Calico Spy

by Margaret Brownley

  The neckline was modest but not prudish, revealing the dorm matron’s long and graceful neck. The draped overskirt was caught in back by a bustle that gave Miss Thatcher’s beanpole figure shape and substance. Lace-trimmed sleeves flared from her wrists, matching the lace at the slightly flared hem.

  Miss Thatcher was too busy wagging her tongue to notice. “Never in all my born days have I seen such impertinence….” On and on she went, threats flying out of her like bats from a cave.

  Tully had a way with hair. Ignoring the dorm matron’s rants and raves, Tully freed her tresses from their tight knot. Cautioning her to remain still or be burned, Tully coaxed the dorm matron’s hair into a riot of curls with the hot iron.

  The mass of chestnut ringlets was then pinned back to fall gracefully down to her shoulders. Tully left just enough tendrils loose to soften the angles of the dorm matron’s face and hide her flyaway ears.

  Abigail tied the cameo around Miss Thatcher’s neck and clipped on the earbobs. Ignoring the visual daggers cast her way, Katie turned the mahogany-framed cheval mirror around so Miss Thatcher could see herself.

  “Now, remember, if you don’t like it we’ll undo everything,” Katie said. If this didn’t work, they could all be out of a job.

  “This is an outrage,” Miss Thatcher sputtered. “This is—” Her gaze fell on the mirror and her eyes grew round as pie tins. Her mouth hung open as the last of her protests faded away.

  Encouraged, Katie smoothed a touch of forbidden carmine dye to Miss Thatcher’s lips, and for once the dorm matron didn’t protest.

  Katie and the others watched Miss Thatcher move her hands up and down the shiny fabric of her dress. She touched her hair and fingered the cameo. Outrage melted from her face, and a soft look of disbelief took its place.

  Even Katie was surprised by the transformation. “You look pretty as a picture,” she said, and she meant it. How could she not have noticed Miss Thatcher’s pretty blue eyes? Or long eyelashes?

  Nodding in agreement, Abigail clutched her hands to her chest. “You look beautiful.”

  “Like an angel,” Mary-Lou added.

  Tully shook her head. “By gummy, who would have thought it?”

  “I don’t understand,” Miss Thatcher whispered. “Why are you doing this?”

  Katie straightened the bustle at the back of Miss Thatcher’s dress. “It’s our way of thanking you for all the care you’ve given us.” Tully rolled her eyes but mercifully said nothing. “And we thought you deserved to go to a dance.”

  Miss Thatcher shook her head. “I can’t do that. Matthew—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I have work to do.”

  Katie met the dorm matron’s gaze in the mirror. “I think we can turn our own lights out just this once. And the best way to honor Matthew’s memory is to be the woman he fell in love with. I have a feeling that woman wouldn’t have thought twice about going to a dance.”

  Miss Thatcher lifted her chin. “You’re right. She wouldn’t have.”

  Katie nodded. “Come. Chef Gassée is downstairs,” she said, pronouncing his name the proper French way.

  Miss Thatcher’s cheeks turned a most becoming shade of pink. “Well!” She gave her head a slight toss. “What are we waiting for?”

  Chapter 36

  Branch snapped the book shut and placed it on the table next to his son’s bed. They would have to rise early for church. That meant the further adventures of Swiss Family Robinson would have to wait for another time.

  “Say your prayers, Son.” Sitting up in bed, Andy pressed his hands together and closed his eyes. “God bless Pa and Miss Chloe and Miss Katie and…”

  Since the tornado, Katie had become a regular addition to Andy’s prayers. The boy was quite taken with her, and Branch couldn’t blame him. Not even a little bit.

  “Amen,” Andy said and climbed beneath the covers.

  Branch tucked him in but was reluctant to leave the room. Clayborn was still in town, and Branch felt like he was teetering on the edge.

  Not only in his personal life, but professionally, as well. His investigation had hit a dead end, and his failure to bring the killer to justice was a heavy burden to bear. Sleep, if it came at all, offered little rest. Each morning he greeted the first light of dawn like a man waiting to be rescued at sea.

