Revealed (17 page)

Matthew clenched his teeth at the way Jake Sampson was carrying on. He’d give any woman a run for her money.

‘‘Just need to pass some names and faces by him. I’d be obliged if you’d look through them too, when you have time.’’

‘‘Be happy to. Lots of people come through my place here, and I get to know all of ’em.’’

‘‘Let me know if any of them ring a bell,’’ the stranger said as the two men walked toward the front. ‘‘Any tips and I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll stop back by after breakfast and pick them up.’’

When Matthew finally heard the steady rhythm of Sampson’s mallet on the anvil, he stepped from the shadows. Waiting until the man turned his back, Matthew quickly crossed to the back of the livery and made his approach from that direction.

Sampson looked up, smiling. ‘‘I about forgot you were here, Taylor. I’ll get to them grays later this afternoon. They’ll be ready by morning—don’t you worry.’’ He gave the lever on the side of the forge a few pumps, feeding the flames in the pit, then bent back over his work.

‘‘No problem. I appreciate you seeing to them.’’ Matthew spotted a stack of papers on Sampson’s workbench a few feet away.

‘‘You said you were leaving in a couple of days. Where you headed this time?’’

Matthew studied Sampson for a minute, silently debating. ‘‘I feel like trying my luck in California.’’

‘‘California . . .’’ Sampson let out a low whistle. ‘‘Now that’s a place I promised myself I’d get to some day. Never have, though. Guess all that gold layin’ around for the taking is gone by now, huh? You travelin’ alone?’’

‘‘Mornin’, Jake. Can you take a quick look at something for me?’’ In unison, both Matthew and Sampson turned at the question. Matthew recognized the man standing in the doorway from having seen him around town, but he didn’t know his name.

‘‘Sure thing, Wilson!’’ Sampson said, laying his hammer aside. ‘‘I’ll be right with you. Just let me finish up in here.’’ He wiped his hands on his apron. ‘‘It’s gonna be a busy one, Taylor.’’

Grateful for the reprieve from the older man’s questions, Matthew sighed. ‘‘That’s okay, I need to be going anyway. Thanks again for seeing to those grays, Jake. I’ll be back for them tomorrow.’’

As soon as Sampson disappeared out the front, Matthew crossed to the workbench and picked up the stack of parchments. He estimated fifteen or twenty sheets and leafed through the first ten, glancing up at the door every few seconds.

Eleven, twelve. Gradually, his unease lessened.

Hearing Sampson’s laughter coming from outside, he kept flipping the pages, sometimes reading the name first, other times scanning the charcoal likeness. On one page, the reward amount at the top drew his attention, and he studied the rendering of the man below. Not really familiar looking but something about the face made him linger.

He read the name again. Nothing.

A noise sounded behind him. Matthew dropped the stack back onto the workbench and turned. Finding no one, he chided himself on being so jumpy and flipped through the remaining pages.

On the next to the last sheet, he froze.

His thumb and forefinger tightened on the parchment. An icy finger of dread trailed up his spine. He shot a quick look at the door, then back down again.

‘‘I don’t know. I may have that part inside, let’s see if . . .’’

Matthew creased the page and crammed it inside his shirt. Thinking again, he picked two more from the stack at random and did the same. Better not to draw attention to the one page that was missing. A crooked trail was harder to follow than a straight one.

‘‘Find any you like, Taylor?’’

Heart pounding, Matthew ran his hand over the harness he was now holding. ‘‘I like them all. You do real good work, Jake.’’

‘‘Thank you, sir. I’ll make you a deal on one too.’’

‘‘I appreciate that. I’ll think about it and let you know in the morning.’’

Matthew was halfway back to the Carlsons’ before he realized he hadn’t stopped at the mercantile. He retraced his steps and left the list with the woman behind the counter, managing to be friendly without encouraging conversation. Leaving the store, he made his way back to the Carlsons’ home using less traveled alleyways and being sure to stay far away from Myrtle’s.

