Six

I’d thought of having her live in this room while we sorted this all out.” Caleb stood just outside of the bedroom that was attached to the jailhouse. He looked toward the small room, his mind wandering to the woman who slept within. “I don’t know what’s best now. I thought she was doing better. I thought if I moved her here, then the Howells would be out of danger. But the whole ride here she barely spoke. She looked so pained.”

“She needs another week at least with someone nearby at all times,” Doc Jones said. “She’s still recovering from the bullet wound. It’s not a bad wound, but she did lose a lot of blood—she’s lucky it hit her where it did. You or I would be better in no time, but throw in the fact that she hasn’t had enough food in her for weeks, months, years even, and it could take her a while. I think the best place for her is with the Howells. If she falls unconscious, someone will be available to help her. I saw Abigail not long ago. She’s fond of the girl. I don’t think she minds having her. I’ll stop by and check on her from time to time.”

Caleb had no desire to injure Em further, so when the doctor gave orders that she stay and rest before returning to the Howells’, he promised to obey.

Doc Jones picked up his leather bag and turned to go. “Even being weak as she is, she seemed happier today. Less afraid. Maybe being there with the Howells, having people care about her, is as good as any medicine I can give her.”

It was true, she had seemed happy today. He couldn’t help but picture her smile, bright and full of excitement, as she scaled tree branch after tree branch. For the first time since he’d met her, the tired eyes she arrived into town with looked alive.

Being back on the property, the place where she’d been little more than a slave, must have been difficult, but she’d been playful. He tried to imagine the other women he knew enduring what she had. No one he knew could bear her lot so well—certainly not Eliza or Olivia. They never would have been able to catch an animal, let alone skin and eat it. Em was decidedly different.

“I’m a survivor,” she had told him. But after spending the day with her, he believed she was more alive than she knew. Not a moment—not a single moment of the day—was lost on self-pity. This frail, bedraggled girl would be going places, not wallowing. Where she would go, he had no idea, but she’d make something of herself—he knew she would.

Once the crime was set right, she could go as she pleased. Where does a caged animal go when it is set free? Knowing the Howells, they’d probably help her get somewhere good, a place where survival would not be her main concern. She deserved that, and he would help if he could. He’d promised her that.

With his thumbs tucked into his belt loops, he stepped back into the room and paced, pondering the box and the bag they’d found. What secrets did they contain? Did they hold the clue to Em’s freedom? He’d planned to wait to open them, but curiosity’s pull was too strong, so he took the bag from under the table and heaved it onto the worn tabletop.

Little cracks ran like veins all over the dark surface of the thick, aged leather, and water marks marred the sides, leaving it stiff and uneven. He stared at it momentarily before moving forward. Getting it open took more effort than he’d anticipated. With his hands he worked the leather, kneading it in an attempt to loosen the stiff straps. He wondered what Em would say when she found out he’d not waited. Did it matter?

Minutes ticked by on the old wind-up clock that hung on the back wall of the jail. Had George ever opened the bag or did he merely look in the log whenever he was around to make sure it was still there? Judging by the condition of the bag, no one had pried it opened in months—maybe longer.

Caleb felt the leather slowly softening with each movement. When he finally opened the bag and caught a glimpse inside, he froze, uncertain what to do. Stacks of bills sat in neat little piles just like a bank would keep them, separated and tidy. The money nearest the opening was misshapen and warped from moisture, but considering its hiding place, he was amazed most of the bills looked as good as they did. He picked up one neat stack and fanned the money out as he tried to guess how much there was. There could easily be ten thousand dollars, if not more, in the sack. Never had he held so much money in his hands.

Digging deeper, he hoped to find something else, something that would tell him the money’s story. He couldn’t feel anything different. Just money. A great big bag of money. Who has this much money and lives like George did? Why didn’t he spend it, get a real house, or at least stock his cellar with decent food?

Flustered, he set the money aside and picked up the metal box. A small keyed lock held the lid tightly shut. He tried picking it but had no success. Breaking it open would be easy, but then Em would know he had not waited. Instead, he took both treasures and put them in the safe at the back of the jail. The safe had housed many watches and a few pieces of jewelry, and once a man insisted that his hat spend the night inside, safely locked away. Not once since Caleb had been sheriff had it held more than a few hundred dollars.

With the valuables securely tucked away, he peered in at Em. Her slight frame just barely moved the blanket with each sleeping breath. Listening, he heard not a single noise. Stepping closer, he dared to look at her marred arm. A savage scar ran along most of her forearm. Pink-and-red ridges of puckered skin spread like spiderwebs all across it. How did it happen? Did it pain her?

