Hank Bishop sat down to the table of strangers and nodded toward the only other man at the table. He extended his hand. “Hank Bishop,” he told the man.
“Jerry Shepard. Glad to meet you, Hank.” They shook hands. “Where are you from?”
“Back East,” Hank replied.
“I might have guessed. Patience and I were once from Springfield, Massachusetts.”
“I know the area,” Hank admitted. He offered nothing more. He knew they expected him to mention where he’d come from, but at this time he saw no need to.
“Jerry, would you offer the blessing?” Gwen asked.
They all bowed their heads as the man began to pray. Hank watched them in fascination. He hadn’t prayed in years—not since he’d been a young teen. He marveled at the casual way the woman referred to the older man. Seemed everyone out here just called each other by their given names.
“Amen.”
A murmuring of amens followed. Did they somehow suppose that it blessed the food even more if they added their approval to the prayer?
“Hank, this is my wife, Patience. Our son, Dave, is one of the sheriff deputies in the area, and we have two daughters who are living in Springfield with their grandparents.”
Hank nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Again, he could tell by the look of expectation on the faces around him that they waited for him to be more forthcoming with his background. And again, he disappointed them.
“And are you also in the business of the law, Mr. Shepard?”
“Call me Jerry. Everyone does. No time for formalities out here. We’re all far too dependent on each other to stand on social dictates. But in answer to your question, no. I ranch and raise a few head of dairy cows. Patience also has a nice number of chickens. In fact, we raised the birds that grace the table tonight. Sure smells good, Gwen.”
“Thanks. You might as well carve,” she instructed.
Jerry quickly went to work while Patience took a turn at asking Hank questions. “So what brings you to these parts, Hank?”
He clenched his jaw momentarily—a bad habit he had when trying to analyze a situation’s importance. “I had some family business.” He smiled ever so slightly and changed the subject. “I must say, this part of the country is quite beautiful. I took the train to Salt Lake City. I didn’t think much of the passing territories west of the Mississippi, but this valley has tremendous merit. What crops do they grow here?”
Patience smiled. Hank surmised she didn’t even realize she’d been refocused on a different line of conversation.
“Wheat and barley, mostly,” Patience replied.
“But not corn,” Jerry added. “There just isn’t good enough land or enough time to grow decent corn. Potatoes do quite well, however.”
“Yes. They grow very well in my garden.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Gwen declared. “I’ve tried for two years. I must not have your green thumb or talent for tilling.”
“Perhaps the mineral content in the ground create an inhospitable base for such things.”
“The mineral content?” Lacy asked, staring hard at Hank. “What has that got to do with it?”
Hank shrugged. “With the hot springs here, I thought perhaps the ground might have a higher concentration of minerals, such as sodiums and sulfates. Such materials can often aid or interfere with the growth patterns in a variety of vegetation. I propose that it might very well be the mineral content in the soil that impedes your sister’s efforts rather than some failing in her ability.”
“Oh,” Lacy said, clearly not expecting the depth of his answer.
“Are we too late for supper?” Nick asked as he and Simon snuck in from the kitchen.
Gwen laughed and took the matter in good nature. “Not at all. Lacy, please get another place setting. Since Dave isn’t joining us, we just need one more.”
Hank noted the ease in which she handled the matter. His own mother had held many a dinner party, and the care and meticulous effort that went into each event always took more time and staging than the party itself. Apparently in the West, things were done on a more casual basis.
Simon and Nick each took a seat while Lacy retrieved another setting. “You boys want coffee?” she asked as she positioned a plate and silverware in front of Simon.
“Of course,” they replied in unison.
“I nearly forgot about the coffee,” Beth said, getting up rather quickly. “I’ll get it.”
“Mr. Bishop is the brother of Harvey,” Gwen stated suddenly. She smiled only a moment in Hank’s direction, but her gaze never quite reached him. “He is here on behalf of their mother.”
“I thought Harvey said he was an orphan without living family,” Patience replied.
“I thought so, too,” Gwen answered. She passed her plate to Jerry, who added a generous portion of chicken before handing it back.
“Hank, you want white meat or dark?” Jerry asked.
“Either is fine.” Hank wasn’t used to such simple fare, to be honest. Chicken was a staple of lower society. He found himself longing for a succulent pheasant or roasted rack of lamb. Chicken had never appealed all that much. Generally, it was too scrawny and dry to suit his taste.
Beth poured a round of coffee for everyone, then excused herself to put on another pot. Gwen passed Hank the bowl of mashed potatoes, but her eyes did not lift to meet his. He took the bowl and spooned himself a portion. He was used to servants doing such menial tasks, but he supposed this was yet another way things were done in the West.
The meal continued with an odd assortment of conversations that involved Harvey and the love people in the community held for him, as well as the now-departed Mr. Gallatin.
“Harvey was such a dear,” Patience began. “He once helped me gather my best laying hens when they managed to get out of their pen. I’m still not sure what or who managed to break down the gate, but Harvey even fixed that.”
Hank tried to imagine his brother chasing down chickens. The thought amused him, but he didn’t let on.
