The Rose Legacy (38 page)

Bene. She must make it possible. Pretend? She’d never been a pretender. As he said, everything she felt showed to all the world. Well, she must learn to hide it now. She stepped out of the tent, staring at the ground as she hurried away.

The step beside her startled her, and she looked up into a rough face, not one she knew, but she recognized evil. The man didn’t touch her, but his words did. “Mr. Beck wants to see you.”

Her breath left in a rush. Her heart raced in her chest. “Why?”

He only waved her toward the street. Annoyed, she started that way.
Had he seen her go to Quillan?
Her legs shook as she walked in silence to the office door, then with only a slight hesitation, she pulled it open. Berkley Beck stood inside and turned when she entered. He nodded the man out, and the door closed behind her.

“A miraculous recovery, my dear.”

She recalled her half-feigned illness. “The air helped.”

“So they claim. Remarkable climate.” He was toying with her. He walked to the window and surveyed the street. “Why were you in Quillan Shepard’s tent?”

Her heart lurched, but she didn’t show it. She must not seem defensive. Pretend. She contained her fear and took control of her voice. “I had things to purchase.”

“From his tent?”

“From him.”

“What things?”

“It’s not your business.” Daring, but convincing.

He turned. “Why Quillan instead of another freighter?”

She fought the panic in her mind. Be clear. Tell as much truth as possible. “I don’t know another freighter.”

“But you know Quillan Shepard.”

“It would be hard not to. He saved my life.”

Berkley Beck was silent so long she squirmed under his gaze. Then his chin came up slightly. “I forbid you to see him again.”

Carina stared, her natural defiance rising. “Would you suggest blinders?”

His left cheek twitched. “I would suggest you guard your tongue.”

“You don’t own me. Even in light of our … agreement.”

“Don’t I?” His eyes turned cold, hard as glass.

She felt her breath stop, her throat tighten. Her hands quivered at her sides. Then she walked out of his office. She wanted to run, imagined all kinds of ruffians gathering behind her. But she kept her back straight. Pretend!

Cain sat beside his boy, exhausted and used up. He’d stopped praying in words. He’d said all the good Lord needed to hear. Now the prayer just ached and swelled in his soul as he looked at his son. The shunt had been removed when the drainage ceased, and D.C.’s color was better, his breath coming stronger. But that was all. He just lay there, never moving except for a sporadic fluttering of the eyes.

Cain glanced up as Quillan came into the room. He must have just returned, just heard the news. Cain saw him react, knew what he thought. The boy was closer to death than life. And it showed. Each day that passed diminished their hope.

Quillan came and squatted down beside him. “How bad is it?” His voice was hoarse with concern.

“Ain’t good. Doc Felden fears he’s done the boy a disservice, savin’ his life when this may be all he has left to it.”

Quillan’s jaw tensed.

Cain fought a wave of despair. “It didn’t use to be this way. You don’t remember, but up in Placer we had a miner’s law. Hardly needed enforcing.

Folks could leave their gold dust dryin’ and no one would touch it. Life was precious. We depended on each other. Now …” He squeezed his hands together. “It’s gotta stop.”

“It will.”

Cain looked up. Something in Quillan’s eyes, the set of his jaw … he was Wolf all over. The Wolf who had stanched the whispers with a look, withstood the insults, and left men dumb who thought to provoke him. With the same quiet intensity, Quillan was the image of his father. He was a force to be reckoned with. But it was a force without brutality.

Quillan took Cain’s hand between his. “It will, Cain.”

Father Antoine felt as though his heart had been ripped out. He prayed to Almighty God that his eyes lied, but he knew they didn’t. He knelt beside the bed in the pale morning light and reached a shaky hand to touch Èmie’s. Her swollen eyelids quivered. Her upper lip was the size of his thumb and split in two places.

Tears came to his eyes, brimmed, and ran over. “Èmie …” His voice was choked and rough.

She was curled into a ball on her bed, but now she tried to roll, and one bruised eye opened a slit.

Antoine gripped the bed frame. “Who did this to you? Was it Henri!”

Her eye blinked slowly, and her tongue dampened the damaged lips. “Please. Find Carina. You must—” She winced with the effort.

The priest brushed her hair with his hand, forcing a calmness he couldn’t feel. His rage would not help her. “Lie still. I’ll bring your friend.” He rose. How could he leave her alone even for the time it would take to find Miss DiGratia? Where was Henri? Would he return?

Antoine shook with anguish as he hurried out of the cabin and made his way toward Mae’s, praying that Carina would be there.
Holy God
. He climbed Mae’s porch.
Mighty God
. He rapped on the door, then remembered this one was kept open.
Merciful God
. He yanked it open and went in.
Precious Savior
. Carina was there before him, speaking with Mae at the desk. They both turned, and by their expressions he must look like death. He felt like death.

“Father?” Carina’s eyes were wide.

“It’s Èmie.”

Carina gave a little cry and rushed for the door.

“Carina!” Mae called after, but Miss DiGratia was already running toward the slope where Èmie’s cabin stood.

“What is it, Father?” Mae demanded, hands on hips.

“Èmie’s been beaten. I need the doctor.”

“Well, they’re here, both of them.” She ushered him into her rooms.

Antoine stopped in the doorway of the bedroom where Doctors Felden and Simms were discussing Daniel Cain. The boy lay in the bed, a victim like Èmie. Haggard beside the bed sat Cain Bradley.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Felden asked.

Antoine told them.

