“As long as you insist on living an independent life, I insist on giving you the means to do so. His jaw clenched. “If Jack Ashier were still alive, I’d kill the bastard.”
The fury in his voice shocked her.
“He ruined you. For that offense, I would gladly kill him.” Red-faced, her father stormed out of the house.
Claire rushed to the foyer window and saw him cross the street, no doubt to nurse his anger with a manly glass of good whiskey at Boyd’s still operating saloon.
She stood by the window, listening to the revelry next door, wishing she had a place to go and a friend to talk to. Was her father right about the temperance marches being a waste of time? She rubbed her temples to ease the ache behind her eyes. Maybe they weren’t helping anyone. Elizabeth’s situation hadn’t changed at all. Anna’s life wouldn’t change as long as she was married to Larry. And truthfully, Claire’s own marriage to Jack would have been abusive even if the saloons had been closed down. Jack would have made his own liquor, and had at times. So what was the point? What was she trying to accomplish by marching? She wanted to protect women like herself and Anna and Elizabeth, but all she was doing was antagonizing every man in town.
And questioning an honorable man’s integrity.
She leaned her forehead against the frigid window pane, suspecting that her father was right about the temperance marches, and about Boyd’s intentions. She was sorry she’d judged Boyd unfairly.
But most of all, she was sorry that her father was right about her, that Jack had ruined her ability to trust.
Chapter Thirty
Boyd lowered his axe and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He blew his nose and cursed the wind that cut a chill path through the yard at the depot.
“You sick?” Kyle asked, stopping his team of Percherons in the middle of the yard where Boyd was whacking the bark off a maple log. Frosty clouds of air blew from the horses’ nostrils and spun away on the wind.
Boyd wasn’t sick. He was all twisted up inside, true, but it was nothing a doctor could cure. He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and picked up his axe. “Remember that talk we had out here right after you married Amelia?”
“How could I forget?” his brother said. “It was one of your shining moments.”
“Well, it’s your turn to give me some advice. How do you change a lady’s mind about something?”
“You think I know?” Kyle tipped his head back and laughed. Several of the lumberyard crew members paused in their labor to look. “Boyd, if there’s a way to do that, I’d sure like to know.”
“How do you get Amelia to change her mind when she’s set on something?”
“I don’t.”
“She supports everything you want to do with the mills.”
“That doesn’t mean she always agrees with my decisions,” Kyle said. “We each speak our mind then find a compromise. Easy in theory. Difficult in practice. “
“What if you had to change her mind?”
“I’d get on my knees and beg.”
“I’m serious, Kyle.” He felt foolish asking for advice, but he was desperate enough to suffer his brother’s ribbing. “I need to change Claire’s mind about pursuing this temperance issue before she gets herself killed. One of the ladies found a rattlesnake in her kitchen yesterday.”
“At this time of year? I find that hard to believe.”
Boyd shrugged. “That’s what I heard. And I don’t want something like that to happen to Claire.”
“Well, well, well. I believe Duke was right,” Kyle said, looking surprised. He gave a grin that made Boyd want to smack him. “The lovely widow has gotten her claws into you. It’s going to be fun watching you try to shake loose.” He grabbed Boyd by the shoulders with mock talons.
“Get away from me.” Boyd jabbed Kyle in the stomach with the handle of his axe.
Kyle grew serious. “You’re the expert at romancing women. Use that to change Claire’s mind.”
He’d tried, but Claire had turned the tables on him. He asked her to marry him. He brought her father to Fredonia to see her. Her father had given her such a large sum of money, the town was still gossiping about her good fortune. Not one proposal had swayed her in the least.
“Our roving sheriff returns,” Kyle said, jerking his chin toward Duke, who was crossing the yard toward them. “You coming to work today?” he yelled.
“For a couple of hours,” Duke hollered back, closing the distance rapidly.
When he stopped beside them, Boyd dug the deputy’s badge out of his coat pocket. He kept it with him to keep it safe, and also because he feared he might need it. But now that Duke was back, he would let his brother and Levi handle the mounting unease in town.
“Did Anna testify?” he asked, handing the badge to Duke.
Duke nodded. “She was scared stiff, but she did it. If they don’t hang him, Larry is going to spend his life in jail. It took a lot of courage for Anna to testify against that bastard.” His brother handed the badge back. “I could use an extra deputy right now.”
Boyd fingered the silver star. “If the ladies find out you have a saloon owner as your deputy, they’ll run you out of town.”
“It’s because of those ladies that I need another deputy,” he replied. “Everyone’s in an uproar. What’s been going on while I’ve been away?”
Boyd told him that his patrons were furious with the saloon closings, the ladies’ boycotts, and their continued visits to all working bars. “I warned Claire that she and her friends need to ease off for a while, but she refuses.”
Duke scowled and scratched his head beneath his wool cap. “Maybe you should keep that room at her boardinghouse for a while.”
He couldn’t stay a night in her house without proposing to her again. He was too weak. He wanted her too much. “I can’t” he said. “Ask Levi to stay.”
Duke arched an eyebrow.
“I’m too busy with my saloon right now.” He held the badge out. “I don’t have time to play deputy.”
