“But, Captain Montgomery, what you don’t seem to understand is that I don’t want you with me. I never asked for the army’s help; I never wanted it. And I especially didn’t want someone like you. Under no circumstances do I want you with me.”
“Orders,” he murmured. “Orders.”
“Your orders, not mine.”
He rubbed his hand across his eyes, then looked at the bottle of whiskey. “What’s in this?”
“Opium,” she said brightly. “It was Edith’s idea. She used to give a free drink to any of her, ah…customers if she took a dislike to them. When they woke up, she used to tell them they had been magnificent lovers. Not one man ever doubted her.”
He could barely keep sleep from overtaking him. “You drugged me?”
“You’re the one who asked for the whiskey. I was the one who reaped the benefits.” She got off the cot and went to him, patted him on the head. “Don’t worry, Captain, you’ll wake up in a few hours, none the worse for wear. And when you do, would you please go find someone else to annoy? I have plans for my life, and they don’t include a pompous, overbearing, know-it-all army captain who calls me a traveling singer.”
She took a step toward the tent flap, and he made a motion as though he meant to go after her, but he was too sleep-weakened. “Good night, Captain,” she said sweetly. “Sweet dreams.” She left the tent.
Chapter 3
Maddie glanced up at the sun through the trees to confirm her direction, then leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck. It hadn’t been easy getting away from Frank and Sam, but she’d done it. Whatever made men assume she was helpless? Why did men like Frank and Sam take it for granted that she didn’t know up from down? Frank had grown up in New York City and Sam had spent his life in the South—until they’d hung—hanged, she corrected herself—him, then he’d gone north and that’s where Maddie had first been introduced to him.
She removed the cap from her canteen and took a drink. It didn’t seem to matter that neither man had ever crossed the Mississippi, each still believed he knew more about tracking and trailing in these parts than a female who’d spent most of her life west of the river.
Just as that captain did, she thought. Whereas neither Frank nor Sam made her angry, he did.
For a moment, anger made her tighten her jaw, but then she smiled. She’d won in the end, though. After he’d fallen asleep from the opium, she’d gone to where he’d tied both Frank and Sam, and after some work released them.
“Sailors’ knots,” Frank had muttered, and then said a few things about no man being able to sneak up on him.
Maddie hadn’t answered him. When she’d hired the two men she’d known she should have hired men who knew more about Indian country, at least men who knew a badger from a beaver, a Ute from a Crow, but there hadn’t been time, so she’d taken the men General Yovington had sent her. Frank’s face and Sam’s size were enough to frighten most people. Sam, as usual, hadn’t said anything when Maddie had released him. Sam acted as though words were precious jewels and he’d become a pauper if he gave any away.
She found Edith under the coach, bound and gagged—and enraged. It seemed that Captain Montgomery had slipped into bed with her before tying her to the wagon wheel. “I thought he wanted me,” she spat out. “All he wanted was to tie me up. Even then I thought he’d planned somethin’ interesting, but he just left me. Left me there! Untouched!”
Maddie just worked at the knots in the thin ropes and didn’t ask any questions about “something interesting.”
They broke camp immediately. Sam carried the slumbering captain outside the tent and dumped him at the edge of a steep hillside, then, with his foot, gave him a little push so he went rolling down the hill.
Maddie hoped the captain didn’t freeze in the cool mountain air, but she thought a man such as Captain Montgomery, with as much audacity as he harbored, would have enough to keep him warm until morning.
They had struck out for the gold fields, traveling slowly on the rutted trail that passed for a road until the sun came up, then Sam had whipped the horses forward, and they’d put many miles between themselves and the determined Captain Montgomery.
Now it was three days later and they hadn’t seen him in all that time. Perhaps he had frozen to death. Or, more likely, he’d gone back to his army post and complained about an opera singer who wouldn’t listen to “reason.” Whatever had happened, she was very glad to get rid of him.
She hung the canteen over her saddle horn and once again removed the map from inside her tight wool jacket and looked at it. She knew it by heart now, but she still wanted to make sure she was in the right place at the right time.
When she took the letter out she also pulled out a lock of Laurel’s hair. It had come with the first letter, and there had been a note saying one of Laurel’s fingers would be included with the next letter if Maddie missed today’s meeting.
With trembling hands she folded the map and put it and the lock of hair back into her pocket and kicked her horse forward up the steep, rocky slope.
They had Laurel, she thought. These anonymous, faceless men, or women for that matter, had taken an innocent twelve-year-old child from her home in Philadelphia and used her to force Maddie to do what they wanted.
Six months ago Maddie had made her American debut. She’d already conquered Europe, having sung throughout the continent for nine years, always to great acclaim, but she’d longed to return to America. Her manager, John Fairlie, had booked her in Boston and New York, and for three glorious months she’d sung to Americans, who’d been enthusiastic and generous in their praise of her.
But then three months ago her aunt, who had a small house in Philadelphia, had sent a message saying that Maddie must come to Philadelphia as soon as possible.
