Squire's Quest

by Judith B. Glad

  Stricker, the agent at Rock Creek Station, was a friendly fellow, once he'd seen to their comfort and their suppers. Merlin caught him on his way through the common room. "Got a minute?"

  "I can spare half a dozen. What can I do for you?"

  "I'm looking for a fellow, but all I know is he lives somewhere in Idaho Territory. Name's Lucas Savage. Ever heard of him."

  One eyebrow raised, Stricker gave him a long look. "Mind telling me why you're looking for Savage?"

  "You do know him? Can you tell me where I can find him?"

  "I know of him." He was plainly waiting for Merlin to answer his question.

  "I'll show you." He pulled out his pocketbook, extracted the note from the Pinkerton man. "Read this."

  After he'd had time to read it two or three times, Stricker said, "Savage has a place west of Boise, close to the river. He raises some of the finest mules in the territory." Scratching he head, he looked back at the note. "You signed in with the name Lachlan. How come you're not contacting them?"

  Merlin had heard the phrase "butterflies in the stomach" sometime in his past, but until now he'd no idea what it meant. He wasn't sure whether he was going to lose his supper or keel over in a dead faint. One deep breath, followed by another, steadied him enough to say, "Where would I find them?"

  "Ask anywhere in Boise City. They're well known." Handing the note back to Merlin, he gave him a level look. "Just be sure it's really your name. I've heard the old man doesn't suffer fools gladly."

  The next day, with the end of his search in sight, was the longest thirteen hours Merlin had ever lived. When he got off the stage in Boise City, his knees were weak. "Can you see to our gear?" he said to Rye. "I'm going to see if there's anyone hereabouts who knows where the Lachlans might be found."

  "Sure. I'll meet you out front."

  "They live a mile or so east of here," he told Rye when they met a few minutes later in front of the station. With a wave, he summoned one of the cabs standing in line along the street. "We want to go to Lachlan's house. Can you find it?"

  "Hard to miss," was the answer.

  When they pulled into the circular driveway of a brick mansion, his first impression was of a castle, with a tall, sharp-roofed tower and many narrow windows. It looked like it ought to be surrounded by a moat and have pennants flying from the roof instead of lightning rods.

  "This is it," he said, and the words caught on the lump in his throat. "This is home."

  * * * *

  Boise City, Idaho Territory

  October 1876

  "He was such a joyous boy, even after he..." Hattie blinked rapidly, knowing if she let the tears fall, Emmet would set aside his own pain to comfort her.

  "Even after he lost the eye. I know. When he rode off from here, he was excited and happy and ready for anything. He was on a quest, just like those knights he liked to read about. No dragon too big to slay, no maiden too poor or too ugly to defend. And no danger too great to face."

  She watched her middle son swing the scythe, back and forth, back and forth, leaving behind him a wide swath of neatly windrowed grass hay. "Look at him, Emmet. He doesn't even move the same. There's no spring to his step. I haven't heard him laugh since he came home."

  "At least he remembers us now. When he drove in that day, he stared at us like he'd never seen us before."

  "He claims his headaches have stopped," Hattie said, "but maybe he just doesn't want us to worry." Her gaze stayed on Merlin, who'd paused in his scything to wipe his brow. The day was warm for October. "Do you suppose he'll ever remember anything about his wife?"

  Merlin had said only he'd been married for a few days before his wife was murdered. Rye hadn't been able to add much to the tale, for he knew only what Merlin had been told.

  "I think he doesn't want to remember." Emmet never looked away from his son, "I think he blames himself for not being there to protect her when the cabin burned."

  "Of course. Why didn't I see that? She was his damsel in distress, and he didn't save her." When Emmet raised an eyebrow, she said, "Maybe it's a frivolous way to put it, but it's how he must be thinking. He was a knight on a quest. And he let the dragon kill the maiden."

  "Well, I just glad he's home safe. And that he's agreed to take on the River Ranch. Of all our children, he's the one I always worried about the most. Such a dreamer."

