“Oh, Aunt Solace!” she gushed. “You’ve got twirly-gig curls! Just like mine!”
Chapter Twenty-six
The world stood still as Solace’s heart filled with so much love she thought she might explode. She stepped down from the stand, opening her arms. Bernadette Bristol rushed into her embrace with a squeal that set loose her own childlike laughter. She hefted the little girl to her shoulder and rocked her side-to-side, lost in the delight of her warm weight and her rustling petticoats and the arms that squeezed her so hard she could barely breathe.
Then Bernadette leaned back to stare into her eyes. With a shriek of pure joy, she rumpled Solace’s hair into a wild frenzy—which had them both giggling so hard tears streamed down her face.
“I’ll get you for this, little girl!”
“You already got me, Aunt Solace! Now what’re ya gonna do with me?”
She was aware then of quiet laughter all around her…a jury box of men whose expressions looked awestruck, as though they saw her in a whole new light now. As Gabe walked up to her, Solace feared she’d allowed this display to get too far out of hand, and yet…
Gabe couldn’t take his eyes from the pair of them—carrot curls and chestnut, smiles like rainbows sent from heaven after a storm had passed. Here was a love he envied like nothing else he’d ever witnessed; it struck him in the gut like a lightning bolt. He realized that the mood of the room had just swung completely in Solace Monroe’s favor. Her love, given without hesitation or reserve, had struck every one of them in the courtroom with its grace. She was a madonna in their midst, embracing a beloved child.
And Gabe suddenly longed for it to be his child.
Her eyes, as round and soft and brown as a doe’s, widened to let him into the circle of that love. He exhaled; felt himself go helpless in her gaze. No one had ever looked at him that way and he didn’t want it to end.
“Mr. Getty, I believe we’re settled now. Would you please continue questioning the witness?”
Solace blinked and broke their eye contact. Since Bernadette showed no sign of letting her go—and since every person in the courtroom was now beaming at her—she returned to the witness stand and set Billy’s redheaded daughter facing forward in her lap. “You’ve got to be quiet, Punkin, or we’re in big trouble,” she murmured. “Understand me?”
Bernadette’s head bobbed. She looked out over the huge roomful of people like a queen surveying her subjects.
“Miss Monroe, it’s highly irregular for a witness to hold a child while—”
“Yes, sir, I realize that. But it’s a long way back to her mama—and we don’t want another disruption, getting her back there—do we?” She widened her eyes at Hanging Hannibal, aware that her messy hair was almost making him laugh. “Unless, of course, you would like to hold her, sir. This is Bernadette Bristol—Billy’s daughter—by the way. Bernadette, say hello to Judge Prescott.”
The little girl grinned coyly at him. “How do you do, kind sir? It’s such a pleasure to meet you!”
“Likewise, Miss Bristol.” When chuckles erupted, the judge reached for his gavel, but he refrained from using it. “I believe we’ll proceed. Now, Mr. Getty, you were saying—”
Gabe clasped his hands in front of him and felt his face go hot. “Your Honor, I apologize, but I’ve forgotten where I was in my argument.”
Snickers rose around them, but they were kind, friendly snickers.
The judge cleared his throat ceremoniously. “You were discussing the fact that Cora Walsh’s body had two bullet holes. Establishing Miss Monroe’s skill as a sharpshooter.”
“Thank you, Your Honor!” Gabe reminded himself that even though things had miraculously turned around during these past few minutes, he hadn’t won Solace’s acquittal yet. He’d been ready to request another highly unusual display of evidence before the Bristols walked in, and he wasn’t sure now if he should push for that.
“I believe we can follow the logic presented thus far, that because of the condition of the murder weapon—including a large thumbprint that couldn’t possibly be Miss Monroe’s—and other circumstances of that evening, the defendant is most likely innocent of Cora Walsh’s murder,” Gabe went on in his professional tone. “But what struck me as I saw the bullet holes in Crack-Shot Cora’s body was that she’d been shot from behind—”
Whispers hissed again, but then the room went quiet so no one would miss a word Gabe Getty had to say.
