The Heart's Charge

by Karen Witemeyer

  “Will you be working here in the morning?” Wallace asked as he released the kid’s hand.

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Donaldson lets me sleep in the loft.”

  Mark swung his saddlebags over his shoulder. “Great. If you have our horses saddled and ready by seven, there’ll be another pair of nickels in it for you.”

  Wart straightened his thin shoulders. “They’ll be ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wallace paid the boarding fee, then turned to leave. Jonah started to follow but caught sight of another kid hiding behind the livery wall. Wart made a shooing motion with his hand, and the second kid’s face disappeared. Wart glanced over his shoulder, probably checking to see if either of his customers had noticed. Jonah kept his face blank and continued his departure.

  “If you need a place to stay for the night,” Wart blurted, his voice shakier than it had been a moment ago, “the saloon might have rooms. People been talkin’ ’bout how the railroad’s gonna build a big hotel here one o’ these days, but they ain’t done it yet.”

  Jonah faced him. Met his gaze. The kid’s eyes pleaded, as if he knew Jonah had seen the other boy. He probably wasn’t supposed to have friends around while he was working. Jonah saw no reason to tattle.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I don’t cotton much to fancy hotels anyhow. Prefer mindin’ my own business and lettin’ other folks mind theirs.”

  Wart’s posture sagged in relief. “I know whatcha mean.” A smile stretched across his freckled face. “See ya tomorrow.”

  Jonah tapped his hat brim, then lengthened his stride to catch up to Wallace. The railroad depot was placed prominently in the center of town, surrounded by pens for livestock. Cattle and hogs, mostly. A two-story school building stood proudly nearby, an impressive building for such a small town. But with darkness setting in, a fellow need only follow the noise to find the saloons.

  Wallace led them to the larger of the two and strode up to the bar while Jonah took his customary place in the shadows near the door. Some places tolerated his kind, but few offered genuine welcome. More than one establishment had encouraged his departure with a loaded shotgun or the belligerent escort of a group of locals eager to work out their frustration over a poor hand of cards on a black man who dared breathe the same stale air as them.

  So far, the folks here seemed more interested in the entertainment down front than the stranger keeping his own company at the back of the room. A fella banged out a peppy tune on a piano and sang while a group of three females in bright dresses that dipped low in the front and high at the ankle danced to the beat. They swirled their skirts and stamped their feet, showing off a thick froth of petticoats as the patrons clapped along.

  Jonah didn’t waste time watching the show. He examined the room instead, keeping an eye out for trouble. A few hostile looks came his way, but no one cared enough to leave their drinks, cards, or companions to follow up on them.

  “They’re full up.” The sour look on Wallace’s face told the true tale. The lack of vacancy was tied directly to the company Wallace chose to keep. “Bartender said there’s a couple who sometimes take in boarders on the other side of the tracks. He recommended we check there.”

  A Negro couple, no doubt.

  “Truth be told,” Wallace ground out as he strode for the door, “I was glad to learn about the Jacksons’ place. I’d much rather give decent folks money than contribute to a place whose business is liquor and cards. Probably has better food too.”

  Jonah knew better than to offer to go to the Jacksons’ alone. The Horsemen always stood together. It was one of the things he appreciated the most about Hanger’s group. They all had equal standing, not only within their foursome, but in presenting a united front to outsiders as well.

  ’Course, things might get dicey if the Jacksons didn’t feel comfortable having a white man under their roof. “Better let me do the talkin’ this time.”

  “Glad to.” Mark winked. “My tongue’s plumb tuckered out.”

  Jonah scoffed. The day Wallace grew tired of talkin’ was the day Jonah would grow tired of sittin’ a horse.

  Thankfully the Jacksons proved more hospitable than the saloonkeeper once Jonah vouched for his partner. The boarding space they offered was part of an old carriage house out back. Half the place was being used for storage, but Mr. Jackson had laid brick to corner off a section to accommodate guests. It had a bed, a chair, a washstand, and a small bureau that would suit their needs fine. A room away from the main house meant more quiet. More privacy. Two things that would come in handy if a pair of Horsemen needed to discuss how best to investigate a case that may or may not be legitimate.

