The Scarlet Pen

by Jennifer Uhlarik

  “Thank you.” Pulling her coat collar up around her ears, she hurried to the two-story building he’d indicated and ducked inside.

  She secured a room, stashed her valise, and despite being desperate to change into a dress, scurried back to the desk. After asking directions, she rushed into the biting cold again, shivering as she hurried on her next errand.

  Emma reached Alexander’s Mercantile and pushed her way through the door before a gentleman with keys in hand reached it.

  “You need somethin’? We’re closin’ for the night.”

  “I’m sorry to keep you. This is where the post office is located?”

  “Yes. You need to mail something?”

  “No, I have a question.”

  “All right, but make it quick. We’ve company coming and need to get home.”

  “Is there a Gillis in this town?”

  He thought for a moment. “There’s a Dolly Gillis. Is that who you mean?”

  “Dolly?” Gillis was a woman? “Um … yes. Can you tell me where I can find her?”

  “Ain’t real sure, but my wife might know. Stay here. I’ll fetch her.”

  The man locked the door, then disappeared into a back room, only to return with a woman bouncing an infant on her hip.

  “Samuel says you’re looking for Dolly Gillis?”

  “Yes. Do you know where I might find her, please?”

  The woman shifted her baby to the other hip. “What’s your business with her?”

  Emma’s thoughts spun. “I, um …” A woman! Stephen’s letter had said he’d spent several days with Gillis. Oh, she was a fool. How many letters had he signed “with my whole heart” or “with all my love”?

  Lied to again. Which man hadn’t lied to her?

  Clay Timmons. She could always count on him to tell her the truth.

  “We share a mutual friend. I want to pay my respects.”

  The baby fussed, and the woman pinned all her attention on the child. “Unfortunately, I believe she’s sick right now. She helped plan and organize our recent holiday concert, but we got word before the event that she’d fallen ill. I’ve not seen her since. I’d planned to check on her tomorrow.”

  “I see.”

  “Given that, I don’t feel comfortable passing on directions to her home, but I’d deliver a message when I visit. Would that work?”

  Disappointment spiraled through her. She’d wanted this done quickly so she might finally put her mind and heart at rest. Now she’d be waiting at least another night, and maybe longer.

  Nothing to be done for it but to agree. She jotted a brief note with her name and room number at the Roaring Gimlet and requested Dolly Gillis pay her a visit at her earliest convenience.

  Emma thanked them as they let her out into the frigid air. With dusk fast approaching, she started toward the hotel but stopped when a conspicuous figure ducked into a shadowy doorway ahead. Cold fingers traced her spine, and she glanced around then crossed the street.

  Clay checked the train’s aisle and, seeing it was clear, began to pace. How many times had he walked that narrow path in the past days? How many more would he before reaching Hastings? It was an interminably long way under the circumstances.

  Lord, You have got to keep her safe, please. Protect her from Richards and anyone else who might seek to do her harm. And that includes herself, Father.

  What in blue blazes had possessed her to run off? Did she think she’d be able to erase the rancid parts of Stephen Richards’s character with her love? PJ had been right when he’d said Richards was a special kind of tetched. But then, he’d not had the chance to tell Emma all that he suspected Stephen of doing. She knew only of Gemge’s murder—not the several others. Would she have gone after him if she’d heard the rest? Would she still love the man if she knew?

  Lord, I shoulda told her. If anything happens to her, it’ll be partly my fault.

  Before they’d parted ways in Steubenville, Clay had told Emmitt of the bodies found near Kearney as well as his suspicion of how the kittens died in Mount Pleasant. The man had said nothing, but his expression said everything. He was trusting Clay to bring his daughter back safely.

  Clay would go to his grave to return her safely home, if that’s what it took.

