Diamond Duo (27 page)

The so-called room consisted of little more than a cot hidden behind a curtain in an alcove off the hall. The plain cotton mattress smelled of a hundred unwashed bodies, and the fetid pillow turned out to be a drool-stained sack stuffed with hay. Thad feared bedbugs and lice, but rather than sit up all night or risk a crick in his neck, he pulled a clean shirt from his travel bag to cover the pillow and slept on top of the quilt. He was cold, but better cold than share a warm bed with crawling critters.

The woolen curtain across the cubbyhole smelled so musty he couldn’t breathe. He pushed it aside, which allowed the gaslight on the wall to burn a path past his eyelids straight through to the back of his head. He turned his face to the wall and buried his nose in the shirt-wrapped pillow that now smelled mostly of the lilac water mama sprinkled on her wash. The familiar scent made him want to cry like a boy in knee pants.

He finally fell into a troubled sleep that didn’t last. He drifted in and out between brawls among the gamblers and fits of shrill, tinny laughter from the saloon girl, who must’ve found her second wind. He spent the wide-awake parts of the long night wondering why Bertha had let him down.

As soon as Mr. Biddie had discovered her missing, he headed off one way to search while Thad went another. Bertha’s mama stayed behind in case she came back. Thad deliberately chose the road toward town. Despite her papa’s insistence that Bertha would never go there alone at night, something told Thad that Annie Moore had everything to do with her disappearance.

He rode straight for Vale Street and Brooks House but found Bertha standing on a street corner with Annie before he ever got that far. He held back and waited to talk to her until watching from the shadows made him feel like an intruder. Feeling miffed and more than a little hurt, he had eased his mare around and headed for home.

Not many deeds in Thad’s life had caused him shame, but the disgrace of running away from Jefferson without seeing Bertha safely home or easing her parents’ minds made him cringe. He’d focused on his own hurt feelings, disappointment, and jealousy until his bruised heart had swept him away. All the way out of town, in fact. Now regret over not asking Bertha to marry him or even telling her good-bye gnawed holes in his soul.

The remorse tumbling in his gut mixed with the racket from below made his jerky attempts at sleep more of a chore than actual rest. He gave up trying and spent the last hours before dawn praying for forgiveness and direction. When the sun rose high enough to light the dim hallway, Thad rose, too, and set about finding a buyer for the Appaloosa.

He stepped out of the livery a few minutes later, one horse lighter and a few dollars richer. He gave the silver coins another quick tally then tied them up in a red bandanna and tucked it deep inside his pocket. Now to find breakfast and locate the depot.

“Good morning, my good man. A bright and beautiful day, is it not?”

The loud, cheerful voice and curious remark set Thad on his heels. He frowned up at the overcast sky then turned to see who would say such a thing. A tall, smartly dressed man in a bowler hat stood not three feet away.

The gentleman winked and tipped his hat. “All a matter of perspective, my boy.” He pointed toward the sky. “Up there it’s dim and gloomy. But in here”–he tapped his temple with a long, slender finger–“it’s sunny all day long.”

Thad returned the tipped hat gesture, nodded, and turned his back on the unfamiliar person. Couldn’t be too careful.

Undeterred, the man sidled closer. “Hope you won’t mind my saying, but I couldn’t help noticing you’ve come into a bit of good fortune there.” He jabbed a finger toward Thad’s pocket. “Monetarily speaking, that is.”

Thad’s body tensed.
Dolt!
Who but a dolt would flash his money on the streets? He decided it best to ignore the inappropriate comment. “I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, sir, but I have a train to catch.” He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and stepped down off the boardwalk.

“You’ll not catch one in that direction.”

Thad turned, feeling foolish.

The fancy man grinned and pointed his index finger. “That way.”

Thad nodded his thanks and set off again.

“I’m afraid you won’t find a train to board for hours yet,” the man called out behind him. “Looks like you’re stuck here for a spell.”

“That’s all right. I’ll wait at the depot.”

The inquisitive stranger hurried along the boardwalk to draw even with Thad. “So where you headed?”

Thad frowned to show he resented the question. “South, to Bryan.”

“Bryan, eh? Signed up at the new school there, unless I miss my guess.” The dandy held on to a post and vaulted off the boardwalk directly into Thad’s path. “What’s your handle, son?”

“My what?”

