by Bess McBride
“Oh? What did she steal?” he asked over the top of Sara’s head.
“Some stuff out of Mrs. Feeney’s luggage down at the train station.” The sheriff propelled Sara through a wooden door and into a room holding several cells. Thankfully, it was empty.
“Stuff? Like jewelry?” Corbett asked, following them.
“No, just some clothes,” the sheriff said. He pulled open a door.
“Here you go, Miss Reed. Is there anyone I can contact for you? Any family?”
Sara stepped into the cell as if in a dream. After all, her experience couldn’t possibly get any more bizarre.
Just like in the movies, the bed consisted of no more than a metal frame holding a thin mattress covered by a dark dismal-colored woolen blanket. No pillow or sheets were provided, and she supposed that was actually a good thing. As Mrs. Feeney had wrinkled her nose when looking at Sara, so Sara worried about bugs on the bedding.
The jail felt chilly, and she noted the walls were lined with brick rather than the wood of the false front. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her, finding the fleece insufficient against the cold. She supposed she would have to wrap up in the blanket.
But for the moment, she pressed herself against the back wall as the sheriff and Corbett waited for her response.
“No,” she said. “No one.”
“That can’t be good,” the sheriff said. “It’s Friday. The judge went down to Missoula for a week. I’m afraid you’re stuck in here until then.”
Sara nodded.
“Could I have some water?” she asked.
“Sure. Corbett, get her some water. Have you eaten?” the sheriff asked. Corbett stepped out.
Sara nodded. “I ate lunch.”
“Well, I’m about to go out for my lunch. I’ll pick you up some hot coffee to bring back.” The sheriff turned back. “Do you have any other clothes you want to wear? A bag? Something of your own anywhere?”
Sara shook her head. “No, nothing.”
The sheriff rested his hands on the bars of the cell and leaned against it.
“You don’t look destitute, Miss Reed. You don’t look like you’ve been living in the wilderness. Where on earth did you come from?”
Sara shook her head. “The train? From Spokane.”
He eyed her with a frown. “I’m guessing there’s more to that story. I’ll be back in a while. Maybe you’ll tell me about it when I get back.”
Sara thought there was little chance of that.
Corbett delivered a metal cup of water, and Sara drank it gratefully.
“You sure don’t look like a thief, Miss Reed.”
Sara almost smiled.
“I’m not normally. Besides, what does a thief look like?” she asked, the words coming easier with every swallow of water.
He leaned against the doorframe and eyed her. Blond hair, cut short and parted in the middle, framed his boyish face. A starter mustache adorned his upper lip. She was sure he would grow into it someday.
“Well, not like you,” he said.
Sara blinked. The young fellow was admiring her. She couldn’t imagine what he saw in her to admire. She was half dressed, her hair was a mess, and she was an acknowledged thief. Were women in short supply in turn-of-the-century Kalispell, Montana?
Chapter Nine
“Next stop, Kalispell, Montana!” Matthew heard the conductor intone as he moved down the corridor past Matthew’s compartment.
His business meetings in Chicago over the past two weeks had been productive, though they had failed to occupy his mind as thoroughly as he hoped. Thoughts of Emily—and the mysterious Miss Sara Reed—had weighed heavily on him.
He would have to come to terms with Emily’s rejection of his marital proposal sooner rather than later. It would do no good to dwell. Though Emily did not wish to become his wife, he did not want to abandon their lifelong friendship, and he could not believe that Emily wanted that either.
As to Miss Reed, Matthew had not stopped thinking of her. By the time he detrained at Grand Central Station in Chicago, the conductor had failed to receive a response to his telegram from the Kalispell station. Matthew had made follow-up inquiries at the Grand Central, even insisting on sending another telegram, but if there had been a response, that seemed to go astray as well.
As a result, Matthew did not think well of the station agent in Kalispell, and he vowed to step off the train and speak to the agent in person, if only to give him a piece of his mind for the unprofessional lack of responses to his inquiries.