  The following morning

  Perhaps it was the utter lack of sleep, but Emma’s own naivety weighed heavily as she opened her eyes to a new day. She’d lain awake all night, considering things. For months, Papa had voiced his concerns about Stephen. Mama had encouraged her to question her intended’s assertions rather than accepting them out of hand. Even Clay had danced around the topic as much as he felt comfortable. Why had it taken her so long to believe them—or her own nagging questions? If the heart-wrenching discovery that Stephen had taken a life wasn’t enough, now there was the near certainty he’d been toying with her feelings while keeping another woman. Oh, she was naive, indeed.

  Emma rose and washed up, then donned her dress for the first time in days. At least that put her more at ease. Didn’t help with her exhaustion or her broken heart, but at least she could suffer both in familiar clothing.

  Before it grew too much later, she would head to the restaurant across the street. She’d had little to eat on the trip, her stomach upset much of the time. It was no better after her newest discovery, but she needed to keep up her strength. And she needed to be prepared to entertain Dolly Gillis, should the woman visit. Was she as innocent and trusting as Emma, believing all of Stephen’s lies? For her sake, hopefully not, though if she were more worldly, more knowledgeable, was she somehow complicit in Stephen’s schemes? Emma pondered again what exactly Stephen’s purpose had been. Was it to deceive her outright, or had he, on some level, actually loved her?

  Emma left the hotel and crossed to the small café. There she found an empty table, shrugged out of her coat, and draped it over the next chair. The waitress took her order, and as she departed, the front door opened again. In walked the same curious gentleman who’d directed her to the hotel the afternoon before. Odd, in a town the size of Hastings, that she’d cross paths with him twice. His gaze traveled the room and landed on the corner table where a man with shoulder-length brown hair and a slight build waited with an equally petite woman. He made a beeline for them, kissing the woman’s cheek and pumping the other man’s hand heartily. Seeing the small reunion filled her with loneliness. Surely her reconnecting with Stephen wouldn’t be so happy, and her own family probably wouldn’t receive her with such warmth.

  Lord, have I ruined things with everyone for good?

  Dolly huddled on the far side of the bed, her back to him as she tugged on her blouse. As the off-white fabric slipped over the curve of her bare shoulder, covering her beautiful skin from Stephen’s view, a soft sniffle punctuated the stillness.

  “What? Why are you crying?” He tossed back the bedcovers and sat up, pulled on his trousers, then faced her. “I thought you wanted this.”

  She had kissed him like she wanted it, the harlot. And she didn’t even try to stop him when he’d unfastened her blouse and loosened her skirt and petticoats.

  Another sniffle. “I told you I wanted to be married before we—”

  “Then we’ll get married.” The words tripped easily from his tongue.

  At his declaration, she straightened from scooping up her clothes, the mounds of fabric clutched tight to her chest. “Do you mean that?”

  Stephen smiled. “Of course.” He rounded the bed and pulled her into his arms, the clothes trapped between them. “I love you, Dolly. Nothing’ll change that.” He kissed her, tasting her salty tears.

  “Can we get married today?” She turned a piteous look his way. “Please.”

  Anger flashed, and he cocked his head.

  “I would feel so much better about what we just did.”

  He had no intention. “Don’t you want a proper ceremony, with friends and family?”

  “I have only my cousin in Kearney. I just want to put right t
his mistake.”

  Mistake, was it? She’d known exactly what she was doing.

  Stephen shook away that thought, choosing a different approach. “What about my family. My father. My sisters. I’d like for somebody from my line to be here. I promised Mother …”

  Her tears welled again. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She squirmed under his overzealous attention. “How soon do you think they might be able to come?”

  “They’d need time to make arrangements, plus the time to travel from Ohio. Several weeks, at least.” That would give him ample time to decide how to handle this circumstance. He was, after all, engaged to another. “I’ll go out shortly and wire my family. If even one of my sisters could come, I’d be content.”

  Still teary-eyed, she nodded and pattered from the room. As he dressed, her soft sobs filled the house.

