Of Grave Concern Part 9

"I got little sleep for worry about the hearing this morning."

"There's some wisdom, at last," Grout said.

He took a pocket watch from his vest, popped open the lid, and thoughtfully studied it.

"Time," he said, finally. "Time is the one thing that we cannot navigate or recover. We can restore money to an individual, or even help him regain health through proper treatment. But once spent, time is gone. And if only we could travel back in time, just four years, then it would be an easy matter to settle this question that Mister Sutton, perhaps foolishly, has raised. But what a grave mistake it would be, Miss Wylde, if I let you go and you are indeed a murderess."

"I am not," I said.

"Where are you from, young lady?"

"Chicago."

"Were you traveling with anyone who knows you?"

"Sadly, no."

"Do you have a relative or friend you could telegraph for some proof . . . a photograph accompanied by an affidavit from a friend or relative, perhaps, or a marriage license?"

"My husband is dead," I said. "The war."

The judge nodded sympathetically.

"I grew up in Memphis, but my family has all pa.s.sed over now," I said. "That is why I am traveling alone. There's no one left, really. The only one I can think of is a business a.s.sociate of my family, a Mister Sylvestre in Chicago. But I don't know how to reach him."

"Could you try?"

"I will attempt a telegraph, but I cannot guarantee it will be answered."

The judge turned to the county attorney.

"Mister Sutton, what would you have me do?"

"Order her return to Labette County to stand trial."

"This arrest warrant offers a rather sizeable reward for the capture of Kate Bender," the judge said. "Five hundred dollars. That wouldn't be influencing your request, would it?"

"Your Honor," Sutton said, feigning indignation. "I serve justice."

"I'm sure," Grout said dismissively. "How about you, Mister Potete?"

"This innocent widow has been all but kidnapped," Potete said. "She must be released immediately and allowed to continue on her journey west. If she were Kate Bender-or any criminal, for that matter-she had ample opportunity to escape since her release from the city jail yesterday."

The judge snapped shut the pocket watch.

"Here is my ruling," he said. "Mister Sutton, you have four days from today to produce a witness from Labette County who knew Kate Bender personally and can testify as to whether this is or is not the wanted woman. Mister Potete, your client may remain free on her own recognizance during that period, as long as she agrees not to leave town."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Potete said.

"Would that be four business days, Your Honor?" Sutton asked.

"Four days is four days," Grout said. "That means Monday! Nine o'clock!"

Fils de salope, I said to myself. Sonuvab.i.t.c.h, a weekend in prairie purgatory.

"Ophelia Wylde," the judge said. "I don't think this will create too great a hardship on you, seeing as how you have already arranged to conduct some business at the opera house tonight. Do behave yourself. I don't want to see you in my court before the weekend is up."

"Understood, Your Honor," I said.

"And Miss Wylde," he added, "out of respect for the court-find a dress."

15.

The opera house was so packed when I walked onto the stage that night, they were standing in the aisles. If the piece in the Times didn't arouse their curiosity enough to part with eight bits to see me, then the rumor that I might really be Kate Bender closed the deal.

Even though I had done the routine many times before, from Baton Rouge to St. Louis to Louisville to Chicago, my stomach still turned to ice water just before I was to go onstage. I paced in the wings, thinking about all the things that could go wrong and what I would do if they did.

"It's time," Potete said.

"Let them wait a few minutes longer," I said.

The hall sounded like feeding time at the Lincoln Park Zoo. Literally. One of the cowboys was screeching like an ape and another was crowing like a rooster, and there was an entire chorus of bird-calls.

"If we make them wait much longer, they'll start tearing the place apart," Potete said. He pulled a pint bottle of amber hooch from his jacket pocket and pulled the cork. He started to take a drink. Then he decided he'd better offer it to me first.

"I don't imbibe before shows," I said.

Potete shrugged.

"Oh, what the h.e.l.l," I said, and grabbed the bottle. I took three good swallows. My throat didn't start to burn until after the third one. When it did, however, it was like I had swallowed lit kerosene-and I could feel it trickle all the way down to my stomach and start thawing that ice water.

"Good Lord," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand while pa.s.sing the bottle back. "What is that?"

"Mezcal," he said.

"All right," I said. "I'm ready."

