Stay a Little Longer (20 page)

Heaven only helps those who help themselves!

After leaving his room and taking a long look at the closed door behind which the stranger lay, Jonathan made his way down
the stairs to where Otis Simmons lounged in a rocking chair. With his feet propped up on a precariously piled stack of pillows,
a half-empty whiskey bottle tucked into the crook of an arm, and his large hands folded over his ample belly, he seemed as
hard at work as usual. Even as Jonathan stood watching the oaf, the first deep rumbles of a snore began to echo from him.

“Excuse me, sir,” Jonathan shouted, giving the man a persistent shake.

Otis came to with a start, his feet plunging from their resting place and his body jumping so high that he nearly sloshed
a bit of his liquor free from the previous safety of the bottle. “What the hell’s the matter with you!” he bellowed in anger.
“Don’t you know no better than to go ’bout wakin’ a fella when he’s in the middle of havin’ his afternoon nap?”

“I’m sorry to have startled you,” Jonathan answered with feigned innocence, “but I thought you might want to have this.”

From the breast pocket of his shirt, he produced the rent money that Otis had been badgering him about; he’d been fortunate
enough to come across a widow in desperate need of mothballs; she had bought two boxes. That sale had been one of few made
for weeks and he was glad to get it.

“ ’Bout damn time,” Otis grumbled as he snatched the money from Jonathan’s hand and stuffed it into his own pocket. Without
another word, he made ready to go back to sleep.

Jonathan cleared his throat before Otis could close his eyes; after all, the reason he had come downstairs, had initiated
conversation with the fat slob, wasn’t because he was dying to pay the money he owed, but rather to gain information. “I say,
Mr. Simmons,” he began. “I was wondering if you knew anything about our new boarder.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout,” Otis answered gruffly.

“Surely you know of whom I’m speaking,” Jonathan pressed, his interest more than a bit piqued by the other man’s initial denial.
“The gentleman that was moved into the room next to mine… the strange man that you and Rachel placed there two days ago?”

“He ain’t no boarder… just some sick fella that needs to get his feet back under him before he sets back out for wherever
it was he was goin’. Where that is or, for that matter, who he is ain’t none of your business.”

Jonathan couldn’t be certain, but he believed he detected the trace of a threat in Otis’s words. Just as when he was a boy
out in the schoolyard, threatened physically by the older bullies for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, the prospect
of finding out about the stranger instantly became far more attractive.

“You mean to say that you don’t know the man’s identity?”

“Nope.” Otis shrugged.

“And that fact sits well with you?” Jonathan asked incredulously. “A stranger living among us and you don’t know the slightest
thing about him! Why, he could be a fugitive from the law, or a murderer or bank robber or swindler who’s looking to take
unfair advantage of all of us!”

“If he is, he’s gonna be in for one hell of a surprise when he finds we ain’t got enough to afford a pot to piss in.” Otis
guffawed, his belly jiggling as if it were a roiling sea. “Put it out of your head and go back to sellin’ your trinkets, Moseley.
I ain’t no detective from one of them pulp magazines, but even a guy like me can plainly see that that fella upstairs is ’bout
as dangerous to us as a cat that done got caught in a whirlwind!” With that, Otis took a long draw on his whiskey, rearranged
his pillows, closed his eyes, and gave the clear indication that any further conversation would be unwise.

Not wanting to push his luck too far, Jonathan made his way to the courtyard at the rear of the building. He’d held the slim
hope that he would once again come across Rachel as she hung laundry on the line, giving him the opportunity to resume his
courtship, but the courtyard was empty save for that brat of a spoiled child, Charlotte, and her mangy dog.

Jonathan was about to go back inside, to retreat to his room where he would once again plot his eventual breaching of Rachel’s
defenses, when a sudden inspiration struck him.
Surely, inducing Charlotte to tell me what I want to know would be a simple matter…
Where Otis had been reticent, he assumed that the little girl would offer little resistance; she was a fish on the end of
his line that just needed to be reeled in.

“Charlotte?” he called as sweetly as he could manage. “Charlotte, might I have a word with you, my dear?”

