Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) (8 page)

“Why are you doing this for
me?” she asked

The madam tucked lock of hair
behind Jessie’s ear and refilled her glass. She studied Jessie as one would
examine a prized horse. “You’re a beautiful girl, and you’ve got a sweet face. You’re
smart, but I’d wager you don’t make enough to put a decent meal on your table
with your writing. I could make us both a fortune off your grandfather’s
reputation alone. Add in that pretty face of yours, and we could both be rich
beyond our wildest dreams. But I’m not doing this for you. This has nothing to
do with you.”

Jessie recoiled. “Then why?”

“I’m doing it for Luke.”

“For Luke?” Jessie asked,
stunned. “You mean, Luke Bradshaw?”

“The very same. We’ve been
watching out for you for his sake. Because you’re Luke’s girl.” The way the
madam said the words made it sound as if they’d been looking out for her for
years. Only, as far as Jessie knew, she’d been alone.

“I’m not.”

Vivian brushed hair out of
Jessie’s face, her hands tender and almost maternal. “Yes you are. You just don’t
know it yet.”

* * * *

Luke studied the sheriff. He’d
never gotten along with the man—he’d been in too much trouble as a boy,
he supposed. But once Luke had handed over his badge and his letter from
Secretary of War Eckert, the man had welcomed him home as a conquering hero.

Luke knew from experience
that there were no heroes in this war, only survivors.

Even when a young deputy had
come in with the news of a murder at The Globe—no shock there—the
sheriff hadn’t moved from his chair. Instead, he forced Luke to listen as he
prattled on about his daughter as if they were long separated friends.

Upstairs, a prisoner groaned,
and Luke looked up at the second story cells. It felt odd to be on the other
side of those iron bars, to be here as the law rather than the lawless.

The sheriff finished whatever
he’d been saying.

“Tell me about Jessica White,”
Luke said.

“Who?” The man leaned back in
his chair, but something in his posture seemed affected and wary. “Oh,
her.
You knew them, I suppose. I seem to
remember the boy coming for you once or twice.”

“Gideon. He was my friend.”
Luke tried to clear his mind of the painful memories. For years, he’d felt so
little. He hadn’t anticipated how much his being back in town after eight years
would bother him.

“Ah. Such a shame what
happened to that family. George was never the same after the boy died.”

“Gideon,” Luke reminded him.

“Yes, yes.” The sheriff waved
his hand carelessly. “You wanted to know about the girl?”

“Miss White.” Luke’s jaw
began to ache, and he struggled to keep his voice level. “Yes.”

The older man shrugged. “She’s
been in and out of trouble since her dad died. There was a minor problem after
Bear Creek, as I recall. Scared some of the lads pretty bad. Talked to her
father, and it never happened again.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The lads thought she put a
hex on them.”

“A hex?”

“Yeah. Came to me with a
story of how she tried to kill them and showed me a sack full of dead rattlers
as proof.”

A knot formed between Luke’s
shoulder blades, and he stretched his fingers to relax them. “What did Miss
White
say about that?”

“Didn’t say much of anything.
Didn’t deny it, either.”

He fought to keep his voice
steady. “What did they do to her?” The words burned as he spat them out from
between clenched teeth. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t know.

But he had to.

The sheriff waved
dismissively. “Kid stuff, really. Tension was pretty high after Bear
Creek—we lost an entire regiment. You know how these things are.”

“Wasn’t here, sheriff. Why
don’t you tell me?”

The coldness in Luke’s tone
seemed to catch the sheriff off-guard, and he stumbled over his words for a
moment. “Pranks. Some rocks thrown. Maybe one of the boys getting a mite too
friendly. Nothing to get in a lather about. Her father never complained.”

“Did Miss White?”

“Once or twice.”

Luke recognized the lie in
his words. Luke didn’t even want to think about how many times Jessie might
have spoken up and never been heard.

“She never had any proof,
though,” the sheriff offered.

“I see. And since?”

“She’s been a thorn in my
side.” The older man rolled his eyes. “Since her father died, she’s been
writing articles and pamphlets about the conditions of the camps, and some
nonsense that the mines are killing the wild horses and antelope. Damn things
get everybody all worked up, and it’s not good for business. Damn fool girl
doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.” He shook his head. “She’s been
complaining of people trying to break into her house. Maybe twice a month.”

“Twice a
month
?” Luke exploded.

The sheriff startled, his
right hand settling on his still-holstered weapon.

Forcing himself to sit back
in his chair, Luke assumed an unaffected posture, open and friendly. Arms
loose, one leg resting on his knee. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. You talk to her
often?”

The sheriff leaned forward
and grinned at Luke, as if they were sharing a joke. “Too often, if you ask me.
She’s fair of face, but as beef-headed as an acorn calf. Girl has no idea what’s
good for her.”

“And what is good for her?”
Luke casually put his feet up on the sheriff’s desk.

The sheriff’s gaze shifted
from Luke’s face to his boots and then back. “If you don’t mind…”

“I do
mind, as a matter of fact.” Luke silently chided himself for
baiting the man, but he didn’t change his position. “Tell me what you think is
good for Miss White.”

His knees bouncing, the
sheriff shifted his weight in his chair, his fingers fidgeting with a cigar he’d
pulled from the breast pocket of his vest.

Luke smiled, and the older
man flinched. He gestured with his head to the letter from Secretary Eckert. “Tell
me what
is
good for Miss White,” he
repeated, the threat thinly veiled.

The sheriff’s hands settled
into his lap and his eyes narrowed. Luke would have preferred a good working
relationship with the local law, but there was no chance of that now. Too much
history and too much Jessie stood in the way.

“She’d leave town if she had
any sense.”

