The Marshal's Pursuit (13 page)

She and Charlie ambled over as if they didn’t have a care in the world and stopped before Frank.

“I found Worth with the workers,” she said with cheer and a smile he knew was for his benefit. “Superintendent Patterson appeared like magic. The workers called him
Come il Vento
because, like the wind, he always seems to be everywhere in the park.”

Charlie blushed. He looked to Frank. “She told them she was a recent immigrant who spoke nothing but Italian and was so thankful to be in America.”

She looked to Charlie. “I worried I was a bit too exuberant in my newfound patriotism.”

“You were convincing.” He turned to Frank. “If I hear anything suspicious, I’ll let you know.” He gave Malia the dog. “Take care, Miss Carr.”

“Thank you again,” she answered.

Charlie returned to the worksite, and Frank fell into step with Malia, the only sound an occasional broken twig and his rough breathing. And the dog—he smelled. Frank followed as Malia led him on a path through the woods to a grassy rock-covered hillside easier to traverse than where he’d come through.

“You’re rather silent,” Malia put in.

“You didn’t have to chase the dog,” Frank snapped as they reached where the ground leveled and the woods turned into his grandparents’ grassy lawn.

Malia stopped. “I think I preferred your silence.”

“He would have returned eventually.”

“Considering what Worth means to your grandmother, I couldn’t take the risk.”

“You should have,” he bit off, his heart still racing and blood pounding. He shouldn’t have yelled. She didn’t realize the danger she put herself in. He cared about the dog’s safety, but not as he cared about hers. “You have to stop being so naive as to believe everyone has good intentions. Stop being a woman who takes candy from strangers.”

She released a loud, I-am-losing-my-patience-with-you sigh. “What has come over you?”

He’d known from the beginning she would do something foolish. “All it takes is for one of those workers to see a photo in the dailies and recognize you.”

“They’re poor workers, Frank. They don’t simply hop on the first train to Manhattan whenever they like.”

“They can use a phone.”

She rolled her eyes then resumed walking to the house.

“In five days anything could happen,” he called out.

“It won’t.”

Frank ran to catch up with her. “I’m taking precautions for your safety.”

“A person can’t take precautions to prevent every bad thing.” She stopped at the summer entrance. “What about discovering your brother is a gangster? Or learning your life is a facade? Or being told your brother wants you out of his life? What precautions could I have taken to prevent those things from happening?”

The pain in her eyes—it was like looking at Katie. He couldn’t end her pain any more than he could help his sister.

* * *

He looked burdened. Wrecked. Malia knew the fault was hers. In hindsight, chasing after Worth hadn’t been the wisest of ideas. She could have waited a bit and if Worth hadn’t returned, she could have sent a footman. In her selfish need to rescue Worth, she hadn’t considered how her action would hurt Frank, just as she hadn’t thought how involving Irene would put her in danger.

Malia stepped closer. “I’m sorry. Today is my day for blundering, it seems.” She drew in a breath and cringed. Worth smelled foul. “Can we talk later? I need to bathe Worth before your grandmother returns.”

He nodded.

She hurried inside and up the stairs to the bathroom used by guests who didn’t have one en suite. She set Worth down in the claw-foot tub.

“Sit,” she ordered. He did but trembled. She knelt on the rug then gave him a treat from her apron pocket. “I’m sorry. I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

In moments he was soaked.

“Malia, I need to tell you something.”

She jerked her head toward Frank standing next to the door she’d forgotten to close. “You can’t be in here. Go,” she said, waving a bar of soap at him.

He stepped off the tile floor and into the wood-planked hallway.

She glared at him.

He didn’t leave.

Face warming, Malia focused on lathering Worth.

“Katie was kidnapped when she was thirteen,” he said matter-of-factly.

She stared at him. No one had said anything.

“We were on holiday at the beach,” he went on. “That summer Mother decided the best way to teach Katie and me to get along was to make us do things together.”

“Mamma did the same.”

“Did it work?”

She thought for a moment. “No,” she said, scrubbing Worth’s belly. “We didn’t stop bickering until I left for Vassar.”

“I wish I could say Katie and I stopped.” He paused. “No, that’s not true. I did after we got her back.”

She wasn’t surprised. Losing a loved one—or almost losing—had to change a person’s thinking.

“We were tasked with procuring sarsaparillas from a vendor. I was angry because I wanted lemonade, but Katie—” He shook his head. “Katie always got what she wanted. So when this man stopped her and asked for directions, I didn’t wait for her. I walked away. Our parents received ransom demands cautioning against going to the police on threat of her life. Every time Father went to make the exchange, the kidnappers failed to appear.”

