by Caryl McAdoo
“Yes, ma’am. I’m still a soldier with a duty.”
She stood and pretended to help him to his feet, pulling on his hand. “Come on with me. Your commanding officer wants a word.”
He rose, but the ‘we’ stuck in his craw. Seemed to him the woman had been plotting against him and his partner.
She marched through her husband’s library all the way to his bed. Rebecca sat in a straight-backed chair, where the wingback had been before, holding Wallace’s hand.
“Major.”
Rebecca shook him. “Dearest.”
Wallace opened his eyes. “Hey, Son. Thank you for saving my leg. But now you’ve got new orders. Go get my girl.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. I am ordering you to go get my baby and approving extended leave to get this personal problem resolved—however long it takes. Get her back home, Son.”
Charley looked at May, who nodded, then back to Wallace. “Yes, sir. I will, sir. I’ll bring her home.”
He stayed by the bed until his partner gulped another slug of relief and closed his eyes. May slipped her hand into his and tugged. He hung on until she let go at the first wingback.
Continuing on to his uncle’s chair. She reached down, pulled out a drawer, and set a leather money belt on the desk.
“There’s eight hundred and twenty in gold with another sixty-three in silver. Once this King of Diamonds man brings you to Lacey, and only then, give him five hundred. That’s the last amount we offered for information leading to her return. Be careful with the rest.”
“I will, Aunt May.”
“This man sounds like he knows Lacey, but that doesn’t mean he has her. There’s no telling where you might have to go.”
Charley nodded. “Yes, ma’am. However long it takes.”
“I know you’ve seen how our menfolk do things. You act accordingly with this scoundrel, but bring Lacey home even if she plans on leaving again. She owes her mama that.” She took a deep breath and tapped on the bag as if trying to remember something. “Send word when you can. The mail from the north gets through now and again. We’ll be wondering…and praying.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.” He ran his finger around the inside of his collar. He hated to ask, but had the need in case the women cooked all this up. “Miss Jewel have any idea how much longer Wallace has?”
“She said as strong as he is, could be three or four more days, but you best not wait.”
“What about his leg?”
“You don’t have to worry, dear. It’s too late. The gangrene has spread, moved into his torso. Wouldn’t do him any good, not now.”
Charley hated it all to blue blazes and back, but hanging around to cry over his uncle’s grave wouldn’t get Lacey Rose home. “I can be ready to leave in twenty minutes if Uncle Chester or whoever you want could take me to town.”
The maid poured in more hot water. Lacey stuck her finger in and smiled at the girl. “Perfect, thank you.”
Once the door closed, she dropped her robe and slipped into the fragrant bath. In her ignorance, her life lived out near perfect.
The war really hadn’t affected her. No shattered leg bones to fret over or loved ones who were dying right before her eyes. No hardship whatsoever. She scooched a bit deeper, wiggled her toes and waved the water with her hands.
The warmth pulled any and all misgivings from her soul. Going to Saint Louis was a waste of time.
During the ride from Glen Falls to Philadelphia, the thought had gained steam. She’d decided on Harold—or rather the life he could give her. Women married men for reasons other than love from the very first. Nothing wrong with it. So why shouldn’t she?
Rebekah in the Bible agreed to marry Isaac without ever laying eyes on the man.
Those ten camels loaded with bride goods and the gold Abraham’s servant tossed around like it was copper didn’t miss her notice. Anyone could say what they wanted about God, but no one would convince Lacey that her Biblical counterpart hadn’t married the patriarch for his wealth and status.
Turned out not so bad, too, ending up being the grandmother of all the Jews.
She held up her finger and examined the ring Harold had brought her their last day together. Gold band with a beautiful, gaudy emerald encased in sparkling little diamonds. She loved it all the way to the stars and back.
After that night’s game, she’d tell him of her decision. New York or even London sounded nice.
Oh, the stories Bonnie told of that trip to Europe. That’s what she needed to do. Get away. Get Harold to take her across the pond. She said it again out loud. “Across the pond.” She giggled then slipped all the way under the water.
Best start thinking more like Alexandra and less like Lacey Rose.
The game that night was supposed to be almost as big as Albany’s. She pushed herself up and tilted her chin. “No, you may not call me Lexi. Miss Paulos is acceptable if Alexandra is too long for you to wrap your tongue around.” She pouted her bottom lip as though perhaps she’d been too hard on the peasant.
Giggling, she lathered up the soap and got serious with her preparations.
The king and his coming queen did it again.
As usual, she excused herself at midnight. Harold could beat that bunch straight up, but he always liked to give some back to anyone that he’d taken a liking to. Keeping an eye on the lobby, she waited in the back of his hotel’s bar.
No less than five galoots offered her a drink—and more—with their winks and grins.
Men. Such cads…every one! Well, except those of the household she grew up in. She would never have guessed all the rest weren’t like them...honest, trustworthy, and faithful.
Man, had she learned a lot in the few years!
A little after the lobby’s big clock struck two, he strolled in like the king he was. She wanted to jump up and run to him, tell him her news, walk with him all the way to his room, but made herself wait to follow and watched.
