Squire's Quest (19 page)

"There are many names,
mon amour
." She named half a dozen.

"Tarnation, Felice, I'm not using any of those. They're... Well, they're just plain
crude."

"Ah,
mon petite
, such an innocent. Most men would not think twice about using
such words, or worse."

"Yes, well, I am not most men. I was raised to be a gentleman. Maybe it didn't all take,
but the part about not cussin' around a lady did."

"Those are not cuss words."

"They are to me."

He still mourned Felice. She was a good woman, despite her profession. She'd been kind
to him, teaching him more than the ways of a man with a woman. She had taught him that many
of the women who haunted the saloons and whorehouses were there because they had no other
choice. Even though the life hardened them eventually, many of them had once been innocent
victims of bad or uncaring men.

He'd used a whore more than once since leaving New Orleans, but he'd used them
kindly and paid them generously. And he'd been careful, for Felice's warnings about disease had
been enough to turn a man's hair white.

Yes, Callie was lucky her pa had apprenticed her to a baker.

So why couldn't he believe it was done for kindly reasons?

"What have you done?"

Callie sat up, jerked from sleep by Frau Trebelhorn's loud voice. "I-- What? Done?"

"You are a wicked girl, a
Verbrecher
. You have killed a man and brought evil
on the reputation of this hotel. Out!"

Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of what the woman had said. Before she could
more than set her bare feet on the icy floor, Frau Trebelhorn had jerked her coat off her and
thrown it to the floor. "Get up. Get out!"

She shivered and reached for the coat. There was a cold draft under the curtain. Had the
back door been left standing open? "I didn't--" Her voice faded as Frau Trebelhorn's words
repeated themselves in her mind. With an effort, she whispered, "Killed? I didn't kill--"

"He is dead because of you. I will not have bad people working in my kitchen. Go, and
take your trash with you. Go now." With a last angry glare, she stalked out. "I never want to see
you again. Never!"

She meant it. Her stubbornness was well known about town. When Callie had come to
work here, Abner had warned her never to argue with Frau Trebelhorn, because she'd never win.
Because the woman believed Callie was guilty of terrible crimes, no one would ever convince
her otherwise. Worse, she would likely spread the news around the town, and people would
believe her.

What will I do? No one else in Cheyenne will give me a job if they believe I'm a
killer.

With shaking hands, she pulled on her boots. She pulled her ruined valise from under
the cot and picked up her shredded clothing from where it was scattered. With each item she
stuffed into a torn pillowcase, her heart broke a little more. Where would she go? She had
thirty-seven dollars and a bit more, no clothes but what she wore, and no place to live. No way to earn
a living other than baking.

I've enough to get me back to Ogden, but that's all. Can I do it? I walked halfway to
Virginia City once.
This time there would be no good-hearted young man to rescue her. And
she wasn't a skinny urchin who could pass as a boy any more.

She had everything packed and was on her way out the back door when she heard Abner
speak her name. Turning, she looked at him.

His dark face was sad, his shoulders slumped. "I tried, Miz Callie. I truly did. She
wouldn't listen to me. Wouldn't believe you'd done nothin' wrong."

"Oh, Abner..."

"Go to Bethany. She'll give you a bed." He stretched out a hand, but didn't quite touch
her.

She took it, squeezed. "I can't accept--"

"You go there, hear? I'll be along when I gets off work. We'll figure something
out."

She had no choice. "All right. I..." Tears clogged her throat. She swallowed once, twice,
before finding her voice. "Just until--"

"Until you gets a better job. I hear ye."

The stuffed pillowcase weighed heavy as she dodged frozen puddles and steaming horse
droppings along Thomas Street. The colored section of town was clear out on the north edge,
clustered around the African Methodist church. Callie had a feeling she'd be more welcome out
there than anywhere else in Cheyenne, safely among the other outcasts.

Did the Pinkerton man know about Pa's shipped freight? Had Merlin told him? It was
still at the depot, because she hadn't wanted to have it in her cubby, where it could have been
stolen.

There was no reason for him to be interested in it. How could it have anything to do
with a bank robbery?

