Seven Brides - Fern Part 13

"I don't see how he can think anything else. I was very doubtful myself."

"But I don't," Fern protested. "I don't even hate Hen, and he killed Troy."

The friendliness left Rose's expression and her voice turned hard. "As long as there is no eyewitness to Troy's murder, I think you should at least give Hen the benefit of the doubt. Madison, George, and I all agree that Hen couldn't have killed Tory. That ought to count for something."

It was easy to see that however much Rose might sympathize with Fern, her loyalties were unquestionably with her husband's family.

"But somebody killed him, and the only evidence points to Hen."

"What did Madison find yesterday?"

In the aftermath of her fall, Fern had forgotten that Madison had raised some doubts in her mind.

"Madison thinks someone else killed Troy, carried his body to the Connor place, and tried to blame it on Hen."

"Did he tell you why?"

"He said the body shouldn't have been stiff only an hour after the murder, and he thinks it was too dark inside the soddy for the murder to have been done there."

"That seems reasonable."

"But why would anybody here want to kill Troy? Everybody has known him for years."

"I know nothing about your cousin," Rose said. "Just don't dismiss Madison's ideas because you're mad at him. You may not be able to believe in the integrity of the family as I do, but you ought to be able to respect his intelligence."

The door opened to admit Mrs. Abbott carrying a tray loaded with pots, plates, and cups.

"Your breakfast," she chirped. "And you're to eat every bite while it's hot. It'll make you feel better."

But Fern hardly tasted any of the food she put in her mouth, or heard any of Mrs. Abbott's endless chatter as she tidied the room for the second time that morning. Her head was filled with Rose's words.

Suppose Troy had been killed by somebody else. The thought sent chills down her spine. It could be almost anybody. She could have talked to his killer a half dozen times since his death.

Even her own father.

Of course, her father wouldn't kill anybody, but Madison felt the same way about his brother. If she was going to accept her father's innocence on faith, she had to at least consider the possibility of Hen's innocence. But the more she thought, the more possibilities she found to consider. The only easy thing was to hold to her conviction that Hen was guilty. But she couldn't. Madison had shaken her confidence in Hen's guilt.

And just about everything else.

Madison remained in jail for two days before Pike recovered sufficiently to tell the marshal what really happened.

''You're fortunate," Marshal Hickok said when he released Madison.

"Fortunate has nothing to do with it," Madison said, not the least impressed by Hickok's reputation. "You never had a case against me."

"Shame you can't say the same for your brother," Hickok replied, nettled by Madison's reply. He was used to everyone being a little afraid of him. This brash Eastern lawyer's self-a.s.surance didn't sit well with Hickok. Come to think of it, he didn't like any of the Randolphs very much. George treated him with courtesy, but Hickok suspected it had more to do with his position than his personal merit. As for Hen Randolph, Hickok couldn't find much of anything that boy did respect. He just plain didn't care.

"If you'll take some advice" Hickok began.

"People have been giving me advice from the moment I stepped off the train," Madison said, not bothering to look up as he prepared to leave the jail. "But it was all concerned with their own comfort, not mine." Madison put on his coat, smoothed a few wrinkles out of his pants, and emerged from the cell. "So I've decided not to listen to any more advice."

"That might not be a good idea," Hickok said.

"Leaving Boston wasn't a good idea," Madison said, "but now that I'm here, I intend to finish what I came to do."

"And what's that?" Hickok knew. Everybody in Abilene knew, but he wanted to hear Madison say it. "I mean to find out who killed Troy Sproull. And I mean to be standing right here when my brother walks out of that cell a free man."

"Not everybody gets what he wants," Hickok said.

"I do," Madison declared, and he walked out without a backward glance.

"Your brother always been that modest?" Hickok asked Hen after Madison had gone, irritation causing him to glare angrily at the retreating figure.

Hen chuckled softly. "Don't tangle with him, Marshal. He'll tie you in knots."

"Ain't n.o.body done it yet," Hickok said, not without some pride.

"Maybe not, but you haven't run up against Madison before."

Madison checked his appearance to make certain that no signs remained of his stay in prison. He was about to leave for Mrs. Abbott's, and he had been cursing out loud for the last several minutes. He was going to see George and Rose. But he was also going to see Fern.

That was why he was cursing.

He knew he had to apologize for his behavior. No matter what she had said to him when he arrived in Abilene, no matter what she'd done to irritate him since, once he'd calmed down enough to think rationally, he didn't believe she had had anything to do with the attack on him. As usual, he couldn't think straight where she was involved.

Maybe it would help if they stopped fighting every time they met. She had every right to want her cousin's murderer punished, just as he had every right to want Hen cleared of the charges. She had no reason to dislike him, at least not if he stopped behaving like an arrogant hothead. If he couldn't convince her of Hen's innocence, how could he hope to convince a judge and a jury?

Besides, he had a job to do, and their running battle was distracting him. Every time she got him angry, he struck back. Then he'd start to feel guilty and think he needed to apologize. And that would make him angry. By then all he could think of was Fern, not Hen.

He was developing a grudging respect for her. She treated him rotten, but she took her medicine without whining and complaining. He couldn't understand why he wanted her to like him. How could he like anything about this savage land?

