Danica could only hope that her expression was one of innocence, and incomprehension. “Why not?”
“Well, Miss Prewitt — ” Mrs. Marshall broke off there and shook her head. The pheasant feathers that topped her brown velvet hat danced with the movement, although her expression was serious enough. “I don’t wish to presume, but since you are here quite alone, without family….” Her words died away, and she glanced around, but her boys were clearly far enough ahead of the two women that there wouldn’t be any chance of them overhearing what was said. “I can’t say anything against Mr. Wilcox, because he’s always done well by the community here, and he takes such a great interest in the school.”
Of course he does, Danica thought. His nieces and nephews make up more than half the student population. But she only nodded, hoping that would be enough to spur Mrs. Marshall on.
Then again, she had a good idea as to what the schoolmistress intended to say.
“But he’s also suffered tragedies, and after burying four wives….” Again she paused. “All I am saying is that you should be careful.”
“I didn’t come out here to get a husband, Mrs. Marshall,” Danica said baldly.
“No, of course not! I did not mean to imply such a thing. But I am sure that is what Miss Baker thought, and Miss Terrell.”
“Were those his other wives?” Maybe asking the question was bordering on gossip, but right then, Danica didn’t much care. She knew that Jeremiah had married twice more after he buried Nizhoni, which was sometime after he’d lost his first wife on the journey out here, but she knew nothing of the women’s names, or how they had come to be Jeremiah’s wives.
“Yes,” Mrs. Marshall replied. “Miss Baker was from Brigham City — what they’re calling Winslow now. I don’t know how she met Mr. Wilcox, precisely, for that was before I came here to Flagstaff. I had the story from Mrs. Adams. She has no reason to love Jeremiah Wilcox.”
Danica lifted an eyebrow at that statement. The dressmaker was certainly too old to have had any kind of fling with the primus.
“Oh, not like that, no,” Mrs. Marshall said hastily. “Miss Terrell was her niece, who came out here from Kansas City to assist in her shop. Pretty thing, with the loveliest curly blonde hair. You can imagine she caught the eye of Mr. Wilcox soon enough, and they were married only a few months after she arrived in town. Millie — that is, Mrs. Adams — tried to warn her niece that Mr. Wilcox had already buried three wives, but she would have none of it. She laughed off her aunt’s warnings and said she wasn’t superstitious, and that she wanted to live in a fine house with servants and have a fine man at her side. And then she was gone within six months.”
After delivering this sad little history, the schoolmistress plucked a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her nose with it before saying, “So you see why it might not be the wisest thing in the world to be encouraging Jeremiah Wilcox’s attentions.”
“I’m not encouraging his attentions, I assure you,” Danica told her as she tried to tamp down her irritation at being the subject of such unwanted gossip. At the same time, she didn’t want Mrs. Marshall to think she was annoyed with her. After all, the schoolmistress was, in her way, trying to protect someone newly come to town and not possessing all the facts of the matter. “I would hate for that to be the impression everyone is getting, because nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Well, that is a relief.”
By then they had reached the corner where they needed to part, as Danica’s path lay one way and Mrs. Marshall’s another. The boys were waiting there, looking impatient, so Danica said quickly, “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Marshall. But it’s really nothing you need to worry yourself about.”
The schoolmistress nodded, her expression a study in relief. “Then you have a lovely weekend, Miss Prewitt. I expect we shall see you in church on Sunday.”
She sailed off then, her sons following in her wake. Danica hesitated on the corner for a few seconds, watching them go. The boys’ footsteps brought up little puffs of dust, since it hadn’t rained for almost a week. A cart filled with freshly cut logs from somewhere on the mountainside passed them by, and farther up the street two ladies in shawls and hats crossed ahead of several men — ranchers by their clothing — who were riding along toward Humphreys Street and its saloons.
All in all, it was an ordinary enough scene, the kind that Danica had gotten used to during her tenure here in the past. But a shiver passed over her, one she didn’t think she could entirely blame on the cold breeze blowing down from the San Francisco Peaks.
Had those other two wives of Jeremiah’s seen their doom coming, or had it hit them from nowhere, like an icy hand rising from the grave?
* * *
The rest of the evening was prosaic enough, and quiet, since Elias had come to fetch Clara and take her out to dinner in the Hotel San Francisco’s dining room.
“Just like being in New York!” Clara had exclaimed, eyes dancing. Apparently, she’d forgotten all about her quarrel with Danica, or at least had put it aside now that she had something far more interesting — namely, Elias Hansen — to occupy her thoughts.
Danica somehow doubted that the local hotel’s dining room could compete with the Waldorf, but she didn’t argue. It was good that Clara was going out on an actual date, even if it did make dinner at the boarding house that night a somewhat subdued affair.
“I thought I’d go walking up on Thorpe Hill tomorrow afternoon,” Danica announced as Mrs. Wilson set down the plate of fried chicken she’d made for dinner.
The landlady gave her a curious look. “Whatever for?”
“Well, the aspens look like they’re in full color right now. I thought I’d collect some leaves so we could mount them and study them in class on Monday.”
