Prairie Song (7 page)

Cherish felt a cold chill cross her. “And Hattie?”

“She has a daughter she hasn’t seen for more than twenty years. She told everyone she didn’t mind losing the house because her daughter is coming to get her, but no one seems to know where the daughter is. Tobin agreed to let her stay on until the daughter comes. We sort of inherited the agreement.”

“Can the lawyer help us?”

Maggie shook her head doubtfully. “My guess is he’s more interested in starving us out than helping us, but I plan on going to see him again first thing tomorrow. They say he can be found most weekends at a saloon about a block away. Another strange thing is, he was at the poker game where Tobin won the house. He and a man named Spades were the two who found Tobin’s body a week later.”

“You’re not going to see them alone, are you?”

Maggie shook her head. “Grayson will be with me. I have a feeling some of the people in this town wouldn’t have even allowed me to talk to them if he hadn’t been standing beside me.”

Grayson entered almost at the sound of his name. He was carrying a tray of food with about as much grace as Bar. He held the tray as Maggie put the two bowls of soup on the table.

Maggie touched his arm lightly. “You should have brought three.”

Cherish interrupted. “I had my soup brought to my room a few minutes ago. If you will excuse me, I promised to help Bar in the kitchen.” She could hardly add that she’d sent Bar off with a confessed killer and wanted to wait by the kitchen door for the boy’s return. Bar had been no more afraid of Brant than she had been and Cherish found that comforting. Brant didn’t quite fit the picture of a man with blood on his hands.

Maggie nodded to Cherish as she moved into the chair Grayson had pulled out for her. She accepted his kindness, as always, without comment.

They ate across from one another in complete silence. Maggie was lost in her plans to restore the house and Grayson was trying to figure out which one of the people he’d met today was connected to the group of men he was looking for known as Knights of the Golden Circle. Old Hattie probably knew but she wouldn’t let him pass her door without screaming like he was trying to rob her of her few quilts. Even when she did talk to Margaret, Grayson could make no sense out of what she said. They’d been here three days and he was no closer to finding out anything than when he’d met the train in Bryan. He only knew that a crazy old woman sold the house to pay bills and now she was waiting for a daughter who hadn’t shown up in over six months. If Tobin won the house by accident, he paid for his luck with his life. So far, almost every person they’d met looked like he was easily capable of drowning an old man for two bits, much less a house, or two women if they were in the way.

As they finished the meal, Margaret silently stood and placed her napkin beside her plate. “Good night, Grayson. I think I’ll go to my room.”

She was halfway across the sitting room when a scream shattered the evening air. Grayson grabbed his guns and was only a step behind her as they ran to the stairs. Margaret lifted her dress several inches as she descended the first step.

The wood gave suddenly with a creak of age and Margaret cried out as she tumbled headfirst down the steps. Grayson grabbed for her, but missed. As her body fell away from him, he froze in the dim light. For a moment he saw not Margaret’s but his wife’s body tumbling. How many thousands of times had he tried to block the nightmare from his mind? He’d had too much whiskey that night and the road was slippery with rain, but they were young and laughing as they took the last bend at full speed. In a moment’s breath the wheel slid sideways and the carriage catapulted them out. Grayson landed in the mud at the edge of a twenty-foot ravine, but his wife had been thrown farther. Her body twisted over and over as she rolled. He’d heard her scream and then only the blood-chilling sound of bone slamming against rock. Over and over again.

“Maggie!” came Cherish’s scream from the hallway. Grayson shook free of his nightmare.

He took the stairs three at a time but it seemed hours before he reached her body.

Cherish was on her knees next to her aunt “Oh, dear God, Maggie! Maggie!” She looked up, her green eyes liquid with heartbreak. “Grayson, help her!”

Grayson knelt on the other side of Maggie, his years of logical thinking overpowering his fear and memories. “Don’t move her,” he whispered and the words somehow gave Cherish the direction she needed.

“Yes,” she answered. “First we must check her for breaks.” She leaned close to Maggie’s face. “She’s still breathing.”

Bar appeared from the kitchen. He hadn’t bothered to remove his jacket when he’d heard the screams.

“Bring a lamp,” Cherish ordered as she set to work doing what she’d been trained to do.

Grayson stood like a sentinel, afraid that if he moved, he might snap right in half. Here was the only woman he’d cared about since his wife died, and he’d been no help to her either. For days he’d watched her, telling himself it was part of his job, but knowing that he was protecting her from harm.

