Squire's Quest (39 page)

"So you didn't like working for Barney Deed, eh? I'm not surprised. He's a snake." She
took a second look. "Good God, Lily, what have you done to yourself?"

"Powder and kohl, that's all. We were afraid Deed would come after us and we didn't
want to be recognized." Her voice lost its bright lilt and she sounded tired. "Tilly, I want to come
back. I didn't know when I was well off."

"And you brought a friend." Tilly's tone was noncommittal.

"This is Callie. She's not a whore. She's a cook. And she needs a job."

Knowing her whole future depended on what happened in the next few minutes, Callie
summoned her last dregs of energy from a reservoir she hadn't known was there. "I'm trained as a
baker, ma'am, but I know my way around a kitchen. I can give you references. I cooked at
Lambert House in Cheyenne, and was trained by--"

Tilly held up her hand. "Hold on. If you're hiding, I doubt you'd want me to check your
references."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't. But I could show you. I'll work for nothing for a week, and you
wouldn't have to pay me much. Just a place to sleep and--"

"Anyone who works for me is paid what she's worth. You're exhausted, both of you. I
want to know what happened, why you're scared of being chased. But not until tomorrow. Lily,
take her up to the attic. We'll sort out bedrooms in the morning, but for tonight you can have the
room next to Nancy."

Callie stared at the woman, unbelieving. "We can stay?"

"Of course you can. For tonight, at least. Now scoot. I've guests in the parlor."

* * * *

The train for Denver was just pulling out when Merlin and Rye walked into the depot.
I've been to Denver. But I didn't stay, because...
Someone had needed him to come to
Cheyenne, but who? Why?

He stepped up to the ticket window. "How do we get to Idaho?"

"Depends on where in Idaho. If you want Pocatello or Eagle Rock, you'll get off at
Ogden. If you want Boise, then you're better off going to Kelton."

"Boise," he said, without hesitation. He knew that was where he wanted to be.

Denver
Late March, 1876

With shaking hands and a roiling stomach, Callie waited for Tilly to finish reading the
telegram. Finally she looked up. "Your father is truly dead, and I hope I won't hurt your feelings
when I say 'Good riddance.'"

"But I told you he was." Her voice squeaked on the last word.

"Yes, you did, and I believed you. At least I believed you wanted to think him gone so
you'd be safe." Leaning forward, she clasped her hands together on the desk blotter. "Callie, I
believe in hedging my bets. I'd be a fool if I didn't check to make sure he wouldn't be coming
after you. You may be of age, but he would still have a certain claim on you."

Dumbly, Callie nodded. And waited.

"Deed doesn't give a damn about Lily, but he wants you back."

"Oh, no!"

"Don't worry. As far as he knows, she came here alone. Even though Lily said Smith
never paid her a dime, I'll be sending him enough to buy out any obligation she has to him. She's
too good to work for a son of a bitch like Barney Deed. As for you, I haven't seen hide nor hair
of a black-haired girl who goes by the name of Callie Smith." She set the telegram aside. "Now,
what's to become of you?"

"I can cook. I'm a hard worker, and I'll clean. Do laundry--"

"Oh, you'll cook all right. The only intelligent thing Smith ever did was put you to work
in his kitchen. Even down here we heard about the spreads he put on."

Nearly faint with relief, Callie missed her next words.

"...remodel. The place next door is for sale. It would make a good place for the brats,
and you could stay over there until it's done, keep an eye on things."

"I'm sorry. What did you say? The brats?"

Shortly she learned that Tilly never turned a girl out if she ended up pregnant. Three of
her current stable had children, and they all lived together in a small cottage about a mile away.
"It's really too small, since Elizabeth had her baby. Besides, real estate in a town like Denver is
never a bad investment."

"But--"

Tilly's laugher filled the room. "You're wondering what a madam is doing, thinking
about real estate, aren't you?" At Callie's nod, she went on. "I'm a businesswoman, first and
foremost, thanks to an old friend's advice. That's how I got myself out of the mining camps and
into a city that's on its way up. Right now I'm supplying a demand. If the world went crazy and
men stopped needing my girls' services, I'd find something else to sell."

