by Barbara Goss
Chapter 7
The real Reverend Alexander Carter stood before the pulpit on Sunday and told his story. He apologized to the congregation for the mishap, and said he never should have revealed so much about himself to the two strangers he’d met on the train.
Cassie eyed the real Reverend Carter with approval. The man was about forty years old, with graying temples and glasses. He smiled a lot. For a man who’d been through such an ordeal, he seemed quite humble.
“I don’t have a sermon prepared for today, as Doc Hall released me just yesterday, but I’m certain we can all work together to bring our church back to financial security and Christian fellowship.” He eyed the congregation carefully for a moment, “Church will be over early today. My hope is that you use this time to greet each other and be with your families.” He delivered a benediction, and the pianist played the closing song.
Meg grabbed the new minister's attention as he shook hands on the church steps. She whispered something into his ear, and the minister nodded, winked, and whispered something back. Meg smiled.
Meg served a beef roast dinner to her family. During their before-dinner prayer, they thanked God for the new minister.
After the prayer she said in an almost whisper, “He’s going to marry us officially this afternoon.”
“That’s a relief,” Jesse said. “I’d hate to think of you as a fallen woman.” He winked her.
“You may think it’s funny, but I do not,” she said firmly.
“I’m sure,” Laura said, “that God understands the situation and although the man who married you was unqualified, you still were married in the eyes of God at His altar.”
Meg stood up and walked around the table to Laura. She hugged her. “You always manage to make me feel better.” To the rest of the family she said, “But I’m still getting married today. I don’t want any fuss. Carl and I will go by ourselves. We don’t want to attract any undue attention.”
Higgins stopped by while Carl and Meg were at the church. Jesse invited him in, and they sat in the living room. Laura and Cassie brought them lemonade. Little Jake napped upstairs, while Nellie played nearby with a ragdoll.
“Well,” Higgins began after swallowing a fair amount of cool lemonade, “we got the man who fed the real Alex. His name is Ben, so we don’t need to keep calling him The Man Who Fed Alex.”
“That's excellent news,” Jesse said. “Where is he now?”
“On his way to Hays to be identified by Alex, then off to Leavenworth to await a trial— unless he confesses after being identified.”
“What about the real culprit, the fake Alex?” Cassie asked.
“We’re still searching, but it looks as though he headed for Topeka or Kansas City without sharing his booty with Ben. I hear Ben’s pretty upset that he was double-crossed by his partner.”
“How do you know he’s heading east?” Jesse asked.
“He was spotted twice—once by a livery where he changed horses, and again by an innkeeper. At least we think it’s him. He fits the description.”
Oliver visited Silas, not to drop off clothes, but to talk to him. He had Clark open the cell and bring him a chair. “I hear you have a lawyer,” he said.
“I might,” answered Silas, his curiosity about his brother’s visit now satisfied.
“Silas, if you didn’t kill Belinda—and I know I didn’t—then who did?” Oliver asked, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees.
“The newest facts seem to point your way, brother.” Silas said.
“I would be more likely to kill Joe than Belinda. I told you, I loved her.” Oliver stated frankly.
“Did you kill Joe?” Silas asked pointedly.
“No.”
“I don’t know why, but I believe you. Maybe it’s because, as bad an egg as you’ve always been, you have never out-and-out lied to me.” Silas rose and began to pace the length of the cell. “Then who killed them?”
Jesse and Cassie were in the fields behind Jesse’s ranch branding cattle. He had helped with her cattle the day before, and now she was returning the favor. It was another hot August day, and the fire for the branding irons radiated heat like a furnace.
Jesse wiped the perspiration from his brow. “If Silas doesn’t return soon, I’m thinking we should make this six hundred acres one big ranch. We can’t keep this up for much longer. And, I haven’t finished my fence yet. Three years, and I’m still working on it.”
“I’m in favor of having one large ranch, and all of us chipping in to keep it running. This really is ridiculous; we’re all family after all,” Cassie said, while heating the branding iron.
“I love to see people working!” Higgins called, as he approached them. “I have good news.”
“We could use some,” Jesse said. He untied the calf he’d just branded.
“We caught the fake Alex in Topeka. I had notified authorities there and in Kansas City, the two places he’d have to pass through if he headed east. They’re escorting him here for identification. Who wants to do the honors?”
“I do!” they both said in unison.
“No,” Jesse said. “I don’t want you near him, Cassie. This is something that, as your brother, I need to do.”
“The real Alex will have to identify him also.” Higgins looked at Jesse, “You know you can’t hit him while he’s in custody, right?”
“Not even if you step out of sight?” Jesse asked with a wink.
“There’s always that possibility.” Higgins smiled.
Four days later, Jesse found himself staring at the impostor with disgust. “That’s him.” He nodded to Higgins. “What’s his real name, anyway?”
Higgins glanced down at his notes, “Uriah Nelson.”
“Has the minister identified him yet?” Jesse asked.
“Yes, Carter’s positive that’s the man who kidnapped him.”
“Did he sign a statement?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure, I’ll get it for you.” Higgins left the room.
