Squire's Quest

by Judith B. Glad

  The teller wouldn't give him any information without him proving who he was, but the fuss caught the attention of the bank president. "Of course I remember, you, Mr. Lachlan. But I'd heard you were--"

  "I know. I was reported dead. But as you can see, I'm alive and kicking." He essayed a smile, which was not returned. "What I need to know is, do I still have an account here?"

  "You do indeed. We were holding the funds until your heirs showed up." He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Not that anyone has, because we had no idea who to contact, and your employer, Mr. Creek, left town before we could ask him. I wrote to the Morrison and Robb main office, but have received no reply."

  He steepled his hands and tapped forefingers together. "Hmmm. We've never had a situation like this before. But since I know you, there should be no trouble releasing the funds."

  After seating Merlin and Rye in a fenced-off area to one side of the tellers' cages, he disappeared into a door market PRIVATE.

  "Maybe you're rich." Rye sounded awed.

  "Not likely. A few dollars, maybe, that I saved from my wages. With luck it'll be enough to get us to Idaho."

  "What if it isn't?"

  "Then we'll find work until we have enough."

  The banker came bustling back after about fifteen minutes. "Well, now Mr. Lachlan, you've got funds, but the balance is considerably less than what you put in. You made a large withdrawal the middle of January. As I recall, you said you were getting married."

  "I see. How much is 'much less'?"

  The banker glanced at Rye, lowered his voice. "Ninety-seven dollars and thirty-two cents."

  Nearly a hundred dollars. If that's considerably less, the ring must have been something special. "So there's no problem with my closing out the account?"

  "No, of course not, but may I ask why?"

  "I'm moving on. So if you'll oblige me...?"

  As the banker turned toward the teller cages, Merlin had a thought. "Mr. Wilkes, is there a name besides mine on the account, someone to contact if I'm out of touch."

  "Why I-- Let me see." He skimmed his eyes down the paper he was carrying. "I don't see one. Hmm. Most irregular. We should have asked for a local reference, at least."

  Well, hell. But at least I know where to start looking. "Thanks anyhow. Now, do you have papers for me to sign?"

  It took another fifteen minutes to get his money, mostly because the banker kept going on about how the loss of the Morrison and Robb warehouse would affect the local economy and how much he hoped they'd send someone to replace Creek, who was, after all, not what you'd call a regular manager, and so on and so forth, until Merlin wanted to tell him to just shut up and do his banker job.

  Outside the bank, he stood on the sidewalk looking up and down the street. "I'm going to Idaho. Want to come along?"

  Rye looked at him suspiciously. "Is it a long way from here?"

  "Darned if I know. We'll find a map, but not until we've got ourselves baths and clean clothes."

  "Baths?" He made it sound like a swear word.

  "Yep. I saw a mercantile on the way here. We'll stop there first." A thought occurred to him. "No, wait. Let's go see the sheriff."

  "What for?" Rye sounded scared.

  "He's got something that belongs to me. A ring."

  * * * *

  Their train was on time. Callie had hoped it would be late getting to Cheyenne, for they wouldn't be catching the southbound train to Denver until the middle of the afternoon. She'd already spent too many hours in the Cheyenne depot. If Lily's right about Deed following us...

  When she confided her worries to Lily, she was surprised at the reaction.

  "You're darn tootin' we don't want him to see us, not if he might know you. Let's go." She pushed and prodded Callie to the women's lavatory, at the far end of the car. The two of them made for a tight fit, once the door was closed and locked.

  The two women who came out were twenty years older than the ones who'd gone in. On their way back to their seats, Callie saw several folks eyeing them curiously, and hoped none of them were getting off in Cheyenne.

  "Now remember," Lily said when they'd sat down, "walk like you've an aching back. And keep your chin down. You're so tall, folks remember you. We don't want them to notice either of us."

  "I can smell the powder you used on my hair. Won't people wonder why an old lady is wearing so much perfume?"

  "Not at all. Old ladies' noses don't work as well and they usually wear too much scent. Now stop fretting and take a nap. You want to be wakeful and watchful while we're in Cheyenne."

