Wherever You Go

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Wherever You Go Page 15

by Tracie Peterson


  “My father. I killed my father.”

  Ella was so stunned by this revelation that she was afraid to press for more. Not that it would have helped. Phillip had passed out.

  When they reached the Adler house, Ella had the presence of mind to go to the servants’ entrance. She found one of the footmen and asked him to find Mr. Hopkins.

  Once Carson was found and brought to her, Ella explained the situation, and they managed to sneak Phillip up the back stairs as the drunk man tried to rally.

  “Where are we goin’?” Phillip asked.

  “We’re getting you to bed so you can sober up before anyone else sees you in this state,” Ella told him. “Where’s your room?”

  “Top . . . top of the stairs.” Phillip rolled his head over onto Carson’s shoulder. “Howdy, Carssson.”

  “Keep you voice down, Phillip,” Carson countered. “You don’t want to stir up attention.”

  Phillip gave a cough and nodded. He tripped over his own feet, and if Carson hadn’t been helping him, he would have landed on the stairs.

  “I’m so afraid he’ll get in trouble for this.” Ella tried to help Carson, but he was all but carrying Phillip at this point.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see he gets sobered up. Alice and I are headed back to Adler’s country place first thing in the morning. We’ll take Phillip with us. Can you get the door?”

  “Of course.” Ella scooted past Carson to the room at the top of the stairs. She opened the door and found the light. It was hardly more than a broom closet. One tiny bed was positioned along the length of the room, and at the foot of that was Phillip’s trunk. The width of the room barely left two feet of passageway beside the bed.

  Ella stepped out of the way to let Carson and Phillip in the room. “Help me get him undressed,” Carson said.

  Ella hesitated only a moment. She took Phillip’s coat from Carson as he worked to maneuver it off Phillip’s body. Next he took off the tie that had already been unknotted and unbuttoned the bloodstained shirt. Ella worked on the cuffs while Carson began to pull Phillip’s arms from the sleeves.

  “I’ll leave him his pants and save his modesty and yours,” Carson said. With a little push, he had Phillip sitting on the edge of the bed. “If I let go of him, he’s going to fall back. Can you get his boots off while I hang onto him?”

  Ella glanced down at Phillip’s feet. “Of course.” She quickly lifted his left leg and pulled his boot off, then did likewise for the right. Once this was accomplished, Carson carefully pushed Phillip back and then reached down and raised his legs.

  “He’ll have a powerful headache in the morning, but I’m bettin’ he’s had worse.”

  “Thank you for helping me.” She glanced at Phillip stretched out on the bed. He’d managed to sleep through most of the ordeal. She wondered about his past and what he’d done to cause the death of his father, but it wasn’t the time to seek answers. She looked back at Carson. “I hope he won’t get in too much trouble.”

  “Well, it was a night of celebration, and he wasn’t on duty. Still, I know how the Brookstones feel about their people drinking.”

  Ella recalled Lizzy’s concerns about her uncle and didn’t see how he could condemn the poor wrangler for a sin he too shared.

  “Hopefully they’ll understand. Like you said, it was a night of celebration.”

  Ella walked away shaking her head. Phillip hadn’t been drinking for the fun of it. He was trying to wash away a burden of pain and sorrow. He was drinking to forget his past.

  fourteen

  Wes counted the minutes until the train would finally arrive at his London stop. He repeatedly pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time, then replaced the watch in his pocket. He had mulled over and over what he would do the minute he found Jason Adler, and none of his thoughts were good. He glanced out the window, hardly seeing the brick row houses, and wondered how anyone could be so despicable. He huffed for at least the tenth time since taking his seat.

  “The burden you’re carrying seems to weigh you down, son. And while I no longer hold the pulpit, I still consider myself a man of God, if you wish to unburden yourself.”

  Wes had ridden in this train compartment with the small, balding man for over twenty minutes. Why had he chosen now to speak up?

