A Promise to Believe in (8 page)

“Avoided? Ignored?” Beth questioned. “You’ve hardly been out of your room—except to sneak around—since coming here. If you feel avoided or ignored, that is entirely your own doing.”

“Well, I am here now, yet I feel all three of you are playing a game with me.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “I believe that my brother came here with the articles he stole and most likely gifted them to your sister or sold them to lavish her with attention.”

Gwen laughed out loud. It was a bitter laugh that held no humor. “Yes, you can see that I am quite lavished.”

“You could be hiding the articles in question.” Hank watched her closely. “The fact is, my brother could have showed up appearing to be quite wealthy, and this appealed to you enough to force him into marriage.”

Lacy slapped her hands on the table. “You are out of line, mister.”

Gwen’s mouth had dropped open, and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at Hank in such an expression of disbelief that he immediately knew he’d misjudged her. No one was that good of an actress.

“I loved your brother,” she began.

“If he really was your brother,” Beth muttered. Gwen looked at Beth as if to silence her. “Well, he has no proof.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” Gwen returned her tear-filled gaze to Hank. “I loved Harvey with all of my heart. He knew that. I really don’t care whether you believe it.”

Hank found himself regretting his strong words. He watched Gwen hurry from the room, caught the angry stares of her sisters and knew that he might very well be asked to leave.

“Perhaps,” he said, trying hard to mask his own frustration, “I was a bit overbearing.”

“Perhaps?” Lacy replied.

“And you were rude. You certainly are no gentleman,” Beth stated rather dramatically.

Though Hank would like to have finished his breakfast, he thought perhaps it would be best if he left. “I am sorry, ladies. I do have a tendency to . . .”

“Put your foot in your mouth?” Lacy questioned.

He met her eyes and nodded. “I suppose that suffices as well as anything. I do apologize.”

“Talk’s cheap, mister.” Lacy got to her feet and shoved her chair under the table. “You’ve hurt our sister’s feelings. Gwen never did anything to harm you or cause you grief, and the sooner you realize that, the better. I never once saw your brother with more than a nickel to his name, but if you intend to learn anything more from Gwen, you’re going to have to change your methods.”

“And your manners,” Beth said, getting to her feet, as well. “If you intend to remain here at Gallatin House, you will definitely learn to keep your very rude comments to yourself.”

That evening with a house full of stage travelers, all male, Beth and Lacy did their best to handle the work load. Gwen wasn’t herself, and after pouring hot coffee on herself and nearly dumping a full pie on one of the men, Beth suggested she go lie down for a brief rest. To her surprise, Gwen did exactly that. Beth had never seen her sister so upset or frazzled. Mr. Bishop’s accusations had completely unhinged Gwen’s usually competent nature and easygoing spirit.

Beth couldn’t help but watch Mr. Bishop as he partook of the evening meal. He didn’t seem in the leastwise upset with himself or what had happened. He ate as much as ever, complimented their ability in the kitchen, and shared general conversation with the men from the stage. He appeared a carefree individual, enjoying a leisure trip.

After most of the men had taken themselves from supper to Rafe’s Saloon, Beth began clearing the table. She had fretted and stewed over what should be done with Mr. Bishop throughout the evening. Standing in the kitchen watching him, she could see him focus on the coffee cup in his hand. He had his back to her so she couldn’t see his face, but she imagined the stern expression and fixed thoughts. No doubt he was plotting against her sister.

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be a man sometimes,” she muttered.

Lacy had just returned with hot water for the dishes. “What did you say?”

Beth reached out to help her with the buckets. “I just wish sometimes I were a man. I would challenge that Mr. Bishop to a fight. I’d knock him out cold and then he’d be out of the way—at least for a few hours.”

“So knock him out in another way,” Lacy said with a wicked grin.

“What are you talking about?”

Lacy put down her bucket and went to the far pantry cupboard. She moved a wooden box in place and stepped atop it to reach the highest shelf. Rummaging around the canned goods there, she finally pulled out a couple of bottles. “Remember these?”

“That case of laudanum Pa bought,” Beth said in a hushed whisper. She gave a hurried, sidelong glance to see if Mr. Bishop had heard her, but he appeared lost in his own thoughts.

Lacy grinned and stepped off the box. Pressing close to her sister, she whispered, “Pa said a few spoonfuls of this would settle a man into the arms of Orpheus.”

“Morpheus,” Beth corrected softly. “Orpheus charmed wild beasts with his music. Morpheus made people sleep and dream.”

“Well, we want to charm a wild beast
and
make him sleep.”

Beth laughed. “That we do.” She took the bottle and poured a liberal dose into a fresh cup. “If a couple of teaspoons is good, a couple more ought to be great.”

“Just don’t kill him,” Lacy whispered. “I don’t want to have to explain that to Dave Shepard and the sheriff. They’d never understand.”

Beth nodded. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” She put the cup down on the counter. “Mr. Bishop,” she called as she moved into the dining room. “I have a bit of coffee left over if you’d care to finish it.”

