My Heart Stood Still (Sisters Of Mercy Flats 2) (7 page)

“Well, I’ll make him some good strong tea when he comes to,” Eulalie said. Drawing Anne-Marie aside, she murmured, “Get me some hot water and some rags from the kitchen shelf.”

The warmth from the fire seeped into her weary bones, but at that moment Anne-Marie was too concerned about Creed to enjoy it. A
scratching in the corner of the room momentarily drew her attention to a small raccoon who had taken up residence; he peered back at her with alarmingly resourceful eyes. A mother cat and four kittens rested on a rug in a corner near the fireplace. As usual, Eulalie had a collection of critters that believed the cabin to be their own.

Pouring a pan full of hot water, Anne-Marie carried it and the clean rags to the table, stepping over Quincy in the process. He would come around, or she and Eulalie would drag him to the couch later.

Using Creed’s knife, Eulalie slit the Indian’s breeches from ankle to thigh and peeled the buckskin aside.

“That buckshot’s got to come out.” Eulalie motioned for Anne-Marie to move the light closer. “Hold the lantern higher.”

Creed stirred “What’s happening?”

Anne-Marie bent closer. “Don’t be alarmed; we’re at a friend’s cabin.”

“Where’s Quincy?”

She pointed to the crumpled heap lying at the foot of the table. “He fainted.”

“Never could stand the sight of blood,” he murmured. His eyes closed, and then briefly opened to focus on Eulalie hovering above him. “What’s going—who?”

Grasping his hand, Anne-Marie held it tightly. “You’re going to be fine. Eulalie is going to help you.”

His eyes clouded with doubt. “My leg… ” Long, dark lashes drifted shut.

“He’s out.” Eulalie noted. “Good. Shoo. Get away from here,” she scolded, nudging two of the felines out of the way with toe of her boot. Turning back to the wound, she talked as she worked. “Where are Amelia and Abigail?”

Sighing, Anne-Marie said wearily, “Eulalie, you wouldn’t believe what’s happened.” While Eulalie dug buckshot out of Creed’s leg, Anne-Marie filled her in on the events of the past few days.

“What do you think? You think Abigail and Amelia are safe?” Anne-Marie asked once the tale had unfolded.

“Can’t say,” Eulalie admitted, “but you girls have a way of coming out on the good end of trouble.”

Anne-Marie swayed with exhaustion as she held the lamp closer to the bleeding wound. “I hope so, Eulalie. Abigail and Amelia are all I have.”

Eulalie picked out three large pieces of shot, each one plinking loudly in the enamel pan lying beside the table. When her fingers probed the torn flesh Creed moaned, his teeth clenching as the point of the knife discovered yet another fragment. Each one that clinked into the pan made Anne-Marie feel guiltier as she watched his face turn pale as a ghost’s even though he was thankfully unconscious.

“Will he be all right?” She leaned closer, praying that he would recover. She should be afraid of this strange man, but she wasn’t. He was her defender, and the thought made her slightly giddy. She’d never had a man’s protection, not that she’d ever needed one. Abigail said that no woman needed a male hanging around, but sometimes when she was ranting on about the subject Anne-Marie thought, deep down, that maybe some women might. Men were strong and often kind and they could cut a cord of wood or clean a stringer of fish in less time than it took all three of the McDougal sisters.

“For sure he’s a might stronger than his friend there,” Eulalie said.

“I pray he will recover.”

Eulalie bandaged Creed’s thigh and cast another look at Anne-Marie. “I’m guessing he ain’t your young man.”

“No, he was just kind enough to help me. And look what I’ve done to repay him.”

“He’s strong; all he needs is a few days to mend. And from the looks of you, a good rest wouldn’t hurt you any either. Let’s get him into bed, and then you try to get some sleep. And while we’re at it, let’s get you out of that nun clothing. It ain’t fittin for you to pretend to be something you ain’t.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Anne-Marie tried to move Creed he stirred, weakly pushing
her away. Awake now, he turned defensive. “I can get to the bed on my own.”

