The Scarlet Pen

by Jennifer Uhlarik

  “So you did stab a man?” Her face twisted in horror.

  “Not like you’re thinking. I was defending myself. I’d camped with two men—strangers, both. After I unwrapped the desk set, one man took the inkwell and wouldn’t give it back. I tried to wrestle it from him, but it was broken, and rather than fight more, I went to sleep. When I woke later, the fire was out. I could hear the other men whispering. They were plotting to take my belongings, shoot me, and leave me for the birds, so I pulled my knife and waited. When they came toward me, guns in hand, I stabbed the nearest one and ran. The second man followed for a time, shooting at me, but I finally escaped him, walked to Steubenville, and boarded the train the next day.”

  “You didn’t contact the police?”

  The incredulity in her voice grated, but he held his temper in check. “I was afraid. I didn’t know where the other man was, and I simply wanted to get away without further trouble.”

  “Stephen, the man you stabbed died, but not before he accused you of instigating the conflict. They think you murdered him.”

  Tension seeped from his shoulders at her statement. She did believe him—at least enough that he could pull her back in. “Whatever he and the other man might have said, they lied. It was self-defense.”

  “Clay said you were traveling with a man from the time you left Mount Pleasant.”

  “I was! I just told you.”

  “No, a friend. Someone known to you.”

  Stephen shook his head. “I don’t know where Clay gets his information, but he’s mistaken. Why do you believe a man you know only through letters, my love? He’s little more than a stranger to you.”

  She drew back. “At this point, I know you only through letters, and I’m not sure I believe all you’ve written.”

  He should slap her foul mouth! Stephen withdrew his hand from his pocket but resisted the urge to raise it. “You wound me. What don’t you believe?”

  “Your most recent letters say you’ve made progress on your business, but you’ve never offered evidence to prove that. What is this business proposition, and how could you have done anything toward starting it when you travel around so much?”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I’m … questioning. Things aren’t adding up.”

  “What will it take to prove to you I’m no liar? Showing you paperwork? A storefront? Introducing you to my business partners? What?”

  “Any of those things. All of them.”

  His belly roiled. How dare she press him. Was his word not enough?

  “We’re land speculators, Emma. Our job is to travel. There’s no storefront, no merchandise. Just me and my partners as we travel to find promising parcels we can buy cheap, make a few improvements on, and sell at a profit.” Despite the unexpected way the words came to him, they fit perfectly and should allay her concerns.

  Relief brightened her gloomy look. “Why haven’t you said so before? That was all you needed to do—tell me your plans.”

  “So you believe me, then.”

  “It’s a start. Now I want to meet your business partners. I assume they’re in Hastings.”

  He bit back a curse. Meet his partners? Where could he take her? Somewhere far enough that she couldn’t find Dolly and open that can of worms. There was only one place he could think of. “The Harlsons are in Kearney, fifty miles from here.”

  “Fifty miles? I wasn’t expecting it to be so far.”

  “You’ve just traveled across whole states, my love. What’s another fifty miles?”

  She backed up a step. “I want very much to meet them, but I’d prefer you ask them to come here.”

  “That’ll take too long, Em.” He snatched up her valise from the bed and grabbed her hand. “The train should be arriving anytime, and if we’re on it, we can be in Kearney later today. I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 15

  As the train neared Hastings, Clay grabbed his saddlebags and rose. Stepping onto the train’s platform, he huddled against the whipping wind and scanned the milling people at the station. He was concerned with only one.

  PJ.

  Once the train pulled even with the station platform, Clay stepped off the slow-moving car and strode to where his friend stood.

  “Please tell me you have her.”

  “She was on yesterday’s train, just like your wire said. I found her here at the station and directed her to the Roaring Gimlet.”

  Clay gripped PJ’s shoulder as a heap of fear drained out through his boots. “Thank God. Did she look well? Unharmed?”

  “A little spooked, maybe, but she was in one piece.”

  “She have any idea who you were?”

