Page 6 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 6

Joe dismounted outside the livery and watered Rusty.

The young hostler came to the doorway. “You the one who brought in that handsome gray?”

“Yeah.” Concern snaked through him. “What about her?”

“Some woman was just pokin’ around, wantin’ to see her.”

“What woman?”

“Don’t know her name. Real pretty. Little—shorter’n me by a couple inches. Brown hair, sparkly brown eyes. Wearin’ a yella dress.”

An involuntary grunt escaped him. Yes, Callie Wilson’s eyes sparkled, especially when she laughed—but what right did this young upstart have noticing that? “That’s my friend, Miss Jarrett. She owns that mare.”

The kid shrugged. “With all the strange stuff goin’ on ’round here, just figured to make sure.”

“Thanks, but she’s none of your concern.” What was she doing traipsing around town after getting so bruised? He motioned in the direction of Lady’s stall. “She still here?”

“The horse, or the woman?”

“Both.”

“The horse is. The woman walked that way a couple minutes ago.” He waved toward the town’s center.

Then she couldn’t have gone far. “Thanks.”

“Want me to take your horse?”

“I’ll come back later.” He’d check on Callie first.

Once Rusty finished drinking, Joe mounted and walked the big chestnut down the street. As he neared the next intersection, distant music caught his ear, and he turned toward it.

The sight of a small woman in a cheery yellow dress flitting around the edges of a crowd caught his attention. Callie. With her small stature, she’d have little chance to see anything unless she could find her way to the front. He rode up, dismounted, and came to stand slightly behind her.

He leaned near. “Having trouble?”

She whipped around, a hand over her heart, though the sudden movement must have hurt her. Her broad smile faltered, and her eyes flashed with momentary pain. He reached to steady her.

“You startled me, Mr. Nesbitt. And yes, I can’t see past the crowd.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” he whispered.

“I needed some fresh air, and I stumbled upon this.”

Near the line of medicine show wagons, an Englishman rattled off a loud carnival-barker’s spiel.

He hooked a thumb toward the show. “You want to see this foolishness? These types of people are charlatans.”

Miss Wilson smiled sheepishly. “I have my reasons.”

Hopefully, they had nothing to do with spending money on snake oil.

“Can you sit a saddle?”

“I doubt I’d be ready to ride any distance, but if I’m sitting still …”

“All right, then.” He shortened the left stirrup to fit her, then helped her onto Rusty’s back until she sat with her right leg hooked around the saddle horn and her left foot in the stirrup.

“Thank you, Mr. Nesbitt.” Her brown eyes glittered, and his heart pounded. He took the reins and, standing by Rusty’s head, turned toward the line of wagons. Over the heads of the crowd, three balls flew into the air in regular succession, and the onlookers gave a collective gasp followed by applause.

Moments later, the tall Englishman returned.

“Good afternoon, one and all. My name is Dr. Darby Chellingworth, and my entourage and I have come to America to both entertain and heal our across-the-pond neighbors.”

“Bring back the juggler!” a man hollered, and others around him applauded.

“I certainly will. But first—I must tell you about my Heaven-Sent Miracle Elixir. This special blend of medicinal herbs and ingredients can cure all that ails you. We have seen this remedy help with rheumatism, arthritis, heart issues, neuralgia, hair loss, memory loss. Dr. Chellingworth’s Heaven-Sent Miracle Elixir can speed the mending of broken bones, as well as take down swelling from bruises, strains, and sprains. And it will stave off fever, chills, and every respiratory malady.”

“All that in one bottle?” another man from the far side of the rowdy bunch shouted. “Sounds too good to be true!”

“Aww, hush up and let him talk!” someone quipped. “The sooner he hawks his magical potion, the sooner he brings back the juggler.”

“Now, now.” The good doctor raised his hands as if to quiet the protests. “Just as the name indicates”—he waved a hand toward the name emblazoned on the various wagons—“my elixir is a miracle in liquid form, straight from the throne room of heaven.”

Some in the crowd guffawed at the grandiose claim, while many others murmured approvingly.

“We want the juggler!”

“Our original Elixir will handle most every malady that might befall man or beast. But for our fairer customers, we have a special, gentler variety of our Heaven-Sent Miracle Elixir to deal with a woman’s delicate constitution and needs.”

Joe shook his head. “What hogwash. You aren’t honestly buying his claims, are you?”

