The banker bandit gave no sign he’d heard my plea amid the tumult, but some moments later a well-aimed kick from the bandito sent Belmont sprawling onto the floor near me. Without taking his eyes off his opponent, he reached out his knife and sliced through the ropes binding me. Then he leapt to his feet to confront his prey again.
I rose to my feet, stiff legged, and shook out my numb hands.
“Get to his right,” said Belmont, “while I come at him from the other side. We can corner him together.”
I considered. “You have the situation in hand, or will soon. I’m going after the gold.” And Rose. I dashed out the door.
Figuring that the false innkeeper might still be holding sway in the public room, I proceeded through the inn cautiously, seeking a back exit. It took a while, and I tried several doors only to find them locked. Finally, I found one that opened onto the stable yard. I pushed through and shut it securely behind me, breathing deeply of the fresh night air.
The twilight skies were dark purple. The air was heavy with moisture. I searched the yard. The phaeton and horse that Rose and Patrick had stolen from the Trailors were gone. I gazed out at the crossroads just beyond the inn. Four directions to travel. I had one chance in four of guessing right. And if I guessed wrong, I’d never find her.
“Who’s there?” shouted a high-pitched voice.
I turned, my fists clenched, fearing the false innkeeper had spotted me. But I saw instead that the words came from a slight stablehand, a boy of fifteen or sixteen years, with a patchy growth sprouting from his chin. He was advancing toward me with an iron bar clutched in his hands.
“I’m a friend of Holland’s,” I said. I tried to remember what Holland had said when we’d spoken the previous fall. “You must be his nephew. He told me, last time I was around, you were coming to work for him. Your name’s …” I cast my mind back again. “Everson.”
The young ostler relaxed his grip on the bar. “That’s right.”
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Speed. There was a phaeton parked over there.” I pointed. “Did you see who left with it?”
“A lady, that’s who.” The boy grinned widely; several teeth were missing.
“Did you see which direction she went?”
“I can’t say. She made me promise not to tell no one.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out several gold coins. “I can make it worthwhile for you.”
“She gave me more, from the trunk she asked me and the boys to help her load before she rode off. She sure had a lot of gold in there.” He whistled.
“But it’s very important I find her,” I said. “A matter of great public urgency. If you asked your uncle, he’d tell you to tell me.”
The boy shook his head earnestly. “I gave the lady my word. And she said, ‘Don’t tell no one who don’t know the secret word.’”
“The secret word?”
He grinned his gap-toothed grin again. “I reckon she was having me on. But she said, she told me a funny word I ain’t never heard before and she said, ‘If a fella comes along who knows the secret word, why you can tell him where I’m heading.’” He gazed at me again and shrugged. “Obviously you ain’t him.”
A thrill shot through my body. “Róisín!” I shouted.
The boy’s mouth dropped open.
“Róisín!” I repeated. “It means ‘little rose’ in—oh, never mind. All that matters is that’s the word. She told you to tell the man who said to you, ‘Róisín.’”
The boy nodded dumbly.
“So which way did she go? Tell me at once! Which way?”
Belatedly, the boy pointed. North. “Towards Chicago. She said she was driving her trunk all the way to Chicago. I told her she’d do best to wait till dawn, no telling who might be riding the prairie at night, especially against a girl on her own, but she said she ain’t scared. And off she rode.”
I thanked the stablehand and jumped aboard Hickory. My heart pounding with excitement, we followed the stage road north as the last vestiges of light slipped from the corners of the sky.
Despite the prize that lay ahead, I went at a cautious pace. A single misplaced shoe from Hickory could easily result in a broken ankle, and that would be the end of the chase. I was wary, too, of coming upon other banditti without warning, alone in the midst of the boundless prairie. Every turn in the road, every little rise of the prairie, might reveal a clutch of deadly and determined men, ready to hazard their own lives and reckless to mine.