Unable to grasp the magnitude of how his family—how he—felt, Malia began rinsing Worth, who didn’t like the water yet obediently sat. “How did you get her back? Did she escape?”

“Grandfather contacted a friend who was a judge. He immediately brought in the marshals. They found her.”

Malia turned off the water with one hand and held Worth down with the other to keep him from shaking. She nodded to the towels stacked neatly on a bench under the tall window. “Could you...?”

Frank quickly claimed one for her. He held it open, then looked down and clearly realized he was inside the bathroom. Before she could say anything, he wrapped the towel around Worth, scooped him up and hurried back into the hall. Malia grabbed a second towel. They walked to the sitting room at the top of the stairs. Frank sat on the sofa in front of the set of three cathedral windows and held Worth as Malia dried him.

“Is that why you became a marshal?” she asked.

He nodded. “Marshal Henkel called while I was talking with Katie and Rose. Edwin Daly has been indicted. The deposition has been moved up to tomorrow. It’s time to leave Oz, Dorothy, but—” he scratched Worth’s head “—little Toto here gets to stay.” He was attempting to lighten the mood; she knew him too well.

Something flickered in his eyes. Something he didn’t want her to see. Something he was hiding. For him to hide anything from her meant the news wasn’t good. It had to be about her brother, or Irene, or any of the people she’d spoken to that day.

Malia swallowed, trying to calm the sudden pounding in her chest. She moistened her lips. When she spoke again, her voice was rough. “Who is it?”

He looked at her, all innocent. “Who is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Frank Louden,” she snapped. “Who’s been hurt?”

“Irene.”

Malia drew in a sharp breath. “How did it—”

“She’s not dead,” he blurted. “The mafiosi
have been following her for weeks. My partner Winslow has been protecting her, but last night they got the jump on him. Irene took a few hits before Winslow ran them off. They said if she doesn’t stop you from testifying, you will both die. Starting with her.”

Chapter 13

Exhibitions of anger, fear, hatred, embarrassment, ardor or hilarity, are all bad form in public.

—Emily Price Post,
Etiquette

Tweed Courthouse
Manhattan Island
April 26, 1901

A
nimals in a zoo—that’s what she and Giovanni were to them.

Malia watched their audience—five standing in a row along the wall while she and Giovanni sat across from each other at the table in the center of the conference room. Frank, his hand resting on a gun hilt. Irene dressed defiantly in a red day dress despite a swollen lip and black eye. Flanking them...Special Prosecutor Cady; Giovanni’s lawyer, Mr. Sirica; and Chief Marshal Henkel. As a consequence of her meeting with Giovanni at the police department seventeen days ago, no appeal to the judge could earn them a private reunion. Frank’s meager proficiency in Dutch granted him access, since none of the rest of their audience could speak it. Who knew how many others were, somehow, listening in.

Only she and Giovanni were people, not animals, who had lives that had been destroyed because—oh, the irony of it all—fifty-six years ago Antonio Vaccarelli and his new bride immigrated to New York in their pursuit of the American Dream. Nonno’s dream, though, had been to honor his father’s request he expand Sicily’s Old World mafiosi
into the New World.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I killed Mad Dog Miller?” Giovanni stretched his arms across the table.

Malia gripped his cuffed hands. “I don’t want to know if you killed him, or anyone,” she answered honestly. “Knowing won’t lessen my love for you.”

He smiled somewhat. While Giovanni had no bruises that she could see, his face was leaner. Whatever food he’d been living on in jail wasn’t crab cakes and steak. Between his oversize white-and-black bee-striped uniform and her white lace dress with the soot-stained hem, they looked nothing like the
nouveau riche
they were.

Her heart tightened. Pride did go before destruction. A haughty spirit did go before a fall.

Giovanni’s dark brows drew together. “You look petrified.”

“I am. For you.”

“Don’t be.” His gaze drifted for but a second to their audience. “Malia,” he said in a gentle voice, “everything I have done is to protect you. I need you to understand that everything I do next is to protect you.”

Frank cleared his throat.

Malia’s uneasiness grew even more. She looked to Frank, and he gave her a look simple to read: ask him. Frank was right. She needed to know the truth. But if she wasn’t careful, she could make things worse for Giovanni.

She leveled her chin, keeping her gaze high despite the weakness she felt. “You knew all along what I would do.”

The corner of his mouth indented. “You are...predictable.”

Her body went still. Those three insignificant words spoke what he couldn’t directly say. But she knew. Her breathing grew ragged, choking. Her head shook. Lips pursed, trembled. He had judged her life and found her to be honest and true, just as a proper, Christian woman should be. He knew she would be faithful too. He knew she wouldn’t leave him unless he took away her ability to stay. Tears flooded her eyes. She wanted to live free, not behind glass walls or social exclusivity. She wanted something abundant and true, and she wanted her brother to be a part of her life. Not alone. She couldn’t be alone.

