The Education of Madeline (21 page)

M
adeline stared out the small window in the cell. All she could see were branches from evergreen trees. Occasionally a bird flew by, or a squirrel chattered somewhere. Other than that, she was completely alone.

She wondered if Teague had gone to Elizabeth and if they were working on helping her. Some little devil buried deep inside her was jumping up and down and cackling evilly. That little devil reminded her that Teague would have all her money if she died, that it was in his best interest to simply let her hang.

Her heart stood up to the little devil and hung on to the belief that Teague loved her. She knew there was absolutely nothing that would convince anyone he would save her. Up until a month ago, he had been a drifter. Madeline knew, deep down where her soul rested, that he would not abandon her, that he loved her. She trusted him, and that was all she needed.

Jackson thought it was his job to come by every hour and talk to her. He would tell her that Teague was not in town, that the judge was prepared to hang her if necessary, that they had brought in an attorney from Boulder to represent the town. A highly respected attorney named Matthew Worthington, a man who had never lost a case.

The mere mention of a hanging made her so sick she could taste bile at the back of her throat. She didn't give Jackson the satisfaction of reacting where he could see. She waited until he left before she wept into her hands.

Matilda Webster came by with her meals “out of the goodness of her heart.” She just wanted to be able to gossip to her little trio of witches that she saw the Black Widow in jail.

Madeline desperately tried to get news of Eppie, but Jackson told her nothing, and Matilda pretended like she hadn't heard her. She prayed for her friend and for Micah, the man who was apparently trying to save her friend's life.

It was near dark on Thursday evening. She had been in the cell for almost twenty-four hours, and it felt like twenty-four days.

“Psssst. Madeline,” came a whisper near the window.

Madeline jumped up from the cot and stepped up to the bars that kept her imprisoned.

“Micah?”

“Yes, it's me. Candice told me what happened, so I asked her to sit with Eppie while I came down here.”

Madeline felt tears stinging her eyes. “Micah, what happened to Eppie? How is she?”

There was a pregnant pause. “That bastard shot her and then ran. She was hit in the shoulder and—” his voice caught. “I tried to save her as best I could. She is hanging on, but only by a thread.”

Madeline's hands gripped the bars. “Has she seen a doctor?”

A rusty laugh floated toward her. “The doctor is in Jackson Webster's pocket. He tried to get in the house with a shotgun, claimed he needed it to protect himself. I told him to go to hell. I had to learn to be a medic during the war, so I've used my healing skills. Candice helped me, too. That's a good friend you have there, Madeline.”

“Oh, Micah, I'm so sorry. I want to be there to help you. I…All this is my fault. I should have never—”

“Stop it!” he cut her off. “You sure as hell should have. You can't let low-down skunks like Webster and that fat judge control your life. We'll get them in court, sweet girl. Did you get your attorney up there in Denver?”

Madeline sighed. “Yes, and she's wonderful. Teague and I got separated when Jackson arrested me. He…he's supposed to be here with her any time now.”

There was another pause. “That's good. I'm sure he'll be here lickety split. Now…what happened in Denver?”

She stared at her bare hand, devoid of a ring. She regretted a million times not getting her mother's wedding band before leaving Denver.

“We got married.”

After a moment, he spoke. “About damn time, too. That man loves you to distraction, Madeline, just as much as you love him.”

Micah's simple words were exactly what she needed to hear. Confirmation that others saw what she felt. That it wasn't just her imagination. That he truly did love her.

“Thank you.”

He snorted. “No need to thank me. I got your best friend shot and you arrested. I failed you…and Eppie.”

Madeline could hear the grief in his voice, could almost see the regret and sadness in the air.

“You didn't fail me, friend. You did only what you could. Micah, you and Eppie were my first friends. Ever. Nothing you do would ever be wrong or a failure, because you do it as my friend.”

She reached her hand through the bars, and after a moment or two, his hand clasped hers. Calloused, and smaller than Teague's, it infused her with what she needed. Hope.

“We'll beat them, Madeline. Don't you fret. Teague will be here with your attorney, and we'll beat them.”

 

Teague stood behind Elizabeth in the judge's chambers and fisted his hands to keep from hitting the hard-ass son of a bitch. Elizabeth had pulled some of her magic strings to get an audience with Judge Montgomery because they couldn't wait until Friday for that Carter fellow. Raider had shown up to lend God's help, not that it was helping. It was Thursday, and time was slipping away like sand in an hourglass, and this man was refusing to help them. He was at least fifty, with mud-colored eyes, balding black-and-gray hair, and sagging jowls. His gaze was razor sharp, and his jaw seemed permanently set in granite.

Elizabeth, bless her, used every weapon she could think of. She had paperwork coming out her ears, arguments, precedents in legal texts, and her own persuasive manner (which Teague cottoned to more to bullying, but, hell, she was on their side, which was the only thing that mattered). Nothing worked. Judge Pain-in-the-Ass wasn't budging.

“I told you, Miss Mitchell, I will not prosecute this case against the men of Plum Creek. Now please remove yourself from my chambers.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, and the judge waved his hand in a chopping motion. “I've heard enough. No more, Elizabeth, or I'll hold you in contempt.”

That, as they say, was that.

Teague moved Elizabeth aside and leaned over the desk of Judge Wilson Montgomery and let the full force of his anger and frustration come forth.

