Chapter Fifteen
"Miss Charity!" Joshua exclaimed, as he watched the lovely woman in pale pink ruffles rush forward toward his cell. She put her hands on the bars, closing them on his.
"Oh, Joshua, I'm so sorry about your predicament. Papa has engaged a lawyer. Have you seen Mr. Willard yet?"
He shook his head. It was generous of Dr. Bucknell to find him a lawyer. He wasn't sure how much lawyers cost, but he'd amassed a nest egg of sorts. He'd pay whatever it took to get acquitted. "No, I haven't seen him. How did you get in to see me? Gritch told me he'd turned Verity away. He implied there was something unsavory about our relationship. Unfortunately, I'm unable to call him out on it from my position."
"Verity told me she'd been here. Papa was quite angry when he found out. I talked Deputy Jones into letting me in in the sheriff's absence." She held up a book with a cross on it. "I'm here to make sure your spiritual needs are addressed."
He smiled. "I thank you for your efforts. I assure you, I'm about as close to God as I ever was."
"I wonder what that says about you, Joshua," she said, but her tone was light. "How are they treating you?"
"I'm not being abused, except verbally. Gritch finds any excuse to come back here and question me. As far as I'm concerned, he can talk himself blue in the face. I have nothing to say. Literally. Nothing. I still can't remember who I am. A while ago, I did remember riding my horse and being around a wagon."
She gazed at him steadily, assessing him, and dropped her hands from his. "Why didn't you say something about this?"
He wasn't going to tell her how many doubts of himself had come forward with that simple memory. "I didn't think it meant anything. I mean, we already knew I remembered my horse. And there are a hundred reasons why I might be riding him around a wagon."
That seemed to mollify her. "True enough. Well, please don't keep any more memories to yourself. You can't afford it." She squeezed his fingers around the bars once again. "I implore you to tell me the truth. Are you absolutely certain that this criminal is not you?"
"Would I tell you if I had doubts?"
"I don't know. I hope you'd trust me with your confidences."
He thought about that. Charity had been a staunch supporter throughout. She was a good woman, and had he not fallen in love with Verity, he'd have been a fool not to pursue Charity. But he was in love with Verity, and surely his secrets were better placed with her before they were uttered to her sister. "I do trust you, Charity. But there's Verity to consider. She's very important to me."
"That's part of my worry," Charity told him. "My sister is in love with you, and yet you might be a thief and murderer. I want to know the truth."
"So do I."
"Well, I suppose we'll all find out in time," she said, releasing his fingers and stepping back a pace. "I should go before Mr. Jones gets in trouble."
"Yes. Will you give Verity a message for me, please?"
"What message?"
"Tell her I love her."
"That is better said by you, Joshua, but I shall convey your feelings."
If only he could see her, he'd tell her himself. "Thank you."
"Goodbye, Joshua. We're working toward your release. Wait patiently."
Patience was about the last thing he felt, but he agreed with a nod. "Goodbye, Charity."
A few hours later, a tall, thin man, dressed in the latest fashion, and carrying a leather satchel, came through the door to the cells. He looked to be about sixty years old, with steel gray hair, a goatee and mustache, and small, round spectacles. Deputy Jones was leading the way. He came to the cell door and let the tall man into the space with Joshua.
"Good evening, young man. I'm Theodore Willard, your attorney."
Joshua offered his hand for a shake. "Mr. Willard. I'm pleased to meet you. I hope you can help me."
"I shall try, young man, I shall try." He drew a pen and paper from his satchel and sat on the cot. "Tell me what you know."
Joshua gave Willard all the details and information he could think of, going so far as to tell him that he was in love with one of the Bucknell sisters, and hoped to remember who he was soon so he could court her properly.
"It's admirable to have held back until you can be assured of your availability and good character," Willard told him. "However, we must focus on what we do know." He went through the list he'd made on his legal pad, ending with Joshua's most recent memory of the horse and wagon. "Nothing else?"
