CHAPTER

26

Entering the hotel as a woman and leaving as a nun meant I had to sneak down the back stairs and around the hotel to meet Kindle on the street. A man carrying a sack of feed on his shoulder looked askance at me. I smiled, nodded, and blessed him. I was trying to fix my face into a serious expression when I rounded the corner and saw Kindle standing on the front porch of the hotel, talking to someone. When the man came into view, my smile had no trouble disappearing.

“Lyman.”

John Lyman hadn’t bothered trying to blend in to the rough-and-tumble West. The riverboat gambler wore a navy coat over tan breeches and waistcoat with a faint navy pinstripe running through. His fawn-colored, flat-brimmed felt hat sat at a jaunty angle and the thin mustache on his upper lip quivered in amusement. He laughed. “Well, I’ll be Goddamned.”

I glanced around the street, hoping no one heard the profanity. Across the street, a woman’s step faltered. I smiled and nodded to her. “Keep your voice down,” I said.

“Look at her, taking to the disguise like a duck to water.” Lyman scrutinized me in such a way I knew his thoughts would get him struck down if I were a real nun. The inappropriate proposition he’d made to me on the Mississippi came rushing back to my mind. My face burned with embarrassment. He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. Satisfied we’d been thinking of the same thing, he moved his assessment to Kindle. “You, on the other hand, are much too stern. Even for a priest. You look like you could murder someone.”

“Just you.”

Lyman grinned. “I always liked you, Kindle.”

Lyman held a small gun to Kindle’s side and for a moment, I thought it was mine. But no; my gun was snugly strapped to my lower left leg.

With his free hand, Lyman patted Kindle’s chest and beneath his arm. He smiled, reached inside Kindle’s coat, and removed his gun. Kindle glared at Lyman but didn’t move.

“Why don’t we have breakfast? I worked up quite the appetite listening to you two fuck all night,” Lyman said. My head jerked around. “I took the room next door. Frightfully thin walls.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Lyman shrugged, took me by the elbow, and shoved Kindle’s gun in my side. “The hotel clerk recommended a place where we could have some privacy. Down the alley there. Kindle, lead the way. We’ll be right behind you.”

“We’ll be recognized. I’m well known in town,” I said.

“Your disguise is better than you think.”

Lyman directed Kindle down an alley to where the new wooden buildings switched to tents and pointed out one of the dirtier ones, and we entered. A swarthy man with a greasy apron tied around his waist said, “Bienvenidos, amigos. ¿Comida? ¿Café?”

“Yes, gracias,” Lyman said. He leaned toward me and whispered, “That’s the only Spanish I know.”

We sat on camp chairs around a rickety table in the back corner of the tent. Through the open flap at the rear of the tent a short, fat woman with two thick braids of hair hanging down her chest cooked over an open fire. The man brought a pot of coffee and three tin mugs. “¿Desayuno por tres?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Lyman said. “Gracias.”

The Mexican woman cracked eggs into a skillet, stirred them around expertly, and left them to cook. She removed a ball of dough from a cloth-covered pan and tossed it back and forth between her hands until it became a flat circle, which she tossed on the grate covering the fire.

Lyman poured our coffee, sat back, and sipped his. He grimaced and set the mug on the table. He nodded and smiled at us. “It really is good to see you both.”

“What do you want, Lyman?” Kindle said.

“Always in a hurry, Kindle.”

“I don’t like listening to hucksters.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I know it’s coming.”

“We have a lot of miles to talk.”

“You’re taking me back,” I said.

Lyman nodded. “Obviously.”

“I asked Rosemond why you didn’t follow.”

Lyman’s face lit up. “How is Rosemond? I should thank her for stealing you out from under me. A thousand dollars sounds much better than five hundred. How did she ever get you to come out here with her?”

“She told me Kindle asked her to help me. To get me away from you.”

Lyman nodded as if impressed. “I always knew Rosemond was a master manipulator, but I didn’t think you would be so easily taken in. It’s a shame she didn’t want to marry me. We would have been a formidable couple.”

“Didn’t want to marry you? That wasn’t the story I heard.”

