The Scoundrel's Bride (13 page)

Zach Burkett was the evil one. Lies and falsehoods spilled from his mouth like sugar from a slotted spoon. The purpose behind this particular lie was something Morality had yet to figure out.

The door to the clock tower squeaked open. She shut her eyes; she couldn’t face that devil again tonight. “Leave me alone, Zach Burkett.”

Patrick called hesitantly, “Morality?”

She’d never heard a more welcome voice.

“Mr. Zach said I should come up here.” Stepping into the room, the boy shut the door behind him, then moved to stand by her side. He laid a hand on her shoulder and asked, “Are you all right, Morality?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t know. Devil doubts and disbeliefs.
Oh, Lord, help me
. “Patrick, do you know anything about morning-glory seeds?”

THE
WHOO-WHOO
of a steamer’s whistle announced the arrival of the
Ben Milam
at the Northside Landing. Standing near the gangplank, Cottonwood Creek’s most distinguished citizen, Congressman E.J. Marston, waved to the crowd gathered to welcome him and his wife, Henrietta, home from Washington.

Gossips swarmed like mosquitoes the moment they stepped ashore. Almost immediately, the congressman turned to his wife and the pair engaged in a short, obviously heated, private discussion. Forgoing the usual homecoming speech, E.J. escorted Henrietta to a buggy waiting to carry them to their home, Season’s House. He saw his wife off, then headed for the offices of Marston Shipping. By the time he reached the three-story building on the courthouse square, he’d heard six different accounts of the Burkett Bastard’s return and subsequent public appearance.

E.J.’s complexion was as red as the building’s bricks when he marched inside and demanded an immediate meeting with his brother, Joshua, president of the company.

Due to the customary late morning lull in business, all was quiet as the two Marston brothers entered Joshua’s office for a private discussion concerning an old thorn in the family backside—Zachary Burkett.

Joshua remained silent as E.J. appropriated his desk and chair. Some things never changed. After shutting the door, he took a seat on the opposite side of the broad mahogany desk.

“Helluva thing for a man to come home to,” E.J. said, exploring the drawers of Joshua’s desk. He pulled out a pair of tumblers and a bottle of aged bourbon. “So,” he abruptly demanded, “how do you propose to solve this predicament?”

Joshua replied with a scowl. Watching his brother pour their drinks, he took a moment to frame his remarks. At fifty-four, Congressman Marston was a tall, vital man whose silver hair and lined face accentuated the elder-statesman persona he characterized. Younger by four years, Joshua had grown up in awe of E.J.’s charisma and aware of his ruthlessness.

His sibling could be mean as hell with the hide off. From boyhood, Joshua had learned to imitate his brother’s actions, sometimes taking them a step further in an attempt to prove himself. But the behavior hadn’t come naturally to Joshua, and it had taken years and maturity for him to realize E.J.’s way wasn’t necessarily the best way.

By that time, a good amount of damage had been done, part of which they dealt with here today.

“It’s a real problem, E.J., and I’m not at all certain just how it’ll end.” Joshua massaged his graying temples with his fingertips and sighed. “It’s worse than when word got around town that I’d bought the house for Sarah Burkett. You’d think after all these years Louise would have made peace with the idea, but she hasn’t. I worry about what she might do.”

E.J. Marston shot a hard look at Joshua over the top of his glass as he sipped his bourbon. In a deceptively calm voice, he drawled, “What are you trying to say, Joshua?”

Joshua’s hands gripped his chair’s armrest, and he pushed to his feet. He paced the room, his footsteps a rhythmic thud against the polished hardwood floor. Twice he raked his fingers through his hair, searching for the words and the courage to say what he must. The nervous crack of his knuckles sounded like gunshots to his ears. He took a deep breath, then said, “My wife wants to tell the truth.”

For a long moment, silence filled the office. E.J. very precisely set his glass on the desk, then leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. His tone was conversational, but his eyes were blue ice as he said, “My dear little brother, you do understand the ramifications of such an act?”

Joshua laughed grimly. “I guess the first thing that jumps to mind is the likelihood we’d lose Marston Shipping.”