"Well… now that we're talking about it. I do remember a woman with dark hair and blue eyes. She's a few years younger than I. I can picture her face clearly. She's dear to me, but I don't know why. She might be a cousin or maybe a sister. I don't know." Frustration made him pound his fist into his palm.
"And if she's your wife?"
How would he react to a wife he barely remembered? Would he realize that he was in love with her? Would they have a passionate relationship that somehow he didn't recall? Was that even possible? "I don't know," he told the attorney honestly. "The only wife I want is Verity Bucknell. I will, however, honor whatever commitments we discover."
Willard patted Joshua on the back. "That's the right thing to do. If this memory proves to be a wife or a sister, even a cousin, we'll find her." He paused. "I hate to be crass," he said, "But how do you plan to pay for this process? My fees are going to be significant, but I think Dr. Bucknell plans to pay—"
"Oh, but I can't allow that," Joshua interrupted. "He doesn't owe me anything. That kind of generosity is beyond reason."
"Frankly, young man, I think he knows something about your relationship with Verity and he wants you to be clear of these problems so that you can work things out with her, whatever may come."
It was so generous of Dr. Bucknell; Joshua was almost speechless with gratitude. "I have some money of my own," he said. "I can pay part."
"We'll talk about the price later," Willard said, rising. "In the meantime, you try to remember more about riding your horse around a wagon, and I'll try to put a case together that will give the judge and jury reasonable doubt. I'm afraid reasonable doubt is about all we have to work with."
"Will it be enough?"
"I hope so, lad. I hope so."
They parted, leaving Joshua to think. He had to remember. The time was critical. If he didn't remember, there was a chance he would be hung for a crime he didn't commit. Or did he?
* * *
Two long, agonizing days went by with no visitors, nothing to occupy his mind, and only the badgering from Gritch to look forward to. With nothing else to focus on, he tried to remember more about himself. He could remember shooting a gun, a revolver, at targets. He wore denims, a leather vest, a cotton shirt and a blue bandana around his neck. His hat sat firmly on his head. It was, in his memory, his favorite hat—a black slouch hat with conchos around the band. It was hot and dusty wherever he was. But he was hitting those targets he was shooting at. They sat on a stack of hay bales and he would quick-draw before shooting. Tin cans and glass bottles went flying or burst with the impact of his bullets.
Was this a memory, or was it a fantasy pastime to keep his mind busy? If it was a true memory, why was he shooting so expertly? Was he a gunslinger, an outlaw? Was he some sort of trick shooter at a rodeo or exhibition? What the hell was he? He felt that if he knew his occupation, everything else would fall in place. It gave him numerous headaches as he wracked his brain to try to drive out the information.
Another memory he had was staring up at the stars with a low-burning campfire nearby. He lay on the ground, on a bedroll. Alone. He felt sad and lonely in the memory. Surely this thought indicated that he was not part of a gang. He would not be all by himself if that were the case. Perhaps he was a cattleman, out looking for stray cattle. But, that would not explain his quick-draw ability.
As he sat on his jail cell cot, he tried to trigger memories that meant something. Nothing clear came forward, just disjointed stuff that didn't tell him much. Eventually, Grit
ch came to his cell. He did that most every day.
"Got some visitors," said the sheriff, licking his thin lips as though savoring something tasty. Two men followed him into the corridor in front of the cells. They were both of medium build, dressed for riding. One wore a white hat, the other black. Each had a thick brown mustache, curving over his upper lip. Their brown eyes held no pity for him, though they both looked at him with interest. Gritch introduced the men. "This here is Bob Blanton, and that's Dave Blanton. They're from Blanton Brothers Freight—the company you robbed a few weeks back."
"I didn't rob anyone. Gentlemen."
"Don't look like much, does he?" Bob Blanton said, acting as though he was examining a bug.
"Nope," Dave said.
Bob added, "'Course, with a gang, he'd have a lot more swagger."
"Yep," answered Dave.
