Chapter 30

The garden around us was sparse and ill-kempt. Ahead, the capital building’s massive dome reminded me of a lion’s head, the two buildings on either side giant paws reaching forward.

To my right along the gravel drive, Marshal Hill pushed Scott’s wicker cart, two large wheels on the front, a small turning wheel in the back.

We wore what we could buy at stations along the way, and none of us were the height of fashion. I wore a simple day suit, wool, dark gray, almost black. I kept the top button closed, but the rest of the jacket fell loose by my sides. I couldn’t find a hat I liked.

Marshal Hill’s black suit set off his keen blue eyes and bushy mustache.

Scott’s suit was striped up and down with brown and gray. I’d dressed him. Moving his useless legs through the pants only reminded me of Becky’s final ultimatum as we’d left. If you go to Washington, Scott, don’t bother returning. I’ll never speak to you again.

Scott had tried to explain to me that was her way of breaking off the relationship, that she would never be the one to take initiative. He was feeling better daily that she’d cornered him that way. “I’m tired of her making me look bad. Besides, she wants someone to dance with,” he had said. “Not cry with.”

Directly in front of the building carefully crafted knee-high bushes edged the road. Flowers—golds and velvet reds—added color. Birds bounced along the path in front of us then flew into the bushes. People passed, but all were engrossed in conversation and paid us no mind.

“No one’s carrying guns,” I said, feeling conspicuous with my own Smith and Wesson.

“Not everyone makes enemies like you do,” Marshal Hill said.

Scott chuckled. “Philip doesn’t do a thing halfway.”

“No he does not.”

We paused as the sweet smell of perfume filled the air. Under the capital’s dome at the foot of the steps, carriages were parked in disarray. Horses rocked in their harnesses, setting off the jingle of bells. Elegant men in top hats and canes each held a woman on their arm. The dresses were colorful in the morning sun.

My sweaty palms were testament to my churning insides.

I glanced at Marshal Hill. He said, “We’d best keep going. Help me lift Scott up the stairs.”

Just before I reached under the chair I heard a cry, “Is that him?”

“It is!”

“Anderson! I’ve questions!”

“Steady,” Marshal Hill said, glancing at my hand that rested on the Smith and Wesson. “They’re armed with pencils, not guns. Reporters.”

“What should I say?”

“Nothing,” Scott replied. “Let’s just get inside.”

The reporters rushed us.

“What do you think of Dakota becoming a state?”

“Philip Anderson, what do you say to claims you’re a vigilante?”

“Anderson, did you execute the members of the Maxwell Gang?”

“What are your ties with Jacob Wilkes?”

I paused.

“Is it true you’re cheating on Anna Johnston with Rachel Halliday?”

My hands curled.

Marshal Hill grabbed my elbow and said over the tumult, “This way. Side door.”

We followed Marshal Hill. He skirted the bottom of the stairs and closed in on a door guarded by three soldiers. The marshal held up his badge, and they opened the door.

We entered. As soon as the heavy door closed, the waterfall of words abruptly ended.

The three soldiers surrounded us.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” I said.

“Our pleasure, sir,” the sergeant said, looking into my eyes. “I take it you are Philip Anderson?”

“I am.”

“I must insist. Your firearm. It won’t be needed. We’ll keep it here until the hearing is over and you leave.”

“The last time my gun was left—”

Marshal Hill unbuckled his gun. “It’s okay, Philip. This isn’t a party. And Jacob’s not here.”

I pulled the leather strap through the loops on the belt and tugged off the belt. My hips felt naked.

“We keep them in this locker,” the sergeant said, opening a wooden door. I set my gun next to Marshal Hill’s revolver. “You can retrieve them here. Do you need an escort?”

“No.” Marshal Hill took his position behind Scott. “I know the way.”

Tile floors made rolling Scott easier through the corridors. “You’ve done this before,” I said.

“As a Pinkerton, yes.”

We passed murals of animals painted between golden molding. The creatures were so colorful, so vibrant, I wished my nerves were calmer so I could enjoy them. We passed through vaulted passageways so beautiful my pace slowed. A triangle arch opened to a narrow stairway. Hundreds of voices filtered down from above.

