Sleeping Beauty (31 page)

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New from
New York Times
Bestselling Author

Phillip Margolin

Worthy Brown's Daughter

Available in hardcover, downloadable audiobook, large print, and e-book in January 2014

One of a handful of lawyers in the new state of Oregon, recently widowed Matthew Penny agrees to help Worthy Brown, a newly freed slave, rescue his fifteen-year-old daughter, Roxanne, from their former master, a powerful Portland lawyer. Worthy's lawsuit sets in motion events that lead to Worthy's arrest for murder and create an agonizing moral dilemma that could send either Worthy or Matthew to the hangman.

At the same time, hanging judge Jed Tyler, a powerful politician with a barren personal life, becomes infatuated with a beautiful gold-digger who is scheming to murder Benjamin Gillette, Oregon's wealthiest businessman. When Gillette appears to die from natural causes, Sharon Hill produces a forged contract of marriage and Tyler must decide if he will sacrifice his reputation to defend that of the woman who inspired his irrational obsession.

At Worthy's trial, Matthew saves Worthy by producing a stunning courtroom surprise and his attempt to stop the deadly fortune hunter ends in a violent climax. Based on a historic case and brimming with Margolin's trademark suspense, murder, and plot twists,
Worthy Brown's Daughter
is a richly textured and absorbing story – a legal thriller with heart.

An excerpt from
Worthy Brown's Daughter

Dedication

For Doreen, who was with me when I started

Worthy Brown's Daughter
, and is still in my heart

PART ONE

PHOENIX

CHAPTER 1

T
he river was insane. It boiled and surged between its banks, panicking the horses, terrifying the women and children, and forcing the men to hide their fear, which was considerable. The wagon master had ordered a halt for the night so the wagon beds could be caulked to make them watertight. As soon as the sun rose, several men tied ropes around their waists and swam the river to anchor a cable that would guide the wagons across to the far shore. The wagon master, who had taken many travelers along the Oregon Trail and knew a thing or two about fording rivers, guaranteed everyone in the party that the crossing would be perfectly safe. By the time Matthew Penny was ready, Rachel Penny was not so sure. She'd seen the river hurl huge logs about as if they were matchsticks, and none of the wagons had made it to the other side easily.

“I'm afraid,” Rachel told her husband moments before Matthew drove their wagon into the swirling waters.

“Don't be. I'll make it, and I'll be waiting for you on the other side.”

“It can't be safe to cross now,” she whispered, not wanting their friends, Paul and Mary McCormick, to know how frightened she was.

Matthew grasped his wife's hand and held it firmly. “We're going to be okay. Be strong. Mary needs you.”

Rachel was riding in the back of the McCormick wagon to comfort Mary, who was pregnant and ill. She wiped a tear from her cheek and threw her arms around Matthew's neck. Over his shoulder she could see dusty plains stretching out forever beneath a slate-gray sky filled with turbulent, merciless clouds. The landscape terrified her. The last thing she said was, “I love you.”

Matthew held his wife a moment more before disengaging and taking his place on their wagon.

“See you on the other side,” he told her with fake cheer. Then he snapped the reins, and the oxen walked reluctantly into the river.

Matthew was across in no time, without adventure, and he breathed a sigh of relief when his feet were planted on solid ground. He waved at Paul McCormick, a large man who was perfectly at home steering a team of oxen across a wide river. Behind Paul, Rachel smiled bravely through a gap in the canvas. Matthew threw her a kiss. The wagon rolled, and she ducked inside.

Emotions as strong as the current washed over Matthew when McCormick drove his team into the water. He loved Rachel and could not bear to be separated from her, especially knowing how terrified she was of making this crossing. But she would make it, and he would be here to comfort her and to chide her about how silly she'd been to worry. Then he changed his mind. He would hug Rachel, but he would not tease her. She'd sacrificed too much for him to be shown anything but love and respect.

Rachel had been perfectly happy in Ohio, where they were surrounded by loving families, but Matthew had contracted the wanderlust. It had come on him like a sickness, making him hot and restless and driving him west when all Rachel wanted was what they had already. Matthew had seduced his wife with promises of a better life in an Eden that would rival the original garden, and Rachel had given up everything to follow him to Oregon.

The McCormick wagon was halfway across when the cable snapped. Matthew saw Paul half standing and the wagon teetering for an eternity in the ferocious current. Then Paul was flung into the river, arms flailing, and the wagon was on its side, headed underwater. The oxen held fast for a moment, but the power of the river and the weight of the wagon dragged them off their feet. They snarled in the reins and fought the yoke, but the river had them. A sorrowful moan rent the air just before their muzzles disappeared beneath the foaming water.

