Land of Dreams

by Cheryl St. John

  "You—you want it?" Lucas asked.

  "Your picture?"

  Lucas nodded.

  "I'd like that."

  Lucas handed the drawing back to him. He stood for a moment looking decidedly uncertain, and finally thrust his charcoal-stained fingers toward Booker. "G'night."

  Booker shifted the drawing to his left hand and shook the hand Lucas offered him. "Goodnight, Lucas. Thank you."

  Lucas nodded and almost ran toward the stairs.

  Booker regarded the picture. One day at a time. Every day things got a little better. His mill was in operation in time for the harvest. Thea had accepted him as her husband. Soon Lucas and Zoe would accept him and love him, too. Soon. Everything was going as he'd planned.

  bookmark:Chapter 16

  Chapter 16

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  Even though the weather was fine, Booker mysteriously spent another afternoon away from the mill. This time Thea didn't concern herself. He was probably off on another mission of love concerning his niece.

  Several days later, what did strike her as curious was his announcement that he had business in St. Louis and that he'd be gone for a few days. In the past he'd made an issue of trying to get her to go shopping or to visit her half sister, and this time she wondered why he didn't ask her to go along. But she had assured him time and again that the city held no interest for her, so she shouldn’t feel slighted that he hadn't offered.

  Leaving Red Horse with instructions for the mill and Lucas in charge of the horses, Booker kissed her goodbye and rode off.

  She busied herself canning her early peas, unpacking the remaining trunks of Julia's belongings and deciding what to do with the items. Booker's sister's dresses were made from lovely colorful fabrics, but useless to Thea. Her own sisters already had more clothing than they needed, and it would be years before Zoe would wear them, so Thea decided to take the garments apart and use the material to make clothing for Zoe and blouses for herself, saving the scraps for quilts and doll clothes.

  On the second day, needing thread and trim, she asked Lucas to saddle her mare and another for Zoe, and escort them to the mercantile in Omaha. Lucas was thrilled at the responsibility and rode beside them proudly.

  "I'll give the horses water and find some shade for them," he offered when they arrived, squinting up at Thea on the boardwalk.

  "Thank you, Lucas. Zoe and I will be busy for a couple of hours. Why don't you meet us at the hotel dining room for lunch?"

  "Okay!" He turned and led the animals away.

  Thea admired the hats displayed in the front window before leading Zoe into the shady interior. She'd never owned anything other than a bonnet, and the hat display intrigued her, especially a lovely wide-brimmed hat with a sprig of artificial violets nestled against the band. Two wide purple ribbons streamed off the back.

  Impulsively, she tried it on and peered at herself in the glass on a nearby display shelf. She could wear anything she liked when she was with Booker. He didn't think she was too tall. Only a week ago when she'd mentioned it, he'd said, "Too tall for what? Not too tall for me. Too tall is like too brave or too beautiful. There is no such thing."

  "Good morning, Thea," Natalie McKee called from her post near the back. "Need any help?"

  "I'll take this hat," she decided. "Zoe and I are going to look around."

  Natalie came forward and took the hat back to wrap.

  Zoe stayed close, occasionally releasing Thea's skirt long enough to touch a glass counter or finger a particularly pretty strip of lace. She showed Thea cards of buttons, and Thea knelt to admire them with her.

  Absorbed with Zoe, she barely noticed other patrons entering the store. She discovered a row of velvet ribbon on the bottom shelf of the cabinet, and examined the colors.

  "Did you notice the orphan boy down by the livery?" a female voice asked.

  "I did," another replied. "The Hayes tribe must be in town."

  The other woman snickered.

  "Morning, ladies!" Natalie called, apparently still in the rear of the store. "Need any help?"

  "Can you find me a nice bag of pecans?" This time Thea recognized the speaker as Penelope Dodd.

  "Sure thing," Natalie called.

  "I wasn't in town much while Abner was ill," the voice on the other side of the counter said, identifying herself as the Widow Barnett. "I heard about the housewarming, and all Agnes talks about is the Indian."