“Èmie …” Young Dr. Simms paled. “Are not even the women safe now?” He snatched up the medical bag.

Antoine took the slope as though he could conquer the mountain itself, but it wasn’t enough.
Why Èmie, Lord? Why?

Carina felt sick as she dropped to her knees beside her friend. A wail started in her throat, and she didn’t stop it as she looked at this woman she had endangered. Better that she had never come, never befriended her, never brought her to this….

One swollen eye opened, and Èmie reached for her. “Carina.”

Carina dropped her head to Èmie’s hand, clutched between her own.

Èmie’s tongue parted her lips. “You must do what Mr. Beck wants.”

Carina shook with rage. “I will tear his heart out! I will—”

“Listen to me.”

“I won’t listen! I will put a bullet in him and your uncle and—”

“Carina.” The voice from the doorway was intense.

She spun and faced the priest defiantly. “I don’t care. He will pay for this!”

Dr. Simms pushed through behind the priest. “Èmie needs healing, not vengeance.”

Carina resisted, then allowed Father Antoine to pull her aside. She covered her face with her hands. Sciocca! She had defied him at Èmie’s risk. “It’s my fault,” she moaned.

“It’s not your fault.” The priest’s eyes were intent.

“I angered and defied him.”

“I left her here and went traipsing after lost souls.” The priest’s hand on her shoulder shook with emotion.

“Will you two stop blaming yourselves and get me boiled water?” Dr. Simms spoke with more authority than Carina had heard from him before.

He was right. The first thing must be tending Èmie. She hurried for the stove. “I need wood, Father. There are coals.” Her hands shook as she shoveled the ashes that buried the coals still glowing in the oven.

The priest chopped wood from the pile out back, and she lit the stove and heated water while Dr. Simms performed his examination. With nervous energy she scoured Èmie’s place, recalling as she did Papa’s admonitions on the part of cleanliness in healing. Carina swept the pressed dirt floor as though she could take it down to bedrock. As soon as the steam blew from the edge of the lid, she poured a bowl of water and took it to Èmie’s bedside with the cleanest cloth she could find.

The work had helped her to think straight. She couldn’t shoot Berkley Beck. Not for revenge, even though her heart burned for it. But she could get Quillan the ledger. Her rage gave her courage. Now. She must do it now before she lost the nerve.

When Dr. Simms sent them out, Carina left the priest standing with his back to the rough log wall. She stalked to the livery, turned outside the door, and searched the street. From this vantage, she would see Mr. Beck leave. Would he look for her or send one of his dogs? Would he expect her to come to him remorseful and pliant?

She clenched her fists at her sides. He would never break her. He had lost whatever hold the threat of hurting Èmie had given him. The act had made her a tiger. She waited and watched. She would get the ledger and then—

His door opened, and Mr. Beck stepped out. Her heart clamored as two men came forward immediately to speak to him. Beck nodded twice, then went with one down the walk toward the Emporium. The other moseyed back across to the corner and stood there. She would have to enter under that one’s very nose.

But what had Quillan said? She would be expected. Drawing a jagged breath, she crossed the street and made her way along the sidewalk, looking suitably subdued. A group of miners tipped their hats, and she recognized one from Joe Turner’s operation. He gave her a bright smile, but she was too tense to return it.

A man in a striped coat and yellow cravat stepped into her path. “A small act of prestidigitation, miss?”

“No.” She shook her head, but he reached out and drew a coin from her hair. She pushed by. If only she could secure the ledger so easily. But God would determine that. And so far nothing had been easy. She went inside, almost too tense to breathe. The room was warm and smelled of Beck’s pomade. It made his presence almost palpable, though she had seen him leave.

What if he discovered her there beneath his desk? Or simply found the ledger missing? Of course he would think of her. Who else? Regardless of that, she hurried to Mr. Beck’s desk and lifted the board underneath. Let him guess. Let him know. After what he did to Èmie … She tugged the board free. The ledger lay there among the papers and engraved plates. She snatched it up, then removed the box of Nonna’s silver.

She had no idea how long Berkley Beck would be out. He could return at any moment, but she couldn’t just walk out with the ledger in plain view. Quickly she pulled open the box and removed the spoons and forks and knives. These she tied into her underskirt, then pulled out the velvet forms that had held them in place. She tucked those back under the floor, and into the empty box, she fit the ledger.

With a sigh, Carina replaced the board and stood. The silver clinked when she walked, but only softly. She peeked out through the window. No sign of Mr. Beck. Was it possible the Lord had finally seen fit to aid her?
Grazie, Signore
. But it was a scornful gratitude.

She went out the door and started along the walk. The man was still on the corner, and she noticed it was the one who had escorted her to Mr. Beck the day before. She was certain he would hear her heart pounding as she passed. She waited for his challenge.

Would she run? What if he asked to see what was inside the box? She averted her gaze and came within three steps of him, then two. Then she was past. He didn’t stop her, and she carried the box around the corner at Drake and, with an effort, kept herself from running to Mae’s.

She went inside and started for the stairs, then changed her mind. If Mr. Beck came looking for the ledger, he’d search her room first. She went instead to the room where D.C. slept. For once Cain was not beside the bed, and she breathed her relief. Though he was Quillan’s friend, she felt safer alone.

Kneeling down, she took the ledger from the box and slipped it between the mattress and springs. Then she replaced the silver into the wooden box and shoved it against the wall under the bed. She sat back on her heels and pressed her hands to her temples. Then she stood and headed for the kitchen.