Fair Is the Rose (53 page)

Rollins stepped back from the arctic blast of Cain's gaze. "I'm going to tell you only once:
She didn't do it."
Cain resumed his detached manner. "Besides, Henry Glassie spoke to her uncle. If the man doesn't exist, how could Glassie have seen him?"

"Perhaps the uncle was trying to find her. If she escaped from an asylum—" Cain gave him another icy stare, but Rollins continued bravely, "She
did
escape from an asylum, you can't dispute that, and her uncle could have been genuinely worried about her welfare and gone to look for her. Now that she's found, he's headed back to New York to be with the rest of the family." Rollins softened. He nodded to Cain with commiseration. "She's a beautiful girl, Cain.
A real heart-breaker.
Anyone could understand
your
falling in love with her. But, you know, she could be a little tetched. She's been through a lot—seen her parents die in a fire, been put into an asylum—God only knows what she went through in there—maybe these stories about her uncle are just delusions."

"When we get to New York, I will discuss things with her sister and brother-in-law. They will confirm her story."

"No one else in the family has ever spoken up about Baldwin Didier. I wired New York to get the story before we came to Noble. It's true, Cain. I just can't stand to see you—"

"There was a half-breed sent by her uncle to kill her. He had the poster. That proves her story."

"There was an enormous bounty on her head if her whereabouts could be found. He wanted the bounty. He probably never even met Didier."

"Why are you saying all of this?" Cain shot a glance at Christal, who was again walking down the carpeted aisle of the first-class car to check each passenger's face. His eyes flooded with worry and another unnamed emotion that burned with passion.

"I'm saying this because I think you ought to remove yourself from her. You can't do anything that her family can't do ten times over with their money. Sheridan's one of the richest men in New York."

"I know that—"

"What can you do for her that they cannot? Why are you letting yourself be torn apart by this girl's problems? It's not worth
it,
the conclusion will be a bad one. The girl's going to go to prison, I don't see any way around it. There's no evidence she's innocent."

"She
is
innocent." Cain closed his eyes, as if he could no longer bear the sight of Christal's face as she desperately searched the car.

"I was at Fredericksburg, Cain. I was in Hooker's regiment when we went to take the sunken lane. We lost half our troops to you Confederates that day. You men were just as snug as a snail in a shell behind that wall and we were like lines of prisoners before a firing squad every time we tried to advance."

"What does this have to do with—?"

"I saw you, as did everyone else in my regiment who survived the advance. We heard the cries of Jimmy O'Toole with his legs half gone, whimpering for one blessed drink of water before he died. We still talk about the Georgia Gentleman as if he were some myth spun by our forefathers. You know the man, Cain. The Reb who came over that ridge and crawled on his belly beneath the wall of fire to quiet the enemy with a sip from his canteen ..."

"As I said, what does this—?"

"A man who has
honor
like that, even if he is a damned Secesh, shouldn't have to lose twice. You lost the war, Macaulay, don't lose this one too. Extract yourself now. Christabel Van Alen is a heartbreaker, but she's a lost cause. She's going to go to jail.
Maybe forever."

Cain was silent. He watched Christal, carefully shuttering away the emotion in his eyes. "I stood by my country when it was a lost cause. I abandoned it only when I was forced to. I won't do less now."

Rollins stared at him like a Yank staring at a crazy Reb, until finally he sighed and nodded to gather up his men. "We'll do whatever you think is necessary, then. You just give us the word, Cain, and you know we'll do it." After this cryptic statement, he added, "... until we reach New York and it's out of our hands."

Macaulay understood.

Inside the baggage car a man was just finished dressing, while another, Henry Glassie, was once more stripped down to his union suit, and bound and gagged, hidden among the bags of mail. That was where the man had come from, Glassie surmised, finally coming out of the darkness caused by the blow to his head.

He peered at Baldwin Didier through the dirty canvas sacks of mail. Didier was not
so
portly as Henry Glassie, but he did fit his suit rather well, once the suspenders were in place holding up the too large trousers. The coat was too large also, but if it was left unbuttoned there was enough doubt about its cut that one could surmise, briefly, that it had been made for Didier.

Didier removed the coat and stepped to the bags of mail, throwing aside one that hid Glassie's face. Henry Glassie's eyes shut in the split second when light hit his face.