I stopped.

“Philip, help me lift Scott.”

I just stared.

“Hey, we’ve got to get going.”

My lower jaw trembled. My gut was jelly.

“Philip—”

“Marshal,” Scott said. “Give Philip and me a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute.”

“It’s not Philip Anderson gunman that’s walking up those stairs. It’s a farmer more comfortable with horses than people. If you don’t let me talk with him, he’s not going to make it. Now please.”

Marshal Hill lifted his hands and backed away. Scott rolled his chair close.

I looked down at my best friend. I said, “This is why you came.”

“We’re brothers, you know. Friends. Fighters. We’ve been through hell and back. I don’t know another man like you.” He shifted on the cushion. “No one knows you like I do. Anna might. Someday.”

“I can’t do this, Scott.” I eyed the doorway. “Who’s walked through this corridor? What great men and women have stood where I’m about to stand? And the power these men hold—” My body shivered violently.

“Breathe, buddy. Breathe.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle and tried to take a breath.

“You’ve always respected power,” Scott said. “I don’t. Makes me a good lawyer. But you. You care, don’t you?”

I looked away.

“Hey, notice that guy right in front of you. The squirrel? He’s incredible.”

The likeness was striking, the tiny rodent’s big eyes looked back at me.

“You know why he’s there, buddy?”

I shook my head.

“To remind them of the real world.” He said it again, with more power. “Real world. Not the world they live in.” He lifted a hand. “Under these ceilings painted to intimidate, they count on the fact you’re scared and in awe. Well, put them at the cabin with gunfire. Send them to the village in Mexico, and we’ll see who’s scared and who’s dead.”

I grunted half a laugh.

“You’re here because they have no idea what it’s like past these walls. You’re here because they think you might have overstepped your duty. Because how many of them have ever had a real job? How many get their hands dirty by actually making this country great? How many ever had to defend themselves against a gang out to kill them? You’ve done the work, Philip. They simply set the parameters with which you live by.”

“What should I do?” I was surprised how strong my voice was.

“Honest answers.” He rolled back a bit. “Keep Jacob out of this.” He looked me over. “You’re dashing. Young. Hope of a country full of energy. Go show them the Philip Anderson we know.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “Yeah, I’m ready. Thanks for being here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. One more thing. You might need this.” He reached under the wicker chair to a basket under his seat and pulled out a brown canvas. He shook out my duster. Washed and pressed. “Noticed you’re more comfortable with this as your armor. Now let’s go.”

I slung the duster over my shoulders, instantly feeling a newfound strength.

Marshal Hill grasped the other side of Scott’s chair, and we lifted him.

As we ascended Marshal Hill said, “Senate chambers are up here, but we’re off to the Supreme Court chambers. Our hearing is small, and the court isn’t in session today.”

“I’ve dreamed of entering the Supreme Court’s hideout.” Scott gripped the sides of his chair as he rocked back and forth with every step. “Quick rise I’ve made.”

We topped the stairs and set Scott down.

I straightened and gazed at the crowd filling the wide reception chamber.

I’d never seen more people in my life. No one seemed to care about the gorgeous lighting, mirrored walls and ceiling, elegant tapestries and paintings. They were filtering through several doorways, chatting with each other.

Several men in black wool suits spotted us and ran against the crowd. Marshal Hill stepped forward.

“Mr. Anderson,” one said, his dark hair slicked back by oil. “We’ve been expecting you. The hearing will be in the Senate Chambers today. Bigger than expected crowds.”

“I see that.” I leaned closer so I could be heard over the crowd and said the words Scott had made me memorize. “I’ve not been made aware of the proceedings. Shall we convene somewhere so that I can be briefed?”

“No time. The committee is eager to start. Just follow us.”

Scott held up a hand. “As Philip’s legal counsel, I’d like the list of questions.”

“He won’t be needing counsel. He’s not on trial here.”

“What is your name?” Scott asked.

“Mr. Conroy. Now if you’d like to follow us, I’m sure we can accommodate you near Mr. Anderson.”