“Have you mentioned this to
Miss White?”

“In passing, I’m sure I did.”

“For whom?”

The sheriff’s focused on a
spot behind Luke’s shoulder. “My office is not for sale, if that’s what you’re
suggesting.”

Luke took his boots off the
table and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think you understand, sheriff.
I am not interested in your pride. I am interested in the truth, whatever that
may be. You give it to me, and I’ll leave you alone. If you don’t…” He allowed
his threat to hang in the air.

The veneer of civility had
been wiped away, and the sheriff appraised him. “Mr. Fitzpatrick might have
mentioned she gave him a spot of trouble. I merely advised her of what she
could do to avoid future run-ins with the law.”

“Run-ins,” Luke echoed. “Tell
me about them.”

“She set a small fire when
she lit some flash powder on her property. We can’t have that, and I brought
her in. Spent a week in lock up, and then Judge Watson ordered her released.
Though to this day, I’m not sure why he did.”

“I see. Has she complained of
trouble since?”

“If I followed up on every
complaint filed by the Indians in this town--”

“Did you follow up on any of
them?” Luke asked.

“If there’s no proof, there’s
no problem. Isn’t that how you marshals work?”

“I’m no marshal, sheriff, but
I’ll take that as a no.”

The sheriff’s eyes became
little more than slits, and, ignoring Luke for a moment, he lit the cigar he’d
been toying with. He blew lazy smoke rings in Luke’s direction. “Not sure why
you care so much, Bradshaw. She’s just another Indian.”

“She’s the daughter of the
man who made this town.” Luke ignored the taunt, but even to his own ears, his
voice was low-pitched and dangerous. “She grew up here. Went to school with
your son. You should care because she’s one of us
.
”

“The shaman’s granddaughter?
No. I think it’s time she went back to her own kind.”

Anger wrapped an iron fist
around Luke’s heart and squeezed until his chest hurt. He stood and leaned over
the sheriff’s chair, then plucked the cigar from between his lips.

“Listen well. Jessica White
is under the protection of the United States Government. She is not to be
harmed or accosted or threatened. If one hair on her head is harmed, it will
fall on you. I will take pleasure in making your life difficult.” He threw the
sheriff’s cigar onto the floor and put it out beneath his boot. “Marshals will
swarm this town so fast it will make your head spin. Your house and your
property will be confiscated. You’ll be stripped of your office and put in
prison. Not your own prison, either. One of mine. A military prison. Let me
assure you, you will find the experience unpleasant. So don’t try my patience.
I never liked you much, anyway.”

The tip of Luke’s finger
pressed into the man’s chest. “And that’s just from me. Imagine what the shaman
will do. Without your posse behind you, do you think you could stand against
him? An entire regiment couldn’t. Mark my words. If anything happens to her, I
will find him myself and make sure he knows who’s responsible.”

The sheriff pushed his chair
back as far as the room would allow. “You son of a bitch!”

A mirthless laugh rumbled up
from Luke’s chest. He plucked his coat and his hat from a hook on the wall. As
he settled his hat low over his eyes, he turned back to the sheriff.

“Bitch? No. As you and your
boy used to remind me on a regular basis, I’m the son of a whore.” He opened
the door, and acrid wind swirled about his ankles, bringing with it the stench
of hell and the cold of snow. He tipped his hat to the sheriff. “Good day,
sheriff. I sure hope I don’t have a reason to come back and visit you any time
soon.”

He slammed the door behind
him.

The wind bit at Luke’s face,
and the weight of dirty air settled heavily in his chest. The sky was always
worse in the winter, when the soot and sulfur would sink to the valley floor
and cling to the ridgelines. The clouds were thick and gray, blotting out any
sunlight that might have penetrated the layer of ash darkening the sky.

He scanned the streets for
any sign of Jessie, but didn’t see her. Not that he thought he would. After
what she had told him, and the sheriff confirmed, he didn’t think she’d spend
much time parading about the streets of Virginia City. She’d stay indoors, in
the dark and the quiet, where she could disappear.

Ore processors crashed
relentlessly, booming like several giant, asynchronous hearts. The vibrations
descended into his chest, his heart skipping several beats until his pulse
matched the rhythm of the crusher. It felt wrong.

Everything about this
place—about this mission—was wrong.

Luke coughed against the
smoke and ash clinging to the air. Crossing the muddy, rutted main street, he
stepped up onto the wooden boardwalk, under the eaves where he’d be protected
from the snow. A woman carrying a blanket met his eyes and gestured to the
alley behind him, her wordless offer half-hearted and weary.

He shook his head, and she
continued on her way. The prostitutes in this town had gotten younger in his
time away. He hadn’t recognized any of the girls who worked the street on his
way to visit the sheriff. At one time, he would have known every girl on every
corner, and, after his mother’s death when he was twelve, which ones would have
taken him in for a night or two.

Up ahead, a steam-powered
carriage sputtered. A few deputies blocked the boardwalk, so the gathering
crowd had spilled into the street. Not the typical raucous crowd usually
gathered outside The Globe
,
this
gathering was largely quiet. A man in a black suit opened up the doors at the
back of the carriage.

Luke recognized an undertaker
when he saw one.

Ignoring the discomfort in
his chest and the small voice of alarm nagging him, Luke moved to pass a knot
of bystanders speaking in hushed tones. Something about them caught his
attention—not what they said, but in the way they spoke—and he
paused.

He caught the attention of
the man standing next to him, and nodded up at the building in front of him.
The loose saloon doors hung open at an odd angle, and broken shutters with
peeling paint did little to conceal the cracked windows beneath. “You know who
it was?”

His companion shook his head.
“No. Heard it was somebody famous, though. And that he’d been tortured before
he was finally done in.”