Before the Dawn (4 page)

Cecil shook his graying head grimly. “No. Louis gave his son's care over to his wife's sister, Helene. She'd initially accompanied Bernice from Louisiana to Colorado for the marriage and stayed on. Monty saw very little of Seth after that.”

That saddened Leah, and she thought back upon the regrets Monty had confessed about his sons the night before he died.
Now, it's too late
.

“What about this Ryder? When was he born?”

“About two years after Bernice's death.”

“He looks mulatto.”

“He is. His mother was part-Black, part-Cheyenne.”

He paused for a moment to ask, “Do you know the biblical story of King David, and how he was able to claim Bathsheba as his own?”

Leah remembered the story from her Sunday school lessons. “Yes, David deliberately sent Bathsheba's husband, Uriah, into battle, knowing he would be killed.”

“Well, Ryder's mother was Louis's housekeeper. Back then, Louis had the arrogance and power to have anything he coveted, and he coveted her. Her husband worked in one of his mines. Louis sent him into a shaft everyone knew to be unsafe, and, just like David, the rival was eliminated. Louis never married her though.”

Leah's whole body went cold. She recalled Monty's other words:
“I've cast so much evil in the world, Satan probably has a pit just for me.”
An eerie chill crawled across her skin, and she rubbed at her arms, encased in the sleeves of her blue-wool dress.
Somebody walking over your grave,
her mother would have said in response to the feeling. Leah dearly hoped not. “So what happened to her?”

“She became his mistress, and then one night, a year or so after Ryder was born, she was found dead at the bottom of that same shaft.”

Leah slowly brought her hands to her mouth.

Cecil's eyes were emotionless. “There was an inquest. Witnesses placed Louis at the scene and testified that the two were having an argument that night. Louis never denied that. He did deny killing her. When the sheriff couldn't produce a witness to the actual act the charges were dropped. Talk was he'd bribed his way out of them.”

Leah felt overwhelmed. “Are we speaking of the same Louis Montague we just buried?”

“We are.”

Cecil added seriously, “As he freely admitted, he was someone else in those days, Leah.”

Their eyes met, and the cold truth staring back at Leah
sent another chill across her soul. “But he loved my mother.”

“Passionately, desperately. She was the only thing life ever denied him. Although she loved him in her own way, she wouldn't marry him. Louis knew women all over the world, but he'd never met one quite like your mother.”

So many conflicting emotions and questions filled Leah's head, she had no idea what to think or say. Finally, she asked, “What kind of reception will our arrival in Colorado fetch then?”

“If there are people still living there who were there when this all took place, not a good one I'm afraid. We left behind a lot of bitterness and much ill will.”

She stared off into the distance for a moment as she tried to digest all she'd heard.

He continued in a soft voice. “We were responsible for many many terrible things, he and I: cheating our workers, evicting destitute families even though we knew they had no place else to go. We cut corners on safety and cost men their lives. Profit ruled our existence. Timber, livestock, gold, silver, copper. If it made money, Louis wanted it, and I helped him get it in any and every way I could.”

“Why?”

“Because I relished the power I wielded in his name. Like Louis, I also have much to atone for when it comes time to meet St. Peter.”

Leah paused to watch Ryder Damien and Sam entering the glade. Cecil did the same. Ryder, with his long unfettered hair and sweeping coat, walked as if he owned the earth. She had to admit he was glorious-looking.

“That's a very angry man,” Cecil offered quietly.

“If he's convinced his father killed his mother, I'd say he has good reason to be.”

A tight-lipped Cecil nodded agreement.

The two men took seats on a bench a few yards away. As
if sensing Leah's interest, Ryder glanced her way. Their gazes locked and held for a long moment. He then he turned his attention back to his sandwich and whatever Sam was saying.

 

Sam looked across the yard to where Leah Montague and Cecil Lee were sitting and asked his silent companion, “You see her over there?”

Ryder didn't have to ask who he was referring to. “I do.”

