“There’s broth in the kitchen. Should we try it?”
Dottie scowled. “I hate broth.”
Well, Rebecca had learned from the soldiers she’d tended that sometimes folks in pain just weren’t hungry. “You’re still in your shift. Do you have a nightgown?”
“That’d feel good. I’m filthy.”
Rebecca found the nightgown at the bottom of the valise: fine linen, trimmed in pale blue ribbon and exquisite lace. It was far nicer than anything Rebecca had ever owned. Wherever Dottie had been the past few months, she’d had the means to afford a pretty wardrobe. Rebecca’s fingers trailed the delicate gown while her brain filled with questions, but where Dottie had been or why she returned to Ruby City weren’t Rebecca’s business. Neither were the contents of Dottie’s bag, but it was interesting that Dottie’s hairbrush looked just like the one the Gang had stolen from Rebecca.
Same brand of tooth powder, too, which Theodore didn’t carry. Maybe someone in Silver City did. Is that where Dottie had purchased the fancy pink dress, ruffled and flounced? And were these trousers? Dottie hadn’t mentioned the man she ran away with, Ralph White, but it was safe to assume she’d married him. These must be his trousers, but he was a slender man, indeed, to fit into these.
“Are you coming?” Dottie’s complaint startled Rebecca, but the woman was in pain. No wonder her words were terse.
“Let’s sponge the dirt off, first.” Rebecca made quick work of washing Dottie’s face, arms, and legs, avoiding her torso and bandaged hands. Then she held up the nightgown. “I should remove those bandages on your arms so we can get this on easier.”
With gentle fingers, she unfastened the bandage on Dottie’s left arm. Cornelia had done a good job binding it.
“Do you know who I am?” Dottie’s voice was laced with curiosity, despite whatever pain she must be experiencing.
“Yes.” Rebecca unwound the cloth.
“And you’re tending me, even though you’re married to Tad?”
Rebecca didn’t look up from examining the scratches on Dottie’s arm. Dottie’s wound must still throb, but it sure seemed she had enough strength to attempt to stoke jealousy in Rebecca. She wouldn’t succumb, however. She continued to examine the scratches, judged them negligible, and got to work on the other arm. “The truth is, I’m intended to marry Theodore.”
“Oh.” Something like recognition flashed in Dottie’s eyes.
Someone else could reveal the whole sordid story of the marital mix-up, but Rebecca didn’t want to discuss it. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit a pinch of jealousy toward Dottie, even if both Tad and Theodore claimed she held no hold over their hearts. God, forgive me and give me nothing but compassion for this woman. She tugged off the bandage.
A pink slash of a scar, weeks older than the other scratches, marred the top of Dottie’s forearm, midway between her elbow to her wrist. Rebecca bent closer. “What’s this?”
Dottie glanced at it. “Must’ve happened yesterday.”
The healed gash had to be over a month old, and it was too neat to have been inflicted from a fall. It was the work of a blade—not a scalpel, either. It was larger, as if it came from something like her paper knife, the one she’d used to defend herself against the Gang of Four.
Rebecca jumped to her feet. The robber she’d stabbed wasn’t a boy. It was a woman.
“You’re in the Gang of Four.”
Dottie’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before she burst into phony-sounding laughter. “What nonsense.”
“I remember your eyes now, how you seemed to recognize my name on the envelopes of the letters you pawed through, but it wasn’t my name you knew. It was Theodore’s. And I’ll never forget when that horrible man reached for me and I slashed you instead.”
The laugh died in an instant, replaced by a look of pure disdain. “That scrape doesn’t prove a thing.”
Rebecca stood tall. “That’s my hairbrush in your bag, and my tooth powder, too. I imagine you stole the very nightgown you’re wearing. It’s rather expensive for—what have you and Ralph White been doing for employment?”
When Dottie didn’t answer, Rebecca tossed the washrag atop the tray with a splat. She’d prayed to forgive the Gang for taking her things. She hadn’t been as successful in forgiving them for hurting Tad. “You shot Tad.”
The scornful look transformed into one of panic. “That wasn’t me. I would never—I didn’t even want to rob people, but Ralph made me. He’s my husband, and I had to.”
