Читать книгу The Winter Pearl - Molly Bull Noble - Страница 8

Lucas awoke with a jerk. Someone was pounding on his front door.

“All right, all right,” he shouted. “Hold on to your horses. I’m comin’!”

He sat up. A massive headache made him wish he were still flat on his back. He pressed a hand over his forehead and looked around. He was shivering on the hard kitchen floor. Had he been there all night?

He stumbled to his feet. His legs felt like jam. Slowly, he made his way to the door and opened it. An icy wind swept inside. His shoulders shook from the cold.

The grave diggers he had hired stood on his porch. All three men wore dark clothing, gloves, and something furry-looking covered their ears.

“Mr. Scythe,” the tallest one said. “Remember me? Hector Brown?” He motioned toward the other two. “And these are my brothers, Joey and Abner. We hate to bother you at a time like this, but you forgot to pay us for burying your wife yesterday.” He handed Lucas a sheet of paper.

“A bill?”

Hector nodded.

“Oh, yes. The money.” Lucas searched for something to say, to stall for time. “You’ll have to excuse me. I ain’t feelin’ well today.”

Hector nodded again. Joey and Abner just stood behind their brother, staring at Lucas.

Lucas shook his head. If it ain’t one thing, it’s somethin’ worse, he thought. “Wait here, and I’ll go see what I can do.”

He started to close the door, to shut out the chill, but when he saw the hard look of warning in Hector’s eyes, he left it open.

Lucas stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the cookie jar, one of the places Harriet liked to hide money. He removed the wooden lid of the clay pot and tossed it on the floor. Then he poured out the contents of the jar. Broken cookies, crumbs, and a sprinkling of sugar spilled onto the table. A few coins clinked together. They rolled around and stopped.

He scooped up the money and counted it. Thirty-six cents. He winced. The diggers expected more. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now.

Lucas pasted a smile on his face and walked back to the door. “Here’s thirty-six cents. Sorry, I know it ain’t enough. But it’s all I’ve got until I sell them calves I’ve been feedin’. This’ll have to hold you ’til then.”

Hector Brown stepped forward, filling the doorway. “We expected to be paid in full. When will we get the rest?”

“As soon as I can find the time to drive my calves into town and sell ’em.” Lucas grabbed the door and began to swing it shut as he spoke. “I’ll keep in touch. And much obliged to ya.”

“Wait, Mr. Scythe.” With the toe of his black boot, Hector prevented the door from closing all the way. “We’ll be back. You can be sure about that.”

When Lucas finally closed the door, he leaned against it for a moment, listening to the three men depart. He felt hungry as well as cold. Thirsty, too. For something stronger than cow’s milk or water.

Now, where was that Honor-girl? “Missy,” he shouted. “Get in here!”

No answer.

“Don’t play games with me. I ain’t in the mood.”

Lucas grimaced. That girl was never around when he needed her.

As he moved toward the kitchen, he glanced in a mirror on the parlor wall—then stopped and looked again. His eyes seemed more red than usual. His face had a drawn, pasty look.

He remembered why he was wearing his gray suit—to attend the burial of his wife—but he couldn’t recall arriving at the graveside, much less leaving it. Come to think of it, he’d been having a lot of memory problems lately.

Lucas laid two small logs in the woodstove. When he had managed to start a fire, he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. Honor must be out in the garden, he decided. Reaching out, he held his hands in front of the fire, to warm them while he made his plans.

First, he’d get Honor to fix him something to eat. Then he would look for any other hidden money. Harriet had always hidden money from him, but she must have put it somewhere else this time.

Later, he would drive into town, buy a couple of bottles of whiskey, and maybe pay Miss Ruby a visit. His slow smile became a chuckle.

He vaguely remembered asking Honor to marry him, but he would worry about getting hitched some other time.

Lucas went out onto the back porch. “Missy! Come in here this minute!”

Calves bellowed. Chickens squawked from the henhouse. But not a sound from Honor. Lucas spent the next ten minutes searching the farm buildings, but he was unable to find her.

She could have hiked into town to buy supplies, he supposed. He’d noticed the flour sack was almost empty. Yeah, that must be what she done, he convinced himself.

