To Know Her by Name (52 page)

42

Pup lay on her side in bed, her Bible open to Ephesians 2:10. The verses leading up to this passage had spoken of salvation and God's grace, and Pup had read them while still at home. But she didn't remember seeing verse ten before.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

“Your workmanship, Lord. That makes me feel so special and loved,” she prayed softly. “And Your plan. All along You had something You wanted me to do.
Before ordained that I should walk in them.
I love that. I want to walk in the plan You have for me. Please help me to be certain about this job. Nick thinks my thoughts about leaving are because of McKay, but they're not. Help me to make him see.”

The door opened, and Camille put her head in.

“Have breakfast with me?”

“Can you give me about ten minutes?”

“Certainly. Miranda is going to want to know what you're hungry for.”

Pup thought for a moment. “I haven't had that hot cereal she makes for ages—you know, the one with the raisins.”

Camille smiled. “I'll see what I can do.”

Upon Camille's departure, Pup got out of bed and started to dress. She didn't move very fast, and it struck her, not for the first time, that when she wore a wig, there wasn't much she had to do with herself. Nick had brought her things, the dark wig among them, from the apartment the night before, and she was now able to be more comfortable in a dress. It wasn't a problem with McKay or the members of this household, but should so much as a messenger boy come to the door, a woman with hair almost as short as a man's would certainly draw attention.

It was a given that she would wear the wig tonight, but what dress? Pup stood at the wardrobe and pondered the matter. She'd had the navy on when McKay came yesterday. Maybe she should wear that one again.

“Are you coming?” Camille was at the door again, and Pup knew she'd been dawdling.

“Yes. I was just thinking about tonight.”

“You're not headed home, are you?”

“No, McKay is taking me to dinner, and I'm wondering what to wear.”

The women took the stairs, walking side by side.

“You've fallen rather quiet,” Pup commented when they reached the landing.

“I was just wondering if the reason you didn't mention your plans to go out tonight had to do with Nick.”

“Yes. He's upset enough already.”

“I know he is, Callie, and I feel for him, but you can't live your life around Nick's wishes. You'll just have to tell him that you love McKay more than you love the job.”

They both took seats at the dining room table. Miranda had already put the food on and the women began to eat.

“I guess that's the problem, Camille. This is not really about McKay, and I just don't think Nick will understand.”

Camille could have told her that
she
didn't understand but made herself stay quiet. If this wasn't about McKay, then what or whom?

“It seems to me that Nick sees McKay as the problem,” Pup's hostess said slowly. “Why don't you think he'll be pleased to hear the real reason?”

“First of all, I don't think he'll be pleased because even though it's not about McKay, I'm still leaving the treasury. My biggest fear is that he'll think
I
think I'm better than everyone else.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because of my beliefs. I need to leave this life of undercover work because I think it's wrong for me to keep up this constant false front. Before the Lord I can't do it anymore. You've always listened to me, Camille, so I feel free to share with you, but when I asked Nick for my Bible, he got a strange look on his face.”

Camille sighed. “That's certainly the truth. Just yesterday I was thinking about how crushed Nick would be if he knew I yearned for spiritual things. He prides himself in being a fine provider, and he is, so I think he'll take it personally if I ever tell him I want more.”

“I didn't know that, Camille,” Pup said quietly.

The older woman looked down at her food. “The first time you talked to me, I didn't know if I agreed with you or not, but when you went away there was a hole inside, a hole that has been there all along—one I've never known how to fill.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I don't know. Maybe what you have isn't for everyone.”

Pup had to think on that. She had never considered that some might not be included in God's plan to save souls. It didn't make sense to her.

“I think you should keep searching, Camille,” she told her friend sincerely. “I mean, there are so many verses that say Christ died for the whole world. That sounds to me as if He means everyone.”

“I have so many fears,” the older woman admitted, and Pup's heart broke when she saw the tears in her eyes. “What if I can't do it, Callie, what if God asks more from me than I can give?”

Pup bit her lip. “I wish I knew more,” she said fervently. “I wish I had all the answers for you.” She paused, her mind racing. “I think you might need to ask yourself one question, Camille.”

“What's that?”

“Could my coming to God make me more empty or miserable than I am now?”

It was Camille's undoing. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Pup rose and immediately went to her side. She put her arms around her and simply held her while she cried. Miranda came in with coffee, her concerned eyes intent on her friend and employer, but she left without speaking. When Camille seemed to be in control again, Pup pulled a chair close.

“Do you have a Bible?”

“Yes,” Camille whispered.

“Read it, Camille. It's all in there. Everything you need to know is there. I refuse to believe that God would hide from anyone; He's too loving for that. If you seek after Him, you'll find Him. In fact, I think these feelings of wanting to know Him are
from
Him. Does that make sense?”

Camille nodded. She felt a headache starting, but her heart was lighter. She didn't have to be left out. She could search like anyone else.

“Thank you, Callie.”

“I don't feel I did much.”

“You did quite a bit.”

They went back to their food and continued to talk through several cups of coffee, Camille wanting to know what Pup was going to say to Nick. Pup had to admit that she wasn't too sure. The older woman also had to know if Pup was ready to go to the jail. Pup responded that she'd have to be since she'd made up her mind to see her brother. She just hoped that McKay could be with her.

