Chapter Thirty-three

Natty Rahway managed not to put his fist squarely in the middle of Doyle Putty’s face, or jam it into the underside of his weaker brother’s even weaker chin, but it was a narrow thing. What he did was pound his fist against the table hard enough to make it jump and shudder and push the Putty brothers back in their chairs.

The Sweet Clementine Saloon was far less crowded than the last time he’d shared a table with Doyle and Willet, but Natty understood the consequences of drawing even a single customer’s attention to them. He regretted his loss of temper before the table stopped juddering. He leaned forward and spoke quietly, harshly. His narrowed eyes darted but when they lingered, they lingered on Doyle.

“We agreed I would follow them,” he said. “We sat right here and agreed that I would handle the situation.”

“There was no agreement,” said Doyle. “There was only you saying what you would do. Willet and I talked about it and decided that wasn’t good enough. We brought you along. You joined us, not the other way around.” He nudged his brother with his elbow. “Tell him, Willet. Remind him who it was that set this in motion. Remind him how we came to answer the call.”

Willet pulled his chair back to the table and picked up his beer. “Doyle’s right, Natty. We did invite you to come along. Seemed fair as you’d done right by us in the past. Of course, nothin’ we ever done together was like this. More risk. More reward. I know you see that. It’s on account of our cousin that we heard tell of this in the first place. There’s no gettin’ around that.”

Doyle nodded. “Les is a good’un. All the Brownlees are. Hard, honest folk, and we Puttys pity ’em for it. All the same, it was Les who put us on to this, even if he doesn’t know it, and we aim to see that he never finds out. Let him live in ignorance, I say. Willet agrees.”

Willet nodded. “I do. No sense in the families never speakin’ to each other because of something like this.”

“What this are you talking about?” asked Natty. He pushed his beer aside, too angry to drink. “The robbery? The abduction? The goddamn murders?”

Willet shrugged. “All of it, I expect. Les doesn’t put his fingers in any of those pies.”

“Jesus,” Natty said under his breath. “No one was supposed to get hurt. Do either of you recall that?”

“On the train,” said Doyle. “And afterward, with the Apple girl. But things have changed since then. That job’s done, and we have an obligation to cut ourselves from connections to it.”

“Certainly,” said Natty. “But murdering a lawman?”

“And a whore,” said Willet.

Natty swore softly. He looked around. There was a tall fellow at the bar, pale yellow hair, mustache, looking their way. Natty stared him down and he turned back to the bar and ordered a whiskey. “We should take this up to my room, boys. Better to talk privately.”

Doyle almost blew out a mouthful of beer. He choked it down and accepted Willet pounding twice on his back. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Not a chance,” Willet echoed. “We’ll stay here.”

Natty kept his fury in check, in large part because he was mostly furious with himself. The Putty brothers had duped him, and he was having difficulty believing they had even tried, let alone succeeded. He was supposed to have been on the train to Liberty Junction when it left Collier, but he got held up by two of Miss Sylvie’s girls just as the deputy and Caroline Carolina were leaving the cathouse. He knew now it was no accident that they waylaid him, but it was his fault that he underestimated the time it would take him to reach the station and purchase his ticket. The girls couldn’t have known the consequences of keeping him from the train would be the eventual murder of their friend, but he could draw a straight line, and this one led from the Putty brothers to Liberty Junction and right back to the brothel. Even worse, Doyle and Willet wouldn’t have known about the whore’s intention to go to the Junction if he hadn’t told them. He was the one who had overheard her talking about her plans. Maybe he had gotten a little too full of himself thinking that they were a slow pair, always a half step behind.

They often were, but not always. Lesson learned. He would not forget it.

Not raising his voice above a whisper, he asked, “What was the point of killing them?”

“Information,” said Willet. He rubbed the underside of his feeble chin with the back of his hand. “You were wrong about it being a seed pearl dog collar that turned up. It was that ring you first mentioned to us. The one Doyle got from that old woman on the train. That’s what the whore had.”

Doyle tapped his brother’s beer glass. “Don’t know where you came by that other story. We told you we didn’t have a piece that like, but you always have your own ideas about such things. It’s no never mind now. It was the ring. We saw it plain as day when this rough little rascal knocked into the table where it was being examined. I was sitting close enough that I could have scooped it up, but that would have been wrong . . . and stupid. The deputy got it and eventually it was returned to the old woman.”

Willet nodded. “Doyle and me pondered long and hard trying to come up with the name of the fellow we sold the ring to. Don’t know that he ever said, and it wasn’t important at the time, but we figure that’s information that the deputy heard straight from Miss Carolina. That didn’t leave us much choice, did it?”

“And?”