“Mighty fine-looking woman.”

The chewing Ryder didn't respond.

“Your brother's going to be after her like a puma on a hare.”

“I'm sure he will.”

“You're going to let him?” Sam asked.

“Nope.”

Sam stared at Ryder as if he'd suddenly grown two heads. “She isn't going to give you the time of day after the way you just blasted her.”

“Sure she will. Adventuress like her will do whatever's necessary to keep herself in new gowns. Shouldn't be too hard to get her attention.”

“Suppose you're wrong?”

“I'm not,” Ryder replied confidently, watching her covertly. The fashionable chignon left her beautiful dark face unencumbered. In the prim, high-necked, dark blue dress, she looked like a spinster schoolmarm instead of an old man's bauble.

Sam added wisely, “Seth's going to bust a gut if you two stake the same claim.”

“That's why I'm going to do it.”

“You sure this isn't about something else?”

Ryder looked Sam in the eye. “What else would it be?”

“She was married to your father. You can't put horns on a dead man, son.”

“But I can put horns on my brother's ambitions. Louis has nothing to do with this.”

“Long as you're sure,” Sam commented.

“I'm sure, old man. I'm counting coup, nothing more.”

“Well, she'll be a damn pretty addition to the Colorado countryside, whatever happens.”

Ryder grudgingly agreed. In his grandfather's day, such midnight beauty would have commanded a bridal tribute of a thousand ponies. Her dark eyes had a feline slant, and the full mouth looked as lush as a field of blossoming columbines, but Ryder kept his full opinion to himself; she'd been married to Louis Montague.

Sam asked, “How long do you think she's going to stay in Colorado?”

Ryder pulled his eyes away from her. “Probably no longer than it'll take to read the will and get her hands on the estate.”

Sam's voice held a hint of disappointment. “Too bad. Woman like that makes a man want to spend a lifetime waking up at her side.”

Ryder shook his head at his old friend's musings. “You ought to be saving those pretty words for the widows waiting for you back home. And if you're not going to finish that last sandwich, hand it here. There's no telling when we'll get to eat again.”

To Ryder's surprise, Sam handed him the sandwich without a fuss. Sam surprised him further by suddenly rising to his feet, and announcing, “I'm going over there.”

A confused Ryder looked to the Montague widow and then back to his old friend. “Why?”

“Just want to talk with her a minute.”

“Sam! Come back here! Sam!”

But Sam was already headed across the glade. Ryder cursed silently.

 

When Leah saw Sam Waters heading in their direction, she asked Cecil, “What do you suppose he wants?” She wasn't in the mood for more insults, or any truths for that matter; she'd had enough drama for one day.

Cecil shrugged. “Don't know.”

“Was he living in Denver when you and Monty were there?”

“Nope. First time I ever met him was today.”

As Sam walked up and stopped before them, Leah nodded a greeting. In response, he politely removed his hat, then said, “Don't mean to bother you, Mrs. Montague, but I just came to say if you need any help while you're in Denver, let me know.”

The offer seemed genuine, as did his smile, but Leah felt compelled to say, “I don't think your friend would like that, but thank you.”

Sam waved a dismissive hand. “I'm not worried about him. All that different blood gets to fighting inside him sometimes and well—” He shrugged, as if that were explanation enough.

Leah didn't understand at all, but replied, “I see. Well, I wouldn't want to be the cause of a rift. Cecil and I are only going to be in Denver a short while.”

“Well, the offer stands.”

Cecil had a question. “Sam, how long have you known Ryder?”

“Ten, fifteen years.”

“You two good friends?”

“I'd say so.”

“Then do you know if it's true what he said about his father not leaving him anything?”

“Ryder wasn't left anything, far as I know.”

Puzzled, Cecil shook his head. “Louis left them both the Faith Mine. I wonder what happened?”

Sam shrugged. “Can't help you on that one.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome, but like I said, call on me if you need help with anything else.”

He tipped his hat to Leah. “Being seeing you, Mrs. Montague.”