‘That was a delicious dinner, Mrs. Carlson. Thank you for inviting me to stay.’’ When Hannah reached for his empty plate, Matthew handed it to her, rising from his seat. She motioned for him to sit back down, and he did so, reluctantly. He enjoyed the Carlson family, but the parchment he’d tucked into his saddlebag earlier was wearing a hole in his conscience, plus he was tired and sore from working on the wagon all afternoon.

‘‘You’re welcome, Mr. Taylor. I’m glad you could join us. You’re invited to take the rest of your meals with us over the next couple of days too, if you’d like.’’

‘‘Thank you, ma’am.’’ He felt a tug on his sleeve.

‘‘Are you staying for dessert, Mr. Taylor?’’ Lilly smiled up from the seat beside him. The eleven-year-old was a younger version of her mother, with thick dark hair and violet eyes—and a fondness for jabbering, as he’d discovered over the past hour.

‘‘Of course he’s staying, Lilly.’’ Patrick scooted his chair back from the table and assisted Bobby up to his lap. ‘‘He wouldn’t want to miss your mother’s cherry pie. Now help with the dishes, please.’’

Matthew settled in for a few more minutes.

‘‘Matthew, you’re also welcome to bed out in the barn, if you like. That way you could work as late you want, and you’d be close in case Mrs. McCutchens needs something, or if the two of you need to discuss anything about your trip.’’

Knowing what Carlson was up to, he nodded, then looked across the table at Annabelle. She stared at Lilly, then back at him. He read something in her eyes and got the distinct impression that if they were alone she would tell him what she was thinking—which made him glad they weren’t. Her gaze wove a trail to the base of his chair, and he suddenly became aware of a soft thumping noise on the floor . . . and then realized it was his own boot.

She smiled at the sudden silence.

He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to hire him after all he’d said to her yesterday. Even more, he couldn’t believe all that he’d risked by saying it to her. Yet he would’ve felt like a coward had he not stood up to her, especially after the way she challenged him. The satisfaction he’d anticipated at telling her what he truly thought about her hadn’t come, and he couldn’t shake the memory of the look on her face. For the briefest time, she had appeared genuinely wounded, as though no one had ever told her what she was to her face before.

His thoughts went to the child she claimed was Johnny’s. Who was to say she hadn’t simply invented the story to further ensnare his brother? To keep Johnny from putting her aside? And even if she was in the family way, she couldn’t prove it was his brother’s baby.

He turned back to Carlson. ‘‘I appreciate your offer, Pastor. That would be handy, thank you.’’ Staying in their barn would keep him from having to go back and forth through town too—something he wanted to avoid. He wished they could leave sooner, but there was too much left to do. ‘‘And actually, Mrs. McCutchens and I spoke yesterday. I think we got things pretty well laid out. Wouldn’t you say, ma’am?’’

Annabelle wore a pleasant countenance, no matter how quiet she’d been during dinner. Not that he was complaining.

‘‘Yes, I believe we have a very clear understanding, Mr. Taylor.’’ She rose and gathered the rest of the plates, then peered down at his right boot as she walked by.

Matthew pressed his boot hard to the floor. Silently appreciating her subtlety, he didn’t show it. Even when she wasn’t talking, the woman spoke too much.

After eating, in record time, the best cherry pie he could remember, he seized the opportunity and said good-night.

With her skirt covering her legs, Annabelle let them dangle off the front porch, swinging them back and forth. She breathed in the cool night air. ‘‘I think I’ll miss the Colorado nights most of all.’’ At least the ones she’d experienced since leaving the brothel.

Patrick sat next to Hannah on the porch swing a few feet away, his arm around her shoulders. The gentle creak of their swaying was the only sound in the darkness surrounding them.

‘‘Hannah and I were wondering . . . did you and Jonathan talk much about Idaho? About your home there and what it would be like?’’

‘‘Some. He couldn’t wait for us to get there so he could show it to me. He said it was the most beautiful land he’d ever seen, and that’s saying a lot, because he loved it here. He actually said Idaho reminded him a lot of Colorado. But whatever kind of place it is doesn’t matter—it’ll be special to me because it was special to him.’’

She reached for her tea, and her wedding ring tinked against the glass. Being here again, talking on the porch late at night, reminded her of when Jonathan had courted her. They’d spent many an evening out here visiting with the Carlsons.

