Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) (5 page)

“Nope.”

He had to laugh. “At least
you’re honest.”

She shook her head, and her
still-red eyes suddenly looked a little glassy. “I’m not discussing my father,
or anyone else in my family, with you. Pop never let us talk about his work,
even if we knew what it was. Most of the time, it was jumbled numbers and
scribbled notes no one but him could understand. You wasted your time coming
here.”

Luke ran his hands through
his hair. She was hiding something. He drew a hand over his mouth and closed
his eyes briefly. This wasn’t turning out as he had hoped, but he wasn’t even
sure what he had expected. “Look, Jess, I never thought you’d welcome me with
open arms, but I didn’t think you’d refuse to help Hiram—and
yourself—out of a bad situation.”

“If you wanted a warmer
reception, you should have come home sooner.” She was quiet for a moment. “I
want to help Hiram, but I don’t know you anymore. I’ve already been asked, ‘What
were they working on? Would you sell your father’s papers? Did he work only in
his lab in town, or did he work from home?’“ Her voice dropped an octave or two
as she mocked her interrogators. “I’ve already been asked these questions. If I
wouldn’t talk to them, why would I tell you? They, at least, offered to pay me.
You ask me to give up my father’s secrets for free.”

Someone had come here before
him, asking about her father’s inventions? This situation was becoming more
dangerous by the second, and, judging from Jessie’s expression, she had no
idea.

“Who else has been here?” he
asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.” Though
anxiety dogged him, he kept his voice bland. He forced himself to view her as a
potential suspect in a case, to keep this exchange in perspective.

She ticked off the names and
the positions on her fingers. “The sheriff. Mr. Worthington, from the paper.
Mackey and Fitzpatrick.”

“The miners?”

“As if there are any others.
My father’s formula for refining the blue silver would make them a fortune, if
they made it cheaper and sold to anyone. Think of what the Confederates could
do if they didn’t have to rely on black market suppliers. Imagine the fleet of
airships they could build.” Their eyes locked. “Who else? Hiram tried to get me
to sell a couple of times. A couple of others did, too.”

Luke put a hand up to stop
her. “Wait.
Hiram
wanted to buy your
father’s papers from you? Didn’t he have access to all of your father’s notes?”

“Not his private ones,” she
said.

“There were things your
father kept from Hiram?”

“There were things my father
kept from everyone.”

Luke nodded slowly. Then
there was still hope, for her and for all of them. “Would you let me look at
your father’s papers?”

“No.”

“I can get a warrant.”

“Then go get one.”

He leaned forward and rested
his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of your
situation, Jessie.”

Narrowed eyes appraised him. “Why
don’t you enlighten me?”

When Luke next spoke, he
chose his words carefully. “The government thinks Hiram’s been bilking them. He
promised an invention that could change the course of this war months ago. I
don’t have the specifics. I’m not sure anyone does. He’s been accepting payments
made to your father’s company for months, only there’s no invention and the
inventor’s missing. Unless you’ve taken over?”

She shook her head, denying
all or part of it. “No. You’re lying.”

“Have you been getting money
from Hiram?” he asked.

She toyed with the turquoise
beads on her dress. “I…”

The fear in her voice, the
nervous gestures, told him he nearly had her. “You need to come clean now. If
there’s no invention, you’ll need to give the money back. I can only help you
if you let me. You need to tell me the truth.”

She shook her head again,
this time with more force. “No.
No.
There
must be some mistake.”

“Hiram’s been paid a king’s
ransom for an invention he hasn’t produced. Was there an invention at all?”

“You know Pop. There was
always an invention.”

He acknowledged her comment
with a single nod. “Where’s the money going?”

“I don’t know!”

“Where’s the money?”

“I told you, I don’t know!
All I get is royalties for the blue silver. Hiram has always taken care of the
money. He always said we wouldn’t understand the inner workings of the company,
and Pop never cared for the business end of things. When he died, I offered to
take over the books, but…” She trailed off. Her brows drew toward one another
and her lips pursed.

“He’s cheating you, too.”

She shook her head and held
up a hand to keep him from saying more. “I’m not saying that. You know how men
are—I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t understand the way he kept the books.”

“You’re the daughter of a
brilliant inventor. He’s been bilking you, Jessie.”

“I’m an Indian and a woman.
Prejudices run deep, especially now. I’ve known Hiram my whole life. He wouldn’t
do that to me. You’re wrong. This can’t true.”

“You’ve known me your whole
life, too.”

A single, mirthless laugh
escaped her lips. “Yeah, but Hiram never walked out on me. When Gideon died, he
was here, same as when Pop died. He even handled everything for me, right down
to planning the funeral. He was
here
.
He helped me through all of it, took care of me and gave me money when I needed
it. Where were you?”

His mouth tightened. He didn’t
need reminding of how he’d hurt her when he left. “I never wanted it to be this
way,” he offered. Then her words sunk in. “Wait. Gave
you money? Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?”

She waved a dismissive hand in
his direction. “Pop was an inventor. He made some money on the patents, but
ever since I can remember, the company was always…”

He gaped at her in disbelief.
She didn’t actually believe the drivel
coming out of her mouth, did she?

“Struggling,” she finished in
a weak voice.

Luke stood and looked out the
window. “Goddammit. You have no idea. “

“There’s been some mistake.”
Her voice fell flat.

He grunted. “There’s no
mistake. You’re worth a fortune. Your company is worth a fortune. The
government has paid out a million dollars in the last year, most of that after
your Pop went missing. A quarter of that was just royalties. We’re talking
millions of dollars over the last eight years of the war in blue silver
revenues alone. Millions, Jessie. Tell me you don’t have that.”

