Summer of Promise (40 page)

“What . . . ?” Ethan picked it up and began to read. “This is a will.”

“Exactly.” The gloating Ethan had seen on Jeffrey’s face was echoed in his words. “You’re going to leave everything to me. I deserve it more than that contingent beneficiary.”

The way he spat the words told Ethan that Jeffrey had gone beyond reasoning. He was clearly obsessed with money. But why, and why did he think he deserved Ethan’s inheritance?

“Why should I give you so much as a penny?”

“Because you messed up everything else.” It was Peg who spoke. When Ethan darted a glance at her and saw her twisting her reticule strings, a memory resurfaced. There was something familiar about that. Abigail had said that Peg reminded her of someone, but who?

“We had a good scheme.” Peg glared at Ethan. “Made plenty of money from those stagecoach robberies, but you couldn’t let us continue. No, you had to get the captain to assign guards to every stagecoach. What were we supposed to do? We can’t poison ’em all the way we did your friend Seton. You were putting us out of business, Ethan Bowles. Left us no choice but to find another way.” Peg exchanged a glance with the man in the shadows. “Now your grandfather’s timely demise—and your own, of course—will make up for all that you took away.”

The man in the shadows chuckled. “Best of all, it’ll look legal.”

Ethan’s gaze moved from the man to Peg and then to Jeffrey. What a fool he’d been. He had been so confident of himself that he had underestimated his opponent. He should have brought others with him. Then he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but his pride—his foolish, foolish pride—had blinded him to the possibility that Jeffrey and his accomplices might intend to kill him. Now he was alone.

As a warmth flowed through him, Ethan’s tension ebbed. He was not alone. He was never alone. Keeping his eyes fixed on Jeffrey and his gun, he breathed a silent prayer.
Dear Lord, is this your plan for me?
He wasn’t afraid of death. The Bible promised that death was the beginning of something far better than life on Earth. Ethan knew that the promise was real, just as he knew that death would unite him with his parents. He wanted that someday, but not yet. Not when a life of love and happiness stretched in front of him. Not when the images of his children chasing a puppy that bore a striking resemblance to Puddles danced in front of him. Not before he told Abigail that he loved her.

It was too late. He had been too late to build a loving relationship with his grandfather, and now he was too late again.

Ethan took a deep breath.
If this is your will, Lord, give me strength, and somehow, some way let Abigail know how much I love her.
He didn’t expect an answer, but deep inside him, Ethan heard a voice say,
Delay.
Though it seemed like an odd command, Ethan knew better than to ignore it.

He looked directly at Jeffrey. “Since you plan to kill me no matter what I do, you might as well answer a few questions, starting with how you got involved in all this.”

Though Jeffrey’s shoulders straightened, as if the story would increase his stature, he looked at Peg. When she nodded her approval, he said, “I needed money, and gambling wasn’t enough. As good as I was, there were still nights when I lost.” Though Peg snorted, as if disputing Jeffrey’s claims of gambling prowess, he continued. “Peg offered me the chance to make money by stealing. I never lost that way.” Jeffrey glanced at the pistol in his hand. “I took rifles at first. It was so easy. No one questions an officer. All you have to do is look like you know what you’re doing, and they walk away.”

No wonder no one had discovered who was responsible for the rifle thefts. Jeffrey had been conducting the investigations until Ethan arrived. How he must have laughed at the irony of being chosen for that particular duty.

“You’re right,” he said, as if he had read Ethan’s thoughts. “Captain Westland had no idea he was setting the fox to guard the chickens.”

Peg laughed. “Tell him the rest, Jeffrey. Let the man go to his grave knowing he solved the mystery, even if it won’t do him any good.”

Jeffrey nodded. “Rifles were good, but Peg had a better idea: stagecoaches.”

“All you had to do was tell her which coaches had no one from the fort on them.” Ethan finished the sentence.

“That’s right. It worked perfectly until you decided to come back from Cheyenne a day early and foil a robbery. That was your first mistake, Ethan.”

Perhaps that was how Jeffrey saw it, but Ethan couldn’t regret that day. Not only had he kept innocent civilians safe, but that day brought Abigail into his life. “Was the hog ranch just a front?” Ethan addressed the question to Peg.

