Ophelia

by Charlene Raddon

  Ophelia stood back, watching a white-faced Lavinia descend the stairs with Emerald.

  “My husband is here?” Lavinia asked the marshal.

  “Yes,” Aubrey said. “He won't leave until he hears you say you won't go home with him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Behind me, but don't come any farther than the doorway.”

  Lavinia walked to the entryway. Cordelia stood just outside, a Winchester rifle in her arms, Whited beside her.

  “I will not be coming home, Thomas,” Lavinia told him. “You go. I'll be seeking a divorce. Then you can marry someone else.”

  “What if I don't want nobody else?” he yelled; hands clenched at his sides.

  “I should never have married you, Thomas. You aren't the man I thought you were. I will not let you hit me again.”

  With a snarl, he stepped closer. Aubrey, his hand on his holster by his gun, moved in front of Lavinia.

  Thomas glared at the marshal then back at his wife. “All right. I'll be leaving then.”

  “You do that, Mr. Whited.” Aubrey nudged Lavinia back inside.

  Thomas turned and strolled down the street toward the center of town. He looked entirely too calm. Ophelia thought surely he was up to something.

  When he finally faded into the darkness, Aubrey turned to Lavinia. “Be careful. Don't trust him. He's a hardcase if ever I saw one, and I've seen plenty, believe me.”

  “I'll stay inside the Haven,” Lavinia assured him.

  Cordelia shouldered her rifle and started down the steps. “If you need us, send someone to the jail.”

  “I'll be here,” John said. “He won't get past me.”

  Moving beside the guard, Ophelia thanked the marshal and deputy. “Tell Brody I'll stay with her for a while.”

  “That's not necessary,” Emerald said. By now, the other girls had come downstairs. “She has us to take care of her. You need to be at your restaurant.”

  Certain they hadn't seen the last of Whited, and knowing John couldn't protect all the doors, she made a decision. “I'll leave in a few minutes.”

  Aubrey nodded, and he and his wife disappeared into the night.

  John locked the door.

  “Go on up to bed, Lavinia,” Ophelia said. “I'll stay for a bit before going home to make sure he doesn't double back.”

  John frowned. “I'll be here.”

  “I know, John, and I trust you implicitly, but there are four doors to this building, and you can't watch all of them. I'll be in the kitchen.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Crane. You're right, I can't secure every door at the same time. But, if you hear or see anything suspicious, you yell, all right?”

  “Yes, John.”

  Lavinia hugged her. “Thank you, Ophelia. I'm so thankful I found this place and you.”

  “Come on,” Emerald said, taking Lavinia's hand. “We'll keep you company upstairs.”

  The women went upstairs, and Ophelia moved to the kitchen where she made a pot of coffee. After taking a cup to John, she returned to her post, turned out the lamp, and sat with her gun next to a steaming cup of brew, wondering how things were going at the hotel. Thinking of how well the night had been going gave her immense pleasure. She'd been afraid to count on success. Brody would worry about her not coming straight back, but he'd understand as well, and she knew she could leave the dining room in his hands.

  She wasn't sure when she'd become sleepy and laid her head on the table. A sound woke her. She barely had time to sit up and reach for the Smith and Wesson before Thomas Whited kicked open the door.

  “Get out of here if you don't want a bullet in the chest,” she yelled, staying in the questionable safety of the table. She hoped John heard the noise and would come quickly.

  Thomas spotted her and raised his Colt. “Like hell.”

  She evaded his bullet by ducking into the darkness under the table.

  “Where are you, bitch?” he screamed.

  Ophelia didn't know if he meant her or his wife. “I told you to leave.”

  Through the blackness, lit only by moonlight through the windows, she saw his arm move and knew he meant to shoot at her. She flattened herself on the floor. The bullet slammed into the cupboard behind her.

  Lavinia ran into the room holding a lamp. “Don't you hurt the women here, Thomas. They've been good to me.”

  “Is that so? They been telling you to divorce me? Is that how they've been good to you?” With one fast move, he reached her, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the wall. Crying out and clutching at her belly, she fell to the floor. The glass shade on the lamp shattered on the floor and the flame went out, plunging the room into darkness once more.