Finally, Cherish raised her head to him. “I think the only thing broken may be her arm. Plus she’s got a nasty bump on her forehead.” Cherish pushed the ebony curls away from Maggie’s face. “Grayson, would you carry her very carefully back up to the bed?”

Grayson nodded and cradled Maggie in his arms as though she were a sleeping child. He didn’t hear Cherish shouting orders to both Azile and Bar. He no longer heard the insane screams of Hattie that had brought them all running in the first place. All he heard was Margaret’s soft breathing against his ear and all he felt was her heart pounding against his chest.

As he neared the top of the stairs, he saw the cause of the accident. The top step had crumbled either from rot or from foul play. He’d gotten the feeling more than once in this town that they weren’t welcome, but the thought that someone would try to kill the women to get to the house seemed drastic.

“Stay with her,” Cherish ordered as she led the way to Maggie’s room. “I’ll get what I need to set the arm.”

Grayson didn’t need to answer; he had no intention of leaving her. He lowered her onto the pillows. For a moment, emotion overcame reason and he gently brushed her lips with his own.

“I swear, Margaret,” he whispered. “I swear if this was no accident I’ll kill whoever did this to you.”

She moved her head slightly against the pillow. Her hand rose to the bruise already blackening her forehead. Grayson gently pulled her hand away from her face.

“Grayson,” she whispered. “Help me.”

He covered her slender fingers with his massive hand and silently swore his allegiance as a knight of old might have to his lady fair.

Cherish folded the cover under her aunt’s bandaged arm and stepped to the door. She motioned for Grayson to follow. He unfolded his long body from the chair he’d been planted in for over three hours and crossed the room to the sitting room door.

“I know you want to stay with her, but I need to talk with you a moment,” Cherish began. “She’s resting nicely and won’t miss you for a few minutes.”

Grayson didn’t try to act like he didn’t understand. She’d heard him speak just after Margaret’s fall and he would not play the fool now.

“Maggie’s arm isn’t broken, but her wrist is very badly sprained. The tea Azile gave her should help her sleep, but one of us should be near in case she awakens. Azile is ranting about the evil in the house. She claims accidents will keep happening until we leave.” Cherish suddenly looked very tired. “I think it best that Maggie isn’t left alone. You understand every word I’m saying, don’t you?”

Grayson nodded, wondering if he should trust Cherish. From all he’d been able to find out, she’d grown up in a little settlement in Texas and had served as a nurse for four long years during the war. After the armistice, she’d stayed on until the last man either had been shipped home or had died. She’d lost one brother at Shiloh and had another crippled at Gettysburg, but other than that her family of eight siblings had all returned home except her. She was a Southerner born and bred but there was a chance she’d never even heard of the Knights of the Golden Circle.

“I know who you are,” she whispered. She saw surprise register briefly on his face before he masked all expression.

His steel blue eyes turned hard and cold. Only a spy would know his identity, or a traitor. And if she knew and hadn’t told anyone then she must want to bargain for something. Otherwise, why would she keep her information from Margaret? His suspicions were confirmed as she whispered, “I want to make a deal.”

He nodded slowly, deciding to hear her out.

Cherish began with words that sounded very rehearsed to his ears. “I’ll not tell Aunt Maggie who you are if you’ll swear to me that you will in no way hurt her. She’s a good and kind person and I’ll not have her think she’s been used as part of a plot by some Union officer.”

For an instant the jumble of emotions cleared around Cherish and Maggie, and he saw that Cherish was the one who protected Maggie and not the other way around. Maggie might storm around making all the decisions and rules, but it was Cherish who cleared the road and locked the door against harm. He couldn’t help but admire the little blond for her silent strength, though he doubted he’d ever trust her with the real reason he was here.

Grayson found his voice. “I have no intention of harming Margaret.” No matter what else he had to do, something inside him would never allow him to hurt such a woman. With a shock to his system he realized he meant every word, even if he had to let her slip through his hands on this investigation. He’d never felt that way about anyone. His determined lack of emotion had made him an expert at undercover work and this was the only time he’d gotten involved.

“Then why are you here?” Cherish’s voice was low, but strong.

Grayson’s face grew hard and his eyes, like iron, brooked no compromise. “I also have no intention of telling you my assignment, Miss Wyatt.”

