Home by Morning (24 page)

He stared. Until this moment, his book had not seemed real to him. But that was his name on the front, so it must be true. He lifted one out, studied the front and back, then opened it to the first page.

“
For my friends in Heartbreak Creek
,” he read silently, “
so they will know the man who walks among them
.” Then, below it, “
Thomas Redstone, Author.
”

He looked at Rayford Jessup. “You wrote these words.”

Jessup nodded. “I was paraphrasing what you said to me when we began. I hope you don't mind.”

Thomas wasn't sure. He had wanted to tell the story of his old chief, not see his own name in print. It stole a part of him. Put another label on him he was not sure he wanted.
Author
.

“Well, what is it?” Mrs. Throckmorton demanded, thumping her cane on the floor. “Get on with it, boy, so we can eat.”

Before Thomas could answer, Edwina blurted out, “It's a book. Thomas wrote it! It's about Chief Black Kettle, and it's wonderful!” Then realizing what she had said, she put on a face of apology. “I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have opened it, but I couldn't help myself. That poor man. Thomas, I cried. I actually cried.”

She looked like she was about to again.

So did Prudence, despite the pride in her smile.

That confused Thomas. To cover it, he shoved the box across the table toward Rayford Jessup. “Your name should be on this, too.”

“Next time.”

“What do you mean, next time?”

“It's that good, Thomas. People who read this are going to want more. So you better start thinking. And practicing your signature. You'll be famous now.”

Thomas blinked at him, feeling a mild sense of panic. He did not want to be famous. He did not want to write another book. It was hard work.

“Pass them around,” Audra Hardesty suggested. “I want to see.”

Soon children left the table set up for them and crowded Jessup as he handed books around the table.

“I want one!”
Katse'e
cried, arms outstretched.

“Here you go.” Jessup put one in her hands, then smiled at Thomas when she clutched it to her chest like precious treasure. “Maybe your daddy will read it to you later.”

“I daresay, you should come to school and read it to all the children,” his wife, Josephine, suggested. “It is part of their history, too.”

Thomas resisted the urge to flee the house. “It is only a book.”

“A book written by someone we know and love.” Edwina dabbed at her eyes. “I'm so proud of you, Thomas, I could just cry.”

She was already crying. He snuck a glance at Prudence. She had her head down as she leafed through the pages. But he saw the smile playing around her lips and felt a shift in his resolve. Irritated by his weakness for this woman—his
wife
—he brought the flat of his hand down on the tabletop. “We will eat now.”

Which, for some reason, made the others laugh.

Thomas remained silent for the rest of the meal. As soon as it was over, he rose. “I must go relieve Tombo Welks now. He cannot stay alone in the sheriff's office for long without getting nervous.
Katse'e
, the Abrahams will take you home.”

“What about Mama?”

He looked at Prudence, then away again. “That is for her to decide.”

“You want a horse?” Jessup asked him.

“I will walk.”

“It's raining.”

“Then I will walk fast.” As soon as he stepped outside, the feeling of suffocation left him. He set out through a thick mist that only a dry-land Texan like Jessup would call rain. It softened the tree line along the creek and put wispy crowns on the tall firs. By morning those crowns would have turned to ice, and by noon, they would begin to thaw. But for now, he liked the solitude of being the only person on the road.

Several minutes later, he stopped under the overhang outside the sheriff's office, shook the dampness off his hair, then stepped inside. No sign of his temporary deputy. “Tombo Welks,” he called.

“Back here.”

Thomas went through the door behind his desk and found Tombo stretched out on the cot in the cell he called home. “What are you doing?”

“Hidin'.”

“From what?”

Tombo leaned forward to peer past Thomas toward the front office. “He here yet?”

“Who?”

“That man what come by earlier. I didn't like him. Said he was from Indian-something.” Tombo sat back, his fingers worrying a hole in his blanket.

“Indianapolis?”

“That's it. Said he was lookin' for Thomas Redstone. That's you, right?”

Thomas nodded. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were over to the church, but you'd be back later. And here you are. Can I go now?” He sat up, his eyes shifting from Thomas to the office door, as if expecting the man to burst through at any moment.

“Go where?”

“The livery. Mr. Driscoll said he'd pay me to work for two days.”

“You can go after you tell me if this man threatened you.”

