Читать книгу The Lawman's Bride - Cheryl St. John - Страница 11

Sophie’s heart stopped, thinking of the prisoner who’d been sleeping in a cell, of the old dog inside. She glanced around, not seeing anyone nearby. Icy dread compressed her chest. Minutes ago she’d been glad the street was deserted; but now she wished for someone to appear so she wouldn’t have to reveal her unexplainable presence there.

She never did anything impulsively, but instinct took over this time. Running back, she threw open the door and nudged the dog who still lay on its bundle of blankets. “Go outside! Get!”

She grabbed the keys. A hallway brought her to a row of cells lit through the barred window by the nearest streetlight on Main. Thick acrid smoke filled the entire rear portion of the building, and flames licked at the outside corner. A man she could barely make out through the haze clung to the bars of the cell where he was trapped. He attempted to shout at her, but only coughed.

Sophie knelt to the cell door and wasted precious seconds wiping tears from her burning eyes. She couldn’t take a breath without her lungs feeling as though they would burst. The waves of heat were terrifying and the acrid smell of burning wood cloying.

“Get me outta here!” the man shouted.

“I’m trying!”

The ring slipped from her fingers and clanged on the floor. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Lady, ple-e-ase!”

Sophie fumbled for the right key and slid it into the lock, twisting until the tumblers rolled and the door swung open, clanging against the next cell.

The choking prisoner stumbled past her.

“Is there anyone else?” she called after him.

He was gone.

The other doors were slightly ajar, indicating empty cells so she ran toward the front, pausing at a wheezing sound. The dog.

“Where are you, fella?” She stumbled across the room, smoke billowing from the rear now. Her lungs ached and her eyes burned. She couldn’t draw a breath that didn’t taste like ash.

“Anybody in here?” someone called from the open doorway.

“Yes!” She coughed. “I’m looking for the dog!”

“Get outta there, lady!”

Following the wheezing whine, she found the animal cowering under the desk. She had to get down on all fours and use every last ounce of strength to catch its front legs and drag the mutt toward her.

“Lady!”

The dog weighed as much as she did, and she was out of breath, but she tugged with all her might, inching the trembling animal toward safety.

The man met her at the doorway, and helped her lift the dog. Together they stumbled away from the burning jail until she collapsed in the middle of the street with the dog across her lap.

Several men gathered around and stared.

“Did someone go for the fire department?” she asked, her voice a rasp.

“Harry went,” was the reply. One by one they turned to watch the fire.

She coughed until her chest ached. Sophie moved the dog aside and used the hem of her skirt to wipe her running eyes.

When she could squint, she glanced around. The prisoner was nowhere to be seen. Sophie collapsed backward in the dust. Of all the luck.

What seemed like an eternity was only minutes as she waited. Finally the firemen turned out with their horse-drawn wagon holding barrels of water.

Marshal Vidlak and another deputy arrived and helped Sophie out of the street and over to a patch of dry grass. “You’re one o’ them girls from the Arcade, ain’t you?”

Sophie glanced at the man and nodded.

The younger deputy had gone back for the dog and laid him beside where Sophie sat. The poor animal sounded as though it couldn’t catch a breath.

“I’m surprised that damned dog made it out,” the marshal said. “Cain’t walk further’n two feet at a stretch.”

“I pulled him out,” Sophie said.

“The hell you say.”

“Sam!” came a concerned shout.

The dog’s head jerked up.

“Sam!” Unmistakable, that voice.

“Over here, Clay,” Marshal Vidlak returned.

Clay ran toward the gathering and hunkered down on one knee, looking from the dog to the girl with the soot-streaked face.

“Lady here saved your worthless mutt,” Hershel said.

“You saved Sam?” Clay turned his attention to the rescuer. Her midnight-dark hair was loose and falling over one shoulder. Even though the black streaks on her face melded with the darkness, he recognized her. “Miss Hollis?”

She nodded, turned her head aside and coughed so hard, it sounded downright painful.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied with a hoarse voice.

Sam’s breathing didn’t sound so good, but he licked Clay’s hand. Clay studied the smoke and ash rising from the nearly destroyed jail where the firemen were directing the water. He couldn’t turn the thought of Willard DeWeise over in his mind without bile rising in his throat. He glanced at Hershel, and the two men shared an uneasy look.