  “Not that she let on. I figured she might not try to find Richards if she knew a deputy was watchin’, so I didn’t volunteer anything. I assume that’s why she ran off, to find him.”

  “I took her to Steubenville, had the police chief there tell her about the man Richards stabbed. She was upset and ran. Her folks think she’s comin’ to confront Stephen.”

  “She’s a spunky one.” They moved through the crowd and headed into town. “While I was pointin’ her to the hotel, she mentioned needin’ the post office. After she stashed her bag in her room, she went to Alexander’s Mercantile. I kept my distance, but I followed her there and back to be sure she was safe.”

  “Was she mailing somethin’?”

  PJ shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t want to hover too close. It was closin’ time, and the Alexanders left for home right after she departed the store. Haven’t gotten there yet today to talk to ’em.”

  Clay rubbed his knotted muscles. “Where is she now?”

  “The Gimlet. Been there all day except when she went to the café. Zeb, Lula, and I had eyes on her then too.”

  “Zeb and Lula? Why’d you bring them into this?”

  PJ grinned. “Do I actually have to explain this? Zeb and I have been watching over you nigh on seventeen years, and Lula, since she married Zeb ten years back. You think we ain’t itchin’ to see the gal that finally caught your eye?”

  Annoyance clawed at him. “Real glad y’all are entertained, but I’ve been crawlin’ out of my skin with worry. Besides …”

  “What?”

  His feet stalled as he flicked a nervous glance around. “I kissed her, and she smacked me.”

  PJ blinked once. “Then you’re doin’ it wrong.”

  Embarrassment swamped him, and he gave PJ a shove. “Fat lot of help you are.” He stomped on toward the hotel.

  “Aww, settle down. I’m just joshin’.” PJ fell in beside him. “I’m sorry.”

  “For ribbing me, or for Emma’s less than accepting response?”

  “Both.”

  At the corner of the hotel, Clay stopped again.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just ponderin’. This woman’s full of surprises, and this time I’d like to stay at least one step ahead of her. Wonderin’ if she’ll try to run from me a second time.”

  “You think she might?”

  “About to find out.” Bracing himself for what might come, he started again.

  Before he covered half the distance to the entrance, the Roaring Gimlet’s door swung open, and Stephen stepped out, Emma trailing him.

  Clay halted, nerves crackling as his hand went to his gun. Stephen had her wrist in a vise grip, and they stood entirely too close together for him to get a safe shot.

  “Richards! Let her go.”

  They locked eyes, and Stephen threw her valise, then shoved Emma back inside. Batting the hurled bag aside, Clay rushed after them.

  Risking a ducking glance inside, he saw two shadowy figures darting for the back door, and he burst through the front. An instant later, Stephen and Emma disappeared into the alley beyond, door slamming behind them.

  Lord, keep her safe!

  He rushed to the back and dropped his saddlebags, heart pounding. Easing the door open an inch, Clay darted a careful glance through the
opening. Nothing. Clear to the left of the doorway.

  “Let go of me!” Emma’s voice shrilled from somewhere he couldn’t see.

  PJ rounded into the alley, dashed to the far side, and aimed his gun in Emma’s general direction. “Richards!”

  Heart pounding, Clay stepped out around the door.

  Stephen dragged Emma down the dirty passageway as she dug in her heels and fought.

  “Richards, stop!”

  His struggling retreat halted, and he jerked Emma against him, one arm circling her waist. He settled his cheek against her temple. “What do you want with me?”

  Clay put his hands up to show they were empty. “Let her go, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “So long as your friend’s aiming a gun at my head, there’s nothing to say, cowboy.”

  “PJ?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw PJ set down the gun.

  “Step away from it.” Richards backed up a step.

  PJ took two sideways steps.

  “Stephen, please,” Emma whimpered, her face twisted in near panic. “You’re frightening me.”

  He quit moving then and darted an agitated glance at Clay then PJ. The arm at her waist loosened, and he planted a gentle kiss on the side of her head.

