Читать книгу Abbie's Outlaw - Victoria Bylin - Страница 12

“Sam, get that broom moving.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Susanna, being careful to deepen her voice.

After arriving in Bitterroot three days ago, she had been lucky to find a job in Harlan Walker’s barbershop where she could listen to the customers gossip. So far, no one had said anything about John Leaf, and Susanna wasn’t sure what to ask. Thanks to Mr. Walker’s kindness, she could bide her time. He and his wife had insisted that “Sam” sleep in the back room, and Mrs. Walker had fed her big suppers. The home-cooked meals made Susanna miss her mother, but she wasn’t sorry she had run away. She needed to meet John Leaf to be sure that she wasn’t like him.

Her worry had started the night two thugs attacked Robert Windsor in front of their house. Susanna didn’t know much about politics, but she’d heard rumors that he had taken bribes, and that the attack had been payback for a law that didn’t pass. She had heard it all from her window, including the snap of his neck as he’d hit the brick planter. For three days he had lain in his bed, paralyzed and dying. He’d talked first to her mother and then to Robbie. As always, Susanna had been last.

You’re not my daughter. There’s a leather pouch in my desk. That’s all I have to give you. What did a girl say to such a declaration? Susanna still didn’t know.

As she pushed the broom across the floor, she wished she had asked the man who’d raised her to tell her more, but she’d been too stunned to say anything. In the middle of the night, she had retrieved the pouch and taken it to her room where she’d read reports written by a Pinkerton’s detective.

Truth had a way of singing for Susanna. Sometimes she recognized it in the mournful song of the birds her mother fed on their back porch. Other times she heard it in the rattle of a window holding tight against a storm. That night, she had heard the truth in the hammering of her own heart. All her life she had been told she resembled a long-dead grandmother. She didn’t fit anywhere, and now she knew why. She was the daughter of a killer—a man who had sold his gun and taken lives, including those of Ben Gantry’s sons.

As she swept a wad of hair into the dustpan, Susanna weighed the evidence against John Leaf. The Gantry boys had been her age. The oldest, Eli, had been fifteen. His brothers, Zach and Orley, had been fourteen and twelve. Susanna’s knuckles turned white on the broom handle. John Leaf’s blood ran in her veins, and she hated him for what he’d done. He’d hurt her mother, too. They had done the thing that grown-ups did in the dark and then he’d left.

With the smell of hair tonic filling her nose, Susanna worried that his meanness lived inside her. Why else would she have said such hateful things to her mother over an algebra exam? Susanna had gotten a bad grade, not because she couldn’t do the work, but because she didn’t care. Her mother had been firm.

Your schooling is important, sweetie. I want you to have the choices I didn’t have.

But I don’t want to be you! You’re weak and stupid!

Shocked at herself, Susanna had fled to her room and beat her fists on her pillow. She felt as if she’d been taken over by a monster. When her mother had come upstairs carrying hot chocolate and saying she understood Susanna was angry about her “father’s” death, the monster had roared even louder. Who’s John Leaf? But the question had stayed on her tongue, burning like too much salt.

How could she trust her mother to tell to the truth? Susanna had known since she was small that her mother had secrets. Sometimes she had bruises on her arms, and once she had come downstairs with a black eye and said she’d walked into a door. Had John Leaf hurt her mother like her so-called father had? Was that why her mother had left him? Or had he left them?

Susanna shoved the broom hard. She couldn’t be like John Leaf. She liked puppies and stories about Clara Barton, and sometimes she imagined Huck Finn was her best friend. Even when Robbie acted like a brat, she put up with him. And when Amy Jessup made fun of the new girl at school, Susanna had sat with her at lunch. Surely John Leaf wouldn’t do those things, but she had to be sure. That’s why she had written him a letter and sent it to the last address in her pouch.

“Sam?” Mr. Walker’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Take out the trash. It’s by the front door.”

“Yes, sir.”

As she raised her head, Susanna noticed a dark-skinned man peering into the barbershop as if he were looking for someone. He’d taken off his hat, revealing a head full of wiry gray hair and piercing eyes that made her nervous. When his gaze honed to her face, Susanna stared back.

