Making a Memory Page 2

  Her hand flew to her throat. “There was an intruder in my house? Did he harm you? Did he threaten you?”

  “No, nothing of the sort. He just . . . well, he confused me.” Caleb shook his head, still trying to understand. “You have no gentleman staying here with white hair?”

  “Mr. Baker, you’re my only tenant at this time. I live here along with Patagonia, my housekeeper.” She lifted a finger. “Call her Patty or she’ll put a Jamaican curse on you. Willie Meeks comes by every so often and does odd jobs, but he’s just a young man, barely more than a boy. We are the only persons who are supposed to be here. If there was a man in your room, he was an intruder. Are you certain he’s gone?”

  “I don’t actually know. He left and I heard his footsteps on the staircase.”

  Widow Olson pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is quite extraordinary, and very upsetting. I believe I should talk to the marshal about this, but now I don’t dare leave the house because what if the man is still here? Or perhaps I should leave—what if he’s waiting to kill us all, hiding in the linen closet?”

  Her voice was growing more panic-stricken the more she spoke, and Caleb held up a hand. “Let’s work through this together. What if I look through the house and make sure he’s gone, and why don’t you send Pata . . . er, Patty . . . to fetch the marshal? Do you have any sort of weapon I could use?”

  “My husband’s pistol,” she said. “I’ll go fetch it.”

  She left the room, and Caleb edged out into the hall, looking up and down. It was empty, but that’s what he fully expected. Mr. Waverly probably ducked out of the house as soon as Widow Olson came upstairs, and hopefully, he hadn’t taken any silver with him.

  When Widow Olson returned, it was plain that she’d never held a weapon before. Her hands were trembling, and she held it out in front of her like it was a dead mouse or something equally abhorrent.

  “Here you are,” she said, passing it over. Then she reached into her apron pocket. “And here are the bullets.”

  Caleb loaded the gun, wondering if it had ever been shot, and then nodded. “All right, I’ll take a look around. I clearly heard him descend the stairs, so that’s where I’ll concentrate.”

  “Thank you. And Patty’s been sent for the marshal—I spoke to her just now.”

  “Excellent.”

  Caleb looked in every nook, every cranny, and even the linen closet, and found no trace of Mr. Waverly anywhere. “I believe we’re safe, Mrs. Olson,” he said at last, placing the gun in the center of the table and making sure it wasn’t cocked.

  “Mrs. Olson.” She sighed, resting her arms on the back of a kitchen chair. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone called me that? It’s been nothing but ‘widow’ this and ‘widow’ that until I’m quite sure I’ve forgotten who I am anymore.”

  “I wondered about that,” Caleb told her. “It seems unfortunate to be labeled by your grief.”

  “Thank you for understanding that. Can I get you anything, Mr. Baker? Some coffee, toast . . .”

  “I’d love some of each,” he replied. “I was planning to take a nap, but I suppose I should wait until after the marshal arrives.”

  “Yes, that would be a good idea.” She turned to the stove and poured some coffee into a mug from a pot that stood waiting. “Get started with this, and I’ll have some bread toasted in a moment.”

  The coffee was hot and black, a little strong, just how Caleb liked it. He was just finishing it up when a tap came at the door.

  “Please, allow me,” he said, rising and taking the gun from the table. He edged to the door, peeked out the window, and saw Deputy Hawkins standing on the porch, this time with a badge.

  “Hello there,” Caleb said, opening the door.

  “Well, hello yourself. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” The deputy entered the house and pulled off his hat. “Lucky you—you’re my first assignment in town.”

  Caleb noticed a woman standing on the porch, shifting from foot to foot as though she’d rather not be there at all. “Are you Patty?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sure it’s all right to come in. I looked around, and now the deputy’s here.”

  She didn’t look sure, but she came inside anyway, shaking her head.

