“I’m leaving now,” Carmela said. “He’s gone to sleep.”
Mrs. Greenwood nodded. “Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Carmela nodded and showed herself out. On the way home, she mulled over the situation. She wanted Uncle Silas to get better, but she didn’t want him to rant about what she had done. Even worse would be his insistence that she leave with him on the next stagecoach. Her ultimate nightmare was that he would somehow force her back into performing. She would not allow it. Even as she had the thought, she wondered if she had the power to stop him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Carmela didn’t get away from the boardinghouse the next day until late morning. Dr. Greenwood was talking to a man in the waiting room when she got to the office, but the merchant left almost immediately and the doctor greeted her.
“That was Mr. Timmons, the haberdasher,” he said. “I asked him if there was any news of Marshal Duffield and the posse.”
“What did he say?” Carmela asked eagerly.
Dr. Greenwood shook his head. “Nothing yet. I’m usually among the first to know if there’s trouble, but so far we’ve heard nothing here.”
“They’ve been out another night, then.”
“So it appears.” The doctor frowned. “I’m sure the marshal and his men can take care of themselves, and with the combined posses, they must have more than a dozen men.”
“Yes.” Carmela had seen only half a dozen Apache men, but there must have been more out of sight. They knew a large band had left its camp near Prescott the morning Lucy left home, but Carmela wasn’t sure how many were women and children. Still, Rilla had said Apache women were known to fight alongside their men.
“Mr. Holden is having a bad time of it this morning,” Dr. Greenwood said. “His infection just doesn’t want to give up. I’m watching him closely.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course. I’m hoping he’ll respond to the treatment I’m giving, but if he’s worse tomorrow … well, we’ll see about that. He’s not out of danger.”
When she saw him, she could tell at once that Uncle Silas was subdued and in pain. She stayed only a short while, watching him doze fitfully. She concluded that she might as well go back to Mrs. Finney’s, where she could work and pray at the same time.
When she emerged into the waiting room, Marshal Duffield and several other men were talking to the doctor. In their midst stood Mrs. Howard, her arms about a child on either side.
“I’d like you just to check ’em over, Doc,” Duffield said. “Mrs. Howard has burns on her hands and arm, and we don’t know about the kids. The boy jumped off a horse when they were trying to get away, and he says he got stepped on. The girl seems to be all right, but Mrs. Howard would like to be sure.”
“Of course,” Dr. Greenwood said. He looked around and spotted his wife. “Dora, would you please take Mrs. Howard and the children to the examination room? I’ll be right in.”
“How are the wounded men I left here the other day?” Duffield asked.
“They’ve been moved to the jail and are doing fine. I go over once a day to examine them and dress their wounds.”
The crowd in the room thinned out, and Carmela noticed Freeland, leaning against the wall by the front door. She couldn’t help a smile as she hurried toward him, and yet she wondered how he would receive her.
His smile started in his eyes and spread to his lips. By the time she reached him, he was grinning.
“Miss Wade.”
“Please—Carmela. I’m glad you’re safe. And the Howards. Mrs. Finney and I have been praying for them.”
He nodded. “It took us a while to convince the Apache, but they finally relinquished the kids. Then we had to ride out to the Steger ranch to take them to their mother. We slept there last night, and the Stegers insisted on feeding us all.”
“That was very generous of them.” Carmela now knew how much food and hard work it took to feed more than a dozen men, from her hours with Mrs. Finney in the boardinghouse kitchen. “I admit we were worried about you.”
“We’re fine,” Freeland said.
“There’s so much I’d like to discuss with you. Do you know all about it? About what I told Two Pony? Everyone heard it.”
“Yeah, Orland told us on the way back.”
“McKay,” the marshal called, and Freeland looked toward him.
“Yes sir?”
“I’ll need you to help me make a report on the wounded prisoners and arrange payment for the doctor. And I’ll have to write up my report for the governor and probably several letters as well. We need to take statements from as many of the outlaw gang as will give them and find out when they can appear before a judge.”
“I’m happy to help you any way I can, Marshal.” Freeland looked down at Carmela and nodded. “We’ll have to speak later. I’ll come to the boardinghouse when I can.”
Duffield and his men trooped out of the doctor’s office, and the room suddenly seemed large and quiet. Carmela realized she was alone, except for a miner in ragged clothes who huddled on a chair in the corner.
She went outside and turned toward Mrs. Finney’s house. As she walked, she tried to sort out what had changed. Mrs. Finney would want a full report. Freeland was back. She couldn’t help smiling. Thank You for that, Lord. All of the marshal’s men had returned safe, bringing Mrs. Howard and her children, who were now under the doctor’s care. But as far as her own situation, nothing had changed. Uncle Silas was worse off than when he had arrived. If he started to recover, he would be in a fouler mood than ever. He wouldn’t just disown her. Even if she separated from him, he would hound her for a debt that, so far as Carmela could determine, was purely imaginary.
