Squire's Quest (20 page)

The robber had been alive and dangerous. Then he had been lying limp and bloody at
her feet, smelling of piss and ordure. And not long after, he'd been dead.

Stop it! He would have killed you as soon as blink.
Better to put her mind to her
future.

The knock at the door startled her out of her ruminations. "Wait!" she scrambled out of
bed and across the icy floor. With her ear close to the splintery door, she said, "Who is it?"

"Merlin. We need to talk."

"I-- Just a bit. I have to dress."

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes." She heard his footsteps squeaking on the hard-packed
snow.

Her dress was soiled and it smelled. She was used to the smell--yeast and sweat and a
faint hint of the flowery soap she still had a sliver of. But today she wasn't going to be baking,
and maybe there would be time later to wash it.

With a resigned shrug, she pulled it on over her shift and slipped her feet into her cold
boots. Once she was standing, her skirt mostly covered them, but still...

Merlin's knock came just as she was combing her hair. "Just a minute," she called.
Quickly she formed a twist at her nape and anchored it with half a dozen bone hairpins. She
picked up her faded shawl--the cabin really was cold, but she'd been too busy to notice until
now--and went to the door. "Come in."

"Great God, it's like an ice house in here. Why didn't you build up the fire?" Merlin went
directly to the fireplace and started laying logs on the barely smoldering embers.

"You said you'd be back." She heard her sullen tone and cleared her throat. "I didn't
want to make you wait."

Once the new wood had caught, he turned and looked at her. "You'd risk frostbite so I
wouldn't be inconvenienced? Tarnation, Cal. Where is your backbone? You used to have some
gumption, but I'm thinking you left it back in Montana."

Openmouthed, she stared at him. How could he be so mean? Hadn't she held back the
tears that had threatened again and again since the bad man had appeared? Hadn't she been
obedient, even when she wanted to tell him he had no authority over her?

The speckled enamel cup was in the air before she realized she'd picked it up. Merlin
dodged, but it caught him on the shoulder, spewing cold tea across his canvas coat. By then she'd
thrown the book that had been on the table and was reaching for the spectacles.

"Hold it," he yelled, as he caught the book mid-flight. "Don't break those!"

She looked at what she held in her hand. "Wha-- No, of course not." Carefully she set
them down, and looked around for something else to throw.

Before she could lay her hand on anything, Merlin's arms were around her. "Calm
down." His voice was soft, his mouth close to her ear. "Cal, listen to me. Stop fight-- Oww!
Tarnation, that hurt."

She raised her foot to stomp his toes again. "Let me go!"

His leg somehow got hooked around hers and the next thing she knew, she was on the
bed, with him on top of her.
No!
Heaving with all her strength, she tried to toss him
off.

"Stop it. I'm not going to hurt you. Cal!" One of his hands captured her wrist, just before
she could rake his cheek with her fingernails. He forced her clawed hand back.

She attacked with her other hand and caught the edge of his eyepatch. The string
snapped.

The sight of his ruined eye broke her resistance. His eyelid was closed and sunken. A
wide scar pulled the skin around it into an unnatural shape. The eyebrow was a zigzag line, half
scar, half pale hair, and that side of his forehead was ropy with welts and furrows.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, "that must have hurt."

She was still speaking when he picked up the patch. The narrow leather thong that held
it around his head had broken just at the edge of the black leather patch. He held it over his eye
as he went to the shelves on the opposite wall. With his back to her, he replaced the damaged
patch with another one.

When it was in place, he turned around. "You shouldn't have seen that."

Sitting up, she gave him a long steady look. "And why not? It's a scar. I've seen scars
before." One of their neighbors in Iowa had come home from the War with half a face. She'd
been terrified of him until Ma explained why he was so hideous.

"Yes, but--"

"Oh, be quiet. Build up the fire. Or go away. Leave me alone." She flopped back onto
the twisted bedding and rolled to face the wall. "Maybe I never did have any backbone. What do
you care?"

