Caress of Fire (22 page)

“You weren't going anywhere without one.”

He extended his free arm; she walked into his embrace. After a long and lingering kiss good-bye, he winked and said, “Be good while I'm gone.”

“At what?” she teased.

His hand snaked around her behind and swatted it, then he joined his men and rode away.

 

 

Missing her husband already, even though he'd been gone but a few minutes, Lisette set out for a dress shop, selected several dresses in a larger size, had her packages delivered to Ruth Craven, then walked through the midday heat to the river. Matthias, Cactus Blossom, and a black-suited official wearing a gunbelt waited on the banks.

Struck by what a handsome couple they made, Matthias so tall and Cactus Blossom so petite, and both of them young, attractive, and having many wonderful years ahead of them, Lisette smiled and offered greetings.

Taking her place at the bride's side, she learned the third person was Cartwright Knowlton, justice of the second district of Tarrant County. He was tall, gaunt, and appeared to be in his later middle years.

Justice Knowlton said, “We'll need another witness.”

Matthias corralled a stranger to step in. The marriage vows began. At the end, Justice Knowlton said, “You may kiss your bride.”

The moment's poignancy touched Lisette. They were so obviously in love . . . and she recalled her own wedding. It seemed as if years had passed since Gil had vowed to “keep her for as long as ye both shall live.”

“Wait. Hold up.”

Placing Frank Hatch's voice from the distance, Lisette turned her head, as did the others. Matthias uttered a German swearword; Cactus Blossom sucked in her breath; the witness made an X on the marriage license, then offered congratulations before departing.

Hatch advanced on the riverbank; he wore a crisp white suit and an equally crisp Panama hat, and carried a silver-handled walking stick. An ugly look plastered his face.

“Am I too late to make a protest?” Hatch asked.

“You are,” answered the justice.

“By the Bonny Blue.” Hatch dug the cane tip into soft ground. “I'd hope to spare Mister Gruene before it was too late.”

What in the world could the Georgian be referring to?
Lisette wondered, uneasy, then recalled Cactus Blossom's vague comment of yesterday.

“Leave,” Matthias demanded succinctly of Frank Hatch.

“But I am here for your benefit. You have married a–”

“Dung Eyes, cease!”

Hatch smiled nastily at Cactus Blossom before cutting his attention to Matthias again. “Did you know you've married a murderess?”

Cactus Blossom chanted something in Comanche; Matthias stepped toward her accuser. “You lie.”

“Do I?” Hatch brushed his lapel. “Cactus Blossom, the mother of my infant daughter Weeping Willow, had no use for the child of her body.” His normally flat eyes moistened. “She tossed my daughter over a cliff. Alive.”

Shocked, revolted, yet believing his charge couldn't be true, Lisette turned to the bride. Tears cascaded down the tortured, bronze face.

Matthias, stricken, said, “Cactus, he couldn't be telling the truth.”

“It is true.”

Lisette took a step backward. She had taken a baby killer to friend!

How could any mother murder her own child?

This thought rang through Lisette's head as she watched the tiny Cactus Blossom Gruene plead for understanding with her new husband. His shoulders were stiff, and Matthias's square face went a shade lighter than ash.

A gust of hot wind lifting the brim of his Panama, Frank Hatch said to the justice of the peace, “I suppose you're not interested in doing the right thing by a papoose, but keep in mind, Weeping Willow was half white. This savage must be punished.”

“Absolutely,” agreed the official.

Her eyes wild, Cactus Blossom retreated from the threat, her moccasined feet muddying with river water. Even though she was horrified, Lisette stepped over to put a comforting hand on the unnerved Comanche woman.

Cartwright Knowlton addressed Hatch. “Where did the incident occur?”

“South of Lampasas. At Dead Buffalo Bluff.”

“I'll have to report this to the marshal.”

“Do that.” Hatch tipped his hat–as if he had offered no more than a weather report–and turned to saunter from the banks of the Trinity. “I'll be back in time for the trial.”

“Gott.”
Shoulders slumped, Matthias swerved away from the scene of his wedding. “
Mein Gott!”

Cactus Blossom's chin fell forward as her bridegroom stumbled toward the street.

“Matthias, come back,” Lisette called out. “You cannot leave.”

But he left.

And Justice Knowlton closed in. “You're on your way to jail, savage.”

“You do not understand, white man.” The beads on the buckskin dress rattled; Cactus Blossom's teeth chattered. “It was for Weeping Willow that I took her life. She was not right at birth. Her body was twisted. I could do nothing for her. The Medicine Man could do nothing.” Shoulders drew in like the closing of a flower. “Her cries of pain shredded my heart. I could not allow her to suffer.”

“Save your sorry excuses for the jury.” Knowlton went for his pistol while scanning the riverbank. “You going with me peacefully? Or do I need to yell for help?”

For a frozen moment Cactus Blossom stared at him, but realizing the import of his words, she ducked. Knowlton aimed and fired at her departing form.

