Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1) (48 page)

Stopping inside, she knelt and said a silent prayer, and felt better immediately. As she rose, a sense of peace stole over her.

Back outside, Katie walked behind the church to the small fenced cemetery. Her parents’ graves were marked with wooden crosses engraved with their names. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she sensed their nearness.

“Mama and Papa, I want to tell you thank you for all the love you gave to me. I miss you both....” Pausing, she swallowed, then whispered, “I miss you, but I’m going to be all right. I promise.”

Chapter 32

February 2, 1864

“It would seem that my husband’s defense has had little opportunity to prepare a case,” Katie remarked to the sheriff as she waited to see Jack. Since San Andreas was the Calaveras County seat, Jack had been brought there to await his trial, which was scheduled to begin at ten o’clock, less than an hour away. Outside, in front of the courthouse, a crowd was forming in spite of the snow that had begun to fall.

“Well, ma’am, what’s there to prepare? Wyatt himself has admitted that he was the Griffin. The Griffin killed Aaron Rush, Harold Van Hosten, and your own father. Seems pretty simple to me.” Sheriff Jones leaned back in his chair, one cheek bulging with tobacco, and appraised the lady who stood near his desk.

Katie looked elegant, wealthy, and gloriously beautiful; the violet of her ruched silk gown set off the deep blue of her eyes, while the indigo shimmer of her matching silk jacket instantly drew the eye to her glossy black tresses, which had been caught back in a full chignon. An amethyst-and-pearl brooch was pinned at her collar, and more amethysts gleamed in her ears. At the moment, it was hard to tell whether the color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes was a result of the weather or her own emotions.

“You sure you’re from these parts?” Sheriff Jones asked with a trace of sarcasm.

“I may look a bit different now that I live in San Francisco, but I can assure you that my roots and my loyalties will always lie in the foothills, sir,” Katie replied coolly. “It may be that my husband is a rich man, but that has only affected my outward appearance.”

“Of course the Griffin’s rich!” Jones guffawed. “He’s been robbing stages of all the gold from the Rush Mine!”

“He owns a newspaper, Sheriff. He was wealthy long before he became the Griffin.”

“And you’ll be a rich widow, I reckon, hmm?” He eyed her shrewdly, then aimed a stream of tobacco juice in the direction of a tarnished brass spittoon. “Well, that’s justice, isn’t it. After all, Wyatt did kill your father.”

“That’s crudely put, Sheriff, but I suppose that the truth speaks for itself....”

The deputy came out then to say that the prisoner was now washed and dressed, and his wife might see him.

“Five minutes,” Sheriff Jones warned. “And my deputy will have to watch. We can’t afford to take chances with
this
prisoner.”

Katie’s face betrayed no emotion as she nodded and then followed the young deputy down a short stone corridor to the two tiny cells in back. One was empty, and the other held Jack, who stood next to a low iron bunk. A tiny slit in the wall provided the only light, but in spite of the dingy surroundings, Katie was rendered breathless by the sight of her husband. If not for the deputy lurking in the background, she might have wept.

Jack was tanned a warm shade of dark gold, and his hair was appealingly in need of a trim. He wore neat charcoal-gray trousers and a clean white shirt, and when Katie appeared in the doorway of his cell, he looked at her with his heart in his eyes.

“Kathleen,” he said softly.

Disarmed by his engaging smile, she forced herself to remember that they were being watched. “I thought I ought to see you, Jack. Under the circumstances, I don’t think I could stand to attend the trial.”

He had started toward her, but now he froze. “Oh, God. My darling, will you ever be able to forgive me? I wanted to tell you—”

“Never mind.” Katie’s tone was cold, but her eyes brimmed with tears. “Your friend Sam has already pleaded your case to me, but that won’t bring Papa back, will it?” Seeing the pain on his face, she rushed on. “I might be able to forgive you for Papa if our marriage had turned out differently, if I could believe that you were a good man with a heart capable of love. As it is, I don’t see how I can forgive you for Papa when I haven’t forgiven you for... that night.”

“What night?” Jack demanded, frowning.

“The night of our Christmas party.”

He hesitated, his eyes intent now on hers. “What do you mean?”

“You and Miss Braithwaite... in your study... for what seemed like an eternity.”

Slowly he nodded, then backed away a step. “Well, I guess you’re right. I’m a cad, and I deserve whatever I get today, hmm?”

Katie sighed. “I couldn’t agree more.” She put out her hand, and when he came forward and took it, the warm familiar strength of his touch sent a shiver of longing over her. “Well, I suppose everything has turned out the way it was meant to. I’ll say a prayer for a fair outcome of your trial, Jack.”

“Kathleen.” Once again his sage-green eyes held hers. “I’m not sorry I married you. We had our moments....”

“A few.” Katie forced herself to step back and disengage her hand. Glancing over at the waistcoat and jacket on the bunk, she added, “I see that you have some suitable clothing to wear in court.”

“Sam brought those. He’s been a faithful friend.” When Jack saw that she was about to step out of the cell, he couldn’t resist the urge to look upon her face one more time. “Wait... How is Conrad?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “He’s distraught, as you might imagine, but he won’t let anyone speak ill of you. He’s very loyal.”

“Give him my love.”

“You will probably see him before I do. I’m quite certain he means to be at the trial.” Katie nodded to the deputy. “I have to go now. The sheriff said just five minutes.”

“Good-bye, Kathleen,” Jack said huskily.

“Good-bye, Jack.” She glanced at him once more, then followed the deputy down the dank corridor, her throat aching with tears.

