Words Spoken True: A Novel

by Ann H. Gabhart

  He looked over at her now as they moved silently toward the terrible roar of the mob and the chilling screams of its victims. With the hood of her cloak pulled back up over her head, he was only able to catch a glimpse of her pale face, but he could see how she was straining to see ahead to whatever was happening farther down the street.

  Once again, he told himself he was crazy to be taking her toward the mob. Her father wouldn’t be there. He thought they both knew that, but they were drawn to the noise. Even if she had a sudden change of mind and begged him to take her home, he wasn’t sure he could turn his back on the story unfolding on the other side of this line of buildings. And though he wasn’t touching Adriane now, he sensed she was feeling the same pulse quickening mixture of dread and excitement, the same reporter’s hunger for the story, no matter how bad that story might turn out to be.

  When at last they were close enough to see, it was even worse than anything Blake could have imagined. At least half the buildings on Quinn’s Row were already burning, and men were torching the rest of them with no concern for the faces peering frantically out the windows. A few women and children were allowed to slip out of the burning buildings, but when a man tried to escape the flames, a gunshot rang out. The man fell and a roar from the crowd sounded approval as if somebody had just hit the bull’s-eye at a shooting contest.

  Beside him, Adriane trembled as she said, “Can’t anybody stop them?” She was nearly shouting, but he barely heard her words over the noise of the crowd as more shots rang out.

  He looked down into her face and told her the truth. “No.”

  Suddenly he was sick of the news. Sick of his fellow man pushing against him on both sides. Sick of himself for watching. He took hold of Adriane’s arm under the cloak and pulled her back away from the crowd. “Come on.” He leaned down to speak close to her ear. “Your father’s not here. No one with any honor is part of this.”

  She went with him without protest. They were two blocks away from the screaming crowd before she spoke. “I still need to find Father.”

  “Your father’s probably back at the Tribune, frantic with worry about you. Worse, he’ll no doubt try to shoot me again when we get there.”

  “I’ll explain how you rescued me yet again.”

  “He won’t listen.” Blake looked at her in the light of one of the streetlamps.

  “No, he won’t listen.”A frown tightened Adriane’s face.

  Blake wished he could believe her worry was for him, but that he sensed had nothing to do with him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help,” he said.

  “How? By writing an editorial in tomorrow’s Herald about our troubles?” The words hinted at their former verbal duels, but her voice carried no fire, only sadness.

  He had no heart for dueling words with her either, so he answered softly, “There’ll be more than enough headline news tomorrow without your father and me attacking one another.”

  “We’re leaving the headlines behind.” Adriane glanced back over her shoulder.

  “We saw enough.”

  “Yes,” Adriane agreed. She shuddered as yet another gunshot sounded behind them. “Duff was right. The men are like animals. Animals with guns and torches.”

  He tried to reassure her. “They won’t come back this way.”

  “Some of them may have already come this way. There was a fire a few streets over when I left the Tribune.”

  A needle of worry jabbed Blake. Joe was watching over the Herald offices, but maybe he should have gone back and guarded the press himself. “Where?”

  Adriane hesitated before she answered, “It may have been close to the Herald, but I heard the fire alarms. I’m sure they got it under control.”

  “Nothing’s under control tonight.”

  They didn’t say anything more then as they rushed back through the almost deserted streets. Sometimes he glimpsed a white face peeking out around a pulled back curtain or heard the click of a door shutting as they passed, but most of the buildings loomed dark and empty around them.

  They were almost back to the Tribune when they practically ran headlong into Beck. The old man barely glanced at Blake before grabbing Adriane. “Addie, you promised you’d stay put.”

  “I know, Beck, but I couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening. I wanted to be sure Father was all right.” Adriane’s words came out in a rush. “You did find him and warn him, didn’t you, Beck?”

  Beck hesitated a second as though he didn’t want to answer before he said, “I found him, Addie, but I was too late to warn him.”

  “What happened?” It was easy to hear the panic in her voice.

  “I don’t rightly know if anybody could say exactly. I had just spotted the boss up on this platform trying to reason with the men, but I couldn’t get close to him for the crowd of people around him. Some of the men went to shouting, and then somebody started shooting. The boss took a hit to the shoulder that knocked him clean off that platform he was on. Things still might not have been so bad ’cepting the crowd was like a mad herd of bulls. They ran right up on top of him. It took five of us to beat them back so’s we could get him out of there. He took a bad knock to the head besides the gunshot in the shoulder.”

  “He’s all right, isn’t he?” she demanded.

  Beck’s voice was sad. “I don’t know, Addie. He ain’t dead, but he ain’t never come to. I ain’t sure he’s going to. All I can tell you is the doc’s on his way.”

  “No.” The word exploded out of Adriane as she jerked away from Beck to run toward the Tribune offices.

  “Wait, Adriane!” Blake started after her, but Beck put a hand on his arm to stop him.

  “I’m obliged to you for bringing Addie back safe and all, but you’d best let her be right now.” Beck’s eyes sharpened on Blake as if he was only now realizing exactly who he was. “Besides, from what I hear you’ve got troubles enough of your own.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You ain’t heard?”