  Maybe this… this thing with Katie was just his way of holding on to something not tainted by the past. When he kissed her it was as if the world had suddenly grown brighter. As if the troubles that plagued him no longer existed. As if the topsy-turvy planet had returned to its axis. What to call such a feeling he had no idea. Or maybe he was just afraid to call it by its real name.

  After losing Hannah, he never thought he’d be interested in another woman. Work and Andy filled his life and that had been enough. It should be enough now. More than enough.

  And yet…

  Holding her in his arms felt like he’d been given a piece of heaven. And her lips… Her soft and yielding lips continued to haunt him. Kissing her had filled an aching need he hadn’t even known he had. But, God forgive him, it had also triggered another need—a deeper need—the manly need to know her like he knew no other.

  With a sigh he leaned over and kissed his son on the forehead.

  “You can turn the light off,” Andy said.

  Branch reared back. Andy always insisted he leave the light on until he fell asleep.

  “I’m not afraid of muddy air anymore,” Andy explained. “Not afraid of eight legs on the hoof, either.”

  “You were afraid of two cattle running?”

  Andy giggled. “No, silly. Eight legs on the hoof are spiders.”

  “Ah.” Branch grinned. “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Miss Katie.”

  He turned off the lamp. If only the fear of losing his son could be resolved with a simple change of words.

  “Put your trust in the Lord,” Reverend Bushwell had said. Trust God? Could he? Dare he?

  “Night, Son. Sleep tight.”

  Leaving the room, he walked into the parlor and picked up the Bible. Sitting, he turned to the story of Abraham. Branch knew the story, or so he thought. God told Abraham to prove his faithfulness by sacrificing his son. What Branch hadn’t known was that Abraham had not always been a man of faith. He’d made mistakes. Big mistakes. Eventually, Abraham learned the hard way that acting on his own and not trusting God only led to disaster.

  Branch closed the Bible with a heavy heart. Since losing Hannah he hadn’t allowed himself to trust anyone or anything. He’d surrounded himself with a shield of indifference. That meant not getting close to anyone. He was friendly to all, but friends to none.

  Maybe that’s the real reason he fought Katie so hard in the beginning. Somehow he knew that if anything could tear down his defenses it would be those big blue eyes of hers.

  Now he felt like everything he cared about was about to slip through his fingers. Again. Trust God? How could he with so much at stake? He didn’t even know how to trust God. And that was the most troubling problem of all.

  Tully insisted upon following the chef and Miss Thatcher to the dance. “I still can’t believe she agreed to go,” she whispered as the four girls, including Katie, hurried along the boardwalk of Main.

  Overhead the stars popped out through wispy clouds like shiny buttons on a general’s uniform.

  The couple was only a half block ahead, so they treaded lightly and followed at a discreet distance. Keeping their giggles under wraps was the biggest challenge.

  The dance hall was four blocks from the Harvey House, so Chef Gassy thought it easier to go on foot than bother with horse and carriage. He and Miss Thatcher walked side by side at a respectful distance. Close to the same height, they made a surprisingly handsome couple.

  Since Katie had no intention of letting the girls wander about after dark without protection, she agreed to join them, though secretly she longed for an early night and some much-needed sleep.

  “I wish someone
had asked me to the dance,” Tully said.

  Knowing that such flippant talk was Tully’s way of keeping her interest in Buzz under wraps, Katie said nothing.

  Abigail spoke up. “With all the marriage proposals you get, I’m surprised no one did.”

  “It’s because of our blasted curfews,” Tully complained. “Just when the fun begins, it’s time to go home. It’s a big pain, and most men don’t want to bother.”

  The street in front of the dance hall was jammed with buggies and carriages. The screeching sound of fiddle music wafted from the open doors. Women dressed in colorful frocks were escorted inside by the town’s most eligible bachelors.

  Katie searched for Branch among the glittery crowd, but she didn’t see him or his horse. The memory of dancing with him beneath a star-studded sky filled her with such a sense of longing that she literally ached inside. She’d felt beautiful in his arms, desirable even, and no one had ever made her feel that way. Certainly not Nathan Cole.