  Caleb told his story to the deputy, giving a description of Adolphus Waverly. When it came time to recount their conversation, though, he hesitated. Should he tell everyone that the man claimed to be a guardian angel? If Mr. Waverly was mentally unbalanced, it would be good for the townspeople to know it, but still, he felt unsure. Finally, he decided to leave that part out. It likely wasn’t important, and if he changed his mind, he could always go find the deputy and tell him he remembered something.

  “And you say you searched the property?”

  “I searched the downstairs portion of the house. I didn’t search upstairs or outside.”

  Deputy Hawkins nodded. “I’ll take a look around, then, just to be sure. Now, you ladies say that you’re not aware of anyone by the name of Waverly living in town?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “He must be a newcomer, then—maybe a drifter.”

  “I don’t think he was a drifter, Deputy. His suit looked quite expensive, and he was clean and neat,” Caleb said.

  “I’ll ask around at the hotels, boarding houses, and saloons to see if I can find out where he’s staying,” Deputy Hawkins said. “Even if he did no actual harm while he was here, he shouldn’t be wandering into people’s homes uninvited. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go ahead and make that sweep of the property.”

  Patty turned her attention back to her kitchen duties, shaking her head when she saw the bread laid out on the cutting board. “Miss Eva, did you mean to toast this bread yourself?”

  “Yes, I did. I enjoy toast with my coffee, and Mr. Baker looks rather starved to death.”

  Patty put a hand on her hip. “Are you starved to death, Mr. Baker?”

  Caleb didn’t know how to answer that. He had the strongest suspicion that he’d be in trouble with one of them no matter which way he answered. Thankfully, Patty spun back around and began preparing the toast without waiting too terribly long for a reply.

  Mrs. Olson sat down at the table, shaking her head. “I’m so rattled, I hardly know what to do. I should have offered the deputy some coffee, shouldn’t I? He probably thinks I’m terribly inhospitable.”

  “He’ll come back and report what he finds or doesn’t find, and you can give him some then,” Patty said reasonably. “There’s no need to fuss about it.”

  The toast was hot and crisp, and Caleb ate four slices. He must have been more starved to death than he’d realized.

  When the deputy came back to say he’d found nothing, Mrs. Olson offered him coffee, which he politely refused. “I’d better get back to the station, ma’am, but thank you. I believe you’re safe to carry on as you were before, but if anything else should happen, please let me know right away.”

  “What kind of something?” she asked. “What am I to expect?”

  “You aren’t expecting anything necessarily,” he replied. “I’m just saying, if something were to happen, let me know.” He gave them all a nod, then headed off down the walk.

  “So, we’re supposed to act as though nothing happened?” Mrs. Olson pressed a hand to her throat. “That hardly seems possible. There was a strange man in my house—that’s a definite cause for worry.”

  “When I leave this afternoon, keep the gun nearby,” Caleb said. As he said that, he wondered if he actually should leave or if he should stay for protection’s sake, but then he realized that he couldn’t stay at the boarding house forever. He hadn’t come to Creede to lock himself away. He’d do what he could to be of service, but he also had to reach the objectives he’d come to reach.

  “I’m going to take a nap, ladies, if you’ll excuse me.” He rose from his chair. “Thank you for the coffee and toast.”

  “It wasn’t muc
h. Are you sure you don’t want some proper food before you go?” Mrs. Olson asked.

  “It suited me well. I need sleep more than I need food at this point, but thank you.” Caleb climbed the stairs to his room, closed the door, and pulled off his suspenders. When he turned toward the bed, he saw a folded piece of paper on the blanket.

  Dear Mr. Baker,

  I didn’t mean to cause such a ruckus, and I do apologize. I assure you, I have left the premises, and you have no reason to fear me—I am who I said I am. When you speak with Mr. Thurgood, ask him if he knows a Miss Chapel, and tell him that she and I are friends. That’s a reference you can trust.

  I’ll be in touch again after you’ve obtained this reference.