Here’s where Maddie’s memory troubled her. Why hadn’t she gone immediately? Why hadn’t she walked out the door and boarded the first train to Philadelphia? Instead, she’d waited three days, until after she’d sung three more roles before she went to see her aunt. After all, the woman was old and a bit daffy and maybe even a little senile, so she could wait.
By the time Maddie got to Philadelphia it was too late to change anything. Laurel, Maddie’s little sister, had been sent east to live with her father’s brother’s widow and to go to school. Maddie had known her sister was but a few hundred miles away but, what with her performances and the demands of singing, she’d had no time to make the journey to Philadelphia—hadn’t made the time, she corrected herself.
So for several months Maddie had been within a few hundred miles of her little sister and hadn’t been to see her.
Now, urging her horse forward, she remembered her sister as a chubby, awkward child following her around, sitting under the piano while Maddie sang. Their father used to say that he didn’t know if Laurel would ever be a singer herself, but he was sure she’d be an opera lover.
In the nine years Maddie had been singing in Europe, she’d written letters and exchanged photographs with her faraway family and she’d received adoring letters from Laurel as she grew up. Laurel couldn’t sing as her sister Maddie could, or draw as her sister Gemma could, but she could adore her talented older sisters. She could keep scrapbooks about them and worship them from afar.
Maddie knew she’d taken her little sister’s adoration for granted, and over the years she’d sent her copies of programs signed by a king or the czar or a little gold fan or even a pearl necklace, yet she hadn’t taken the time to visit her when she was so near.
By the time Maddie got to Philadelphia, her aunt was in bed, prostrate with anxiety and nerves. It had been nearly a week since a man had come to her house and told her he was holding Laurel captive and that he wanted to talk to Maddie.
“Your father will never forgive me,” her aunt kept saying. “Oh, Maddie, I did my best. Laurel is such a sweet child. She was never noisy or messy like other children and she loved her new school. Why, oh, why did this happen to her?”
Maddie
gave her aunt a healthy dose of laudanum and went downstairs to wait. It was a long, nerve-racking day before anyone contacted her, and then a man came to see her. He kept his hat on and stood in the shadows, but she memorized every feature of his face.
He told her that she would get Laurel back if she would go to the new gold fields on the Colorado River and sing in six cities. At each of these places someone would contact her and give her a map, and she was to go to the place on the map and a man would give her a letter. She was to take the letter back to her camp, keep it, and deliver it to the next point.
“What’s in the letters?” Maddie had asked without thinking.
“None of your business,” he’d snapped. “Don’t ask no questions and your sister will be returned to you alive.”
He’d warned her more about not bringing any outsiders into this, and to keep her mouth shut. He said that if she obeyed all orders, she’d get to see her sister at the third town and keep her when she reached the sixth camp.
Maddie didn’t think any more about her planned singing tour of the eastern United States. She instructed her manager to cancel all performances. John was furious. He said she was abandoning America to Adelina Patti, that Patti would become the darling of America, and if Maddie canceled her performances, Americans would despise her.
She knew that what John said was true, but she also knew that she had no choice. She didn’t want to go west and sing for a bunch of gold miners who thought opera was “when the fat lady sang.” She had enough problems in her life without trying to sing for ruffians who didn’t want to hear her.
In the end John had done what she wanted and canceled her performances, but he’d also quit her service and sailed back to his native England. They’d been together since she was seventeen years old; he’d practically made her what she was, yet she’d lost him because of these men and their letters.
She was in a frenzy of packing and planning the trip west when General Yovington came to her. Since her arrival in America he’d been her staunchest fan, visiting her after every performance, taking her to supper, even giving her gifts now and then, a ruby here, an emerald there. She knew he’d love to make her his mistress, but she knew how to flatter men into believing she’d love to be theirs alone but she just couldn’t.
The man who came to her house that day, however, was different from the fawning, loving man who’d kissed her hand over dinner. He practically pushed into her house and told her he knew about Laurel.
To her shame, Maddie burst into tears. The general had held her for a while, then firmly set her to one side. He told her a lot that she didn’t understand. It was all about American politics, something that didn’t interest Maddie much. It had to do with slavery and whether this new territory where gold had recently been discovered would join the union as for or against slavery.
“What does this have to do with Laurel?” she’d asked, blowing her nose. “Or to do with me?”
“They need a courier, someone no one will suspect. Someone like a singer, who can travel about freely and arouse no suspicions.”
“Who needs a courier?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know whether you’re being asked to carry messages that are for or against slavery.”
“I don’t care about slavery. I’ve never owned anyone in my life, nor do I plan to. I just want my little sister back. Maybe my father—”
“No!” the general half shouted, then calmed. “These men are fanatics. They’ll kill your sister if you bring someone else in. You’d better do exactly what they say.” He took her hand in his. “But I’m going to help you.”
Three days later she found herself following the thousands of other people going west, either as settlers or seeking their fortune in the gold fields. Except that she was riding in her own stagecoach, painted bright red, and she had in her employ three of the oddest people she’d ever met. There was Frank, who looked out of his battered face with angry eyes, and Sam, who rarely spoke so you never knew what he was thinking, and Edith, who called herself Edith Honey and constantly regaled Maddie with stories about her life as a prostitute.