With the curtain still down, I walked out behind it, onto the center of the stage, clasped my hands in front of me, and nodded. The curtain rose slowly, and as it did, the crowd grew quiet, all except for the rooster. Mostly, the audience was made of cowhands, mixed with a handful of soldiers and townsfolk. The only things they saw on the stage, besides myself, were a small desk, upon which a taper in a bra.s.s holder and a silver bell had been placed. The footlights were blazing, and I stood there for a full minute, staring out calmly above the heads of the crowd, not focusing on anybody in particular. But I could see Jack Calder leaning against the doorway of the opera house, arms folded, watching.

"Our session," I said, walking over to the table, "will last only as long as this candle burns. To continue the magnetic demonstration beyond that time might fatally tax the health of the medium."

I took a match from my pocket, lit the candle, and rang the bell three times. This was nonsense, but meant to establish a churchlike atmosphere. Then I turned back to the crowd.

"Brothers and sisters," I began.

"Is you a brother or is you a sister?" somebody shouted.

"I am your sister in love," I said.

"The two-dollar kind of love or the ten bucks for all night?" This from somebody else.

"Do you have a sister?" I shot back.

"Well . . . yeah."

"And do you cherish her?"

The cowboy cleared his throat. "Yes," he said weakly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

The rooster calls ceased.

"Yes."

"Of course, you do," I said. "Stand up, cowboy. What is your name?"

"Oh, no-"

The man behind him kicked his chair violently.

"The lady asked you to stand up, Red."

"All right," Red hissed, rising.

"Take off your hat," another man said.

Red removed his hat and held it with both hands meekly over his belt buckle.

"What's your name?" I asked pleasantly.

"My friends call me 'Red.'"

"What does your sister call you?"

Even though I could not see the color in his face in the darkened theater, I could feel him blush.

"It's all right, Red. You're among friends. What does your sister call you?"

"My given name is Clarence," he said, amid scattered laughter. "Clarence Hilburn. But when Suzie was learning to talk, she had a hard time saying 'Clarence.' All she could say was 'Arence,' and that stuck."

"Where is she?"

"Back in Illinois," he said.

"And you think fondly of her?"

"Why, I think Suzie is the light of the world," he said. "I haven't seen her in three years, though. I would give just about anything to spend an afternoon with her, she is so fine and good."

"But you feel her love even at this great distance?"

"Yes," he said.

"This is the kind of love that I speak of," I said. "Thank you, Clarence, you may take your seat."

I walked down, center stage, paused, and made a tent of my fingers and pressed them to my chin in thought.

"It is in the spirit of love-this mystical and holy bond that binds brother and sister, parent and child, husband and wife-that we have gathered together here tonight to explore. I cannot guarantee that we will be successful, but I promise to give it my all. Our success depends upon our combined mental and spiritual energies. Keep an open mind. Even a single negative thought could have disastrous consequences. But I have a good feeling about tonight and am optimistic about our chances."

Merde! What a hypocrite I had become.

"Let us continue, then," I said. "And remember-should strange visions appear before you on this stage, do not be afraid. And please refrain from pulling your pistols. Bullets have no effect on ghosts, and I am not yet ready to pa.s.s myself into spirit."

"She's talking about you, Bertrum!"

Laughter.

I put a finger to my lips.

"We need silence, please. Thank you."

I took a moment, then c.o.c.ked my head, as if listening to unseen counsel.

"The envelopes, then," I said. "Slips of paper and pencils were pa.s.sed amongst you earlier, and you were asked to write a question that you longed for the spirits to answer. Please seal the billets in the envelopes provided, and pa.s.s them forward."

A few dozen envelopes were pa.s.sed forward.

"Could someone collect them?"

An old man in front motioned for the others to pa.s.s the envelopes to him. He was about to hand the stack up to me on the stage when Timothy, my polite tramp, appeared a few yards away, waving an envelope. His clothes, including his red scarf, were now clean, but his face was still badly bruised. The old man waited until Timothy handed him his envelope, put it on top of the others, and then handed them all up to me.

I placed the envelopes on the desk.

When I reached over to take an envelope, it seemed to the crowd that I was taking the top one. Actually, I took the one from the bottom-a move similar to that used in cards.

I was about to open the envelope, when there were two sharp raps from the table.

"No?" I asked.

Another rap.

"All right," I said. "The spirits say they can receive the question without opening the envelopes. This is unusual, but we will try it."