Jesse looked Uriah in the eyes and said, “So, you touched my sister?”
“It was an accident,” Uriah said.
“And so is this.” Jesse drew his right arm back and punched Uriah solidly in the face.
Warren Bancroft sat across from Silas and said, “I talked to the sheriff, and he’s now considering your innocence, but he needs more time to review our facts and talk it over with the judge.”
Another disappointment, Silas thought. “I understand.”
“What is your brother’s alibi?”
“I don’t know that he has one.”
“You might be assured a quicker release if we could find the real murderer,” the lawyer said, idly tapping his pen on his hand. “That’s why I wondered if maybe Oliver killed them. After all, it was in his home and I can’t seem to get anyone to tell me his alibi.”
“I can ask him what his alibi is when he stops around again, but I know Oliver, and I don’t think he did it.”
“You don’t? Then who could have killed her?”
Silas shrugged. “Is it possible that Joe killed her and then himself?”
“A good theory,” the attorney said. “I’ll look into it, but I am fairly sure that two guns were used, and the one that shot Joe was one of Joe’s own guns. The gun that killed Belinda… we aren’t sure who owned that one, but Joe’s wife definitely identified the gun that killed Joe as his own.”
The attorney stood to leave. “I hope when you see me next I have better news, Silas. Hang in there.”
Jesse, Meg, Carl and Cassie paced the living room as Doc Hall attended to Laura. She’d been in labor for six hours.
“How long did she labor last time?” Meg asked.
“Eight long hours.” Jesse wiped his brow. “The doctor in Kansas City said she’d be fine having babies right here at home. I hope he knew what he was talking about, because her mother died giving birth to her.”
“Does Doc
Hall know that?” Meg asked.
“Yes, but he said it didn’t mean—”
“Sh-h!” Cassie hushed everyone. “Is that a baby’s cry?”
“It is!” Jesse shouted. “It’s here!”
They waited, trying to be patient until Doc Hall came out of the bedroom, smiling. “Oh, Jesse, you are a lucky man, lucky, indeed.”
“So, Laura’s all right?” Jesse asked.
“She’s great, and she did a magnificent job.”
“So,” Jesse hedged, “is it a boy or a girl?”
“Come and see for yourself,” Doc said.
Jesse walked into the bedroom, and his eyes immediately went to Laura’s. He kissed her forehead and asked, “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine,” she said cheerfully. “Glad it’s over, though.” She held out a blanketed bundle and handed it to Jesse. “Your daughter.”
He opened the bundle, to check the gender even though he knew Laura was telling the truth. He had to see it with his own eyes. “She’s beautiful!” Jesse cuddled the baby tenderly, rubbing the thin spots of strawberry-blond fuzz on her head with his thumb.
“I’ve picked out a name. I hope you agree with it,” she said. “I want to name her Margaret, after my real mother, who I never knew, and for your mother.”
“I like it,” Jesse said, “but instead of Meg, we’ll call her Maggie.”
“Maggie it is,” Laura said. “Margaret Mary Collins.”
Cassie stayed with Jesse for a few days until Laura was up and about. Meg brought dinner over every day.
“There are definitely advantages to having your mother living just two hundred acres away,” Jesse kidded.
When Laura was finally moving about and feeling herself again, Cassie surprised them at dinner one night by announcing, “I’m going to Kansas City.”
“What?” Jesse dropped his fork. “You can’t!”
Cassie frowned. “Why not?”
“You can’t go alone!”
“Come with me then,” she said.
“I can’t leave my family for that long a time,” he said.
“Something is wrong, or Silas would be writing me or coming home.”
“Maybe he couldn’t get out of his situation,” Laura said.
“If that’s the case then I need to know that. There’s no reason why I can’t take a stagecoach alone. After all, women these days travel by themselves all the time.” She pushed her plate away. “I’m going and that’s final.”
Chapter 8
Cassie headed for the Southwestern Stage Company, with her unbraided hair pinned up and dressed in her Sunday best, gripping her ticket to Kansas City, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this sooner.
Meg had wanted her to take a train so that she would arrive sooner, but it also cost three times as much as the stagecoach. She approached the trip with an adventurous mindset, carrying a canteen of water and silver coins to pay for meals and hotels.
The coach flew across Kansas, and it felt exhilarating— as exciting as racing her horse across the meadows at breakneck speeds. There wasn’t much in the way of scenery, although she had a window seat, because most of the view was as a sea of farmland, mostly rows and rows of tall corn and barren plains.
The coach wasn't as bumpy as she'd thought. Rather, it glided through the muddy trail like a ship upon a smooth ocean, while the cab of the coach rocked her like a baby’s cradle. It felt soothing and often during the trip, Cassie fell asleep but she couldn’t sleep for too long because they stopped every ten miles to change horses. During these stops, the passengers usually got out of the coach to stretch their legs. The stage company even provided lap blankets to keep them warm, as the late summer nights grew cool.
Four other passengers, three men and another woman, were on the stage with her. The men looked like bankers to Cassie, because they wore suits and carried satchels. The woman appeared much older and reminded her of her mother. Attractive and in her fifties, she conversed with Cassie all the way to Kansas City. The woman, whose name was Mary Banner, also shared a hotel room with her during the trip, and Cassie was thankful for the female company.
