That night, Cole tossed restlessly in his bedroll. His mind betrayed him, leading him deep into the memories he’d sworn to bury. As if reliving the past all over again, Cole found himself back in the wilderness outside of Virginia City.
It was January and much had gone wrong in the community. Highwaymen ran rampant and many a good man had been robbed, even killed, while trying to live in the territory and make a living.
Cole Selby sat in silence atop his horse, away from the others. A heaviness hung in the air that could be blamed on more than the impending weather.
“You’re gonna hang, Jeremiah,” one of Selby’s companions announced. “For your sins, the payback is death.”
“You mean to leave my daughter—my Carrie—an orphan?” Jeremiah Gillham asked, stumbling over the words. No doubt the tightened noose around his neck made it more difficult to speak.
Cole hadn’t wanted to be there. He had argued long and hard with his father only to have the man declare that when the law wouldn’t deal with thieves and murderers, honest citizens had to take the law into their own hands.
“Sorry, Jeremiah, you decided her fate a long time ago. Long before we joined together to take this matter into our own hands,” the man replied.
Cole shifted uneasily in his saddle. Why didn’t they just get this over with before Carrie returned from her trip to town? Cole had arranged for her to ride into nearby Virginia City to meet with her best friend, Annie. He’d hoped it would give them time enough to hang and bury her father so that she didn’t have to witness the event. It was the only thing Cole could give her. He knew her father was a low-down murdering thief. Jeremiah had been caught red-handed once, and twice his name had been offered by others who were about to suffer the same fate. Misery apparently loved company.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Jeremiah?” Cole’s father, Hallam Selby, questioned. “You wanna give us the names of your cohorts?”
Jeremiah spit onto the ground, causing his horse to shift nervously. With a noose already around his neck, Cole couldn’t imagine the man wanted to give his horse any reason to spook.
“You got the wrong man,” Gillham said, eyeing them each individually. “You’re gonna burn in hell sure as you’re sittin’ there.”
Cole shifted uncomfortably, gazing at his father only to receive a look that suggested he’d better not move from where he sat. His father saw it as an honor to even be asked to join the group, and he wasn’t about to have his son create problems for him. Cole, on the other hand, fully intended for this to be his first and only experience with vigilante justice.
He understood that something had to be done. Good, honest folk were terrified of coming to the territory because of the stories—stories that included putting the Virginia City sheriff at the head of this vicious group of highwaymen. Murders and robberies were commonplace along the trails outside the various gold camps of Virginia City and Nevada City and all along Alder Gulch. It was rumored the gang had killed over a hundred people. Maybe more.
Someone had to do something, to be sure, but Cole had wanted no part of it. Killings, even justified lynchings, were not his style. He’d not even wanted to be a part of the war going on back East, which was one of the reasons he’d happily joined his father on this frontier search for gold.
“Jeremiah Gillham, you were caught in the act of thieving and leaving poor Arnold McIntyre nearly dead to this world and without a horse in the coldest part of winter. Your friends identified you as being with them on at least a dozen other rides where murders took place. Are you still wanting to cover for those who would as soon turn you over to the devil himself as to look at you?” This time the speaker was a man Cole was familiar with. Paris Pfouts was the president of the vigilante committee.
“So if I tell you the truth, Pfouts, you gonna let me go? How ’bout we make a deal? I’ll give you names and you give me a chance to get away.”
“I’ll make no deals with scum like you. I already know you’re guilty. We have eyewitnesses.”
Snow began to swirl around them. Cole glanced to the skies to see thick gray clouds spreading—smothering the land below. He felt the collar around his neck tighten as his gaze went back to Jeremiah. Funny, he could imagine the constricting squeeze of the rope. He drew a deep breath, almost to prove he still had that ability.
The sound of rustling in the brush behind the Gillham cabin caught everyone’s attention. Paris held up his hand for silence. Cole’s father drew his gun slowly and aimed it toward Jeremiah. Several of the other vigilantes did likewise.
The rushing form moving out from the shadows met their sight only a few seconds before the decidedly feminine scream rent the air.