She laughed as she put another knot in her reticule strings. “Oh no. It was a good source of money on its own, plus it gave me a chance to meet men who—with a little persuasion—could help.”

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “So you encouraged Johann Schiller and Robert Forge to desert.”

Peg nodded. “Among others. It’s a shame Schiller became greedy. When he demanded more than his share, I had no choice but to end the problem.”

“Just like we’re going to end this problem.” Jeffrey’s laugh left no doubt of his meaning.

“Enough talking.” The man spoke from the shadows. “Sign the paper, Bowles.”

Delay.
The word reverberated through Ethan’s mind. “Why should I, when you’re going to kill me anyway? I’m not anxious to die, but I’m even less anxious to give you my inheritance.”

“You’ll give it to me.” Jeffrey’s voice rang with confidence. “That’s the only way you can prevent Abigail from having an unfortunate accident.” The light in Jeffrey’s eyes told Ethan he was not bluffing. “I’d be better off without her meddling.”

He was mad. It was the only explanation, and yet knowing that did nothing to reassure Ethan. If Jeffrey was willing to kill him, he’d have no compunction about killing again.

“How do I know Abigail will be safe if I do sign it? It’s not as if I’ll be here to watch you.”

Jeffrey chuckled. “You’ll have to trust me.”

Not likely. “You’ll have to do better than that. I want a guarantee that nothing will happen to Abigail. Without that, I won’t sign anything.”

“Bring me the paper, Peg.” The man in the shadows’ voice betrayed his annoyance. “I’ll add a codicil to it. If this Abigail should happen to die from anything other than natural causes within two years of Lieutenant Bowles’s death, Jeffrey will forfeit the money.”

“But . . .”

“Shut up, Crowley.” Though the words were crude, the man’s voice was not. It wasn’t only his accent that reminded Ethan of his grandfather’s associates, now it was his vocabulary. The man in the shadows sounded like one of Curtis Wilson’s attorneys.

Before Ethan had a chance to reflect further on the identity of Jeffrey’s partners, Peg handed him the will. A quick perusal told Ethan the man had done what he’d promised. If Jeffrey wanted the money—and Ethan had no doubt that he did—Abigail would be safe.

“It’s time,” the man said. “Sign the paper, Bowles.”

24

A
bigail cringed. Even though Mrs. Grayson insisted it was simply a matter of time, and Charlotte herself had advised Abigail to take Puddles for a walk, Abigail hated feeling helpless. Charlotte’s groans and the occasional anguished cry had been going on for hours, leaving Puddles so distressed by the sound of his mistress’s pain that Abigail had banished him to the yard, where he’d set up a mournful howling. There were times when she felt like howling herself. Even prayer, which had always been an unfailing comfort, did not bring her the peace she sought. Her sister was in pain, and there was nothing she could do.

Abigail blamed herself for not having recognized the signs earlier. Though Charlotte had been uncharacteristically quiet at dinner, Abigail had thought nothing of it, attributing her sister’s silence to the fact that she and Ethan had dominated the conversation with stories of the attempt to implicate Dietrich in the stagecoach robberies. It was only after the men had left that Abigail had noticed the furrows between Charlotte’s eyes.

When she’d asked, Charlotte had admitted that she was experiencing some discomfort but had insisted it was too soon to bother anyone. Babies, Charlotte claimed, took hours—sometimes days—to make their appearance. Besides, this was probably a false alarm. But by midafternoon, Abigail could wait no longer. Charlotte hadn’t been able to hide the fact that the pains were increasing in intensity and frequency, and so, even though her sister protested, Abigail had fetched Mrs. Grayson.

“You’re further along than I would have expected, especially for a first child,” the midwife said when she examined Charlotte.

A sheepish expression on her face, Charlotte admitted that she’d been having pains since the middle of the night. “They were twinges at first,” she told Mrs. Grayson. “I thought they’d stop, and even if they didn’t, there was no reason to tell anyone.”

Abigail nodded as another memory resurfaced. Those had been signs of strain she had seen on Charlotte’s face when the sergeant had summoned her to Ethan’s office. At the time, Abigail had been too concerned about Ethan to recognize that her sister needed help too. “You should have told me.”