  “Heard what, man? God only knows the whole town has troubles.”

  Even in the dim light, Blake could see the pity on the old man’s face as he looked at him. “The Herald’s burning down, Mr. Garrett. And that ain’t all. They say when your boss heard about the fire, he dropped down dead on the spot.”

  “Chesnut dead?”

  “That’s what I heard, Mr. Garrett. A funny thing. Chesnut and the boss going down so close together like that after all their years of fighting one another in their papers.”

  “But you said Darcy’s not dead.”

  “Not yet.” Beck shook his head slowly. “Not yet.”

  Blake looked toward the Tribune building. Adriane had already disappeared inside.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Beck said. “I’ll be taking care of her. You’d best go take care of your own.”

  Blake wanted to tell the old man that Adriane was his own, more important to him than anything that might be burning up a few streets over, but he had no assurance Adriane would welcome him beside her right now.

  “Tell Adriane I’ll be back,” Blake told Beck. “And don’t let Stanley Jimson talk her into anything she might regret.”

  The lines on the old man’s face tightened. “That no-good shows his face around the Tribune offices again tonight, he’ll be the one doing the regretting.”

  Before Blake could ask what the old man meant, the doctor’s buggy clattered past them, and Beck ran after it.

  It took Blake fifteen minutes to cut through the streets and get to what had been the Herald’s offices. The building was a gray mass of smoldering debris with an occasional flame flickering to life as if the fire wasn’t quite ready to surrender completely to the firemen milling about on the street. Blake spotted Joe, his head in his hands, sitting on a pile of sodden newspapers somebody had pulled out into the street.

  “You all right, Joe?” Blake asked him.

  “Boss.” Joe looked up and some of the hopelessness went out of his face as
if he expected Blake to be able to fix things. “I guess one of the boys finally found you then.”

  “No, but I heard.” Blake looked at the gutted building. The sight of it seemed to take all the life out of him, and he sank down beside Joe. “What happened?”

  “I guess I let you down, boss,” Joe said.

  “Don’t worry about that, Joe. Just tell me what happened.”

  “Well, it was like this. I heard something in the back of the building. So I got the gun you give me ’cause of how you’d told me to be ready for trouble. Anyhow, I went back there to look around and somebody banged me on the head. The next thing I know I hear somebody shouting my name, and the smoke’s choking me and it’s hotter than the stoking room on a steamboat. I reckon if one of the boys hadn’t found me to pull me outta there, I might not be here talking to you now.”

  “Did you save anything?” Blake stared across the street at the smoldering remains of the building.

  “Not much. It was just too hot.”

  His files gone. All his stories and ideas up in smoke. The press gone. Everything gone. Jimson was going to have a victory all around. “And how about John? Is he really dead?”

  “So they tell me, boss. I didn’t think he looked hisself when he come by this morning. I reckon hearing about the fire and all was just too much for his heart.” Joe stared down at the street.

  Blake was silent a moment before he said, “Wade Darcy got shot trying to reason with the crowd.”

  “You don’t say. He dead?” Joe jerked his head up to look at Blake.

  “Not yet, but his man Beck doesn’t think he’ll make it.”

  “Poor Miss Adriane. She’ll take that hard. Seeing as how she doted on her pa.” Joe turned his eyes back toward the ruins of their building. “I reckon there’s trouble enough to go all around tonight.”

  Again there was silence between the men as they considered those troubles. Finally Blake asked, “The boys been running in any stories?”

  “A few before the fire. Was things really that bad, boss?”

  “Worse.”

  “We’ve got enough headlines for two papers, don’t we, boss?”

  “And nothing to print them with, Joe. Nothing to print them on.” Blake stared across the street at the ashes of his dreams of having his own paper.

  “Maybe one of the other papers would let us use their presses till we can get set up again,” Joe suggested. “We might not be the first issue on the street, but we’d get on the street sooner or later.”

  “Most of the other papers will be cheering when they hear about us getting burned out.” Blake’s voice was bitter.

  “Oh, I don’t know, boss. This ain’t the big town. Around here folks sometimes give other folks a helping hand even when they don’t agree with them.”

  “Wasn’t much of that happening on the streets tonight.”

  “That’s different, boss, and you know it. Decent folks is going to be so ashamed come mornin’, that they’ll go out of their way to help somebody. Old Beck might even let us run off a couple of issues, especially if Mr. Darcy ain’t able to have a say in it.” Joe looked sideways at Blake. “I hear you and Miss Adriane is sometimes half friendly.”

  “Jimson controls the Tribune.”

  “True enough. But it could be he’ll be so busy celebrating his win tonight that he won’t be paying no whole lot of attention to anything else. A man who can move quick might just surprise a lot of people. Maybe Jimson most of all.”

  Blake was still staring at what was left of his building, but he wasn’t seeing the burned pile of rubble now. The wildest idea was taking shape in his head. “You know, Joe,” he said after a long silence. “You may just have something.”

  “You want me to try to round up the boys, boss?”

  “They’ll be coming in soon enough.” Blake stood up. “I’ll be back.” He started away, but then turned to put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I’m glad you got out, Joe. Real glad.”

