Brides of Arizona, page 27
“Were Mr. Oury and his men punished?”
Quinn gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, they went on trial all right. The raid happened in the spring of ’71, and they went on trial in December. It took the jury a whole nineteen minutes to decide they were innocent of all charges. The whole trial was a travesty of justice.”
Kathleen blinked. Her eyes burned as she thought of the horrible deaths suffered because of this man and his perverted sense of justice. Quinn’s hand closed over hers. She hadn’t even heard him move. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that story. After yesterday’s attack, I worry about what Oury will do. Conlon believes the man will let the cavalry handle the matter. I hope he’s right.”
A shudder raced through Kathleen. Quinn tightened his grip, his thumb tracing a path across her knuckles. She fought to keep from leaning toward him. Never had she wanted to be held as much as she did now. The desire to feel Quinn’s arms around her, comforting her, strengthening her, almost overwhelmed her good sense.
Guilt filled Quinn. Why did he tell Kathleen that story? What was there about her that made him want to bare his soul? He knew the answer to that one. She not only listened; she cared. He couldn’t remember meeting anyone except his mother who had such compassion. Kathleen saw what others needed or wanted, and she reached out to them. Even with a birthmark she considered a handicap, she still thought of everyone else before she thought of herself. His father had talked to him many times about that trait as being one Jesus demonstrated. Compassion for certain people came easily for Quinn. Men like Oury didn’t deserve forgiveness or caring.
Kathleen’s hands still trembled in his. They felt like ice, as if she were frozen from the inside out. He knew rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles wasn’t enough to warm her. She needed a distraction.
“I almost forgot the main reason I came by this morning.” He smiled, hoping to ease her discomfort.
“What’s that?”
“I wanted to see if the woman we brought over yesterday had regained consciousness.”
Nodding, Kathleen drew her hands from his. “She woke in the middle of the night. Her name is Edith Barstow. She’s very bewildered. I had to tell her what happened.”
“She didn’t remember the attack?”
“She remembered parts of it. Her shoulder was causing her so much pain. Doc Meyer had given her something that might have left her confused too. Anyway, after I mentioned the attack, she began asking for the girl traveling with her, Cassie.”
“Cassie who?”
“She didn’t give a last name. For hours she cried and moaned. I thought she might be getting a fever, but she didn’t feel hot. Finally, just before dawn, she dropped off to sleep.”
“I’ll need to talk to her as soon as I can.”
“Why don’t you wait here? I’ll see if she’s awake.” Kathleen put on her hat and adjusted her veil before slipping from the room. In a few minutes she returned and beckoned to Quinn. “Mrs. Monroy gave her permission for you to go to Edith’s room, although men are not usually allowed beyond the sitting room. This is a special circumstance since Edith is still too weak to get up.”
The door to the woman’s bedroom flew open as they approached. Mrs. Monroy came out, carrying a tray with dishes stacked on it. She leveled a stare at Quinn. “Deputy, Edith has been through a lot. I don’t want you tiring her. Understand?”
Feeling like a schoolboy called up in front of the class, Quinn nodded. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Monroy. Kathleen will be there to make sure I don’t ask too many questions.”
Edith Barstow looked thinner than he remembered from yesterday. A strong breeze could blow her away. Although she had a trace of pink in her cheeks, her color almost matched that of the sheets. Her nightdress showed dark traces of bloodstains. The wound had bled through the bandage at some time during the night. The white line around her mouth told of her pain.
“Miss Barstow, this is Deputy Quinn Kirby. He’d like to ask you a few questions.” Kathleen smoothed the hair from Edith’s brow. Edith’s pale eyes turned to him.
“Good morning, Miss Barstow. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to find out what happened as soon as possible. I’m working with the cavalry, and we’d like to catch the party responsible.”
A tear traced a path down her pale cheek, following the jagged line of the scar. “You’re too late, Deputy. Cassie’s dead. There’s nothing you can do to help that.”
“Can you tell me who Cassie was?”