  Adolphus Waverly

  How . . . how had the man gotten back upstairs to deliver this note? And then how had he come downstairs again without being seen? Caleb sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the note. He was losing his mind—that much seemed sure. He needed to get some sleep. Once he did that, he’d probably realize that he’d hallucinated the entire experience, and then he’d head down to the marshal’s office and apologize for getting the law involved. For now, the pistol was downstairs on the table where the ladies could easily grab it, and he’d put a chair under his doorknob so no one could come in while he slept. And then he’d just see how he felt when he woke up. He’d have to feel a bit more balanced at least.

  Chapter Two

  Caleb slept for two hours. He wished it was more, but with everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Creede, his thoughts were roiling, and his brain woke him up far sooner than his body wanted.

  He was hungry, but Patty wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and he didn’t know if his boarding room fees gave him the right to ask for food at odd hours anyway. He’d find a restaurant while he was out—he was sure he wouldn’t starve to death in this growing town.

  Mr. Wendell Thurgood’s office was located on Main Street right where he’d been told it would be. He wondered if it was all right to show up without an appointment, but then, he’d have to show up without an appointment to make an appointment, so it didn’t really matter anyway.

  When he opened the door to the office, a thin man looked up from behind a desk, then stood to greet him.

  “I’m told you’re the man I should see about renting or buying a small business building,” Caleb said, taking the seat that was offered.

  “Which would you prefer, ideally?”

  “Renting for now, with a possibility of purchasing later.”

  Mr. Thurgood reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folder. “Let’s take a look. How much space do you need?”

  “Not a great deal for the actual business area—I could do quite well with a room the size of this office. I did hope, though, that there would be a back room where I could live. Save myself some money on boarding house fees and so forth.”

  Mr. Thurgood nodded. “I understand exactly. Hmm.” He flipped through some pages, then seemed to settle on one. He pulled it from the stack and slid it across the desk so Caleb could see it. “This building is just off Main Street—you can see it from the general store, but it’s on the cross street. It has a small living area upstairs, and a decent-sized office area downstairs. It’s very simple—it’s about as basic as you can get—but I believe it would suit you well.”

  Caleb looked at the specifics of the place, noting the square footage in particular. “Yes, I’d like to take a closer look,” he said. “When can we go?”

  Mr. Thurgood glanced at the clock. “What about now?”

  “Perfect.”

  The two men walked outside, and Caleb waited while Mr. Thurgood locked his office door behind them. He wanted to bring up Miss Chapel and see what Mr. Thurgood had to say about the entire experience with Mr. Waverly, but he thought it might be best to wait until after they had spent a few minutes together—he’d like to prove to Mr. Thurgood that he wasn’t entirely insane before he brought up the subject of guardian angels who appeared and disappeared in boarding house bedrooms.

  It was a bit difficult to navigate around the snowdrifts and sloshy puddles on their way to the empty building, but it was close enough that Caleb could see the inconvenience of waiting for a hired buggy to arrive. It seemed that many people in town walked to their various destinations, and there was certainly nothing wrong with that when the needed locations were near each other. He was pleased to note that yes, the empty building was very close to Main Street. He wouldn’t get the foot traffic he might if he were out in the middle of all the other businesses, but then again, having one’s photograph taken wasn’t something one tended to do on the spur of the moment anyway. He’d see about advertising in the local paper so people would know where to find him.

  “Here we are,” Mr. Thurgood said. The building had several office spaces, it would seem, and the space they were there to see was in the center of the building. Mr. Thurgood pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “You first.”

  When Caleb stepped inside, he was immediately pleased to see the placement of the windows in the main room. He’d put up a dark curtain on the far wall during the afternoon, but everything else was situated exactly how he’d want it. The light would be perfect for most hours of the day. Off to the side was a smaller room that would be ideal for developing the dry plates.

  “The living quarters are upstairs,” Mr. Thurgood reminded him after he’d spent probably too much time admiring the layout of the first floor, and they went up together.

  A stove sat in the corner. It wasn’t large, but it did have an oven and a cooktop, and it would serve to keep Caleb warm as well as to help him prepare the simple meals he knew how to make. He’d need to get a bed, but he had no qualms about starting out with a simple mattress and obtaining the actual bedframe later after he’d settled his finances and knew where he actually stood.

