Silken Dreams

by Bingham, Lisa

  “Yeah, and that’s what got you into this mess.”

  He offered her a wry smile, then pulled the waist-length veiling over his head and moved in tiny mincing steps toward the staircase.

  Watching the all too masculine shape of his hips as he descended the stairs, Lettie shook her head and murmured to herself, “Ethan McGuire, you make a sorry, sorry woman … but you’re some kind of man.”

  Once out in the hall, Lettie whispered, “Make sure you’re as quiet as can be. I think the Beasleys are home from their committee meeting.” Gesturing for Ethan to follow her, she led him toward the back staircase.

  They had nearly reached the landing, when Lettie looked down to find the Beasleys on their way up. She quickly stepped in front of Ethan to shield his body as much as she could with her own, but the Beasleys stood on the staircase in such a way that they barred anyone else from slipping past.

  “Why, Lettie, is this our new boarder?” Alma inquired, coming to a halt. Her crystal-blue eyes snapped with curiosity as she leaned from side to side, trying to catch a good glimpse of Ethan’s form.

  “Is this the one?” Amelia echoed, standing on tiptoe to peek over Lettie’s shoulder.

  Lettie’s eyes darted from the Beasleys to the landing beyond, searching for an avenue of escape. If anyone were to uncover their subterfuge, it would be the Beasleys. And the Beasleys were not well known for keeping a tantalizing secret to themselves. “Yes,” she answered vaguely. “She just joined us last night.”

  “Why Alma, this is our new boarder!” Amelia repeated in delight.

  “Oh. Yes, of course,” said Alma.

  Alma took a step closer, and Ethan bent his head to shield his face even more beneath the brim of the bonnet. Although the veiling was thick enough to disguise his features, it was not completely opaque in the sunlight that streamed through the windows around the landing.

  “I’m Alma Beasley, and this is my sister.”

  After a beat of silence, her younger sibling supplied, “Amelia.”

  “This is Mrs. Magillicuddy,” Lettie offered reluctantly. When the two sisters waited for something more, she added, “Agnes Magillicuddy.”

  “Oh?” Alma’s brow creased in thought.

  The two sisters glanced at each other, then peered in Ethan’s direction.

  “Any relation to the Beaver Rapids Magillicuddys?”

  “No!” Lettie smiled when her answer burst out much too forcefully. “No, I…” She drew the ladies aside as if imparting a confidential secret. When she returned, the Beasleys were filled with clucking concern and sympathy.

  “We are so sorry to hear about your unfortunate… condition,” Alma murmured, gesturing with her hand that her lips would remain sealed in regards to that secret. “We were just about to gather our wraps and walk into town for a cup of tea at the hotel. Would you care to join us?”

  “No!” Once again Lettie paused to control her tongue. “No, Mrs. Magillicuddy and I were just on our way to the mercantile. Mrs. Magillicuddy wished to pick up a few things before returning for a quick nap.”

  “Yes, of course.” Alma nodded her head in sage agreement. “Best thing for… what ails you.”

  Ethan’s snort of confusion was drowned by Amelia’s echoing, “Best thing.”

  “Well…” Lettie sighed after a long moment of silence, in which the Beasleys made no move to leave and stood trying to catch a glimpse of Ethan’s features through the veiling of his bonnet. “We don’t want to keep you ladies from your stroll. Good afternoon,” Lettie murmured, taking Ethan by the hand and pulling him after her down the staircase.

  Alma and Amelia Beasley turned to watch them with evident interest.

  “Amelia?” Alma queried softly. “Isn’t that your bonnet?”

  “Mmm?” Her sister turned to gaze vaguely down the steps after the retreating duo.

  “Isn’t that your bonnet?”

  “Oh, I don’t think—well, yes, it does look like—surely it couldn’t be—”

  “That’s my skirt,” Alma interrupted with much more certainty.

  “Really?” Her sister glanced at her in confusion.

  Both of them quickly dug into the pockets of their skirts to withdraw the spectacles they were too vain to wear in public. They wrapped the handles over their ears just in time to see Lettie and her companion slip into the kitchen.