Just as she should have told Jeffrey. But once again Charlotte had been adamant. “There’s nothing he can do. It would only worry him to know I was in pain.”

That had been hours ago. Though she hadn’t agreed with Charlotte, Abigail knew that the problem would be resolved at suppertime. When he returned for the meal, Jeffrey would learn that his child was about to be born. But he did not come, and neither did Ethan, and that worried Abigail. While it was possible that one of the other soldiers had seen her escorting Mrs. Grayson to the house and had told Jeffrey, Abigail would have expected him to come home, if only briefly. Surely he would want to know how his wife’s labor was progressing.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Abigail looked down at Puddles’s food dish. Though he normally devoured food as soon as it was served, today he’d sniffed the bowl, then turned away. “You’re worried too, aren’t you?” She sat on the porch step and reached out to stroke the puppy’s head. “She’ll be all right.”
Soon
, Abigail prayed.
Bring this baby soon.

But when she opened the door to Charlotte’s room, the midwife shook her head and mouthed the words “No change.”

Mrs. Grayson was wrong. There had been a change. The baby might not be any closer to being born, but Charlotte was noticeably weaker. All color had leached from her face, leaving her looking decades older than her twenty-five years and reminding Abigail that some women died in childbirth.
Please, Lord, save my sister.

Her heart pounding with alarm, Abigail reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Hold on to me,” she said. Mama had always claimed that the two most important elements of healing were prayer and human touch. Abigail had been praying for her sister, and whenever she was in the room, she extended her hand to Charlotte, letting Charlotte squeeze as hard as she needed when the pains began.

This time Charlotte shook her head. “Find Jeffrey. I need to see him.”

The trembling in Charlotte’s voice distressed Abigail even more than her request. Her sister sounded as weak as she looked, and the distant expression in her eyes made Abigail fear the situation was more serious than she had believed.

“Hold on, Charlotte. It’s just a little while longer.” Though Abigail had no way of knowing whether that was true, she wanted to encourage her sister.

Charlotte gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I need Jeffrey,” she repeated.

Mrs. Grayson nodded. Turning away so that Charlotte could not hear her, she said, “Perhaps it will help. This agitation is not good for the baby.”

Abigail forced a smile onto her face. “Don’t worry, Charlotte. I’ll find Jeffrey. By the time he gets here, you’ll have your son in your arms, and Jeffrey will be the proudest papa Fort Laramie has ever seen.”
Please, Lord, make it so.
Abigail squeezed Charlotte’s hand and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “I love you, big sister,” she said softly.

Charlotte’s eyes lit. “I love you too.” And then another pain gripped her.

Abigail grabbed her hat and gloves and threw a cloak over her shoulders. Though the days were still warm, October evenings were decidedly cold, reminding everyone that winter was not far away. Instead of following the road, Abigail took a shortcut across the parade ground, praying all the while that Charlotte and the baby would be safe and that she would find Jeffrey at the Officers’ Club. Since women were not allowed inside, she pounded on the door.

Seconds later, Oliver opened it, his eyes widening in surprise. “Miss Harding, what are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Jeffrey. Is he here?”

Oliver shook his head. “Not today. I saw him leaving the fort in the middle of the afternoon. Sorry, Miss Harding, but I don’t know where he was heading.”

Abigail did. There was only one place her brother-in-law would have gone that would have kept him away from home at suppertime.
Oh, Jeffrey, why did you go there today of all days?

“Was Lieutenant Bowles with him?” That would explain why neither man had come for supper.

Oliver shook his head again. “I haven’t seen him all afternoon.” He turned to face his fellow officers. “Anyone seen Crowley or Bowles?”

The replies were negative, leaving Abigail no alternative but to continue her search. She headed for the stables, stopping abruptly when she realized she did not have her pistol. If Ethan had been with her, she would not have worried, but she had promised him that she not leave the fort without it. Heedless of decorum, Abigail picked up her skirts and ran back to the house. Minutes later, she was mounted on Sally, the pistol secured in her pocket, heading for the hog ranch for the second time that day.

