The Color of Ivy (22 page)

And yet she admitted to mysteriously misplacing the handkerchief.  Admitted that Becky Taylor had seen her exit Phillip Hendrickson’s room.  Was it possible she had believed Stella’s daughter incapable of squealing on her.  After all, as Roy pointed out, she was close to Stella and more than likely her daughter.  Perhaps she had thought the girl would not have revealed Ivy’s involvement.  She had spoken of Mr. Hendrickson’s habit of helping himself to the female staff.  That could have included Stella’s daughter.  In Ivy’s mind, perhaps she was doing all the ladies under the Hendrickson staff justice, and they would support her in her retribution.

Roy made a valid point as to her being in Canada using an alias.  Had she told Sam the truth?  She had claimed Phillip Hendrickson had threatened her if she tried to run.  Sam had never heard of any servant being that valuable.  If Phillip helped himself as often as she claimed, then wouldn’t she be easily replaced?

He looked up and saw Roy watching him closely, waiting.  He had been there when Daphne had manipulated Sam and the subsequent events that followed.  Had watched her betrayal nearly destroy him.  The only person Sam could ever rely on, believe in.
The only one who would not hurt him.

“In the loft above the livery.”

Roy reached out and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “You’re doing the right thing.”

Then why the hell did he feel so horrible?  “Give me fifteen minutes.  I want to speak to her first.”

A small hesitation, then, “Ten.”

Giving a nod, Sam turned and headed back toward the livery.  He knew Roy’s two deputies followed him as he made his way down the dirt road.  He didn’t care.  Instead he was full of rage.  And
remorse.

Reaching the barn, he
climbed the ladder to the loft and found Ivy waiting where he had left her.  The knowledge that she had not tried to run, eased some of the misery from inside his wretched chest.

She turned toward him looking full of anticipation.  Immediately, he hardened his heart and simply said, “You lied to me, Ivy.”

She froze, having taken note of his expression.  Then a look of puzzlement crossed her face.  “What are ye talking about?”

“You lied to me,” he repeated, a bit harsher.  “It seems Becky Taylor didn’t cover for you as you might have hoped.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh come on!” he barked.  “You can go ahead and wipe that innocent look off your face.  It was Becky who came forward.  She was the eyewitness.”

The blood literally drained from her face.  For a moment, Sam had thought it resulted from a mix of shock and hurt, before he decided it was from the realization that she had just been caught.

“Dammit, Ivy.  I believed you.”

She didn’t respond, but continued to sit there staring up at him.  Her face slightly pinched, but otherwise bland.

“What was it?  A conspiracy?  Were the female staff plotting his death in revenge?  Except one of you got frightened and squealed?”

When she continued sitting in silence, he grew more agitated.

“Well? 
Is that what happened?”

But Ivy simply sat with her chin tucked into her chest in repose.

Lifting his hand he rubbed his fingers hard across his brow and squeezed his lids tightly shut.  Then taking a long, drawn out deep and steadying breath, he dropped his hand and shoved it into his back pocket.  “The marshal will be here in five minutes.”

Her eyes glazed over and he wondered if she even heard him.  Turning to leave, he was brought to a halt by her voice.  “Ye asked me to trust ya.”

There was a crack in her voice which nearly had him turning back around and gathering her in his arms.  Begging her to tell him the truth.  To tell him she had not lied.  That she was innocent of all charges.  He felt as if he were indeed abandoning her.

Movement from the opposite side of the loft drew his attention.  Roy stood there waiting patiently.

Addressing him, he said, “She’s got a bad ankle that’s in need of immediate medical attention.”

Roy gave him a silent nod
, but still kept a watchful eye on him.  It made him angry.  For it was a reminder he had been a fool once more.  “Watch her on the cuffs.  She’s a talent for picking them.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Sam.”

If it was, then doing the right thing hurt like hell.  “Do me a favor, Roy.  Wire me once it’s all over.”

Chapter
1
4

“So, is it true?  Are you really the Handkerchief Murderer?”

Ivy cuddled into her dark corner, the only light source coming from a kerosene lantern hanging at the far end of the cell corridor furthest from her.  The darkness and tiny space could have driven her close to insanity when she was first brought to her holding cell in Chicago five days before.  But amazingly she remained calm, sound.  Listless.

She supposed she owed Sam for that.

A feeling of bleakness came over her simply remembering him.  Those five days had been unable to ease the grief in her heart.  She had wanted to hate him for his betrayal, for leading her to believe she could trust him.  But all she could seem to recall was the sweet memory of their lovemaking up in the wilderness.

“They’ve built you a mighty fine gibbet in the jail yard.”  The drunk in the first cell told her.  “Gone and hung your halter pretty dang high up, they did.  Must’ve figured that’d be the closest you’ll ever get to heaven.”

His words, surprisingly, left no terror in Ivy’s heart.  Five days ago might have been different.  Then she would have wanted to run, as she always had done in the past.  But her injured ankle had prevented it.  She was forced to remain cooped up in the correctional office's damp basement cell.  Now that her foot was feeling better, she should have been contemplating running.  Especially with her hanging scheduled for the next morning.