  “You ain’t the onliest one, boss.”

  Blake tried to figure out exactly what he would say all the way back through the streets to the Tribune. He’d never been one to beg, but if it came to that, he would.

  Beck came to the door, and when he let him in without a word, Blake knew there wouldn’t be good news about Wade Darcy’s condition. “How is he?” Blake asked anyway.

  “He ain’t woke up, but he ain’t stopped breathing,” Beck said shortly. “The doctor weren’t too sure which might happen. Said it was hard to tell in these kind of things. That he’d seen folks linger like this for days, weeks even.”

  “I’m sorry,” Blake said.

  “Yeah, me too. Me and Wade go way back. Way back.” Beck turned his eyes to the floor. After a minute the old man looked up at him again. “Did Joe get anything out for you?”

  “Himself. Barely.”

  “Folks is playing rough tonight.”

  “But the game’s not over.” For a second Blake thought about telling Beck his plan to try to get the old man on his side before he talked to Adriane, but it was Adriane he had to convince. She was the one who would have to say yes.

  Beck gave him a considering look. “No, I can see it ain’t. I reckon you’re wanting to see Addie.”

  “Yes.”

  “She might not come down.”

  Blake met his look fully. “Then I’ll go up there.”

  Beck gave him another long look before he said, “I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  “Tell her I’m not leaving until I see her.”

  21

  Adriane sat beside the bed, watching her father’s chest rise and fall. The doctor had dug the bullet out of his shoulder. He’d poked and prodded around on her father’s head and pulled up his eyelids to peer at his eyes. He’d listened to his heart and checked for broken ribs.

  Through it all her father had shown no sign of life other than the rising and falling of his chest. But surely as long as he was breathing, there was hope. She had to believe there was hope, even though Dr. Hammon wouldn’t quite meet her eyes as he packed up his instruments and told her to send for him if there was any change. She had to believe there was hope in spite of the way Beck was walking around with his shoulders hunched over as though somebody had punched him in the stomach.

  Her father would come to. He’d look up at her and want to know why she was sitting there beside him when there was a paper to get out. He’d tell her to bring him a pen and paper so he could write down what he saw happen. He’d say the people had to know the truth.

  The truth. What was the truth? Had Stanley done this because she refused to marry him? Or had her father simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Bullets were flying everywhere out on the street. She wouldn’t be the only woman keeping a prayerful vigil over a loved one this night.

  She didn’t turn her head when Beck came into the room and said, “There’s somebody here to see you, Addie.”

  “I don’t want to see anyone, Beck. Send them away.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Adriane finally turned her eyes away from her father to look at Beck. “Is it Lucilla?”

  “No. Mrs. Elmore sent word that she’d be here in the morning. I reckon as how she’s afraid to come out tonight.”

  “I suppose that’s sensible.” She was just as glad Lucilla wasn’t coming. Adriane wanted to be the one beside her father when he opened his eyes.

  She looked back at her father’s face, so still and pale it didn’t even look like him. He was always smiling or frowning over a story, always trying to drive home his point. There was never this stillness. Never.

  Beck came over to stand beside her at the bed. He stared down at her father a moment before he said, “It’s Blake Garrett, Addie. And he ain’t going away till he sees you.”

  Adriane’s heart quickened at the thought of Blake Garrett downstairs in the hallway demanding to see her, but then she shook her head. “I can’t leave Father’s side.”

 
Grief deepened the wrinkles on Beck’s face. She knew what he was thinking. That she couldn’t hold her father there if it wasn’t meant to be, but he didn’t say it out loud. Instead he said, “I’ll sit right here beside the boss and holler for you if he shows the first sign of coming out of it, Addie.” Beck touched Adriane’s shoulder. “Go talk to him. The man’s had problems enough of his own tonight, and I ain’t wanting to turn him away.”

  “All right, I’ll see him.” She couldn’t argue with Beck. She didn’t want to argue with him. She wanted to see Blake even if it did make her feel like the worst kind of traitor to stand up and turn from her father’s sickbed, perhaps his deathbed, to go downstairs to meet his enemy.

  Blake was standing just inside the front door, his face smudged with black and his dark hair tumbling wherever it wanted. Adriane caught a brief glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and noted her own disheveled hair and bloodstained dress. But it didn’t matter. Blake’s eyes were fastened on her face. He didn’t care about her hair or clothes.

  “I’m sorry about your father, Adriane,” he said.

  “He’ll get better.” Adriane pushed confidence into her words.

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Adriane wanted to turn away from him and the truth his eyes were forcing on her. She’d been able to ignore Beck’s worries, but Blake’s eyes refused to allow her to pretend.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Right now I have to believe he will.”

  “The fire you saw.” His voice was low, almost expressionless. “It was the Herald.”

  “Oh, Blake, I am sorry.” She reached a hand out toward him, but then let it drop back to her side without touching him. “What will you do?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “To me?” His eyes were growing even more intense on her.

  “I need a press. You need an editor. The Tribune-Herald has a nice ring.”

  “The Tribune-Herald,” she repeated after him as though she couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. “You know my father would never agree to that.”