For a split second the canvas flap blew out, and Matthew saw Rachel slam against the inside of the wagon. He screamed her name and was rushing toward the riverbank when two strong men wrestled him to the ground. He was still screaming her name when the wagon disappeared around a bend in the river, and he was screaming it again when the boy Harry Chambers had sent to fetch him shook his shoulder and wrenched him out of his nightmare.

“What!” Matthew exclaimed, bolting upright. The boy jumped back. Matthew stared at him without comprehension, his heart thumping.

“Mr. Chambers needs you at the inn,” the startled boy stuttered. “He said they're fixing to lynch the salesman, and you got to come.”

“What salesman?” Matthew asked.

“The one that stole the money.”

Matthew had no idea what the boy was talking about, but a lynching was serious.

“Tell Harry I'll be right over,” he said, and the boy took off. The tent flap closed, and Matthew forced himself to stand. He was twenty-nine, tall, and well built, with clear blue eyes and dark hair that hung to his shoulders. His appearance would have been considered youthful had it not been for the lines that hardship and sorrow had etched into his face. When freshly bathed and groomed and dressed in a clean, unwrinkled suit, the attorney was quite presentable. Awakened from his deep, troubled sleep after riding for hours in the sweltering heat of summer, Matthew felt awful and looked worse.

In 1860, most of the Oregon counties where court was held had no hotels. Judges, lawyers, and litigants boarded in any quarters that were available, usually a one-room pioneer cabin where they learned quickly how to change clothing in bed to avoid embarrassing their reluctant hosts. The little town of Phoenix was unusual. When rumors spread that a railroad line might pass through it, the speculators had descended, bringing instant prosperity and a need for lodging. At one end of the town's only street was Harry Chambers's inn, a two-story clapboard lodging house and drinking saloon. At the other end was a large canvas tent sectioned off into tiny sleeping rooms on which its owner had bestowed the grandiose name the Hotel Parisian.

Matthew Penny was one of a small group of lawyers in Portland with a private practice. There were fortunes to be made in that bustling, waterfront town of roughly three thousand souls, but real estate, shipping, and commerce were strangers to Matthew's law office. His clients were not the wealthy merchants but small farmers and shopkeepers as likely to pay in produce or trade as in cash. This accounted for Matthew's sleeping on a dirt floor in a canvas tent.

Matthew's clothes and face were caked with dust, and his hair was matted across his forehead. He brushed away as much of the evidence of his travels as he was able, ran his fingers through his hair, trying for a semblance of order, and made a sorry attempt at smoothing down his clothes. Then he trudged off to the inn.

A
S
S
OON AS
M
ATTHEW ARRIVED
at the end of Main Street, he heard the angry murmur of the crowd milling around the oak in the field in front of the inn. Matthew hurried over to Harry Chambers, who brought to mind one of the fat geese he plumped up for his guests. His immense belly—hidden behind a stained apron—rolled like the foothills, and rings of fat circled his neck. Chambers's sandy hair was thinning, and he sampled his wares more frequently than was advisable, so his bulbous nose was veined and red.

“I've been riding all day, Harry, and I'm exhausted. Why did you have that boy wake me?”

The innkeeper pointed toward a tall, gangly man who was gagged, trussed up, and held firmly by two angry farmers.

“That's Clyde Lukens. He stole two hundred dollars from a guest at the inn.”

Chambers nodded toward a tall, rawboned man who held a length of rope, one end of which he'd fashioned into a noose.

“Abner Hardesty's decided to fix the problem without the inconvenience of a trial, and so far you're the only lawyer who's arrived for court.”

“I'm a
lawyer
, Harry, not a
lawman
.”

“Well, someone's got to do something, and no one would listen to me.”

Matthew sighed. “Has Lukens confessed?”

“No, he's been screaming he's innocent since we caught him. That's why the gag. They couldn't shut him up any other way.”

Hardesty threw the noose at the oak's sturdiest branch, and the crowd roared approval. When the prisoner saw the rope drape itself over the tree limb, his eyes grew wide and he began flailing in his captors' grasp.

The angry crowd frightened Matthew, but court would be held in the morning, and that was the place where civilized societies resolved their disputes. Matthew steeled himself and pushed through to the area shaded by the oak just as a horse was led into position beneath the noose.