The cats gathered, meowing as though they wanted a better look at their guest.

“Leave him alone, girls. He needs his rest.”

Between Eulalie and Anne-Marie, the two women pulled Creed off the table and eased his body the few steps to the small cot in the corner of the cabin. But no sooner had they gotten him settled than they heard a moan coming from the man on the floor.

Quincy sat up, grasping his head with both hands. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Anne-Marie said.

“Fainted?” Quincy scrambled to his feet. “No, ma’am, I didn’t faint. I must’ve tripped over one of those cats, or something.”

“Yes, that must be what happened.” Anne-Marie and Eulalie exchanged amused looks.

Quincy spotted Creed lying on the cot. “Is he going to make it?”

“Eulalie thinks he’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“That’s good news.” He reached up gingerly to probe a knot the size of a goose egg forming on the side of his head.

“It wouldn’t hurt any of us to get some sleep,” Eulalie said.

Quincy edged toward the front door. “Well, I’ll just be going out to the lean-to. If you need anything, I’ll be close by.”

Eulalie met his eyes, understanding passing between them. “It’s not necessary for you to sleep out there. Plenty of room in here where it’s warm.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’d be more comfortable sleeping in the lean-to.”

“Suit yourself. Just wanted you to know you’re welcome.” Shuffling to the stove, Eulalie took the lid off a pot and drew in the smell of the steamy contents. “Better have a bite to eat before you go. Mornin’s a ways off.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll be going
now.” Giving Anne-Marie a cursory nod, he strode quickly out the door, latching it behind him.

The occupants of the shanty settled down for the night. Eulalie provided a skirt and worn feed-sack blouse, and Anne-Marie gratefully shed the disguise before she made herself a pallet beside the bed. Eulalie moved to the fire and lowered herself into her rocker with a mug of homemade tea.

Stretching out on the pallet, Anne-Marie closed her eyes and put her toes to the fire, absorbing the warmth. She was conscious of hunger pangs, but she was too tired to do anything about them.

Fatigue swiftly claimed her, and she drifted off to the faint smell of wood smoke in the air.

Five

T
he sound of a rooster’s crow shattered the cabin’s sleepy silence. The boisterous
Cock-a-doodle-do!
was accompanied by a weak ray of sunlight struggling to penetrate the dirty windowpane.

Rolling to her side, Anne-Marie came awake slowly. Creed was sleeping now, having tossed and turned the better part of the night.

Eulalie was standing at the stove dishing out portions of cornmeal mush for the cats. She stirred the bubbling mixture with a heavy wooden ladle.

“You must be hungrier than a polecat,” she called when Anne-Marie stirred.

“I am. Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful.”

“Nothin’ fancy—just plain old mush, but it’ll keep starvation off your doorstep.”

Getting up, Anne-Marie tried to step over and around several cats and the raccoon as she crossed the room. The animals were scattered around, their heads buried in various bowls of scraps.

A tap sounded at the front door and Anne-Marie called out, “Come in, Quincy!”

Quincy appeared in the doorway, his coat dusted with light snow. “Morning, ladies.”

“Mornin’,” Anne-Marie and Eulalie called back.

“Snow about over?” Anne-Marie asked.

“Yes, ma’am, seems to be tapering off.” His dark eyes moved to the cot in the corner. “How’s he doing this morning?”

“He’s quieter now.” Eulalie motioned for Quincy to have a seat at the table, now clean and set with bowls and cups. “Hope you like mush.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” Quincy sat down, and shortly thereafter Anne-Marie set a steaming cup of chicory in front of him.

“I hope you were warm enough in the lean-to.”

“I slept just fine, ma’am.”

Eulalie and Anne-Marie sat down and the three bowed their heads as Eulalie prayed. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Bless the poor and the sick and the hurting. Amen.”

