Lost in thought, focused on improving her phrases and pacing, she didn’t hear her mother come upstairs.
“Honey, let’s have our devotions now,” Mama murmured. “With the trial tomorrow, you’ll benefit from…”
As Solace scrambled to cover what she’d been writing, Mama raised a curious eyebrow.
“Just some notes on strategy,” she fibbed, hoping her smile didn’t give too much away. “A way to organize my thoughts so I’ll speak clearly tomorrow if Apache Pete or the judge try to intimidate me.”
Her mother’s knowing smile spoke volumes. “That’s a fine idea, dear. There’s still time if you’d like us to hire a lawyer for—”
“No need for that. If Pete and Faustina can state their cases, I can, too.” Covering her story with the portfolio as she stood up, Solace smiled more confidently. “As you and Papa have said, I’ve done nothing illegal or immoral. The truth is on my side. I slept through the entire crime, probably because someone stirred laudanum into my supper. I can’t lie about what I don’t know.”
Would her confidence sustain her tomorrow? It was her word against Pete’s and Faustina’s, and anyone else from the troupe who might testify. Solace took her seat in the front parlor; with only four of them at home now, it seemed cozier to gather here than at the dining room table, where the empty chairs reminded them of who no longer shared this ritual.
Temple Gates reached over to squeeze her hand. “I’ve prayed for you all day, Miss Solace,” the governess assured her. Her dark eyes shone with a faith that never wavered. “I’ve asked Saint Michael the Archangel to protect you in the courtroom. And of course, the Lord will be there, as well.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. Talk of archangels was nothing new to the family’s house keeper. Solace didn’t always know how to respond to Temple’s visions of the invisible, but it couldn’t hurt to accept such powerful help in court, could it?
As Mama sat down beside her on the love seat, Papa riffled the pages of the big family Bible. He smiled when he found the scripture he wanted to share. “I thought we’d return to the Psalms tonight, to passages that remind us where our strength comes from—and that God never abandons or forsakes us, even when we forget how powerful He is. Hear now the words of the ancient poet in the Forty-Sixth Psalm.”
Solace shifted. Even though everyone here had assured her things would go well tomorrow—or at least according to God’s plan—their confidence-building made her nervous. How she wished Lily were here, shining with her innate faith and angels! And Billy! If ever there was a time she needed her dearest friend—or even Joel, the vagabond who’d shared some of her deepest, darkest secrets…
“‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble, ’” her papa recited clearly and calmly. “‘Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.’”
“Amen to that!” Temple murmured, while Mama took her hand.
“‘There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help, and that right early.’” Papa looked up at her with a special smile that made his new reading glasses catch the lamp’s light like a starburst. He continued in a voice that grew more expressive with each declaration of the Lord’s power.
“‘The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.’” he declared. “‘Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth: he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God!’”
The parlor rang with stillness, indeed, as they pondered that profound statement. Solace had heard it all her life…mostly when she was being reminded that she wasn’t in charge of anyone else’s business, and that she wasn’t as all-fired powerful as she liked to believe.
Was she strong enough to withstand whatever they’d shoot at her in Hannibal Prescott’s courtroom?
“‘I am exalted among the nations. I am exalted in the earth,’” came the final phrases she’d heard since childhood. “‘The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.’”
As he folded his hands on the open Bible, he smiled at each of them. “Pretty marvelous, isn’t it? That the God of Jacob is still our refuge today? That while He rules His universe, He prevails in each of our lives, as well? We should remember this if the case doesn’t go as we’d—”
Rex’s barking drifted through the open window, growing more insistent as he approached the house. Hoof beats then…and by the time Temple had gone into the kitchen, they heard loud pounding on that door.
“Well, now! If you’re coming to supper, you’re a little late!” she said with a chuckle. “But for you, I’d scare up a plate of chicken and noodles, or…”
“Thanks, Temple, but I’m here to see Solace.”
“Everyone’s in the parlor,” Temple replied, “and they’d welcome a visit from the angel Gabriel!”
Solace’s heart kicked her ribcage. Gabe had ridden all the way from town—to see her! He’d set aside his excuses, or whatever he’d been doing, for a surprise visit the night before her trial.
As he stepped through the parlor’s arched entryway, however, Gabe Getty’s expression dashed any hopes for romance. His cheeks shone with evening dew and a high color that bespoke his urgency. The wind had whipped his sorrel curls into an unruly nest, and the top button of his white shirt was undone.
He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen…even if an irregular band of hair bristled along his jaw. She nipped her lip to keep from teasing him about it, because the newspaper he was unfolding had obviously brought him here on serious business.
“Have you folks seen the Chronicle?” he asked breathlessly. “I can’t believe they’d print—this smacks of planting misinformation to influence—to taint any chance that the jury selected will remain unbiased.”
Her parents’ expressions made her hold her breath. She had no trouble telling which article had inspired Judge Getty’s wrath: Sharpshooter Caught in Lover’s Triangle, its headline proclaimed. It sat about halfway down the front page, but whose eye wouldn’t fly to that tidbit rather than to the piece posted at the top?