“I'm still confused about one thing,” Camille remarked. “If McKay's not a main part of the picture right now, why do you want him at the jail, and why are the two of you going out tonight?”

Pup blinked. “I didn't explain myself very well. McKay is very much a part of the picture. I'm in love with him, but whether or not we'd ever met, I'd still be leaving the treasury.”

“So McKay hasn't pressed you to do this?”

“No.”

Camille's brows rose. “I don't think Nick knows that.”

“No, he probably doesn't. He was in no mood to be reasonable last night, so I couldn't tell him.”

They ran out of words then, both busy with their emotions and thoughts. They thanked Miranda for the meal when she came to check on them, and then the women went off in various pursuits: Pup to pray about seeing Jubal and confronting Nick, and Camille to find the family Bible. She had some reading to do.

The Denver courthouse and jail was not a cold structure, but Pup felt a chill go over her. It wasn't the dark brick of the building or the bars on the windows; it was the fact that men chose to come to this place. They would never see it that way, but it was still true. Choices were made and consequences were often paid within these walls.

This was strongly on Pup's mind as she and Nick made their way inside. That he was a familiar figure was obvious from the greeting he received from several men. Both Nick and Pup had to sign in, but it wasn't long before they were shown to a doorway and led inside. Nick had a few words with the guard escorting them, and a moment later the guard left them alone, closing the portal in his wake.

The hallway was dim. Pup had feared that she would have to walk down between rows of cells, but instead she was taken to a section with roomlike enclosures. The walls between the cells were solid, sporting bars only on the front. After they had entered, Nick told her which cell it was and that there was no one else there, but she still felt frightened. However, she was pleased that Nick hung back, allowing her to step before Jubal's cell alone. She did so now, the light from a high window coming full on her face.

“Pup?” her brother's voice came to her, and he rose from a solitary bunk. “Is that you?”

“Hi, Jubal,” she said softly, watching as he came to the bars. For a moment they just stared at each other, the years falling away. To Pup's mind he didn't look tough at all, not like she was expecting. Jubal thought Pup looked just like Govern and Papa.

“How did you know I was here?”

“A friend told me. Are you all right?”

Jubal looked away. He'd never been caught before. He'd never spent even one night in jail, and now it looked like he'd be spending the rest of his nights in jail. He finally looked back at her.

“Is it true about Govern, Pup? Did he die at the cabin?”

“Yeah,” tears filled her eyes. “I buried him next to Mama and Papa.”

Jubal had to look away again.

“Do you ever ask yourself how you and Govern got to this place, Jubal? Do you ever think about that?”

He shrugged. “Only if I think of Mama. I'm just glad she can't see me now.” He looked at his sister. “Were you with her when she died, Pup?”

“Yes. She got sick and wouldn't go down to see the doctor. I was afraid to leave her. She died one night in her sleep.”

They looked at each other again.

“I went back to the cabin once, but you weren't around.”

“When was that?”

“'Bout five years back I guess.”

Pup nodded; she could have been anywhere.

“I need you to know something, Jubal. I'm on the other side of the law from you. The man who brought you in is the friend who told me you were here. He's very special to me.”

To her infinite relief, he only nodded. “Harrington's all right. He was just doing his job. He doesn't rough a man up when his hands are cuffed behind his back.”

“You're right; he would never do that.”

“So you're living here in Denver now—with him?”

“No, it's not like that. I don't live with any man. I'm still at the cabin.”

Jubal looked her up and down, not able to miss the fine cut of her dress. “You look good.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you and Govern talk before he died?”

“Not really. He was angry and wanted money.” Even if Jubal never wanted to hear from her again, she had to lay the truth between them. “Do you know who shot him?”

“I heard it was Harrington.”

“It was.”

“And that doesn't bother you?” His voice was surprisingly mild.

“Of course it bothers me. It would bother me no matter who it was. McKay nearly died from the wounds Govern inflicted. That bothers me, too.” She knew she had to be blunt. “There was no talking to Govern, Jubal, and you know that. He shot first. It was a mess.”

They fell silent for a time. Pup couldn't tell if he wanted her to leave or not. She remembered the basket in her hands.

“I brought you some cookies and a small loaf of bread.” She pushed the basket toward the bars which separated them. Jubal took it.

“You make these?”

“No, I'm an awful cook. Camille Wallace made them.” She again forced herself to be brutally honest.

“Camille Wallace,” Jubal said the name slowly, “as in the wife of Nick Wallace, head of the treasury?”

“Yes. I stay at their house when I'm in Denver.”

Jubal's whistle was whisper soft. “You
are
on the other side of the law.”

Pup nodded, regret filling her. Not regret that she'd chosen the right path, but that, standing here now, she believed with all her heart that Jubal could have done anything, been anything, but he'd chosen crime.

“I've been learning some new things lately, Jubal. I'd like to share them with you, but I'm not going to be in town much longer.”

He nodded, his eyes still on hers.

“Will they allow you mail in here?”

“I think so.”

“If I write to you, will you read my letters and write back?”

“Yeah.” He seemed surprised that she would want to keep in touch. “I'll write back to you.”

It was more than she could have hoped for.

“When's your trial?”