A Clear Hope (Kansas Crossroads Book 5) Read online

  Chapter Two

  Abigail had intended to help Anne bathe after she woke up from her nap, but when she went to check on her later, Anne was sound asleep, and stayed that way through the whole night. Abigail supposed there was nothing better for her, and left a glass of water next to the bed for her to find when she woke up.

  The next morning, after a bath and a good breakfast, dressed in Miss Hampton’s nightgown with one of Rachel’s shawls around her shoulders, Anne looked much better indeed. The color had returned to her face, and she seemed stronger, even though she still couldn’t remember one thing about herself.

  “Anne, you have some visitors, if you’re up to seeing them,” Abigail told her, entering the room with a fresh glass of water.

  “Visitors? Who would want to see me?” Anne plucked at the shawl, her hand trembling.

  Abigail wondered what it was about visitors that would make Anne so nervous, but she pretended not to notice the girl’s reaction. “Our pastor and his new wife. He heard you were staying here, and he thought he might be of some use. Really, you should see him and give him something to do. He looks positively bored this morning, and you would brighten his day.”

  “I doubt that, but all right.” Anne walked over and sat in the chair closest the fireplace, and Abigail went downstairs to tell Robert and Olivia they could come up.

  “She’s as skittish as a new colt,” she warned them before leading the way back upstairs.

  “That’s all right. I’m good with colts,” Robert replied with a grin.

  When they reached Anne’s room, Abigail performed the introductions. “Anne, this is Pastor Robert Osbourne and his wife, Olivia. She used to work here at the hotel with us until she caught the pastor’s eye and left.”

  “And the work isn’t much different, except I don’t have anyone to gossip with while I knead the bread,” Olivia replied with a smile. She crossed the room and held out her hand. “Hello, Anne. We heard you’ve been having a rough time of it.”

  Anne gave a bitter chuckle. “You might say that. I seem to have lost my memory, and I have no idea who I am or how I came to be in Topeka.”

  “That is a problem.” Robert sat down on the other side of the fireplace and dangled his hat from his knee. “Dr. Wayment’s a good friend of mine—in fact, he’s the one who told me you were here—and he asked me to stop by and see if there was anything I could do to help out. Do you know if you’re a religious woman, Anne? Would going to church or getting involved with the congregation here bring you comfort?”

  “I believe in God,” Anne replied. “I do know that much. And church might be nice.”

  “Excellent. Sunday morning, bright and early, I’ll preach my best just for you. But now for more practical concerns. What do you need by way of clothing? My good wife here is more than prepared to discuss anything you might need. She’s rather an expert at all those skirts and hats and other fripperies you ladies enjoy, and we have a church donation fund just for occasions like this.”

  Anne blinked a few times. “I . . . really don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  As Olivia and Anne talked about clothing, Robert pulled Abigail off to the side. “Dr. Wayment told me he discovered signs of abuse or some sort of brawl,” he said, his voice low. “She hasn’t said anything about that to you?”

  Abigail shook her head. “Not a thing. I’ve only observed her jumpiness, as I mentioned to you, and the bruise on her forehead. She doesn’t seem to remember how she got it.”

  Robert nodded. “Hopefully with rest and care, her memory will return. In the meantime, thank you for what you’re doing.”

  Abigail lifted a shoulder. “It’s not much, really.”

  “It may not seem like much, but to her, in her situation, I’m sure it means the world.” He turned back to face the room as Olivia’s laughter rang out. “What shade of parasol have you decided on, my love?”

  Olivia gave him an exasperated look. “I thought we’d start with the basics, and a parasol isn’t a basic. However, should we get one, I think mauve.” She squeezed Anne’s hand and then stood. “I’ll get these first items, and then we can discuss the rest, all right? I should be back in about an hour.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne,” Anne said. “You’re so kind.”

  “Nonsense. I’m just grateful for a chance to go shopping without getting scolded for it.” Olivia gave Anne a smile, then followed Robert back downstairs.