However, calmness had settled over Ivy.  Acceptance.  When Sam had betrayed her trust, she had been crushed.  No other betrayal had ever hurt so much.  No other person had she ever loved so great.

The pain of his abandonment had eaten away at her spirit, taken what was left of it.  She had cried for the duration of the trip from Canada back to the United States.  Then the tears suddenly stopped flowing.  As she sat there now, staring dry-eyed at the damp wall in front of her, Ivy supposed she must have finally surrendered.  Allowed death to claim her once and for all.

“Word has it; they’re goin’
to use your remains to feed the scavenger dogs roaming the streets.”

Ever since they threw the old drunk in his cell earlier that afternoon, he hadn’t closed his trap even though Ivy hadn’t bothered responding to him
once.  His words could not hurt her.  Nothing could hurt her anymore.  She closed her eyes and listened instead to the distant hammering over in the jail yard as the men built the scaffold specifically for her.

Tomorrow it would be over.  No more pain.  No more loneliness.

Her mind drifted back, as it constantly did, to that morning in the livery loft.  Sam’s face permanently scarred in her memory along with his words.  The realization the eyewitness was Becky, had stunned her.  Though looking back, she shouldn’t really have been surprised.  Not after that last conversation she had with Stella.  The only question that remained unanswered, was why.

The sound of the heavy iron gate opening at the top of the stairwell, echoed down to the cells.  Footsteps descended the wooden steps as Ivy curled further in her corner to await the sheriff as he handed out meals.  But the man who stood there was not the sheriff.

“Good evening, Ms. McGregor.”  Roy Emerson stood on the opposite side of her cell along with another man.  “This is Father O’Malley.”

Her gaze slid over to the bald man to his left.  He was dressed in formal preacher cloth and clutching a bible to his chest.  His expression was stern as he observed her
coldly through the iron bars.

“If you would like to offer your repentance,” he told her as explanation.

She stared at Roy Emerson.  This was the man who Sam had grown to love and respect.  When he held her gaze without blinking, Ivy relented and turned away.

She heard him quietly thank the preacher before sending him off.  To her surprise
, he did not follow.  Instead, he turned the key in the lock and came towards her with a set of shackles.

“You
’re being transferred to the Hubbard station to await your execution in the morning.”

The heavy iron rings he held locked over her wrists.  Attached to them was a
hefty link of chains that connected to a set of cuffs he fastened around her ankles.  “Come on.”

He took her elbow in his hand and propelled her out of the cell.  She stumbled from the awkwardness of the restraints
, but managed to straighten herself before she could fall.  Her ankle had healed well enough several days ago allowing her to put weight on it again, though walking at anything faster than a shuffle was impossible.  Her restraints, thankfully, prevented her from doing exactly that.

They pas
sed the old drunk who pressed his face between his rails.  “Hey, what about me?”

“Sit tight old man,” Roy said.  “You’ll be released soon enough.”

As they moved slowly up the stairs, the marshal unexpectedly said, “Sam is like a son to me.”

She turned slightly toward him at the sound of Sam’s name.

“Twenty something years ago, he came to me a hurt and angry young man.  Not surprising when you realize where he came from.  But I saw something in that boy.  Do you know what that was, Ms. McGregor?”

Her gaze shifted, but she refrained from
answering.

“A soul.  There was good in that boy even after all he had gone through.  Perhaps too much.  He had a soft heart.  Too soft.  As a young lad he brought home strays by the dozen.  Something about their vulnerability struck a
chord with him.  There was this dog, part wolf, a real beauty.  She stayed with us the longest.  Sam grew real attached to her.  I thought it would do him good, maybe help his heart heal, but when the poor creature got sick and needed to be put down, Sam was livid.  Had a powerful right hook even at that age.”  He reached up and stroked his cheek as if he could still feel the sting of Sam’s punch.  “I don’t think he ever forgave me for that, but he did come to realize I was right.  As I am about you.  His soft heart had always been his greatest weakness.  Apparently still is.”

His eyes met hers in the darkness.  “He wanted to believe
in the virtuous of others.  I think a part of him needed it.  Some type of retribution for his mother’s actions.  Hard to live in a corrupt world when one is so young and impressionable.  Whether he would admit it or not, he became very gullible.  Laying his trust where it had no business lying.  That mistake cost him.”

“I’m not Daphne Sweeney.”

One brow arched.  “He told you about her, did he?  You must have gotten close out in that wilderness, just as I suspected.”

She fell silent once again, refusing to fall for his bait.

“I thought after her, his heart had grown a thick protective layer over it.  It took some damn bruising, but in the end I think it only made him harder.”

Looking up at her hair, he reached into his coat pocket, retrieved a cigar and told her, “You look like his mother, did he tell you that too?  She had fiery red hair as well.  Never spoke of her often, but I knew he loved her dearly.  All the more reason why her betrayal cut deep.”

Ivy closed her eyes.  She could relate to that feeling.  Sam’s own betrayal had felt like a laceration to her heart.  Inside, she was slowly bleeding to death.  If she were not already going to die by hanging, she was certain she would have eventually died from the inside out.