We passed on in silence. The only sounds came from the horse’s hooves and her steady breathing. Every minute of that electric, dangerous night felt like an hour of ordinary existence. The moon rose, and the broad meadows were lit by the pure and holy calm of the moon’s soft light. At length I judged it must be after midnight. We had not passed any stagecoaches nor any lone riders during our resumed ride. It was just me and Hickory—and my churning thoughts.
Where is Rose? Ahead, somewhere in the vast land. And, more to the point, I realized, as I thought about it further, what would she do when I caught up with her? Kiss me? Shoot me? Either seemed possible.
Plainly, she had wanted me to follow after her, and eventually, since she knew I could ride Hickory faster and longer than she could drive her carriage, to catch up with her. But why? What will she do? I couldn’t fathom. And then a new thought hit me. Hit me with such force that I nearly fell off Hickory. What will I do?
What will I do?
I rode through the night. The moon set. Thicker and thicker layers of clouds covered the firmament of stars until they were extinguished. I had to slow Hickory to a walk; the horse could barely see the ground beneath her. Then the rain started, a drizzle at first, making the prairie grass hiss like steam escaping from a hearth that’s just been damped. The drizzle matured into a steady rain. In my haste to escape the inn, I’d left my hat, and the rain soaked my bare head and ran down into my eyes. I squinted around for any trees under which to take temporary shelter, but I could make out nothing but the rolling fields. So I kept a tight grip on Hickory and we trudged forward.
We had ridden for many hours when I saw a dark shadow looming in the tall prairie grasses to the side of the road. At first, I figured my sleep-deprived eyes were playing tricks, but there it was again. We rode toward it for several minutes before I knew for sure. A carriage. I steered Hickory over.
Rose was sitting on the exposed driver’s seat of the phaeton, her cap and traveling cloak slick with rain, watching me approach. Her horse, still harnessed to the conveyance, nosed around on the ground. The trunk from the bank vault rested at her side.
Her right hand held my pistol. It was aimed directly at me.
“Took you a good while,” she said as I pulled up, breathing deeply with exertion, about ten feet away from her.
“Figured you were waiting so I could take my time.”
“I’d just about concluded you weren’t coming. That you didn’t want to catch me after all.”
I smiled. “I doubt you ever thought that.”
“I could shoot you right now, and no one would ever be the wiser.”
“Probably could,” I agreed. “If you’re going to, I wish you’d hurry up and get it over with.” I looked at her, and she met my gaze. “But I don’t think that’s what you want.”
She feigned deep consideration, but only for a moment. “No.” Then, after a pause: “Do you suppose anyone knows where we are?”
“I doubt it. That stablehand is determined to guard your secret word.” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “You didn’t tell Belmont about your father’s nickname for you, did you?”
“Belmont? Of course not. I’ve never had a private moment with the man in my life.”
I chose to believe her. “Good. Then he won’t be on his way. And I imagine he’ll have gotten the better of your cousin, so he won’t be coming after you, either.”
“As far as Patrick knows, the plan was to drive west and disappear down the river.” She thought a
bout my words. “You didn’t stay around to help Belmont fight him?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t want to waste a second in pursuit of you.”
She smiled and said, softly, “So here we are …” She did not continue. I did not say a word. We stared at each other. I felt longing, desire. What did she feel?
The rain had fizzled away to a dense fog. Now the fog started to dissipate, a sign that daybreak could not be far away.
Rose rested her arm on the trunk beside her. “Do you believe what Belmont said back at the tavern? About most of the gold coins in here being counterfeit?”
Belmont’s actions at the crossroads had resolved my doubts. He was an interesting, complex fellow, to be sure. But at bottom he was a banker, not a bandit. “He was trying to confuse the situation, and it worked. But I don’t believe he would have swindled Lincoln. I wager it’s all real. Fifty thousand in gold coins.”
She nodded. “I think so, too. Fifty thousand dollars. It’s enough to pay all the wages our men are due and have a fair sum left over. There’s more than enough for a person to disappear into the streets of Chicago, or the far reaches of the Wisconsin Territory, and make quite a life for themself.” She looked up and stared into my soul. “More than enough for two persons to disappear and make quite a life for themselves together.”
