“But if I can’t find them,” he told himself, “I can provide for Mother. I could buy us a small place.”
Even as he said it, however, Hank knew it was nonsense. His mother desired to live with her widowed sister. She wanted to travel and do all of the things that his stepfather had never had time or interest in doing.
Bozeman was a simple town, its main street varying in degrees of dust, mud, or muck. There were wide grooves in the now-dry roadway, as well as holes big enough to cripple a horse or break a wheel.
Hank picked his way carefully down the street, avoiding freighters, buggies, and pedestrians as he made his way to the bank. Just as Gwen had said, the place was closed up tight, but there was a sign that suggested where he might be able to speak with one of the owners. Hank secured the wagon, read the directions, then headed down the street. He had a feeling the trip would yield him nothing but additional questions, yet he had to try. He had to know the truth, even if the truth didn’t resolve the problem.
Looking at the address and the name engraved on the door, Hank realized he’d come to the right place. The address was the law office of Mr. Kenneth Snyder. At least, that’s what the gold-stenciled letters read.
Stepping inside the rather stuffy building, Hank pulled his hat from his head and looked to a clerk who sat buried behind stacks of thick, dusty books.
“May I help you?” the young man asked.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Snyder.”
The man looked at him oddly. “Do you have an appointment?”
Hank shook his head and steeled the younger man with a look that he knew to be quite intimidating. “No. I’m here, however, to discuss a matter that will not wait.”
The clerk seemed to shrink behind the books. “I’ll ask if he has time to see you. Wait here.”
The man knocked lightly on the door to his right and quickly slipped inside. Hank waited for several minutes, feeling rather impatient at the amount of time it was taking. He found his mind returning to Gwen, against his wishes.
“Mr. Snyder will see you now,” the man said, standing back from the open door.
Hank quickly entered the room. “Mr. Snyder, I’m Hank Bishop.”
The older man looked up from his desk and leaned back in his chair. He threw Hank a smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bishop?”
“I’ve come here from Boston on family business.”
“Seems a long way to travel. Where are you staying?”
“Actually, I’m at the Gallatin House. Are you familiar with it?”
The man smiled and nodded. “I should say. Most everyone is. Those girls have a reputation for some of the finest food in the valley, and you cannot match the comfort of their hot springs pool. So have a seat and tell me what this is all about.”
Hank did as the man bid, giving a cursory glance to the office around him. Mahogany wood wainscoting lined the lower half of the wall, while the upper half had been painted a pale yellow. It was almost as if the designer, after seeing how dark the paneling had left the office, had decided to try to rectify the situation with a brighter top. The effect was not all that captivating.
There were two leather chairs positioned in front of a large mahogany desk. Both were a deep vermilion, which only served to make the walls and desk seem all the more reddish in tint. Hank lowered onto one of the leather chairs and found it surprisingly comfortable.
“So tell me about this family business.”
“My brother came west some years ago. You may have known him. His name was Harvey Bishop. He married the elder Gallatin sister.”
“Yes. I knew Harvey. Good man. I was sorry to hear of his passing.” The white-haired man stroked a thick mustache and nodded as if remembering something important. “Mr. Gallatin thought highly of your brother. I was sad to hear of George Gallatin’s passing, as well. A tragic accident.”
“The Gallatin ladies tell me that their father borrowed money from your bank in order to expand his roadhouse. I wondered if my brother was involved in that venture.”
“No,” Snyder said, shaking his head. “George came to us in . . . hmmm . . . I believe it was two years now past to borrow the money. He already had the original property in place and had secured several contracts, so we felt it was a good risk. That note, however was sold to another bank when we closed our doors.”
“What about my brother, Mr. Snyder? Did he have a deposit box or ask the bank to keep any stock certificates for him?”
“No. I would have known if he did.” Snyder leaned forward. “Is that what this is about?”
Hank sighed and met the man’s gaze. “Yes. My brother was in possession of some important family stocks when he came west. I’m now trying to locate the certificates. The Gallatins have been very helpful in assisting me. The elder Miss Gallatin had even suggested I come here to speak with you and see if Harvey had an account or some other arrangement for safeguarding the stocks.”
“I’m afraid not. Harvey didn’t have so much as a bank account here, as far as I can remember. George paid him, and he never seemed to have much need. I’m sorry I can’t be of more use in the matter.”
Hank felt the disappointment wash over him. “I’m sorry, too.” He got to his feet. “If you happen to remember anything that would be useful, you can get word to me at Gallatin House.”
Snyder got to his feet and extended his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Bishop.”
They shook as if making a deal, then Hank turned and walked out. He wasn’t sure what to do at this point. Once outside, he looked up and down Main Street. There were a fair number of businesses lining either side. He thought of Gallatin House, out there in the middle of nowhere. Nick Lassiter spoke about the area expanding—about families coming to stay in the area to provide more services and needed commerce. The Lassiter brothers’ reputation was known from Bozeman to Butte, Gwen had once told Hank. There wasn’t anything that Simon didn’t seem to be capable of repairing, and Nick was talented in creating new devices for special circumstances. Folks were known to come to them from as far as eighty miles away, if the needs were important enough.
