It was lunchtime on Monday, the first day back to school following a very unpleasant weekend. The children, released into the outdoors for the noon hour, were playing on the grassy field beside the schoolhouse. Grace remained inside, having lunch quietly at her desk, out of sight of the prying eyes that she knew must surely be watching from the nearby house of her neighbor.
Clive stood quietly beside the schoolhouse, watching the children play, trying to muster the courage to enter the building. Grace was still angry with him. He had invited her to dinner Saturday evening in an attempt to make amends, but she had insisted that she was busy, and had refused to open her door to him. This was repeated on Sunday, but he was determined that she would hear him out, today, and the best place to speak to her seemed to be at school, where she could not hide behind a closed door.
Finaly, he straightened the jacket of his uniform, smoothed down his hair, a wasted gesture, since his hair was always in place, anyway, and walked up the steps and entered the building.
Grace was seated at her desk, the remnants of her lunch on the smooth surface before her. She looked up when she heard him enter, then looked quickly away. "What do you want?" she asked.
"I want to talk to you, and since you won't see me at home, this seemed the only place I could get you to face me," he responded.
"Right now, I'm afraid it's difficult for me to face anyone," she admitted.
He approached her, and pulled one of the chairs closer to her desk. He sat down, facing her. "There is no reason for you to feel that way," he told her.
Her eyes snapped to his face, and she stared at him, incredulously. "How can you say that? You don't understand what it is like to be a woman! We are constantly under scrutiny. Everything women say, everything we do is put under a miscroscope to see if we are worthy! It's different for men. Didn't you hear the difference in the way everyone reacted to the notion of Marshal Craddock having an . . . an indiscretion compared with the notion of me having one? Even when you are boys, you are treated different. If a boy does something wrong, everyone just shrugs and says, 'Oh, well, boys will be boys!' A girl commits an infraction, and we are instantly labeled with harsh, unfair titles, and treated like outcasts. Everyone automatically assumes the worst! It isn't fair, Clive!"
He had listened patiently to her while she spoke, and he slowly nodded his head in agreement. "It is different. Women are held to a higher standard than men. Their responsibilities in life are different. They are the keepers of the household, the ones who rear the children ---"
"And men are the head of the household!" she retorted. "The ones who expect their wives and children to respect and look up to! Shouldn't they be held to a higher standard, as well?"
"Decent men do adhere to a higher standard," Clive told her.
She made an impatient gesture with her hand, as if dismissing him. "You men are all alike. You'll never understand."
"Grace this isn't about men and women. It's about us. I've come to apologize once again for my behavior the other day. Please try to understand how it made me feel to hear that you had allowed Jack to stay all night at your house."
"You jumped to conclusions, just like everyone else!" she accused. "I would have thought you would be different."
He sighed. "You're right. I did jump to conclusions, and I'm sorry for it. I should have realized immediately that Jack Craddock is hardly the kind of man you would be interested in."
A frown of disapproval puckered her brow, and her green eyes snapped angrily. "I hope you didn't mean that the way it sounded. I've learned a great deal about Marshal Craddock in the past few days. It would not be difficult to imagine that any woman would find him appealing."
This was startling news to Clive, who felt a twinge of jealousy creep into his heart. "In what way?"
"It's true that he's a bit rough around the edges, but in spite of all that, he's very polite. And, he's very kind and generous, and helpful. I owe him a great deal for stepping forward the way he did. Some men would have just allowed everyone to think the worst because it would boost their egos to let everyone think they were involved with a younger woman. But not Marshal Craddock. He was very eager to clear the air and straighten things out for me. I really appreciate that. And now that I've seen him in a new light, I'm starting to see that he's an attractive man --- in his own way, of course."
Jealousy was beginning to reveal itself in Clive's eyes, and Grace smiled, inwardly, with satisfaction. That was the reaction she had hoped to see.
"Well, he didn't want to see you get fired," Clive suggested.
She looked away, her eyes focusing on the distant mountains, and several moments of silence passed before she spoke again. "There is snow on the mountains, now," she said. "Winter will be here, soon."
Clive did not see the connection to what they were discussing, so he simply said, "Yes, it will."