“She was my sister.” Quinn bent down to hear the whispered reply. “We’d just gotten together and were traveling to Tucson to begin a new life. Now she’s gone. I tried so hard.” She choked and turned her head away. An involuntary cry of pain escaped as she moved the injured shoulder.
Kneeling by the bed, Kathleen clasped Edith’s hand in hers. “Can you tell Deputy Kirby about the attack, Edith? Any details you can remember will help.”
Edith’s chest jerked as a sob wrenched from her. “I’ll try. There were so many of them. They were everywhere at once. We had just finished taking a break so the horses could have some water and a rest. That was to be the final stop before we reached Tucson. We were so close.” She covered her mouth with her hand, as if to hold back the horror.
“That’s fine, Miss Barstow.” Quinn squeezed the rim of his hat. “Why don’t you relax, and I’ll talk to you later. I’ll be riding out to the site of the attack with Lieutenant Sullivan and a troop of cavalrymen.”
She brought her head around to stare at him with tear-drenched eyes. “Cassie … Will you see to her? I can’t bear the thought of her lying there like that.” Another sob shook her, making her face lose the bit of color she had.
“We’ll see that she gets a proper burial, Miss Barstow. Don’t you worry about that.” Quinn slipped his hat on and caught Kathleen’s attention. He motioned toward the door and she nodded.
“I’ll walk Deputy Kirby out, then come back to sit with you, Edith. Is there anything you need?” Edith shook her head, and Kathleen rose to precede Quinn from the room.
In her shop, Kathleen brushed the gauze from her face and began to gather some of her sewing together, placing what she needed in a basket. Quinn could see the dark circles of fatigue around her eyes.
“Don’t you think you should get some sleep before you sit with her again? I’m sure Mrs. Monroy would be happy to do that while you nap.”
Kathleen gave him a tired smile and shook her head. “After all that woman has been through, the least I can do is lose a little sleep.” She paused, toying with a thimble. “I felt so badly for her last night. She kept repeating how she and Cassie had gotten together and were starting a new life. I didn’t know they were sisters.”
“I wonder what she meant by that?”
“I don’t know. She just kept saying, ‘I worked so hard to get her free, and now it was all for nothing.’ ” Kathleen looked at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “I kept wondering why Cassie wasn’t free before.”
Quinn shrugged and reached for the door. He had to leave before he couldn’t resist the urge to pull Kathleen into his arms and try to erase the tired look from her eyes. “That sounds like quite a mystery.” He gave her a saucy wink that he hoped set her heart pounding and stepped out into the sunshine.
Chapter 14
Quinn sat at his desk, his head resting in his hands, staring blankly at a wrinkled wanted poster. He’d failed. His job in this town was to protect the citizens. From the talk in town and the nervous way the townspeople acted, he knew they were all upset about the raid on the freight wagons. There hadn’t been an Indian attack for over a year now, but this one shook everyone. Deep down, he knew preventing Indian uprisings wasn’t his responsibility, but he still felt guilty.
This also shook the foundation of his beliefs. He’d already berated himself for holding the conviction that he could take care of most anything. Lately, he hadn’t been able to prevent a lot from happening. As he thought about his trust in the goodness of mankind, now he wondered how he could have allowed such a delusion. The actions of men like William Oury, who butchered innocent people and justified—even bragged—about what they had done, shook his faith. Even the Indian attacks showed the worst in man, didn’t they? After they’d lived peacefully for so long, why did the Indians take innocent lives? Where was the goodness in that?
Quinn scrubbed his hands over his face. Stubbornness rose up inside him. His beliefs were right. Time had proved that mankind was basically good. Look at Kathleen, Glorianna, and Mrs. Monroy. They were charitable people. What about Conlon? Quinn couldn’t ask for a better friend. He pushed away from his desk and stood. Just because a few people had no redeeming qualities in them or had moments of weakness didn’t mean everyone was evil. He had to cling to that. After all, for the last eight years of his life, that idea had carried him through most anything. He refused to let himself be deluded.
