Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (28 page)

“What are you getting at?” His superior expression was starting to fade.

“That dam has been planted with enough explosives to blow half the Sierra Nevada Mountains away. I have only to send the signal and pouf!”—she flipped her hand—”Golden Hill will be lying under tons of silt.”

A small vein near Palmer’s left eye bulged as his face grew red. Fingers curled, he reached toward her throat. She stepped back and held up her hand. “Stop! Hear me out. Did you think I’m alone? You’ll pay a huge price if I’m not outside this hotel in twenty minutes. I have people waiting. When they get the word, one touch of a match to a fuse, and your dam is gone. There’s no way you can stop them, even if you and your men race up there at top speed. That’s because the dam will be long gone before you got there and Golden Hill washed away.”

Palmer’s face blanched. “You didn’t plan this yourself. Who’s behind this?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is you can easily save Golden Hill. All you have to do is return my sister’s baby.” Her heart started hammering in her chest. She was getting slightly dizzy.
Don’t ruin it all and faint.

“That’s blackmail.” His lips curled with scorn. “I don’t believe you.”

She turned toward the door. “I shall wait in the lobby.” She hadn’t intended to leave, but the man was way bigger than she was, and she’d started to wither under the force of his hateful glare. She was getting dizzier. Her knees had gone weak. She very much wanted to sit down. In her boldest voice, she declared, “You have fifteen minutes to decide.”

When she reached the lobby, she sank into an upholstered chair and checked the clock behind the registration desk.
Fifteen minutes, and not a second more.

Five minutes later, Hannibal Palmer came down the stairs and confronted her. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

She rose and gave him a smile. “Think about it, Mr. Palmer. We took the trouble to blow the dam above Mad Mule because we were either after revenge or we wanted something. If it was revenge, wouldn’t we have blown the dam in the middle of the day when your men were working? We waited until dark because our purpose was to send you a message, not kill everyone.” She gave the clock a purposeful glance. “Your time’s almost up.” She softened her voice. “I’m not asking for a penny of your money. I just want my sister’s baby back.”

A nerve twitched in Palmer’s jaw. He was breathing short, tight little breaths. Easy to see he’d love to strangle her if they weren’t in the busy lobby of the El Dorado Hotel. Through gritted teeth, he finally spoke. “I’ll send for the child. Meantime, you’d better make sure Golden Hill is safe.”

She’d won! She wanted to clap her hands, do a little jig. Not a good idea, though, with Palmer close to exploding. She remained straight-faced and dignified. “I prefer to get the child myself. Is she still in Coloma?”

Palmer smirked. “Do you think I’d allow the child of a whore in my home? She was never in Coloma. She’s not far from Hangtown. She’s called Mary. If you wish to get her yourself, I’ll send my carriage. You give me your word—?”

“I give you my word.” She boldly met his eyes. “But don’t forget Golden Hill will be in danger until I hold that baby safe in my arms.”

Minutes later, Ruben, one of Palmer’s men, picked her up in a two-seater carriage in front of the hotel. His bushy black beard and gun strapped to his side made him look ferocious, but when she asked where they were going, he gave her a friendly smile. “Moose City is where we’re going. About ten miles. The road’s bad in spots, but we’ll make it.” He flicked the reins and frowned. “Don’t know why you’d want to go to that hellhole.”

“Why is that?”

Ruben shook his head and spat a chaw of tobacco over the side. “Hangtown’s a paradise compared to Moose City. It grew up practically overnight when some lucky fool found a fifteen-pound gold nugget in a ravine close by. Just about the whole town’s thrown together with canvas and spit. Not the brothel, though. It’s about the only wooden building in town, but that ain’t saying much.”

A horrible thought occurred to her. It couldn’t be, but she’d better ask. “This place you’re taking me to, it’s not the brothel, is it?”

Ruben glanced at her in surprise. “You don’t know? Yep, that’s where we’re going.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a letter. “You’re supposed to give this to Mrs. Dawson. She’s the madam who runs the place.”

By now, Sarah was familiar with mining towns. She’d traveled the main streets of Gold Creek, Hangtown, and Coloma, but never had she seen anything so ugly as the main street of Moose City. Nearly every foot of the muddy street was covered with trash of all sorts—old boots, sardine cans, empty bottles, broken picks, and shovels—everything imaginable. With few exceptions, the buildings were constructed of canvas, all with sagging roofs. At the far end, a two-story, unpainted, rickety-looking wooden structure stood out like a sore thumb. The Hangtown brothel was a palace compared to this place. Ruben stopped the carriage in front. “We’re here.”