“She told you her story?”

“Yes.”

Lyman narrowed his eyes at me. “And you weren’t repulsed?”

“By which part? You pimping her out to officers during the war? Or abandoning her after?”

Lyman laughed. “That’s what she told you? Well, I suppose looking at it a certain way you could get that out of it. You should know by now Rosemond has a talent of twisting things to her advantage. She didn’t seduce you?” Kindle’s head jerked around. Lyman laughed at his expression. If we weren’t in the straits we were in, I might have laughed, too. “You didn’t know Rosemond has a taste for snatch?”

“No,” Kindle said.

“I always thought the right man would set her straight,” Lyman said. “I tried, and had a good time doing it, but her eyes never lit up with me like they did with the women I brought her.”

The Mexican brought three tin plates loaded with eggs, refried beans, and a tortilla and placed them in front of us. The scent of wonderfully foreign spices made my stomach growl loudly. I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten and couldn’t. The woman placed a small bowl of green sauce on the table between us. She motioned between the sauce and our plates, said “Huevos,” and left.

I picked up my fork with my left hand, and Lyman pointed his fork at my injured hand. “What happened?”

“I broke someone’s nose.”

Kindle spooned the sauce on his eggs and took a big bite. His eye widened, and he swallowed and coughed. He turned to the waiter. “Milk?”

The man was on his way with a glass. Kindle drank the milk and nodded his thanks. “I’d forgotten how hot chile sauce can be.” It didn’t stop him from continuing to eat his eggs and beans.

Lyman watched him with fascination. “Hungry?”

“I figure this might be my last meal, so I better enjoy it.”

“That was the original plan.”

I scoffed. “Do you honestly think—”

Kindle placed his hand on my arm to quiet me. “What changed?”

“Thin walls, remember? I didn’t just hear you rekindling your love affair. Henry Pope is looking into your charges?”

“So it would seem.”

“Perfect. This is working out much better than I anticipated. I’ll admit, Rosemond stealing you out from under me wasn’t part of the plan. But it actually made things easier. I was able to stay in Saint Louis, gamble a little, and wait for Kindle to lead me to you.”

“What if Kindle’d been executed?” I asked.

“That would’ve depended on how large the new reward was and how much I needed the money.”

“Gambling wasn’t good in Saint Louis?” Kindle asked.

“It was. I don’t need the money, but a thousand dollars is a thousand dollars. Plus, stealing Laura back from Rosemond would have been satisfying. Too bad she isn’t around to see my triumph.”

“There is no triumph. She knew I was leaving.”

“She let you go?” His brows furrowed. “I was sure she wanted you as a lover.”

“No.”

“When Rosemond becomes obsessed with someone …” Lyman’s frown broke into a knowing grin. “The missionary.”

“What?” Kindle said.

“What was her name? Something from Shakespeare.”

“Portia.”

Lyman snapped his fingers. “That’s it.” He wiped up his beans with his tortilla and took a bite. “I wondered if there was more to that one than Rosemond toying with her. She did that with women, you know. Led them down the garden path, made them fall in love with her, and broke their hearts by blackmailing them.”

“Blackmail?” My heart sank. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I wanted to believe in the best version of Rosemond. I scooted my chair back, leaned over, and dropped my head. Lyman glanced up at me. “You look disappointed. Did you actually start to trust Rosemond?”

“Yes.” I kept my head bowed and eyes closed while I pulled the hem of my skirt up, thankful Lyman was more watchful of Kindle than me.

“Big mistake,” Lyman said. “I’ve never met anyone more self-centered than Rosemond March.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Kindle said.

Lyman shrugged and pushed his empty plate away. “Be careful, Kindle, or I’ll change my mind about taking you back with us.”

I straightened in my chair and rubbed my forehead, as if coming to terms with the news about Rosemond. Knowing what I was doing, Kindle kept up the conversation, and Lyman’s focus on him.

“Don’t try to act altruistic,” Kindle said. “If you hadn’t overheard our conversation I’d probably have a bullet in my gut right now.”