“Well, I’ll be darned,” he murmured.

Mr. Walker loomed behind her. “What do you want, Silas?”

“I’d like a word with your helper.”

Susanna’s heart started to pound. “Who are you?”

“My name is Silas Jones.”

She knew that name from her research. John Leaf had left the Wyoming Territorial Prison with an ex-slave named Silas. Did this mean John Leaf was looking for her? She let her voice rise to its natural pitch. “Do you know my father?”

The old man’s eyes turned into obsidian. “I do.”

Mr. Walker stepped closer to the door and stared at her. “Just who are you?”

Silas signaled her to keep quiet with a shake of his head, but she wanted to hear what the barber knew. “I’m sorry I lied, Mr. Walker, but I needed the job. My name is Susanna Windsor, and I’m looking for my father. His name is John Leaf.”

“Get the hell out of my shop!”

“But—”

“Right now!” Mr. Walker grabbed the broom out of her hand and hurled it against the back wall. “You’re the devil’s spawn and a damn girl besides!”

“But my things—”

“Fetch ’em and get out of my sight! That bastard killed Ben’s boys in cold blood. And you, young lady, are a lyin’ piece of trash!”

Heat rushed to Susanna’s cheeks. It was true she had lied, but she had also worked hard and Mr. Walker owed her four dollars. She was about to insist on her pay when Mr. Jones stepped into the barbershop and positioned himself in front of her.

“There won’t be any more talk, Walker. The girl’s an innocent child, and I’m here to look after her.”

Wide-eyed, Susanna watched as the barber hocked up a mouthful of spit and let it fly at Mr. Jones’s boot. The spittle marked the toe and dripped onto the floor, but the man ignored it. “Get your things, miss.”

Susanna hurried to the back room to fetch her satchel, listening as Mr. Walker’s curses thickened the air. “Your kind always wants trouble,” he declared. “Wait till Ben hears about this!”

Whatever doubts Susanna had about trusting Silas Jones disappeared at the mention of Ben Gantry. She knew in her bones that he’d lash out the way she had punched the pillow when she’d been mad at her mother. As she stuffed her clothing into her satchel, Susanna whispered a prayer.

Please, God. Keep me safe.

As soon as the doctor left and John was settled in his room, Abbie invited Beth to sit in the kitchen for a cup of tea. Considering the Reverend lived alone, the room had a surprising warmth. With copper pots hanging above the stove, a pie chest and a galvanized sink, the kitchen made Abbie feel at home. So did the wraparound porch and the white siding of a farmhouse. With four bedrooms upstairs, a water closet and a bathing room, the house was well suited to a family. Only the smell of tobacco belonged to John. Abbie loathed smoking, but his bad habits were his own business.

As she measured tea leaves from a canister, she glanced at Beth who was seated at the table and holding a cold rag against her cheek. Her eyes held a glitter Abbie understood. The two women would be up until dawn, trading stories and helping each other be brave. They had already talked about Ed when Beth lowered the rag from her cheek and looked at Abbie with curiosity.

“What brought you to Midas?” she asked.

“John and I have business concerning my husband’s estate.” As she repeated the half-truth, Abbie realized Beth would hear Susanna’s name. “I have a daughter, too. She’s visiting a friend and then coming here.”

She didn’t mention that the friend was a man named Silas in Wyoming. Abbie hated to shade the truth, but she couldn’t confide in Beth until she had a heart-to-heart with John. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to accept Susanna as his flesh and blood, which meant Abbie needed to know more about the man he’d become.

So far, she had learned that he liked his privacy. A few moments ago she had knocked on his door and opened it a crack to ask if he needed anything. He’d ordered her to keep out, which she planned to do. He could have all the privacy he wanted, except where Susanna was concerned. Abbie lifted her teacup. “Tell me about the Reverend.”

Beth set her spoon on the place mat. “I don’t know him very well, but I’ll never forget the first time I went to church. I didn’t have anything decent to wear, just a red dress. I felt like a sideshow, but he smiled as if I belonged there.”