There was no time to think about reactions. The men were nervous—worried that Gillham’s associates would come to his rescue.
Cole’s father fired his gun without thought—a single bullet piercing the breast of Carrie Gillham. As she clutched her chest, two other shots rang out.
Cole was off his horse even as Gillham’s mount reared and took off. Jeremiah was instantly hanged as his daughter crumpled to the snowdusted ground.
Pulling Carrie into his arms, Cole took the handkerchief from his neck and tried to stay the blood that flowed down the bodice of her dress. Her eyes were glazed—lifeless. She was dead.
Moaning softly, Cole hugged her close and rocked back and forth under the swaying form of her father’s lynched body. Tears came to Cole’s eyes. She was the only woman he had ever loved. They had planned to marry in the spring.
“Don’t die,” he whispered, knowing it was pointless. He could feel the life had gone out from her.
Oh, God, why Carrie? I tried to save her from even seeing this. Why take her life when I loved her so? She wouldn’t have wanted for anything—I would have seen to that
.
“We’d best bury ’em,” someone said from behind Cole.
“Let me help you, son,” Hallam Selby said softly.
“Don’t even touch her,” Cole said, looking up.
His father stepped back as if the very look on Cole’s face had the power to keep him at bay. “Son, I never meant—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You killed her. She never did anything wrong and you killed her. You all killed her.”
Paris Pfouts came forward. “Cole, your father did what he had to. There was no way to tell who was coming to Gillham’s aid. She could have been armed.”
“Does she look armed?” Cole asked angrily. “She just looks dead to me.”
“Now, Cole, you can’t go takin’ this attitude,” another man added. “I was about to pull the trigger myself.”
Cole got to his feet and lifted Carrie gently, almost ceremonially. “You’re all a bunch of murderin’ no-accounts. No better than the road agents you seek to put an end to. The woman I love is dead—there’s no accounting for this.” He looked directly at his father and added, “And no forgiving it.”
Cole awoke from the nightmare with tears streaming from his closed eyes. He clutched his pillow and buried his face. When would it stop? When would the memories leave him to suffer in peace—to mourn her loss without the hideous reminder that he’d played a small part in her execution?
C
OLE WAS GLAD FOR THE TIME AWAY FROM THE WAGON TRAIN
. He’d had no idea that people could be so petty and quarrelsome. One family complained because they couldn’t be at the front of the train each day. The husband explained that his wife didn’t like the dust created by the other wagons and specifically requested they be moved. Daniel tried to explain that they would rotate wagons regularly so that no one wagon had to be at the back eating dust all the way west. That wasn’t good enough for the couple, however. Then another group of travelers insisted the nooning stops were not long enough. Someone else wanted to know why they were required to purchase two more oxen before Daniel would allow them to travel. Never mind that they had their wagon so overloaded that the team already installed could barely move it.
And this was only the beginning of the trip. They were still near civilization, good water, and green grass. What would they do when they passed into the more arid areas of the country? How would they manage if the summer brought a drought?
As they passed north of Topeka, Cole had no regrets in leaving the train. It wasn’t until he was several miles away that he realized just how consistently noisy that manner of travel could be. He wondered if he’d get used to it.
He quickly put aside such concerns as he approached the bustling city of Topeka. It had been over a year since Cole had been there. The town looked markedly changed by growth. There were far more buildings and a new ferry, and it seemed the population had tripled. Maybe all those eastern folks who were tired of the war had come west to Topeka.
He rode his horse up the main thoroughfare, gawking at the storefronts and dodging the freighters who seemed to have no mind for anyone but themselves. When he reached Sixth Street, he turned and rode west toward his mother’s two-story boardinghouse.
Here, things looked much as they had when he’d left. The trees were dressed out in that brilliant state of emerald green, while spring flowers lined the walkway to the house. His mother had a natural affection for daffodils—it was one of the reasons she’d bought the house in the first place. Now she had an abundance of daffodils, all yellow and white, along with tulips in a riot of colors.
