as bad as might be. There doesn’t seem to be internal damage.”
“Thank God.” She breathed her relief.
Dr. Felden rubbed his face with his palm. “I’m not much of a faithful man, but after a thing like this, it’s hard to ignore the part a Deity plays. Look after yourself, Miss DiGratia. The trouble in Crystal is far from over.” For a moment he looked as though he would say more, then he put on his hat and went out the door.
She sighed, wishing he hadn’t reminded her.
Quillan reached under the mattress and pulled out the ledger. He stared at it, unopened, for a long minute. Carina had done it. He’d come prepared to beg and threaten, but she’d already gotten what he needed. Why?
He glanced at Cain, but Cain was speaking low and earnestly to his son, neither of them aware he was there. Stuffing the book into his shirt, Quillan went out and headed for his tent. He would read it there and determine what use it might be. It had to be. He’d risked enough to get it. No, not him. Carina.
He raked his hair with his fingers and realized he’d left his hat at Mae’s.
He drew a long breath and released it, then rested his hand on his gun to pass through town. All his senses were tuned. If someone meant to start something, he’d be ready. But no one threatened him. Not in the daylight, not in plain view. If the vigilantes struck, it would be at night with the darkness hiding their identities.
He passed Central and crossed behind the last of the buildings to the rows of tents assembled again along the creek, half as many as before the flood. The others had either wised up or drowned. He reached his tent and went inside, then sat down on the cot with the ledger across his knees.
He didn’t open it. Instead he pictured the turn of D.C.’s head, the eyes opening. Only now did he realize how little hope he’d had to see the boy again. He rubbed his hand over the cover of the ledger, reluctant now to open it. God works all things together for the good of those who love him. Watching Cain and D.C. had put an ache in his heart and a lump in his throat. Maybe he wasn’t quite the renegade he thought himself.
Carina pushed the damp tendrils of hair from her face and squinted against the glare. The day was hot, but now that the ledger was in Quillan’s hands, she re
fused to skulk in her room. She scoured the dishes in the tub behind Mae’s. At least there was a breeze. It caught in her hair tumbling loosely down her back.
Leaning back on her haunches, Carina tossed the hair back and swiped her forehead with her sleeve. A shadow passed over, but it was not Quillan Shepard this time. It was Berkley Beck. She startled back with dismay. How had she not heard him approach?
He posed himself before her. “Good day, Carina.”
“Is it?” All her venom rose to her tongue. “How dare you show yourself!”
“Show myself? Why shouldn’t I?”
Carina jumped to her feet. “Do you pretend you didn’t order Èmie Charboneau beaten?”
“Order it? My dear.”
Carina shook with fury. “I know what you are, Mr. Beck.”
“Do you?” He caught her arm in a piercing grip. “I’ve changed our plans. You’ll marry me tonight.”
“What! You can’t seriously think I would stoop to marry you now.”
“But you will.” He leaned his face close. “Èmie’s still alive.”
Shocked into silence, Carina stared at him. His meaning was clear, and he was vile beyond anything she’d ever imagined. “Get your hand off me.”
He let go of her arm. “Tonight.” Tugging his coat flaps, he stalked away.
Carina’s chest heaved. She dropped her face into her hands. God had deserted her! Why had he saved her from the shaft only to give her to Berkley Beck? God was cruel! He was unforgiving. Unforgiving.
“No,” she moaned. Was He punishing her? She clenched her fists and shook them at the sky. “What have I done? I was wronged. I was betrayed. What right have you to destroy me?”
She sniffed angrily and swiped the tears with her sleeve. Snatching up her skirts, she ran. Banging through the bodies of men and mules alike, she crossed Central and passed into the rows of tents. She flung open Quillan’s canvas flap and found him once again with a gun to her heart.
“Tonight! He thinks he will marry me tonight!”
Quillan reached out and tugged her into the tent, then peered out behind her a long while, gun held ready. Carina waited, her heart thumping from both her running and her rage.
Quillan turned back inside, holstered the gun. “He won’t marry you tonight.”
“You’ll take me out of here?”
“We’d be cut down as soon as we left town.”
She clutched her hands together at her throat. “What, then?” She’d done her part with the ledger, and he had promised to stop this farce of a marriage. She felt caught in the center of a dust devil, tossing and whirling at the whim of some force she couldn’t deny. She couldn’t leave; she couldn’t refuse. Quillan must think of something.
And it seemed he did. The lines of his face smoothed. He went very still, yet she felt him like a force she couldn’t ignore. “He can’t marry you if you’re married already.”
She stared into his face. “But I’m not.”
“But you could be.” His mouth stayed slightly parted as he waited.
Her head was thick. He couldn’t be saying what it seemed he was. Quillan Shepard, loner, who refused even a partner on his wagon?
“We can find the priest and have it done before Beck’s rounded up a judge.”
He would marry her to stop Beck? Marry her with no feelings for her, no … love between them? “But … you would …”
His swift motion cut her off. He gripped her arms and pulled her close. Looking into her startled eyes, he brought his mouth to hers. The chin whiskers scratched, yet the mustache was soft. His mouth, however, was not. He pulled her to her toes and kissed her so long she couldn’t breathe.
He then set her back down, but their eyes remained locked. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to. One hand rested on her heaving breast, the other hung at her waist, immobile.
His mouth pulled sideways into his pirate’s grin. “Yes, I would. But I’d like to clean up first.”