But she did care. She hated having anyone angry with her. Pa always seemed to be, as if
she never could live up to what he expected of her. That was one of the reasons she'd been so
happy at Mrs. Flynn's. Pa only came around once or twice a year.

Frau Trebelhorn was almost as bad as Pa about wanting her to do everything a certain
way, but at least she mostly had good reasons for it. A restaurant cook had to keep the kitchen
clean, had to follow a recipe.

What difference did it make if she'd built up the fire or not. She was the one threatened
with frostbite. He'd probably slept warm and cozy, not waking at every creak and groan of the
cabin, not wondering if a robber might be creeping up, intent on breaking in.

A robber or worse. There had been a look in the eye of the man who'd kept asking her
where the money was. A look she'd seen, and feared, in other men's eyes.

The sounds of Merlin mending the fire were somehow soothing. She lay there and
listened. Heard him fill the kettle with water from the bucket. Was embarrassed when he pulled
the chamber pot from under the bed and carried it outside. She'd used it, and she should have
emptied it. She rolled over and sat up. She might not go along with what he wanted her to do, but
she could at least cook his breakfast.

She owed him that much.

* * * *

He'd been too hard on her, Merlin decided. And he'd misjudged.

Cal had been so meek last night it had scared him. He'd seen it before. A woman--or a
man, for that matter--who'd been through a bad spell just giving up. There'd been a flood, down
in Texas, a day or two before the herd came to a river crossing. All that was left of a small cabin
had been a rock fireplace standing alone in the middle of a newly-scoured floodplain.

After they'd bedded the cattle for the night, Merlin had gone across to the homestead,
thinking to bury any bodies, for he was sure no one had survived the flood. He'd found the
woman lying on a rough mound marked with a crude cross of twisted mesquite sticks lashed
together. She was alive.

Her body had been alive, but her mind was somewhere else. She'd obeyed him, had
allowed herself to be lifted to his horse, taken to the chuckwagon, fed and bedded down. Not a
single word had she spoken, not even the next day when he'd carried her to a nearby settlement
and turned her over to the minister of the only church.

Last night he'd looked at Cal, seen a similar emptiness creeping into her eyes, and had
worried. This morning she'd been so passive that his fear had made him attack, hoping to shock
her out of it.

Be careful what you wish for...

When he opened the door, carefully, in case he had to dodge more flying objects, he
saw her kneeling at the fireplace. The sizzle of frying bacon told him breakfast was on its
way.

"Whose spectacles are they?"

"Huh?"

"Those spectacles on the table. Whose are they?"

"I don't know. They were here. I was using them for a magnifying glass, to pull a
splinter." He slid the thundermug under the bed. "Can you be ready to go to town in an
hour?"

She looked back over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Sheriff wants to talk to you. Mick and I gave him what we knew yesterday, but he's not
satisfied. He wants to know what that fellow was looking for."

"I don't know!" There was a note of near-hysteria in her voice. "He kept saying 'Where's
the money. I told him I didn't have any money, but he didn't believe me."

"Maybe it was in the crate your father shipped." He accepted the plate she handed him
and waited for her to come to the table before he sat.

Her dark brows drew together and she held her fork suspended over the plate. "How do
you-- It can't be. I saw them load it on the stage in Virginia City. It's just things he'd stored at the
saloon, things he didn't want to leave behind. I don't think he was planning on ever going
back."

"Huh." After a couple of bites, he set his fork down. "I think we'll pick it up, see what's
inside. Can't be sure if we don't know what's in it."

"Oh, no! You mustn't."

"Why not? If there's no money in there, we'll close it up again. He'll never know."

"I hope not. He'd be-- Pa would be really mad if he thought someone had been poking
around his private matters. He's like that." She sounded plumb scared.

Had she almost said he'd beat her? Merlin wouldn't be surprised. Lemuel Smith was a
piece of work. A bad one.

* * * *

The sheriff listened to Callie's account without comment. When she'd told him
everything she could remember and had shown him the scab on her neck, he sat back in his chair
and said, "Well, now Miss Smith, I reckon that agrees with what Agent Conner and Lachlan here
told me. Abner, he don't recall much, which is a pity."