“Listen to me, then. A bunch of men who don't like a woman holding the cards are persecuting my wife, Madeline. They have cheated her, stolen from her, smeared her good name, and treated her like shit. She believed in me, trusted me, and I betrayed her. She forgave me, and not only that, married my sorry ass. I love her, and I refuse to let her die because a windbag like you won't help her. She's one of the good people in this world, and if she dies because of you, there is no corner on this earth you can hide in that I won't find you. Now, Judge Montgomery, are you going to go with us to Plum Creek and shove the book up Sheriff Jackson Webster's and Judge Earl Martin's collective asses, or do I need to persuade you a bit more?”

Judge Montgomery didn't flinch from Teague's angry tirade; however, he did flush a bit. Teague could have bitten off a piece of his oak desk and spit it out. Too bad he couldn't control his emotions like this man of the law.

“Did you say Earl Martin?” Judge Montgomery asked.

A tiny, tiny flare of hope flickered to life inside Teague's chest. “Yes. Pompous son of a bitch with a belly that arrives in a room before he does. Paid me five hundred dollars to spy on Madeline.”

Judge Montgomery's eyebrows rose. “You didn't mention him by name before. Earl and I—well, let's say that we go way back.” He turned to look at Elizabeth. “Show me what you have against them.”

Raider grinned. “You know God is on your side when there's a true lawbreaker at hand.”

The flare of hope grew bigger. Teague stepped aside and let Elizabeth work.

 

Madeline shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair behind the defense table. Spectators packed the courtroom to the rafters, and the buzzing behind her was like a swarm of bees waiting to sting her.

It was Friday morning at nine AM, and Teague had not arrived.
Yet.
Madeline refused to believe he wasn't coming. The space beside her was empty. No attorney, no husband, and no friend. She straightened her spine and her resolve. Her faith in those she loved was strong. They wouldn't let her down.

Jackson stood by the door to the side room where Judge Martin had his chambers. The smirk on his face was enough to make Madeline want to kick him in the balls. Pretentious windbag.

He announced Judge Martin with a lot of pomp and circumstance. The judge waddled out in his best Sunday suit and looked at the crowd with an official glower. His bald head gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He sat down with a grunt and an obnoxious throat-clearing episode that made Madeline's stomach turn.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his officious tone. “During these proceedings, we will have no outbursts from the gallery. This is a serious trial with serious charges. You will show the court its due respect.”

A few murmurs met his pronouncement. They were surprisingly quiet. Probably waiting to see how quickly they could slip a noose around her neck. She shuddered involuntarily.

Judge Martin looked down his nose at Madeline and then pointedly at the empty chair beside her.

“Miss Brewster, I see you have no attorney present.”

“Mrs. O'Neal, your honor,” she said firmly.

“Excuse me?”

Madeline straightened her shoulders. “My name is Mrs. O'Neal, not Miss Brewster.”

His mouth opened and closed, and then he smirked. “Where is your husband, then,
Mrs.
O'Neal?”

“Right here.”

Teague's deep voice echoed through the quiet courtroom. Madeline jumped up with her heart in her throat. She saw Teague at the door in his best clothes, his hair trimmed and combed. Beside him stood Elizabeth, her arms full of neatly stacked papers.

Teague's eyes sought hers, and she was immediately awash in the love she found there.

“You! You are a horse thief!” shouted Judge Martin. “Sheriff Webster, arrest that man!”

“You will not touch him,” said another deep voice from behind Teague.

A tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped forward.

“Montgomery!” Judge Martin looked decidedly paler than he had a minute ago.

The stranger grinned, although Madeline could swear there was no mirth in that show of teeth.

“I would say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie, Earl. I hear you've been a naughty boy.”

“I have done nothing—”

“Don't interrupt me, Earl. I brought some marshals with me to make sure these proceedings are legal and stay that way.” The stranger stepped in, followed by two rather burly looking men with silver stars on their leather vests. They were both sporting pistols strapped to their impressive thighs.

As they headed for the front of the courtroom, Teague and Elizabeth walked to the defense table. Teague had to push his way through the crowd that erupted when the strangers headed toward the front. It was like watching Madeline's life unfolding right in front of her.

When he finally reached her, he pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly she swore she felt a rib creak in protest. He whispered her name over and over. His big arms felt like home. She had finally found one where she belonged.

“Let her go, Goliath,” Elizabeth said from behind them. “We've still got some work to do.”

The crowd finally settled down after Judge Martin banged on his gavel so hard the wood cracked on his desk.

“That is enough! Everyone needs to shut the hell up. This is a court of law, you know!”

His face was flushed a beet red, and his forehead shone with perspiration. Oh, yes, the judge was nervous now.

Teague sat down on the chair next to Madeline and pulled her close enough to touch. Elizabeth cocked one blond eyebrow at him, and he blushed and then stood, offering her the chair. He stood behind Madeline with his hands on her shoulders. “Who is that man?” Madeline whispered.

“Just watch,” Teague replied.

The stranger pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and read it aloud.

“By order of the superior court of Colorado, I hereby remove Judge Earl Martin from presiding over the case of Plum Creek versus Madeline Brewster. A new judge is now hearing this case. Me.” He grinned and showed his sharp teeth to Judge Martin again. “Remove yourself from the bench and take a seat by your fancy prosecuting attorney.” He refolded the paper and tucked it back in his jacket pocket.

Like a gaping fish, Judge Martin stood, stomped down from the judge's bench, and walked toward the prosecution's table. He shot a malevolent glare at Teague before sitting down.

“Now, just so you all know, my name is Judge Wilson Montgomery. I am a superior-court judge in Boulder, and I am now presiding over this courtroom. Any outbursts, and I will remove you from this room. No exceptions.” He glanced around the courtroom to be sure his message was received. Apparently satisfied, he gestured to the attorneys. “Speak your piece.”