Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  “I don’t have need of his money,” Moira said, shaking her head. They were confusing her with their logic.

  “So you intend to live with your sister forever?” Francine probed. Her tone said it all. The spinster sister, fallen in disgrace. “Will your community embrace a child born out of wedlock?”

  Moira lifted her brows. “I doubt it will be easy. We’ll bear the brunt of some scorn. But at least it will be honest.”

  “All this talk of honesty,” Henry said, striding over to a small table to pour himself a scotch in a short crystal glass. He glanced back at her. “You never hesitated to live a lie when you were parading about as Gavin’s wife in the West.” He took a slow sip.

  “I did hesitate. I did not like it. But he convinced me it was best. For my safety. For the business.” Her words sounded shallow, hollow, foolish, even to her.

  “You’ve been through so much, Moira,” Francine said, reaching out to take her hand. Moira watched her do it as if she were taking the hand of some other woman. “Won’t you spend the night and make your decision in the morning? Sometimes the light of day brings renewed clarity.”

  Moira hesitated. She was so kind.…

  Run, Moira. Be away from these people.

  The voice was clear in her head, reverberating in her heart like the echoes of a pealing bell. Not her mother’s. But God’s.

  She lifted her chin and gave Francine a small smile, pretending, taking on the role of the dutiful daughter-in-law. “Perhaps you are right. I do need to give it some thought. But I believe I need a little breathing room in order to do so. Would you be so kind as to call a carriage for me? I’d like to return to the city tonight.”

  “It’s far too late,” Francine said. “The road is dark.”

  Be away.

  “He can light a lantern,” Moira said, moving toward the door. “Did not your own guests all depart after sundown?”

  Henry turned to watch her walk, making no move to stop her. Perhaps she was being paranoid, overly suspicious.

  “Moira, just one more night,” Francine pleaded, her face stricken.

  They were truly relentless, teaming against her, utilizing every emotional and mental trick possible.

  “You can come to the city and call upon me,” Moira said, looking back. “We will talk further of this. But I’ll feel more comfortable there.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was behind her.

  She turned, and her eyes widened in terror. The man from the train. The one who had been following her.

  She backed away and pointed at him. “This man needs to be arrested,” she said to Henry. “He’s been following me. He tried to get into my compartment on the train! He meant to accost me!”

  Henry set down his glass and strode over to them. Moira dared to take in a breath, gaining strength with his support, but then he grabbed her arm and handed her to the burly brown-haired man.

  “Enough,” he said. “Take her to her room. And lock her in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Moira struggled against the man, but he clamped his hand over her mouth and lifted her bodily, carrying her out through the empty foyer and up the stairs. She clawed at his hands, but the gloves given to her by the Knapps—gloves that she now realized cleverly disguised any missing wedding band—kept her from truly hurting him. She kicked and writhed, but only succeeded in wearing herself out. By the time they reached her door, she was panting, her heart beating wildly.

  The man pushed her inside and slammed the door shut. Moira saw Francine right behind him. She ran over to the door, but heard the key slide the bolt into place just as she reached it. “Please,” she cried, pounding on it with the palm of her hand. “You can’t do this. Please! Let me out!” In vain, she turned the glass knob. “Please!”

  It was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. She sank to her knees, her lovely new skirts billowing about her in a deflated ball of creamy silk. She lifted her hands to her face and cried for a while. When her tears were spent, she rose wearily and went over to the dark window. There was nothing visible outside, other than the five-foot span lit by the front gas lamp by the door and several gas lamps in the garden, each spilling their warm light in orbs about them.

  Moira reached for the window latch and yanked on it, then pulled the window open. She peered outward. No ledge on which to balance. And she was more than eighteen feet off the ground, if she dared to climb up and through the windowsill. She considered shouting, crying out for help, but realized that it might bring the wrath of the Knapps down on her. And whose ears might she reach? At this hour, and on property this vast, only servants in the Knapps’ employ would hear her.

