“Like I said, Neal was a very humble man. And the town has already done so much. That statue…” She still couldn’t get over the size of it.
The mayor sat forward and planted his pudgy hands on the desk. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Blackwell. And I’m sure you’re right about your husband’s modesty.”
“Oh, I am,” she said. Sensing that her argument had failed to persuade him, she quickly changed tactics. “Perhaps the city would consider naming the school after someone else,” she said and, hoping to appeal to the high opinion he had of himself, added, “Perhaps someone like yourself.”
“Well now,” he said, looking both pleased and flustered. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
Feeling hopeful, Ellie-May leaned forward. “I’m sure that many others would agree with me.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s true.” The mayor’s mouth drooped at the corners. “But I’m afraid it’s out of the question.”
“Oh?” Ellie-May frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“The sign is already in place for the dedication. To have a new one made at this late date would involve needless time and expense.”
She dug her fingers into the purse on her lap and silently chided herself for not raising an objection earlier. “I see,” she said.
“I’m sure the town will see fit to…uh…” He cleared his throat. “Honor me at a later date.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, of course.”
“As for your husband…I’m sure he would have understood. Neal Blackwell was a fine man.” The mayor’s jowls wobbled as he spoke. “And I know he would want to do what’s best for Haywire. It’s not often that a town can claim its very own hero.” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket. Thumbing the case open, he rose from his seat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”
Trying not to let her disappointment show, she gathered up her purse and stood. In her haste to leave, she dropped a glove and stooped to pick it up. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Feel free to stop by at any time.”
“Thank you.” Ellie-May left the office feeling worse than when she’d arrived.
9
The sun hovered low in the sky by the time the train chugged into the Haywire station. Jesse had slept during the entire trip, his head bobbing against Matt’s shoulder with each clickety-clack of the tracks. Now Matt shook him awake.
He’d made sure the boy had been well fed before starting on the journey, but there hadn’t been time to do anything about his clothes, and he looked like a ragamuffin. The quick sprinkle of cold water back at Ranger camp hadn’t done much, either, to improve his appearance. What Jesse needed was a good scrubbing from head to toe.
“You’re home,” Matt said.
Jesse blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stood. Yawning, he followed Matt off the train without saying a word.
Outside, they waited for Matt’s horse to be unloaded from the animal railcar. “Will you be all right?” Matt asked. “Do you want me to talk to your pa?”
Jesse shook his head. “Pa don’t care where I am.”
Matt clamped down on his jaw. How could a man be so uncaring of his own son?
“What’s our plan?” Jesse asked, and it was evident from his voice that he had regained his usual enthusiasm. It was amazing what a ton of food could do for the boy. That and some shut-eye.
Matt glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. He didn’t want anyone knowing why he was back in town. Even his captain had expressed surprise that Matt had wanted to return and check out the boy’s story.
“We don’t have a plan,” he said sternly. “I work alone.” Had he hoped to discourage Jesse, he would have been sorely disappointed.
Instead, Jesse looked as determined as ever. “What’s your plan?”
Matt sighed. “That’s for me to know. No one else.” Jesse’s description of the man seen talking to Blackwell had left much to be desired. According to Jesse, the man was of average height, weight, and appearance. He sported a mustache and a crooked nose, but so did most of the male population in town. No other outstanding features or scars were mentioned.
Matt placed a hand on Jesse’s bony shoulder. Finding such an average-looking man without involving Jesse would be a challenge. But even if he didn’t need Jesse’s help, he was concerned about the boy’s welfare.
“You done good, son. Now go home and get some rest.”
“Can’t. If I don’t show up for work, I don’t get paid.”
Matt blinked. “Work?”
“Yeah. I work at the Pittman Coffin Shop.”
Matt frowned. “You work at a coffin shop?” That hardly seemed like the place for a boy Jesse’s age to spend his time.
“Only on Wednesdays,” Jesse said and swiped a strand of hair out of his eyes. “On Saturdays, I work at the general store, and on Mondays, I work at the telegram office.”
“You have three jobs?” Matt regarded the boy’s unkempt appearance with a frown. “What do you do with all your money?”
“I give it to Pa.”
“’Course you do,” Matt muttered under his breath. Jesse no doubt thought he was helping his pa and probably didn’t have a clue that he was making it possible for his father to continue along his destructive path.
“What?” Jesse asked.
“Nothing.”
Jesse wrinkled his nose in thought. “If I see the man again, where do I find you?”
“For now, I plan on staying at the hotel.” Matt drew his hand away from the boy’s shoulder. “Listen to me. I don’t want you snooping around. You hear? If this man is guilty of a crime, there’s no telling what he might do. You could get hurt. Understood?”
When Jesse failed to answer, Matt pressed him harder. “Understood?”
This time, the boy nodded, but it was clear he was reluctant to do so, and that had Matt worried.
* * *
Ellie-May sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed as she did every night to listen to her prayers.
Alicia knelt on the floor, hands steepled, eyes squeezed shut. Her long, blond hair—braided to keep from tangling in her sleep—fell down her back in two long ropes.
