A Promise to Believe In

by Tracie Peterson

  Such women, Hank thought, would never be intimidated into revealing information. They were much too self-sufficient. These women had faced worse adversaries. No, to get what he wanted from them, Hank would need to handle things in a completely different manner. He might even have to go so far as to woo one of them. But which one?

  He considered the matter as he ate. There was Lacy Gallatin. She was a beauty with hair the color of cinnamon. Her manners suggested a certain shyness—even uneasiness—in dealing with people. The right man might be able to work such a woman to his advantage, but Hank worried that it would take too much time. The feisty tomboy was much too unpredictable. She gave the impression that she listened to no one and did just as she pleased. That wouldn’t serve his purpose.

  Beth was next in line. She made quite a feminine contrast next to her younger sister. Where Lacy was boots and grit, Beth was lace and flowers. There was something about her that suggested long walks with parasols and elegant teas. Hank could easily see her in a formal sitting room, gloved hands, hat perfectly placed on her head. But she’d already proven herself to be dangerous.

  Hank was certain she was the mastermind behind his ill-fated cup of coffee. Beth might appear as soft as satin, but behind that façade, he could well imagine a wily creature capable of outmaneuvering her adversaries with crafty thought and planning.

  That left Gwen. Hank saw her straighten and allowed himself to study her. His gaze was apparently intense enough to bring her attention back to him.

  “Did you need something?”

  Hank pushed back his plate and shook his head. “Not with regards to breakfast.” A thought came to him. “I wondered if you might be willing to show me where my brother is buried.”

  Gwen’s expression softened. “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it. You must surely want to pay your respects. Let me put this away,” she said, waving the cloth in her hand. “When I’m finished, I’ll show you the way.”

  “Take your time.”

  Hank watched her bustle around. He couldn’t hear her words as she spoke to her sisters, but he knew it had to do with his request as they glanced his way. Gwen would be the one to appeal to, despite her also having been his brother’s wife. Her nature was gentle and kind. She was easily moved to be helpful, and her emotions could also be used to his advantage.

  “If you’re ready,” Gwen said, approaching, “I’ll just get my shawl and bonnet. It’s not a far walk.”

  Hank got to his feet. “I’ll wait for you on the porch.”

  He went outside and immediately noticed the large dog on the top step. The animal’s coat glistened golden in the sunlight, and his expression seemed quite mournful. Hank had always loved dogs. He remembered begging his mother to allow them to have a pet.

  “What’s the matter, fella?” he asked, sitting down beside the animal.

  The dog lifted his head momentarily and received Hank’s greeting. Taking this as a friendly sign, Hank smiled. He reached out and began petting the dog with long strokes.

  “That’s Major Worthington,” Gwen said from behind. “The Major hasn’t been himself, I’m afraid, since Father died. It’s only been a short time, and he continues to mourn him something fierce.”

  Hank looked into the animal’s baleful eyes. Yes, it did appear he was sad. “It’s hard to lose the ones we love,” Hank murmured, not really knowing why. He got to his feet and faced Gwen. “I’m sorry about your father. What happened?”

  Gwen made her way down the steps and headed for the road that ran in front of Gallatin House. “There was a shooting,” she said.

  Hank quickened his pace to keep up with her and was surprised to find Major Worthington at his side doing likewise. “A shooting?”

  He saw the pain in Gwen’s expression. “A bunch of cowboys were celebrating outside the saloon. They began to fire off their weapons, and without warning, a bullet hit my father.”

  “What was he doing in the midst of such rowdies?”

  Gwen frowned. “It was my fault. I sent him to have the Lassiters sharpen some knives. He wouldn’t have been out there otherwise.”

  “That hardly makes it your fault,” Hank replied. “It was an accident.”

  “I suppose.”

  She left the main road for a smaller side road that barely could qualify as a path in Hank’s estimation. She pointed ahead. “The cemetery is just up there. See where the trees are? It’s not far from the river. My father is buried next to Harvey.”

  “It sounds like they were good friends,” Hank said, remembering earlier conversations.

  Gwen nodded. “He was like a son to Pa. My father thought him the most remarkable of young men.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “I thought so, too.”

  “If you’ll hold her,” Nick instructed Lacy, “I’ll tend this gash.”

  One of their prized brood mares had taken a fall and managed to puncture her side. The cut on her hindquarter was quite deep and couldn’t be ignored.

  “I’ve got her,” Lacy called from in front of the nervous animal.

  Nick went to work while Lacy spoke in a soothing tone to the mare. “That’s a good girl. Easy now.”

  “I hope this doesn’t bring on her foal,” Nick said, shaking his head. “She’s not due for another month.” The minutes seemed to drag by as he worked. The horse was patient, but Nick knew she wouldn’t tolerate his actions for long.

  Lacy was encouraging. “I think she’ll be fine. The fall itself could easily have killed her baby or caused the mare to go into labor. The fact that it hasn’t happened is a good sign. Look how well she’s already recovered.” She pulled the mare’s head close and stroked her rhythmically. Nick admired Lacy’s way with animals.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. The baby is still active, so if we can just get her through this, we ought to be fine.”

