Hummingbird (38 page)

DuFrayne angrily jerked a cuff into place, confirming flatly, "As you say, at noon then." He spun toward the bedroom to get his few things, leaving Abbie to seethe with shock yet unable to show it.

He knew! He knew! All the time he knew! He knew since Jim Hudson came that David would be returning to Stuart's Junction. He knew because the meeting today was between the two of them, apparently to settle the liability over the shootings on the train. The pompous, conceited bag of arrogance knew that he was not her last chance, yet he stole her virginity anyway, knowing she'd never have given it had she known of Melcher's imminent return. Neither did it take much perception to guess that a man like David Melcher would never accept a soiled bride. Miss Abigail wanted to fly at Jesse DuFrayne and pummel him to a pulp, scream out her rage at how she'd been taken advantage of when he could simply have told her the truth and David might have been hers!

Melcher saw the anger blotch her face, but could not guess at what the foul-mouthed DuFrayne had said this time to place it there. Miss Abigail seemed to gather her equilibrium again, for she turned and invited sweetly, "Please come in, Me Melcher," and even opened the screen for him.

"Thank you." He came in bearing her father's cane, but just then Jesse shouldered his way around the bedroom doorway, gripping his wadded-up britches and gun in one hand as he clomped through the parlor.

"Your man has arrived in town then?" Melcher inquired expressionlessly.

"He got here yesterday," DuFrayne answered, the quivers of anger scarcely held in check. "And yours?"

"He's waiting at the depot as the wire stated he should."

DuFrayne nodded once sharply, feeling Abbie's eyes boring into the back of his head in cold, suppressed wrath. He turned, relaxed his jaw long enough to say stiffly, "Goodbye, Miss Abigail."

She was suddenly revisited by all the hate she'd felt for Jesse DuFrayne that other morning when his insinuations had lost David to her Now it scarcely mattered that it was DuFrayne going and Melcher staying, for the mild-mannered man was again lost to her as surely as if Jesse DuFrayne had raised his gun, pointed, and shot David Melcher square between the eyes.

Jesse read before him the face of woman spurned, and his insides twisted with guilt.

"The same to you…
Mister
Dufrayne!"

His eyes bored into hers for a moment before he turned on his heel, banked past David Melcher, and hit for the door. In his wake, Abbie's nostrils were filled with the distressing scent of his shaving soap.

"Well, at least he's learned to address you in terms of respect," David noted stiffly.

Watching Jesse limp away down the street, she murmured, "Yes… yes, he has," though she longed to shriek a last dementi at the sarcasm now reflected by the term.

David cleared his throat. "I… I've returned your fa… father's cane, Miss Abigail." When she did not respond, he repeated, "Miss Abigail?"

She turned absently, forcing her mind away from Jesse DuFrayne. "I'm happy you did, Mr. Melcher, I really am. Not because I wanted it back, but because it gives me a chance to see you again."

He colored slightly, rather surprised by her directness, so different than the last time he'd spoken to hen He thought that he detected a brittle edge to her voice that he didn't remember from before either.

"Yes, well… I… I had to return to Stuart's Junction to attend a meeting at which we will attempt to ascertain who was to blame for the entire fiasco aboard the train."

"Yes, I only heard of the meeting this morning. How
is
your foot?"

He looked down at it, then back up. "The discomfort is gone. The limp is not."

At last the old solicitude returned to her voice. "Ah, I am so sorry. Perhaps in time it too will disappear"

But she recalled how Doc said he would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

"I see you… ahum… got the gift I sent," he stammered.

Now it was Miss Abigail's turn to glance at her feet. Gracious! she thought, I would have to have these things on just when he arrived!

"They're even lovelier on your feet than off," Melcher said, completely unaware of the shoe's unacceptability, and she hadn't the Heart to crush his pride.

"They're a perfect fit," she said, truthfully enough, raising her skirt a few inches and flexing her toes within the supple kidskin. "I wanted to thank you but I had no address where I might reach you." Looking up then, she saw that David Melcher was embarrassed by how much of her ankle she'd revealed. Quickly she dropped her skirts. How rapidly one forgot propriety before a true gentleman after even a brief sojourn with a rounder like Jesse.

"You must forgive my rude manners, Mr Melcher Please sit down," she insisted, indicating the settee and taking a side chair "I've had a somewhat trying morning and I'm afraid I've allowed my manners to lapse because of it. Please… please sit. Enough about me. What about you? Will you be on your way again selling shoes as soon as this meeting today is concluded?"

