Ransacker

by Emmy Laybourne

  They set their burdens down. Stieg and Sissel hugged Knut in turn. He took the bucket Sissel had been carrying and the sack Stieg was holding. He shook Stieg’s hand again and got one more embrace from Sissel, and then Knut headed off down the road.

  James looked down the street. Where was Rollie? What should James do?

  Sissel and Stieg dusted themselves off as best they could and walked into the elegant lobby of the Royal.

  So Sissel and Stieg were moving into the hotel. But where was Knut headed?

  James waited until Knut was a speck on the road, then he mounted his horse and followed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Stieg flashed Sissel an encouraging smile, then pushed open the door to the Royal Hotel. Inside, the lobby was busy, with a couple speaking to the manager while a porter in a blue uniform saw to their bags.

  The walls were papered a floral print, pink roses over a cream-colored background. Every surface, with the exception of the gleaming front counter, was topped with a crocheted doily or a piece of lacework. Two wingback chairs upholstered in worked satin stood in the corner, a table with spindled legs and a lamp with a fringed silk shade eavesdropping between them. An oriental carpet lay on the floor near the front counter. Sissel and Stieg stood on it, waiting behind the young couple. Sissel noticed how plush the carpet was under the shoe, especially after their long walk.

  Two closed glass doors with lace curtains led to the hotel’s dining room, but it was too expensive for them to eat there for everyday meals. Stieg had decided they would eat breakfast and supper at Mrs. Boyce’s boardinghouse across the street. They’d also buy sandwich stuffs at the general store to make sack lunches to bring to school.

  Sissel discreetly tugged down the waist of her tan dress. The dress badly needed laundering. It was difficult to keep clothes clean living at a campsite covered in ash. The walk from their farm had made her overwarm, so not only was her clothing dirty and rumpled, but her hair was limp with sweat and her cheeks flushed. She knew she must look as out of place as she felt.

  Finally the couple was ushered upstairs by the porter, and Stieg and Sissel stepped up to the counter.

  They knew the man who ran the hotel, Timothy Collier. Everyone in town knew Mr. Collier because he had an unforgettable mustache. It was dark brown, highly dense, and twisted up at the corners to two precise curls. His personality seemed to match his whiskers—fussy and immovable.

  He had little hair on his head, as if the mustache had used all of it up. The wisps of hair he had were kept pomaded slick across his scalp from left to right.

  “Ah,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen them waiting, “the young Hemstads. Good day.”

  “Yes, good day, Mr. Collier. We hoped to speak to Mr. McKray.”

  “Pertaining to?”

  “An offer he made to us,” Stieg said.

  “And that offer would be?”

  Stieg cleared his throat, thinking for a moment. It was clear to Sissel that her brother did not want to talk about their business with Mr. McKray in public. A housemaid entered the lobby, curtsied to Mr. Collier, and began to dust.

  “I’d rather not say,” Stieg said.

  Mr. Collier gave an impatient harrumph. “If it is in regards to an offer of free housing he may or may not have made, I’m afraid we do not have any vacancies.”

  “I see,” said Stieg stiffly.

  Sissel felt a blush of shame spread over her cheeks.

  “We are hosting three displaced families already. Three! There is hardly room for paying patrons!”

  A door behind Collier swung open on well-oiled hinges. The room beyond it was darkened, an office. Collier didn’t seem to hear the door open, because he continued in an officious, obnoxious tone. “See if they can’t take you in at the boardinghouse across the street. Mrs. Boyce hasn’t done nearly her share, in my opinion. And she is used to a rougher sort.”

  Stieg’s posture was drawn ramrod straight. Sissel knew he was as offended as she was.

  “Collier!” came a voice from the shadowed doorway.

  Mr. Collier jumped. He turned to see the young Mr. McKray stride from the office.

  “You can’t possibly be turning the Hemstads away, can you?”

  Collier’s mustache twitched.

  “I told you I offered rooms to all the locals who lost homes in the fire.”

  “Yes, sir, only I thought that they might inquire across the street—”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Might I ask, sir, how you think your father would approve of giving all these rooms for free?”