For a moment, Cole did nothing but stand staring at the house. His mother called it a Gothic Revival and delighted in the fact that it was less than three years old when she’d managed to buy it, and all its furnishings, from a dying old woman. The woman sold it to her on the agreement that she could live out her days in her own room. It turned out those days were only twenty in number, but Cole remembered his mother giving the woman very attentive care during that time.
His father had resented his wife pushing him into the house purchase. Mary Selby had inherited a nice bit of money from a childless aunt, and she was determined to settle down and plant roots—something his father knew nothing about. In fact, Cole had seen his father grow notably more restless after the sale was finalized and the old woman had passed on. Cole supposed it was because then the deal was final. The house was truly the possession of the Selby family, and his father could no longer just load up his family and move on.
But the fact was, Cole’s father hadn’t allowed even that to stop him. When news of gold in the Idaho Territory trickled into town, Hallam Selby was ready to pack up and head north. Cole could still hear the ugly argument between his mother and father. His mother all but told her husband to never return. Anger permeated the household for days. It was most uncomfortable for the new boarders his mother had taken in.
Cole easily recalled the look on his mother’s face the day his father came downstairs with his bedroll and saddlebags in hand. The look suggested betrayal—almost as if she’d caught him with another woman. In some ways, she had. Wanderlust was the name of this woman, and she clearly owned his father. By this time, Cole had already decided to accompany his father. His mother had never shown him more than a passing interest since his sisters demanded most of her time and attention. So why stay?
The memories left Cole feeling more empty and lonely than before.
What kind of welcome would he receive now? He’d gone away with his father after what felt like a lifetime of his mother’s indifference. Would he find that same emotion today? For the life of him, Cole had never figured out why his mother favored her girls and practically ignored her only son. He was her firstborn. Weren’t mothers supposed to have a special bond with their first baby? It sure wasn’t that way in the Selby family.
He tied his horse to the hitching post. The gelding was a replacement he’d picked up in Independence when his own mount went lame. He was sure going to miss that old boy. The liveryman thought with time the animal’s leg might mend enough to allow him to carry a child or small woman, but never again would he be able to handle a healthy two-hundred-pound man such as Cole.
Cole ran his hand along the sorrel’s neck. “We’ll get used to each other by and by, eh, Buddy?”
The horse sidled away, intent on nibbling some fresh spring grass near the post. Cole smiled and headed toward the house. He knocked loudly on the door, then noted the time. It was nearly three o’clock. Hopefully his mother wouldn’t be caught up in meal preparations. As he waited, he noted the list of rules posted beside the door.
No spitting or chewing of tobacco.
No cursing or rowdy behavior.
No drinking or drunken disruptions.
No admittance after 9 P . M .
Below this, a small placard read
Vacancy
.
The door opened and Cole stood face to face with his sister Cordelia. At fourteen, the girl was tall and slender, with a ruddy complexion and huge brown eyes. Her face bore a startled expression for a moment, then she broke into a smile. “Cole? Is it really you?”
Cole took the hat from his head. “It’s me all right. How are you, Delly?”
She frowned. “No one calls me that anymore. That’s a baby name. I’m almost old enough to court.”
“At fourteen? I don’t think so. Pa always said …” His words fell short. No one in this conversation cared what Pa had to say, so why bring it up? “Are you going to let me in?”
Cordelia laughed. “Sure, but where’s Pa?” She opened the door and stretched around Cole to see if their father was on the porch.
“I don’t know. I guess somewhere in the Idaho Territory.”
His sister’s frown told him she didn’t understand. “Why’d you come back without him?”
“It’s a long story. I can’t even begin to explain it until I have something to wash the dust down my throat.” Cordelia nodded and moved back. Cole stepped into the dimly lit hallway.
“I’ll get you some lemonade. Come on in the parlor, and I’ll let Mama know you’re here.” Cordelia showed him to the front room. He barely remembered it but knew it was for entertaining guests—not family. He wondered if Delly had done this purposefully or if she just hadn’t thought about the implication.