The Lawman's Bride (6 page)

Sophie set down the fork she’d picked up, keeping her expression placid. “Of course I do. I have a whole family back in Pennsylvania.”

“What’s in Pennsylvania?” Flynn asked.

“Boys a lot like you,” she replied with a practiced smile.

The rasp of a cranked doorbell sounded.

“I’ll get it!” Flynn shouted and jumped up to run for the front hall.

He returned moments later with Marshal Connor.

Clay toyed with the brim of the hat he held. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning, Marshal.” Ellie rose to grab a cup. “Join us for breakfast.”

“Oh, no thank you, ma’am. Just came for Miss Hollis.”

The impact of those particular words zigzagged an alarm inside Sophie’s skull.
He’d come for her?
Had he learned something? Sophie studied the lawman standing in the Chaneys’ kitchen. One moment she’d been swept into the family atmosphere and the next, familiar tension crept into her muscles.

“She’s having her breakfast,” Ellie said easily. “Have you already eaten?”

He glanced at the table, his attention clearly on the food now. Sophie relaxed a degree. He’d come to escort her to the Arcade, not to jail.

The doctor got up and scooted Flynn’s chair and the baby to make more room, then reached for Clay’s hat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Looks good,” he agreed and took a seat.

Ellie fried a few more eggs and poured him coffee.

“All the men are accounted for,” he told them.

“That’s good news,” Caleb said.

“That it is.” The marshal took a sip of his coffee. “But it sure leaves me wonderin’ how that prisoner got away. Keys were left in the cell door.”

“Do you have any idea how the fire started?” Ellie asked.

“No, ma’am. If the man had an accomplice, it would make sense that someone broke in and let him out. Someone might’ve started a fire thinkin’ there was a marshal inside and that the fire would distract him. But anyone halfway smart would’ve watched the jail and known where all my men were. Still, can’t quite picture DeWeise with a partner though. He didn’t seem the type. Just a freeloader, travelin’ from one place to the next.”

Sophie had never heard him string so many words together all at once. “Is it common practice to leave the jail unattended when there’s a prisoner locked inside?” she asked.

Marshal Connor appeared uncomfortable at her question. He used his napkin. “No, miss. That’s a mistake I take the blame for.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen,” Ellie assured him.

“Makes no difference,” he replied. “A lawman has to be prepared.”

Ellie changed the subject by asking Sophie if she knew Goldie Krenshaw.

“Yes, of course. Her room is down the hall from mine.”

“I used to be her roommate,” Ellie said. “We’re still good friends.”

Once they’d finished breakfast, Clay picked up his hat. “Thank you kindly for everything, Mizz Chaney. Doc.”

Sophie stood and picked up her plate.

Ellie stopped her. “You run along now.”

“Thank you for your generosity. It was a pleasure meeting you and your family.”

Ellie touched her arm. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’m glad we met.”

“Be waitin’ out front,” the marshal said.

Sophie glanced at his broad back in the leather vest and followed slowly. Her skirt was an inch or so too short, revealing her boot tops and stockings, and she felt awkward.

“Your clothing is in here.” Ellie handed her a bundle. “I’m afraid it smells like smoke.”

“Not a worry,” Sophie assured her. “Our laundry is done for us, as you know. I’ll instruct them to throw it away if it smells too bad.”

Dr. Chaney was standing near the front door when they reached it.

She thanked him again. “I’ll bring your payment around tomorrow.”

“No need. The marshal paid.”

She raised her gaze to his.

He shrugged. “Told him you wouldn’t be happy.”

He opened the door and she preceded him out to where the marshal waited.

Sophie glanced from the horse and buggy to the stone-faced man. “I could have walked.”

“I’m sure you could’ve, but I brought a rig so you wouldn’t have to.”

Secretly glad she wouldn’t have to parade down the busy streets of Newton with her boot tops and stockings on display, she let him assist her to the springed seat.

The Chaneys waved from the porch of their home as the buggy drew away.

“Nice folks,” the marshal said.

He had told her he would make things right with Mrs. Winters and the manager, so Sophie was going to have to let him do that.

