CHAPTER

27

From the bow of the stern-wheeler we watched the scenery change from farmland to neighborhoods to a bustling, compact business district of redbrick buildings set in the curve of the Mississippi River. Our riverboat cut back its engine to maneuver in and around the other boats vying for their own piece of water.

My hand was nestled in the crook of Kindle’s arm, ostensibly to pull myself nearer to him, but in actuality ready to grip him if he swayed in the slightest. He held himself rigid, his head high in defiance, but willpower alone wasn’t enough to put color in his cheeks or to banish the dark circles beneath his eyes. We’d planned to stay on in Independence for a week so he could recover from his injuries but Kindle had insisted on leaving on the third day, saying he could lie in bed as easily on a steamboat as he could in town.

Kindle’s hat was pulled low, throwing half his face in shadow, but not enough to mask the dark bruise beneath Enloe’s eye patch, the bottom edge of which bore an uneven stain from the pus seeping from Kindle’s eye socket. A bead of sweat ran down his temple despite the breeze coming off the river. I gripped his arm tighter and said in a light voice, “I’ve never been to Saint Louis. Tell me about it.”

He swallowed. “What would you like to know?”

“How long were you stationed here?”

“All told, three years. Every soldier in the West goes through Saint Louis on his way to his post. The first time was on my way to Fort Lyon. I was here long enough to lose all my money on the riverboats.”

“All of it?”

“Yes. It happened only the once. Ever since, I’ve secreted half of my money, pretended it didn’t exist.” I thought of him sewing up my mother’s jewelry into the saddlebag at Darlington. “It’s also a good rule of thumb because the river is full of thieves. Of course, a secret pocket in a saddlebag is easy enough for them to discover. But, I felt better having it.”

“And, the second time?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Look.”

Two enormous columns stuck out of the middle of the Mississippi and two others nearer the shore were half the size. “What in heaven’s name?”

“A bridge, I suppose.”

“Indeed it is.” Henry Pope walked up, cheeks and nose rosy from drink. “Designed by James Eads.”

“Eads?” Kindle asked.

“You know him?”

“I knew him briefly while I was here. He made his fortune salvaging sunken riverboats. A good business on the Mississippi.”

“He says his expertise in the shifting riverbed gives him the knowledge to build this monstrosity. Most people think it will collapse, but Eads is confident.”

“Most people being the ferry operators?” I asked.

Pope touched his nose. “How are you feeling, Major?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“You look green around the gills. Would you like a nip?” Pope held out his flask. Kindle glared at him with his one good eye. Pope corked the flask and said, “No, of course not. You don’t want to be drunk when you say your vows.”

“Maybe we should find a room and wait a couple of days, for you to feel better,” I said.

“No. We are getting married as soon as we get off the boat.”

I lowered my voice and leaned near him. “William, I would much rather wait a couple of days than have you collapse at the altar before you say I do.”

Kindle whispered in my ear, “We will be at my sister’s by the end of the day, I promise. The feather bed awaits.”

I blushed and glanced to see if Henry had heard.

“Henry,” Kindle said. “Can you do me one last favor?”

“Ask and ye shall receive.”

“Take Laura to buy a dress.”

“Oh, William, I don’t need a dress.”

“I’m not marrying a Quaker. Nothing too ostentatious,” he said to Pope. He lifted my hand and kissed it. “Make sure it’s blue. She looks lovely in blue.”

“Will do.”

I caressed Kindle’s cheek. “And, what will you be doing?”

“Making arrangements.”

The steamboat slid into its berth and we disembarked onto a wharf teeming with humanity. I stopped on the wide cobblestone road shared by wagons, people, vendors, and longshoremen. Kindle walked on a couple of steps before realizing I wasn’t by his side. He turned with a questioning expression. “It reminds me of Galveston,” I said.

The six months since I’d disembarked from the Dorothy Rosine with Maureen seemed to have passed like the blink of an eye as well as a long nightmare. Now though, the nightmare was over. Kindle and I were together, starting a new life. I smiled, took his arm, and we walked up the wharf stairs to the city above, with Henry Pope following along like a loyal pup.

Kindle parted from us at the corner of First and Morgan, our saddlebags slung over one shoulder. We watched him limp up the street using the cane he’d never finished whittling, until he turned a corner and was gone.

“Do you think letting him go off by himself is a good idea?” Pope said.

I shrugged and checked the contents of the purple velvet bag I used as a purse. My mother’s necklace and the money for a wedding dress were where they should have been. “I suppose we shall see. Where are we going to buy a dress?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ve been to Saint Louis before, haven’t you?”

“I wasn’t frequenting dress shops, I can tell you that.”

“I suppose the houses you did frequent would know where a dress shop might be.”

