by Donna Dalton
“Dr. Rumney’s is an expensive brand that can only be imported from England. Not many folks in these parts can afford such a luxury.”
Major Allen hovered over the seated agent, a tactic the commander used quite often and quite successfully to bring insubordinates in line. Yet Finley didn’t cower. Hardly even batted an eyelash. Ballsy for a Nancy.
“You have no proof that tin is mine or that I was even at the Bowen place.” The agent jabbed a finger in Preston’s direction. “Besides, how do we know the lieutenant didn’t plant it there and concoct this absurd tale to shift the blame to someone else? He has a soft spot for the Indians. I observed his kowtowing during our talk with Chief Red Wing.”
Preston fisted his hat brim. He’d like nothing better than to wipe the smug lines off Finley’s face. But now was not the time to give rein to his anger. “Are you calling me a liar, Finley?”
“If the shoe fits…”
The man’s haughtiness grated like sand trapped inside his boots. It took all his willpower to keep his feet firmly planted to the floor. He forced restraint into his tone. “I’m glad you mentioned shoes… I also found a shod hoof print stamped in yellow-tinted horse manure near where that tin was dropped. If I recall, the stable master administered a tonic to your ailing mare that turns manure yellow. What are the odds those droppings and that shoe print came from your horse?”
Finley’s left eye twitched slightly. Not enough to condemn the man, but enough to indicate he’d struck a nerve.
“You cannot find me guilty based on a hoof print or yellow horse droppings.”
“Men have been hanged for less…much less.” Despite his efforts, venom spewed up and spiked his voice.
Major Allen gave him a cautionary look—one he’d best not ignore. Not if he didn’t want to be directing latrine duties for the next month.
Preston snapped his mouth shut and stood down. Finley should be grateful he was being judged by a level-headed man like Major Allen. If it were up to him, the cretin would be swinging from a noose.
An outsized map of the territories hung on the far wall. He picked out several ideal spots for abandoning Finley. Inhospitable and barren. Let the snake see how he would fare with just arrogance and sarcasm for sustenance.
Major Allen strode to the desk and tossed the tin next to a stack of papers. “You are correct, Mr. Finley. We cannot find you guilty on such tenuous evidence.”
“Good.” Daylight shined between the chair seat and Finley’s ass. “Then I’ll just be going—”
“Sit down,” the major thundered.
When Finley failed to comply, Preston hooked a hand on his saber grip and took a step forward. The agent looked from him to Major Allen and back. The commander remained pointedly mute. Finley plopped back to the chair with a disgruntled huff.
“As I was saying,” Major Allen continued in a more level tone. “It is my opinion that this situation requires a thorough investigation.”
“There’s nothing to investigate. I am innocent.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Major Allen turned to the door and called for his adjutant.
A split second later, Simpson appeared in the doorway as if awaiting his commander’s call. Eager and intuitive. Good qualities to have in an aide. Major Allen could read men like books and stacked the good ones around him. Finley didn’t stand a chance against the adroit commander.
“Escort Mr. Finley to the jailhouse, Sergeant Simpson,” the major said. “Have the guards lock him in a cell until further notice.”
Preston smiled inwardly. Preferably in the same jail cell with Black Hawk. He’d pay for prime seating to watch that clash.
Finley squirmed on the chair, his face seething. “You cannot do this, Major. I’m a civilian. I have rights.”
“Not on my post you don’t. You will be detained while we look into your activities of the past few months. If nothing untoward is found, you will be released.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Preston couldn’t hold back any longer. Finley’s insolence had drained his last ounce of self-restraint. He leaned toward the agent, using height to push home his point. “You’re going exactly where you belong, Finley…behind bars.”
Finley shoved up his chin. “I have friends in Washington. I’ll have you court martialed for this. Both of you.”
Major Allen’s mouth twisted into a smile that was miles from reaching his eyes. “We’ll see just how loyal those friends of yours are. A telegram has been sent to Washington to determine if the treaty provisions were requisitioned for the Red Ground tribe and if so, why they were not sent. You are at the very least culpable of dereliction of duty.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I did.” Major Allen flicked a hand. “Take him away, Sergeant.”
Simpson snagged Finley by the collar and dragged him out of the chair. The agent’s face went from blotchy red to gray to white. He looked as if he might spew. Preston moved back a step. The varmint could rot in his own soilings for all he cared.
The adjutant hauled Finley out of the door, and seconds later, blessed silence returned. Preston eased his shoulders down. That took care of the flea, now to soothe the bitten dog.
“Word will get out about Finley’s arrest, sir. What should we do about the Creek scouting party? Chief Red Wing won’t sit idle for much longer. He’ll want them released.”
“We’ll continue to hold them for now. Make certain of their innocence before letting them go. Red Wing will just have to be patient.” The major moved behind the desk and settled in his chair. “How confident are you of Finley’s culpability?”
“Not as certain as I am that Black Hawk and his warriors are innocent, but pretty damn close.”
“Good enough.” Major Allen adjusted his spectacles and sifted through a stack of documents. “Since you already have a head start on the investigation, I’m putting you in charge. Find out what Finley would gain by attacking the Bowen homestead.”