“Yes.”
Here was the moment I had expected. Hoped for. Feared.
What will I do?
Her eyes were still intent on mine. “Speed?”
“Róisín?”
“What do you think?”
A kaleidoscope of images swirled through my mind. I thought about the downtrodden Irish mother in Canalport, unable to feed her children. About Lincoln and the countless hours he’d worked to secure the money to pay off the navvies and restart the state’s economy. About Mary Todd and her prophesy that I would soon encounter a woman to spend the rest of my life with. About Belmont and his injunction that I throw aside my natural caution in pursuit of the prize. About Martha and her shining determination that, whatever the cost, justice be done.
I turned back to Rose and gave her my answer.
CHAPTER 38
The journey took three days and three nights. I soon learned that taking possession of a trunk containing a vast fortune in gold coins was much easier than moving it safely through the endless open prairie. I sent word for men to come help guard the shipment, and we took to sheltering by day and traveling by night. Finally, just as the third night was ebbing away toward dawn, we reached our destination.
Hickory and I rode into Springfield with the gold-laden carriage as the first hint of light came into the crepuscular skies. Sheriff Hutchason himself accompanied us on the final miles of the journey. Lincoln, Belmont, Mayor May, and the Springfield bank cashier all awaited our arrival on the front steps of the State Bank. They clapped as I pulled up and, with a flourish of my arms, presented them with the chest full of gold.
A small portion of the treasure was missing, I told them, coins that had been lost during the struggle in which I’d reclaimed the trunk. Then, ignoring their questions, I went to my room above the store and fell fast asleep.
When I awoke, it was nearly nighttime again. There was a note from Lincoln on the dressing table, suggesting that I join him and the mayor for a celebratory dinner at the American House.
It did not take long to find Lincoln. A peal of his laughter reached my ears as soon as I stepped through the front door of the grand hotel. I followed the noise and found my friend at a small table in the gentlemen’s dining room, sitting opposite Big Red. Both men exclaimed as they saw me approach, and Lincoln gripped my arm and pulled up another chair.
“We’re eager to hear how you recovered the gold,” said Lincoln. “Tell us what happened.”
I did, in a fashion, although I left out several key moments. Major Iles appeared in the middle of my story, and Lincoln ordered a round of whiskey. When the liquor arrived, I gulped it down and asked for another, while Big Red sipped steadily at his. Lincoln, who professed to be a teetotaler—although I knew better—mostly swirled the clear liquid in his glass. He appeared to be in an unusually good mood.
When I finished my tale, I fixed a serious stare on Lincoln. “You must assure me that now that we’ve recovered it, the money will go to the Irish workers.”
Lincoln arched his eyebrows. “Belmont told me you’d recently been converted to their cause.”
“There’s nothing recent about it. I’ve cared about them ever since I saw the dire conditions at Canalport, on my trip to Chicago before the Sudden Change.”
Lincoln nodded. “I’m teasing you, Speed. You have my word. Indeed, I spent the better part of today, while you were sleeping, working with the bank and my committee in the legislature to make sure the money goes where it’s needed at once. Work on the canal is scheduled to resume next month, with the navvies getting paid everything they’re past due.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Makes all our efforts over these past weeks worthwhile.”
“I agree.” Lincoln turned to the mayor. “Don’t you think so, Big Red?”
“What?” The mayor had been contemplating the contents of his whiskey glass.
“Don’t you think it swell that work on the canal can proceed, now that Speed has recovered the gold for the state?”
“I’m sure I do.” Big Red’s enormous ears hung limply. In stark contrast to Lincoln’s good cheer, the mayor appeared positively glum this evening.
“What happened to the Trailor brothers?” I asked. I realized that, in my exhausted state earlier, I’d neglected to inquire about them.