  Thea's legs grew tired from crouching behind the fabrics. Mortified at overhearing the women's conversation, she was tempted to stand and identify herself.

  "I don't think Thea knew what she was getting into when she hooked up with that Hayes fellow. A wild one, he is," Penelope intoned. "A real skirt chaser, that one."

  "Yes," the widow said with a sigh.

  Anger suffused Thea's neck and face with heat. How dare they talk about her husband like that! They didn't even know him!

  "Ben and Ellie Wallace were in Lincoln last night and saw him with a woman."

  "No!" Widow Barnett clucked her disapproval.

  Thea forgot her aching thigh muscles and clutched a skein of ribbon to her breast. No! her mind echoed. She wanted to jump up and shut them up but she remained frozen to the spot.

  Zoe glanced at her curiously.

  "Yes. Ellie said it was an attractive little dark-haired woman, best she could tell. Well-dressed. They were in the hotel lobby."

  The widow clucked again. "Poor Thea. Who do you think it was?"

  "My best guess is that tramp, Lorraine Edwards. Calls herself a seamstress. Harumph!"

  Lorraine Edwards. Thea remembered seeing her at church, and recalled the attention she earned with her tiny waist and petite figure. Hurt as swift and piercing as a razor sliced her soul.

  "She's a beautiful woman," the widow admitted. Her careless words burned like salt heaped into the fresh wound.

  Booker had known a lot of beautiful women.

  The destructive thought stung so badly that Thea grimaced and caught her lower lip between her teeth. No. There was some mistake. Not Booker. Not with Lorraine Edwards. Thea closed her eyes and the image of their dark heads together taunted her. She saw his strong, chiseled body against the seamstress's perfect, delicate curves.

  She couldn't think that about him or she'd go crazy. She forced her eyes open. Not Booker. Not with that woman. And if he was with her, there was a good reason.

  But what?

  "Hayes is a good-looking scoundrel himself," Penelope added, her voice moving away with her footsteps. "Maybe Thea will just have to look the other way if she wants to keep him."

  She couldn't hear Widow Barnett's reply. They'd moved to the rear and Natalie took their money. Thea's legs gave way and she fell to her bottom on the hard, dusty floor. The bell over the front door tinkled.

  Zoe plopped down beside her and played with a spool of red thread she'd found under the shelves.

  Thea stared at Zoe's hands without seeing. Booker with Lorraine Edwards? Impossible! Not after everything they'd shared. Not after the things he'd said to her, the way he made her feel. He'd told her he loved her. There must be some mistake.

  She told herself that and pushed to her feet. "Come on, Zoe. Let's pay for these and go."

  At lunch, instead of enjoying the meal, Thea picked at her roast beef and potatoes.

  "Ma'am?"

  She glanced up at Lucas.

  "You gonna eat that?"

  Thea laid her fork down. "No. Help yourself."

  Lucas shared her glazed carrots with Zoe and ate the rest himself. Thea paid and Lucas led them to the horses. Zoe, used to an afternoon nap, nearly fell asleep riding her mare. Too distracted, Thea didn't notice until Lucas stopped, took Zoe from her horse and held her before him on his mount. Thea's numb mind turned thoughts and images over during the entire ride.

  Lucas couldn’t have missed her mood, but said nothing.

  Unbidden, she recalled the recent afternoons Booker had stayed away from the
house and mill with no explanation. She swallowed her panic and blamed the ride for her tight-in-the-neck physical discomfort. There had to be some mistake. Booker had told her he was going to St. Louis, not Lincoln. And he had no reason to meet Lorraine Edwards. The Wallaces must have seen someone who looked like Booker. Sure, someone else well over six feet tall with black hair, a face and mouth that weren't as hard as they looked, and whose appearance commanded attention. There were probably a million men like that.

  Confused and somewhat horror-stricken, she prayed he'd be home that afternoon. Maybe he'd be at the house when they arrived, and he'd have a perfectly reasonable explanation. She had everything she wanted. Nothing was going to spoil that. Nothing.

