by lake, e a
“Please come in here and tell me you have news,” he yelled to Howard. “Any update would help.”
Howard strolled into the office, unaffected by his boss’s mood. “You know it will take a day or two, Will. You gotta be patient, okay?”
Tarlisch cringed. “Patient? You want me to be patient? Come on, Howard, you know that isn’t one of my best qualities.” Tarlisch paced more, pounding his fist into his open palm. “I need information. I live on information. When I don’t have information, Howard, I get pissy. You don’t want me pissy, do you?”
Howard rolled his eyes. “Come on boss, let’s go get some lunch. That’ll help.” Taking Willem by the arm, he guided him toward the door.
“I’m too anxious to eat, Howard. I’m not sure I’m very hungry.”
Pushing his boss along, Howard continued. “Well, if you sit down and have a bite, it will keep your mind off the troops. And time will go faster. And it will keep you out of my hair for 30 minutes or so.”
“Okay,” Willem finally agreed. “Maybe just a bite. Do we have any milk?”
Howard’s face showed Willem his disbelief with the question. “No. Ain’t no cows in the area. How about some goat milk?”
Tarlisch blanched. “I’d rather have goat piss than goat milk.”
Howard shrugged slightly. “I’m sure we can round that up. May take an hour, but if you want goat piss, boss…” He snickered as they continued into the dining room.
“Be serious Howard. What did the chef make for lunch?” Willem asked.
Howard scratched his face, trying to recall what he’d been told. “Potatoes, ground beef and green beans. Cut nice and small, just the way you like ‘em.”
Finally Tarlisch managed a smile. “Well something is finally going well today. Have my wives join me.”
“They’re already in there eating. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you.”
Turning the final corner, they entered the large dining area. Inside at the table sat Willem’s three stolen brides and their nannies, as he liked to call them.
“Good afternoon, the loves of my life,” Willem cheerfully called out. He watched as each of them eyed him suspiciously. Fine, he thought. They don’t want to talk, I have plenty to discuss.
As he watched the plate full of food set in front of his position, he leaned forward. Sniffing, he caught the aroma of the butter on the pale green beans first. Then the spices of the gravy, thick and brown, wafted through his mind. Truth be told, he probably had the best chef in Salt Lake, if not the entire basin.
“So,” he shouted, looking at his women, “tell me about your day. Mine, just so you know, has been fabulous thus far.”
Suzanne, the oldest, set her fork on the plate and glared at him. “We’re hostages. What do you expect us to say? ‘Oh, it’s been a beautiful morning walking the streets of Salt Lake with our own personal keepers attached.’ Please.”
Willem dismissed her sarcasm and focused on Rachel. “And you, my youngest moonbeam. How was your morning?”
Her large brown eyes tried to hide from his gaze. “Is it true that you burned all of our houses down? Please tell me it’s not true. Please?”
Tarlisch leaned back in the stiff black chair. “Why would you concern yourself with such trivial things, my darling? You have a place to live.” Extending his arms, he pointed at the others around the table. “You have a family, you have a bed, you are fed well, you are free to roam – within reason. Why would you worry about something from your past?”
Rachel looked up with tear-filled eyes. “Did you?” she asked quietly.
Tarlisch waved off the question. “Of course not. I don’t have time for things like that. I’m hunting down the man who killed my father and brother. He killed Howard’s uncle.” Taking another forkful of meat and potatoes, he grinned at the trio. “I don’t have to burn down your family homes for revenge. I have people who take care of things like that for me. Do you understand?”
Suzanne rose and reached for the other two’s hands. “Come girls, I think we’re done,” she said still, glaring at Willem.
Tarlisch set his fork down on his plate and wiped his mouth. “You,” he screamed between his quivering lips, pointing at the girls, “are not done until I say you are done. Sit, down, now!”
Unsure of his intentions, the girls sat.
“Now,” he started again, looking for Howard. “The two older ones are excused to their room to read. Howard, be sure to lock them in. You,” he said pointing at the handmaidens, “you three are dismissed. Rachel, my flower, you can stay here and keep me company. I’d like to speak with you further.”
