Chapter 22

Clint dragged Connie into his house, then let go of her with a push. She stumbled but righted herself quickly. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Connie appeared to be wrestling with her fears. Clint hated her all the more. He had no time for such nonsense. She was no longer useful to him.

“I asked you a question,” he pushed.

“I was afraid for Tom . . . and Isaac . . . and you.”

“Afraid for us? Why?”

She seemed to be thinking over her answer. Her pretense at innocence annoyed him.

“Never mind. I don’t need any more of your lies,” he said.

“When have I lied to you?”

Now she sounded angry. Clint almost laughed. “Your whole appearance has been a lie. Don’t think I didn’t know you were trying to prove your mother and father innocent of inciting the Indians to war.”

“But they are innocent, as you well know.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “It means that my parents are innocent. And I didn’t lie. I came here to chronicle the Indian tribes. It just so happened that I wanted to help my folks as well. I didn’t lie about my investigation. I just didn’t bother to tell you about it.”

“And why not? Don’t you trust me? I thought you were madly in love with me.”

She shook her head and backed up a pace. “I didn’t trust you then, and I don’t trust you now.”

This time Clint did laugh. “So you’re a private investigator now, eh? Little Connie Browning playing Pinkerton agent.”

“Why are you treating me like this? I thought the tables were turned and you were in love with me now. What about that?” She raised a brow.

“Ha, that’ll be the day, when I fall in love with an Indian. You’re an eighth Cherokee, after all.” He could see her surprise. “Didn’t think I knew that, eh? I’ve known it since you were a child throwing herself at me.”

“So that’s why you didn’t return my love or even show an interest in me.” She nodded. “It all makes sense now.”

“That and the fact that your crazy father would have had my hide if I so much as looked at you with serious intent. He knew you were smitten, but he talked to me long and hard about it.”

“He did? I never knew. I guess he could sense your bad character.” She crossed her arms. “It’s funny how a God-fearing man has insight no one else has. My father apparently knew you were nothing but trouble, even back then.”

“Just as I knew he was nothing but another Indian. I kept his secret as long as it served me to do so. Of course, it no longer does.”

“I saw your false report in the Portland newspaper. It couldn’t have come from anyone else, so don’t bother to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Clint leaned back against the counter and smiled. “I take full responsibility.”

“Well, you could have at least gotten the facts right. Father is only one-quarter Cherokee.”

“I know, but half-breed sounded so much better.” Clint shook his head. It really was a pity. If not for that Indian blood, he might have done other things with Connie instead of thinking how he might kill her. Her boldness was appealing.

She raised her chin. “All I care about is that your plans are foiled. Someone in your group of cronies came forward to the army and police and told them everything. They know all about your plans—that you killed those two men and probably more.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at the thought of Elias Carter’s betrayal. It had to be him. No one else knew enough to cause any real fuss. Still, it was like a stab in the heart. He’d thought he could trust Carter. Thought he had him so frightened he would never say anything about any of it.

Connie continued. “And what does your father think about the harm you’ve caused so many people? The harm you planned against the Indians he’s fought so valiantly for all these years?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you? My father was in on all of this. He doesn’t hate the Indians as much as I do, but neither does he hold them in any admiration. He simply took advantage of them. My father saw my brother’s compassion for the Indians and how a great many easterners who’d never had to deal with them also felt that way. He simply decided to use it to his benefit. Once the Oregon Indians started a war, my father was going to lead the charge to remove all Indians in this state and those in reservations in California and Washington Territory as well. Seeing how well that would be received, especially after word came of all the white people who had been killed, my father intended to present a bill that would remove all Indians from the entire country. He was the one promoting the relocation to the far north. I thought it quite brilliant, myself.”

“It’s cruel and you know it. The Indians would never survive another forced march. That’s thousands and thousands of miles through nothing but vast Canadian wilderness. They would have died before they ever reached Alaska.”

“And that would have solved the problem nicely. No Indians to resettle, just bodies to bury.”

“And skeletons to sell. I suppose you were a part of that as well.”

“You are truly naïve. I’ve been at the center of it all. Selling artifacts and skeletons—whatever made me money. I’ve amassed a small fortune because of the bizarre interests of others.”

“You really don’t care about these people at all, do you?”

“Why should I? They’ve been nothing but trouble. Pitiful little children, with their superstitions and ridiculous beliefs. The sooner they’re dead and gone, the better for all of us.”

“And does that include me, since I’m one-eighth Indian? Will you kill anyone with the slightest bit of Indian blood?”

