Shocked silence blanketed the Fort Bridger crowd, broken only when Patrick suddenly shouted, “That's me lad, Rock Quarry Callaghan!"
Like a breaking wave, conversations started up again as people began to discuss the fight and pay off their bets. Hands clapped Corey on the shoulders as he stood breathing raggedly, holding his right side. Suddenly, Colonel Holworth appeared in front of him, tossing him a silver dollar as a tip.
"Well fought, Mr. Callaghan! I wish I had seen it all! For some reason I thought you were planning to fight Private Higgins tomorrow night."
Before Corey could answer, Miss Parson stepped up beside him, her voice loud and firm. “He was, Colonel, but Lieutenant Ridgewood discovered that Private Higgins and Lieutenant Summers were behind the theft of your Springfield carbines. He came here to discuss the situation with Lieutenant Summers and offer his brother officer the chance to make things right by turning himself in and pleading for your mercy. But Lieutenant Summers isn't honorable. He drew a gun on Lieutenant Ridgewood and Private Higgins attacked Mr. Callaghan and, well, you can see the result."
Near silence once again blanketed the street as Miss Parson finished talking. All eyes were on the lady gambler, Colonel Holworth, and the broken door of the house. The colonel's face was grave, but he didn't say anything.
Father Murphy stepped up and offered Miss Parson his assistance. “Do you mean to say that all of those missing carbines are in this house?"
"Yes, Father,” Miss Parson confirmed, as if she hadn't already told him this when she asked for his help in bringing civilian witnesses. “And Lieutenant Summers is still in there, presumably with a gun leveled at Lieutenant Ridgewood."
Colonel Holworth took a deep breath. “I think I'd better take a look for myself."
* * * *
Patrick avoided Corey for five hours following the fight, then shamefaced and stinking of whiskey, he sought out his prizefighter and begged his forgiveness.
"You were right, Corey, me lad. I lost too much at cards. Now you've had your big fight, gotten yourself hurt, and I haven't made enough betting on you to make it worthwhile.” Patrick shuddered as if contemplating a fate worse than death. “Now we're going to have to get jobs."
"That's pretty serious,” Corey agreed. “Look, why don't you let me hold our money for a while? If you can stay away from the tables, maybe we can scrape by long enough to let me do some healing."
Red with embarrassment and grief, Patrick handed Corey two dollars and thirty-seven cents. “I've already lost most of it,” he confessed. “I got two-to-one odds since most folks knew you were hurt, but I just didn't have enough of a stake left to make it pay."
Corey shook his head. “Patrick, I just don't know what to do with you. You won't listen to anyone but yourself. These are the years we should be getting ahead in the game, not turning out our pockets to find our last penny."
"I know, Corey, me lad, I know."
Patrick was contrite for the moment, but Corey knew the man well enough to know it wouldn't last. The next time he had two coins jingling in his pocket, the lure of the poker table would call to him again. Ultimately, that was why Patrick O'Sullivan was beating the trail with Corey here in the West rather than managing a great fighter back in Boston or New York City. He had the skill and the knowledge, but not the discipline.
"We'll get by somehow,” Patrick told him, his spirits already rebounding, since Corey was no longer angry at him. “You're very good with your hands. And after you're healed, well there'll be no stopping us. We'll work our way across the Northwest, then come round the South, back East again. By the time we're back in Boston we'll be kings of the world."
Corey couldn't help smiling even as he shook his head. Patrick's enthusiasm had always been infectious.
* * * *
"I can't thank the four of you enough,” Lieutenant Ridgewood said the next morning. The colonel spoke to me late last night. He and the other officers believe that my recovering the stolen carbines simply confirms their gut impression that I'm a solid and dependable man. They're going to quash the court martial by sending a report recommending I be decorated for courage under fire. I'm to take over my new responsibilities immediately."
