Dorothy Garlock (15 page)

“I am not a thief!”

“Oh, I struck a nerve there, did I?” The older woman smiled maliciously, her hand rising to her chest in mock apology. “But don’t go acting all upset on my account, girlie. I know it’s more likely you’re put out by my guessing what you really are.”

“I’ll have you know that in my hometown I am respected!”

“And what town is that?” Mrs. Morgan said quickly as she took an aggressive step toward the younger woman. An inquisitorial look filled her eyes as she mirrored Hallie’s stare, seeking for something, for some truth she did not yet know to reveal itself.

“Akron, Ohio. My father is a minister.”

“Minister, ha! From the moment you showed up on my step, I haven’t heard one word about what sort of woman you are, or any other damn thing about you. So tell me, what respectable woman travels across the country in a wagon without menfolk to look after her?”

“I told you what kind of woman I am. I don’t . . .” Hallie began but held her tongue. The fact of the matter was that the older woman was simply baiting her, wanting the argument that would inevitably ensue just as badly as she herself wanted to avoid it. But even silence proved not enough to halt Mrs. Morgan’s relentless assault.

“What’s the matter, girlie? The devil got your tongue?”

Hallie’s mouth moved slightly, opening and closing slowly, but the only noise she heard was the rapid pounding of her heart as it threatened to burst from her chest. What held her silent had nothing to do with the devil;
what kept her quiet was the truth.

From the moment she had first encountered Eli along the swollen banks of the Cummings River, she had been filled with a great fear of the many questions she felt certain would be asked.
Where are you from? Why were you out in that storm? Where were you headed?
Even her joy at finding Mary alive was not enough to overwhelm her apprehensions.

Later, upon their arrival at the Morgan ranch, she had braced herself, steeling her resolve and preparing to provide answers that, while not quite out-and-out lies, would still fail to mention the true horror that was Chester Remnick or the gunshot that had forever changed all their lives. When she had spoken to Eli of what had befallen Mary, she hadn’t been entirely forthcoming, even if her evasions settled uneasily on her heart.

But those questions had
not
come and it seemed as if her fear was misguided. With each passing day, Hallie had begun to hope that perhaps the inquiring words would
never
be spoken. Now, standing in Mrs. Morgan’s harsh gaze, her hope had proven to be nothing more than an illusion.

“What were you doing in that storm?” the older woman asked.

“We were caught in the storm by accident,” Hallie finally answered.

“Where were you coming from?”

“We were coming . . . from the east. We left because I needed to find another job teaching school.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not.”

“It’s a lie if I ever heard one,” Mrs. Morgan declared adamantly.

For the briefest of moments, Hallie thought of telling her the truth—not only of what had happened with Mary and Chester but about how she and Pearl had desperately wanted a new start of their own, of what had happened between herself and Zachary Wall. But in the end, she kept quiet. Now was neither the time nor the place for all her story to be told.

“Whether you believe me to be telling the truth or not, Mrs. Morgan, doesn’t make me a liar,” she said confidently. “We needed jobs and were bold enough to take risks to find them. Unfortunately, in the course of doing so, we found ourselves caught in a storm. We could have died if not for the kindness of Eli and his uncle.”

At another mention of Eli’s name, Mrs. Morgan grew even colder. She wrinkled her nose, almost as if she had smelled something rotten. “I curse the day he came back here almost as much as I do the moment you and yours appeared on my steps. The sooner you’re all gone, the better.”

With that, the older woman went out onto the long porch, banging the door loudly behind her. Hallie sighed to herself before fetching the pan and water and retreating to the bedroom where Mary lay.

Mary lay on the small bed, her skin hot to the touch, her limbs twitching from time to time. In the five days that she had lain in the tiny room at the back of the ranch house, her eyes had been closed for most of the time, and the only sounds she had made were an assortment of moans but no words. She had never regained enough consciousness to eat, although she had taken in water through a damp cloth pressed to her lips and squeezed; it was as if her body was struggling to cling to life, even if her mind were not.

“The old battle-ax gave you the pan, I see,” Pearl said when Hallie entered the room.

“Not without an argument.”

“Argument courses through that woman’s veins like blood itself.”