“Thanks, Mr. Waters.”

He smiled, then left them to finish their lunch.

T
he conductor gave Leah and Cecil a knowing smirk as they passed him on their way back to the car, but they ignored him. Moments later, the train sounded its whistle, shrilly announcing its imminent departure from the Chicago station.

Leah, now comfortable in the window seat, watched late-arriving passengers hurrying to board. Ryder Damien and Sam Waters were among them. Leah sighed. She knew they were on their way to Colorado, too, but had no idea they'd be on this particular train. Although she did like Mr. Waters, she planned on avoiding them. One encounter with the acrid Ryder Damien had been enough.

Cecil's tale had certainly given her plenty to ponder, the least being the dual sides of Louis Montague. If what Cecil said were true, she understood the bitter feelings Monty had evoked. Evicting families and cutting corners on safety in the name of profit were not the actions of a benevolent man.
Had she known him at that time, would she have called him Satan, too? Probably. The Monty of thirty years ago bore no resemblance to the one she'd known and loved.

As the train picked up speed and the open green landscape began to stream by, her mind replayed her introduction to Ryder Damien. What a handsome man. His compelling eyes could charm a woman out of everything she held dear, but mention of the Montague name had turned him to stone. As she'd told Cecil earlier, if he truly believed the rumors surrounding the death of his mother, his bitter reactions seemed well-founded. Would the other son, Seth, be as angry? Leah could only assume the worst. Monty had made a mess of things, and she had a strong feeling this might only be the tip of iceberg.

She looked over at Cecil. He'd been very quiet since their return to the car. She supposed seeing Ryder again had given him plenty to ponder, too. “Is there going to be more, Cecil?”

He glanced her way and offered a faint smile. “An honest question deserves an honest answer. I don't know.”

Leah could feel impatience rising and didn't know if it was misplaced or not, considering the circumstances. “How could he not be concerned about the well-being of his own sons?”

Cecil shrugged. “That, too, is an honest question. Truthfully, the Louis of those days cared only about himself. Yes, he had two sons but
he
was the one under indictment,
his
name and reputation were being dragged through the mud. In his mind, he'd made many of his accusers back then extremely wealthy, and for them to accuse him of murder not only once, but a second time? He thought they were ungrateful hypocrites. When he walked away he turned his back on the lot of them. His sons included.”

Leah recalled Monty's anguish-filled confession the
night before he died, and the memory helped soften her feelings about him. “It was a decision he regretted in the end.”

“I know. He and I talked about it quite a bit. He had many, many regrets. As do I.”

She asked quietly. “What do you regret the most?”

He didn't hesitate. “That I never married—never had a family. Like Louis, once I finally realized the true value of life, it was too late.”

Leah's heart went out to him. In a way his regret mirrored her own. Because of her age, she doubted she'd ever marry or have a family either. “You never courted?”

He shrugged. “There were a few ladies here and there, but I was too busy making money to spend the time.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, Reba and I always considered you family, and I still do. Were it not for you, Miss Caldwell would never have let me back into her school.”

He smiled fully then. “Ah, yes, Miss Caldwell's School for Young Women of Color. You were quite the hellion back then.”

“The way they treated me, I should've burned the place to the ground.”

He chuckled.

A knock sounded. A smiling Leah headed over to the door to see who it might be. She opened it to find the conductor and an obviously angry Sam Waters standing on the other side.

The conductor announced importantly, “We're riding Jim Crow from here to Denver, so he either rides in here with you or I put him off at the next stop.”

Leah was taken aback by the man's declaration. He seemed very pleased with himself and his power. Leah didn't hesitate; in spite of the tension between their two camps, she wouldn't give the conductor the satisfaction
of setting Sam Waters down on the side of the tracks in the middle of Lord knew where. “He's quite welcome here.”

Leah could see the approval on Cecil's face. He obviously felt the same way. Neither of them wanted to aid the conductor in promoting Jim Crow's nefarious statutes. “Please come in, Mr. Waters.”

