Land of Dreams

by Cheryl St. John

"No-no, I mean how did your watch get there?"

  He backed away from her. "I don't know."

  "What do you mean you don't know?"

  "I mean I don't know. I don't use that watch. I haven't seen it since I unpacked my things in my room. I think it was in one of the drawers."

  She stared at him, not knowing what to say or do. Everything was in such a mess!

  "Are Zoe and Lucas all right?" he asked dully.

  "They're waiting up there. They'll want to see you."

  He shifted his weight and leaned against the stone wall. "I don't think I want them to see me here, not like this."

  "They love you."

  His obsidian gaze flickered to hers, then away.

  I love you, she wanted to say, but she'd made a big-enough fool of herself. All the while she'd been basking in the glory of his lovemaking, feeling loved and attractive and buying whimsical hats, he'd been seeing another woman.

  Despondent tears stung her eyes. He'd fooled her. He'd said and done all the right things to manipulate her lonely heartstrings. For a brief time he'd made a discouraged spinster feel like a beautiful wife.

  She blinked back tears. She couldn't even hate him for it.

  "Thea," he said.

  She met his stare.

  "Take care of Zoe for me. Whatever happens."

  Something in the depths of her soul shattered into a million ragged pieces. Zoe. All along it had been Zoe. Everything had been for Zoe.

  "You didn't even have to ask." Her voice sounded like dry leaves skittering in the dirt.

  He turned his face away.

  "Shall I send Red Horse down?"

  He nodded.

  Thea knocked on the door.

  Immediately, the marshal unlocked it and gestured her out with his revolver. Heart and legs and feet numb, she followed him out of the room and up the smooth, worn stairs. "He wants to see you," she said to Red Horse.

  She dropped onto a dusty, scarred bench. Lucas and Zoe knelt in front of her and took her hands. She looked down into their youthful faces.

  "Is he all right?" Lucas asked at last, worry storming in his cloud gray eyes.

  Thea nodded.

  "What's gonna happen?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  Lucas had never seen her frightened, and her grief-stricken expression shook him to the core of his being. Thea always knew what to do, always took control and handled things. Just when his life seemed to have taken a turn for the better. Just when he'd begun to feel settled in with them. Just when they'd begun to feel like... parents.

  That pig-faced marshal led Red Horse from the back room at the tip of his revolver. Lucas wanted to yank the gun from his greasy hands and ram it down his throat. "Wait!" The marshal started to return the keys to their peg. Lucas stepped forward. "I have to see him."

  Hardy looked from Lucas to Thea. She nodded. "Let him."

  Lucas followed Hardy into the stairwell. He'd been in some pretty awful situations in his life, but this was one of the worst places he'd ever seen. Lucas stared hard at the tiny window on the massive door and imagined how little light must get into the cell. His heart leapt up into his throat when the man unlocked the door and poked him with the gun barrel. He handed him a lantern.

  "Knock when you're ready."

  Lucas stumbled into the tiny stone-walled room. Booker pushed away from the wall and faced him. Lucas avoided his eyes. He took a step forward and looked at the floor, then at the rumpled gray sheet on the narrow cot.

  "Hello, Lucas."

  Finally he brought his face up and looked at Booker. "Hi."

  "Did you take care of the horses like I asked?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  One side of Booker's mouth tugged up in a grin. "I knew you would."

  Several silent minutes passed. Finally Booker asked, "Do you want to know if I killed him?"

  Lucas shook his head and placed the lantern on the floor. "I know ya didn't."

  Booker seemed to absorb that.

  "I want to..."

  "Want to what?" Booker prompted.

  He wanted to do something. He felt so helpless. What could he say to make anything better? "You said if I ever felt like you was my friend, I should tell this."

  "All right."

  Lucas looked at his thumbnail and picked it with his other hand. "Them scars you asked about?"

  "Yes." He barely made out Lucas's voice.

  "Well, this man in the city took me to his shop. I had to chop wood and keep the steam engines fired up."

  "How old were you?"

  "I don't remember. But if I didn't keep up, he'd hit me with his cane."

  Booker remained silent.

