The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection

by Jennifer Lynn Cary

  “My bad advice? And what bad advice might that be?”

  He paused to think. “Perhaps you didn’t give me bad advice. But you did steer me in the wrong direction.”

  “And how would that be, Master Joseph?”

  “By telling me you think Miss Sarah is in love with me.”

  “Aye, but she is.”

  “No, but she’s not.”

  Shannon stood before him, hands on her hips. “And how do ye know she’s not? Did ye ask her?”

  Joseph could feel the heat rising up his neck to his face.

  “No, well, I didn’t ask her that.”

  “What did you ask her?”

  Her eyes bored into him. Then her face registered understanding.

  “Ye didn’t. Tell me ye didn’t go an’ ask the poor girl to marry ye just on my say so.”

  Joseph nodded his head, keeping his eyes on Wee Joseph.

  “At least tell me ye first declared yer love.”

  This time Joseph shook his head. Shannon could teach his father a thing or two about reprimands.

  “I thought ye had more sense in that head o’ yers. What woman would say aye to a proposal of marriage without knowin’ how her intended feels? What is it what makes men so daft?”

  A light of understanding illuminated the whole situation. How could he have been so stupid? Sarah had too much pride to agree to a marriage of convenience. Which is exactly how she must have viewed his plan.

  He never said the words she needed to hear.

  Could he have said them?

  He winced. How could he have hurt her so deeply?

  Shannon grew quiet. Taking Wee Joseph from him, she sat back in the rocker. A cloth tossed over her shoulder, she tucked the baby under it, modestly setting him to nurse. “It looks like ye’ve got some thinking to do, and I’ve got to get yer son to sleep. If ye’ll excuse me…”

  Joseph nodded. But he exited the nursery knowing tonight he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A jolt, followed by the sudden sensation of falling, sent a shock through James’s tired, cramped body. His head banged the wall just as his three-legged stool crashed to the floor, leaving him sprawled on his backside.

  “Crockett, ye’ve got visitors.” The sheriff nudged James’s achy shoulder with the metal tip of his boot, giving James a swift understanding of how he’d ended up on the floor. “Up with ye now, and I’ll bring ye some breakfast while ye talk.” The sheriff was all business, but at least he wasn’t cruel. James rubbed his backside. He wasn’t exactly gentle, either. Hopefully, he was honest.

  James felt he’d wakened from an ugly nightmare but quickly realized he’d only awakened to one. Thank the Lord, the sheriff had gotten him to the cell without incident last night. He may be sore and cold, but he was still alive.

  James stood, stretched and dusted his bottom. Dark and dank in the room, the main noise seemed to flow from a constant dripping. Soon treading sounds on the old broken stone steps alerted him to his visitors. “James? Son, how fare you?” He heard his father before he ever saw his concerned face.

  “Aye, Father, I’m fine. Feeling stupid, but fine. I should have listened to you. I had this idea that if I could just sit at the Stray Dog awhile, I’d hear something useful. But trouble started before I even got inside.”

  “O’Keefe came around early this morning and told me what happened.”

  James almost wished his father would yell or scream or strike him. Anything. He knew he deserved something of that sort.

  Instead, the man offered reassurance and hope. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out soon enough. You are my son, even if you don’t listen well.” He gave James’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know you would never take the life of another like this. We will prove your innocence. Do not worry, my son.”

  James wrapped his arms around his father and held him close. He wanted to drink in the confidence, cling to the strength that had taken care of him throughout his childhood. He wanted to hang on forever.

  “Father, I didn’t do it, I swear.”

  “You do not have to swear. Never was there a doubt in my mind. You are my son. I know you.” Antoine loosened the embrace and stepped back. “I will return for you, I promise. And your mother is praying—you know what that means. So, stay strong. All will be well.” He kissed James on each cheek and left.

  James had never felt so alone in his life.

