My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains

by Susan Page Davis

  Marshal Duffield cleared his throat. “It’s about your uncle. I’m afraid he’s gone.”

  Carmela’s mouth went dry. They all looked so somber. Could Uncle Silas have passed away since last night? He was very much alive then, and getting better, the doctor had said. He was well enough to be very angry.

  “But—he was improving. You said so, Dr. Greenwood.” She looked up at him anxiously.

  “No,” said the marshal. “I mean, he is missing.”

  “Missing? How could he—”

  “Apparently he slipped out this afternoon, while I was making house calls,” Dr. Greenwood said.

  The marshal nodded. “Since there’s no stagecoach outbound until tomorrow, I’ve put several of my deputies out, trying to determine whether he left here alone, and if he’s checked into a hotel.”

  “But … how would he pay for that?”

  The marshal gave a little cough. “I, uh, returned five hundred dollars to him this morning. He claimed he had more in his money belt, but he couldn’t prove it, and there are other people who need to be recompensed as well. Notably, the stagecoach company. They were carrying a payroll, and we didn’t recover as much as they said they lost. I’m sure the gang spent some of it on liquor and such, and they may have hidden part of it. Anyway, I gave Mr. Holden five hundred, and apparently he took that as license to leave town.”

  “I see.”

  “He hasn’t contacted you at the boardinghouse?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve heard nothing, and I’m sure Mrs. Finney would have told me if he came there. I had one visitor this afternoon, Rilla Landis. She stayed about a half hour and then left. After that, I helped Mrs. Finney prepare the evening meal for the boarders.” Carmela looked up at Duffield. “Were you going to press charges against Uncle Silas? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. In fact, I’d decided not to. So far as I can see, most of what he did took place outside my jurisdiction, except for Tucson, and after talking to McKay, I figure the people of Tucson got at least some of what they paid for—an evening’s entertainment.”

  Carmela let out a deep sigh. “Thank you, Marshal. I promise you, I won’t be giving lectures anymore. I’m done with my public speaking career.”

  He nodded. “I thought as much.”

  “So Mr. Holden isn’t wanted,” Dr. Greenwood said slowly.

  “That’s right. He hasn’t been charged with any crimes,” Duffield said. “Unless he owes you for his care?”

  “No, actually, he gave my wife twenty dollars after you gave him the money. That more than covers what we’ve done for him here.”

  “I see. Well, I guess there’s no point in looking for him, then. Miss Wade, perhaps he will contact you when he’s ready.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’ll be going. Thank you, folks. Just keep me posted if he shows up here again.”

  “I guess he might, since he’s a long way from being healed,” Dr. Greenwood said. “I hope he’ll realize the folly of leaving here too soon.”

  The marshal nodded and headed for the door.

  “There are a few things in his room,” the doctor said to Carmela. “My wife can help you gather up what you want to take.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Freeland stepped away from the wall. “May I walk you back to the boardinghouse when you’re finished?”

  Carmela hardly knew what to say. Ten minutes ago, she would have been ecstatic at his offer. Now she just felt numb. “Y–yes, thank you. And thank you, Dr. Greenwood.”

  She walked out into the front room with Freeland. The doctor’s wife was sitting in one of the chairs, and she rose as they entered. Carmela walked over to her.

  “Mrs. Greenwood, thank you for all you did for my uncle. I’m sorry he left in such an abrupt manner.”

  Mrs. Greenwood took her hand. “Your courtesy makes up for his lack of it. What will you do now, Miss Wade?”

  “Mrs. Finney has invited me to stay on with her as an employee. That suits me for now.”

  Mrs. Greenwood smiled. “Then we shall be neighbors awhile longer. You’re welcome to visit anytime, though we’re often busy here.”

  “You must visit us,” Carmela said. “Come see Mrs. Finney and me if you’d like to relax for an hour.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I shall.”

  “Dr. Greenwood says my uncle left some things?” Carmela asked.

  “Oh of course. Come with me.”