  “Stop, or I'll shoot,” Ophelia screamed. Where was John? Why didn't he come?

  Thomas didn't even look at her. He dragged Lavinia up and slapped her so hard, she flew across the room, landing in an indistinguishable heap by the open back door. He stalked toward her, gun in his left hand, right hand balled in a fist.

  “Don't hurt her,” Ophelia cried. “She's with child.”

  “Yeah, my child, and I'll be taking them both home with me.” He buried a hand in Lavinia's hair again and she gasped with pain.

  Terrified he would kill Lavinia right there, Ophelia fired at the ceiling, hoping to scare him into leaving. Instead, he turned, murder in his eyes, and aimed the Colt at her. Ophelia drew in a deep breath. She wasn't ready to die yet. Brody, I need you.

  Thoughts and questions whirled through her brain. Should she shoot? Would he really dare to kill her?

  Thomas cocked his weapon. Her finger, still on the trigger, jerked and the sound of the gunfire rang in her ears. Smoke wafted up to her nose. She stared at the big man in shock, watching as blood soaked his shirt and coat. Her mind spun, unsure what happened.

  Whited's mouth dropped open, and he peered down at the blood seeping from the hole in his chest. His gaze shifted to Ophelia. “Bitch,” he said, and tumbled face-down on the floor. His eyes remained open, staring at nothing.

  Lavinia screamed.

  The dining room door flew open and Aubrey Bowles peeked around the corner into the darkened kitchen, six-gun held ready. John stood behind him, also armed. Ophelia lit the lamp. Cursing at the sight of the body on the floor, Aubrey ran in and kneeled beside Whited. He put two fingers to the pulse point under the man's jaw to check for a pulse. Cordelia went to Lavinia who sat on the floor sobbing.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, helping the woman up.

  Lavinia nodded; her gaze glued to her husband's inert form.

  “He's dead,” Aubrey said, standing.

  Ophelia came from behind the table and held out her gun, butt first. “I shot him.”

  “I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mrs. Crane,” John said. “I had stepped over to the hotel to check on Mr. Duvall.”

  She made a mental note to check with Brody about that later.

  Aubrey took the weapon from her. “What happened?”

  She related everything she could remember. “It happened so fast. He struck Lavinia so hard she landed on the floor. He didn't even care that she's with child. After seeing that, I knew he'd kill us both if given half a chance. I shot at the ceiling hoping to frighten him into leaving. When he aimed his gun at me instead, I… I don't know what happened. The gun went off and he fell. I didn't mean to shoot him. I just did.”

  “It was self-defense,” Cordelia said. “You won't be charged with anything.”

  At that moment, Brody burst into the room. “I heard…”

  His gaze went to Whited on the floor and the pool of blood under him. He hurried to Ophelia. “You okay?”

  “Yes. A bit shaken. I killed Lavinia's husband, Brody. I killed a man.”

  He gathered her trembling body against him, cradling her in his strong arms. “I'm here, sweetheart. Everything's all right.”

  “Oh, Brody, I was so frightened.”

  “I know. You did fine. I'm proud of you. You're a s
trong woman, Ophelia Corrigan.”

  She looked up at him. “I'm not Ophelia Corrigan yet.”

  “You were when I fell in love with you. Soon, you'll be Ophelia Duvall.”

  “That blasted Arkansas,” Mortimer snarled. “Where is he?”

  Arkansas's two pals, Lenny Goldman and Nails O'Toole, stayed by the door, looking uneasy.

  “We don't know, Mr. Crane,” Lenny said.

  “He went to keep watch on that Gentlemen Only place, hoping Brody Duvall would show up there. We ain't seen 'im since.”

  “Isn't there anyone in this damned town I can trust?” Mortimer spat.

  Lenny and Nails exchanged worried glances.

  “You can trust us, boss,” Nails said.

  “Yeah? If I could trust you, instead of telling me you can't find Arkansas, you'd be telling me Brody is dead. I'll just have to go to Wildcat Ridge myself, and you better hope nothing goes wrong here while I'm gone.”

