My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (31 page)

“Yes, ma’am. The whole town’s in mourning. Terrible turn of events—but do go on, Miss Willingham. You lost your father… ” Loyal prompted.

“Yes, yesterday, and my two servants and I are taking Papa’s remains to be buried alongside Mama’s in Georgia.”

“Please accept my heartfelt condolences,” Loyal soothed, reaching for her hand.

“Thank you so kindly, Mr. Streeter. It has been a most dreadful time. Just evah so taxing on my strength. I am accustomed ta having my dear sweet daddy take care of simply everything for me, and now… now… he’s… ” Overcome by emotion, she reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief.

“There, there, my dear,” Loyal consoled. “You have encountered some trouble?”

“Yes, it seems—well, it seems indelicate to speak of, but due to the unseasonably warm weather that has set upon us we need to keep him someplace cool while we stop for the night.”

“Traveling by rail, you say?”

“Yes, we are. Fortunately there are only a few others, Mr. Streeter. Two or three more, and myself and my two manservants. Although the others haven’t complained, the situation is most unpleasant.”

“Well, I wish I could help, Miss Willingham, but the icehouse is full—all those good men gunned down last night—”

Lillie Belle quickly laid her hand across his jacket sleeve. “If you refuse me, sir, I haven’t any other place to turn.” Her voice broke with emotion, and he frowned when she began to weep.

“But, ma’am—”

“The casket would only take up a small area in the icehouse,” she pleaded, “and we’d be gone by early light.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Please, do not refuse me this little bitty ol’ favor. If Papa’s remains aren’t cooled immediately, we’ll not be able to continue on. Why, I’m afraid I will have to ask that you arrange for Papa’s immediate burial if you can’t oblige me, and I did so want to bury him next to my dear sweet mama. Papa would be crushed if he knew he wasn’t lyin’ next to Mama. Why, he’d nevah forgive me. Nevah.”

Anne-Marie wrinkled her brow in consternation, blinking her eyes to hold back the tears. Sniffing loudly, she fumbled for her handkerchief.

Loyal paled. His jaw worked as he mulled the dilemma. Anne-Marie knew what was going through his mind. Like any gentlemen, he would be thinking how bad it would look if he refused this sweet, innocent woman her touching request. Why, he’d be a cad of the worst sort not to help her out of her awful predicament.

But then there was that little matter of the gold in the icehouse, he’d be thinking. It had taken Anne-Marie, Creed, and Quincy longer than expected to find the stash, but a coin and a bottle of rum loosened a vagrant’s tongue and he admitted he’d seen men unload a trunk of what appeared to be gold in the icehouse the night before all the shootings took place.

The councilman bit his lip indecisively.

“My two servants will assume full responsibility for the casket,” Miss Willingham assured him. The councilman’s intense inner
struggle had become apparent. She was close—very close to persuasion. Abigail would be proud of her—

Lord, You do understand this isn’t the same as my old life. This isn’t the councilman’s money, and it isn’t my money. It’s Your children’s money. The soldiers need shoes, clothing, and food…but then I guess You feel the same about Your children fighting on the other side. But You’re the wise one. You choose how this turns out.

“Because of the”—she paused—“odor, my servants will carry the casket in and out so no one will be affected.”

By now he had to realize that she had him between a rock and a hard place. The gold was in the icehouse. No one but his trusted employees knew that, and she was quite certain that he didn’t want anyone else to know. It was risky, to be sure.

Lifting her hand to her forehead, Anne-Marie feigned lightheadedness.

“Are you all right, Miss Willingham? Perhaps you would like more water, or might I fetch you a refreshing sarsaparilla?” Loyal offered. He lifted a hand to summon Jake again when she stopped him.

“Please, I’m just weak with hunger.” Her voice sounded very small now. “I have eaten very little in the past few hours.” She peered up at him. “You do understand.”

“Of course, Miss Willingham. Most understandable.”

She believed that she was about to set the hook. She was such a winsome creature, small and vulnerable.
Perhaps he’s thinking he could make this one harmless concession.

She started to rise and then wilted back into the chair.

“I must see to my servants’ needs,” she murmured. “One is blind, and the other is… dimwitted. They look to me for their welfare.” She sighed.

“Well, perhaps we can arrange something,” Loyal offered. She smiled. Who would be so heartless to deny her? If one servant was blind and the other witless, then surely there could be no danger in letting her use the icehouse. After all, like she said, it would only be until morning.

“Where are your servants now?”

“With Papa.”

“On the train?”

She nodded, dabbing at her moist eyes again.

“Come then, Miss Willingham.” Loyal offered her his arm and she stood up, placing her small hand on his wrist. “Once we have your papa settled, you will join me for supper.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she protested. “I have imposed enough on your kind generosity.”

