True to the Law (35 page)

“You really do mean to keep that at your side. I don’t think I realized how serious you were.” He bent his head to concentrate on his left boot. “Please tell me you’re not taking that to school.”

“Of course I’m not.”

“Good. I’d have to relieve you of it. I seem to remember you mentioning the ordinance against citizens carrying.”

Tru walked to the back door and put up the gun. When she reentered the kitchen, she moved to the stove where there was some residual heat from making a late-night cup of tea. She crossed her arms in front of her to keep warm.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Cobb pulled on his right boot and stamped the floor hard to make it a snug fit. “I did give you a nudge, and you didn’t stir. It seemed the proper thing to do to let you sleep.”

“I’d rather that you didn’t. In the future.”

“So there is a future.”

“Of course. Unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Cobb shook his head. He plowed his hair with his fingers as much in weariness as frustration. “Still drowning. Still in love with you.”

“You don’t sound very happy about it.”

“Still in pursuit of that.”

Tru’s slim smile carried all the regret she felt. “I’m so sorry I can’t do this differently.”

Cobb stood. “I know.” And he did. She hadn’t said the words yet, perhaps she couldn’t, but that did not mean that he didn’t understand. “Will you come to the Pennyroyal tonight?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’ll look for you. Maybe there will be room to sit at a table with Howard and Jack, or even the Shakespearean couple. You won’t have to worry that Mackey will join us.”

“I’d like that. Thank you for thinking of it.”

He shrugged, then remembered. “You’re welcome.”

Tru did not want him to leave, and she had no right to ask him to stay. Not really. “Walt will be wondering about you.”

“Probably not. He’s learned I keep unusual hours.” Cobb took a step forward, stopped. “Tru.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know . . .” He began, paused, and then began again. “I don’t know if it’s right to tell you this, but because I agree with everything you said about Andrew Mackey, this is one more thing you need to understand. He’s been entertaining Cil Ross in his room for several nights now.”

“Entertaining? That’s delicately put by the man I’ve been known to entertain.”

“Is that really what you want to say about it?”

She looked down, shook her head. “No. I don’t know what
to
say except that I’m worried on Cil’s behalf and not offended on my own. Cil doesn’t think it’s a dalliance. I don’t know her well, but I’m fairly confident of that. Yes, she flirts and carries on, and yet I’m not aware that she’s ever done any more than that. Mrs. Sterling wouldn’t put up with it if she knew. Not after the trouble a while back when the Coltranes were still here.”

“You’re talking about the Ransom girl.”

“You know about it?”

He nodded. “The mayor told me when I took the job. The worst thing that ever happened in Bitter Springs, Terry said. She worked at the Pennyroyal.”

“Her younger sisters attend the school. They talk about Emily now and again. You can tell how well they loved her. Maybe you should mention what Cil’s doing to Mrs. Sterling.”

“I’ve thought about it, for Miss Ross’s sake, but I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Because of us?”

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t like being a hypocrite.”

Tru was struggling with the same notion. “I could try talking to Cil. She might listen to me. How do you know that she’s been in Andrew’s room outside of her regular duties?”

“I saw her going up one night. I was getting in late myself. She didn’t see me then or later when I watched for her the next couple of evenings. Mackey’s different around her, too. Not smug exactly, more like he has a right to her.”

Tru thought Cobb had explained it very well. “I’ll think of something to say to her. Go on. Don’t give it another thought.” She pushed away from the stove and followed him to the back door. She hugged herself against the chill as he removed his hat from the hook, but that chill went bone deep when she saw his gun belt.

Tru was silent as he strapped it on. The belt was brown leather, the holster a little scuffed, a little worn. The revolver was a Colt Peacemaker with an ivory grip. He looked perfectly at his ease wearing it, as comfortable with it at his side as he was in his own skin. She was the one who couldn’t draw a breath.

Chapter Thirteen

Cobb was tacking a new notice to his office wall when the door opened behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, hammer in one hand, a second tack between his teeth, and nodded at Tru. He wondered if this was the first time she had seen the inside of the jail.

She gestured to him to finish what he was doing and began a slow circling tour that included stepping into the back room where the cells were. When she reappeared, he was standing a few feet back from the wall, critically eyeing his handiwork. She came up beside him and joined in the assessment.

“So this is the Wanted Wall,” Tru said.

“That’s what Rabbit calls it.”

“I can see why. It’s an impressive gallery of villains, miscreants, and desperados.”

Cobb nodded. “From five states and two territories.”

Tru took a few steps forward and studied the poster at the center of the wall. “William T. Barrington. He does bear a passing resemblance to Andrew Mackey, although maybe even a little more to Franklin. I can see why Ted Rush made a fuss about it. Has Andrew seen this?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. He’s never stopped in while I’ve been here.” Cobb pointed to the sketch of the man beside Barrington. “I think he looks a little like our mayor. In fact, at a glance, you could make a case for almost all of them looking like someone you know. The posters are helpful. Evidence is better.”