She clung to his hands. “You can’t do this to me, Giovanni,” she cried. “You can’t make me go.”

“You have to.”

“No!” she sobbed, her heart shattering like glass. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes. You. Will,” he ordered. “You will leave New York.”

A hand rested on her shoulder, a handkerchief hanging down. Frank.

Malia gasped at the air, desperate to control her breathing. She took his offering, but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t risk doing anything that could earn him censure because she’d fallen in love with him. Instead of walking back to his place with their audience, Frank moved to the side wall. A mere three feet from her. He looked at her:
Are you all right?

She gave a little shrug. She tried to smile as she dried her face.

Giovanni looked to Frank. “Are you the one who protected my sister?”

“Yes,” came the flat reply.

“Thank you.” Giovanni let go of Malia and extended a hand—both actually, considering his wrists were cuffed together. He and Frank shook hands.

“Malia,” Giovanni said, turning back to her, “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. The consequences, here and in eternity, are mine to bear. But I didn’t kill Mad Dog. I went to warn him. He was dead when I arrived.” He reached for her hands again. “One of us has to have a future, and that is why I’ve agreed to plea-bargain. The dailies have been notified, so the mafiosi
will know soon, if they don’t already. You are free not to testify. You can provide no information that I can’t as well. Go, start a new life with nothing holding you in the mire.”

She stared, shocked. “Why are you doing this?”

For a second his controlled composure cracked. Then what tears welled in his eyes were blinked away. “Because Grandfather DeWitt asked me to not let what happened to Mamma, Papà and our nonni happen to you.”

Grandfather DeWitt? He’d known about the Vaccarellis’ involvement in the mafiosi? He’d known and she hadn’t? Indignation unsettled her. She should not have been the last to know. She had a right to be involved in the decision making. She wasn’t a pet who sat upon command.

Forgive as you’ve been forgiven. Love as you are loved.

Malia swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. God did command her to love and forgive. By the look in Giovanni’s blue-gray eyes, she knew he wanted neither her advice nor approval. She couldn’t control how he lived his life. And she had no right to force her choices—her faith—on him. She did have the choice to believe God was accomplishing His purposes in every circumstance.

She looked to the special prosecutor. “Sir, what does his future hold?”

“Sentencing is next week,” he answered. “I expect up to twenty years for money laundering and possession of counterfeit currency. He’ll be kept in isolation for his protection, and/or transferred to a federal penitentiary. Either Leavenworth or McNeil Island.”

She nipped at her bottom lip. Leavenworth was in Kansas, but McNeil Island? She’d never heard of it but no matter where he went, she would find him.

Malia raised Giovanni’s hands to her lips and pressed a kiss. “I love you, and I want your life to go well. If this is what you feel is right, then I am praying it all works out well. I will find you again. We’re family. Nothing you do—or don’t do—will change my love for you.”

* * *

As Malia and her brother said goodbyes, Henkel clucked his tongue, drawing Frank’s attention. He tapped his watch then motioned to the ceiling, the message clear. Once Frank had finished attending to Malia, Henkel wanted to see him upstairs in his office.

Frank nodded, although he didn’t know yet what he was going to do with Malia.

Still gripping the handkerchief he gave her, Malia walked with her shoulders held high to Irene, who immediately grabbed Malia’s hand. Henkel opened the door for them.

The moment they stepped into the hallway, Cady walked to Frank. “Excellent job, Louden.” They shook hands. Cady then took a seat at the table.

The lawyer Sirica pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and met Frank at the door. He shook Frank’s hand and gave him the envelope, saying, “See that she arrives safely.”

Safely? He released a wry chuckle. He should have expected something like this. Giovanni Vaccarelli had been too diligent thus far in orchestrating events. He wouldn’t stop now that his sister was free to go. Frank opened the envelope. In block handwriting were detailed instructions that brought a sickening in his stomach and an ache in his heart. At the bottom of the paper was Giovanni Vaccarelli’s bold signature. Frank looked over his shoulder to the prisoner, who was looking at him instead of listening to what Special Prosecutor Cady was saying.

He and Vaccarelli leveled stares.

And then Frank nodded.

Irene and Malia were clinging to each other when Frank arrived at the courthouse door where he and Malia had entered only two hours earlier.

“Will we ever see each other again?” Malia was asking. There was an acceptance in her tone that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I’d like that, but—” Irene’s voice cracked “—how will I know where to find you?”

Using his handkerchief, Malia wiped Irene’s tears. “I will find you. I’m so sorry you were hurt because of me.”