  “You don’t think—”

  “Surely not.”

  “But—”

  “It is.”

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Alma breathed.

  “It seems our little Lettie has a beau,” Amelia whispered in amazement.

  “And despite that ridiculous getup… he’s got a set of buttocks that could stop a train,” Alma added.

  After hitching one of the horses to the boardinghouse’s buggy, Lettie motioned for Ethan to climb in beside her, carefully watching the yard for anyone who might be studying them a little too intently. Most of the boarders had already gone for the day, however, and her mother was up to her elbows in baking ingredients. Celeste had done little more than glance up at Lettie and “Mrs. Magillicuddy” as they’d placed a stack of coins on the counter and slipped out of the door.

  Lettie regarded Ethan’s grip of the reins, then sighed and took them from his grasp. At his questioning look, she merely said, “You hold them like a man.”

  Lightly slapping the reins onto the horse’s rump, she guided the buggy to the front of the house, where the boardinghouse butted against one of the side streets a few blocks from the commercial center of town.

  “Mother will need me back to help with the evening meal, so we have four or five hours before she’ll expect me home. I’ll need to go to the dry goods and Mrs. Clark’s before we return. I can’t delay much, but Mama will understand if I’m a few minutes late. She’ll think I’ve spent the time at Mrs. Clark’s. I could drop you in town if you wanted, while I make the condolence call.”

  Ethan glanced at her, and, despite the thick veiling attached to his bonnet, Lettie saw the fierce determination burning in his azure eyes. “I’ll go with you to the Clarks’. I’ll need you to ask as many questions about her husband’s death as you can.”

  Lettie nodded, understanding Ethan’s frustration and his impatience to begin investigating the most recent rash of crimes that had been pinned to his name.

  “Then I’d like to go to the robbery site,” he added.

  “Fine.” Her voice was low and filled with her own concern. She could only pray that their ruse would work. If not, and Ethan were caught, his actions would simply damn him even more in the eyes of the Star and everyone else.

  The boardinghouse was situated within blocks of the railroad station and business district, yet was still tucked far enough away that it remained removed from the usual noise and bustle of town. However, within a hundred yards, Lettie found herself competing for space on the narrow roads with other carriages and wagons intent on reaching the commercial center of town.

  Guiding the horse and buggy with practiced ease, Lettie crossed from Main Street onto one of the less traveled side streets west of the railroad tracks, drawing the conveyance to a stop beside a simple whitewashed house.

  “You’re sure you want to do this? I could leave the basket with Mrs. Clark and you could stay inside the buggy.”

  Ethan shook his head and firmly stated, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Fine.” Despite her calm acceptance, Lettie felt a twinge of nervousness. Mrs. Clark would be the first person other than herself to see Ethan close up in his disguise. If Abby were to suspect he was a man…

  “Just remember to talk like and walk like a woman.”

  “Yes, Lettie,” he muttered dryly.

  “Secure the buggy while I get the basket.”

  “Yes, Lettie. Oh, and Lettie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop being such a nag.”

  Lettie climbed from the seat, hiding a smile when she heard Ethan gasp and swear at the unaccustomed
restriction of the corset when he tried to follow suit. He still hadn’t grown used to the fact that one did not slouch, bend sideways, or breathe deeply in a corset.

  Taking the basket of jams and breads from the back of the buggy, Lettie motioned for Ethan to walk beside her instead of slightly behind, then nodded in approval at his tiny footsteps and erect posture.

  Climbing the steps to the front door, Lettie dropped the brass knocker against its base, averting her eyes from the solemn black wreath that had been nailed to the lintel.

  After a moment, the door creaked open, and a plump matronly woman with ginger-colored hair peeped outside. Her lips lifted into a shaky smile when she saw Lettie on the doorstep, and for a moment, there was a glimpse of her usual good cheer in her silver eyes.

  “Hello, Mrs. Clark,” Lettie murmured.

  “Lettie, how nice of you to call.”