And Freeland—he had smiled when he saw her, but how much did that mean? Surely he wouldn’t stay in Prescott long. His work and his home were in Tucson. He had recaptured Dix and delivered him, with the other outlaws, to jail. What would keep him here now? And what would she do after he was gone? She couldn’t make plans that included him.
She supposed she should wait until Uncle Silas was well enough to travel. Would the marshal really arrest them? If so, she wouldn’t have to worry about her immediate future. If they remained free, she decided, when she knew which way Uncle Silas was going to travel, she would set out in the opposite direction.
Freeland took great satisfaction in arranging the prisoners’ hearings for the marshal. Duffield had received word that the judge would hold court in less than a week. While he questioned each man and arranged legal counsel for those who could not afford it—meaning all of them—Freeland made up the schedule.
Dix would be first. Freeland would have to stay in Prescott until the man’s hearing, and perhaps return to testify at his trial, unless Dix’s lawyer could convince the judge to push his case through quickly.
Lawyers. Were they always among the first in a new territory? Wherever miners flocked, lawyers must follow, because there was bound to be legal trouble over claims and such. For this reason, at least three attorneys now made their livings in Prescott. Each was assigned to a couple of the outlaws.
Dix got a fellow named Carson. When he arrived to consult his new client, Duffield advised him that Dix would answer to his old charges from Tucson, as well as escape, assaulting a law officer, and whatever other charges he could tack on from Dix’s time with the outlaws.
The more the better, Freeland thought. He’d like to see Dix put away for a good long time. He just hoped he didn’t have to stick around for weeks, waiting for the trial. He’d already sent his mother a letter by way of a freighter headed for Tucson, telling her he was all right and had been delayed for a while. He hoped the deputy left in charge while he was gone was keeping a lid on things there.
Marshal Duffield came out of the inner hallway that led to the cells shaking his head. “What a mess. I’ll be glad when we move that bunch out of here.”
“I hear you,” Freeland said, looking up from the paperwork.
Duffield poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down in the extra chair beside the desk. “What do you think about Holden? Should we ask for charges to be filed against him?”
Freeland felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest. “What kind of charges?”
“Fraud, I guess. Three people have asked me since we got back if I’m going to arrest him and that girl.”
Freeland dropped the pen he’d been working with on the desktop. “Wait a second, Marshal. You don’t think Miss Wade is a criminal?”
“The way I hear it, she took part in fleecing a whole lot of people.”
“But her uncle forced her to do that. She was twelve years old when he got hold of her and made her start pretending. He treated her like she was some kind of actress and he was her promoter, I guess you’d call it. He set up all her engagements. And he told her what to say and everything.”
“That so?”
“Yeah. You can ask Miss Wade. She’ll tell you. She was a child. Wouldn’t that fall under child endangerment? There’s some kind of law against that.”
“Yes.” Duffield rubbed his whiskery chin. “I guess I’ll have to interview her. If it’s like you say …”
“Oh, it is,” Freeland said.
“What about the uncle though?”
“Now there I think you’d have a better case. He thought up the whole scheme. Over the past seven or eight years, he’s taken thousands of dollars for Carmela’s performances, and you can bet he’s the one who pocketed the cash, not Carmela.”
“Hmm. That money he kept yapping about …”
Freeland nodded. “From his precious money belt.”
“Yeah. I guess we should hold onto that as evidence.”
At that moment, a clanging sounded from the hallway.
“One of the lawyers is done.” Duffield held out a large key on an iron ring. “Go let him out, would you, McKay?”
“Sure. And I finished copying your report.” Freeland pushed the paper toward him as he rose. He took the key and went down to the cells thinking about Carmela. He was proud of her. Even though she was in turmoil over her own situation, she had gone to help others. This whole ordeal must have been horrible for her, from the stagecoach robbery to confronting the Apache. Even before that, she had struggled with her circumstances and longed to do what was ethical. He couldn’t help caring for her, and he realized how deep his feelings went.
Three outlaws shared the cell where the lawyer was waiting by the barred door. “All set, Mr. Carson?”
“For now. They need a place where attorneys can talk privately with their clients though.”
“You’ll have to speak to the marshal about that.”
“Oh, I have,” Carson said.
Freeland unlocked the door, let him out, and relocked it. They walked toward the front office together.
“You a pretty good lawyer, are you?” Freeland asked.
“I do all right.”
“Maybe you can tell me what you think of a case I know about. A young woman who was forced to do things for the benefit of a relative.”
Carson paused and eyed him sharply. “Slavery?”
“Of a sort.” They stopped in the hallway.
Carson’s brow wrinkled. “Are we talking prostitution?”
“No, no!” Freeland shook his head vehemently. “She was made to tell lies. For money. Sort of an entertainment, but people thought it was true.”
“Oh, you’re talking about the tattooed girl. I heard about it.”
“You did?”
“Sure. Everyone in town is talking about her.”
“Then you know she didn’t intend to deceive people.”
Carson shrugged. “She stood up and told them a pack of lies in return for money.”
