by Lisa Bingham
“How may I help you?”
Sumner also leaned close, dropping the pitch of her voice to a conspiratorial level, despite the fact that she could still be heard by every man in attendance. Willow smothered a smile when she heard the chairs creak, as if the miners were leaning toward them as much as they dared.
“We realize that we are making our plans...prematurely. It will be a month—perhaps two or three—before the pass opens. But we have been gathering up Jenny’s belongings.”
Grooper shook his head. “Poor, poor girl,” he murmured.
“Yes, indeed. It’s a horrible business, her death.” Sumner sighed. “Mr. Grooper, we’re aware that, at the time being, any mail or shipments to and from the mine are...well, impossible.”
He nodded.
“But we wondered if you could clarify a few things for us.”
“I will certainly try.”
“Could you tell us how soon we might be able to mail something to the outside world? Will we be able to get something through once the snow in the pass begins to melt? Or will we have to wait until all of it is gone?”
Behind his spectacles, Mr. Grooper blinked, then cleared his throat importantly. “No, ma’am...ma’ams. Although you—the women, the mail-order brides—will probably be stranded here until the snow is completely gone...” he shifted a receipt pad, a string holder, his pen and inkwell, until they lined up on the blotter like soldiers on a field of green “...certain pieces of correspondence are of a more...important nature. We have sorted the mail thus far as to priority. As soon as a man can get through with a horse, he will begin taking weekly trips to the nearest railway station, where they will be forwarded to Ogden.”
Mr. Grooper paused and stared at them, then continued “Did you have something you wanted to mail?”
“Yes, we do.” Sumner leaned closer. “I hope I can rely on your discretion.”
“Of course, Dr. Ramsey.” He leaned forward in turn. “I take it that this correspondence is of a...personal nature?”
“Indeed. As you know, Jenny Reichmann’s passing has been a tragedy to our community.”
“Mmm.” He nodded gravely.
“But what makes it even more tragic is the fact that none of her family has been notified yet. Although we will eventually arrange for a trunk with her personal belongings to be sent back to England, we thought that we could...soften the blow, so to speak, by mailing a letter of explanation, along with Jenny’s journal.”
“Oh!” His brows creased for a moment before he offered, “But wouldn’t it be faster—and much cheaper—to forward it to the husband she was supposed to meet in California?”
Sumner glanced over her shoulder, as if to ensure that no one was eavesdropping—even though there wasn’t an ear in the room that wasn’t turned toward them.
“You see, we happened to glance through Jenny’s entries—just to see if there were any clues as to what might have happened to bring her to such an untimely end.”
The man made an indistinct rumbling noise before offering, “Of course, of course. A totally reasonable action.”
“In doing so, we discovered that Jenny wasn’t married at all.”
Mr. Grooper’s mouth formed a wide O and the tips of his ears flushed pink.
“She was seduced, Mr. Grooper. Seduced in the most despicable manner. Then her seducer abandoned her.”
The shopkeeper seemed to be at a loss for words on how to respond.
“It is possible that her entries may have given clues to the identity of her attacker. After the shift changes tonight, Jonah, Gideon and Charles will be meeting at the mine offices to reread the last few pages to gather evidence.” Sumner’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I do believe that they are very close to making an arrest.”
Gooper grumbled and burbled unintelligibly in a way that was part alarm, part excitement.
“In any event,” Sumner continued, “we came to the conclusion that, as soon as an arrest was made, the diary should be returned to her loved ones. For safekeeping.”
“Ye-e-es. Yes, I can see why.”
“So, if we were to make arrangements for its being mailed, we would want to ensure that it would be kept...secure.”
“I could lock it in the safe, then send it with the first man to head out of the valley.”
“Brilliant!” Sumner slapped the counter with a glove-covered hand. “You are a wonderful, wonderful man to do this for us, Mr. Grooper.”
“Ooh, well, I...”
“We will come back to the store as soon as Gideon Gault has apprehended the man,” Sumner said with a beaming smile. “In the meantime, could I possibly purchase two of your finest peppermint sticks?”
The shopkeeper hurriedly reached for the candy, nearly knocking over the jar in the process. As he slipped the sweets into a small paper bag, it didn’t seem to occur to him that the women had been forbidden to enter the store, let alone buy anything.
Sumner reached into her reticule and removed a penny, which she placed on the blotter. “Thank you kindly.”
Then she and Willow turned to make their way toward the door.
Willow had to admire the way Sumner exited the establishment, like royalty bidding farewell to an audience. She nodded, waved, called out the names of several miners for a more personal touch. But finally, just when Willow feared that she might burst out laughing, they stepped into the cool, crisp January air.
“You are shameless!” Willow said under her breath when they’d crossed the street again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone offer so many tall tales with such a straight face.”
Sumner grinned. “That’s why you brought me along. We both know that you wouldn’t have been able to say any of it without giving yourself away. You’re a horrible liar.” She dug into the sack and removed one of the peppermint sticks, then handed the sack to Willow.
