Weak Flesh

by Jo Robertson

  He'd never planned for it. None of them had. Nor had he anticipated the devastation to mind, body, and soul.

  He examined the smooth, unadorned face of Meghan Bailey with her over-sized emerald eyes and her fine cheekbones. He wondered what could've been if Sugar Hill had never happened. If he'd returned from the West more like the man he'd been when he left than the broken soldier who'd grabbed the marshal position because nothing else was offered him.

  A longing so keen it was like the sharp cut of a bayonet plunged into his gut. He longed for this – to care for Bailey again – but not as a sister this time.

  "What's wrong, Gage," she whispered. He thought she must have felt it too, the indefinable light cord that connected them, thin as gossamer and strong as a spider's thread. Her expression looked so serious, as if she were attuned to his every emotion.

  "Nothing," he said and bent to brush his lips against hers.

  Her mouth was satin and incredibly smooth. He knew she was thoroughly untutored in the ways of men by the way she pressed her closed mouth against his, ardor tempered with innocence. He used his tongue to gently pry her lips apart and heard her soft gasp of pleasure as his tongue touched hers.

  Pulling her toward him, he burrowed his fingers in the silken curls that'd escaped the knot at her neck. He drew her close enough that he could feel the slender fragility of her beneath her coat.

  After a delicious moment of exploring the soft sweetness of her mouth and the heady press of her body against his, Gage pulled back to gaze into her bewildered eyes. Time, if not his heart, surely stopped for one blessed moment.

  Her lips were parted and panting. Her cheeks flushed with far more than the cold, and her breath came in tiny puffs of air sweet with the scent of her.

  "Wh – why did you do that?" she stuttered.

  He knew the question showed her rational mind trying to define and analyze their relationship in light of the kiss, knew that she was as confused as he by what had just happened.

  "I think I've longed to do it my entire life."

  Chapter 24

  Neither spoke of The Kiss for the rest of their walk.

  Meghan apologized to Gage and he graciously accepted, with the stern admonition not to visit persons she deemed suspects without either the company of him or her father.

  All very civilized, she thought, and proper and stiff.

  She gave him a reluctant promise, her mind still rattled by The Kiss. For all that she knew of geography, math, and history, Meghan acknowledged she was sorely lacking in the intimacies between a man and a woman.

  Oh, she knew the physical mechanics of the whole relationship. Papa had very progressive ideas surrounding the proper education of sexual matters and believed no young woman should be shocked on her wedding night.

  But Papa hadn't prepared her for The Kiss.

  The simple unadulterated power of mouth touching mouth. The thrill of pleasure that tingled through her breasts, the warm throbbing of her thighs, the clutching of her very center – all were unexpected. She felt as if she'd just come off the Ferris Wheel at Coney Island, breathless and fluttery and quite giddy.

  Every childish infatuation she'd ever entertained for Tucker, each silly fantasy and fanciful dream solidified in her heart like eternal truth.

  Quite simply, The Kiss made her feel ... wonderful.

  "Bailey?" Gage's voice broke through her stupor as he gave her arm a little shake. "Bailey, what do you think?"

  "Wh – what?" Meghan groped her way through her mind's cocoon of batting. "What did you say?"

  Gage frowned and lifted those long fingers, halting mere inches from her face. "You weren't even listening," he accused, although there was no heat in his words.

  "Of course, I was!" Her voice sounded indignant, but a little flustered, she thought, as she worked to control her emotions.

  He lifted one dark eyebrow, and the excitement of the piercing look he gave her wobbled her knees, pounded the blood in her ears.

  Before The Kiss, she'd explained everything to Gage, had stumbled her way through the account of Reverend Jolly's quixotic behavior and unexpected accosting of her yesterday morning. Of course, she hadn't voiced the thought that perhaps it was Jolly who'd lurked in the grove beside Gage's boarding house. She had no intention of revealing her ill-advised visit late last night.

  What about the note she'd found at Gage's door, her conscience argued? The note she'd yet to read. She rued the impulse or stupidity that had prompted her to take it. The paper burned hotly in her pocket. How could she explain what she'd done when she feared he'd never forgive her?

