Leather and Lace (22 page)

The Friday morning Casey was to meet with Morgan to review his findings for her state pardon brought all of her misgivings to the surface. Sarah had spent a miserable night with severe vomiting. The poor woman had withered away to nearly nothing, and the constant sickness didn’t help the deterioration.

Both Casey and the reverend were exhausted. Sarah’s bed had to be stripped each time until there were no clean bed coverings left. Before sunrise, Casey managed to hang the wash out to dry. She already dreaded the morning with Morgan, certain his position as a reputable attorney was about to be challenged by his taking on an outlaw. She needed a little rest to perk up her spirits. Before returning to her own room, she checked on Sarah and found her crying. Wet vomit coated her hair and body. Casey put aside her own needs and bathed her dear friend. She brewed a cup of ginger tea to stop the retching, but the woman couldn’t drink it. Finally she slept.

Much later, Casey entered her own room only to discover Morgan’s arrival stood just moments away. She heard the door open downstairs and listened to the reverend greet him. Her entire body felt as though someone had given her a beating. The reverend needed his breakfast. She smelled of vomit, and her Bible hadn’t been opened. After peeling off her dress, she washed up and hurriedly dressed, then pinned up her hair. All the while, she stole glances at the clock racing ahead.

Emerging from her room shortly after nine, she cringed at the late hour. Morgan will be furious with me. She shuddered at the memory of his cold, hard stare. He’s gone to so much trouble for me, and I can’t even be on time.

“Good morning,” Morgan said as she hastened down the steps. “Whoa, girl.” He frowned.

“I’m so sorry.” Her heart pounded. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

He held up a cup of coffee that had been made hours before. “My concern is you. Slow down. The reverend and I have been talking and drinking coffee.”

“Reverend, you haven’t eaten breakfast.” She brushed past the two men to the kitchen. If Morgan was drinking the reverend’s coffee, he’d have a surly disposition for sure.

“I’m fixin’ it now. Have the biscuits all ready to set in the oven. You’re the one who needs something to eat. I just told Morgan how you were up all night with Sarah.”

“We both were.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t have an appointment with the best lawyer in town. Why don’t you sit down for a little while, drink some coffee, and at least eat a biscuit and apple butter?”

“Oh, I can’t.” She glanced at Morgan, desperately needing to read his mood. “We’re already late.”

“Casey, calm down a bit.” Morgan reached for her hand. “I’m the fancy lawyer here, and I’m waiting on one of the reverend’s prize-winning biscuits. I don’t have anything scheduled except you.”

“I think I’d rather get it over with.” Her stomach twisted.

“And we will, honey. A few more minutes won’t make any difference. I think you’ll be pleased with what I have to say.” He sounded so sweet and caring that she believed every word.

“All right.” The coffee did smell wonderful, even if the reverend’s strong brew tasted like prairie dirt, and she’d felt the pangs of hunger long before dawn.

“By the way, you look beautiful,” Morgan said.

The reverend chuckled. “I believe those are the words spoken by a man in love and looking forward to his wedding day. Mmm, wouldn’t a Christmas wedding be nice?”

Casey shook her head. “You two are a matched pair.” I’m not ready to get married. There’s too much left unsettled in my life.

“I’m taking my coffee up to Sarah’s room,” the reverend said. “I’ll be praying for you two this morning.”

Once the reverend disappeared, Morgan turned to her. “I’m sorry you had such a bad night. You look exhausted.”

“I really am all right. Tired mostly, and nervous about my case.”

He traced his finger on top of hers and grasped the cup. “Are those feelings why you’re avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” But she had.

“Honey, something has had you upset since that afternoon at my office.”

“The problem isn’t you.” I can’t tell him I’m afraid of him.

He raised an eyebrow. A worry line etched across his forehead. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying me?” He breathed deeply. “You’re expecting the old Morgan to lash out at you without warning.”

While she scrambled for words, he must have realized the truth. He lifted her chin, and her gaze met his. “I’ll earn your trust, Casey. I won’t have you afraid of me.”

She turned her head. “Maybe I’m just like some scared cat with all that’s happening. It’s so hard to be cheerful around Sarah when I see her dying in front of me, and it hurts to see the reverend struggle with his emotions. Then I worry about Bonnie and Ben, afraid they will get caught in the middle of my problems. And you’re spending all your hours on this case to clear my name. Well, my jumpiness can’t possibly be your fault.”

He brushed a kiss across her fingertips, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, which lately seemed to accompany every waking moment.

“One day,” he began, “you and I will be able to put all the misunderstandings and problems of today behind us. Until then, we must talk. I can’t possibly know how you feel or what you’re thinking unless you tell me. Agreed?”