‘‘I was thinking again today about Jonathan’s letter,’’ Hannah said. ‘‘I never realized he was so gifted with words.’’

‘‘Neither did I.’’ Annabelle smiled to herself. ‘‘Until I read it. I just knew he used to write some after I’d gone to bed.’’

Night sounds filled the quiet. Crickets, nestled safe in Hannah’s flower beds, chirruped their lullaby. The aspen leaves quaked in the wind and the sound of a thousand tiny bells carried on the breeze. Annabelle closed her eyes, listening.

The snap of a twig brought her eyes open.

It sounded again, just around the corner, to the side of the house. Probably some curious coon foraging for a late-night dinner, but still . . . She searched the darkness, not frightened . . . just no longer convinced they were alone. Perhaps Matthew had decided to accept Patrick’s invitation to join them after all. He’d seemed on edge at dinner tonight—jumpy. It could stem from his eagerness to start the journey, but she doubted it.

‘‘Have you learned anything else about Sadie and where she might be?’’

Hearing Hannah’s soft question, a pressing weight filled Annabelle’s chest. ‘‘No. I checked at the saloon yesterday, then went back to the brothel to talk to some of the other girls. I asked everyone I knew, but none of them could tell me anything.’’ She listened for the sound on the side of the house again but heard nothing.

‘‘Whoever has Sadie is long gone—I’m sure of it. With her looks, she stands out too much for them to keep her nearby.’’ Which was part of the girl’s appeal, and curse. ‘‘But maybe, in a way, that’s a good thing. If she’s in one of the towns we pass through on our way north, or has been recently, I should be able to track her down.’’

‘‘What will you do when you find her?’’

She appreciated Patrick’s use of
when
rather than
if
. ‘‘I’ll buy her, if they’ll let me.’’

‘‘And if they won’t?’’

Lifting her shoulders, she sighed. ‘‘I don’t know. But I won’t leave her behind. Not again. Every day I live free of that life, I think of that poor child still trapped in it.’’

She heard a deep exhale. The creak of the swing went silent.

‘‘I don’t know quite how to ask this, Annabelle.’’

She looked over at Patrick in the darkness. His head was bowed, his forearms resting on his thighs. ‘‘You can ask me anything, Patrick. Same for you, Hannah. You both know that.’’

‘‘We don’t want to pry, Annabelle.’’ The darkness couldn’t mask the tenderness in Hannah’s voice. ‘‘We just want to try and understand. . . .’’

‘‘Understand what?’’ she asked after a long pause.

Patrick’s words came softly. ‘‘Understand what you’ve been through. You told Hannah and me that you’d spent sixteen years . . . working. . . . I don’t mean any offense by this question, but . . .’’ He paused, as though unable to force out the words.

‘‘How could so many years go by without me finding some way to escape?’’ Annabelle said, finishing the question for him.

‘‘Did you ever think of just running away? Maybe leaving during the night?’’

Patrick’s hesitance touched her, as did his naivet
. ‘‘First off, I’m afraid there’s little left that would offend me, and I can’t imagine any of it ever coming from either of you two.’’ Annabelle gently rubbed her wrist, feeling the knot on the underside. ‘‘I did run away, lots of times at first. But the beatings got worse each time they brought us back.’’

‘‘Got worse?’’ Hannah asked.

‘‘The madams I’ve worked for employed men too. There was always one, at least. He made sure the customers stayed in line, that they didn’t get too rough with the girls. He’d break up fights and handle any business the madam might have with the law. He also made sure the girls were ‘safe.’ At least that’s what they called it.’’ Gallagher, Betsy’s man, came to mind. Annabelle shuddered thinking about what he’d done to her and the other girls, making sure they knew their boundaries.

‘‘If a girl ever disappeared, the madam would send him to bring her back, on account of what the girl owed. Half of everything we made went to the madam right off the top, and then we also had to pay for room and board and clothes. A girl can’t get credit on her own—none of the merchants would lend to us.’’ She thought of Matthew and how he’d not so delicately made that point the other morning. ‘‘So we had to borrow the money, from the madam.’’