Back in the sheriff’s office, Katie recognized the man sitting with Sheriff Jones as the ruffian who had threatened her in Columbia. She took a chance. “Good morning, Mr. Potter.”

He gave her a curt nod. When Katie had left the office, Potter listened as the deputy related the details of the meeting between the Wyatts. When the young man had finished, Jones and Potter exchanged satisfied smiles.

“Don’t sound to me like you have anything to worry about,” the sheriff remarked. “If Wyatt’s own wife won’t do anything to help him, it’ll be a short trial.”

Potter lit a fat cigar. “Wouldn’t matter much if she did care. We made sure that there was barely time for Wyatt to find a lawyer, let alone anyone to testify for him. It’d take a miracle to save him now.”

Across the street from the courthouse and jail, Katie seated herself in the lobby of the hotel and waited.

* * *

Jack’s lawyer, Abraham Humphrey, was a grizzled old man whom Sam had persuaded to travel down from Jackson to take the case for a sizable fee. Now, sitting next to him in court, Jack prayed that his attorney would at least be able to argue effectively before the jury, because he certainly seemed to have no other strategies for exonerating his client. The prosecution—aided by such witnesses as Benjamin Potter, who testified that his employer, Aaron Rush, had been threatened by the Griffin just a few weeks ago—had presented a strong case. Most of the testimony consisted of hearsay, but people had come forward all the same, all seemingly intent on seeing the Griffin hang. Jack felt certain they’d been paid off. The morticians who had prepared Brian MacKenzie, Harold Van Hosten, and Aaron Rush for burial spoke in gruesome detail of their mortal wounds. And the driver of the stagecoach on which Katie and Conrad had been passengers had been questioned so skillfully that he’d said little more than, “It was the Griffin who fired the shot that killed Aaron Rush. And when he removed his hood, he turned out to be that man—” pointing theatrically toward Jack. When cross-examining, Humphrey did little to erase that image from the jury’s mind. Potter had done his work well over the past two days, raising a hue and cry against highwaymen. Jack could tell from looking at the jury that they had forgotten how beloved the Griffin had been just a few months earlier. Aaron Rush’s recent exploits had blackened the Griffin’s name beyond repair.

Jack wouldn’t let himself think ahead to the probable outcome of his trial. The possibility that he would hang, that his life with Katie was over, was very real, but it would do no good to dwell on that now. He felt slightly ill whenever he thought of his meeting with Katie earlier that morning. More than anything else he had wanted to hold her in his arms, to kiss her lips, to reaffirm the precious bond between them. But obviously she had had other ideas. That might have been their last chance to speak privately and touch each other! He had managed to translate the cryptic things Katie had said—he understood that she forgave him for his part in Brian’s death and that Sam had told her all about the tragic accident—but still he longed to talk with her openly. He simply couldn’t imagine what she thought to accomplish by pretending to hate him and staying away from the trial.

Now, as he walked forward to take the witness stand on his own behalf, a murmur swept over the courtroom. Jack swore on a Bible to tell the truth, then sat down and looked out over the sea of unfriendly faces. The only person there to give him support was Conrad, looking more frightened than Jack had ever seen him.

“Now, then, Mr. Wyatt,” Abraham Humphrey began soberly, “I am going to ask you tell us your story in your own words. Who are you in reality, and why did you become the Griffin?”

Jack was glad of the opportunity to explain. As sincerely and concisely as he was able, he told the jury about Conrad’s misfortune with his gold and how he, as the older brother, had decided to correct the injustice. Then he explained that the corruption he found at the Rush Mine went much deeper than he had expected, and that he had become concerned for all the miners. Insisting that he had never intended to hurt anyone, Jack further swore that he had not kept any of the confiscated gold for himself but had made anonymous gifts to the poverty-stricken miners and their families.

Humphrey then brought up the day MacKenzie and Van Hosten had been shot. When Jack told his side of that story, the whispers of disbelief in the courtroom grew louder. The general sentiment seemed to be that Jack was a rich man from San Francisco playing games with the lives of people in the foothills. After Jack had finished telling the story of Rush’s death and his own capture, Charles Milton, the lawyer for the prosecution, stood up to cross-examine.

“My, my, Mr. Wyatt—or should I call you Mr.
Griffin
? You certainly do have a knack for
accidentally
killing your enemies!” Milton paused, smiling as a wave of taunting laughter rippled through the courtroom. After a moment he continued, caustically picking apart Jack’s story point by point, ending with, “Well, sir, I must say that it does seem odd that there is no one here to support
your
claims, while there are plenty of witnesses for the prosecution. If I were on the jury—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Humphrey cried, heaving himself to his feet.

“Sustained,” muttered Judge Kincaid.

“Well, I think I’ve made my points,” Milton said with a snide smile. “I have no more ques—”

“Wait!” cried a female voice from the back of the courtroom.

Jack gazed out over the crowd to see Katie entering through the double doors. Next to her were Sam, Victoria Barnstaple, and a heavy-set young man whom Jack vaguely recognized. Could it be...?

“What is the meaning of this outburst?” the judge demanded.

“I am Mrs. Jonathan Wyatt, and my friend, Samuel Clemens, has brought two very important witnesses to testify on my husband’s behalf. They were delayed by the snowstorm, and have only just arrived in San Andreas. Please, Your Honor, give them a chance to speak!”

The judge was silent a moment, then nodded. “Well, as there have been no witnesses for the defense except the defendant himself, I suppose it would be only fair to hear these two out.”

Seated in the courtroom, Potter glared at Sheriff Jones and hissed, “I thought you said Mrs. Wyatt was no threat! I’d’ve seen to it that she was out of the way today if I’d known she’d try to interfere!”