She nodded, and he patted the hand still within his grasp.

“It’s easier posing as Shawne Flanagan.” She attempted a smile.

“We’re about to remedy any more pretense. I believe you’re going to be pleased with what I’ve put together.”

*****

At ten thirty, Morgan ushered Casey into his law office. By then, they’d taken time to pray, and she’d relaxed a little—or so he hoped. He saw the fear in her eyes, and it had nothing to do with clearing her name. Perhaps a year ago, she might have hid it better. Back then, the wall she’d built around her didn’t leave a weak spot for emotions to take over. But she was incredibly strong, much more than she realized.

I’m to blame. He’d seized her trust, then threw it back in her face without explanation. He’d waited too long to tell her the truth about Kathleen, and he may have lost her for good. Perhaps battling for Casey’s love was Morgan’s most difficult struggle, but first he had to set her free from those who chased her.

She removed her shawl and laid it over a chair. With a sigh, she studied his few furnishings, then walked behind his desk to the bookcase filled with law books. Her fingers traced the engraved gold lettering along the spines as she moved from one to the other. “It’s dusty again,” she finally said.

“Sorry. I raised the window.” He studied her, wondering what was going on in her pretty head.

“These books teach you the laws of our country?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

She whirled around and returned his smile. “Morgan, you must be very smart.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

She wore a dark blue skirt and a white blouse. Her swept-up red-brown hair and the curls framing her face gave her the appearance of a fine lady. No hint of an outlaw.

“I believe God is our hope and strength, but having this much knowledge at your fingertips has to make you feel confident.”

He chuckled. “Not always. I sure felt better when that friend of Ben’s left town yesterday.”

“Have you and Ben talked about a pardon from Governor Ireland?”

“I had a feeling you’d bring that up.” Morgan lifted a chair from behind his desk and moved it beside hers. “I’ve compiled information I want to go over with you.” He opened a leather satchel and removed letters and documents pertaining to her case. “I’ve recorded your story in detail. You’ll find dates, places, and types of crimes that the Jenkins gang committed while you rode with them. Remember the night at the parsonage when I questioned you about the role you played during his robberies? Note”—he pointed to items of interest—“you stated specifically your whereabouts during each one of them. He had you posted as a lookout with the horses or back at the campsite. Also, I have a signed statement from Doc about risking your life to help me. He added a lengthy portion attesting to your good character. In the past six months, newspapers and wanted posters report you’ve been involved with gang activities while you were living at the parsonage.” He handed her the various documents and studied her reaction to each one.

“Everything has been signed or witnessed and dates verified,” she said once she completed reading each one. “So this is what you’ve been doing these past weeks.” She read both of Doc’s letters as a result of Morgan’s request and hers. “I know the problem is where there’s no proof of my innocence.” She straightened up the stack and handed the papers to Morgan. “If you don’t contact the federal marshals for me, then I’ll have Ben do it.” She clasped her hand over his, sending tiny shivers up his spine. “Don’t try to talk me out of this. I’ve thought of little else for months.”

This would seal her coffin. I can’t let her do it. “What you’re telling me is dangerous. I’m not so sure it’s necessary.”

“I have to do this. Will you arrange it, please?”

Morgan studied her placid face, the one he first saw in the mountains of Utah. “I’m sure I can secure your pardon without endangering your life.”

“Have you forgotten all the things Jenkins has done? What good does it do me to ask for a pardon and not give something back in return? And do I need to remind you that he has not given up his search for me?” She tilted her head. “Did you speak with Ben’s friend from Austin?”

“I met him. He’s determined. Of course, I made sure I came across as a small-town lawyer. He wasn’t interested in me.” Morgan tapped his pen on the desk as though the distraction might alter her stand. He grappled for words—not a normal problem for him, but the woman he loved wanted to step into a viper pit. “You might have to change your name again and move to some obscure town far from Texas.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to give up your home and family, Morgan, but to me, any other way is selfish.” She turned to him and tilted her head, her face a vision of peace. Yet he knew her deepest need. She had to free herself from running and hiding. Or she would die trying. “You know I can’t do anything less, not only for me, but for all the Kathleens and Morgans of the world.”

“I want to stop you, but I don’t know how. What can I say or do to change your mind?”

“Nothing. The price of freedom is not too dear to me.” Her words swept over him like a soft breeze. “Simply help me do what must be done. You have no idea what it’s like to constantly look to see who might be behind you. There’s no safe place. All I can do is stand and fight.”

His heart swelled with emotion, causing him to say nothing for several moments. She was right. He hated to admit it, but the state would look favorably on her offer.

