Chapter Forty-two

Willet kicked the door hard enough with the heel of his boot to make it shudder when it closed. “You did tell me they were here. You have to wonder what they’re up to standing around in the dark.”

“I’m not wonderin’ at all,” said Doyle. “Plottin’ is a word that comes to mind. Up to no kind of good, is what I’d say.” He lowered the lantern so light spread in a circle around his feet. “Hello, Mrs. Madison. Ben.” He stared hard at Natty. “I figured we’d cross paths sooner or later. Had the feelin’ you were avoidin’ us.”

“Not avoiding,” Natty said easily. “Just nothing to say.”

Doyle snorted. Willet remained silent.

Natty thrust his bearded chin forward. “What do you want?”

“Nothin’ in particular,” said Doyle. “Mostly curious. Willet and me couldn’t exactly hear what was being said from the other side of the door on account of the fiddles, but we sure could tell you was talkin’. Kinda contradicts that notion that you have nothin’ to say.”

“To you,” said Natty. “Nothing to say to you or your brother.”

Ellie said, “I think you should extinguish the lanterns before the light attracts attention and someone gets curious.”

Willet shook his head. “We’re not doing anything, so what do we care if someone comes nosing around? You got somethin’ to hide, Mrs. Madison? Ben? No point in asking anyone else. Your man’s always hiding something. Never knew him not to have a card or two up his sleeve.”

Ben took a step sideways to be closer to his mother. “I admire your nerve, coming here today. Rubbing elbows with the law. Taking a turn with Phoebe. Chatting up Remington like you were an old friend. They’ll figure it out, you know. Blue’s murder. There will be justice for him and Miss Carolina, and you’ll know I’m speaking the truth when they’re stringing you up.”

Doyle spit and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “My goodness. Never figured you for a self-righteous prick. You thinkin’ about talkin’ to someone? Is that what this is about? Seems to me that if you’re inclined to speak up, you might have an appointment with the hangman yourself. As far as I can tell, there are no innocents here.”

Willet said, “It pains me some to tell you that Doyle’s speakin’ for me. I don’t usually find myself in such agreement with my brother. I imagine from your perspective, Doyle and me look like a couple of loose cannons. Have I got that right?”

“Aren’t you?” asked Ellie. She skewered the brothers with a sharp look. “You stole from the passengers and you had to kill to cover your tracks. That was stupid. All of it.”

“That’s over with,” said Doyle. “Our man ain’t nowhere to be found, so I guess we’re clear of it.” He swung his lantern a few degrees up and down. “We had a name from the whore. Turns out it was probably a lie, but no one’s come forward to say different or to point a finger at us. I jawed some with the sheriff this afternoon, just because I could. You didn’t see him haulin’ me off to jail, did you?”

“Damnation,” Natty said, shaking his head. “That’s not confidence you’re showin’ off. That’s a lack of brains, pure and simple. Willet, you really need to take your brother in hand. When he goes, it’s a sure thing he’s going to take you with him.”

Willet shrugged. “You leave Doyle to me and worry about yourself. We have ourselves in a bit of a pickle with Ben here. Has he been talkin’ nonsense long?”

“Long enough,” said Natty. “Murdering that deputy put him out of sorts. That’s what I’m getting from our conversation. And he doesn’t cotton to killing the whore either. It’s you and Doyle that got him thinking that maybe he needs to wipe his slate clean. You know damn well that I didn’t like it. Until the two of you went sideways on me, no real harm was done. Sure, Frost was out some money, the passengers were out some trinkets, and Northeast Rail was some kind of mad about the stain to their reputation. Now you got Ben thinking he needs to set it all right.”

Doyle raised his lantern again, this time to shine it in Ben’s face. “That’s right, boy. You need to blink and step back like you was scared, ’cause if you ain’t scared, I’m tellin’ you that you should be. What I want to know is if you’re so hell-bent on sayin’ something to the law, why haven’t you? Why are you here havin’ a powwow about it?”

“Shut up, Doyle,” Willet said. “And put that lantern down. Don’t push him. Can’t you figure that he wanted to talk to his mama first, maybe give her a chance to reason him out of it? He can’t tell his story without involving Mrs. Madison. That’s got to be weighin’ on him some. That sound about right, son?”

Ellie’s chin came up. “Don’t call him that. He’s not your son.”