Noticing Suzanne’s harsh glare, he turned to give her his full attention. “Yes, my other love?”
“Please leave her alone,” she begged. “I’ll stay and keep you company. Let Rachel and Willow go back to the room together. Please?”
An evil smirk crossed his face. Just the reaction he desired. “Suzanne, are you arguing with me?” Her head shook quickly. “Good. I wouldn’t want to have to discipline you today. Not on such a wonderful day for me.” Looking at his plate, he considered what to say next. “Now run along with you sister, Willow. Rachel will join you soon enough. I promise no great harm will come to her.”
Suzanne and Willow both continued to stare at him while tears raced down Rachel’s face. “Leave us,” he demanded. “Or it will get worse, for all of you.” Focusing on the handmaidens, he tipped his head toward the door. “Take them, now,” he said, “or things won’t continue so nicely.”
The women rose and pried the older girls from their chairs. Tarlisch watched as the two disappeared out through the doorway. Their last impression of Rachel was her in tears, alone at the table with Willem Tarlisch.
Pacing in his small cabin, Darwin Chamberlain contemplated the report. Occasionally, he shot a glance back at Captain Harmes. He knew the man, and for the most part, he trusted him. Having worked together for three years gives you a strong opinion on another – good or bad. But this report was hard for the Upland Guard Colonel to digest.
“How many riders?” Chamberlain asked.
Removing his gloves, Harmes looked to his commander. “Seven or eight groups. Probably three or four riders per group. Each cluster only had a torch or two.”
Chamberlain squinted, counting for himself. “Thirty-two, maybe 40 riders total?” he asked.
Harmes nodded. “Let’s say 50 tops, just to be safe.”
The colonel sat and let out a large sigh. “So, where are they headed? That’s the question, right?”
“The way that Finkel said they broke up, it looked like they were heading for each of the western camps. They went every direction according to his report.” Harmes rolled his neck, still stiff from his two-hour ride. “He saw it, Finkel that is. By the time he reported to us, the sun was already up. But I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them.”
“Let’s say there was 10 groups. And each group had five riders. We could take on 50 of Tarlisch’s men, right?” Colonel Chamberlain asked.
Harmes shrugged at the question. “I suppose. We probably have more riding experience and know the mountains better. They probably have more firepower.” He paused, considering his words. “But they broke up. Now each group is smaller. Way easier to take if we send out our five units intact. Not break them up you know.”
“So we send five units of 10 men to find half of their riders,” Chamberlain replied. Looking over a map of the western ridge, he considered his Captain’s intelligence. “That could work. We could at least find out what they’re up to, besides the obvious.”
Harmes looked away before speaking. “Apparently, news hasn’t reached the basin yet. We know what Tarlisch is up to, but he doesn’t know what’s going on up here.” Rising, he approached the window on the far side of the room. “We know for sure he’s after Talbot Bond. But he doesn’t seem to know where to start. I’m still not sure why he would send small groups to each camp. That doesn’t make any sense. The
y’ll be outnumbered everywhere they go.”
Harmes’ puzzled expression made Chamberlain grin. “He’s smart, Tarlisch is. But doesn’t he know that thousands have left Salt Lake and told us all about what’s going on down there?” He joined the captain in staring at the nature outside his cabin. “I wonder if we need to alert the camps? Let them know to expect riders.”
Drawing a deep breath, Harmes turned to face Chamberlain. “By the time we dispatch scouts to each of the camps, Tarlisch’s people will have come and gone. They ain’t gonna find Talbot Bond one way or another.” Stepping for the door, he spoke without looking back. “Tarlisch’s men will be back in Salt Lake before sundown. They ain’t no threat. We’ll send out Companies B and C to intercept one of their groups. That should send them all a message. We run these hills, not Tarlisch.”
