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  Jack Cornwall straightened, caught sight of her, and grinned. “Well, well,” he said. “This day just got a lot brighter.”

  Caitrin bit her lip to keep from bursting out with all the suppressed tension of the past few minutes. “Hello, Jack.”

  “Looks like Chipper found the first tadpole of the year.”

  “Bill Hermann was here,” she blurted, rushing toward him. “Oh, Jack, ’twas Bill Hermann himself, the man who’s been tracking you! He just rode away on the Manhattan stage. He knows you were in Hope last autumn. He’ll be back, I’m sure of it. And he says you were part of … part of a lynching.”

  Jack crossed his arms over his vast chest. “Bill Hermann is lying.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “Hermann says you can testify on behalf of your bunch.”

  “I’m not going to testify. I don’t have anything to tell a judge, because I wasn’t around at the time of the Easton troubles. I don’t know a thing about that lynching.”

  “Why does Mr. Hermann believe you were there if you weren’t?”

  “It was night. Dark.”

  Caitrin looked away. “And you were one of his bunch?”

  “Yep.” He took her shoulders and forced her to face him. “But I wasn’t there that night, Caitrin. I swear it.”

  “Sure, you don’t need to swear such a thing to me. All I ask is that your words be true.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I had gone to Sedalia that day. You can ask Lucy. We were together the whole time.”

  “Then Lucy can testify for you!”

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “She can’t. She won’t.”

  “But why not? Aye, the judge must listen to her words.”

  “I’d never ask Lucy to stand up for me.” Jack raked a hand through his brown hair. “Look, let me handle this, would you, Caitrin? It’s my problem. I can take care of Bill Hermann and the old bunch. I’ve put my past behind me, and I’m facing the future. I’m not afraid.”

  “You may have put your past behind you, but obviously your cronies haven’t. Many of them are biding time in jail until their trial. They’ll have plenty of good reasons to toss the past straight into your face … and Bill Hermann is their ringleader.”

  “Let it go, Caitrin. You’ll never fix this one.”

  “What am I to do then?” She could hear the intensity in her voice, the edge of frustration knifing through her words. “Yesterday, you risked your position here in Hope by kissing me in full view … and it was all I could do to fall asleep last night for thinking of that kiss. Am I to be swept off by you, then, Mr. Cornwall? Is my heart to be placed in your hands? Is my very soul to be meshed with yours—only to have you ripped away by some demon from your past? And you ask me to stand by and do nothing! You promise you won’t abandon me—yet I can almost see them coming now to drag you away. Am I to sit idly and watch?”

  Jack enunciated each word slowly, “You can’t fix this one, Caitrin. Leave it alone.”

  “Then you must fix it. You must help Lucy to write a letter to the authorities in Missouri.”

  “Never.”

  “Why not? She would do it for you.”

  The muscle in Jack’s jaw flickered. “I won’t ask her, Caitrin. Neither will you, and I’m counting on you to abide by my request.

  Do you understand?”

  Caitrin lifted her chin. “Then do not expect me to allow you any further liberties with my affections, Mr. Cornwall. If you refuse to defend yourself and you will not permit me to help you, then I want nothing to do with you.”

  “Aw, Caitrin.” Jack took her arm and pulled her close. “Get off your high horse, woman.”

  She trembled as his hand slid down her arm. “Jack, I cannot bear this. ’Tis bad enough that I must listen to the people here drag your family’s reputation through the mud. I can’t imagine you will ever win their hearts. But the thought that this man from your bunch—”

  “It happened a long time ago, Caitrin. Almost a year. I’ve changed.”

  “Have you?” She rested her cheek against his chest. “I fear I’m a terrible weakling, Jack, unable to bear the pain of another loss. If you are genuinely innocent, prove it. Rid yourself of this millstone around your neck.”

  “When the time comes, Cait, I’ll do that.” He kissed her forehead. “But I have to walk this new life step-by-step. I can’t alter the past. I can’t fix up the whole world. And neither can you. I know I’m precious to God, remember? If I put this in his hands—”

  “Caitrin Murphy!” Sheena squawked, racing toward the couple. “By all the goats in Kerry, Sister, what are you doing? Get away from her, Cornish devil!”