The kitchen door opened, and Sam Sheridan filled the doorway. Clint had never cared for him, but knowing he hated Browning had made him an ally. At least a temporary one. Clint had particular plans for Sam’s death after he had served his purpose.

“What do you want, Sam? Are the troops dead?” Clint asked.

“No, and neither is Mr. Lowell.”

Clint could see the relief on Connie’s face. He burned with anger. “So your precious Tom is still alive. I knew I should have shot him one more time to make sure he was dead.”

“You shot him?” Her voice was shocked.

“I did, and I meant to kill him. My mistake for not seeing the job through. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Tom has done you no harm,” she protested.

“He’s ruined my plans.”

Sam nodded. “He warned the soldiers. They won’t be eating that stew you provided. I heard one of the soldiers announce this at their eating place.”

Clint let out a growl. “It was all planned. It was perfectly laid out. I told my father it was going to be done tonight.”

“Your father has also been taken by the soldiers.”

Clint whirled and punched the cabinet behind him. “Where are your men? We have a few rifles left and plenty of rounds. I want them to sneak out and kill all of the nearby settlers. Tell them to kill any soldier they can—but only if they can do it and get away unseen. I don’t want to lose what loyal men I have.”

“You don’t have any loyal men. They are my men,” Sam declared.

Clint looked at him. The hatred on Sam’s face was obvious.

“If that’s the way you feel, then I must end our association.” Clint pulled his gun and pointed it at Sam.

Without warning, Connie threw herself in front of Sam. “I won’t let you kill him. You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Stupid girl. And why do you think I won’t?” He could see out the window that it was already starting to get light.

Connie had the audacity to smile in the face of death. “Because, Clint, you need me. I’m your only hope for getting out of here alive. You need me as a hostage.”

Mercy and Adam sat in the boardinghouse’s front room, waiting for news on Connie, Isaac, and Tom. Mercy hadn’t been able to eat a bite of breakfast, nor had she been able to sleep the night before. The thought of her only daughter and son being subjected to whatever horrors that were planned made her ill. She had seen the Indians at war. They were a skilled people—a proud people. They had endured oppression and inferior treatment for decades. They would not be easily persuaded to stand down.

Glancing at Adam, she could see he had the same thoughts on his mind. They met each other’s gaze, but Mercy felt no reassurance. The only emotion in Adam’s eyes was dire worry. She squeezed his hand.

The hours passed with them doing nothing but sitting and waiting. Mercy tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. She knew God understood her heart, but she had so little strength left. She’d spent her entire life loving this man that the government of Oregon now wanted her to put aside. She had given him children that the world also condemned. How could people be so cruel, so unfeeling? How could they imagine that tearing her family apart would serve any good purpose?

Nancy came to announce lunch, but even now Mercy wasn’t hungry. She shook her head at Nancy’s continued encouragement.

“Aunt Mercy, you have to eat. You’ll make yourself sick, and what good will that do?”

“She’s right,” Faith declared, coming into the room. “Neither of you will be of any use to Connie, Isaac, or Tom if you are malnourished and dehydrated. As a physician, I’m ordering you both to the dinner table.” She smiled. “Please.”

Adam nodded. “We’re coming.” He stood and reached for Mercy’s hand. “Come on, we have to try. We won’t be any help if we’re both sick in bed.”

Mercy let Adam lead her into the dining room. He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat. She knew her nieces were right but wasn’t sure how she could eat when all she really wanted to do was cry.

Bedelia Clifton sat at Mercy’s left, and to Mercy’s surprise, the spinster reached over and took her hand. “Sister and I have been in prayer for you all morning. I know you must be afraid.”

Mercy nodded. “I am.”

“God laid a message on my heart for you, so I will share the verse I felt He wanted me to share.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “It’s Isaiah forty-one, verse ten.”

The words were penned in the most beautiful script. Mercy read them to herself and then noticed everyone was watching, as if waiting for her to share.

She cleared the emotion from her throat. “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

“Amen,” Adam said. “Those are the exact words we needed to hear, Miss Clifton.” He looked around the table. “We’re so grateful for all of you and your prayers.”

“I believe we should offer up a special one,” Seth declared. “When we pray together, it seems to add strength, and I, for one, have benefited from those prayers. Adam, if you would permit me, I’d like us to offer up our prayers for you and your family—here and now.”

“Of course,” Adam replied, looking to Mercy.

She nodded and glanced around the table at the family and new friends who so willingly offered to support them in this way. “Thank you.”