Both the coach and the people had been chosen for her by the general. Maddie had wanted a smaller wagon, but the general had pointed out the ruggedness of the Concord and he’d also pointed out the usefulness of the three people he’d hired, telling her in detail each person’s violent talents. At the time she’d been so eager to get started on her journey that she couldn’t have cared less who went with her.
So now she was in this wild country traveling up the side of a mountain, when just a few months before she’d been wearing satin and sleeping on a feather bed. During the day she had been surrounded by people who spoke of her trills and her cadenzas, and now she was sleeping in a tent on a hard cot, surrounded by people like Edith, who spoke of men tying her up. And men like Captain Montgomery, who crept into her tent at night and told her what she was going to do and how she was going to do it.
Thank heavens she’d been able to get rid of him! She could rather easily outwit Frank and Sam and Edith. After all, they felt like it was her business if she wanted to ride off into the woods alone and risk getting herself killed, but Maddie sensed that Captain Montgomery wouldn’t have let her do anything without his permission. She didn’t think he’d have taken calmly the announcement that she was riding off into the woods alone and she’d see him when she returned.
What if he did travel with her? What if he prevented her from meeting the man with the letters? What if he demanded to know what she was doing and why? Because Edith had been hired by General Yovington, Maddie had told her about the contents of the letters, but Edith had merely yawned. She cared even less about politics than Maddie did. But, of course, Edith usually couldn’t think past what was being served for dinner.
But Maddie sensed that Captain Montgomery was different. If he were to travel with her, he’d no doubt stick his nose into every aspect of her life. And if he found out about the letters, she had no doubt he would have an opinion of the slavery question and he wouldn’t like her to interfere with people choosing of their own free will. He’d probably do what he could to prevent her from “helping” the territory decide whether it was for or against slavery.
And it was imperative that he didn’t interfere, for if he did, Laurel would be killed. A sweet, innocent child of twelve years would die because some overzealous captain had done what he thought was “right.”
She kicked her horse forward, urging it up the steep hill. She was to meet the man in four hours.
“What d’you see?” Toby asked, lounging back on the grass, half asleep in the midday sun.
’Ring lowered the spyglass and looked off through the trees to where the woman was forcing her horse to climb a steep hill. With Toby close beside him, ’Ring had been following the woman for three days now. He’d kept his distance, never letting her know he was near. So far, she’d done nothing unusual. She’d traveled inside her coach all day, the men setting up her tent at night. She’d done nothing even very interesting, but he’d watched her so intently that it had been a day before he’d seen the other people who were following her.
At the beginning of the second day he’d seen the two men. They were heavy-footed men, not used to the mountainous terrain, and they made no attempt at concealment. For a few hours he watched them watching her, looking like vultures waiting for someone to die. As he was watching them, he saw a movement in the distance, many yards behind and above the men and, extending his glass to its full length, he saw a shape he could barely distinguish as being a man. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he was an Indian. Alone. There seemed to be no one with him. Was the Indian watching the woman or the two men who were watching the woman?
It was during the third night that he saw the new campfire. The two men watching LaReina always built a fire, the Indian never did, and ’Ring had so concentrated on them that he had almost missed the fourth man on the ridge behind him. Far away, high on the same ridge as ’Ring,
was a small fire and somehow ’Ring knew this man was also interested in the woman.
Now ’Ring put down his glass. “The woman has more people following her than the Pied Piper.”
Toby scratched his arm. “You think they want to hear her sing?”
’Ring snorted. “Not likely. Something is going on or else the woman wouldn’t have worked so hard to get rid of me.”
Toby looked up at the trees overhead and grinned. It had been a sore, bruised, cold, angry man who’d returned to camp three nights before, and no amount of questions would make ’Ring tell him what had happened. Since then ’Ring and Toby had followed the woman, and had watched her and the countryside around her, but always from a distance.
Now they were resting, or at least Toby was, as ’Ring, on his belly in the grass, watched the woman from across a deep ravine.
“How could they let her go off into the woods alone?” ’Ring muttered. “I thought those thugs of hers were supposed to protect her.” He rolled to his back. “An old man and another one blind in one eye.”
“Not to mention that little blonde,” Toby said. “Pretty little thing she is. Not as pretty as the lady, but—”
’Ring, looking again through the glass, stiffened. “Those two men are making their move.” He lifted the glass to look at a spot higher on the ridge facing him. “And so is the Indian.” In one movement he came to his feet. “I’m going after her.”
“And how are you gonna get across that canyon?” Toby asked. “Jump? Fly?”
“I’m going to the top and across the ridge.”
Toby looked up. Sheer rock wall was above them. “Nobody can climb that,” he said, but ’Ring was already pulling off his boots and putting on his moccasins. He removed the confining army jacket, his saber, and his revolver, until he wore nothing but trousers, shirt, and belt. He fastened his canteen to the back of his belt. “You can’t go without a gun,” Toby protested. “You don’t know nothin’ about them people.”