  He'd kissed her, not in the longstanding relationship of brother to sister, but of man to woman. After that how could she confess to such skullduggery?

  She'd told him of her second visit to the Nolan house, of Emily's strange reference to Nell. She'd bumbled through her explanation of searching Mr. Nolan's desk, being on very shaky ground in that quarter. But she'd been honest about Mr. Nolan's menacing demeanor upon finding her in his study.

  "I asked," Gage continued with an exasperated air, "why you think there's anything of import in Nolan's study." He held up his hand to stop her words. "No, I'm not going to chastise you for that, but did you find something specific?"

  Meghan thinned her lips, compelled to answer in the negative. "No, but there was the locked desk drawer."

  Gage blew out an annoyed sigh. "Everyone keeps at least one locked drawer in his desk, Bailey. There's nothing unique about that."

  "He might have hidden further documentation about the Klan," she protested.

  "Even so, Klan membership doesn't make Mr. Nolan Nell's murderer."

  Meghan sighed, feeling defeated. "Then you must speak to him yourself, Gage. Obtain one of those, what are they called?"

  "A warrant?"

  "Yes," she exclaimed. "Have the magistrate issue a warrant so that you might search his house for evidence."

  "I have no cause to ask for a warrant." Gage shook his head and smiled gently, making her feel like more of a child. "What of Reverend Jolly? His behavior is far more suspicious than Mr. Nolan's."

  When she opened her mouth to argue, Gage continued without pause. "Mrs. Jolly claims to have seen suspicious behavior at the Swamp, and Mr. Jolly acted very strange around you."

  "Then let us question the two of them!"

  "Us?"

  A world of meaning lay behind that simple word, she thought as she savored the flicker of interest in his eyes.

  Yet, she had not told him of the purloined note.

  #

  Bailey returned home to reassure her father that she hadn't gone wandering off again, an idea Gage heartily approved of. He'd spent rather more time with her than was wise considering the way he'd lost all control of himself earlier.

  Although she claimed the necessity of writing correspondence while her father worked in his garden, Gage suspected that was merely an excuse. He'd flustered her, he knew, and discomposed himself. Nonetheless, he consoled himself with the thought that Bailey was far too sensible to make much out of a simple kiss.

  At the Station House, Gage twirled the dance card she'd given him between his fingers. Seven names were identified on the card, all of whom either Bailey or her father vouched for, except the mysterious Ned Osborne. Michael Hayes' name was also there, but James Wade's was noticeably absent.

  Reaching for a yellow pad and pencil, Gage jotted a few notes to clarify his thoughts – what he now knew for certain, what he surmised from the evidence, and what was mere speculation.

  First, both James Wade's and Michael Hayes' accounting of their actions the night Nell disappeared was suspect. Neither man seemed particularly violent, although Wade was hot headed. Each believed Nell had made an understanding with him, which could certainly turn a man upside down if he found out otherwise.

  Second, Mrs. Jolly claimed to have seen an altercation between unknown persons over a month before Nell's disappearance. Even if her memory was correct, a
simple inquiry might explain what she saw. Or believed she saw.

  At any rate, he'd have to speak with her again, although, considering her delicate health, that might be difficult. Perhaps if Bailey went along? His mind brightened at the prospect.

  Third, Mr. Nolan secreted Klan robes in his house, but Gage had found nothing substantial in his subtle inquiries about the organization's activities. For all real purposes, it appeared to be completely inactive in this area. Besides, what had that to do with Nell Carver?

  And finally Mr. Carver, who admitted to an inappropriate interest in his daughter. Such a thing, while reprehensible, did not prove murder, but it might point to motive. What if Nell had threatened to expose her father? Gage must press Mrs. Carver – another fragile female – for more information.

  It seemed Tuscarora City had no dearth of faint-hearted women. He considered how Bailey appeared to be the direct opposite of women like Mrs. Carver, Mrs. Jolly and Mrs. Nolan. What bred such tenuous health in some women, he wondered, or what caused such tensile strength in a girl like Bailey?