Anne-Marie picked up a knife and spread butter on her bread, hesitantly broaching the subject that worried her most. “What do you think we should do about those strongboxes, Quincy?” She wasn’t sure if she should call him by his given name, but at the moment the small liberty felt proper.

Keeping his eyes on his plate, Quincy said quietly, “We have to keep them, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to be so formal; you can call me Anne-Marie.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You really think we should keep the strongboxes?” Anne-Marie took a bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully. It was a high risk. Those strongboxes belonged to Wells Fargo. The last thing she wanted or sought was more trouble. That gold wasn’t theirs and needed to be returned. “Wouldn’t that make us thieves, though we took the boxes by accident?”

“I suppose it would, but I don’t see we have much choice but to
keep them. I wouldn’t advise turning them over to anyone we didn’t know for certain. That would create too much risk of them falling into the wrong hands.”

“How so?”

Quincy looked up, his dark eyes respectful. “Doesn’t it seem coincidental to you that those two strongboxes were in that wagon?”

“No. The boxes could be the railroad payroll being delivered to the bank.”

“Could be, but I don’t figure so.”

Anne-Marie sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “Are you suggesting something unlawful is going on?”

He shrugged. “Someone might have been transferring those boxes to their wagon instead of delivering them. Lot of thievery going on in these parts. Guess most anything’s possible.”

Anne-Marie looked at him, skepticism forming in her mind. “Exactly why are you and Creed traveling together?”

The combination of an educated black man and Indian keeping company seemed suspect to her, unless there was an underlying motive, one the men had failed to mention.

Accepting another hunk of bread from Eulalie, Quincy busied himself buttering it.

“What were you and Creed doing when Creed rescued me?” she repeated.

“I think Creed should explain that, ma’am, not me.”

She studied him, trying to decide why he was so evasive. “Friends, maybe?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced up, smiling. “We’re that all right. Met years ago and formed a tight friendship.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where did you meet and form a tight friendship?”

“Through our work.”

“You work together?”

“I didn’t say that we worked together—I said we met at our work.”

“Which is?”

“Can’t tell you.” He glanced at Eulalie. “Ma’am, could I have some of those strawberry preserves?”

“You work together,” Anne-Marie pursued, “but you can’t say where?”

“Miss Eulalie, ma’am.” He spooned thick preserves on his bread. “These are quite possibly the best looking preserves I’ve ever seen. You put these up yourself?”

Eulalie smiled. “I shore do, and I got more where those come from. Before you leave remind me to give you a jar… ” The two went into great detail about jams and jellies.

Anne-Marie’s gaze narrowed on him. He was clearly avoiding the subject of Creed and their friendship. But why? She butted in on the preserves conversation. “Is it possible that you know something about that particular gold that you’re not telling me?”

Was that why he was choosing his answers so carefully?

“Ma’am, I guess when it comes right down to it, I don’t know much of anything,” he conceded. “I just eat my preserves and thank the good Lord for giving me another day.”

“Well.” Anne-Marie sighed, biting into her bread. It was apparent she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him than his overwhelming desire for more jam. “I suppose Creed will know what to do about the strongboxes once he’s awake.”

Quincy kept his eyes on his plate. “Yes, ma’am, I expect he will.”

She watched as he ate the meager fare with appreciation, convinced he was hiding something from her. Obviously he and Creed were in cahoots, but she wasn’t going to get anything out of Quincy. Not this morning. Turning to Eulalie, she said quietly, “We’ll have to stay a few days—long enough for Creed to get back on his feet.”

“Stay as long as you like. Be happy to have the company.”

Turning to Quincy, Anne-Marie tried to gauge his reaction to her suggestion. “Is that okay with you, Mr. Adams? You don’t have to be anywhere at any particular time?”

Now she had him cornered. If he was up to something, he’d have to tell her or he wouldn’t be able to finish whatever he was up to on time.