Corey blinked with surprise. In truth, he hadn't spent any time thinking about Lieutenant Ridgewood's situation since the fight, but now that he did, he couldn't begin to imagine how the lieutenant's minor role in yesterday's affair had helped him out of the mess on the train. He looked to Miss Parson for clarification, but she was exchanging glances with Father Murphy.
"That's mighty fine news,” the priest said. “I'm glad to hear that the army is once again recognizing your considerable worth."
Lieutenant Ridgewood swelled with pride and contentment.
"Tell me,” the priest continued, “what is to become of Lieutenant Summers?"
"He's a lucky one,” Lieutenant Ridgewood told them. “Colonel Holworth is minded to sweep this whole unfortunate affair under the rug. Of course, I agreed to keep silent about it as well. After all, it wasn't really my victory. Miss Parson here is the one who figured everything out."
Miss Parson was smiling broadly and exchanging another glance with Father Murphy.
"So Summers gets off scot-free?” Patrick asked.
"He had already decided to leave the service,” Lieutenant Ridgewood reminded them. “A trial would serve no purpose other than to embarrass Colonel Holworth and Fort Bridger. After all, no real harm was done. All the carbines were recovered."
No harm if you ignore one badly beaten Mormon trader, Corey thought.
"I'm so happy for you, Lieutenant,” Miss Parson said. “Will you tell us what happens next?"
"Well, I assume my new duties, and you are all free to return to your normal lives with the Colonel's and my gratitude. He and Mrs. Holworth will tell you this formally over supper tonight. I'll be there as well, but let me just say this while I have the four of you in private. This is twice now that you have come to my assistance when no one could or should have expected you to. On my sacred honor as an officer and a gentleman, if there is anything I can ever do to assist you in return, you have but to ask. And that goes for my family as well. The Ridgewoods aren't unimportant in Cincinnati, and you'll find brothers of mine scattered all over the West."
The five shook hands and Ridgewood excused himself.
When he had left, Father Murphy cleared his throat. “I believe I owe you an apology, Miss Parson."
"You do?"
"Yes, when you first approached me with this plan I didn't think it could do Lieutenant Ridgewood a lick of good. Oh, I agreed to help because I didn't think it could hurt him either, and frankly, I'm not fond of Lieutenant Summers. But you proved me wrong. I apologize for doubting you."
"Why, I didn't know you had any doubts, Father. I thought it was pretty plain that Colonel Holworth would do just about anything to avoid an embarrassment to his command. The trick was to create an incident so public he couldn't completely quash it locally and embarrassing enough that he wouldn't want Lieutenant Ridgewood talking about it back East at his court martial."
"Well it worked perfectly,” Father Murphy said, “and you even gave us a chance to collect our money betting on Mr. Callaghan. Well done, Rock Quarry! I made a small fortune on you yesterday, and most of it at four-to-one odds."
"Four-to-one?” Patrick repeated.
"Is that all?” Miss Parsons asked. “With Higgins the local favorite and Mr. Callaghan known to be injured, I would have thought you'd do better."
"Better?” Patrick sputtered.
"Well, I'm just a poor priest from Ireland,” Father Murphy reminded everyone. “I didn't see any reason to get greedy with the locals."
"How much better?” Patrick asked.
Corey clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Maybe you need a trainer as well."
Copyright (c) 2007 Gilbert M. Stack
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BOOKED & PRINTED by Robert C. Hahn
&
nbsp; With the recent release of a new Nancy Drew movie and the publication of the final Harry Potter book (in which the solutions to many mysteries are revealed), this is an auspicious time to consider the burgeoning field of young adult mysteries. Though Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys are still introducing many young readers to the delights of mystery stories, what are the contemporary novels targeted for young adults with reading skills and interests closer to adult size than child size? Here are four current books that feature youthful protagonists, good writing, and serious treatment of substantive issues.
Nancy Springer, who has crafted series based on familiar English legends such as Robin Hood (Girl Outlaw of Sherwood: A Tale of Rowan Hood, 2003) and Camelot (I Am Mordred, 1998), has also created young Enola Holmes, who was introduced in 2006 with The Case of the Missing Marquess and whose adventures continue in THE CASE OF THE LEFT-HANDED LADY (Philomel, $12.99).