“Then there was the time he came and helped with roundup,” Jerry added. “He was clumsy with a branding iron at first, but he soon got the hang of it.”
Hank marveled at the stories. It was as if they were speaking about a complete stranger. Harvey had been such a fragile young man when he’d left home. Sickly in his youth, their mother had done much to protect him from the harsher aspects of life. Of course, their stepfather hadn’t thought much of this. Frankly, neither had Hank. He often thought Harvey was merely playing a game for sympathy. Yet these people admired his brother. In fact, to hear them tell it, his brother was a one-man army of ability and good deeds.
“Your brother was definitely a blessing to this community. He was so handy,” Patience said, shaking her head. “Such a pity that he should have died from measles.”
“Measles?” Hank asked. This was the first time he’d heard of what had caused his brother’s passing.
“Yes. There was a small epidemic. The girls had already had their bouts as children,” Patience said, nodding toward Gwen and her sisters. “No one really thought about it. Harvey said he’d been quite ill as a child, and we all figured he’d had his time of it, as well. But that wasn’t to be.”
“Such a loss.” Jerry met Hank’s gaze. “Your brother is sorely missed.”
Hank said nothing and turned his attention instead to the food, finding it incredibly delicious. Perhaps it’s just that I’ve been on the road too long. Since Cheyenne, the meals had been less than desirable and seldom palatable. No doubt that was the reason that, within minutes, he was asking for seconds.
He looked up and found Gwen watching him with an expression that seemed caught somewhere between amazement and curiosity. It was almost as if she were trying to place him from another time and location. Perhaps he’d misjudged her. Perhaps.
Giving her a brief smile, he took his plate back from Jerry. “The meal is quite good, Mrs. Bishop.”
&
nbsp; He saw her stiffen, but she quickly looked away. “Thank you,” she murmured, then fixed her attention on her plate.
Hank thought it rather odd but said nothing more. His stomach might have protested too much had he wasted time talking instead of eating.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hank got up early the next day and began his investigation of the Gallatin House. He started with the outbuildings. Looking around a small storage shed, he found nothing among its contents that suggested Harvey had once owned it. Knowing his brother as he did, Hank had figured Harvey would have found a way to live a life of ease. Instead, he’d come to the Wild West and worked hard enough to earn the merit of his neighbors. Maybe he didn’t know Harvey as well as he’d thought.
The idea troubled Hank. He had been the big brother—the one to help guide Harvey into manhood. He’d also been the one to defend Harvey when their stepfather had gotten too ill-tempered. After Harvey had run away—taking several family treasures with him, as well as a stack of stock certificates that were worth an enormous amount of money—Hank no longer thought Martin Bishop all that hard on his brother. Apparently Harvey needed more guidance than Hank had realized.
The dark, musty shed offered little light by which to explore, but the place was kept in neat order and made Hank’s exploration easier. There were several old crates, a barrel that looked to hold old clothes hardly better than rags, and a small hatbox hidden behind several pieces of old furniture and odds and ends. Hank thought perhaps this was where he might find his brother’s things, but instead, his search revealed a stack of dime novels.
He smiled to himself, wondering if it was the feisty Lacy Gallatin or the more romantic Beth who’d hidden them here. There was little that led him to believe it might have been Gwen who had carefully concealed such a habit.
Leaving the shed, he went to explore the hot springs. A small covered area offered some shelter from prying eyes, but most of the wooden pool was open to the skies. A nice wooden fence had also been secured around the pool, and he smiled to see that someone had even chinked between the planks to make a solid wall of privacy. Hank promised himself he would later explore the comforts of the steaming springs. The very thought of soaking his sore muscles gave Hank something to look forward to.
Moving from the hot springs area across the yard to the chicken coop and the outhouses, Hank turned up nothing of interest. Disappointed, he made his way inside and found all three girls bustling around the kitchen. Avoiding contact, he hurried back upstairs, thinking it might be the perfect opportunity to look around. There he located a small, unlocked storage area that ran alongside the stairs.
He had barely made it into the enclosed passage, however, when Hank found himself caught red-handed in his snooping.
“What are you doing here?” He turned and found Beth, hands on hips. “This is not a public area.”
Thinking quickly, Hank lied. “I got turned around. I thought it was my room. Obviously I was mistaken.”
Beth frowned. “Obviously. This is a storage room. We keep linens and supplies here, but little else.” She took up a stack of clean tablecloths. “If you’re quite finished, you can do me a favor and close the door behind us.”
Hank nodded and followed her out. He could see by the look on her face that she didn’t believe him, but Beth Gallatin seemed too polite to call him an out-and-out liar.
“Your room is over there,” Beth said, pointing. She offered nothing more, however, and quietly made her way downstairs.
Figuring it was best to at least make a pretense of wanting to be there, Hank entered the room and closed the door behind him. He stared at the room for a moment, wondering if there was anything he’d missed. There were two small beds, and he’d already stripped them and turned the mattresses on each one. Remaking the beds as orderly as the Gallatin sisters were capable of doing proved to be much harder.
After about fifteen minutes, Hank decided enough time had passed. He made his way downstairs to find Lacy about to head up.
“I was just coming to find you. Breakfast is on the table.”