Pope’s head went back so far his chin melted into his neck. “What are you saying?”

“Henry, go ask a whore where to buy a nice dress.”

Henry and I walked in the opposite direction of Kindle. He shook his head and mumbled, “I don’t know why you think I know where whorehouses are.”

He parked me in the tearoom of a hotel with a full pot of Earl Grey and a plate of tiny sandwiches and left. I stared in disbelief at the china pot and delicate sandwiches for so long a waiter inquired if I was quite well. I smiled, said I was, and picked a sandwich from the plate.

The cucumber was paper-thin and the bread smeared with a hint of soft cheese. My mind drifted to my aunt Emily’s house in London: the afternoon tea, vacuous conversation, strict rules of propriety. I sipped my tea and imagined the horror on Aunt Emily’s face if she were to see me at this moment, dressed like a Quaker and with hair too short to pull back into an appropriate feminine style. After her initial horror had worn off, and she’d said I told you so in thirty different ways, she would spring into action and turn me into a respectable woman again. Your hair is hopeless, but a nice dress will distract your visitors.

I was well into my second pot of tea when Henry Pope returned, more red-faced than when he’d left. I glanced at the clock on the wall and sipped my tea without comment. He ran his derby around in his hands. “I’ve the name of a nice dress shop.”

“You look tired. Was it a long walk?”

“Not terribly.”

“Sit. A nice cup of tea will rejuvenate you.”

“I’m well enough, Laura, thank you. Time’s a-wasting.”

“Please, sit. I want to talk to you.”

Pope sat and placed his hat on the chair between us. I called for another cup and poured his tea.

“Can I trust you, Henry?”

“You have to ask that, after all we’ve been through?”

“This is a different kind of trust. A long-term trust.”

“A take-it-to-my-grave trust?”

I touched my nose.

He considered for longer than I’d thought he would.

“Would you like to hear what I will ask of you?”

He shook his head. “You can count on me, Laura.”

I cleared my throat and pressed my hands on the tabletop. “As I waited for you, I realized this”—I motioned to the tearoom—“will probably never be a possibility for me and Kindle. Normalcy.” I smiled. “I never wanted to be normal, now I long for it.”

Pope nodded along with me, waiting for what I would ask.

“I need you to kill me, Henry.”

Pope stared at me uncomprehendingly, then laughed so loud the other diners took notice. I motioned for him to quiet down. He leaned forward. “Goddamn, Laura, you’re a clever woman.”

I sat back with what I was sure was a smug expression. “Yes, well, I do try.”

“You want me to kill you in my story. And, Kindle, too?”

“It would be preferable. Especially before anyone knows about his lost eye. Keep that out.”

“How do you want to die?”

I waved my hand. “I leave that to your imagination. Though I suppose you should include Lorcan Reed in your story so no one goes searching for him.”

Henry rubbed his hands together. “Oh, this is going to be wonderful.”

“Henry,” I said in warning. “Whatever story you tell you have to stick with. Forever. You can’t get drunk and start spouting another story. Or, God forbid, telling the truth.”

“The truth?” Pope laughed again. “I’m a newspaperman, Laura, or have you forgotten?” He reached across and patted my hand. “Don’t you worry. It would be my honor to kill you and Kindle. Especially Kindle. I’ve had a few ideas about that already.”

“I thought you like him.”

“Oh, I do. I do. But, I hate him a little for winning you.” Henry leaned forward. “If you ever get tired of that brooding cavalryman, you come find me.” He winked at me broadly, and I knew he was mostly teasing.

I laughed. “I will, Henry.”

I paid for our tea and followed Pope to the dress shop his friend had suggested. If Pope had been awkward in a tearoom, it was nothing compared to his embarrassment at being in a dress shop. “You may wait outside, Henry,” I said as the dressmaker showed me her ready-made dresses. “I assure you I’ve bought dresses before.”

His relief was palatable. “Remember, Kindle wants blue.”

“I remember.”

“I’ll nip into the pub down the street.”

When Pope left, I told the dressmaker, “We had better complete this quickly. Henry Pope and a pub is a dangerous combination.”

“What is the occasion?”

A grin broke across my face and I blushed. “My wedding.”

The woman’s eyes lit up, no doubt hoping for a large order. She snapped her fingers and an apprentice dressmaker materialized. “You cannot wear blue to your wedding,” the woman said. “The only blue I have is more appropriate for mourning.”

“Show me what you have on hand, please.”

“But, ma’am, it would be much better to have a dress custom made. I have a wonderful azure silk that would look stunning on you.”

“Thank you, but I do not have time. We are getting married today, you see.”