He sounded as if it was Abner's fault he hadn't seen anything. "That man knocked him
unconscious. And then he kicked him."

"Yes, ma'am, I know. But still... It's a pity. Thank you for comin' in. I won't bother you
no more." He escorted her and Merlin to the door.

"If you hear from your father, you let me know, now."

Merlin's hand tightened on her arm. A warning. "Yes, of course."

But she wouldn't. She might tell Merlin, but she'd never betray Pa to the law, no matter
what.

She was afraid of what he'd do to her if she did.

"Where are we going?"

"To the depot. Mick's probably already there."

"Why?" She didn't trust the Pinkerton man, even though Merlin seemed to.

"To get the crate."

She glared at him as they crossed the street but said nothing.

"Afternoon, Miss Smith." The Pinkerton man met them at the freight office door and
tipped his hat. "I appreciate your willingness to help."

"I don't seem to have any choice."

"Of course you do. You can simply refuse to cooperate." He pulled the door open and
motioned her through. "The freight window's over there."

"I know where it is." She'd had plenty of time to learn where everything was in the
depot. Stubbornly she stayed back and let him lead the way.

While they were waiting for the freight agent to fetch the crate, Callie pretended an
interest in the timetables posted on a bulletin board, even though she'd practically memorized
them the last time she was here. Merlin slouched on one of the benches and pulled his hat low
over his face.

The Pinkerton man watched her. She could feel his blue gaze like a spider crawling
across her shoulders.

"A good thing you showed up, Miss Smith. The boss was after me about this. We're only
supposed to hold unclaimed packages thirty days." The clerk had the wooden crate sitting on a
handcart. He looked to the Pinkerton man. "You're Lemuel Smith?"

"No, but this is Calista Smith."

The clerk checked the bill of lading he held. "That's the name here, all right." He eyed
Callie.

Oh, Pa, don't be mad. It's the only way to clear your name.

"Can you prove your identity?"

"No, I--"

"I'm sorry, then. I can't let this go unless you can prove you're who you say you
are."

Just then the night ticket clerk came in. He remembered her, and remembered Pa too.
"He made a big to-do over missing freight. Went stomping out of here with steam shootin' from
his ears. Left this lady behind without a word. I reckon it would serve him right if she took
it."

"I don't know..." the freight clerk said.

"Miss Smith has been working at Lambert House for about six weeks. Would you take
Frau Trebelhorn's word she's who she says she is?" Merlin said from the bench where he'd
seemed to be sleeping.

"She won't--"

He silenced her with a glance. "Well?"

"Harve, keep it simple. Give the lady the crate and stop worrying so much about the
rules," the night clerk said.

"Come to think of it, I have seen you at Lambert House. You're the one makes those
fancy cakes, ain't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, I reckon anybody who can cook like that ain't gonna be taking something doesn't
belong to her. Hold the door, somebody."

The Pinkerton man held the door for the clerk to wheel the crate out. "If you'll sign here,
Miss Smith, you can take the crate right now. Got a way to haul it away?"

"I'll take care of that," Merlin said. "We're obliged." He picked the crate up and set it on
his shoulder, as if it weighed no more than a good sized book.

"We are indeed," the Pinkerton man said. He handed each man something.

Once they were on the sidewalk, Callie said, "Did you give them money?"

"They're less likely to talk about this if they're tipped. Miss Smith, I'd appreciate it if
you'd let me know what's in the crate."

"Oh! I thought you were going to take it."

"Not at all. It's your property. Or your father's. I've no legal right to it, not unless it
contains stolen money." He gave her a small bow, winked at Merlin, and strode away.

She frowned after him. "I thought he wanted to know what's inside."

"He does, but I'll bet he's pretty sure there's no money inside. Getting our hands on it
was way too easy."

They'd walked nearly a block before Merlin said, "Abner said Lester would haul the
crate out to my cabin sometime this morning, so we're in no hurry. It'll be there when we get
back. We'll stop at Ramsey's for dinner. I guess we'd better pick up some groceries too. We ate
the last of the bread this morning."