At first it looked like he wouldn’t go for it, but after a moment Hank nodded and handed her his cup. “It is good coffee. Thank you.”

Beth smiled sweetly even though she felt like tearing the man’s eyes out. “You like two sugars, right?”

“Yes, and cream, please.”

“Of course.”

She hurried into the kitchen and switched out the cup. Pouring the coffee to join the laudanum, she quickly added the sugar and cream. “There. It’s perfect.” She exchanged a glance with Lacy and smiled. “Mother’s milk, as Pa used to say.”

Beth made her way to where Hank Bishop sat. “Would you care for some more pie to go along with this?”

“No, I’m quite satisfied with this,” Hank said, taking the coffee. He took a long sip and smiled. “Thank you.”

Beth smiled again and removed the remaining dishes from the table. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Half an hour later, Lacy wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea to drug Mr. Bishop. “He must weigh two hundred pounds.”

“It just seems that way,” Beth said as they wrestled Bishop’s sleeping form up the back staircase.

Thump! Thump!
As Lacy pulled Hank up the steps, his backside smacked against the stairs while Beth fought to control his legs.

“He’s gonna wonder what hit him,” Lacy said, gasping for breath.

“Let him wonder. Maybe he’ll . . . think twice . . .” Beth strained for air, “before insulting . . . our sister again.”

“What if Gwen catches us?”

“I suppose we’ll just try to explain.”

They heard raucous singing coming from the main staircase as they managed to drag Hank into his room. They’d barely closed the door before several men stumbled up the stairs and made their way to their own rooms.

Beth leaned hard against the door just in case any of them mistook Bishop’s room for their own. In a few minutes, however, it quieted in the hall, and she felt certain the crisis had been averted.

“Come on, let’s get him into bed.”

“I can’t lift him into bed,” Lacy protested. “Let’s just get him a pillow and a blanket and let him sleep on the floor.”

“That won’t be very comfortable,” Beth said.

“It’s the best we can do. Come on.” Lacy pulled a pillow off the bed and motioned Beth to take the covers. “He’s gonna wonder what happened to him anyway. Might as well not get ourselves injured in the process. I’m gonna need to soak in the springs tonight, for sure.”

They quickly tended Hank, tucking him in rather like a mother might a small child. Beth frowned and took up the lamp Lacy had positioned on the nightstand before they’d retrieved Hank’s sleeping form.

“Let’s get out of here,” Beth said, opening the door, “before someone finds us and wonders what we’re up to.”

“Someone is already wondering what you’re up to,” Gwen said.

CHAPTER SIX

Hank awoke slowly, as if from a deep, clouded dream. His mouth tasted awful and had a cottony dryness to it that made him long for a tall, cold drink of water. Yawning, he sat up and winced at the pain in his back. Looking around him, Hank’s confusion only mounted.

“Why am I on the floor?”

He looked at the bed and then to where he sat. Could he have fallen out of bed? That seemed highly unlikely. Especially given the fact that his pillow had accompanied him and landed under his head. Further investigation revealed that Hank was fully clothed. He even wore his boots.

Struggling to his feet, Hank eased back onto the mattress of the bed and stared up at the ceiling for several minutes. Why couldn’t he remember? He rubbed his closed eyes and tried to force his thoughts to clear.

He was at the Gallatin House. He’d wanted to talk with Gwen last night, but she’d been offended by something he’d said. What was it? He shook his head and yawned again.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was still early. He could hear activity going on in the hall and remembered that a stage had come in last night. He knew there were at least half a dozen men traveling and vaguely remembered them at the supper table. He recalled the men getting up from the table and heading to the saloon.

“But I stayed to talk to Harvey’s wife.” He opened his eyes and tucked his hands under his head. Clasping his fingers together, he stared thoughtfully at the butter-colored ceiling.

The wafting aroma of fresh coffee prompted his thoughts. He had been drinking coffee. There was pie, too. He remembered because the girls had offered him seconds. He’d passed on the dessert but had nursed several cups of coffee as he waited for Gwen to return to the room. She never came. At least, not that he could remember.

Hank sat up, moaning softly as pain spread across his back. What in the world had caused him to be so sore and stiff? He rubbed his muscles as best he could and got to his feet. His clothes were hopelessly wrinkled, but there was little to be done about it. He hadn’t had time to get his other things washed. This had been his last clean shirt. He’d heard the girls offer to do laundry for one of the stage travelers, so he supposed he could pay them to take on his clothes, as well. As for now, there was nothing he could do but go downstairs as he was. The coffee was beckoning him, along with the hope that it would wake him up and clear his mind.

The stairs seemed particularly challenging as Hank made his way to join the others. Every step seemed to jar him. Perhaps he was coming down with something.

“We’re headin’ out in ten minutes, whether you’ve had your breakfast or not,” the stage driver bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.

Hank looked at the man, narrowing his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not one of your passengers, but if any remain upstairs they most certainly could have heard that declaration.”