“Onward,” she whispered to her reflection.
Sissel stepped into the hallway, slipped the note for Stieg under his door, and made her way quietly down the hall.
The clock in the lobby told her it was five thirty. Early enough that few guests were around, but late enough for the hotel to be stirring. There was no one at the front desk, but she heard pots clanging in the kitchen. Since there were sleeping bodies out on the porch, she decided to go out through the kitchen. She nodded to the cook and her assistants, already busy making biscuits for breakfast.
Outside, the morning air was fresh and cool. The rising sun had painted the town in a wash of copper. It was so pretty, in the light, with the mountains as a backdrop that Sissel felt a terrible pang of homesickness for Carter, though they’d not yet left it.
She walked over to Elm Street. Around her, the town was waking up. She heard the kitchen sounds and morning discussions coming from some open windows. She saw movement through the open windows at the Oswalds’ house and approached.
“Good morning,” she called as she neared. “Anyone awake?”
“Why, Sissel, good morning, dear,” called Mrs. Oswald softly through the window. She came to the door in her apron and waved Sissel in.
“My, my!” she said. “You’re up with the roosters!”
“Is Alice awake?” Sissel asked.
“Yes, but she’s not down yet. Go and help her, will you?”
Sissel climbed the stairs. She would miss the Oswalds’ house, too. It was a lovely timber house with plenty of windows, each with cheery curtains that Mrs. Oswald changed with the seasons, a luxury afforded to them, of course, by owning the fabric store.
Sissel knocked on Alice’s door.
“Yes, Mother, I’ll be right down,” came Alice’s voice.
Sissel edged the door open. She affected a motherly scold, “If I have to call you one more time…”
Alice turned in surprise. She was braiding her hair at the vanity.
Sissel hoped Alice would be happy to see her, and she was rewarded with a big smile.
“You!” Alice said. “Oh, Sissel. I’m so glad to see you!”
She stood and gave Sissel a warm embrace.
“I’m so sorry—” they both said in near unison.
“No, I am the sorry one,” Alice said. “You are allowed to have as many beaus as you please, and I should not be so nosy. And as I thought about it, I realized you’re probably friends with the maid and were protecting her…”
“I should have told you about the combs,” Sissel said. “You’ve been such a wonderful friend to me—”
“I lay here tossing and turning all night thinking you must hate me—”
“Never,” Sissel interjected.
“—and wondering what on earth happened with McKray!”
Sissel laughed.
“Why did he interrupt school that way? What did he mean when he said he had business to discuss with you? How does James feel about it all?”
She was leaning into Sissel, her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Not,” she said, “that you have to tell me … but I hope you will.”
Sissel exhaled. She was going to lie to her friend one last time.
“McKray has been courting me,” Sissel said. “And the reason he came to the school … was that we have to go away. And he was pleading with me not to go.”
“You have to go?”
“I hoped it wasn’t true, and so I didn’t tell you. But we are leaving town,” she told her friend. “Hanne and Owen want us to join them. Owen has found work in Texas.”
“No! But when? How soon?”
“Today,” Sissel said. “We leave this afternoon, after school.”
“For how long? Surely you’ll come back…”
“I’m not sure,” Sissel said.
Tears suddenly filled Sissel’s eyes to overflowing. Alice was so trusting and kind, and Sissel had fed her lie after lie.
“Oh, Sissel, I am so sorry. What about James and McKray?”
“Stieg says I’m still young. That I’ll meet new beaus…”
Alice gathered Sissel into a hug, and Sissel allowed herself to cry without restraint.
“You’ve been such a lovely friend,” Sissel said when the tears were done. “I don’t know how to ever thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
“Why, hush. You’ll thank me by being my dearest friend for the rest of my life. We’ll write and visit. We won’t lose touch.”
“Girls!” Mrs. Oswald called up. “Breakfast will be ready soon!”
Alice resumed braiding her hair, all the while planning for how they would stay friends. She was trying to cheer Sissel up, and Sissel was grateful for it.
“We’ll leave our children with our husbands, whoever they turn out to be, and we’ll travel to Helena to go to the opera house! Some summers we’ll visit the mineral baths in Colorado. They’re so healthy, no one could deny us a week or two taking the waters.”
“Girls! You’ll be late!” came the call from downstairs.
Alice took her hand.
“The last day of the summer term of school,” Alice said. “And so much has happened.”
“Yes,” Sissel said.
As they went downstairs, the smell of corn flapjacks, maple syrup, and butter came wafting up.
“You’d better eat quickly,” Mrs. Oswald said. “Wouldn’t do to be late. Not today.”
Sissel and Alice ate the good, warm breakfast and then made their way to school.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
James woke to the sounds of business in the store. That meant he’d overslept considerably. It was past seven if the store was open.
An empty bottle of liquor clattered as he swung his feet to the floor. The sound made him wince. He swore and pulled his suspenders up from where they dangled at his waist.
He was going be late for the last day of school if he didn’t hurry. He cussed while he fumbled his feet into his boots and grabbed his cleanest shirt from one of the pegs on the wall.