“This isn’t a game,” Duke said. “Keep the badge. And when you’re not too busy with your saloon, peek across the street to make sure those ladies are doing all right. Levi and I will stop by when we can.”
Boyd nodded, but he was afraid that watching wouldn’t be enough. If men would throw a brick through Claire’s widow and sneak a poisonous snake into another woman’s kitchen, who knew what they would do next?
It unnerved Boyd, not knowing how nasty the fight would get. Even if he closed his saloon, Claire would continue to march until all the saloons closed. That would never happen. Don Beebe and the Taylor brothers would never stop selling liquor. Claire and the others were fighting a losing battle—and it was going to get someone killed.
Chapter Thirty-one
The first week of February buried everything in a mountain of snow—the roads, the fields, and Claire’s porch. She and Anna took turns shoveling. Tonight, unfortunately, was Claire’s turn. She pushed a shovelful of snow off the end of the porch and cursed the winter weather.
Too bad her father wasn’t still here. His arms and back were far more suited to this heavy work. Anna had offered to shovel, claiming she enjoyed it, that it was soothing to her, but Claire couldn’t allow Anna to do all the work.
Anna had returned from Pittsburgh just before the storm dumped five feet of beautiful but freezing snow on their town. Claire was relieved to have the woman back safely, but Anna seemed saddened and changed by the trip. Testifying against Larry had been an emotional trial.
Claire was proud of her friend for taking the hard stand and being courageous in the face of danger. Despite her melancholy, Anna could build a new life for herself. Like Claire had done.
Or had tried to do.
Since Boyd stopped calling on her, the routine of her life seemed thankless and demanding. Her house was empty without the sound of his voice filling its cavernous rooms. Her days were dark and lonely without the challenge and surprise he brought to each momen
t, without the light and laughter that was such a natural part of him.
Claire shivered and chided herself for not shoveling earlier, when it had been still light enough to see what she was doing. The short days were just one more reason she loathed winter. Everything felt frozen—her hands, her world, her life.
She wanted Anna’s courage.
She wanted her father’s confidence and conviction.
She wanted Addison’s wisdom.
And she wanted Boyd’s ability to enjoy life.
How had she lost so much of herself? Even her father had noticed. He’d said she wasn’t his bright-eyed Claire anymore, that she had grown wary and distrusting. Addison alluded to the same thing when he’d come to apologize for the incident with Desmona. He’d suggested that Claire was as entrenched in her views as his wife was, and that he was afraid for both of them because he knew their stubborn convictions wouldn’t have allowed either of them to back down during the confrontation.
Claire didn’t want to be like Desmona.
She didn’t. But she feared Addison was right. She’d become so cautious and set in her ways that she’d become narrow minded and unwilling to change. Why couldn’t she just admit that the temperance marches weren’t helping stop men from beating their wives? Why couldn’t she admit that she may be wrong about closing the saloon? Because she was afraid that changing her mind might cause more harm. That’s why she couldn’t accept Boyd’s proposal. She was afraid of making another mistake that would trap her in a cage she couldn’t escape. How could she change that? How could she stop being afraid?
She hated being afraid. She stabbed her shovel into a drift in the corner of her porch, angry with Jack for lying to her, angry with herself for believing his lies.
Even now she felt afraid. The tingling sensation crawling down her spine wasn’t from the cold. It was from remembering the cold look in Jack’s eyes the night he drowned. She’d been powerless against him. He’d hurt her, and she hadn’t been able to stop him.
She grunted and pushed another shovelful of snow over the edge of the porch. How she wished she possessed a man’s strength. How daring and adventurous she could be. How easily she could fetch and carry without straining herself. How freeing it would be to be able to defend herself against a man like Larry.
The thought of Anna’s husband brought on another shiver, and the feeling of being watched caught her off guard. Her heartbeat jumped to double-time as she scanned the winter darkness.
Was she imagining things? Would she spend her life flinching at noises and searching the darkness for danger?
No. No, she would not live a scared life any longer. She pushed another load of snow off the porch with a vicious shove. She would stop being afraid. And she would stop flinching at shadows.
“Good evening, Mrs. Ashier,” said a raspy male voice from the foot of her steps.
Claire gasped in fright and clutched the shovel handle to her pounding chest.
“I’m so glad to finally catch you alone.”
The man’s hat was angled too low for her to see his face, but his voice sent jolts of alarm pulsing through her. She hadn’t been imagining danger. This was real. Her gut knew the difference between the threat of violence and the promise of injury. This man’s voice and stance said he was here to hurt her.
She inched toward the door.
“Don’t rush away. I want to talk to you,” he said mildly, but his intent was clear in his bunched fists. He climbed her steps.
Trying to gain a momentary advantage, she swung her shovel into his knees then lunged for the door. She wrenched the knob with desperation, but the man shoved her from behind, and followed her into the dark foyer. She’d left a candle burning, but the light was negligible as she whirled to face the man.
She saw him then, and remembered the pain Karlton had inflicted the night he dragged her out of the storeroom in Boyd’s saloon. She took a step back. “What do you want Karlton?”