“Of course I don’t!” She
motioned to the room around her, with its worn, tired furniture. “Where are the
fine things? The servants and guards? You see any of that stuff, Bradshaw?
Because I see a Paviotso girl living alone in a house her father built, on the
outskirts of a dirty mining town. I see a sagging front porch and more
attempted lynchings than you could even imagine. Do you think I’d stay in this
godforsaken town if I could afford to go somewhere else? Why wouldn’t I go
someplace where the air didn’t burn every time I took a breath? There
is
no money. If I had any money at all,
I’d leave this town and never look back.”

She pointed her index finger
at him, and her voice shook. “If you had any idea what happened after Bear
Creek, you wouldn’t say such things.”

Anger burned bright in his
chest. He’d wanted to think of her here, safe, while he fought a war for the
both of them. But her talk of attempted lynchings—the first bit of real
truth he’d heard from her—made him think she’d been fighting a war of her
own.

Only he’d had the power of
the Union Army behind him. She’d been alone.

“What’s happened to you,
Jess?” He didn’t think she’d tell him, but he had to ask.

She blanched, and shook her
head fiercely. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” But
her voice wavered.

Against his better judgment,
he leaned forward to stroke her cheek, and she surprised him by briefly
allowing the touch before she turned away. He dropped his hand. “How does a
girl on her own face a lynch mob?”

She gave him a world-weary
smile. “You forget who I am. If reminding them of my grandfather doesn’t
work—and it usually does—I remind them of my father.”

“I can see just about
everyone being scared of the shaman. Your mother used to scare the devil out of
me with a look.” The memory of those times before everything had gone to hell
hurt, but it felt good, too. “Still, I’m not sure an eccentric inventor can
scare off a lynch mob.”

“No.” She leaned down and
pulled a lever near her feet. “But this can.”

Heavy metal blinds slammed
shut over the glass and latched. The floors shifted under their feet and gears
ground loudly. With a metallic clank, the entire house shuddered and re-settled
into place.

His hand moved to rest on the
butt of his pistol as he braced his body against the movement in the floor. “What
the hell is that?”

“Protections. No one can get
in. Or, for that matter, out. Pop’s study downstairs is reinforced with iron
doors, and if, for some reason, someone does get through, a Gatling gun is
mounted on the roof that I can control from either the attic or the safe room.”
She gestured to the picture behind her. “Back there I’ve got an ignition switch
for high powered gas lamps outside. Got some flash powder stashed out there
too. Never had to use the gun, though I’m pretty sure it works. Usually the
flash powder does the trick to sober up a mob.”

“I thought your father didn’t
believe in weapons.”

She crossed her arms and
looked out at the shuttered window. “He only built the one,” she said. “But
then, nobody tried to lynch him.”

Luke stiffened at the
memories the mere mention of that single weapon brought. His jaw ached from
clenching his teeth, and he forced himself to relax. He hadn’t been this wound
up in an interrogation in a long time. Maybe ever. He reminded himself that she
was just another subject.

Sure. And he was President
Lincoln. “How’d you get your hands on a Gatling gun?”

“Built it.”

“You built it.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I am
my father’s daughter. Only I’m a little more practical when it comes to my own
survival. I made that, too.” She motioned to the shotgun hanging on a post by
the door.

Luke stood up, took the
weapon and examined it. Releasing the catch, the barrel and cylinder swung down
on the pivot, a central ratchet lifting up all six shells from their chambers.
He snapped the action shut and worked the lever on the fore-end of the short
barrel, watching the cylinder turn and listening to the precise clicks of the
timing. He’d never seen a weapon like this—a revolving shotgun.

He whistled. “This is good
work, Jess. As good as anything thought up by Remington-Corona. How’d you do
it?”

“Same way I do everything. I
read a book and figured it out. Turns out, I’m good with gears.” She pulled the
lever again. The shutters slammed open, gears clanked, and the house groaned as
it resumed its normal shape.

Luke quickly put the gun
back. “That’s… that’s disconcerting.”

She grinned. When she smiled,
she was so pretty.

Luke’s chest tightened. He
leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Where’d you get the money
to build these things, Jess? Metal costs money, especially during a war. It’s
strictly rationed. Weapons are expensive. Where’d you get all this stuff?”

“Pop built the shutters and
outer doors for protection years ago. I just attached the gears to make them
automatic. I scavenged them from other projects of my father’s. As for the
guns, well, a revolving chamber isn’t so different from gears, and you’d be
surprised what people just leave lying around. Abandoned mineshafts hold a wealth
of materials if you’re not picky and are either brave enough or foolish enough
to go in.” She stood up and went to stand in her doorway. “Am I under
investigation? Tell me the truth.”

She deserved that much. He
met her gaze levelly. “Yes.”

Her hands curled into fists,
and the glare she gave him could have wilted flowers. “So you used my culture
and our connection to worm your way into my house. Used it so you could
investigate me without a warrant. Used me like you’ve always used my family.”
Her chest heaved and she was quiet for a long time.

When she next spoke, her
voice shook. “I let you in, and all the while you’re investigating me. You didn’t
even grant me the rights you’d grant a rebel. At least they’d know they were
dealing with an enemy. But me? Some half-breed woman? Who gives a hoot about my
rights? Do I even have any?”

“Oh, Jessie, it’s not like
that.”

“Sure it is. I’m going out
for awhile.” She leaned past him to grab her coat from the hook behind him.

Regret and anger roared
beneath the surface of his skin. “Don’t do this, Jess. There’s two feet of snow
on the ground.”