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  “Mornin’ there, Malloy! Looks like you had some trouble last night!”

  Clyde Fergus and his wife, Nell, were driving in, with several yearling Morgans tethered to their wagon. Another neighbor, Newt Billings, was riding behind some older horses to be sure they followed the others, which prompted Snowy and Spot to herd them into the yard, yipping happily.

  “You’re an answer to a prayer!” Michael called out. “Until we get the barn and the corrals fixed, we’ll put them in this east stable.”

  Billy loped ahead to open the door, hearing some reservation in Malloy’s voice. It was one thing to thank these friends for returning their horses—and he was glad to see Mr. Lincoln was among them. It was another matter entirely to explain why these buildings gave up ghostly wisps of smoke had burned to the ground.

  “Sure hope we don’t have a fire bug in the area,” Nell remarked as she took in the damage. “Dry as it is, you’re fortunate the house didn’t catch, too! Is everyone all right?”

  “Did I hear you say your little Solace had a gun?” Newt sat forward in his saddle, his hawklike features intent beneath the broad brim of his hat. He turned to watch Mercy as she walked her daughter back to the house.

  Billy’s heart ached for Michael. He was by the stable door, waving in horses eager to return to their feed and water. It was only a matter of time before the story got out.

  “We had a surprise attack last night,” Malloy replied, his eyes imploring these old friends—and this newer fellow—to understand his predicament. “Wesley Bristol from Missouri—”

  “You mean the Bristol ridin’ with Frank and Jesse James?” Clyde’s eyes widened as he set the wagon’s brake.

  Michael closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, and as he happens to be Billy’s brother, I’m asking you to bear with us. He set the barn afire and got the livestock riled up enough that they broke loose, thank goodness.

  “But then he charged right for Billy, aiming a sawed-off shotgun,” Malloy continued in an ominous tone. “Lucky for us he gave us some warning, so we had a man on the roof in case things got out of hand. And yes, Solace astounded us all by plugging his mount when it reared up. She saved Billy’s life, and probably more of us, too.”

  He let out another long sigh, gauging his listeners’ reactions. “It was a long, hard night, my friends. Billy and I are going into town to fetch a casket, grateful it’s not for him.”

  “My word, Mercy and the girls must be beside themselves!” Nell clambered down from the wagon, her blue gingham skirts swaying over her ample hips as she hurried to the house.

  “Goes without saying you’ve got things we could do for you,” Clyde remarked. “Newt and I could fix this corral fence, or—”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, we’ve got a horse to bury. Dragged it behind the barn last night,” he explained, pointing toward the building. “Spades are on the far wall of the shed. Billy and I need to see to Wesley’s burial today, since his mother’s here—and it’s so hot.”

  The two men nodded, their expressions serious. “You go on to town, now, Malloy. We’ll tend to things until you get back.”

  “Can’t thank you enough, Clyde. You fellows are a godsend.”

  Once they had the wagon hitched up and were rolling toward the road, however, Michael shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t make up a story, knowing the women’ll tell their side like it happened, but sometimes the truth just doesn’t look good. There was no way to spare you, son. I’m sorry about that part most of all.”

  “Folks had to hear about it sooner or later,” Billy said with a sigh. “There’s just no dressin’ up what went on here—but I know what you’re sayin’. Newt Billings looked like he’s just itchin’ to spread this around. ’Specially about Solace shootin’ Wesley’s horse.”

  “I hope her moment of bravery doesn’t come back to bite her someday.”

  Billy’s throat tightened: had Joel fired that pistol, he’d be hailed all over Abilene as a hero making good at an early age. Folks would go out of their way to congratulate him—compare him to his idol, Wild Bill Hickok. But it was unthinkable for a girl to fire a gun. Never mind that she was a crack shot.

  The Malloys would be explaining this, and Joel’s departure, for months to come. Even though time and again Michael and Mercy had proven themselves to be decent, generous people, other folks latched onto gossip and scandal like his dogs enjoyed gnawing on a fresh bone.

  Along the road they stopped at each homestead, again putting the Malloy name on trial by asking if anyone had seen Joel. Their neighbors sounded concerned, of course. But Billy couldn’t miss the rise of their eyebrows.