“I’ve been called many things,” she said. “You’ve heard them, everything from Jenkins’s woman to a she-devil. I want it all to end.”

He studied her, the woman he loved. From her stubborn stance, he knew she’d have Ben help her if he refused. This way he could still protect her. Casey, my love, must it be this way? He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I’ll need to follow up on a man in San Quentin who rode with Jenkins for a while—Leroy Wilson. I want to see if he’d consider backing up any of your statements.”

“Leroy Wilson? How did you know about him?”

“I put him there. He despises me for sure, but he may not feel the same way about you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“After Leroy was shot, I found out about it. Hate drove me to track down every man who ever rode with Jenkins. I went to the railroad folks and said if they’d let me represent them, I’d not charge for my services. I worked hard to get him into prison, and I doubt if he’s forgotten it.”

“So much I never knew. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s in the past, remember?” Morgan said. “Do you recall anything about him that might help us?”

Casey nodded. “He’s not a smart man, but I’m not so sure anything he’d say about me would be good.”

He leaned toward her and directed his words straight to her heart. “Then we’ll find out together. The risk is someone may find out what we’re doing. You didn’t ride all of those years with Jenkins and not comprehend exactly what I’m saying. Those men might understand if you received a pardon. They know you aren’t guilty. But every outlaw around will be after you once they got word you sold them out to the law.” He hesitated. “They’d cut you down in front of a town full of witnesses.”

She smiled. “I’m too tough for you to scare.”

Stepping into the fresh, crisp air, Casey felt better about the path Morgan had chosen to clear her name. They’d prayed together again, asking God to lead the way and asking for help to accept whatever He chose for them. On the way back to the parsonage, she found it easier to talk about what she could do for the federal marshals. Her burden seemed lighter, as though her dreams were not impossible.

“How long will it take to arrange the meeting with them?” she said.

“I need to speak with Leroy Wilson first. Then I’ll make a trip to see Governor Ireland. Considering how that goes, I can request a meeting with the federal marshals.” He paused. “I don’t like this at all.”

“It has to be this way.” She linked her arm into his, and they both waved at a wagon passing by. “The more I think about Leroy, the more I remember conversations and what he did for the gang. The last time I saw him, he was in his fifties. He smelled worse than the others. Looked like dirt had gotten under his skin and stayed there. His hair and beard were always greasy and scraggly looking, and he drank too much.”

“Why did Jenkins put up with him?” Morgan said. “I thought he booted out drunks.”

“Leroy proved to be the exception. He played up to Jenkins—praised him about how smart he was. That he’d never be caught and one day he’d be the richest man in Mexico. Bragged to the others that there wasn’t an outlaw around who could measure up to Jenkins.”

A lady and her small daughter walked by. Casey and Morgan greeted them and continued on.

“Anyway,” she said once the two were out of earshot, “too much liquor slowed Leroy’s reaction time during a train robbery, and a passenger shot him.”

“He was lucky to get a jail term and not a hanging. I’m afraid he won’t cooperate with me, but maybe he’ll talk to you.”

She didn’t have much hope that the old outlaw would help her receive a pardon. Not that she recalled anything unpleasant in her dealings with the craggy old man. But why should he? “I wish I had a guarantee that all you’re doing will be worth it to you in the end. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Who’s in control here?” he said. “Have faith, Casey. Don’t fret so.”

“Hush. Don’t call me Casey in public.”

“You’re right. I’ve told all the others to call you Shawne. Then I slip up.”

They walked on in silence, while her world spun with the possibilities of total freedom. A crow called, and another flew from a treetop. She’d never cared for those birds. Their feathers reminded her too much of Jenkins’s black hair. Many times she wondered if being caught by the law or Jenkins would end the turmoil raging inside her. A moment ago, her hopes heightened. Now she questioned it all again.

“Oh Morgan, when the gunfire is over and the smoke clears, where will you and I be?”

“Together.”

His firm words nearly shook her. She had to trust. That caused her to shudder, too. The ways of men . . .

“Will you go with me to California?” Morgan said.

“San Quentin? What’s going to stop the guards from arresting me? Or one of the prisoners from recognizing me. I’d—” She stopped her sentence in midair. I have to go. Old Leroy hates Morgan.

“I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me.”

“No. Leroy won’t talk to you without me. I’ll make sure I look like a lady and wear a bonnet that shields some of my face.”

“Honey, you always look like a lady.” He sighed heavily. “This is too dangerous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She laughed. “You were being smart. Walking down the streets of Kahlerville is dangerous for me.” The idea of walking into San Quentin was madness, but she didn’t have a choice. Morgan needed Leroy’s testimony, and she’d do whatever was needed to get it. “I’ll have to find someone to tend to Sarah. She’s so fragile, and I hate leaving her.”