“You didn’t seem unwilling to me, nicking my toiletries and rifling through my correspondence.”
“We just took what we needed to get by.”
Mrs. Horner’s stolen lace didn’t fall into that category, and neither did Dr. Wilkie’s stethoscope. Not to mention that the Gang seemed to rob some folks just to torment them, yanking Ulysses’s tooth out of his mouth and taking things of no value beyond the owner’s sentimental attachment, like Longbeard’s fur collar and Bowe Brown’s photograph. “I don’t believe you.”
Dottie winced. “Once they shot Tad I knew I had to leave them.”
Rebecca’s toe tapped. “He was wounded weeks ago.”
“I had to bide my time until I thought I could get away, and when I did, they came after me and tried to kill me to keep me quiet.” Dottie’s chin trembled, like she was fighting back tears. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be so hungry you’ll do anything to survive.”
Now that, Rebecca understood. She understood desperation and the temptation to sin so well, her stomach clenched at the memory of the night she’d stolen the food from her employer’s pantry.
She also understood grace, and how one day while she shopped for her employer at a mercantile much like Theodore’s, her gaze had landed on the matrimonial magazine. She’d borrowed a pencil and paper scrap to copy the address inside, and she’d sent in her advertisement.
When Theodore replied, it had seemed God answered her prayers and provided her the way out.
Rebecca’s eyes shut. From what she’d heard of Dottie, the woman was a skilled manipulator, so she sent a prayer heavenward that she wasn’t falling prey to it now. No matter how well she related to Dottie’s tale of desperation, she would do well to stay on her guard.
But the truth was, while she liked to think she wouldn’t rob anyone, she didn’t know for sure what she’d do if she’d been in Dottie’s shoes. Walking in her own worn-out half boots had been challenging enough, and she’d stumbled plenty.
Her breath released in a long sigh. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, and when you finally broke free, they tried to kill you. Thankfully, your testimony and directions to wherever the Gang’s been hiding the past four months will—”
“Oh no. I’m not saying a word beyond what I already did about the bank.”
“The Gang tried to murder you. Why protect them?”
“I’m protecting myself.” Dottie pushed up onto her elbows, as if ready to bolt from the bed, but then she winced and cried out. “It hurts so.”
While Dottie surely meant the pain from her injury, Rebecca couldn’t help thinking about the wound in Dottie’s heart. What would it be like to have a husband who made you steal and then shot you? Or if not him, one of his so-called friends? “I know you’re scared, but Tad will make sure you’re safe.”
“He won’t need to, because all I’ll tell him is that the Gang wears bandannas over their mouths. I didn’t see anything, and I don’t know who shot me.” The weepy look vanished and the answer came easily, with confidence, as if Dottie was a skilled liar. If she’d sweet-talked Tad and Theodore with such conviction, it was no wonder they each believed they were the only man in her life.
“But that isn’t true.”
Dottie’s face transformed again, her jaw setting and her eyes narrowing. “If you open your mouth and tell him I’m in the Gang, I’ll say you’re a jealous liar, making up tales because you think he and Theodore still want me.”<
br />
Rebecca flinched at the harshness of Dottie’s tone and the venom in her glare. “Is that so, when there’s proof aplenty that you’re guilty?”
Her eyes rolled. “Why are you so mean, telling on me?”
She made it sound like they were schoolgirls and she’d copied someone’s spelling test. “You were part of a Gang that robbed people, shot a lawman, and tried to murder you.”
Dottie’s expression changed yet again as her chin trembled and her eyes grew wide and pleading. “You can’t tell. I’ll hang.”
Rebecca’s stomach lurched from the back-and-forth of Dottie’s behavior. Vulnerable one minute, threatening the next. She was a manipulator, no dispute. But she was also in tremendous pain, and she’d been shot in the back, a betrayal Rebecca could never understand. She chose her words with care. “I don’t know much about the law, but I’m pretty sure if you cooperate with the law and come clean, your assistance will be taken into consideration by the judge. The Gang forced you and shot you. If you’re right about the bank robbery—”
“I didn’t lie about that.”
“Then where is it? Which bank?”
