Chapter Fourteen


Elizabeth stood before him, her soft skin pale with concern; her dark lashes framed her bright blue eyes. She peered up, soft long fingers pressed against his with a grip he’d never felt from her before. For so long he wanted her attention. He breathed in her scent, the heavenly odor of jasmine or lilacs, he wasn’t sure which.

“How could you think it’s your fault?” She asked.

He stared down at his lovely Elizabeth, her question echoing in his head. He didn’t know how to answer. He certainly couldn’t say the truth. Could she ever understand what forced his hand? Would she love him if she knew his brother demanded all he had and left him penniless?

The Overland Stage galloped onto 15th street, stopping a block down in front of the stage office. A hot wave of dust kicked up by the sweaty dark horses blew towards them. Sand and grit collected on their clothes, their faces.

God, what had he done?

The stage driver collected several bags of mail and secured it to the top railing before helping an elderly woman into the stage. How Warren wished they could get on that stage and travel away from Arnie. Everything he planned for them, for their lives together had been ruined.

He glanced at Elizabeth to find her casting a longing look at the stage, her blue eyes misty. He drank in her delicate features; her small nose, high cheekbones and red parted lips. Hope shot through him as he wondered if she was wishing the same. Her shoulders dropped as she pulled her thin fingers from his hand. Her golden tresses hidden inside a black laced hairnet; her manner sedate, her body trembling.

“Warren, you mustn’t put yourself through this,” she whispered. “The sheriff is here. He’ll catch whoever did this.”

“I just don’t want him to blame me.”

Her head shot up, her face pallid as she searched his face. “What an odd thing to say. Why would he blame you?”

How could he lie to the woman he loved, betray her family’s trust. He swallowed and gripped her hand in his own. He had to tell her. “Elizabeth, no matter what, you must believe me, I didn’t…..”

“Elizabeth!” Warren spun to find Richard Davenport standing at the top of the steps, his black suit jacket uncharacteristically opened, his gold watch chain looped along his black vest button. “What are you doing here alone?”

She lifted her red patterned skirts, her thin body straight as she met her father half way up the steps. She laid her hand on his arm. “Oh father, I’m so sorry, Daniel and I,” her voice faltered under his strict gaze.

“Here I am Father,” Danny called, rushing past up the steps to where they stood. “Lizzy wanted to buy a set of gloves and I…” He paused before stammering. “I wanted to come with her.”

Mr. Davenport lifted his son’s chin. “Daniel, what happened to your cheek?”

Warren stiffened as the sheriff approached them. Not wanting to appear as guilty as he felt, he slowly mounted the stairs to join them.

Elizabeth laid a delicate hand along her brother’s shoulder. “The bank was robbed.”

“Robbed?” Danny asked, his mouth an open gawk.

He squinted at his son. “And when all has settled down here, I want to know what happened to your cheek, young man.”

The siblings exchange a serious look. A knot formed in his stomach. He loved this family and longed to be a part of it. He glanced at the sheriff and thought about turning himself in.

“Warren,” Mr. Davenport said. “Why don’t go on inside and quiet down the rest of the staff. Answer any questions they may have. I’ll be in shortly. Lizzy, Sheriff Thompson here is going to ask you some questions.

Warren nodded, gripped by fear. Before leaving, he took a long look at Elizabeth’s sweet heart shaped face and wondered if it would be his last.

*****

“Miss Davenport,” Sheriff Thompson cocked his head, the brim of his hat shading her face from the afternoon sun. There are some questions I’d like to ask you about the men who kidnapped you in Wyoming.”

Elizabeth shot a nervous glance to her father who laid a protective hand along her shoulder. “You think they might be involved? What do they have to do with my bank?”

“It might be tied together.” he answered. “There are several gangs who would pull off a bank job like this, but none we know in this vicinity. The men who kidnapped you held up your stage, how many were there?”

“Seven at the stagecoach.”

“And later?” he asked.

Elizabeth shuddered as Arnie’s face came into memory, as did the horrible stench the beast who almost raped her. When she didn’t answer, the sheriff pressed.

“Miss, if you can remember, did you hear names mentioned?”

“Five.” she answered absently. “Five men. One of them wore a military uniform.”

“The man who rescued you?”

Elizabeth shook her head tears welling up in her eyes. “No. He was a Captain. Eric,” a nervous jitter shot through her as she quickly corrected herself. “The Lieutenant knew him.”

“The lieutenant rescued her,” her father clarified. “Sweetheart, do you remember their names?”