  “Maybe I oughta warn ya, boss.” Lenny crushed his hat with nervous hands. “Your wife's been making changes there.”

  “Changes!” Mortimer poured himself a whiskey. He needed it. “Like what?”

  “Well, the Crane Hotel is now the Corrigan House Hotel.”

  “Corrigan, huh? That was her name before I married her.” He swallowed his drink and poured another. What the hell was she up to?

  Lenny shuffled his feet and scratched behind his ear. “Reckon she has plans for the Gentlemen Only Salon too. She had the sign taken down.”

  Mortimer frowned and muttered vile imprecations. “Looks like it's time I did something about her before she ruins everything.”

  He reached for his rifle on the wall, made sure it was loaded, then checked his six-gun. “You two go saddle my horse. There won't be any trains coming through today. Put that bottle of whiskey in my saddlebag and this rifle in the sheath. I'll leave right away. With some luck, I might be able to get this taken care of and be back here by tomorrow night.”

  Nails went to the door. “We'll see to your horse, boss.”

  “Do that.”

  The two men bustled out, and Mortimer sat down to write a note for his foreman with instructions for the next day's work. He wrapped up some jerky and biscuits left over from supper to put in his saddlebag in case he became hungry.

  Ophelia better have some good explanations for him as to why she's in Wildcat Ridge and treating his property as if it belonged to her.

  A part of him felt eager to see her. Over a year had passed since his last visit to Salt Lake City. Had she changed any? Was she showing her age yet?

  And his brats, what were they up to? Were they with her? How old were they now? About fifteen and seventeen, he figured. It had always rubbed him a bit raw that Dominic bore no resemblance to him. He might have questioned the boy's paternity, but at the time he was conceived, Mortimer felt positive Ophelia wasn't messing around on him.

  After her latest stunts, he wouldn't trust her any more than a three-card monte dealer.

  And Deuce Duvall, what trick did he have up his sleeve? It was no accident he and Ophelia were in Wildcat Ridge at the same time. How long had they been hooked up? The thought of the two of them together made his stomach roil with anger. He wanted to throttle Brody with his bare hands. Maybe her too.

  He'd make that decision when he got there. Just in case, he'd take some rope and a bottle of laudanum. Might find it convenient to render someone asleep. Less trouble than knocking them out. Easier on the knuckles too.

  Finishing his light packing, he went out to find the men waiting with his horse, saddled and ready.

  “Keep an eye on things here, boys. I'll see you tomorrow night.” Kicking his horse, he rode northeast toward Wildcat Ridge.

  “The creek isn't quite as wild as it's been.” Ophelia bent to pick a yellow monkeyflower from the bank of Moose Creek Sunday morning after church. She knew Brody had suggested the walk along the stream to help her recover from the trauma she'd been through the day before. She'd never shot a man until Thomas Whited and prayed she'd never have to again.

  “It's almost July,” Brody answered. “Summer's here. A beautiful day to follow our grand opening of the restaurant.”

  “Yes. Isn't it marvelous?” She stopped walking and scanned the landscape with her eyes, taking in the beauty of the rugged mountains peaks and green forests. “We should be seeing fawns on the hill with their mothers any time now.”

  “I saw a pair of twins up there yesterday.” Brody took her hand and began ambling again.

  “Oh, I wish I'd seen them.”

  They'd started their stroll from the bridge at the north end of Front Street. Frequent use by children and fishermen had carved a path that followed the eastern side of the stream. Birds darted in and out of willow bushes, and flowers added splashes of color among the green vegetation. They reached a pool where the current slowed as it curved around some boulders and a fish jumped out of the water to snatch a mayfly midair.

  Ophelia laughed. “I love it when they do that.”

  “I love hearing you laugh.”

  She glanced up at him, still smiling. “I'm beginning to feel I have more in my life to laugh about. Marzda certainly keeps me entertained.”

  “She's a pistol, that's for sure. Never know what she's going to do next.” Releasing Ophelia's hand, he began to roll a cigarette. “She's doing very well with the bees. It still boggles my mind to see them following her about when she whistles.”