  No, she would wait. Someone would come to call upon the family. And when they pulled up outside, she would open and scream for help. She took deep breaths of the cool night air, trying to calm herself, to think through her various means of escape. It would not be easy. By the sound of footsteps outside her door, she knew she was already under guard.

  She tiptoed across the room and peeked through the keyhole.

  He sat across from her door, in a chair, gazing at his fingernails. He glanced up, as if hearing her, and she sprang away from the keyhole.

  The Knapps had sent the man to follow her, to make sure she came to them, one way or the other. For aid? For protection? He’d used the old playbill, hoping she wanted her identity to be kept a secret. Perhaps the Knapps thought that would be useful to them? She thought back to Francine’s original letter, subtly putting together her identity with that of Moira Colorado, planting the seed in her mind that she might not be the only one who could do so.…

  Moira paced for a bit and then wearily sat down on her bed. I’ve been so foolish, Lord, she moaned in silent prayer, falling to her back in the soft, luxurious folds of the coverlet. She closed her eyes, wanting him to feel closer. Forgive me, Father. I’ve fallen prey to my own old sins. I desired so much, Lord. I wanted acceptance. And accolades again. She reached up and pulled off her wig, letting it flop to the bed beside her. She rubbed her head, feeling the short hairs as they ran through her fingers. I wanted to be seen as beautiful again. I wanted to be admired. Acknowledged.

  You are beautiful, Moira. Nothing makes you more so than being one of My own.

  She groaned. I have difficulty with accepting how You define beauty. I am scarred.

  So was I. In your scars, you will find strength.

  Moira frowned. I need strength, Father. I need an escape.

  Trust in Me, child. Trust in Me. And wait.

  o

  Daniel paced the car from one end to the other.

  Despite the cost he had opted to take the same luxurious line that Odessa told him Moira had taken, getting him to New York a couple days faster than the other, but he could not make use of the sleeper compartment. He was a mass of agitation, furious at himself for letting her go. Not that she had asked his permission.

  But something was wrong.

  Moira. Moira. Moira. Over and over, her name ran through his mind.

  Deep within, he could sense the trepidation of what was to come, like the slow turning of a whirlpool, threatening to suck him down. What is it, Lord? He hadn’t felt such warning from God in years. He hadn’t felt his Lord this close at all, period. Not since before Mary died … Not since the day he’d tracked down one of her murderers and in turn, killed him.

  He reached out a hand and rested it on the cold wooden frame that surrounded the window. He peered outside, seeing nothing but a vast, moonless sky and a thick seasoning of stars. The train car rocked beneath his feet, but Daniel stayed where he was, staring outward.

  “I acted rashly and sinned deeply,” he whispered. “And given the opportunity, I might’ve done it again.” He shook his head, feeling the deep shadow of shame cover him. “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me.” His foolish pull, the old need to track down Mary’s remaining killer and bring him to justice, had driven Moira away. He knew she was ahead of him, scared, sea
rching for something, because he hadn’t given her what she needed. Had he done so, had he turned down the sheriff’s position—if only to assuage her fears—she’d be safely at home, and he with her.

  He rubbed his face, feeling the sickening pull of warning at his gut again. “Protect her, Lord, whatever she is facing. Protect her. And make this train go faster,” he groaned, slamming the windowsill with the palm of his hand.

  o

  She was ready when they came. She’d lain awake all night, planning it out. She knew Francine would wish to play the role of the benefactor captor and would arrive with food and warm water in which to wash. When she heard the key in the lock, she sprang to her feet and moved to about ten paces off, in order not to surprise them.

  The door swung inward and a maid walked through, bearing a tray full of food. “Morning, ma’am.”

  “Morning,” she returned. She glanced at Francine coming in behind the maid, a steaming pitcher of hot water in her hands, just as she expected. “Here, let me take that from you,” she said graciously to the maid, walking several paces toward her, reaching for the tray. She quickly lifted it, setting the food and glasses in motion, falling toward the maid, who cried out in horror.