“Wilner,” she whispered, her chin trembled as she studied her hands. “He was small, with beady dark eyes. I think he shot several men on the stage.” Again, Arnie’s face crept out of the darkness of her memory. She squeezed her eyes closed as her father held her close. “I don’t remember all their names. Just….” she paused and tried to calm herself. “Arnie Clayton,” she sobbed.

“Is there anything you can remember about him specifically?”

“No,” she lied. Her father squeezed her in a hug and offered his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and nose, her body wracked by hiccoughs.

“Thank you Miss Davenport. A wire came through two days ago about stage robbers who may fit this description being in the state of Colorado. Their leader is a military captain. Up until this point they’ve been illusive; we don’t know a whole lot about them. The US Marshals are after them, as is the Pinkerton Detective agency.”

“And you think this gang might be responsible for this robbery?”

“According to the wire, they’re after gold and silver, but mainly gold. They’ve killed several miners in South Dakota and robbed trains all under the guise that this Captain will see it safely back East. But what puzzles me, Mr. Davenport, your bank wasn’t robbed in the day light. This silver, you said, just came up missing?”

Her father nodded.

Sheriff Thompson shifted and pushed his wide brimmed hat off his face. “Any chance it could be any of your employees?”

“An inside job? No,” he answered. “Absolutely not. They’re like family to me. No one here would steal, everyone is paid well. Besides, no one but me knows the combination to the safe. Sheriff, What about this Clayton fellow Elizabeth mentioned?” He gave Elizabeth a squeeze. “She has nightmares about him, cries out in her sleep. Who is he?”

The sheriff shook his head and leaned his hands down against his gun belt, the creak of leather made her think of Eric. “He’s been in and out of prison for murder and robbery. But since he’s been out the last year, there’s no sign of him. I don’t think he’s involved, since he wasn’t mentioned in the wire.”

*****

Warren’s stomach tensed as he caught a glimpse of Arnie at his kitchen table. All curtains had been pulled shut, the room dank with sweat and cigarette smoke. Warren eased forward, his hands, his legs shaking. He needed a drink.

“Anyone follow you?”

He closed his eyes, letting the hot trail of scotch burn its way to his empty stomach. “No.”

“Lock the door and get in here. You did good little brother.”

Warren rounded the kitchen wall and leaned against the door frame. The table heaped over with canvas bags all stamped Denver National Bank. Eight thousand dollars of stolen silver nuggets and silver dust piled on the round kitchen table before his brother. Arnie wore the same vest, the same black shirt he’d worn for days. His dirty hair plastered to his sweaty forehead.

“Can’t you bathe once in a while?”

Arnie chuckled and scraped his dirty nails over his scruffy face. “What’s got into you? You have all this beauty before you and you worried about me being clean? You’ve been pretending to be a city dude for too long. Another strike like this…”

“Another strike?” Warren pushed away from the door frame. “No way, Arnie. I did what you asked, now no more.”

“You’ll keep going until I say you don’t owe me no more.”

“I can’t live this kind of life. I’m not like you. You’ve taken everything I have to give and now you’ve made me a criminal.”

Arnie picked his nails with a long knife. “Correction, I’ve taken back everything you stole.” He shoved back his chair, the legs scraping against the hard wood floor. “I don’t understand you. You’re crying about your life changing. Can’t you see it’s changed for the better? They don’t suspect you. To them, you’re still Warren Sheffield, accountant extraordinaire. You’re this close to banging the boss’s daughter.”

“Don’t talk about her life that.”

“Next time steal smarter,” he continued, ignoring him. “Don’t raid a large amount right off so they call in the sheriff. You need to steal it before Mr. Bank man knows it even came in.” Arnie circled him in slow even steps. “Steel away little bits, some for you, most for me and no one will be the wiser. Take the money; buy yourself a nice little house some where’s away where no one knows you. Go to work for some other bank.” He smiled and patted Warren on the shoulder. “The little woman will never know the difference.”

“And what about you?” Warren asked. “Where will you go? How do I make sure you never report me?”

“I got some friends I’m gonna meet up with. I take my share and head to Mexico, maybe Canada. As long as I get what I’m here for, I ain’t gonna tell on ya Jackie.”

“I told you before, don’t call me that.” Warren grumbled as he poured himself another shot.

*****

Never before could Elizabeth remember the living room being so still, only the ticking of the clock made noise as she tried to once again focus on her needlework. A dull ache throbbed across her temples and her heart gave small jolts causing her to heave a sigh. Her body quaked, brimming over with uncontrollable emotions.