The sun was just setting when she arrived, but the evening festivities were in full swing. A man was singing along with the out-of-tune piano, accompanied by bursts of laughter when he forgot the words to the bawdy song. Outside, half a dozen horses stood next to the hitching rail, nickering among themselves. Abigail slid off Sally, looping the reins over the rail, then hurried to the rear of the long building. If Jeffrey was here, and she was certain he was, he would be in that back room with the other high-stakes gamblers, playing poker while his wife labored to birth their child.

Abigail clenched her fists, wishing she could knock some sense into her brother-in-law. Papa had claimed that gambling and drink were diseases, that once people were infected, they had trouble resisting the lure. Jeffrey, it appeared, was one of those unfortunate souls. Abigail couldn’t stop him; she could only hope that Charlotte would forgive him again.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her thoughts, Abigail rounded the corner of the building. As she approached the rear entrance, she saw that the wind had blown the door ajar. Though light spilled onto the ground, telling her the room was occupied, the sound of men’s voices did not drift onto the air. Instead, there was an ominous silence. While it was possible that Jeffrey had been here, and he’d already left, if no one was inside, the lamp should not be burning.

“Sign the paper, Bowles.” A strange man’s voice barked the command.

Abigail flinched. She hadn’t seen Samson at the hitching post, but there was only one Bowles in the area. Why was Ethan here, and what was the paper he was being ordered to sign? And, if Ethan was in this room, where was Jeffrey? The questions whirled through her mind.

Though she had made no attempt to soften her footsteps as she came around the building, now Abigail’s instincts urged stealth. She crept toward the door, hoping the opening would be wide enough that she could see what was happening. Trying to make no sound, she peered inside, then bit back a gasp. It couldn’t be. This had to be a nightmare, but it wasn’t. The wind that blew her skirts and the hard-packed earth beneath her feet were real, no figment of her imagination.

Abigail’s heart stopped for an instant before beginning to pound as her brain registered what her eyes had seen. Ethan was here, and so was Jeffrey, but neither man was playing poker. Ethan stood with his back to her, while Jeffrey . . . Abigail’s heart sank as she stared at her brother-in-law. There was no doubt about it. Her eyes had not deceived her. Jeffrey had his gun aimed directly at Ethan.

Abigail forced herself to breathe evenly as she tried to understand what she was seeing, and for a second, she was back in the barn, watching Luke’s lifeblood seep away while Richard screamed. It wasn’t the same. That had been an accident. This was not. Jeffrey was threatening Ethan.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong. There were no cards or glasses on the table, no sign that anyone had been gambling, so it couldn’t be that Ethan had interrupted a card game. From her perspective, Abigail could see only the table and the two men who stood on opposite sides, but somewhere in this room was the other man, the one who had ordered Ethan to sign a piece of paper. He must be the reason Jeffrey held the gun.

On his own, Jeffrey wouldn’t harm Ethan. He wasn’t a killer. And yet the Jeffrey in this room was not the Jeffrey Abigail knew. This Jeffrey’s eyes were cold, and his expression could only be described as murderous. Though she wanted to deny it, Jeffrey appeared prepared to shoot a fellow officer. Not just a fellow officer but another West Point graduate. A man he had shared meals with all summer. His friend, or so Abigail had believed.

She clasped her hands together, trying to still their shaking as she remembered Ethan’s enigmatic expression when they’d returned from the hog ranch this morning. At the time, she had thought he had strong suspicions of who had tried to implicate Corporal Keller. Was it Jeffrey? Was he the man who had been assisting the outlaws? As distressing as the thought was, it mattered little right now. What was important was helping Ethan.

He had no gun. A quick glance confirmed that his gun belt was empty. Even worse, the odds were stacked against him, for somewhere in that room was the man who’d ordered him to sign a piece of paper. That man would be armed. Perhaps even now he had a pistol aimed at Ethan. Two with weapons against one unarmed man. Ethan had no chance.

Dear Lord, show me what to do.
Abigail fingered the pistol in her pocket, then shook her head, knowing her aim was still so poor that she might hurt Ethan when all she wanted to do was disarm Jeffrey. There had to be another way. Ethan could defend himself, if she could get the gun to him. The question was how to do that. Abigail took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Distraction. It was Ethan’s only hope.