"I don't know if I will still be here, then," she said. "I haven't decided if I'm going to stay here, Clive."
His heart lurched, painfully. "What? Grace, you mustn't make a hasty decision."
"It isn't hasty. I've been thinking about it a lot the last two days, since this whole sordid incident occurred. I just don't know if I will ever fit in here. It's nothing personal, but I know that people are going to be staring at me, talking behind my back, wondering if there really is any truth in what that hateful old biddy was saying about me. She's still watching me, you know. I see her face in the window every time I step outside. I just don't think I can stand that much longer."
"You won't have to. Jack and I have decided to go ahead and get started on a new house for you on the Canadian side."
Grace looked back at him, surprised. "You have?"
"Yes. We've already talked to some of the men in town, and they're going to help. We should have the new house built for you before the first snowfall. This will blow over, Grace, if you can just hold out a little while longer." He reached out and took her hand. "Please?"
She gazed at her hand in his, watching as he lifted it to his lips to kiss the back of it.
"I've come to care a great deal about you, Grace."
"I care a great deal about you, too, Clive," she told him. "But I'm wondering if we're moving too fast in our relationship. Maybe we should step back, and reevaluate things."
For a moment, he was at a loss for words, his mind trying to rationalize why she would say such a thing. "Is there someone else?" he asked.
"No. There's no one else. I just need to slow down a bit, to take a second look at where I've been and where I'm going."
"That doesn't make any sense, Grace. What are you talking about?"
"You hurt me, Clive. After what happened Saturday, I realized that you are the only friend I've allowed myself to make since I came here, and I've come to depend on you too much. I'm spending too much time with you. I need to make some other friends."
"I see. Well, just don't shut me out, all right?"
A smile slowly formed on her lips, the first since he had left her at her house on Friday night. "I could never do that. And I do want to see you, just not all the time."
He nodded. "All right. Since it's been two days since we've spent any time together, will you have dinner with me tonight at Zack's?"
She hesitated. "I don't know. Everyone will be looking at me."
"You have to face them eventually, Grace. It will be easier if you get it over with. Once you're out in public again, getting on with your life, people will soon forget about what happened."
She nodded. "You're right. Very well. Supper at Zack's sounds good."
He stood up. "Six o'clock all right?"
"I'll be ready. But right now, it's time to call the class back to school."
"I'll leave you alone, then, but I'll be looking forward to tonight." With a smile and a wink, he turned and made his departure.
Grace watched him leave, then took the bell to the front door and rang for the students.
Marie Dumont rarely spent a day at her own leisure. Her days were occupied by her store and assisting those with medical needs, so when Sally Duffield suggested that her employer take a day off from the store, she was surprised when, after much deliberation, the French woman agreed.
"You don't know how much I need a day to myself, Sally," Marie had confessed.
Sally had smiled in response. "Yes, I do, Marie. You're here all day, every day, and you only leave when you are summoned to care for a patient. Everyone needs to relax, now and then."
So, Marie had returned home, but she did not rest and relax, as Sally had suggested. Instead, she accomplished tasks that were difficult to make time for. First, she washed her laundry and hung them on the line to dry, then, after lunch, she decided to bake an apple pie. While it baked in the oven, filling the whole house with a wonderful, apple-spice aroma, she decided to make a second one for Grace Upton.
She fully understood the moritification that Grace must have endured two days earlier at the special council meeting. A woman's worth was only as good as her reputation, and doubts had been raised about Grace's reputation. Marie was satisfied that the truth had been revealed at the meeting; nothing more would be said publicly by anyone, but she knew it would take some time for the people in town to put the incident behind them. It did not really matter that the doubts were untrue; the seeds had been planted, and for awhile, there would probably be some curious looks, and perhaps some discreet whispers behind cupped hands, but eventually, it would fade away. To be put on display like that in front of the entire town must have been a humiliating experience for her, and Marie hoped that perhaps her gift would alleviate any doubts she might have about the townspeople accepting her. And, likewise, once the townspeople saw her making an effort to befriend the young teacher, they would soon warm to her.
When the first pie was baked to a beautiful golden brown, she removed it from the oven and replaced it with the second. The first pie was placed on the countertop and draped with a clean cloth to cool.