  The old man smiled. “I suppose you think that rather presumptuous of me, but I can’t bear to see one of God’s creatures suffering.”

  Wes smiled. “I didn’t know my problems were so visible.”

  “I say, you’re an American.” The man seemed positively delighted. “I thought you were by the hat. It’s the style cowboys wear, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Wes laughed. “And I wear it because I am a cowboy. From Montana—one of the western ranching states.” He extended his hand. “Wesley DeShazer.”

  The old man smiled and shook his hand. “You can just call me Father Paul. Everyone does.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Father Paul.”

  “Likewise.” The man took off his gold wire-rimmed glasses and then pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket. Wiping his glasses, he waited for Wesley to continue.

  “You are very astute, I have to say. I’m in a bad way.”

  “And what—or maybe I should ask who has brought about this bad way?”

  “An Englishman who hopes to steal my fiancée.” Then, without thinking twice, Wes spilled the entire story. He told Father Paul about the Brookstone show and Lizzy’s part in it and then explained Jason Adler’s dirty deeds. “By the time I got back to the ranch and realized Mrs. Brookstone had never sent the telegram, the rest of the troupe was well on its way to London. It’s probably a good thing it’s taken all this time to catch up with them, because I might have beat Adler to death.”

  Father Paul nodded, finished cleaning his glasses, and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Anger has a way of controlling us, to be sure. We often do things in angry haste that we’d never consider in calmer times.”

  “Well, I still intend to confront him and remove my fiancée from his presence.”

  “You say she’s a performer with this wild west show. Will she accept your demand that she leave the show?”

  The question took the wind from Wes’s sails. “No. Probably not. She has been taught from the time she was young that the show must go on under all circumstances. She won’t approve of what Jason did, but she will feel obligated to stay.”

  The old man nodded and put on his glasses. “She sounds like a remarkable young woman. So few young people seem to care about commitments these days. They pledge themselves to one thing or another, without any real intention of honoring their promises.”

  Wes felt a momentary stab of guilt. “And if I insist she leave, it will cause no end of problems for the troupe and her family . . . not to mention us.”

  “Yet it will be hard to continue doing business with a man who obviously stoops to untold depths to get what he wants.”

  “Yes.”

  The train rolled over a rough spot in the tracks, and the men were jostled hard toward the window. The old man smiled and straightened as if nothing had happened. “Life is full of unexpected discomforts.”

  Wes rubbed the spot where his elbow had hit the armrest. “More than I ever expected. Definitely more than I wanted.”

  “And yet you’re so young and full of life. Some might even call you blessed.”

  “I am blessed.”

  The older man smiled at this declaration.

  Wes stopped rubbing his elbow and smiled. “I am blessed.”

  “Just remember, son—God never promised His children a life without complications. The devil may be trying you, but he had to get God’s permission to do so, just as he did with Job. Satan isn’t all-powerful, and even if God allows him to try you, that doesn’t mean God ever leaves you unprotected. Jesus told Peter that Satan had asked to sift him like wheat, but Jesus had prayed that his faith wouldn’t fail. He wasn’t leaving Peter without help, a
nd He’s not leaving you without help either. This man may well be the devil in human form, but that doesn’t mean God ever intends for you to face him on your own.”

  “That’s the thing—I don’t think this man is the devil.” Wes felt his anger ease. “He’s been honorable in every other way. The problem is, he’s in love with Lizzy. I can’t fault him for that. She’s a wonderful woman. I fault him for not honoring the relationship we have. I fault him for lying and cheating to try to steal her from me.” He chuckled. “Maybe he is the devil.”

  Father Paul laughed too. “Well, he’s doing the enemy’s work nevertheless, so you must not give him any room for a foothold. The real battle isn’t with this man, but with the one who influences him to act in such an underhanded fashion. Remember what Ephesians six says. ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’ This battle is beyond you and can only be won with Christ.”