  “That’s a good girl,” Lacy crooned.

  Nick put ointment on the wound, but the mare wanted no part of it. She tried to sidestep Nick’s ministering, then pressed forward, as if she could somehow escape the stall.

  “Whoa. Whoa,” Lacy called.

  The animal would not be calmed, however. She pushed hard against Lacy, then backed against Nick. The action caused Nick to lose his footing, and he slammed up against the stall, the air rushing from his lungs. Without warning, the mare bucked up, trying her best to rear at Lacy, then slammed back down and kicked out behind her at Nick.

  “Agh!” Nick cried out, then hit the ground before Lacy could still the mare. He writhed in pain and grabbed his left thigh. His entire leg felt as though it were instantly on fire.

  “What’s going on?” Beth asked as she entered the stable. “I could hear you yelling halfway across the road.”

  “Beth! Come quickly! Nick’s been hurt,” Lacy called.

  Before he knew it, Beth was at his side. “I was just coming to find Lacy when I heard you hollering.” She reached for his leg. “Is it broken?”

  Nick pulled back. “No, but it hurts like the dickens.”

  “Let me see it.”

  Nick looked up and met her blue-green eyes. He felt his breath catch. “No. Don’t touch it.”

  Beth laughed. “I’ve treated more injuries than you can shake a stick at. Just relax.”

  “I’m all right,” Nick said, struggling to get to his feet. He didn’t feel all right, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Beth Gallatin had stirred feelings inside him for some time. “I’ll manage by myself.”

  It was clear to both Gallatin girls that he wasn’t doing as well as he declared, however. He couldn’t even put weight on the leg without it buckling under him. White-hot pain seared up his side with each attempt.

  Beth quickly positioned herself next to Nick and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Lean on me. I’ll help you get to the house, then I can look at the wound.”

  “Oh no, you won’t,” Nick said, flushing red. He could just imagine Beth’s warm hands touching his bare leg.

  Lacy sta
rted to laugh. “Beth, this isn’t our brother or Pa. You can’t be expecting Nick to just drop his pants so you can tend him.”

  Now it was Beth’s turn to blush. “Sorry, Nick. I hadn’t really . . . well . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

  He trembled slightly, feeling a powerful sense of something he couldn’t even put to words. Her nearness was too much. Nick longed to hold her—to return her embrace—but he feared what might come of it.

  “What’s all the yelling about?” Simon asked. He’d been working in the blacksmith shop and sweat poured from his head and neck, despite the coolness of the day.

  “Nick took a blow to the leg,” Lacy said. “Beth was trying to march him back to the house to tend his injury. We were just discussing the inappropriateness of such action.”

  Simon laughed and went to relieve Beth of her load and Nick of his suffering. “I’ll manage this. Lacy, can you finish seeing to the mare?”

  “Sure I can.”

  “Just put some salve on the injury and give her some feed. Keep her there in the stall,” Nick commanded.

  “I know what to do,” Lacy called after them.

  Nick looked up at his brother with gratitude. “Sure glad you came along. Those Gallatin girls don’t give propriety a single thought when they’ve got a notion to do something.”

  Simon tightened his grip on Nick and chuckled. “Maybe not, but they sure are pretty. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  Nick moaned and he wasn’t sure if it was more from the leg or Simon’s statement. “I’ve noticed,” he said woefully. “I’ve noticed.”

  Lacy finished with the mare and left her calmly munching on fresh hay. The tack room was messy, so she figured to help Nick by straightening it. She put away some of the extra harnesses, then lifted a discarded saddle blanket to hang over the railing. She noted the fancy saddle that sat perched atop a wooden saddle rack. Lacy was certain this didn’t belong to one of the Lassiter boys.

  Just then she remembered that Hank had brought his own horse and saddle. No doubt a piece of this expense and quality belonged to him.

  “It must be his—there’s hardly any wear on it,” she said with a smile. Running her hand over the cantle, Lacy noted something had been carved under the back housing on the skirt. There, tooled into the leather, were the initials A. R.

  “Who is A. R., Mr. Bishop?” she quietly asked.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hank thought the cemetery a perfect place for confession. Pines shrouded the graves from the intensity of the sun, leaving shadows to dance on the tombstones whenever the tree boughs waved in the gentle breeze.

  “I’ve always liked to come here,” Gwen said. She gazed across the dozen or so graves. “There’s a peace here—a serenity that comforts me.”

  “I was thinking much the same. It seems like a place of reflection.”

  They said nothing more until Gwen stopped in front of the graves of her father and Hank’s brother. The freshly mounded dirt reminded Hank yet again that this woman was still mourning a very new loss.

  “It must be hard for you and your sisters, now that your father is gone.”

  “In many ways, it is harder than anything I’ve known, Mr. Bishop.”

  “Three women alone can hardly be a safe situation.”

  Gwen looked at him oddly. “We’re as safe here as anywhere else.”

  “So you plan to stay?”

  “For the time, Mr. Bishop, we do. We figure we have all summer to make up our minds as to what we want to do. Winter will mean a great deal more work, so we have to take that into consideration. However, I . . . well . . . never mind.” She looked away and let out a deep breath.