E.J. scowled. “You should never have told Louise—”

“Let’s not get into ‘should nevers,’ all right?” Joshua interrupted, his temper flaring. His brother had no right to criticize. They wouldn’t have this problem had the situation been properly handled thirty years ago. He grabbed his glass from the desk and tossed back the bourbon. The liquor burned down his throat, filling him with a welcome warmth.

Fear carried a distinctive chill.

He said, “We need to find out why Burkett has returned.”

The congressman withdrew a pipe and leather tobacco pouch from his pocket. “I was told he explained that over at the tent revival last night. I understand he put on a real show, preached a blue streak, even held up bloody hands.”

As he went about the ritual of filling his pipe, he sneered. “Sounded like he was real successful, too. Maybe I should steal his idea, incorporate a bit of blood into my next speech against taxes. Bleed the poor electorate dry, that sort of thing.”

“This is serious,” Joshua snapped, returning to his seat. “A railroad could put us out of business.”

“True,” E.J. agreed, nodding. “That’s why we’ve opposed every attempt to run a line through East Texas. What’s it been now, three times?”

“Four.” Joshua grimaced. His brother’s nonchalant attitude grated on his nerves. “But this Burkett’s taking an approach that just might work. He’s preying on people’s religious beliefs and putting God in the railroad business. Hell, even the Marstons will have trouble battling that opponent.”

“We are more used to dealing with the devil, aren’t we?”

Joshua couldn’t argue with that. E.J. drew on his pipe, then blew rings of smoke toward his brother. “You’re right, Joshua,” he said, after a few moments. “These circumstances are different.” Pausing, he pointed his pipe stem in emphasis as he added, “And they’re just what we’ve needed all along.”

“What?” Joshua was shocked.

“Think about this, brother,” the congressman instructed. “Up until now, the railroads that wanted to run a line through eastern Texas all had one thing in common. Each was a private company, and none of them offered to let Marston Shipping in on the deal. If what I was told is true, that’s not the way Burkett’s deal is structured.”

Joshua was beginning to see the direction his brother’s mind was taking. “Burkett’s selling stock.”

E.J. nodded. “Send a man to the Texas Southern main office in New Orleans,” he said, refilling his glass. “We need to find out if Burkett’s on the up and up. If so—”

“We’ll buy stock in the Texas Southern,” Joshua finished.

“Lots of it. If the Cottonwood Creek/Texas Southern partnership is set up similar to the way that railroad has done it in other parts of the country. They form a subsidiary company and split the profits. It works well for both the railroad and the local investors.” He took a long sip of bourbon and said, “We could end up with controlling interest in our local spur.”

Joshua’s thoughts were rushing. “We could control prices.”

“Yes. There are many ways we could take advantage of the situation. I’ve wanted a piece of a railroad for a long time, Joshua. It’s a natural expansion of our business. This is the first time a deal’s been right for us.”

“I don’t know, E.J.” Joshua rubbed his cheek with his palm. “Even if Burkett s telling the truth and he’s doing this out of some religious mission, I don’t see him letting us in on much of the deal.”

The congressman barked a laugh. “Don’t be a fool. We wouldn’t buy it in our own name. Really, Joshua, I’m surprised you’ve done as well as you have with Marston Shipping if you limit your thinking that way.”

Joshua’s face turned red. “We’d be fools not to have some suspicions where Burkett’s concerned. Besides, we wouldn’t have to worry about the bastard at all if not for you.
I
had the problem handled nicely until you got involved.”

“We needn’t worry about Burkett now—unless you fail to control your wife,” E.J. replied coldly. “It’s the only thing that could destroy us—an indiscretion on Louise’s part. If I lose this election, then the Red River raft is history. That’s an eventuality Marston Shipping must prepare for, but we’re not near ready yet. This railroad deal should help solve the problem given time, but in order to provide us the time we need, I have to chair that appropriations committee next term. I’m liable to lose the election if Louise talks.”

Joshua rubbed the back of his neck as he stared unseeing at a paneled wall. Then he voiced the worry that had been plaguing him since learning of Zach Burkett’s return to Cottonwood Creek. “Maybe he already knows, E.J. Maybe that’s why he came back.”

“He can’t know,” the congressman said flatly. He paused to relight his pipe. Puffs of white smoke rose above his head, and the scent of burley and latakia drifted on the air. “We are the only ones who know the truth.”

“Henrietta knows,” Joshua corrected, referring to E.J.’s wife.