Abbie knew that feeling. Johnny Leaf had made her feel smart and brave. After adding a dash of sugar to her tea, she glanced at Beth. “Has he been in Midas long?”

“About three years, but people talk about his past all the time. If you want to know more, you should ask him.”

But Abbie wasn’t interested in the past. Robert had tracked John for years, taunting her with ugly stories about her “lover.” It had started after Robert’s election to Congress. A conniver himself, he’d worried that Susanna’s natural father would blackmail him, and so he had hired a detective. Abbie shuddered at the memory of the night she had revealed John’s name. She could still smell the smoke from Robert’s cigarette and see the flaming tip. She had ugly scars from that night.

As she sipped the tea, Abbie tasted sugar and a hint of orange. It took her back to having breakfast at her grandmother’s table. While downing cups of strong coffee and smothering his eggs in pepper, John had talked her ear off. If any man was suited to fatherhood, it was one who woke up cheerful. Abbie set her cup in the saucer with a soft clatter. “I wonder why the Reverend isn’t married.”

To her dismay, Beth’s eyes twinkled. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Oh, to be young again—to see a handsome man and want his lips on yours. To imagine his children and the mysteries of the bedroom. Abbie had left those days behind her, but she could hope for her friend. “Beth, you’re wonderful. Even after Ed, you still have hope.”

“I’m leaving him,” Beth said emphatically. “Better now than later when I’d have to worry about a baby, too.”

Abbie nodded in agreement. She wished she had fled the first time Robert struck her. “You’re wise to leave him now. You’re young enough to make a fresh start.”

“So are you.”

Abbie gave a light chuckle. “Oh, no, I’m not. Besides, I already have two great children.”

“But there are other reasons to get married.”

“Like what? Scrubbing a man’s collars and cooking his supper?” Putting up with his hands on your breasts and being afraid?

“Like snuggling close at night and having someone to fix things when they break.”

Abbie didn’t know whether to envy Beth’s innocence or to pity the girl. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m done with all that.”

Beth raised one eyebrow. “Then why are you asking about the Reverend?”

Trying to appear casual, Abbie stirred her tea. The rattle of the spoon matched her jangling nerves. “I’m just surprised he’s not married, that’s all. Maybe he doesn’t like children.”

Beth eye’s popped wide. “The Reverend loves children, even babies. He tickles their tummies. It’s sweet.”

Abbie blinked and imagined John lifting a tiny Susanna into the air and kissing her tummy while she giggled. With a lump in her throat, she remembered both Susanna’s baby smile and the fact that Robert had never held her. No wonder her daughter had gone searching for her real father.

“What about older children?” Abbie asked.

“The boys follow him around town like ducks. One minute he’s laughing at their silly jokes, and the next he’s telling them to shape up—and they do.”

Abbie had seen that rapport with Robbie, but what about Susanna? Some men treated their daughters like brainless fools. If John was one of them, she had to know. “What about the girls? I hope he’s not old-fashioned.”

“Not at all,” Beth said. “He tells the girls the same thing he tells the boys—stay in school and dream big.”

Abbie yearned for that kind of affection for Susanna. As the lamp flickered, she wondered again why John had chosen to live alone in a big house with a well-stocked kitchen. “If he likes children so much, you’d think he’d get married.”

Beth’s eyes lit up. “It’s not for a lack of female interest. Emma Dray’s been chasing him for a year. She’ll probably show up tomorrow with a chocolate cake.”

Abbie recalled the pretty brunette at the train station. “I’m sure the Reverend will enjoy it.”

“I doubt it,” Beth said dryly. “Everyone knows he likes apple pie the best.”

From now on, I’m going to call you Sweet Abbie. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

It’s just an apple pie.

But it had been so much more. He’d picked a hundred apples from her grandmother’s trees, and she had baked a pie to thank him. It had been the only gift she’d had, an offering of love and an invitation to taste more than fruit, though she hadn’t realized it at the time. Holding in the trembling in her middle, Abbie glanced at Beth who was hugging her ribs and frowning. “I’m going to need a job. I wish I knew how to bake.”

