The Badger's Revenge (27 page)

The widow curled her lip in distaste as she met Josiah's gaze, recognizing him. He did the same. He looked away, then, back to Pearl, who was nearly in front of him.

“I thought you weren't coming,” Pearl said.

Josiah's throat was parched, like it had closed up in fear. “I had to get Lyle settled. Ofelia returned or I would not have been able to come.” He stood still, hands plastered to his side. It seemed the most appropriate hello he could conjure.

“You could have brought him,” Pearl said. “We got along just fine.”

Pearl stared at Josiah, her deep blue eyes penetrating his. He was tempted to turn and leave, but he had made it this far, it was too late to back out now. Besides, staring back at Pearl, Josiah became less aware of the rest of the room and the eyes still targeted on them. It was like they were the only two people in the world. A surge of energy compelled him to reach for her, at least touch her hand, but again he resisted, unsure if it was the right and proper thing to do, if a public touch was socially acceptable.

“Lyle is not ready for this,” Josiah said. He wanted to add that he wasn't either . . . but let the words die before they left his mouth.

“I suppose you are right. I am glad to hear of Ofelia's return. Juan Carlos has told me of her importance to you.”

Josiah nodded, heard a rustling behind Pearl. “Why am I here?” he whispered.

“Because I wanted you to be comfortable in this house.”

Before Josiah could answer, before he could tell Pearl that he doubted that he could ever be comfortable in a house so big, proper, and unknown, Pedro stepped out of the parlor, chimed a silver triangle, and announced that dinner was ready to be served.

 

The chair at the head of the table sat vacant. The
dining table was long, easily seating the thirty or so guests. Josiah had never seen a table so long, or one so full of food and adornments. The aromas were hard to decipher, the mix a feast of beef, roast turkey, vegetables, salads, puddings, and things Josiah had no idea the names of.

The vegetables were still fresh from the recent harvest, and the breads were so warm that the yeasty smell almost overwhelmed all of the other aromas in the cavernous room.

A log blazed gently in a fireplace big enough to store three or four good-sized sheep.

Three chandeliers hung over the table, one right after the other, hanging high from the ceiling. Candles lit the table in a perfect sequence of candelabras forged of pure gold. Each place setting had three plates, a bowl, a glass made of crystal, and more silverware than Josiah had ever seen or knew what to do with.

He chastised himself again for being there. It felt like he had just walked into a camp of Indians, unaware of the language, the mores, which way to move without offending his hosts and sending them into a fit of rage.

The crowd had intervened, separating Pearl and Josiah, as they made their way out of the parlor. He stood, now, lost in another moment of uncertainty.

The Widow Fikes sat on one side of the empty chair, and Pearl sat across from her mother, directly on the other side of the table. A massive centerpiece nearly blocked their view of each other. Pearl sat blank-faced, staring into the flame of one of the low candles on the candelabra. For some reason her expression and demeanor had changed once the crowd had separated her from Josiah and she had taken her seat.

A murmur of voices echoed off the plaster walls, bouncing down from the ceiling as the guests made their way to their spots. It seemed most everyone knew where to sit, except him.

Governor Coke headed for the chair next to the Widow Fikes, his wife, Mary, comfortably on his arm. Almost as if on command, or from an unseen finger snap, servants appeared out of nowhere, easing the chairs out for the women of the major dignitaries.

Josiah was not surprised to see Juan Carlos, decked out in finer clothes than he had ever seen him wear, ease the chair out for the governor's wife. The woman, tall and proud, almost royal, smiled at Juan Carlos as she sat down.

Juan Carlos stayed true to the expectations of servitude and showed no emotion, though Josiah was almost certain he saw him quickly whisper something in the woman's ear as he pulled away from her. Mary Coke smiled, then looked down to her lap as Juan Carlos made his way to the next woman.

Major Jones headed toward the empty seat next to Pearl, and Josiah held his breath.

Jones still seemed more interested in a young brunette girl who sat two seats down from Pearl. The brunette must have caught Jones's eye, an inviting look maybe drawing him away from Pearl. He immediately sat down next to the girl, after she was properly seated, and resumed his conversation with her, almost ignoring Pearl. He did offer a quick nod to her, which Pearl ignored, then turned away.

Josiah was still unsure where to sit, next to Pearl or somewhere else? When he looked to Pearl for guidance, she looked away. It almost looked like she had tears welling in her eyes.

Before Josiah could move his feet in a step toward Pearl, he felt a hand softly touch his shoulder.

“Here is your seat, sir,” Juan Carlos said, urging Josiah to a chair about midway in the table.

Josiah turned and started to protest, but the look on Juan Carlos's face warned him off. He did as he was instructed, taking the chair, sitting immediately. The only way he could see Pearl was if he leaned forward and looked down past the plates of the guests in between them. Even he knew that would be rude, so he just sat, hands in his lap, staring straight across the table at one of the most beautiful roast turkeys he had ever seen. His stomach growled, reminding him he was hungry.

To Josiah's relief, Rory Farnsworth sat down next to him.

Farnsworth was a sprightly man of medium height, who always wore a finely waxed mustache. He was younger than Josiah, making the sheriff not quite thirty years old. He had attended some fancy college out east, and he was always happy to spout on about the lessons he learned about the law there, and how he put his knowledge to practice on a daily basis.

Truth be told, the Farnsworth family was heavily connected in the political arena. His father, Myron, was a banker and was seated, along with Farnsworth's mother, to the left of the sheriff. Rory was unmarried, a bachelor in the social circle, always on the lookout for a girl with wifely aspirations. Surely he'd tried to woo Pearl . . . maybe been rebuffed, maybe not, Josiah did not know, and didn't care to presume, or know, such a thing.

