Page 9 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 9

As they indulged on Hattie’s delicious fried chicken and potatoes, Callie’s eye kept straying her brother’s way. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

“Miss?” Rion grinned at Hattie as he gleaned the last bit of meat from a bone. “How’d you learn to cook so good? This is about the best chicken I ever did taste.”

Hattie blushed as she nodded in Mrs. Ingram’s direction. “Mama taught me.”

His eyes widened under his hat’s brim. “You’re mother and daughter. Guess I missed the family resemblance.”

Mrs. Ingram laughed. “You’ll find little likeness between us, Mr. Rion. My husband Owen and I adopted Hattie after she lost her family.”

Hattie nodded. “I was small when it happened, so I don’t remember it.”

“Thank God!” Mrs. Ingram patted her arm.

“Yes, thank God. Before my third birthday, my family’s home caught fire. By some miracle, I survived, though my legs were badly burned. My parents and infant brother perished.” Swallowing hard, she nodded toward her adoptive mother. “The Ingrams heard of the fire, and when they learned of my survival, they traveled for weeks—all the way to Fort Laramie—to lay hands on and pray for me. I was in the care of an army doctor, with no real prospects of who would take me in. Once they saw me, they took charge of my care. It’s by the grace of God and their prayers that I didn’t succumb to my injuries.”

Mrs. Ingram grasped Hattie’s hand. “Owen and I never did have children, though we wanted many. In our older age, God brought us a beautiful daughter.”

Already on the edge of emotion, Callie fought tears. “I hadn’t heard that story.”

“I thought we’d told you, child.”

Only that Hattie had been burned—but not how.

Before she could put her thought into words, Dr. Chellingworth—now dressed in black trousers, a red coat, a white shirt with some kind of a flecked pattern, a string tie, and his dark-eyed spectacles—stepped from one of the wagons and, in a booming voice, called the field to order.

“Thank you, one and all, for staying for our show. As many of you already know, my name is Dr. Darby Chellingworth, and many of my entourage have come to America both to entertain and to heal our across-the-pond neighbors.” He spouted some of the same lines he’d said from the previous afternoon’s introduction in town, and after only a moment, he stepped back. In his place, a slim man, taller than Joe, stepped out in black trousers and a crisp, white shirt, his mop of medium-brown curls falling across his forehead. Without a word, he produced three red balls from his trouser pockets, promptly dropped two, and made a frantic show of chasing both down. The crowd chuckled. As he stood again, curls flopped into his eyes, and with an exaggerated puff, he blew the hair so it cleared his eyes—but fell back again. Pocketing the balls, he overdramatically parted his curls, tucked them behind his ears and, licking each palm, smoothed the hair. Again, the crowd laughed, and he began to juggle.

Eyes pinned on the display ahead, Rion cleared his throat. “Count yourself lucky you were taken in by good people. Plenty of orphans ain’t so fortunate.”

Callie’s breath caught, and she focused on the last bites of her chicken to keep from looking his way. If only she weren’t undercover. If she were between assignments or wasn’t working for the Pinkertons at all, she could reveal who she was.

But it was because she was an operative that she’d been able to come west and look for Rion. She couldn’t risk their investigation by revealing her true identity, yet balancing the two objectives was proving harder than she’d imagined.

“Were you an orphan?” Joe’s direct question jarred her from her thoughts.

For a moment, Rion didn’t move … then he nodded slowly, his voice gruff. “Lost my folks when I was ten. They went out late one night—somethin’ to do with my father losin’ his professor job at Columbia College real sudden. They never came back. Found out later, they were in a carriage accident.”

She tried to draw a breath as a wave of homesickness crashed over her. She’d been young—just days shy of her sixth birthday. Two loving parents had kissed her good night, and she’d awakened the next morning as an orphan.

One of the other women turned a compassionate gaze his way. “Were you an only child?”

“I was the oldest. I was s’posed to take care of my sisters, but—”

Callie’s stomach roiled. “But what?” She couldn’t recall all the details of how they’d been separated—only that they were.

He glanced at her, then back to the juggling act, which consisted of the original man and now a buxom, dark-haired woman in a pale blue dress. The two pitched brightly colored batons back and forth, each moving farther apart, to the delight of the crowd.

“After I got caught stealin’ food to feed my sisters, we were taken to an orphanage then put on an orphan train. They promised they’d keep the three of us together, but my littlest sister got placed out near Chicago, and the middle one in St. Louis. I got dumped out here with an ornery old cuss.”

Head swimming, Callie dug her hand against her tender ribs. The jolt shocked her enough to clear her thoughts some, but when she probed a particularly painful spot, her breath whooshed out louder than she’d intended.

All eyes turned her way, and Rion squinted. “You all right, Miss?”

She covered her mouth, gave a cough, and cleared her throat. “Forgive me.”