“Study leaves?” Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “I’m not sure what the point is in studying something that we’re all going to be raking out of our yards in the next week or so, but then, I don’t pretend to know much about teaching.”
I don’t know much about it, either, Danica thought then. But I’m still trying to pretend.
She only shrugged, though, saying, “It never hurts to know a little more about the world around you,” and Mrs. Wilson lifted her shoulders as well.
“That may be. Do be careful walking alone, though. I’m not saying you wouldn’t be safe, but there are some rough types here, even though the town has gotten much better over the past year or so. Just keep an eye out, and don’t stray too far.”
Danica promised she would do all those things, and the conversation languished after that. She was glad to make her escape up to her room, where she tried to read the copy of Ivanhoe that Mrs. Marshall had lent her, but her thoughts kept wandering.
What in the world was Jeremiah thinking, anyway? No, he had no idea that he and Danica were related, but he had to know by this point that Nizhoni’s curse seemed to be sticking. From what Mrs. Marshall had said, it sounded as if both Wife #3 and Wife #4 were civilians. Had he tried to circumvent the curse that way? Maybe now he was thinking he should try a witch again, since the experiments with the civilians hadn’t worked out so well.
Well, it really didn’t matter what his reasoning might be, since Danica sure as hell wasn’t going to indulge him in it. She did pity him, since he really hadn’t done anything to deserve Nizhoni’s curse, but she couldn’t help him. His salvation still lay far in the future.
With an almost physical effort, she turned her thoughts toward Robert. Would he even think to go back and look in her desk drawer? She’d put the note there in the hope that he would try to leave another message for her, then find the one she’d left for him. At least, that was her plan.
Maybe she should have left a letter for him at his hotel. No, that was a terrible idea. Doing so would have sent a clear signal that a connection did exist between them, and it was better for everyone involved if she and Robert kept this whole thing on the down-low, so to speak, for as long as poss
ible.
Danica sighed then, placing her neglected book on the bedside table. Since she’d known she wouldn’t be venturing out of her room after dinner, she was already in her nightgown, face washed and teeth brushed. She turned down the wick in the kerosene lamp next to her bed, then sent a brief prayer out into the universe.
She would see Robert tomorrow. She would.
* * *
Because this was supposed to be only a simple walk in the woods, Danica tried not to make too much of a fuss with her appearance. She did put on her new green wool gown, since Robert had never seen it, but it was a simple enough dress, with a plainly draped bustle and a high-necked bodice whose only embellishment was the velvet collar and row of velvet buttons down the front. Even so, she still dabbed on the tiniest bit of the lip stain she’d brought with her, and rewound the braid she wore on the back of her head at least four times before she was satisfied with it.
If Mrs. Wilson noticed that Danica had taken particular care with her appearance, she didn’t show any sign of it after her tenant descended the staircase to have her lunch of cold chicken and bread, accompanied by some apple preserves. Afterward, Danica said she was setting out and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. That should give her the rest of the afternoon.
And if Robert didn’t show up?
Well, this walk would be cut very short. But he would appear. He had gotten the note. She just knew it.
That was more wishful thinking than any kind of clairvoyance; Danica knew she didn’t possess those sorts of skills, unlike her friend Caitlin. But as she pinned on her hat and took one more look at her reflection in the hallway mirror, she couldn’t help feeling a stir of excitement.
She did go out the back door, just because the last thing she wanted in that moment was to have the misfortune to bump into Jeremiah Wilcox. Not that he’d taken to haunting her street — yet — but she did seem to have picked up the habit of running into him when she really didn’t want to.
The rear of Mrs. Wilson’s property backed up to open land, with a trail that led away from the settlement and up toward Thorpe Hill. Danica set out in that direction, glad that her boots were more or less broken in by now, and that the heels weren’t too high. She should be able to manage the path well enough, even if a pair of hiking boots would have been a hell of a lot more practical.
The clouds of the night before had mostly cleared away, although a few still ringed Humphreys Peak, making it look like the mountaintop had grown a gray beard sometime during the evening hours. Snow glimmered on those peaks now, although none had fallen in town, and a brisk wind blew from the northeast. Danica wondered if she’d made a mistake in only draping her shawl over her shoulders rather than bringing her cloak. But no, the climb would keep her warm enough. She’d be fine.
From up here on higher ground she could see more of the town, the way it was beginning to spread to the east, following the railroad tracks. Although it would burn down and be rebuilt before taking on its present-day shape, Danica was still able to make out the basic contours of the city she knew. Strange to think that the descendants of the people she’d met here could still be living there, more than a hundred years hence.
Then she had to turn her attention to the path, which was becoming increasingly rocky. At least there was only one stand of aspens on Thorpe Hill, making her destination easy enough to spot. Yes, there were also oaks and sycamores showing their autumn colors, but the aspens blazed brighter than any of them.
Danica didn’t want to look at the sycamores. They only made her think of that rocky grave high above the old Wilcox cabin, the one where Robert had been buried.
But he hasn’t been buried there yet, she thought fiercely. And he won’t be. I’ll find some way to stop it, even if I have to hop a train tomorrow for Boston and never see my home again.