The climbing contest—he had three questions, which he still had every intention of asking. He could know about her arm if he chose.

Caleb took a chair from the main room, brought it into the tiny bedroom, and seated himself. Watching her sleep peacefully, he made a mental list of details he’d like to know. The list grew and grew. He was grateful now that he hadn’t asked the first three questions that had come to his mind. No, he would not waste these questions. After all, he’d earned them fair, and no excuses were going to keep her from answering them.

Before long he eased himself deeper into his chair. Tipping his head back, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes. Moments later he too gave in to the pull of slumber.

Em was awake, she knew she was. But she didn’t want to be. Keeping her eyes shut, she let her mind continue on in her dream. Riding high on a horse that looked a lot like Amos, she could feel the fresh breeze blowing around her. She wasn’t afraid of the horse or of anything. Strong arms were around her, a prince’s from one of her stories. He bent over and whispered in her ear, “Shall we go faster?”

The two set off across a dew-laden meadow faster than she’d thought possible. The tiny drops of moisture twinkled in the sunlight, and oranges and greens sparkled around her. It was a fantasy world, but it felt so real.

Life and excitement flowed through her. A happiness she’d not felt since she was a small child overpowered her. The horse slowed to a steady walk. It was easier to talk now. Her prince asked her if she was ready to go get Lucy.

“Where is she?” Em asked. Her prince told her he would take her to the child. Em’s heart pounded in her chest as they headed over a small rise. There on the other side was little Lucy, waiting. She was picking beautiful summer flowers. Under the soft glow of sunlight, she danced from one flower to the next in the most carefree way. Unburdened and joyful. When she saw them, she bent and picked up a porcelain doll, then ran toward them. Em and her prince jumped off the horse. He took her hand and together they ran to Lucy. The reunion, the warm embrace, the completeness were before her . . .

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor chased the perfect dream from her mind. With her heart still racing, she turned toward the sound. There was Caleb Reynolds sitting—head back, shifting slightly in his sleep—in a wooden chair. Alone in a room with a man, she knew she should feel vulnerable. Afraid. But she did not. Instead she watched him while he slept.

Mussed, dark hair lay haphazardly across his forehead. Strong hands rested easily in his lap. His hat sat on the floor. Each breath came in long, even intervals—with it a soft, fluttering sound. Never had she watched a man sleep like this. He seemed peaceful now, so different from when he was awake. Awake he was always a storm of energy—laughter, frustration, fire.

The twins had asked if he was a prince. Looking at him now without worry of him seeing her, she could tell why Eliza was so smitten with him. He was no sleek city boy. So different from the men the girls at the Aid Society had admired from their second-story window. Caleb was no clean-cut boy in a tailored suit. He was handsome in a different way. He rode horses, carried a pistol, and protected the town from outlaws. In his own rugged, dust-covered way, he was princely. It was more than his physique that captured her. Something about him seemed to proclaim his character, announce that he was honorable and good. All traits of the finest princes.

She lay back flat at the sound of the chair creaking again. When she heard no other sounds, she dared a glance in his direction and saw him looking intently back at her. “Hello, Em.”

She fought to keep her own voice equally casual. “Have I been sleeping long?”

“You slept most of the ride home, and it’s been a couple hours now since the doctor checked you over and ordered rest. Doc said to take you back to the Howells’. He thinks you need to have people around all the time for a few more days. I’ll see if they’ll let me bunk there as well. I’d like to keep an extra watch on the place.” She appreciated him telling her the plan. So often in her life she’d had to guess what was coming next.

“Would it be all right if we opened the box and bag first? Unless, of course, you already have.” Em propped herself up on one elbow.

“I was hoping you would be up to that. Wait here.”

Moments later he returned with the bag, the metal box, and a hammer. “The bag is money. Lots of money.” He pulled it open and showed it to her. “I’d say old George was killed over this.”

A gasp escaped her lips. Never had she seen more than a few coins together. Shaking her head in disbelief, she reached out and touched it. A handful of that money would get her to Beckford and leave enough for her to live a modest life. Just a handful of it. The whole bag would make her as rich as a real princess.

“Where is it from?” Em asked. “Whose is it?”

Caleb shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you it was yours. But I’m guessing it wasn’t George’s to begin with. Until we know its story, it stays locked away and you and I keep it our secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” She watched as he closed up the bag. “You can trust me,” she said. “I can keep a secret.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, the corner of his mouth rising into a half smile as he slid the metal box in front of him. “This box has a lock on it. I tried to pick it earlier but had no luck.” A guilty look spread across his face. “I guess I was meant to wait for you.”