  The ungrateful wench. He’d spent days with her each month. He’d come to the concerts she’d helped plan. He’d played the gentleman in every situation. This was not too much to ask, and if she wouldn’t see reason, well—

  Her crying stopped suddenly. Curious, Stephen hurriedly finished dressing and stepped into a small, shielded area of the kitchen. Dolly opened the front door.

  “Mrs. Alexander. What a surprise.” She cleared her throat, though her voice remained raw and unsteady. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, you poor dear. Look at you. You’re still quite ill, by the look of you.”

  After the jailbreak, he’d returned to Hastings and floated the lie to her neighbor that Dolly was unwell so they’d be left alone. Her home was a perfect place to hide, at least for a short time. Of course he’d not told her he was hiding.

  “Still a bit under the weather,” Dolly whispered.

  “I meant to be here earlier in the day, but the baby had a difficult night, so we both slept in. Anyway, I brought you fresh soup. Maybe I should call for the doctor.”

  Tension gripped Stephen’s muscles, and he held his breath, waiting for Dolly’s answer.

  “I’ll be fine soon enough, I’m sure.”

  Silence hung for a moment. “All right, dear. Have a small bowl of soup and tuck yourself back in bed.”

  Sniffling, Dolly bid the woman farewell.

  As the front door creaked closed, tension spilled from Stephen’s muscles. He peeked from behind the wall but ducked back again when the blasted woman knocked a second time.

  “Dolly? I forgot something,” came her muffled call.

  The door squealed again.

  “I’m so sorry. Someone stopped by the store last evening and asked for you.”

  “For me—at your store?”

  “At the post office, dear. Just as Samuel was closing up. An odd character, that one. Dressed in men’s clothing, but I’m certain it was a young woman. She left this for you.”

  Stephen itched to see what this was, but he remained still. Dolly thanked her friend and closed the door again. When the rattle of dishes and her soft footsteps sounded, Stephen emerged.

  Dolly made a weak attempt to smile. “Thank you for staying out of sight. I’m already embarrassed at—”

  “You worry too much.”

  Hurt flashed in her brown eyes. As she placed the pot of soup on the table, Stephen lifted the lid, and she sat heavily to look at a scrap of paper she held. She perked, and for the first time since she’d left the bed, a smile crossed her face.

  “You said if even one of your sisters could come for our wedding, you’d be content, yes?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Then maybe we can be married today. Your sister Emma is waiting at the Roaring Gimlet Hotel, and she’s asked to meet me.”

  At the sharp knock, Emma shook. What had seemed like days was, in reality, only a few hours since she might have expected Mrs. Alexander to deliver her note.

  She crossed the small room and, hand on the doorknob, attempted to pray. No words would come. Giving up, she breathed deep and opened the door. Rather than a woman, Stephen’s huge frame engulfed the space, his hands braced on each doorpost at about shoulder level. Barely had she had a chance to look into his familiar face than he shoved his way inside, pushing her deeper into the room so he could close the door.

  “Hello, Em. Checking up on me, are you?”

  She attempted to calm herself. “I hadn’t intended it that way, no. Is there something I need to check up on?”

  “Why are you here?” he spat through gritted teeth.

  The words stung. “Is this how you greet the woman you’ve promised to marry? I’d have hoped you’d be happy to see me.”

  At least then she’d have seen the man she thought she knew so well.

  He rolled his eyes and turned away for the space of a couple of seconds. When he turned back, something shifted. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” While still not gentle, his tone softened. “Seeing you here surprised me. I thought I’d written and told you not to come, that things weren’t ready yet.”

  No, he’d conveniently ignored her attempts at opening such a conversation, leading her to believe he hadn’t received those letters. But if he was saying this now, he had received them—and ignored them all. Was that the type of man she wanted to be with—one who would ignore her every request?

  “I don’t want to disappoint you, Emma.”

  She’d never wanted to disappoint him either, but—“Tell me, Stephen. Who is Dolly Gillis?”

  Something ugly flared in his eyes but quickly disappeared. “I’m hurt you’d ask. Do you think me such a devil that I’d be unfaithful to you?”