  "Not anymore, I reckon," Hattie said, and felt her heart break all over again.

  "No," Emmet agreed. "Not anymore."

  * * * *

  Denver

  October 1876

  "It's a girl. Your baby's a girl."

  Callie reached shaking hands to touch the wet, squirming creature lying face down across her belly. My daughter. Merlin, we have a daughter. "Is she--"

  "She's fine. Can't you tell, the way she's still yelling? Just hold onto her while I take care of the cord. Then we'll clean her up and you can hold her."

  Minta hummed as she worked. After a few minutes, she said, "There now. She's all warm and cozy. Give her to Callie."

  Lily laid the blanket wrapped bundle in Callie's waiting arms. "Babies are just the ugliest things. It's a good thing they grow out of it."

  "Lily!"

  "Well they are, all squashed and red. I'm glad I never had one."

  "You wouldn't know what to do with it if you did," Callie said, but she found the words difficult to speak. She was so tired, yet she didn't want to sleep. She could lie here forever, just holding her daughter.

  She was aware of Minta tending to her, heard Lily go into the hall and tell the waiting women they all had a pretty little niece to spoil. Unable to take her eyes from the sight of her baby's squashed, red little face, she only realized she was weeping when a tear trickled down her neck. When she reached up to wipe it away, Minta saw her.

  "Here now, you're supposed to be happy. I thought you wanted this babe."

  "I did. I do." She sniffed, swallowed the lump that seemed stuck in her throat. "Her father won't ever see her."

  Minta's hand covered hers. "I know, but at least she has a father. Melissa doesn't know who her little boy's pa is."

  Three of the women at Tilly's had children. They lived in the house next door, a roomy place with a big back yard. Callie had stayed there ever since the week after she'd arrived, and hoped she'd be able to remain forever. Maybe living next door to a bawdyhouse wasn't the best place for children, but it was better than anything she'd known as a child. There were no men to abuse or belittle them, and the only mothers there were those who'd chosen the role.

  She'd learned most whores either got rid of the occasional accident, or gave the children away at birth.

  Tilly bustled in. "Well, now, I hear you've a little girl. Have you picked a name?"

  A boy would have been Merlin, of course, but picking a girl's name had been more difficult. She didn't want to name her child after anyone on her side, and she didn't know Merlin's mother's name. One day, as she'd been reading the book he'd called his favorite, the one about knights and kings and quests, she'd suddenly known there was only one possible name for his daughter. "Guinevere. Her name is Guinevere Matilda. For her pa and for you."

  Tilly's chin quivered and she gave a little sniff. "Well, now, that's just about the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. I guess it makes me her granny."

  "I'd be honored," Callie said, reaching out to take Tilly's hand. "And so will she, when she is a little older."

  Part Three

  1884

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Boise City

  June 1884

  His family was moving on, even as Merlin was marking time. If he ever hoped to have children of his own, he should be seeking a wife.

  His younger brother and sister were both still in school back East and Regina seemed determined to be a spinster. Micah King had a son, almost a year old now. Micah still mourned Gray Dove, who had died in childbirth, but caring for little Gray Owl had kept him from falling into melancholy.


  Tony and Lulu both younger than he, now had twins, born just this afternoon. Everyone had gathered for the birth. The rejoicing was still going on, both in the parlor and in the barn, where the men had gathered to toast the newest additions to the family. He'd never developed a taste for the firewater his father called cherry-jack, so he'd taken a token sip when they toasted Tony, before escaping into the woodlot. More and more he was finding solitude necessary.

  Motion caught his eye and he looked to the west. Regina must have found the jollity as trying as he had. She was heading, with her usual long, free strides, toward the river. For a moment he considered joining her, but decided they both probably needed to be alone.

  I am alone too damned much.

  Young Rye had married last summer. He and his wife were homesteading over on the Payette, near her parents. Even Abel, Pa's one-armed hired man, was courting. Mrs. Petrie, his mother's long-time cook, was likely to become Mrs. Greene before too much longer.

  "Join you?"