Cherish was lost. If she told Maggie about Grayson, it would shatter Maggie’s trust in the one man she’d been within ten feet of since Westley died. There was always the chance that Grayson’s work didn’t concern them at all. She drew herself up to her full height, but still she didn’t come to his shoulder. “I need to think this over. But understand this, Officer Kirkland, if you hurt my aunt I swear I’ll shoot you so full—”

Grayson wasn’t a man to be threatened. “And if you, Miss Wyatt, step outside the law one time, I’ll arrest you faster than you can pull a gun.” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “And it’s Captain Kirkland.”

Cherish stormed out of the sitting room and into the hallway. Anger bubbled in her like an active volcano. She’d guessed one thing from Grayson: he didn’t know about her helping Brant, for if he had, she’d be arrested right now. He was a hard, cold man whose only Achilles’ heel seemed to be Maggie.

As she maneuvered around the broken stair, Azile called to her from the doorway of Hattie’s room. Cherish hurried to find the old woman wide-eyed with fright.

Hattie’s voice rushed past gulps of breath. “They’ve come to hurt us all.” Her bony hand grabbed Cherish’s arm. “They plan to kill us all, one at a time, and take my treasure.”

Cherish cradled Hattie as if she were a child. “It’s safe now. No one is going to hurt us.”

The old woman stared up with glassy eyes. “They would have killed me already but I’ve got the names. They’re never gonna get them or my treasure.”

Azile handed Hattie a mug of drugged tea and whispered to Cherish. “There ain’t no treasure or any papers for that matter. She’s lost what little mind she had.”

Hattie gulped the potion, then tossed the empty cup aside and clung to Cherish. “I need some more of that medicine the priest brings me. I’d go get it myself if I could. If I send Azile she keeps half of it for herself.” She patted a box beside her as she leaned back and fell asleep, mumbling, “I’ll never let them have my treasure or any old list. Never.”

Hesitantly, Cherish reached and opened the shell-covered box. Inside was a cheap amber necklace. Cherish knew that quite a few of the old-timers kept amber as a way of warding off evil spirits. Beneath the necklace were a few letters addressed to Miss Hattie in a bold, childish hand.

“Her treasure.” Azile sniffed. “The old bat is a few bricks shy of a load, if you get my meanin’. The tea should keep her quiet for tonight, but Lord help us tomorrow.”

Without any thought of what time it was, Cherish grabbed her cape from the hook by the door and hurried out. There was only one person she could go to about both Grayson and Hattie’s medicine and that was Father Daniel. If he knew the entire story, maybe he could help on both counts.

The wind was icy as she walked the street through a part of town folks had taken to calling Hell’s Half-Acre. Since there were no cattle drives coming through, the streets were empty except for a few drunks sleeping it off near the saloon doors. She remembered the priest telling her about a back path to the mission grounds, but she didn’t want to try it in the dark. Cherish moved as silently as an Apache over rocky land. The closer she got to the mission, the more Brant’s words haunted her. The first night when they’d brought him in and he’d been so near death, he’d pulled her against him and whispered to be careful of the priest.

Cherish’s hope of talking things out with Father Daniel soured in her mind. If she told him about Grayson and the priest was the wrong person to know that information … well, she could almost picture Grayson’s body swinging from the hanging tree.

“Miss Cherish,” a low voice whispered as a lean figure appeared from the shadows at the gate of the mission. “What are you doing here?”

Cherish touched the Colt in her pocket before recognizing Father Daniel’s voice. “I came …” She tried to think. The priest wasn’t dressed in his robes, but all in black with knee-high riding boots. He looked more like an outlaw than a man of the cloth. “I came to see if Brant made it here without reopening his wound and to ask about Miss Hattie’s medicine that you bring her.”

The priest’s head rose slightly. “Brant didn’t come here, Miss Cherish. But he will.” The last words were a statement of undoubted fact.

Cherish felt the sudden cold of the moonless night and wished she hadn’t come. “Do you know where he is?”

To her surprise, the priest shook his head.

“Will you step inside the mission? While you’re here I’d like you to take a look at a little girl who was brought to us. She seems ill, but we can’t find the cause.”

Cherish followed the padre through the huge double doors to a mission that didn’t live up to its exterior. Inside, the walls were unpainted and stark. Several children were sleeping on cots in the corners. A daughter of the church moved among them, placing thin blankets over each.

Father Daniel lifted a tiny girl of no more than two into his arms. He seemed awkward with the little one, as if he wasn’t sure how to hold the creature.