  Not a girl, he corrected himself. A woman. He remembered the soft velvet of her lips, the silky smoothness of her skin, the intimated curves beneath her clothing. Meghan, he whispered, the name sweet yet powerful on his tongue.

  Why had he thought a kiss simple at all?

  #

  Gage called at the Bailey household at ten the next morning. "I must question Mrs. Jolly," he explained when Dr. Bailey admitted him to the parlor.

  He looked around expectantly. "I'd hoped Meghan could accompany me. I think the Reverend's wife might speak more freely with a woman present."

  "Good idea," Dr. Bailey answered. "Meghan hasn't come down this morning." He darted a glance toward the stair. "Has the headache, she says." He frowned and tapped a forefinger against his lips.

  "That doesn't sound like Bailey," Gage ventured.

  "Not at all." The father pounced immediately on Tucker's words. "Meghan has an exceptional constitution and this sudden turn of illness worries me. She refuses to take anything to relieve the discomfort."

  "Perhaps she'll come down to see me for a moment." Gage winked conspiratorially. "Tell her that I need her assistance with the case."

  Dr. Bailey brightened. "That should do it!"

  After showing Gage into the parlor where Clara brought him coffee and toast, Meghan's father hurried up the stairs to coax his daughter into coming down.

  Fifteen minutes later, Meghan walked into the parlor. Gage stood and waited until she sat down.

  "Just tea, Abby," she said to the little maid. "Hot and sweet, please."

  "Meggie, you look wan," Dr. Bailey said. "Are you sure I can't prescribe something?"

  "No, Papa, thank you," she said quietly.

  Gage studied her over the rim of his cup. Purple shadows etched the tender skin beneath her eyes. Her face was pale and her lips nearly colorless, a sharp contrast to the midnight hair loosely hanging around her shoulders. Concern washed over him. This was not the familiar Bailey he knew and lov – Not the Bailey he knew, he amended silently.

  "Papa, I wish to speak with the Marshal privately, if I may."

  Dr. Bailey looked startled and then hurt. "Of course, darling, if you wish. But I'm sure Tucker wouldn't mind if I remain." He looked to Gage for support.

  Gage lifted his shoulders in a careless assent. He couldn't imagine what Bailey would say to him that she couldn't express in front of her father. Unless ...

  Christ Jesus, he thought, suddenly jerking upright, she wouldn't discuss what had passed between them yesterday. Would she? Under Meghan's serious scrutiny he squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

  "Perhaps," he said, locking eyes with her, "perhaps, sir, we could speak alone. We will leave the door ajar if you wish."

  "Good God, Tucker!" Dr. Bailey exclaimed. "I trust you like a son! There's none of that thinking, I assure you."

  He took his daughter's hand and patted it softly. "Well, then." He straightened up. "I'll leave the two of you to your conversations."

  #

  The room was silent as a tomb after Papa left them. Gage's dark eyes looked dangerous as he watched her from across the room. The scrap of paper weighed heavily in her pocket and she reached inside to finger the edges.

  "Bailey," Gage said at last, "if this is about yesterday when we – when I – " He cleared his throat. "I apologize for my behavior."

  "What? Yesterday? No, it's not about my kissing you."

  He smiled faintly, a gentle lifting of that perfectly shaped mouth, and all the emotions of The Kiss rushed back into her veins. She felt tears gather at the back of her throat and swallowed hard to tamp them down.

  "I rather thought I was the one who kissed you," he admonished.

  "Oh." The kindness of his expression nearly undid her. "Yes, yes, of course."

  Agitated and too restless to remain seated, she rose and walked to the window. "I've done something terrible, Gage." She heard the soft sibilance of her whisper. "Something horrible."

  He didn't speak for a long time, so long that she whirled around only to find him standing so close behind her that she bumped into him. She reached for his arm to steady herself.

  He tilted her chin upward with one long finger and gazed into her damp eyes. "You've been doing terrible things all your life, Bailey. What's so different now?"

  "I'm afraid you won't forgive me," she murmured, trying to pull away.

  "More likely I'll beat you with my whip," he joked.