Carina took a step back, still watching him, still unable to speak.
“I’d rather do it alone.” And now there was laughter in his eyes. At her.
She spun and swept out of his tent. Shaking inside, she walked to Mae’s. What was she doing? Marry Quillan Shepard? Marry him? Had she agreed? He certainly thought so. Maybe her lips had told him, the hammering of her heart. Was she leaping from the skillet into the fire?
Quillan stared at the tent flap through which Carina had fled. He must have taken her by surprise if his own condition were any indication. He had certainly not premeditated proposing marriage. But when the thought came to him, it seemed the perfect thing.
Beck would be furious. It was certain to cause some action on his part. But this time Crystal would be ready. Quillan glanced at the ledger. Ready, because he would equip them with the proof. Two of the trustees were named as receiving bribes. One judge, a scattering of constables, and those less virtuous than the ones controlled by fear alone. And of course, the names of the roughs.
Some of them showed as monies owed. They obeyed orders to work off their debt. Others were paid thugs. And that’s where he found the Carruthers. No wonder Carina hadn’t gotten her property. Beck wanted them right there within reach.
And then there was Carina. Quillan had guessed she might be listed with the others. It was a mean trick on Beck’s part, probably to dissuade this very thing. But Quillan wasn’t overly concerned. His wedding would safeguard her as well as anything. People would see she was not Beck’s mistress and had been coerced to collect for him. Probably the same could be said for others in the book, but Quillan couldn’t worry about that.
He picked up the ledger and tucked it into his shirt. With a firm stride he made his way to Masterson’s fine house. He applied the brass knocker that he had hauled for the door. Masterson’s manservant opened. “Mr. Masterson is expecting you, sir.”
Sir. Quillan almost grinned. A far cry from running on all fours. He swallowed the bitterness and followed the man to Masterson’s study.
“Ah, Quillan. Come in. You have it?”
Quillan extricated the ledger from his shirt and laid it on Masterson’s desk. “Convicting, but not overly enlightening. I’m certain you won’t be surprised at many of the names.”
“Still, this is the first concrete evidence. Can’t act on speculation, you know. Does it mention William Evans?”
“Not by name. That would be far too careless. But it lists the players and their roles. The roughs are euphemistically guards and enforcers.”
“Yes, yes, I see that.” Masterson scanned the pages. “You were right, Quillan. This ledger is invaluable. Every name can be held to account.”
Quillan leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk. “There’s one name that needs exempting.”
“Oh?” Masterson looked up over his pince-nez.
“Carina DiGratia.”
Masterson frowned.
“She was compelled beyond her control.”
“The same could be true for any number of these. You know how it works. A dirty little secret. Who wouldn’t pay to keep certain things quiet? Threats made. As far as I’m concerned, Miss DiGratia—”
“Miss DiGratia is becoming Mrs. Shepard.”
Masterson removed his pince-nez and stared. “When?”
“Today.”
A long moment their eyes held. “You’re forcing his hand.”
“Exactly.”
“And what of the woman?”
Quillan straightened. “She’ll be my wife.”
“This is preposterous, Quillan. You can’t take a wife simply to contrive revenge.”
Quillan didn’t answer. He needn’t point out Carina’s qualities or their effect on him. All Masterson needed to know was that she was inviolable. “She is the one who procured the ledger. Without Miss DiGratia we’d have nothing.”
“Very well.” Ben Masterson tugged the fob and removed his watch from his vest pocket. “Except for those herein named, I’ll speak with the t
rustees. Beck won’t surrender his power easily, and it could come to war. We can only hope to strike quickly and avoid that.” He replaced his pince-nez on the bridge of his nose but glanced over them. “Happy nuptials.”
Quillan gave him a half smile, turned on his heel, and left. There were details to accomplish. He couldn’t go to a judge, as even those not listed in the ledger might be friendly to Beck and bring word of Quillan’s intention. Beck’s own matrimonial plans were widely known, and it was bound to raise eyebrows.
There were several ministers, but for his own reasons Quillan preferred to avoid them. That left Father Charboneau, whom Quillan had never met personally and who was probably not in the best form today after what happened to his niece. Nonetheless, Quillan would be convincing.
If they performed the ceremony at Mae’s, Cain could witness it without leaving D.C., as the two were suddenly inseparable. Mae could be the second witness, so there would be no question of legality. Beck must not presume for a moment this wedding a sham. Quillan wanted him to know that Carina was in every way his wife, and in that knowing, regret dragging out Quillan’s parentage and blackening his name.
TWENTY-NINE
Cruelty sustained loses its barb.
—Rose
CARINA’S LEGS WERE NUMB as she climbed the stairs to her room. She closed the door behind her and stood staring at the cot. Then she knelt and pulled out the black satchel. She removed the paper-wrapped garment and set it gently on the bed. Then she pulled out the packet that held her precious mementos.
Sitting down on the cot, she slid the contents onto the blanket. Her heart tugged as she eyed each photograph of her loved ones, alighting at last on the melting features of her dear Flavio. He had not come. Nor would it matter now if he did.
She looked at the bundle of letters tied in a red ribbon, letters filled with his poetry, his words, beautiful and vague. She slipped one out and read it, the words conjuring images and memories poignant and deep. One by one she read the letters, Flavio’s words to her, his promises. Yet he had proved so false. Did she even know him? Had she ever?
The Rose Legacy Page 37
