MB01 - Unending Devotion (30 page)

“It’s okay.” Lily combed the girl’s hair with her fingers, but Daisy stiffened under her touch and pulled away.

“Someone
took
it from me.”

Lily froze. Her heartbeat slowed like wagon wheels in slush, and her fingers became tangled in Daisy’s hair. “What do you mean?”

“The nice, normal, wonderful Mr. Wretcham? He wasn’t so nice after all.”

“What?” Dread crashed through Lily.

“Apparently orphan girls are good for something, huh?”

“What happened? What did he do?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but anger pushed her up to her knees, and she grabbed Daisy, forcing her to turn over and face her.

“From the very first day, he made me uncomfortable with his attention and his too-wide smiles.” Daisy twisted away from her, as if she were ashamed to look at her. “Eventually, he started touching me. Not openly—almost like the bumps and brushes were accidents.”

Lily wanted to scream at her to stop. She didn’t want to hear anything more. She couldn’t bear to think she’d pushed Daisy to live with the Wretchams. If she hadn’t, none of the heartache would have happened.

But Daisy continued in a monotone. “Finally one day, when Mrs. Wretcham was gone visiting neighbors, he found me alone in the barn. One of the cats had just had kittens. They barely had their eyes open . . .”

Lily closed her eyes to block out the scene. But suddenly all she could see was Daisy kneeling in the warm hay with the earthy scent of freshly harvested wheat all around and sunlight streaming in one of the windows. The downy fur of the kittens, their rumbling purrs and soft mews comforting her.

“He tried to kiss me. And when I wouldn’t cooperate like he wanted, he pulled me into one of the empty stalls, and . . .”

Revulsion swelled in Lily’s throat, and for a moment she had to fight a wave of bitter nausea. She wanted to weep at the picture of her sweet little Daisy being hurt in that way. How had she let this happen to her? How had she failed to protect her sister so horribly?

“After the first couple of times, I didn’t fight him anymore,” Daisy said weakly. “But I didn’t want to stay there—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lily’s voice caught the edge of a sob. “Why didn’t you come to me? I could have helped you.”

“What could you have done? Taken me to live with the sick woman and grumpy old man you were staying with? And let him have his way with me too?”

“Oren wouldn’t have dreamed of defiling you.” If only she’d let Daisy live with Oren and Betty in the first place. “He protected my honor more times than I can count.”

Daisy shrugged, as if she didn’t believe her—or care. “When I heard about how much money girls were making in the taverns in the lumber camps, I figured I could go for a few months, make my fortune, and then come get you.”

The pressure of the stifled sobs in Lily’s chest threatened to cut off her breathing. She could only imagine how dirty Daisy must have felt after losing her innocence to Mr. Wretcham, how defiled, how violated. Had she also felt hopeless? Had she decided that since one bad man had used her, she was unworthy of any good man?

“Oh, Daisy.” Lily squeezed the words past the tightness in her throat. “I wish you would have let me help you.”

Daisy didn’t say anything. Instead she reached for the oval picture frame on the bedstead table—the miniature portrait of their parents, the only thing either of them owned to connect them to the family they’d once had so briefly.

Lily had taken it out of her sack earlier and placed it where they could both see it. For all they’d been through, they were still a family. And from now on, they’d never be apart again.

Daisy ran her finger around the corroded silver edge. The unsmiling faces of their parents stared at them.

Lily had wanted to show her parents she’d found Daisy, and maybe they’d be happy with her again. But for some reason, their eyes were still as accusing as always.

With a sigh, Daisy placed the frame gingerly back onto the table, facedown.

Did she feel their censure too?

“I want you to know I still love you,” Lily whispered. “You’re still precious to me.”

Daisy reached for her hand and slipped her fingers into it.

Lily squeezed. “I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

“I’m okay, Lily. Really I am.” The color had come back into the girl’s face, and she hadn’t vomited that morning. She’d even been able to eat a little breakfast from the tray Mrs. McCormick had brought.

“Maybe you’ll be able to take a bath later,” Lily said, only because Mrs. McCormick had already offered to have the maid draw up hot water for them. “They have a real bathroom with a big tub.”