  The train began to jerk and slow as they approached the station. Wes considered Father Paul’s words. They were like a calming balm upon his soul. Perhaps because most of what he said was taken directly from the Bible. “Thank you, Father Paul. I guess I needed that reminder.”

  “We all do from time to time. Therein lies the value of spiritual counsel and ecumenical services. But where that cannot be found through God’s servants, God Himself will provide through His Word and Holy Spirit. I will be praying for you, Wesley.” Father Paul dusted off the front of his brown tweed suit. “And just so you know, I plan to attend the performance of the Brookstone troupe. I had it planned even before I met you.”

  Wes grinned. “Well, be sure to come back to where the performers and animals are prior to the show. I’ll be there with the horses . . . or with Lizzy. I’d love to introduce you to her.”

  Father Paul smiled. “I’ll do my best to locate you.”

  Lizzy found Uncle Oliver doubled over and heaving into a chamber pot. His skin had a pasty yellow hue, and his eyes were bloodshot. No doubt alcohol had played a role in this.

  “Oh, Uncle Oliver, what can I do?”

  He tried to wave her off. “It’s nothing. Just a stomach complaint. I’m sure I’ll be fit as a fiddle in an hour or so.” He moaned and pressed a hand to his abdomen.

  Lizzy sat beside him on the bed. “My father once told me how you pulled him from the Yellowstone River one June when the floodwaters were raging and he’d gone after a calf.”

  Oliver nodded. “It nearly got the best of us both. Your father had roped the calf, but the current was so strong that it started pulling him and his horse into the river.”

  “Father said you were on dry ground, and you roped his horse and started pulling him back from the water.”

  “Yes. It wasn’t easy, because the pull of the river was so violent. But gradually, inch by inch, we were successful. I pulled your father to safety, and he pulled the calf.”

  Lizzy put her arm around his shoulders. “Well, maybe I can return the favor. Maybe I can rope you this time and pull you to safety.”

  Oliver studied her face for a moment, and tears came to his eyes. “Oh, Lizzy. I don’t think you can pull against this current.” He threw up again but had nothing left to expel.

  “I’m calling for a doctor, Uncle Oliver. We’ll start there. Now, let me help you back into bed.”

  “But there’s a show tonight. I must be well.”

  “We’ll make Jason play your part. He’ll do it very poorly, but it will teach him your value.” Lizzy stood and pulled back the covers. Uncle Oliver had never looked smaller or weaker—so helpless. She wanted to burst into tears but forced a strength she didn’t really have. “Now, come on.”

  “I suppose I’ve little choice. Do you really think Jason can manage?”

  “He’ll do just fine, or I’ll do it myself,” Lizzy said, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Now, don’t leave this bed. I’ll be back shortly.”

  An hour later, Lizzy listened as the doctor rendered his verdict. “Your uncle, as I understand it, spent a good deal of his youth and adult life drinking heavily. I am of the opinion that he is suffering several maladies related to that and his age.”

  “What maladies?” Lizzy asked.

  “I believe he is having a buildup of bile and other toxic fluids in his abdomen,” the doctor declared. “It is also of my opinion that he has a cirrhosis of the liver, which is causing a failure of his vital organs.”

  Lizzy fisted her hands to steady her nerves. “What can be done?”

  “He must rest, and he must cease drinking alcohol.” The doctor’s words were said firmly, without room for question. “There is no other hope. If you will not heed my warning, sir, it is my opinion that you will be dead within the month.”

  “No!” Lizzy went to her uncle’s side. “Is there nothing else to be done? No surgeries or medicines?” She took Oliver’s cold hand.

  “Nothing. He must remain in bed for the next six weeks.”

  “I can’t do that. I have a job to do,” Oliver protested.

  “You can and you will, Uncle. I’ll tie you to this bed if I have to.” Lizzy saw the shock in the doctor’s face but didn’t care. “I will see that he does as he’s told.”

  “Very well. I will leave some powders that, when mixed with water and even a bit of honey, should settle his stomach and help with detoxification. There must be no more alcohol.”