  Without turning around, he said, "I'm not good company, but sure."

  Silas, his uncle in every way but blood, gripped his shoulder. "Ever thought of getting away for a while? You used to have a strong dose of wanderlust."

  "I've thought about it. Now Pa's back, he and Abel could handle the River Ranch."

  "Soomey says your heart is still troubled. She wants you to come with us when we head to San Francisco. You used to talk about seeing the Pacific Ocean. Did you get there?"

  "No, I--" He'd got married instead, and he still didn't know why. There were other ways to protect a woman besides taking her to wife. He remembered riding away from Boise City a long time ago, money in his purse and anticipation of high adventure in his heart. Some of the events of the next six years were as clear in his memory as if they'd happened yesterday. None of them had to do with a wife.

  "Then come. We'll probably head for Hong Kong in a couple of months, and we could drop you off in Hawaii, or you could go all the way with us."

  "I'll think about it," he said, knowing full well he wouldn't. His adventuring days were over. He was a man now, with a man's responsibilities. Too bad I came to them too late.

  "Silas?"

  "Hmm?" Silas fiddled with his pipe.

  "Did you pull any damfool stunts when you were off adventuring?"

  Silas nearly dropped his pipe when his mouth fell open. His laughter boomed out. He finally got his breath. "Great God, lad, of course I did. I was robbed, narrowly escaped getting shanghaied, fell for every trick a crooked poker player ever dreamed up, and tried to pick a fight with a big Swede who outweighed me by a hundred pounds. I got to Hawaii with a poke full of gold and left there broke and a lot wiser. I had the clothes on my back--dirty and torn, by the way--and a berth on a merchantman with an understanding skipper."

  "But you came home rich."

  "And I worked my arse off to do it. But I was luckier than you. I didn't fall afoul of a damsel in distress or get in the way of a crowd of murdering bastards."

  "A damsel-- What the hell do you mean?"

  "Calm down. I'm not insulting your wife." He chuckled, paused to fiddle with the pipe again. "I'm surprised you haven't heard that before. Your mother says you were bound to jump to the defense of the first damsel in distress you found, but she means it kindly. She understands your need to be a pure and gallant knight."

  Reining in the irritation that made him want to snarl, Merlin stared off toward the river. When he had himself in hand, he said. "Nonsense. I'm no knight. If you want to compare me to those folks in the fairy tales about King Arthur, I'm the squire who failed his quest."

  Once again Silas' hand gripped his shoulder. "No, lad, you didn't. Maybe you didn't slay the dragon, or whatever it is squires have to do before they get knighted, but you acted honestly and nobly. You took the steps you saw fit to protect a woman in danger. You tried. That's all a man can do. Try his best."

  "I'm not sure it was my best."

  "I am. You'd never do anything less. Now, let's head back to the house. I heard rumors of bread pudding with brandy sauce before I came out."

  * * * *

  Merlin went back to the River Ranch the next day, so it was two weeks before he heard Silas and Soomey had left.

  Abel brought the news when he came out with a wagon load of supplies. "They got a telegram. Some old friend of theirs is sick, so they took off to visit her. They'll be back before they head for San Francisco. Silas said you were thinking of goin' with them."

  "I did, for a minute or two. Decided my place is here. I guess I used up all my wanderlust." He laid a plank up against the tail of the wagon so they could roll out the barrel of flour. "Give 'er a shove."

  Once the wagon was unloaded, they sat in the kitchen and drank the coffee that had set on the back of the stove since breakfast. "You need yourself a cook, boy. This ain't fit to drink."

  "I notice you swallowed. If you don't like it, spit."

  "I've drank worse." Leaning to the side, he reached to the counter for the milk pitcher. "I hear Nettie Proffitt's lookin' for a new place. She's a passable cook, and a cuddly armful."

  "No thanks."

  "How long's it been since you had a woman, boy?"

  "I wish to God you'd stop calling me boy. We're close enough to the same age to make no difference."

  "I've got five years on you. And a lot more miles. How long?"