He plucked the poster from his desk and turned to tack the picture next to the poster of the Veiled Widow on the wall. The woman seemed to stare out at him, the mocking smirk on her face hidden by the dark covering. Still, he knew the taunt was there. She thought no one would find her, but she was wrong. Someday she would make the mistake of coming to this town, and he would be waiting. He could feel her evil in his bones. She was close, and he had to be ready.
The door swept open. Early morning chill rushed in as Conlon stepped through. “The men are waiting for us. You about ready to go?” Conlon’s serious expression told of the grimness of the expedition. They were riding out this morning to bury the bodies of those killed in the attack and recover any belongings they could.
Quinn couldn’t help the heaviness weighing him down as he followed his friend out the door. Riding out of town, the cavalry troop stayed silent as if they were already displaying a respect for the dead. Even the clink of bridles and the creak of leather sounded loud in the early quiet. At the end of the column, a wagon loaded with shovels and picks lumbered after them.
Vultures wheeling in lazy circles marked the site of the attack. The men could see their destination long before the grisly scene came into view. Most of them covered their mouths and noses with their neck scarves. Despite the relatively weak winter sun, the smell wasn’t pleasant.
Conlon split up the men, directing some to begin digging graves while others would help gather any salvageable belongings. They would trade off jobs to relieve those using shovels in the difficult desert soil.
Quinn followed Conlon past the bodies of teamsters, some with arrows still protruding from them, most dead from gunshot wounds. Quinn knew that, like him, Conlon searched for Edith’s sister. What if the woman hadn’t been killed during the attack? What if the Indians had taken her captive? Would they be able to rescue her? A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the stories of the Oatman family who was attacked by Mohave Indians in 1851. The two girls survived the attack and were taken captive. Years later, their brother rescued Olive from the Indians. Her sister died in captivity. Olive’s beauty was ruined by the facial tatoos the Indians forced on her. He could only imagine the horror she had lived through. He didn’t want Miss Barstow’s sister to have to suffer in a similar way.
“Here, Quinn.” Conlon stopped on the other side of a group of rocks. His face paled under his tan.
The sour taste of bile filled Quinn’s mouth. He’d seen death plenty of times, but the young girl sprawled on the ground beside the rocks was the worst. She couldn’t have been much older than his sister. Even in death, her face bore a look of innocence. The gunshot through her chest must have caused an instant death. Quinn breathed a sigh of thanks for that.
“Look at this.” Conlon motioned to her arm and her neck where the dress had torn. Greenish-yellow bruises marred her skin. Conlon frowned. “Someone hasn’t treated this girl right.”
Quinn shuddered. “Who would do such a thing? She looks as if she’s been choked and beaten sometime in the last few weeks.” A shawl lay on the ground near the girl. Quinn picked it up and covered her exposed limbs the best he could.
“We’d best have some of the men move her down to the burial site. Then we can start looking for any belongings the Indians left behind. I’m hoping to find the bags these two women were carrying.”
“I’ve thought of that, too.” Quinn nodded in agreement. “Miss Barstow will feel a little better if we can find something of her sister’s for her to hang on to.”
For the next hour, Quinn and Conlon searched through the goods strewn across the landscape. Most of the foodstuffs had disappeared, and the other things were badly damaged or destroyed. Some of the wagon pieces had been piled together and set afire. A pall of smoke still hung heavy in the air, making Quinn’s throat ache long before they finished their search.
“Here, Sir.” One of Conlon’s men gestured from across the battle scene. They hurried over, slipping on the rocky ground.
“Would these be the ladies’ bags, Sir?” The soldier gestured to two valises, their sides scraped and covered with dirt. “I found them under the pieces of this dresser. This must have fallen off a wagon and covered the bags. No one saw them.”
Conlon knelt down and opened the closest satchel. A pile of feminine clothing, scented with a faint lavender, showed these indeed belonged to Miss Barstow or her sister. Conlon straightened.
“Thank you, Kent.” He nodded to the young soldier. “Why don’t you load these on the wagon, and we’ll see that they get to Miss Barstow when we return to town.”