It seemed to Hank that a mercantile might do well in the area. With the Gallatin House serving the needs of the stage passengers and freighters, a mercantile might also benefit from such traffic. And the freighters were already making regular runs through the area, so getting supplies should prove fairly easy.
He considered the idea all the way to Sherman’s Mercantile, where Gwen had directed him to pick up extra flour, sugar, coffee, and salt. There were also some smaller items needed, and she had written it all out for him in a very orderly list.
A bell rang overhead as Hank entered the sunlit store. There were rows of wooden shelves against two of the walls with a wide variety of items for sale. There were also counters with merchandise throughout the long, narrow room, offering everything from cookware to tools.
“Afternoon. Can I help you?”
Hank looked up to find a middle-aged man smiling in welcome. “Afternoon. I’m here on behalf of the Gallatin sisters, who own the stage stop. Miss Gallatin gave me this list of supplies.” Hank handed over the list.
“I have everything they need,” the man replied. He paused a moment and stuck out his hand. “I’m Brewster Sherman. This is my store.”
“Hank Bishop.”
“Bishop? Same as Harvey Bishop?”
Hank nodded. “He was my brother.”
Brewster broke into a broad smile. “Well, I’ll be. Your brother was a good friend. Played chess with me every Tuesday afternoon, if he could get away.”
“Chess?” Hank had to chuckle. He’d tried for years to teach Harvey how to play chess, but his brother had never shown the slightest interest or aptitude.
“Your brother was the best for miles around. He beat out most everyone. Said his good friend taught him to play.”
Hank felt a tug at his heart. “Aloysius?”
Brewster laughed and nodded. “Yessir. That A
loysius fellow sounded like quite the friend. Harvey spoke as if the man hung the moon and the stars. Never saw anybody who felt such allegiance to someone other than kin.” Brewster looked at the list again. “I guess I’d better get this gathered up for you, or you won’t make it back before dark.”
“I do have a question,” Hank said, remembering his thoughts about a store. “I’ve been considering staying around these parts—maybe open a store near the Gallatin House. Seems folks out that way could certainly benefit from having a regular supply of goods close at hand. After all, the freighters do pass right along that road. It would be easy enough to get whatever was needed.”
“I’ve often thought of that myself,” Sherman admitted. “It’s a situation of having someone to run the store who actually wants to live out that far, however.”
“I wouldn’t mind living there,” Hank admitted. “Perhaps we could consider a partnership. Maybe we could discuss it over lunch.”
Brewster grinned. “I’d like that, Mr. Bishop. If you’re anything like your brother, I know I’m going to like working with you.” He started to leave once again, then turned. “How are you at playing chess?”
“I can hold my own,” Hank said with a grin.
Nick and Simon sat at the Gallatin House table, finishing large pieces of buttermilk cake. There had been much conversation around the dinner table about Beth and the accident, as well as Hank Bishop.
“When has he decided to head back to Boston?” Nick questioned.
“There’s no telling,” Gwen replied. “He hasn’t found what he’s looking for, and until he does—or at least feels he’s exhausted every possibility—he won’t go. He planned to see the former bank owners while in Bozeman today. There’s always a possibility that Harvey had an account I knew nothing about.”
“I doubt that,” Simon said, pushing back from the table. “Harvey would have told you about something that important.”
Gwen frowned. “You mean like he told me about his family—his brother?”
Simon clearly felt awkward, and Gwen couldn’t help but apologize. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it just overwhelms me. I’m sure Hank will leave before long.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Lacy said, getting to her feet. “I think Mr. Bishop has gone sweet on our Gwen.”
“Truly?” Nick looked at Gwen and then back to Lacy. The grin on his face suggested Gwen was in for a great amount of teasing. “Did Harvey have any other brothers? Maybe you could just court them all.”
“I’m not courting Hank,” Gwen said rather defensively. “Now, if you two still want to say hello to Beth, I’ll escort you upstairs.”
She got up and headed toward the stairs. “Lacy, would you please clear the table?”
Without even looking behind her, Gwen knew the men were following her up the polished pine steps. Nick seemed particularly eager to see her sister. He’d talked about her nearly the entire time through dinner. With Hank still gone, Gwen had been glad for the chatter.
“Beth? Are you ready for visitors? Nick and Simon wanted to say hello,” Gwen asked from her sister’s bedroom door.
“Yes, please. I’m so bored here.” They entered the room as she added, “I think I’d even be happy to talk with Rafe, himself.”
Gwen laughed. “Surely not.”
“We’re a whole sight better company than Rafe,” Nick declared. He crossed the room and drew a book out of his pocket. “I know you like to read, and I picked this up for you in Bozeman.”
“That was very kind of you,” Beth said, taking the book. “I’ll treasure it.”
“So how are you feeling?” Simon asked.
“Better. There is still a bit of pain, but it’s far less. I see no reason to remain in bed for two weeks.”
“I do,” Gwen replied. “The doctor said to do it, and that’s what you shall do.”
“I’ll get fat and lazy by then.”
Nick laughed at this and gave her a wink. “You’re not the type to ever be fat or lazy.”