It seemed as if every occupant of the hotel was in the narrow pa.s.sageway when he left his room. Some greeted him with a congratulatory pat on the back, some with curiosity, others with anger. It pleased him to greet them all with a beaming smile.

Maybe because he was thinking of Fern the whole time.

Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? It wasn't as if she were beautiful, rich, or had any accomplishments. She was a n.o.body from a squalid little town perched on the edge of nowhere.

He had to hand it to her. n.o.body else could wear pants like she could.

"Good morning, Mr. Randolph," the desk clerk greeted him when he reached the lobby. I hope the bath was to your liking."

"It'll take several more before I feel clean, but I imagine the lingering effects of incarceration are all in my mind."

"It can't be nothing like what a man of your position is used to," the clerk said.

Unctuous devil, Madison said to himself. Wonder what he's up to. "I heard Reed and Pike forced the fight on you. Probably thought you was an easy mark."

"Apparently everyone else did, too. They seemed willing enough to enjoy the fun."

"From what I hear, you handled yourself real good. It came as a surprise to some."

"I have one sport at which I'm considered rather good," Madison said, not without a touch of pride. "Boxing."

The streets were quiet despite the number of people about. Early morning was the time of day when the solid citizens of Abilene conducted their business. Even the cowhands ambling about looked sober.

Women shopped and gossiped while their children darted from one spot to another in search of entertainment. Madison had come to understand that these women probably had to be as tough as Fern just to survive being married and raising a family in the West. It was a quality he was learning to appreciate.

Not that he would consider marrying a Western woman. She would never fit into Boston society. Besides, there were dozens of young women in Boston who would make him an excellent wife. Freddy's sister, Samantha, was exactly the kind of girl he admired. Lovely, cultured, always properly behaved and dressed. Unfortunately, he'd never found anyone of decorous behavior lively enough to interest him.

It was odd he should be thinking of marriage. Maybe seeing George and his growing family had touched off the mating instinct in him. He guessed he'd have to give it some serious thought when he got back home.

Leaving behind the business district of Abilene, Madison walked past several residences. They were small frame dwellings of mean appearance completely unlike the s.p.a.cious stone or clapboard homes of New England, but at least they were better than the sod and log homes he had seen at the edge of town and scattered over the prairie.

He wondered how old Fern was. He also wondered if she'd ever wanted to be married. Even in Kansas, he imagined she'd have to wear a dress before a man would ask her to be his wife.

He wondered what she would look like properly clothed. He couldn't picture her in anything but pants and a sheepskin vest with the brim of her hat pulled down over her eyes. Not a picture, one would have supposed, to keep him awake at night.

Yet she had done exactly that.

It's nothing more than irritation, he thought. She's an irritation to look at, an annoyance to think about, and an aggravation to deal with. At that thought, he made up his mind to see her in a dress at least once before he left Abilene.

"Morning, Mr. Randolph."

"Do I know you?" Madison said, turning to face a man who spoke to him from the doorway of one of the houses.

"No, but I heard about you."

"After the other night, I imagine everybody has."

"I don't mean that. I mean about why you're here."

"I guess everybody knows that, too."

"They don't like it, neither. Lots of people like Texans as long as they're spending money, but n.o.body likes fancy lawyers from back East."

"So I've learned."

"They won't tell you nothing."

Madison's gaze intensified. "Do you mean you will?"

"I don't know nothing for sure, but I got a couple of questions out looking for answers."

"I've got more than enough questions myself."

"I know somebody who might be able to answer one or two of them. You want to come inside? Some people might not be too happy to see me talking to you."

Madison was fully alert to the possibility of danger. He was unarmed. He knew he could very well step into this stranger's house and disappear into an unmarked grave somewhere on the vast prairie. Or he might find a way to prove that Hen hadn't killed Troy Sproull. To achieve one, he must chance the other.

Madison turned toward the house.

Chapter Ten.

The room was plainly furnished but scrupulously clean. It seemed like such an honest room, Madison felt he could trust the man who lived in it.

"Have a seat," the man said, motioning Madison to the most comfortable chair in the room.

"I'll stand if you don't mind. I've spent too much time lying down or sitting the last two days."

That seemed to make the man uneasy, but Madison wanted information, not comfort. He was also anxious to see Fern.

"My name's Tom White," the man said, extending his hand. "I run a small freight business."

Madison took Tom's hand. "I imagine you get around."

"A bit."

"And meet a lot of different people."

"A few."

Madison curbed his impatience while Tom rolled and lighted a cigarette. He obviously wasn't going to talk until he was ready.

"Amos tells me you got a different idea about how Troy died," Tom said. His empty eyes showed nothing. "How'd you come by it?"

"The body was stiff, so Troy had to have been killed at least eight hours earlier. And no one could have put a bullet through a man's heart in that pitch black soddy."

"Do you have any idea who the killer might be?"

"No. Do you?"

Tom shook his head.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"A friend of mine says he saw Hen the night Troy was killed."

Madison's body tensed. "Who is your friend? How can I get in touch with him?"

"I'm not sure h.e.l.l talk to you. He may want some money first."

Madison stiffened. Maybe this man was going to try to blackmail him, to threaten to say he saw Hen at the Connor place if the Randolphs didn't pay up.