There was something off in the attic, he realized—it was tidy. Peavy had cleaned up, but not like he was moving out. His clothes were still in their places, and his carpetbag was still stowed on the high shelf that ran around the top of the room like a crown. It was tidy as if he were expecting company.
“Peavy?” James called. Oof. His own voice hurt his head. He rubbed his temples. He needed to end his little affair with Old Fire Copper whiskey.
He felt vomit rising in his mouth and pulled over the trash bin.
Mostly Peavy used it to spit tobacco chaw into, and the sight and smell of the little brown heaps was enough to bring the bile up, but James saw a crumpled telegram on top.
He pulled out the telegram and read it. Bits of tobacco fell onto the floor as he straightened out the thin paper.
It read:
TAKE POSSESSION OF ITEM STOP KEEP SECURE AT ANY COST STOP FORFEIT OTHER ITEMS IF NECESSARY STOP CLIENT EN ROUTE STOP
James felt the blood drain out of his guts.
He blinked, trying to clear his bleary vision. He brought the telegram over to the window and read it again.
Sissel was the item. Client was the Baron Fjelstad.
They meant to take Sissel prisoner.
He closed his eyes. The room was swimming around him.
Forfeit other items meant kill the other Hemstads, if need be.
“This is your job,” he said out loud to himself. “It’s a part of your job.”
But he folded the telegram and shoved it into the pocket of his pants. He put the trash bin back where he’d found it and quietly descended the ladder.
He grabbed his jacket and slipped out the back door. Let Peavy think he was sleeping it off—he couldn’t let this happen to them. Not to Sissel. Not to any of the Hemstads.
* * *
JAMES ENTERED THE hotel just as the kitchen staff opened the double doors leading into the dining hall for breakfast. There were a dozen hot
el patrons filing in. Neither Sissel nor Stieg was among them. He dodged through the customers, then took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.
He’d not been into Sissel’s room, but he knew the number. Twenty-six. If she wasn’t here, she might be eating at the boardinghouse. He drew the telegram out of his pocket. He’d give it to her—she wouldn’t doubt the danger she was in if he gave it to her as proof.
“Sissel,” he said, knocking on the door. “It’s me, James.”
The door gave way. It was unlocked.
James pushed through the door and nearly stumbled over a large trunk.
He heard a shuffling sound and turned. Something hit him on the side of the head, hard.
James fell, knees slamming on the corner of the trunk. His shoulder hit the floor first, then his head. He turned to look over his shoulder.
It was Clements who had hit him. Stupid, oafish Clements. He stood there grinning at James with his broken-toothed sneer.
The room was spinning, his head shrieking in agony.
“It’s me, for God’s sake—”
“I knew you’d turn,” Peavy said as he stepped from the shadows. “I told Clements, ‘Wait and see. He’ll be coming through the door any second now.’ Get him up,” he ordered Clements.
“Peavy, stop,” James said. “This is wrong!”
Clements pulled James over to Sissel’s writing desk and dumped him in the fine chair.
They had several lengths of good hemp rope from the store. Clements tied him up with it. “Come on, Peavy,” James said. “We’re on the same side. Let’s talk it over.”
“Gag him,” Peavy said. Clements stuffed a hand towel from the washstand into his mouth. James nearly choked.
“You little son of a bitch,” Peavy said, shaking his head. “You came here to warn her.”
Peavy crossed to the door and locked it.
“You are a sorry sort of a Pinkerton, I’ll tell you. I only kept you on because the girl seemed to like you. I had just about given up when you got her to squeal. So there’s that. But otherwise, good God. Sloppy surveillance, poor reporting, hesitation when it came time to act. Worst of all, you got a conscience.
“Well, never mind. It won’t be long now. I hear Mr. Hemstad’s letting school out early.”
James tried to ask what they meant to do.
“Aw, Jamie, you lost the right to ask questions when you walked through that door. Clements, why don’t you help him rest for a while?”
Clements came at James with one of his big hammy fists raised.
“No! Wait!” James tried to say. He reared back in the chair, but there was no escaping the heavy thud and the sick darkness that followed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It was only after Sissel and Alice settled into their seats, laughing, as Stieg gave one final shake of the bell, that Sissel realized James was not at school. Neither was Howie, but Alice whispered that Peavy had paid him double to open the store early for all the prospectors.
Sissel found it strange that James wasn’t there. How odd that he would not come for the certificate ceremony. She felt she was to blame somehow. The awkward strangeness between them had kept him away.
All the younger students were dressed their best. Abigail and Minnie had taken special care with their outfits and hair. Sissel wished, for a moment, she’d curled her hair, but she let go of that thought. She hardly cared what the other older girls thought. They had whispered about her and glared at her all term long. Now she was leaving them behind. It was one thing to be glad of.
Stieg looked worn out, but proud of his students as he handed out the crisp, official certificates. Each student’s name was written in Stieg’s fine, elegant script, along with the levels they had completed, the name of the school, and the date.
Sissel was pleased with her marks. She had passed the ninth-grade levels in history, grammar, and composition and the tenth-grade levels for arithmetic and spelling.
After all the certificates were passed out, several of the younger students came forward with gifts for her brother. There were several apples and a new pencil, and one girl had brought in a small pound cake.