“Hell of a way to die,” Hershel said with a grimace.

Clay’s gut knotted.

“If you’re talking about your prisoner, he got out,” Miss Hollis croaked.

Clay turned and stared down. “He what?”

“He got out,” she repeated.

All three lawmen turned to listen.

“I—I was—” A racking cough halted her explanation. “I was in the park.”

Her voice was so low and raspy, they knelt to hear.

“The park across from the First Ward School?” Clay asked.

She nodded. “From the corner there I saw the flames. I ran this way. As I got closer, I saw the man you arrested from the lunch counter that day running out the door.” She pointed to the south. “He went that way.”

Clay was relieved to hear the man hadn’t turned to a cinder inside the jail, but the question of how he got out of a locked cell was damned puzzling.

“I heard the dog whining, so I just went in and helped him out.”

Clay and Hershel exchanged another baffled look.

“How the Sam Hill did DeWeise get out of that cell?” Hershel asked aloud.

“Someone had to have unlocked it,” Clay surmised. “One of the deputies.”

They turned and looked at the building. If one of the lawmen was still inside there, he was dead now.

“Account for all the men right now,” Clay ordered the young deputy.

“Yessir.” John Doyle shot away from them.

Miss Hollis attempted to get to her feet, and Clay helped her up with one hand under her arm and one around her slim waist. Her hair smelled like smoke. Few people would have risked their life for a dog’s. “Bet you were sorry you risked your neck once you saw the old mutt,” he said.

She glanced up, but when their eyes met, she looked away. “No.”

Another bout of coughing bent her at the waist.

“I’m takin’ her to Doc Chaney’s,” he told Hershel. “You make sure John reports back so we know if anyone’s missin’.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” the young woman protested.

“Don’t be foolish.” He called to one of the bystanders, “That your wagon? Give us a lift over to the doc’s, will ya?”

He assisted her into the back of the wagon, then settled the dog in. Clay jumped up beside them and nodded for the driver to move the horses forward. “Drive past Doc Chaney’s place on Seventh. Most likely he’s at home.”

Most of the fire was out, but smoke poured into the night sky. The entire ride Clay watched it rise. He wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until all his men were accounted for.

Shortly after Clay turned the bell, the young doctor answered the door. “Evening, Marshal.”

“Doc. Have one of the Harvey Girls out front. The jail’s on fire. She pulled my dog out and now she’s coughin’ mostly. That’s my main concern.”

“Anything coming up when she coughs?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Is she burned?”

“Don’t think so.”

Caleb Chaney turned to the woman who walked up behind him. “The marshal says one of the Harvey Girls breathed in smoke, Ellie.”

“Bring her into the kitchen,” she said immediately. “Don’t waste time taking her to the office.”

Clay was grateful Miss Hollis would be taken care of quickly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Chaney accompanied Clay to the wagon and assisted Miss Hollis up the walk and across the porch.

Inside it smelled like apples and cinnamon. He’d been treated a few times at the man’s office—scrapes on a couple occasions and a bullet wound a year or so ago—but Clay had never been in the doctor’s house before. Doctors earned a hell of a lot more than marshals, he surmised, taking note of the furnishings. Then he remembered Doc Chaney came from a well-to-do ranch family.

The doctor’s wife pulled a rocker toward the kitchen table. “Sit here,” she offered.

Sophie took a seat and the woman lit several oil lamps.

“Can I do anything else, Caleb?” she asked.

“I’m guessing these two could use some water,” he suggested.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Clay told her. “It’s Miss Hollis needs attention.”

Sophie coughed.

Doc asked her to lean forward. “I’m gonna thump you on the back and see if there’s anything that needs to come up,” he told her.

Sophie nodded.

He used his flattened palm to hit her good and hard a couple of times. The awful sound and the resulting expelled breath gave Clay a lump in his chest. He understood the treatment was for her own good, but he sure didn’t cotton to watching.

Ellie Chaney met his eyes with sympathetic understanding. He looked away and rubbed a hand down his face. He’d feel the same about anyone.

“See if you can drink now,” the doctor told Sophie.