“The sheriff picked William and Henry up on the trail, right where you and Belmont said we could find them,” said Lincoln. “In view of William’s proven ability to escape, Judge Treat sent them directly to the Alton penitentiary. There’s no escaping from there.”
I shivered. A previous case with Lincoln had taken me to the new state prison in Alton, a wretched block perched on windswept bluffs high above the Mississippi River. It was a residence I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy.
“And Archibald?” I asked.
“Archibald’s become something of a notorious figure in the past few days. Infamous and famous in equal measure. People are slowly coming to understand he was one of the heroes of the whole affair.”
“His true character revealed itself to me long ago.”
“What about you, Big Red?” Lincoln turned to the man, a grin dancing on the edges of his wide lips. “You must admit surprise for how things ended up for Archibald, given how you spent weeks professing certainty he was guilty of a heinous crime.”
The mayor cleared his throat and took a gulp from his whiskey glass. “I’m sure I do,” he said again.
“Is something the matter?” I asked the mayor, peering at him.
“Throat’s dry.”
“Perhaps some more whiskey,” Lincoln suggested to Major Iles, who passed by our table at that moment. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
As he marched away, Lincoln turned back to me. “In the past few days, I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate the Fisher murder-that-wasn’t-a-murder. I keep coming back to one aspect. Do you know what I find the most telling part of the whole thing?”
“Beyond William Trailor sitting in jail for weeks for a crime he could prove he didn’t commit, you mean?”
Lincoln smiled crookedly. “Yes, beyond that. It’s the bones.”
“What bones?” I asked, surprised by Lincoln’s answer.
“Fisher’s bones. The ones you and the sheriff found that morning in the rain, out on the other side of the millpond. Only we know now that they weren’t Fisher’s bones.”
“So where did they come from?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
I considered my question. “You suggested in your cross-examination of the sheriff that they might have been animal bones, but I tell you, they weren’t. They were human bones. I’m
certain of it.”
Lincoln nodded. “I spoke to the sheriff, the day after the trial ended, about exactly that point. He dug the bones up from where he buried them, and we examined them together. Human bones, all right. Do you have any idea, Big Red, where they might have originated?” he added, turning to the man.
“None, I’m afraid,” the mayor said sourly.
“I didn’t either,” continued Lincoln, “until I thought about it some more and realized that there’s only one place in town, logically, where bones could come from.”
He looked at me expectantly, and I felt the levers in my mind clicking into place. “Higgins Burying Ground!”
“Exactly.” Once the private burial plot for the family of the town’s cabinetmaker turned undertaker, it now served as the final resting place for all of Springfield’s departed citizens.
“Did you ask Higgins if he’s had any robberies? It might shed light on the Trailors’, er, plot. Excuse the pun.”
Lincoln grinned, his whole lantern jaw lighting up. “Very good, Speed. I did ask him. He’s had no graves robbed. Other than, of course, the first day of the frantic search for Fisher’s body. As you’ll recall, a number of plots were dug up that day. On the orders of—”
“Big Red!” I exclaimed. Lincoln nodded.
The mayor had just swallowed a big gulp of whiskey, and he almost spit it out. “You’re mistaken, both of you,” he sputtered, once his coughing fit had subsided. “No one was giving orders to the rude mob that day. Certainly not me.”
“My memory’s different,” said Lincoln. Turning back to me, he added, “And then I started thinking about why the search for Fisher was instigated in the first place.”
“It began with the letter Postmaster Keyes intercepted,” I said, thinking back, “relating that William had been spending gold coins he claimed to have inherited from Fisher.”
“That’s not quite right,” said Lincoln. “The letter did surface, and it whipped up popular excitement. But who was the first person you actually heard say Fisher had been murdered?”
I tried to reconstruct the events of that day. I recalled listening to the postmaster read the letter from the top of an overturned crate. My leg twinged at the memory, and I recollected it had hurt as I stood listening to Keyes, hurt because upon terminating my failed attempt to court Mary Todd, I had rushed down Quality Hill in pursuit of …
A House Divided Page 26