Deciding that a pot of tea would go well with her slice of pie, she took her bucket and made her way to the pump to secure a bucket of water. As she primed the pump, she saw Jack emerge from the stable, having just returned from one of his job duties somewhere outside town. When he saw her, he approached, smiling a greeting.
"'Mornin', Marie," he said, pleasantly.
"Good afternoon, Jack," she responded with a smile.
He looked surprised. "Is it after noon already?"
"And hour or so past. Have you had lunch?"
"Nope. Guess I oughtta head on over to Zack's and see what's on the menu for today. Here, let me do that for ya." He reached for the handle, and she stepped back to allow him to take over for her. He pumped the long, curved handle, and water sloshed into the bucket.
Marie watched for a moment, thinking it would be nice to have some company for awhile, then suggested, casually, "Well, you can either go to Zack's, or you could share some apple pie with me."
He looked up, clearly tempted by her offer. "Apple, ya say? Yer plumb wicked, Marie, preyin' on a man's weaknesses like that."
She feigned innocence. "Why, Jack! I'd never do a thing like that!"
"Uh-huh," he said, doubtfully, but his smile indicated that he was teasing. The bucket was full, and he released the handle to stop the flow of water. Bending, he picked up the pail. "It's pretty full. I'll carry it for ya."
They walked back up the pathway to the house, and Marie opened the door for him to enter.
The aroma of the apple pie wafting through the house was more than Jack could resist. As he placed the pail on the counter top, he said, "I believe I will have a piece o' that there pie, if ya got enough."
"There is plenty, Jack, and it's still hot from the oven. Have a seat. I'll fix a pot of tea."
"You wouldn't happen to have any coffee, would ya?"
No, but I could make some."
"If it wouldn't be no trouble."
She smiled. "No trouble for you, Jack. I know how much you like it." She put on a pot of coffee for Jack and a pot of tea for herself, then they sat down to enjoy the first two slices of the pie.
When he was finished, Jack pushed back his plate. "A masterpiece, Marie, as always."
"Thank you, Jack. Would you like another?"
"My mouth says yes, but my stomach says no. There's no more room."
She carried the dishes to the wash basin, then removed the second pie from the oven and set it on the countertop.
"Another one?" Jack asked.
"I thought I'd give it to Miss Upton," she explained. "She's had a rough few days, so I thought it might make her feel a little more welcome."
Jack nodded. "Might at that, seein' as how I was so careless leavin' her place the other night. I was careful to look at the Metzger house, but it was dark, so I assumed she was in bed asleep, which is where she should have been." He shrugged, regretfully. "Where I shoulda been, too, for that matter. I never woulda done mothin' to sully her reputation, Marie. You know that."
"I know, Jack. It'll all blow over, in time."
"Well, in the meantime, me 'n Clive are gonna get started on a new house on the Canadian side. Clive's already ordered the lumber. That should put an end to Widow Metzger's meddlin'."
Marie nodded, approvingly. "That is a good idea."
They were interrupted by a knock on the front door.
"I wonder who that could be?" Marie said, rising from the table. With admiring eyes, Jack watched as she moved gracefully in her long skirt as she left the room, and went to the front door and opened it.
A man stood on her front porch, looking anxiously back at her. "I was told that the town doctor lives here," he said.
"Yes, I'm Doctor Dumont. What has happened?"
Curiously, she did not see the usual surprise on stranger's face at the revelation that the town's doctor was a woman. "I came across an injured man up in the hills north of here," he said, speaking carefully, concentrating intently on his speech. "Looks like he's been shot."
Without hesitation, she said, "I'll get my bag. Can you take me to him?"
"No, ma'am," he objected, quickly. "I'm afraid that is not possible. I'm due in Helena, and I'm going to be late as it is, but I can tell you how to get there. He's in an abandoned house that's up in the woods between here and Antler cove. The house is about two miles off the road to the west. Leave the main road where that big granite boulder is. The ground is soft, so you should be able to follow my horse's hoof prints all the way to the house."
"I don't know," Marie told him, doubtfully. "Your directions are rather vague. If I get lost, or if I ride past the turnoff, he could die before I find him. Are you sure you can't show me?"