“Thank you,” he said, smoothing his vest. He noted a dark smudge on his white shirt and frowned. “I wonder, Miss Gallatin, do you or your sisters take in the laundry of guests here at Gallatin House?”
Lacy cast a glance over her shoulder, her long, cinnamon hair flying in wild disarray as she did. “Yes, but there is also a Chinese laundry over in Bozeman.”
He smiled. “I’m certain I needn’t travel that far away for clean shirts.”
“Suit yourself.” Lacy made her way to the far end of the table and joined her sisters.
“Good morning, Mr. Bishop,” Gwen said as Hank took his seat. “I hope we haven’t disturbed you from something more important.”
“Not at all.”
The girls lowered their heads, and Beth offered a brief thanks for their provision and welfare. She also added a comment that nearly made Hank laugh out loud.
“And please, Lord, help Mr. Bishop to find what it is he’s looking for so that he can hurry home to the ones who love him.”
Obviously no one here could claim that feeling. When Gwen and Lacy offered hearty amens to the prayer, he could only presume they were all in agreement. They hoped he would leave soon.
But why? If there were nothing to hide, surely they wouldn’t mind a paying customer staying on indefinitely. He watched them closely as they shared platters of ham and eggs before finally handing them over to him.
“Would you care for biscuits, Mr. Bishop?”
He met Gwen’s expectant expression and nodded. “I would, thank you. I find your biscuits to be quite light, not at all the throwing pieces that I endured on the trip west.”
Gwen actually smiled at this. “I can well imagine. It’s hard to keep supplies and ingredients in the middle of nowhere.”
“Yet you manage it quite well.”
“This is hardly the middle of nowhere, Mr. Bishop,” Beth protested. “We are a stage crossroads. We see more than our share of people. A stage is, in fact, due to spend the night here. You’ll see just how busy we can be. This stage is the regular one to Butte. Quite a few passengers will be heading west to find their fortunes.”
“I see. Forgive me for implying you were less than the center of civilization.”
Beth’s cheeks flushed as she looked at her plate, but it was Gwen who rose to her defense. “No one is suggesting such a thing, Mr. Bishop. My sisters and I, however, know exactly what it is like to be located in an area without even these meager amenities. Life in the territories can often be quite isolated.”
“I can well believe it, and I apologize if I offended.” He buttered a biscuit and spread a liberal amount of jam on it before taking a bite. It fairly melted in his mouth. Hank had never had anything quite so good in all of his life.
“My sister tells me you were looking for something earlier,” Gwen stated as if bringing up something of little import. “Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is you are searching for, we could be of help.”
Hank considered her words for a moment. “And why would you be willing to help me?”
“Why not?”
He could see that Gwen’s expression suggested sincerity, but he was still not convinced of her innocence. Hank took up his coffee cup and considered his response for a moment.
“I know that none of you trust me. I suppose I cannot blame you, as you have no reason to believe I am who I say. I can tell you about Harvey and his life prior to coming here, but that still would offer little to convince you. However, my brother was far from destitute when he left home. He took with him several items that belonged to our mother and stepfather. For years we had no idea where he had gone, and it wasn’t until paying a private investigator a hefty sum that I managed to track him this far.”
“Obviously he didn’t want to be found,” Lacy commented. “He was an adult—a grown man.”
“A grown man who robbed from his family,” Hank stated firmly.
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“I just find that impossible to believe, Mr. Bishop.” Gwen crossed her arms. “Harvey was such a decent soul. He loved people, and he gave of himself like no one I’ve ever known. He was—”
“Yes, yes, practically perfect,” Hank interjected. “So I’ve heard.”
Gwen seemed taken aback by his harsh statement. Hank hadn’t really meant to upset her, but it was obvious she remembered his brother as nearly angelic—a habit often associated with loved ones of the dead.
“You really are a very rude man,” Beth declared without warning. She narrowed her blue-green eyes. “We may live in a less-than-civilized land, but we still expect our guests to conduct themselves in an appropriate manner.”
“I apologize again, Miss Gallatin,” Hank said, putting down his coffee cup. “Perhaps now you might understand why I wish to speak with Mrs. Bishop privately.”
“She’s not Mrs. Bishop,” Lacy countered.
“That’s enough, Lacy.” Gwen got to her feet. “Mr. Bishop, I am quite happy to speak to you privately, but I have nothing to say to you. Harvey came to us with very little. Certainly nothing of riches. Perhaps he once did, as you accuse, but I assure you by the time he made it to our company, he was as poor as a man could ever be.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you are all conspiring to hide the truth?” Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I can see the contempt in your expressions, as well as the guarded air in your conversation. I am an educated man—Harvard, to be exact. I know very well when I’m being avoided and ignored and feel that in this situation you are guilty of both.”
“Avoided? Ignored?” Beth questioned. “You’ve hardly been out of your room—except to sneak around—since coming here. If you feel avoided or ignored, that is entirely your own doing.”
“Well, I am here now, yet I feel all three of you are playing a game with me.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “I believe that my brother came here with the articles he stole and most likely gifted them to your sister or sold them to lavish her with attention.”
A Promise to Believe In Page 5