“—and that the killer had shot her twice. Once in a shoulder, and once through the lower back,” he said gingerly. “Gentlemen of the jury, you may believe me when I say I’ve witnessed Miss Monroe’s unerring accuracy with her pistols, or you may request a quick demonstration of her skills, behind the court house. My point being that Solace Monroe would’ve killed Cora Walsh with one shot. Probably through the heart.”
The crowd came to life again, murmuring, and Solace sat straighter in her wooden chair. What did he mean by demonstration? If Gabe was suggesting she would—
“Rex is right outside!” Bernadette crowed, pointing toward the back doors. “Aunt Solace could shoot an apple off his head! He loves that trick!”
Judge Prescott raised the gavel, but silence suddenly rang in the room. Eyes were wide, focused on Hanging Hannibal…wondering how he’d respond to such an outrageous idea.
A display of her marksmanship—right outside the courthouse! It would mean getting an apple, and loading her pistol, and getting Rex to concentrate with so many curious, whispering witnesses watching them. And how could they be sure no one got hit by a ricocheting bullet? And what would she be firing into, that would absorb her shot? She never practiced or performed near buildings, or where onlookers might be endangered—and Gabriel Getty, without knowledge of such things, perhaps hadn’t considered these hazards before he’d so boldly proposed showing off her skills.
Solace tightened her arm around Bernadette and whispered in her ear. “Sweetie, you really do need to keep quiet so the judge doesn’t get mad at—”
“I believe we all have the image in our minds, of that apple shattering. No further proof of Miss Monroe’s skills will be required.” The magistrate leaned forward with a purposeful look in his eye. “If there are no further questions for your client, do you wish to call anyone else to the stand, Mr. Getty?”
Gabe knew a hint when he heard one. “Yes, Your Honor. I would like to question Faustina Flambeau, please. Thank you, Miss Monroe.”
Solace slid her redheaded good luck charm from her lap, but kept a firm grip on the chubby hand that reached for hers. As she steered Bernadette to the table opposite the one Pete and Faustina’s slumping brother occupied, she flashed a guarded grin: Mama, Papa, and Temple were leaning forward to grasp her free hand, relief written all over their faces. If they believed she’d won her case, did she dare believe it herself?
As she settled Bernadette sideways in her lap, Solace watched the bailiff hold the Bible for Faustina. Although she wore a fashionable suit of magenta taffeta, with her hair tucked up into a matching plumed hat, the fortune-teller looked older…less confident about charming her way through her testimony this time, as she placed her gloved hand on the Good Book. After the formalities were complete, Gabe stepped in front of the witness.
“Miss Flambeau, would you please state your full legal name for the record?”
Faustina frowned. “I just did. My name’s Ernestine Dorling.”
“Never married?”
The fortune-teller’s nose rose into the air. “All right, then—my full legal name is Ernestine Lorena Dorling.”
“You’re under oath, ma’am,” Gabe reminded her gravely. “And while it’s understandable you’d have a stage name to maintain your Gypsy image for the Wild West show—”
“What do you want, for crying out loud?” she blurted. “All right, so my name is Ernestine Lorena Dorling Schumacher!”
As a buzz rose around them, Gabe pressed on. Solace had never seen him look so…intent. And ruthless.
His boyish features had hardened into the mask he must have worn while trying complicated cases in St. Louis. She was glad he hadn’t looked at her that way.
“And is your husband in the courtroom, Mrs. Schumacher?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Whack! went the gavel. “Please answer the question, ma’am. Mr. Getty has a reason for asking it, because we’ve just established that Mr. Dorling allowed your real names—pertinent information—to go unstated this morning as you were sworn in. You’re dangerously close to perjury.” Judge Prescott’s expression had gone somber and tight…as though he’d already figured out the path Gabe’s interrogation would take. “Is your husband in the courtroom?”
The woman’s face puckered as she pointed. “He’s right there! So what does this have to do with Solace Monroe shooting Cora?”