Cobb darted a look out the window to see if there were any passersby. There weren’t. He took the opportunity to put his arms around Tru from behind and rest his chin against her hair. She gave him a moment’s grief before she settled into the cradle he made for her.

He breathed deeply. “Your hair smells like lavender.”

“That’s your imagination. My hair smells like chalk dust.”

He chuckled. “All right.” He let her go and stepped back. “Would you like to sit?”

“No. I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Cil after school. I knew there would be no chance for a private conversation while she was working in the dining room.”

Cobb pushed the hammer lying on his desk to one side and made space for his hip. He folded his arms across his chest. “And?”

“And she was not receptive. I didn’t tell her that I knew she was regularly visiting Andrew’s room, but I let her know that I was aware of her regard for him, and I shared that he had three broken engagements to his credit. I hoped it would serve as a caution to her. It didn’t. I don’t know what would.”

“Let it rest, Tru.”

She sighed. “Very well. I’m going home now. I have a lesson to plan for tomorrow. I think I can manage to be at the Pennyroyal around six.”

Cobb nodded. He tilted his head toward the doorway. “You’re making a timely exit. I have company.”

Tru’s eyes followed the angle of Cobb’s head and saw Rabbit and Finn were preparing to storm the Bastille. “Au revoir,” she said brightly. Ignoring the odd look Cobb gave her, Tru opened the door and let the rabble in.

* * *

At a quarter past eleven, Tru was still waiting in the parlor for Cobb to arrive. Earlier they’d shared a table at the Pennyroyal with Charlie and Sue Patterson. Sue was well into her fifth month of pregnancy, and Charlie seemed to think that deserved a night outside of the house. Tru had the sense that Charlie just wanted to show his wife off, but when she mentioned it to Cobb, he told her he thought it had something to do with Sue’s cooking.

Andrew arrived after she and Cobb were already seated. She was aware of his scrutiny when he entered the dining room, but he sat at the window in the chair that she had come to think of as her own and that put him at her back. After she got over the idea that he was boring holes into her, she had enjoyed her present company.

Tru closed the book in her lap. Jim was going to be sorely disappointed when she told him she still had not finished
Triumphant Democracy
. She felt vaguely guilty about reading
Ninety-Three
, but the arrival of Rabbit and Finn at Cobb’s office had put her in the frame of mind to appreciate Victor Hugo’s revolutionary France.

She placed
Ninety-Three
on top of Jim’s recommendation and feeling restless, she got up to poke at the fire in the stove. She made enough noise at first to prevent her from hearing the back door open, but then Cobb stamped his boots and she felt the vibration under her feet.

“Is it snowing again?” she called to him as she turned away from the stove.

“It is. Hard.”

Tru only cared because snow meant a possible delay in the arrival of No. 486 from New York by way of Chicago and Omaha. That was surely the train bringing Frank Mackey to Bitter Springs. She set the poker in the stand and stood at the stove warming her hands behind her back.

When Cobb entered the parlor, his gaze shifted from Tru to the shotgun propped against the sofa. Except to shake his head, he did not comment. He stepped over to the stove and stopped when he was standing in front of her.

Tru shivered slightly. She could feel the cold coming off him in waves. Taking his hands in hers, she carried them to the small of her back so he could warm them as she had done, then she stepped into the embrace of her own making and offered him all of the warmth he craved.

Tru laid her cheek against his shoulder as she unbuttoned his jacket. She slipped her arms under the brushed wool and held him close.

“You wore your hair down,” he said.

She nodded. “For a while.”

He pressed a smile against her head. “You washed it.”

“To get the chalk dust out. It really does smell like lavender now.” She tilted her face upward. “What kept you? More trouble at Whistler’s?”

“No. It was Walt. I was getting ready to leave the hotel when he cornered me. He didn’t want to talk where we could be overheard so we walked down to the jail. He wanted to talk about us.”

“Us? You and Walt, you mean?”

“No, I don’t mean Walt and me.” He stepped out of their mutual embrace and took her by the wrist. He swept up the lamp in his free hand. “Come on. You’re more tired than you think. Let’s go upstairs.”

Tru followed but not before she grabbed her shotgun. Once they were in her room, she slid it under the bed and placed her slippers beside it. She laid her robe over the footboard and climbed into bed. She did not lie down, choosing instead to stuff a pillow behind her back and sit at the head. She tucked her knees against her chest and yanked the blankets up around her shoulders.

Cobb added wood to the fireplace and undressed before he joined her. Tru was stingy parting with the covers, and he had to wrestle one of the quilts away from her. When she agreed to marry him, he was going to present her with a trunk full of blankets. He might even add the quilt that was going to be auctioned off at the church’s box social.

“Well?” she asked once he was lying down. She had noticed that he was still favoring his left side. “What did Walt have to say?”

“He knows about us—as in you and me. I told you that he looked after me when I injured myself. He pulled out the largest shards and cleaned out my pocket afterward. Walt’s been stocking the bar at the Pennyroyal for a long time. He recognized the glass. Pittsburgh glass, he said. The tumbler was heavier than what Bill Whistler keeps in his saloon. Walt was pretty confident that there are only two places in town where that particular style of tumbler and that weight of glass can be found. One is the Pennyroyal. The other is in your cupboards.”