  * * *

  Cullen didn’t look the least bit surprised to see Crocketts enter his establishment. Glad enough to let his father do the talking, Joseph surveyed the room, looking for clues. It only brought memories of his last visit. Robert told him how Sarah exploded into the room, setting off eruptions in her wake. He could see her in his mind’s eye, wreaking havoc and looking beautiful. He shook his head. He didn’t have time to daydream about Sarah.

  “… and nothing unusual occurred before this? No new person?” His father pressed O’Keefe for any tidbit of information.

  “Ye know, Master Crockett, I keeps me eyes on things and brings ye what I learn. I wish I had better news for ye, but I canna think of anything else.”

  The towhead wiping off tables finished his job and brushed past. “Uncle, what about that stranger what sits in the corner over there. Ye know, he’s been here ever’ night fer a fortnight, now.”

  “Who is it, O’Keefe? Do you know him?”

  “Aye, I know him and ye do too. But he hasn’t none to do with the killin’.”

  His father grabbed the front of O’Keefe’s dirty shirt. “How do you know? Who is he?”

  “Now Master Crockett. I do not think he wants anyone to know he comes in here.” Cullen’s dirty hand crept up to the back of his neck. “He keeps to himself, orders one tankard of ale and sits quiet for hours. Never says a word. He wouldn’t know anything to help ye.”

  Joseph knew his father was losing patience. He could feel it drain from himself.

  “Let me decide, Cullen. This is my son we are talking about. We both know he did not kill Dougherty, but he will hang for it if I can’t get to the bottom of this. Tell me, who is the stranger?”

  Cullen O’Keefe took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “He’s no stranger to ye. Tis yer friend, Master de Grillet’s son.”

  * * *

  Antoine stared. He released the man before turning on his heel and slamming out of the shebeen. A part of him expected Joseph to follow, but he never glanced back. He didn’t know what to think. How did he tell his best friend that his only child held a possible clue to help his own son? How did he break Albert’s heart?

  Determined steps sped him to the one-story stone cottage, a mile down the beaten path. Standing before the door, he realized he had no words. Joseph’s hand squeezed his shoulder. He knocked, knowing he was about to change Albert’s world.

  “Antoine, I just heard.” Albert embraced him. “Come in, come in. You, too, Joseph.”

  They entered and Mimi came to greet them. “Sit. I’ll bring tea.”

  “No, thank you. We must hurry.” The words stuck so he cleared his throat. “Albert, I need to speak with you in private.”

  Albert glanced at Mimi. She smiled, nodded at the men, and left the room.

  “I’m sorry to be rude. This is a great shock.”

  “Antoine, we all know James is innocent. He could never have murdered another in cold blood.” Albert placed his hand on Antoine’s arm. The touch made Antoine feel like a traitor.

  “We just left The Stray Dog. I’d thought to find some clues. O’Keefe told me about a man who sits in the corner, drinking every night. He’s done so for more than a fortnight.”

  Albert’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. If they had not been friends for over a quarter of a century, Antoine might not have caught it. He took a breath and continued.

  “O’Keefe is sure this man has nothing to do with the murder and didn’t want to give me his name.”

  “But you know it.” The simple statem
ent held a low growl.

  “Yes. I believe you do too.”

  Though neither man spoke, Antoine heard the silent plea of his friend—don’t say it.

  “Yes, yes, I’m the silent stranger.”

  Antoine turned to the voice, coming from the bedroom doorway. Alain-Robert stood, shaking, with wild frightened eyes. He finger-combed his already unruly hair. “Yes, I’m the one who sits night after night in the corner, minding my own business. I don’t bother anyone, and no one bothers me.”

  “Why son? Why do you—”

  “Avoid everyone? That’s easy, Father. So I don’t see the disappointment in your eyes—like I’m seeing now.”

  “Disappointment? You are my son. I love you.”

  Alain-Robert stared at the floor, shaking his head. Finally, he met his father’s gaze, his whisper nearly inaudible. “I know you love me. More’s the pity. If you didn’t love me, I would not be such a disappointment to you.”