  Once inside, Wallace tossed his saddlebags onto the bed. Jonah dropped his into the corner and stood his rifle against the wall. Wallace propped his rifle next to the head of the bed, then sat on the edge and started pulling his boots off. Jonah claimed the chair but left his boots on. He never put himself at a disadvantage when staying in a strange place. He’d learned long ago that it was best to be ready to run or fight when surrounded by strangers. No matter their skin color. So, boots on, valuables stored on his person, and guns within reach. Hence the lack of debate over who got the bed. Whichever Horseman bunked with him knew not to ask. He always opted for the floor.

  “So, what case did we pick up?” Wallace asked, his patience holding out an entire thirty seconds longer than Jonah had expected.

  “Might be nothin’,” Jonah warned.

  Wallace didn’t blink. “But it might be something.”

  “Yeah.” Jonah frowned. His gut hardened as disturbing possibilities darkened his mind. “Someone in these parts might be snatching children.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Where’s Wart this morning?” Mark slid the dime in his palm back into his trouser pocket as he grinned up at the bowlegged fellow traipsing out of the livery.

  Donaldson scratched at a scraggly beard more gray than brown, his bushy brows angling down in a V of frustration. “Scamp ran off in the middle of the night. No warning or nuthin’. Just left me high and dry. If you gave instructions, I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of ’em. I’m guessin’ the gray and the chestnut belong to the two of you. I can have ’em saddled in fifteen, if ya don’t mind waitin’.”

  Mark’s nape tingled as it did when he was out on patrol and something didn’t seem right about the landscape. He glanced at Jonah. His partner’s face confirmed his own unease.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mark said, keeping his tone light and sympathetic despite his concern for Wart. Folks tended to talk more freely when they believed their audience possessed an understanding ear. “The boy seemed eager to make a few coins last night. I’m surprised he didn’t stick around to earn them. Maybe an emergency came up at home?”

  “Wart ain’t got no family in these parts. No home neither, unless you count the loft I been lettin’ him sleep in.” The livery owner stretched his suspenders out and ran his thumbs up and down beneath the elastic bands. “He’s one of them boxcar boys. I knew I shouldn’t o’ trusted him. Bunch of thievin’ scalawags. He swore he gave up riding the rails, and he had a good way with the horses, so I took him on. ’Sides, I ain’t gettin’ any younger. Need help watchin’ the place at night. Worked out good for a while. Then this.” His arms gestured wide, and the suspenders popped off his thumbs to snap against his chest. “Guess I learnt my lesson.”

  Mark and Jonah shared a look.

  Jonah stepped forward, touching his hat brim in deference. “You can hold off on the chestnut for now. I got a few errands to run around town. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  The liveryman jerked his chin toward Mark. “You still want the gray?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Donaldson waved a hand as he pivoted back toward the livery. “I’ll have him ready in a jiffy.”

  Jiffy was a bit optimistic, Mark thought, watching the man’s slow, lopsided gait. But he wasn’t in a hurry. K
ate wasn’t even expecting him.

  He leaned close to Jonah, careful to keep his voice low. “Let me know what the deputy has to say. And if you get the sense he’s not being forthcoming with you, I can take a run at him this afternoon when I come back to question the teacher.”

  During their plotting last night, they’d decided Jonah would question the local law to see if anyone had reported missing children. Mark would take charge of the schoolmarm, see if she’d noticed anything unusual lately or heard any chatter about kiddy-snatchers during recess patrol. If anyone had heard about children disappearing, surely it would be one of those two community members.

  “I think I’ll pick up a train schedule while I’m at it,” Jonah said. “If we come up dry with the adults, we might get some answers by running these boxcar kids to ground.”

  Mark nodded. “Good idea. I’ll ask Kate about it as well.” Hopefully in a subtle enough manner to avoid causing alarm. He didn’t want to scare her. Just see what she might know.

  “Hey, Donaldson,” Jonah called to the livery owner, who’d just led Cooper into the tacking area. “You handle wagon repair? I got an axle that needs replacin’.”