Stieg rose and addressed the class.
“Students, I am proud of our class and what we have accomplished. By fortifying your mind, you protect yourself against folly. Great feeling can cause great destruction—it must be tempered with restraint and wisdom.
“I see no reason why each and every one of you could not pass to the highest grade level and graduate with top marks. You have the stuff within you to be a class of great thinkers.”
Sissel looked at the collection of children, dressed in Sunday clothes but some still missing buttons, ribbons. Only the older girls and boys wore shoes; the rest had bare feet swinging from the bench seats. She felt Stieg might be exaggerating, but the faces of the students were rapt with attention. He had them dreaming of an academic future.
“My charge to you is to continue with your fine work and do not let up until you have graduated grade twelve! With that, I dismiss school.”
Huzzahs and hurrahs went up simultaneously. School was out.
* * *
ALICE INVITED THEM to come for lunch, but Stieg begged off—there was too much to do to get ready to go. She insisted they come to say good-bye on their way out of town. Stieg acquiesced and Alice hugged Sissel a temporary farewell.
“Listen,” he said after Alice had gone. He handed her his teacher’s satchel. “Go and arrange for our trunks to be brought down to the depot. I’ve got the use of two horses from the livery. I’m going to ride for Knut. The train comes through at five twenty p.m. We can make it, but only if you meet us there with all our things.”
“All right,” Sissel said.
Stieg pressed a ten-dollar bill into her hand.
“Where did you get this?” Sissel asked.
“Did you forget? I had the balance of my salary come due today.”
“But I still have money,” she said. “From … what McKray gave me.”
“I forgot about that,” Stieg said. “I’ll keep it then. But listen, if McKray tries to speak with you, you must cut him off.”
“I will,” she said.
“You must!”
“I will!” It was enraging that her brother felt he must always control her. She knew how to behave.
“Very well. I’m sorry to be so strict.” He spun to leave, then called over his shoulder, “Three tickets to Helena.”
* * *
AS SISSEL PASSED the front desk, Collier hailed her.
“Miss Hemstad,” he said. “I understand you will be checking out today.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure you have people lined up to take the room.”
“I just wanted to say, it was a pleasure having you at the hotel.” He looked a bit stiff and uncomfortable giving this compliment. His mustache twitched a bit.
“Thank you, Mr. Collier,” she said. “It’s a lovely hotel.”
He gave a little bow, turned, and began barking instructions to a porter carrying a crate of potatoes.
* * *
SISSEL DUG THE hotel room key out of her satchel and unlocked the door. She had so much to do! Finish packing, call a porter—
Something wasn’t right about the light in her room. She registered something blocking the window. Then she was pulled roughly inside and a thick hand clamped over her mouth. She was so startled she nearly screamed.
James was there, tied to a chair, his head slumped forward.
Next to him was his father, Mr. Peavy.
When the door shut, James looked up. He had been beaten. His right eye was blackened, the skin around it swollen and maroon colored around the lid. He had also bled from the lip. There was a stain on his shirt collar.
Sissel made another sound of surprise, and an unseen man behind her pulled her into his body roughly. He had her arms pinned behind her with one arm while the other hand completely covered her mouth. She could barely breathe
through her nose.
“Easy, Clements,” Mr. Peavy said, and the grip on her mouth was loosened somewhat. Sissel struggled to calm herself so she could breathe.
James was trying to talk to Mr. Peavy though he had a towel stuck in his mouth. He was saying something that Mr. Peavy seemed to understand.
“I’m not going to hurt her, you idiot. My whole job is to keep her safe until the Baron gets here. It was your job, too, until you went and got soft.”
Now a shock went through Sissel’s body. The Baron? The Baron was coming?
Her eyes met James’s.
“Mmm thorry,” he pleaded through the gag.
“If you’d a done your job, you wouldn’t be in this fix,” Mr. Peavy said to James. He was looking at his son with an expression of derision.
All the pieces came into place in a terrible slam that hit her bodily—he wasn’t James’s father—she’d been betrayed.
James. Mr. Peavy. They were on the Baron’s payroll somehow. Oh, she felt sick. Sick down to the bottom of her gut. She wanted to shout at him. To punch him, or kick him. Waves of shame and anger flooded her.
All those moments she’d wondered why James liked her. All those times she’d thought it was a bit too good to be true. She had been right!
Peavy was watching her, and he laughed.
“Yep,” Peavy said. “You’ve been played, little girl. And frankly, you held out a lot longer than any of us expected against young James’s charms. Most jobs, just takes a fella as good-looking as this one just a few days, maybe a week, to get a lady on her back and spilling secrets.”
Here James shouted at Mr. Peavy and struggled against his bonds. Mr. Peavy backhanded him across the face. Blood from his nose flew out in a wide arc to spatter on the carpet.
James’s head lolled forward again. He’d lost consciousness.
“Now, I’d like to talk to you a bit, Miss Hemstad,” Peavy said.
He took his bowie knife from the sheath he wore on his belt. She’d seen him cut rope with that knife often enough in the shop, to tie a parcel or to open a box. Most merchants had a knife at hand.
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