Had Miss Reed truly been his sister, Matthew would have been well within his rights to pursue her disappearance and to expect a timely response to his inquiries. If she had truly been his sister.
As the train slowed, Matthew rose and moved to the end of the car. He would have little time at the station to question the station agent, who would no doubt be busy with arriving and departing passengers. The conductor stood on the car platform watching the train’s approach into the station. A different conductor than the one who had worked on the eastbound trip, the small bespectacled man tipped his cap with a pleasant smile.
“You’re not getting off in Kalispell, are you, Mr. Webster? Seattle is your final destination, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Conductor. I am bound for Seattle. I thought I might stretch my legs a bit in Kalispell,” Matthew said. As the train came parallel with the station, the conductor leaned out and waved a hand toward the engineer. The train stopped with a cacophony of hissing steam and squealing wheels, and Matthew stepped down as soon as possible.
“Fifteen minutes, Mr. Webster,” the conductor warned.
Matthew nodded and hurried into the station. As he feared, the agent behind the counter appeared to be busy with a line of passengers. Matthew knew he wouldn’t have time to go to the back of the line.
“Pardon me,” Matthew said as he stepped to the front counter. He nodded politely at the large portly gentleman now speaking to the agent.
“Pardon me, but this is an emergency. Please forgive me,” he said to the gentleman. Matthew turned to the tall, white-haired agent who quirked a reproving eyebrow in Matthew’s direction.
“Agent, several telegrams were sent to you regarding the disappearance of my sister, and to date there has been no response from you.” By way of explaining his poor manners, Matthew spoke loudly enough for several people in line behind him to hear his words. Furthermore, he had not cared for the look of censure on the agent’s face, an expression that now faded into one of shock.
Matthew’s heart froze.
“Do you know her?” he asked hastily. “Miss Sara Reed? She disappeared from the train somewhere between Spokane and Havre. The Troy station said they had not seen her but could not swear that she did not detrain there.”
The agent looked beyond Matthew to the now vocal group of passengers behind him.
“Sir, if you could just wait while I help these passengers, I could speak to you privately.”
Matthew drew his brows together. “No!” He looked over his shoulder and addressed the waiting passengers. “Again, please forgive me, but I have very little time, and I must have an answer.”
The gentleman behind him spoke.
“Yes, sir,” he addressed Matthew. “We all have very little time if we want to catch the train, but we have waited in line. Agent, if you know something about this man’s sister, kindly tell him and let us get on with our business.”
The agent seemed to balk, but when he finally spoke, he leaned forward as if to speak only to Matthew.
“She is in jail, sir,” he whispered.
“In jail?” Taken aback, Matthew barked out the question, instantly regretting his volume.
“Well, you have your answer, sir,” the gentleman behind him said. “The jail is just up the street. You cannot miss it. Now, please kindly allow us to conclude our business so that we do not miss the train.”
Matthew realized from the agent’s sympathetic expression that he kne
w more but could not speak freely at the moment.
Matthew turned to look at the train, then toward the front door of the station. He checked his watch—11:10 a.m. He hurried back to the train, found his compartment and grabbed his overnight case. He managed to catch the attention of the porter.
“George, I am detraining here in Kalispell. Please see that my luggage is unloaded from the train and stored here at the station. I will pick it up shortly.”
“Yes, sir,” the porter said without expression. He hurried away, and Matthew stepped down from the train. Having made a spectacle of himself in the station and, worse yet, brought Miss Reed’s name a measure of notoriety by forcing the agent to reveal her circumstances in public, he opted to circumnavigate the station to head for town.
He reached the main street and studied the signs on the buildings. Seeing the sign for the city jail, he moved in that direction, unsure of what he might find when he arrived, or what he meant to do. What had happened to the poor girl that necessitated her arrest? Surely stowing away aboard a train was not a crime worthy of incarceration, was it? Though she had disappeared, he had nevertheless paid for her fare to Chicago. Therefore, arrest was not warranted in that case.
