A Promise to Believe in (13 page)

“No, I’m perfectly content to wash his shirts for pay.” Beth smiled. “I just hope he’s satisfied with the results.”

Laughing, Gwen made her way up the steps. “I’m sure he’ll be amazed at your abilities. Well, I’d best see to getting lunch on and finishing with the baking. The stage will pull in about six, unless they’ve met with trouble.” Gwen disappeared into the house, while Beth went to the back porch and rummaged around in their laundry supplies. Finding what she was looking for, a wicked grin spread across her face.

“You’re so right, Gwen. He will be amazed at my abilities.”

CHAPTER NINE

Hank rode his black gelding out across the field and marveled at the territory around him. Mountains seemed to encircle him, yet there was openness to this valley that yielded vast fields of farm and grazing land. Cattle dotted the landscape; many were new mothers with calves at their side. He had asked about the herds, not having any understanding or knowledge of such animals. To him, beef was something served on a plate. Joe, the stage driver who’d brought him to Gallatin House, laughed at his ignorance but tolerated his questions. It was through Joe that Hank learned there were different breeds for beef and milk. Joe also explained a bit of the territory’s history. For the life of him, Hank couldn’t remember ever hearing much about the place before the private investigator had learned of Harvey’s journey here.

Now that he was here, Hank was rather taken aback by what he found. Nothing in his travels had gripped him like Montana. He wasn’t sure why, but something here spoke to his soul. It was really the only thing that had spoken to him in years. Most of his decisions and reactions had been driven by pain or anger, but this territory promised a measure of peace and refinement.

It wasn’t that Hank couldn’t recognize the difficulty of living in such an isolated territory, nor that he figured life here to be easy, by any means. But there was a feeling—a sort of personality to the land. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a sense of belonging here.

“That’s foolishness. I have a business and home in Boston. I don’t belong here,” he said aloud. The horse snorted, as if disagreeing, but Hank ignored him. What could the beast possibly know?

The gelding seemed to follow his own path along the river, pausing now and then as if to give Hank an opportunity to direct him. Hank had only owned the black since coming west. He’d purchased the animal in Corrine after departing the train. The thought had been to ride to Gallatin House, but seeing the terrain, he knew it would be an arduous journey for a novice to take alone, especially since he’d spent more of his time in the city and knew little of life on the trail.

A rabbit darted out from brush along the river and paused momentarily as he sized up Hank and his mount. The horse danced nervously at the interruption but quickly settled down. The rabbit’s nose wriggled as he sniffed at the unfamiliar scents, then just as quickly he dove back into the heavy vegetation and was gone. Overhead, geese made their way north, honking in such a way that it almost sounded like a bark. The skies and earth were alive with activity.

“A fellow could get used to this place,” he said.

Hank glanced at his pocket watch and saw that it was nearing lunchtime. The girls were always quite prompt with their meals, and he didn’t want to be late. Of course, given the oatmeal incident, Hank couldn’t say he was all that excited about any meal that Beth Gallatin had a hand in making. His stomach growled loudly, as if to protest his thoughts, however. He would simply have to be careful about what he ate. Maneuvering the black back in the direction of the roadhouse, Hank couldn’t help but think of the situation and his mission there.

He didn’t want to believe the sisters were trying to hide the truth from him. And he didn’t really feel that Gwen meant to deceive him, but there was still a secretive nature about all three girls that left him feeling like the only one who didn’t get the joke.

Major Worthington came bounding out to greet him. He had tried to follow Hank earlier, but Beth called him back and leashed him to the porch. Apparently she’d seen fit to set him free, for now the dog was at his side.

“Hello there, Major. Good to have you along. Sorry your mistress wouldn’t allow you to join me earlier.”

The dog trotted along with an occasional upward glance. He seemed to understand that Hank had no choice in the previous decision. Across the way, Hank spied Gwen out in the garden. She attacked the ground as if trying to kill something, yet he could see she was merely attempting to till the soil. Having never planted or worked land himself, Hank was really in no position to criticize, but it looked to him like she was going about it all wrong.

Hank brought the horse to within twenty feet, and Gwen still didn’t acknowledge him. She appeared lost in her thoughts, and he almost hated to interrupt her. Major had no such concerns, however, and went up to his mistress.

“Well, hello,” she said, pausing from her work. Her whole face seemed to light up with delight at the sight of the golden brown dog. “Are you feeling less forlorn?”

Hank dismounted and approached with the black close behind. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What are you planting?”

A worried expression overtook Gwen’s previous look of delight. “We grow a hearty crop of rock in this area,” she replied.

Hank noted the pile of rounded stones and nodded. “Looks tiresome.”

“It is. I did manage to put in some potatoes earlier,” she said, looking back at the square of earth. “There’s so little time to grow things. When we lived in Missouri, it wasn’t hard at all. We had long, mild springs and hot summers. Day after day, we canned fruits and vegetables until I was able to do it in my sleep. Up here, however, it seems the snow is scarcely off the peaks before winter starts up again. I’ve seen snow fall in every month on the calendar.”

“You’re jesting, right?” He could hardly believe she was speaking the truth.

Gwen smiled. “Sorry, no. One year it actually snowed on the Fourth of July.”