They were walking slowly now, enjoying the brief hint of freedom and the warmth of the sun on their faces. It didn’t really matter that a pair of Pinkertons followed in their wake.
Willow lifted the sack to her nose and inhaled. Her eyes briefly closed as she absorbed the heady scent. Memories washed over her and she was thrust back in time to her childhood, when both her parents had still been employed at the mill and Christmas brought a sack of nuts, peppermints and an orange as a gift from the owner. Her father had taken as much enjoyment as Father Christmas himself to award Willow with the treats.
“Do you think they took the bait?” Willow wondered.
Sumner stopped in front of the infirmary and gestured to the windows. In the bright sunshine, they reflected Bachelor Bottoms like a mirror.
“See for yourself.”
Willow broke off a piece of the peppermint stick and placed it on her tongue. Then she watched in amusement as many of the men who’d been in the company store came bursting outside. They moved in all directions—some stopping other miners on the streets, others dodging into the barbershop or the cook shack.
With luck, the word would spread like wildfire and entice the killer to come out of hiding.
“Do you think this will work?” Willow asked, as her humor seeped away beneath a deep-seated fear. Not so much for her, but for the twins, who were so small, so helpless, and the men who would lie in wait at the mining offices later that night.
“It has to work,” Sumner answered with equal gravity. “It’s time all this violence comes to an end.”
* * *
“I don’t understand why we have to leave the Dovecote,” Willow said—and not for the first time. Shadows were beginning to fall outside. It would soon be time for Devotional, then dinner.
“Jonah and Gideon and I agree that it will be easier to protect you and the children if you’re away from the other women. At the Ramsey house, you’ll only need a few guards. No one can enter that valley without being
seen for miles.”
“But at the Dovecote—”
Charles took her arms, rubbing his palms up and down their length in reassurance.
“If you stayed here, there are too many ways someone could involve the other women in an effort to force our hand. Even with guards, the women are coming and going all night. They’ll be attending the Devotional, then many of them will stay to help in the cook shack. Gideon already has every man on his crew spread as thin as they can go. If you’re off company property in a secure location, he has more Pinkertons who can help us.”
The arrangements had already been explained to Willow once before. But when the time had come to put their precautions in place, she’d balked. She couldn’t bring herself to leave Charles. Not like this. Not with so many things unsettled between them. She had to tell him that she’d forgiven him for his rash remarks, that she understood him much better now. He needed to know that she’d decided that she would not be continuing on to California. Heaven help her, if she could drum up the courage, she would tell him that, if he’d have her, she would remain his wife. And if he wouldn’t...
She couldn’t bring herself to think of that event. She knew that if spring arrived and they decided to remain a family, sacrifices would have to be made.
But right now...
“Charles, I... I don’t want to go.”
“I know, Willow. But it will only be a few hours. Overnight at best. Once you’re at Sumner’s house, you’ll have time with your friend and you’ll forget about everything we’re trying to do here in Bachelor Bottoms.”
She opened her mouth to correct him, to tell him that she’d been trying to say that she didn’t want to leave him. Ever.
But his eyes were so shadowed and worried, she realized that this was the worst possible moment to unburden herself. Once Jenny’s murderer had been caught, there would be plenty of time for all that.
She nodded, allowing Charles to help her fasten her cloak and lift the hood over her hair.
“I’ve got the babies’ things in the box of one of the company’s sledges. Is there anything else you need?”
You. Just you.
But since she couldn’t say the words aloud, she shook her head.
“Go on, now. Head outside and I’ll carry the twins.”
She stepped into the cold, her gaze automatically heading toward the mountaintops. Gray clouds were piling up, warning of a change in the weather. But they should have time to ride to the Ramsey homestead three miles away.
She hurried to the sledge, waiting patiently as Charles maneuvered the basket into the space under the bench. Adam seemed to sense that an adventure was underway because he flailed his arms, dislodging the quilt. When the cold air hit his face, he squinched his eyes shut, a furrow of dislike appearing between his brows.
“Serves you right, laddie. It’s too cold out here for wee adventures. You’ll have to wait a month or two.”
Charles tenderly covered the baby with the quilt again, tucking the corners more securely around the edges. Adam squirmed in protest, but thankfully, he didn’t cry or wake his sister.
“You next.”
When Willow gathered her skirts and tried to find the iron rung with her toe, Charles stopped her.
“Let me.”
Before she knew what he meant to do, he grasped her around the waist and lifted her onto the sledge. Then he continued to hold her for long, aching moments.
“You know that I wouldn’t have aught happen to you or the babies, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“This will all be over tonight. It has to be. One of those three men will flinch and try to get the diary. Then life can return to normal.”
Except that Willow didn’t know what “normal” meant anymore. So she clung to the rest of his statement.
They had winnowed the list of suspects down to three men.
Theo Caruso, the miner who had tried to take the babies in the Meeting House. Francis Diggory and Orie Keefe.