He moseyed to the stairs and started up, but looked around the lobby like he might be waiting for someone. At two in the morning?
What was he up to?
A man she didn’t recognize came in and sulked in the corner’s shadows obviously watching her Harold. He disappeared down a far hall.
She paid her tab then hurried toward the stairs. The stranger reappeared. Walking by, he didn’t look at her face, but studied her hand as though she might have her room number tattooed on it.
Hurrying up the stairs, even though the man didn’t follow her up, she tapped Harold’s room door with her foot twice and kept walking.
On reaching the next, she turned, whistled softly, then hurried inside his open door.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”
Her grin probably said it all…what she’d decided, but first things first. She came close. “How’d we do?”
“Sixteen fifty-three. I returned enough for train fare to that drummer across from you.”
“One of the things I admire about you, Harold.” She winked then grinned, stretched, and put her lips to his. Not a passionate kiss, but one she hoped showed she cared. “I’ve decided I don’t want to go to Saint Louis. Why not London instead?”
His eyes opened wide and the expression of joy and relief on his face warmed her. “It’s wet and chilly this time of year, but the French Riviera… that’s the place to be.”
Her lips spread wide. “Even better. Let’s get married in New York, then catch us a clipper to Europe. What do you say?”
“Are you certain? I thought you wanted to see Jack first. And I did give him my word I’d have you in Saint Louis on the seventh.”
“He’s wicked! Tricking me and selling me off. What if you hadn’t been you? In my humble opinion, the man’s a lying buffoon. If you’re compelled to send him a note, fine. But I certainly won’t send him one thin dime of my take. He already got the five hundred plus the same amount in his past due note. He doesn’t deserve that after what he did.�
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“If you’re sure.”
“I’d rather he not know what became of us. Serve him right for how he treated your new wife.”
A monstrous smile divided his face in two. “I love you the way you think, baby girl.”
She kept her smile, but it nicked her heart that he used Wallace Rusk’s pet name for her. What was her uncle doing? She hoped he’d not seen much action. A little shudder ran up her spine.
Still, that was her old life. A whole new one lay before her, and her heart was ready to embark on it.
“Do you like Lacey Rose?”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“No. I was thinking…maybe I should change it. Not Alexandra. Jack dreamed that one up. Got any ideas, other than Myra?”
He chuckled. “You’re Lacey Rose to me. Let’s leave it alone. There’s a couple of other dodges we can try. Besides, now that it’s settled, I don’t want my wife traveling alone. No more aliases.”
She kissed him softly again. “Good. We could even find us another partner. I’m getting better. You said so yourself.”
“Perhaps, but I’m feeling rather tired, darling. Should I see you to your room, or…”
“Are you a man of honor, Harold Longstreet?”
“Totally. With you, sweetheart. What do you have in mind?”
“If you’ll promise to not try anything, I’ll stay here tonight. There was a strange man in the lobby after you came up, and I don’t want you having to go all the way to my hotel if you’re so tired.”
He nodded, then extended his hand. “I promise. Come on. We need to be up and at ’em in the morning. I’d like to catch the first train east.”
Charley made Memphis on the second of April, found a steamer going to Saint Louis, and bought himself a berth on the lowest deck. His parents had water closets bigger than his room, but he wasn’t on holiday.
Compared to sleeping under the stars with only his saddle for a pillow, the bed proved pure luxury.
Even slept solid through that first night; didn’t know a thing until he opened his eyes the next morning. Man, how long had it been?
If he dreamed, he didn’t remember; but woke stiff and sore. All that bouncing on the stage had taken its toll.
After chow—two bits worth of worse-than-army food—he strolled the deck. Once he tired of watching the big wheel splash the muddy water, he returned to his room. Bored there, on a whim, he took the stairs down to the boiler room. He knew the basics of how a steamer worked, but thought he’d check it out.
To his surprise, the thing looked almost just like the one Elijah Eversole had built for his father’s and Uncle Henry’s saw mill. He watched a bit, then grabbed an oversized shovel, and got in line.
Took his first three tosses to get loose, another two to break a good sweat. After ten, he figured either he might as well find the straw boss and see if he could draw wages.
The man took his name and room number and claimed he’d talk to the purser.
Nothing came of it, and Charley didn’t venture back down to the boiler room. So pleased to arrive in Saint Louis on the seventh of April, he practically cheered.
Boredom about did him in on that trip, but he’d spent a lot of hours planning on what he’d say when he saw Lacey.
His nerves crawled all over him like red ants on Comanche prey tied in the sun, slathered with molasses or sorghum; as nervous about seeing her as a rabbit in a trap. But why? He’d thought he’d made up his mind. Was it guilt or love? Hard to tell.
No, not so hard. He remembered the kiss.
If she was there like that King of Diamonds claimed, he could be back in San Antonio before the month was out. Maybe even have time for a wedding. That’s what he should have done.
Told her his heart, not for her to think of him as just kin. How stupid could one man be?
Chapter Thirteen
Fanning to the next newspaper page, he looked over its top at the lobby’s big clock. Half past noon.
Jack scanned the various and sundry stories, hunting a better sounding name. Spade was tarnished.