Cursing his late wife for selecting a hiding place he couldn’t discover, Lucas tore up the house and barn looking for money. Honor could clean up the mess when she got back from Falling Rock.

His breath became rapid from all the labor in his quest, and he felt a little shaky. He wanted alcohol—bad. He wouldn’t hold out much longer without it.

Honor had been gone a long time. Too long. How much time did it take to go into town, buy a few things on credit at the general store, and walk back to the farm? Was that girl really shopping? Or had she left with the rest of his money?

The word left roared inside his head. Lucas stiffened, and he felt rage rising in his blood. “Why, that little—”

The truth hit him like a sock in the jaw. His late wife had hidden money, and Honor had taken it. The muscles around his mouth tightened. She’d robbed him. He still didn’t want to believe it. Lucas balled his hands into fists. Yes, that’s what happened. He would like to strangle her.

Hadn’t Harriet always saved every penny she could get her hands on? And wouldn’t she have told Honor where she kept it? His late wife had called Honor her cherished niece, her sweet little Rose of Sharon.

Lucas swore, kicking a kitchen chair. The chair banged the back wall, then fell on its side on the floor. Those two had always plotted against him. Whispering behind his back. Exchanging glances when they thought he wasn’t looking.

“But no more!”

Lucas picked up the cookie jar and threw it across the room. The clay pot crashed against the iron stove, smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Grabbing a loaf of bread from the bread box, he tore off a chunk and crammed it in his mouth. Then he reached for a slice of jerky and gobbled it down. Lucas looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. Honor had a head start on him. If he expected to catch up with her and recover his money, he would need to ride out as soon as possible.

Jeth lifted Honor gently onto the back of the wagon. Then he climbed up, wrapped her in a warm blanket and sat down beside her.

The outlaws had disappeared as soon as they’d collected their spoils. The passengers and the crew were left behind with the crippled stage. Jeth had ridden one of the stagecoach horses into Hearten for help, returning with blankets, two wagons, a local doctor, and a few other folks from Jeth’s church.

Jeth glanced at Dr. Harris, seated up front in the wagon and taking the reins. The doctor had examined Honor and bandaged her head as soon as he’d arrived. Now he was acting as their driver. Annie and Simon were in the other wagon.

Jeth cradled Honor’s head in his lap as the doctor cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward slowly.

A cold breeze whistled around them. When locks of Honor’s long auburn hair blew across her eyes, Jeth pushed them back from her face.

Her thick mane looked shiny, and the strands felt soft in his hands. Jeth frowned. He shouldn’t notice such things. He yanked his hands back as if her hair had scalded them.

When he looked down at her again, he felt a grip of fear. Honor looked pale. She hadn’t moved at all, and now seemed gravely ill.

Lord, he prayed. You know all about this young woman, and I’m sure You have a plan for her life. Heal her, Lord, I pray—spirit, soul and body—to Your honor and glory.

Lucas carried his riding gear into the horse stall. His gray mare pulled back her ears, as she always did when she was about to be saddled.

“You turning on me, too, Lady?”

The horse blew out through her nose, making a gentle, snorting sound. Lucas put down his load and stroked the animal’s head. Merely touching her velvety nose softened him a little.

“Easy, girl.” He reached down and patted the mare’s round belly. “You’re getting big, ain’t ya? I’ll be riding ya nice and slow today. So don’t fret none. Gotta take care of that colt inside ya, don’t we.”

The mare snorted again.

An image of Honor flashed before Lucas. His gentleness vanished. Wait ’til I get my hands on that girl. She’ll be sorry for running out on me, he vowed.

Lucas arrived in town at three and went straight to the saloon. He hoped to buy a drink on credit.

Standing at the bar, he grinned at the bartender. “A shot of whiskey, Mitch. Just put it on my bill.”

“Sorry, Lucas,” Mitch said. “Your credit is all used up.”

“I sure am dry. Couldn’t you spare me one shot?”

“Not unless you’re willing to wash dishes.”

“I reckon I could.” Lucas hid his hands in his pants pockets so Mitch wouldn’t see how they shook. “But I have a couple of things I need to do here in town first.”

“Then I suggest you go and do them. This here saloon will still be open when you get back.”

Lucas had been counting on that drink to make it through the day. Knowing he wouldn’t get a drop without working for it made him even thirstier. He licked his lips. He could almost taste whiskey in his mouth.