Gabe’s expression turned downright predatory as his head turned to where Faustina had pointed. “Let the record show the witness has indicated the gentleman known as Apache Pete, earlier sworn in as Peter Redman. So is his real name Peter Schumacher, then?”
“So what if it is?”
“Did anyone in your troupe know you and Pete were married, ma’am?”
“No, because it was none of their damn business!”
Whack! “Watch your tone and your language, madam!” the judge said, and he stood up to emphasize his point. “I’d throw you out for contempt of court, but that’s precisely what you’re trying for, isn’t it?”
The loud whispering around her hushed and Solace sat up straighter. If Faustina and Apache Pete were married…if Faustina and Cora had been wagon mates, and the fortune-teller had never resided in Pete’s quarters…then maybe Cora Walsh hadn’t realized…
“We’ve established that you and the victim shared a wagon before Miss Monroe was told to bunk with you,” Gabe continued coolly. “How would you describe your relationship with Cora Walsh?”
Faustina sneered. “We were the only two women—besides the married ticket-taker—traveling with the show. So it only made sense—”
“Did you like Crack-Shot Cora?” Gabe pressed on. “When Sheriff Draper and I were on the grounds the morning after she was shot, there was talk among the other performers about Cora having…relations with Apache Pete—”
“What’s relations?” Bernadette whispered. “Does that mean they were a family?”
Solace’s face flared. She pulled the little girl closer and whispered, “Something like that. Now be quiet, so we don’t distract Gabe.”
Faustina suddenly stood up, looking agitated enough to—well, to shoot someone. “All right, look—Pete and I had our reasons for keeping our marriage quiet, but then Cora signed on and—she had ideas about how to get more pay out of him, among other things. So I decided to keep a closer eye on her!”
“So you two ladies became bunkmates,” Gabe summarized aloud, “and when Cora revealed Sol Juddson as a female, your husband declared she would share your wagon. How did Cora react to this? She’d already threatened Miss Monroe—and her dog—after all.”
Faustina rolled her kohled eyes at the jury. “Cora went pouting to Apache Pete, pleading with him to get rid of Sol Juddson altogether. Promised she’d fancy up her act if he’d help her train some sort of monkey or—or steal the Monroe girl’s dog and horses when he sent her packing.”
Solace stiffened. She’d had no idea that Cora Walsh’s hatred for her had run so deep. But then, Cora was a fool to believe Rex or Lincoln and Lee would perform for anyone but her.
“So you killed Cora Walsh because you were tired of her meddling with your man. And by making it appear that Solace Monroe had fired those shots, you were getting Sol Juddson out of your hair, as well. Correct?”
The onlookers sucked in their collective breath.
Solace felt the blood drain from her face. She held Bernadette so tightly the little girl squirmed, but she didn’t take her eyes off the woman in the witness stand. Gabe had just accused Faustina of killing her closest friend!
But then…that companionship had been an act, hadn’t it? A way to keep the rest of the troupe in the dark about what was really going on—and to keep Cora in Faustina’s sight at all times.
“You can’t prove that, Mr. Getty!” the fortune-teller jeered. “And besides, I’m not on trial here! We’re deciding Miss Monroe’s fate, so don’t expect a dramatic confession from me!”
“Miss Monroe is indeed on trial…but isn’t it interesting how testimony from other witnesses often points the way toward the truth?” Gabe’s smile grew foxlike as he reached into his suit pocket. He walked forward slowly, until he was standing directly in front of the witness stand. “Does anyone else from the Wild West Extravaganza tell fortunes with a tarot deck, Mrs. Schumacher?”
Faustina’s expression curdled. “Of course not! Madame Flambeau’s the only—”
“Did you notice a couple of your cards were missing? Or notice a hole in the skirt you were wearing when you shot Cora Walsh?” He held up two cards so she could see them.
Faustina snatched them. “This proves nothing! The wind could’ve blown them from my table.”
