He finished his drink, rinsed and wiped the glass, and then knelt down and removed the false front of the cabinet that concealed the safe.
Only a foot and a half square, the heavy iron safe was small but adequate. It held a thousand dollars of cash money, all of it earned while working for Callahan and Sons, and two packets of letters. Steven took one of the packets to the table, adjusted the lamp, opened a letter, and began to read.
Dear friend Steven,
Of all the men I know, you are the one I trust to do what is best for my loved ones. Wiley is my dear and loyal friend, but what must be done would be too great a burden to put on a man of limited education. I realize you may not want to stay here after I am gone—in fact you have told me so. Please stay for a while and if you think things are going as we hope they will I want you to destroy the document. If not, and I fear it will not, you must take these papers to Judge Kenton.
Steven continued to read the letter he had read a dozen or more times before. When he finished, he folded it carefully, and then read the next letter in the stack. It was from Jean Callahan. George had given him the letter along with his own. The letter started with: Dear friend Steven.
Steven could almost recite the words from memory. Still he read it through, folded it, and put it with George’s letter. There were four more letters and a legal document in the stack. The letters were old and bore such postmarks as Bay Horse, Cracked Rock, and Two Shoes. Steven didn’t read them. One time had been enough. He wrapped the packet of letters and the document in a piece of thin leather and tied the bundle securely with a shoestring.
The other packet of letters was personal. Steven looked at them and asked himself why he had kept them all these years. He knew the answer. They were a connection with his past. Oh, yes, he’d had a past before he’d come to the Bitterroot Mountains. He’d had a family who loved him, a mother who worried, a father and a brother who despised him—at the end. They were gone now. He had read in the San Francisco newspaper about his father’s ship going down. His mother and brother had been on board as well. He had grieved—for his mother.
Looking back he wished he had stayed, faced the disgrace and worked to clear his name. Realistically, he knew that he had done the only thing he could have done: run. It was folly to think he could have cleared his name while in prison. The cards were all stacked against him. Even his own father and brother had thought him guilty when thousands of dollars were missing from his father’s shipbuilding company.
His wild lifestyle of drinking and gambling and the fact that he kept the company books had made him the logical suspect. The family had been shunned by lifelong friends, and irate stockholders had hired men to kill him. He’d had several narrow escapes before he had wandered cold, sick, and hungry to the Callahan homestead and Jean and George Callahan had taken him in.
When he had recovered, they had offered him the job of keeping the books for the small but growing lumber company. Before accepting, he had told them his story and prepared to move on, not wanting to bring trouble down on his new friends. They had persuaded him to stay. He had changed his name and settled into a life far more primitive than the one he had left behind.
Several times over the years, bounty hunters had come looking for him. The picture they showed no longer resembled the man who kept books at the mill. No one had ever heard of a man named Maxwell Lilly.
Reminiscing was painful even after almost twenty years. Steven kindled a small fire in the pot-bellied stove that sat in the corner of the room. When the flames were high, he tossed in one scrap of paper at a time: a letter from a girl he had been engaged to marry, newspaper clippings, and wanted posters. He couldn’t part with the note his mother had left on his bed the day he had been accused. She told him that she loved him and believed him innocent. He tucked it and a ledger sheet from the books he had kept so long ago into an envelope and put them back in the safe. He had kept the ledger sheet thinking that maybe someday it might be useful in clearing his name. It no longer mattered. He was Steven Marz now. He stirred the ashes with the poker until they fell through the grate. Nothing remained.
Maxwell Lilly no longer existed.
Louis was in a rage. Milo lay on his bunk, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling.
“Ya done it now. Ya really done it. Ain’t I told ya to stay clear a Waller’s girl? Ain’t I told ya? Ya had to go down there, just had to go, and ya got Sid killed.”
“How’d I know Waller’d gun him down?”
“Don’t ya be tellin’ me more lies. Gawdammit! Ya said one shot was fired. There was two. Sid shot first.”
“I heard one shot.”
“Then yo’re deaf as a doornail! Tinker found a shell by Sid’s body and smelled the barrel of his gun. Sid shot Waller in the arm. Waller’s aim was better.”
