Jake Walker's Wife (20 page)

When he blinked up at her, Bess noticed the sheen of perspiration on his brow.

"Why, why, yes. Yes, of course I do," he said, running a thick finger around the inside of his collar. "I was impressed, quite impressed with Mr. Beckley on the occasions we met in person, and I—“

"Do you believe he's an intelligent man?"

His reddened face glistened slightly with a sheen of perspiration. "Well, yes. Naturally. But I—“

"You're confident, then, that he is completely capable of making wise decisions regarding the running of his businesses...and the handling of his money?"

Cramer was standing now, too. "Really, Miss Beckley,” he stammered, tucking his chin into his collar, “I fail to see what any of this has to do with—“

“A
llow me to spell it out for you, then. If you wish to continue doing business with my father, you have no alternative but to show me the same courtesy and respect you'd show him, since putting me in charge of this transaction was his decision."

Bess sat again and
tidied the folds of her skirt, waiting until Cramer had settled onto the leather seat of his squeaky chair. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to make a withdrawal." She pointed. "Does that ledger contain a listing of your present accounts?" Bess asked, blinking innocently as she pointed to the thick leather book on his desk.

"
Why, why, yes. Yes it does."

"I suggest you open it, then, to refresh your memory as to exactly how much of my father's money I have total control over here today."

"Now see here, young lady, you are
not
authorized to make a withdrawal without your father's signature."

She reached into her purse and withdrew an envelope. Tapping it lightly, she said, "This letter is my power of attorney. It gives me permission to withdraw any dollar amount I see fit." Nodding at the now-open brown ledger, she added, "Please don't give me reason to believe I must withdraw
all of it and transfer the funds to your competitor’s bank."

A second, perhaps two passed before
Cramer's dour expression turned friendly, and he gave her his best bank manager's smile. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a withdrawal slip. "Just how much
will
you be taking...taking from the...from your account today, Miss Beckley?" he asked, dipping his pen’s nib into the inkwell on the corner of his desk.

"
My, look at your hand trembling.” She relieved him of the pen. “I’m happy to fill out the withdrawal slip for you."

***

She was in no mood for more manly dominance. If Ernest Shelby thought he was going to give her the same hard time the old banker had, well, he had another think coming, Bess decided.

The moment she'd arrived in town, Bess sent word by way of messenger to Shelby that she'd see him at his convenience. One of his farm hands delivered a note that very afternoon, indicating Shelby would meet her at Gracie's Restaurant on Porsmouth Street, three o'clock sharp.

Bess peeked at the watchfob that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. Already, he was more than fifteen minutes late. She detested tardiness. But far more important than that, she felt uncomfortable carrying such a large sum of cash.

"Well, now, haven't you gone and grown up pretty?"

Startled, she turned toward the gruff but friendly voice. Bess would have recognized Ernest Shelby anywhere. She'd met him years ago, when she'd traveled with Micah to purchase those first dairy cows. Shelby was by far the biggest man she'd ever seen. Even from all the way across the room, he reminded her of the stuffed grizzly Homer Jensen kept in the front window of his Baltimore haberdashery.

Bess stood and held out her white gloved hand to him. "Mister Shelby, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"Pleasure's all mine, little lady," he said, shaking it firmly.

"Would you care for some coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do," he said, dropping his huge bulk onto the seat of a cane-backed chair. "Sorry I'm late. One of my cows had a breech birth this mornin'. Took nigh on to four hours to get that little calf born."

She smiled, for his voice was as large as frame. Bess could almost picture the big man gently tugging a tiny cow from its mother's womb. They spent the next few minutes catching up on family gossip. Then, suddenly, Shelby shoved his mug away and said, "So you're here to buy two of my bulls, eh?"

Bess nodded and squeezed the money-stuffed purse in her lap. "Pa said there'd be no need for me to ride out and inspect them. Said he trusted you to choose two of your best."

Shelby nodded. "Ain't never cheated a man in all my life," he said, male pride glittering in his pale blue eyes, "and I sure
ain't gonna start now, when I'm gettin’ ever closer to meetin' my Maker."

"
I’m convinced. But would you mind telling me why the bulls you've chosen for my father are what you consider the very best you have to offer?"

The next half hour was filled with a detailed discussion of bovine quality, during which Bess cornered Shelby into a
physical description of the bulls he’d ship to Maryland. Exhausted by her inquisition, Shelby leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. "Well, now, I'm sure you're anxious to get back home to your daddy...."

Bess smiled, a hand against her chest. "That I am." She wouldn't insult her father's friend, but she wouldn't chance that he
was
Micah's friend. "May I share a secret with you, Mr. Shelby?" Looking left, then right, Bess leaned forward and whispered, "I've always wanted to watch as the branding took place. Do you suppose that could be arranged?" She sat back then, still grinning, and added. "Two birds with one stone, as they say; my little adventure fulfilled, and no chance for confusion at time of shipment."

Shelby, taken aback by her businesslike acumen, grinned sheepishly. "I, ah, well, I'd be happy to arrange that."

"Thank you! I just knew you'd understand!"

His relieved laughter filled the eatery, drawing curious, momentary glances from other patrons. "Hold it down over there, Shelby," the man in the corner booth hollered. "You're curdlin' the milk in my tea!"

"Save it, Boone!" Shelby hollered right back. "The milk curdled the minute it looked up from the cup and got a gander of your ugly face!"

Everyone seemed to find that funny
, including Mister Boone. Everyone but Bess, that is. She was far too busy reading the posters tacked to the board outside the restaurant's wide window. There would be a church social this Sunday, one flyer said. Amos Mossman's wagon was for sale, said another. But it was the sketch of the white wolf that had captured her attention, its wily, wary eyes boring into hers in much the same way the timber wolf had all those years ago in Baltimore.