“And dropped them at the edge of the woods where Cora’s body had been dragged? That’s where the sheriff and I found them.” Gabe gripped the railing, leaning toward her as he held her gaze. He was tall enough that they were eye-to-eye—and not a soul in the crowded room dared to cough or shift. “If you pressed your thumb into this ink pad and gave us a print, as Miss Monroe did, we’d know without a doubt who was gripping that pistol when—”
“I have no reason to do that!” she rasped. “Because again, Mr. Getty, I am not on trial.”
“And you have no need to do it, Mrs. Schumacher,” he said in a low voice that carried to the far corners of the courtroom, “because the sheriff and I found thumbprints on these two fortune-telling cards which match the ones on the pistol.”
Gabe backed away just in time to avoid getting slapped—hard. “Thank you, ma’am. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Chaos erupted around her, and Solace didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Hannibal Prescott was banging his gavel, and as Faustina stepped from the witness stand she broke into a trot down the side aisle….
But Sheriff Draper blocked her escape.
“Aunt Solace, let me go!” Bernadette whined. “What’s goin’ on? Why is everybody talkin’ and—”
Solace exhaled a sigh of huge relief as hands behind her grabbed her shoulders.
“See there? We knew it would work out!” Mama rasped.
“Fine job, Miss Solace!” Temple’s voice thrummed. “The Lord knew the truth and He made sure everyone else heard it, too.”
“Gabe Getty has done us a huge favor today,” Papa declared, “and has insured himself a sure future as a—”
Whack! Whack! Whack! “Order, I say! Order in this court!” Judge Prescott cried. “You will resume your seats immediately!”
Solace was aware that the din gradually died down, and that the jury was being instructed about how to reach its decision, but all she really knew was that Gabe was gazing at her. As though in a trance, he came to the table and took the wooden chair beside hers.
She wanted to throw her arms around him, but, of course, that wouldn’t be the proper thing to do, right here in the front of the courtroom. The jury hadn’t yet reached its verdict, and Gabe had a professional reputation to uphold.
“Gabriel Getty, that was the most magnificent—most brilliant—performance I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.
His eyes softened and he adjusted his spectacles. “All in a day’s work,” he murmured happily. “Circumstances were on my side, and during the recess I uh, laid out my cards for the judge so he’d allow me some legal leeway when I cornered Faustina. Arguing cases like this sure beats sitting on that bench.”
Solace blinked. Was Gabe saying he’d resigned his seat on the bench for good? Not just so he could defend her case? She’d never known him to behave so impulsively o
r—
But then, she’d never seen such a flush of professional pleasure on his face, either. He was dressed to the nines, looking so much more sophisticated than these Kansas cow town folk. He looked dapper yet intelligent. Successful—because he’d obviously found the purpose he’d been created to carry out. The excitement shining in Gabe’s eyes had come from outwitting his opponent with facts and a flair for subtle drama that had almost made her bite her nails!
No, little girl, it’s YOU making him glow this way.
Solace blinked. That was clearly Daddy’s voice in her ear again….
“Silence, please!” Hannibal Prescott banged his gavel once as the jurors took their seats with expectant expressions. “Mr. Chairman, have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor.” Clyde Fergus, their longtime neighbor, gazed at her, and then at Gabe, with a solemnity only a Scotsman’s eyes could muster. He’d been the first man to the ranch the morning after she’d shot Wesley Bristol’s horse. He’d homesteaded alongside her father, Judd Monroe, as well.
Does he feel I’ve betrayed Daddy, behaving this way?
Solace held her breath. She hadn’t even realized the jury had returned—and so soon after they’d filed out. She’d known several of those men all her life, yet for the past couple of days the entire town of Abilene had cussed and discussed her riding and sharpshooting and…unusual skills as though she was a stranger in their midst. A brazen woman who’d cut her hair to pass herself off as a man so she could ride and shoot in a Wild West—
“We find the defendant, Solace Monroe, not guilty.”
“Thank you, sir! We are adjourned!” Whack!
The courtroom rang with shouts and cheers and applause. Bernadette sprang to the tabletop to do a little dance as Solace stood up, her heart hammering in time to the child’s feet. Mama, Papa, and Temple filed quickly out of their bench to hug her, while Hannibal Prescott surged through the crowd to congratulate her, as well.
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