“Nope, but he scared me some. I didn't like him.”

“Why?”

“He had mean eyes. I don't like people with mean eyes. They not nice to me.” Abruptly his face broke into a wide grin.
“And he had a black mustache that curled out past his ears. Looked like he was wearing little bitty longhorns on his top lip. He got mad when I laughed.”

Thomas frowned. That might have described one of the men watching Prudence at the depot in Indianapolis. Thomas had not studied him well, but he remembered one of the men had hair on his face. If he was a friend of Marsh's, he had come a long way for a dead man. Was it chance that brought him to town the same day that Prudence arrived? Was he tracking her?

Or him?

P
ru braced herself as she went down the hotel stairs the following morning, fearing her friends would be waiting to pounce on her with questions they hadn't had a chance to ask at Sunday dinner.

Except for Yancey, dozing on his stool behind the front desk, the lobby was empty. She let out a relieved breath and tiptoed toward the double front doors.

“Not so fast, missy.”

Drat.
She had hoped to talk to Thomas first.

Showing his few teeth in a wide yawn, the old man pointed a gnarled finger at the closed dining room doors. “They're waitin'.” With a look of sympathy, he added, “Good luck.”

Waiting, indeed.

In addition to the usual inquisitors—her sister and Lucinda—Audra Hardesty sat at the corner table, pad and pencil at hand to take down every salient detail for the Wednesday edition. The only ones missing were the Englishwoman with the amazing mismatched eyes, Mrs. Throckmorton, and dear Maddie Wallace. Pru missed her dearly.

“Waiting for me?” she asked with mock innocence as she wove her way through the empty tables.

“I think
most
of us”—Lucinda paused to shoot a knowing glance at Edwina—“have been remarkably patient, considering.”

Pru leaned down to kiss her sister's cheek, then settled into the empty chair beside her. “Considering what?”

“Jail, Pru?” Edwina slapped her muffin onto her plate, sending crumbs in all directions. “Even Mama, as horrid as she was, never went to jail! Daddy must be tossing in his grave. He always had such high hopes for you.”

Although her stomach was a bit unsettled, Pru accepted a cup of tea and a muffin from Lucinda. “Father had expectations for both of us.”

“Don't be silly. I only had to marry well. But you carried the weight of an entire race on your shoulders. Did they beat you?”

Pru blinked at her sister. Edwina's conversations were often hard to follow. “Did who beat me?”

“Your jailers!” Edwina waved a hand for emphasis, almost upending the teapot. “I've had such nightmares, Pru. Was it awful?”

“Not as awful as it could have been, if Reverend Brother Sampson hadn't spoken on my behalf.” Other than that one beating—retaliation, she suspected, for her uncooperative attitude toward that one vile interrogator. It hadn't hurt, either, that she had gained the protection of other inmates in exchange for lessons. “I was housed in the female section of a newer facility, built after the war. And although my accommodations were Spartan, they were clean, and the food was passable.”

Tears glittering, Edwina put her hands over Pru's. “So you weren't starved? Or set upon by the other prisoners?”

“I was not.” Only the guards were a danger.

“Who was this man you were supposed to have killed?”

“Cyrus Marsh.” Pru explained about Marsh's association with the Quaker school and his interest in sending her and her initiative to Washington. She left out any mention of his threats, seeing no need to add to Edwina's fears now that the danger was past. “He wasn't a very pleasant man, but I certainly didn't want to kill him.” Not really.

“Then you're free of all suspicion now?” Lucinda pressed.

“So it would seem.” Thomas and Brother, too, thank heavens. Pressing a hand to her stomach, Pru pushed her cup and saucer aside. “It was all a misunderstanding. Once they found
Mr. Marsh's body and determined his death was accidental, the matter was dropped.”

“Accidental, how?” Audra asked.

“He fell from the train.”

“Like Tait.” Edwina gave a shudder. “I heard about a man who fell from a train. The wheels quartered him like a chicken. What a mess that must have been.”

Pru swallowed. “When Mr. Marsh fell, we were crossing a trestle.”

“Lucky for him.”

“Indeed.” Pru saw Lucinda studying her over the rim of her cup and wondered what she was thinking. Hard experience had left the sharp-witted New Yorker slow to trust. Considering what the woman had suffered as a child, Pru didn't blame her.

