Denver
Late March, 1876
With shaking hands and a roiling stomach, Callie waited for Tilly to finish reading the telegram. Finally she looked up. "Your father is truly dead, and I hope I won't hurt your feelings when I say 'Good riddance.'"
"But I told you he was." Her voice squeaked on the last word.
"Yes, you did, and I believed you. At least I believed you wanted to think him gone so you'd be safe." Leaning forward, she clasped her hands together on the desk blotter. "Callie, I believe in hedging my bets. I'd be a fool if I didn't check to make sure he wouldn't be coming after you. You may be of age, but he would still have a certain claim on you."
Dumbly, Callie nodded. And waited.
"Deed doesn't give a damn about Lily, but he wants you back."
"Oh, no!"
"Don't worry. As far as he knows, she came here alone. Even though Lily said Smith never paid her a dime, I'll be sending him enough to buy out any obligation she has to him. She's too good to work for a son of a bitch like Barney Deed. As for you, I haven't seen hide nor hair of a black-haired girl who goes by the name of Callie Smith." She set the telegram aside. "Now, what's to become of you?"
"I can cook. I'm a hard worker, and I'll clean. Do laundry--"
"Oh, you'll cook all right. The only intelligent thing Smith ever did was put you to work in his kitchen. Even down here we heard about the spreads he put on."
Nearly faint with relief, Callie missed her next words.
"...remodel. The place next door is for sale. It would make a good place for the brats, and you could stay over there until it's done, keep an eye on things."
"I'm sorry. What did you say? The brats?"
Shortly she learned that Tilly never turned a girl out if she ended up pregnant. Three of her current stable had children, and they all lived together in a small cottage about a mile away. "It's really too small, since Elizabeth had her baby. Besides, real estate in a town like Denver is never a bad investment."
"But--"
Tilly's laugher filled the room. "You're wondering what a madam is doing, thinking about real estate, aren't you?" At Callie's nod, she went on. "I'm a businesswoman, first and foremost, thanks to an old friend's advice. That's how I got myself out of the mining camps and into a city that's on its way up. Right now I'm supplying a demand. If the world went crazy and men stopped needing my girls' services, I'd find something else to sell."
"Oh." Put that way, running a bawdyhouse made perfect sense.
Lordy, I'm too tired and scared to think straight. How can it make any sense at all?
She became aware Tilly was speaking to her. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"That you need to go shopping. I'll not have a woman in my house looking like a slattern. Lily will take you. She's got a good eye for what looks well on a body."
"Oh! But--" She'd been hoping to keep her secret a little longer. "I didn't tell you one thing."
"What's that?" the sweet voice had turned hard as stone.
"I'm...going to have a baby. At least I think I am. My courses--"
The grin that lit up Tilly's face very nearly relieved all her remaining concerns. "Then you'll fit right into the house next door. Scat now. I need to get hold of my lawyer so he can make an offer before somebody snaps it up."
Once outside Tilly's office, Callie sagged against the wall, hoping she wouldn't faint from sheer relief. After a moment, she laid both hands upon her belly. "Hear that?" she whispered. "We've got a place to stay and a way to earn a living. We're safe."
* * * *
Ogden, Utah Territory
Early April 1876
"Sure feel good to be walkin' where the ground don't move," Rye said. Their train had been three hours late, causing them to miss the westbound Central Pacific train. On the advice of the ticket agent, they were walking to a nearby hotel where stranded travelers were often accommodated.
"You get used to it." Merlin looked around, unable to shake the feeling he'd been here before. "It was a lot smaller then."
"Huh?"
"Just talking to myself. This looks like the hotel."
It was, and there was room for them. The next day they explored the town for a while, until Merlin found a bookstore. He stood looking into the window, where several stacks of books were arranged, each with an open tome lying atop it. "Let's go in here."
"Why?"
"I'm curious." He hesitated just shy of the door. "Can you read?"
"'Course I can. When I have to."
"You ever read because you want to?"
Rye stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Not ever."
"Probably because you've never met the right book. C'mon."
Merlin bought three books, one the clerk told him was brand new, and two that felt like old friends, even though he couldn't remember ever reading them. Somehow he knew he'd always enjoyed reading.
When they emerged from the bookstore, he said, "Let's find a park. It's too nice a day to sit inside."
