Brides of Iowa (41 page)

“After a few weeks, everyone in town knew Silas wanted to court me. It didn’t seem to matter that I’d said no. Then one evening, Silas asked if he could speak to me out on the porch. He made a big show of getting down on his knee and asking me to marry him.”

She began coughing, and Hubert nudged the cup of water. “Please, my dear, you don’t need to say any more.”

Pearl shook her head again. “Yes, I do.” She sipped more water and set the cup aside. “The following day, everyone in town was congratulating me on my engagement. I tried to tell them there was no engagement because I’d refused Silas’s proposal.” She dipped her head. “Imagine my shock when a woman knocked on my door a few days later and told me she was looking for her husband, Silas Cain. My other boarders weren’t home yet, but Silas was always the first one home in the afternoon, so I asked the woman to wait. When Silas came in, there was a confrontation. Silas and his wife went for a walk, but he came back without her.”

She paused to cool her throat with more water. Hubert seemed to understand her need to tell him about the past chapter of her life, and he didn’t insist she stop. After a minute, she went on, her voice not much more than a croaky whisper.

“Silas left very early the next morning. I don’t know where his wife was; I didn’t see her again. I assumed she went with him.” She bowed her head. “Hubert, I felt so dirty. That poor woman! I know none of the blame was mine, but what if the news of Silas having a wife had gotten out? I could only imagine what that would do to my reputation. Why, it would make me look like a Jezebel. I kept the story to myself and prayed no one would ever find out. I’ve never told this to anyone until now.”

Hubert squeezed her hand. “That’s enough talking now. The sheriff has already told me what you wrote out concerning Cain’s intentions and how he threatened you.” He slid his arm around her shoulders. “It’s behind you now. God has a future for us to look forward to.”

Hubert sat forward in his chair beside Everett’s bed, grateful for the doctor’s permission to sit with his son. But he hadn’t been prepared for the swathe of bandages or the swelling of Everett’s face. Part of the burned area on one arm was exposed, and the sight of the angry, red flesh made Hubert’s gut twist. He could only imagine what lay beneath the bandages.

“He’s so still. I can barely see him breathing.” Hubert sent a worried glance to the doctor on the other side of the bed.

Doc Vogel stuck the ends of his stethoscope into his ears and pressed the apparatus to Everett’s chest. “He’s breathing just fine.”

“There’s a rather pungent odor in here.”

The doctor nodded and hung his stethoscope around his neck. “Part of the smell is the carbolic acid salve we’re using on the burns. We’re making a liniment with linseed oil and limewater to blot on the less serious burned area. But there is also some dead flesh that we’re still cleaning off.”

An involuntary shudder shook Hubert. “There’s no more risk of infection?”

“I didn’t say that.” Doc gingerly pulled back part of the bandage on Everett’s neck and the lower part of his face. “We’re keeping the wounds clean and removing bits of burned skin and flesh as we are able. Until new skin grows to cover the burned areas, the risk of infection will exist, but he’s showing some encouraging signs of healing.”

Hubert peered at the grisly red, purple, and blackened wounds along Everett’s jawline. An ache of commiseration surged through him, and he clenched his teeth to hold back a groan of sympathy.

Doc replaced the bandages and straightened. “I’m afraid he’s going to have some rather ugly scars.”

Hubert fixed his gaze on the part of Everett’s face not covered by the clean, white bindings. The thought of the once-handsome features being disfigured by lasting effects of the fire spurred grief, and condemnation strangled him. If only Everett hadn’t followed him into the burning house. Had circumstances taken a different turn, however, he and Pearl would both rest in the town cemetery now. He longed to hold Everett’s hand but was fearful that any touch could bring pain. He wished he could take some of that pain and bear it for his son.

Everett stirred.

Hubert leaned forward and gently touched a finger to Everett’s unscathed left hand. “I’m here, son.”

A faint groan sounded from Everett’s lips, and he moved his head slightly, a wince defining his forehead.

Doc Vogel glanced at his watch. “He’s not due for another dose of laudanum for two hours. We’ll wait to clean off any more dead skin and tissue until we can give him more pain medication.”

“Father?”

Unspeakable joy filled Hubert at the sound of Everett’s voice, however weak. “Yes, son, I’m here.”

“The quieter he stays the less pain he’ll have,” Doc Vogel advised. “I’ll let you have a little time together, then he needs to rest.”

Everett blinked. “Father, you’re all right. Doctor Vogel told me you were, but I had to see for myself.”

“Yes, I’m fine, son. Pearl is going to be all right as well, thanks to you. We both owe you our lives.”

A slight shake of Everett’s head accompanied the tiny dip of his eyebrows. “It wasn’t me.”

Hubert frowned, thinking surely he’d heard Everett’s words incorrectly. Of course it had been Everett who’d dragged him and Pearl from the inferno. Sheriff Webster said so. Perhaps Everett was delusional from the medication.

“You don’t have to talk, son. Just lie quiet.” Hubert hoped his voice communicated soothing reassurance.

But Everett seemed insistent. “You don’t understand, Father. It wasn’t me. The smoke was so thick I was completely blinded. The fire was all around—all sides. Windows were breaking—”

“Shh, it’s all right, son. Just be quiet now.” But the more Hubert coaxed him to be quiet, the more determined Everett grew.

His fingers caught Hubert’s and curled around them, as though driven by an urgency to make Hubert understand. “I knew I couldn’t find you by myself. I needed help. I cried out to God—begged Him to help me find you.”

Hubert froze. Could it be? Had God answered his petition he’d prayed more times than he could count? Tears slipped down Hubert’s cheeks and a shout of praise began to gather within his chest, rising into his throat.