  "The next one I remember had a whole passel o' kids. I slept in a building outside. The father'd get drunk and whup me with a razor strap."

  A muscle in Booker's jaw twitched.

  "Worst time I ever got beat was one o' the times I ran away. A state man found me on the wharf. He took me into an alley and beat me until I didn't remember nothin' for a week. That's when I got put in the Foundling Home."

  "And Bard? You ran away from him because he beat you, didn't you?"

  Lucas nodded.

  Booker took a few steps closer. "Lucas, those things that happened to you, they aren't fair. Nobody should treat another person like that. You didn't do anything to deserve that. I wish—"

  Booker stopped and gave a rueful shake of his head.

  "What?" Lucas asked.

  "I'm sorry. I wish I could do something to take all that away, to change it all."

  Lucas regarded him with surprise. "That's what I wish, too." He gestured with a lanky arm. "About this."

  Booker stepped directly in front of him. Lucas swallowed and looked up. "I'll be okay, Lucas. You just see after Thea and Zoe for me, all right?"

  Thea and Zoe meant more to him than anything. Trusting them to his care proved he thought a lot of him, too. Nobody'd ever trusted him before. Nobody'd ever cared enough to see that he had a warm bed or enough food to eat. Nobody'd ever been sorry before. Booker Hayes was the finest man he'd ever met. Staring up into eyes as black as midnight, Lucas realized something important. He'd changed.

  He wasn't scared for himself any longer. This man had shown him there was hope. Good people existed and there was work to be done. Food was available any time he needed it. Life didn't have to be about pain and loneliness. Life didn't have to be about running.

  With a step as shaky as a newborn colt, he breached the space between them and pressed his face against Booker's rock-hard shirtfront. Muscled arms banded his back, and an enormous hand closed over his shoulder. A strong gentle hand. Lucas squeezed his eyes shut tight and willed himself not to cry like a baby.

  "I'll take care of 'em," he managed to say.

  No, he wasn't scared for himself anymore. He was terrified for Booker.

  bookmark:Chapter 17

  Chapter 17

  image:flourish.png

  "He'll be arraigned before the justice Monday morning," the marshal told Thea later that afternoon.

  She'd heard tales of the justice that was dealt in the frontier court. The Omaha Republican reported fines and imprisonment and hangings every day.

  "Got a wire," the marshal said, directing the information at Red Horse. "Band of Crow attacked a wagon train north and west of here. News has it there were no survivors. All those whites—men, women, children—all dead and scalped. Wagons were looted."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Red Horse said.

  "Thought I'd tell ya, case someone saw you and started shooting."

  "Thanks for thinking of me. I guess you know people don't care that I'm not Crow."

  The marshal ignored that.

  "This is all because of me, isn't it?" Red Horse asked.

  Marshal Hardy eyed him. "How's that?"

  "Major Hayes is being singled out because he brought me here."

  "White folks just don't trust Injuns," the marshal said. "We get news
like this every week. Hell, last winter a couple of drunked-up Injuns killed one o' the sportin' women with a tomahawk."

  "White men kill people in saloon brawls and gunfights every day, too," Thea spoke up.

  "That particular Injun got hisself killed with his own tomahawk," the marshal added, sounding almost pleased to deliver the news.

  "I think people would be less likely to accuse him if I weren't here," Red Horse thought aloud.

  Thea looked at him in surprise.

  The marshal sat back in his chair and the overtaxed springs screeched. "Everybody'd sleep a lot easier if you weren't here."

  Exasperated with his narrow-minded idiocy, Thea grabbed Red Horse's hand and led him from the building. "I'll be at the Woodridge farm," she said over her shoulder.

  Red Horse lifted Zoe, assisted Thea and waited for Lucas to scramble into the back of the wagon. They didn't speak much on the ride.

  They pulled into the dooryard and Uncle Snake appeared on the porch. Thea helped Zoe down and led her up the stairs.

  Aunt Odessa let the screen door slam behind her, took one look at Thea's face and held her hand out to Zoe. "Come here, child. Have you and Lucas eaten?"

  Zoe shook her head.

