Time Passage: A Time Travel Novel, page 15
“Do you like being a marshal?” I asked, wanting to hear more of his sexy voice.
“Yes, Miss Adams. It is agreeable to me.”
I thought, Agreeable? These people speak so politely and yet they say nothing.
And then Granny Cora talked about her heartburn and rheumatism. Otis and John talked business, and demure Martha said nothing as she took small bites of the turkey—but loaded up on the bread and fresh creamy butter.
John Gannon stared at me until I turned away, putting my attention on Marshal Vance.
“What do marshals do all day long?” I asked.
Marshal Vance reached for his white wine glass. “Simply put, Miss Adams, I keep the peace, provide security and enforce Federal laws.”
“Sounds like an exciting job,” I said, overdoing my flirtation.
I didn’t have to glance over to Gannon to feel his jealous irritation, but I did.
CHAPTER 29
I looked at Gannon, smiled sweetly, and avoided getting my eyes entangled in his.
And then Otis turned his attention to Marshal Vance. “Marshal, I came across an article in the Kansas City Gazette some days ago. It spoke of your Civil War encounter at Perryville, Kentucky.”
I had not been a particularly good or interested history student, so I knew little about the Civil War.
Marshal Vance swallowed some turkey and took a sip of his wine. “That was a very long time ago, Mr. Webster, and I was a very young man.”
John Gannon spoke up. “I knew you served the Union cause, Marshal, but you have never spoken about it.”
Before the marshal could speak, Otis continued. “The article stated that the marshal here was a hero of sorts. As a young captain, he fought battles at Mill Springs and Perryville. According to the article, when engaged strengths and casualties are considered, Perryville was one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War, and the marshal here was instrumental in turning the tide.”
“Mr. Webster,” the marshal interjected, “I was one of many men who helped turn the battle in our favor,” he said modestly. “I’m afraid newspaper men are employed and encouraged to inflate and dramatize events for the purpose of increasing readership.”
Otis continued on. “But it was the largest battle fought in the state of Kentucky, and it was said to be fierce and terrible.”
Marshal Vance nodded. “I will say, sir, that it was a day for the devil, if you ladies will pardon my use of the word. The Reb leader, Colonel Bragg, finally withdrew deep into the night, retreating through Cumberland Gap into East Tennessee. It was the darkest day and the darkest night of my life, and for we who survived, we honor the dead, and we give thanks to Providence for our lives.”
Cora said, “Well, you are to be commended, Marshal, yes indeed. And on this day of Thanksgiving, it’s good to give thanks to God that the war is long over and, although I had a nephew killed at Gettysburg fighting for Lee and the South, I say, we should have no more war talk tonight.”
The room fell into silence for a time, and then Cora blabbered on about her bad stomach, her right deaf ear, and the “interminable” rash on her upper left arm, which no salve, ointment or herb had been able to heal.
After a dessert of cookies, custard, mince and apple pies, all delicious, the men retired to the den for cigars and brandy, and I was stuck with Cora and Martha in the parlor, where we were served coffee and port.
As I sat on a red velvet, tufted sofa, positioned next to an upright piano, Cora opted for an armless chair situated by the fireplace. Meanwhile, Martha couldn’t resist the lure of the card table, settling into a nearby chair with glittery, eager eyes, undoubtedly envisioning herself as the triumphant winner of a poker game, raking in piles of cash.
Cora drained her first glass of port and shook it at Edward to pour her another. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Cora said the port “lacked something” and Martha surprised me by saying, “Shall we play cards, Granny Cora? I am so fond of cards.”
“I don’t play at cards,” Cora boasted, putting her admonishing eyes on Martha. “The road to perdition is paved with the likes of playing cards.”
Martha’s round face fell a little and her tight mouth pursed up into a mild insult.