One of them was a killer.
“Be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Charles offered her a half-cocked smile that wasn’t entirely convincing. “I promise. Don’t forget, Ramsey and Gideon will be there with me.”
He held her hand until she’d taken her place on the bench. Then he draped a woolly bearskin over her lap and tented it over the basket.
The snow squeaked as he crossed in front of the team, double-checking the traces as he went. Finally, he climbed up and sat beside her. “You’re sure we have everything we need?”
She glanced behind them, taking in the small trunk that held a change of clothes for her and the babies, as well as spare blankets and diapers. Next to that was her carpetbag, which was filled with the feeding bottles and two crockery jugs filled with goat’s milk. Then in the corner between the bench and the box, more ominous than the rest, leaned Charles’s rifle.
“Everything’s here.”
“Good.” He slapped the reins and offered a soft, “Hiyah!”
The sledge skidded slightly to the side, then righted itself behind the team as they began to pick up speed. For long minutes, they traveled with only the rush of the sleigh runners and Adam’s soft baby grunts and coos to accompany them.
“I think Adam likes the ride,” Willow said with a smile.
“Aye. He’ll be like his da, loving the outdoors. No one will fence him in.”
“Is that why you’re a miner? To avoid the fences?”
He nodded. “In part, although some might argue that the tunnels are more confining than any office could ever be. But it’s more than that. The mines saved me. The moment Phineas Bottoms put a helmet on my head and a pick in my hand, I had a way to earn my worth. I was useful. Needed. In control of my own choices.”
Willow knew exactly how Charles felt. In her time with him, she’d grown more confident than she would have ever thought possible. She’d found her own purpose with the children.
And her husband.
Please, please, Father in Heaven, let it be the start of many more such days.
Willow opened her mouth, needing to tell Charles how he had changed her life. But a sudden sharp crack split the silence of the night. Just as quickly, the horses bolted. Willow bent to steady the basket, then cried out when she felt a blow to the head.
Without warning, the night sky seemed to fill with sparks of light.
Then everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen
Charles grappled to make sense of his world as everything seemed to happen at once. The horses leaped into a gallop, Willow gasped and wilted beside him, and a squall of protest signaled that Adam had decided he’d had enough of his new adventure and he wanted to be held.
Crack.
Instinctively, Charles bent low as he recognized yet another rifle shot. Grappling with the reins, he glanced over his shoulder. A horse and rider were galloping hard toward them.
He glanced at Willow’s limp form and a panic unlike anything he’d ever experienced gripped his throat.
Dear Lord above, please let her be safe. Let my whole family be safe.
Crack.
The wooden box of the sledge splintered behind him.
The familiar anger rose within him. But there was a difference this time. He wasn’t the inexperienced youth who raged out of control—or even the man who’d let his frustration control his tongue.
No. This time, he was a husband and a father, and he would protect his family at all costs. But he would do it with a clear head.
Without thinking, Charles transferred the reins to one hand, laid the other around Willow to steady her on the seat, then pulled hard to the left. The horses tossed their heads in confusion, but followed his lead, angling sideways before he brought them to a sudden stop. As he did so, the sledge skidded sideways
, sliding, sliding.
Knowing that the rider wouldn’t have time to react, he didn’t reach for the rifle. Instead, as soon as the sledge was steady, Charles whipped open his coat and reached for his revolver. Jumping to the ground, he planted his feet firmly and aimed. But not for the heart. He wouldn’t have another near death on his conscience. Not when he had so much to live for. Nothing would prevent him from giving every ounce of his affection and dedication to his loved ones.
He shot high and wide, startling the horse and making it rear. The rider, who’d been sighting down his rifle, was caught unprepared. His arms flew wide as he hung in midair. Then he was tumbling backward into the snow.
Charles ran toward him, noting that the rifle was a good yard away from their assailant—but not out of reach if the man lunged.
When the culprit scrambled to his knees, Charles shot to the right, mere inches from his fingers.
“Don’t move!”
The man didn’t listen. Instead, he flung himself forward.
Charles aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. A blossom of blood appeared at the side of the man’s hand and he yowled, rearing back, cradling his wrist.
Charles slipped and slid through the snow, managing to snatch the man’s rifle from the drifts and fling it well out of the way. Then he turned the sites of his revolver on the man writhing on the ground.
“You shot me!”
“And you killed Jenny!”
Silence hung between them. Then there was a sob.
“I didn’t want to do it. But she said she would tell. She said she would tell!”
The man looked up then, and Charles felt a shudder of disbelief ricochet through his body.
Edgar Niederhauser.
The solicitous conductor.
The oh, so pleasant railroad official.
In an instant, the clues they’d gathered rearranged and shuddered into place: the dark strands of hair tangled in her fingers; the scratched ring inscribed Love Always, D; the ability to move at will between mine shifts. There would be no time logs kept on this man. He could have borrowed a horse from the livery as soon as he noted Smalls had stepped away.