  Hank wanted to question her more but thought perhaps it was time for him to offer a little explanation of his own. After all, if she thought he was confiding in her, it might give Gwen the sense of their being friends rather than enemies.

  “I’m sorry Harvey never told you about his family. I’m sorry he felt the need to run away and forget about us.”

  “He ran away? That just doesn’t sound like Harvey.”

  “Listening to your friends speak of my brother the other night, I could scarcely believe they were discussing Harvey, either.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Harvey.”

  Hank looked at her hard. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the man who told me his name was Harvey Bishop was, in fact, someone else. Maybe he took your brother’s name to hide his true identity. Men seem to do things like that all the time in the West. Or maybe his name was also Harvey Bishop, yet he wasn’t related to you at all.”

  Hank felt sickened by the thought. Surely he hadn’t come all this way following the wrong man. There had to be some way to figure it all out.

  “Let’s suppose the man I knew really was your brother,” Gwen said, looking back at the grave. “Perhaps you could describe him, and I could tell you if he looked as you remembered.”

  “I suppose it’s a decent place to start.” Hank thought for a moment. “Harvey was eighteen when he left home. That would have been the winter of 1873.”

  Gwen nodded. “The age would fit. He was nineteen when my father found him in November of 1874.”

  Hank nodded. “His birthday was in November. The tenth.”

  “Yes!” She looked encouraged by this news.

  “Harvey didn’t look much like me,” Hank admitted. “He had darker hair and his eyes were more of a green than blue.”

  Gwen’s voice was barely audible. “Yes. That sounds like him.”

  “Our family was four in number. Our mother, myself, Harvey, and our stepfather.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Harvey told me he was an orphan. He said his father had died when he was only six.”

  “Well, that’s true enough. Our father was wrongly accused and hanged by a lynch mob.” Gwen gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Hank continued. “He was an alcoholic and womanizer, but he wasn’t a horse thief. When the mob learned the truth, they were very sorry, but of course it was too late to save my father.”

  “How awful.”

  “It was. Especially for our mother. She was left with two boys who could hardly help her earn a living. I was twelve and did what I could. I went to work for a man who owned a newspaper. My mother took on sewing and laundry for a time. Eventually we moved in with a widowed churchwoman who had a large boardinghouse. My mother worked for her until she met my stepfather.”

  “And what of Harvey?”

  Hank shrugged. “He was sickly. Mother wanted him to get an education, but he could hardly be at school a week without coming down with something. Mother wanted us both to excel at our learning, so I did what I could to work around my school hours. I was blessed to have a good schoolmaster who cared that I should receive an education. Later, my stepfather was just as supportive. He hired a tutor for Harvey and made certain that I went on to college.”

  “That was quite fortunate for you. What happened to Harvey? Did he go to college also?”

  “No. He played us for fools.” He saw the shocked expression on Gwen’s face and immediately regretted his words. Nevertheless, he didn’t offer an apology but went on with an explanation.

  “Harvey always managed to garner sympathy from the household staff, as well as our mother. She smothered him with an overprotectiveness that nearly crippled him. I must say, Harvey did have his share of sickness as a young boy, but as he grew older I could often see that he was simply playing a role.”

  “He did mention having been sick a lot as a boy,” Gwen said, moving to lean against the trunk of a tree. “That’s why we figured he’d already had the measles.”

  “I couldn’t say. I know I had them before Harvey was born.” Hank shook off the memory. “Anyway, Harvey didn’t like our stepfather much. He required a great deal of us, and my brother fought against his authority. Harvey grew bitter about the demands, as well as the fact that much of the attention was taken away from him. Especially our mother’s attention.
She had pampered and spoiled him a great deal, and now our new father had the audacity to expect Harvey to act like a responsible young man.”

  “See, that is where our thoughts on Harvey differ greatly,” Gwen replied. “The Harvey I knew was always quite helpful. He would lend a hand before even being asked.”

  “Maybe in the time before you met he learned his lesson about selfishness and seeking his own way.”

  “But why wouldn’t he have returned home then, Mr. Bishop?”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Because he stole valuable property from our stepfather.”

  “And you think he brought it here?”

  Her tone suggested his idea ridiculous, but Hank wouldn’t give up that easily. If she was hiding the things Harvey took, she would do whatever necessary to send Hank in a different direction.

  “He must have.”

  Gwen pushed off the tree and paced a bit. Hank watched her as she considered his words. “When my father found Harvey, he was half dead from pneumonia. He had very little, save a beat-up old suitcase that held his only change of clothes. He hadn’t had a decent meal in months—at least, it didn’t appear that way to us. He was skin and bones and we thought him a goner, to be sure.”

  “And where is this suitcase now?” Hank was hopeful that she would tell him it was nearby. He was even more hopeful that inside he would find the missing stock certificates Harvey had taken.

  “In my room. Why?”

  “Might I see it?” Hank asked.

  Gwen shook her head. “Not until I’m convinced of your purpose. What is it exactly that you’re looking for?”

  “My brother stole several expensive pieces of jewelry, as well as a stack of stock certificates that, at the time, were valued a fair amount but now happen to be worth a vast fortune.”