by Avery, Joan
“What did he say?” She had to think...to make some sense of it.
“He wouldn’t testify at his own trial.”
“Does anyone know why?”
“Don’t know that yet. I’m not through with my investigation yet. But I thought I should let you know what I’ve found out so far.”
“Yes, thank you. There’s no need for you to continue your investigation. I have what I need now. Please, have your office send a bill to my uncle, George Barker in St. Louis. I believe they have the address.”
“Yes, miss. But you might want to reconsider. Sometimes, these things turn out differently when all the facts are in.”
She tried to keep the violent shaking inside her from her voice. “No, Mr. Gilhooley. I’ll have no need to reconsider. I’ll be returning immediately to Denver and then on to St. Louis.”
The man let himself out. As the door shut, she collapsed to the floor and buried her face in her hands. She sobbed, rocking to and fro in a shuddering dirge to innocence lost.
Lizzie’s.
Andy’s.
And now hers.
The minutes passed and she could not stop herself from crying. The pain washed over her in huge waves, leaving her gasping for breath.
She had to calm herself. She had to take action. She had to return to Denver immediately and get Andy. They had to go home to Uncle George. She finally had the evidence she had been looking for. A long court battle might ensue but it would successfully keep Stephen Worth from Andy for years.
A knock at the door startled her. Her heart raced. Was it him? Had an hour passed?
“Katherine, are you there?” It was Otto.
She sobbed.
“Katherine? Are you all right?” he repeated.
Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away. She bit her lip. Despite her efforts to keep quiet, she again sobbed loudly.
Otto tried the door. She had not locked it after the Pinkerton man had left.
“Katherine, my dear, what’s wrong?” Otto rushed to her side and helped her to stand. “What has happened?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“He has told you then?” Otto took her hands in his.
She pulled her hands away. “No, he did not tell me any more than you did.”
Otto looked appropriately shamed. “I am sorry. Truly sorry, my dear. It was simply that he insisted on telling you himself. I thought perhaps last night...”
“Last night.” She laughed almost hysterically. Then she remembered. Stephen had tried to tell her something last night, just before Otto arrived. She remembered he had opened the door to his room and then reconsidered. None of it made sense.
“Did he kill her?” she demanded.
Taken aback by her bluntness, he did not speak for a moment. Finally he answered. “No.”
“Tell me everything.” She was angry and regaining control.
Otto studied her carefully. “Stephen was in a dispute with Zechariah Morse over a claim. Morse sent men to kill Stephen so he could take the claim. They put a bullet in his back. He survived because a band of Utes found him in the mountains bleeding to death and took him to Ouray’s camp.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “As soon as he could ride, he rushed home to Lizzie. It was too late. She was dead. Dusty and Peg had found her and the baby. Stephen went after Morse, but Morse controlled Silverton. He still does. The trial was a sham, my darling girl. A tragedy made worse when Stephen refused to defend himself.”
“And his back?” She had to know. Had to know it all now.
“The warden”—Otto nodded toward the prison walls—“is sadistic. I have seen such men before. I believe they find great pleasure in inflicting pain.”
What did it all mean? Stephen hadn’t killed Lizzie?
The horror of his back was not from Indians but from a white man?
She was lost. Lost and hurt and angry.
“Why should I believe you?” she demanded.
“It is not I whom you must believe,” Otto said softly. “He is a good man. He loved your sister.” Otto gently took her hands again. “He loves you. He has suffered too much already. Hear him out. Then you can decide.”
He held her hands long after he was finished talking. This time she did not pull away. She wanted to believe Otto, but she was afraid.
“I will be downstairs,” he said. “I am to meet again with General Adams. Come for me if you need me.”
…
Stephen pulled on his shirt and stepped to the window. The town was just beginning to come to life. At the end of town, a jail wagon was pulling into the prison. He stretched forward and the stiff and hardened flesh tightened across his back. He pitied the poor man in the wagon. Whatever he had done, he did not deserve what he was about to endure. The gates of hell would have offered a warmer welcome.
He was resolved to tell Kate everything this morning. He shoved his shirt tails into his pants. The crumpled sheets on the bed sent his mind reeling.
Why in hell had he made love to her? Why hadn’t he told her before? He was a selfish bastard. He prayed he would not regret it for the rest of his life. He had to convince her. She had to believe him. But he wouldn’t beg. She had to trust him.
He sat on the bed to pull on his boots. The bed still smelled of her and of their lovemaking. Memories came flooding back. Memories not just of last night and this morning, but of the first time he had seen her in St. Louis, of their angry encounter on her doorstep. Of all they had experienced since then. Piah and the train. Dusty and Peg. The back of the store. Every touch, every kiss, every pleasant moment, every angry encounter, every challenge. She had fought him each step of the way for Andy, and now that she had surrendered, he had shrunk from the truth. She would hate him when he told her. He would have to win her back. He had won her over once, so he could do it again.