  “Sorta like when your sister took out after that wild mother of hers,” one old coot reminisced.

  “Joel’s a handful, ain’t he?” another man teased. “Never could figger out why he’s got such a chip on his shoulder.”

  Such remarks did nothing to brighten their day, and by the time they reached town, Billy was in no mood to pick out a casket. He glanced over toward the railroad station, where there seemed to be a lot of activity.

  “Looks like Jones’s hands are just now loadin’ those horses.” The sight of the old scar on his arm made him smile. “I like it that our Morgans are goin’ to Army outposts. Sorta keeps my part of the bargain with Gabe, that we’d see justice done for the way Indians slaughtered his family and outlaws fractured mine.”

  That thought hit him hard, now that Wes was dead.

  Michael’s eyes softened. “I bet Gabe would like to hear about that. Doubt he sees much livestock, living at Miss Vanderbilt’s and studying the law.”

  As Billy nodded, his smile felt a little crooked. “Lots of things I need to write to Gabe now. But that letter’ll have to wait for when things slow down.”

  They stopped the wagon in front of Bedloe’s Furniture and Undertaking. As they were climbing down, a loud, familiar voice hailed them.

  “Malloy! And Billy Bristol! Have I got a story for you!”

  They cringed, noting how folks bustling along the sidewalks turned. Of course, Obadiah Jones loved being the one who made everyone take notice, so the portly Texan was in his element as he swaggered toward the wagon. He wore a fashionable new hat, and his frock coat and trousers were set off by a red vest. His gold watch chain caught the sunlight as he sauntered up to them, a fat cigar in the crook of his fingers.

  “Yessir!” he exclaimed, clapping Michael on the back, “I saw quite a sight this morning—you’ve saved me sending you a telegram. When my guard hollered at some kid trying to sneak into my parlor car, I never dreamed it’d be your boy, Malloy!”

  Michael’s face went pale. “Joel was here, in—?”

  “Don’t know how he got here—except I knew right off you weren’t with him, and that he was, shall we say, looking for adventure?” The cattle baron guffawed loudly, and then sucked on his cigar. “Did the same thing at his age! Would’ve let him ride the rails a ways with me, too—and then put him on the train back home, of course!”

  “Of course,” Billy echoed, frustrated by all this bluster.

  “Except, well, I had a lady friend along. Didn’t think you’d want your boy seeing what she wasn’t wearing!”

  Malloy looked flummoxed, gazing toward the train station. “So what’d you do with—where’d he go? When we realized Joel was gone—”

  “Oh, he’s gone, all right.” Obadiah smiled around his cigar as he studied Michael’s worried face. “The kid’s got speed, I’ll give him that! Took out across the rail yard, passed the platform, and swung himself onto the daily express west as it was leaving. I reckon he’ll be seeing the sights of San Francisco in a few days. Unless he gets off somewhere, of course.”

  “San Francisco? Why on earth would he—”

  Obadiah shrugged. “That I can’t tell you. But you know more about it than I do. Didn’t have much for luggage, so I’m guessing he’ll either be home soon—or he’s just one of those boys who’re here today and gone tomorrow, and travel
s light in between. Not a bad way to live sometimes, trust me.”

  He made a show of opening his gold pocket watch, his eyebrows flying up. “Where does the time go? Why, those horses should’ve been loaded by now and I’ve got a train to catch, gentlemen! See you next summer for more of those fine Morgans!”

  They watched him swagger grandly down the street, shaking their heads. In a time when average folks were scraping by, after two grasshopper invasions and the fall of the cattle market had left them grateful for the simple things they had, Jones stood out as a monument to misbegotten wealth. Billy doubted anyone could prove the Texan cheated or dealt under the table, but he had his suspicions.

  “Trust me,” he mimicked under his breath. “Why would I do that, after he let Joel get away on the west-bound—”

  “Joel was on his way out, no matter which direction he ended up going.” Malloy looked sadder than Billy had ever seen him: his shoulders drooped and when he rubbed his mustache, it was a gesture of weariness and worry.