"Oh." Put that way, running a bawdyhouse made perfect sense.

Lordy, I'm too tired and scared to think straight. How can it make any sense at
all?

She became aware Tilly was speaking to her. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"That you need to go shopping. I'll not have a woman in my house looking like a
slattern. Lily will take you. She's got a good eye for what looks well on a body."

"Oh! But--" She'd been hoping to keep her secret a little longer. "I didn't tell you one
thing."

"What's that?" the sweet voice had turned hard as stone.

"I'm...going to have a baby. At least I think I am. My courses--"

The grin that lit up Tilly's face very nearly relieved all her remaining concerns. "Then
you'll fit right into the house next door. Scat now. I need to get hold of my lawyer so he can
make an offer before somebody snaps it up."

Once outside Tilly's office, Callie sagged against the wall, hoping she wouldn't faint
from sheer relief. After a moment, she laid both hands upon her belly. "Hear that?" she
whispered. "We've got a place to stay and a way to earn a living. We're safe."

* * * *

Ogden, Utah Territory
Early April 1876

"Sure feel good to be walkin' where the ground don't move," Rye said. Their train had
been three hours late, causing them to miss the westbound Central Pacific train. On the advice of
the ticket agent, they were walking to a nearby hotel where stranded travelers were often
accommodated.

"You get used to it." Merlin looked around, unable to shake the feeling he'd been here
before. "It was a lot smaller then."

"Huh?"

"Just talking to myself. This looks like the hotel."

It was, and there was room for them. The next day they explored the town for a while,
until Merlin found a bookstore. He stood looking into the window, where several stacks of books
were arranged, each with an open tome lying atop it. "Let's go in here."

"Why?"

"I'm curious." He hesitated just shy of the door. "Can you read?"

"'Course I can. When I have to."

"You ever read because you want to?"

Rye stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Not ever."

"Probably because you've never met the right book. C'mon."

Merlin bought three books, one the clerk told him was brand new, and two that felt like
old friends, even though he couldn't remember ever reading them. Somehow he knew he'd
always enjoyed reading.

When they emerged from the bookstore, he said, "Let's find a park. It's too nice a day to
sit inside."

"Can we eat first?"

"We'll buy some cheese and bread, a couple of oranges. It's a good day for a
picnic."

"Oranges? Real oranges? I ain't never tasted one."

"You'll like it."

After lunch, he persuaded Rye to sample the new book
The Mysterious Island
.
It was by an author Merlin was sure he was acquainted with, a Frenchman named Verne. When
he'd seen the name, he'd had a mental image of an enormous projectile carrying men to the
moon.
Crazy notion. It sounds like fun.

He lost himself in a poetic tale about a king who was determined to change the world
for the better. The best part was a wise man named Merlin in the story. A shiver of delight ran
down his arms the first time he saw the name. For a moment, he had the feeling he was one of
those knights like Arthur, brave and noble and decent.

The next he wondered why he would think himself brave and noble. Knowing she was
in danger from her own father, he'd left a wife alone in an isolated cabin, guarded only by an old
man. He didn't blame Abner for his unspoken but obvious disapproval.

Any enjoyment he'd had in the tale of chivalry and honor was gone. He closed the book
and reached for the other one.
Last of the Mohicans
. The title had triggered a small
memory, of a name: Natty Bumpo.

A chilling breeze brought him back to his surroundings. Their sunny bench was now in
the shade. "Let's go," he said. "It's time to head for the depot."

Rye appeared reluctant to close his book.

"Good story?"

"Yeah. Real exciting. Nobody ever told me reading could be fun."

They slept that night at Kelton, a hundred miles to the west. Early the following
morning, they boarded a stage bound for Boise City. With each rocking, jolting mile, Merlin's
impatience grew. Would he be able to find the Lucas Savage the Pinkerton man had named in his
note? He'd chosen Boise City as a destination because it sounded familiar, but what if he was
wrong? Eagle Rock had sounded familiar, too. Maybe they should have gone there first.