“We did see it,” Mama replied quietly. “And we felt it was such an utterly ridiculous article that we—”
“It started a real nice fire in the cookstove. So I could fix dinner.” Temple slipped an arm around Solace’s waist, her brown eyes brimming with compassion. “We know you don’t need protection from such claptrap, honey. But stupidity isn’t something our family wastes time on, is it?”
Solace heard her, but her mind was already mired in the muck of an article so false she felt like spitting. “Where did anyone come up with—I was not trying for Pete’s affections! I didn’t even like the man, except that—”
Gabe lowered the paper by grasping her hands. He gazed steadily into her eyes to silence her. “The most damaging lies start with a whisper of truth, Solace. Tell me what you know about Apache Pete—how he treated Cora and that Gypsy fortune-teller—”
“Faustina?” Solace exhaled, thinking back. “I can’t swear to this because I didn’t join their late-night poker games or carousing, but Joel said Crack-Shot Cora wouldn’t want me shouldering in on her act, not to mention her affections for Pete, because…well, he said they were lovers. That’s why he thought I should audition as a boy.”
Her mother sucked air. “That was not something your brother needed to tell you about.”
Papa took Mama’s arm, sighing grimly. “Propriety aside, such things go on. And it might have a bearing on how those Wild West performers present their side of the story tomorrow.”
“The reporter makes it sound like Solace wore the buckskin disguise and short hair to make her shooting and riding more credible to the audience, but also to deceive Apache Pete,” Gabe said in a tight voice. “While that’s partly true, it’s a blatant attempt to discredit your character, Solace, to tamper with justice. I intend to find out who convinced—or bribed—the editor to publish it.”
He was on a crusade, and Solace adored the fire in his eyes and the ring of authority in his voice. It didn’t bode well, however, that this article had come out the night before the trial—and that she would have no one in the courtroom to back up her story. “Are you sure you can’t hear this case? I’m not guilty, but—”
“That’s precisely what we’re going to prove. So I’ve come here for your help.”
His eyes widened beneath a stray lock of wavy brown hair; he pushed up his glasses as much to command her attention as to see her more clearly. “I regret not coming to any of your performances, Solace. I’m wondering…how did they go? How did Apache Pete and the others respond to your act?”
“I didn’t miss a single shot, but Rex was the showstopper!” she replied eagerly. “After the first night, Apache Pete was promising a raise in my pay if I’d work up a few encore tricks with Rex—”
“Yes? What’re you thinking now?”
Solace cleared her throat. “There was a tense moment when Cora suggested I miss a shot now and then—or fall off a horse. Green-eyed envy, pure and simple. But I told Cora if she messed with Rex, like she hinted—”
“She threatened to hurt your dog?” Papa asked incredulously. “What could Rex possibly do to—”
“He got more applause than she did. And because I rode a fine pair of matched bays, and Lincoln and Lee performed so flawlessly, I guess Cora thought Pete might take her act out of the show altogether.”
Gabe was nodding, taking all this in. “How did Cora and Faustina get along?” he queried. His eyes narrowed in thought. “From what we saw at the funeral, Cora should’ve been concerned about Madame Flambeau jeopardizing her place with Pete, rather than a tomboy trick rider.”
“Those ladies were thick as thieves. Especially after Sol Juddson was exposed as a girl,” Solace mused aloud. “Cora snatched my clothes from the riverbank while I was taking a quick bath. Got everybody all stirred up.”
“Solace! You should’ve come right home.”
“That’s not her way, Mercy,” Papa said with a grin. “She had to stick it out. Had to stand up for her talent—let her performance speak for itself, no matter what clothes she wore. A lot of words describe our daughter, but coward isn’t one of them.”
Her cheeks tingled with heat. “Thank you for understanding that, Papa. When I apologized to Pete for causing such a ruckus—for being exposed as a girl—I told him all I wanted was to play to an audience. What good are my shooting and riding skills if nobody else ever sees them?”
Gabe sighed then, nodding. “So it was your expertise—your perfection—that got them stirred up. Now tell me this.” He paused, thinking about how to word his question. “After your last performance—before you got taken to jail—did you clean your pistols, honey?”
“Of course I did!” she blurted. “Any sharpshooter with a scrap of sense checks her equipment every day. But those pistols belonged to Billy and his daddy before that. I’m too proud—too picky—to show off with guns that don’t sparkle and shine.”
He caught hold of her hands again, his face a mask of earnest concern and…maybe a little love. “That’s how you should answer them all day tomorrow, Solace! Leave no doubt in anyone’s mind about your intentions and your integrity. Then leave the rest to me.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Order! I will have order in my courtroom!” Whack! Whack! Whack!
Solace winced each time Judge Prescott’s gavel banged the desk beside her. The trial had been a circus since it began three hours ago, and her head was throbbing. Apache Pete and Faustina had already testified, led along a sensationalized, dramatic path by the lawyer they’d chosen to represent them at the last minute. Mr. Dorling’s shrewd questions had elicited their outrage and their tears, as they described the betrayal of their trust by the young sharpshooter who’d drawn such crowds with an extraordinary talent.