“But her uncle forced her to do it.” Quickly Freeland passed on to him everything Carmela had told him about the situation and his own suspicions that Holden had mistreated her. “He threatened her for sure. She was only twelve years old when it started. Now she’s twenty, and she wants out.”
Carson cocked his head to one side. “Tell her I might be able to help her. My office is on Montezuma.”
“She doesn’t have any money,” Freeland said, watching his eyes.
Carson sighed. “What else is new? Seems no one around here has money, or if they do, they don’t need a lawyer.”
Freeland grimaced. “Well, maybe I could stake her ten dollars or so, if I get paid.”
Carson stuck out his hand. “We have a deal.”
They stepped out into the office.
“Hey Carson,” Marshal Duffield said, rising from his chair. “Mrs. Greenwood just brought a message around from the doctor’s office. Mr. Holden, the one who was shot and abducted by the outlaw gang, wants a lawyer, but he says he can’t pay unless we return the money that was in his money belt.”
Carson laughed. “That’s a new one on me. Is he likely to get it back?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. Might depend on what he tells you.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Freeland said. “Carson, that’s Miss Wade’s uncle. You just told me you’d help her. You can’t represent her uncle, too, can you?”
“Oh, I see.” Carson shook his head. “Sorry, Marshal. You’ll have to get another lawyer for Mr. Holden.”
“He seems to be progressing,” Dr. Greenwood told Carmela on Saturday. “His inflammation is greatly reduced, and he’s more alert and has regained some appetite. But he seems bent on travel, and I strongly advise against it for another two weeks. I didn’t medicate him so heavily this morning, since he insisted he wanted to be awake when you came in. Do you want my wife to go in with you?”
Carmela swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’ll be all right.” But she wondered about that as she walked with trepidation down the hall. If Uncle Silas was feeling stronger, he would also be more insistent on putting his plans in motion.
“There you are! It’s about time.”
His harsh words told her she was right. He had gotten past the sharp edge of pain and was ready to work toward his own best interest.
She walked over to the stool beside the bed and sat down just out of his reach.
“Did you check on the stagecoach schedule? You’ll need to make the arrangements.” His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes seemed brighter and more focused than on any of her previous visits.
Carmela sent up a silent prayer for strength and drew in a deep breath.
“Dr. Greenwood says you can’t travel for some time yet, and the only arrangements I am making are for your continued care and for my announcement at church tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that! It will be worse than ever.”
“No, Uncle Silas, it’s the only way to begin righting all the wrongs we have done.”
“Wrongs? What wrongs?”
“I think you know what wrongs. The lies and all the money we took from people who wanted to hear about my experiences. Experiences that never happened.”
His face blanched beneath his sunburn. “You can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Carmela, I am your only living relative.”
He groped for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Don’t you understand?” he cried. “I spoke to a lawyer. We could both be arrested. Do you want to be thrown into jail with drunkards and murderers?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “If that is what God wills for us, I’ll trust Him to see us through it.” She stood.
“Where are you going?” His brown eyes darted from her to the door and back again, filled with panic.
“I think we’ve said all we need to say. I will not change my mind.”
She walked resolutely to the door. Inside, she wasn’t sure she could hold out against his demands. For so long, she had listened and obeyed his every command. Part of her felt it was wrong to disobey him now.
“You still owe me thousands of dollars, and I don’t know yet if the marshal recovered what was in my
money belt!”
She stopped but did not turn around. All he cared about was the money. She had earned enough to more than repay him what he claimed was owed, and still he wouldn’t let her go.
She raised her chin. “I owe you nothing. Do not speak of it again.”
As she walked out into the hallway, she could still hear him.
“If you don’t buy the tickets, I shall have to punish you, girl. Have you no decency? I am helpless, and you must—”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carmela dressed carefully on Sunday morning. Her stomach roiled at the thought of standing before the congregation, but she knew Mrs. Finney wouldn’t let her out of it. She wanted to do it, but at the same time she would give anything not to have to face the people of Prescott.
Would Freeland be there?
When he returned, he had seemed glad to see her and sympathetic to her cause. But they hadn’t had a chance to talk out everything, and she couldn’t know how he really felt about her. After she made a public statement about what she and Uncle Silas had done, she couldn’t unsay it. She wished she knew whether Freeland thought this was the best way to go about changing her course. Maybe she should do it more quietly, more gradually. Go to another town until all traces of ink were gone from her face, then go back to New England and blend into the culture where she was born. But that would mean never seeing Freeland again.
What had she hoped for from Freeland? She hadn’t been able to help imagining a life with him. But if he didn’t see things that way, she wouldn’t blame him. Her steps toward the future depended on him.
She paused in brushing her long, glossy hair as she remembered that moment when they were alone in the desert and she had explained to him about her tattoos. He had touched her cheek gently, and her heart had pounded. She had thought for a moment he might kiss her. He had assured her that she could make her own decisions now and not obey Uncle Silas. “You don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to. Ever.” She could still hear his words, clear as day. And she still felt the excitement of anticipating his kiss. The kiss that never came.
My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains Page 22