“Well, if you ain’t gonna give me nothing to drink,” Lucas said, “will you at least give me a little information?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Mitch wiped a glass with a white cloth. Then he put it on the counter and cocked his head. “What kind of information?”

“That niece of mine has done run off with all my money. Would you have any idea where she might have went to?”

The bartender shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The sheriff might.” Mitch glanced toward one of the tables. “He’s sitting right over there.”

Lucas had never liked Sheriff Manning. Years ago, the sheriff had made it clear he had no use for Lucas Scythe. Still, if the sheriff knew something, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

There were two local men at the round table in the corner with the lawman. Lucas ambled toward them.

Sheriff Manning was leaning back in his chair, drinking from a beer mug. His fat belly hung over his belt, and his blue shirt was stretched to the limit. Some of the buttons looked like they might pop off at any moment.

“Well, Scythe,” the sheriff said, “what dragged you to town in the middle of the day? Whiskey?”

Lucas stiffened.

The other two men grinned.

Arms at his sides, Lucas clenched his fists. His jaw hardened. He should punch all three of them out for their taunting. They had it coming, even if he landed in jail. However, to get the information he needed, he had no choice but to rein in his anger.

“My niece, Honor, has done run off with my money, Sheriff. She’s a low-down thief and that’s the truth.”

“Well, well. What a shame. Have you tried paying that girl for the work she does for ya, Scythe?”

“She gets room and board.”

“Room and board.” The sheriff exchanged a glance with the other men at his table. “Maybe she thought she deserved more. Ever think of that?”

The other men looked straight at Lucas, waiting for him to answer.

Lucas felt his face heat up, and fury burned like hot coals inside him. He cleared his throat, trying to keep calm. He’d learned the hard way that if he hoped to be looked on favorably by the sheriff and others in the community, he must pretend to agree with them, whatever the cost.

“Any idea how I could find her ’fore she spends all I got?”

“If your niece had money, she might have taken the stage to Pine Falls or on to Denver,” the sheriff said. “Or she could have taken the stage to Cold Springs. Who knows?”

Slim Perkins sat across from the sheriff. He set his mug on the table. “Since Ben Kraken sells stagecoach tickets down at the livery, he might know.”

Why hadn’t Lucas thought of that? “Thank you kindly, Slim.”

Lucas glanced toward the door. His absentmindedness appeared to be growing by the minute. He swallowed, wishing for a drink. “I best go on over there and see what Ben can tell me, then.” He looked back. “And I’m much obliged to all of ya.”

Nobody at the table made a comment. They merely watched him go like they all had a secret they weren’t willing to share with him. Lucas turned, clenching his jaw. If he hoped to find Honor, he’d better just walk away.

Lucas brushed through the swinging doors, but he stopped before stepping off the covered porch in front of the saloon. Snowflakes were floating down, melting before they hit the ground. The chilly air and the refreshing sight of falling snow lifted his spirits. He straightened his shoulders and turned up his collar against the wintry breeze. If he expected Ben to provide him with answers, he would need to look composed.

Glancing up and down the street, he took in his town. Until now, he’d seldom seen the place in daylight.

Falling Rock reminded him of Cold Springs, the town he grew up in. He had never realized the similarity until now. Trees lined both sides of the street, and snow-tipped mountains towered in the distance. Neatly dressed people strolled in and out of the hotel and the general store.

Looking down at the gray suit he’d worn since Harriet’s burial, Lucas wished he’d cleaned up a bit before leaving the cabin. A week ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he did. He should look respectable if he expected folks to give him the information he wanted.

Lucas started down the street and turned left at the corner. He’d almost forgotten he would have to pass by the church to reach the livery. He considered turning back, selecting a different route, then decided he just wouldn’t look at the little church with its whitewashed walls and stone porch. Not this time. As a child, he’d had his fill of church and religion.

Yet when he reached the small structure, he found himself peering inside the open doorway. Harriet had once been a member of that church. He guessed she must have been considered a member until the day she died.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit came out and stood on the porch. The preacher? Lucas didn’t want to find out. He stepped up his pace. Hurrying down the street, he didn’t look back.