Footsteps echoed in the hall for the second time since she had left. Opening the door this time, he saw Otto’s back as he headed down the stairs to the lobby.
He took two steps across the narrow hall and knocked on her door. She didn’t answer.
“Kate?” he called softly as he knocked again.
Still no answer. Puzzled, he tried the door. It was locked.
“Kate? Are you in there? It’s Stephen. I need to talk to you.”
Still no answer. But there was a noise. A rustle. The splashing of water.
“Katherine. I know you’re there. We need to talk.”
The rustle again. The brass knob moved in his hand. Kate opened the door and stepped back.
Her face was ravaged with emotion. Droplets of water clung to her pale hair where she had evidently splashed water on her face. Her eyes were red and swollen.
His worst fears were reflected in their shimmering depths.
He wouldn’t have the chance to tell her.
She already knew.
He saw anger and hatred in her eyes, but there was something else, something worse. There was the anguish of betrayal.
He had asked her to trust him and then he had betrayed her. He wanted to tell her to forget everything she had heard. But she would never forget and, he feared, never forgive.
He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned and walked away from him.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Why wouldn’t she speak? Her recriminations would be well deserved.
He had had two years to relive his decisions. He should never have allowed Lizzie to come with him to Silverton. What had he been thinking? He should have protected her. He had killed her as surely as if he had fired the shotgun himself. If Kate believed he had murdered Lizzie, she wasn’t far from the truth.
He could deal with Kate’s anger, argue with her hatred. But this—this silence he couldn’t bear.
“What are you going to do?” he finally asked quietly.
She shook her head as if to deny even his question.
“Kate?” he implored.
“I’m going home.”
Her voice was full of tears. “I’m taking Andy and going home to St. Louis.”
He stepped toward her and she pivoted to face him.
“Did you kill her?” she asked, her voice quivering. “Did you?” She was on the verge of hysteria.
“How can you ask that?” he said.
“Answer me,” she shouted. “Did you kill her?”
“No.” It was only half the truth. He should have told her that he was responsible. But he didn’t...couldn’t.
“That’s it? A simple no?” she asked. “And I am to believe you because…?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She pressed the palms of her hands to her temples.
“You have to trust me, Kate.”
“Trust you?”
“Lizzie trusted me, why can’t you?” As soon as he spoke the words in anger, he regretted them.
Kate’s hands fell from her temples. Her eyes were wide with hurt and disbelief. “Lizzie trusted you and she’s dead!”
Overwhelmed with guilt and shame, he found himself shouting his response. “Damn it. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I live with that every day of my life?” He ran a hand through his hair. He struggled for anything that might calm her. What had Peg said? By not telling her, he would risk losing the one person who meant as much to him as his son. Only now did the reality of Peg’s words strike home.
“What about last night? This morning? Do you think I was lying then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Kate shook her head, distraught.
“What about Otto? Peg and Dusty? They did not believe me capable of killing Lizzie.”
“They were not there. How can they know?”
He had never been a gambler. He had never been able to trust anyone with what he valued.
He had accused her of not trusting him. Maybe it was time he trusted her.
“I’ll give you time to think. If you believe that I killed Lizzie, I’ll make arrangements for you to return to Denver immediately.” He paused. “You can take Andy and go home to St. Louis. I won’t fight you for custody. I’ll never attempt to see Andy again.”
He forced himself to leave. The two-step journey back to his room was the longest he had ever taken. He had offered her everything she had wanted, all the while praying that she would, for reasons that defied logic, refuse.
…
Kate stared at the closed door, numb with the exchange. What was he asking of her? She would be a fool not to return to St. Louis. She had what she wanted.
Why would he even make such an offer?
Her head was a jumble of thoughts and accusations. She had to think. Had to make sense of it all.
She recalled every moment she’d seen Stephen with Andy. He loved the boy. No one that saw them together could dispute that. Why was he willing to let him go?
She remembered the tears in Peg’s eyes when she had first seen Stephen and Dusty’s reprimand to him. These lovely people cared for her as well. They wouldn’t risk hurting her.
She remembered Lizzie’s picture in his watch fob and the inscription in the book of poems.
None of it made any sense.
What had happened to make him change his mind about Andy? What would drive a man to give up the son he loved?
Then she knew.
Last night had happened. This morning had happened.
Kate walked back to the window. She looked out into the distance.
Did he love her? Then why was he willing to let her go? Didn’t love cause you to hold all the tighter? That’s what she had done with Lizzie. That was what had driven her to hate Stephen before she had ever met him. Stephen had grasped Lizzie and taken her away. He had taken Andy as well. Now he had opened his hands to give them both back to her.
Except she would never have Lizzie back until she had the complete truth. And the truth lay with Ouray in the mountains. She looked up at the snow-covered peaks. The morning had turned gray. Clouds had moved in, obscuring the sun.
Ouray had said that Stephen had been in the Ute camp, badly injured. She needed to hear it from Ouray himself. Help me, Lizzie. Show me the way. Send me a sign, she prayed.