  * * * *

  Rye strutted along the street, clearly wanting everyone to notice his new clothes. He'd confided to Merlin, while they were soaking in the baths, that he'd never had new britches in his whole life. "Had me a new shirt once. Ma made it. But I got too big for it."

  "You sure those boots fit?" They were nearly as big as Merlin's for all the lad was half a head shorter.

  "They're a little stiff, but they'll break in." With a little hop, Rye got into step with him. "How come you wear laces instead of those heeled boots? Seems to me they'd be harder to kick out of, should your horse go down."

  "They're better for walking. Since we don't have horses, you'll be glad you've got them."

  "Maybe." Rye looked skeptical. He'd shown his preference for a pair of high-heeled boots with red stitching, but had admitted they were too expensive.

  "Why are we goin' to Idaho?"

  "Why not?"

  "Mist-- Merlin! That banker, he didn't know where your kinfolk were, and neither did the nigger."

  He stopped so suddenly that Rye had taken three steps before realizing it. "Don't use that word. Not ever. What color his skin is doesn't matter. Abner Travers is a good man."

  "But--"

  "But nothing. Just don't use that word or any other one that insults a man because of where he came from or what he looks like. If he acts like a son of a bitch, call him one. Just don't ever assume his looks or how he speaks have anything to do with whether he's good or bad." Why he'd reacted so strongly, Merlin wasn't sure. It had been as much a part of him as his disinclination to curse, his sense of responsibility toward those smaller and weaker.

  "Let's have supper. It's been a long day."

  * * * *

  No one paid them any attention during the six hours they sat--and fretted silently--in the Cheyenne Depot. Callie was nearly paralyzed with fear that the clerk who'd helped her when Pa had abandoned her here would come in and recognize her.

  She never saw him, despite examining the face of every man who entered.

  At last boarding was announced for the train to Denver. She and Lily walked across the platform slowly, still in their guise of elderly ladies. The Conductor waved everyone else aside and helped each of them up the steep steps. "You ladies sit up front there, close to the stove. It'll be a mite chill this evening, even though the days are warm."

  They took the indicated seat, and smiled secretly at each other. "Maybe I should've traveled this way before. Usually I'm fighting off the men."

  "You probably wore that orange satin dress before," Callie whispered back. "It makes you look like a sporting girl."

  Lily gave her a sharp jab with her elbow. "Honey, I am a sporting girl."

  They got to Denver a little after eight that night. Callie would have walked to wherever they were going, out of a lifelong habit of frugality. Lily insisted on hiring a cab. "This is no town for a woman to go about alone," she said, "especially at night."

  When she saw the goings on along the streets they traveled, Callie was glad Lily had put her foot down.

  The house they arrived at was far larger than Ariana's Palace had been, and appeared entirely respectable. The wide front porch held a swing and several rocking chairs. Lace curtains hung in the oval windows of the double front doors and in the wide windows on each side. She had the strangest feeling this place was more than a refuge. It was home.

  "That's plumb crazy
, It's a bawdyhouse."

  "What are you muttering about?" Lily gave the doorbell a good jerk.

  "Nothing. Just tired."

  A colored maid opened the door. "So you're back," she said to Lily.

  "Don't scold, Nancy. I'll admit I was wrong to leave. God, if you only knew..."

  "Go back to the kitchen. I'll tell Tilly you're here."

  "She doesn't sound very friendly," Callie said, worried they might be refused a place here.

  "Oh, don't pay attention to Nancy. She's cranky, but it's all show. Oh, good, there's coffee." Setting her satchel beside the kitchen door, Lily went to the counter. She filled two cups with coffee from the pot on the back of the big cookstove and handed one to Callie. "Sit down. You look like you've been drug through a knothole backwards."

  "I feel like it," Callie admitted.

  The small but voluptuous woman who entered a few minutes later was well past her prime, but still lovely. She looked respectable, too, except for the ornate scarlet-and-black gown and her obviously dyed black hair. Her smile was welcoming.

  "So you didn't like working for Barney Deed, eh? I'm not surprised. He's a snake." She took a second look. "Good God, Lily, what have you done to yourself?"