By the time Lucas reached the livery stable, his breath was coming in gasps. Then he coughed.

The room used for blacksmithing jobs smelled of smoke. Ben Kraken stood in front of a heavy anvil mounted on the stump of a big oak tree. He was hammering a piece of iron into a horseshoe.

“Good afternoon,” Lucas said from the doorway.

Ben must have heard him, but he kept on working. His hammer hit the metal again. Whop! The metal glowed red-hot.

Even on such a cold day, the room was sweltering. Lucas unbuttoned the top button of his jacket and stepped inside. Ben raised the heavy hammer again. When it came down against the soft metal and the anvil, another loud metallic bang rang out.

Lucas stepped closer. “I said hello.”

“I heard ya.” Ben glanced at Lucas out of the corner of his eye. “Good afternoon. Or it will be—if you came in to pay what you owe me.”

Lucas felt his temper rising, but he feigned a pleasant expression. “My niece run off with all my money, and I come lookin’ for her. What else could I do?”

Ben Kraken lifted the hot iron with a pair of long-handled tongs and dropped it into a tub of water. The water sizzled. A puff of gray smoke spiraled upward.

Lucas took a step back from the tub. He had a deep need to punch Kraken in that big nose of his until it bled. Hearing Ben speak in mocking tones and with such a lack of respect was galling. Nevertheless, to get what he wanted out of the man, Lucas would hold back. For now. He could settle the score later.

“Do you know if Honor took the stage somewhere?” he asked in a calm voice.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Lucas stepped forward again. His hands clenched into fists, and his wrath grew, but he held his tongue. Looking Kraken right in the face, he glared at him. “Why won’t ya tell me, Ben?”

“Word gets around.” Ben looked down at his work, ignoring the rage that Lucas could hear in his own voice. “The whole town knows how you treated your wife and that poor girl.”

Ben pulled the horseshoe from the water with the tongs, then turned and thrust the metal into the forge. The blaze licked the iron, crackling and popping. Red and yellow sparks flew.

Lucas jammed his hands deeply into his pockets to prevent them from flying out as fists. “But if I don’t get my money back,” he pointed out, “how was you expecting me to pay ya?”

Ben dragged the iron from the fire. “Knowing you, I doubt I’ll get paid anyway.” The metal had turned a bright red. Heat radiated from it. Ben took the horseshoe back to the anvil and reached for the hammer. “Besides,” he said, “if I can help that girl a little, I will.”

Lucas gritted his teeth. Kraken was asking for it. He counted to ten, trying to calm down. Then twenty. At last he asked, “Did a stage leave for Pine Falls early yesterday morning?”

“As a matter of fact, one did. And somebody robbed it,” Ben said. “I had to send out another coach to take the folks on to Pine Falls.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“If they were, I don’t know about it,” Ben said shortly.

“I guess I’ll ride over to Pine Falls, then, and take a look around. See what I can find out. And thanks for your help.”

“The best thing you can do for me, Scythe, is to get out of my livery stable. And don’t come back without my money.”

Lucas stood in the doorway, glowering at the back of Ben Kraken’s head. He fought the desire once more to punch him and keep on hitting until Kraken cried for mercy.

Lucas turned and headed to the saloon. He really needed a drink now. If necessary, he wasn’t too proud to wash dishes.

When he’d saved enough to buy a bottle of whiskey, he would ride on over to Pine Falls. The trip would take a day or two—maybe more. If he took it slow and easy, his mare should be able to make it all the way.

Maybe he would post a “Wanted” sign in the saloon. He thought for a moment. What should a sign like that say?

Pondering, he scratched his right ear. Twenty dollars. Thirty. That’s it, thirty.

WANTED

Miss Honor McCall for stealing from Lucas Scythe. Thirty-dollar reward for information on her whereabouts.

Lucas spent the rest of the day and most of the night working at the saloon. When the bartender wasn’t looking, he snatched a few drinks. During his supper break, he printed a sign on a piece of wood with some black paint he found in the storeroom.

He kept a close eye on Mitch. When Lucas saw the bartender escort a rowdy drunk outside, Lucas took a hammer, nails and the wooden sign, and sneaked to the pine wall at the front of the saloon where other signs were posted, looking for an available spot. A vacant square of discolored wall was right in front of the door.