  McKray raised an eyebrow at Collier and went completely still. They were an oddly matched pair for employer and employee: McKray, short, young, and dressed every inch the wealthy businessman; and Collier, tall, lean, balding, and old enough to be McKray’s uncle at least.

  “Are we to have this discussion again, Collier, in front of customers?” McKray said.

  “They’re not customers if they are not paying.”

  “Never mind,” Stieg said quietly. “We can make inquiries elsewhere.”

  “Please, Mr. Hemstad, I beg your pardon,” McKray said to Stieg. “Mr. Collier is a longtime employee of my father’s, and he isn’t quite used to the way I run things here in my hotel, that I purchased and maintain with my own damn money.”

  McKray’s voice had deepened with intensity.

  Collier gave a dramatic sigh. “I apologize, Mr. McKray,” he said. “The problem is that we only have two rooms left—” Collier gestured to the ledger, that he might see for himself.

  “Perfect,” McKray said, reading out of the book. “Give Mr. Hemstad the single and put Miss Hemstad in the bridal suite.”

  “The bridal suite?” Collier squeaked.

  “My brother and I can share a room,” Sissel suggested.

  McKray waved her offer away. “That wouldn’t be seemly, a young lady like you, sharing a room with her brother.”

  Sissel felt herself blush.

  Stieg cleared his throat. “We are thankful for your generosity. And of course we will pay you back for the rooms.” Stieg directed this at Collier, who was scowling at them across the counter. “The bridal suite might prove to be a bit out of our reach, however.”

  “We’ll only charge you for the single,” McKray said. “The balance is on me.”

  Collier sputtered, but McKray silenced him with a look.

  “Let me remind you that plenty in these parts have lost everything,” he told Collier. “We’re not going to profit from their misfortune.”

  Sissel studied McKray. What a strange, gruff fellow he was. He had hazel eyes and a nose that turned up a bit, a boyish nose, though he was built so thick and strong, it was clear he was a man grown. McKray had rather a lot of sandy, nut-brown hair that didn’t seem to obey very well. It was tufty, and cut shorter than was fashionable. He had bushy eyebrows and kept his beard trimmed close and neat. The beard was dense and probably would have loved to grow wild.

  Well, Sissel thought, he was certainly acting like a gentleman, if he didn’t quite look the part.

  Stieg seemed to be wrestling with the offer. Sissel extended her hand to McKray to shake.

  “Thank you,” Sissel said. “Your offer is very kind and we accept it.”

  McKray took her small, pale hand. For a moment, it seemed he wasn’t sure whether to squeeze it or kiss it. He did a combination of both, compressing it and bowing his head to let his lips graze on the back of her hand.

  Sissel was embarrassed by this. In fact, all of them seemed a bit embarrassed—including Stieg and Collier and McKray himself.

  “Enzo, get their bags!” McKray called to the porter.

  Mr. Collier frowned as he wrote Hemstad into the ledger in two places. He slid two keys across the counter. Each had a brass plate affixed. Stieg’s read #5. Sissel’s said Bridal Suite in an elegant script.

  The key and the tag were heavy and cool in her hand. Sissel smiled. Holding a key to her very own room—there was
power in it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After saying good-bye to her siblings at the edge of town, Hanne and Owen stopped at the general store and stocked up on food for the trail. Mr. Peavy had already opened for the day, a lucky accident. They had expected to have to wait for him to open.

  Peavy had a lot of questions, and showed an interest in the cattle drive. He was generous with the prices and even made Hanne a gift of a cowboy hat for her adventure. It was a pretty dove gray, with a braided leather band. He said he’d hold their mail and wished them safe travels.

  Hanne hadn’t warmed to Peavy before. She never understood how Peavy, who was crass and excessive, had raised smart, socially graceful James. But she couldn’t deny that he was being kind and solicitous now. And it was such a nice hat.

  After they left the general store, they went to the livery where Owen had rented a horse, which was a thing Hanne hadn’t known was possible. They were to deliver her back in six weeks, but Mr. Hennings said eight would be fine, if it came to that. The creature was a tall chestnut mare named Brandy.