  “I’m sorry, love.” He lifted his hands to shoulder height. “Go to your cowboy.”

  Emma twitched a sideways look at him then focused on Clay.

  Clay swallowed hard. “C’mon, Emma.”

  Wide eyes glued on him, she bolted, but Stephen gave her a rough shove and sent her stumbling.

  As Clay caught her, Richards turned to run, flinging one last look back at them. As he did, sunlight flashed on something in his hand.

  Instinctively, Clay twisted away, shielding Emma as the deafening pop pop of gunfire echoed between the buildings. An unseen force slammed his shoulder, stealing his breath. He went to his knees, pulling Emma down with him.

  “Clay!” PJ shouted. An instant later, he came alongside.

  Despite a wave of dizziness, Clay tried to push PJ away. “I’m all right. Go … get Richards.”

  PJ stared for half a breath. “No, you’re not. You’re leakin’ blood.”

  Trembling, Emma drew back, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re hurt?”

  “It’ll heal, darlin’. Are you all right?”

  She took a better look at him, as if searching for the wound.

  “Let’s get you inside.” PJ helped him to his feet, though Clay wiggled free of his grasp.

  “Go. I’ll be all right.”

  Emma faced PJ. “I can help Clay. Please, go find Stephen.”

  At the sound of his two gunshots, the busy street grew chaotic. Tucking the Blue Jacket in his pocket, Stephen charged into the throng of frantic people and ran for a block. As everyone slowed and looked back, so did he. Not once did he see Timmons or the other man in pursuit, so he tucked his hands in his pockets and circled back to the livery where he’d boarded his horses.

  It took him only moments to saddle up and ride back to Dolly’s house.

  “Where is Emma?” she asked when he ducked inside, her eyes still puffy.

  Stephen brushed past her into the bedroom and collected his belongings.

  “Stephen, where is your sister? What’s wrong?”

  He stared around the small room to be sure he had everything. “I have to go.” He shoved the last few items into his bag.

  “Go?” Her eyes widened. “We were just talking about getting married!”

  “Not today.”

  Her jaw hinged open. “What’s happened? Where is your sister?”

  When he made a move toward the door, she blocked his path.

  “Stephen! Tell me what’s happened.”

  At her sharp tone, he grabbed her by the throat. “Out of my way.

  I said I have to go.”

  As if tossing a rag doll, he pushed her aside and barged out, mounted up, and turned west out of town.

  “ ‘The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.’ ” Emma read the verse from Proverbs eighteen aloud, then glanced at Clay, still sleeping on his stomach after the doctor worked on his wounded shoulder hours earlier.

  Lord, thank You. I am safe because You graciously sent Clay to rescue me. He—we—could have died today. And for what? So she could confront a man she now realized she’d never truly known and no longer loved. Worse, she hadn’t for some time. Her dedication to him had been a force of habit, not true devotion. Stephen had asked her to marry him then immediately ran off to pursue his dreams. She’d mistakenly thought they were hers too.

  Clay, on the other hand, met her and politely found a way to keep himself in the forefront of her mind without overstepping his bounds. He’d shared of himself in each letter he wrote, and he’d prayed for her across the span of a year, even after she’d spurned him for nothing he’d done. The man came all the way from Nebraska to surprise her brother and sister at Christmas and used the opportunity to announce his feelings for her. And even after she’d spurned him a second time and run away from him, he’d tracked her down and saved her from great danger.

  Father, he’s saved my life twice—earlier today, and the day I choked on the lemon drop. He’s rather like my own guardian angel. This man is truly someone special, and I feel very blessed to know him.

  She continued to read the chapter aloud, verse by verse, her voice just loud enough she hoped the words might wash over Clay’s mind, even in his morphine-induced sleep. As she reached the last verse on the page, Emma flipped to the next and stopped as Clay’s handwritten note scrawled in pencil in the margin caught her eye. She’d avoided reading others, not wanting to intrude, though she couldn’t ignore this one.