“It killed me to see the pain on his face and swore never again would I allow someone to hurt that boy.”  Outside a paddy wagon waited.  Roy Emerson easily loaded her into the back before following her inside.

“Thing is, I took the blame for what happened with Ms. Sweeney.  You see I wanted him to trust again, give his heart to another.  I encouraged his belief in that woman.  Hell, I was just so damn happy to finally see him go soft toward something actually human.”

He paused, before continuing, “After, I felt partly responsible.  That boy ain’t never had anyone to believe in.  No one to trust but this sorry old face.  I let him down.  So I made it my goal to track her down and ensure she paid the price for what she’d done.  Both for her crime and for what she gone and done to Sam.  I eventually tracked her into Mexico, but by the time I located her she had gone and taken her own life.  But not before she put a bullet in her old man’s skull in a fit of jealousy.  Seems he had taken another lover.”

He pulled out a cigar and lit it in the darkness.  His face momentarily reflected in the small flame.  “But I felt cheated, you see.  I wanted Sam to know this woman paid for her crime.  Just like his momma had.  But this time I wanted to give him the satisfaction of watching her swing for what she’d done.”

Ivy felt her heart grow hard.  The wagon
bumped along the cobble roads, jostling her slightly in her seat.  Even in the dim interior, she felt him staring at her long and hard.

“I figured I owed it to him
, seeing I was somewhat at fault.”

For some reason, she had an urge to cry.  She wasn’t entirely sure why.  It had been days since she shed her last tear.  But sitting there in the dark, listening to this man’s account of Sam’s past, stirred a pain in her she had thought numb.

The wagon came to a stop and someone opened the back door.  Roy got out first, then waited as Ivy climbed out on unsteady footing.  A huge gray and somber building confronted her.  But it was the large wooden scaffold silhouetted against the night sky in the courtyard of the prison that caused her sharp intake of breath.

Roy Emerson handed her chains over to the officer waiting for them.  Then turning his gaze back down at her face
, told her, “I guess one could say I still do.”

Ivy stiffened refusing to show any emotion.  He wanted Sam to
see her swing.

Roy Emerson suddenly smiled.  “I suggest you get some sleep, Ms.
McGregor.  The morrow will be upon us within a few hours.”

Her attention could not be drawn from the gallows standing ominously before her.

“Goodbye, Ms. McGregor.”

* * *

Sam lay staring up at the ceiling.  Hell, he should have been sleeping.  But he hadn’t slept since Roy loaded Ivy on that coach bound for Chicago.  No matter how much he hated it, he couldn’t get her out of his head.  He followed her high profile case in the papers.  The court trial had been held immediately upon her return and, as he suspected, went quickly and predictably.  She had no lawyer to represent her.  The verdict was swift.  Guilty.  The sentencing even swifter.  Death by hanging.

He rolled over and tried to ignore the overwhelming sorrow those words caused.  It was his own fault for allowing himself too close.  He knew better, damn it.  But still he fell once more under the manipulation of a conniving female.  No matter how soft he had grown toward her, the fact was, she was guilty.

She had tried to plead her innocence as he had known all along she would, but the evidence was pointing elsewhere.  As long as he lived, he would never come to understand her actions.  Or forgive them.  She had made a choice of her own free will that fateful night.  For that, she would face her consequence as any other criminal.

As did his mother.

He closed his eyes at the unexpected raw emotion which tore at his chest.  He was overcome by the sudden urge to cry.  He hadn’t wanted to cry since the day they hung her.  When the sheriff came to tell him it was all over, something had died inside Sam.  Something viral.  Without it, he knew he hadn’t been a full person since.

Ivy’s last words came back to haunt him.  She had claimed he was unable to trust.  She had been right.  He had wanted to.  God knew he wanted to.  But there would always be a part of him fearing the hurt and betrayal his mother had caused.

Only with Ivy had he felt that missing part begin to stir back to life inside him again.  He had felt trust yearning to be released.  Even now, as he lay there staring up at the ceiling, that little piece of him refused to believe she was guilty.  He absolutely could not accept she did it out of jealousy, and he outright rejected the idea she did it out of pure hatred.

Whatever her reasons, he didn’t doubt in Ivy’s mind she had done the right thing.  Her tortured past might have explained her
behavior, even if it did not condone it.  He would wait until the sentencing was complete, then return to Chicago to claim her body.  She had no family left.  No one to mourn her passing.

He would give her a proper burial.  She would like that.  After everything she had endured, it was the only thing left he could offer her.

Sitting up, Sam gave up all attempts at trying to sleep.  His thoughts were in utter turmoil.  His emotions in even further chaos.  He could feel the clock ticking on her life like a huge weight on his heart.

His gaze fell on the newspaper folded on his night table, opened to the article regarding Ivy’s trial.  He picked it up and skimmed through the piece, having already read it a dozen times.  Immediately, his eyes fell on the likeness of her.  Or what he could see of it.

She was being ushered through a huge crowd waiting at the courthouse, her head down, her face concealed.  Roy stood to her right, doing his best to shield her from the angry mob.  Sam’s fingers clenched the paper automatically.  Even without being able to see her eyes, her pain reached out to him.