  Just then, Abigail heard the whistle for the train. “I need to go help serve the meal,” she said. “Will you be all right for a little while?”

  “I’m sure I will be. Thank you for my breakfast.” Anne nodded to the tray. “I’ll eat and then take a nap. Don’t worry about me.”

  But Abigail did worry the whole time she was taking meal orders, delivering the food, and cleaning up afterward. Upstairs was a woman in trouble, and Abigail had no idea how to help her.

  ***

  Gabe studied the telegram in his hand and scowled. When he’d first received it, he’d thought it was a reply to the one he’d sent two days before, telling Deputy Wyatt Earp of Wichita that he hadn’t seen the outlaw in question. Now he had an entirely new problem, one he felt ill prepared to face, and Colonel Gordon, the marshal, was out of town for a couple of days on another matter.

  Perhaps what Gabe needed was a pastor.

  Deciding not to bother with saddling his horse, Gabe walked to Pastor Osbourne’s house, a small home situated near the church. He expected the housekeeper, Mrs. Little, to open the door, but instead, he was greeted by the new Mrs. Osbourne.

  “Hello, Deputy. Come on in. I’ve tried my hand at a lemon pie. May I inflict it on you? Er, may I offer you some?”

  Gabe chuckled. It was no secret that Olivia Osbourne, formerly Olivia Markham, came from society and had no training at all in domestic matters until she ended up at the Brody. But she wanted to make her new husband happy, so she’d thrown herself headlong into cooking, cleaning, and housework. So far, Gabe had only been called upon to help put out one small kitchen fire, which he considered quite an accomplishment.

  “I’d be happy to try it, Mrs. Osbourne. Is the pastor in?”

  “He is. He’s sitting at his desk, muttering something about pearls and swine. Either he’s writing his next sermon, or he’s trying to decide what to get me for my birthday. If that’s the case, I hope he chooses the pearls.” She led the way down the short hall and tapped on a closed door. “Robert? The deputy’s here to see you.”

  “Oh! Come in,” the pastor replied, and she opened the door.

  “You two have a nice chat, and I’ll bring the pie in a few minutes. That is, if I can get it out of the pan. I have my doubts on that score.”

  Gabe chuckled as he entered the room. Pastor Osbourne rose and shook his hand, then motioned him toward a seat. “Hello, Gabe. What can I do for you today?”

  “I have a bit of a problem, Pastor.”

  “You know, I hear that a lot. So few people come to see me when everything’s going well.” Pastor Osbourne leaned back and laced his fingers across his stomach. “What’s troubling you?”

  Gabe took the telegram from his pocket and slid it across the desk.

  Pastor Osbourne read it, his expression turning grim. “‘Looking for Margaret Smith, young woman, brown hair, brown eyes, nineteen years old, blue dress, gray shawl, possibly headed for Topeka. Wanted for murder.’”

  “That was sent over by the Wichita marshal’s office,” Gabe said. “It sounds just like her.”

  “You think a wanted murderess is staying at the Brody Hotel?”

  Gabe nodded. “My job is to go over there and arrest her, but you should have seen her, Pastor. Bruised, hungry, scared. There’s more to this story than one simple telegram can convey.”

  “I did see her, actually. Olivia and I went over yesterday morning and paid her a visit. I have to agree, the description matches, but I also have to agree that there’s more going on. She did not have the look of a k
iller about her. She looked like a victim of tragedy.”

  Mrs. Osbourne came in just then, balancing two pie plates with forks. “Here I am, all set to poison you.” She offered one plate to each man and then stood there, eyeing them with apprehension, until they’d each taken a bite. “Is it awful?”

  “I’d say it’s definitely better than yesterday’s attempt,” the pastor said.

  Gabe tried to suppress the shudder that was creeping up between his shoulder blades. “Perhaps a bit tart, but the filling is nice and smooth.” There—that sounded polite, didn’t it?

  “You don’t have to finish it.” Mrs. Osbourne gathered up the plates before either man could protest. “Can I at least offer you some coffee? I know how to make that.”