“I have been blessed to call you friend.” Irene smiled then looked to Frank. “Do you have the instructions for where to take her?”

He gave her a rather assessing stare. “You know?”

She nodded. “Three months after Giovanni and I began courting, he shared his intentions because he didn’t want our feelings for each other to deepen without me knowing the truth,” she said and paid no mind to Malia’s wide eyes and gaping mouth. “He asked for my help. By that point, Malia had become like a sister, and I knew I couldn’t say no. We continued the charade of courting for another three months.” Her bruised chin trembled. “I thought I was prepared for this day.”

Frank understood. He, too, had known his time with Malia was limited. No one could prepare for the pain of letting go of a loved one. He waited patiently as the ladies made their final goodbyes, as Malia reassured Irene that she was going to be all right.

Irene rested her hands on each side of Malia’s head. She rose on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on her forehead. “God is forever watching over you.” And then she returned down the hallway whence they came, leaving Malia and Frank alone beside the door.

Malia patted her eyes dry. “Where does the yellow road lead this time?”

Frank swallowed. It did little to ease the lump in his throat. “Would you like to go see the Wizard?”

“If I say yes, who does that make you on my journey?”

The Tin Woodsman, to be sure. Because until he met her, he’d forgotten what it was like to have a heart. One he wished he could rip from his chest because that would hurt less than being in love. He motioned to the door. “I’m just Toto, along for the journey.”

He ushered her out of the courthouse and into a covered carriage where Norma Hogan waited with a change of hat and coat for Malia. Frank whispered instructions to the driver then climbed inside on the seat opposite Malia. Stupid. Torturous. But he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he absolutely had to.

They drove around Manhattan for an hour, both he and Norma checking to see if anyone followed. They turned onto Broadway, already packed with trolley cars, automobiles and horse-drawn carriages, some larger, some smaller than the one they rode in.

Frank could stall no more. He gave the driver the prearranged signal to take them to the DeWitt home. They continued to transverse Manhattan in no logical order. If anyone had been trailing them from the courthouse, they’d have surely lost the trail.

As soon as they pulled up to the pale limestone mansion, Malia drew her gaze from the window. “Why are we...here?”

Frank focused on the carriage wall behind her. “This is where your brother asked me to bring you.” How he got the words past the lump in his throat, he didn’t know.

Norma Hogan closed her book and set it on the bench between them. She took Malia’s left hand between hers. “I am honored to have met you.”

Malia smiled. “I feel the honor is all—”

The driver opened the door, and Frank jumped out of the carriage with a “Stay here, Malia.”

Norma must have been hard on his heels because she stood beside him in an instant. “We weren’t followed.”

“I know.” With Norma watching his every move, Frank pasted a smile on his face and returned to Malia. He swept his arm in an arc. “Milady.”

Malia didn’t move. “I—I, uh, don’t think I can see him after all....” She worried her bottom lip, her beauty mark tormenting him. Was it wrong that here, in front of Norma, Gulian DeWitt, a carriage driver and God himself, all Frank wanted to do was kiss those lips? Claim this beautiful woman as his own? Forsake his family, his fortune and everything he’d been working toward just to be with her?

Yes, yes and yes.

Frank rested his foot on the carriage step. “You can. You have strength and a character that did not shatter upon discovering the truth about your family. Circumstances bend you, but you don’t break. I saw that in Cady’s office. I saw that in Tuxedo. I saw it at the courthouse earlier.” He spoke the words for his benefit as much as for hers.

She looked to the house. The sound of a door opening was accompanied by her eyes widening in fear.

The pain of losing her paled in that moment. “Malia, look at me.”

She did.

“You’ve had twenty-five years of being taught one thing about your grandfather. He isn’t going to change your mind—” he pointed over his shoulder “—the moment you walk in that door. Just give him the benefit of the doubt like you gave me. Please.”

Malia’s eyes teared up, but she stepped out of the carriage. “Thank you. For everything.” She walked past without the customary handshake as though she, too, could not bear to touch him, knowing it would be the breaking point.

Norma shook her head, an exasperated look on her face, and took Malia’s spot inside the carriage.

Frank looked over his shoulder for one final glance of Malia wrapped in her grandfather’s arms. He’d done it. He’d kept her safe. He had returned her home stronger than she was when he found her. They’d said their goodbyes, and he managed not to fall to his knee and profess his undying love. He was a marshal, she a witness. He’d done the right and honorable thing. And it felt as if his heart was being chipped away like ice.

It was time for him to go.

“Tweed Courthouse,” he said to the driver before climbing into the carriage. He settled in the seat across from Norma.

She turned the page in the book. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he said as the carriage started into motion.

“Did you tell her you love her?”

“What?”

“Did you kiss her?”