Chamberlain pondered Harmes’ words long after he’d gone. For the most part, what the captain had said was accurate. But something sounded hollow. Just what though, Darwin Chamberlain could not say. But something the man said didn’t sound just right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The assembly at Camp Eight suspiciously eyed the travelers. Betsi knew it was crucial to discover what they knew and determine the exact whereabouts of her father, but this group held their collective tongues. She watched as Jed Fordham, the proclaimed prince of the community, rubbed his youthful face over and over. Stroking his brown stubble, she wondered if he thought she was a threat, a friend or the devil herself.
“I really need to know where Talbot Bond is, right now,” she demanded. Her eyes drifted from face to face in the group of six. Like Camp Six, the entire assembly was composed of only men.
“And I need a decent story from you,” Jed recanted. “Something tells me you aren’t who you claim to be, Carla Atwater.” Turning his head, one of his members leaned and whispered in his ear. He kept his eyes on Betsi as he nodded at the older man’s words.
Leaning back on her stool, Betsi’s eyes met Jeremy’s some 20 yards away. Unlike Camp Six, these people held their meetings out in the open, under whatever skies the day brought. Fortunately, this was another sunny day; though daylight was waning, Betsi worried. Jeremy sat at a small table eating a biscuit covered in what appeared to be some sort of jam. On his right side was a cup of water, on the left sat a steaming cup of coffee. All around him, younger women waited on his every need. Smiling her way, he gave his wife a small wave. Betsi nodded and looked away, upset by something going on. Just what, she couldn’t put her finger on at this precise moment.
Letting her eyes roam the enclosure, she marveled at how different this place was from Camp Six. First was the structure of the walls. Unlike Camp Six, where the logs were piled high, maybe 10 feet, these walls were a mere five to six feet in height. She watched as several men walked the inside perimeter, occasionally looking over the wall at the woods surrounding the camp. At Camp Six, they had cut slots in the walls for the lookouts to use.
Next was the size of the camp itself. Camp Six had been small, housing no more than 10 equally small cabins, more like huts, Betsi recollected. And the space between the cabins, much less than the space between these cabins and the rear wall, was so tight back there. She knew if she lived in Camp Six she would be stir crazy within a week. Here at Camp Eight, the cabins were larger, each one at least half again as large as those at Camp Six. And they were built better, stronger, neater. Some of the huts in Camp Six had no windows; here at Camp Eight, every home had at least two, it appeared. Plus there was a good 10 feet between cabins, enough room to move about. And the wall was more than 10 feet from any of the dozen or so homes dotting the inside of this more spacious camp.
Fordham interrupted her thoughts, almost startling Betsi. “Give us another minute to discuss this, Mrs. Atwater, if you would.” Betsi nodded and the men moved several steps toward the rear of the camp, forming a circle, like kids on a school playground. Betsi snorted at their need for privacy. No one but her apparently understood her urgency.
Her eyes floated around the camp one more time. The biggest difference between here and Camp Six was color. Back at Camp Six, everything seemed black and white, almost gray really. If she were colorblind, she would have missed nothing of interest back there. Even the men and women of the camp appeared so dull, almost as if they merely existed instead of actually living.
Here at Camp Eight, color was on full display like it was something new. The young girls flitting around Jeremy wore dresses and skirts made of brightly colored fabric. One young blonde wore a bright red sundress covered with a pale blue sweater. A cute brown-haired girl, no more than 13 or 14, wore a beautiful yellow skirt dotted with flowers of every shade under the sun. And still another gal, a smallish raven-haired cutie who seemed to have already taken a fancy to Jeremy and his reddish hair, wore rose-colored jeans with a thick green sweater. Betsi stared at the sweater and its unique coloring. Instead of a dark green like you might see in the pine forests, this green was a lighter shade, more the color of late spring grass, the kind of green that made you smile instantly.
Betsi turned to see Fordham and another man approaching. Even the camp’s leader wore a colored shirt, dark red, almost the color of blood. Though the other man was older, he wore a pastel blue shirt along with the usual dark jeans worn by almost every man Betsi encountered in the mountains.