“Hold long were you incarcerated?” Audra asked.

“Less than two months, although it seemed much longer.” Seeing the woman write that down, Pru put a hand over her tablet. “Please. Is there any way we can keep this just between ourselves? I had hoped the children—especially Lillie—wouldn't have to find out.”

Audra paused, then set down her pencil. “Of course.”

Pru smiled her gratitude. Anxious to switch topics, she asked where Josephine Jessup was. Even though they had spent little time together the previous day, Pru hoped to become better friends with the pretty Englishwoman.

“At the school,” her sister said. “The other teacher escaped, and she's taken over the task until you're ready to return.”

This was the first Pru had heard of plans for her to teach again. “I'm so grateful Lillie is allowed to attend. She needs something to occupy her mind.”

“Her and Joe Bill, both,” Edwina muttered. “At least
she
seems to be doing well.”

Lucinda patted Ed's shoulder in sympathy. “I think it helps that Thomas reads to Lillian every night from that special primer for blind people.”

Surprised and pleased, Pru smiled as she swirled the leaves in the bottom of her cup. “Thomas is very good with children. He's a wonderful father.”

“He also made her that blind stick she carries everywhere . . . as both an aid and a weapon, I fear.” Laughing, Lucinda told
them about Lillie's run-ins with her guardian. “Mrs. T. is convinced she can teach the child manners and proper diction. And it seems to be working. Between Mrs. T., Josie, and Thomas, the child is making remarkable progress. You'll be impressed with how hard she's worked.”

Pru looked around. “Where is little Rosaleen?” She ached to hold her again. It had been so long since she'd cuddled a baby.

“Napping with Mrs. T.”

“That's enough chitchat.” Folding her arms on the tabletop, Edwina fixed her blue eyes on Pru with alarming intensity. “What exactly is going on between you and Thomas? He never smiles anymore and whenever we mention your name, he refuses to talk. Sometimes he gets downright nasty about it, doesn't he, Luce? And then as soon as word comes that you're heading home, he runs off into the mountains to do God knows what. Did something happen in Indiana? Are you together or not? And how does Lillie play into all of this? I almost tripped on my chin when he walked in with his ‘daughter.' When did he get a daughter?”

“All right if I come in?”

Saved, praise the Lord.

Yancey peered around the dining room door. “Got a wire for Miss Pru.”

Lucinda motioned for him to bring it in.

“Who's it from?” Edwina asked as Pru opened the envelope.

“The reverend in Indianapolis.” Further words deserted her when she read the message.
“Man headed to HC about our friend. Be careful. Brother.”

Pru's stomach rose into her throat. She pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Sister, what's wrong?”

Stuffing the telegram into her pocket, Pru rose on trembling legs. “Lucinda, have any strangers taken rooms over the last several days?”

“A Bible salesman, two men who work for the railroad, and a gentleman from Indiana who looks like an undertaker. Ghastly mustache.”

Panic left Pru breathless. “Where's Tait?” Lucinda's husband was a lawyer. If anyone could get Thomas out of this mess, he could.

“In his office, going over plans for the new lodge with Ethan. Why?”

“I need him. Now.”

As Lucinda hurried from the room, the other two women rose in alarm, both talking at once.

Pru held up her hands. “All I know is that a man is coming to question Thomas. I don't know why or about what. But I have to warn him.” She rushed to the door, almost plowing into Tait Rylander as he walked in, followed closely by Ethan Hardesty.

Tait put out a hand to steady her. “What's wrong?”

“Thomas may be in trouble. Hurry. I'll explain on the way to the sheriff's office.”

Edwina grabbed her wrap from the back of her chair. “Declan's at the mercantile, loading supplies for the ranch. I'll get him, too.”

“And I'll bring my double Derringer,” Lucinda called after her.

Tait swung toward her. “You will not!”

But his wife was already rushing out the door.

*   *   *

Thomas was putting the finishing touches on Lillian's flute when the door to the sheriff's office burst open and the Rylanders rushed in, followed by Prudence and then the Hardestys.

Seeing their alarm alarmed him. He rose, knife ready. “What is wrong?”

Tait stepped forward, Prudence on his heels. “Quick, Thomas. Give me your badge.”

“Why?”