By the time the two performers had told how Sol Juddson stole into the show like a thief in the night, using Rex and the matched bays as diversions, the crowd in the courtroom had been whipped into a frenzy. The jurors sat wide-eyed, as though watching a stage play crafted to shock them into convicting her. Between Percival Dorling’s theatrics and Hanging Hannibal’s gavel-whacking, she hadn’t uttered a complete sentence on her own behalf since she’d taken the stand.
“Miss Monroe,” the lawyer intoned, staring her down with his beady eyes. He reminded her of a crow waiting to peck an emerging worm. “Miss Monroe, would you please repeat what you just said, about why you auditioned in men’s clothing after having your hair cut off?”
Solace looked him in the eye as best she could, considering he was such a weasel. “I auditioned as a male on the advice of Joel Malloy, my brother, who was a roustabout for the Wild West Extrava—”
“And is he in this courtroom right now?”
She choked on the rest of her sentence—again. “No, sir. We’ve already established that Joel—”
“Do not tell me what we have established, young lady!” Mr. Dorling’s slender body quivered as though she’d wrung him like a rag and then released him. “Please just answer the question!”
“Which one?” she demanded in a coiled voice. “You interrupted my first answer with a second question. I believe you’re trying to upset me, sir.”
Whack! went the gavel. “Watch your tongue, Miss Monroe, or I’ll remove you for contempt of court!”
She closed her eyes, praying for the strength to get through her testimony without bursting into tears—which was exactly what they were after. In the front row, Mama clutched her handkerchief while Papa’s expression grew stormy with a rage she’d seldom seen. Temple Gates had closed her eyes; her lips moved silently, probably pleading for the angels to swoop down and rescue them all from this blatant miscarriage of justice.
And where’s Gabe? What about his promise to make everything turn out all right?
She couldn’t think about that right now. The courtroom had finally gotten silent, and Dorling stood before her with a fist against his hip. He waited, as though she should know which ridiculous question to answer next.
“All right then, let’s move on to another area of concern about your character,” he said with a disgusted toss of his head. “Is it true that when you were seven years old, you shot a man’s horse out from under him? And that he, too, died of gunshot wounds?”
Solace’s jaw dropped. Not only had this incident happened more than ten years ago, but the question also implied that she’d killed Wesley Bristol! If she gave an honest response, she’d be hanging herself without Judge Prescott’s help. But if she didn’t answer…
“Your Honor, I was there right after that happened! If Solace won’t tell you about it, I will!”
The crowd sucked in its collective breath and all eyes focused on a man who stood up in the jury box. Solace had known Newt Billings all her life…he’d helped them round up the livestock that strayed after Wes set the barns afire that awful night, but he had not witnessed the shooting.
Solace sat straighter in her hard wooden chair, focusing intently on the conniving lawyer. “I did shoot Wesley Bristol’s horse—while he was charging at his twin brother, Billy, and shooting at him,” she clarified in a quavering voice. “But a Pinkerton operative’s bullet killed Wesley—”
“And what were you doing with a gun? When you were only seven years old?” Dorling demanded tersely. “Seems to me—”
“This is an outrage!” Papa shot up from the bench, pointing his finger at Dorling. “You cannot imply that my daughter—”
“Don’t try to cove
r it over, Malloy!” Newt Billings cried. “It was your gun she shot him with. All of us neighbors were horrified to hear we had a—a killer in our midst! And she wasn’t even taken to task for it. Well, it’s come full circle now and by God, we’ll get to the bottom of it!”
Pandemonium erupted as friends stood up to shout Billings down. The jurors buzzed among themselves and meanwhile Judge Prescott tried to out-shout them all, pounding his gavel like a madman.
A madman who’s enjoying himself too much. You were convicted before you set foot in this courtroom.
Indeed, Pete and Faustina sat at the table in front of her wearing foxlike grins—as though they’d orchestrated this mayhem with the same sleight of hand and showmanship that kept Madame Faustina reading her cards while people streamed in for the Wild West Extravaganza.
Always one to play to the crowd, Joel had said of Apache Pete. And as he sat twirling that waxed handlebar mustache, Solace saw him for the self-serving rabble-rouser he was…already counting the profits his newfound notoriety would bring to the show.
Whack! Whack! Whack! “Order, I say! Silence! Or I’ll call in the sheriff to clear the courtroom!”
As the chaos continued, Solace closed her eyes and held her head. Please, Lord, deliver us from this uproar before something catastrophic….
“Counsel requests permission to approach the bench.”
Whack! Whack! “Why are you here, Mr. Getty? This is not your case.”
“I’m acting as counsel for Miss Monroe. At her earlier request.”
As the crowd became hushed—straining to hear every word of a surprise they hadn’t anticipated—Solace’s heart sped up. Gabe stood a respectful distance from the bench, wearing his best pinstriped suit and carrying a fine leather satchel. He appeared polished and professional—and clean-shaven—just as he must have looked during his days in St. Louis. His calm demeanor made her heart swell with pride. And hope.
Gabriel's Lady (Leisure Historical Romance) Page 21