He reached the wooden two-story building and paused at the doorway, marshalling his chaotic thoughts.
“Can I help you?” A young man dressed in the style of a cowboy pulled open the door of the jail.
“Oh!” exclaimed Matthew, momentarily taken aback. The young man must have seen him through the large plate glass window. “Yes, I was informed recently that my sister was incarcerated in your jail. I would like to see her.”
The deputy, for his badge proclaimed him as such, lifted his sandy eyebrows in surprise.
“Miss Reed? Are you Sara’s brother? I didn’t know she had a brother. She never said anything.”
Matthew frowned at the fellow’s familiar use of Miss Reed’s name.
“May I see her?” he asked again, his voice icy.
“Sure! Maybe you can do something to get her out of jail. I don’t like the way she looks. She’s been here quite a while.”
Matthew’s mouth went dry. Was she ill?
The deputy stood back and let him in. Matthew stepped inside the building, noting several wooden desks. A small fire blazed in a wooden stove, dispelling the chilly fall air.
“This way,” the young man said. “I’m Deputy Corbett.” He stepped through an open doorway to the rear of the office. On passing through the doorway, Matthew noted a sharp decrease in temperature.
“Sara!” Deputy Corbett called. “You have a visitor.”
Matthew’s heart rolled over as he viewed the cells. Miss Reed could not possibly have spent the last two weeks in this rather dank and dreary jail.
Deputy Corbett moved to the last cell.
“Sara, wake up! You have a visitor.”
Matthew approached the cell and dropped his case at his feet. He grabbed the bars with a ferocity he did not know he possessed.
Miss Reed, lying huddled under a grayish blanket on a bed set against the back wall, lifted her head. Her brown hair, no longer shining, was pulled away from her face and rested on top of her head in haphazard fashion. Her face, once delicately colored, appeared pale and wan. Listless brown eyes stared at him for a moment.
“Miss—” Matthew caught himself. As her brother, he would not address her as Miss Reed.
“Sara,” he called to her gently. “It is I, Matthew.”
Miss Reed stared at him as if in confusion.
“Sara?” Deputy Corbett asked. “Is this your brother?”
“Of course I am her brother,” Matthew snapped, terrified lest she denounce him. If he did not at least have the sanctity of family connections, he might not be able to help her.
“Sara, dearest, are you all right?” he asked softly.
Miss Reed pulled the blanket around her shoulders. She stood, revealing a wrinkled blouse underneath her coat and a skirt that hung loosely on her. She approached the bars, and Matthew let loose his grip and reached for her.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she took his hands. He closed firm fingers over her cold hands. Tears formed in her eyes and slipped down her face.
“Matthew,” she whispered. “Oh, Matthew, I should never have left the train. I didn’t mean to leave it.”
Matthew, swallowing hard against his own unexpected anguish at her condition, gritted his teeth.
“Could you leave us for a moment, Deputy?” he said without taking his eyes from Miss Reed’s face.
“I guess that will be okay,” Corbett said. “I’ll be right outside. We’ve been keeping the door open to try to warm the cells. There’s no heat in here,” he said.
“Thank you,” Matthew said. The deputy stepped outside, and Matthew pulled Sara closer to the bars.
“My poor, dear Miss Reed,” he murmured soothingly, his heart breaking as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “What terrible catastrophe occurred to bring you to this state?”
“I needed some clothes, and I stole some from Mrs. Feeney’s luggage at the train station.”
Matthew furrowed his brow as he quickly considered the implications of Miss Reed’s words and predicament.
“Thank goodness!” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “It is not as if you killed someone. This sort of thing can be dealt with.”
Miss Reed shook her head.
“I don’t think so, Matthew. She was pretty angry.”