Hank shook his head. “That’s hard to imagine.” He took a step closer, knowing that he had to somehow begin to put her at ease and gain her confidence—or he might never find the missing stocks and jewelry. “It seems I’m always apologizing to you, and now I find I need to do it once again.”

Gwen looked at him and shrugged. “Whatever for?”

“The way I spoke to you the other day. The way I’ve acted since coming here.” He smiled and hoped that his expression would prove his sincerity. “It really isn’t in my nature to be so harsh.”

“You’ve suffered a shock in the loss of your brother. That’s never easy to deal with. You never told me when you found out about his death.”

“It actually wasn’t until I got to Corrine. A private investigator had been able to locate him. I asked around and finally met up with the freight driver. It just so happened he knew my brother—or of him. When he talked about his having married and then dying shortly afterward, I . . . well . . . I found myself in a state of shock. I never expected that he would be dead.” It was the truth, and Hank couldn’t disguise the sadness in his voice.

Gwen looked away. “I don’t think any of us ever really anticipates the death of a loved one.”

“No. I don’t suppose so.”

“The loss is so painful in its own right, but it also leaves such a ripple of other issues—loneliness, fearfulness, confusion, and an emptiness that goes on and on.”

Hank was taken aback by her words. That was exactly how he’d felt after his grandfather’s death. Hank’s grandfather had been a good man who had filled the gaps left by an often-absent father. The void Hank had experienced upon the death of his grandfather had been difficult to bear. When his own father had died a year later, it hadn’t hurt nearly as much as losing that old man.

“I always thought I’d see Harvey again,” Hank finally murmured. “I still can’t quite bring myself to believe he’s gone.”

Gwen turned and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She stretched her shoulders. “It’s nearly lunchtime. I imagine the girls have things just about ready.”

She started to walk toward the house, and Hank followed along. “Is it true,” he began, “that Harvey would have died if your father hadn’t taken him in? Or was that just an exaggeration for dramatic effect?”

“We have no time for games up here—not when it comes to life and death,” Gwen replied. “Harvey was very sick when my father found him. He didn’t have a cent to his name, and my father paid for the doctor and medicine to treat his pneumonia.”

“He had no money?” Hank found that so hard to believe.

“None. I suppose if he did take the things you believe him to have stolen, he must have sold them in the year before coming to us.” She turned and stopped. “I assure you, Mr. Bishop, Harvey came to us with very little.”

Hank still wasn’t convinced. There was something about the entire matter that just didn’t make sense. The company from which the stocks had been issued had no record of their being sold. A sale or transfer would have been recorded. Someone had to have those stocks, even if the jewelry was long gone.

“Gwen!” Lacy called as she bounded across the yard. Her long hair flew out behind her in waves of dark red. She looked more like a girl than a woman. Only her height suggested otherwise. Well, that and the slight curve to her figure here and there. Hank thought there was something rather wild and untamed about the young woman, and from the look on her face, she was about to unleash it on them.

“You look madder than a wet hen,” Gwen commented. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s that lazy Dave Shepard,” she declared, her hands going to her hips. “He’s not doing a thing to find Pa’s killer. I’ve just half a mind to ride over to the sheriff’s and confront him about the entire matter.”

“Lacy, you can’t do that. I need you here. There’s too much work to do. We have many stages and freighters due through, and I’ll need your help. Even now we need that new cord of wood chopped.”

The younger woman pushed her hair back and blew out a long breath. Her expression told Hank she had barely heard her sister’s words. “Someone has got to do something. The longer we wait, the better chance it is that the killer will get away. If he’s one of those Texas cowhands, he’ll be heading south for the winter by September, and then what will we do?”

Gwen spoke with a great deal of patience. “Lacy, God has it under control. You do trust Him to make things right, don’t you? If there is a truly guilty party, the Lord will reveal it.”

“But of course there’s a guilty party! Pa’s dead, isn’t he?”

With a sigh, Gwen put her arm around Lacy and began to walk toward the house. Hank followed behind, watching as Gwen spoke in words too soft to hear. She cared a great deal for her family—that much was clear. The thought made Hank ache inside as he remembered that Harvey had never even mentioned him to Gwen. How could he have forgotten his brother? Did he truly care so little for Hank that the memories weren’t worth sharing?

“Well, if Deputy Shepard and Sheriff Cummings don’t plan to interrogate any suspects,” Lacy declared, pushing away from Gwen, “then I’ll just do it myself.” She closed the distance to the house and disappeared.

Gwen stood watching her and shook her head. “Believe me when I say I know what it is to have a troublesome sibling, Mr. Bishop.”

Hank smiled, but she never looked back at him.

Later that night, Hank returned to his room. He had hoped for a quiet evening of reading, but when the stage rolled in and ten men crawled out from every possible place on the conveyance, it was clear that such ideas were merely dreams.

He left the hall door open long enough to light the lamp by his bed. The golden light shone in an almost eerie manner, and had Hank believed in ghosts, he might actually have found himself spooked. Sitting on the bed, he pulled off his boots and tossed them to one side, and that’s when he spied his white shirts.

Only they weren’t white anymore.

They were red. Blood red. Red like the side of a barn.

“Beth.” He muttered the name almost like a curse.

CHAPTER TEN