“Ya believin’ me or hired help?” Milo sat up on the bunk, an ugly scowl on his face.
“I saw it. Steven saw it. I don’t give a shit about Sid. What’s this about him weddin’ Dory? Who thought a that?”
“I did. We’d better get her wed to someone who’ll do what we say, or she’ll up and wed someone like that Waller. That’d be real trouble.”
“Real trouble’ll come when James sees what you done to her. He’s a tail-twister when he’s stirred up an’ this’ll rile him aplenty.”
“We ort ta a took care of that sonofabitch long time ago. I been tempted more’n once. Always too many around. But I’ll get the pecker yet.”
“Ya’d better get ta him afore he gets ta you. He’ll tear down yore smokehouse.”
“Harrumpt! I got friends here what owe me. We could take him an’ his bunch with both legs tied together.” Milo snorted and lay back down on the bunk.
“I ain’t wantin’ the men takin’ sides. And that ain’t all, damn ya to hell. Sit up and listen to me.”
“What’er ya harpin’ on now? Don’t want to hear no more ‘bout Whory Dory. She got what was comin’ ta her. Stabbed Sid with a fork. Would’ve stabbed me if she’d got ta me. If’n that old man hadn’t butted in, I’d a let Sid have a go at ’er, teach ’er some respect fer her betters. His pecker’s big as a stump. Was big as a stump. Don’t guess it ’mounts ta much now.”
Louis looked at his brother for a long moment, then sat down on his bunk and held his head in his hands. Things were piling up on him too fast, and this brainless brother of his was no help at all.
“She wants Steven to go to Judge Kenton an’ try an’ get the company split up in half. Half would go ta her an’ James an’ half ta us. Ya know what that’ll mean? It’ll mean we’ll have ta buy ’em out ta hold onta what’s ours. We ain’t got a pissin’ cent that ain’t tied up.”
Milo was silent for a moment. Then he grinned.
“Might not be a bad idee. They could buy us out. We could go ta Seattle or San Francisco. See the sights.”
Louis jumped to his feet. “Have ya lost yore mind? I ain’t sellin’.”
“Calm down. I’m just a talkin’. Kenton won’t do that nohow. Ain’t no way he could divide it up even. If’n he did, it’d take a year or two to get it done. All ya got ta do is keep yore eyes on Steven so’s he can’t get to Kenton to ask him.”
“You ain’t worried a-tall, air ya? I worked my ass off an’ I ain’t givin’ up nothin’. The chance has come to get even with Malone—”
“—It’s all ya think of—gettin’ even with Malone.”
Louis sat down and tried to speak reasonably.
“Air ya forgettin’ that fer three years in a row, he’s clogged the river an’ got the best price fer his logs? And we got the leavin’s? Have ya forgot that it was a Malone whore what come in here an’ took our maw’s place an’ gived the old man a couple of bastards that get half of what’s ours? Have ya forgot it was a Malone what ruint Dory an’ dragged our name through the mud? I ain’t forgot—”
“I ain’t forgot old Jean. That’s certain. She was a hot little heifer. I can still hear them bedsprings
a squeakin’ an’ the old man a gruntin’.”
“Shut up!” Louis shouted. “I ain’t wantin’ to hear ’bout no whore.”
“Why is it ya never want ta hear ‘bout Jean an’ the old man? I used to think ya was kinda sweet on her an’ jealous of him a gettin’ what ya was wantin’. Guess it was ya hated her, huh? Whory Dory reminds me of her. Both of ’em built to give a man a good ride.”
“Is that all ya think of? Pluggin’ a woman?”
“Ain’t nothin’ better to think ’bout.” Milo laughed. “Sometimes I think ‘bout ridin’ ‘em like a wild bronc or bouncin’ on ‘em like a featherbed, or pokin’ it down their gullet. Now old Sid, he liked to nuss titties—”
Milo’s voice droned on. Louis pulled off his boots, blew out the lamp, and lay down on his bunk. He had a lot to think about, plans to make. Milo had his cravings. He had his. One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to let Milo’s cravings interfere with his.