  Is that how the chef made Miss Thatcher feel? His eyes certainly lit up when he saw her earlier, and he took as much care helping her into her wrap as he gave his pastry. Oh, God, please make it so. Miss Thatcher deserved some happiness.

  They waited for the couple to enter the dance hall before turning back to the house. No longer worried about being overheard, Tully’s voice rose but not her spirits.

  “Next time there’s a dance,” she declared with a determined shake of the head, “I’m going. With or without an escort.”

  As they passed the sheriff’s office, Katie kept her gaze focused straight ahead, but that didn’t stop her heart from beating in triple time.

  Her pace slowed as they reached the corner of Main and Sunflower, and she fell behind the others. This was the spot where Ginger lost her shoe, and it still puzzled her. Nagged her, more like it.

  Standing in the middle of the street, she visually followed the rooflines outlined against the black velvet sky. The shops and businesses located at street level were dark. Lights shone from the windows of second-story apartments where most of the shopkeepers lived. Mrs. Bracegirdle lived closest to the bank.

  Branch had interviewed every resident living on the street and had come up empty. No one heard or saw anything suspicious.

  Mary-Lou and the others were almost a block away, their voices fading. Anxious to catch up, Katie’s gaze traveled over the upper part of the buildings again, and a flash of light caught her eye. It came from the vacant apartment over the bank.

  The two rectangular windows were dark now, and she could just make out the FOR RENT sign in the corner of one. Had she seen what she thought she saw? Or were her eyes simply playing tricks?

  Maybe she caught the reflection of the gas streetlamp from across the way. She backed up in an effort to test her theory, but the windows remained dark. Convinced she’d only imagined a light, she hurried to catch up to the others.

  Chapter 37

  The town was still deserted when Branch arrived at his office early that Monday morning to find Clayborn waiting for him.

  Branch dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching post next to Clayborn’s brown gelding. He walked slowly, methodically, up the steps leading to the boardwalk. A walk to the gallows couldn’t have taken more out of him.

  Clayborn greeted him with a nod, his eyes dark and fathomless as two pieces of coal. He leaned against the building puffing on a cigarette, ankles crossed. Had he known the murderous thoughts going through Branch’s head, he might have looked less casual and unconcerned.

  Branch nodded in return. “What brings you here so bright and early?” As if he didn’t know.

  Clayborn dropped the butt of his cigarette on the boardwalk and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “Got a paper I need signed. Then I’ll be on my way.”

  Stomach clenched, Branch unlocked the door. “Does that mean you’re leaving town?”

  Clayborn followed him inside. “Nothing keeping me here.”

  Stepping inside his office, Branch methodically hung his hat on the wall hook instead of tossing it. The keys he threw on the desk.

  Woody and Scarface both looked up from their cots. Woody’s gaze flitted from Branch to Clayborn and back again, but he said nothing.

  Branch sat at his desk, the chair groaning beneath his weight. “Let’s see what you got.”

  Clayborn reached into his trouser pocket for a folded piece of paper and handed it over.

  Branch unfolded the document. The letterhead read ALFRED L. ASHFORD, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW. Branch didn’t recognize the name, which meant Clayborn hadn’t trusted the local lawyers to handle the matter. The man was careless in manners, dress, and integrity but wasn’t taking any chances with the trust fund.

  Below was a line for the signature and date. In between were two tersely written sentences declaring the Clayborn infant and its mother deceased.

  All Branch had to do was sign his name on the line and his troubles would be over. His signature would keep Clayborn from taking Andy away.

  “It’s all nice and legal,” Clayborn said, as if sensing his hesitation.

  The letter didn’t waste words. It included only date and place of death and stated there were no other living relatives.

  Branch stared at the document until his vision blurred and the ink seemed to dance across the page. He blinked to refocus and read the letter again.

  Clayborn shuffled his feet. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem,” Branch muttered. He reached for his fountain pen just as Reverend Bushwell’s words came to mind.