“Your handle. Your name.”

“Name’s Thad,” he answered, not sure why he had. “Thaddeus Bloom.”

The stranger stuck out his hand. “Darius Q. Thedford at your service, Thad. Now I ask you, good son, why would a young man full of spit and vinegar choose to spend his morning in a dusty old train station? Especially when I can point the way to more”–he raised his brows and winked–“
stimulating
activities.”

On a different day–a day his heart didn’t throb in his chest, a day he hadn’t just left behind everything he cared about, a day he wasn’t mad as spit at his papa, even a day he hadn’t been up all night–Thad would’ve been smart enough to turn and walk away. Instead, he peered at the smiling face across from him, and though he recognized the look of a man who’d just hooked a fish, he took a step closer.

“Did you say stimulating?”

The fisherman’s dark eyes twinkled. “Downright exhilarating.” He looped his arm around Thad’s neck and led him up the boardwalk steps in quick little hops. “Ever try your hand at cards, lad?”

The words set his heart racing and tickled a memory to the surface. Thad knew where he’d seen the man before. The same mustachioed face had smiled up at him from the circle of poker-playing men in the saloon.

The taste of bait in his mouth, Thad dug in his heels and held up his hand. “Stop right there. I want nothing to do with gambling.”

Darius removed his arm from around Thad’s neck and backed away, looking him over. “So that’s the way it is, eh? Very well, boy. I understand where you’re coming from. Don’t give it another thought.” He pulled a pouch from his breast pocket and commenced to pouring tobacco in a line along the edge of a thin sheet of paper. With a practiced hand, he rolled it into a cigarette and licked it to seal the end. “Sorry I asked.”

Confused, Thad stared at the man. He hadn’t expected him to give in so easily.

Darius leaned against a pole and tucked away his tobacco. “When you’re ready, I’ll direct you to the train. Wouldn’t want to worry your mama none.”

The stress Darius placed on the word “mama” raised Thad’s hackles, especially since he’d hit the nail right on its head of silver curls. At the mention of cards, Mama’s face had drifted into Thad’s mind, her voice warning him of the perils of flirting with Lady Luck and dabbling in games of chance.

He pushed her image away and swaggered closer to Darius. “What do you mean to imply, sir?”

Darius shrugged. “Only that a fine, strapping boy with a pocketful of money and a lot of extra time should be ripe for a little action. Of the competitive sort, I should say.” He lit his hand-rolled smoke and shook out the match then gave Thad a sideways glance. “I figured the only thing holding you back from our little game must be a pressing need to mind your mama.”

Thad saw himself standing on the bayou playing out the line on his Kentucky reel, teasing a fat catfish to shore. He had enough sense to know that Mr. Darius Thedford, still fishing, had just used the same maneuver. Enough sense to know it, but not enough to care.

The hook had set. Nobody called Thaddeus Bloom a mama’s boy.

Thomas’s bucking, skidding rig clattered across the Polk Street Bridge so fast Sarah feared soaring off into the bayou. They cut across on Dallas Street to Vale then took the turn over to Austin on two rumbling wheels. Sarah abandoned her place beside Thomas and crawled in back to help shield and comfort the babies. When they bounded up to the rear entrance of the Commercial Hotel, she did a quick head count for fear one of the children had bounced right over the side.

Satisfied they were shaken but all right, she gathered her skirts and clambered out of the wagon. It didn’t take long to locate the trouble. A crowd of men stood out back of the building, their
waving arms and raised voices pointing the way Sarah needed to run. She slowed to keep from mowing down onlookers at the rim of the circle then started elbowing her way through.

“Make way, now,” she cried, realizing how deep her anguish flowed by the sound of her own voice. “Oh, please. Move out my way.”

On the other side, a worse sight than Sarah could imagine met her eyes. She took it all in then slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Henry slumped in the saddle, hands tied behind his back and a noose around his neck. Bruises covered his face, and blood flowed from a busted nose. The only thing standing between Henry’s legs and empty space, between life and certain death, was the most cantankerous mule in the good Lord’s creation.

Dandy, don’t you move.

The three dreadful men from the day before, laughing like drunken hyenas, hovered around her man. Skinny Boy held a handgun on the crowd. The one called Edward waved a scattergun with shaking hands. The man claiming to be Frank Griswald stood on the bed of a wagon tightening the noose around Henry’s neck.