"Can we eat first?"
"We'll buy some cheese and bread, a couple of oranges. It's a good day for a picnic."
"Oranges? Real oranges? I ain't never tasted one."
"You'll like it."
After lunch, he persuaded Rye to sample the new book The Mysterious Island. It was by an author Merlin was sure he was acquainted with, a Frenchman named Verne. When he'd seen the name, he'd had a mental image of an enormous projectile carrying men to the moon. Crazy notion. It sounds like fun.
He lost himself in a poetic tale about a king who was determined to change the world for the better. The best part was a wise man named Merlin in the story. A shiver of delight ran down his arms the first time he saw the name. For a moment, he had the feeling he was one of those knights like Arthur, brave and noble and decent.
The next he wondered why he would think himself brave and noble. Knowing she was in danger from her own father, he'd left a wife alone in an isolated cabin, guarded only by an old man. He didn't blame Abner for his unspoken but obvious disapproval.
Any enjoyment he'd had in the tale of chivalry and honor was gone. He closed the book and reached for the other one. Last of the Mohicans. The title had triggered a small memory, of a name: Natty Bumpo.
A chilling breeze brought him back to his surroundings. Their sunny bench was now in the shade. "Let's go," he said. "It's time to head for the depot."
Rye appeared reluctant to close his book.
"Good story?"
"Yeah. Real exciting. Nobody ever told me reading could be fun."
They slept that night at Kelton, a hundred miles to the west. Early the following morning, they boarded a stage bound for Boise City. With each rocking, jolting mile, Merlin's impatience grew. Would he be able to find the Lucas Savage the Pinkerton man had named in his note? He'd chosen Boise City as a destination because it sounded familiar, but what if he was wrong? Eagle Rock had sounded familiar, too. Maybe they should have gone there first.
He leaned back and closed his eye. Even Mr. Cooper's story, exciting as it was, hadn't been able to hold his attention during those short stretches where the road was smooth enough to allow reading. His mind kept going back to the question that had plagued him since learning he'd been married. Why don't I remember her? Why don't I feel like I've lost something important?
Stricker, the agent at Rock Creek Station, was a friendly fellow, once he'd seen to their comfort and their suppers. Merlin caught him on his way through the common room. "Got a minute?"
"I can spare half a dozen. What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for a fellow, but all I know is he lives somewhere in Idaho Territory. Name's Lucas Savage. Ever heard of him."
One eyebrow raised, Stricker gave him a long look. "Mind telling me why you're looking for Savage?"
"You do know him? Can you tell me where I can find him?"
"I know of him." He was plainly waiting for Merlin to answer his question.
"I'll show you." He pulled out his pocketbook, extracted the note from the Pinkerton man. "Read this."
After he'd had time to read it two or three times, Stricker said, "Savage has a place west of Boise, close to the river. He raises some of the finest mules in the territory." Scratching he head, he looked back at the note. "You signed in with the name Lachlan. How come you're not contacting them?"
Merlin had heard the phrase "butterflies in the stomach" sometime in his past, but until now he'd no idea what it meant. He wasn't sure whether he was going to lose his supper or keel over in a dead faint. One deep breath, followed by another, steadied him enough to say, "Where would I find them?"
"Ask anywhere in Boise City. They're well known." Handing the note back to Merlin, he gave him a level look. "Just be sure it's really your name. I've heard the old man doesn't suffer fools gladly."
The next day, with the end of his search in sight, was the longest thirteen hours Merlin had ever lived. When he got off the stage in Boise City, his knees were weak. "Can you see to our gear?" he said to Rye. "I'm going to see if there's anyone hereabouts who knows where the Lachlans might be found."
"Sure. I'll meet you out front."
"They live a mile or so east of here," he told Rye when they met a few minutes later in front of the station. With a wave, he summoned one of the cabs standing in line along the street. "We want to go to Lachlan's house. Can you find it?"
"Hard to miss," was the answer.
When they pulled into the circular driveway of a brick mansion, his first impression was of a castle, with a tall, sharp-roofed tower and many narrow windows. It looked like it ought to be surrounded by a moat and have pennants flying from the roof instead of lightning rods.
"This is it," he said, and the words caught on the lump in his throat. "This is home."