  Owen fit the saddlebags and the double bedroll on her back. Hanne was to ride in front of him for the journey to the ranch. Brandy looked like she had opinions about the saddlebags; she kept swinging her head around to take a look at them.

  “Don’t mind her. She’ll learn who’s boss soon enough,” Owen said, extending his hand to Hanne. She was swinging herself up when Brandy turned her head and tried to take a bite out of Hanne’s shoulder. Hanne’s danger sense flared up, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d punched the horse in the throat with her free hand.

  The horse let out an undignified gulping snort and sidestepped. Hanne let go of Owen’s hand and dropped to the ground. Daisy barked at Brandy, scolding.

  A passing stranger with a beery complexion let out a long whistle.

  “Better watch out for that one,” he said to Owen.

  Hanne frowned as he walked off unsteadily.

  Owen led the horse in a circle back to Hanne.

  “Maybe we should rent a different horse,” Hanne said. Owen shook his head.

  “She’s the biggest, strongest horse available. Don’t worry. A few hours on the trail with the two of us on her back will settle her down. I’ve ridden ornery horses before. I know how to handle them.”

  Hanne eyed the mare and Brandy eyed her back. Daisy sank to her belly in the dust, waiting for the standoff to end.

  “She won’t try to nip you again, I don’t think. Horses don’t like being punched in the neck, any more than you or I,” Owen said, trying to hide a smile.

  When he reached out his arm again, Hanne took hold, and Owen lifted her up onto the horse. Sometimes she forgot how strong he was.

  With some shifting, she got her body centered on the saddle in front of him.

  “Hold on to her mane,” Owen instructed. Hanne dug her fingers into the coarse hair, gritty with dust. Then Owen gave the horse his heels and they set off.

  It took them all of a minute to canter out of town, away from the life they’d built over a course of years.

  Hanne was surprised to find it felt good to leave it all behind—the responsibilities, the constant worry. She leaned back onto Owen’s chest, enjoying the feeling of him behind her and his ropy, tanned forearms snug around her sides.

  Owen edged Brandy into a gallop. Hanne drew in a great breath as the warm air rushed by. Owen leaned forward, pressing Hanne down, the reins in one hand and the other holding tight on to Hanne’s waist. Faster and faster, they flew along the road.

  Owen let out a long, loud cowboy whoop. Hanne laughed and hollered, too.

  “Feels good to ride!” Owen said. Then, after he caught his breath, “That wasn’t too fast for you, was it?”

  “That was wonderful. Let’s do it again.”

  Hanne turned enough to see the side of Owen’s face and his grin.

  “Better not,” he said. “We got a long day ahead. But it does feel good to ride hard, if only for a minute.”

  They fell silent. The slowed gait of the horse made their bodies come together and apart. Hanne’s shoulders leaning away, then back to Owen’s chest, away, then back. It made her flustered, and she liked the feeling.

  Riding with Owen, her body pressed to his, made her think of their wedding night. She could feel her cheeks flushing, and she felt like she ought to be ashamed of the way her body was feeling. But there was no one to see her, no one to judge, so Hanne let herself savor the sensations that were coming.

  * * *

  “DO YOU THINK they’ll give me a job?” Hanne asked after a while.

  “Fifty-fifty they’ll offer you one out straightaways. But once they see how handy you are, and a good cook, I think they’ll hire you.”

  “And how much could I make?”

  “Maybe twenty dollars?”

  Hanne thought about this. To return with sixty dollars—that was something.

  Perhaps enough, once some of their debts were paid, to marry. She wanted a new dress, and to have a cake and a party for the neighbors. Of course they would have to pay Reverend Neville. Perhaps there would be enough to pay a fiddler to walk her to the church.

  Hanne enjoyed daydreaming about it. It was so peaceful to be off, away from all their troubles in Carter. Her siblings were taken care of. Knut would reach the Lilliedahls in the evening. She knew they would be glad for his help.