Lucas nailed his sign to the wall with one whack of the hammer. Then he crept back to the kitchen and started washing dishes.

When the saloon closed for the night, Lucas stepped up to the bar to get his pay. Mitch handed him a few small coins.

“Is that all I get?” Lucas asked.

“Sorry, Scythe. I saw you steal drinks when you thought I wasn’t lookin’.”

“Have a heart, Mitch, and give me a whole bottle. I reckon I’ll do anything to get it,” Lucas wheedled. “Why, I’ll promise to come in early tomorrow and work until closing time again if you’ll give me a bottle of whiskey. Is that a deal?”

“You think you know how to get what you want, don’t ya.” Mitch shook his head like someone who didn’t want to believe what he’d just seen and heard. “All right, I guess I could give you one bottle. But you better be here tomorrow. Early.”

“You can count on me.”

Lucas rode home, chugging down whiskey as he went. He finished the bottle before falling into bed. With nothing in his belly but liquor, he fell asleep immediately.

Honor opened her eyes and sat up. She was in a bed in a clean room, but had no idea how she’d gotten there. A sharp pain in her head and a wave of nausea caused her to consider lying back down, but she didn’t want to give in to the discomfort.

Rose-print curtains framed the windows, and a cool breeze came into the small bedroom. A cast-iron stove stood in one corner, with a stack of wood nearby, but no warming fire blazed in it to take the chill from the air.

Glancing around, Honor noted a carved, wooden headboard, and a rose-cushioned chair with oak arms, placed beside the bed as if a guest was expected. A middle-aged woman of average build suddenly appeared in the doorway. She had salt-and-pepper hair and wore a white apron over a dark blue dress.

“Good morning,” she said in a welcoming tone. “I’m Regina Peters, the reverend’s mother.”

Honor blinked. “Is it still morning?”

“It’s morning, all right,” came the cheerful reply, with a sunny smile. “But you arrived yesterday around noon.”

“Yesterday?” Honor pressed a hand against her forehead and felt some sort of bandage. She wanted answers—explanations, though she barely felt able to ask questions.

“What happened to me?” She lay back against the soft pillow.

“You were on the stagecoach coming from Falling Rock when the stage was robbed,” the woman said. “Afterward, they brought you to Hearten, to my boardinghouse to rest up, and I dressed you in one of my nightgowns.”

Although she’d never seen Mrs. Peters before, there was something about her that reminded Honor of Aunt Harriet. Maybe it was the warmth in her gray eyes and the way the edges of her mouth lifted when she smiled. There was kindness in the woman’s face—just as there had been in Aunt Harriet’s—and Honor felt drawn to her.

At the thought of her late aunt, a wave of sadness swept over Honor. Her beloved only relative had died, and Honor had run away from…

Lucas. She sat up in bed again, her heart pounding.

Mrs. Peters came to the bedside and pressed her hand gently on Honor’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing,” Honor answered quickly. “Has anyone been asking for me?”

“No. But if you’re upset, I can’t blame you. Bumps on the head are no fun. Being robbed isn’t, either.”

“Robbed?” Honor’s hands began to shake. “Was I robbed?”

Mrs. Peters nodded.

Honor remembered getting out of the stagecoach, but nothing after that. She’d planned to mail whatever money she had left back to the church in Falling Rock, but now she had nothing and no way to begin to repay what she’d stolen.

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Mrs. Peters said softly. “And I’m sure my son will answer every one of them just as soon as he gets back to the house.”

“Where is Reverend Peters?”

“He went over to our church to check on things. A preacher’s work is never done. But he’ll be back before you know it. The church is just down the road.” Mrs. Peters patted Honor’s shoulder again. “Why don’t you lie down and try to rest until he gets here? Or would you like something to eat? I have warm chicken soup in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

Honor shook her head. “Maybe later. But thank you for asking.”

“You know,” Mrs. Peters said, “according to my son, you’re a very nice person.”

“Me?” Honor put her hand to her chest.

Mrs. Peters nodded. “My son is a pretty good judge of character, and I just know he’s right about you.”

What would Mrs. Peters say if she knew Honor had robbed the collection plate from a church? The preacher might think he was a good judge of people, but he wasn’t. Nobody knew that better than Honor.