“Breathin’ easier today?”

She nodded.

Horses and vehicles lined the street they turned onto. The wood platforms and bricked area in front of the Arcade were crowded with passengers waiting to get back onto the two trains that stood on the tracks, smoke bellowing from the stacks on the black steam engines.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the buggy here and walk,” Clay said. He stopped and helped her down.

The train crews had eaten and were the first allowed back into the cars. Passengers crowded in close behind them.

Clay took Sophie’s hand and blazed a path through the tight gathering. “Looks like you just missed a big rush.”

“Undoubtedly there’s plenty of cleanup before the next arrival,” she replied.

He said something else, but loud voices distracted her. In a language Sophie understood perfectly, two braves were arguing with a man in a black jacket and a bowler. She identified the man right off as a fakir, a man who picked pockets and sold worthless tickets and land deeds to unsuspecting travelers.

The plains Indians were drawing attention from the crowd.

“That man…the one there.” She pointed him out to Clay. “He doesn’t look like a passenger, does he?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the hat who’s arguing with those Sioux.”

Clay maneuvered them closer. The Indians were talking among themselves now. Clay shrugged. “There does seem to be an argument.”

Shit, shit, shit,
Sophie thought. Why wasn’t he picking up on what was going on? Convinced he’d catch on in a minute, she bit her tongue. The Indians were digging into their pouches now, and Sophie couldn’t waste another minute. “He’s one of those men who sell fake vouchers to the passengers.”

Clay shouldered his way through the crowd to confront the man she spoke of. He spotted Clay, slapped his hand on his bowler, and turned to flee. Clay waded through the crowd, but the man had disappeared, impossible to find.

Before he returned Sophie quickly explained to the dark-skinned brave who wore a flannel shirt with fringed deerskin pants that they shouldn’t trade their money for papers. There wasn’t a word in their language for lie. “No food vouchers. You buy food with your coins.”

“Did you give him any money?” Clay asked, coming up to them.

The man replied, but Clay only frowned. Another Indian beside him added something as well.

“No money was exchanged,” Sophie told Clay. “You chased him off before he got their money.” She pointed to the pieces of paper in their hands. “No good,” she said with a hand gesture and took the papers. “The marshal will take these.”

The Indians spoke among themselves and Sophie drew Clay away.

“How did you know what was going on?” he asked.

“I’ve seen that man out here before.” She hadn’t of course, but she knew his kind.

A woman placed her hand on Sophie’s arm. “Kathryn? Kathryn Fuller?”

Sophie recognized her immediately as someone with whom she’d had dealings in another city.
Shit, shit, shit!
Her pulse increased at the surprise, even as she shrugged off the woman’s touch. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“But I was
certain.
You look just like the woman. Your hair is different…and your eyes now that I look more closely. Look, Robert, isn’t she the spitting image of Mrs. Fuller?”

The tall thin man at her side peered at Sophie through gold-rimmed spectacles. Sophie heart hammered. Would he recognize her, whip a poster from his pocket, scream “aha!” and ruin her new life? She concentrated on appearing bored and inconvenienced.

“There is perhaps a vague similarity.”

Relief flooded over Sophie. Perspiration had formed under her clothing.

“Come dear, our train will be leaving shortly.”

“Excuse us now.” Clay took Sophie’s arm and led her away.

That had been another close call. Sophie was like a cat with nine lives, but the stress was wearing and those lives were quickly getting used up. When she showed up in the busy dining hall with the marshal, all attention diverted to them. Mrs. Winters quickly whisked them away from the prying eyes of customers and employees. Minutes later they stood in Harrison Webb’s office, the small wood-paneled room smelling of lemon wax.

“A night away without a pass is cause for immediate suspension, Miss Hollis.” Mrs. Winters wore her haughtiest look. “It’s inappropriate behavior for one of Mr. Harvey’s employees. Especially if you are in some sort of trouble with the law.”

“Hold your horses.” Clay stopped her cold, then turned to Harrison. “How’re you doing?”

“Not complaining,” the man replied with a nod.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Winters stiffened. “We have an errant girl here.”