"Can you identify him?" asked Gritch.
"Hard to say," answered Bob. "Whatcha think, Dave? You were there."
"Don't know. Wore a kerchief over his face. There were three, mebbe four of 'em."
Gritch was out for the kill. "Think hard."
"Lots of commotion. Saw my brother and Dick get shot dead. I shot at the outlaws, got one I think, but they got away with the wagon and horses. There were eight cases of repeating rifles in that wagon. Marked for delivery to Holloway, north of Tucson. Find them rifles, you got your men. I walked to Prescott. Was about ten miles."
Joshua tried to stick up for himself. "Well, you have the wrong man."
"Nope," said Dave. "Eyes look familiar."
Bob added to the conversation. "Sheriff Gritch here is sure, and that's good enough for me."
Gritch nodded. "Let's go talk about this in the office."
"Looks like a guilty man to me. See them ice blue eyes? The mark of a mean outlaw if I ever saw one," said Bob, as he turned to leave.
Dave lingered for a moment, squinting at Joshua. "Hang 'em," was all he said as he followed Bob and Gritch down the corridor.
As Gritch steered the men toward the corridor door, Joshua heard him say, "And about that reward…"
Two words—"Hang 'em"—echoed in Joshua's brain. Would Dave Blanton remember more about him now that they'd met? Was he, in fact, the man they were looking for? Could he be a cold-hearted killer?
* * *
The keys to the cells were sitting on the desk where Deputy Jones had laid his head on his arms. He was snoring loudly. Verity removed her shoes, and tiptoed into the jailhouse with great care. She snuck up on the desk and picked up the keys, working hard not to jingle them as she took them into her hand. Step by careful step, she approached the door leading into the cells. It creaked when she opened it, and she shot a look back at the deputy, praying the noise wouldn't awaken him. He turned his head away and continued snoring. Breathing a sigh of relief, Verity continued into the corridor leading to the cells.
It took her a moment to find Joshua. He was in the last cell on the left, lying on his cot.
"Joshua," she whispered. "It's me, Verity. Shh."
"Verity," he whispered back. "What are you doing here?"
"Breaking you out of jail," she told him succinctly as she tried the keys in the lock. One sprung the lock open and she opened the door, racing in to embrace him.
He covered her face with kisses and held her tightly. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. They shared a brief but searing kiss and then separated a bit. "Are you all right?" she asked.
He nodded, though she felt it more than saw it. It was dark in the jail where only the light from the outer office and a narrow beam of moonlight through the high window dispelled the gloom.
"Follow me." Taking his hand, she led him out of the cell, and out to the office. She closed the cell corridor door and thankfully, this time it didn't creak. She had to cover their tracks as best she could so no one would discover Joshua gone until the morning. The keys made no noise as she put them back down on the desk next to Deputy Jones.
They snuck out of the office onto the deserted street. It was after 2:00 a.m. and the town slept except for the Horn Inn, but that was a block away.
Verity had left Horse tied up behind the jail, and she quickly put her shoes back on and pulled Joshua behind her around the building to the back. Horse nickered as they approached.
"You rode here?" Joshua asked.
"Well, sure. How else would I get here? Walking would hardly do you any good."
"No, I suppose not." He looked her up and down and then drew her into his arms again. "You were taking a big risk. What if Sheriff Gritch caught you?"
"Hmm," she said, snuggling against his chest. "Sheriff Gritch might be out of town on a call to the Little Dog Ranch, about three hours outside of town."
"He might?"
"Um, well, he might have gotten a note saying that there was trouble and he should go."
He chuckled. "Oh, Verity. You are either courageous beyond belief or extremely foolish. I don't know which."
"I suppose the success of my plan will prove one thing or another."
"What's your plan?" he murmured into the hair at her temple.
"Pretty simple. We get on Horse and head for Mexico."
"We?"
"Yes. You and I. You know, we."
"No. I can't take you with me. I'll be an outlaw. That's no life for you."