And then I thought of Nellie and her gambling friend. And I thought of Thomas Dayton, and I thought of John Gannon. What would he think if he knew that the real Rosamond was living somewhere nearby, and that Thomas was hiding her and taking care of her? And what would all these people do if I told them I was from the future, from 2022? Well, that’s what a bit too much wine and a glass of port will do.
Cora faced me. “Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Adams?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I think all young women should learn to play the piano, or the violin, or some musical instrument. I myself played until my rheumatism took hold. Yes, I played Chopin, Mozart and Brahms waltzes. Yes, all young women should play. It adds charm, romance, and mystery to any relationship.”
And then Cora lifted her cane and jabbed it at me. “Miss Adams, my nephew tells me you are from New York.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And he says, candidly, and rather vulgarly, that you are a mail-order bride. Is that so?”
Mrs. Webster’s little eyes swelled with vivid interest as she took quick sips of her port.
I wanted to tell Granny Cora the truth. All the truth. I wanted to blow the lid off the entire absurd situation, make Gannon angry, and have him toss me out of that house.
But before I could say anything, Cora leaned her head forward, her eyes flashing.
“Well, I find it preposterous, and eccentric in the extreme, that you and Marie have such similar facial features, although I will add that you possess a more refined manner and deportment than Marie ever did. She lacked the finer graces, but then she was from Colorado City. Frankly, I never liked that girl, and, if the truth be told, and I will tell it, few people in Denver did like her. She came from a dirt shack, and as soon as she wed my poor nephew, lovesick as he was, she began putting on airs, like she was the Queen of Sheba. Well, the mysteries of life go as they go, don’t they? And we mere mortals have little or no say about it.”
Cora eased back, momentarily satisfied with her opinions. But with a lift of her head, she was ready to fire another round. “And I will say this: it seems to me, Miss Adams, that perhaps Providence has deposited you here in order to help heal my nephew’s wounded heart over the tragic loss of his young wife, common as she was.”
Martha Webster spoke up. “Oh, dear, what a tragedy it was, too, the poor pretty thing, to be thrown from a horse like that.”
Cora shook her head. “Now, don’t mishear what I said, Miss Adams. I don’t approve of this sort of thing, that is, John taking it upon himself to purchase a wife through the mail. Why, it is utterly primitive. Something from one of those sordid dime novels, like the series Deadwood Dick.”
I was about to blurt out the truth about myself and Nellie when Marshal Vance entered the room. He bowed to us ladies and looked at me with a pleasant smile.
“Miss Adams, will you do me the honor of speaking with me in the library?”
CHAPTER 30
I sat on a brown, patterned sofa, and Marshal Vance lowered himself into a golden fabric armchair with carved front legs and scroll arms. I remember the chair because the marshal seemed uncomfortable in it.
The gleaming fire from the brown marble fireplace warmed the room, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling cherry wood bookshelves, stocked with hardback books. Hanging on the walls were sketches of famous writers, Shakespeare, Washington Irving, Sir Walter Scott and Daniel Defoe. I knew who they were by the engraved gold nameplates attached to the bottom center of each frame.
The marshal crossed his long legs, ran a hand over his jaw, and then fixed his eyes on me. “Miss Adams, Mr. Gannon has reported to me the somewhat unusual events which brought you here. As you might imagine, he is concerned that perhaps the entire truth of this matter has not been fully communicated.”
I sat still, knowing where the conversation was going.
“Frankly, Miss Adams, at his request, I did send some wires back East to discover if you are who you say you are.”
I looked him straight in the eye. “And we both know that I’m not who I say I am.”
He didn’t move, and his probing eyes stayed focused on me. “You say you are Cynthia Downing, or at least that’s the name you gave to Mr. Gannon.”
“That’s right.”
“And is the story you told to Mr. Gannon the truth?”
“Yes. The truth.”
“So, you were a victim of the actual Rosamond Adams?”
“Yes, the victim of Rosamond and her man friend, Percy Blackstone, if that was his true name.”
“That is one of his names. He goes by many.”
That surprised me. “Then you know him?” I asked.