  “We don’t mean to impose on you at a time like this, but…”

  “Nonsense. Come in.” There was a slight edge of desperation to Mrs. Clark’s invitation, as if she’d spent too much time alone as it was. “I’ve got some hot tea on the stove. Please say you’ll stay and have a cup.”

  Lettie glanced at Ethan and saw his slight nod from beneath the veiling.

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. Come in, come in.”

  Lettie and Ethan stepped through the doorway, and Lettie handed Mrs. Clark the basket.

  “Mama asked me to bring this by and to tell you that the church auxiliary has everything arranged for the meal after the services tomorrow. She also asked me to convey her condolences.”

  Abby Clark reached for the basket. Her lips trembled for a moment before she pressed them together and tried to smile. “How kind. The bread smells delicious. Your mother is such a fine cook.” She glanced up, and there was an echo of a familiar twinkle in her eyes. “I’m glad you brought it over. It will give us something to have with our tea.”

  She gestured for Lettie to precede her down the hall. “We’ll just sit and visit in the kitchen, if you don’t mind, Lettie—and of course your guest.”

  “This is one of our boarders: Mrs. Magillicuddy. Agnes Magillicuddy.”

  Abby nodded and smiled, but when Ethan did not offer his hand in greeting, she politely refrained from forcing the familiarity. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. Come and have some tea.”

  Abby Clark led them into the kitchen, where she poured tea, sliced bread, and opened a jar of jam. Lettie felt a moment of panic when the portions were placed in front of Ethan, but he calmly lifted the veiling of his bonnet—just enough to eat without revealing his features—then placed the cup back on his saucer. If Abby noticed the dusting of dark hair on his hands, she gave no indication. Instead, she chattered and talked, while Ethan listened patiently, nodding now and again to show he was attending each word.

  Lettie tried to tactfully probe for any information that might be helpful to Ethan, but it wasn’t until they were leaving and Mrs. Clark was leading them toward the front door that her expression became suddenly bleak. She seemed to sag. Her skin grew pale and white against the deep mourning of her woolen gown. “He wasn’t supposed to go last night, you know,” she whispered, turning to Lettie. “But he received a message at the last minute. One of the other boys … got sick… and Silas Gruber asked if he would guard the shipment.” Her last words were uttered in a choked voice.

  Without speaking, Lettie drew the woman into her arms and rubbed her back, blinking fiercely against the moisture that sprang to her own eyes.

  A few moments later, when she and Ethan had stepped into the sunshine and the door had shut behind them, she turned to him, sensing that Ethan had been as affected as she by the echoing sadness that had pervaded Mrs. Clark’s home.

  “Five years ago, I prided myself on the fact that I never hurt anyone,” Ethan muttered. “I started stealing because my mother had been abandoned and we needed to eat.” He gazed at Lettie. “But I never thought I’d hurt anyone—only myself.”

  He took a ragged breath. “But I’m partially responsible for that woman’s pain. The man who did this copied my methods.” His shoulders squared and his hands balled into fists. “But once I find him, he’ll pay, Lettie,” Ethan muttered. “Whoever did this will pay.”

  After leaving Mrs. Clark’s, they drove out of town, following the road north to where the rail lines from Harrisburg ran parallel to the creek. A huge water tower had been constructed for the freight trains a few years before, when the Petesville line had circumvented the stop in Madison. It was here—while the train had stopped for water—that the latest robbery had occurred.

  Long before they’d reached the area, Lettie and Ethan encountered several other buggies headed in the same direction, as well as a few that were evidently leaving the scene. By the time the train had come into sight, they could smell the faint odor of charred wood and could see that the grassway on either side was dotted with at least a dozen onlookers.

  Lettie maneuvered the buggy onto a shoulder a few yards away from the train and separate from the other townspeople who had come to see. A chill coursed through her when she saw such blatant destruction for the first time. She turned to find Ethan peering at the shattered boxcar from his vantage point within the buggy.

  “Can you get any closer?”

  She gestured toward the men a few feet away who were poking through the rubble. “Not without calling attention to ourselves. Some of them are members of Jacob’s posse.”