He shook his head, nervously. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm due in Helena on a matter of life or death. I must be there."
Marie thought his explanation peculiar, but she could not spare the time to argue about it. "How badly is he hurt?"
"Bad, ma'am. He's lost a lot of blood, and he isn't conscious."
Jack stepped into the doorway. "What's the problem here?"
The man's eyes widened when he saw the lawman, and he took a step back, as if intimidated by the tin star that was pinned to his shirt. "Uh, n-no problem, sir. I just need to be going, that's all."
He backed away, nearly backing off the edge of the porch. He teetered on the edge, then recovered his balance and jumped off the porch. Without a backward glance, he strode swiftly to his horse, which was tied at Marie's gate. Quickly, he mounted, and kicked the animal into a gallop, eager to be away from the lawman.
"He seems mighty jumpy," Jack commented, observing the horse with a pensive gaze. It was a chestnut gelding, and something about it looked familiar to him.
Marie was nibbling her lip, puzzled by the stranger's odd behavior. "Yes. He didn't become extremely nervous, though, until he saw you."
"What did he want?"
"He said there is an injured man in an abandoned house in the hills north of town, but he wouldn't take me there. He said the house is between here and Antler Cove."
A frown creased Jack's rugged brow. "That's the direction Oliver Knapp was taking." It came to him suddenly. "Come to think of it, that horse your mysterious stranger was ridin' sure looks like the one I saddled for Knapp when we run him outta town."
Marie's eyes snapped quickly to his face. "Do you think it could be him?"
"Could be. I shot him, so he's probably holed up somewheres."
"But can you be sure that's the same horse? I mean, there are a lot of chestnut horses in and around Bordertown. One of my horses is a chestnut."
"I see the horses in the stable ev'ry day, Marie. I know 'em all, and I'm positive that's the same horse. The question is, how did this man git ahold of it?" He paused, then provided an answer to his own question. "I s'pose he coulda stolen it, if Knapp was defenseless from the wound."
"He did say that the wounded man is unconscious."
"I'd better go along, just in case."
"He's in Canada," Marie reminded him. "Maybe we should get Clive."
Jack shrugged, unconcerned about boundaries. "Never stopped me before; ain't likely to stop me now. 'Sides, I gotta bone to pick with Knapp. Git yer bag. I'll git the horses saddled." He rushed out the door to the stable.
Marie fetched her doctor's bag, then hesitated, thinking of Lucy. School would be out soon. She was going over to a friend's house afterward, but tending to a gunshot wound was frequently a lengthy process, and the girl might come home before she returned. She would wonder about her.
Quickly, she located a sheet of paper, and hastily scribbled a note, which she placed on the kitchen table, where it would be quickly found. Then she left the house, and joined Jack at the stable. He had finished saddling her horse, and was just finishing up on his own. Because he had ridden the blond sorrel that morning, he had selected the bay quarter-miler for the ride up to the hills.
"Ya know, I been thinkin', Marie. When I first came here, one o' them old-timers told me 'bout a big house up in the hills. It had been abandoned long before I got here, but the old-timer told me that the original owners was driven out by Indians more than twenty years ago. Don't know why I didn't think of it before. I'll bet Knapp's been holed up in there since he left Bordertown. Clive 'n me couldn't 'a been more than a mile from that house when we was searchin' las' week!"
Marie placed her doctor's bag over the saddle horn, and mounted, watching as Jack finished tightening his cinch. "It seems strange. I never thought I'd be tending to him like this."
"Well, we're not for sure that it's him, Marie, but it sure seems like it might be." He slid his rifle into the sheath, then mounted.
Together, they rode out of town at a strong canter, moving north.
From behind a nearby building, Samuel Jenkins watched as the marshal and the doctor rode away. This was not the way Mr. Knapp had instructed his plan to be carried out. He would be furious that the marshal had elected to go with her, and he would take that anger out on him if he returned to his employment. It was not his fault that the marshal just happened to be at the doctor's house when he arrived! He knew that Knapp would not care about that. The only thing he would notice was his disobedience.