  * * *

  He didn't come home that night. And the next day brought a worse implication than the last. After a sleepless night, she rose to prepare breakfast for Red Horse and the children. They'd just finished eating when the pounding hoofbeats and the jingle of harnesses alerted them to riders.

  Thea's heart leapt to her breast. Booker?

  She dried her hands and moved to the back door. With dust swirling around their horses' hooves, Marshal Hardy and Irving Jackson led a dozen riders. Apprehension clambered in Thea's chest. She moved one foot ahead of the other, stepping out the back door and down the stairs.

  Thea disguised her alarm behind a bright smile and greeted the marshal. "Morning, Marshal. What brings you out so early?"

  "Is your husband here?" the marshal asked, ignoring the pleasantry.

  Red Horse came to stand beside Thea.

  "No, he's not," she replied.

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "He went to St. Louis on business."

  "I suppose you know where we can reach him, then, if we wire St. Louis."

  She didn't know. "N-no," she answered. "I expect him back any time."

  "Is he on horseback?"

  Thea exchanged an uneasy glance with Red Horse. The Indian spoke up. "He took the train."

  Marshal Hardy bit the end from a fat cigar and wet the other end between his rubbery lips. "Guess we have no way of reachin' him, do we?"

  "What do you want him for?" Thea asked.

  The marshal took his time inspecting his cigar and scratching his protruding belly with a thumb. Finally, he drew a match from his pocket, struck it on the pommel of his saddle and puffed on the cigar until a wreath formed around his head and the odious smell reached Thea. "It's serious this time," he said ominously.

  "What is? What are you talking about?" Thea took a few steps closer to the men.

  Irving Jackson had begun to squirm like he couldn't wait to be the one to tell her. Finally, he spoke up. "Clancy's been killed."

  Thea rolled the name over in her mind. Clancy? The manager at the hotel with his belly sausaged into his shirt? The man who'd tried to keep her and Red Horse from the dining room? "What does that have to do with my husband?"

  "Everything," Jackson stated. "Other times we couldn't prove it. This time we got him."

  "Got him where? Got him for what?" She insisted on knowing.

  "Clancy was stabbed last night. Cook found 'im in the alley this morning," the marshal informed her. He rolled the smoking cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. "Hayes's pocket watch was lying beneath the body."

  Thea tried to remember Booker with a pocket watch. Nothing came to mind. "I've never seen my husband with a pocket watch. How do you know it's his?"

  "Inscription right inside the cover. Someone named Julia gave it to him."

  Thea glanced at Red Horse. He confirmed the information with a nod. A weight settled on her heart. "There must be some mistake?"

  Was that the best she could do? She’d already been telling herself that for two days.

  "Dodd, Victor, check the house." The marshal gestured to two other riders. "You take the barn."

  The riders dismounted and Thea bristled. "Here, now! What do you think you're doing?" She hurried to stand on the porch steps above the two men. "You can't go in my house! I've told you my husband's not here. You'll frighten the children!"

  She beseeched the marshal. "Tell them not to go in there."

  "Don't get in their way or I'll have to stop you."

  Thea straightened, and Red Horse caught her attention. "Let them look," he said softly.

  She rushed in ahead of them. "Lucas! Zoe!"

  Both of them stood, wide-eyed, at the kitchen window. She moved beside Lucas and knelt to take Zoe in her arms. Zoe must have felt her body trembling, because she patted Thea's face comfortingly with a chubby hand. Thea buried her face in the little girl's neck and waited an eternity for the men to search each room and return, exiting through the kitchen door.

  Through the glass, Thea watched the other men return from the barn. All of them mounted their horses and the posse rode away. Posse. Thea rolled the word over in her brain. What in heaven's name was going on?

  She set the children about their normal tasks and stacked the dirty dishes with a clatter. Anger insinuated itself between the confusion and fear constricting her chest. He should be here! Where was he, anyway? Didn't he care how she felt? He should know she'd be worried.

  He still wasn't there by dinner. They ate sullenly. The afternoon crept by while she listened for his horse, Booker’s step on the back porch. Finally, a rider approached the house. Thea flew out the back door and down the stairs.