"I'd hoped… that is to say… I had considered spending… ah well, a couple of days right… right here in Stuart's Junction. I've taken a room at the ah, hotel, and deposited my gear there. I have the largest shipment of shoes ever—it was waiting for me in Denver I thought I would see about finding some new markets for them right here and in the towns close around."

"Well in that case, perhaps you'll be free this evening to pay a call on me and tell me the outcome of today's meeting. I am most interested, of course, since both you and—" she found it difficult to say his name now "—Mr DuFrayne were both under my care."

"Yes," David said a little breathlessly. "I… I'd like that ev… ever so much. Of course I realize you'll be anxious for the… the news."

"The whole town will be, Mr Melcher Nothing quite like this has ever happened in Stuart's Junction before and I'm sure tongues have been wagging fit to kill. When the meeting commences, the townspeople will be even more curious, I'm sure."

He fiddled with his vest buttons nervously before finally asking, with countless clearings of his throat,

"Miss… Miss Abigail, did… agh… did you, or rather… has your… agh… has your repu—that is to say, have the townspeople… agh, said anything…"

She finally took pity on his overstrained sense of delicacy. "No, Mr Melcher My reputation has not suffered because of either you or Mr DuFrayne being here at my house. I believe it's fair to say the people of this town know me better than that."

"Oh, of course," he quickly put in, "I didn't mean—"

"Please," she extended one delicate hand toward him, "let's not speak in parables. It brings only misunderstandings. Let us agree to start over as the best of friends and forget anything which has passed."

Again her directness befuddled him, but he reached out and took the preferred fingertips in his own for a fraction of a second while his raddled face told her again how very, very different this man was from Jesse DuFrayne.

"Until this evening then," she said softly.

"Yes… agh… until this evening."

He cleared his throat for perhaps the fiftieth time since entering her house, and suddenly it irritated Miss Abigail profoundly.

The inquisitive citizens of Stuart's Junction knew something was up when Max kicked Ernie off his customary bench on the depot porch long before the 3:20 was due, declaring the station was closed for official railroad business until further notice.

All up and down the boardwalk the news spread that that Melcher fellow with the shot off toe had checked in up at Albert's Hotel, along with some dandy in a yellow-checkered suit. They knew, too, that some fancy-dressed railroad bigwig had been in town since yesterday. And it was no secret that the one from up't Miss Abigail's house came uptown this morning and bought that fancy suit they'd all been starin'

at in the window of Holmes's Dry Goods Store. When they saw him limp down the street wearing it, speculation grew heavy.

"Well, if he ain't no train robber, what do you reckon he is, and what do you reckon's goin' on up to the depot?"

But all they could get out of Max was that a representative of the R.M.R. had called a meeting here.

Max dusted the runged oak chairs and gathered them around a makeshift conference table made of a couple of raw planks balanced on two nail kegs, since the station was too new to boast a real table yet.

Word had it the men were gussied up fit to kill. Max picked a sliver off a raw-edged plank, anxious to please. Yessir, he thought, looks like this is real important, whatever it is. So he rounded up a pitcher and four glasses, and filled it with water from the giant holding tank looming above the tracks outside where the steam engines drank their fill.

The four of them converged on the depot at the same time, the quartet looking altogether like a rainbow trout. There was James Hudson, in a wine-colored business suit. He shook Max's hand. "Nice clean depot you keep here, Smith." Instantly he gained Max's sympathy. Jesse DuFrayne appeared in the teal blue suit which even Max had been eyeballing at Holmes's Dry Goods. When Hudson introduced Maxwell Smith, he said, "Smith is our station agent here in Stuart's Junction."

DuFrayne, extending his hand, noted congenially, "Mr Smith, the man who refused to deport me without a release from Doc Dougherty? I want to thank you for that, sir."

Though Max said, "Aw, think nuthin' of it," he was enormously pleased and proud.

Hudson seemed to take the lead in all the introductions and Max kept his ears open, learning that the man in the yellow-checkered suit was Peter Crowley, Melcher's lawyer. By the time Hudson suggested,

"Gentlemen, shall we all be seated?" Max was relieved. All this commotion and color during the hand shaking was getting him dizzy. He'd never seen such a bunch of dandies in his life!