Willet’s dark eyebrows rose high enough to furrow his forehead. He said mildly, “That put up someone’s hackles.”

“Get out,” said Ellie. “Your mere presence is a provocation. Let me handle this.”

Willet made a show of considering what she’d said. “Probably should, Mrs. Madison, but Doyle and me have plans of our own. Doyle, for God’s sake, will you stop swinging that lantern?” The expression he turned on Ellie was long on suffering. “The trouble is it’s hard to know how to go forward, what with this threat hangin’ over our head like the sword of Damocles.”

Doyle nodded. The arc of his swinging lantern was shorter now but the light from it continued to wax and wane. “Uh-huh. Like the damn sword of Clees.”

Willet’s mouth flattened and he shook his head as he cast a sideways glance at his brother. Almost apologetically, he said to the others, “Sometimes he can’t help himself.”

When attention shifted back to Willet, Doyle swung his lantern hard, high, and wide, aiming for the side of Natty Rahway’s head. Natty threw up a forearm to block the blow that would have laid him out cold. He ducked, lunged at Doyle, but he never had a chance to deflect Willet’s swing. The base of the lantern caught him on the underside of his chin, knocked his lower teeth into his upper ones with a crack that seemed to echo off the barn walls. The hit took the big man down and he pitched forward onto the floor and then he was still.

Ben pushed Ellie out of the way while Doyle was still admiring his brother’s work. The David and Goliath moment was not lost on him and he recognized the danger Doyle’s swinging lantern presented. He aimed low, driving his head into Doyle’s soft belly and knocking the man off his feet. They went to the floor together, Ben on top, and wrestled for possession of the lantern and the upper hand.

Ellie and Willet jumped out of the way as the men rolled between them. Ellie made a grab for the lantern as soon as she could, but Willet knocked her arm aside with enough force to make her stagger backward. Before she could recover, he was behind her with a forearm locked around her throat. He did not try to cut off her air. He wanted her son to hear her strangled cry.

Ben did hear it. He stopped grappling with Doyle. “Let her go!” He tried to scramble to his feet, but Doyle would not surrender his hold. The lantern rolled sideways. Oil seeped onto the floor.

Willet marched Ellie toward the combatants. When he was close enough to make himself felt, he jammed the pointed toe of one boot into Doyle’s side. “Ease up there, Doyle. We’re done here, and he’s finished.” To make certain he spoke the truth, he brought his lantern down hard on Ben’s head. Glass shattered, oil spilled, and flame followed the rivulet into Ben’s hair. Ellie fought to get out from under Willet’s arm but the pressure across her throat had become too much and it was only a matter of moments before she couldn’t breathe.

Doyle shoved Ben away. “Damn, Willet, you lit him up.” He slapped halfheartedly at the fire smoldering in Ben’s hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Willet. “Leave him.” He removed his arm from Ellie’s throat as soon as he felt her slight weight become heavy against him. She collapsed on the floor beside Ben.

“Hell,” said Doyle. “You could’ve set me on fire.” He was still examining his clothing as he got to his knees.

“You’re fine. Get up.” Willet picked up the lantern Doyle had dropped earlier and smashed it against an empty stall. This time oil dripped onto a hay bale. Flames left the lantern in a cascade and spread across the top of a bale. Where oil sprinkled the sides of the stall, flames licked the wood and slipped into the crevices. “We’re going. You take the back. I’ll get this door.”

Ben stirred.

Willet pointed to him. “Do something about that, Doyle.”

Doyle regarded Ben dispassionately and then aimed his boot at the younger man’s chin. The kick was vicious. Ben’s head snapped back, he groaned, and then he lay quiet as death. “Back door,” said Doyle. “Got it. And Willet?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry I doubted about the guns. You were right. We didn’t need them.”

• • •

Remington heaved himself into the opening between the bales as soon as the Putty brothers left the barn. He pointed Phoebe to the large square door that was used to hoist bales into the loft before he remembered that it had been temporarily nailed closed to prevent accidents. “Never mind. Can you follow me?”

“Don’t worry about me. Go on.”