The woman’s brows furrowed, immediately suspicious. “My trunk containing my dress was misplaced on the New Orleans dock, it would seem. The date and time have been fixed with the church for weeks and my fiancé is loath to change it. I would like two dresses, one more formal and the other an everyday dress. I will wear the formal one out of the store and would like to leave this one with you so you can make it look not quite so austere?”

“Of course.”

I pulled my mother’s necklace from the bag and held it up. The woman’s eyes lit up. “I would like a neckline that will show this to its best advantage. And one more thing: I need a man’s cane.”

When I arrived at the pub an hour later, Pope was in the middle of a serious game of poker with a man who was too well dressed to be a regular at the dingy pub. He wore a white linen suit and a flat-billed straw hat at a cocky angle. His relaxed posture contrasted with his shrewd blue eyes, which surveyed his opponents while appearing to not move in the least. The pile of coins and paper in front of him was significant, but only in comparison to the other players. I’d seen much more money exchange hands in London drawing rooms.

“Call,” the man said in a voice devoid of accent.

Pope, the last man playing, lay his cards down. Two nines against the gambler’s straight flush. I shook my head. Why Pope had played the hand through, I didn’t understand.

The gambler raked the pot and jerked his chin in my direction. “I believe your friend has arrived.” His gaze traveled to me and landed squarely on my necklace. I knew he’d taken my measure in as soon as I walked through the door and had valued my necklace with one glance. Now his expression said he was looking past my clothes and to the woman beneath. I felt a flush creep up my neck and turned my focus to Henry. I tapped him on the shoulder with the silver handle of the cane.

“Mr. Pope, we’ll be late.”

The chair scraped against the raw wooden floor and almost tipped over. With a faraway look in his eyes, Henry searched around his chair and the table.

“Your hat is on your head, Henry,” I said.

He touched his derby and nodded. “So it is.”

“Pope, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“What?” Pope searched around his chair, most likely hoping to discover a dropped coin so he wouldn’t be completely destitute.

The gambler touched the brim of his hat. “John Lyman, at your service.”

I nodded. “Nice to meet you. Henry, William is waiting.”

Pope patted his pockets and moved away from the table.

“Pope,” Lyman called. Henry turned and caught a chip Lyman tossed to him. “Bring it to the Grand Republic for a chance to win your money back.”

Pope turned the shiny metal chip over in his hand. He touched a finger to his derby in acknowledgment and followed me out of the pub.

“Give me the chip,” I said.

“What? Why?”

“Henry, he is conning you. He took all your money so you will go to the boat tonight and lose more.”

“I don’t have any more.”

“Then he will loan you the money at an exorbitant rate.”

“How do you know?”

I sighed. “Let’s say I’ve a bit of experience with confidence men. Give me the chip.”

Reluctantly, he placed it in my hand. I tucked it into the sleeve of my dress. “Now take me to the church. I am ready to pledge my troth.”

It was as if giving me the chip had broken through the spell Pope had been under. He looked me up and down appreciatively.

“It’s not blue.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was the best I could do. I refuse to get married in a mourning dress.”

Pope cocked his arm for me to take. “Some say marriage is a bit like dying.”

“I’m sure it’s a wonderful metaphor, Henry, but could you save it until after the wedding?”

He grinned the gap-toothed grin I’d become quite fond of and escorted me to the church.

My first thought when I saw Kindle standing at the altar with a priest was, Kindle’s Catholic?

The floral scent from the small bouquet of flowers Henry had bought for me from a street vendor contrasted with the cool, mossy smell of the stone church. The ceiling soared above me. Multicolored light from the sun shining through stained-glass windows danced on the flagstone floor. A woman lit a candle and knelt in the transept to pray. A door banged shut somewhere. Henry’s footsteps echoed in the cavernous room, while my slippered feet scraped softly as I walked closer and closer to an institution I had thought I would never be a part of.

Kindle left the altar and walked down the aisle toward me.

I focused on him, whose resemblance to a pirate didn’t diminish by standing in the house of the Lord. He’d changed into a nicer suit, I noticed, with a white neck cloth. Pus seeped from beneath his eye patch and his scar was stark against his pale face. I worried for a moment this might be too much for him, that he should probably be lying down instead of standing in a damp church. He lifted his right hand to his face and wiped the pus away with a handkerchief.

“You look lovely,” he said.

“It isn’t blue.”

“Emerald suits you as well.” He reached out and touched the sapphire pendant around my neck. “Ravishing.”

I held out the ebony cane topped with a silver handle. “Your wedding present.”

He took it and pursed his lips in approval. “A damn sight better than the one you gave me at Richardson.” He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

He offered me his arm, which I took, but I kept him from walking me the rest of the way down the aisle. “Kindle,” I whispered, “I’m not Catholic.”