  It was Victor Penn, one of the men who had been there with the marshal that morning. Thea shaded her eyes with a hand.

  "Your husband's in jail, Mizz Hayes. Marshal sent me to tell ya." He spun his mount around and galloped back in the direction he'd come.

  Thea stared after him. Jail. How could this be happening?

  Red Horse ran to her side.

  She met his dark eyes. "He's in jail."

  Red Horse guarded his expression. He placed his hand on her sleeve. "I'm responsible."

  Thea frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? You didn't kill that man, did you?"

  "No. But none of these incidents would have been blamed on the major if I hadn't been here. It's me they don't like and they hate him for bringing me here."

  "Red Horse..." There was nothing could she say. Words couldn’t make up for other peoples' cruelty and hatred. She'd grown up with many of these people as neighbors, had attended school and church with them. Some she would have expected to behave this way, but others... like Agnes and Penelope...

  "I understand," he stated.

  "How could you? I've been treated like an outsider most of my life, and I still don't understand."

  "What do you want to do?" Red Horse asked.

  She glanced back up at the house. "I want to go see him."

  He nodded. "I'll get the wagon."

  The ride into Omaha took forever. Zoe got hot and cranky, and finally napped. Lucas remained quiet and withdrawn, and Red Horse stared ahead. The wagon bounced in and out of ruts and the sun glared until Thea's head throbbed. Finally, they pulled up alongside the building that served as the marshal's home and the jail.

  Thea debated leaving the children in the wagon, but the sun was too hot and they would want to see Booker. All of them trooped into the office.

  Marshal Hardy glanced up from a battered desk where he sat eating an enormous plate of beef and noodles, mopping the liquid with a slice of thickly buttered bread. He looked up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Marshal. I'd like to see my husband."

  He stood and plucked a set of keys from a nail on the wall behind him. "One at a time."

  Thea followed him through a door. The back of the building was stone, and the temperature a few degrees cooler. Hardy unholstered his revolver, unlocked another door and gestured her down. Glancing between the gun and the doorway, she stepped through. A narrow set of warped stairs led to the dim underground recesses. She held her skirts and descended.

  At the bottom, she stopped and beheld the narrow, cavelike hallway with two doors flanking
each side. The dank, cool, musty smell sent a shiver along her spine. A single smoke-blackened lantern lit the area.

  Booker was down here?

  The marshal moved behind her and she stepped out of his way. He lit another lantern, handed it to her and unlocked the first door on the right. The thick wooden door, a tiny square window its only feature, opened.

  Marshal Hardy gestured her in. Her heart hammered, and she stepped through the opening.

  The door closed and locked behind her.

  "Thea."

  She jumped and turned.

  He unfolded himself from the cot he'd been sitting on and came to her, blinking against the light. "Are you all right?"

  She lost herself in his black, black eyes. A hundred questions bubbled to the surface of her mind. Only one came to her tongue. "Where have you been?"

  "I told you I had business," he replied.

  "Where?"

  He frowned. "Thea, what is it?"

  "Someone said they saw you in Lincoln."

  He nodded. "I was there."

  Thea's heart plummeted. He'd been there. "At the hotel?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you go there to meet a woman?"

  "Yes." He reached to take her upper arms in his hands.

  She pulled away. Was it Lorraine Edwards? Was it that beautiful seamstress with the raven hair and the hourglass waist? The questions screamed through her mind, but he'd answered them all. He'd told her the truth, and this was the one truth she couldn't bear to hear. "Why couldn't you have been honest with me?"

  He drew his hands back and uncomfortably hooked his thumbs at his waist. "I didn't want you to know until—"

  "What else don't I know?" Heat nipped at her face and cold ate away her heart. He'd kept the knowledge of her father's shooting from her. He'd met a woman in Lincoln when he'd said he was going to St. Louis. What else had he not told her? What else had he lied about? "Was that your watch they found under Clancy's body?"

  He nodded.

  "Were you there?"

  Something dark and pained moved behind his eyes. He guarded the emotion quickly and raised his black-stubbled chin an inch. "You mean did I kill him?"