“I believe you’re right.”

“I am,” Pearl said with a nod. “That cantankerous old biddy ain’t gonna give an inch.”

Hallie hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to give her worries a voice. When she did speak, it was little more than a whisper. “She asked about the storm . . . about what we were doing out in weather like that. She wanted to know where we came from and where we were headed. She finally let the matter drop, but I expect her to return to it soon.”

“Ain’t none of her business,” Pearl answered.

“I’m not so sure about that. We are living in her house. She has the right to know about us.”

“And I’m tellin’ you that it ain’t her concern,” her friend repeated as she pushed a wayward strand of hair from her face. “What happened out there is between the three of us. It ain’t the affair of nobody else, except maybe that weasel I shot.”

“Don’t you think she has some right to know
why
we are here?”

“If’n she knew what had passed between us and Chester, the first thing she’d do would be to fetch the sheriff and see what he makes of the situation. Odds are, he and I would disagree.”

“She wouldn’t do that! Eli wouldn’t allow it!”

“You willin’ to take that chance?” Pearl stared. “’Cause I ain’t.”

“But this is her home that we’re staying in,” Hallie persisted. “We are eating her food, burning her candles; everything we need is being provided by her and hers. Even this pan and water belong to her. Even if it’s not the whole story, she deserves to know something.”

“But we ain’t livin’ under her roof, Hallie,” Pearl argued. “Not really. Until the time comes where she lets us sleep in normal beds like we was real honest-to-God persons, instead of makin’ us curl up in the barn like we was just some of her cattle, until then . . . she don’t deserve to know nothin’.”

With that, Pearl took the pan of water from Hallie’s hands and made her way to Mary’s bedside. She wet a long strip of cloth that she’d scavenged from an old dress at the bottom of her traveling trunk and draped it across the unconscious woman’s hot forehead.

“A wise decision, nurse,” a deep voice spoke.

Abraham Morgan sat beside Mary’s bed in a rickety, high-back chair. From the moment that the three women arrived at the ranch, he had steadfastly remained by Mary’s side. He had taken all his meals in the small room and had slept in the old chair, a blanket pulled up to his bearded chin. Even though fatigue was written across his face, he refused to budge from his vigil.

“It is a boon that she is receiving such excellent care,” Abe continued.

“We’re doing the best we can.”

“Quite so . . . quite,” he mused, rubbing long fingers through his coarse beard. “But I will have you know that my Mary is a fighter in her own right, indeed. No calamity, even one as persistent as this, will be able to fell her great and God-loving spirit. Of that, I can assure you.”

Pearl let her eyes wander over the man who believed himself to be President Lincoln. Hallie could see a softness in her look, something almost maternal. “Maybe she’d want you to get some rest of your own,” she soothed. “After all, ain’t no point in you both bein’ laid up.”

“She would expect me to rest; you are quite right about that.” Abe nodded to her. “But I remember a moment shortly after we were married, when I was the one felled by a great illness. Even in the haze of my condition, I still recall opening my eyes to find her at my side, willing me to get well. She never wavered, staying by my side until I was back on my feet. I hope to be here to give her the same inspiration when she wakes. It is the very least that I can do.”

“I reckon you know what you’re doin’, then.”

Hallie couldn’t help but marvel at Abraham Morgan. When she and Pearl had first met him on the steps of the ranch house, they had been filled with shock and wonder and had worried greatly about his desire to be so close to Mary. But at Eli and Hank’s insistence, they had relented and allowed him to stay by their friend’s side. From that time on, they had watched as he cared for her as if she were really Mary Todd Lincoln, the long-dead president’s wife.

As the days had passed, Hallie found Abe’s strong spirit and optimism to be infectious. Where she had once feared that her friend would surely die, she now believed that Mary had a chance, that she was hearing Abe’s words of encouragement and drawing strength from them, the strength to live.

“Thank you for all your help, sir,” Hallie said truthfully.

Abe turned in his chair to look at her, his eyes holding her fast with such soft intensity that she would have sworn that he was who he thought himself to be. “This woman is my wife, miss. For her, I would do anything, even if it meant the loss of my own life.”

Hallie nodded; she believed him.