He made a rapid descent to the bottom, jumping free of the ladder when he still had five rungs to go. He ignored the fire spreading in the stall and went straight to Ben, took off his jacket, and used it to smother the flames crawling along Ben’s neck, collar, and across his shoulders. The air around Ben was filled with the acrid scent of burnt hair and flesh.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the last few feet of Phoebe’s descent. He did not want her trying to slip past the fire in the stall for fear that her dress would attract the flames like a candlewick. “Try the back door!” he called out. He was not hopeful that she would be able to open it, not after Willet directed his brother to leave by that exit, but it was the safer option for a first try at escape. He wanted to be wrong, but when he heard Phoebe shouting for help, he knew he was not. He could barely hear her above the crackle of the flames and the fiddle music. She reappeared moments later and hovered on the other side of the fire, shaking her head.

“They’ve barred or jammed it from the outside. I can’t budge it, and I think someone would have to be passing very close to hear me.” Mindful of the fire, which had begun to crawl across the hay-strewn floor, Phoebe raised her skirt and gathered it as close as possible. She felt heat on her calves as she jumped this newly erected fence of flames. As soon as she was safely on the other side, Phoebe dropped her gown and ran to the barn door. She yanked and shoved. The door shuddered when she put her shoulder into it, but it didn’t budge. Frustrated, she beat at it with her fists and called out as loud as she was able.

Remington redirected her attention. “Come here and stay beside Ben. See if you can rouse Ellie or this fellow.”

“Mr. Shoulders? No. I’ll tend to Ellie and Ben.”

He was satisfied with that. “I’m going to get blankets out of the tack room. Don’t move.” He gave her his jacket. “Use this on the fire if it breaks this way. Watch that your gown doesn’t catch.”

Phoebe waved him away. “Go.”

Remington found a stack of blankets in the tack room and carried them out. In the short time he had been gone, flames had leaped to three more bales. The surface and sides of all of them were carpeted by fire but the dense centers were still untouched. Phoebe was no longer crouched beside the Putty brothers’ unconscious victims. She had purposely put herself away from them and was standing in a ring of fire that was nibbling away at the hem of her cone-shaped skirt. She was alternately beating at the flames and trying to wriggle out of the gown. Trying to do both at once was what was defeating her.

Remington rushed through the firewall that now separated them and knocked Phoebe to the floor. He snapped open one of the blankets, rolled her onto it, and wrapped it around her feet and ankles until the flames were extinguished.

“It’s all right,” she said, sitting up. “It’s done. Help me out of this.” She twisted and presented him with her back. “It happened so fast. The oil from the lanterns. It seeped into the cracks in the floorboards. They just erupt.” Even as she said it, a line of fire suddenly appeared near Ellie’s feet and raced in the direction of her dress. “Get Ellie,” she said. “I can do this.”

Remington looked at the long line of fabric-covered buttons that closed the bodice and wasn’t as sure, but he also knew the futility of arguing. He left Phoebe’s side to hook Ellie under her shoulders and drag her to one side of the door, well away of the encroaching flames—for now. He did the same for Ben, and then for Mr. Shoulders, though he was sorely inclined to abandon him to the fire.

Phoebe had managed to tear away most of the buttons at her back and was trying to shimmy out of the gown when Remington returned to help her. He made fists in the silk on either side of her hips and yanked hard. The fabric gave way and fell in a puddle at her feet. He didn’t wait for her to move; he lifted her out and away from the skirt. She did not so much shed the bodice as molt it. In spite of the burgeoning heat from the fire, Phoebe shivered violently. He started to pull her into his arms, and God knew, that was what she wanted, but she shook her head and asked for a blanket instead.

Remington spread one open for her, and when she walked into it, he wrapped her inside. “Go wait by the door.” He coughed. Smoke filled his nostrils. He breathed in a lungful. “Stay low. Find somewhere you can breathe.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to put out the fire.”

Phoebe looked past his shoulder to where the flames were sliding into a second stall. Another bale of hay erupted. “Can’t you fire a shot? Someone would hear that. Where is your gun?”

“In the house.”

She glanced behind her at Ben and Mr. Shoulders. “What about them?”

He shook his head. “We put the guns up, remember? So no one would get foolish.”

“Let me help you, then.” Phoebe did not wait to see if he would agree to it. She stripped off the blanket and sidestepped Remington to attack the fire wearing her ice blue corset, matching garters, and silk stockings.

Watching her, Remington could imagine the fire retreating in the face of Phoebe’s Amazon warrior fierceness. When it didn’t, he followed her into battle.