“I don’t know. They were just starting to plan it.” Dottie leaned back, wincing. “If you’re going to snitch anyway, I might as well speak for myself. It looks better to the judge, right?”
Rebecca wasn’t a lawyer. She didn’t know Idaho regulations, but she knew one thing: “It’s the right thing to do.”
“Then you have to let me do it so I won’t hang.”
“Agreed.” Tad would be back in a few hours, and this would be done.
“I hurt so bad.” Her breathing hitched and her fingers clenched at the quilt.
A glance at the clock confirmed that the laudanum was wearing off. “Time for another dose.” She measured it out and spoon-fed it to Dottie. “By tomorrow, you won’t need the medicine, I hope. You’ll still hurt, but it will be much more tolerable.”
“Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, isn’t it?” Dottie’s voice was wistful as she twisted her head into the pillow. “Do you suppose I can hear the goings-on from the jail? They had a grand celebration when I was last here.”
Rebecca glanced at the pile of rosettes she’d left here this morning. “They still do, I think.”
“Oh, good.” Dottie sounded sleepy. “The fireworks were something to see.”
There would be fireworks of a different kind altogether, too, when Ruby City learned one of their own was a member of the Gang of Four.
Rebecca wanted to tell someone about Dottie. Every time Uncle Giff or Johnny poked their heads in the door, she wanted to confide the heavy burden of Dottie’s confession.
But she’d given her word that Dottie could be the one to tell, for her own sake. A few hours longer would make no difference. Neither Tad nor the sheriff was in town yet, and no one else had authority to arrest Dottie, nor did they have a place to confine her, with the jail full. Except maybe that closet where Tad slept.
Besides, Dottie was sound asleep, her soft snores punctuating the air along with the ticks of the clock.
An outer door opened, and Uncle Giff’s voice carried from the kitchen. Was Tad back? Rebecca set aside the last rosette she’d been stitching and hurried out, but it was Ingrid Cook who stood with Uncle Giff and Johnny in the kitchen, bearing a smile and a basket.
Johnny assisted in emptying the basket, releasing the delicious aroma of fried chicken. “Sure is kind of you to bring supper, ma’am.”
“Sure is kind of you to open your home to Dottie.” Mrs. Cook set out bowls of potato salad and biscuits.
“I don’t mind the hayloft, and I’ll stay there until we find a place for Dottie.” Uncle Giff pulled plates from the cupboard.
Mrs. Cook sighed. “Not sure where that will be, with the boardinghouse and hotel full, and she has no people in town now that her granddaddy passed.”
Rebecca knew just where to put Dottie. That closet in the jail.
“Thanks for bringing supper, ma’am, but no need to stay the night. I’m happy to.” She should be here when Tad returned.
“You deserve a night off, Becky.” Uncle Giff scooped forks from the drawer. “Besides, you promised to help Corny with her dress.”
“I can come back after that—”
Mrs. Cook’s hand propped on her ample hip. “It’s been decided. You’ve worked too hard, and not a single one of us is going to let you do it. No arguments.”
But—Rebecca swallowed back the words forming in her throat. She’d promised to allow Dottie to confess. She couldn’t blame her, because she’d want to be the one to admit to her crimes and clear her conscience. Still, it didn’t sit right, letting Mrs. Cook sit up when she didn’t know she was nursing a criminal. Should Rebecca tell?
Her stomach twisted, almost in hunger, reminding her at once with sharp swiftness what it had been like in Missouri to be so hungry she stole from Mrs. MacGruder. So hungry she knew she might do it again, even though she hated it and begged God to take away the temptation.
Rebecca hesitated, praying for guidance. Then her shoulders slumped. Dottie had been desperate, too, so Rebecca would give her one last chance.
But she wouldn’t leave her loved ones without warning. “When Tad gets home, tell him Dottie has more information for him. It’s important.”
“She’s supposed to saw logs all night with that tonic,” Uncle Giff reminded her. “Doctor’s orders.”
So she wouldn’t be awake to tell Tad, anyway. Nor could she flee, had she a mind to. Still—
“Dottie needs a word with him between doses, though. Tell him it’s important. Please.”
“We will, sis.” Johnny’s eyes rolled. “Have some of this fine-looking grub before you leave.”