  Carmela followed her to the room where Uncle Silas had lain for the past few days. The rumpled bed brought the calamity home to her. He had seemed so helpless, and yet he had gotten himself out of bed, presumably dressed without assistance, and left the house without Dr. Greenwood or his wife realizing it.

  “His satchel is gone, but these were on the dresser.” Mrs. Greenwood handed her a tortoiseshell comb and a shaving mug and brush.

  “Thank you. I’ll keep them at Mrs. Finney’s in case he returns.”

  “I hope he will,” Mrs. Greenwood said. “He’s far from mended.”

  “I know. I do hope he’ll be sensible and come back, either here or to the boardinghouse.” Carmela put the comb in her pocket and carried the mug out to the front room.

  Freeland laid aside the newspaper he’d picked up to read and stood, putting his hat on. “Ready?”

  “I guess so.” Carmela couldn’t think straight. She had been abandoned, and once more she was alone.

  Freeland went to the door and reached for the knob, but before he could open it, the door was flung open. Freeland stepped back, and Mrs. Finney bustled in.

  “Oh, thank heaven you’re here, Deputy.”

  “Is something wrong?” Freeland asked.

  “See for yourself.” Mrs. Finney looked over her shoulder.

  Freeland stepped into the doorway and stood still. Carmela could hear wheels rattling, footsteps, and the murmur of voices outside—the usual street sounds in town, but it seemed louder than usual for this neighborhood. She walked to the door, where Freeland stood with one arm braced against the jamb.

  She peered out beneath it. A crowd had gathered in the street outside Dr. Greenwood’s house.

  “You still got that thief inside there?” a man called.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Freeland’s first instinct was to protect Carmela. He reached for her, but Mrs. Finney had already pulled her from the doorway. He stepped back and closed the door.

  “What do they want?” Carmela’s face looked stricken, her skin tight across her cheekbones and her mouth a thin slash.

  Mrs. Greenwood and Mrs. Finney gathered her to them, a couple of comforting mother hens.

  “We need to get the marshal back here,” Freeland said.

  “He hasn’t been gone long,” Mrs. Greenwood said. “Didn’t he say he was headed back to the jail?”

  “I think so. Can someone go out a back way and fetch him?”

  “My husband can go out the kitchen door, or I’ll go if you think he should stay here.”

  “I’d hate to send you out alone right now, ma’am,” Freeland said.

  “I’ll tell John.” Mrs. Greenwood strode down the hallway to the doctor’s office.

  Freeland turned to Carmela and Mrs. Finney. “I’m going out there and talk to them. You ladies stay out of sight.”

  Mrs. Finney drew Carmela to the side of the room, away from the doorway and the front window.

  This was the last thing Freeland wanted to deal with now. He’d hoped for a time in private with Carmela, when he could speak to her about her circumstances and her future. Seeing her face when she learned her uncle had slipped away without her had wrenched his heart. He wanted her to know that there were still people who cared about her—deeply. He wasn’t about to leave her alone and bereft. And now the town seemed to conspire to prove the opposite—no one cared about her feelings or her well-being.

  He sent up a quick prayer for wisdom, opened the door, and stepped outside. He recognized a few people, but
most were strangers to him.

  “Hey Deputy! Has that charlatan been arrested?” yelled a man wearing a barkeeper’s apron.

  “Are they going to give back money to people they cheated?” called another.

  “Folks, calm down,” Freeland said. “I’ve sent for the marshal, and he’ll be here soon to answer your questions. So far as I know, Mr. Holden never cheated anybody here in Prescott.”

  “Some of us has seen him and his niece—if she really is his niece—other places,” said a man Freeland thought might be one of Mrs. Finney’s boarders.

  “Yeah, that little gal oughta be arrested, too,” said the first man.

  Near the edge of the crowd, a tall, middle-aged man with shaggy, light-brown hair pushed forward.

  “Excuse me, folks. Pardon me.” He worked his way to the front of the throng and paused below the steps. “Deputy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Reverend Bardwell, a friend of Miss Wade’s.” The preacher climbed up to stand beside Freeland on the doctor’s stoop. “Miss Wade has done nothing wrong. I don’t know about her uncle. I never met the man. But I think we should let the law sort it out.”