The sight of the stage depot in Kansas City was a welcome one after a full week of traveling, but Cassie felt ambivalent when he saw the size of the city. How she would ever find Silas in such a big and busy area. Where would she even begin?
She shared her concerns with Mary as the passengers gathered their belongings.
“Maybe I can help you,” Mary replied. I live here. Who are you looking for?”
“His name is Silas Martin.”
“Hmm…I don’t know him, but I’ll take you to the post office. They know everyone,” Mary offered.
Mary went into the post office with her and inquired as to the whereabouts of a Silas Martin.
The postmaster scratched his head. “We have quite a few in the city named Martin.”
Disappointment surged through Cassie.
“Don’t worry,” Mary encouraged. “You’ll come home with me and we’ll figure this out together.”
Oliver sat in Calvin Baxter’s office. “I need another favor, Cal.”
Calvin was polishing his new Colt 45. “Now what?” he asked.
“My brother hired a hotshot attorney who is snooping around. I need an alibi. You know very well I didn’t kill either of them, even though it happened in my house. I can’t tell them the truth, that I was at Joe Rogers’ house looking for him at the time Belinda was shot, especially when neither he or his wife were at home. I need you to say you were with me.”
“Why didn’t you level with me that your brother wasn’t in town when the shooting occurred? I had to hear it from his attorney.”
“I seriously thought he did it, and I had no idea when he left town. I just know he wasn’t around after the shootings. He did have the perfect motive.”
“I suppose I could be your alibi, since I owe you a big favor for covering for me when my wife found out I’d slept with that barmaid, then we could call it even.”
“I’ll consider the debt paid in full,” Oliver said.
“Why were you looking for Joe the night they were both shot?” Calvin said ardently stroking his new gun.
“I wanted to kill him, well… not literally. I loved Belinda, and he made her marry my brother. I was angry enough to kill him then, but when I found out he’d been intimate with her for years, I wanted to find him and beat him to a pulp, but, I didn’t see him until I got home and he was laying on the floor dead.”
“That attorney is now questioning that Joe’s death was suicide. What was I to think happened when there were two guns used? Well, if it weren’t for there being two guns, then I’d think he’d have shot her and then himself,” said Calvin. “But who would shoot someone with one gun, and then pull out another gun to kill himself? It has to be as I first ruled. He was upset over someone (I thought Silas) killing his daughter since he put her into that situation. He saw her dead, he felt guilty and killed himself.”
“Who came up with the idea that he didn’t kill himself?” Oliver asked. “He had to have, no one else was there.”
“Edna. She’s insisted all along that Joe didn’t kill himself and that it was you who killed him.”
“She must be hitting the sauce or something, Cal. Although, this doesn’t surprise me as I know she’s never liked me.”
“I’ll probably have to let Silas go because that attorney has facts I can’t dispute,” Cal said.
“Let him go, he didn’t kill anyone. The murderer had to be Joe or Edna because there is no one else.”
“How do you suppose they got into your house?”
“Like I told you at the time—I never locked my doors.”
Cassie felt at home with Mary and her husband. The two of them lived in a small cottage right in the heart of the city. Mary’s husband, Matthew told her that ‘old’ Kansas City had been incorporated a few years ago, and that 'new' Kansas City was incorporated the year prior,
consolidating the five surrounding municipalities.
At dinner, Cassie told them all she knew about the Martin family, that his wealthy father had lived in a large mansion, and when he died, he left his money to his two sons— Silas and Oliver.
Matthew, a carpenter by trade, suggested she contact the local sheriff’s office for information, as the sheriff and his deputies knew most of the people in the area. So, the first thing in the morning, Mary and Cassie took a walk to the sheriff’s office, about a half-mile from Mary’s cottage.
Clark was sitting and reading a newspaper when they arrived. “Can I help you ladies?”
“Yes,” Mary answered. “Where would we find a man named, Silas Martin?”
Clark stood. “Who wants to know?”
“Why, we do,” said Mary. She pointed to Cassie. “This young woman is practically engaged to him. Do you know where we might locate him?”
We don’t give out personal information," he said. "I can’t help you.” He returned to his newspaper.” The women left.
“Now what?” Cassie asked.
“A saloon!” Mary exclaimed. “Most men drink at saloons. We could try a few.”
“I’m not too sure about going inside a saloon, Mary. Silas is not a drinking man.”
“It’ll be fine in the daytime. Even if Silas would never go into one himself, it's where all the gossip is. C’mon.” She led Cassie down the street where they entered the first saloon they came to by way of the front door. The saloon was dark inside. The sound of tinkling glasses led them toward the long, wooden bar. Because it was morning, the place was empty, except for the barman, who stood behind the bar drying glasses.
“Can I help you ladies?” he asked. From his puzzled look, Cassie assumed he’d thought it odd to see the two women entering a bar alone.
“Yes,” Mary answered. “Do you know a Silas Martin?”
“Nope, the name ain’t familiar.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison, and left the saloon.