The child began to cry, and turned huge, seeking eyes toward Cherish. Her eyes looked sore from being rubbed and her nose was red and caked from hours of dripping without being wiped. As Cherish lifted the child, she could feel the fever on her damp skin. She carried the tiny one to the light and looked closely at her before smiling.

“She has the measles, Father. It’s a very common problem with children. As long as she’s cared for and her fever doesn’t go too high, she’ll be fine.”

The priest looked worried. “She’s been sick since they brought her and two others in last week. They were the only survivors of a wagonload hit by Indians. The others are fine, but this one has been crying since she arrived.” Father Daniel said the words as a complaint for he, as a priest, knew even less about babies than the average man. “The other little girl looks like she could be this one’s sister, but I’d swear the baby boy is half-Indian. I thought her red marks were burns. I can’t have all the children coming down with measles. The sisters have hardly enough time to feed them now, much less care for them sick, and I must leave in an hour.” His face wrinkled in worry and Cherish couldn’t help but wonder if it was for the other children or for himself.

Cherish had inherited a decisive instinct from her German mother. “I’ll take the child.”

Father Daniel looked at her in disbelief. “The Virgin Mary’s giving spirit is in you, Miss Wyatt. I am in your debt once more. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Cherish wrapped her shawl around the child. “Yes. Let me know when Brant comes. I must see him. And please bring more medicine for Miss Hattie.”

Without another word, Cherish cradled the child and headed back to Hattie’s. She’d gone through measles with her brothers and sisters and knew there was much to be done to make the child comfortable. The tiny girl cried softly and clung to Cherish.

Grayson, Father Daniel, and even Brant would have to wait. All her problems didn’t seem to matter as she thought of the child. As always, she had to help, she had to ease another’s pain. It was sewn into the seams of her heart and there was no way she could turn away from her calling.

Grayson saw Cherish slip out the back gate and head down the road. He would have given a great deal to know where she was going, but there was no way he would leave Margaret. He’d taken one look at the step and known someone had cut it. There was no telling how many times they’d stepped on the wood before Margaret finally stepped in just the right place and the wood snapped. The light layer of sawdust on the second step told him the “accident” had to have been set up recently.

At least her fall had given him one answer: Margaret was not part of any of this, but he could not be sure of anyone else in the house, even Bar.

“Grayson.” Margaret’s voice sounded tired and sleepy from the cup of herb tea Azile had given her.

He moved to the side of her bed and marveled at how beautiful she looked lying there with her hair all around her and her dark robe pulled close for warmth.

“Will you help me out of my robe?”

The question was simple: an order no different than a hundred others she’d given him in the past week, but Grayson felt his mouth dry and his palms sweat at the thought of complying with her request.

Margaret leaned forward and lifted her bandaged arm. Grayson bent beside the bed and pulled her gently to her feet. He slowly pushed the robe from her shoulders and allowed it to slide along her back. As he did so, Margaret leaned toward him, resting her head on his chest. He lifted her and for a long moment held her in his arms, amazed at the pleasure it brought him to hold a sleeping woman again.

Her nightgown was plain white cotton worn smooth from years of wear. He could have guessed she would not be a woman to waste money on new nightclothes during a war. Her head moved slightly as she snuggled against his chest and he swore he could feel his heart turn over. Why couldn’t she be like this all the time and not so stiff and starched? He knew the answer even before he finished the question. She couldn’t have survived as a widow if her backbone hadn’t been straight. She’d fought her way alone for four years and she was fighting every inch of the way now, as if this house and the little money Tobin left was all she had in the world. With a sudden realization, he knew. This was all she had. The memory of her Westley and her brooch were the only treasures she possessed.

Slowly he lowered her onto the bed and spread the covers over her. Then he returned to his chair by the window. He laid his Colts an inch from his hand and closed his eyes. No one, not even the ghosts of Hattie’s Parlor, was going to bother her tonight.

An hour later, Grayson’s peace was shattered by the cry of a baby. He jumped to his feet and had his gun in hand before he realized what the sound was. As he crossed the room he glanced at the still sleeping Margaret. The child’s cry came again as he opened the door to the sitting room.

Cherish passed in front of the fire with the child cradled against her shoulder. “Close the door before you wake Maggie up,” she ordered as if he were the one doing something out of the ordinary.

Grayson raised an eyebrow and studied her closely.