  Donaldson shook his head as he retrieved a bridle from a numbered hook on the livery wall. “I can do minor stuff, but any axle work will need to go to the wheelwright in Llano.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  Mark shot his partner a questioning look.

  “Noticed a significant crack in the wagon’s rear axle yesterday.” Jonah fit his hat lower over his eyes as if worried his gaze might give away more than he wanted to reveal.

  Like an attraction to a certain Harmony House headmistress.

  Mark pushed his hat higher on his forehead, letting all the smirkiness in his eyes dance around in full view.

  Jonah grunted and turned away.

  Mark chuckled. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one with an ulterior motive for hanging around a foundling home.

  Five minutes later, Donaldson had Cooper saddled and ready to go. Mark slung his saddlebags behind the cantle, then slid his rifle into the scabbard. In a well-practiced motion, he fit his left foot to the stirrup and mounted. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” he said.

  But not before he and Kate finally got around to those explanations that had never quite materialized yesterday.

  “So. Are you going to tell me about Mr. Wallace voluntarily, or am I going to have to order the twins to tickle it out of you?”

  Katherine lifted her gaze from where she’d been hiding it in her teacup and looked across the table at Eliza. Her best friend had sacrificed her normally perfect posture in favor of a more intimidating stance that included crossed arms, a single raised brow, and the Southerland death stare. The one that brought misbehaving children to their knees in the classroom and spurred bureaucratic feet-draggers into action when a child’s welfare was at stake. Unfortunately, it had a similar effect on Katherine, crumbling her resistance as if it were no sturdier than the day-old biscuit she’d used to break her fast.

  “It’s not a story I’m particularly proud of,” she confessed. Yet ever since Mark had appeared at the door yesterday, she’d been able to think of little else. Their history had even invaded her dreams, twisting into a convoluted mess of emotions and obscured facts that had left her more tired than rested when she awoke.

  Eliza’s intimidating expression melted away in an instant. She leaned forward in her chair, scooted her empty breakfast plate out of the way, then reached for Katherine’s hand. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. Just know that nothing you say will diminish my respect for you. I know your heart. Your passion for those discarded by others. None of us is perfect.” A smile broke across her face. “Especially when we’re sixteen. That’s how old you would have been a decade ago, right?”

  Katherine nodded. Her pride insisted she sprint down the escape path Eliza had kindly ungated, but her conscience wouldn’t allow such cowardly behavior. Perhaps if she got those memories out of her head and into the real world, she could finally put them to rest.

  “We were so young,” Katherine said, thankful the children were out of earshot, occupied in the schoolroom upstairs. Eliza always let them play for thirty minutes before she started lessons. It helped them expend some energy and allowed the adults a quiet breakfast before the day began in earnest.

  Nostalgia relaxed her tense muscles and tugged her lips into a small smile. “All the girls were infatuated with him. Handsome. Tall. Athletic. But that’s not what drew their attention. Not really. Mark had this way about him that was just so genuine. He got a little cocky at times, yet never in a cruel way. He cared about people. Listened to what they had to say. It didn’t matter if they were cranky old men with a laundry list of complaints or children barely old enough to have a full set of teeth. He charmed them all.”

  A small harrumph emanated from Eliza’s side of the table.

  Katherine shook her head. “I know you think charm is a weapon wielded by manipulators and the insincere, but that wasn’t the case with Mark. His sincerity was his charm.”

  Eliza looked less than convinced. “So how did this Prince Charming break your heart?”

  “He didn’t. I managed that feat for both of us.” Katherine sighed. “Mark was two years older than me in school, but our families were close. We both shared an interest in music as well, so we were often paired together for school and church functions that involved singing or performing. I had a terrible crush on him, although Mark never let on that he knew. He didn’t show favoritism to any of the girls. My mother explained his need to be careful in that regard. Handsome young men from fine families were considered a great coup, and some girls—and their mothers—would not be above trapping such a young man into marriage. The Wallace family honor would never allow a lady’s reputation to be marred, so even if Mark was the victim of a self-serving girl’s scheme, he wouldn’t cry off.”