As he glanced back at Callie, her focus was set on some distant point at the far side of the crowd, the way a good hunting dog locked on to its target.

“Miss Jarrett?”

She glanced his way, then back. “Help me down, Mr. Nesbitt. Hurry.”

If the crowd weren’t so dense, she would just ride across the square, but with so many packed into the square, she’d never make it on horseback.

“Please, get me down.”

Joe lifted her down easily. “What’s the all-fired hurry?” He spoke in a tone only she would hear.

“There’s a black horse with at least one stocking across the way.”

She nodded toward it and immediately headed to see the horse. In her haste, pain gripped her hip, and she nearly tumbled into the dust. But getting her feet under her once more, she tried again to weave through the crush of bodies.

As she did, an ear-piercing whistle split the air, and the people turned in that direction.

“Move!” Sheriff Cooper Downing’s familiar voice boomed. “Make way. All of ya!”

The lawman stood on the roof of a nearby building not far from where she’d left Joe.

“Clear this street!”

“I mean no harm, sir!” Dr. Chellingworth shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. “We’ve come to entertain, amaze, and heal the good people of Cambria Springs.”

“Aww, go peddle that snake oil somewhere elsewhere, huckster!” someone bellowed again.

She focused once more on the cross street. “Pardon me, please.” People allowed her to slip past, though not easily. There just wasn’t much room.

Sheriff Downing’s voice boomed again. “You can put on your show but not in the street! Set it up in the field west of town.”

For an instant, the crowd held its breath.

“All right, my good man,” Dr. Chellingworth called. “Thank you! We’ll move directly.”

The crowd cheered, with some discontented grumbling mixed in. People moved in all directions, catching her in a swirl of bodies until she was bumped and jostled, pain lancing her more than once.

Lord, help! I need to get across this square.

“Move out of the way,” a woman growled behind her, and seconds later, someone tapped her shoulder.

A slender woman of medium height, face cloaked by her sage-colored bonnet—a perfect complement to her darker green dress—stood behind her. “Where you tryin’ to get to?”

“Straight across the square.”

“Follow me.” She set off with purpose, plowing her way to the boardwalk where she stepped into the shadows of a building in the mouth of an alley. She turned.

“Thank you so much!” Callie smiled at the taller woman.

“It was painful watching you gettin’ trampled in that mess.”

“I do appreciate it.” She squinted to see the woman’s face through the shadows. “I’m Kezia Jarrett. And you are …?”

“Annalee Ralston.” The woman unknotted the wide fabric ties of the bonnet and pushed the fabric back to reveal beautiful green eyes and …

A dark beard? Callie gaped.

“I’m with the show,” she whispered. “The Bearded Lady.”

Miss Ralston had subdued her long beard into two braids and pinned them near her temples.

Finding her composure, Callie looked away. “I don’t mean to stare.”

The woman guffawed and tugged her bonnet back in place. “Missy, Dr. Chellingworth keeps me around so people can stare.”

Pain lanced her heart. What an unfortunate life!

After hiding any sign of her unusual appearance with her bonnet, Miss Ralston stepped out of the shadows. “Hope you’ll come see the show.”

After Miss Ralston’s kindness, how could she not, despite feeling so bruised?

As the pipe organ began to play, the woman looked toward the wagons. “Gotta go.” She tugged her right sleeve down and rubbed at a light-colored stain at its cuff. “Please come. We’ll be here at least until tomorrow.”

Callie nodded. “I will.” She’d find a way … “Thank you again. You were very kind to help me.”

The woman departed, and Callie stared.

A bearded woman … She’d never seen the like!

Only after Miss Ralston disappeared did Callie carry on toward the intersection where, from across the square, she’d seen the tail end of a black horse near two arguing men. By the time she reached the corner, the street was much more crowded, and the men and the horse had vanished.

She needed to find that horse. Was it the one that had stampeded their mounts? If she could find horse and rider, she might find a connection to her case. Maybe … Callie scanned the square. An older, white-haired, white-bearded man had angrily stabbed a finger in the chest of a much younger, dark-haired fellow. Did the horse belong to one of them? She couldn’t be sure, but it was a start … if she could just find them.