For a moment, Jonathan worried that the girl would run. She looked at him, surprise showing on her face at his having spoken
to her, and then over her shoulder toward the alley and escape, but eventually she came closer, with the mutt at her side.

“How are you this fine day?” he asked gently, trying to be as nice as he could but knowing that it sounded forced. Being kind
to children certainly wasn’t something that came naturally to him; their dull-wittedness drove him half out of his mind and
trying to understand their rambling prattle was nearly enough to make him pull his remaining hair out.

“All right, I guess,” she mumbled, kicking absently at a pebble at her feet.

“Say, Charlotte, I was wondering if you knew anything about the stranger who is staying in the room next to mine.”

“He’s not a stranger.”

“You know who he is?” Jonathan asked delightedly. “You know his name?”

“Nope,” Charlotte answered with a shake of her curly hair, “but he’s no stranger. I took care of him in the woods… well, Jasper
and I did, anyways. He’s as nice as can be.”

“But… you don’t even know his name?”

“Only Rachel does,” the girl explained innocently. “But she told me that I wasn’t allowed to ask what it was, all on account
of his not feelin’ well. She wouldn’t let me ask no questions, but that’s all right with Jasper and me. Even if we don’t know
what to call him, we like him just the same.”

Jonathan didn’t hear much after Charlotte mentioned Rachel’s name; his mind was stuck on the fact that his beloved had somehow
grown close to the stranger, had been taken into his confidence and learned his name. He began to see the man as a rival,
another suitor for Rachel’s affections, and, even worse for his dreams, she seemed to be falling for his attempt; she was
nothing but a fly to be caught in the man’s spiderweb of lies!

And that is something that will not do!

“Your uncle said that the man was sick,” Jonathan pressed. “Is that why Rachel is spending so much time in his room?”

“She’s the one tendin’ to him, but I’m sure I could do it,” Charlotte pouted. “I was doin’ just fine out in the woods.”

“I’m sure you were, dear.”

Certain that he could learn nothing further, Jonathan sent Charlotte back to her playing, and she was only to happy to oblige.
When she ran away, Jasper hung back, staring at Jonathan with the hackles on the back of his neck raised, unblinking eyes
boring holes into the man for a moment, before he too headed off for more entertaining exploits.

Jonathan knew that something, some sort of secret, was being kept from him, and that was a state of affairs that simply would
not do. Clearly, Otis had been reluctant to say much, but from what he had gathered from Charlotte, he finally had something
to piece together. Rachel was complicit! Beginning with the way she doted upon the sick man and ending with the preventive
way she had kept her niece from asking questions—all pointed to the fact that there was a reason to hide the truth.

But the worst part of all was that the stranger was allowed to be so close to Rachel; with his illness, he would see her nearly
every time he woke and would hear her voice before all others.
No man other than myself should receive such luxury!

Stalking back to his room, Jonathan knew that he couldn’t allow Rachel’s relationship with the man to go too far lest his
own dreams and plans for the future be ruined forever.

Somehow, some way, I will get to the bottom of this
.

Zachary Tucker crushed the butt of his still smoldering cigar under his booted foot with an angry zeal that would have shocked
most of his bank’s customers. His fists were tightly balled and his temple throbbed whenever he gave thought to being denied
what he wanted by Eliza Watkins, her drunken brother, Otis, but especially by the woman’s daughter, Rachel.

“Damn their stubbornness!”

Nearly two weeks had passed since he had set foot inside the dilapidated boardinghouse and made his case to Rachel that she
induce her mother to take his generous offer and sell him their property. He’d walked away elated, sure that she would make
Eliza see reason, realize that they would be so much better off with money rather than memories that would never pay their
debts. He’d been confident that all of his problems with the Gaitskill Lumber Company would soon be gone, forgotten in the
rousing success of his ever-growing business.

But something had gone wrong.

He had waited, first day after day and then week after week, hoping that Rachel would come to him with the news that they
had agreed to accept his offer. But time had passed without a word. Slowly, his frustration had become anger.

“I told you they wouldn’t take the money.”