He would leave no stone unturned. He snapped a brisk salute. “Very well, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I will begin making inquiries.”
“Just a minute, Lieutenant. I have some news for you.” The major slid a piece of paper from the pile and held it out to him. “You will have to be quick with your investigation. Your request for transfer was approved. You’re expected at Fort Sill by the end of the month.”
A combination of relief and dread trotted through him. This definitely put a ticking clock on his plans. He’d need an answer from Meredith and soon.
“I’ll be sorry to see you go, Preston,” the major said with uncharacteristic familiarity. “You’re a fine officer and a great asset to my staff. The troopers under your command have turned into exemplary fighting men. But I understand your desire to move forward with your career. If you ever want to come back, the gate to Fort Dent will always be open.”
High praise from a man he admired and respected. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding.”
A door screeched open in the ante-chamber. Footfalls clapped on the floorboards and then Meredith filled the doorway, her chest heaving as if she’d run a footrace. Her gaze tripped over him.
“You cannot do this,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”
Chapter Thirteen
There were no mirrors draped in black or a casket with a groomed body to mourn. Yet the house was funeral parlor quiet. There should be laughter and brotherly squabbling, the shush of little feet and the clap of excited hands. Instead, there was only darkness and silence. Silence so deafening, her ears rang with the clamor.
Meredith clawed at the laces clutching her chin. She needed air. Now. She ripped the bonnet from her head and drew in several deep breaths. If a person could suffocate from sorrow, she should be purple and bloated.
Footfalls clicked in the hallway. She briefly closed her eyes and drew on the last bit of strength left in her bones. She wouldn’t let this setback defeat her. She would be strong. For the children.
For her sanity.
Golden lamplight flooded the parlor, and Jana appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard the door open. Vere you able to speak with anyone about getting the children back?”
Meredith crumpled the bonnet in her fisted hand. “I spoke with Major Allen, but no decision has been made yet. The children are still being held by Harriet Allen and her cronies, although the major did agree to allow Mrs. Clement to remain with them. At least the children have her for comfort.”
“I am so sorry, Meredith.” Jana hung her head. “My past choices haf hurt everyone.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, Jana. You did what you had to do. It’s those evil women who can’t see past their righteous noses who are at fault.”
“I vish there was something I could do.”
So did she. But there was nothing either of them could do. The fate of the orphans rested in the hands of Major Allen, a man who had never been blessed with children of his own. How could he possibly understand the trauma a child endured when being removed from those they loved and trusted and forced to live with strangers?
Preston appeared in the hallway behind Jana. Strength and understanding shimmered in his eyes. She ached to anchor herself on his solid shores. He was just what she needed, yet nothing she could have.
Jana stepped to one side. “Good evening, Lieutenant Booth. Please…come in.”
Preston swept off his hat and moved into the parlor. His towering presence chased the shadows from the darkened corners and eased her anguish enough that she could breathe without struggle.
“Vould either of you care for something to eat? I stewed a chicken for supper. There is plenty left.”
The way her stomach churned, she doubted anything would stay down. “I’m not hungry. Thank you, Jana.”
Preston shook his head. “None for me either, Mrs. Valder. Thank you for asking.”
“Vera well.” Jana set the lamp on a side table. “I vill take to my bed then. It has been a long day. Call out if you need anything.”
As Jana left the room, the morbid silence returned. Meredith crossed to a chair and braced her hands on the back. The glass had been swept from the floor, and the shattered window covered with a board. Yet the malicious deed still hovered in the air, cold and cloying as the perfume of death lilies.
Footsteps thudded into the room, and then Preston was there, his essence wrapping around her like a blanket. She rested in the folds.
“Are you all right, Meredith? You didn’t say two words between here and the fort.”
If she let out a single word, agony would gush from her like a spring thaw. It thrashed just below the surface, roaring to be released. She took a step back, and her foot struck something. It was Robbie’s primer, laying spine up on the floor. He’d dropped it when those ruffians had broken the window. She retrieved the book and clutched it to her chest. There was no give to the hard covering. No soft breaths. No squirming. No clean, soapy scent.
“I miss them so much,” she whispered on a ragged breath.
“I know you do. But it won’t last for long. Major Allen is a reasonable man. He seemed taken aback by his wife’s fanatical behavior and with your revelation that the girls suspect she might be putting something in his coffee to make him ill. I’m certain he will see through his wife’s rantings and order the children returned to you.”
Her throat grappled with a sob. “What if he doesn’t?”
“No one is more devoted to those children than you are. You treat them like they are your own. It’s hard not to see that.”
“In my heart, they are my own.”
Anna’s doll peeked from behind the chair. The strength went out of her knees. She sank to the floor and gathered the dolly, squeezing it and the book to her as if they might turn to smoke and vanish. Tears burned in her eyes. She couldn’t hold back a moan. It scrapped up her throat and spilled over her lips.
“I let them down, Preston. I failed them.”
He knelt and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. There was no more fight left in her.
“You have not failed them, Meredith.”