Sarah didn’t hesitate. Her heart knocking in her chest, she stepped from the carriage, carefully made her way through the muddy yard, up the steps, and knocked on the door. A slovenly woman in a flowered silk wrapper, hair uncombed, swung it open. “You’re too early. We’re not—” She stopped when she saw who it was. “What do you want?”

Sarah introduced herself. “I’m to speak to Mrs. Dawson.”

“That’s me. I don’t like being bothered at this hour.”

Without apology, Sarah handed Mrs. Dawson the letter. “Here, read it. It’s from Mr. Palmer.”

The madam practically snatched the letter from her hand. When she finished reading, she asked, “You want just the one?”

What did she mean? Sarah had to think fast. “I’ve come for the little girl you call Mary. She’d be around six months old.”

“Oh, that one,” Mrs. Dawson muttered. “Well, come on in.” She led Sarah through the house, out the back door, down wobbly steps to a sea-of-mud backyard. She pointed to a tent pitched at the back. “She’s in there with the other two. Watch your step.”

A trail of carelessly laid wooden planks led across the mud to the tent. Mrs. Dawson followed as Sarah stepped across them, cautiously lifting her skirt, her thoughts shifting between joy and dread. At last she was about to see Addy! But what was the poor child doing in this wretched place, and who were the “other two”?

They reached the tent, entered, and were greeted by an Indian woman in a buckskin dress with long, white braids down her back. “This is White Flower,” the madam said. “She takes care of the children.”

Children?
Sarah looked around the dim room. It contained two makeshift cribs, a couple of beds, stove, rough-hewn table, and chairs. A few brightly colored toys lay on the rough plank floor. A blond, curly-headed little boy of around two toddled toward her, smiling and holding out his arms, but she had to ignore him. She looked toward the cribs. In one, a little girl with big brown eyes stood holding the railing. She appeared to be around a year old.
Not Addy
. Sarah stepped to the other crib where a baby about six months old, neatly dressed in a long, white, embroidered gown, sat playing. With her chubby cheeks and happy gurgles, she appeared to be well cared for. As Sarah approached, the baby looked up at her with bright gray eyes.
Florrie’s eyes
. She didn’t have much hair, but the few wispy curls on her head were blond, exactly the color of Hiram’s hair when he was a young boy. The baby lifted her arms, squealed, and smiled. Sarah couldn’t hold back her burst of joy. “Addy, Addy, I found you!” She scooped the baby into her arms. “This is my sister’s child. I’d know her anywhere.” Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t help it. White Flower, seeming to understand, started crying, too, bobbing her head up and down, a happy smile on her face. Sarah turned triumphantly to Mrs. Dawson. “This isn’t Mary. This is Addy, my niece.”

The madam’s annoyed expression softened. “Notice she’s been well cared for. They’re all well cared for. Mr. Palmer wants it that way.”

Sarah cradled the baby tight in her arms. “I can’t see why he’s going to all this trouble just to turn them into servants.”

The madam frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

“From his wife, Isobel.”

“Isobel!” A burst of harsh, derisive laughter broke from Mrs. Dawson’s mouth. “That old whore? Since she married Palmer, butter won’t melt in her mouth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Palmer plucked her right out of his brothel in Downieville. Now she puts on airs like she’s better than the rest of us. Well, she can try all she wants, but she’ll always be a whore.”

Isobel Palmer a prostitute!
If Sarah hadn’t been so caught up in the joy of finding Addy, she would have had a good laugh at the uppity woman who’d treated her to shabbily.

Ms. Dawson wasn’t finished. She gave Sarah what amounted to a look of scorn. “Servants, indeed. How naïve you are.”

“What do you mean?”

In an angry gesture, the slovenly woman drew her wrapper closer around her. “I may be the madam of a whorehouse, but I don’t hold with depravity.”

Again, Sarah was baffled. “Depravity?”

“Not in this house, but lord knows where he plans to take these children, or what he plans to do. Just take the baby and go. Wait a minute.” She signaled to the Indian woman. “White Flower will get her clothes and diapers together.”