  “Olivia, join us for a minute, would you?”

  She gave her husband a quizzical look, set the plates on the desk, and took the other empty chair in the room. He outlined the situation for her, and she shook her head.

  “Murder? No. Not that girl. I only spent a few minutes with her in the morning, and then another half hour or so when I delivered what I was able to get at the general store, but in that short time, my mind is made up. She can’t be guilty.”

  “I don’t have any more information than that,” Gabe said, nodding toward the telegram that still lay on the desk. “All I know is that I’ve been asked to apprehend a suspect, and it’s my duty, whether I like it or not. I wondered if you’d come with me while I make the arrest, Pastor. She might appreciate talking to a man of God. And since you’ve already met, you’ll be a friendly face. ”

  Pastor Osbourne nodded. “Of course. Are you on your way now?”

  “I am. I wish I could put it off until I had more information, but this is what I’ve been asked to do.”

  “I’m coming too, and my face is not going to be quite so friendly,” Mrs. Osbourne said. “You’re making a mistake, Deputy.”

  “Mistake or not, it’s not my place to judge,” Gabe replied. “I’m merely to take her into custody. Marshal Meagher in Wichita will have the burden of proof.”

  “All right. Just let me grab my coat.” Pastor Osbourne bent down and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Cheer up, sweetheart. It’s not as bad as the cream pie you made the other day.”

  “And those are very comforting words indeed,” she said, shaking her head as her husband slid into his coat. “The pie is the least of my concerns right now—in fact, I’d forgotten all about it. Hold on while I grab my hat—I meant what I said. I’m coming with you.”

  “Meet me at the hotel in ten minutes, if you would,” Gabe said, rising and putting on his own hat. “I need to get the paddy wagon.”

  ***

  Abigail heard men’s voices coming from the front of the hotel. One sounded like Gabe, and the other like Mr. Brody. She let the tablecloth she was scrubbing slide back into the washtub and rounded the corner of the building, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked.

  “I’ll need to see that telegram,” Mr. Brody was saying as she approached.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, noting that Robert and Olivia were standing nearby. “Has something happened?”

  “It appears that Anne is a fugitive from Wichita,” Olivia replied, her tone grim. “Deputy Hanks is here to arrest her.”

  “What? No!” Abigail turned to Deputy Hanks. “You can’t. You just . . . you just can’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Peterson, but I have my orders.” He pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Brody. “If Anne is in fact Margaret Smith, she’s wanted for murder.”

  Abigail staggered backward until she was stopped by the railing that ran around the porch. “No,” she whispered.

  Olivia came to her side. “I don’t believe it for a minute,” she said, linking her arm through Abigail’s. Olivia had never been a very warm person, and this gesture felt odd, but Abigail appreciated the additional support. She felt as though she could fall over at any moment. “I think they’ve got the wrong girl entirely,” Olivia added.

  Mr. Brody handed the telegram back to Deputy Hanks. “Her coloring seems to match,” he said. “However, girls of that description are hardly unusual. I could name three or four other young ladies within three blocks of here who would also match.”

  “Be that as it may, I need to speak with Anne, and you’d best step aside, Mr. Brody. I appreciate your hospitality and your willingness to let her stay, but if you are harboring a fugitive, you could be in serious trouble with the law.”

  Abigail’s gaze flicked back and forth between Mr. Brody and Deputy Hanks. She badly wanted Mr. Brody to say no, but when he gave a curt nod and moved to the side, she understood. If he didn’t comply with the law, he would be putting his hotel under scrutiny, and with a new wife and baby, it was a risk he could ill afford to take.

  As Deputy Hanks entered the hotel, Abigail broke free of Olivia’s grasp and ran after him, reaching the room just as he said, “Margaret Smith?”

  Anne turned from the window where she’d been standing. “Margaret! Yes, that’s my name!” Her face lit up with joy. “How did you figure it out, Deputy?”