* * * *
Boise City, Idaho Territory
October 1876
"He was such a joyous boy, even after he..." Hattie blinked rapidly, knowing if she let the tears fall, Emmet would set aside his own pain to comfort her.
"Even after he lost the eye. I know. When he rode off from here, he was excited and happy and ready for anything. He was on a quest, just like those knights he liked to read about. No dragon too big to slay, no maiden too poor or too ugly to defend. And no danger too great to face."
She watched her middle son swing the scythe, back and forth, back and forth, leaving behind him a wide swath of neatly windrowed grass hay. "Look at him, Emmet. He doesn't even move the same. There's no spring to his step. I haven't heard him laugh since he came home."
"At least he remembers us now. When he drove in that day, he stared at us like he'd never seen us before."
"He claims his headaches have stopped," Hattie said, "but maybe he just doesn't want us to worry." Her gaze stayed on Merlin, who'd paused in his scything to wipe his brow. The day was warm for October. "Do you suppose he'll ever remember anything about his wife?"
Merlin had said only he'd been married for a few days before his wife was murdered. Rye hadn't been able to add much to the tale, for he knew only what Merlin had been told.
"I think he doesn't want to remember." Emmet never looked away from his son, "I think he blames himself for not being there to protect her when the cabin burned."
"Of course. Why didn't I see that? She was his damsel in distress, and he didn't save her." When Emmet raised an eyebrow, she said, "Maybe it's a frivolous way to put it, but it's how he must be thinking. He was a knight on a quest. And he let the dragon kill the maiden."
"Well, I just glad he's home safe. And that he's agreed to take on the River Ranch. Of all our children, he's the one I always worried about the most. Such a dreamer."
"Not anymore, I reckon," Hattie said, and felt her heart break all over again.
"No," Emmet agreed. "Not anymore."
* * * *
Denver
October 1876
"It's a girl. Your baby's a girl."
Callie reached shaking hands to touch the wet, squirming creature lying face down across her belly. My daughter. Merlin, we have a daughter. "Is she--"
"She's fine. Can't you tell, the way she's still yelling? Just hold onto her while I take care of the cord. Then we'll clean her up and you can hold her."
Minta hummed as she worked. After a few minutes, she said, "There now. She's all warm and cozy. Give her to Callie."
Lily laid the blanket wrapped bundle in Callie's waiting arms. "Babies are just the ugliest things. It's a good thing they grow out of it."
"Lily!"
"Well they are, all squashed and red. I'm glad I never had one."
"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you did," Callie said, but she found the words difficult to speak. She was so tired, yet she didn't want to sleep. She could lie here forever, just holding her daughter.
She was aware of Minta tending to her, heard Lily go into the hall and tell the waiting women they all had a pretty little niece to spoil. Unable to take her eyes from the sight of her baby's squashed, red little face, she only realized she was weeping when a tear trickled down her neck. When she reached up to wipe it away, Minta saw her.
"Here now, you're supposed to be happy. I thought you wanted this babe."
"I did. I do." She sniffed, swallowed the lump that seemed stuck in her throat. "Her father won't ever see her."
Minta's hand covered hers. "I know, but at least she has a father. Melissa doesn't know who her little boy's pa is."
Three of the women at Tilly's had children. They lived in the house next door, a roomy place with a big back yard. Callie had stayed there ever since the week after she'd arrived, and hoped she'd be able to remain forever. Maybe living next door to a bawdyhouse wasn't the best place for children, but it was better than anything she'd known as a child. There were no men to abuse or belittle them, and the only mothers there were those who'd chosen the role.
She'd learned most whores either got rid of the occasional accident, or gave the children away at birth.
Tilly bustled in. "Well, now, I hear you've a little girl. Have you picked a name?"
A boy would have been Merlin, of course, but picking a girl's name had been more difficult. She didn't want to name her child after anyone on her side, and she didn't know Merlin's mother's name. One day, as she'd been reading the book he'd called his favorite, the one about knights and kings and quests, she'd suddenly known there was only one possible name for his daughter. "Guinevere. Her name is Guinevere Matilda. For her pa and for you."
Tilly's chin quivered and she gave a little sniff. "Well, now, that's just about the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. I guess it makes me her granny."
"I'd be honored," Callie said, reaching out to take Tilly's hand. "And so will she, when she is a little older."