Beyond the Trail. Six Short Stories

by Jae

  Donovan nodded. He slipped out of his coat and started to undo the buttons of his pants.

  “No.” Tess picked up the coat and handed it back to Donovan. “Not today, Jeffrey.” She had shared her bed with Donovan before—not because she found him desirable in any way, but simply as a means to ensure his loyalty. Today, she just didn’t have the time or the patience to humor him.

  Donovan clenched his jaw and jerked his coat back on.

  “It’s better if you aren’t seen spending too much time with me anyway,” Tess said, trying to placate him. “We wouldn’t want the sheriff—or your wife—to find out about our association.”

  “Right,” Donovan said.

  Tess stepped closer and straightened the collar of his coat for him, letting her hand trail over his chest for a moment. “We’ll have our own little celebration as soon as we find the money.” Nothing like giving him a bit of an incentive. She hid a grin.

  Donovan licked his lips and finally retreated from the room.

  Independence, Missouri

  September 13th, 1856

  “That’s a lovely color, Frances,” Sara Donovan said, leaning over the table to take a closer look at the work in Frankie’s embroidery hoop.

  Frankie finished the center of one tiny flower with a French knot and paused, the needle resting securely between her index finger and thumb. “My late husband brought back the embroidery silk from his last business trip. He loved to surprise me with little gifts,” she said with a grave expression. Frankie had never been married, nor had she ever received gifts from men, but the three women in Mrs. Donovan’s parlor didn’t know that.

  Mrs. Donovan laid down her knitting needles to pat Frankie’s hand.

  “I wish my husband were more like that,” one of Mrs. Donovan’s friends murmured. “He never brings me back anything when he’s away on business.”

  The two other women nodded.

  “Never?” Frankie looked from woman to woman, finally resting her gaze on Mrs. Donovan. She wasn’t interested in the answers of the other two women.

  “Well, Jeffrey brought back a new apron from Salt Lake City once,” Mrs. Donovan answered.

  Now it’s getting interesting. Frankie daintily sipped her tea, hiding her acute interest. “Does your husband have to travel to Salt Lake City a lot?”

  “No.” Mrs. Donovan shook her head. “He’s hardly had to travel at all in the last few years.”

  Frankie looked up from the tiny, olive green leaf she was stitching. “I hope that doesn’t mean his business is not going well?”

  “Oh, no, not at all.” Mrs. Donovan proudly lifted her head. “As far as I can tell, business is going just fine.”

  As far as I can tell. Frankie suppressed the urge to grimace. Befriending Sara Donovan had been a waste of time. As long as there’s enough money for her to spend, she doesn’t care where it comes from. I bet she has never asked her husband about the details of his job. She stared down at the embroidered linen without really seeing it. So if Donovan’s wife is clueless, maybe I should take a closer look at his mistress. The question is just how.

  For once, being a woman had her at a disadvantage. With other assignments, it had mostly worked in her favor, giving her options her male colleagues didn’t have. And if her female charms reached their limits, she could always become Frank Callaghan. She was as convincing in the role of the young man as she was playing the rich widow. But slipping into male disguise wouldn’t be enough this time. Getting close to a prostitute to find out more about her would inevitably mean sharing her bed. And as pleasurable as that would be, Frankie, it would surely blow your cover. She stared at the needle in her hand, trying to come up with a plan.

  Independence, Missouri

  September 14th, 1856

  Tess wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and held her head high, ignoring the glances of the townspeople who were on their way home from church. Hypocrites. The men who were now ignoring her and who had eagerly nodded to the preacher’s sermon against sin and sinners would just as eagerly try to share her bed tonight.

  Over the years, Tess had grown used to it and had learned not to react, but deep down, being constantly slighted hurt nonetheless. She walked on, rounding the corner on her way to the stage driver’s home. By tomorrow, the stage driver would be on his way to Salt Lake City again, and Tess had a few questions that brooked no delay.

  Only her quick reflexes prevented her from colliding head-on with Sara Donovan and three of her friends.

  Mrs. Donovan grazed her with a contemptuous gaze and mumbled something Tess didn’t even want to understand. Two of the younger women in Mrs. Donovan’s entourage put their heads together and started to whisper, no doubt sharing the latest gossip about Tess. Then, like all the other proper townswomen, they quickly crossed to the other side of the road.

  Tess’s gaze followed them. She looked at Mrs. Donovan, one of her fiercest enemies in town. I wonder how you would react if you knew how familiar I am with your husband. Or maybe you already know, and that’s why you hate me so much.

  Just as Tess wanted to continue on her way, Mrs. Donovan’s newest friend, a brown-haired, slender, and altogether ordinary woman, turned.

  Tess straightened her shoulders, preparing for another hostile glare.

  Instead, the stranger looked at her with compassion, respect, and just the hint of a smile.

  Tess blinked. When she opened her eyes again, the woman had turned back around and was hastily catching up with her friends.

  For a second, Tess was almost convinced that moment of contact had never happened, but she could still feel the woman’s gaze resting on her, brief as that glance had been. No one had looked at her like that in a long time. Five years, her precise mind supplied, and a mental picture of Luke and Nora formed in her mind’s eye. Hope you’re well, my friends. While she was glad that Nora had managed to leave the brothel and start a new life with Luke, she sometimes missed them.