Ignoring her pain and fatigue, she crossed toward the dry goods store and peered in the windows. It was empty except for the bald clerk and one blond customer. By the time she reached the building’s corner, the mountainous incline had left her winded. Passing the alley’s opening, she slumped onto the nearest bench. If she could catch her breath, perhaps she’d have the gumption to tackle the hill.

Meanwhile, the horse was probably getting farther away.

Lord, am I on the right path, or am I chasing jackrabbits? Callie breathed deeply, trying not to wince as her corset pinched her tender side.

Defeated, she eyed the incline, rested a moment more, then rose. As she did, something clattered in the alley, and a low groan sounded. Heart pounding, she squinted into the twilight between buildings.

“Hello?”

Another groan.

Definitely human.

Callie inched toward the shadowy opening. “Hello?” This time, she reached into her dress pocket, feeling for her derringer. “Is someone there?”

A man’s hazy form rose unsteadily from behind some discarded crates and leaned against the wall.

The white-bearded man—only now, his beard was streaked with blood.

“Sir, are you injured?” Gripping the hidden pistol, she took a tentative step into the alley’s mouth just as a hand clamped her shoulder.

Callie whipped around, brown eyes huge, and sank her tiny peashooter into his gut.

“Whoa, now.” Joe shook his head. “Put that away.”

She gulped and obeyed.

“Stay here.”

That alley was the last place she needed to be, particularly with a fella acting hurt. For all she knew, that was the murderer trying to tug at her sympathies. As small as she was, even a strong boy might subdue her and drag her off to some secluded spot. The thought gave him an involuntary shudder.

She stepped back.

Joe loosened his pistol in its holster and stepped into the alley. “You okay, mister?”

The strong stench of whiskey wafted toward him as the glassy-eyed man tried to push away from the wall.

“Let me help you.” Joe looped his left arm behind the unsteady man’s back, keeping his right free to grab for his pistol, if needed. “There’s a bench out here where you can sit.”

He guided the man to it, and he collapsed onto the seat.

Joe squatted, looking up at him. “What happened?”

He was bleeding from the nose, though he seemed uninjured otherwise. He produced his handkerchief and pressed it into the old man’s hand, then guided the hand toward his face. “Why don’t you hold this under your nose?”

The fella stared at the cloth, then complied.

“What’s your name?” He tried unsuccessfully to catch the man’s eye.

“Did someone hit you?” Again, he fought to gain the man’s focus.

After a few more dazed blinks, the old man finally did make eye contact before glancing around the street. “Yeah …”

“Who?”

Callie shuffled closer, her voice quiet. “He was talking to a dark-haired young man, also with a beard. About your age, Mr. Nesbitt, but—”

“Murderous—” Fortunately, the handkerchief muted his final word—one unfit for mixed company.

He arched a brow. “Hope you’re not calling me that.”

“Not you.” He sneered. “Don’t even know you.” He stood on wobbly legs, nearly knocking Joe backward.

“Whoa.” He rocked to his feet as the old man tottered.

“Meant that good-for-nothin’ Rion Braddock.”

He plowed into Miss Wilson as he stumbled past.

Her jaw slack, she stared like a lost little girl, then came to her senses. “Wait!” As he stepped off the boardwalk, she caught his arm. “Who did you say?”

The man tried to shake free. “Let go.”

“What name did you just say? Please …”

He glared at her hand, then grabbed her hair and jerked her head back. Callie shrieked.

Joe sprang toward them, but the man sent her reeling toward a nearby water trough. Feet tangling in her dress hem, she fell against the trough, one hand bracing its rim while the other sank to the shoulder in the water. The trough’s contents sloshed first over the back, then the front—straight down her dress.

“I said let go, you nosy little—” Again, he finished with a slurred word unfit for a woman’s hearing.

Wanting to pummel the man, Joe went instead to her side.

“Are you hurt?”

Her face had turned a frightening shade of white. Eyes brimming, she pushed away from the trough and stared at her sodden, muddied dress.

“Did he hurt you?” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Callie?”

She jerked her gaze up, dashing away tears. “ Kezia. And I’m fine. Just … wet!”

Callie shrugged free of his grasp and, with a flourish of muddied yellow calico, darted a glance toward where Whitey had stood. He was gone, but a half circle of onlookers took his place, far too interested in the pretty, half-drowned woman.

“Y’all go on.” Joe shrugged out of his lightweight coat and wrapped it around her. “There’s nothing to see.”