With a cry of “Stop!” Lisette tackled him from behind, and the bullet plopped into the Trinity.

By now a cluster of citizens were running for the riverbank. Someone grabbed Lisette, pulled her away. Cactus Blossom disappeared into a stand of pecan and oak trees. And Lisette McLoughlin was hauled to the sheriffs office, where she faced assault charges.

“Lock her up,” said the sheriff.

Two deputies escorted her to jail. Iron bars clanged shut, echoing through her ears, and the pungent odor of long-dried urine and vomit assaulted her. This was an awful place, cramped and dank. A tiny, barred window above her head gave the only light. No one shared her cell, yet she heard the catcalls of male prisoners from the next cubicle.

Shivering despite the heat of May, Lisette clutched her arms. Yet her concerns were for Cactus Blossom. How terrified she must be. How alone she must feel, deserted by her husband at a moment of great need.

Sitting down on the hard cot, Lisette peered through her iron cage and caught sight of an obese Manx cat snaring a rat. As the rodent was caught between the feline's teeth, Lisette turned from the sight and shuddered anew. She dropped her chin.
No one or nothing has an inherent right to life out here.

Weeks ago Gil had said those words, and she had been righteous in her protest against his theory. She still believed in the dignity of life and would never harm anyone, least of all her own child. She told herself she ought to hate Cactus Blossom for the heinous act, but somehow she couldn't.

All afternoon, all evening, Lisette fretted over the terrible situation. Supper arrived, but her appetite had left her. Two hours later, a deputy took the bowl away. She spent a fitful night on the jailhouse cot, heard roosters crowing at daybreak. Again she refused a meal. By now another question had formed: How was she going to get free?

A modicum of ablutions finished, she sat down on her cot. She needed to get word to Gil, but how?

“Miz McLoughlin?”

She lifted her head to see Cartwright Knowlton, Justice of the Peace.

“Nice white lady like you, I thought someone would've put up bail by yesterday afternoon.” His hands on the bars, his eyes on her gold ring, he asked, “Where is your husband?”

“What do you want, Mister Knowlton?”

“I'd like to know why you defended that savage.”

“She is my friend.” Lisette left the cot. “Do you know her whereabouts?”

“Not yet.” Knowlton shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Miz McLoughlin, I hate to see nice white folks get in trouble, so I've decided to drop charges against you.”

Arguing would gain no end, though.

“Thank you, sir.” Once she was free of her bonds, she could find Cactus Blossom and provide a comforting shoulder–and money. She would help out, since Gil had deposited a considerable amount in the bank for her use. “Mister Knowlton, I hope you'll be considerate if my friend is captured.”

“Can't promise that. The law is the law.”

Then, hopefully, Cactus Blossom was miles from here by now. No doubt she was far away. No money, no hope, nowhere to go. Alone, lonely, and betrayed by the men she had trusted.

The justice stepped back from the bars. “By the by, there's a fellow over in the sheriffs office. Before I dropped charges, he had arranged to post your bail.”

Gil? Matthias? Who? It couldn't be Gil, since Knowlton had asked after him.

“Stay out of trouble, Miz McLoughlin,” the justice of the peace said as he receded from sight.

The jailer unlocked her cell.

And she met the angry glare of her brother.

 

 

“How did you find me?” Lisette asked Adolf time and again, but he didn't deign to answer. Hobbling along, his fingers cutting into her arm, he forced her down the dusty streets of Fort Worth. Somehow he knew where she lived; he took her there; the door slammed behind them.

In the sitting room, limping toward her, he raised his hand.
“Hure!”
He started to slap her but pulled back his hand. “Disappearing from your family, going off on a cattle drive, taking up with a disgraced man. Have you no shame?”

“How do you know this? Did Anna tell you?”

“Not.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Herr McLoughlin informed me.”

She traced her finger over Gil's bold script, then read the letter. It was brusque, even curt. And it was traitorous.

How many times had she tried to impress upon Gil the importance of secreting her whereabouts from Adolf? How many times! Yet on the night of their wedding he had betrayed her.

Gil, who had demanded so much.

His face set in a determined cast, Adolf said, “I will take you back to Fredericksburg now. Pack your belongings.”

She shook her head. “No. I won't go. When I return, it will be with my husband.”

“Don't lie to me about any husband. You couldn't have been married. Not on a cattle drive. Herr McLoughlin was no doubt trying to cover an illicit affair.”

“You're wrong. One of the drovers is a minister of the gospel.” She placed the letter aside, then rushed into the bedroom to search through a bureau drawer. Pulling a piece of blue paper from its depths, she thrust it at her brother. “Here is our marriage license.”

Leaning against the sideboard where she and Gil had made love, Adolf read the license. “It seems to be authentic.”

“Of course it is.”

Adolf placed the document atop the McLoughlin Bible, which centered the table in front of the sofa. “So, you have married and have been left in this town.”