“You heard tell of the fire at the jail last night?” Clay went on.

“I did,” Harrison replied.

“What does that have to do with my employee?” Mrs. Winters asked.

Clay gave them an explanation of the previous night’s events. “Miss Hollis ran into the burnin’ building in search of lives.” His deep voice and solemn inflections made the story even more dramatic. He told of Sophie’s role in saving old Sam’s life and her consequent night at the doctor’s home.

“Thank you for looking after Miss Hollis,” Mr. Webb said. “And for coming in like this to explain.”

“Miss Hollis risked her neck. There could’ve been an injured deputy in there for all she knew. Or prisoners.”

“Er. Wasn’t there a prisoner?” the hotel manager asked. He knew all about DeWeise.

“Got away during the excitement,” Clay answered.

Mr. Webb grimaced. “Mr. Harvey won’t be happy about that.”

Clay turned his hat by the brim as he spoke. “None of us are real happy about that.”

“Heard the jailhouse is burned clear to the ground.”

“We’re settin’ up temporary quarters in a building across the street from where we were. Liveryman used the old bars to put together a couple o’ cages. They’ll do for cells while a new building is built.”

With a nod, the marshal excused himself and Mrs. Winters marched away, clearly displeased.

Sophie was left facing the manager. “I don’t know whether what you did was brave or foolish, Sophie,” he said.

“I couldn’t not do it.”

He nodded, his face a study of concern. “I must insist you keep a far less public profile from now on. None of us can afford for you to bring this much negative attention to yourself. Harvey Girls have a strict standard to uphold. Your record must be impeccable.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Are you up to performing your duties today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well.” He gave her a stern look. “See that you stay in Mrs. Winters’s good graces.”

That had always been her intent, she thought, leaving his office.

The bundle Ellie had sent was still in the hallway where Sophie had left it. She carried it up the back stairs and emptied the pockets of her smelly skirt. Adding her clothing to the nearest laundry bag in the hall, she took time to include a note.

Back in her room, she dressed in a clean pressed uniform, dabbed lilac water on her wrists and throat and arranged her hair. She paused with the folded papers in her palm. She needed to destroy these posters. Hiding them wasn’t good enough.

It was easy to slip down to the overheated bustling kitchen, slide aside a stove lid, and drop the papers into the fire. Pleased with herself, she stepped back. The whole task had taken a turn down a dirt road last night, but she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. Now no one was going to run across those drawings and connect her to her past.

She could truly breathe easy again.

After a long blistering meeting with the city and county officers and an exchange of telegrams with the county seat, Clay met with George Lent, a mason, and a carpenter named Frank Prouty to create a list of supplies. He then sent a wire to Topeka ordering brick.

Al Greene pushed a stack of telegrams across the counter toward him. “All these came this afternoon. I knew you’d be back so I didn’t send a runner.”

Clay thanked him and took the messages.

Standing in the shade of the roof over the boardwalk, he thumbed though the papers. He read a couple of follow-up notes regarding the construction of the new jailhouse followed by replies to his queries to neighboring counties and states.

None of the lawmen had information about anyone meeting Morgan’s description. So far the news didn’t flesh out his instincts. He stuffed the messages into his pocket and reached to unloop his horse’s reins from the hitching rail. He still had a full day of getting a temporary office put together ahead, and he had yet to visit the gunsmith and the hardware store.

Mounting, he headed toward north Main. The same group of plains Indians he’d seen earlier were loading supplies into the back of a wagon with the help of one of the mercantile owner’s hired men.

Clay nodded to the men and tipped his hat to the women. The females greeted him with smiles. “No paper,” one of the women said to him.

“No paper,” he agreed, with a grin.

Odd how Sophie had spotted that con going on right there on the platform with so many people crowded together. But then Newton was the place for it, the railroad hub, and everyone who came through by rail passed that station. The people who worked at the Arcade probably saw more than anyone else.

He found himself wondering if he’d have a chance to visit the dining hall with all he had going on. Eating there had become much more appealing of late.

Chapter Five