“And we got it. Name’s James Cashdollar. Whiskey drummer out of Denver. The deputy wasn’t giving him up, but the whore came around when she saw how serious we were. I guess she didn’t realize that we’d have to kill her no matter what, seein’ how she saw us real good.”

Doyle pointed to himself. “I got a face folks trust. I guess she believed me when I said we’d help her get out of town, set her up someplace else.”

Natty closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, Doyle, trust is what comes to mind when I look at you. I heard there have been questions being asked. Anyone come to you?”

“We weren’t there,” said Doyle. “Least not so anybody knows. Lots of ways in and out of a whorehouse where nobody really sees you.”

“So it’s done.”

“More or less. There’s Cashdollar. Still need to take care of him.”

Willet finished his beer. “And the Apple girl. She was there when the old woman got her ring back. And you recall that fellow that was lying in the aisle on the train? Turns out he’s Remington Frost. He was there.”

“Are you planning on killing everyone?”

Doyle said, “Not if we get to Cashdollar first. I’m just being practical here. If the law finds him before we do, then we might have another situation on our hands.”

“So the two of you could be identified and connected to the robbery, but I’m in the clear.”

“That’s right,” said Willet. “Nothing to connect you to anything.”

“Except the two of you.” Natty thought Willet and Doyle looked surprised to hear it, just as if they hadn’t already considered it and what it could mean to them. Natty slid his beer in front of him again and raised his glass as if he intended to toast the Putty brothers. “Something to think about, isn’t it, boys?”

• • •

Phoebe did not know why she had expected that Remington would return before nightfall, but she had. Several times after dinner, while Fiona and Thaddeus cleared the table and cleaned up so Ellie could rest, Phoebe found herself drifting to the front porch in anticipation of his arrival. It was there that Thaddeus found her sitting on the swing and gently explained to her how it was going to be.

“Days?” she asked. “Where will he stay?”

“I suppose that depends on where the trail takes them. Could be he’ll spend some nights in Collier. Jackson might send him to Denver. He’ll be fine.”

“Will he?”

“Yes.” The swing rocked as he sat beside her. “What about you? Will you be fine?”

“I’m not the one chasing murderers.”

“I’ve found that is rarely significant. You’re waiting and you’re worried. That takes a toll like nothing else.”

Phoebe nodded. She said nothing for a time, working up the courage to talk to him about the other matter on her mind. “You and Fiona were together for a long time in the kitchen.”

He chuckled. “There was a lot of food to clear. I think the two of you emptied the larder. No matter. It was delicious. Fiona said that was because of you, so thank you.”

“She did her share.”

“Of stirring and chopping, she says. Fiona never misled me that she was a cook.” When Phoebe fell silent again, Thaddeus gently prompted her. “What is it? I think there’s something more you want to say.”

“Fiona wants me to leave, Thaddeus. She’s pressed me several times. Twice today. While we were preparing dinner, she suggested that she accompany me back to New York. She presented her idea as though returning with me was for my benefit in the event I was afraid to travel alone.” Phoebe stole a sideways glance at Thaddeus. He was staring straight ahead, his granite profile without expression. She could not begin to guess what he was thinking. She waited.

“I thought . . .” His voice trailed away as soon as he began. Eventually he cleared his throat and asked, “What did you say?”

“It is disappointing that you feel the need to ask, but I understand. I informed her that under no circumstances was I going back, which is why we never seem to close the door on the subject. She did not explicitly say that she would not leave New York after escorting me there, but I suspect she plans to stay.”

Thaddeus nodded slowly. “I see.”

“I don’t know if you do, Thaddeus. I don’t know if I do, but I take heart when I consider that while she plans to stay, it is not her desire to do so.” Phoebe let the words sit there and knew the impact of them when Thaddeus turned his head in her direction and two vertical creases appeared between his eyebrows. “Yes,” she said. “You heard me correctly. I truly believe she wants to remain with you. I’ve never known Fiona not to fight for what she wants, but then she has never had to fight to keep a man. If there was competition, there was always someone waiting for her quite literally in the wings. This is outside her experience. She’s afraid and she wants to run.”

“Keep a man?” Thaddeus quietly echoed the words, adding the disbelieving inflection that made them a question. “You’re talking about me? I’m the man she has to fight to keep?” When Phoebe nodded to all of it, he asked, “Who the hell does she think she has to fight? Who is her competition?” His eyes widened fractionally as he stared at Phoebe. “You! Jumpin’ Jesus. Of course it’s you. That I should have to be led like a horse to water is humiliating. When I think back on how I enjoyed your company in New York, and then invited you to come here, it’s clear that Fiona must have misinterpreted my interest. And you, merely a young woman and one she calls sister, it never occurred to me once that she would embrace such a cock-eyed notion. No wonder she is pressing you to leave. And apparently she’s taken it in her head that she has to stay behind to make certain you stay away.”