Tru blinked widely and when she spoke it was not much above a whisper. “My glassware. It must have come from the Pennyroyal. I don’t think I ever realized that.” Still disbelieving, she shook her head. “Almost everything in the house came from somewhere else. I arrived with the clothes Aunt Charlotte gave me, a few photographs, my father’s Bible, and a chest of books.”

“And the brooch.”

“Yes,” she said on a long exhale. “And the brooch.” She placed her hand on Cobb’s shoulder. “You know, it’s not so bad that Walt is the one who came to you. Next to Dr. Kent, he’s the most reliably closed-mouthed person in town, at least in matters like this. I could almost be tickled for him. People tend to underestimate Walt, but I think he’s done some good detecting.”

“That also occurred to me.”

“Did he press you to confirm his suspicions?”

“No. I think he just wanted me to know that I should watch my step. Literally. It seemed more important to him that I do right by you. I didn’t tell him that I was waiting on you to do right by me.”

“I’m sure that required considerable restraint on your part.” Tru squeezed his shoulder. “So Walt doesn’t really know that you hurt yourself here?”

“No. I could tell he was rethinking the story I gave him that night, but he stopped short of calling me a liar. He just knows I’ve been visiting you, and that this is where I’ve been most nights when I haven’t been in my hotel room.”

She nodded. “I appreciate you telling me.”

Cobb reached for the bedside lamp and extinguished it. “Why don’t you lie down, Tru? Do you think I don’t know why you’re fighting sleep? Your eyelids are drooping.”

“Are they?” She blinked several times, and they felt heavier each time. Stretching her legs, she inched down the mattress until she was lying beside him. “Tomorrow’s Thursday.”

“I know.”

“Maybe the snow will keep him away.”

“A day,” said Cobb. “A week. Do you really want to live on pins and needles until then?”

“I guess not.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t. Not yet. Tell me about the farm. How many acres did you have? What did you grow? Did everyone help with the harvest? What was your—”

Cobb put a hand over her mouth. “I’m going to oblige you but only because it’s going to put one of us to sleep.” He felt her nod, lifted his hand, and began. “The farm’s one hundred twenty acres. My grandfather cleared the first quarter himself. He married, had children, and they helped clear more. In turn, Granddad helped three of his boys buy up some of the surrounding land so they would have something when my father inherited the farm. My mother says you can’t throw a stone without hitting a Bridger. That’s even truer now than when she married my father.”

Cobb went on, describing turning over the fields for wheat, oats, and barley, the patches as big as Chicago city blocks, where they grew every kind of vegetable for market, and the acres lying fallow to replenish the soil for a new rotation of crops. He warmed to the subject more than he expected and the memories came easy. He told her about hitching horses to the reaper and driving them through the fields at harvest. He didn’t forget that he hated milking cows or that some of his most pleasant days were spent hiding in the apple orchard with a pencil and little notebook that he kept tucked in his pocket.

He had always known that he would leave the farm. He told her that, too. He mostly did what was expected of him, but he never pretended that he was going to live out his life in Lima, Ohio. When the time came, no one discouraged him from joining the Pinkertons.

“Why did you leave the Pinks?” asked Tru.

“Good Lord, you’re still awake.”

“Of course. I told you I was interested.”

“Do you know the motto of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency?”

“No, but I believe you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s
We Never Sleep
. I’m thinking you should work for them.”

Tru would not be put off. “Why did you leave?”

“It was too comfortable. I wanted to see what I could do on my own.”

Tru turned on her side and propped her head on her elbow. She laid her hand on his chest. “What happened in Indiana?”

“Indiana?” Even though he couldn’t see her properly, he knew Tru was shaking her head. She wasn’t going to accept that he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Something happened there,” she said. “Something when you were on your own.”

“You’re talking about Hempstead,” he said.

She heard it again, just as she had the first time he had mentioned the town, that thread of regret edging his words. She imagined that his eyes were already shuttered. “Tell me,” she said quietly. “Tell me the thing that’s hard to say.”

Cobb placed his hand over hers. He stared at the flicker of shadow and light on the ceiling. “I took the job to accomplish one thing for the town: to find a rapist and murderer. I was never Hempstead’s marshal. I lied about that. They already had one. Oliver Yates deputized me to give me the authority I needed, and I investigated, formed a posse of other deputies, and went on the hunt. When I was hired, no one knew the number of women who were so badly used or how wide we would have to cast the net. I interviewed three young women before a fourth admitted there was a second man involved. Until then, no one had been willing to mention the preacher. Only his son. Nathan Boley made sure the girls believed they would be damned if they said his name. He failed to protect his son in the same way.”

“Where is it that you think you failed?” Tru asked.

“How do you know that I did?”

“I don’t. I only know that
you
think you did. I can hear it.”

He was grateful that the dark hid his narrow, bitter smile. She didn’t need to see that.