What a fool she was making of herself.

He eyed her a moment more, and she took a long gulp of water.

“Have you ever tried to find your sisters?” another women asked.

“Yes, Miss.” Rion looked her way. “Gone back to both cities at least half a dozen times.”

Her heart pounded. Rion had wanted to find them. Feeling suddenly faint, Callie laced her fingers and squeezed her palms together in her lap. How could she sit, feet from her brother, listening to his account of their separation and not react?

Lord Jesus, help me.

“Kezia?” Joe’s voice dripped concern.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Ingram swooped in, cradling her face in both hands. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She focused on the older woman’s face.

“What’s wrong, child?”

“I—” She gulped a breath. “Nothing. Just a moment of dizziness.”

Mrs. Ingram shifted a hand to her forehead. “You look pale. Perhaps, after the last few days, we should get you h—”

“No, ma’am. I don’t want to trouble anyone.” Callie straightened and pulled free of Mrs. Ingram’s grasp. “The feeling is already starting to pass.”

“Child, have some sense.” Mrs. Ingram locked an ironclad stare on her. “You were nearly trampled by a horse, then handled roughly by that awful man. You need to rest.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but …” Rion looked their way. “What happened?”

Joe spoke first. “Miss Jarrett and I were in a clearing up in the mountains, and some durn fool stampeded our horses. Kezia’s mare knocked her down as it ran off.”

“It left her bruised.” Mrs. Ingram caught her eye, as if reminding her.

Rion’s glance narrowed. “You know who did it, Miss?”

“Some hothead on a black horse,” Joe blurted.

“That could be a fair number of people. You got anything more to go on? What’d the rider look like?”

This time, she cut him off. “It all happened so fast, we didn’t see many details.”

“Understood. What’s this about rough handlin’?”

“Yesterday. We found the man you were arguing with in an alley, disoriented, with a bloody nose.”

“Yeah, I bloodied it. What about him?”

“I asked him a question, and …” They’d not told anyone how the man had grabbed her hair. “I got jostled and fell.”

“He almost pitched her into the watering trough.”

“I fell against it, and water slopped down the front of my dress.”

Rion’s eyes went cold. “I told ya earlier. Steer wide of Ellwood Garvin. He’s the ornery cuss what took me from the orphan train. He murdered two girls years ago. Other orphans, like me.”

No one, including Joe, spoke, too stunned by Braddock’s admission. Then Mrs. Ingram stood.

“We should get you home.”

“No, ma’am.” As Callie shook her head, her hand strayed to her forehead, and she forced herself to stillness. Joe’s heart lurched. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s day.”

“I’ll take her.” At the same moment Joe spoke the words, Hattie echoed the sentiment.

Mrs. Ingram looked at them. “Thank you both, but I’ll drive her home. Hattie, if I know you, you’re already uncomfortable. Come along, if you don’t mind. You can stay with Miss Jarrett, and once I get the horses put up, I’ll return. In the meantime, Mr. Nesbitt, you stay with the others.”

With a killer on the loose and newcomer Rion Braddock right here, how could he disagree? Besides, he and Braddock needed to talk about what he’d just said. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll help Kezia to the wagon.”

While the other women repacked the basket and carried it toward the wagon, Joe rose and helped Callie up. Behind him, Rion Braddock offered his assistance to Hattie.

In minutes, Mrs. Ingram, Hattie, and Callie sat on the wagon bench as Mrs. Ingram backed the team away. He and Braddock watched until they were headed into town.

“Reckon I’ll get on myself.” Braddock nodded in the same direction.

“Why don’t you stay? Tell me more about this … what’d you say his name was? Garland?”

“Ellwood Garvin.”

“What’d you mean—he murdered two girls?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Braddock nodded. “The man collected orphans. Mostly, he wanted the boys for cheap labor around his homestead. He worked us hard—and gave us little enough to eat. But twice in the four years I lived at his place, he took in a girl—supposedly to cook and keep house. When they first came, they smiled at us boys, shot us some enticing glances. But before long, they started pullin’ inside themselves. No more smilin’ or meetin’ your eyes. A couple times, I saw bruises on their arms or faces.” For an instant, he simply shook his head, a hard look in his eye. “We all figured he was … usin’ them hard too.”

To Joe’s understanding, the town leaders usually worked with the orphan trains to ensure the children were placed into decent, upstanding homes. How had Garvin been given multiple orphans—especially girls? “Why do you think he murdered ’em?”

“He said the first ran off in the night. She came to stay soon after I arrived, and then she wasn’t there no more. The second one? She came two years later. I was older. I understood more. Not long before she disappeared, I noticed her belly was roundin’—and not because she was eatin’ good, if you understand my meanin’.”

His own belly churning, Joe nodded.