A full week ago, Danny had mailed her letters to Eric without her knowledge. At first she fumed at him, then realized with little regret how relieved she was to have them sent.
Where were her red ribbon-bound letters now? Since Fort Laramie supplied a postal office, and it was a direct mail route for the stage, her letters should get there quickly.

Her mother sat across from her on a striped settee, the picture of quiet contentment. Muted sunlight filtered in from the white muslin-curtain window behind her and bathed her mother in a soft light. Elizabeth stared past the thick gilded blue and gold valances, the elaborate gray tassel ties, and focused on the scenery beyond; the gentle wave of a tree branch, the soft twill of the song birds.

How can anyone stand this waiting? Elizabeth thought. Her mother, her usual calm self, the nearly finished needlework perfect in her lap, slender arms covered in emerald flounce sleeves, her cameo glittering with every movement.

Would she ever be as composed as Katherine Davenport, as self assured? The only thing she inherited from her mother was a petite nose and slim body. She swallowed against the tight buttoned collar of her ribbon Georgette blouse and wished she could loosen the belt around her skirt.

Elizabeth looked at her own needle work and wanted to wad it into a heap and throw it across the room into the fireplace. Her stitches too tight, scrunched up the rustic scene into hard lumps. Pulling at the edges of the fabric to straighten the material, she rendered it hopeless and groaned to herself.

“You must work on your patience, dear.” her mother said from across the room. “It’s unladylike to groan and sigh as you do.”

Elizabeth raised her eyes, but said nothing as once again she removed stitches from the last few days.

The gentle ticking of the mantel clock ticked away their silence. Her mother’s voice broke through the stillness. “Your aunt will be arriving shortly for tea. Why don’t you practice your singing and piano?”

A heat flushed her cheeks. She cringed at the thought of having to spend what was supposed to be a quiet afternoon with Aunt Matilda. Wanting to argue, Elizabeth instead stood and made her way to the shiny grand piano. Laying her fingers on the cool keys, she thought of suitable songs. Finally she settled on the Vocal Quadrille, her least favorite.

Never very good at this piece, she stumbled on her fingering and started over. Her instructors praised her for having a pleasant voice. Singing and playing simultaneously never came easy to her, but if need be she could manage it without being too embarrassed.

“Start again, Elizabeth,” her mother said. “You’re timing is off, dear. It’s quick, slow, quick, trill.” Over and over she sang and played, stumbling every time on the same line. At five minutes 'til two, their housemaid opened the door to the parlor, her aunt entered in a blur of ruffled black with an immediate complaint of a headache.

“Good afternoon, Mattie,” her mother said, rising for a soft kiss on both cheeks. “You’re looking well.”

“I don’t feel well, not at all, not with all this news about Richard and the National Bank.” She lowered herself to the yellow upholstered sofa, pulling her gloves from her bloated fingers. Elizabeth turned back and resumed playing. “Father was never robbed. Why must misfortune plague this family at every turn?”

“I don’t see how we are plagued by misfortune, Matilda.”

“I would like a fresh pot of tea,” she demanded. “This is one lukewarm.” The young maid left the room and had barely closed the door when her aunt declared, “I don’t know why you keep that girl. With the money Richard wastes on staffing, it’s clear his choices are inadequate, both at home and at the office. Play something else, child,” she snapped. “Your voice doesn’t suit my head this afternoon.”

Elizabeth’s spine stiffened. She spun on the bench and raised her chin. “I have a headache as well, Aunt, and yet I manage to tolerate you.”

“Elizabeth Anne!” her mother cried, standing, “you apologize and leave us at once.”

“I won’t apologize.” Elizabeth clenched her fists. “She’s rude. I endured her behavior through our entire trip without a word, but I won’t have her speak that way about my father.”

Her mother gawked, her gentle face pallid with disbelief. “Eliz…”

Her aunt threw up her hand, commanding silence. “No.” She turned her head toward Elizabeth, arching her brow and pinching her lips. “There is something you need to know, something Richard has not told you, Katherine. Elizabeth might as well be present since it mainly concerns her.”

Her aunt’s tone softened, the maid brought in a steaming pot of tea and set it on the Maplewood table along with a plate of almond cakes. I hope she burns her forked tongue with it.

“While visiting Father in Wyoming, he spoke to me about the Denver National Bank. The Government has gone back on its original plan. It will not be allowing us to mint coins as we hoped. Miners are no longer striking gold in Colorado and he is concerned silver will not be plenty enough to keep the bank open.” She arched her brow in a haughty look. “I’m sure you are aware of other banks opening in Denver, other institutions which have not been recently robbed.”