  But Tess wasn’t one to dwell on the past and on things she couldn’t have, so she forced her thoughts back to the present and to Mrs. Donovan’s new friend. The woman was probably new in town and didn’t know who—and what—Tess was. Next time you’ll meet her, she won’t look at you the same way—if she’ll look at you at all. Mrs. Donovan will waste no time informing her about your depravity. Tess lifted her chin. Well, it’s not like you need her approval. You’ve got better things to do than worry about what people think.

  Straightening her dress with one hand, Tess knocked on the stage driver’s door.

  * * *

  Later that night, Tess made her way down the brothel’s hallway, stopping in front of every door to listen for a moment. Grunts and moans came from behind Molly’s door, and someone was snoring in Rose’s room. Satisfied that her girls were all right, Tess continued on her way to her office.

  It had been a quiet evening, so Tess had retreated much earlier than usual. Feeling restless, she had decided to head upstairs and write a letter to Nora and Luke, something she often did when she needed to talk to someone she could trust.

  She opened the door to her office and waited until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness before she crossed the room to light the kerosene lamp on her desk. After groping around for a few seconds, she found the matches and lifted the glass chimney.

  A sudden sound stopped her from lighting the match.

  Tess paused and listened in the darkness.

  There it was again. A scraping sound came from just below the office’s window.

  Tess had lived a dangerous life, and she had learned to be cautious. A prostitute didn’t reach the ripe old age of thirty-six by being careless. Quickly, she let go of the chimney and ducked down behind her desk.

  Everything was quiet; only the sound of her own breathing echoed loudly in Tess’s ears. Guess I’m imagining things.

  She was about to get up from behind her hiding place when the scraping sound came again.

  Tess froze and held her
breath.

  Metal scratched over wood. Slowly, the office’s small window was forced open.

  Tess pressed herself against the desk. Her hand shot down and reached for the Philadelphia Deringer hidden in one of her garters.

  Boots thumped on the floor as an intruder slipped through the window and landed just a yard away from her.

  Tess didn’t give him time to orient himself. She had to take advantage of the few seconds his eyes needed to adjust to the darkness in the office. She jumped out from behind the desk and cocked her weapon’s hammer.

  A loud click reverberated through the office.

  The intruder stood stock-still.

  “I don’t know who you are, thief, but if you move a muscle, you’ll be dead,” Tess said. Her voice was as hard and unyielding as the barrel she pressed against the intruder’s side.

  Slowly, the intruder lifted his hands, showing Tess that he was unarmed. He didn’t speak, and his back prevented the moonlight from falling into the office, so Tess had no idea who he was.

  “Light the lamp so I can see your face,” Tess said. She nodded toward the kerosene lamp on the desk. “Slow movements.”

  The intruder’s hands didn’t tremble as he lit the lamp and turned up the wick.

  The flickering light revealed a stranger’s face. If Tess had ever seen him before, she didn’t remember. She wouldn’t blame herself. There was nothing memorable about the man. Everything about him was average: his height, his build, his clothes, and even the brown hair sticking out from under his unremarkable hat. “Who are you?” Tess encouraged an answer by waving the Deringer at him.

  “I’m not a thief,” the intruder said. Even his voice was average, neither deep nor high-pitched.

  “Oh, really? You could have fooled me.” For some reason, Tess didn’t feel threatened by the intruder, but she kept on her guard nonetheless. “For someone who is not a thief, you are awfully good at scaling balconies and breaking into houses.”

  The intruder gave a nod as if Tess had just paid him a compliment. “Thank you,” he said, humor coloring his voice. “This is the first time I ever got caught. You’re awfully good too.”

  “That’s what all the visitors who come up here say,” Tess answered. “Most of them have the decency to come through the door, though.” She lifted the Deringer a little, now aiming right between his eyes. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  No answer came.

  “If you don’t want to answer me, maybe you’ll be more talkative with the sheriff,” Tess said.

  The stranger smiled as if he knew she wouldn’t call the sheriff.

  Getting impatient, Tess took a quick step forward and knocked the hat from his head with her free hand, revealing more of his face. I know this face! Never forgetting a face was part of what had ensured Tess’s survival all these years. She tried to remember where she had seen him before. Wasn’t he one of the men playing poker with the doc earlier this week?

  Tess stepped closer to study him, careful not to give him any chance to take the weapon from her. She shoved the muzzle under his chin, forcing him to lift his head and look at her.

  Their gazes met.

  Tess gasped and took a step back. “It’s you!” The brown eyes might have been unremarkable when it came to their color, but something in the stranger’s gaze was anything but average. Tess identified it immediately, even when her logical mind told her it was impossible. This is the woman who was out for a walk with Mrs. Donovan.

  The mysterious stranger shifted from foot to foot. Tess’s exclamation and her wide-eyed gaze had managed what the Deringer couldn’t: making him—or her—nervous. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you,” Tess said.

  The stranger shrugged. “All right. Yes, I’ve visited your establishment before. I played poker with a few—”

  “No.” Tess slashed her hand through the air. “I saw you with Sara Donovan. You were wearing a dress.”

