A Shelter of Hope (28 page)

“Sure thing, mister.”

Louis sat quietly as the man went to work sharpening his razor. He would have to think through his plans for finding Simone. After all, the same secrecy afforded Louis by the overpopulated city was also afforded his daughter.

“But she don’t know what she’s doing. She ain’t never been alone in a town like this.”

“What’d you say, mister?” the barber asked from where he stood.

“Nothin’ … just thinkin’ out loud,” Louis muttered.

Louis lost track of time while he contemplated Simone. Over and over he considered his plans for their lives. She would have no other choice but to go wherever he decided to go. She was, after all, his responsibility. She was also a very beautiful young woman, and there was a great deal of wealth to be had in what she could provide. It was simply a matter of replenishing what he’d already spent and then finding Simone.

“Whereabouts you from, stranger?” the barber asked as he clipped Louis’s hair.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” Louis replied, hating the nosy question. The man needed to keep his questions to himself and leave Louis to think through what was to be done.

“I see you’re still carrying your case with you. You need a place 186 to stay?”

Louis realized the man’s potential. “Maybe. I’d really like to get in a decent game of poker and have a few drinks. You know a place like that?”

The man leaned close, as if conspiring with Louis. “There’s a place just up the street. My sister runs it. I think you’ll find she keeps a good room and charges the right price. If you want to know about anything at all that’s going on in this city, my sister would be the one to tell you.”

Louis nodded. “Sounds good.”

Very little was exchanged after that. Louis was too deep in thought to concern himself with what the little man had to tell him. His priorities had to be money and Simone. Nothing else mattered as much as those two things.

After surveying the barber’s work, Louis was dumbfounded by the change in his appearance. No one would ever consider him to be a backwoods trapper. His black hair glowed from the application of hair oil and tonic, and his face, a bit pale from the winter months, seemed far more refined than he had recalled. Perhaps it came with age. After all, Louis had worn a beard and moustache for the last thirty years.

He paid the man, obtained directions to his sister’s house, and dressed in the stolen clothes. He congratulated himself on sizing up someone who had a reasonably similar build. The only flaw was that his moccasin boots peered out from beneath the trousers. Perhaps he could purchase a pair of shoes after settling up with the barber’s sister for a room.

It was a completely different Louis Dumas who stepped from the barber and bath establishment. Should anyone on the street have glanced his way, they would simply have considered him a man of means, down on his luck. The black broadcloth suit had seen some wear but was of quality construction, and therefore it spoke of having come from one of the better tailors. The white shirt, though slightly wrinkled and minorly stained, was scarcely noticeable once Louis buttoned up the vest and coat.

Joining the flow of people on the street, Louis tried to keep his mind clear and his eyes open to anything that might suggest his daughter’s whereabouts. It seemed a long shot, he knew, but it was always possible that being without any money other than that which she’d obtained from the sale of Garvey Davis’s horse and gear, Simone would have stayed in relatively close proximity to the railroad station. Then again, it was always possible that someone had taken pity on her because of her looks. Who could say? Louis’s biggest problem was that enough time had passed between Simone’s arrival and his that the girl could literally be anywhere.

Then a bad thought overshadowed the man’s thinking. It was very possible that Simone had not gotten off the train in Chicago. Or that if she had, she had merely traded it for another and had headed off again to distance herself from the possibility of Wyoming retribution.

Grumbling and muttering to himself, Louis hardly realized he’d come to the intersection where he was to turn north. Glancing up at the street markers, his eyes were drawn instead to a small, makeshift Wanted poster. Stepping closer, but trying to appear intent on the street’s name, Louis saw the remarkable sketch of his daughter and the marginally acceptable rendering of himself.

WANTED: Louis and Simone Dumas, father and daughter, for questioning in the murder of Garvey Davis, Uniontown, Wyoming. Notify local authorities with information regarding the whereabouts of either party.

Louis quickly calmed his frazzled nerves when he realized that there was no resemblance between him and the man on the poster—even before his shave and haircut. He doubted that even the barber would consider him as the man in the poster. But Simone’s sketch was the very image of the girl. If anyone had knowledge of her and saw that poster, there would be no doubt of who she was.

Smiling to himself, Louis thought of how he might use this to his advantage. If the posters were up here in Chicago, the law must believe Simone to still be in the city. That would only prove to aid Louis in his own search.

Glancing around to see who might be watching, Louis pulled down the poster and started to fold it up.

“You know those two?” a voice called out from behind him.

Louis turned to see a rather rough-looking fellow dressed in a brown tweed suit that had seen better days. “Not sure. I was thinkin’ my wife might know ’em.”

The man nodded. “Well, here.” He handed Louis a card. “If it proves to be true and she has any idea where they are, just come around and let me know. I collect scum like those two and turn them into the law.”

“A bounty hunter?” Louis questioned.

“The best,” the man said, smiling.

Louis nodded. “Ain’t promisin’ nothin’, but iffen she knows ’em, I’ll send her over.”

“I’m obliged,” the man said, tipping his hat to Louis before taking off in the opposite direction.

Louis looked down at the paper and smiled. “Ah, Simone. It’s just a matter of time before I find you.” Now he clearly had all he needed to persuade Simone to run away with him and do as she was told. All he would have to do upon finding her was show her the poster and threaten to turn her into the law himself if she refused to cooperate.