She glared at him. "It's my life. Why don't you let me decide what to do with it?"
"No, Verity. I'll get right back in that jail cell rather than steal you away to Mexico with me. Besides, I have a better idea."
She arched an auburn eyebrow. "You do?"
"Yes. I have some information that might lead me to the gang who committed the crime. It's not much information, but I might be able to track them down. If I can find them and bring them in, there will be no case against me."
"That sounds awfully dangerous."
"And breaking jail to run to Mexico is safe?"
"Hmm. You have a point. Let me help you, though. I need to help you, Joshua. I can't bear to be away from you any longer."
He kissed her and Verity felt her world spin. She'd missed him so much. She wanted to crawl inside his pocket and never leave.
"I'll come back for you," he told her after they came up for air. "I'll be back."
It made her angry to think he'd leave her behind. "And what if you're hurt? What if you can't find the criminals? What happens then?"
"I don't know. I guess I'll sneak back into town and get you and then we can escape to Mexico."
"How long will all that take? Just how long do I have to wait, worrying, terrified that something bad will happen to you?"
"You can't go with me, Verity. That's final."
She smacked him on the chest. "You're leaving me. I can see that. You don't want me anymore. Maybe I should have left you to rot in jail. Maybe you really are part of the criminal gang."
He took her by the arms and looked into her eyes. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
In reality, she didn't know what to think, but she held onto the knowledge that he'd been nothing but good to her and her family. Surely that was an indication that he was a good man. "No," she admitted. "I don't believe that. Are you sure you can find the gang?"
"I have some information to work with. They stole eight cases of repeating rifles. They won't be able to use more than one case for themselves unless they're part of a much larger outlaw band, and that seems unlikely when there were only three or four of them to steal the freight wagon. One of the men was wounded. They'll have to sell the rifles somewhere and get their wounded man fixed up. I ought to be able to track them down, but it will be hard riding and rough work. Not the place for a woman."
"Why do people keep telling me that?" she snapped. "I can do things. I'm a capable adult."
"Can you shoot? Have you ever even held a gun?"
"Well, no. But how hard can it be?"
He shook his head. "Hard, Verity. You want to hit what you aim at. And can yo
u ride twenty miles in a day?"
"I'll bet I could."
"In a dress?"
"I brought trousers. And your gun, too. I brought your gun."
"That was good thinking," he said, "but you can't come with me. Think about it, Verity. I love you so much that I'd be more focused on defending you than finding and defeating the men I need to catch."
That would be like Joshua—so thoughtful that he'd endanger himself to protect her. Could she afford to be such a liability? What could she possibly bring to the search? Nothing. She felt useless and hamstrung by her upbringing as a lady. Had she been a tomboy growing up, these things would be nothing to her. But at this point in her life, they seemed insurmountable. "I hate this."
"I'm not happy either, but you've given me a chance to vindicate myself. Thank you for that, my love."
"Do you really love me?"
He kissed her deeply again. "Yes, I really love you."
"Will you come back to me? Promise?"
"I promise, come hell or high water, I'll come back."
She touched his face. He was so dear to her. If something happened to him, she'd never recover.
"Will you make love with me one more time before you go? We can go to the livery stable where there's hay to lay upon. I brought a bedroll for our trip to Mexico. I brought lots of supplies. They're all on Horse."
He kissed the top of her head. "I can't resist you. You know that."
"Don't try." His face was stubbly, but she kissed his chin, then stepped back from him. They led horse to the livery stable and snuck in, finding a clean stall to nest in. Joshua forked some hay in, and Verity spread out the bedroll. Every time she looked at him, she found his eyes upon her, longing in them. It made her certain of his love, and anxious to share herself with him. This might be the last time. If anything happened to him, or if he remembered that he had a wife somewhere, he'd never be with her again this way. It would be a crushing blow. But she had to remain hopeful. Things could work out for them. They could and they would.
The Doctor's Daughter: A Virtue, Arizona Novel Page 13