Didier studied him a long time,
then
he covered him with another bag of mail. Through a part in the bags, Glassie shifted his head ever so slightly and resumed his spying. Didier had rummaged through one of the fine leather trunks and removed a silver cup. He dumped a white powder into it and filled it with water from the leak on the roof of the car. Glassie hadn't a clue as to what Didier was doing, until he removed a small brush and mirror, and proceeded to shave.

When Christal, Cain, and the marshals returned to their train car, Mr. Glassie was seated at the back near the baggage door, fast asleep, his face partially covered by his fine beaver hat. Cain motioned to wake him. Christal knew he wanted to ask about the baggage car, but she stopped him. "If there was anyone in there, would he be asleep like this? We were gone so long, he probably fell asleep waiting for us."

Cain removed his hand from Glassie's shoulder.
"All right.
Leave him be. We need to talk anyway. No sense having to get rid of this busybody to do it. Come over here." He took her hand and led her to the opposite bench, as far from the marshals circling the stove as he could get.

Across the way, on the opposite bench, Glassie let out a loud, snoring gasp and shifted positions. Cain ignored him.

"What's wrong? I saw you speaking with Rollins." She quietly waited for the bad news.
Because it was always bad news.

Cain picked up her hand, the one with the scar, and traced every petal with his finger. His expression was pensive, determined,
fear
-inspiring. He was an awesome sight in this mood, she thought. But then he'd always taken her breath away.

"The train will be stopping in about an hour in Abbeville."

"Are you afraid Didier might get aboard?"

"No, Rollins and the other marshals will make sure he won't."

Christal locked gazes with Cain. She was able to read the frosty depths of his eyes more easily now. Something was definitely wrong. He had more to say to her, but he didn't seem ready.

"At Abbeville I want you to escape."

The muscles in her body grew rigid with shock. She stared at him, disbelief on her face. "But—but—why now?" she stammered.

He squeezed her scarred hand as if he needed desperately to hold on to it. "I know better than anyone that some battles you just can't win. Rollins pointed that out to me just now. I don't know if we can win, Christal. And if I lose this one, I don't think I could take it. The law
be
damned, I
know
you didn't do this and I'll believe it until the day I die. So at Abbeville, get off the train when I nod and lose
yourself
in the town. I'll be back for you in an hour. When we cross Big Crimloe Creek, the train has to slow and mount the rise to the bridge. I'll jump off the train there. It'll be a day before Rollins can catch up. The next stop after Abbeville isn't for hours."

"Rollins knows about this, doesn't he? He's going to help because he's your friend. You're all breaking the law for me—"

"No, not for you, Christal.
For us.
Do you understand?
For us.
The war took away my whole
family,
it took away my home and my country. I don't have anything left but you. If I lose you, I have nothing."

"We'll be running forever."

"I know the life well."

She looked at him. He smiled bitterly.
A renegade smile.

"With my brother-in-law's help, I might be able to get a new trial. Shouldn't we give it a try?"

"When we get to New York, they aren't going to let us breathe, girl. There'll be no more opportunities after this."

"Do you really want to do this? It's against everything I know about you." She looked into his eyes, her own eyes pleading.

"I have to do this." He looked at her as if he were searching her soul through her eyes. Softly, he touched his lips to hers. "It's not the life I choose, Christal, but I'd choose no life to a life without you."

The train slowed. The whistle blew, signaling Abbeville.

"Oh, God, are you sure?" she whispered, frightened. The plan seemed crazy, doomed to fail. Though it hurt, she even wondered if he'd decided she was guilty.

His face had turned into a stony mask. "I'm going to walk to the front of the car and begin a hand of poker with Rollins. The marshals will follow. When the train stops, exit out the rear. I'll join you in Abbeville in an hour. We'll have a horse and be gone before nightfall."

He stood and she clutched his hand. Then she let him go, watching in mute desperation as he moved to join the other men at the front of the car.

Mr. Glassie let out another rumble beneath the hat. He was still fast asleep. There would be no time to say farewell.

Slowly she stood and watched Macaulay. He adamantly refused to look at her, as if that might betray her escape. She slid back the rear door between the passenger car and the baggage car. It gave a miserable creak. Almost artificially, none of the marshals turned their heads to look.

For a brief moment she stood on the small platform between the cars, breathing the fresh air of freedom. Her heart pumped in her chest, a sign of her fear and exhilaration.

The door to the passenger car slid open.