“Nonsense. I’ll see that your servants are fed and bedded down for the night. Then you and I will enjoy a leisurely dinner in the finest café in High Bluff.”

“Well, if you insist,” she said, demurely offering him her most radiant smile. “You are just evah so kind.”

Creed and Quincy were sitting in an empty boxcar when Anne-Marie stepped out of the councilman’s office on the arm of Loyal Streeter. The men sat up straighter. “Can you believe this?” Creed said. “Looks like she’s done it.”

“Yeah, she’s done it all right,” Quincy murmured. “I figure she’s done it up real good this time.” He glanced down at the flour sack breeches and gunnysack shirt. “I feel like a fool.”

“You look like a fool,” Creed agreed.

“I’d laugh if you didn’t look worse.” Quincy burst out laughing anyway. “You got the same breeches and torn shirt, except that you’re barefoot and Anne-Marie wants you to be the ‘simple one.’ Now me? I’m luckier. She merely struck me blind.”

Anne-Marie and Streeter approached the rail car and her laughter floated to the men.

Heat coursed through Creed. When he had seen her dressed in her fine gown and hat, he knew what a magnificent woman she was. She would meet no resistance capturing the heart of any man she wanted.
The recognition had hit him hard. Loyal Streeter would answer to him if he so much as indicated anything other than compassion for her situation.

Approaching the train, Anne-Marie nodded solemnly to her two manservants.

“Tobias, Malachi.”

Two men climbed out of the boxcar and lowered their heads subserviently.

“We are in luck,” she called brightly. “Mr. Streeter here has been evah so kind and graciously offered his assistance.”

Quincy nodded. “I cain’t see you, Mr. Streeter.” He stared ahead sightlessly. “But you’se surely a good man—a good man.”

Streeter nodded absently. “You men carry Miss Willingham’s papa on up to the icehouse now. Afterward,” Loyal offered, “go around to the back of the jail and someone will feed you. You boys can bed down in the railcar tonight.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Streeter, thank you. We shore nuf do thank you,” Quincy intoned.

“Mr. Streeter has graciously invited me to take supper with him,” Anne-Marie warbled, bestowing a winning smile on Loyal.

The muscle in Creed’s jaw tightened when Anne-Marie slipped her arm back through the councilman’s.

“Once Papa’s in the icehouse, Tobias, you take Malachi and go over to the jail. Then you be sure that both of you get to bed tonight and get a good night’s sleep, for we’ll be leaving first thing in the mornin’.”

“Yes’m, we will, ma’am. Don’t you worry a bit ’bout us.”

Creed and Quincy jumped out of the railcar when Anne-Marie and Loyal turned to go. With Quincy loudly giving instructions to Creed, they unloaded the casket from the train and waited for Anne-Marie and Loyal to lead the way.

Loyal held a hanky to his nose and approached the armed guards,
who lifted their rifles when the small procession approached. One’s eyes widened and he gave Loyal a censoring look.

“Miss Willingham has asked permission to store her papa’s remains in the icehouse,” Loyal explained when the two guards viewed the casket suspiciously, “and I have granted her wish. Unlock the door, Boyd.”

Boyd stepped up and removed the lock, and the two guards stood back to let the men carry the casket into the icehouse.

Creed’s features remained expressionless when he set the coffin down beside a bag of what could only be gold coins.

“It shore do seem cool and nice in here,” Quincy drawled.

Creed remained silent, maintaining his simpleton facade.

Groping his way, Quincy turned and led Creed back out of the icehouse. The guards stepped forward to relock the door and then resumed their stance, rifles in hand.

“Well, I do declare,” Anne-Marie said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I believe my appetite is returning. Shall we go to supper, Mr. Streeter?”

“As you wish, my dear.”

Turning her, Loyal Streeter pointed her in the direction of the café, where private dining quarters awaited.

Once he was turned toward the jail, Quincy blindly stumbled his way along, dragging Creed behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, Creed saw the councilman slip his arm around Anne-Marie’s waist as they stepped onto the hotel steps.

“That pompous idiot better keep his hands to himself,” Creed muttered.

Loyal Streeter proved to be nothing less than charming over supper, regaling “Lillie Belle” with stories about High Bluff. The roast pheasant, boiled potatoes, and string beans tasted marvelous after the venison she’d been living on at the mission.

“More pheasant, Miss Willingham?”

“No thank you, Mr. Streeter. I do declare I’m stuffed up to the brim.”

Rising from his chair, Loyal offered his arm. Accepting it, she stood up, bestowing a tremulous smile upon him. “You’re evah so kind, Mr. Streeter.”

Loyal nodded, patting his rather portly middle. “Fine meal, fine meal.”