  “Mercy won’t accept this. She’ll think it’s her fault we couldn’t win that boy over,” he went on. “But I was restless—and reckless—at his age, too. I’ll go send some telegrams along the rail lines, hoping my old stagecoaching friends are still working for the Union Pacific.”

  Mike sighed, still gazing toward the trains. “I guess we just give him over to God now, and trust that he’ll know what to do with Joel.”

  Billy nodded. “Same as we did with Wesley after he got snatched, but let’s not think about how my brother turned out,” he added with a glum smile. “Let’s get him buried, so’s we can pick up the pieces and move forward. One of these days.”

  “All in good time, son. That’s how we have to handle our lives, whether we want to or not.” Malloy gripped his shoulder a little tighter than usual. “We’ll see that Wes gets a funeral to make you and your ma feel better about the whole—”

  “Will you do the service, Michael?” The request stung his throat, but it seemed like the right thing to say. “Mama might not care who—and you didn’t even know Wesley—but it would mean a lot to me.”

  Those tawny eyes glowed at him, even though Malloy had his own burdens to bear. “I’d be proud to say a few words, Billy. It’ll be my gift to your family—for letting me love you like a son all these years.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “What are you going to sketch, Eve?”

  “Can we watch?”

  “Let me sit real close, so I can see!” Grace settled against Eve’s side, near enough that she’d have a hard time drawing, while the young woman patiently opened her sketchbook. Lily and Solace squeezed into the same seat of the train, all of them smiling—eager to be entertained on this somber trip from Abilene to Richmond.

  Billy watched them from across the aisle. Carlton and Mama sat facing the girls, cuddling a sleepy Olivia, while Mercy and Michael occupied the bench seat across from him. Asa looked out the window and Temple sat beside him, watching the girls, as well.

  “It makes quite a picture, doesn’t it?” the teacher murmured. “With the sun shining on all those different shades of hair, and those pretty dresses, and the light in their eyes, those girls radiate a beauty—a joy—no artist could capture on canvas.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Billy replied, wishing he’d made the original comment.

  But then, he was wishing he’d said a lot of things. He just didn’t know what. Didn’t know why his mind seemed to be unraveling, just as he hadn’t realized how much he’d taken Eve’s presence for granted. Didn’t she need him, now that Wesley was gone? Did she intend to raise Olivia alone, with just her mother’s help?

  Would she scoff—or laugh—if he asked her and that red-headed baby to be a permanent part of his life?

  Billy set aside such thoughts, hoping an appropriate time would come to talk with her. For now, he watched the sunlight dance in Lily’s blond ringlets, and Solace’s thick, dark waves, and little Grace’s wispy curls, which glistened like sunswept sand.

  Soon these three angels would be all grown up—just as he and Eve had come into adulthood—and he wished he could protect them from the troubles that came with maturity. No doubt they’d have young men swarming around them, and only the most suitable would do! If anyone so much as tried to disgrace them, the way Wesley had taken advantage of Eve Massena, he’d personally—

  Billy caught himself clenching his fists in his lap.

  “You all right, Mister Billy?” Temple whispered. “I guess that’s a ridiculous question, considering why we’re on this train.”

  He smiled sadly at her. “Just thinkin’ how different things would be if those Border Ruffians hadn’t snatched Wes when we were ten. Hopin’ our girls never know the heartache of havin’ their lives turned upside-down that way.”

  “For now, let’s enjoy these pleasant moments,” Asa said with a wise smile. “We’s got plenty of sadness to get through ’fore this day’s over.”

  Nodding, Billy turned his attention to the girls again.

  “Would you like to see what Billy’s house looked like when he was your age?” Eve asked. Her pencil moved with rapid confidence, centering the vertical lines that set the house apart from the surrounding gardens.

  “Did you go there a lot?” Solace piped up.

  “Were you and Christine best friends?” Lily leaned closer, following Eve’s swift motions—lines that defined the porch columns and the front door. “When I was little, Christine and I were like magnets! I wish she lived closer now, so we could talk—and I could see Rachel and Rebecca more often.”

  “Christine and I went to dancing classes together,” Eve replied. Her eyes were on her paper, but her lips curved in a secretive smile. “Billy was little for his age—shorter than the girls. But he had to come to our lessons, too, because we didn’t have enough boys.”