Kent carried the two satchels down the hillside. Conlon and Quinn gazed at the wreckage around them. Many of the articles had been furniture items for the new fort. This would set them back as they waited for more to be shipped.
Conlon gathered what little sign of the Indians he could find. He and Quinn discovered where the raiding party had approached the unsuspecting wagon train and where they rode off after the raid, their horses heavier for all the extra food they carried. All the teams were missing too—probably taken by the Indians.
“Ready to go?” Conlon looked as gritty as Quinn felt. They watched the column of smoke from the burning goods ascend. “I could use a bath and some cool water.” A sad smile creased Conlon’s face. “I could also use some time with my family. Somehow, after seeing something so horrible, I always want to hold Glory and now the babies too.” He acted embarrassed at having said something so personal. “I suppose that sounds funny to you.”
“Not at all.” Quinn swung up into the saddle. “The only thing that’s kept me going this last hour is the thought that I’ll get to see Kathleen this evening.” He could feel his face flush and wondered at his temerity in letting Conlon know of his interest in Glorianna’s cousin.
“You two getting pretty close?” Conlon signaled for the men to fall in behind them as they moved out into the road.
Heat ran down into Quinn’s collar. “I just admire her spunk. She’s been through a lot and is the most caring person I’ve ever met. In her shoes, I think I might have ended up bitter and angry at the world.”
“That’s true.” Conlon frowned. “From what Glory’s told me, Kathleen went through a lot with the people in their neighborhood, but the worst came from her mother.”
“Her mother?”
“Yep.” Conlon shook his head. “It’s pretty sad, but her mother was so ashamed of Kathleen, that she kept her hidden away from the world. Kathleen wasn’t allowed to go to school with the other kids or do anything they did. Church was the only function she could attend outside the house, and then she had to wear a veil. It’s no wonder she’s afraid to let people see her face.”
“I don’t understand a mother who would do that to her own child.” Anger coursed through Quinn. His horse danced sideways.
“Glory says in some perverted way, Kathleen’s mother thought she was protecting her from further harm.” He shrugged. “That’s in the past. I’d like to see Kathleen become comfortable with her looks. It will take time and patience.”
“I intend to have plenty of those.” Quinn grinned and urged his horse to a faster walk. All this talk about Kathleen made him long to see her. He had to continue convincing her that his beliefs wouldn’t stand in the way of their relationship. Tomorrow would be the first service with the evangelist who’d arrived two days ago. Quinn planned to check with Kathleen tonight, letting her know he would pick her up in plenty of time to make the meeting.
Kathleen hummed a soft melody as her needle flew through the shiny material of the dress she was making for Mrs. Monroy. She should have this finished in time for her landlady to wear it to the evangelist’s meeting tomorrow. The steady pace of her needle matched Edith’s soft breathing. A couple of hours ago, Doc Meyer had come by to check her wound. The pain from changing the dressing had been enough to make Edith faint. An angry red was beginning to surround the wound, and Doc Meyer left a powder to make a poultice twice a day for her shoulder. He also gave her laudanum to help her sleep.
“Rest will be the best healing agent.” His gravelly voice made him sound gruff, but Kathleen could see the caring underneath the stern exterior. “Don’t let her move any more than she has to. We don’t want to aggravate the wound.”
At a light knock on the door, Kathleen set aside her sewing, lowered her veil, and opened up to see who had come. Quinn stood in the hall, freshly scrubbed and shaved. He looked so handsome, her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t speak. She brushed the gauze out of the way. Quinn held her gaze for what seemed an eternity before gesturing to the floor beside him.
“I brought some things I believe might belong to Miss Barstow. We found these two bags of ladies’ clothing. I thought she would want them right away.”
“Come on in, Dep … Quinn. Does Mrs. Monroy know you’re here?” Kathleen glanced down the hallway toward the sitting room.
“Yep, she’s the one who let me in. She said Miss Barstow is sleeping.” He picked up the bags and stepped inside the room.