She drank a whole glass of water and wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

Mrs. Chaney soaked a cloth and wrung it out. “Let me wash her up a bit now.”

The young doc backed away, giving his wife room to reach Sophie.

“I think she’s fine,” Caleb told Clay. “Doesn’t seem as though her lungs were affected.”

“She can go home then?”

“Isn’t the dormitory locked by this hour?” Mrs. Chaney asked.

Sophie nodded. The whites of her eyes were reddened. “Past curfew.”

“She can stay here,” the woman suggested. “I’ll take the baby into our room and Miss Hollis can sleep on the cot in the nursery.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sophie protested.

“What else would you be doing?” the woman asked. “You’re locked out of the dormitory, so you’ll stay here. Caleb and the marshal will explain to Mr. Webb in the morning. I’ll find something for you to wear.”

After a moment, Sophie said, “That’s very kind of you.”

“What do I owe you for your time, Doc?” Clay asked.

“I will pay my own bill.” Sophie’s emphatic objection started another bout of coughing.

“You wouldn’t have had need of the doc if you hadn’t gone into the jail for my dog, Sophie.”

“I made the choice. I’ll pay my own bill.”

He studied the fractious woman, stubborn and proud as all get-out. Even with remaining black smudges on her chin and forehead and her dark hair a disarray of tangles, she was something to look at.

“Let’s not worry about that tonight,” Dr. Chaney interrupted. “Everyone needs some rest.”

“Make yourselves useful and heat some water,” Ellie directed the men. “Sophie needs a bath before I take her upstairs and get her settled.”

Clay helped pump water and heat it on the stove, then he and the doctor walked out to the front porch.

Caleb raised his face to the sky. “There’s still smoke in the air.”

“Better go see what’s left of the jail. Got some figurin’ out to do, I reckon.”

“Don’t worry about Miss Hollis,” Caleb told him. “She’s going to be just fine.”

Clay took a coin from his pocket. “Will a dollar cover it?”

Dr. Chaney closed his fingers around the coin with a grin. “I have a feeling she’s going to be madder’n a hornet when she finds out you paid.”

“She’ll just have to get her mind right about that,” Clay replied. He glanced out at the wagon still on the street. “Know anything about animals?”

“Know a little about horses.”

“Dogs?”

“Your dog out there?”

Clay nodded.

Caleb followed him down the walkway and through the arbor trellis laden with fragrant roses to the wagon bed.

Sam raised his head with a soft whine.

Caleb petted the animal, then turned him over and put an ear to his chest. “He was probably low enough to escape most of the smoke, unless he was directly in the fire.”

Clay shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s getting up there in years, isn’t he?”

Clay nodded. “Can’t see or hear much anymore. Doesn’t move farther than a few feet on his own.”

Caleb scratched behind the dog’s ear. “His old bones probably hurt something fierce.”

“I know there isn’t a miracle for the old boy.” Clay leaned a hip against the tail gate. “Just don’t have the heart to put ‘im down.”

“An injection would do it. It wouldn’t hurt him.”

Clay absorbed the words. “You could do it?”

The doctor nodded.

“I’ll be thinkin’ on it, Doc. Thanks.”

The driver was still waiting on the seat. “She gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Clay called and offered the doc his hand. “Thanks again.” He climbed onto the wagon seat. As the driver pulled forward, Clay glanced back at the big white two-story house.

It was tough to imagine someone running into the burning jail for the sake of a dog. The impression he had of Sophie was one of a capable women. A woman sure of herself.

She claimed she’d seen the fire from the park and come to have a look. Alone in the park, an unprotected young woman on the streets of Newton at night—she was either fearless or foolish. It was his job to care which.

Ellie Chaney picked up a sleeping infant from the crib. “I’ll be right back as soon as I lie him down in my room.”

Sophie nodded. All she wanted was to sleep and with any luck escape the burning pain in her chest and throat. This kind stranger had helped her bathe and wash her hair, but the stench of smoke remained.

Ellie returned a few minutes later with a cotton night rail. “In the morning I’ll find something for you to wear home.”

“How did you know Mr. Webb’s name?”