  “Oh no, it’s the deadly basket again,” Jack cried out, raising his arms in mock defense against Sheena’s swinging workbasket.

  “Get away from my sister!” The puffing woman clobbered him across the chest. “See to the children, Caitie!”

  Caitrin gaped as Erinn and Colleen came to a stop just behind Sheena. At the sight of their mother whapping the brawny man, Colleen popped her thumb into her mouth, and Erinn blinked in shock. Crouching beside the girls, Caitrin threw her arms around them.

  “Is that Mr. Cornwall?” Erinn asked.

  “Aye, and you mustn’t be afraid of him. He’s a very nice man, so he is. A good man.”

  “Then why is Mama hitting him?”

  “Because he’s … he’s Cornish.”

  At that moment another stage rolled across the bridge and came to a stop in front of the mercantile. A fresh load of customers clambered out of their tight quarters. Caitrin sucked down a breath and turned to greet them. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she called over the hubbub of her sister’s drubbing. “Welcome to Hope. Won’t you go inside and have a look around the mercantile?”

  Dumbfounded at the sight before them, the visitors clustered together, wives clutching their husbands’ arms. Caitrin turned to Sheena and attempted to grab the flailing basket. “Please, Sheena!” she hissed. “Please stop!”

  “He’s a villain, a very demon!” Sheena stood back, panting for breath. “A kidnapper!”

  The crowd in front of the store broke into murmurs of surprise.

  “This man is an attempted murderer!” Sheena cried in triumph, presenting her enemy to the gasping bystanders. “And now I have caught him in the very act of seducing my sister!”

  “Listen here, feller!” The stagecoach driver pulled a pistol from the holster at his waist. “I don’t know what you done to upset Miss Murphy’s sister, but you better put your hands in the air and walk over here nice and slow.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Caitrin said, stepping in front of the gun. “Mr. Cornwall is an upstanding citizen of Hope.”

  “I’ll defend myself, Miss Murphy.” Jack edged her to the side, his hands held well away from his body. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m the town blacksmith. Mrs. O’Toole and her people have a little running feud with my kinfolk back in the old country, but you have no need to be alarmed. If you’ll just step into the mercantile, I’ll head over to the smithy and get back to my work.”

  The stagecoach driver glanced at Caitrin, then at Sheena. “Shall I let him go?”

  “No,” Sheena said.

  “Aye,” Caitrin overruled. “Of course, you must let him go. Good day, Mr. Cornwall.”

  “He was here to woo you, wasn’t he, Caitie?” Sheena queried as Jack stood his ground. “Ooh, to think that my own sister … my beloved little Caitrin would—”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, Sheena.” Caitrin didn’t know whether to rush to her sister’s comfort, try to ease her customers’ trepidations, or run away with Jack Cornwall and never look back.

  “Sheena, please—ladies and gentlemen, do go inside and look around. We’ve plenty of freshly baked bread, and I received a parcel of bright new fabrics just yesterday.”

  “I hear Mrs. O’Toole’s pickles are the pride and joy of Hope,”

  Jack said
, addressing the nearest woman. “Fact is, folks come from miles around just to taste them.”

  “Indeed,” Caitrin said, encouraged by the flush of pink in her sister’s cheeks. “Only moments ago, the Topeka mail-coach driver bought three whole pickles. Two for his family and one to eat on the way home. He’s predicting a rush of orders from the city.”

  “Pickles?” A thin man took off his hat and stepped forward. “Dill pickles?” The stagecoach driver lowered his pistol. At that moment Felicity Cornwall raced up from the camp beside the Bluestem. Waving her arms over her head, she gave a wild shriek and headed for Jack. Women gasped. Men grabbed for their children. The driver accidentally discharged a shot into the ground.

  “Jack, come quickly!” Felicity cried. “It’s Lucy. She’s drowning in the creek!”

  CHAPTER 10

  LET’S GET out of this town,” a customer called as Jack pushed through the crowd and sprinted toward the creek with Felicity following right behind. “These folks is crazy!”

  “No, wait!” Caitrin held out her arms, but it was too late. Even the driver fled toward the stagecoach without a backward look. Swinging around, she grabbed Sheena’s arm. “I must go with them to Lucy!”