Abner's sister made her at home, but she was uncomfortable anyhow. She wasn't an
honored guest. She was a refugee.

"You call me Bethany, now. I ain't so fine I gots to be Miz Simpson to you." She
scurried around, moving the best chair up to the scrubbed-white table and setting the kettle on
the stove. "Abner says you likes your tea, so I'll jest make you some. I favor it myself."

Callie looked around. The shanty where the Simpsons lived was scarcely big enough for
Bethany and her husband, let alone the two boys. Leroy and Lester would be home later, but
Hiram was gone until Saturday. "He's a porter on the Express," Bethany said. "It's a fine
job."

She brought a teapot to the table and wrapped it in a threadbare linen towel. "There now,
we'll jest let that steep a while. It's some fancy Chinese tea Hiram bought in San Francisco the
last time he was there."

"You're all so kind." Callie heard her voice quaver. She swallowed twice before she was
able to steady it. "I only need a place to stay tonight. I'll be going back to Montana as soon as I
can."

"Montana? You ain't thinkin' of goin' off from here?"

At her nod, Bethany said, "You can't do that, Miz Callie. We'll take care of you. This
ain't no time to be travelin', 'specially not a woman all alone. You rest here a piece, and when
Lester comes home, he'll see what he can do about finding you work.

"My Lester, he's real smart. Ain't much goes on in Cheyenne he don't know about."
Bethany's pride was plain in her wide smile.

"I doubt anyone will hire me, once Frau Trebelhorn gets done talking. And without a
job, I can't afford a hotel room, or even a boarding house. I've got to go back." She thought of
Virginia City as home. Iowa was a long way from here, a long time ago. She couldn't even bring
to mind the town where she and her mother had spent her childhood, nor the house they'd lived
in.

"Never you mind. Abner, he says he's got a notion about where you can stay. When he
comes here tonight, he'll tell you all about it."

The day seemed endless. She offered to help Bethany with her laundry, but the woman
acted embarrassed at the very idea. When Callie suggested that she prepare supper for the family,
the reaction was even more horrified. "You's a white lady, Miz Callie. I can't have you doing
work in my house. Set yourself down there and have more tea."

Since Callie had drunk enough tea to float a steamboat, she politely refused, but she did
set herself down. The last thing she wanted to do was make Abner's sister uncomfortable.

To think she'd once thought people of color to be the next thing to savages. They'd been
kinder to her than those of her own color lately.

Except Merlin.

Abner came in shortly after Bethany had lit the single lamp on the table. "Frau
Trebelhorn, she's still havin' conniptions," he said, as he hung his shabby coat on a nail by the
door. "All day she's goin' on about not havin' no pies or bread, worryin' at me 'cause I can't bake
bread. I made some pies, and told her I'd do biscuits like I did before you come, but that didn't
make her happy. She wants bread."

Having thought about the way Frau Trebelhorn had raged at her this morning, Callie
said, "I'd go back if she apologized, but only then."

"Oh, she ain't a'gonna say she's sorry. She's sure you're one of them bank robbers and
she tried to talk the Pinkerton man into arresting you."

Callie buried her face in her hands. "How will I--"

"Don't you worry none. I sent Lester out to the freight yards. Mr. Merlin, he'll take care
of everything. Why, I'll bet he's on his way here now."

"You told him--"

"Course I did. He's got a care for you, girl. He'll want to see to you, make sure you got a
place to stay. He's a good man."

He turned to his sister and said, "He was tellin' me his godfather's a black man. Can you
beat that? A fine young fellow like him, claiming to be near kin to a nigger."

"I told you not to use that word where the boys can hear it," Bethany said, with a glare.
"It's slave talk."

"It surely is. But still, I has to wonder what kind of folks would ask a black man to stand
up for their child."

"A good family, I think," Callie said. Hadn't they sent her telegram on to Merlin, even
though it was addressed wrong. She hadn't even spelled his last name right, yet his family had
made sure he got her plea for help.

They'd just sat to supper when a knock came at the door. Abner opened it to reveal
Merlin stranding on the stoop.