  "You, too, Mr. Horse," she called. "Put your team up and come eat supper."

  Red Horse nodded and waved, leading the animals toward the barn.

  Uncle Snake took Thea by the hand and led her to the wicker chairs on the end of the porch. "Sit, Thea."

  Stiffly, she turned and lowered herself onto a wooden swing. Snake sat beside her and kept her hand engulfed in his.

  "What's happening?" he asked.

  She raised her eyes to his kind, familiar face, and noticed the thick white shocks of gray in his red hair. "They have him in that awful jail. Have you seen it?"

  "Yeah," he said, sighing.

  "They say he killed Clancy, that man who worked for Irving Jackson."

  "The cook found him," Uncle Snake intoned, "and when he brought the marshal they found Booker's watch under the body."

  "Yes."

  "Is it his watch?"

  She nodded. "He didn't carry it. He thinks it was in a drawer in his room."

  "How many people could have gone into Booker's room and taken it?" her uncle asked.

  She thought about it. "Just the family. Zoe, Lucas, me, MaryRuth. Maybe Papa. And of course..." She shook her head.

  Snake nodded.

  "Red Horse," she said. "But he was with me."

  "Not all night."

  "He slept outdoors."

  "Then he could have left and gone into town and you wouldn't have known."

  She squeezed his hand. "Not you, too."

  He squeezed back. "No. I don't think he did it, but when they go to figuring out the possibilities, he's gonna be among 'em."

  Thea gave her head a mental shake and tried to clear her thoughts. "Booker admitted he went to Lincoln to meet... someone," she faltered. "When they question him to prove where he was, everyone will know he was with..." Her voice broke.

  "With who?"

  She shook her head and fought tears.

  "Ah, Thea," he said, and pulled her close.

  She collapsed against her uncle and sobbed. "I've been such a fool." She accepted the bandana he pulled from his hip pocket. "I was so blind." She pressed the cloth against her eyes. "So stupid! Oh!" Disappointment and shame quickly turned to anger. She clenched the now-damp fabric in her fists. She'd been duped. "How could he?"

  She sat up and stared ahead. "And how could he so uncaringly admit it?"

  "Exactly what did he admit?"

  "He went to Lincoln rather than St. Louis like he said. He went to the hotel, and he met a woman."

  "Who did he say she was?"

  "He didn't say. I already knew."

  "You did, did you?"

  She leaned against the back of the swing, exhausted, and gazed across the yard.

  Red Horse returned from the barn.

  "Go on in," Snake directed. "Ma'll have something hot for you." He'd always called her ma even though they'd had no children. "You, too," he said to his niece. "Come in and eat."

  Resignedly, she followed him into the kitchen.

  Later, she helped her aunt with the dishes, and Red Horse entertained Zoe and Lucas in the parlor.

  Snake sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Odessa had waited so patiently, caring for the children and preparing the meal. Thea hugged her and explained the situation.

  The three of them sat at the table, sipping coffee from their cups.

  "Well, at least he has a witness," her uncle said a few minutes later.

  "What?"

  "If he was in Lincoln with a woman, she can prove he wasn't here murdering Clancy."

  Thea stared at him. She stared at the cup in her hand and the chipped bowl of cookies in the center of the table. She hadn't even thought of that. Here Booker had a perfect alibi for his whereabouts, and she hadn't stopped feeling sorry for herself long enough to put the facts together. "What time is it?"

  Uncle Snake pulled a watch from his overall pocket. "A little after eight."

  "I'm going back into town."

  "What for?"

  "To talk to her."

  "I'll take you."

  She agreed and stood.

  Her aunt took her hand. "Don't worry about the children. They'll be just fine here with me and Mr. Horse."

  Half an hour later, Thea stood before a tiny, well-tended house at the edge of town. Even in the dark she could tell the yard was neat, the fence and the shutters in good repair. The woman obviously had the means to care for her home. The sewing business must be successful. Or, if what the other women all said was true, entertaining men was profitable.

  What would she do if there was a man in there? Worse yet, one she knew? Thea raised her knuckles to the wood and hoped Lorraine Edwards would have enough sense to hide him when someone came to the door. She rapped and waited, her heart hammering.