  “If he’s in Doc Greenwood’s house, I say we get him out and over to the jail,” a man on the fringe of the rabble called.

  “What if he ain’t?” asked the man in the apron. He frowned at Freeland. “We heard he’s disappeared. We want to make sure he don’t get away and that somebody pays for the fraud those two perpetrated. Ain’t that the word, Deputy?”

  Freeland opened his mouth, and someone else yelled, “Yeah, restitution!”

  “It’s a disgrace,” said the man Freeland was certain he’d seen at the boardinghouse. “They ought to pay every cent they have to people who’ve had family stolen or kilt by the Indians.”

  To Freeland’s relief, the door opened behind him and Marshal Duffield stepped out of the house. He held up both hands.

  “All right, settle down.”

  “You going to arrest them two?” a man shouted.

  Another added, “You ought to string up that feller!”

  “Hold it now,” Duffield said firmly. “In the first place, everything is going to be done according to the law. We’ll have no talk about lynching. You hear?” He glared at the man who had suggested it. “Some might interpret what you just said as inciting a riot, so sober up and simmer down!”

  Nobody moved.

  “Go on,” he said, louder. “Go home and have your supper.”

  The crowd began to fragment as people turned away. Duffield looked at Freeland and the preacher.

  “Well. Thanks.”

  “Have you heard anything about Holden yet?” Freeland asked.

  “Nope,” the marshal said. “I sent a man to check all the livery stables. It seems maybe Miss Wade needs protection. At least until I’m sure those troublemakers won’t try to stir things up again.”

  “Go to jail?” Carmela’s heart hammered and she felt lightheaded. “You want to put me in a cell?”

  “Only for your own safety,” the marshal said. “Just tonight.”

  “You wouldn’t be under arrest,” Freeland explained. “The marshal just thought you’d be safer at the jail, and it would keep the crowds from the saloons from drifting over to the boardinghouse or back here.”

  “We certainly don’t want a bunch of drunks bothering the doc or Mrs. Finney,” Duffield said.

  “I should say not,” Mrs. Finney said, her eyes snapping. “And if that Buck Chard says one word to me about Carmela, I’ll throw him out in the street. He can find other lodgings.”

  “I can’t do my work if there’s a mob outside my house yelling,” Dr. Greenwood said, looking anxiously out the window.

  Carmela hesitated. “I’d need some things from my room—”

  “I’ll see Mrs. Finney home and bring them back for you,” the marshal said. “You go on with McKay to the jail.”

  “But don’t you have the outlaws locked up in the jail?” Carmela asked.

  “Well, yes, but I also have a cot in the back room where I stay sometimes, if I have prisoners overnight. You can go in there, and the gang members won’t see you. The townsfolk will hear you’re in the jail, and I hope that will be enough to keep them away.”

  She agreed reluctantly. Mrs. Greenwood took them through the family quarters and out the kitchen door. Carmela and Freeland set out for the marshal’s office, while Duffield and Mrs. Finney headed for the boardinghouse.

  Carmela walked in silence for a few minutes. They paused to let a wagon pass before they crossed a side street.

  “Are you all right?” Freeland asked.

  Carmela sighed. “I know it’s senseless, but I feel abandoned, almost as much as when my parents died.”

  “Mr. Holden is the last of your family?”

  “There are some more distant relatives, but I don’t know them, really.” The sun had gone down, and she eyed Freeland closely in the twilight. “Did the marshal tell Uncle Silas he was free to go?”

  “I’m not sure. I wasn’t there when he gave him the money.”

  “So he might still think he’ll be arrested.”

  “I doubt it. Why would the marshal give him back the money if he thought it was ill-gotten gains?”

  “True. So I guess the truth is, he simply felt I was no longer of use to him.”

  Freeland said nothing to dispute that. After a moment, he touched her sleeve briefly. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. They were approaching the center of town, and the noise from the saloons could be heard from blocks away.