Thaddeus shook his head. “There is no greater mystery than the bent of a woman’s mind.”

Unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, Phoebe bit down on her bottom lip so she could do neither. “It is perhaps premature for you to think you understand the bent of this particular woman’s mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that I am not the other woman.”

“But—”

She put up a hand. “You need to speak to Fiona. Make her tell you. I think if you take her away from here, it will be easier for her to talk. The Butterworth perhaps. Or the very nice hotel in Liberty Junction. You could go there. There is nothing so critical to be done here that you cannot be gone for a day and a night or even two. You were weeks away when you visited New York.”

“Remington was here then.”

Phoebe watched Thaddeus closely as she said, “And I am certain that set your mind at ease, but shouldn’t Ben have an opportunity to take responsibility? He must be ready.”

“He is. You’re right. And this is important. Fiona’s important.”

“Yes.”

“You recommend the Boxwood?”

“I do.” She smiled, reached for his hand, and gave it an encouraging shake. “Be sure to make the acquaintance of one Handy McKenzie, although for the life of me, I can’t imagine how you could avoid it.”

• • •

Ellie Madison sat at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee, and allowed herself these few quiet moments to simply breathe in the aroma without thinking once of what she needed to do next. She closed her eyes and raised the mug to her lips. Her slight smile was one of regret, of infinite sadness, but it vanished as though it had never been when the back door opened behind her.

Without turning around, she asked, “What do you need, Ben?”

He did not bother asking her how she knew he was the one at the door. Even when he tried to disguise his footfalls, she was never wrong. Sometimes she confused Thaddeus and Remington, especially when Remington got older, but she never mistook him for anyone but himself. “Don’t need a thing,” he said. “Came to see how you are doing.”

He bent, kissed her cheek, and took a seat in the chair at a right angle to her. Almost immediately he bounced back up to fetch a mug of coffee. “Les burnt the coffee this morning. Scooter and Ralph drank it, but Arnie and I couldn’t stomach it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you have good, fresh brew in here.” He returned to his seat. “Did you see Thaddeus and Fiona leave?”

Ellie nodded. “I made breakfast for them.” She had stood at the window to watch the buggy pass the house and roll on down the road. She did not mention this to Ben. It sounded wretched when she thought of it and too unbearably pathetic to speak aloud. “Do you think you have it all in hand? I heard Thaddeus tell Phoebe he had quite a list of responsibilities for you.”

“He went over everything last night. Twice. But that’s his way. He still does it with Remington. There is nothing to do that I haven’t done before. It’s being in charge that’s different. He expressed his confidence in me.”

“He should. You’ve earned it.”

“Have I?” It was an earnest question. His mouth twisted to one side as he scratched behind his ear. “I wonder.”

Ellie firmly set down her mug. “You shouldn’t question yourself. Not only have you earned his confidence, you deserve it.”

Ben regarded his mother candidly. “I know you think so. You’ve always thought so . . . but at least one of us has to admit that our situation is different than it was.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Did you eat breakfast? Or did Les burn that, too?”

“I’m good.”

In spite of that not being an answer to her question, Ellie stayed where she was. She said, “Phoebe’s still abed. I don’t think she slept a wink last night. I heard her get up several times. Once she stepped outside. I think she’s worried about him.”

“And why shouldn’t she be? I am. After what happened to Blue, we should all be worried.”

Ellie’s fingertips whitened where she pressed them against her mug. She cast her eyes down. “When I think about Blue . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

“I know,” said Ben.

“I never, never, imagined this. His duties . . . perhaps I should have realized . . . but I didn’t. I never did, Ben. I wish I had been kinder to him, more attentive. Did you know he liked my apple pie?”

“I think everyone knew that.”

She laughed softly, ruefully. “Probably so.”

“He understood you did not return his feelings, not in equal measure.”

Ellie still did not look at her son. “I suppose I can tell you now that once upon a time he proposed.”

Ben’s dark red eyebrows climbed his forehead. “He did?”

“You were in your middle years. Eleven or twelve, I think. Blue saw us every Sunday back then because he went to church regularly in those days. Do you recall that he sometimes invited us to dinner at the Butterworth afterward? It’s all right if you don’t, but it was on one of those occasions that he asked me to marry him.”

“Where was I?”

She looked up. “You had wandered off to sit with Thaddeus and Remington. I could see where your affections were attached.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “Did that influence you to turn Blue down?”

“No . . . well, perhaps a bit . . . but mostly it was because of me. I couldn’t marry him. I loved your father. I know you don’t understand. I’ve told you things, and perhaps I should not have. He was not perfect, far from it, but the love I bore that man . . . that was perfect.”