Sam nodded his thanks and complied, but not before shooting the conductor a malevolent glare.

That left Leah standing eye to eye with the conductor. In an emotionless voice she told him, “Thank you. You may go.”

The man's round face went red as a tomato. She doubted he'd ever been dismissed so pointedly by a woman of the race before. Leah didn't care. He didn't like them, and she truly didn't care for him or his high-handed posturing. He appeared as if he wanted to say something caustic in response, but because he'd seen the judge's document and knew she was traveling under his protection, his only recourse was to leave. So he did, but only after slamming the door for emphasis.

Sam Waters said, “Thanks, Mrs. Montague.”

“You're welcome. We may have our disagreements, but I'd hope you'd do the same for us were the shoe on the other foot.”

Sam turned and nodded a greeting Cecil's way. “Thanks.”

Cecil waved off the thanks. “You're welcome.”

Leah asked an obvious question. “Where's Mr. Damien?”

“Smoking car. He's going to ride out the trip there. Me, I'm too old to be up all night drinking and playing cards. The porter promised he'd bring me a cot to sleep on, if that's okay?”

Leah replied, “Certainly. We'll figure out where to put it when it arrives.”

“Have a seat,” Cecil said, gesturing to the settee and chairs.

“Thanks.” Sam sat and gazed around at the car's plush red furnishings. “Mighty fine car you got here.”

Leah smiled. “Yes it is. It belongs to Judge James Raddock. He was a friend of my late husband's.”

Sam appeared impressed.

An awkward silence followed.

Cecil asked Sam, “Do you play cards?”

Sam's face lit up. “Sure do.”

“Good, because this one's no challenge,” he declared, indicating Leah.

Leah's fists went to her waist in a display of mock indignation. “Hey!”

The statement was true, however. Although Reba had been a terror at cards, the skill had not been passed down. The bespectacled Cecil grinned at her reaction, adding, “But don't play backgammon with her, she's a shark.”

That was also true.

While the men began their game, Leah settled into the window seat with her own form of entertainment. Newspapers. She'd purchased a few outside the depot after their lunch in the glade and had been elated to find a lone vendor who'd sold Black papers as well. She took great joy in reading about the happenings and people in other parts of the country and the world. Now that she had the ability to travel to some of those places, her interest had risen even higher.

A two-week-old
Harper's Weekly
reported on the continued agitation for a standardized work day by an organization known as the Knights of Labour. Originally founded as a secret sect in 1869 so as to protect the identities of its or
ganizers and members, the group made its public debut in 1879, throwing down the gauntlet on behalf of the workers of America. The Knights embraced laborers both skilled and non, and its ranks were open to all races. Although Leah knew a little bit about its goals previously, she was surprised to read that an estimated tenth of its seven hundred thousand members were Black. Equally surprising was the information that they'd conducted well over a thousand strikes in the past year against industrial giants such as Chicago's McCormick Harvesting Machine Company, and that many of the work stoppages had turned violent.

The issues surrounding the Knights were also given a thorough discussion in the two Black newspapers she'd purchased: a copy of the
Cleveland Gazette
dated February 20, and a March 20 issue of T. Thomas Fortune's
Freeman,
published in New York. Each paper threw enthusiastic editorial support behind the movement and cited the group's inclusion of Blacks as an historical turning point for the country.

As Leah scanned the rest of the papers for more on the movement, she hoped Denver had a newspaper so she could keep abreast of the Knights' progress.

Leah read for over an hour. When her eyes became bleary, she set the papers aside and stretched to relieve the stiffness in her arms and back. The card game was wrapping up. Sam and Cecil seemed to have hit it off. They spent the whole time laughing, winning each other's pennies, and arguing back and forth over which was the greatest Black regiment. Sam, a veteran of the famed Ninth Cavalry, naturally chose his old unit, while Cecil, a native of Louisiana, championed the Louisiana Native Guard.