It was decided that Ben and Wiley would spend the night in the house. Ben had put his horse in the barn and fetched Wiley’s crutch and the pot of beans Dory had cooked for their supper. They sat at the kitchen table. Odette and Dory had gone upstairs while Ben was outside.
“Ain’t no need me bein’ in here, Ben. Milo ain’t comin’ back here tonight. Bout now Louis is a gnawin’ on his arse like a dog on a bone. Not that Louis cares what he done to Dory, but he’s scared a what Dory said ‘bout the dividin’ part.”
“I think she just pulled that out of her hat to rile Louis. If the judge did anything at all, it would be to force one party to buy the other out. If that couldn’t be done, he’d sell the whole works and divide the money.”
“James’ll go plumb outta his head when he sees what Milo done to Dory.” Wiley had finished his plate of beans and was on his second cup of coffee. He didn’t have much of an appetite. His leg hurt like hell.
“I’ve been thinking about that. If it wasn’t for that killer running loose, we could take the women down to McHenry’s. I don’t think Dory would go to the Malones’. She’d be too ashamed for them to see her all beat up.”
“When James sees her, ya can bet he’ll be on Milo like a chicken on a junebug. One of ’em might end up dead. If it’s James, that gal ain’t got nobody.”
“She’d have somebody.” Ben’s fork paused on the trip from his plate to his mouth.
“I be a old man, son. ’Sides, Milo’ll back-shoot me first chance he gets.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Wal… yeah… an’ I thank ya. But I ain’t wantin’ James ta go off half-cocked an’ get hisself killed.”
“I’m not wanting that either. He’s going to wonder why I’m not back in the morning and think something’s happened. I’m hoping he comes here before he goes to the mill.”
“Will his crew be knowin’ how ta run the engine?”
“One of the men up there has worked with steam. He knows to watch the gauge and not to fill the firebox too full. I could have stayed on a day or two longer, but as of now, my job is done. They’re on their own as far as I’m concerned.” He spread butter and honey on a thick slice of bread and ate it before he spoke again. “How do you think Steven figures in this?”
“Never been able to figure him out. Stays to hisself. Don’t take sides. Been a big help keepin’ the company goin’. George thought a heap of him, is all I know.”
“Papa—” Odette spoke from the doorway and came into the room to stand beside Ben. “Dory is frettin’. She’s afraid for Baby. She’s scared for James and Wiley—for all of us.”
“Have you had supper, honey?” Ben tugged gently on her hand and she sat down.
“Baby and I had one of James’s candies.”
Ben spooned beans onto a plate and set it in front of her.
“Eat. I’ll go talk to Dory.”
After helping Dory to wash, Odette had wrapped a cloth tightly around her bruised ribs. She had slipped a nightdress over Dory’s head and helped her into the bed. Odette’s fingers were wonderfully gentle as she dabbed at the cuts on Dory’s face with a pad soaked with witch hazel. When that was done she had sat with her. Grateful not to be alone, Dory had reached for her hand and held it tightly.
Because of her swollen lips Dory was unable to speak so that Odette could understand her and had written on the tablet, I’m afraid for my baby and James… for you and Ben and Wiley.
“Don’t worry, Dory. Papa won’t let anyone hurt Baby. James will come and help him. Papa likes you and Baby.”
“I hope so. Oh, I hope so,” Dory said, knowing Odette didn’t understand her. She wrote on the tablet. I’ll be all right. Go eat supper. Put the lamp on the table in the hall.
The dimly lit room was lonely after Odette left. Dory’s worst fantasy had become a living nightmare. What had caused Milo to act so irrationally? He had always been mean, but not as he was tonight. She wasn’t surprised at how Louis had reacted. He never admitted that Milo was in the wrong even if he saw it with his own eyes. Her immediate fear was for James. He would be crazy mad when he saw what Milo had done to her. She prayed that Ben would be able to talk sense into him.