  “No one can have a relationship with God while living a lie.”

  His mouth twisted. Sorry, Reverend, but I’m no Abraham. He dipped the nib into the bottle of ink. This time Katie’s voice echoed in his head, loud and clear. “You’ll do the right thing.”

  He grimaced, and the pen slipped out of his clammy hand. Wiping his damp palm on his vest, he picked the pen off the desk.

  It wasn’t often that he was scared, but he was today. Scared of losing Andy. Scared of losing the one thing that had kept him going these past eight years—the son his wife had died saving.

  He was also worried about what it would do to the boy to be uprooted from the only home he’d ever known. Would Clayborn desert him as he’d deserted Dorothy?

  Branch also feared losing his faith in God, imperfect as it was.

  “I’m not afraid of muddy air anymore. Not afraid of eight legs on the hoof, either.”

  Brave words from a brave little boy.

  A boy with a coward for a father.

  The strong vibrant voice in his head left him reeling. Where had that come from? Surely not God…

  Whether it was or not he didn’t know. He only knew that signing that paper would be a coward’s way out, and Andy deserved a better father than that. A lot better.

  Tossing the pen on his desk, he sat back in his chair. “We’re going to do this the right way.”

  “The right way?” Clayborn frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m not signing that paper. I’d be breaking the law if I did.”

  “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

  Branch leaned forward. “Dorothy’s infant didn’t die in that tornado. He’s alive, thanks to my wife.”

  “He?” An incredulous look crossed Clayborn’s face. “I have a son?”

  Branch clenched his hands. “He’s not your son. He’s mine. And I’ll fight you in every court of the land to prove it, if necessary.”

  Clayborn gaped at him, and only Woody’s peg leg scraping across the cell floor broke the silence between them.

  “Are you saying that the boy I saw you with—” He rubbed his chin, and his eyes grew wide as the implications sank in. “You have no right—”

  “I have every right.” Branch half rose out of his chair. “Eight years of being the only father he’s ever known gives me that right. Now get out of here. It makes me sick just to look at your so
rry mug.”

  Clayborn pointed a threatening finger. “This isn’t over, Whitman. It won’t be over until I get what’s rightfully mine.” With that he whirled about and shot outside. The door slammed shut with a bang, and Branch’s hat fell from the wall hook, along with the newly posted sign forbidding both men and women from carrying guns in town.

  “Whoo-ee,” Woody called out, holding on to the bars. “That one’s loaded to the muzzle. Better watch your back.”

  Scarface concurred with a nod. “And don’t forgit to keep an eye on your front side, too. I don’t aim on stickin’ around if they bring in another sheriff.”

  The railroad workers were in especially good spirits that morning and lingered longer over breakfast than usual.

  Seated at the counter, Okie-Sam shot a glance at the noisy group. “First of the month payday. They’re always rowdier on payday.” He folded his newspaper and flipped a coin onto the counter. “Thanks, sis,” he said and sauntered off.

  No sooner had he left than Long-Shot walked through the door.

  One of the railroad workers called out, “Hey, Long-Shot! Whatcha running for next?”

  Long-Shot tugged on his red suspenders and stuck out his chest. “How about I run for the school board?”

  “How about you learn to read first?”

  During the laughter that followed, Charley Reynolds arrived but sat by himself. He looked less forlorn today than he’d looked the night Katie questioned him outside the Harvey House.

  She nudged Mary-Lou. “Go take care of Charley. I’ll take care of the others.”

  Katie enjoyed bantering with the boys, as she called them, but they were a demanding bunch and kept the Harvey girls hopping.

  Finally they left, and Katie ducked behind the counter. She was anxious to talk to Mrs. Bracegirdle before the morning train arrived.

  Sitting at the counter in her usual spot, the older woman greeted Katie with a smile and roll of the eyes. Today she wore a mauve skirt and shirtwaist with white hat and gloves. “These young whippersnappers don’t know funny from hay. You should have heard my Harry. He could read the train schedule and make you double over laughing.”