“God bless Mama and Lionel and Anvil,” she murmured. “And bless Papa in heaven. And please, God, make the chickens lay lots and lots of eggs. Amen.”
Alicia jumped to her feet and quickly climbed into bed. Ellie-May drew the bedcovers up to her daughter’s chin. Though the days had turned warm, the nights were still chilly.
“Lots of eggs?” Ellie-May asked, curious. Since when did chickens make it into nighttime prayers?
Head on the pillow, Alicia gazed up at her with a funny little smile. “It’s almost my birthday,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement.
Ellie-May groaned. “Oh no. Not the music box again.” It seemed like that had been all Alicia could think about since seeing it in Gordon’s General Store.
At mention of the music box, Alicia’s smile practically reached her ears, and Ellie-May felt a tightness in her chest. Leaning over, she tapped her daughter’s small upturned nose. “I’ve already explained that we can’t afford it.”
“But Papa would want me to have it,” Alicia said. “I know he would.”
“Shh. You’ll wake Lionel.” Ellie-May glanced across the room at her son’s bed.
Despite her warning, she doubted a fired cannonball could wake him. The boy slept as hard as he played. Turning back to her daughter, she took Alicia’s hand in her own and spoke softly. “Now how do you know what Papa would want?”
“Because the music box played the song Papa used to sing to me,” Alicia said. “‘All the Pretty Little Horses.’”
Ellie-May stared at her. She vaguely remembered the music box playing that tune but had forgotten that Neal
used to sing it to the children before bedtime. No wonder the music box had left such a lasting impression on Alicia.
In many ways, it seemed that Neal had become an even larger presence in death than he’d been in life. The town had turned him into someone Ellie-May hardly recognized. Were her children having the same problem relating the town hero to the pa they once knew and loved? Was that why Alicia had become so obsessed with the music box? Because it brought back memories of the pa with whom she could better identify? The father who had tucked her in bed each night? The father who had told her stories and sung to her?
Ellie-May laid Alicia’s hand on the counterpane and reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s late,” she said. “And you have school tomorrow.”
Grateful that her daughter had dropped the subject, at least for now, she tucked her in, then crossed to Lionel’s bed. He’d practically fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. The long eyelashes feathering his rosy, round cheeks made him look almost angelic, and Ellie-May felt a tender stirring in her heart.
While both children took after her side of the family appearance-wise, Lionel was sensitive, like his father, and that was a worry. If the truth came out about Neal, there was no telling what it would do to Lionel. Alicia would take it hard, but she would express her feelings openly. Her brother, on the other hand, would keep everything inside.
Dropping a kiss on her son’s smooth forehead, Ellie-May turned off the lamp. She remained in the darkened room for a long while, comforted by her children’s even breathing.
When she’d first held each of her babies in her arms, she’d vowed to give them the kind of life that had been denied her. A life that would allow them to hold their heads high and not feel ashamed. A life filled with goodness and beauty. A life filled with promise and hope.
And here, she couldn’t even give her a daughter a coveted birthday present. Now that Ellie-May knew why Alicia wanted it, it near broke her heart to have to tell her no.
But Papa would want me to have it. I know he would.
Her daughter’s words ringing in her head, Ellie-May tiptoed from the room and quietly closed the door. Leaning her forehead against the smooth, cool wood, she tried to think. She should have known that the music box had something to do with Neal. It wasn’t like Alicia to be so obsessive and not take no for an answer.
Ellie-May drew away from the children’s room, her mind in a whirl. She had to do something, but what?
She thought for a moment before hurrying to the kitchen. Reaching on the high shelf over the counter, she grabbed hold of the porcelain cookie jar and dumped the contents on the table. The pitiful pile of coins represented her hard-earned savings for the past three months. Even so, they added up to little more than $1.50. She couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t even enough to buy her son a much-needed pair of new shoes.
She counted the coins twice to make sure she’d not made a mistake and returned them to the cookie jar.
Leaving the kitchen, she headed for her bedroom and rummaged one by one through the dresser drawers. She’d cut up most of Neal’s clothes to make shirts for Lionel, so many of the drawers stood empty.
Finding nothing of value, she checked her jewelry box. She’d tried twice to sell her mother’s mourning brooch, but because it had belonged to an outlaw’s widow, no one had wanted to touch it. She reached for the man’s gold pocket watch. After holding it for a moment, she returned it to the jewelry box. It was the only thing left of Neal’s of any value, and she was saving it for Lionel.
She kept searching. There had to be something she could sell that would fetch enough money to buy the music box. There just had to be.
10
The following morning, Ellie-May dropped the children off at the Masonic Lodge. Since the school had burned down, the lodge had provided temporary classrooms.
Dreading what she was about to do, she then headed straight for the heart of town, a single mission on her mind. Fearing the loss of courage, she urged her mare, Jingles, to go faster.
The wagon bounced along the narrow dirt road leading to the town center, dust churning beneath its wheels. Eyes squinted against the glaring sun, Ellie-May kept her mouth clamped tightly shut to keep out the dust and flies.