Her mother stiffened, “Surely Mattie, the situation is not that dire. Why, Richard believes the bank will…”

“The Denver National is not the issue,” she pressed, “our lifestyle is. If miners don’t feel their claims are safe, which they don’t, they will put their money elsewhere, which they are.”

“How do you know miners don’t feel our institution is safe?”

“I read the month's reports. The amount of claims filed and assayed has dramatically dropped from only several months ago.” The woman turned her head in Elizabeth’s direction. “We must have collateral to put our money in something other than ore that will one day run out. We must ensure Elizabeth is properly married into a family with wealth and high social standing. I suggest taking her to Europe, but her temper, as you see, is completely unsuitable for the Europeans. Denver, this horrid place is not teeming with wealthy young men. Might I suggest marrying her to a man of more experience?”

Her mother lowered her head and resumed her needlework. “Matilda,” her mother’s voice quivered with anger. “My daughter is not an item to be placed on auction.”

Her aunt thumped her cane against the floor and waved the sentiment away, her china cup shaking against the saucer. “Hog wash. Be thankful you have such a prize to pull our family out of the mess we’re in.

“The Sheffield family would be a splendid match, ours with banking, and theirs with railroads.” Again she glared at Elizabeth. “Now, has young Mr. Sheffield asked for your hand? Approached your father?”

Elizabeth felt sick, her heart suddenly wedged between her tight blouse buttons and her wavering stomach. She shook her head. “Not formally.”

“No,” her aunt snapped. “No, he hasn’t. I can’t say I blame him. Any idiot can see you’ve fallen in love with someone else.” Elizabeth shot her head up, her aunt’s eyes glaring into her own. “If I can see the signs, you know he can.”

“Matlida, really,” her mother scoffed. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of the ordeal my daughter had only a few short weeks ago. She’s hardly been back a month. Fallen in love, that’s preposterous.”

“Katherine,” her aunt sighed, again banging her thick wooden came against the floor for emphases, “Surely you’ve seen the signs, the far away looks and silly smiles, that dreadful sighing? You cannot allow her to swoon over some dashing mule soldier. You must take charge.”

Her mother continued with her work, the needle making soft clicks against her thimble. Before Elizabeth could stop herself she snapped, "How dare you speak about the Lieutenant like that. If it hadn't been for him...."

"Elizabeth!" her mother warned, "I will not tolerate your outbursts."

Her aunt waved her indignation away with a dismissive hand. “Katherine, you must understand how important it is for our family, for Elizabeth to make a good, proper marriage. Has Richard spoken to you of this match with the Sheffield family?”

There was a long pause before her mother spoke. “Yes.”

Elizabeth felt like she was no longer in the room as they both discussed her future. Her head bounced back and forth to stare at one, then the other.

“What did he say? And don’t tell me it isn’t any of my business.”

Her mother lifted her chin, her shoulders straight and proud. “Richard mentioned to me of Mr. Sheffield’s reluctance to have our families meet.”

Elizabeth frowned, why hadn't Warren mentioned that to her?

“And the reason?” the old bitty pressed.

“He seems hesitant to give one.”

Her aunt sighed. “If you need any further proof of your daughter’s lack of discipline to be a true lady, then I wash my hand of this whole mess. Clearly he’s worried his family will see your temperamental daughter as not good enough. There is a shortage of wealthy young men to marry here, but not so of young society women. Warren Sheffield can have the pick of this horrid town.

“My niece may be prettier than most, but she lacks where others shine. The situation is dire, Katherine.” Her aunt raised her flabby chin. “Speak to Richard if you don’t believe me. We have two years at the most before we’re bankrupt. Ruined!” she emphasized. “Unless there is huge strike somewhere in those mountains, our hope is for Elizabeth to marry well and marry quickly.”

*****

Elizabeth leaned the parasol against her shoulder and straightened her tan muslin skirt. The long, thick blades of green grass tickled her toes, the hot late August sun flittered through the trembling leaves of the weeping willow, warming her bare feet.

Mae dug her toes into the grass and moaned. “But you can’t marry Warren.”

Alice frowned. “She most certainly can and must. Amy Prescott is being thrown a huge engagement party at the end of this month. Morris Van Daven finally spoke to her father. I heard they’re planning a December wedding at their home.”