“Only until
mein Mann
returns. Together we'll return to Fredericksburg.”

“No. You will go back with me.”

She raised her chin. “I will not.”

“You must, sister. This town is no place for a woman alone, especially in your condition.” Scratching his yellow beard, he looked her up and down. “You are with child, are you not?”

Was it that obvious, this soon? “I suppose you've been around Monika enough to know the signs.”

“From the looks of you, I'd say you were involved with Herr McLoughlin before you left the farm.”

“Not true.”

“Even if you speak honestly, you have brought disgrace on the family. The whole town knows you left, and”–he flushed–“Monika was indiscreet. She told the ladies at church that you had taken up with Herr McLoughlin.”

Before she had escaped the farm, Lisette would have been mortified over such gossip. Now she had her husband's love, albeit at some distance, and it was a strong buffer against anything outsiders could say or do.

“I find I'm quite comfortable with myself and my deeds.”

“You have changed for the worse.”

“I don't think so.” Imagining the quilting circle, she added with a laugh, “Since my husband is quite handsome and virile, I'll wager the ladies are jealous of my good fortune.”

Adolf's face turned maroon, and hunching his massive shoulders, he advanced on her. “He must please you well to have turned a lady into a wanton.”

Four drumming knocks beat against the door. “Mrs. McLoughlin, are you in there?”

“Ignore her.”

“I will not. She's my landlady.” Lisette answered the summons. “Good day, Mrs. Craven.”

The elderly lady stepped inside. “Where have you been? I've been worried sick. Then one of my roomers said he'd heard you were in jail. Put a stop to that kinda talk, I did. I told your husband–nice man, that husband of yours–anyway, I promised I'd keep an eye on you, and . . .” The wrinkles on her face deepened. “Who is this?”

“My brother, Adolf Keller of Fredericksburg.”

“Oh. How d'ya do?” Ruth Craven pursed her mouth and said to Lisette, “You look a mess, as if you haven't been eating or sleeping right.” She lifted her hand; it held a linen-covered basket. “I made steak and okra for lunch. Here's your share. I think there's enough for the both of you, provided Mister Keller isn't too greedy.”

“I am not here to eat. I am here to collect my sister and return home.”

“She's in no shape to go anywhere, mister.”

Lisette pulled back the linen. The batter-fried food smelled delicious, and her stomach growled. A few weeks ago, such smells would have been gruesome, but thankfully her body had adjusted to little Hermann's presence.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“I'll have my serving girl heat some water and bring over the hipbath. You eat, wash yourself, then get some rest.” She pointed at Adolf. “You are going with me, big boy.”

Amazingly, he left with Mrs. Craven–but not before warning, “Do not try to escape, sister. I will keep an eye on this house.”

Lisette knew his wasn't an idle threat. Escape ought to be her foremost consideration, but to tell the truth, she was too weary and too pregnant for anything but the landlady's suggestions. Once she had washed away the grime of jail and had given her body a rest, she could better deal with Adolf.

Then she must find Cactus Blossom.

The sun had set by the time she woke from her nap. The moment she lit the hurricane lamp in the sitting room, Adolf barged through the door. “Are you packed?”

“There's something you don't understand, brother. I am no longer under your control. I will not return to the farm and be an unpaid servant to you and your wife.”

He lumbered across the room, his limp more noticeable than ever, and settled heavily on the sofa to extend his bad leg and rub it. “Lise, I don't want your efforts. I want to know you're all right.”

“Excuse me, but I find myself skeptical.”

“You never did like me, did you?” he asked, hurt in his voice as well as his blue eyes.

“It isn't necessary to like while loving.”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do.” She sat in the rocker next to the sofa. “You're my brother.”

“If you love me, then why did you leave without so much as a message to ease my mind?” Leaning forward, he covered his eyes with a hand. “Before I received Herr McLoughlin's letter, I was out of my mind with worry. I feared you had met Olga's fate.”

“Ach du meine Güte!”
In remorse over her thoughtlessness, she moved to the sofa and hugged Adolf. “I'm sorry, so sorry. I never meant to trouble you. I never thought I mattered.”

“You matter–more than you think.” He patted her arm. “You were always a good girl. A little thoughtless, perhaps, but good and kind. We have missed you. The boys ask for
Tantchen.”

“I have missed Karl and Viktor and little Ludolf.”

“Perhaps you are nostalgic enough to allow me to escort you home?”

“Allow you? Adolf, that's the first time you've ever asked rather than demanded–for anything.”

Her eyes met her brother's, and his were . . . Why, they were kind! Never had she and Adolf been close. And he'd stolen what should have gone to Gil McLoughlin. The dowry money was the least consideration, she decided. Her husband had accepted her as she was.

Yet Gil had had no right to be choosy, since he was no paragon. The end result of his manipulation wasn't settled, and the facts remained–he'd written to Adolf and had never told her. That was deceit. And it was betrayal, since he knew how much she worried over Adolf's finding her.