  Steps sounded inside, and the door opened. The petite woman peered around the edge of the door. "Hello?"

  "Miss Edwards?"

  "Yes." Seeing Thea was alone, she opened the door wider.

  "I'm Thea Hayes."

  "Yes, I know. Won't you come in?"

  Thea took a tentative step forward. "Thank you."

  "I was just going to have a cup of tea. I'd love to have you join me."

  Surprised, Thea agreed. She hadn't known how she would be received, but she hadn't expected such cordiality. She followed the much smaller woman into a room decorated with obvious feminine taste. White lace doilies were tacked to the backs and arms of flowered chairs, others, starched to attentive ruffles, topped the spindly legged tables. Several half-completed sewing projects were strewn across a drop-leaf table before the window. An enormous fern sat atop a slender oak column in the corner.

  Thea watched her return with another cup and saucer and pour tea from a matching painted china pot. Her hands were tiny and soft looking, her skin clear and obviously protected from the sun. She sat on a love seat at Thea's left. She had a waist so tiny, Booker could nearly have spanned it with one hand. Thea's gaze drifted from the woman's gentle curves to her angelic face. Had he?

  "It's so nice to have a caller," the woman said, interrupting Thea's thoughts. "I don't know many people in town yet. Most seem pretty standoffish."

  "Do you know my husband?" Thea asked, blurting out the first words that tripped off her tongue.

  "Yes, I do." She handed Thea a cup and saucer and took one herself. She sipped tea and gazed at Thea.

  "Miss Edwards—"

  "Oh, do call me Lorraine. It's so much friendlier. And I'll call you Thea. By the way, did you like the fabrics?"

  Thea held the cup to her lips. "Excuse me?"

  "The fabrics." She tilted her head and cast an apologetic glance. "Oh dear, I haven't spoiled a surprise, have I?"

  "I—I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

 
"Your husband ordered some lovely chintz, a black sateen and the most beautiful German linen. After I saw it, I ordered some for myself."

  "When was this?"

  "A couple of weeks ago. I thought he'd have given it to you by now." She placed her cup on the low table. "I'm sorry to spoil the surprise."

  "Not at all." Thea sat her cup down, too. "Lorraine." If she was seeing Booker, she certainly didn't behave like the ‘other woman.’ More confused than ever, Thea bolstered her courage. "Did you see my husband last night or the night before?"

  Lorraine shook her dark head, slowly. "No."

  "Were you in Lincoln during the past few days?"

  "No. This is the farthest west I've been. Sometimes I wonder why I came this far."

  Was she lying? Thea regarded the woman's black-lashed, kind eyes and her earnest expression. She didn't think so. She glanced around and couldn't for the life of her imagine Lorraine hiding someone's husband behind the curtains. What had she been thinking?

  She stayed long enough to drink a second cup of tea and listen to Lorraine chatter about a wedding dress she'd made and another for which she had taken an order.

  "I'm so glad you came by," she said to Thea with a sincere smile. "It's nice to have someone to girl chat with. I hope you'll come again soon."

  "Thank you, Lorraine. I will."

  Thea stepped through the gate and stared back at the little house. What a nice person. How could she have suspected her? She was as bad as Agnes and all the other busybodies, listening to gossip and jumping to conclusions. Thea should have more character than that.

  But Booker had admitted he'd met a woman. In her heart, she didn't believe Lorraine Edwards had lied. Booker hadn't been with her in Lincoln. But he had purchased fabrics for her. Where were they?

  Perhaps another little dark-haired woman had received the gift. If the woman at the hotel wasn't Lorraine, who was she? Thea walked to the end of the block where her uncle waited with the buggy. She climbed up and seated herself beside him. "It wasn't her."

  He lifted the reins and urged the team forward. "Who was it, then?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "Why don't you ask him?"

  Thea stared at the fireflies flickering in a corner lot as they passed. Her uncle headed the horses toward his farm. Why didn't she ask him? Why hadn't she asked him? Because she'd been so sure it was Lorraine.