“But you don’t, so stop dwelling on what might have been. We go back East together, I get the one-thousand-dollar reward, and you end up going free. You two can live happily ever after. Everyone wins.”

“Or, we kill you here and go back East by ourselves,” I said.

Lyman chuckled. “You’re unarmed.”

“Am I?” I pulled my gun and pointed it at Lyman.

Kindle stood and punched Lyman in the nose, knocking the table over in the process. I saw my plate overturn onto the dirt floor with some regret. I was hungry and it was the best meal I’d had in weeks. Kindle was over Lyman, a priest punching the gambler into unconsciousness, blood splattering on the ground and on Lyman’s buff waistcoat. The Mexican couple stood back, the man holding a rifle on us. I lifted my hands to signal I was no threat to them. “Kindle.”

Kindle stood, holding a wallet in one hand and Lyman’s gun in the other. Kindle placed the gun in his pocket.

“Usted no es un padre.”

“Sí, sí. I’m a priest. Her brother wanted her to marry a bad man. She chose God. We’re going across the ocean to do God’s work.” The man adjusted his hold on his rifle but didn’t lower it. His eyes flickered between Kindle and Lyman.

Kindle pulled money from Lyman’s wallet and counted out one hundred dollars. He held it out to the man. “Take him outside of town and leave him. Help us get away to do God’s work.”

The woman stepped forward, took the money, and waved us away. “Abandonar.”

We grabbed our bags and left before they changed their minds.

“Think they’ll do it?” I asked.

“Yes. Did you see the cross around her neck?”

“No.”

“She’ll make sure Lyman doesn’t follow us.”

We slowed to a determined but unremarkable pace as we made our way to the business district. I kept my eyes downcast in what I hoped was an appropriately demure pose for a nun. Kindle was greeted often, with deference. One man said, “Devil get the best of you, Padre?”

“You should see him,” Kindle returned, to general laughter. Though we weren’t touching, I could feel the tension emanating from him, hear it in his voice.

He bought his ticket with Lyman’s money and ushered me into the train carriage. We found an empty compartment, pulled down the window shades, and fell into opposite seats. After a moment, we laughed. “It’s never easy, is it?”

“No,” Kindle said. He picked up my bag and put it on the shelf overhead, along with his. He sat back down and pulled at his collar.

“Tight?”

“A little.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Don’t start.”

The compartment door slid open with a bang. A woman dressed in men’s work clothes, her hair in a long braid down her shoulder, studied us, astonishment clear on her bruised face. “God Almighty.” Rosemond closed the door behind her. “I thought I was seeing things.” She sat down next to me and looked me up and down. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if not for Blackbeard over there. I thought you were gone.”

“I missed my train.”

She grasped my hand. “I forgot to say good-bye.”

“I know.”

Rosemond turned her attention to Kindle. “I’m glad they didn’t shoot you.”

Kindle glared at her. “Not only are you a whore, but a liar, a killer, and a deviant.”

Rosemond straightened as if struck. The portion of her face not bruised from the beating I gave her paled and she looked at me as if she didn’t know who I was. “You told him?” Rosemond’s chest rose and fell as if she were struggling for air.

“No. Lyman told him. You were right. Lyman followed him from Saint Louis. William, you need to apologize.”

“For what? You’ve called her a whore and told of her lies and Cora Bayle.”

“You know very well what you need to apologize for, William.”

Rosemond turned to face Kindle, her expression defiant and proud. “I knew I made the right choice helping Laura instead of you.”

Kindle stood, and I moved between the two of them. “Helping?” Kindle said. “You kidnap her, lie to her, kill a woman and use me as the reason, tell Laura I’m dead, and for what? So you can tempt her to play the game of flats with you?”

“Kindle, that is enough,” I said.

“Why are you defending her?”

“Because I’ve lied and killed to be with you. And I would do it again if I had to.”

“I suppose you don’t want this deviant to save you, which is what I came here to do,” Rosemond said.

“What?”

“Hankins and the sheriff are furious at you, and they know you didn’t make yesterday’s train. The ticket master knew you, told them you missed your train when they asked. They’re checking every train before it departs. You need to get off. Now.”