  He squared his shoulders. “I’m here to arrest you on suspicion of murder.”

  “Murder?” She stared at him, her eyes giant. “I don’t understand.”

  He took a step toward her. “I need you to come with me, ma’am.”

  “But . . . but . . .” She looked around frantically, and her eyes met Abigail’s. “Please,” she entreated. “Please don’t let him take me.”

  Abigail’s heart broke. She ducked around the deputy and stood between him and Anne . . . whose name was really Margaret. “Please, Gabe,” she said, using his given name for the first time aloud, although she’d called him that in her heart a million times. “Please don’t do this.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he said. “If this woman is indeed guilty, the lives of everyone in this hotel could be in danger. I won’t stand by and let an accused criminal go free just because that’s what you want.”

  Olivia entered the room, threw a quick glance at Gabe, and then spoke in Abigail’s ear. “Distract him for a few minutes,” she whispered. “I have a plan.”

  Abigail gave a quick nod. “Deputy, may I speak with you for a moment? Privately, in the hall?”

  “Miss Peterson, I—”

  “Just for a moment. And then, if I haven’t changed your mind, I’ll move out of your way.”

  He took a deep breath. “Very well. Three minutes.” He stepped out into the hall, Abigail following and shutting the door behind her. She had no idea what Olivia was planning, but she’d do whatever she could to help.

  “Gabe,” she said, stepping nearer, “what if you’re wrong? What if this accusation is false, and an innocent girl has been locked away? She’s injured—you saw the bruise on her forehead. She was starving, dehydrated, and scared. You were the first to show her compassion—you well know her situation. Doesn’t she deserve a little more time to recover? Couldn’t she rest while the investigation takes place?”

  Gabe’s eyes softened. “Your kind heart does you justice, Miss Peterson. In fact, your compassion is one of the many things I admire about you. But you must understand my position. The people of Topeka rely on me to keep them safe. It’s my sworn duty to protect them. That includes protecting you, and if anything were to happen to you, especially when I could have prevented it . . .” He lifted a hand and touched a lock of hair that had come loose and now dangled near her face. She almost stopped breathing. “I would never be able to forgive myself,” he finished in a whisper.

  Abigail’s heart pounded so fast, she almost felt dizzy. She’d been dreaming of a moment like this ever since she’d first seen the deputy, and she wanted to step into his arms and be held there forever. If he were to kiss her right then, she would explode into a million bits of happiness, she just knew it. The look in his eyes said he was thinking ab
out doing that very thing. But then a bang sounded from inside Margaret’s room, and the spell was broken.

  Gabe pulled his gun and flung open the door, but there was nothing inside but an unlatched shutter hitting the window in the breeze. He whirled and faced Abigail, his expression furious.

  “What happened? Where did she go?”

  Abigail lifted her shoulders. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You used me, Miss Peterson. You took my feelings for you and you turned them against me and you let me yammer on and on while she was making her escape.” He dashed over to the window and looked out, then pounded the sill with his fist. “You and I will finish this conversation later. Don’t be surprised if it comes with a charge for aiding and abetting a criminal. I . . . I can’t believe you did that.”

  He strode out of the room, leaving Abigail to crumple on the edge of the bed. She’d had no idea what Olivia was planning. She’d never dreamed that Gabe felt the way he did or that he’d been about to admit it. The whole thing had gone horribly, horribly wrong, and now he would never trust her again. Her heart felt as though a hole had been punched clean through it.

  Chapter Three

  Gabe thundered down the stairs of the hotel, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d just been about to take that sweet face between his hands and kiss it, something he’d longed to do for a month now, and he’d let Margaret Smith get away. He cursed himself for being so gullible. He never would have fallen for that trick if any other girl had tried it, but Abigail? Abigail was his weakness, it seemed, and he deserved to be kicked for it.

  Reaching the street, he looked left and right, seeing no one but casual passersby. Where would Margaret have gone? Then he remembered—Mrs. Osbourne had come into the room, and she had also disappeared. They were together.