  He nodded and settled back against the tufted seat, then lapsed into a brooding silence. Lettie glanced at him, and, because of the angle of the sun, she was able to see a shadow of his features through the veiling. A thoughtful intensity had settled over his face.

  “He must have panicked last night,” he said after several long moments of silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  ‘Something must have disturbed his routine, forcing him to make a mistake, the most obvious of which was shooting his witness in the hip. If you want to ensure a man won’t talk, you don’t shoot him in the hip. You aim for the stomach, or the chest, or the head.”

  Lettie shivered beneath the obvious intent of Ethan’s words.

  “Why would the thief want to kill him?”

  Ethan’s head turned and she grew still, sensing a part of him that she found hard to accept: a harder, more calculating side, one that was infinitely more dangerous than the man she’d come to know over the past few weeks.

  “If not for the blast, Clark could have been a witness if he’d survived.”

  “But he was killed in the blast.”

  “The thief didn’t know that. He was gone by the time the blast occurred, otherwise he would have been killed or injured as well.” Ethan gestured to the rubble. “Look at that.”

  Lettie gazed at the boxcar but didn’t know what she was supposed to see. For the most part, very little of the railroad car remained. Most of it lay littered about the charred grass around her.

  “He obviously used too much dynamite. He blasted a hole out of the boxcar and destroyed too much of the safe.”

  “So?”

  “That blast shouldn’t have happened,” Ethan continued. “Not like that.” He gestured to the rubble strewn away from the car. “There’s too much damage. Any idiot would have known better than to set something like that on purpose. If he’d been within twenty yards of the explosion, he would’ve caught a piece of debris in the back of the head. Look at the way the force of the charge knocked the other cars off the rails.”

  “Then why did he do it?”

  “I don’t think it was done this way on purpose. Not for a simple robbery. I’d say something surprised him, someone surprised him. Maybe Clark shot at him or there was a scuffle and the man accidentally shot Clark. Regardless, our man panicked and set the charge incorrectly. He probably hightailed it out of here and never knew he’d murdered Jeb Clark.”

  When Ethan grew quiet, Lettie sens
ed there was more. “Ethan?” she prompted. “What is it?”

  Ethan took a deep breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Up until now, he’s been copying the methods of…” He paused, then continued: “Copying my methods. But last night, he broke the routine.”

  “Why?”

  “You told me earlier that five hundred in gold was taken.”

  “And the stocks and bond certificates.”

  “And he left the paper money.” Ethan gestured to the ground, which was covered with shreds of singed paper that had obviously once been part of a stack of dollar bills. “He didn’t take the money.”

  “So?”

  “I always took paper over gold. If I was forced to leave something for a quick retreat, it was the gold—gold is heavier and harder to conceal, especially if you’re in a hurry and on the run. This man took the gold but not the paper.” His hands tightened into fists on top of his thighs. “And yet, he took the bonds. That’s stupid. Those bonds can be traced.”

  “So?”

  “So I think our thief is beginning to get nervous. Scared.” His voice grew hard. “If that fear takes hold, he’ll make more mistakes in the future, dangerous mistakes.” Ethan turned to pin her with an intense stare. “Since the authorities think I’ve trained the man as an accomplice, we’ve got to find him before one of those errors puts him in his grave and destroys any chance I have to see my name cleared and this bastard hanged for his own crimes.”

  Once again, his eyes swept across the area, and then Ethan frowned. Not more than a hundred feet away, his stepbrother, Ned, and another man stood beside their mounts, gazing at the wreckage. There was something vaguely… familiar about Ned’s companion.

  “Lettie, who’s that?” he asked, making certain his voice emerged with nothing more than casual curiosity.

  Lettie glanced in the direction of Ethan’s nod and answered, “That’s Mr. Gruber. Natalie’s husband. Why?”

  “Nothing. He just seems… familiar.” When the man in question turned toward him, Ethan looked away, then glanced back, realizing Gruber could never see his features through the veiling from that distance.