"I didn't know there were wolves in this part of the country," she said.

"Ain't. Not in the wild, least-ways. That one there," he said, pointing, "was on her way to a zoo up in New York City when the train de-railed. Rumor has it she’s ‘bout to birth a cub or two. Not good news ‘round these parts, on account-a that she-wolf is responsible for killin' more cows'n I can count," Shelby said, realizing where her attentions had been focused. "She's got herself a roving spirit, and by golly, I'd like to be the one who stills it. Why, I'd kill her for free, just for the pleasure of hangin' her hide on my wall!"

Bess couldn't take her eyes from the animal's portrait. She was a farmer's daughter, and fully understood Shelby's reaction to any animal that threatened his breeding stock. Still, it seemed a shame that this beautiful one-of-a-kind creature should pay with its life for doing what came naturally....

"Now, iffen it was
money
I wanted," Shelby added, nodding to the wanted poster beside the wolf's, "there's the animal
I'd
go after."

Bess looked at the other wanted poster again. Really looked at it this time. Above a face that looked a
little like Jake's, big black letters said
'Wanted, Dead or Alive.'
And beneath those words, the same bold type spelled out “W.C. ATWOOD.”On the last line, behind the huge dollar sign, Bess read aloud, "Five hundred dollars! What on earth could he have done to inspire a price like
that
on his head!"

Shelby proceeded to fill Bess in on the killer's vicious crime: He'd beaten a man to death
with his bare hands, and all he'd gotten for his trouble was a gold watch on a chain. As the story went, the killer had outrun dozens of Texas Rangers, outfoxed twice as many U.S. Marshals, and evaded more than his share of bounty hunters, too, in the ten years since his escape. "Seems every lawman between Maine and California is huntin' him. Can't set foot in a post office or a bank these days without havin' to look into his cold-blooded eyes."

He leaned forward
to add, "I heard-tell of one marshal who came back empty-handed from huntin' Atwood and claimed he’d bagged his prey. But the slippery fella got clean away, but not before promisin' to run every lawman ragged. Said it'd be easy work, too, since not a-one of 'em had the brains or the brawn to outlast him."

According to Shelby, the challenge
—if indeed one had been issued—rankled every man with a badge, and inspired a few of the badgeless to vow they'd see W.C. Atwood swing...or die trying. So far, Shelby said, W.C. had outwitted them all, making himself a legend of sorts.

"But five hundred dollars," Bess echoed. "Surely dozens of murders are committed every year. Why is
this
man worth so much?"

Shelby shrugged. "
The gov’ment didn’t set the amount. Was his widow. Rumor has it she said at the funeral that she wouldn't rest 'til the killer was just as dead as her husband." Winking, he added, "Way I see it, it’s been a long time since that woman had a good night’s sleep. Might just be the good Lord is on ol’ W. C.'s side."

Bess gasped.
"Why would the God help a killer?"

"Atwood said from the get-go that he never kilt nobody, never stole no watch, neither. Me? I believe him."

"Really. But why?"

Shelby shrugged. "Well, for one thing, if he kilt the man for the watch
, why'd he leave it behind?"

Bess glanced at the crudely-drawn portraits again, and couldn't help thinking that the wanted man and the hunted beast had a lot in common, right down to those icy, wolfish eyes.

Bess's heart beat harder, and she didn't even know why.

***

All during the train ride to Baltimore, Bess thought about the amazing likeness between the man in the wanted poster and Jake Walker.

Jake
was a Texan. He'd told her he hadn't been home in more than ten years, and he'd been mighty evasive about where he'd been and what he'd been doing all that time. And it had been like pulling teeth barehanded to get him to talk about any aspect of his past, she recalled.

Once settled in the comfort of the train's passenger car, Bess had opened her copy of
Pride and Prejudice
, and Billy Steele's business card—which she'd been using as a bookmark—fluttered to her lap. For a moment, she considered crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash receptacle. But something stopped her, and she slipped it into her purse, instead. Mr. Steele had said he was willing to travel...if the case was interesting enough to make it worth his while. She remembered the address on the card and nodded. Gettysburg wasn't all that far from Foggy Bottom...should she ever need a Pinkerton detective…..

Matt and Mark were at the station to meet her. She was thrilled to see them, yet her heart sank. She'd hoped that, after reading her note,
Jake would realize he needn't avoid her, especially not for exposing his more sensitive side to her.

The twins chattered all the way home about the things
Jake had taught them while she was gone. They'd learned to birth a breech calf and how to mount a moving steed, when to administer medication to a sickly horse and the proper time to stop saddling a pregnant mare. As they rattled on, Bess sighed and thanked God for Jake. Her brothers had been little more than boys when he showed up early last spring. In these few months, they'd begun to show signs of turning into fine, upstanding men, thanks to his patient influence and tutelage. Before Jake, she'd regularly had to threaten to tan their hides just to get them to wash up for supper. Now, in an attempt to emulate their hero, they came to the table squeaky clean...with no prompting from her.

Not so long ago, it took no fewer than three requests to get them to make up their beds in the morning. Now, Bess couldn't remember the last time she'd had to ask them to tidy their rooms. And schoolwork! She recalled the nagging and pestering it
once required to get those boys settled after supper to complete their lessons. These days, a sideways glance from Jake encouraged such an immediate response that the dining room curtains fluttered from the breeze of quickly opening books.

He'd
affected Micah's life, too, in his quiet cowboy way. The change had been more slow and subtle, but the man who, until Jake's arrival, had been sullen and withdrawn, began to shed his gloomy spirit. The smiles she remembered as a girl were back again, and so was the jovial, high-spirited daddy who tickled and teased, hugged and tousled with abandon.