He grabbed the front of her coat and yanked her against him. “I heard your father made a respectable deposit in your bank account. I came to collect the money you’ve caused me to lose because of those marches.”
She groped behind her for the closet door. If she could get her gun, maybe she could force him to leave. But all she felt was a gaping space. Had she left the door open? Or was she too far away to reach the door?
“You ignored my note.”
Maybe she should call for Anna.
“You ignored the brick through your window.”
Was Anna upstairs or in the kitchen?
“You got me fired from my job, and you’re ruining my liquor business saloon by saloon. It’s only fair that you make restitution.”
Would Anna be able to help, or would she end up hurt?
“I’m not making any more requests, Mrs. Ashier. I’m telling you to stop the marches. And reimburse my loses.”
She was considering stopping the marches but wouldn’t be pushed into it by this brute. “Get out of my house.”
He slammed her against the foyer wall, knocking the breath from her lungs. “Don’t push me. Your watchdog isn’t here to save you this time.”
Her chest cramped as she struggled to draw in air, but nothing trickled into her paralyzed lungs.
“I’ll make your husband look like a saint, lady.” He jerked her chin up. “I was at the bar when the sheriff told his brother about your husband drowning. Tell me, Mrs. Ashier, where were you when he was sucking river water?”
Terror knifed through her. What did he know? That she’d been there? In the water with Jack? That she’d...
“I think you could have helped him, but I’ll keep my suspicions to myself for one-hundred dollars.”
“What?” She glared at him. “How dare you threaten me with blackmail.”
“Lady, my mother is going to lose her house tomorrow if I don’t come up with the money to pay off my loan. Believe me, I’ll dare anything right now.”
Outrage overrode Claire’s common sense and she stared at him. “Let me guess. You risked your mother’s house at the gaming table on a sure bet.” The surprise on his face made her laugh derisively. “You’re as sick as my husband was.”
“I’m not sick!” He slugged her and drove her head against the wall.
Pain exploded in her skull and she felt herself falling. Her arms flailed as she fell sideways into a nest of coats and bedding items hanging in the closet.
“Claire?” She heard Anna’s voice, but it sounded far away, as if she were standing at the end of a long tunnel. Karlton jerked her upright by her coat lapels, bringing her face close to his. “You’d better make sure you get to the bank early tomorrow morning, and that every woman in this town stops marching, Mrs. Ashier, or I’ll come back and finish this.”
“Claire!”
Anna’s voice grew louder, and the sound of shoes striking the floorboards echoed in the tunnel. Dazed, Claire stared up at the beast panting above her, and saw flashes of Jack’s enraged face glaring down at her.
“If you and your friends cost me one more cent, I’ll kill you…after I get my money back.”
He was enjoying this. He intended to hurt her. He grabbed her throat and squeezed. “I’ll meet you at the bank at ten o’clock,”
She jammed her hand in the corner of the closet, grasping for the gun, feeling her windpipe close beneath his clenching fingers. The feel of hard steel gave her hope, but she couldn’t grip the gun properly with her mittens on. She scraped her hand against the shelf, trying to rake the mitten off, but it twisted around her fingers. Darkness bled in from behind her eyes. She was seconds from passing out.
She shook her hand, but the mitten stayed on.
A buzzing filled her ears. She remembered that sound. It was the noise she always heard just before she passed out.
She spread her fingers inside the wool mitten and clamped her hand over the gun. The buzz grew louder.
She swung the heavy revolver toward Karlton’s head.
/> The impact against his skull jarred her entire forearm, He grunted and staggered back a step, his hand raised to his bleeding head. Claire sucked in a breath and gripped the doorframe to keep from falling.
“Claire!” Anna gasped, her eyes filled with horror.
Claire staggered toward the door. “Get Boyd,” she croaked then lurched outside.
Anna’s scream turned Claire’s blood cold. She yanked off her mitten and turned back, the revolver in her shaking hand. Karlton leapt forward and hit her in the chest.
Claire stumbled backward, her arms flailing and her hands hitting the railing as she fell. The revolver went off as she plunged to the floor.
From behind Karlton, Anna raised a shovel and struck him across the shoulders. The man turned.
“Get out of here,” he said, wrenching the shovel away and shoving her down the steps.
“Run, Anna!” Claire tried to push away, to warn Anna to go for help, but Karlton gripped her throat again.
“You just made a big mistake, lady.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The shadows grew deeper and weakness saturated her body. She wanted to tell Karlton that she would never give in to a coward like him, but the world was turning black. His voice came from that long, dark tunnel. “I’ll bet this is how your husband felt when he was drowning.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Boyd clenched his hand around his carving knife, feeling an insane urge to start hacking at the statue. The block of basswood was misshapen and changed, but still a hunk of wood.
Dead.
Just like his talent.
He couldn’t see the statue.
It wasn’t there.
With a vicious stab, he thrust the knife into the wood, startling Sailor who’d been asleep on the floor. The dog scrambled to his feet and gave him a bewildered look.
He stood up and turned out the lantern. “Come on, Sailor.” He would chop the block into kindling tomorrow and get it out of his sight. Why torment himself? Why keep trying to revive something that was long dead?
Only You Page 26