  “Caitie, this is not your business,” Sheena insisted, clutching at her sister’s hands. “Stay here and mind the mercantile. Let the Cornwalls tend to their own.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Caitrin pulled back in disbelief. “Would you have the poor woman drown?”

  “I would have you know your place, Sister!” Sheena’s green eyes crackled. “Sure, you must choose between them and us, Caitie. You know we’ll never permit that Cornish devil to become one of us. If you keep on championing him, letting yourself be duped by his charms, stumbling into his traps, we’ll have no choice but to disown you. Please, Caitie, come into the mercantile with us now. Help Erinn and Colleen choose peppermint sticks and lemon drops to take to the boys.”

  Caitrin glanced at the little girls whose bright eyes stared in confusion. “Erinn, Colleen,” she said softly, “Jesus commanded us to serve those less fortunate, did he not? Poor Miss Lucy, who cannot seem to find any joy in life, is certainly less fortunate than we. And that is why I must go to the creek and try to be of some service to her.” She caught both her sister’s hands. “You must understand, Sheena. Please, understand.”

  Without waiting for a response, Caitrin raced past the smithy toward Bluestem Creek. Lucy was nowhere in sight.

  Felicity Cornwall darted back and forth along the sandy bank, shrieking in despair. Up to his chest in the creek, Jack was wading deeper as he called out the young woman’s name.

  “Jack!” Caitrin shouted, hurtling down the bank. “Where is Lucy? Where has she gone?”

  “Drowned, drowned!” Mrs. Cornwall wailed.

  Caitrin dashed into the frigid water just as Lucy’s dark head bobbed up in midstream. The young woman drifted in the swiftest part of the current, her back to the shore. Gasping in shock at the icy chill that gripped her ankles, Caitrin waded to Jack’s side.

  “She’s not done for yet,” he panted. “She’s got her feet on the bottom, but she keeps letting herself float off under the water.”

  “She’s wearing those heavy chains. Sure, they’ll drag her down.”

  “Lucy!” Jack called out, reaching toward his sister. “Lucy, it’s Jack. Can you hear me? Don’t go under again, Sis.”

  “Lucy, Lucy!” Mrs. Cornwall shrieked. “Get out of that water at once! Do you hear me, young lady? Come here immediately!”

  Lucy’s head sank beneath the surface. Caitrin watched in horror as Jack lunged toward the spot, disappearing himself. Toes numb, she squeezed her hands together. Should she go ashore and calm Felicity? Her keening was only making things worse. No, there was no choice in this matter.

  “Can you swim, Miss Murphy?” Felicity cried as Caitrin set out into the middle of the stream.

  “Not much.” She cast a backward glance. “If you’re a praying woman, Mrs. Cornwall, now’s the time.”

  Hardly able to catch her breath in the numbing water, Caitrin plunged ahead. When Lucy bobbed to the surface again, she was many yards downstream from the place Jack had been searching. Caitrin made for her at once. Give me words, Father, she pleaded. And give her hope!

  “Hello, Lucy,” Caitrin called in the most casual and unagitated voice she could manage. “It’s a bit cold out here, don’t you think?”

  Lucy stiffened at the sound of the unexpected voice. Her hair streaming, she slowly turned to observe the woman approaching. Caitrin was horrified to see that Lucy’s face had turned an ugly shade of gray, her lips a pale blue.

  “Miss Murphy,” Lucy whispered.

  “Did you get the brush and mirror I sent with Jack?” Caitrin asked, working her way toward midstream. “They were meant as gifts for you.”

  Hollow-eyed, Lucy gazed in silence.

  “It was a small tortoiseshell brush. I’ve a comb to match it in the mercantile.” Teeth chattering, Caitrin kept walking closer until she was up to her chin in the bracing water. “I’d noticed that caring for your hair might be a bit difficult, and I thought perhaps you’d enjoy something pretty.”

  Lucy stared.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come to Hope,” Caitrin continued, chatting as though they were seated in a parlor somewhere. “Sure, all the women who live close round here are married and busy with families. But I live alone, and the company of someone for tea now and again would be lovely. Perhaps you could come for tea this afternoon? I’ve Earl Grey, but please don’t tell. It’s wicked of me, but I don’t want to share such a treasure with just anyone.”