“This ain’t right,” a voice called out behind her. Sarah looked back to see who spoke, but it could’ve been any one of ten frowning white men standing among the other locals and shopkeepers who had gathered, most of them red-faced with anger.

“We don’t do things this way in Jefferson,” a distant voice cried.

“No problem, then,” the thin one growled in a stone-cold voice. “We ain’t from around here.”

“What crime did this man commit?”

Sarah glanced to her left. This time she recognized the scowling owner of Sedberry’s Drugstore. Frank Griswald leaned away from Henry and pinched the butt of a drooping cigar from his mouth. He answered without looking at Mr. Sedberry, squinting through his smoke at Henry instead. “This boy’s a thief.” He pointed at the rope. “Where I come from, this here is a thief deterrent.”

“You fellows won’t get away with this,” Mr. Sedberry shouted. “That man deserves a fair trial.”

Thomas and his two older boys pushed in behind Sarah. Thomas gasped and laid a hand on her arm. “Did anyone go for the sheriff?”

Sarah clutched his hand. “It don’t matter. By the time he gets here, Henry will be dead.”

She weighed her options. Despite the guns, despite the cold look in the men’s eyes, she longed to rush headlong in Henry’s direction. But if she did and lived through it, what would it accomplish? Dandy would bolt for sure, leaving Henry to dangle.

Desperate, she turned around to search the crowd for help. A cluster of her people stood off to the side, the men puffed up and spewing, the women wringing their hands. A closer look at their faces told Sarah fear had them by the throat. She’d find no help among them.

Too scared to cry, Sarah clung to Thomas and hid her face in his stiff woolen shirt. “We have to do something quick, Thomas. Henry’s gon’ die if we don’t.”

Please help us, Lord! Please spare my good-hearted man.

Sarah raised her head when the babble around her died. Certain it meant the dreadful men were about to finish their grizzly task, she jerked her head in Henry’s direction, but he still sat slumped on Dandy. Her gaze darted, searching for the reason the crowd had stilled.

Drunken singing swelled from the alley, lifted on the morning breeze, and carried into the hotel’s backyard. A man’s voice, loud and getting louder, neared the back corner of the building. Even Henry’s tormentors paused and stared.

Thomas craned his neck. “What’s going on? What is that?”

Sarah stood up on her toes. “I don’t know. I can’t see.”

The source of the racket shot bobbing and weaving from the shadows, singing an Irish chantey in a rowdy bawl. Behind Sarah, a woman gasped and a youngster giggled. Muttering voices uttered shocked surprise.

“Is that Mr. Stilley?”

“Sure is!”

“Can’t even walk a straight line.”

“Drunk as a skunk.”

“Can’t be. The man’s a deacon.”

“And a teetotaler.”

Mr. Stilley wore his hat shoved down so far it covered his eyes. The buttons of his coat were fastened into all the wrong holes so that the lapel flapped under his chin on one side and the tail hung to the ground on the other. He carried a big bottle of scotch in his left hand and a broken umbrella in his right. He plodded with a lurching, halting gait, still singing the sailor’s song at the top of his lungs.

Sarah prayed for God Himself to steady Dandy.

Oblivious to the meaning of the scene he had stumbled upon, the stodgy owner of the dry goods store meandered straight toward the thin, pock-faced young man and his pistol.

Skinny Boy raised his free hand. “Hold up there, grandpa. Where you think you’re going?”

Mr. Stilley tipped his head back and peered from under the brim of his hat. “Heard a party,” he slurred in a loud voice.

By the way they snickered and shot each other looks, this tickled the men’s funny bones to no end. Their evil leader stooped down on the wagon and jumped to the ground. “Don’t think you want an invite to this party, old man.” He nodded at the nervous Edward, who waved Mr. Stilley away with the barrel of his gun.

“Move along, now, pop,” Edward ordered in an important voice. “Go somewhere and sleep it off.”

Sarah bit her lip and tasted blood when Mr. Stilley lumbered past the mule, headed straight for Edward. “Now see here, young man,” he slurred. “I won’t be spoken to like that. Don’t you know who I am?”

With the quickness of a striking snake and the boldness of a senseless man, Mr. Stilley clutched Edward’s shotgun and raised the business end toward the sky. In the same instant, he grabbed Dandy’s halter and held him fast.