  “There’re a lot of miners in town tonight.” Freeland spoke loudly so she could hear over the racket. “Word got around about the Apache being on the rampage, and a lot of folks came in for safety.”

  “And now I need to be protected from them.” Carmela heard the bitterness in her own voice. They reached the marshal’s office, and Freeland opened the door for her. Before she went inside, she looked over her shoulder, toward Whiskey Row. “I wonder where Uncle Silas is tonight.”

  As soon as they stepped inside, a clamor began from deeper within the building. A deputy had been sitting behind the desk dozing, and he rose and nodded to them. “McKay.”

  “Hey Marshal,” men called from inside.

  “The prisoners want to know when Duffield’s gonna let ’em out or when they’ll have their trials or when their lawyers will come see ’em again.” The deputy ran a hand over his short-cropped beard. “I’m telling you, I’ll be glad to get home and get some peace and quiet.”

  “They all been fed?” Freeland asked.

  “Yes, and the cook came from the tavern to get the dishes.”

  “You might as well go along,” Freeland told him. “The boss will be here soon.”

  The deputy lost no time in vacating the premises. Freeland took Carmela into the small chamber where Duffield kept a cot, a rocker, and a couple of crates for storage. A lantern sat on a rough bedside table.

  “It’s not a cell,” Freeland said, “but you can lock the door from inside if you don’t feel safe.”

  She nodded. “I think I’ll be fine. If those men will quiet down.”

  Freeland huffed out a breath. “Bunch of hooligans. Want coffee? The marshal keeps a pot on the stove yonder.”

  That explained why the office was so warm. Carmela accepted the offer, and Freeland let her sit behind the desk while he took a stool nearby.

  “You’ll be all right,” he said.

  She wasn’t completely sure, but she said, “I think so.”

  “Not scared, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Those men can’t get out.”

  “And the marshal won’t let anyone else in.”

  “Right.”

  The rowdy prisoners had quieted down again. She sipped the strong coffee.

  “I expect folks will forget about all of this in a day or two,” Freeland said. “Something else will happen. There’ll be a big gold strike, or the
Indians will act up again, or somebody’s store will burn, and everyone will forget about you and your uncle.”

  “I hope so.” She jerked her head up. “Not that I want anyone else to have misfortune.”

  “I know what you mean.” Freeland’s crooked smile brought back those feelings of longing, and she made herself not look into his eyes too long.

  “Uncle Silas decided to go on without me,” she said after a moment. “Decided I wasn’t profitable anymore.”

  Freeland’s lips twitched. He turned his coffee cup carefully, watching the liquid in it. “That doesn’t mean you’re not useful to other people. God has other things for you; that’s all.”

  “I hope so.” She set down her cup.

  “Mrs. Finney seems to want you.”

  Carmela nodded. “I’m grateful to her.”

  “It could be a new start for you.”

  “I don’t know.” Carmela just didn’t feel easy about that plan. What if the people in Prescott didn’t forget what she had done?

  The marshal came along in a few minutes, bringing her a bundle of comforts from Mrs. Finney’s house. Freeland drained his cup and promised Duffield he would return first thing in the morning. When he turned back at the door and gazed at Carmela, she wished he would stay. But that was silly. The marshal would be out here behind his desk. She couldn’t ask Freeland to sit up all night just so he’d be near her.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “ ’Night.” She watched him go and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll be out here,” the marshal said. “ ’Course, I might get called out if things get too wild on Whiskey Row. I suggest you lock your door. I’ll leave a deputy here all the time if I can, but you never know.”

  Carmela went into the little room and threw the bolt on the door. She turned the lantern low and started to unbutton the basque of her dress, but she stopped when a burst of gunfire sounded from down the street. She decided to lie down in her clothes.

  The streets were much noisier here than in Mrs. Finney’s neighborhood. If anything happened in the night, she didn’t want to be caught in her nightclothes.

  Reluctantly she turned out the lantern and eased onto the cot. She knew the door was locked, but even so, she didn’t feel secure.