As if on cue, the heavens opened up to shower the mountaintops with light, beckoning her. And she knew. She knew she would trust Stephen Worth with her life.
…
Stephen was lost in thought. The quiet knock on the door barely registered in his mind. He rose and opened it, half expecting Otto.
Kate stood there. Deathly pale, deathly still. It was a moment before she spoke. “Thank you for the gift of your son.”
For a moment, he feared he was about to lose the two people in the world that he loved most. But she did not move away. Did not leave. She looked up into his eyes. “I cannot take your gift.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe you killed Lizzie. I cannot imagine it.
“I can’t go back to St. Louis yet. I need to understand. What kind of society is this where innocent women are murdered, men are convicted against all reason and fact, and one human being can inflict terrible agonies on another with no repercussions?” Her voice was empty, exhausted, her eyes blank.
He wanted to go to her, comfort her, but her expression warned against it.
“Will you take me there? To where you lived with Lizzie? To where she died? I want to meet the man responsible for her death.” She lowered her head. “I need to speak with Ouray who defended you. I cannot move on without doing this.” She wiped a stray tear from her eye before looking up for his answer.
He wanted to warn her of the danger, protect her from the pain, but nothing he said would change her mind.
“Yes, I’ll take you,” he whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
There was a growing chill in the air. Kate’s body ached from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. She was not accustomed to riding astride and her inner thigh muscles pulsed in rebellion to the unnatural effort of holding her upright in the western saddle.
She would not complain, though. In fact she had not said a word since they left Canon City. But while her lips had not moved, her mind had continued on in its agitated state.
Their pace slowed as the trail climbed into the foothills of the Sangre De Cristo Range heading for the pass that would take them into the San Luis Valley before winding back up into the San Juan Mountains. Stephen urged his horse up a particularly steep incline and the animal reluctantly complied. The pack horse followed. She brought up the rear. The pack horse put distance between them, making conversation difficult even if they had wished it.
The terrain grew harsher with every mile they traveled. She remembered the comfortable life she had led in St. Louis, even in Denver.
She now realized she was ill prepared for the raw and rugged life on the road. She thought of Andy and for the first time, she was afraid. She had not understood. Clearly the worst could happen. Andy would be left without either of them. It had been a selfish decision to come on this journey and she prayed she wouldn’t regret it.
…
In the early dawn, gun-metal-gray clouds topped the mountains. The air was heavy with the threat of snow. Stephen cursed silently and threw another piece of deadwood on the fire, then poured himself a mug of coffee.
He toyed with the idea of going back. While well-provisioned, he questioned the wisdom of taking Kate farther into the Rocky Mountains in the face of what appeared to be the first winter storm of the season.
The wind had picked up. The chill found its way through his heavy wool coat. He walked over to the tent. Raising the flap, he grabbed a buffalo skin. Kate was still asleep. During the night, to ward off the chill, she had nestled into his warmth. He had awoken to the smell of her, the feel of her, and to his own erection hard and disquieting. He had risen then, desperation driving thoughts wildly around in his head.
Lizzie’s death had been tragic enough for Kate. He had kept the truth from her for too long. His thoughts fled to their lovemaking in Canon City. He grimaced and took a sip of the ho
t coffee. It had been a mistake. All of it. But if he had not kept the truth from her, would she be here with him now?
For the first time in a long time, he let himself drift back to Lizzie. He grasped his mug tighter and lowered his head. He stared into the blackness of the bitter coffee. “Lizzie,” he whispered, then continued his prayer in silence. I need your innocence. I need your love. I’ve lost my way. I need you to make her believe in me.
A breeze moved through the clearing. A sigh perhaps, or a whispered reply. It rustled the aspen leaves and sent them singing breathlessly.
Kate stirred in the tent.
He rubbed his eyes, damp from the sudden breeze.
“I have coffee if you’d like some.” He made the offer over his shoulder.
It was several moments before he heard her emerge.
“It’s grown much colder.” Her voice shook with the chill air.
“Yes, I’m afraid it may snow.” He took another sip of coffee. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should turn back to Canon City.”
“Why? Are you concerned about me? Please don’t be.” She walked over to where he sat. “I’ll manage.”
“Will you?” He looked up at her.
She hesitated, then came to a conclusion. “Yes.”
He smiled. He had no doubt she would handle whatever was to come. He studied the sky. The temperature was rising, approaching freezing. If they were lucky they would hit rain. They could reach the San Cristo pass by noon, with the warmest part of the day to follow.
He dumped out what remained of his coffee. “Eat. I’ll pack up.”
…
It was well past noon. They had fought a cold biting rain for the better part of the morning, but they had successfully reached the summit and were halfway down into the valley on the far side.
Stephen appeared reluctant to stop, even for hot food. Their only nourishment had been cold biscuits eaten on horseback. His worry fueled her own. Still, he said next to nothing.