  “How? When are you a disappointment?”

  “I always disappoint you. I could not finish school. I have no aptitude for numbers or the law. I have not enough faith for the priesthood.” He drew a ragged breath. “I have never measured up, even as a child.”

  Albert grabbed his son’s arm. “What do you mean, son? What do you mean?”

  Alain-Robert pulled away. “I see it when you look at me. I have always seen it in your face.” He stared at the floor. “Ever since that day.”

  “What day? Tell me.”

  “You said, ‘Take care of your mother.’ You were gone and soldiers marched through. We were at the market. One of the redcoats—he took the package from her hands. I tried to get it back, Father, I did. But he shoved me to the side. He touched Mother and I jumped up. I pushed him. But he was so tall. I only came to his thigh.

  Alain-Robert raised his head. “But I promised you I would take care of my mother. He shoved me to the ground and put a boot on my chest. ‘Tell your brat to stop and I’ll leave you alone.’ Mother’s eyes never showed the fear, though I wet myself in terror. ‘Do not bother the soldier, son,’ she said, as if he were a guest in her home.

  “I failed. I knew then I had failed. I’ve never been good enough since.”

  Albert gathered his son into his arms rocking side to side while tightly holding him. “My son, my son. I never knew.”

  Alain-Robert pulled back, doubt clouding his face.

  “Son, you were only four. I didn’t expect you to be anything but a four-year-old. You have brought me only joy. Any disappointment you have seen has been in your own mind. I love you. I have worried, because I could not understand what bothered you.” Albert pulled him back into the embrace, and Alain-Robert returned the hug. “Oh, son, you do not disappoint me. Never, never do you disappoint me.”

  Antoine hated to disturb them. He witnessed an answer to years of prayers. But now his own son sat in a filthy, dank cellar of a jail, waiting for help. James’s life lay in the balance, and he would disturb whatever it took to free him.

  He cleared his throat and Alain-Robert pulled back. “Father, I have information that should clear James.” The young man stepped away from his father, looking Antoine in the face. “I stepped out of the shebeen for a moment when I saw the murder. I did not realize who died at first and had no idea James would be blamed until we got word this morning. James told the truth. He only tripped over the body. I saw the murderer’s face. Kevin O’Rourke killed Christopher Dougherty.”

  Gratitude welled and tears ran down Antoine’s cheeks “Thank you.” He reached out to embrace the young man. “Thank you.” He pulled Albert into the embrace. “Thank you.”

  He still thanked them as he and Joseph raced out the door.

  * * *

  Halfway to town, chills slithered Joseph’s spine.

  “Father, we’ve got to get word to the Stewarts and de Grillets. Once James is free and O’Rourke in custody, his gang will be out for blood. No one will be safe, especially if he really is connected to the Combers.”

  Antoine agreed. “Everyone who has been meeting with me will be in danger. We need to keep as many of us together in one place as possible. See if the Stewarts can house Cameron McHugh and Paddy Flanagan and their families. We’ll have the O’Toole’s and de Grillets come with us.”

  “They may want to stay and defend their own homes.” Joseph couldn’t see either Michael O’Toole or Albert de Grillet backing down from a fight for their property.

  “You will have to reason with them.” His father spoke as though he thought it through aloud. “It will be quicker to get the ones with smaller homes to the Stewarts or our place. There is strength in numbers. Our house and the tower house make the most sense, have the most room. Tell them they can bring anything they wish, but immediately get to one of the homes. We can all work together to keep all our families safe.”

  Joseph turned to leave when his father grabbed his arm. “Son, I’m very proud of you. Be careful.”

  They briefly embraced before he hurried to warn the neighbors.

  * * *

  “I know your Aunt Gwendolyn would love to have you visit, Sarah, but why right now?” Sarah’s mother kept pushing for information—information Sarah didn’t want to share.

  “Mother, I just want to get away. I have been so busy helping and doing, I thought the time away would be nice.” Sarah hoped her explanation pacified, but a look in her mother’s eyes told her she needed to be a better liar.