Prudence grabbed his arm. “A man is here looking for you. Maybe one of the men watching us at the station in Indianapolis. You have to leave.” She tried to pull him toward the door.

He did not move. “What are you afraid of?”

“He wants to question you.”

“I know.”

She stopped tugging. “You do?”

“He came yesterday. I was gone. I expect he will come again today.”

“Then you have to hide!” She looked around, panic in her eyes.

Behind her, Ethan Hardesty peered out the window, his
hand on the butt of the gun in his holster. Tait Rylander checked the rifles in the rack on the wall while his wife peeked into the cells in back, a useless pocket pistol in her hand. Audra Hardesty sat on a stool in the corner, scribbling in her tablet.

“What are you white people doing?”

“Trying to protect you.”

Prudence let go of his arm and fumbled with his badge. “Give this to Tait. We'll pretend he's the sheriff. If this man is one of those who was at the station in Indiana, he'll be looking for an Indian, not a white man.”

“No.” He pushed her trembling hands away before she ripped his shirt.

“Thomas, you have to!” Her face twisted. Tears rose in her eyes.

Which alarmed him even more. Prudence rarely lost her composure.

The door burst open again. This time it was the Brodies. Declan had a gun in his belt and Edwina looked frantic. But she often did. The office was so crowded now, he would not be able to throw his knife without nicking one of them.

“Do you expect a war?” he asked.

Brodie scowled at him. “That's it? A knife? That's all you've got?”

“It is all I need.”

“You can't be a sheriff without a gun. It's . . .” He searched for a word.

“Unseemly?” Audra Hardesty supplied, without looking up.

“More like stupid.”

Thomas did not understand what they were talking about, nor did he care. He sat down again. “I do not need to hide. Or for you to protect me. You will all go away. Except for you, Prudence. I will talk to you now.”

The others milled around for a moment, then Rylander herded them out the door. “We'll watch for him outside.”

“That is not nece—” The door slammed closed on his words.

Prudence sank into the chair across the desk, one hand pressed to her stomach. “Yes, it is necessary, Thomas. You don't want to go to jail.”

He watched her struggle to calm her shaking hands. Her fear
was a real thing that hung in the air between them. A fear he had brought to her. Instead of protecting her by killing Marsh, he had put her in more danger. Guilt clawed at him when he thought of Prudence in a cage. “Did they hurt you,
Eho'nehevehohtse
?”

She looked up.

“Your jailers. Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head. “It was more frightening than painful. And humiliating.”

“Do not be afraid. I will not let him take you back.”

She waved his words away. “It's not me I'm worried about. He's coming to question you, not me. Brother sent a telegram, warning me. Apparently, someone has been asking about you in Indianapolis. Do you know why?”

Perhaps the steward told them Thomas was on board when Marsh died. Or Bessie Prescott admitted that he had left as soon as the train pulled away. If so, he might have a war on his hands after all. He would not let this man take Prudence away. And he would not go, either. He would die before he let anyone lock him in a jail cell again. But he did not tell her all that. “Do not worry so much.”

“But he could be here soon, Thomas. What are we going to do?”

We.
Did that mean she had finally accepted him, now that it might be too late? With that thought, the anger he had stored for so long drained away. Resentment faded. All that remained was the raw emotion he always felt when he was with this woman.

“Why did you leave us, Prudence?”

She frowned at him. “Now? You want to talk about that now?”

“Yes.”

She brushed a hand over her brow and sighed. “Marsh said if I didn't go with him to Washington, he would put you in jail for taking Lillie and send her back in the asylum forever. I didn't know what else to do.”

“You could have trusted me to protect you.”

“And watch you die or go to jail if you failed? No. I couldn't take that risk.”

“It was my risk to take. Not yours. And I would gladly have taken it.”

“I know. That's why I did what Marsh told me to do. Losing you would have . . .” Words failed her. With the hem of her
skirt, she dabbed at her eyes. Then, smoothing the cloth back over her knees, she gave him a small, nervous smile. “Now I have a question for you. Why haven't you told anyone we're married?”

He shrugged. “I was not sure we still were.”

“Why wouldn't we be?” A stricken look came over her face. “Does that mean you don't want to stay married to me?”

“It was you who walked away, Prudence, not me.”

She seemed to shrink back into the chair.