Daisy’s eyes lit. “I’ve never had a bath in a real tub.”

Lily thought back to all the years they’d had to stand in line for baths. Only the first few in line had ever gotten anything but cold, dirty water. “We might not have had much, but we always had each other.”

“Remember when we’d lie on our bed together at night and play the ‘what if’ game?”

Lily smiled. All those years in the orphanages, before falling asleep each night, they’d snuggle together in their narrow bed and one of them would start the game by saying “what if . . .” and fill it in with something they longed for.

“Do you remember when I said, ‘What if we could have our own room, with a big bed, with warm blankets’?”

A sudden lump lodged in Lily’s throat. She nodded.

Daisy gazed around the luxurious suite, taking in every elegant item. “
What if
this were really ours?”

The lump in Lily’s throat pushed higher.

“What if we never had to leave this place?”

“I promise things will be different from now on.”

“Will they really?” Daisy’s voice was soft, but the doubt in her tone rang loudly.

“We’re older now. We’ll be able to find work. And we’ll be able to find a place to live—not as nice as this, but we’ll get our own home.”

Daisy’s eyes locked with hers, and in the depths Lily could see that her sister wanted to believe her. But the specks of too many past disappointments floated in the murkiness.

“We’ll go somewhere safe.” Lily tried to infuse more hope into her voice.

Daisy shuddered. “Preferably somewhere far away from Carr.”

As soon as they could get Frankie, they’d go. “You know he’s been kidnapping innocent girls and forcing them to work for him?”

Daisy nodded soberly. “I’ve seen him beat several of the girls until they were nearly unconscious. He’s vicious and cruel. And he never let us keep any of our earnings. Not even the extra cash men leave on the bedside table.” Daisy’s voice turned bitter. “One of the girls hid a few dollars, and a few days later Carr found it and bloodied her up with his brass knuckles.”

“Someone ought to use those brass knuckles on him and see how he likes it.”

“He’s untouchable.”

Lily’s thoughts returned to the flyers she and Stuart had handed out in their effort to start the Red Ribbon Society. Not many of the townspeople had been interested, especially when she’d explained her desire to rise up as one against Carr.

“I don’t understand why he’s so untouchable,” she muttered. “Seems like everyone could stand up to him if they really wanted to.”

But Carr wasn’t her concern anymore. Nor was the Harrison Red Ribbon Society. Stuart would have to carry on without her.

“I can’t tell you how many shanty boys Carr’s killed or had his bouncers kill,” Daisy said. “Nobody really knows, except that men disappear all the time, never to be seen again.”

A tremor of fear wound through Lily. What would happen to Connell when he got back to Harrison? What if Carr found out about his part in Daisy’s escape?

Carr would unleash his fury on Connell. And Carr would want to kill Connell once he helped rescue Frankie from the Devil’s Ranch.

Lily shivered and slid under the quilt. As much as she wanted to deny her heartache over losing Connell, she knew she couldn’t. Deep in her core, she cared about him more than any other man she’d ever met. The thought of anything happening to him terrified her.

He might have disappointed her and rejected her. But she couldn’t bear the thought that Carr might kill him.

Her cold toes pressed against the heating stone, and she pulled the quilt around her tighter. She closed her eyes to block out the image of Carr pounding his brass knuckles into Connell’s face. The damage from Tierney’s fists wouldn’t begin to compare with the broken bloody mess Carr would make of Connell.

Why hadn’t he just stayed with her, as she’d begged him to do?

Her fingers dug into the quilt against the stitches that formed into a complex pattern. The quilt was large and colorful and intricate—just like Vera’s quilt would be once she finished.

What had Vera told her about the way God worked? When things didn’t turn out the way they wanted, they could know God was still there piecing together everything the way He had planned. Was it really true? Or did it just mean she needed to try harder to help make things happen?

She wrapped her arm around Daisy, drawing against the girl to feel her warmth and to stop the trembling in her limbs.