That man had been caught cheating at cards, dealing off the bottom, then like a slaver, sold his Lacey Rose—most likely the best thing that had ever happened to him—to Longstreet.
Oh, well. He shook his head. Shame things turned out like they did. He could have been happy with the gal for another year, maybe longer.
A young man walked in, but headed straight to the bar. Didn’t even bother stopping at the desk. Jack returned to his search.
Soon as he got his gold, he was heading east since he definitely didn’t want to go through the South. He’d catch himself the fastest clipper in the New York harbor and get himself around the Horn to California.
The gold and silver strikes might have played out, but the new rich loved losing at poker.
Maybe he’d go to San Francisco. He’d read the money grew on trees in the city by the bay. Three months on board would give him ample time to get his fingers ready.
At two sharp, he stood. Should’ve specified one to two, not noon. He leaned back, stretching his back then headed out. Two blocks over and one up, he walked into the dive where he’d rented a room.
Ignoring the game in progress, he bellied up to the bar and threw his chin at the man behind the rough planks. “Beer.”
“Make that two.”
Jack glanced to his left. The same young man he’d seen before grinned at him. “Do I know you?”
“No, sir. Where’s Lacey?”
Ah, so the whippersnapper was the one May Buckmeyer sent. He turned. “Who are you?”
“Name is Charles Nightingale. Now where’s Lacey?”
“Got my gold?”
“Would I come without your reward, sir?” The boy raised his shirt, exposing a money belt. “Right here. It’s yours once I see her.”
“Fair enough.” The barkeep put two frothy mugs down. “Drink your beer, then we’ll go fetch Miss Lacey Rose.”
Charley put a silver dollar on the rough plank, but didn’t touch the beer. Keep your wits about you in a scrape. A fly flutter might mean the difference. All of them advised him that more than once.
Stories had been told of both Levi and Wallace getting soaked, but he’d never seen either take more than a single drink in a day.
While the dandy gulped the liquid courage, Charley swirled the brew, sloshing a bit of foam. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a bit of gray edging the man’s sleeve.
Though he’d never seen one, he’d heard about hideout guns. That might be the very day he would if he was right. The guy drained his beer, nodded at the dollar, then smiled.
“She’s upstairs. None too happy though. What say we go up and make us a trade?”
Charley held his hand out. “Lead the way.”
One flight of stairs, second door on the street side.
How could Lacey have gotten mixed up with that guy?
The dude fumbled with the key then finally got it unlocked. Stepping in, he held the door. Charley followed, but never took his eyes off the man’s right hand.
“Where is she?”
“Let me see my gold.”
“Not the deal. Now where is Lacey?”
The man slung the door shut and raised his right hand in one motion. Charley grabbed it just as the Derringer slipped out. He squeezed hard. The man squealed like a caught piglet. “Let go.”
“Soon as I see Lacey. Where is she?”
“Don’t know. He promised to have her here yesterday.”
“Who’s he?”
“Longstreet. Harold Longstreet.”
“Why’s he have her? Where’d he take her?” Charley tightened his grip.
“Ow! Stop! Let go!”
“Planning on stealing the gold. Not a wise move, Mister…I don’t believe I got your name.”
“No, I was… Jack Filley. Please, let go!”
He squeezed harder, a bone crushed.
“Please, don’t…She’s with Harold
Longstreet. I swear. Left with him a month ago. Supposed to be back yesterday!”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He loosened his grip a fraction. “Tell me, where do I find this man?”
“Don’t know.”
Applying more pressure, Charley lowered his head until he was eye level with Jack. “Not good enough.”
“Wait! I’ll tell you what I know, but just let go, please.”
Charley shook until the pocket gun fell to the floor then shoved the gent to the bed and pulled out his knife. “Get to talking.”
With each word, his gut tightened. How could any man do what he’d done to Lacey and sleep with himself? Once out of story, the guy shrugged. “Harold’s got a place in Falls something. Upstate New York, but he doesn’t go until late September or early October, claims autumn’s color is worth the trip.”
“So this man double crossed you?”
The whimpering dandy nodded, cradling his broken hand. “We were partners once. Thought I could trust him with my girl.”
Charley jumped forward and pinned the man on the bed with the edge of his knife against his throat. “Never, ever let Lacey Rose’s name cross your lips again. Much less call her your anything. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lacey with child?”
“No, sir, I was always careful.” The man’s eyes widened. Would have been comical if Charley didn’t want to kill the idiot. He pushed away, stood, then backed up until he spotted the Derringer. He kicked the pistol to the far corner.
“You ever see me again, you best run the other way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charley sheathed his knife, opened the door without taking his eyes off the man, then turned and walked out. He waited against the wall two steps over.
Soft moans mixed with sobs drifted through the wall. He didn’t figure the coward wanted a second round. He hustled downstairs and out into the fresh air.
The man’s fear stench about gagged him.
Hmm, what was going to be the best way to get to Albany?
“I liked it, thank you.” Lacey Rose snuggled in tight to Harold’s arm. She’d not worn a heavy enough wrap, and while the packed theater had been rather warm, the wind whipped along Broadway, more than fresh.