“We shouldn’t trust her, Laura,” Kindle said. “Think of how many times she’s lied to you.”

I looked between the two of them. I had no doubt Hankins and the sheriff were out for my blood. But Kindle’s suspicions of Rosemond were warranted, too. Rosemond saw my indecision. Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

There was a commotion of activity outside. Raised voices, one of which was clearly the sheriff’s. I peeked out of the blinds. Hankins scanned the train. I pulled back and dropped the blind just in time.

“Now do you believe me?”

“What do we do?”

“Leave separately. Kindle, you come with me. I’ll say you’re a priest from Denver come to pay your respects to Oliver. The eye patch will turn heads, but no one’s looking for Captain Kindle. Hankins and the sheriff will look right past you in a nun’s habit. Go to Jesper’s. We’ll meet you there.”

I reached up for my bag. Kindle grabbed my arm. “Laura, this is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one? Hankins and the sheriff aren’t going to turn me in. They’re going to kill me. They’ve said as much. If Rosemond wanted the reward, she could have turned me in anytime.”

“I don’t trust her.”

I thought of these last weeks, how my relationship with Rosemond had gone from antagonistic, to suspicious, to distrustful, to something resembling a friendship. I knew, suddenly, that if Kindle had been executed I would have stayed in Cheyenne, built a practice under Hankins’s thumb, and settled into a life here with the friends I’d made, and Rosemond was a big part of the reason why. Had Rosemond played with and manipulated me like Lyman accused her of doing with others? Or was what passed between us two nights ago genuine? Rosemond’s history was full of betrayal and abandonment—her family, Lyman, Portia, Dunk—and her actions, her life path, was a result. I hadn’t betrayed or abandoned Rosemond, though I’d had plenty of opportunity and more than enough motivation for it. Whatever Rosemond felt for me, love or friendship, I believed it was genuine.

I pulled my bag from the shelf. “I do.” I left the compartment and, feeling more terrified than bold, walked out of the train on the side Hankins and the sheriff were on. I stopped and pretended to look up at the train schedule. I glanced down the platform and saw Kindle and Rosemond get off the train and walk toward Calico Row. I turned the opposite direction and ran right into Sheriff Hall. He looked straight into my face. “Excuse me, Sister.”

I dropped my eyes. “Go with God, my child,” I said, and walked around him and slowly away, expecting his meaty hand to land on my shoulder at any moment. Hankins hurried past me toward the sheriff, barely glancing at me. I continued on, down the steps and onto the street, where I finally chanced a glance behind me. The two men were talking and gesturing wildly, Hankins at the train, the sheriff at the road beyond the depot. I continued on, turned toward Calico Row, and released a long-held breath. Too soon, as it turned out.

A man fell into step beside me. “I see you’re still in town.”

I flinched in surprise. Salter stared down at me with an amused smile. I looked ahead and kept walking. “I see you have an uncanny ability to show up when least expected.”

“Nice disguise, Miss Bennett. Or should I call you Dr. Bennett?”

I stopped. “How long have you known?”

“Grand Island. You called me Kindle.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He shrugged. “Not my case.”

I stopped again. “But the reward?” I couldn’t believe I was arguing with a man who didn’t want to turn me in, but the idea that someone like Salter—a Pinkerton—would forgo such a windfall was surprising.

“Doesn’t seem right taking the reward by turning in an innocent woman.”

“How do you know I’m innocent?”

Salter pulled out a silver cigarette case and removed a thin cigar from it. He took his time replacing the case, lighting his cigar, and taking a drag. He picked a piece of tobacco from his tongue and wiped it on his pants. “Rumor has it, Reed wasn’t only working for the agency. Someone wanted him to make sure you didn’t make it back to New York City.”

“Yes, he alluded to that.” I shook my head. “I don’t know why Beatrice Langton would want me dead.”

“A dead woman can’t prove her innocence, can she?” Salter took a long drag on his cigar. He nodded toward my hand. “Though a dead woman’s bag might prove someone’s guilt.”