“Don’t tell Father Ryan. Have you ever been to a Catholic wedding?”

“Once, when I was a child.”

“Follow my lead.”

I remember nothing about the ceremony, other than how my stumble over the word obey caused the priest to pause for a long moment, until Kindle nodded, and the man continued. We were walking to the rector’s office, with Pope following as our witness, when I said, “I thought we agreed about the vows.”

“We did.”

“I think we’re lucky he continued with the ceremony.”

“If it would have been anyone else, he wouldn’t have. Patrick is my cousin.”

We signed Father Ryan’s book and he poured glasses of wine for each of us. “To the new couple, may God bless your union with happiness and many children.”

I sipped, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge the second part of the toast.

“Kindle tells me you met after Antietam,” Father Ryan said. He was about Kindle’s age, I guessed, with thinning dark hair and kind brown eyes.

“I told him everything,” Kindle said.

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised at my stumble during the ceremony.” I smiled sweetly and sipped my wine.

Father Ryan inclined his head with a rueful smile. “Only temporarily.”

“Thank you for continuing,” I said. I stopped, my throat thick with emotion. “We have traveled some way to arrive here, together.”

“So I hear.” He placed his empty glass on his desk. “What you have been through shows a level of dedication to each other much deeper than one small word can convey.”

“I thought the love of a man was lost to me long ago, when I chose to pursue medicine. Imagine my surprise when I met William and he loved me because of my mind, not despite it.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Catherine. It isn’t only your mind Billy loves.”

I blushed at the priest’s audacity. Pope choked on his wine, and Kindle laughed. “Really, Pat.”

“I am sorry. You can take the man out of the Army, but you cannot take the Army out of the man.” He slapped his hands together and walked around the desk. “So, where to now? Mary’s?”

Pope clapped his hands over his ears and started humming. Father Ryan looked at him as if he was insane. “What the hell are you doing, Pope?”

“He can’t know where we’re going,” I said.

“Afraid he’s going to betray you?” Father Ryan said.

Pope removed his hands. “No. I’m going to kill them.”

Kindle put his hand on his gun.

“Metaphorically, William,” I said, resting my hand on Kindle’s.

I sketched my and Pope’s plan to a skeptical Kindle and a curious Father Ryan. “It’s not a bad idea, Billy,” Father Ryan said. “You can visit Mary for a couple of weeks, let the story play out, and leave with a little bit of security.”

I nodded to Kindle and squeezed his arm. “It will be a clean break from the past.”

Kindle studied Pope. “What do you get out of it?”

“Another story.”

“Another one? What the hell have you been working on for the last month?”

“I have decided instead your story will be more believable as a penny dreadful.”

Father Ryan laughed. “And, more lucrative.”

“Much,” Pope said. “I see you and Kindle, with different names, of course, being the heroine and hero of a string of novels about your exploits across the West. The first one is called Sawbones. I’ll make a fortune.”

I laughed. “Penny dreadful. I can’t imagine a more appropriate vehicle for our story.”

“I’ll write the story of Laura’s demise at the hands of the Pinkerton—don’t worry, you’ll come off as a tragic heroine—and Kindle’s mortal revenge. It will be the West’s version of Romeo and Juliet.”

Kindle looked to the heavens. “God Almighty.”

Father Ryan and I couldn’t stop laughing. “It sounds brilliant, Henry.” I hugged Henry and whispered in his ear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He patted my back awkwardly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a flat square package tied with a string and handed it to me. “Your wedding present, madam.”

I untied the string and unfolded the plain brown wrapping paper to reveal Soule’s glass negative. Kindle and Aénhé’ke stared stoically at the camera. My face was blurred and unrecognizable, as I wanted it to be. I showed the negative to Kindle. His face lost its good humor as he stared with his one eye at the woman who’d mutilated him. He took the glass plate into his hand and stared at it for a moment before walking to Father Ryan’s fireplace and throwing it inside, shattering it into a hundred pieces. He turned to Pope. “Was there a paper copy?”

Pope shrugged. “I barely had time to nick the negative.”

Kindle nodded and limped over to Pope. He held out his hand. “Thank you.”

“The least I could do.”

“Oh, do you want your chip?” I asked, reaching inside my sleeve.

“No. You keep it. As a good luck charm. Lord knows you need them.”

“Are you ready?” Kindle said, holding out his arm for me.

“Yes.”

“Pope, stay and help me finish this bottle of wine,” Father Ryan said.

“Well, I need to start the story of their demise, but if you insist.”

“Have you ever thought of having a priest as the hero in one of your stories?”

“No, Father, but it’s your wine. Fire away.”

Kindle and I walked out of the rectory arm in arm, leaving the two men to their sensational, wine-soaked stories.