“We’ll talk to the reverend.”

“And we need a proper escort.”

This time Morgan laughed. “We rode down a mountain in the dead of night without the proprieties of society. As well as I can remember, we had someone chasing us.”

“This is different.” She punctuated her words with a nod. “When the word finally gets out about you and me—and it will—it’ll be bad enough that you’re keeping company with an outlaw. We don’t want the town gossiping about anything else, especially if a federal marshal starts asking questions.” She gave him her best smile. “Do you suppose Jocelyn would take the trip?”

He studied her for several moments with a grim look she didn’t quite understand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

*****

A week and a half later, Casey and Morgan followed a prison guard down a damp, dark corridor to the visitation room, where they were instructed to wait for Leroy. She didn’t feel like talking. Too much rested on the convict’s cooperation. The mere thought that she might not walk out of there or that she might end up in a prison like this one brought the familiar churning in her stomach. Her breakfast threatened to come back up, and her head began to pound. She smoothed her dress and adjusted her bonnet. Repeatedly she deliberated over Leroy’s loyalty to Jenkins and his hatred for Morgan. What had the past few years behind bars done to him?

“We’ve traveled to San Quentin for a reason,” Morgan said. “And we won’t go home without what we need. A statement from Leroy Wilson adds that much more to your defense.”

The clang of keys beating against the metal door rang like a bad omen. The guard unlocked the area separating the prisoners from the visitors.

I hope I never hear the same sound against a door for me. Oh Lord, is it wrong to ask Your help? I understand I should have left Jenkins when Tim and I first joined up. I understand a whole lot of things now. Sometimes my life is so horrible that I wonder if I can ever be respectable. She shook her head. She had God right beside her, and she had Morgan.

A sideways glance revealed his confidence. A tousle of amber-colored hair fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. She took a moment to appreciate his calm and handsome face and the square chin that gave him a determined look. His eyes were what she treasured most—the color, the brilliance. She loved this man. If only she could rid her memory of what men had done to her in the past. She loved him in her heart, but her heart and body were frozen, unable to respond to his love.

A much-aged Leroy and a guard entered the small area. The old outlaw looked tired and more hardened than Casey remembered. Line upon line dug in around his face as though his deeds had branded him. From his sunken jawline, she gathered he must have lost the rest of his teeth. Four years hadn’t affected his memory, because his small beady eyes immediately reflected a strong dislike for the lawyer who had led his prosecution and proved instrumental in his sentence at San Quentin.

“I ain’t got anythin’ to say to you, Andrews.” He spit through the metal bars dividing him from Casey and Morgan. For a moment he leered at her—the cold look of lust.

She’d nearly forgotten his crude mannerisms. Strange how being among respectable folks caused her to forget outlaw ways. Rose and her girls weren’t much better. They swore, drank, and ate like the hardest men.

“Sit down,” the guard said. “They’ve come a long way to see the likes of you.”

“You can’t make me talk to him.” The old man snorted like a pig. “What do you want to do now? Get me hanged?” He peered up at the guard. “Might as well take me back to my cell.”

Leroy failed to glance her way. He has no idea who I am. Do I interrupt? Expose myself to the guard? Or let Morgan handle this?

“Calm down, Leroy. Just hear me out.” Morgan’s voice rang smooth and even. “All I’m asking is a few minutes to talk.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to you ’bout nothin’. Leave me be, Andrews. Yer wastin’ yer time.” He pulled his bent body up to stand.

Morgan glanced at the guard, but the stoic, uniformed man didn’t offer any assistance. Leroy faced the lawyer defiantly and again asked the guard to take him back to his cell. Jerking the outlaw around to face the door, the guard escorted him from the visitation area. The door creaked and slammed shut, echoing as though it sealed Casey’s fate.

Morgan pounded his fist onto the narrow ledge before him. He clenched his hand until his knuckles glared white. His face reddened. Fury threatened to explode through the pores of his skin. He took a deep breath, and for several minutes he paced the floor until the frenzy of the moment no longer creased his face.

Casey waited. He had to calm down before she could help him reason through what had happened. He’d been so sure about battling it out verbally with the old outlaw and leaving the prison with a signed document, but Leroy never gave him an opportunity. All this way for nothing.

Watching Morgan sink back into the chair, she deliberated what to say. Perhaps nothing until he was ready. The room smelled musty, nearly suffocating. Telltale odors of unwashed prisoners lingered in the room much like the cheap, sickly sweet perfume of the soiled doves who worked the pleasure palaces. Old sounds and smells and the taste of whiskey washed over her. She’d do anything to keep from being locked up in a place like this. She’d rather be dead.