I swallowed. I remembered Salter watching me and Rosemond talk to Cora on the street in Grand Island, the carpetbag in her hand. He also saw me with it on the train. Was this the only physical piece of evidence connecting us to Cora Bayle? My guilty conscience might hang my friend.

What had Rosemond said? Tell a lie with enough conviction and the listener will doubt themselves.

“It has sentimental value.”

“Does it?”

“It was my father’s.”

“Your father.”

“Yes. He left me little else. Now, I really must be going. I have an appointment.”

“Got a telegram yesterday,” Salter said.

I stopped again and closed my eyes. He was toying with me. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked around me. I gathered myself and met his gaze steadily.

“Martha Mason died of her injuries. I’ll be sending a report to Chicago explaining she killed Cora Bayle for the necklace. Case closed. Tell your sister I might need a favor one day.” He held my gaze. He knew Rosemond killed Cora, and there would be a price for his silence. My stomach lurched with fear for my friend.

“Take care, Dr. Bennett.” He turned and walked off.

Rosemond and Kindle waited for me in Jesper’s store. Kindle came to me immediately. “Where were you?”

“I ran into Salter,” I said to Rosemond.

“What did he want?”

I told them about my conversation with the Pinkerton and him laying Cora Bayle’s death at Martha Mason’s feet.

“Why would he do that?” Rosemond asked.

“He said he may need a favor from you one day.”

Rosemond’s eyebrows raised, and she smirked.

I reached out and grasped Rosemond’s arm. “Don’t underestimate him, Rosemond. Salter is dangerous.”

“Are you worried for me?”

“Of course I am,” I snapped.

Rosemond’s grin faded into a pleased smile and her hand covered mine. “Thank you, Laura. I can take care of myself. I’m a survivor.”

Kindle harrumphed.

“I thought you would be more open-minded, Kindle,” Rosemond said. “Or is your pride wounded?”

“Because you prefer my wife to me? Hardly.”

Rosemond nodded with a knowing smirk. I glared at Kindle and pulled Rosemond to the side. “What happened with Portia?” I asked in a low voice. “Did you work things out?”

“Nothing can be settled until Oliver is buried and Portia’s had time to grieve. But if her anger at you for breaking my nose is any indication, she’s head over heels in love with me.”

Jesper and Monique walked in. “Wagon’s ready,” Monique said.

“Thank you,” Rosemond said.

“I need to check on Lavina,” I said, trying to pull away from Rosemond.

“No, you don’t,” Rosemond said. She pulled me close. “These two don’t know who you are, but I guaran-damn-tee if they did, they’d turn you in. I’ll make sure Lavina’s okay. You need to get out of town before everyone knows who you are. Jesper’s going to drive you to Archer, eight miles away. You should easily make the emigrant train at six o’clock.” I groaned. “You can switch to a better train further on,” Rosemond said.

“We need to go, Laura,” Kindle said from the door.

“He’s right. Hankins and the sheriff will come looking here soon enough.”

I grasped Rosemond’s hands. “Good luck, with everything.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes darted in Kindle’s direction and back. “I would say come back when your name is cleared, but I don’t think that’s likely.”

“I’ve learned to not plan too far in advance. It never works out for me somehow.” We laughed.

“Good advice.”

I squeezed Rosemond’s hands and tried to release them. She held fast. “I’m sorry for lying to you. At first I thought it was about Dunk, making you suffer a loss like I did. I considered telling you the truth more than once, but I didn’t want you to leave. I still don’t. I don’t make friends easily and, well, I suppose I didn’t know how to go about it. We made it in the end, though, didn’t we?” My heart broke with the hope and vulnerability in her voice and her expression.

I pulled her to me. Rosemond March was the most complicated and contradictory person I’d ever met. She wasn’t perfect, nor did she pretend to be, but she was fully human in a way so many people were not. I’d hated her at times but I couldn’t deny the deep well of affection I had for her. Wasn’t that true friendship? Loving someone, flaws and all?

“Yes, we made it in the end.” I pulled away. “Tell Portia good-bye for me.”

Rosemond nodded. I released her and left quickly, before either of us would be embarrassed by the tears flowing down our cheeks.