  "None of your business." The question made Merlin take stock, though. How long had it been? There had been frost on the ground when he'd ridden to town, ice in the water bucket when he'd returned the next morning. "Too long, I guess."

  Trouble was, he still felt as if he was betraying his wife--the woman he had no memory of--whenever he visited the discrete little house on the edge of Chinatown. He had no memory of the woman he'd married, save occasional visions of long, thick black hair and leaf-green eyes. Her voice never sounded in his mind, nor did his body remember the feel of her, his mouth recall the taste of her.

  * * * *

  Denver

  Mid-June 1884

  "We're closed."

  "I'm not a customer." Silas took a second look. "Celeste?"

  "Yes. Who-- Oh, thank God you're here, Silas. Soomey, is that you?"

  "You had better remember me as well as you do Boss, or I will be very angry. Let us in."

  The woman, dark haired, lovely, but not young, stepped aside. "Come in, by all means. Tilly will be so glad to see you." Her practiced smile disappeared.

  "How is she?"

  "Not good, I'm afraid. The doctor says she's barely hanging on."

  "It's just luck I got here. Your cable chased me from London to Boise."

  "We are grandparents," Soomey said. "I have brought a photograph to show Tilly."

  Celeste led them up two flights of stairs, to a room at the end of the corridor. She stopped at a door, tapped lightly before opening it a crack. "Tilly? You awake?"

  "I am now. What is it?"

  "Silas and Soomey. They've come to see you."

  "Well bring 'em in here. I've little enough time left, so don't waste it."

  "Ever the realist." Silas bent over the bed and kissed the woman. "Great God, Tilly. You're as lovely as ever."

  "Bullshit. I'm old and wrinkled and skinny as a rail. But I'm not dead yet. Did you bring that sassy wife of yours?"

  "I am here, Tilly. I have brought you Chinese medicine and a great surprise."

  "Give me the surprise first. I've about had my fill of medicine." With Celeste's help. She scooted up until she was half sitting against three fat pillows. "Well? Where's my surprise?"

  Soomey took a framed photograph from her reticule. "These are our grandchildren. Hope and Will. They are the most beautiful children in the world."

  Tilly peered at the photograph, and tears welled in her eyes. "They are indeed. So Tony finally got married, did he? Who's the lucky girl?"

  "William and Flower's girl--you met them at our wedding." Silas said.

 
; "The big black buck and the Injun girl, lived up there where Buffalo's folks did? Them?"

  "Indeed," Soomey said, not quite bristling. "They are very good people."

  "Soomey, all that family is good people. You did well to marry into it. I wish..."

  "Tilly, you know you could have called on any of them whenever you needed to," Silas took her hand. "You've been a good friend to us all. Buff had to get back to Hong Kong, but he sent his love."

  They spoke of old friends and old times until Tilly's mouth tightened and pain lines formed around her eyes. Claiming travel weariness, Soomey pulled Silas away and they left her.

  A little later, Celeste came to their room. "I hope you don't mind staying here. We wanted you close. Can you stay until..." Her voice broke and came high and trembling. "...until the end?"

  "As long as is necessary," Silas assured her.

  Soomey embraced Celeste, murmuring wordlessly to her. After a while she claimed a need to oversee preparations for the night's business.

  Silas promised they'd be available whenever Tilly was awake.

  "Good. I think it's time for someone to be with her all the time, but she wouldn't hear of me taking any of the girls off duty." A twisted smile said more than her words. "She's not close to most of them like she is to me and Callie."

  "We'll be here. You do what you have to do. And get some rest. You look like you could use it."

  "Thanks. I... Thanks. I'm so glad you're here."

  Once they were alone, Soomey wept. "She was good to me," she said. "I was mean, because she was a whore and I detested her. But she was kind and generous, and she acted as my mother. Tilly is a good woman, even if she was a whore."

  "Emmet told me she'd given him hints about problems more than once. When the Plummer Gang tried to take over, she worked with some of the other business people in the Basin. Probably save several lives, and sabotaged some of Plummer's efforts."