After several moments of indecision, Samuel Jenkins turned his horse east. His time in North America was coming to an end. It was time to return to England.
Oliver Knapp crouched behind a bush when he heard the sound of approaching riders, and from his hiding place he watched, incensed, as Marie Dumont rode into view, accompanied by Jack Craddock. This was not going according to plan. He had instructed that imbecile to send the woman alone. Once she was in his custody, then he had intended to send for Craddock. Now, he would have to deal with both of them.
Furiously, he beat his fist on the trunk of a nearby tree, barely feeling the scrape it left on the skin of the heel of his hand. The pain was channeled into rage, and he cursed silently, knowing that vocalization would draw attention to him. He had no more patience with this woman! There would be no more chances for her to enjoy the privileges of becoming his bride. Today, Craddock and Marie would both suffer the consequences. And that inept fool, Jenkins, would be next.
As they entered the clearing, Jack instantly sensed that something was amiss. As he dismounted, he quietly eased his pistol from its holster, and his eyes quickly scanned the area. The trees and shrubs crowded close, in an almost claustrophobic manner. Dappled sunlight penetrated the forest canopy, holding back the perpetual shade found deeper in the woods, and Jack concentrated intently on the deeper shadows that could hide a man under its natural cover. Briefly, his eyes lingered on the bush behind which Oliver was crouched. The Englishman held his breath, marveling once again at the lawman's perception. Then, the marshal's eyes moved on, seeking each potentioal hiding place in turn, but even though he saw nothing, he remained vigilant.
Marie dismounted, her bag in her hand, and as she moved closer to him, she noticed that he was holding his weapon inconspicuously at his side. Her heart leaped in sudden apprehension. "What is it?"
"I don't know, Marie. Somethin' ain't right."
Alarm widened her eyes, but she could only stare at the trees and bushes that surrounded the house, unable to see anything out of the ordinary, but deferring to Jack's experience in dangerous situations.
"Let's go inside and see if he's there," he suggested.
He opened the door and stepped inside first, worried that if Oliver Knapp was indeed the wounded man, he might have regained consciousness, and could be waiting with his rifle to ambush them.
The front room was empty, apparently devoid of any signs of life or occupation. The furnishings had long since been removed, but whether the original owners had taken them with them, or whether they had been pillaged by Indians and other settlers, he had no idea. He only knew that the strange feeling of foreboding was still strong. They spread out in the large room, searching for signs of recent occupation.
"There is blood over here," Marie announced, kneeling down on the floor near the wall beneath the staircase.
Jack joined her, and observed the dried blood on the floor where someone had sat and on the wall where he had leaned against it. "Well, someone was in here, all right." He ran his hand along the wall, searching for something. "I wonder how to get to the cellar," he wondered, aloud. "That would be a good hiding place."
"How do you know there is a cellar?" she asked.
"The floor has a hollow sound. Listen." He thumped his boot heel on the wooden floor. Instead of the dull thump of a floor laid on solid earth, she heard a hollow echo.
"You're right. It does sound hollow."
"The people who lived here probably used it as a root cellar and as a shelter against Indian attacks or thieves. They must've concealed the door to prevent anyone from findin' it."
"That was clever."
"People had to be clever back then. When I was a boy in Texas, we had problems with the Comanche." He shrugged. "Our house certainly didn't look like this, though. My ma woulda thought she'd died 'n gone to heaven. Whoever they were, they had money." He moved toward the large hearth, noticing debris near the wall. "Here's some animal bones," he announced. "Looks like he's been livin'on wild game." He indicated the fireplace. "It's been used recently. That's where he cooked it."
"Where is he?" Marie asked. She stood up, and raised her head, turning her eyes up the stairwell. "Maybe he's upstairs." She made her way around the banister, and started up the stairs, but Jack quickly seized her arm, stopping her.
"Jack, if he's hurt, I need to tend to his injuries, even if he is a criminal."
"Better let me go first."
"You saw the amount of blood, Jack. He must be hurt badly, much too badly to put up any kind of fight."
"Wounded animals are the most dangerous," Jack told her.
Marie took no offense to the reference, and she offered no more argument. With a nod, she allowed him to go up the stairs first. He carried his pistol at the ready, prepared for ambush. The steps creaked eerily beneath their feet, and both of them hoped that the neglected wood would hold their weight.