  Katherine swallowed the last bit of her tea, her face scrunching at the lukewarm temperature. Strange how something so perfect when hot left a bad taste in her mouth after the passage of time. Much like her own folly with Mark. In the heat of the moment, she’d been so sure she was doing the right thing, but time proved her choice not only foolish, but distasteful.

  “There was another girl my age, Paulina Higgins, who was determined to catch Mark’s eye. She flirted with him outrageously and went out of her way to thrust herself into his path whenever possible. I was terribly jealous of her. Even at seventeen, she possessed one of those figures that turned men’s heads. Including Mark’s. She acted as sweet as pie when young men or their mothers were around, but she turned viper-mean with the girls she considered competition.”

  Katherine forced her fingers to unclench from around the teacup. Taking a breath, she moved her hands to her lap so she could wring her napkin into a wrinkled mess without fear of her old resentments breaking the china.

  “Paulina bragged about how she and Mark were destined to be together. How they were perfectly suited, although I couldn’t find anything they had in common beyond youth and good looks. She didn’t care about Mark’s musical talent or his dreams to join the Boston Symphony. But then, Paulina sang like a drowning cat, so music wasn’t exactly on her list of interests. She couldn’t even play a phonograph in tune.”

  Eliza made a choking noise that sounded a great deal like a stifled guffaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say an unkind word about anyone, Kat. This girl must have really gotten under your skin.”

  Shame welled in Katherine’s breast, and she bit her lip. God called his people to grace and mercy, not bitterness and gall. She knew better. She’d thought she was better. That she had matured over the last decade. Apparently, the road to bitterness was paved with castor oil. Lose focus for a moment, and one’s spiritual feet could shoot right out from under her.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  “Sorry. That was not well done of me.” Katherine straightened in her chair and
lifted her chin. “As much as I want to blame Paulina for what happened, I can’t. She might have faked an injured ankle in order to finagle her way into Mark’s arms and have him carry her halfway down Elm Street, but my jealousy brought us to disaster. Not Paulina’s shenanigans.”

  “What happened?” Eliza was not a woman given to excessive gentleness, so to hear her soft tone and glimpse the sympathetic gleam in her eyes nearly undid Katherine.

  Blinking away the unwanted moisture, she stiffened her spine. Best just to spit out the rest all at once.

  “Mark and I had grown close during the months leading up to the Paulina-ankle incident, close enough that I believed he might actually feel something beyond friendship for me. But after Paulina’s conniving, he avoided me. Or so I thought. In hindsight, I think Paulina scared him with her forwardness, and he reacted by backing away from all girls. At the time, though, I was sure his affections had shifted to Paulina. In desperation, I did the very thing I condemned Paulina for—I threw myself at him.”

  Katherine swallowed hard, but the unpalatable truth stuck in her throat.

  “He’d taken a job as a piano player at one of the dance halls in town and walked home every Friday at midnight after his shift. Going out alone that late at night was terribly improper, but I’d been unsuccessful at cornering him in private in any of the usual social venues. Desperation drove me to be bold. And foolish. I snuck out of the house one Friday night and hid myself in the bushes at the edge of a vacant lot along the route he took home. When he passed by, I intended to step out of the bushes with ethereal grace and confess my feelings. Instead, my hair caught in the branches, and when I moved, the tangle nearly snatched my scalp bald. I yelped in pain, and Mark startled so badly, he tripped over the edge of the walkway and tumbled forward. By the time he saw me, it was too late. His momentum carried him down, straight on top of me.

  “I cried out again as he fell onto me, my hair ripping free of its mooring. Things would have been fine had Mr. Owen not been out walking his pregnant dog. He heard my cry and discovered us before Mark had time to rise. Mr. Owen started whacking Mark over the head with his cane, accusing him of molesting an innocent. I did my best to correct him, vowing that Mark hadn’t even known I was there. That it was all a big misunderstanding. I had only screamed because my hair had gotten snagged. Which led Mr. Owen to turn his accusations on me, questioning what a young girl was doing out alone after curfew. And why she would hide in the bushes. Proper young ladies were abed at that hour, not lying in wait for young men to ensnare in their seductive webs.”