  She felt one silly tear creep down her cheek, but he wouldn't release her or let her look away. He rubbed the dampness from her cheek with his thumb.

  "Come now, Meghan. We've been friends a long time. Tell me, when have I ever beaten you?"

  She laughed shakily.

  He herded her back to the sofa and pushed her down gently, poured water from a carafe, and thrust the glass in her hand as he sat beside her. Close, too close, she thought, and felt her insides tremble as she gulped at the water as if she were parched.

  "Now what's this terrible thing you've done?"

  Meghan reached into her pocket and withdrew the piece of paper, handed it to him without a word.

  "Another dance card?" He smiled and scanned the message.

  The smile faded to puzzlement, then annoyance. "Where did you get this? Who wrote it? What does it mean?"

  The words shot from his mouth like bullets and she shrank back. "I don't know," she protested. "I didn't read it."

  "Who gave it to you?" His voice was as heavy and solid as a tombstone.

  "I found it last night. Late last night." She twisted her fingers in her lap. "This morning, early, actually."

  "Where?"

  "Un – under the door to your room – at the boarding house. Someone pushed it under the door to your room. I'm so sorry, Gage."

  Then she covered her face and burst into tears.

  Chapter 25

  Gage put his arm around Meghan and waited for the storm of weeping to subside. He wouldn't venture a guess about how she found the temerity to visit his boarding house – Good God, did she say late at night?

  He inhaled sharply. What a mess the two of them were. She, worried he'd chastise her for stealing his message, and well, there was that small transgression. He, only concerned that she'd tell her father he kissed her.

  Or she kissed him, as she seemed to think.

  The pathos of the situation was ridiculous.

  But this second note was another matter.

  In large black letters was scrawled, "The sins of the father are visited upon the children. Look to the unnatural father."

  Bea Miller's intimations about Harold Carver had rattled Gage. In spite of the father's confession, he hadn't acted on his impulses. Was Carver a truly lecherous man, then? Gage couldn't say, but the evil in a man's heart should indict him, shouldn't it? Not in the law's eyes, but surely in God's.

  However, this note pointed toward something more than Carver admitted to. I
t reiterated the father's presumed guilt and implied that Nell had borne the burden of her father's sins. Or did it refer to something else entirely? And who might benefit by directing Gage toward the father, whether accurately or falsely?

  Gage stuffed a handkerchief in Meghan's hand. "Here," he said pragmatically. "Mop your face. We have a lot of work to accomplish."

  "We?" she asked hopefully.

  He nodded absently and continued to stare at the note. He didn't notice Meghan was reading around his shoulder until he heard her soft gasp.

  "Damn it, Bailey! This is not the kind of message meant for a woman's eyes." He crumpled the note and stuffed it into his pocket.

  "That's nonsense and you know it," she said without rancor. "It refers to Mr. Carver, doesn't it?" Her voice was low and troubled. "Someone is telling you that Mr. Carver and – and his daughter, that he and Nell – that they – "

  "Yes," he growled more harshly than he'd intended, "and this is the second such note thrust under my door. In addition, the first one left a Biblical reference – Leviticus 18:17."

  He watched her probe her memory for the quotation. Bailey knew her Bible well.

  "That passage explains – unclean sexual activities."

  Not being as versed in his Bible as she was, he'd looked it up in Mrs. Church's Bible. "Yes," he said simply, staring hard at her. "Incest."

  The ugly word fouled the air between them.

  "Do you think it's possible," Gage asked slowly, "that Carver slept with his own daughter?"

  #

  Sharpe had known the little bitch would be a problem from the moment he met her. In his experience women were always more trouble than the brief pleasure he got from their bodies. Much better to fuck them and leave them. Which is what he should've done with Ellen Carver.

  Now he'd have to clean up after the mess of what she'd caused him. If only she hadn't been so smug in her teasing, hadn't been so sure he dangled on her string like all the other men who used her admittedly luscious body.

  Aaron Sharpe wasn't one of those boys. And Nell had learned that soon enough, hadn't she? When it came to the test, he'd proved his mettle. His father would've been proud, he thought.