“He is a swindler and card cheat, and he is wanted in two states for armed robbery.”
I settled back into the sofa. “Okay… Did you find anything on Rosamond?”
He drilled into me with his eyes. “More to my interest, Miss Downing, I want to ask you a frank question, and I’d appreciate an honest answer. Are you and Rosamond Adams working together in any capacity?”
I folded my hands, not pulling my eyes from his. “No. I’m not working with Rosamond. I told you the truth, and I’m sure you have spoken to Dr. Broadbent, who will confirm that he saw Rosamond and me on the Denver train.”
“Yes, I spoke with the doctor, and, yes, he confirmed your story, or what he knew of it. He said you’d fainted.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you faint?”
“I don’t know. The heat? The chill? Something I ate?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He ran the tip of his tongue across his upper teeth.
I kept talking. “To Dr. Broadbent, Rosamond claimed we were friends. We were not. I’d never seen her before, and that’s the truth.”
Marshal Vance uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Then who are you, Miss Downing, and where were you traveling from and traveling to?”
“From New York to San Francisco. I would be back in New York by now if Mr. Gannon, on your advice, hadn’t kept me here against my will.”
“But he has treated you well, has he not?”
“That’s not the point. I want to leave.”
“And not continue on to San Francisco?”
“No… I want to go home to New York.”
His expression changed, relaxing with curiosity. “Do you have a family in New York? A husband, perhaps?”
He was fishing. There it was again, the gleam of attraction in his eyes.
“I have no family and I’m not married.”
“And you were traveling alone?”
“Yes, there’s no law against that, is there?”
“No, ma’am, there is not, but it is uncommon for a lady of your… well, of your attractive looks, to be traveling alone, especially out in these parts, where outlaws and desperados roam and attack trains, coaches and towns.”
“What is the difference between an outlaw and a desperado?” I asked, truly not knowing the answer.
Marshal Vance tilted his head, checking me out anew. When he saw I wasn’t mocking him, he smiled. “An outlaw applies to any person who is wanted by the law. A desperado commits acts of violence against innocent people, and generally behaves in a reckless and unpredictable manner.”
I nodded, allowing my happy eyes to feast on his very handsome face. “Well, now I know, don’t I?”
Marshal Vance’s eyes seemed to gleam with perception, and I wondered what he was thinking.
I stood up. “Marshal Vance, I want to leave this house. I’m not the woman, the mail-order bride, Mr. Gannon paid for, and I’m not working with Rosamond in any way. I have done nothing wrong, and I want to get out of this house.”
“And return to New York?”
“Yes.”
Marshal Vance rose. “Then I see no reason why you cannot do as you wish, Miss Downing.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Really? Just like that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Will you tell Mr. Gannon that? Will you tell him that I’m not working with Rosamond Adams and that I never was, and I have no reason or wish to stay?”
“Yes, if that is what you want. Yes, I will tell him.”
I sighed with relief. “Thank you, Marshal.”
He gave me a long, searching look. “Miss Downing, might you consider staying in Denver for a few days before you return back East?”
Well now, I thought, was this the 1880 version of ‘Why don’t you hang around for a few days, so we can get to know each other a little better?’ How tempting, because I’d really like to get to know Marshal Sexy Vance a lot better.
Our eyes made contact while he waited for my response. I had to do some quick thinking. Thomas and Rosamond were still hiding some place, waiting for her cash and jewels, so they could get away. But if I gave them the cash and jewels, I’d have no money whatsoever, which meant I couldn’t take Tara with me back to New York. Tara was my little sister now, and I had made a vow I’d get her away from John Gannon and Mrs. Grieve.
Should I keep the cash and jewels and run for it? Should I keep some of the cash and a ring to hock, stay in Denver for a few days and then purchase two fares back to New York? Or should I stop wasting time and not take any chances, grab Tara and get the hell out of Dodge? Or, to be more accurate, Denver?