“I brought my own chair, so I will be directly next to Mr. Anderson.” Scott made a motion. “This is highly irregular. I’ll be filing a complaint. Lead on.”

As they started forward, Marshal Hill leaned over and I just caught him saying, “You’re right, Scott. Very irregular.”

The men ahead pushed through the crowd, and we followed in their wake.

I turned back. Marshal Hill stood still, a look of concern on his face. He leaned close. “I don’t like this. I’m going to mingle. Get the lay of the land.”

“Should we leave?”

But he didn’t hear. He was already melting into the heavy crowd.

The hosts quieted as we passed. I imagined what they saw, a man purported to be a gunman, straight from a dime novel. His skin was dark, his eyes piercing like a wolf’s eyes, a few inches taller than most. Thin but hard, dark hair and a few days’ stubble from the train ride. He wore a duster that stretched down to his ankles.

I stared ahead, kept my walk sure, my head erect.

My leg smacked something, and I stumbled to a knee.

A young girl looked directly at me.

Her hand flashed out, and she thrust a note into my palm. “Please, sir. Read this.”

Her eyes met mine.

Was I staring into a mirror? Her eyes were as gray as a wolf. “Please sir.” Her English accent was soft but firm.

And she was gone, melted away into the crowd.

“You okay?” Scott called from beside me.

“Yeah.” I bounced to my feet and grasped his chair again.

Half my brain tried to make sense of what just happened. But things were moving too fast. The crowd was noisy, calling out to me. This wasn’t what I expected.

We passed under the sweeping doorway into the massive Senate Chamber. People filled seats, stood along walls, sat in aisles. Long rows of desks stretched on either side, filled with men of huge importance. Scott was right. Their hands were probably soft. Far softer than their backsides, where they’d spent most their time.

As the aisle cleared for us to proceed, I glanced quickly at the paper in my hand. Torn from a larger sheet, the writing was scribbled cursive.

Beware. Do not enter the Senate. Not all is as it seems. Take great care.

A little late.

I stuffed the note in my pocket as we descended the aisle where at the bottom of the Senate floor was a single chair. Above the chair was a high panel with ten empty chairs behind desks in a shallow crescent shape.

I felt like we descended into a Roman amphitheatre. I was the gladiator.

Scott was ushered to the left of the aisle and I was told to leave him.

I was led to a lone seat in front of the empty chairs in front. Hundreds of people at my back and the impossible ten before me.

The night on the river flashed in my mind. My father, reading by the fire.

Devil’s Tower was a shadow in the distance.

My senses heightened.

The voices swept away into croaking frogs.

The bushes rustled.

Mr. Wilkes was dead. My parents had been avenged.

I tried to stay in the present, but the night washed over me.

I heard a door open, and ten men shuffled to the seats.

Breathe, Anderson. I closed my eyes. Breathe.

I turned to see if there was danger behind me. Scott was arguing with the men who led us in, pointing to my chair.

Three men left the bushes. “Where’s the money?”

My father said he had none.

“Wrong answer.”

Ahead a gavel smacked wood, and I jumped. Half torn between the gunshot of the past and the Senate Chambers.

The crowd quieted as I tried to control myself.

“We can proceed now that the witness has arrived,” the man in the center said. “First, a word from the committee chair. Senator Maxwell, please.”

The senator stood, dressed in black robes, a sure look framed by gray hair.

“Philip Anderson.”

I stared.

My grandfather.

My grandfather was alive.

My grandfather had a heart attack and died. My mother’s grief had been real.

Surely I was mistaken.

A decade of lost time, a whirlwind of hopeless solitude, an isolation of lies that became a hurricane in my heart stood before me.

“You are hereby put under authority of this Senate meeting.” His voice. So American. But I could just hear an underlying English accent.

He’s alive.

I opened my mouth to speak when his voice boomed through the room.

“Privileges to legal counsel, access to communication outside of this counsel, and public records will be revoked immediately. Please clear these chambers.”

The crowd erupted in dismay, and Scott’s voice yelled loudest of all.

I kept my eyes on one man.

He was dead.

He is alive.

The one man with more power than I could have ever dreamed just locked the public from this hearing.

And I knew the worst was yet to come.