Suddenly all that had happened to her was too much to hold inside her. Her aching face twisted as she sought to hold back the sobs—the only sound in the quiet semi-darkened room. She managed to choke them down, but she couldn’t have stopped the faint grieving moans that bubbled up out of her misery if her life had depended on it. In all her life she had never felt such crushing anguish.
“Dory… shhh… don’t cry. Hush, pretty girl, don’t cry—” The words were murmured; the voice was deep and moving.
Dory wanted nothing but to cling to the man who knelt beside the bed. His hand stroked her shoulder and arm. She groped for him. Gentle hands held her. It was wonderful to be close to someone who cared. Not just someone… Ben.
“Oh, Ben—”
“Don’t worry. Things will work out. They always do.” He spoke softly into her ear. His arms were holding her gently. She was cradled against his chest, sheltered by strong wide shoulders.
“Not… for me. Ben, what’ll I do? He said he’d do to Jeanmarie what he did… he did—”
“Shhh… don’t think about it. Milo is full of talk. He won’t hurt Jeanmarie. He’ll never hurt you again. I don’t think he’ll be so brave facing a man.”
“You don’t understand. He doesn’t fight fair! He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He’s got… friends.”
“And you’ve got me and James and Wiley,” he said quietly.
“He’ll see that James has an accident. He’ll catch Wiley away from here and shoot him in the back like he did Mick. He’ll kill… you.” Forgetting her sore jaw, she raised her voice and clutched his upper arm.
“You don’t have much faith in me, do you?” he said teasingly.
“I do! I do! But you’ll go and take Odette. She was so good to me. I… I—” She could say no more for the sobs that clogged her throat
“Hey, now. Don’t cry. Odette and I are not leaving just yet.”
“She’s so level-headed—”
“—And you’re about the bravest woman I’ve ever known. You fought like a wildcat down there.”
“Your arm! Am I hurting your arm?”
“Naw. I could still hug a pretty girl if I had stitches in both arms.” He had a smile in his voice.
“Ben, I’m ugly.”
He laughed. “What brought that on?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m ugly.”
“You’re not. You’re as pretty as a speckled pup—that is when you don’t look like you’ve tangled with a buzz saw.” His chuckle vibrated through his chest.
“Oh, Ben—” Her arm slipped around his waist and she nestled closer. “I’m sorry to be such a baby. I haven’t cried this much since Mick was killed.” She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.
“Did you love him so much?” She could feel his warm breath on her face.
“Yes. I loved him like I love Jeanmarie. He was so lonely, so misunderstood. If you could have known him, you’d understand. He was fragile and hated himself for not being what his father wanted him to be.”
“I think Chip understands him now. The walls of the room we waited in were covered with Mick’s paintings. Chip seems very proud of them.”
“He told me he painted, but I never saw his pictures. He liked making jewelry and gave me a pin he made. He made one for his mother, too. She gave it to me to save for Jeanmarie.”
“The next time you go to the Malones’ you should see the paintings. They’re very good.”
“I’ll not go again. Marie is dying—”
“I have the feeling that Chip wants to put all that behind him and accept Jeanmarie as his granddaughter.”
“No. I’ll never forgive him for the way he treated Mick. If he had been more understanding of him, Mick wouldn’t have had to sneak off to meet someone he could talk to who would not ridicule him. He’d not have been killed, shot down in the woods as if he were no more than an animal.”
“And you would have married him?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “With Jeanmarie on the way, there’s nothing else I could have done. Although the love I had for Mick was not like the love my mother had for Papa.” The sob came back into her throat.
“Poor little girl. You’ve had a load to carry.” His voice was the merest of whispers. “Go to sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
She felt his lips on her forehead. She wasn’t dreaming because she could feel his breath, warm on her wet face, and she could smell a faint woodsy scent on his vest. Not wanting to leave the warm security of his arms. but knowing she must, she pushed herself away from him and lay back down on the pillow.
“Thank you, Ben.”
“You don’t have to be thanking me, Dory.” His voice was strained and light, his face a blur. He stood. “Wiley and I will be downstairs. You’ve nothing to worry about. Sleep, so you’ll get your strength back.”
Sins of Summer Page 19
