Chapter 15

Lloyd burst into the diner with Deacon Morris on his heels.

Lloyd was a skinny man, probably from the constant motion, and dark-haired, forty-one years old. Deacon was fifty at least, the senior partner in the men's law firm. He was stout, his hair thinning and turning gray at the temples, with wire-rimmed glasses and muttonchops. Deacon was more deliberate in his speech and movements, wore fine suits and kept his hair trimmed short. Both lawyers were ambitious, hardworking, and prosperous. Deacon was married, a father to six children, all of them grown now. Lloyd had never slowed down long enough to find a wife.

Seb knew these bare-boned facts, but beyond that, he knew little about the two men. They seemed to be honest, though, so why would they try to kill Seb for his inventions? He wanted to trust them. It twisted his gut to look at them and remember that gunshot last spring, the attack that had sent him running for cover.

How could he be sure? Well, he was very sure of one thing...

Kat raised a hand and drew the men's attention. Sebastian had deliberately claimed a table away from the front windows, with his and Kat's backs to the wall.

Lloyd hurried over to them, his face red. With anger? Seb hadn't spoken carefully to the man. He didn't intend to start now. Lloyd pulled out a chair and sat. He was still fidgeting and getting settled when Deacon took a chair.

Seb and Kat were halfway through their chicken noodles poured over the best potatoes in Missouri.

Deacon started right in. "What's this I hear about you thinking we're involved in what happened to you last spring, Sebastian? And what did happen to you? All we knew was that you disappeared and left a ransacked warehouse behind that smacked of being a crime scene."

The waiter came over. The two lawyers ordered the same as Seb, and the waiter, clearly sensing the tension, scurried away.

"I sent a telegram asking for my money to be transferred and mentioned I'd gotten married. And you, Lloyd"—Seb jabbed a finger at the lawyer—"responded with odd questions and asked for Kat's full name. That name was written in a man's notebook, the man who attacked her. Just one person knew the full name of the woman I was married to. Which means you were careless with her name. Somehow, someone found out who she is and then hired this stranger to come hurt or kill the both of us. I'm sure you'll want to pretend you're innocent, but you must've repeated her name to someone who is not innocent. It has to have come from one of you."

Deacon opened his mouth to speak just as the waiter approached, carrying two plates. He set them down, turned and walked away, but was right back with a pot of hot coffee and two cups. The poor man didn't want to interrupt them, but he seemed to fret about not serving them properly.

Seb went back to eating, while Kat was mostly done with her chicken.

"Tell us what happened when you disappeared, Sebastian." Deacon sounded as if he sincerely wanted to know.

But Seb couldn't read honesty in his expression, nor dishonesty. Lawyers could be tricky that way.

"A man broke into my lab—the warehouse. He wore a mask and came in shooting. I do my work on the ground floor, but the gunman had that exit blocked. I got out of the room with only one gunshot wound. In my belly."

Kat shook her head. "It was in your side. It was awful, but not a mortal wound."

"So I climbed upstairs," Seb went on, patting her hand, "the intruder coming hard after me, and got to the office rooms on the third floor. Then I threw myself out a window."

"You jumped from a third-floor window of your warehouse?" Lloyd's eyes went sharp with concern. "Those ceilings are high. That's a terrible height to fall from."

"I was lucky enough to land on a freight wagon carrying hay. Soft enough that the fall didn't kill me."

His wife shook her head again and said, "You had broken ribs. You took a blow to the head that made you very sick for a long time. Add the ribs to the head wound to the gunshot wound, and you were badly hurt."

"Kat and her friends were passing by and found me. They loaded me into a cart and headed west. I ended up part of a wagon train before my wounds healed enough to consider whether that was what I wanted. Then, scared to come back here, I stuck with them through the winter. And this spring, Kat and I got married." He smiled at her. "The best part of this story. We've settled on a homestead in Wyoming."

He decided to skip over everything about Beth and Ginny and Hidden Canyon. He didn't mention Thaddeus Rutledge either.

"I set things up to work on my experiments. We weren't sure what to do about the man who'd tried to kill me here in Independence. Then Kat was attacked by a man who snuck up behind her. She won that fight, and later we found a notebook on the man with our names in it—including Kat Wadsworth Jones. I'd said that name to no one except the parson who married us. And I'd wired it to you, Lloyd, at your request. Within weeks there was someone searching for us in Wyoming with Kat's full name, the name she had before she married me. So one of you sent the attacker with no good intentions, or you told someone."