Cecil gathered up the cards and proudly declared, “The Louisiana Native Guard fought for the French, the Spanish, and, during the War of 1812, helped Andrew Jackson be
come a national hero by aiding his defeat of the British on the plains of Chalmette in defense of New Orleans.”

Sam scoffed. “Andrew Jackson? You'll get no thanks from the Cherokee for that. He stole their land, and I do mean
stole,
then made them walk the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma.”

“Well that's ironic coming from a cavalry soldier. You're no savior to the Indian either.”

Their tones made Leah think maybe they weren't getting along so well after all, but Sam smiled and shrugged. “You got me there, but I wasn't like a lot of our troops. Some hated the Indians as much as folks like Custer and Jackson. They didn't care that the government was destroying a whole people and using us to do it.”

Leah had never thought about the government's campaign against the Indians in quite those terms before, but decided Sam was right. Ironically, Washington had pitted one downtrodden race against another.

Once the cards were all gathered up and the debts squared, Cecil backed away from the table and stood. “Well, I'm going to head to the smoking car and stretch my legs a bit. Care to join me, Sam?”

“Sure. I can see how Ryder's doing.”

Cecil went still.

Intuitively, Sam said, “Don't worry. He's probably still too angry at the conductor for threatening to put him off the train to remember he's mad at you, too.”

Leah asked, “Are you sure?” She didn't want Cecil subjected to any more venom.

The old cavalry soldier looked her in the eyes, and said, “Mrs. Montague, I've known Ryder a long time. Deep down inside, he's a good man.”

Leah wanted to believe him, but Damien's wintry visage remained a vivid memory.

Cecil seemed satisfied, however, so asked her, “Will you be all right here alone?”

She nodded. “Sure. If something happens, I'll send a porter for you.”

“Fair enough,” Cecil replied. “We'll see you in a while then. No more than an hour or two.”

After their departure, Leah sat down at the table and played solitaire. When she tired of that, she went back to the window seat, stretched out and read some more items in the newspapers. She'd just started in on an article about the antics of the forty-ninth Congress when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she called, guessing it might be the porters with Sam's cot.

It was Ryder Damien.

Soundlessly, she set the paper aside and sat up. She watched his eyes scan her slowly from her head to her black-stockinged feet. Her shoes were on the floor below her. The faint mockery in his eyes made Leah want to hide her feet beneath her blue-wool dress.

“Do you always run around without your shoes?” he asked.

She didn't like the veiled censure in his tone, so, just to be contrary, she replied, “Yes.”

It irritated Ryder to find her even more beautiful than he remembered. Over the course of the afternoon, he'd tried to convince himself that he'd only imagined the ripe lure in her mouth, exaggerated the sultry feline cut of her eyes and the exquisite richness of her midnight skin. Her black-diamond beauty whispered to him so strongly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he unconsciously touched the small medicine bag he wore beneath his clothing for spiritual protection.

Because the room had gone too silent, and the air had be
come too thick, Leah felt the need to say something, anything. “If you're looking for Sam, he and Cecil went to the smoking car.”

“What kind of woman marries a man old enough to be her father?”

The bluntness of his attack threw her, but only for a moment. “One who loves him very much.”

“Him or his money.” It was a statement not a question.

She looked him up and down. “Are you always this rude?”

“Some call it rudeness. I call it truth.”

“I doubt you'd know truth if it slapped you in the face.”

Ryder raised an imperial eyebrow. He'd not expected return fire. “So, the lovely widow has claws—tiny ones, but claws nonetheless. You're braver than I thought.”

“I'm more everything than you thought, Mr. Damien. So, again, what do you want?”

Ryder grudgingly admitted to finding her combativeness impressive. Her raised chin and flashing dark eyes let him know she wasn't easily intimidated, but he supposed a woman of her ilk needed to be tough to survive. “I brought Sam's gear.”

Leah noticed the valises at his feet for the first time. “Set them there by the door.”

He complied, then said, “Thanks for taking him in.”