"I came as soon as I could," he said as he stepped inside. He looked past Abner, straight
at her.

For some reason the concern in his voice and the worry in his eye rubbed her the wrong
way. "No need," she said sharply. "I can take care of myself."

He ignored her while handing Abner his coat and hat. "Thanks for sending Lester out. I
doubt she'd have let me know." A raised eyebrow was all the attention he paid her. He accepted a
cup of coffee and sat at the table with them until they finished eating.

When Abner pushed his empty plate toward the center of the table, Callie stood and
began to gather up dirty dishes.

"I'll do that." Bethany practically snatched them out of her hands.

Merlin smiled around the table. "Thank you for taking care of Cal until I could get here,
Mrs. Simpson. We'd best be off now. It's starting to snow."

He went to the line of nails beside the door and pulled down her coat. "Where's your
bundle?"

"Bundle? What--" she frowned. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Cal, there's no room for you here. Unless you want to sleep in an alley, you'll have to
come with me."

"He's right, Miz Callie. Even if you had money, there's no place in town for a decent
woman to stay. Not all by herself alone."

Bethany nodded in silent agreement.

"But I can't stay with you! You're a man."

His chuckle infuriated her. How could he take this so lightly?

"You won't be with me. You'll be in my cabin. All by yourself."

Was it a hint of regret she heard in his tone? Or was she hearing her own
daydreams?

She'd been alone most all her life, or so it seemed. Nothing about tonight would be any
different.

Or would it? This time someone was taking care of her, someone who'd done it before.
Even if he was planning to do it from a distance, she felt...safe.

* * * *

He could have put her up behind him, but didn't. Instead he'd had Abner lift her so she
sat across his thighs, enclosed within his arms.

Just where he wanted her.

"Is that all you have, that little bundle?" He drew a deep breath, smelling the faint aroma
of yeast, something flowery and springlike, and an elusive scent that took him back to nights on
the trail with her snuggled beside him in the bedroll.

"Everything, and it's mostly rags. "

The mile and a half to his cabin seemed to pass too quickly. When he let her slide to the
ground, he almost ached. Dismounting, he loosened her pillowcase from behind the saddle and
led her to the door. "It's not fancy, but it's warm and the bed's comfortable. Tomorrow I'll lay in
some supplies, but there's coffee and tea and some biscuits and bacon for breakfast. Water's in
the bucket. I filled it this morning. Outhouse off to the west, left as you go out. Go ahead and
settle in. I'll come back after I've stabled Gawain."

Before he could be tempted into lingering, he pulled the door closed behind him. Once
inside the barn, he tended to Gawain. "This is crazy, you know that? She's just a friend. Someone
who needs my help. There's no sense in me thinking she sees me as any more than a friend who's
helping her out of a bad situation. Tarnation, she probably sees me as being on Mick's side. If
only I hadn't asked her all those questions."

Gawain nickered as if in agreement.

"Yeah, you'd think I could've kept my mouth shut. Defended her. We both know she'd
never help rob a bank."

But did he? The Cal he'd known six years ago had been a little girl, honest and innocent.
Today's Cal was a woman grown, with six years of her father's less-than-savory influence behind
her. He'd met enough bad women in his travels to know they could be as wicked as any
man.

Or as good.

His gut told him Cal was one of the good ones.

Or was something lower down talking?

* * * *

When Callie woke up the next morning, she wasn't sure where she was. Eventually, after
she'd forced herself to lie still and think, her surroundings started to look a little bit familiar.

Merlin's cabin. That's where I am.

That brought back all that had happened since the Pinkerton man had come to town. His
suspicion. The robber who'd threatened to cut her throat.

And the crate, still sitting in the freight office at the depot.

She touched the scab at the side of her neck. It was still a little sore, but was healing
cleanly. Not so her memory. She doubted she'd ever forget the terror she'd felt when he'd
grabbed her. Or the belly-churning reaction to seeing him fall bleeding at her feet.

Her mother died at peace, knowing her pain was ended. Callie had expected it, had been
prepared. As much as anyone could ever be, she supposed.