  She stopped a pace from the young woman, hardly breathing in fear that Lucy would drift away again or that she herself might collapse from the cold. Ashore, Mrs. Cornwall had stopped shrieking, and Jack stood unmoving at the corner of her vision. Forcing her stiffened lips into a smile, she looked into Lucy’s eyes.

  “I’m a bit cold; are you?” Caitrin searched for recognition. “Can you feel the cold, Lucy?”

  “I … I’m sorry … ,” she mumbled.

  “I think in the summer the water must be rather nice. The children enjoy paddling about in it, so they do. But it’s awfully chilly right now.”

  “I don’t … don’t feel anything.”

  Caitrin cocked her head to one side. She could feel everything—the swift current tugging at her legs, the sucking mud beneath her feet, and the bone-aching cold creeping ever inward through her body. But Lucy’s words had been filled with a kind of resigned peace.

  “I suppose,” Caitrin said softly, “I suppose you like it when you can’t feel anything, Lucy. Sometimes … sometimes I can hardly bear the weight of my own thoughts. Do you know what I did the other day? I got so angry I threw a plate. Smashed it right against the wall.”

  Lucy gaped, blank-faced.

  “And just now, right outside the mercantile, I shouted at my sister,” Caitrin went on. “Chipper says we shouldn’t shout and throw things, but I think it’s far more important that we be honest. God knows everything about us, and he’s not going to punish us for sharing our true emotions with him. It’s quite all right to feel what’s inside your own heart, you know.”

  “No,” Lucy mouthed. “I don’t … I can’t …”

  “Grab her!” someone shouted from the shore.

  “Get her now!”

  Lucy’s eyes darted away from Caitrin’s face. A look of terror suffused her ashen skin. “No … no …”

  “I’m not going to grab you, Lucy,” Caitrin promised quickly. “Jack told me you don’t like to be touched, and I certainly understand that. Sometimes I just want to hide, I feel so—” A movement caught her eye. “Oh, have a look at that blue jay on the other bank! Can you see it? Spring is almost here, Lucy. I can hardly wait. Did you know Rose Hunter and I are planning a welcoming party for your family? What’s your favorite color?”

  Lucy’s focus shifted again from the shore to C
aitrin’s face. “I don’t … I can’t think… .”

  “Well, that’s probably because it’s so cruel cold out here.” Aware that her legs had gone numb and the current was clutching at her with icy claws, Caitrin knew she had only moments before she would be forced to leave the water. “I’ve an idea, Lucy. Would you like to come to my house right now for a spot of tea? This very moment?”

  “They’ll … they’ll …”

  “No, they won’t. I won’t let them touch us. Jack will protect us, won’t he? He loves you so much, Lucy. Sure, I’ll tell him to take off those ridiculous chains so you can lift your teacup. How’s that? Will you come for tea? Do say yes.”

  Lucy turned toward the shore. Caitrin could see that a crowd had gathered—the Manhattan coach passengers who had let their curiosity get the better of them, Seth and Rosie, a horde of children. Even Sheena and the girls had traipsed down from the mercantile.

  “Oh, good heavens,” Caitrin said. “You’d think they’d never seen anyone taking a dip in the creek. Come along, we’ll walk right past them, so we will.”

  Lucy shook her head and started for the center of the creek, the deepest part where the current surely would carry her off. Caitrin gulped down a cry and reached out to her. When she laid her hand on the young woman’s shoulder, Lucy stiffened.

  “’Tis the other way,” Caitrin said, sudden tears clouding her eyes. “Please, Lucy, you must turn and go the other way.”

  There was a moment of utter silence, and then Lucy drifted toward Caitrin. Frail arms brushed against her. Huge liquid eyes blinked up at her. “I like Earl Grey,” Lucy whispered.

  “It’s the bergamot flavoring.” Caitrin let out a breath of relief and slipped her arm around the young woman’s bony shoulders. “I think bergamot is a sort of herb, but then again it might be a fruit. The taste is rather citrusy, don’t you think?”