  Emma Draycott, Lord—please?

  Her eye followed the smudged pencil-lead arrow pointing to a verse about an inch down the page.

  Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD.

  Emma’s jaw hinged open, and her heart pounded as she looked again at the sleeping man. Clay wanted her for his wife?

  “Oh my word!”

  A soft knock startled her from her shock. She flung a frustrated glance toward the door then up to the ceiling. Now, Lord? Emma considered ignoring it but finally snapped the Bible closed and crossed to the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Miss Draycott, it’s Zeb and Lula Elder. We’re friends of Clay’s. We got word that he’s hurt?”

  At the familiar names, she unlocked the door and peeked out. The same couple she’d seen early in the day faced her. “You two were in the restaurant this morning.”

  “Yes, miss.” He nodded.

  “Is PJ the man who sat with you?” Once she saw that familiar man in the alley with Clay earlier, it all began to make sense.

  The gentleman gave an awkward nod. “Clay wired ahead and said to be lookin’ out for your arrival. Please don’t be upset. We had the best of intentions.”

  “I’m not upset.” She tugged the door open wider. “I’m humbled that you all would go to such lengths. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused. Please come in.”

  The woman entered first and set a basket on the floor then pulled her into a warm embrace. “I’m Lula. I brought a few things from home.

  Food, a change of clothes for Clay.”

  Emma drank in the warmth and acceptance in the other woman’s embrace.

  “How is he?” Zeb crossed to the bed.

  A bit reluctantly, she pulled free of Lula’s hug. “The bullet missed bones and organs. The doctor extracted it, cleaned and bandaged the wound, gave him morphine for pain, and told me to make sure he rests. He’s slept for hours. Soundly except for one point. I think he might’ve been having a nightmare.”

  Zeb and Lula exchanged a concerned glance. “PJ said they’d returned.”

  “What returned?”

  “The dreams … about his ma and sister’s murders?”

  She sucked
in a sharp breath. “They were murdered?”

  Lula stepped nearer. “He hasn’t told you?”

  “No.” Emma tried to quell the shivers that ran the length of her.

  “Who murdered them?”

  Zeb peeked under Clay’s bandages, then pressed them back into place and tugged the quilt over him. He motioned for her to sit in her chair as he and Lula moved toward the foot of the bed.

  “Clay’s pa died in Texas when he was nine. It was a real hard time for them after that, so about a year later, his ma finally moved him and his little sister, Dori, home to St. Joseph. After a time, another fella, Cyrus Jupe, started showin’ his ma some attention, and she married him real quick. Clay was about twelve, I reckon.”

  “Jupe was a scoundrel,” Lula whispered. “Clay said he charmed women easy as can be. Real good at using his words and his wiles to get what he wanted, but behind closed doors he was ornery and violent.”

  A charmer with a penchant for smooth talk—just like Stephen. “Go on.”

  “Maybe a year into their marriage, his ma realized the trouble she was in,” Zeb continued. “One day it got ugly between her and Jupe, and she shooed the kids out to safety. Clay waited well into the evenin’ to take his sister back home, let things die down some. The kids sneaked in and went to sleep, but in the middle of the night, Jupe went on a tear. Stabbed Clay’s ma and sister a bunch of times, then came for Clay.”

  Oh Lord, no. “He witnessed this?”

  “Woke up to Jupe standin’ over him, bloody knife in hand.”

  She itched to lay a comforting hand on Clay’s hair but dared not disturb him.

  “By the grace of God, he got out alive and unharmed. He hid out in town a couple of days then stumbled into the Pony Express stables and asked for food and a job. That’s where me and PJ met him. We shipped out from St. Joseph, on to this area. Pert near every night we’d wake up to Clay screamin’ in his sleep. Took him a month to tell PJ and me what happened. Nightmares went on for years.”

  “He didn’t scream, though he was mumbling and quite agitated.”

  “They don’t come near as often now—and they don’t hit him as hard, thank God. He’s learned a few things to help him cope.”