Seb studied each man's face, wondering if they'd try to lie.

Lloyd cleared his throat. "I told a few people you'd come back from the dead. It never occurred to me to keep that secret."

"A few people?" Kat asked sharply.

Seb jumped in. "I want a list of names. Every single person you told. And think back to last spring—not a few months ago, but a year and a few months ago. That I had a laboratory in that warehouse wasn't a generally known fact. I'm aware of the spying that goes on among a certain type of inventor, so I was discreet about where I worked. How did someone find me there? Who did you tell about that?"

"We didn't know about the warehouse before you went missing," Lloyd protested.

"So you say," Seb grumbled, then reached for his napkin. Conway's might be just a diner, but it was a nice one. No need to wipe his mouth on his sleeve in here. "Tell me, do I still own my home and warehouse? What happened to them? And what happened to the money from my patents?"

Deacon lifted both hands as if to slow him down. "Everything is in order, Seb. We even repaired the damage we did when we broke into your house; we fitted new locks on both doors." He produced two keys and handed them to Seb. "The taxes were paid out of your income and that money, and what we didn't wire to your Wyoming bank is sitting in your account here. In fact, you can go sleep in your house tonight. It might need dusting. The food in the cupboards is all a year old. We went in once, but never again. We hoped and prayed you would turn up alive."

Or maybe, Seb thought, they'd been cautious and bided their time before starting their thieving. Seb eyed the two men for a long moment, then stood. "I came here to find out who wants Kat or me or both of us captured or killed. I'm not sure staying in a place I'm known to own is wise. We'll send a note to you later to meet us again. I'll expect a list of names. Or a confession."

He reached down for Kat's hand without taking his eyes off his lawyers. She took his hand firmly. He tossed money onto the table, and the two of them strode out of the diner.

As they headed down the street, Seb said, "I know we came here to face our troubles, but now that I'm here, I'm not sure exactly what to do. Should we go to the sheriff, or should we arrange to sell everything and leave town? Go somewhere else. We could have the money sent to Cheyenne but live away from there. Along the train route would make the most sense, so we could get to Cheyenne easily whenever we need more money."

Kat said quietly, "For now, let's get away from here and keep an eye out behind us. It takes barely any time to send a telegram to someone to have us followed. And Lloyd was certainly gone long enough."

Seb's gut twisted as he glanced around them. A carriage drew up close, but Seb said, "Let's not get on the first cab that rolls past us. Even that could be arranged."

Instead, they dodged down an alley and onto another busy street, then walked up that street in the direction they'd come. "Over there," Kat said, pointing. They darted into the deeply inset doorway of a bank. Looking up at the sign over the door, she asked, "This isn't your bank, is it?"

"No. I know Independence well, but I've never done business in this bank in my life. You watch to the right in case someone's ahead of us somehow. I'll watch left. We should be able to see if someone was set up outside the diner and now comes hurrying toward our last known location."

And there they stood as people came and went from the bank. He focused on their faces but saw no reaction from any of them. They just walked right on past and disappeared into the bank building. Folks also walked past the bank on both sides of the street. Wagons and carriages rolled along, heading in both directions. No one appeared to notice the couple huddled in the doorway of the bank.

No one was looking out the second-floor windows across from them. Nothing happened to make Seb suspicious. And yet he was. He most certainly was.

"Instead of a cab," Kat said, "we should buy horses and ride. That way we'd be more in control of our own fate. And I know just the place to buy them."

Seb nodded. "A wise choice, buying horses." He released a long sigh. "Well, no one's come along who seemed to be watching us. I think it's time we moved on, and since you know where you want to move to, lead the way."

"She's here. Don't look," Beth hissed. Everyone halted their eating, frozen in place. They'd dragged the table out of the cabin so as to have their breakfast in the open air.

Beth almost smiled when she realized how unnaturally they were all acting. Because she was facing west, and Yvette came from that direction, it was fitting she'd greet their guest first. "Yvette, hello. Come join us. We're having eggs and bacon with biscuits. We've got butter, jelly, and milk or coffee to drink."

Mama and the others looked up and smiled. Beth saw the suspicion in Yvette's whole body. She stood behind the tree nearest the cabin, leaning out, watching, wanting. Whether biscuits with jelly or just companionship, it was hard to tell.