  Moira reached over to Francine and wrenched the steaming pitcher away from her, then splashed the scalding water in an arc toward the brown-haired man. He bellowed in pain and turned from her, his hands on his face and chest. The hot water dripped from him, and steam rose from his shirt.

  But Moira was already in motion, lifting her skirts and running past him and down the hall. She was nearly at the top of the steps, reaching for the railing, when a hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, wrenching her backward.

  She slammed into his chest, knowing before she turned who it was who had her.

  Henry. He held onto her easily, with an iron grip that belied his age.

  “Come now, Moira. This can be a simple, pleasant experience. Or it can be less genteel. The choice is up to you.”

  “You are keeping me prisoner!” she cried, glancing down to the foyer, hoping someone, anyone heard her.

  He laughed. “Silly girl. You are our guest, of course.” He pulled her around and dragged her down the hall. The brown-haired man came running, obviously livid, and took her from his boss.

  “There now, Sully,” Henry said with a chiding laugh. He straightened his vest and jacket as Sully tried to keep hold of Moira. “Bested by a mere wisp of a girl, were you?”

  “It won’t happen again, sir.”

  “See that it doesn’t.” Henry turned and walked down the stairs, as leisurely in his pace as if he were out for an afternoon stroll.

  Moira faced forward and saw Francine waiting, hands knotted before her, in the hallway by her door. “We will bring you more food and water, now that that spat is over,” she said. The maid passed by, already on her errand.

  “Please!” Moira cried out to her, over her shoulder. “Please help me!”

  Sully clamped his wide hand over her mouth and carried her inside the room. He dumped her upon the bed.

  “I’ve explained to the maid that you are not yourself,” Francine said from the doorway, “that the pregnancy has made you slightly … unbalanced. A doctor is en route, of course. He will make you more comfortable.”

  Moira stared at her, hard. They intended to drug her? For how long? Until she came to term? “You can’t do that. It may harm the baby,” she said.

  Francine paused over that, as Moira knew she would. “The doctor is one of the finest in the field. He will do what’s necessary to ease your hysterics and watch over our grandchild.”

  “Hysterics?” Moira cried, knowing full well that she sounded as hysterical as they accused her of being. She did not care. She rose to go after Francine, but Sully clamped down on her arm before she could take more than two steps.

  “Theresa will be back momentarily with the water and food. See to it that Moira does not leave this room,” Francine added before she left.

  Moira stared at the empty doorway and then turned to Sully. “Please,” she whispered. “Listen, I’m sorry about the water. I need to leave. Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll pay you more. I’ll pay double. Please. Won’t you help me?”

  He studied her. “The Knapps are fine people. They’ll see to your welfare, and your child’s.” He glanced around, hands out. “This is luxury for most people. Doubt you have it this fine at home.”

  “Don’t you see?” Moira asked. “They only want my baby. Once it is born, they’ll lock me out of this house as surely as they’re currently locking me in.”

  Sully lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her. “They pay me every week. You don’t.”

  “Listen,” she said, urgently casting a gaze toward the empty doorway, knowing if Theresa returned, their conversation would be over. “Did you hear about the conquistador gold that was discovered in June out in Colorado? That was my brother-in-law’s ranch. I have a share of the gold. I’ll give you more than you’ve dreamed of if you help me leave here.”

  He considered her a moment, then shook his head. “Sit down,” he said gruffly, and plunked her down in the chair.

  Moira shoved down a feeling of panic. She was to trust in God, not man. He knew she was here. He could see her. She could rest in Him. But, Lord, they intend to drug me! Please, help me, soon. Please.

  She rose to pace, but Sully’s hand came down on her shoulder and shoved her back into place again.