“But I have. Many times. I’m not fit to be their guardian.”
His lips brushed the top of her head, a gentle kiss that spoke volumes. “You are more fit than any woman I know. You have courage and conviction. Love and patience. Don’t give up on the children or on yourself.”
He was so positive, so grounded. He tethered her to the earth when she just wanted to float away. She tipped her head back and met his steady gaze. “Thank you, Preston. Your confidence means more than you know.”
“It’s only the truth.”
“I’m blessed to have a friend like you. Someone I can lean on during the dark times.”
“You don’t need me or anyone else. You’re a strong woman, Meredith. You would have survived this misfortune just fine without me.”
Something darted across his face—guilt, sadness? Her pulse fluttered. “What is it, Preston? Is there something about the children you’re not telling me?”
He shook his head. “Not the children. It’s me.”
“You? What about you?”
His gaze travelled over her, slowly, reverently, as if stamping her image in his mind to save for later. “I’m leaving soon.”
The finality in his tone made her heart sink. “Leaving? Are you going out on a patrol?” Please let that be all he meant.
“Not on a patrol. My request for transfer came in. I’ve been reassigned to Fort Sill. I’m due there at the end of the month.”
He was leaving her. She would never again be comforted by his tender embrace. Never be encouraged by his steady, confident voice. It was too much. The book and doll clattered to the floor. Everything was lost.
The arms holding her fell away, and he started to rise. Panic squeezed her chest. She grabbed for him. “No, don’t go.”
He stilled. “I’m not leaving…at least not right now. I was going to look for some spirits, a nightcap to take the edge off an exhausting day. I could use one. I’m sure you could too.”
It would take an entire barrel of spirits to dull her pain. She pried reluctant fingers from his arm. “There’s whiskey in the kitchen pie safe. Jana kept a bottle on hand for her…er, guests. Glasses are on the cupboard.”
As he left the parlor, she gathered the doll and book and pushed to her feet. She set the items on the table beside the chair and grazed a finger across the hard cover and over braided yarn locks. Robbie and Anna would return. All the children would. She had to think positively. If she didn’t, she’d sink into a black pit and might never climb out.
Preston returned with two glasses half-filled with amber liquid and handed her one. “Mrs. Valder has good taste in whiskey. It’s Old Crow, a smooth Kentucky bourbon.”
She accepted the glass and took a sip. Fire coated her tongue and scorched her throat. She drew in a raspy breath. “Smooth, you say?”
A smile stretched into his eyes. “It is an acquired taste.”
She managed a smile of her own. “I prefer something a bit milder. Back home in Pennsylvania, our cook would make a crock of cherry shrub every summer. Juice from fresh Morello cherries sweetened with sugar and spirited with a gill of brandy. On especially hot days, we’d mix it with cool spring water. Quite invigorating.”
Talk of the happier times at Hickory Hills blunted the sharpness of her pain. As did the whiskey. Subsequent sips took much smoother journeys down her throat. Her body and mind softened. She sank onto the chair with a moan.
Preston settled on the settee across from her. “You don’t speak much about your life before coming to the territories. Tell me more about your home in Pennsylvania.”
Oddly, she wanted to share every little detail, wanted him to know all there was to know about her…well, not everything, not yet. There wasn’t enough liquid courage in her glass for that. The more mundane aspects would have to do for now.
“I grew up on a cattle farm just n
orth of Philadelphia. Hickory Hills, my father called the estate, for the vast number of hickory trees growing on the property. We would gather the nuts every fall. Some were used for cattle feed, others for ourselves. Although, I don’t miss the shelling part. Once you finally managed to break through the rock-hard hull, you have to pry the meat out with a small pick.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’d be worth the trouble.”
“Oh, it was. Cook would toast the shelled meat and mix it in with a sweet batter. I had a hickory nut cake for every birthday that I can remember. Anna will be turning six soon. I just know she would enjoy a delicious cake with mounds of icing and…” Sorrow returned, snapping at her with sharp-edged teeth.
“Everything’s going to be all right, Meredith. You’ll be back with them before you know it, celebrating birthdays and all the other special events in their lives.”
She blinked back a fresh round of tears. Any more leakage and her insides would turn into a desert. “I want to believe that; I really do. But I just can’t stop the dark thoughts from creeping in. Everything I have ever touched has turned to ash. Why should this be any different?”
Preston set his empty glass on the side table and leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “It’s going to be different because I say it will. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you and the children are brought back together.”
An eternity ago, he hadn’t given two hoots about separating her and the children. Now, he vowed to do whatever it took to reunite them. This was the man who made her feel alive for the first time in years, the man she admired and respected, the man who had stolen her heart.
“Thank you, Preston. You don’t know what that means to me.”
He sandwiched her hand between his. She briefly closed her eyes and savored the comforting sense of being protected, of being cherished. It may be a long time, if ever, before she felt this way again.
His hands slid away. “You’re exhausted. I should go. Let you get some rest.”
Her veins turned to ice. If he left, the darkness would return, smothering her with its black void. She clutched his arm. “No. Don’t go. I-I don’t want to be alone.”