He leaned back and closed his eye. Even Mr. Cooper's story, exciting as it was, hadn't
been able to hold his attention during those short stretches where the road was smooth enough to
allow reading. His mind kept going back to the question that had plagued him since learning he'd
been married.
Why don't I remember her? Why don't I feel like I've lost something
important?

Stricker, the agent at Rock Creek Station, was a friendly fellow, once he'd seen to their
comfort and their suppers. Merlin caught him on his way through the common room. "Got a
minute?"

"I can spare half a dozen. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a fellow, but all I know is he lives somewhere in Idaho Territory.
Name's Lucas Savage. Ever heard of him."

One eyebrow raised, Stricker gave him a long look. "Mind telling me why you're
looking for Savage?"

"You do know him? Can you tell me where I can find him?"

"I know of him." He was plainly waiting for Merlin to answer his question.

"I'll show you." He pulled out his pocketbook, extracted the note from the Pinkerton
man. "Read this."

After he'd had time to read it two or three times, Stricker said, "Savage has a place west
of Boise, close to the river. He raises some of the finest mules in the territory." Scratching he
head, he looked back at the note. "You signed in with the name Lachlan. How come you're not
contacting them?"

Merlin had heard the phrase "butterflies in the stomach" sometime in his past, but until
now he'd no idea what it meant. He wasn't sure whether he was going to lose his supper or keel
over in a dead faint. One deep breath, followed by another, steadied him enough to say, "Where
would I find them?"

"Ask anywhere in Boise City. They're well known." Handing the note back to Merlin, he
gave him a level look. "Just be sure it's really your name. I've heard the old man doesn't suffer
fools gladly."

The next day, with the end of his search in sight, was the longest thirteen hours Merlin
had ever lived. When he got off the stage in Boise City, his knees were weak. "Can you see to
our gear?" he said to Rye. "I'm going to see if there's anyone hereabouts who knows where the
Lachlans might be found."

"Sure. I'll meet you out front."

"They live a mile or so east of here," he told Rye when they met a few minutes later in
front of the station. With a wave, he summoned one of the cabs standing in line along the street.
"We want to go to Lachlan's house. Can you find it?"

"Hard to miss," was the answer.

When they pulled into the circular driveway of a brick mansion, his first impression was
of a castle, with a tall, sharp-roofed tower and many narrow windows. It looked like it ought to
be surrounded by a moat and have pennants flying from the roof instead of lightning rods.

"This is it," he said, and the words caught on the lump in his throat. "This is home."

* * * *

Boise City, Idaho Territory
October 1876

"He was such a joyous boy, even after he..." Hattie blinked rapidly, knowing if she let
the tears fall, Emmet would set aside his own pain to comfort her.

"Even after he lost the eye. I know. When he rode off from here, he was excited and
happy and ready for anything. He was on a quest, just like those knights he liked to read about.
No dragon too big to slay, no maiden too poor or too ugly to defend. And no danger too great to
face."

She watched her middle son swing the scythe, back and forth, back and forth, leaving
behind him a wide swath of neatly windrowed grass hay. "Look at him, Emmet. He doesn't even
move the same. There's no spring to his step. I haven't heard him laugh since he came
home."

"At least he remembers us now. When he drove in that day, he stared at us like he'd
never seen us before."

"He claims his headaches have stopped," Hattie said, "but maybe he just doesn't want us
to worry." Her gaze stayed on Merlin, who'd paused in his scything to wipe his brow. The day
was warm for October. "Do you suppose he'll ever remember anything about his wife?"

Merlin had said only he'd been married for a few days before his wife was murdered.
Rye hadn't been able to add much to the tale, for he knew only what Merlin had been told.

"I think he doesn't want to remember." Emmet never looked away from his son, "I think
he blames himself for not being there to protect her when the cabin burned."

"Of course. Why didn't I see that? She was his damsel in distress, and he didn't save
her." When Emmet raised an eyebrow, she said, "Maybe it's a frivolous way to put it, but it's how
he must be thinking. He was a knight on a quest. And he let the dragon kill the maiden."

"Well, I just glad he's home safe. And that he's agreed to take on the River Ranch. Of all
our children, he's the one I always worried about the most. Such a dreamer."