  She fought to keep from screaming, giving in to the hysteria they claimed had captured her. Odessa and Bryce know I was coming to see the Knapps. They will come after me. But in how long? How long until they would recognize that something was amiss, that she wasn’t responding to telegrams? How long until they arrived?

  Oh, Daniel. If only you were thinking of me, she thought. But she had walked away from him as surely as he had turned from her. Why did she have to be so prideful? So stubborn? Why could she not simply abide, as her Lord had urged her to, and wait for Daniel to return to her? Impetuous, willful, stiff-necked, she reprimanded herself silently—

  “There now, a new tray,” Theresa said, entering the room. “Someone will be along shortly with more water for your bath.” She carefully averted her eyes from Moira, as if afraid she might leap toward her again if she met her gaze.

  “Theresa, I am being held prisoner,” Moira said calmly.

  Sully pinched her shoulder.

  “I’ll be back in a while to fetch your tray,” the maid added, as if Moira hadn’t said anything at all.

  “Send help for me!” she cried.

  But the maid gently closed the door behind her.

  Sully chuckled lowly. “She believes you’re as hysterical as your mother-in-law claims.”

  Moira sighed and let her head fall into one hand. It was no use even arguing against the unwarranted title of mother-in-law. In this house, the Knapps ruled all.

  o

  She supposed they used a cloth soaked in chloroform first, to so completely knock her out. She didn’t remember it, but nor did she remember what came after it. Tonics? Pills? Moira dragged her eyes open and tried to still the spinning room. How long had she been asleep? A few hours? A few days? It was impossible to tell.

  Dull voices reached her ears, but it was as if she were underwater. She could make no sense of the words.

  Lord, Lord, she called, fighting to form the words, even in her mind.

  Help me. Save me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Daniel swung down off the train and hopped to the platform. He looked about for the carriage with the least worn-down-looking horse, and then waved at the cabbie to gain his attention. The young man straightened and smiled, then clambered down to receive his two valises. “That it?”

  “That’s it.” Daniel climbed into the compartment behind the driver’s seat.

  “Where to?”

  He gave the man the name of the hotel where Moira had told Odessa she was staying.

  The
cabbie hesitated and looked at him. “Beggin’ your pardon, mister, but they only let gentlemen in ties and coats through their doors.”

  “They’ll let me through,” Daniel said assuredly. “Go.”

  The young man turned and flicked the reins over the horse and they moved down the street, and through another. He turned and went several blocks, then pulled up in front of the grand, sprawling hotel, at the edge of Central Park. “Nothing but the finest, eh, Moira?” Daniel growled under his breath.

  He climbed down and turned. “Wait here a moment, would you? I might need to go somewhere else.”

  “Sure enough, mister.”

  Daniel turned and walked up the marble steps, his eyes on the two doormen, who seemed as intent to keep him out as the cabbie had promised. He fished in his pocket and pulled out his tin star, lifting it up to show them. “Official business.”

  The doorman closest to him hesitated, as if he thought it wasn’t enough. Then, “Make it quick. Or come back in a jacket and tie. Sheriff or not, rules are rules.”

  “Thank you,” he said, moving through the hand-carved and heavily lacquered door.

  His eyes adjusted to the dim light of the interior, and he moved over to the concierge’s desk. “Excuse me, I need to get a hold of one of your guests. A Miss Moira St. Clair.”

  A movement over the man’s shoulder caught Daniel’s eye. Had that blond man started when he said Moira’s name? He studied him, but the man was merely folding a paper and walking out. You’re acting foolish, paranoid, Adams, Daniel chastised himself. He stopped watching the departing man and returned his gaze to the concierge, who was staring at him with some chagrin.

  “It is not our policy to summon guests, especially when those who come to call are not abiding by hotel dress code.”

  Daniel slammed down his star on the desk and leaned over it. “Listen, I’ve just traveled four days straight to get here. Is Moira St. Clair registered as a guest here? This is urgent business. I suggest you do not stand in my way.”