Abbie welcomed a problem she could solve. “I’ll teach you. If the Reverend doesn’t mind, we can bake all day. Mary might buy pies for the café.”

Beth’s face lit up. “I’d like that.”

“We’ll start tomorrow.”

When Beth yawned, Abbie carried their cups to the counter and set the teakettle on the stove. “You look relaxed enough to sleep. Why don’t you go upstairs?”

“I think I will.” Beth pushed carefully to her feet, holding her middle to protect her ribs as she turned to Abbie. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did tonight. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

“Don’t worry about me,” Abbie said. “Just grab the future and hang on tight.”

“I will. I promise.”

After the two women shared a gentle hug, Beth padded up the stairs. Still tense, Abbie poured more tea while she weighed the knowledge that John loved kids. No, she corrected herself, the Reverend loved kids. John Leaf would consider a daughter of his own an obligation. Nothing more.

With the steam curling above her cup, she stared out the window, seeing nothing but black glass and the glare of the lamp. Lord, she missed her friends, especially Maggie. She also missed the birds in her backyard and the chipmunks that lived in the woodpile. After one of Robert’s tirades, she had often stayed up all night, listening for the first twitters of dawn.

The habit had started during the first year of her marriage when she had believed Robert would come to love her. She had even hoped he’d accept the baby as his own. After all, he’d married her knowing she was with child, in part because a bad case of the mumps had convinced him he’d never have sons of his own.

Abbie’s stomach curdled as the memory of her wedding night slithered through her. Robert had gotten drunk, taken his pleasure and called her an unspeakable name. The next morning he’d given her flowers and apologized like a little boy. She had tried her best to please him, but just when her pregnancy started to show, he had given her a black eye.

Abbie had endured the shame because she had nowhere to go, but not a day had passed that she didn’t think about leaving him…and searching for Johnny Leaf. As she sipped the hot tea, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from running amok. What would have happened if her brother hadn’t found them? What if she had followed John to Oregon?

Lowering her gaze, she took another sip. No matter what Beth thought, Abbie was long past such thoughts. She had children to raise and a boardinghouse to run. Dreaming about if-onlys and what-ifs was a waste of time.

Annoyed with herself, she set her cup on the counter and stepped outside to wait for sunrise. She loved the sensations of dawn—chirping birds, cool air on her cheeks, a hush that calmed her soul even after a night of brutality. Already she could see a gray light in the eastern sky. Soon it would turn to lavender and brighten to gold. The poppies in the window box would open their faces, and Abbie would feel good.

Behold, I make all things new…

It was her favorite Bible verse, because she saw the truth of it in the past six months. Since Robert’s death, she had put the ugliness behind her. She had a good life now, and she intended to fight for it. That meant finding Susanna and returning to Washington with her father’s blessing.

It also meant finding out why John didn’t want children. Her daughter needed a father, not a man who considered her an obligation. She wanted Johnny to love their daughter as much as she did, and that meant introducing them before Susanna arrived. Abbie had stories to tell, and John needed to hear every one. His daughter was the smartest girl in her class, but he had never seen her homework. He’d never heard her laugh or make a joke, nor had he wiped her tears and seen her climb trees.

Hugging herself against the chill, Abbie thought about the man in the guest room. While she wanted John to care for Susanna, she didn’t want him to notice her. Nothing good could come of him reawakening feelings in her that belonged in the past. Still, for the most part, she felt safe with him. He’d saved her life and he was a minister now. But the preacher Beth had described was nothing like Pastor Deets in Washington. That old windbag talked more about sin than he did about love. He blamed Eve for everything, calling her weak and easily tempted. Abbie thought he was full of rubbish.

A smile curled on her lips. Maybe she’d ask John for his opinion. With a little luck, she’d annoy the daylights out of him and he’d keep away from her. The notion of a debate gave Abbie a rush of wicked pleasure. On behalf of women everywhere, she rather liked the idea of making the good Reverend mad.