That sounded very brave. She wondered if she would have the strength to follow through with that plan if matters were forced to such a pass.
Pushing the thought aside, she climbed the rest of the way to the aspen grove. Up here, all was quiet, the only sound the wind whispering through shimmering golden leaves. If the train came through, she’d probably be able to hear its whistle, and likewise for the one that sounded at the lumbermill at close of day, but she’d be long gone from here by then, one way or another.
At the center of the grove was an old ponderosa pine stump. Danica contemplated sitting down on it, since she really had no idea how long she’d have to wait. But that might stain her new dress, and it wasn’t like she could take the thing to the dry cleaner’s to repair the damage.
A crunch of leaves made her turn. A man was approaching along a different path than the one she’d taken, coming in from the north. His dark coat flapped in the breeze, and for one hideous second Danica thought that Jeremiah Wilcox had followed her up here, tracking her with one of his own incomprehensible talents. But then she caught sight of his blue eyes, smiling at her, and she realized it was only Robert. He’d probably taken a circuitous route so no one could guess at where he was headed.
But enough of logic. She ran toward him, forgetting propriety, forgetting that she was probably supposed to act like a good little Victorian woman and wait patiently for him to approach her. His blue eyes lit up as their gazes locked, and he quickened his pace, holding out his arms. She fell into them like someone coming home, rejoicing in the strength of his embrace, the way he held her against him, his mouth seeking hers at once.
So much for Victorian propriety.
The kiss seemed to last forever, the golden leaves shimmering around them like an echo of the warmth she felt rippling through her entire body. At last, though, Robert raised his mouth from hers, a smile lighting up his face.
“Am I to guess from this greeting that you missed me?”
“No, I was hoping you’d stay away a day or two longer,” she replied with a grin.
“Ah, I couldn’t do that. Not when I kept thinking of the sweetness of your kiss.”
“So why didn’t you come back sooner?”
His smile faded. “Sometimes business compels us to do things we’d rather not. But I did find a good piece of land — and was able to buy it out from under the Wilcox clan’s noses.”
That sounded like a terrible idea. “Why on earth would you do something like that? Are you trying to provoke them?”
“More or less.”
Her expression must have registered her alarm, because he took her gloved hands in his, holding them tightly. When he spoke, his tone was gentle but urgent at the same time.
“My dear, it’s necessary to provoke them. If they continually have everything going their own way, then they’ll have no need to use their magic. And if they don’t use it, then I don’t have any way of gathering evidence against them.”
“That sounds like entrapment.” As the words left her mouth, Danica wondered if the Victorian concept of the idea was the same as it was in her own time. But she couldn’t take back what she’d said. Not that she particularly wanted to. It was one thing to catch the Wilcoxes doing something underhanded of their own volition. However, setting up a situation so they’d be forced to react was an entirely different matter.
Robert’s brows drew together, and his voice was considerably colder as he replied, “You might call it such. I was tasked with gathering as much knowledge as I could, and that might mean engaging in practices you find questionable.”
Goddamn it. She really didn’t want to argue, not after spending days apart. And if she got too vigorous in her defense of the Wilcox clan, Robert might start asking why she seemed so sympathetic to their cause.
“I’m sorry,” she said then…although she wasn’t. Not really. “I suppose I didn’t quite understand. But what are you going to do with this land you bought? Surely you don’t intend to stay here and become a rancher, do you?”
The smile returned, even as he shook his head. “No. That land was bought with my clan’s money, and they’ll decide in the end if they want
to keep it — for it should be a good investment — or sell it off after a reasonable period of time has passed.”
Meaning it might end up in Wilcox hands anyway at some point. “I suppose that makes sense. But really, Robert, what you’re doing is dangerous. Yes, the Wilcoxes aren’t able to sense that you’re also a warlock, but that doesn’t mean they won’t retaliate if you get in their way.”
Again she saw the image of that faint cross scratched on the sycamore tree, only a few miles from here, and she had to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat.
A frown touched his features. Out here, in the bright autumn sunlight, Danica noticed the beginnings of a thin line between his level brows.
Voice even, he said, “I know how to protect myself.”
“Against all of them?” She still had no clear idea exactly what Jeremiah’s talent was, but she knew he was powerful, probably one of the most powerful warlocks of his generation. And that didn’t even take into account his brothers’ various abilities, whatever they might be. Obviously, they’d been enough to create some spectacular shows back in Connecticut, and that was enough to frighten her now.
Robert didn’t respond right away, confirming her suspicions that he would be hopelessly outmatched if he tried to engage all of them at once. There was no real shame in that; she didn’t know of anyone with those kinds of skills, although maybe her cousin Damon could have managed it when he was still alive. Or maybe not. After all, Damon was Jeremiah’s direct descendant, and she didn’t know for sure whether the powers he’d passed on had grown stronger down the generations or not.
Distress must have been clear in her face, because Robert bent and kissed her, but gently, as if trying to reassure her. “My dear, it will be all right. Some feathers will be ruffled. That’s all.”
She was far from convinced, but she nodded and even managed a smile. “You are quite the crusader, aren’t you, Robert?”
witches of cleopatra hill 06 - spellbound Page 21