His brother arched a brow. “Joshua, you don’t believe
she’d
say anything, do you?”

Joshua didn’t have to reply. Henrietta Marston was the very definition of a political wife. She spent a good portion of her time guarding the closet door that hid the family skeletons.

He’d mentioned her name only in the interest of accuracy. The next name he spoke, he said out of fear. “Sarah Burkett knew.”

“Come on, brother!” E.J. said, shaking his head. “The woman’s been dead for almost twenty years.”

“She could have told the boy before she died.”

“No…” For the first time, Joshua heard a note of doubt in his brother’s voice. The congressman put down his pipe in favor of his bourbon. “He’d have used it before now.”

“How can you be certain? We know nothing of the man he’s become.”

“That’s not quite true.” E.J. flicked a fingernail against the crystal tumbler. When Joshua questioned him with a look, he explained. “I stumbled across his name about five years ago. He was involved in a land dispute out West. Anyway, the name caught my eye, and I had him investigated. Sure enough, he was our Zachary Burkett. Seems that Sarah’s bastard had made quite a name for himself in the gold fields.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

The congressman sneered and said, “I knew you’d tell Louise and get her stirred up. Actually, I never imagined we’d see him again. He lived a good life out in California—a real rags-to-riches story. Details about the first ten years or so after Sarah died were near to nonexistent, but somehow he ended up smack-dab in the middle of the gold rush. He’s been stiff in the heels ever since.”

Joshua took his seat. He drummed his fingers against the mahogany desktop and thought. “If he knew, you’d think he’d have used the information against us by now.”

“Exactly. He doesn’t know, Joshua. Sarah Burkett died without telling him.”

“Maybe we’d have been better off if she had.” Joshua breathed a weary sigh. “This would all be over. Hell, we’d probably both be dead, and sometimes I think we deserve such a fate. What we’ve done to Zachary Burkett is wrong.”

“Don’t let your heart bleed on the desk.” Sarcasm broadened E.J.’s voice. “If you want to feel guilty, do it somewhere else.”

Joshua wondered if he had the guts to throw a punch at his brother, but the ringing of a bell downstairs announced the arrival of another Marston steamer to the docks and saved Joshua the humiliation of admitting his cowardice to himself.

The brothers finished their drinks in silence, then stood to continue with the day’s duties. As they walked to the door, E.J. grasped his brother’s arm and said, “I have a tough campaign to run. The election will be here before you know it. It’s imperative you control your wife.”

Joshua shook free of E.J.’s grasp and replied through gritted teeth. “I’ll see to Louise.” Then, as his gaze fell upon one of the portraits hanging at the end of the hallway, a painting of E.J., Henrietta, and their daughter, Virginia, he scowled and added, “But I’m warning you to be careful around Zach Burkett. He may not have all the facts, but the hairs on the back of my neck are telling me he’s here to hurt us.”

E.J. noted the direction of his gaze. “He won’t have the chance, brother dear.” He cocked his head toward the picture and added, “Zach Burkett’s visit to Cottonwood Creek will be necessarily brief. In fact, it will also be his last.”

MORALITY ADDED deadwood to the cook fire she’d built behind the revival tent and muttered grumpily beneath her breath. She was hot and she was tired. Tugging off her bonnet, she wiped the perspiration from her brow. This promised to be an exceedingly long day.

Steam rose from the cast-iron kettle, plastering her dress to her chest. She plucked at her bodice, unfastening the top three hooks and pulling the old brown homespun away from her skin. The damp cloth made her feel sticky and itchy. She grimaced, then dipped her chin and blew a stream of air down her front.

It didn’t help. Nothing helped. She’d been in a blue mood since awakening this morning after too few hours of sleep. Ordinarily, she looked forward to her task of mixing the elixir her uncle served at his prayer meetings. It was something she enjoyed, a job she found soothing, and one that provided ample opportunity for her to escape into a few daydreams.

Sometimes she stirred a pot of savory stew for the Heroes of the Alamo on the eve of Santa Anna’s arrival. Upon occasion she agitated clothes in the family wash tub, sharing laughs with her husband and half-dozen children who frolicked in the yard of their comfortable farmhouse. Today the daydream was more of a nightmare, a troublesome image of a witch whipping up mischief in her caldron.