“I used to work at the Arcade,” she replied. “Until I broke my arm. Caleb hired me to take care of his son, Nate, until I was better, and one thing led to another. Now here I am, crazy in love and married to him.”

“How old is your baby?”

She turned back the covers on the narrow bed with a smile. “Seven months. His name is David.” She paused a moment, then fluffed up a pillow. “I wasn’t sure I wanted a baby. Caleb had his own child when I married him, and we’re raising my two younger brothers. I had kind of a history, you could say.”

“I understand history.” Sophie had never said anything quite as revealing to anyone, and surprised herself by doing so. It must be because she was so tired and her chest burned so badly. She couldn’t resist asking, “What made you change your mind?”

She’d never believed she would make a good mother, so it was better that she spare a child the suffering.

“Caleb changed my mind. I didn’t know any good men before I met him. It took a while but I learned to trust him. And I learned to trust myself. Our life was good. Our marriage would have been fine just the way it was. But choosing to have a child together formed a deeper trust.”

Sophie studied the other woman, wondering what kind of history she spoke of, wondering if Ellie Chaney had a past that could even compare to Sophie’s. If she knew the people Sophie had known, she would have thought twice about bringing another child into the world. “Well, you seem very happy.”

“We are. Caleb is the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

Ellie turned the wick on the lamp low. “I would never ask questions,” she told Sophie. “I know there are some things that can’t be shared. But if you ever need a friend or someone to talk to, I want you to remember I’m here.”

Had Ellie somehow seen right through her? Sophie’s throat tightened, adding to her discomfort. Her eyes had done nothing but burn and streak tears since she’d escaped that jailhouse. The high level of tension from the evening had obviously weakened her defenses. She wasn’t an emotional person. She was stronger than this. “Thank you.”

The woman wished her a good night and closed the door on her way out. Silence wrapped around Sophie. She imagined the handsome doctor and his pretty wife in their bedroom with their baby lying between them. They were kind and compassionate, unfamiliar qualities where she’d come from. Their generosity unsettled her thinking, shook her world. Were they normal? Was this what other people were like? She compared them to Amanda and Emma and the families they’d spoken of.

How many good people like these had been victims of Sophie’s deceit in the past? She couldn’t bear to think of it.

She glanced at the window, where the parted curtain revealed a slim portion of night sky. Newton was filled with dozens of neighborhoods and rows of houses just like this one—well, not all quite as nice, but similar homes where families dwelled.

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and remembered a time many years ago, a time before her father had sold their home and bought a covered wagon, a time when she’d had older brothers—when her mother had tucked her in at night. The long forgotten memory of a rose-papered room and a small simple bed wavered at the edge of her mind. With that memory drifted the scent of lilacs on a summer night. Her mother’s perfume or fragrant bushes outside the window? She struggled to make the elusive memory clear, but it wavered and vanished.

All that was good and safe had changed along the westward trail when a Sioux war party had attacked their wagon train, and killed her father and her brothers. She and her mother had been taken captive. The chief had taken Sophie, adopted her and treated her well. Her mother had been given to a brave and had conformed to her life as a captive. She had advised Sophie to do the same. “You’re a brave girl, Sophie,” her mother had whispered. “Do whatever you must to stay alive.” Sophie had been following that advice all the years since.

They’d been in the Sioux camp five winters when her mother caught the typhus and died. In mourning her mother’s death, pain over the loss of her father and brothers surfaced, pain she’d avoided facing before. Acute loneliness had become her constant companion. To comfort her, the old chief had given Sophie her mother’s possessions, among them her mother’s gold wedding ring. Tek Garrett had taken the ring for safekeeping, that loss becoming the one regret she had in running away from him. She hadn’t dared tried to find it and suspected he kept it on him.

Sophie barely remembered family, scarcely remembered feeling loved. Her memories were distorted by time and anger. Getting up, she padded to the open window, drew aside the gingham curtain and peered into the night. The doctor’s house was one of the tallest in the neighborhood and afforded an expansive view of the neighboring rooftops.

The sky to the north was still hazy with smoke. Had the marshal bought her story? How crazy would it make him, wondering how that prisoner had been freed? The keys still hung in the lock, and the iron doors would be standing there when the marshals looked the place over tomorrow.

Damned sloppy job of making herself invisible.