Zachary turned to look at Travis Jefferson. The man lounged easily in one of the chairs in front of the desk, his hat in one
hand as the other absently combed through his thick blond hair. Travis’s words could have been taken as arrogance, a smugness
bordering on insubordination, but his face betrayed nothing. Besides, as much as Zachary was loath to admit it, his lackey
was right; he had underestimated Eliza Watkins and her brood’s resolve to retain their ownership of the boardinghouse.

“It is unfortunate that you were correct,” Zachary angrily agreed. He made no attempt to show Travis that he was unhappy with
his speaking; he had found that every once in a great while it was advantageous to let his underlings believe that they were
right.

“I reckon that the question facing us now is what to do about it.”

Without answering, Zachary went to his desk and picked up the latest telegram he’d received from the lumber company. In it,
they had informed him of their growing impatience and had expressed just how much longer they were willing to wait to receive
what they had been promised.

“Three weeks,” he spat. “All we have left is three weeks.”

“Ain’t a lot of time.”

“No, it’s not,” Zachary agreed. “So whatever it is we decide to do needs to get results.”

Just the thought of his deal with the lumber company going sour was enough to make Zachary sick to his stomach. Not only would
he have lost many long months’ worth of diligent work, but the future loss to the bank, and therefore to his pocket, would
be almost immeasurable. That he would be thwarted by his dead brother’s family was simply adding insult to injury.

And that cannot be allowed!

“We should do what I suggested a ways back,” Travis said solemnly.

“Which is?” Zachary snapped.

“It’s like I said when the company sent that highfalutin lawyer up here to rattle our cage,” the man explained as he struck
a match against the heel of his boot and brought the flame against his cigarette. “You leave me alone with them Watkins folks
for a bit and there won’t be no problem that can’t be overcome. It’s mighty amazin’ what a little persuasion can accomplish.”

“You mean hurt them…”

“Only if they’re disagreeable.”

Zachary sighed and turned back to the window. Though he had often used Travis Jefferson’s propensity for violence for his
own ends before, breaking a debtor’s arm or silencing a loose tongue, he felt a sense of reluctance to use him this time.
He wasn’t sure from where this unwillingness sprang; maybe there were some lingering feelings for his brother lurking in the
depths of his heart. The thought of Rachel at the man’s mercy, defenseless and vulnerable, made him a bit squeamish.

Still, he had no doubts what was at stake. If he were to fail in this endeavor, he would never control Carlson. Ever since
Mason had foolishly set off for the battlefields of Europe, Zachary had bided his time, made his plans, and ruthlessly followed
his own self-interest until he had secured what was rightfully his. Now, on the cusp of getting what he had always wanted,
was no time to get cold feet. That Eliza Watkins and her family refused to acknowledge what was for the best wasn’t his fault,
and he would be damned if he would be the one to suffer. If they couldn’t see reason, then let them suffer the consequences.

“What would you do to them?” he asked.

“You know me, Mr. Tucker.” Travis chuckled. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Spinning around, Zachary smashed his fist down onto his desk so hard that his cigars nearly jumped from their box. “Tell me
what it is you plan to do to them!”

Even in the face of his boss’s fury, Travis Jefferson showed no sign of being spooked by the outburst. Calmly, he took a drag
of his cigarette and blew an undulating stream of smoke toward the ceiling. With eyes as flat and cold as stone, he looked
at Zachary and said, “If they don’t give you what you want, they will know pain. Whether it’s a broken bone or bloodshed,
that’ll be up to them. Makes no difference if it’s man or woman, ain’t nobody gonna keep us from givin’ them lumbermen what
they want.”

Beads of sweat stood out on Zachary’s forehead as he contemplated what Travis had said. Agitated, he nodded a couple of times
and said, “Good, good… that’s just fine. But for now I only want you to deal with Otis Simmons and not any of the women. Maybe
if some harm comes to him, the other two will be willing to make a deal.”

“You sure you don’t want it to be the little girl?” Travis asked. “Nothin’ gets results like harmin’ a child.”

Zachary tried not to show his revulsion as he answered. “Just do as I told you and give Otis a reason to change his sister’s
mind. Hopefully it will be the only time you need to make an impression.”