“I was lost in that smoke…had no hope of finding you or Mrs. Dunnigan. The walls were caving in…roof was next. No way out. God was the only one who could find you. I pleaded with Him to keep you safe and lead me to you. God found you, Father, not me.” Serenity erased the anguish in Everett’s eyes as he relaxed against the pillow. “And I found God.”

H
ubert stood outside the post office and broke the seal on the envelope from Zack Peterson, his old friend from the Pinkerton Agency. It had taken longer than he’d anticipated to hear back from Zack. Since Silas Cain had already left town, whatever information Zack was able to find on Cain would be of little use to Hubert now. But curiosity drove him to open the letter to see if any of his suspicions were confirmed.

He quickly scanned the pages, taking in the list of charges and arrest warrants. Cain was wanted in four different states on eleven warrants, and had left behind a trail of jilted women he’d defrauded of money and property. A few he’d married without mentioning he already had a wife…or two. Hubert snorted with disgust.

The last page described Cain’s associations with known criminals and the seedy underworld of corruption, and included a list of several aliases Cain used. “Fletcher Cain, Silas Fletcher, Silas Riley, Terrance Smith.”

Anger surged through Hubert. Pearl was just another woman on Cain’s list. Hubert clenched his teeth and stifled a growl. How he wished he could slap the handcuffs on Cain himself.

He strode across the street to the mercantile to check with young Phillip O’Dell, his part-time clerk. Satisfied that Phillip had everything under control, Hubert headed down the boardwalk toward the sheriff’s office. On the way, he stopped by the stage depot to speak with Sam, the ticket agent.

Sam’s drooping suspenders hung off his shoulders as he peered out from the depot window and nodded his head with such vigor, his spectacles slid down his nose. “Yeah, Sheriff was already here askin’ the same questions. I’ll tell you the same thing as I told him.” He pushed his lopsided spectacles back into place with two fingers. “That Cain fella was standin’ here waitin’ for me to open up the mornin’ Miss Pearl’s place burned.” Sam stroked his chin. “First, he said he wanted to buy a ticket to Cedar Rapids. Then he asked how many stopovers there was between here and there.” The agent pursed his lips and pulled his pencil from behind his ear. “Thought it kinda strange, but it weren’t none of my business.”

Hubert fixed his eyes on the agent. “What was strange?”

Sam shrugged. “When I told him the southbound stage wasn’t due in until late afternoon, he changed his mind ’bout where he was headed. Asked what stage was due in first. I says the westbound. But as soon as I told him that stage stopped at Fort Dodge, he asked what was the last stop
before
Fort Dodge. I told him Otter Springs and don’tcha know, he bought a ticket to Otter Springs.” The man shook his head like the information he’d just given made no sense.

“What’s in Otter Springs?”

“That’s just it. There ain’t nothin’ in Otter Springs ’cept a way station.”

Why would Cain buy a ticket to the middle of nowhere? “Is there a telegraph in Otter Springs?”

Sam leaned his elbow on the edge of the counter and sniffed. “Sometimes. Lines are down more than they’re workin’. But as I recall, I got a wire from there about a month ago. Maybe the lines are still up.”

Hubert rolled the information over in his mind. “Can Cain buy another ticket in Otter Springs, maybe heading in another direction?”

“Sure. He could pick up the southbound to Des Moines. ’Course there’s a few places in between where he could board a train, too.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Hubert continued on to the sheriff’s office, armed with the letter from Zack Peterson.

Sheriff Webster was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Hubert entered the office. “Mornin’, Mr. Behr.”

“Good morning, sir.” Hubert pulled Zack’s letter from his pocket and held it out to the lawman. “I thought perhaps you’d be interested in this.”

Webster arched his eyebrows and took the letter. He scanned it quickly and grunted. “Accordin’ to what Miss Pearl’s already told me, looks like he was plannin’ on makin’ her one of his victims.”

Hubert set his jaw and nodded. “Based on the information in that letter and Pearl’s statement, seems like you have enough for a conviction once Cain is apprehended.”

“Don’t make much sense, him settin’ the fire, but I reckon it ain’t the first time revenge was the motive for a crime.” The sheriff scowled at the papers and wanted posters cluttering his desk. “I don’t have anything on Cain here. I already checked. But I’ll go through this pile again and look for those other names he used.”

“I stopped by the depot this morning and talked to Sam.”

Webster nodded. “I sent a wire to Otter Springs. I’ll let you know if I find out anything and you can wire your Pinkerton friend. I notified the federal marshal at Fort Dodge, too. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The men shook hands and parted company. Hubert’s desire to return to the doctor’s place and speak with Pearl widened his anxious strides. He’d spent most of the night in prayer, partly for Everett’s recovery and partly for Pearl. He’d waited as long as he could bear. If he didn’t ask her today, his heart would burst.

Tears gathered in the corners of Pearl’s eyes as she listened to Tessa and Hannah outline their plans. The three women sat together in the morning sun on the back porch of the doctor’s residence.

“I must have the sweetest friends on the face of the earth.” Pearl’s raspy voice and sore throat improved daily. She leaned forward to wrap one arm around Tessa and the other around Hannah. “Mercy sakes, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Tessa laughed. “Just let us show you how much you’re loved.”

Hannah patted Pearl’s back and offered her the hanky she pulled from her apron pocket. While Pearl blotted her eyes, Hannah scooted her chair closer. “Two of the women in the ladies sewing circle have sewing machines now. Johannah Fredricksen’s husband gave her one last Christmas.” The doctor’s wife rattled off her efficiently coordinated plans. “Ivy Swenson and Johannah will bring their machines. Hilda Stone, Florence Hoffner, and Vera Owens are going to do the cutting, and there will be four or five other women there as well, in addition to Tessa and me.”