  “I could hear you tossing and turning all night last night. And you are looking a might pallid.” Her mother brushed a strand of hair from her face. Sarah knew she felt for fever.

  Her mother almost believed.

  “Fine, I’ll speak with your father. Perhaps we could take a trip all together.”

  Sarah gave a weak smile but inside felt thwarted. She wanted away from her parents, too, before they began prying into things she wanted to bury deep.

  “Meg, Sarah, I need you now.” Thomas’s voice rumbled up the stairs.

  Her father stormed into the room, taking charge. “Make room for two families. It will be an extended visit.”

  “What is it, Thomas?”

  Sarah waited for her father’s answer; she wanted to know too.

  “Christopher Dougherty was murdered last night. They arrested James Crockett but since have learned Kevin O’Rourke did the deed. The Combers are sure to make much of this, and no house will be safe. Since Paddy Flanagan and Michael O’Toole have been working with us, it won’t matter whether a body is Catholic or Protestant. The axe is going to fall on us all.”

  Sarah and her mother flew down the stairs.

  Her mother stopped, suddenly grabbing Sarah’s hand and turning to her husband, eyes full of fear. “Thomas, who will be coming here?”

  “Cameron McHugh and Paddy Flannigan will bring their families. The de Grillets and O’Tooles will go to the Crocketts’. We could house them all, but you know Antoine. He must defend his home. By dividing forces, we can hopefully keep both our houses safe and give protection to the others.”

  Sarah’s stomach felt like lead.

  Her father pulled her and her mother close. “We’re safe enough here. There are plenty of guards, and the building is secure. I’m more concerned for the Crocketts.”

  Sarah buried her face in her father’s chest. “Me too.”

  Meg pulled back and tucked a loose tendril behind Sarah’s ear. “And just last evening Joseph Louis and James were here.”

  Sarah tensed at the memory.

  “Here? Why wasn’t I informed?” Her father dropped the hug, waiting for an answer.

  “You were in your study and left word not to be disturbed. They wanted to speak with Sarah.”

  “What did they want?” He directed the question at Sarah.

  “Joseph asked Sarah to marry him.”

  “Mother!”

  Her father’s grip on her shoulders increased. “What did you say?”

  “No. I said no.”

>   Quickly, he gathered her close again and kissed the top of her head. “Good, that’s me good lass. That’s what I told him meself.”

  Something wasn’t right. Joseph wouldn’t have asked her if her father had said no. Sarah pulled back from her father. “When? When did Joseph ask for my hand?”

  “Never ye mind. Ye don’t belong with the lad.” Thomas reached to embrace her to him.

  Sarah pushed his arms away. “No. Father, when did Joseph ask you?”

  “Two years ago.”

  The blood drained from her face. Two years ago? Before Kathleen even arrived in the Laggan. Joseph asked for her, before Kathleen. He wanted her first.

  “What have I done?” The room spun and the floor dropped from beneath her feet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. The silence unnerved Shannon. More often than not she was trying to get some peace and quiet for the babies, but this unnatural calm prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

  Samuel napped and Wee Joseph lay in his bed, enamored with his toes. Not even a bird sang outside the window.

  And James wasn’t here. What did that matter? He spent time elsewhere too. But this time he’s locked up. It wasn’t his choice.

  Why did she worry about James?

  She knew why though admitting it even to herself was difficult. It was his smile she missed. And the way his eyes twinkled when he thought up some devilment with which to torment her. She remembered how strong his arms were as he carried her when she twisted her ankle. And…

  No. She shouldn’t dwell on those things like a dreamy schoolgirl.

  The door creaked open, startling her. Mistress Crockett entered.

  “Widow O’Connor, we will be having a large amount of company for the next few days. They should be arriving anytime soon.”

  “Aye. Is there anything you wish me to do?” Her curiosity was aroused, but she didn’t want to pry.