TWENTY-TWO

JEFFERY WAS TOTALLY UNPREPARED for Simone’s reaction to the Wanted poster. He had prayed all the way back from Chicago that the poster was just an odd coincidence. Yet he knew in his heart there were too many things that pointed to it being a perfect explanation of the endless questions surrounding Simone.

Seeing her pale and shaken, Jeffery got to his feet and went to the door. Glancing in the hall to make sure no one else was lingering outside, he closed the door and turned to where Simone sat, her face buried in her hands. What should he say? How should he handle the situation? He didn’t want to believe that she was capable of conspiring to commit murder. It hardly seemed to fit her character and nature, yet there had to be some reason for her being this upset.

Taking his seat behind the desk, Jeffery watched her for several moments. She wasn’t crying, at least not that he could hear. It seemed almost as if she hoped by hiding her face she could somehow hide the truth, as well.

“Simone, I’m sorry for upsetting you like this,” Jeffery began. “I think you know me well enough by now to know that I would never do anything to harm you.”

At this, she looked up with her dark eyes. They seemed to search Jeffery’s face, as if contemplating the truth of his statement. How he wished he could put her mind at ease.

“I want you to tell me the whole story. Just trust me to understand, Simone.”

“It’s all true,” she murmured, looking away. “I am Simone Dumas, and Garvey Davis is dead because of me.”

Jeffery felt his throat constrict. “What happened?”

Simone licked her lips and fell back against the chair as though completely spent. “It’s such a long story.”

“We have all the time you need. I want to hear it. I need to hear it from you,” Jeffery replied, then added, “please.”

Simone’s face contorted. “I lived with my father in Wyoming, some twelve miles from a run-down place called Uniontown,” she began. “My father was a trapper, but the land was played out. One day, he came back from town and announced his decision to sell off everything, including me. He planned to leave Wyoming for the gold mines of Colorado. He sold everything to Garvey Davis.”

“How could he include you in on that deal?” Jeffery questioned. He couldn’t imagine what Simone was really saying.

“He sold me to Garvey Davis as a wife.”

“A wife!” Jeffery exclaimed, louder than he’d meant to. He’d never for a moment imagined that Simone was married to the Davis man.

“Well, we didn’t have a preacher in Uniontown. Churches and religion didn’t seem overly important to the folks around there. So my father gave me to Mr. Davis to live as his wife until the preacher came around.” Simone grew quiet.

Jeffery still found it hard to believe that a father would sell his child to another man. What kind of person would do such a thing? He had a million questions he longed to ask, but it was clear that Simone felt significant pain just in revealing the minimal circumstances to him.

“Did your father leave for Colorado?”

“Yes,” Simone managed to say. She took a deep breath, and Jeffery watched as she seemed to will herself to be strong. “He left. I was there alone with Mr. Davis, and when he asked for supper, I fed him. While he ate, I packed, determined that I could never be this man’s wife.” She paused and looked at Jeffery for the first time since admitting the truth. “I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now, why I felt so strongly that I couldn’t do what my father expected.” She shuddered and grimaced. “But I couldn’t let that man touch me. I just couldn’t.”

“You could hardly be expected to allow such a thing,” Jeffery said, knowing the indignity of the entire matter was clear in his tone.

“But I was expected to allow it,” Simone said, closing her eyes as if seeing it all again. “He heard me packing, or maybe he simply realized I was no longer in view. Anyway, he came searching for me. I was in the only other part of the cabin, the sleeping area. He thought that somehow indicated a willingness to … to …”

“It’s all right. I fully understand what he expected,” Jeffery said. He felt an angry rage surge inside him. To imagine a poor, defenseless girl such as Simone left to the mercy of a total stranger was one thing. But to imagine that this man intended to take her as his wife, even if it included rape, was more than he could calmly deal with.

“When he grabbed me, I did the only thing I could. I fought back.” She opened her eyes but again focused on the ceiling rather than look at Jeffery. “I somehow put my hand on the water pitcher and … and I hit him over the head with it. I didn’t mean to kill him, I only meant to stop him.” Her voice was flat, emotionless, and totally resigned.

Jeffery wondered what comfort he could offer her, but there didn’t appear to be anything he could say. She had admitted her guilt and was wanted by the law, but he couldn’t just turn her over to be hanged or imprisoned. Not given the circumstances.

“There was blood everywhere,” she murmured before he had a chance to speak. “I was terrified. I still am.” She shook her head, and Jeffery wished he could clear the vision that most likely haunted her mind. “All I could think of was getting away before someone found out what I’d done. I took Mr. Davis’s horse and gear and what little I had that belonged to me, and I fled. I wandered for days, not knowing my way to any place but Uniontown, and of course I couldn’t go there.”

“Simone, it was self-defense. You didn’t mean to kill the man. Therefore, it isn’t murder.”

Simone gave him a look that almost suggested amusement. “Call it what you will, the man is still dead. The blow came from my hand, and now I have to live with the consequences. The funny thing is, at least I finally know the truth. I’ve worried and fretted for months now as to whether or not I’d actually killed the man.” She looked away and sorrow edged her voice. “At least I know.”