Marshal Bryce Vance was a nineteenth-century man, a real fantasy that I wanted to explore. He was sensual, dangerous and irresistible. But then I heard that still, loud voice in my head that I’d seldom ever listened to.
“Don’t do it, Cindy! For once in your life, listen to me! This is not the time to fall in love.”
I had made bad decisions my entire life, and most of the time, those decisions had centered around a man. Not this time. If I didn’t grab Tara and run for it, things would turn ugly. John Gannon would see to that.
No, it was time to go. Now.
CHAPTER 31
The silence between the marshal and me lengthened, and it was exciting, and the desire was exciting, and I saw it on his face that he felt the same for me.
But… this time, it wasn’t just about me. It was also about Tara. I had to think about Tara.
I faced the marshal, my mind made up. “As much as I’d like to stay, Marshal, I’d better not. I’d better catch tomorrow’s train and start back to New York.”
Marshal Vance’s crooked smile suggested disappointment. “Then we will miss you, Miss Downing.”
At that moment, the door swung open, and John Gannon entered, a brandy in one hand, a big, lighted cigar in the other. He stepped in, closed the door and moved toward us, his tentative expression suggesting he was evaluating the mood and the outcome of a conversation he had requested.
“Well… It appears as though I have arrived at the conclusion of the… shall I say, interview?”
The marshal nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gannon, Miss Downing and I have concluded our discussion.”
Mr. Gannon looked first at me, and then his curious eyes shifted to the marshal.
Marshal Vance said, “Miss Downing wishes to leave on the next available train back East to New York.”
There was resistance in Gannon’s face. “I don’t understand. Have you made your conclusions so quickly, Marshal, that Miss Downing’s intentions are entirely legitimate?”
“Mr. Gannon, according to my investigations and conversation with Miss Downing, there is no basis to suggest she has any involvement with the actual Rosamond Adams other than what she has stated. Now, she wishes to leave, and I see no reason why she should not.”
Gannon lifted his chin and threw back his shoulders, giving me a hard stare. “After all I’ve done for you, and all I have offered, you want to leave this house, Miss Downing?” he said, rather harshly.
I tried to smile, but I’m not sure I did. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, Mr. Gannon, but it’s time for me to go.”
“And if you never intended to travel to San Francisco, then why did you lie to me about it? What possible reason can you offer for that blatant lie, Miss Downing?” he said, raising his voice, his face flushed from booze. I knew that face well. I’d seen it in my father, and I’d seen it in Cliff Prince. I didn’t want to say anything else to the man. I was finished.
Gannon swung his fiery gaze toward the marshal. “Did you question her about that, Marshal Vance?”
I spoke up. “I lied because I didn’t know you or trust you, Mr. Gannon. I didn’t know what you intended to do or what Rosamond might do. Fear and self-preservation were the reasons I lied, and anyone in my situation would have done the same.”
“And what if I say that your feeble explanation is nothing more than balderdash!?” Gannon countered.
We stared eye-to-eye.
“Then, I’d say, I don’t give a damn what you think,” I said sharply. “I want to go home to New York, and that’s just what I’m going to do.”
Gannon shot the marshal a look. “She’s lying. She’s hiding something, I know it. I smell it. I feel it. She’s after something.”
“I’m not,” I protested. “I’ll leave tomorrow, and you’ll never see me again.”
He took two threatening steps toward me, jabbing a finger at me. “No, you will not leave. I’ll tell you when you can go! This is my house, and you will do as I say!”
Marshal Vance said, calmly, “Mr. Gannon, Miss Downing is not a prisoner. She is not charged with any crime, and she is free to go as she wishes.”
Gannon’s stormy eyes widened as his face strained to understand. And then the dawn of his worst fear tightened his features. “Wait a minute here. I know what’s going on! You want the woman for yourself, don’t you, Bryce Vance? Yes, I saw it at dinner. I saw the two of you, whispering and plotting. I’m not a fool, you know.”