“Nonsense,” he said with forced heartiness. She needed not his grief at her condition but his encouragement. “A few dollars here and there will make everything right, I am certain of it.”
“I didn’t have any money,” Miss Reed said in a mournful tone.
“Have you been eating, Miss Reed? You have grown thin.”
She shook her head. “I haven’t had much of an appetite. My stomach has been tied in knots.”
“My poor, dear Miss Reed,” he murmured.
“How did you know I was here? Why are you here?”
“The station agent told me. I have searched for you since your disappearance from the train, but there was little I could do to find you from Chicago. I had hoped you were safe and in good health, but I see that neither is the case.”
He enfolded both of her hands within his and rubbed them together to warm them.
“I must leave you now and rectify this situation. The sooner I have you out of here, the better.”
He tried to pull his hands from hers, but she clung to him.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this for me,” she said in a husky voice. “I can’t pay you back, but I’ll be forever grateful.”
“You asked for my help two weeks ago, but I failed to help you,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “No, no, you did! That was me. I should never have left the train.”
“Well, I can only hope that you will be able to tell me why you chose to leave the train rather than accept my assistance, but at the moment, I wish to speak to the authorities and Mrs. Feeney.”
Miss Reed looked down. “I am a thief,” she said.
“Made so by circumstance, I am certain,” he said.
She released his hands and took a step back, crossing her arms over her stomach.
The whistle of the train caught both of their ears and gave Matthew the incentive to leave her.
“I will return as soon as possible,” he said. He nodded reassuringly and left with reluctance. The deputy leaned on the edge of his desk, one booted foot crossed over the other.
“Has she had any medical treatment for her weight loss? For she surely has lost weight,” Matthew said coldly.
“Sure, we’ve been taking pretty good care of her. She gets two meals a day from the café. The sheriff and me aren’t happy about keeping her locked in here either, but the judge has been out of town for two weeks. He’s due back tomorrow. The doctor says she’s fine but that she hasn’t been eating. He’s right. She hardl
y touches the food.”
Just then, a stalwart man also dressed Western-style stepped in and removed his cowboy hat to reveal a shock of white hair. His badge proclaimed him the sheriff.
“Howdy. Sheriff Langford,” he said by way of introduction. “Can I help you?” He looked from Matthew to Deputy Corbett.
“He’s here to see Sara,” Corbett said. “Her brother.”
Matthew extended a hand. He needed to gain this man’s trust.
“Yes, Sara is my sister,” he said pedantically. “Matthew Webster.”
“Mr. Webster,” the sheriff said with a raised brow.
“My half sister,” Matthew offered automatically. “Can you tell me the details of her arrest?”
“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Webster?”
Matthew shook his head. “No, merely a businessman. But I wish to offer Mrs. Feeney compensation for what my sister stole in return for dropping the charges.”
Sheriff Langford crossed his arms across his broad chest.
“You’re welcome to try, of course, but Mrs. Feeney is pretty angry. I doubt she would accept any sort of money. As far as what happened, it seems that your sister got into the luggage storeroom at the station and stole clothes out of Mrs. Feeney’s luggage. Mrs. Feeney saw Miss Reed in the clothing and recognized it as hers.”
“The luggage storeroom? Why would she go in there?”
“Well, she was working there—had just started the day she was arrested, in fact.”
“Working at the station?” Matthew shook his head as if to clear it. “Doing what?”
“As a clerk. Walter had just hired her that morning. Said she was wearing the clothing when he hired her. He had no idea when she got into the storage room. She really hasn’t said much about it, just that she needed the clothing.”
From the sheriff’s frank appraisal of Matthew’s attire, he could tell the sheriff was wondering how his sister found herself in such dire straits that she must steal clothing.
Matthew could not offer any explanation that might seem remotely reasonable, not to the sheriff, not even to himself, and he did not try.
“So, it is agreed that if I am successful in convincing Mrs. Feeney to drop the charges against my sister, you will release her.”