Jed and his older advisor stopped only a foot from Betsi. A frown covered each of the men’s faces. “Here’s the deal,” Jed began. “Frank here knew Talbot from before.” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the man. “Unlike some camps, we here at Camp Eight are loyal to the militia of the Community of Salt Lake. Actually, all the militia of the basin. We don’t know you, so we aren’t in the position to discuss someone as important as Captain Bond with a stranger. We think it’s best if you and your man move on.”
Betsi’s face tightened. She had hoped they would be more giving without her having to divulge things she’d prefer not to. Weighing her options, she wondered if her father was here watching as she spoke to these two. Couldn’t he even recognize his own daughter? Then she recalled the obvious – her short blonde hair. And using an old schoolmate’s name probably wasn’t helping either.
She let her head drop slightly before speaking. “I’m not who I said I am,” she uttered. “I’m someone else, someone he knows.”
Jed and Frank shrugged at one another. “And who might you really be, miss?” Frank asked.
Drawing a deep breath, Betsi’s eyes rose to meet theirs. “My name is Betsi Albrecht. I’m Talbot Bond’s daughter.”
Both eyed her skeptically, not believing what she had announced. “And I’m the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Jed retorted without a smile. “First you tell us you’re Carla Atwater, now you’re Betsi Albrecht. Who will you be in the next five minutes? Mary, the mother of Jesus? Get lost.” Jed and Frank signaled to the others for help in removing the travelers from their camp.
“Wait,” Betsi cried. “I can prove I’m Talbot Bond’s daughter. Really I can.”
Jed grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. “Doubtful at best I’m sure. Perhaps you can answer several of Frank’s questions.” His head tipped slightly to the right, in Frank’s direction. “He did know dear old Dad well, after all.”
Frank began immediately. “What’s your father’s birthdate?” he gruffly asked.
“September 21st,” Betsi quickly replied.
“And the color of his eyes?”
“Blue,” Betsi answered. “The exact color of mine.”
“Your brother’s name?” The questions came hard and fast.
“Cole,” she replied, her face falling as she did. “But he died at birth, and my mother shortly after. When I was 14.”
Frank nodded stoically. “Your father said your mother’s family had a saying, something important to them.”
Betsi didn’t hesitate, answering almost before the older man finished his question. “Family before all.”
The questions stopped. Frank
and Jed shared a cautious glance. Jed nodded.
“One last question then.” Frank shifted his feet pondering her answers. “What’s your given name?”
Betsi focused on Franks’ dark eyes. “Sarabeth Bond.”
“Your full name,” he demanded.
“Sarabeth Grace Bond,” she stated a little louder.
“You’re missing one, I think.” Frank’s eyes narrowed in anticipation of her reply.
Betsi glanced briefly over her shoulder, making sure Jeremy was still occupied by his hostesses. Turning back to the older man, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Sarabeth Grace Tarlisch Bond,” she replied, slightly above a whisper, “after my mother’s mother, Grace Tarlisch.”
Both men’s steely faces showed no mercy. She was afraid that even if she had passed the test they would offer her no help in the search for her father. She watched as they looked between themselves and then back at her, their expressions still as cold as a winter’s day.
“I’ve known Talbot Bond for 40 years,” Frank began. “So I should know his daughter. What perplexes me most is that Talbot spoke of his daughter’s beautiful long dark hair. Yet, I see yours is short and blonde.”
Betsi grinned, removing her cap and brushing a hand over her locks. “I knew Willem Tarlisch would be looking for me when he came to Salt Lake. I was forced to change my appearance. That way his men wouldn’t recognize me from whatever description he gave. I needed to escape and get word to my father that Tarlisch and his men were closing in. I didn’t want to, I had to.”
Frank stepped forward, still scowling at her. She wanted to step back, but something inside her mind told her to stay strong in her place. He reached down and took her smaller hands in his. Peeking up over his glasses, he smiled. “Welcome, Sarabeth. We’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Suzanne pounded on the door with her pale fist again. “Howard!” she screamed. “Mrs. Tower, Mrs. Peach? Please come and open this door. Now!”