  “Do you hear that, Uncle? No more drinking or you’ll die.”

  “I hear you,” Uncle Oliver said with resignation.

  Lizzy turned back to the doctor. “Thank you for coming. What do I owe you?”

  “Mr. Adler told me that he will see to my bill. Good day.”

  Lizzy gave the doctor a final nod, then waited until he’d left the room. She knew the others were waiting downstairs to hear what was going on with Oliver, but first she wanted to speak with her uncle.

  “You heard him, Uncle Oliver. This is serious. I believe we should end the show and return home immediately.” She sat down beside him, still holding his hand.

  “No. You can’t do that, Lizzy.”

  “But our time here is nearly done. We haven’t that many more shows anyway. I’m sure Mr. Adler can manage the cancellations and arrange our passage home.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Uncle Oliver looked embarrassed and lowered his gaze to the bed. “We have an obligation, and to fail to see it through will forfeit everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.” His voice was weak. “Adler tied it all together. If we leave now, we’ll lose the money owed to us and perhaps even suffer penalties.”

  “But how can that be?”

  “It’s just the way Jason set things up. We were able to get last-minute accommodations onto the schedule that way. I thought at the time it was a risk but not overly dangerous to our welfare.”

  “But now it is. It’s dangerous to your welfare.” Lizzy shook her head. “Why did you ever agree to that?”

  “I had to, Lizzy. We needed the money, and the shows in England were bound to pay out even better than those at home. Especially with Henry supplying our room and board. Say nothing to anyone. I’m ashamed that it’s come to this.”

  “I won’t say anything,” Lizzy promised. She drew a deep breath. “But in return, you’re going to promise me that you’ll stay in bed the next six weeks.”

  A knock sounded on the door, and Jason Adler and his father entered the room. “We spoke with the doctor,” Henry announced. “I understand this is quite serious.”

  “It’s a matter of life and death,” Lizzy replied. “I was just suggesting we return immediately to America. . . .” She stopped short of revealing that she knew the truth of the financial arrangement.

  Jason gave her a sympathetic smile. “Now, now. We needn’t cancel the show. The doctor said that your uncle needs rest for at least six weeks. He can remain here and recover f
rom his sickness while you finish the performances. Once that is complete, we will take him by ambulance to the ship and then back to America, if he’s up to it. Otherwise he can continue to convalesce here. I will oversee it all.”

  “And I will help,” Henry added. “Oliver, you have been a dear friend, and I will spare no expense to see you have what you need. In fact, I’ll accompany you back to the States. I have business there anyway.”

  “The show still needs an announcer,” Oliver reminded them.

  “I’ve already thought of that,” Henry admitted. “I believe that between Jason and me, we can make those announcements. Elizabeth can help us put together a script with details about each performance.”

  The idea struck Lizzy as completely feasible. “Yes. That will work. We’ll never be as good as you are, Uncle, but it will see us through and allow you to rest.”

  “I suppose there is nothing more to be done,” Oliver said, closing his eyes. “I hate letting you down, Lizzy.”

  She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You aren’t. You’re going to rest and get well, and that will be your gift to me.” She looked at Henry. “Will you let the others know what’s happening? I know they’re very worried.”

  “Of course.” He came to Lizzy’s side and took her hand. “I don’t want you to worry about a single thing. Your uncle is dearer to me than my own brothers. I will see that he has every comfort.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Adler. I appreciate your heart in this.”

  “Be reassured that I have it under control.” With that, he left the room, though Jason remained.

  “You’ll see, Oliver. You’ll be on the mend in no time. I’m confident of your recovery,” Jason declared. “Lizzy and I will see that you want for nothing.”

  She didn’t like the way he linked her name with his, but she said nothing. “Jason, you must make it clear to your staff that my uncle is, under no circumstances, to receive any alcohol.”

  “Of course. I’m certain Father has already addressed the matter, but you can be confident that it will be done.”

 

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