  “And he was not happy about it!” Mama chirped.

  Then, realizing she sounded too cheerful for her state of mourning, she sighed. Two tears slid down her cheeks. “Even then, Wesley refused to behave himself. Had to stir up trouble with his brother and make Christine miserable. I—I always suspected he’d come to a bad end—if he wasn’t the death of me first.”

  Billy felt the mood grow heavier around them, but when he tried to think of something to say, the rhythmic clackety-clack of the train drowned out his rational thought. Why was he so dumbstruck? Was this part of his grieving, or had he always lacked for the right words at the right time?

  Mama smoothed the skirt of her purple traveling suit, clucking—just getting warmed up. “I was wearing this dress the last time I saw him,” she said in a quavery voice. “But Carlton, I’ll need to have my dresses and underthings dyed black now and—”

  “Oh, it would be such a shame to change that suit!” Eve looked up from her sketching, her eyes filled with pain. “When I first saw it, I thought how splendid you looked, and how stylish, with that matching feathered hat! A sure sign you’d recovered from losing your home and—well, I was hoping to paint your portrait in it someday.”

  “Decorum demands black,” Mama stated, shaking her head sadly. “This is the worst week of my life! So much more horrible than losing Owen when—”

  “But think of how far you’ve come,” Carlton reminded her gently. “You’ve put scandal behind you—started fresh, like Eve and Temple talked about yesterday. It would be such a shame to—”

  “Veils. Black veils and gloves and—” She dabbed her eyes, sniffling loudly. “Why, I don’t have one proper thing to wear to my son’s funeral! We’ll have to shop in Richmond before—”

  “Yes, my dear, I hope you will. But consider this.” Harte had turned in the seat and was holding both her shoulders as she cradled Olivia. His voice remained soft but he brooked no argument. “Since when have you been a slave to decorum, Virgilia? It was your brazen, outspoken originality that first attracted me to you, not to mention the way you dressed in bright, becoming colors.

  “Appe
arance has always been so important to you,” he went on “that you insisted I grow a mustache and dye my hair dark—and go by my alias—because you wanted me to be a dashing detective rather than a stodgy small-town sheriff. Isn’t that right, my love?”

  “Saw that myself,” Billy remarked. “And Christine had some interesting things to say about how Carlton made himself over, just to suit you, Mama.”

  He enjoyed these conversations between his mother and her new husband, especially when he saw the circuitous path Carlton was taking to make his point.

  “Do as you wish, Virgilia. I’ll always love you. But I’m asking you to think carefully before you spoil the lovely wardrobe you’ve acquired.”

  Harte was smiling kindly, well aware of how his wife’s heart was breaking, but determined to convince her.

  “Black may be the proper thing to wear, but it will wither the roses in your cheeks and drain the delight from those lovely green eyes,” he murmured as he looked into them. “Buy yourself a black dress and veil for the funeral, of course. But as an everyday thing—well, you’ll look old before your time, Virgilia. And just as you don’t want to associate with the stuffy little lawman I once was, I’d rather not be married to an old woman.”

  Billy stifled a snicker, and saw Eve nipping her lip, too. Mama’s transformation was nothing short of miraculous: She looked ready to smack Carlton’s face, but she glowed in the light of his affection. It was only a temporary repair—she’d feel the weight of her loss for a long, long time just as he would—but Billy sensed this man had diverted her from playing the martyr.

  Mama was lucky to have gained another good husband before she’d lost a beloved son.

  There’s a lesson there. It was a voice inside his head, very similar to Michael’s or maybe Judd Monroe’s. And when Billy glanced at Eve—saw the heart-rending detail in her drawing of his boyhood home—he thought maybe God was trying to tell him something.

  Will you listen, my son? Or will you fly blind like your brother did?

  It was late afternoon when Michael and Asa pulled him from the grave he’d finished digging. Billy felt satisfaction in the throbbing of his arms and the blisters he’d worked on his palms. Hard work cured a lot of ills, and kept him from thinking maudlin thoughts—gave him something to accomplish before they gathered around Wesley’s final resting place.