  "Powder and kohl, that's all. We were afraid Deed would come after us and we didn't want to be recognized." Her voice lost its bright lilt and she sounded tired. "Tilly, I want to come back. I didn't know when I was well off."

  "And you brought a friend." Tilly's tone was noncommittal.

  "This is Callie. She's not a whore. She's a cook. And she needs a job."

  Knowing her whole future depended on what happened in the next few minutes, Callie summoned her last dregs of energy from a reservoir she hadn't known was there. "I'm trained as a baker, ma'am, but I know my way around a kitchen. I can give you references. I cooked at Lambert House in Cheyenne, and was trained by--"

  Tilly held up her hand. "Hold on. If you're hiding, I doubt you'd want me to check your references."

  "Oh, no, I wouldn't. But I could show you. I'll work for nothing for a week, and you wouldn't have to pay me much. Just a place to sleep and--"

  "Anyone who works for me is paid what she's worth. You're exhausted, both of you. I want to know what happened, why you're scared of being chased. But not until tomorrow. Lily, take her up to the attic. We'll sort out bedrooms in the morning, but for tonight you can have the room next to Nancy."

  Callie stared at the woman, unbelieving. "We can stay?"

  "Of course you can. For tonight, at least. Now scoot. I've guests in the parlor."

  * * * *

  The train for Denver was just pulling out when Merlin and Rye walked into the depot. I've been to Denver. But I didn't stay, because... Someone had needed him to come to Cheyenne, but who? Why?

  He stepped up to the ticket window. "How do we get to Idaho?"

  "Depends on where in Idaho. If you want Pocatello or Eagle Rock, you'll get off at Ogden. If you want Boise, then you're better off going to Kelton."

  "Boise," he said, without hesitation. He knew that was where he wanted to be.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Denver

  Late March, 1876

  With shaking hands and a roiling stomach, Callie waited for Tilly to finish reading the telegram. Finally she looked up. "Your father is truly dead, and I hope I won't hurt your feelings when I say 'Good riddance.'"

  "But I told you he was." Her voice squeaked on the last word.

  "Yes, you did, and I believed you. At least I believed you wanted to think him gone so you'd be safe." Leaning forward, she clasped her hands together on the desk blotter. "Callie, I believe in hedging my bets. I'd be a fool if I didn't check to make sure he wouldn't be coming after you. You may be of age, but he would still have a certain claim on you."

  Dumbly, Callie nodded. And waited.

  "Deed doesn't give a damn about Lily, but he wants you back."

  "Oh, no!"

  "Don't worry. As far as he knows, she came here alone. Even though Lily said Smith never paid her a dime, I'll be sending him enough to buy out any obligation she has to him. She's too good to work for a son of a bitch like Barney Deed. As for you, I haven't seen hide nor hair of a black-haired girl who goes by the name of Callie Smith." She set the telegram aside. "Now, what's to become of you?"

  "I can cook. I'm a hard worker, and I'll clean. Do laundry--"

  "Oh, you'll cook all right. The only intelligent thing Smith ever did was put you to work in his kitchen. Even down here we heard about the spreads he put on."

  Nearly faint with relief, Callie missed her next words.

  "...remodel. The place next door is for sale. It would make a good place for the brats, and you could stay over there until it's done, keep an eye on things."

  "I'm sorry. What did you say? The brats?"

  Shortly she learned that Tilly never turned a girl out if she ended up pregnant. Three of her current stable had children, and they all lived together in a small cottage about a mile away. "It's really too small, since Elizabeth had her baby. Besides, real estate in a town like Denver is never a bad investment."

  "But--"

  Tilly's laugher filled the room. "You're wondering what a madam is doing, thinking about real estate, aren't you?" At Callie's nod, she went on. "I'm a businesswoman, first and foremost, thanks to an old friend's advice. That's how I got myself out of the mining camps and into a city that's on its way up. Right now I'm supplying a demand. If the world went crazy and men stopped needing my girls' services, I'd find something else to sell."

  "Oh." Put that way, running a bawdyhouse made perfect sense.

  Lordy, I'm too tired and scared to think straight. How can it make any sense at all?