As Abraham turned his attention back toward Mary, Pearl rejoined Hallie. “We’re gonna need fresh bedding before too long,” she said. “She’s done soaked those so deep they feel as if they done gone in that river on her back.”

“I suppose I could ask Mrs. Morgan for more . . .”

“Don’t you worry none about that old bat arguin’ with you,” Pearl shot. “I ain’t got no problem with walkin’ out there, tellin’ her what we need, and settin’ her straight about the matter if she gives me any guff!”

“No, Pearl. I’ll do it,” Hallie said quickly. “You just stay here and I’ll take care of it.”

The truth was that Hallie hoped to keep Pearl as far away from Mrs. Morgan’s sharp tongue as possible. Their staying at the Morgan ranch was tenuous at best; if Pearl and Mrs. Morgan were to butt heads, she and Pearl could easily find themselves back out on the prairie roads with a sick girl and in even more danger than before.

“Just don’t tell her nothin’ about where we come from or where we was headed,” the older woman lectured. “Remember that it ain’t none of her business.”

Hallie was just about to open her mouth, to agree with Pearl, when a loud crash split the hot summer afternoon air and was immediately followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

Chapter Fourteen

A
S
H
ALLIE RUSHED
from Mary’s room hard on Pearl’s heels, any number of possible calamities filled her head as to the source of the crash and scream, each one of them involving Chester.
Has he found us?
In those short seconds, she was sorry that she had ever stumbled across kindhearted Eli on the riverbank, sorry that she had allowed him to bring them to the ranch, sorry even that she and Pearl had hatched the plan to spirit Mary away in the first place.

She and Pearl raced down the short hallway and, when they burst into the kitchen, gasped at the sight that greeted them. Mrs. Morgan lay on the floor writhing in pain, one wrinkled hand pressed tightly against her hip. Her face was a contorted mask, her eyes pinched nearly shut in agony, aged teeth bared in a grimace. She was sprawled next to an overturned chair, with fragments of glass from a lamp sprinkled all around her on the floor.

“What in the hell?” Pearl exclaimed.

“Oh, my word!” Hallie said.

“Ahhh,” was all that Mrs. Morgan could manage in response.

At the sound of the older woman’s agonized moan, Hallie rushed past Pearl and knelt beside Mrs. Morgan’s twisted body. Up close, she looked like a child’s doll, tossed awkwardly upon the floor, fragile enough to break at a touch. Obviously, she had suffered more than just a simple fall and bruise.

“Mrs. Morgan,” Hallie began, gently reaching a hand to place on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you—”

“Don’t . . . you . . . dare . . . touch me,” the woman hissed through tightly clenched teeth. Her eyes glared holes into Hallie; it was as if Hallie were offering the woman poison instead of aid.

“Mrs. Morgan, we’re only trying to help you!”

“I . . . I don’t . . . need your . . . help . . .”

“Are you hurt?”

“That ain’t too hard to figure out,” Pearl remarked, putting it all together as she looked around the room. “She must have been tryin’ to reach the shelf above the pantry when she lost her balance. When she fell, she might have busted her hip.”

“We’ve got to get her off the floor,” Hallie observed.

“Her room’s just over yonder,” Pearl said, nodding to the first door off the kitchen. “She ain’t gonna weigh more’n a bunch of sticks, so the two of us ain’t gonna have no problem gettin’ her there.”

But before either of them could move even a single inch, the injured woman’s shrill protest filled the room. “Don’t either . . . of you whores . . . so much as lay . . . one of your filthy fingers . . . on me! I won’t . . . won’t stand for it!”

“You ain’t gonna be standin’ ever again if’n you don’t let us get you off this here floor,” Pearl admonished her.

“I’d . . . I’d rather die . . . ,” Mrs. Morgan explained, each knot of words punctuated by a quick draw of breath, “right . . . right here on this . . . floor . . . before I let either . . . either one of you . . . put hands on me!”

“Suit yourself.”

Pearl gave an absent shrug of her shoulders before turning to walk back to Mary’s room, resigned to leave Adele to her fate. But before she could go very far, Hallie scrambled to her feet, hurried after Pearl, and grabbed her friend’s arm.