  “You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “And I’ve written to you, often.”

  “Not near as often as when you first left, and …” His letters left her with more questions than answers.

  “And what?”

  “Distance and time can often make one’s love cool.”

  Worry creased his features. “Are you confessing to me that yours has?”

  “No!” Yes … perhaps. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

  He stepped in and kissed her, his lips brushing hers for the barest instant before he pulled back an inch. “I love you, Emma. As much as I’m able to love anyone. That hasn’t changed.” Again he brushed his mouth over hers, inviting her into the intimate act. Muscles taut, she turned away.

  Stephen stepped back, confusion ruling his features.

  “Who is Dolly?”

  He threw his hands in the air. “You still don’t believe me?”

  “Believe what? You haven’t answered me.”

  “She’s a friend. Just a friend. From church. Like Hester. Someone dear and special, but nothing untoward.”

  At the mention of her best friend, Emma’s thoughts spun faster. Stephen and Hester always had shared a special friendship, bickering like brother and sister, but with a foundation of genuine caring. Had she assumed too much?

  “I fell ill a while back—was sick for weeks. Dolly was one of the church members who took care of me, and we became friends.”

  Concern replaced some of the confusion. Was that why his letters had grown less frequent? “You didn’t write about an illness.” Or about a woman caring for him.

  “I didn’t want you to worry—or to run off and attempt to rescue me. I assume that’s what you’ve done, since I don’t see anyone else here with you.” He glanced conspicuously around the small room.

  Shame flowed like a waterfall, and she looked at the floor.

  He stepped nearer and tapped his finger on the tip of her nose. “I’ll take your silence as your admission of guilt. Now, what other concerns might I put to rest?”

  Had he put anything to rest? Yet again she had more questions than answers. And his stolen kiss didn’t compare to the one Clay had taken just days ago. That also brought its own shame. She’d accused him of his love cooling when her own feelings had shifted greatly in the last week. For the first time, she was realizing she dearly loved a man, and it wasn’t Stephen Richards. How fair was she to
confront him if she couldn’t be honest herself? Better to change the topic.

  “Since you asked …” She straightened. “Clay Timmons came to visit my family at Christmas and—”

  His brow furrowed. “The cowboy?”

  “The Secret Service agent.” She resisted the urge to fold her arms and stamp her foot like a child demanding proper respect.

  “Why would he visit you?”

  “Papa allowed him to stay in our guesthouse when you left Mount Pleasant, and Thomas and Cynthia both took a shine to him. He’s been writing to us ever since.”

  Once more, Stephen’s eyes grew stormy. “Go on.”

  “First, he says the paths of his counterfeit money investigation keep leading him back to you.”

  “To me? I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about!”

  “I thought maybe you’d received it with your great-aunt’s inheritance money.” She held her breath.

  For the space of three quick heartbeats, he darted a look around the room, then nodded. “That must be it, then. I haven’t any idea otherwise.”

  Only, according to Papa, there was no great-aunt. A boulder settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  Lord, help … It was the only prayer she could muster.

  “He told me you’re suspected of stabbing a man in Steubenville.”

  “And you believe him? I don’t understand you, Emma. You’ve known me half your life, yet you’d believe the word of that—”

  “I heard it direct from Steubenville’s police chief. He read me the notes on the case. Before the man died, he said he’d taken an inkwell from the man who stabbed him. A pretty cut-glass inkwell, like the one I gave you. How do you explain that?”

  Stephen swore silently. How did he? Her accusations were coming too fast to rebut. How could he draw Emma back in and make her believe?

  Or did he bother? Both she and Dolly were becoming more than he cared to deal with. He sank his right hand into his coat pocket, fingers brushing the Blue Jacket.

  But this was Emma. If he could just think, he could make her see reason.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t say anything.” With his free hand, he rubbed at the ache in his forehead, sending curls cascading into his eyes.