“Good to see you, Wolfe,” Farnsworth said, offering Josiah a firm handshake.

Josiah shook the man's hand. “Good to see you, too, Sheriff.”

The two men had worked together before Josiah's venture into Lost Valley over the previous summer, when Suzanne del Toro had been murdered by her own brother, who had wanted nothing more than the business that Suzanne ran—a sad story of greed. After the brother was killed, Blanche Dumont filled the vacuum.

“You can call me Rory here.” Farnsworth smiled and set about making himself comfortable, unfolding a cloth napkin and placing it in his lap.

Like a child, Josiah watched Farnsworth's every move and aped him as closely as possible.

“Thanks, Rory,” Josiah said.

“Kind of surprised to see you here, Wolfe.”

“Why's that?”

“You're . . . um, not usually at these kind of things.”

“I'm a friend of the family.”

“I know you rode with the captain, but that's a different thing.”

“I suppose it is.”

More chairs scooted out and in, the noise of the settling guests still a bit loud. The piano player was still at work, too. The tune he played was softer, background music, a song Josiah did not recognize but could still hear. He pulled himself forward and mustered a quick look down the table. The seat next to Pearl was still empty . . . and she looked just as distraught as she had previously.

“That was quite the spectacle today your Rangers put on, wasn't it?” Farnsworth said.

“Um, what? Oh, you mean the Comanche Donley escorted into town?”

“Yes. Darn near scared the daylights out of the entire city. Most of our fine citizens have never seen an Indian close up.”

“I'm not sure that was Donley's intent. Scaring them, I mean.” Josiah was still not sure what Donley's true intent was, other than to make a spectacle of himself—a matter at which the Ranger excelled.

“It most certainly was his intent to scare everyone. Didn't you follow him down to the square?”

“Where?”

“The Capitol. He walked that savage right up to the governor's office.” Farnsworth lowered his voice at that point, realizing that Governor Coke was clearly in earshot of their conversation. “The governor relieved the Ranger and his two partners of duty right then and there.”

“What happened to the Indian?” Josiah asked.

“You haven't heard?”

“No. Tell me he hasn't escaped.”

“Hardly,” Farnsworth said. “The Rangers—or ex-Rangers—still have custody of him, claiming ownership. They are putting him on display at the Opera House tomorrow at noon. Two bits a person. Can you imagine paying good money to see a Comanche shackled and snarling?”

“No,” Josiah said, looking away from Farnsworth. “I can't.” He was not surprised in the end at Donley's ploy. Making money off an Indian was a distasteful thought, but Donley had always seemed to be involved in money transactions in one form or another. When Scrap raced Missy, Donley was the first one to collect the bets, and the winnings and losses.

Josiah chewed on the information he'd just learned from Rory Farnsworth and started to wonder about the broader consequences of Donley's action. But in reality all he cared about was the fact that he had persuaded Scrap not to have anything to do with Donley's charade. Scrap would surely be on the bad end of the stick if he'd joined up with the other Rangers as they presented Big Shirt to the governor.

The crowd grew silent as one more person made their way into the dining hall, drawing Josiah's attention away from his thoughts and hunger.

Captain Pete Feders walked into the room, head up, a stoic look on his scarred face, dressed in a semblance of clothes that looked like a uniform but bore no epaulets, tassels, or medals. There was not one speck of dirt to be seen on the man's clothes. Even his boots shined like a mirror.

Feders walked right behind Josiah, and made no acknowledgment of his presence.

The captain had his eyes on one thing: Pearl. He sat down immediately next to her, said something into her ear that only she could hear, then took her hand softly into his.

Pearl quickly yanked her hand away from Feders's grasp, and glared across the table at her mother, whose demeanor had changed from bored ambivalence to bemused contentment, once Pete Feders strutted into the dining hall and took his place next to Pearl.

The mystery of the empty chair was solved, and Josiah was not the least bit surprised to learn whom it had been saved for.

Josiah stared at the plate full of food. He had lost
his appetite even though it was the prettiest plate of food he had ever seen. His senses were overwhelmed. The smells wafting up from the table were like nothing he had ever experienced before—vegetables lathered in butter and unknown spices, more kinds of breads than Josiah knew existed, deep red wine in crystal glasses instead of beer or coffee in tin mugs, and beefsteak cooked to perfection, emitting a familiar but refined aroma, one that would never be found at a campsite. Still, he could not bring himself to eat.

“What's the matter, Wolfe?” Rory Farnsworth said.

“Nothing.”

“Sure, and President Grant is your long lost uncle.”

“Might be.”

“You'd be sittin' up at the head of the table if that was the case.”

Josiah glanced toward Pearl, though he couldn't see her clearly, just her tight profile. “It'd take more than that for me to be sitting up there.”

“Yes sir, looks to me like you'd have to be a captain in the Rangers, a man of fine stature instead of . . .”

“Instead of what, Farnsworth? An uneducated man like myself? A meager sergeant with little to show for his life?”

Josiah had seen how Farnsworth looked at him on arrival, judging him head to toe, knowing his clothes were the best he had but nowhere near the best that could be bought. His pants were so tight at the waist he could hardy breathe when he sat down. But still, he did not regret his decision to return the suit of perfect clothes to Pedro. He might have fit in and been more comfortable with his appearance, but he wouldn't have known how to move or who he really was.