“Then, one night, we heard awful screams from the house. The oldest boys tried to get inside, but Garvin had the doors barred. The next day, he told us she’d run off too.”

“But the doors remained barred …”

“All the way till morning. We watched. Those doors never opened, and we never saw her again.”

If Braddock was telling the truth, could Garvin be their murderer? He didn’t fit the description of tall with dark hair and beard, but … “You lived there, and who else?”

“In the years I was there, he had a handful of us boys. Seth, Pete, Bobby, Dutch, and me.”

“Dutch—as in the café owner here in town?”

“One and the same.”

He eyed Braddock. “What happened?”

The man shrugged. “We all figured it was only a matter of time before he came for us. So we ran off. Pete headed to California, Bobby went to Texas. Me, Seth, and Dutch hid out in the caves here in these parts. None of us ever went back. Garvin’s place is a week’s travel from here, but on occasion, he shows up around here. Always a sorry time when he does.”

“Does Garvin have any sons of his own—not adopted?”

“None I know of.” Braddock’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Curious. I like to keep my eye out for danger, and often, traits like those can run in families.”

“To my knowledge, the man never married. And I ain’t aware he’s got kin.”

As Braddock spoke, a gunshot rang out. Heart hammering, Joe hunched low and spun to face the noise, pawing his thigh for his missing pistol. Braddock also spun, jerking his Colt free, though he stopped short of taking aim.

In the distance, a woman with a head of red curls, wearing a buckskin dress and a Stetson hat, stood atop one of the wagons, rifle to her shoulder, as she fired at someone on the farthest wagon. The man held something up for the crowd to see. Gasps and applause ensued.

Both he and Braddock breathed deep and let the tension drain from their muscles. His cheeks hot with embarrassment, Joe glanced at the other man, who looked just as uncomfortable. Braddock holstered the pistol.

A wagon rumbled into view and turned their way. Driven by a man, it was full of women of all ages and sizes. Beside him, Braddock grunted.

“What?”

He jutted his chin toward the oncoming wagon. “Soiled doves.”

“How do you know—” He shook his head. “Never mind. What do you figure they’re doing?”

“Town ordinance says they can’t open saloons and brothels on Sundays. Since they can’t be the entertainment, they’re probably comin’ for the entertainment.” Braddock motioned toward the ongoing show.

He’d never been one to seek such company—but he’d seen plenty of prostitutes who congregated and followed the troops during the war. They were a bawdy bunch with language to match. None of Mrs. Ingram’s boarders needed to be exposed to such behavior.

“You really figure they’re coming here?”

“Guarantee it. None of the businesses in town are open, and they’re headin’ this way. Ain’t much beyond but mountains.”

Joe glanced to where his housemates watched the woman sharpshooter line up for another shot.

“You want to help—”

The roar of the gun interrupted, and his nerves fired, sending his mind back to a smoky battlefield. He shook off the feeling, cleared his throat, and tried again.

“Would you mind helping me gather the other women and get ’em headed toward Mrs. Ingram’s place?”

“Reckon I wouldn’t.”

Together, they hurried back to the remaining four women and urged them to gather Mrs. Ingram’s quilts, the earthen water jugs, and any other belongings and come along. Desiring to see the show, two of the gals resisted until the doves pulled up and spilled out. It only took a couple of mouthy comments before all of Mrs. Ingram’s gals hurried to comply. With Rion Braddock leading and Joe bringing up the rear, they walked the ladies out of the field, almost without issue.

Almost.

As they neared the edge of the crowd, one of the doves watched Braddock file past. She sneered at Mrs. Ingram’s boarders, but her gaze drifted back to Rion, and the sneer dissolved into surprise.

She rushed up and grabbed his shirt. “You’re the one.”

Joe urged his charges past Braddock with an admonition to keep walking, then hurried to Rion’s aid. “Let him go, Miss.”

“You were with—”

Braddock grabbed both her hands, entwined in the fabric of his shirt, and must have squeezed them. Her face contorted as she released him with a whimper.

Once free, he shoved past her, and Joe followed. They caught up to the women and ushered them through the parked wagons and back toward town.

“What was that about?” Joe eyed Braddock.

“Durned if I know,” Braddock growled. “I’m convinced half those doves are loco.”

“Do you know her?”

“Do I look like a man who frequents such places?”

“How am I s’posed to answer that? All sorts of men do.”

“Well, I ain’t one of ’em.” He uttered the words between clenched teeth, his gaze stony.

Then what had the woman been thinking?

“You got them?” Braddock nodded toward the women. “Or do you still need me?”

“I figure I can get ’em home safe from here.”

“All right, then. Good talkin’ to ya.” He cleared his throat. “Ladies, thank you for the enjoyable mornin’.”

He tipped his hat, and as they neared one of many full hitching posts along the street, Braddock veered off and untied two fine mounts—a smaller brown, and a big black with three white stockings.