She kept her focus straight ahead. She didn’t even glance at the soon-to-be dedicated new school. Nothing must be allowed to distract from the task she’d set for herself.
Reaching her destination, she guided her horse to the side of the road next to the water trough and set the wagon brake. It took several quick breaths before she could bring herself to walk into Gordon’s General Store, but nothing could be done for her pounding heart.
“Morning, Mrs. Blackwell,” Mr. Gordon called from behind the counter.
Not trusting herself to speak, she returned his greeting with a nod and started down the aisle. Her back to the counter, she opened her purse and fingered the single banknote inside.
Last night, she had pried a tread off the porch steps and reached for the bag hidden beneath the porch. She’d been tempted, oh so tempted—God forgive her—to take out more than just a single note. Oh, what she could do with all that money!
Lionel needed new shoes, and Anvil could use a warmer place to stay before next winter. The roof was in desperate need of repairs, and the chicken coop would soon have to be replaced. The list went on and on. It had taken every bit of willpower she’d possessed to help herself to just the one bill and put the rest back.
The single bill was enough to pay for the music box and settle the rest of her account. Gordon might wonder where the money came from, but she doubted he would ask. If he did, she would make up some story about a deceased uncle on Neal’s side.
The thought made her feel sick to her stomach. More lies. Would there ever be an end to them? Or an end to the shame she felt for taking even that small amount of money?
It felt wrong, all wrong. She snatched her hand from inside her purse and snapped it shut. Never before had she taken anything that didn’t belong to her.
If only her heart would stop pounding and her knees would stop shaking. If only she didn’t feel so guilty. It was only one banknote. One out of what had looked like hundreds stuffed in that old gunnysack.
Standing in the aisle, she closed her eyes. Was it stealing if you took something that had already been stolen?
“What can I do you fer, Mrs. Blackwell?” Mr. Gordon called.
She opened her eyes. “N-nothing,” she stammered. “I’m just looking.” She then pretended to study a bolt of calico.
She envisioned her daughter’s face when she opened her gift on the morning of her birthday. Ellie-May now knew that it wasn’t just a music box Alicia had wanted; it was the memory of her father that she craved. Not the town hero, not the statue, but the pa who only she and Lionel had known and loved. The pa who’d sung “All the Pretty Little Horses” to her every night as he’d tucked her in her bed.
Never did her daughter need to know that the father she adored was a thief. Nor must she ever know that her mother was now one, too.
The squeezing pain in her chest almost made Ellie-May double over. She suddenly felt ill. Hot. She reached into the sleeve of her dress for her handkerchief and dabbed her damp forehead. Her children need never know the truth, but that still didn’t make it right.
She’d spent nearly a lifetime trying to prove that being an outlaw’s daughter didn’t make her one, too. But it had all been for naught. All the accusations she had endured through the years had been proven true. Ellie-May Blackwell was now officially a thief.
It was this last thought that sent her fleeing from Gordon’s shop.
Outside, she stopped to gasp a mouthful of air and gather her wits about her, but that was easier said than done. Such was her distress that it took a moment before she became aware of the commotion across the street.
Frowning, she watched Sheriff Keeler drag a protesting youth by the ear. Just as she started for her wagon, she thought she recognized the boy’s voice. She whirled about for a closer look. The boy’s hat had fallen off, revealing a mop of ginger hair.
Dash it all, it was Jesse James. Just as she’d thought!
Fueled by a maternal instinct to protect the motherless boy, she picked up her skirts and rushed after them, stopping only long enough to swoop the boy’s slouch hat from the middle of the road.
Mindless of the stolen money in her purse, she darted around a horse and buggy, raced up the boardwalk steps, and followed Keeler and the boy into the sheriff’s office.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
Sheriff Keeler released the boy and tossed a pair of handcuffs on his desk. Looking pale and shaken, Jesse pressed his back against a wall and rubbed his left ear.
The sheriff looked none too pleased to see her. “I’m teaching this boy a lesson, that’s what!”
“By dragging him through the streets like a common criminal?” Her body shook with rage. “He’s only thirteen!”
“I don’t give a fiddle how old he is. He has no right accusin’ people of doing things they ain’t done! Now if you want to pay his fine, he’s all yours. If not, git out of here and let me do my job.”
She glanced at the boy, and her heart ached at how thin he looked. How pale. Tossing his hat to him, she asked, “How much?”
The sheriff sneered. “More than you can afford,” he said.
She clutched her bag in her hands. “How much?” she asked again.
Behind her, the door burst open, and someone entered the office. Keeler glanced past her to the newcomer before answering her question.
“Five dollars or five days in jail.”
She winced. She hated the thought of Jesse spending time in jail—absolutely hated it. But to pay his fine with stolen money was plain asking for trouble.
She was still debating what to do when Matt Taggart stepped to her side. Surprised to see him back in town, she gaped up at him, not knowing what to think. He looked taller than she remembered—looked even more commanding. He seemed to take up all the air in the room, and she suddenly had a hard time breathing.
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