When they reached the landing, Jacked moved quietly to each of the upstairs bedrooms, peering cautiously into each one, before he allowed Marie to explore the rooms.
She moved from room to room, admiring the size and the design of each one. "Oh, Jack, this must have been a lovely home. How awful for them to have to leave it!"
He nodded. "Yes, it was, but they were foolish to build so far from civilization. They had no protection out here. Leaving was their only option, if they wanted to stay alive. The Cree and Blackfoot were still causing trouble back then."
The slam of the front door made them both jump, and Jack whirled around, assuming a gunfighter's stance that startled Marie so badly that she nearly dropped her doctor's bag. She recoiled with a gasp of fright.
"It was just the front door," she said, shakily. "The wind must have blown it shut."
He listened for several moments, concentrating on the silence of the house, then slowly, he conceded that it must have indeed been the wind. He returned his gun to its holster.
Marie laughed, softly. "You're jumpy, Jack."
Just as they were beginning to relax, they heard the sound of the door being opened.
Jack glanced quickly at Marie. "Don't tell me the wind can open doors, too," he whispered.
They listened intently, then another sound reached their ears. It was a dry, scratching sound that Marie was unable to identify. Jack, however, instantly recognized it as the striking of a match. He cast a quick glance at Marie, then bolted down the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt at the bottom.
Oliver Knapp stood in the doorway, holding a bundle of dynamite in one hand, a lit match in the other.
He smiled menacingly at the lawman, enjoying the expression of shock and disbelief on his face, as he teased the fuse with the flame. "I thought that would get your attention. Well, well, Marshal Craddock. It looks like you and Marie will be spending eternity together, after all. I always thought she would choose me, but it is obvious that her taste in men has changed since coming to this dreadful wilderness."
Marie came down the stairs behind him, clutching his arm for comfort. Oliver's expression changed to one of sorrow and regret as he observed her fear.
"It didn't have to end like this, Marie. If you had come alone, like I intended, this would not be happening. The marshal is the only one who was intended to die. I would have given you everything a woman could ever want, but you have proven over and over that you are unworthy of being my wife." He applied the flame to the fuse, then tossed it to the floor in front of Jack. Then he stepped outside, and pushed the door closed, blocking it from the outside.
Jack could hear the Englishman's footsteps running away from the house, but his eyes stared at the bundle of dynamite that lay in the middle of the floor. Briefly, he considered the idea of snatching up the bundle and tossing it out the window, but he noticed immediately that Oliver had cut the fuse short. With no chance of disposing of the explosive and even less chance of pulling out the fuse before it exploded, Jack grabbed Marie's wrist and yanked her toward the nearest doorway, the one leading to the kitchen, hoping they could escape through the back door before the flame ignited the dynamite.
They did not make it.
An instant after they entered the kitchen, the explosion rocked the ancient house.
Oliver had barely allowed himself time to reach a safe distance, and he was flung roughly to the ground by the hot concussion at his back. He sprawled face first on the soft, mossy ground.
Both horses, tied nearby, leaped away from the blast, breaking their tethers. Frustrated, knowing that there was a possibility that Jenkins would not return with the chestnut horse, he scrambled to his feet and attempted to grab the reins of one of them, but was nearly trampled by the panicked animals, sending him spiraling to the ground once more. He could only watch helplessly as the horses galloped out of sight and disappeared into the forest. Behind him, he heard the sounds of the grand old house as it came down, collapsing onto itself.
The sound of the explosion reverberated through the hills and valleys, propelled toward Bordertown by the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains.
Clive Bennett, seated in the barber's chair, turned his head toward the open door, listening to the sound of the distant explosion.
Liam Gleeson was unconcerned about the blast. "Sounds like ol' Harvey is prospecting again," he said.
Picking up his scissors and a comb, he began the task of trimming the corporal's hair in preparation for his dinner with Grace that evening. He had ammends to make, and he wanted to look his best.
The residents of Bordertown continued with their daily routines, unaware of the events that had taken place north of town.
GO TO CHAPTER THIRTEEN