  “It is astonishing. We have three busy bee-boxes now. I'm not sure how long it will take to have useable honey.”

  “I don't know either. I'm eager for a taste though.”

  Ophelia stopped and frowned. “Brody, should we worry about bears getting into the hives?”

  “Hm. I hadn't thought of that. I don't know where we'd move them that would be safe.”

  “What about the deck behind Safe Haven on the second floor?”

  He blew out smoke and tapped off the ashes off his cigarette with his finger. “The residents there may want to use that deck without having to worry about getting stung.”

  Ophelia shooed away a pesky fly. “Could we have a second deck built?”

  “Where?”

  “We could have the deck extended clear across the back of the buildings with a wall to separate people from bees.”

  “It might work. I'll check with Miles, see what he thinks.”

  “Do it soon. I don't want bears coming around the Haven.” She plucked another flower out of the grass and added it to the small bouquet she held. Thinking of the Haven brought back the terrible events that took place there yesterday. She forced them from her mind and changed the subject. “Aren't the flowers lovely?”

  Brody smiled. “If I'd known you liked wildflowers back in Creede, I'd have brought you some every day.”

  Going up on tip-toe, she kissed him. “It would have made me love you more, same as you thinking of it now does.”

  Brody gazed into her eyes a long moment then tossed his cigarette into the creek and kissed her back. “I'm hungry.”

  “I suppose we could go to the café.” Food had little appeal to her today. She looked at the locket watch she wore around her neck. “It's only eleven-thirty, though.”

  He chuckled. “That's not what I'm hungry for.”

  “Oh, you,” she chided as he drew her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. “You're always hungry that way.”

  “You're to blame. All I have to do is look at you, and I want you.”

  “Not yet, Brody. The divorce papers haven't even been delivered to Mortimer yet.”

  “Why is it going so slowly?”

  “I don't know. You'd have to ask Owen. I was too busy with the opening to even think about it.”

  “Not me.” He sighed. “All right. We might as well go have dinner then. I'll be glad when Henri moves to the hotel and starts cooking more than supper.”

  “He's moving in today, you know that.”

  “Shoul
d have moved in yesterday.” He helped her up the steep bank to the bridge.

  By the time they reached the Crystal Café, they were both hungry and fifteen minutes early for the noon meal.

  “Hello, Garnet,” Ophelia called when they entered.

  Garnet came from the back. “Hello. I'm glad to see you. I wanted to tell you how wonderful supper was at the hotel last night. Made me wish I was a better cook.”

  “You're an excellent cook,” Ophelia said. “I hope you don't mind that we're early.”

  Garnet laughed. “Thank you, and it's fine that you're early. Dinner will be ready momentarily. Go ahead and have a seat. There's coffee on the buffet.”

  Ophelia spotted the lovely piece of furniture over against the far wall by the kitchen entrance. “When did you get that? It's beautiful.”

  “Miles has been working on it for weeks and only delivered it this morning.” Garnet ran her hand over the smooth wood. “I love it. I'll keep baskets of rolls and bread there so people can help themselves, along with coffee and an ewer of water with glasses. There's sugar and cream too.”

  “Very nice.” Brody poured himself a cup of coffee, then one for Ophelia.

  “Go ahead and sit,” Garnet invited. “I have to check the stew. You'll have a choice of that or chicken and dumplings.”

  “Chicken for me,” Ophelia said.

  “I'll have the stew.” Brody chose a table and pulled out a chair for Ophelia. Seated, they stared at each other as if they hadn't spent all morning together working on the books and walking along the creek.

  “You are so beautiful.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm.

  “You are such a flatterer.” But she smiled, loving hearing him say that.

  “Are you feeling better? You know, about yesterday?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.”

  The door opened and a little boy slipped inside. Ophelia's heart responded to him immediately. Thin as a rake, the boy's clothes were tattered and caked with mud.

  Garnet came from the kitchen. “Hello there,” she said to the boy.

  “Do you have any scraps, ma'am? My dog is hungry.”

  She studied him. “I'll tell you what. Why don't you come in the kitchen with me? You can help eat up some leftovers, so I don't have to throw them out, and there'll be enough for your dog.”