She wore the new dress, a simple blue calico one that Kat had helped Ginny sew last winter. Kat could work circles around both of them with her cooking and sewing, and they'd learned so that now Yvette had a dress. Beth had included a lot of fabric in her supplies.

The dress Yvette had worn before was elaborate and very beautiful. But she'd worn it all winter. She looked better dressed in the calico. It buttoned down the front, making it much easier to wear than the dress she'd had before.

Yvette's hair was much improved, too. It was rolled into a bun at the base of her neck. Beth thought of the rat's nest her hair had been, looking as if it hadn't been combed for an entire winter. How long, how many painful hours, would that have taken? Such a frustrating task might be the wrong thing for a mind so fragile. Or maybe bringing order to her hair somehow helped to bring order to her mind.

If Yvette wouldn't let anyone touch her, it stood to reason she could manage her own hair. Though it had been in such a state, it might have taken a while.

"I'll bring you a plate if you don't want to sit with us." Mama didn't wait for her offer to be accepted. They were no doubt all afraid Yvette wasn't going to talk or join them, and a decision about coming near was beyond her.

Mama stood from the table, filled a plate, and headed for Yvette.

Under her breath, Beth said, "The dress isn't a good fit. I'll make her a better one, not on the Lord's Day but starting right away tomorrow."

Beth saw the poor, frightened woman tense, her gaze riveted on Mama.

When Mama was about the same distance from Yvette as yesterday, she walked to a boulder that was about waist-high and reasonably level on top. Mama set the plate there, along with a fork, which now seemed a bit too much like a weapon to Beth.

Mama backed away, talking. "We're going to have church services now. You come and sit on this boulder and eat. We'll start off with singing. You can join in or just listen. Your choice."

Mama backed away, mostly, Beth thought, to not make any sudden moves, like turning around might've been.

Then Mama slowly turned her back on Yvette and came to the table. Most of them were done eating. Jake had Jacob in his lap. Oscar had Marie tucked in his elbow.

Joseph got out his harmonica. Quietly he said, "My heart breaks for that woman. I wonder who hurt her so badly, it turned her into this frail, frightened waif? I was married years ago, though not for long. My wife died birthing a baby. My baby girl would be about Yvette's age."

Joseph played a single verse of "O Come, All Ye Faithful." It was a personal favorite of his and one he played especially well. Though it was considered a Christmas carol, it was a wonderful way to be summoned to a worship service. He could manage most simple hymns, and the instrument always lifted Beth's spirits. Once Joseph finished playing that song, he began the Doxology: "‘Praise God from whom all blessings flow...'"

Beth remembered Bedelia McDaniels, the wife of Parson McDaniels, both of them riding west with their wagon train. She'd used the Doxology to the tune of "Old Hundredth" as a call to worship, and often just a call to the beginning of a new day of travel. Joseph had taken to accompanying her if he wasn't too busy, and he played it very well.

"‘Praise him, all creatures here below.'"

The McDaniels were heading for a mission field in Oregon.

"‘Praise him above, ye heavenly host.'"

The singing woke Jacob, and he began to fret.

"‘Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.'"

Afraid a man moving around might alarm Yvette, and knowing some pacing and bouncing would be required to keep the baby from crying, Beth stood. "I'll take him," she offered.

Jake's eyes met hers. She'd told him about Yvette's interest in the babies, and they both knew to be very careful and at the same time hope that the infants might touch Yvette's heart in a good way. They were adorable children, now nearing three months old. They were smiling and cooing when they got attention, and it would take a very hardened heart indeed not to find them appealing.

By the time Beth had her son and was doing her usual bouncing, Yvette had approached the boulder, taken the plate, and sat down to eat.

It crossed Beth's mind again that Yvette hummed a strange tune. Beth wanted to know what it was. It must be special to the woman, and if Beth could figure it out and sing it, Yvette might join with her. She always hummed the same few lines over and over, as if she were trapped in that small circle of music. Maybe a different song would pull her away from this one. Or if Beth could figure out what song it was, maybe she could break this strange cycle of repetition.

It struck Beth hard that what Yvette needed above all else was to feel safe. Right now she'd decided that the way to feel safe was to be alone. How might they help her? And if she felt safe for long enough, could her broken mind be mended?