Enola (her name spelled backward makes ALONE) is the sister of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, and the rebellious young teen whose mother has left her to shift for herself faces challenges and obstacles greater than any her brothers ever faced. Victorian society kept women tightly corseted both literally and figuratively, and Enola wants no part of such restrictions. But it is not easy for a fourteen year old to make her own way.
The audacious teen sets herself up as a “perditorian"—a finder of lost objects or persons—with a false front to hide her youth and sex. She even matches wits with her famous brother who is trying to locate her. She also takes on the case of a missing girl, encounters a fiendish killer, and introduces readers to some of the grim realities of life in London in the late 1800s for all but the wealthy. Enola Holmes is an engaging and resourceful young heroine, and Springer's creation may well serve as an enjoyable springboard inviting young readers to dive into the rich world of Sherlockiana.
Robert B. Parker is justly praised for his Spenser and his Jesse Stone novels for adult readers. Now he is reaching out to a younger audience, and in EDENVILLE OWLS (Philomel, $17.99) Parker offers a promising new series.
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Bobby Murphy is an adolescent growing up in a post-WW II world, discovering basketball, girls, and adult problems all in one eventful school year. Adults who read this young adult novel will find many stylistic similarities to Parker's adult mysteries, although the sexual banter and innuendo is replaced in Edenville Owls by teenage angst and the artless dance between Bobby and his friend Joanie Gibson.
Bobby and his buddies form a school basketball team, although they have no coach and there are only five players, which means no substitutes. The five boys bond in their quest to qualify for the state school tournament—and Parker nails this David vs. Goliath quest perfectly as the teammates begin to meld and teach themselves how to play and how to win.
The mystery element comes in when Bobby and his friend Nick observe their teacher Miss Delaney in an argument with a stranger. They also can't help but notice her absence and, on her return, the fading bruises. Determined to help, Bobby schemes to learn more about the stranger and the problem Miss Delaney faces.
Parker recaptures the period quite nicely and delves into a number of the hidden problems behind the nostalgic gloss time has layered over the era.
Alan Gratz, the author of Samurai Shortstop (2006), an American Library Association Best Book for Young Adults selection, reprises the plot of Hamlet to create what he calls “pulp Shakespeare” in SOMETHING ROTTEN: A HORATIO WILKES MYSTERY (Dial, $16.99). In this modern day version, Gratz takes on a slew of contemporary problems—pollution, alcoholism, corporate greed—to which he adds murder.
Horatio's schoolmate and friend Hamilton Prince is the son of the owner of the Elsinore Paper Plant in Denmark, Tennessee (readers will quickly notice the plethora of Hamlet references). When Horatio arrives to spend a month's worth of summer vacation at his friend's home, he soon discovers that all is not well: Hamilton's father has died while the son was still in a Knoxville boarding school. By the time Horatio comes home, Hamilton's mother has already remarried. And yes, she's married Hamilton's uncle, Claude.
A videotape left by Hamilton's father indicates that he has been murdered, and Hamilton, aided by Horatio, sets out to prove it. But Hamilton is overwhelmed by his anger and turns increasingly to alcohol to escape. The sharp-witted and sharp-tongued Horatio makes a good detective as he probes for the elusive truth behind Claude's marriage and takeover of the plant, the plant's egregious pollution, the machinations of a takeover artist, and the fractious romance between Hamilton and his ecology-conscious girlfriend, Olivia.
Gratz may have borrowed a good deal of the plotting, but the contemporary setting and problems facing young Horatio should make it appealing to its intended audience.
Anne Cassidy's LOOKING FOR JJ (Harcourt, $17) is by far the most intense of the books considered here, and though aimed at children fourteen and up, it clearly could have been designed for adult audiences as well.