“I’m glad you did. Can you open it now?”

Thud. He brought the hammer down hard on the lock, bending it slightly. Smack. This time it fell away from the box. Taking the box in one hand, he grabbed his chair with the other and moved it closer to her before sitting down. She sat up in the bed, barely noticing the pain in her side.

“Ready?” he asked.

Nodding emphatically, she watched. He swung the lid open to expose a box filled with papers. Papers. Nothing but papers. Few things were more useless to Em than papers.

Caleb’s reaction was the very opposite of hers. He smiled wide at her and dug in.

“Look here, Em, this one is the deed to his property. And here’s a marriage certificate. Did you know he was married to a Gerda Lourne? It was in Boston thirty-five years ago.” Caleb spoke quickly, his hands thumbing through the papers. “Old George left us a box of clues. Maybe some of your questions will finally be answered.”

“I expect you’ll know more about him than I do by the time you finish digging through the box.”

“What is it, Em? Do you not think this is exciting? Rather be climbing trees? Or were you hoping for more money?”

“It is exciting. I’m merely tired.” Pursing her lips, she turned away.

Caleb stopped shuffling the papers. “We can wait. I don’t want to leave you out.”

“You go ahead and go through it. Tell me what you find.” She lay back, but as her head hit the pillow, she caught sight of a worn packet in Caleb’s hand.

“That’s mine.” She shot back up, wincing slightly, and reached for the packet. “I remember this. It was in my pack before I rode the train. I never knew what happened to it.”

He placed it in her hands and with it memories, so many memories. Her mother had kept this packet with them when they moved tenements. When she died, Em put it with her few belongings before leaving. If it was important to her mother, she wanted to keep it. It was all she had from her. Someone must have put it in her file. Now, after seven years, it was back in her hands. She fingered the worn paper, feeling the same yearning she’d felt when she’d held it before. The longing to know what it was.

Caleb’s voice was soft. “What is it?”

Oh, how she hated admitting what a stupid girl she was. “I don’t know what it is.” It seemed impossible for her voice to sound any softer, but it did. “I don’t know how to read.” She looked away then, unable to meet his gaze. “My mother kept those papers with her. When she died, I took them. I didn’t know what had become of them. I always meant to learn to read so I could know what the papers said. I do think I could learn. I just haven’t been taught.”

Caleb shifted in his chair until he was squarely facing her. “I never would have guessed. You talk like someone who knows how to read. You sound like someone with years of schooling.”

“My mother would be glad to hear that. She was a maid in a fancy house. She insisted we speak proper English. She meant for us to learn to read as well, but circumstances kept her from having the time to teach us. Over the last several years I often talked to her, even though she wasn’t with me. In a way I suppose I was honoring her by speaking as properly as I could. At least in that way I wasn’t letting her down.” Em picked at her thumbnail. “Just her and God and the hope of something more. That’s what got me through those long years.”

“Do you want me to read those papers to you? Or do you want to wait and read them when you are able to yourself?” Caleb put a large, calloused hand under her chin and turned her head toward him. “I could teach you. You could learn.”

Em sucked in her lip, trying to control the emotion she felt. “You would do that? You’d teach me?”

“Sure. Once you’re feeling better and living in this room, we could have lessons in the evening. I’ve never taught anyone before. We could learn together.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” No one had ever offered to teach her anything before.

“Well, I guess I figure everyone deserves a chance to read. Books, newspapers—it’s not fair that they make no sense to you. I have years of schooling behind me. I might as well use it for something. Besides, my evenings around here are pretty quiet.”

“Could I write too?” Em asked. Then suddenly feeling shy, she wished she could capture the words and lock them back inside. Surely she’d asked too much. “But you don’t need to teach me. I was just wondering if it was hard, that’s all.”

“I’ll teach you that too. Reading and writing go together.” He closed the box and reached out a hand to her. “Let’s head over to the Howells’ now. The doctor was going to let them know you would be coming, so they’ll be expecting you. I’ll probably get an earful from Abigail about taking you out today. I might as well get that over with.”

Taking her hand in his, he eased her off the bed. On shaky legs, she stood motionless for a moment, hoping the dizzy feeling would pass. Bracing herself on the chair, she waited. When the room stopped spinning, she took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” Caleb offered his arm. “Let me help you.”

Staring at it, she hesitated.

Caleb winked at her, then reached out and took her arm. Looping it through his own, he led her through the jail and out the door just the way a prince from her story would lead a fair maiden.