  She became aware Tilly was speaking to her. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

  "That you need to go shopping. I'll not have a woman in my house looking like a slattern. Lily will take you. She's got a good eye for what looks well on a body."

  "Oh! But--" She'd been hoping to keep her secret a little longer. "I didn't tell you one thing."

  "What's that?" the sweet voice had turned hard as stone.

  "I'm...going to have a baby. At least I think I am. My courses--"

  The grin that lit up Tilly's face very nearly relieved all her remaining concerns. "Then you'll fit right into the house next door. Scat now. I need to get hold of my lawyer so he can make an offer before somebody snaps it up."

  Once outside Tilly's office, Callie sagged against the wall, hoping she wouldn't faint from sheer relief. After a moment, she laid both hands upon her belly. "Hear that?" she whispered. "We've got a place to stay and a way to earn a living. We're safe."

  * * * *

  Ogden, Utah Territory

  Early April 1876

  "Sure feel good to be walkin' where the ground don't move," Rye said. Their train had been three hours late, causing them to miss the westbound Central Pacific train. On the advice of the ticket agent, they were walking to a nearby hotel where stranded travelers were often accommodated.

  "You get used to it." Merlin looked around, unable to shake the feeling he'd been here before. "It was a lot smaller then."

  "Huh?"

  "Just talking to myself. This looks like the hotel."

  It was, and there was room for them. The next day they explored the town for a while, until Merlin found a bookstore. He stood looking into the window, where several stacks of books were arranged, each with an open tome lying atop it. "Let's go in here."

  "Why?"

  "I'm curious." He hesitated just shy of the door. "Can you read?"

  "'Course I can. When I have to."

  "You ever read because you want to?"

  Rye stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Not ever."

  "Probably because you've never met the right book. C'mon."

  Merlin bought three books, one the clerk told him was brand new, and two that felt like old friends, even though he couldn't remember ever reading them. Somehow he knew
he'd always enjoyed reading.

  When they emerged from the bookstore, he said, "Let's find a park. It's too nice a day to sit inside."

  "Can we eat first?"

  "We'll buy some cheese and bread, a couple of oranges. It's a good day for a picnic."

  "Oranges? Real oranges? I ain't never tasted one."

  "You'll like it."

  After lunch, he persuaded Rye to sample the new book The Mysterious Island. It was by an author Merlin was sure he was acquainted with, a Frenchman named Verne. When he'd seen the name, he'd had a mental image of an enormous projectile carrying men to the moon. Crazy notion. It sounds like fun.

  He lost himself in a poetic tale about a king who was determined to change the world for the better. The best part was a wise man named Merlin in the story. A shiver of delight ran down his arms the first time he saw the name. For a moment, he had the feeling he was one of those knights like Arthur, brave and noble and decent.

  The next he wondered why he would think himself brave and noble. Knowing she was in danger from her own father, he'd left a wife alone in an isolated cabin, guarded only by an old man. He didn't blame Abner for his unspoken but obvious disapproval.

  Any enjoyment he'd had in the tale of chivalry and honor was gone. He closed the book and reached for the other one. Last of the Mohicans. The title had triggered a small memory, of a name: Natty Bumpo.

  A chilling breeze brought him back to his surroundings. Their sunny bench was now in the shade. "Let's go," he said. "It's time to head for the depot."

  Rye appeared reluctant to close his book.

  "Good story?"

  "Yeah. Real exciting. Nobody ever told me reading could be fun."

  They slept that night at Kelton, a hundred miles to the west. Early the following morning, they boarded a stage bound for Boise City. With each rocking, jolting mile, Merlin's impatience grew. Would he be able to find the Lucas Savage the Pinkerton man had named in his note? He'd chosen Boise City as a destination because it sounded familiar, but what if he was wrong? Eagle Rock had sounded familiar, too. Maybe they should have gone there first.

  He leaned back and closed his eye. Even Mr. Cooper's story, exciting as it was, hadn't been able to hold his attention during those short stretches where the road was smooth enough to allow reading. His mind kept going back to the question that had plagued him since learning he'd been married. Why don't I remember her? Why don't I feel like I've lost something important?