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The English author's complex novel tells the story of Jennifer Jones (JJ), who at age ten committed a crime that shocked England: She killed her young playmate. Now sixteen, Jennifer has emerged from prison with a new identity and is attempting to create a new life for herself.
The details of the efforts to keep her past hidden from a voracious media and allow her to build a future are artfully intertwined with revelations about her childhood and how her crime came to be committed. This moving and affecting book deals with questions of bullying, sexual abuse, poverty, and social services, and raises more questions than it answers as it depicts a girl twice deprived of childhood.
In addition, we should note that many young adult readers are able to move easily from juvenile to adult mysteries. Laurie R. King has been delighted with the number of young female readers who have cut their mystery teeth on her Mary Russell novels. And Elizabeth Peters's Amelia Peabody mysteries would appeal to any adventurous young adult.
Altogether, the options available to young mystery readers interested in mysteries are both various and numerous.
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Mystery Classic: A WATCHER BY THE DEAD by Ambrose Bierce
In an upper room of an unoccupied dwelling in that part of San Francisco known as North Beach lay the body of a man under a sheet. The hour was near nine in the evening; the room was dimly lighted by a single candle. Although the weather was warm, the two windows, contrary to the custom which gives the dead plenty of air, were closed and the blinds drawn down. The furniture of the room consisted of but three pieces—an armchair, a small reading-stand, supporting the candle, and a long kitchen table, supporting the body of the man. All these, as also the corpse, would seem to have been recently brought in, for an observer, had there been one, would have seen that all were free from dust, whereas everything else in the room was pretty thickly coated with it, and there were cobwebs in the angles of the walls.
Under the sheet the outlines of the body could be traced, even the features, these having that unnaturally sharp definition which seems to belong to faces of the dead, but is really characteristic of those only that have been wasted by disease. From the silence of the room one would rightly have inferred that it was not in the front of the house, facing a street. It really faced nothing but a high breast of rock, the rear of the building being set into a hill.
As a neighboring church clock was striking nine with an indolence which seemed to imply such an indifference to the flight of time that one could hardly help wondering why it took the trouble to strike at all, the single door of the room was opened and a man entered, advancing toward the body. As he did so the door closed, apparently of its own volition; there was a grating, as of a key turned with difficulty, and the snap of the lock bolt as it shot into its socket. A sound of retiring footsteps in the passage outside ensued, and the man was, to all appearance, a prisoner. Advancing to the table, he stood a moment looking down at the body; then, with a s
light shrug of the shoulders, walked over to one of the windows and hoisted the blind. The darkness outside was absolute, the panes were covered with dust, but, by wiping this away, he could see that the window was fortified with strong iron bars crossing it within a few inches of the glass, and embedded in the masonry on each side. He examined the other window. It was the same. He manifested no great curiosity in the matter, did not even so much as raise the sash. If he was a prisoner he was apparently a tractable one. Having completed his examination of the room, he seated himself in the armchair, took a book from his pocket, drew the stand with its candle alongside and began to read.
The man was young—not more than thirty—dark in complexion, smooth-shaven, with brown hair. His face was thin and high-nosed, with a broad forehead and a “firmness” of the chin and jaw which is said by those having it to denote resolution. The eyes were gray and steadfast, not moving except with definitive purpose. They were now for the greater part of the time fixed upon his book, but he occasionally withdrew them and turned them to the body on the table, not, apparently, from any dismal fascination which, under such circumstances, it might be supposed to exercise upon even a courageous person, nor with a conscious rebellion against the opposite influence which might dominate a timid one. He looked at it as if in his reading he had come upon something recalling him to a sense of his surroundings. Clearly this watcher by the dead was discharging his trust with intelligence and composure, as became him.
After reading for perhaps a half-hour he seemed to come to the end of a chapter and quietly laid away the book. He then rose, and, taking the reading-stand from the floor, carried it into a corner of the room near one of the windows, lifted the candle from it, and returned to the empty fireplace before which he had been sitting.
AHMM, December 2007 Page 15