Sarah waited, not saying another word. She’d get nothing more from the madam, so she didn’t ask again about depravity. When Addy’s pitifully small bundle of clothes was ready, she clasped her tight and headed for the entrance, catching one last glimpse of the little girl with dark eyes staring at her from her crib. The little boy with the golden curls reached his arms out. Why were these children here? Why did she have a sick feeling that they weren’t safe and that the reason they weren’t safe was so unspeakably ugly that a woman like herself, brought up sheltered from a harsh, cruel world, couldn’t possibly understand?

At the curb, she handed the baby up to Ruben and climbed into the carriage. To her surprise, Palmer’s gruff henchman broke into a wide grin. “A baby! I ain’t seen one of these since I left Tennessee.” He cooed at little Addy, chucked her under her chin before, with reluctance, he handed her back. “She’s lucky to get out of that place,” he said as he picked up the reins.

Again, Sarah got a bad feeling. She set it aside. Nothing was going to mar this joyful day.

When they got back to Hangtown, Ruben let Sarah off at the El Dorado Hotel. Jack was outside waiting. His eyes lit when he saw she held a baby in her arms. “By God, you did it! So we won’t be blowing the Golden Hill dam after all. What a woman you are.”

She had no time for compliments. “Is my father—?”

“He and Becky are in the dining room. I’ve got to send a message to Ling—you know what that’s about. Go on in and see your father.”

Sarah couldn’t remember a prouder moment in her life than when she walked to the table where Pa and Becky were dining, Florrie’s baby in her arms. “Here she is, Pa. I got her back.”

Pa rose from the table and eagerly stretched out his arms. “My granddaughter! Let me hold her.”

As if the baby knew she was in safe hands, she smiled and thrust a tiny fist toward her grandfather. For a long moment, he held the baby tight and couldn’t speak. His eyes got damp. What a teary afternoon this was! Finally he looked at Sarah. “Just wait till your mother sees this beautiful child.”

Thinking of her mother, Sarah wanted to cry all over again but managed to choke back her tears. She sat at the table and told them how she got the baby back—not the whole story, especially the part where they blew up the dam—but enough that they knew it hadn’t been easy. Pa nodded his enthusiastic approval. “I can’t thank you enough, Sarah. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you.”

A knot of emotion still lodged in her throat, but she got past it and spoke again. “Thanks, Pa, but I’m not done yet.”

“Ah yes, there’s Florrie, isn’t there?”

“I’ve got to see her.”

“I’ll go with you. I’d wager when she sees this baby, she’ll come to her senses and leave that evil place.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Pa. It would be better if I spoke to her alone, though, and I’m not taking the baby to such a place.” Sarah looked over at Becky who was getting all fidgety. Obviously she was dying to hold the baby. “Becky, will you—?”

“Of course I will.” Becky’s arms shot out. She took little Addy and cradled her close. “I trust you brought some diapers. She’s bound to need a change by now.”

Becky’s caring attitude toward the baby reminded Sarah how much Becky and Hiram had yearned for a child of their own. What a shame. Becky would be a different woman if she had children. And that reminded her of something. “I thought you were leaving. You said—”

“I’ve decided to stay.”

“Really?” Her patience with Becky had just come to an abrupt end. “Why would you want to stay with such a sinner as my brother?”

A flush crept over Becky’s cheeks. “I was wrong. When Hiram told me he wasn’t leaving Hangtown, and I should just go home, I realized how much I loved him and—” Her voice broke. In a tremulous whisper she continued, “I didn’t want to lose him.”

Sarah welcomed the opportunity to at long last speak her mind. “I’m glad to hear you’re staying, but only if you respect my brother for the wonderful man he is and stop your constant nagging and belittling.”

Becky nodded eagerly. “Never again. I know I’ve been horrid. That’s going to change
.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I hope you mean it.”

Pa gave his daughter-in-law a pleased smile before he turned to Sarah. “I’m concerned. Is it wise to go alone to see Florrie?”

No, it wasn’t wise. Sneaking into a brothel owned by Hannibal Palmer would be dangerous, indeed, and perhaps the most stupid thing she’d ever done. “Nothing to it, Pa. Just keep your fingers crossed that our Florrie will want to come home.”

Jack met her outside. “Everything’s fine. I’ve sent word to Ling. Palmer can relax, but not too much. We’ll clear most of the explosives away, but not all.” He grinned. “Just in case he decides to change his mind.”