Rebecca’s stomach was hollow, and she never passed on a meal, but tonight, she wasn’t hungry. “I’d best help Cornelia now. I’ll be back at dawn.”
“Get some sleep,” Uncle Giff called. “You look like you could use it.”
Maybe she could, but she probably wouldn’t get any rest for worrying until things were settled with Dottie.
Rebecca half expected Tad to call after she finished at Cornelia’s, but he didn’t. Had he heard Dottie’s confession? Maybe he had, and just hadn’t come to see Rebecca. He was busy, of course, with a posse to form, and it wasn’t like he owed her anything.
She spent a restless night wondering and wishing he’d come, though.
The moment a pale stream of golden light peeked under her window shade, Rebecca rose and dressed in her dress the hue of a robin’s egg—not a patriotic shade of blue, perhaps, but it would have to do—and paused at the dresser to twist her hair into a braided bun, allowing four tendrils of pin-curled hair to hang down her back. Her hairpins made plinking sounds as she scooped them from the glass dish beside Ulysses’s jasper and Tad’s opal. She should return the ring today, but now didn’t seem the best time. With a final pat, she hurried to the kitchen. The scent of brewing coffee wafted through the kitchen, and Mrs. Horner had an empty cup ready at her elbow while she cracked eggs into a speckled bowl.
“Morning.” Mrs. Horner’s tone was never chipper in the mornings until she’d sipped down that first mug of coffee.
“I’ll set the table, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to run to the livery before breakfast.”
“Mrs. Cook’s watching Dottie so you don’t have to, remember? Eloise Evans and I will sit up tonight after the festivities. It’s all arranged.”
“That’s not it.” She counted forks for the table. “I said I’d be back at dawn.”
Mrs. Horner glanced up from the eggs. “You’re as pale as a snake’s underbelly. I’d hoped you’d rest better in your own bed. Well, go on, then. I can set the table. Take some coffee cake with you for the Fordham fellas. Be sure to tell Gifford happy Independence Day.”
“You can tell him yourself later today.” Rebecca cut a hunk of cake, wrapped it into a clean dish towel, and kissed her landlady’s cheek.
Pat-a-pat.
Tad recognized Rebecca’s knock. It was brief without being tentative. It was also timely, since she’d told Pa she’d be here early and Mrs. Cook had left half an hour ago to tend her family. Besides, few folks knocked on the door between the livery and the kitchen. Who else would drop in to visit Johnny while he mucked stalls before calling at the house?
Tad dropped the chunks of bread he’d just cut into a bowl, brushed off his hands, and opened the door.
Rebecca stared up at him, her eyes shadowed with fatigue. She was pretty as ever, though, and her blue dress was the perfect choice for the Fourth of July, a flawless canvas for the rosette she’d later pin to her collar for the town’s festivities. He was dressed for services and the party, too, in a clean white shirt and his Sunday shoes. His hair was still damp from his morning ablutions, making his collar stick to the back of his neck. “Good morning, Rebecca. Come in.”
“Thank you. I brought cake.” Her flowery scent filled his senses as she handed him a bundled dish towel and ducked into the kitchen.
Pa looked up from frying eggs. “You’re late, Becky. I expected you at dawn.”
Her lips twitched. “I am late, but I hope not too much so.”
“Dottie’s fine since Mrs. Cook left.” Tad poured a pitcher of warm milk over the bread chunks in the bowl for Dottie’s milksops. Nasty, slimy stuff, in his opinion, but just the thing for a body in recovery, according to Pa. “I came here last night after visiting the banks, and Johnny was waiting for me, half asleep at the kitchen table. He said you wanted me to talk to Dottie.”
“Did you?”
“Sure did. She was awake, and she kept saying she was sorry.” That was all Rebecca needed to hear, anyway. There had been an embarrassing, garbled speech about never forgetting Tad despite marrying Ralph White that made Mrs. Cook roll her eyes and Tad wish he could bolt from the room. “She hurt bad, so Mrs. Cook gave her more tonic.”
“But she didn’t say anything about the Gang?”
My Heart Belongs in Ruby City, Idaho Page 19