At least she could find comfort in one thing. Even though Connell wasn’t a part of the quilt of her life, Daisy was. And that was all that really mattered.

Wasn’t it?

Chapter
23

U
pon seeing the front office of the
Harrison Herald
, Connell’s blood ran cold.

He jumped from the sleigh, stiff and frozen after the long hours of traveling. Through the darkness of the evening, the bright light from the tavern across the street illuminated the ghastly pallor of the newspaper office—the smashed glass of the front window, the door hanging from its hinges, and the printing equipment strewn through the entryway.

During the entire ride back to Harrison, Connell had tried to convince himself everything would be fine, that his life could continue as normal, that nothing needed to change.

But one look at the
Harrison Herald
told him everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

With a glance at the dark shadows that lurked around the building, his fingers found the smooth handle of his knife and unsheathed it.

He pushed his way through the broken door and stepped gingerly across the disarray of papers, broken cases, and lead type.

No doubt about it. Carr had been there. He must have learned of Stuart’s part in Daisy’s escape. And if he’d learned of Stuart’s part, then he’d know of Connell’s.

“Stu?” he called hoarsely. Every nerve in his body was poised for an attack, his ear attuned to every sound, his fingers on his knife and ready to fight.

The overpowering scent of ink assaulted him. The crunch of broken glass under his boots forced him to a halt.

“Stuart,” he called again, louder, straining to see through the dark shadows.

With a thudding heart, he backed out of the room and ventured up the creaking stairs to his office. The door was wide open, and through the hazy moonlight drifting through the window, his last breadth of hope fizzled as he took in his overturned desk, the ripped books and ledgers, and the broken desk chair. His organized files were dumped on the floor; even the calendar had been ripped from the wall.

He let out a long tense breath and his shoulders sagged.

He’d been holding on to a slim margin, the one percent chance Carr wouldn’t connect him with Daisy’s disappearance. But now he was one hundred percent certain Carr had pegged him as an accomplice.

The moment he’d decided to help Lily take Daisy out of town, he’d cast his lot against Carr. For better or worse, he’d made an enemy of the man.

And he doubted even Dad’s money would buy peace now.

He kicked one of the ledgers, its pages torn in half. He wasn’t sure he wanted peace—not with a man who thought he was above the law in every way. It was bad enough that Carr was forcing young girls into prostitution and keeping them penned up in his brothels like slaves.

But now . . .

He clamped his mouth shut to keep from giving life to a curse.

Now Carr was destroying those who dared to stand up for what was right. He’d destroyed Stuart’s livelihood. And only heaven knew what he’d done to Stuart.

He spun out of his office and retreated down the steps. In seconds he was back on his sleigh. And in less than a minute, he pulled up in front of Stuart’s house. One glance told him Carr had ransacked Stu’s home just like he had the newspaper office.

Connell made his way cautiously through the wrecked house, dreading what he’d discover as he went from room to room. Finding only more of the same mindless destruction and with no sign of Stuart, he finally returned to the sleigh. He turned in the direction of the Northern Hotel, praying as he drove that Carr had left the Hellers alone.

A rumble of anger rolled through his chest at the thought of Carr hurting Vera and her husband or in any way damaging their business. If he’d touched them, Connell didn’t know what he’d do.

Was God trying to get his attention and send him the message that he needed to do more to join the fight? If so, it was working.

For once, he was grateful for the crass laughter and obnoxious piano music of the taverns, the coming and going of the shanty boys, and the usual brawling and shouting that punctuated the frigid night air. At least he could ride undetected and buy himself a little time before Carr realized he was back in town and sent his men after him.

Connell stomped up the step of the hotel and knocked the mud and slush from his boots. Through the front window, nothing appeared amiss. But his breath wobbled in short white puffs, and he opened the door slowly.

The dining room was deserted. The fire was low and in need of feeding. And only one of the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling was lit.

He closed the door and put his hand to his side, feeling the hard length of his knife.

“Who’s there?” Vera’s voice called from the kitchen.

“It’s just me. Connell.”

In an instant she appeared in the doorway, wielding her large wooden spoon, as if ready for battle.