  “I warned you that it was simple,” Mr. Thurgood said.

  “It’s perfect,” Caleb replied. “I don’t need much—in fact, I do better when I’m not surrounded by distractions. I’d like to rent this building, Mr. Thurgood. May I move in immediately?”

  “You may take possession as soon as I’m in receipt of a five-dollar deposit,” Mr. Thurgood replied.

  Caleb nodded and pulled his wallet from his pocket. Five dollars was nearly all he had left—he could afford to settle things with Mrs. Olson and he could buy himself a couple of meals, but he’d need to start finding clients as soon as he moved in. “Here you are,” he said, passing the money over as if he had cash to spend on whatever he liked.

  Mr. Thurgood pocketed the money and smiled. “Let’s head back over to the office and sign your rental agreement, and then you can move in.”

  Back at the office, Caleb signed his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish, an immense rush of accomplishment and yet also terror filling him. What had he just done? He’d just made a financial commitment that he might not be able to honor, but he had to have faith that it would work out. He was so tired of traveling, of not belonging to anyone or anywhere. He wanted to feel like a part of something bigger than himself, not like a speck of dust floating here and there on the wind.

  Faith. He pulled in a deep breath. “Mr. Thurgood, may I ask you a potentially awkward question?”

  The other man looked curious. “You may. Of course, if it’s too awkward, I might not answer it, but you can try.”

  Caleb chuckled at the man’s wry joke. “I wonder . . . if you know a lady by the name of Miss Chapel.”

  Mr. Thurgood’s face froze, and his whole body seemed to be suspended in time. After a long moment, he said, “Yes. Do you know Miss Chapel?”

  Caleb shifted in his chair. “Not exactly, but I met a man by the name of Adolphus Waverly, and he told me . . . well, he said that if I told you that he’s good friends with Miss Chapel, you’d vouch for the situation.”

  “You’re right—this is an awkward question.” Mr. Thurgood leaned back in his ch
air. “Did Mr. Waverly by chance introduce himself to you as a guardian angel?”

  “Yes, he did,” Caleb replied. “And I didn’t believe him for a second, but he told me I should speak to you about it.”

  Mr. Thurgood exhaled. “It’s difficult to know what to say because things like this . . . well, not everyone believes in angels, and not everyone believes in them the same way. But the fact is, Mr. Baker, I have a guardian angel, her name is Miss Chapel, and she helped me win the hand of my beautiful wife, Ariadne. That’s not information I’ve shared freely, so if someone has paid you a visit claiming to be friends with Miss Chapel and using my name as a reference, you’d best pay them some heed.”

  Caleb felt like he’d been kicked by a horse. “It’s true, then?”

  “It’s true. I’ve always been a skeptic, Mr. Baker. When I first met Miss Chapel, I didn’t believe her just as you haven’t believed your Mr. Waverly, but now I can’t deny her existence. She’s just as real as you and I.”

  Caleb leaned back in his chair and tried to accept what he was hearing. “I sent for the deputy,” he said at last. “I thought there was an intruder.”

  “You sent a deputy after a guardian angel?” Mr. Thurgood laughed heartily. “That’s certainly funny.”

  “I don’t think it’s very funny at all. First I find out that angels are real, and then I realize I tried to have one arrested . . .”

  Mr. Thurgood laughed again. “It’s all right. I’m sure Mr. Waverly understands. They have to have a good sense of humor, you know—otherwise, they’d never survive their assignments.”

  “So . . .” Caleb leaned forward a little, thinking that he’d better try to understand. “He said that I have a gift and a task. I don’t know what that means.”

  “That means that you’re to use your talents and skills to bless the lives of others in some way. That’s what tasks almost always mean—the most important thing we can do is help others, so that’s where the obligations we’re given usually lie.”

  “But what does that mean? What exactly am I supposed to do?”