Mae giggled as she played with the hem of her green gingham skirt. “That’s not what I heard.”

Elizabeth stopped twirling her parasol and leaned forward. She bit her lip, anxious for a bit of gossip. “You’ve heard something scandalous?”

Mae smiled and nodded. “I heard Morris is forced to marry Amy.”

Alice’s mouth dropped open. “You mean….”

Mae nodded. “And the wedding is set for the first of November. And her dress will have extra ruffles in the front.”

“Mae,” Alice snapped, wiping cookie crumbs from her fingers. “That’s a horrible rumor to start. She’s not ruined. Someone might hear that and believe it.”

Elizabeth plucked another long blade of grass and trailed it across her cheek in an absentminded gesture. “Mother already said she wanted me to wait at least another year before I marry. Anyway, Amy can have old fussy Morris. He always smells of tobacco.”

“He’s awfully wealthy, Lizzy,” Alice offered. “He has a house already picked out. It’s being renovated before they come back from Paris.”

“Who cares?” she pouted. “What does money matter when you still have to be married to the likes of that old maid in britches?” Elizabeth stared out onto the lake and watched her brother jump into the cool green water from the swinging rope. She was tired of talking about weddings, money and for the first time bored with the subject of society balls.

“Can you imagine what Warren would do if your aunt really does take you off to Europe?” Mae asked. “That’s one way to light a fire under him.”

Elizabeth nodded, not really listening. She pictured the flat plains, the long swaying brown stalks the way they looked when Eric took her through there, the feel of his strong body against hers. She wondered if he was there and if he ever thought of her.

Noticing her silence, Mae asked, “Lizzy, have you heard from him, yet?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she shook her head.

“Still? I would have thought by now... Maybe you should write him again. Tell him of your upcoming betrothal.”

“I did.” she whispered. “Almost two weeks ago. It’s been weeks since I sent the first letters, and he’s never responded. I feel so foolish.”

Her friends fell silent.

“Maybe he’s not there,” Mae offered. “Maybe he’s off fighting Indians and he was killed and does even know you wrote to him.”

“Mae!” Alice shouted. “Honestly, what a horrible thing to say.”

“Well?” she offered. “Lizzy would rather he be dead than end up marrying that Captain’s sister in law?”

At the thought of Rachel her heart gave a dull thud. She remembered how the young woman doted on his every move, gazed up at him with big, loving eyes. Eric probably forgot all about their kiss. He’d probably burned her letters without even opening them. Elizabeth was just another young woman in love with him, just another letter pouring out more of the same romantic rhetoric he probably heard all the time. Her chin quivered as she tucked it from view.

“Oh Lizzy, don’t cry.” Alice pleaded, laying her hand against the puff of her white shoulder sleeve. “Mae is so just heartless to say things like that. I’m sure any day he’ll write.”

“What does it matter if he does? My aunt, my father now will never allow me to marry unless he’s rich. Eric is a soldier, he doesn’t have any money.” She sniffed and blotted her tearing eyes with her handkerchief. “Now after another robbery, with even more silver and gold gone missing, my father is desperate to find who is stealing from the bank. He doesn’t have time for my thoughts of romance.”

"What does any of that matter when you're in love?" Alice leaned forward and whispered. "You’re in love with him, aren’t you?"

Elizabeth's heart pounded in her head, her throat felt dry unable to swallow. A nervous twittering danced in her stomach as a strange desire to giggle overwhelmed her. She stifled the bold smile with her fingertips, but her happiness couldn’t be contained. Sudden tears spilled down her cheeks. "Yes," she nodded. Oh, God, she thought. Oh how she loved him!

A long pause settled between the girls. A soft breeze blew, floating stray strands of hair across their cheeks. “Don’t you care for Warren, Lizzy?” Alice asked her voice barely above a whisper, “even just a little?”

Shouting and laughter rose from the boys at the lake as they jumped and splashed about. Elizabeth lowered her head, refusing to meet their prying eyes. “I don’t know. I enjoy his company. But when he holds my hand or tries to kiss my cheek, I pull away. I know it’s not fair to him, but I can’t help it.” Tears filled her eyes as she peered up at her friends. “All Eric would have to do is look my way and the room would spin, my heart would sing. And when he kissed me…”

They leaned closer, their eyes wide as the girls waited for her to finish. “When I was in his arms, nothing mattered, nothing at all.” She raised her eyes as again they filled with tears. Both Mae and Alice bit back their own emotions as they reached out to embrace her. “If I never hear from him, then nothing will ever matter again.”