James Hudson took a seat at the makeshift table as if it were polished mahogany. There was an air of leadership about him that stood out among the four "Now, Crowley," he began, "I suggest we forego accusations and stick to the straight facts regarding the circumstances surrounding the shootings. Both Me Melcher and Mr. DuFrayne have obviously undergone some incapacitation due to the incident on the train."

"Me Melcher has come here to discuss liability," Crowley replied. Melcher nodded. DuFrayane sat like a statue, glowering at him while verdigris arms remained folded tightly across his chest. Hudson and Crowley went on.

"Do you mean liability on both sides or just one?" Hudson asked.

"By that I take you to mean that DuFrayne sees Mr Melcher as liable in some way?"

"Well, isn't he?"

"He doesn't think so."

"He is the one who precipitated the scuffle in which Mr DuFrayne was shot."

"He did not precipitate it. He came in in the middle of it."

"Causing DuFrayne to receive a nearly fatal gunshot."

"From which your client has obviously recovered, according to reports I have here from one…" Crowley examined a sheaf of papers before him "… Dr. Cleveland Dougherty, who states that DuFrayne will, in all likelihood, recover full use of the leg, while Mr Melcher will undoubtedly walk with a limp for the remainder of his life."

"For which Mr Melcher presumably feels he is entitled to a settlement of some sort?"

"Indeed." Crowley leaned back in his chair.

"To the tune of what?" Hudson asked, steepling his fingertips.

"Mr. Melcher was riding aboard an R.M.R. coach when he was shot. Should not the owners of the railway be liable?"

More sharply this time, Hudson asked, "To the tune of what, I asked, Mr. Crowley?"

"Shall we say ten thousand dollars?"

Then all hell broke loose. DuFrayne leaped to his feet like a springing panther, glaring at Melcher with feral eyes. "Shall we
not
say ten thousand, you scheming little parasite!" he shouted.

"Parasite!" the shaken Melcher braved in his angriest tone while Hudson and Crowley tried to settle the pair down. "Just who is the parasite here, I ask!"

"Well, it sure as hell isn't me!" DuFrayne stormed. "You're the one looking for a handout, thinking that the railroad can afford it. After all, railroads are rich, aren't they? Why not milk this one for as much as you can get?"

"Any railroad can well afford that amount, it's true."

"Why, you little—"

"Jess, settle down!" Hudson got him by an arm and pushed him back toward his chair.

"Gentlemen, control yourselves," Crowley interjected.

"DuFrayne obviously doesn't know the meaning of the word. He never has!" Melcher claimed irately.

Crowley took his client in hand. "Mr. Melcher, we're here to discuss liability."

"And so we shall. He is liable, all right, for far more than a physical wound to me. What about the wounds he caused Miss Abigail?"

A fine white line appeared around the entire circumferance of DuFrayne's lips, but hidden on the upper one by his moustache, which outlined his formidable scowl. Rage bubbled in him, spawned by Melcher's accusation, but swelled by his own secret guilt over Abbie. Having Melcher unwittingly remind him of it only increased his hatred of the man.

"You leave Miss Abigail out of this!" DuFrayne barked.

"Yes, you'd like that, I'm sure. You were insufferable to her and would probably like not to be reminded of just exactly how insufferable!"

Confused, James Hudson spoke. "Miss Abigail? Do you mean Miss Abigail McKenzie? I cannot see what possible bearing she could have on any of this."

"Nor I," agreed Crowley. "Mr. Melcher, please—"

"No amount of money can atone for his treatment of .her," Melcher said.

"Miss Abigail has already been recompensed for her help," Hudson assured him. "Mr. DuFrayne saw to that."

"Oh, yes, I've seen just how DuFrayne pays her back for everything she does. He forces her—"

Again DuFrayne flew to his feet. "You leave Abbie out of this, you little pipsqueak, or so help me—"

"Damnit, Jess, sit down!" Hudson at last lost patience. But in his anger, Jesse had used the familiar first name of the woman. Max noted it with great interest. When things cooled down a little, Hudson placed ten fingertips on the pine plank and spoke carefully. "It seems you two are picking bones that have nothing to do with the issue at hand. Now, you have asked Mr. Crowley and myself here as your arbiters. Will you allow us to arbitrate or shall we leave the two of you to haggle by yourselves?" A pause, then, "Mr. Crowley, suppose mat Mr DuFrayne agrees to a settlement on Mr Melcher, what consideration would he receive in return?"