  “Oh, you mean Frances, my twin sister.” The stranger laughed, but to Tess’s trained ear, it sounded fake and nervous.

  Tess hesitated. It’s the most logical explanation. Still, it didn’t feel right. A twin sister might have the same height, the same hair, and the same brown eyes, but she wouldn’t look at me with the exact same expression. No. She shook her head. These were the eyes that had looked at her with respect while Sara Donovan had thrown contemptuous glances her way. “You can’t fool me,” she said. “I’ve met others like you.”

  “Others like me?” The stranger tilted his—or her—head.

  “Women who prefer living their lives in male disguise,” Tess said.

  The stranger stared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a woman. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Tess stepped closer, careful to keep the pistol trained on the stranger.

  “Yeah, it’s completely—”

  Tess didn’t listen. Her free hand shot up and pressed against the stranger’s chest.

  With a sound of surprise, the stranger tried to jump back and escape Tess’s hand, but Tess was too fast.

  Tess’s dexterous fingers slipped beneath the jacket. “Well, this is definitely the finest breast I’ve ever felt on a man,” she said, a little out of breath from their struggle. She gently squeezed the bound breast beneath the shirt.

  The stranger froze, her chest heaving under Tess’s hand.

  “Tess?” Molly’s voice came from the hallway. Her steps came closer. “That bastard Billy refuses to pay and—”

  Tess half-turned and shouted, “Stay back!” She didn’t want one of her girls to get involved in a potentially dangerous situation. “I’ll be there in a—”

  Strong hands shoved Tess back.

  Refusing to let go of the weapon, Tess couldn’t break her fall with the hand closest to the desk. Her hip collided with the edge of the desk. Pain shot through her. Gritting her teeth, Tess whirled around, pistol at the ready to face another attack.

  It never came.

  The place where the stranger had stood was empty.

  “Dammit!” Tess rushed to the still open window.

  A drunken customer staggered down the street, but the mysterious stranger was nowhere to be seen.

  “Tess?” Molly called again. “Everythin’ all right?”

  Tess sighed. No. Nothing in her life seemed to be all right anymore. Someone was stealing her money, and now this strange woman had broken into her office. Tess closed the window and stepped into the hallway. “Everything’s fine, Mol.”

  Donovan’s Boarding House

  Independence, Missouri

  September 15th, 1856

  Tess peered through the partially open stable door. Her eyes burned, and she suppressed a yawn. By Tess’s standards, it was still early in the day. After a late night settling disputes between her girls and the customers, she had dragged her tired body out of bed to keep an eye on the boarding house across the street.

  The door of the boarding house had opened a few times and lodgers had stepped out, but it was never the woman who had broken into Tess’s office last night.

  Tess knew the boarding house was where she was staying, though. It wasn’t hard to find out when you were the boarding house’s owner and had access to the establishment’s books. A week ago, a young gentleman had signed in as “Frank Callaghan.” According to the porter, the young man was traveling with his sister, a wealthy widow.

  “Wealthy widow,” Tess murmured. “I bet her wealth and her late husband are as fake as everything else about her.”

  The boarding house’s door opened once more, and her mysterious burglar stepped out, taking a second to adjust her hat. To the world, she was the perfect gentleman.

  She’s good. There was nothing feminine about the way the stranger moved. Her stride and her gestures were confident, as if she had spent a lot of time in male apparel and was entirely comfortable in her disguise.

  Tess waited until the woman who called herself Frank Callagh
an had disappeared down the street, then she quickly crossed the street and slipped into the boarding house. A few words to the porter, one of very few people who knew where his wages really came from, and she had the master key that would open the door to Frank Callaghan’s room.

  Callaghan had picked the out-of-the-way room at the end of the hall.

  Tess let herself in, closed the door behind her, and looked around.

  The bed was already made, and the room was kept tidy and clean. There were no personal belongings, nothing that gave away whether it was a man or a woman who had rented this room.

  Tess looked under the bed and rummaged through drawers. Two dresses hung in the closet, side by side with a man’s suit. Tess let her hand trail along the jacket, recognizing it as the one her intruder had worn the night before. She furrowed her brow when she felt the contours of something in the jacket. “What’s this?” She slipped her fingers into the jacket’s inside pocket.

  It was a small notebook. Its owner had apparently forgotten to transfer it to the jacket she was wearing now.

  Tess opened the notebook. On the very first page, she found detailed information about the stage line transporting money and goods between Salt Lake City and Independence. All the departure times, the stations along the way, and the names of the stage drivers were written down in clear, bold letters.

  “I knew it!” Tess waved the little book in the air. She had known it couldn’t be just a coincidence—the strange woman had befriended Sara Donovan, had rented a room in Donovan’s boarding house, and had broken into Tess’s office. She’s the one who is stealing my money! Now the question is, is she working alone. And what is she planning next?

  Tess turned the page. The information on the next page made it obvious that the stranger had watched Jeff Donovan for quite some time. She had written down details on his house, his wife, and his daily routine, including where he preferred to eat, when he left the house each morning, and how he spent his lunch break.