  Stieg would take care of their little sister, and Sissel would enjoy living at the Royal.

  She closed her eyes and settled back against Owen’s warm chest. Hanne allowed herself to feel happy and safe, riding double with her betrothed, in the sunshine.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sissel gasped awake in the darkened hotel room. Moonlight played through the lace curtains at the window. All was still in the room except for her, shaken by her dream.

  She had dreamed of a great eye hung in the sky, clouds streaming away on either side of it. She had been resting in the selfsame bed she lay on now, and the eye had come closer and closer, peering into her head, it seemed. She could not move, as if some great centrifugal force had held her down. As the eye had blinked, she felt a contraction in the core of her chest and then a dilation, a release of warmth, a huge intake of breath.

  She had heard a booming voice say, “Awaken,” in an old language she had understood easily.

  She rose and kicked her feet free of the lace-trimmed bedsheets. She walked to the washstand and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher.

  She heard a thrumming. A low, warm vibration. Gooseflesh crept over her arms. The sound was coming from outside.

  It was the call of the graveyard.

  Sissel’s body began to quake.

  “Not again,” she said aloud. “Please.”

  The vibration grew louder. She crumpled to the floor. What was she to do? She clamped her hands over her ears.

  The sound was in her chest and it glowed, twinkling to her, beckoning.

  Her fingers began to tingle.

  She stood and grabbed her dressing robe and left the room.

  The hallway was sleeping quiet.

  She should wake Stieg, she knew, but how would she explain it to him? He would think she was going mad—having a spell.

  Instead she decided to leave the hotel. A fine oriental carpet covered the stairs, held in place with brass rods. Sissel stole down the stairs on bare feet without a creak.

  The lobby was dark and still.

  Sissel unlocked the front door slowly. On the street the call was even stronger. Her fingers began to tingle, as if they’d been asleep and were now coming back to life, all prickles. She clutched them together.

  She walked quickly down the boardwalk past the storefronts, away from the church and the graveyard.

  The town was so strange and empty in the night.

  Sissel limped along as fast as she could. Gone was the exhaustion she had felt earlier in the day.

  The boardwalk was coarse and dry u
nder her bare feet. She moved down Main Street. The farther she got from the graveyard, the less she felt the strange thrum. The throbbing in her chest let up; the prickling in her fingers faded.

  Sissel stopped to breathe. Now she felt something else playing at the edge of her consciousness. It was a light tinkling. Another call, this one more playful and musical.

  “Oh!” she said softly. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  But the strange sensation glimmered and called to her, like a half-remembered song she recognized, with a melody she could not place.

  “All right!” she said crossly. “I surrender!” She followed the new sound.

  She left the walkway and trod on the street, thankful for the full moon, wishing she had brought her boots. The skin on the soles of her feet was thin and soft because she’d worn shoes almost every day for most of the summer.

  Sissel came to understand it—the shape of the forces calling her were fluid—it was the stream calling her! The pretty little stream that came out of the hills behind the town. It ran east of town, and into the river. The schoolchildren fished there, and James had taken her and Alice there on a picnic one time.

  She left the road and began to walk through the tall summer grasses toward the thick cottonwoods and brush that banked the stream.

  She found an old, worn path, her feet padding on smooth dirt between clumps of grass. The closer she got, the denser the bushes on the banks grew. It was dark under the shadows of the trees. Gnarled scrub oak brushes with their scabby branches blocked her way and plucked at her hair, her shift, her arms and legs. Out alone in the woods, she began to feel afraid and frantic. Her hands were tingling like before, and there was a pulling sensation in her chest. She must reach the water.

  Finally plunging through the brush, she came to the edge of the stream. The bank dropped several feet down to the water rushing by. Sissel took a false step with her bad leg, and suddenly it went out from under her.

  She fell down into the stream, banging her knees on the slippery rocks. The icy water made her gasp. She might have cut the palm of one of her hands, but she couldn’t tell. It was cold, but at the same time she felt a buzzing, joyous kind of warmth in the water. The glittering sound was so loud now, it was crashing down around her.