They chatted comfortably for a few minutes, and Lacy joined in, done with her chores. Simon then said something that drove the entire matter of curses back to Gwen’s mind.
“You seem destined for a lot of accidents, Beth. I remember last year when you fell in the river, and then a few months back, you slipped on the ice and went smack down on your—”
“Never mind the details,” Beth cut in. “I’m just a bit clumsy.”
“Well, this time it was definitely not Beth’s fault,” Gwen admitted. “Had I been watching where I was going, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Sometimes I think both of my sisters would be better off moving away from me.”
She saw the surprise on Beth’s face, and the expression on Lacy’s was much the same. Still, Gwen didn’t back down. “I had mentioned my concerns to Patience, and she said if we sell the roadhouse, it might be possible for you to stay with her folks back East while you figured out what you wanted to do.”
“What are you saying?” Lacy eyed Gwen. “Are you trying to get rid of us?”
“I’m just suggesting you both might be happier leaving Montana. You might even find eastern husbands,” she said, smiling.
“What’s wrong with Montana husbands?” Nick looked hurt.
“Well, I can answer that one,” Lacy threw in. “They’re like meringue pies without filling. They look good on the outside and may even seem sweet at first, but they have no substance to hold them together.”
As if on cue, an angry voice bellowed from downstairs. “Lacene Gallatin, where are you? Lacy! You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Lacy gazed toward the ceiling and let out an exasperated sigh. “As if I needed proof of my statement, it would appear the honorable Mr. Shepard is seeking my company.”
“He sounds upset,” Gwen said, following Lacy into the hall. “What have you done now?”
Lacy shrugged. “It seems my very existence is an irritation to Dave Shepard. I’m sure I needn’t have done anything more than walk down the street.”
Gwen nodded as her sister made her way downstairs, but something inside her told Gwen that Dave had more than a simple stroll against her sister. “I think I’d better see what this is about.” She turned back to Beth’s room.
“Nick and Simon, I must ask that you come with me. Apparently, Lacy is in some kind of trouble.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The trio made their way downstairs to find Lacy and Dave, nose to nose. Dave shook his finger at the young woman as he let her know exactly what the problem was.
“You’re wearing my patience thin!”
“I have no idea what you’re so fired up about, Dave Shepard, but if you don’t lower your voice, I’ll throw you out of here.” Lacy put her hands on her hips and stood her ground.
Dave shook his finger at her as if reprimanding a wayward child. “You may think you’ve got the strength to take on the world, but I’ve got news for you.”
“You’ve got nothing for me that I want to hear,” Lacy said, surprising Gwen and the others by pushing Dave back a step. “Don’t think you can come in here and bully me about.”
“I have a complaint about you—a formal complaint.”
“Oh, I do hope you have the proper clothes to wear for such an event,” Lacy countered. “I’ve never seen you dressed in anything other than work clothes. Even for church.”
“I didn’t know you were keeping an account of my wardrobe, but right now that’s neither here nor there,” Dave replied, raising his voice. “You were in Rafe’s Saloon.”
Gwen gasped and stepped toward her sister. “Is that true?”
Lacy never even turned to face Gwen. “It’s true, and no one’s business but my own.”
“It’s my business.” Dave folded his arms. “You know you aren’t allowed in there. Rafe has a policy about not admitting women to the bar.”
“I didn’t go to the bar. I went to the tables around the bar.”
“You know what I mean.”
/> Lacy shook her head. “I doubt anyone really knows what you mean, Mr. Shepard.”
“Then let me illuminate the matter for you.”
“What’s going on?” Hank asked as he strode through the front door. “I could hear you two yelling at each other from outside. I thought perhaps the place was under attack.”
“Mr. Shepard is on the warpath,” Lacy declared. “He really should check into joining up with one of the Indian nations.”
“I’m gonna show you warpath,” Dave said, moving toward her.
“Whoa. What is this all about?” Hank questioned again.
Gwen was thankful to see Hank. For reasons she would just as soon ignore, she was comforted by his appearance and moved toward him. “Lacy went to Rafe’s the other day.”
“The other night. The night when a bunch of the boys from a neighboring ranch just happened to be there,” Dave corrected.
“Hank already knew about it, and he didn’t lose his mind over it like you are, Deputy Shepard!” Lacy kept her gaze fixed on Dave. “I wanted to see if any of them knew who might have killed our father. There’s no crime in asking questions. Not that I’d expect any of you to understand that.”
Gwen looked at Hank. “You knew about this?”
“I did. Lacy and I talked about it, and I had high hopes that she would give up her pursuits.”
“You should have told me, Hank.”
“No, he shouldn’t have,” Lacy protested. “I’m a grown woman, and I’ll do as I please.”
At this, Gwen stepped forward and took hold of her sister’s arm. Lacy didn’t want to turn but finally conceded. She met Gwen’s gaze. “You have to stop this, Lacy. Pa is dead, and there is nothing we can do to bring him back.”
“I know I can’t bring him back, but we owe him justice,” Lacy protested. “You seem quite content to forget it ever happened, but I can’t. Pa was murdered, and no one wants to help me prove it.”
A Promise to Believe In Page 20