She glanced at the ceiling and studied the spiders in the corners. Their lacy webs continued on and on in an endless pattern. Their weaving was purposeful. They didn’t allow anything to stop them.

She considered the brief meeting with Leroy Wilson. The prisoner needed an incentive to listen—or rather a bribe so enticing he’d be a fool to pass it up. Some things naturally require more effort than others.

Morgan had never been a man prone to give up easily. Today his efforts had failed, but what about tomorrow? She flatly refused to walk out of San Quentin beaten and depressed without a fight. Leroy could be convinced to talk to them.

“Don’t give up.” She studied Morgan’s face. “We need to ask God for wisdom.”

“I’m not beaten. That old man thinks he won today, but he hasn’t seen the fighting side of me.” He rose from the hard wooden chair. “I’m taking you to the ferry, and then I’m heading straight for the warden’s office. Tomorrow he’ll talk to me or face the biggest regret of his life.”

The next morning, Morgan and Casey again seated themselves in the visitation room and waited for a guard to bring Leroy into the area. After the experience of the day before, Morgan had requested a different guard who had the reputation of keeping the convicts in line. This time Leroy would sit there until Morgan finished.

The old prisoner took one look at Morgan and stopped in the doorway. “Told ya yesterday, I ain’t talkin’ to ya. I’ll send ya an invite if I change my mind.”

The guard, a stocky man who looked no better than most outlaws, shoved him down into a chair. “Wilson, you’ll stay here and listen to this man, or I’ll make it real tough on you. Do you understand?”

Morgan thanked the guard and settled back in his chair. “I may need you to make sure he listens to what I have to say,” he said to the guard.

“Or what?” Leroy said.

“You might break this partition between us and try to slit my throat or harm this lady.” Morgan smiled.

“I could, providin’ I had me a knife.” Leroy wiped his whiskered chin. He glanced at Casey and squinted.

I do look familiar to him.

“Maybe so.” Morgan was unbelievably calm, reminding her of how still the prairie lay just before a twister. “But we’re going to talk first. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Like what?” Again the old man’s attention swerved in Casey’s direction.

“You help me, and I’ll help you.”

“How can you help me?” Irritation wrinkled Leroy’s brow.

“By talking to the warden and recommending parole if you cooperate with me.”

Casey saw the confidence in Morgan’s face, but she knew he feared the same outcome as the previous day.

Leroy cocked his head. “You’re lying. Somethin’s in this for you.”

“How will you know unless you hear me out first?” Morgan leaned back in his chair.

Leroy blew out an exasperated sigh. “State your business, Andrews. I ain’t got all day.” He sat sideways on the straight-backed chair, as though he might spring from the room like a trapped animal.

“Well, since you’re such a busy man, I’ll get right to the point. I need your help in getting a pardon for one of Jenkins’s gang.”

“Where were they when I needed ’em? Now yer wantin’ me to help ya? Yer crazy.”

Not a trace of emotion touched Morgan’s features. “This person is innocent. Wasn’t even around during the train robbery or some of the other jobs you pulled.”

“Who is it?” The convict peered down his nose.

Morgan glanced up at the guard. “Could you let me have a few moments alone with Mr. Wilson?”

He nodded. “The warden said you might ask for that.” He stepped through the metal door. “I’ll give you five minutes. No more.”

“Agreed.” When the guard disappeared, Morgan leaned in closer to Leroy. “I want to prove Casey O’Hare is innocent of robbery and murder. Don’t you recognize her?”

Leroy squinted at Casey and chewed on his lower lip. “Is that really you, Miss Casey?” The soft manner in which he spoke her name eased the anger etched into his face.

“Yes, Leroy, this is me. I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Her heart thumped faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

Leroy grinned and displayed a toothless mouth. He whipped his attention to Morgan. “And what did you say you’re gonna do for me?”

Morgan cleared his throat. “Told you before, recommend parole. I’ve already talked to the warden, and he’ll draw up the papers if you’ll agree to help Casey.”

“I want it in writin’.” Leroy rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

Morgan opened his leather satchel for pen and paper and waited until the guard reappeared. “If you can write all this down for Leroy to witness, I’ll sign it, too.” The uniformed man unlocked the door separating them and took the writing material. All the while, Morgan continued to talk to Leroy about the latest news from the outlaw trail.

“I’m tired of your jawin’. Now what did you want me to say about Casey O’Hare?” He gave Morgan his full attention. “What they pinnin’ on her?” Thank goodness he understood the risk she had taken in coming there. Her stomach still felt strange.