Chapter 2 - The Man at the Door
Nobody moved.
Silas Calder remained mounted beyond the doorway.
He was almost sixty, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, and dressed like a banker rather than a frontier landowner. His black coat was spotless despite the dusty road.
Michael hated that most about men like Calder.
Other people carried the dirt for them.
Calder looked through the doorway at Annie.
Then at Michael.
"Mr. Dawson."
Michael stepped in front of the girl.
"Calder."
"I believe you've found something that belongs to me."
"She's a child."
"I wasn't talking about the child."
Michael understood.
The letter.
Or the locket.
Maybe both.
Calder dismounted.
His men remained outside.
He entered alone.
That frightened Walter more than if he had walked in shooting.
Powerful men did not need guns when they believed everyone else was already afraid.
Calder stopped several feet from Michael.
"You have no idea what you've stepped into."
"Then explain it."
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"You owe that kid four days of food."
Calder looked at Annie as if noticing her hunger for the first time.
"Her mother's choices placed them where they are."
Michael took one step forward.
"A four-year-old doesn't make choices that deserve starvation."
Something passed across Calder's face.
Not guilt.
Annoyance.
"Return the letter."
"No."
Calder glanced at Pike.
"Mr. Pike."
Pike did not move.
Calder's eyes sharpened.
"I gave you an instruction."
Pike stared at the floor.
"I've followed enough of them."
That surprised everyone.
Especially Calder.
"You've become sentimental?"
"No."
Pike looked toward Annie.
"I've become tired."
Calder smiled faintly.
"Those are usually the same thing."
Michael folded his father's letter and slipped it into his vest.
"I'm going to Lillian."
Calder's gaze snapped to him.
"No."
It was the first word Calder had spoken that contained genuine emotion.
Michael noticed.
"Why not?"
"Because she's dying."
"Then I'll get a doctor."
"There's nothing a doctor can do."
"How would you know?"
Calder remained silent.
Michael understood something important.
Calder had already been there.
He turned to Walter.
"Get Doc Harris."
Walter nodded.
Calder's men shifted outside.
Michael looked at them.
"Anybody tries stopping him, they'll have to do it in front of thirty witnesses."
Several townspeople had gathered behind the riders.
Calder noticed too.
He raised a hand.
His men stayed still.
Walter hurried through the back door.
Michael helped Annie onto his wagon.
Pike followed.
Michael stared at him.
"You're not coming."
"You won't find the laundry house without crossing Calder's south fence."
"I'll manage."
Pike leaned closer.
"Not before dark."
Michael looked at Annie.
Her face was pale.
"Fine."
They left.
The old laundry house stood two miles beyond the abandoned rail spur.
By the time they arrived, the sun was low.
Annie tried climbing from the wagon herself.
Michael lifted her carefully.
She stiffened at first.
Then wrapped one thin arm around his neck.
"Sorry."
"For what?"
"I'm heavy."
Michael almost laughed.
She weighed less than a sack of flour.
"No, you're not."
The laundry building leaned sideways as though tired of standing.
Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and fever.
"Lillian?" Michael called.
A weak voice answered.
"Annie?"
The girl struggled from his arms.
"Mama!"
Michael followed.
Lillian lay on a narrow cot beneath a patched blanket.
She appeared perhaps thirty.
Too young to look so exhausted.
Her dark hair was stuck to her forehead.
She tried sitting.
Then saw Michael.
Everything changed.
"You."
Michael stopped.
"You know me?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"You look exactly like him."
"My father?"
Lillian nodded.
Annie climbed beside her.
"I brought you bread."
She unwrapped the half biscuit.
Lillian stared at it.
"Baby, you were supposed to eat."
"Mr. Michael gave me everything."
Lillian closed her eyes.
Her tears finally escaped.
Michael crouched.
"How do you know my father?"
She looked toward Pike.
"You brought him?"
Pike removed his hat.
"I'm sorry."
Lillian laughed weakly.
"You've been sorry for six years."
Michael's patience broke.
"Somebody needs to tell me what's happening."
Lillian looked at him.
"Your father didn't die because a wagon overturned."
Michael's entire body went rigid.
"What?"
"He found records."
"What records?"
"Calder's."
She coughed.
Annie held her hand.
Lillian continued.
"Your father discovered Calder had been stealing wages from workers, forcing families into debt, then taking their land when they couldn't pay."
Michael knew rumors.
Everyone did.
But rumors were not proof.
"My father confronted him?"
"He hid the evidence first."
"Where?"
Lillian looked at Annie's locket.
"Inside that."
Michael stared.
Annie instinctively covered it.
Lillian shook her head.
"Not anymore."
Michael's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"The locket held a tiny key."
She looked toward a loose floorboard near the stove.
"I removed it when Calder's men came."
Michael moved to the board.
Beneath it was a small iron box.
Locked.
Lillian reached beneath her pillow.
Nothing.
Her face changed.
"No."
"What?"
"The key."
She searched.
Panic entered her eyes.
"It was here."
Pike turned toward the door.
Michael followed his gaze.
Fresh mud stained the floor.
Boot prints.
Someone had been inside recently.
"Who came here?" Michael asked.
Lillian whispered, "Calder."
"When?"
"This morning."
Michael looked at Pike.
"You said he knew she was dying."
Pike nodded grimly.
Lillian pulled Michael closer.
"Listen to me. That box contains copies. Names. Payments. Deeds. Everything."
"Copies?"
"The originals are somewhere else."
"Where?"
Her eyes moved toward Annie.
"No."
Michael understood the look.
"No what?"
Lillian squeezed his wrist.
"Don't ask in front of her."
Michael's stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Lillian tried to answer.
A horse screamed outside.
Pike drew his revolver and rushed to the window.
Michael moved Annie behind him.
"What is it?"
Pike's face hardened.
"Fire."
Flames climbed the rear wall.
Someone had poured oil around the building.
Michael grabbed the iron box.
Pike kicked open the front door.
Smoke rolled across the ceiling.
"Move!"
Michael lifted Annie.
Pike carried Lillian.
They stumbled outside seconds before part of the roof collapsed.
Doc Harris and Walter arrived in a wagon from the road.
The doctor rushed to Lillian.
Michael turned toward the hill.
A rider was disappearing into the trees.
Pike raised his gun.
Michael stopped him.
"Alive."
Pike lowered it.
The laundry house burned.
Doc Harris examined Lillian.
"She needs rest, water, food. Fever's bad, but she's alive."
Michael looked at Annie.
For the first time since entering the saloon, the child smiled.
Just slightly.
Then Michael remembered the iron box.
He tried the latch.
Locked.
"The key," he said.
Lillian opened her eyes.
"It wasn't stolen."
Michael looked at her.
"What?"
"I gave it to someone."
"Who?"
She reached for his hand.
"Your father told me if anything happened, there was only one person left I could trust."
Michael leaned closer.
"Who?"
Lillian whispered the name.
Michael's face emptied.
"That's impossible."
Walter looked at him.
"What name?"
Before Michael could answer, a voice came from behind the burning building.
"She told you."
Michael turned.
A woman stood beyond the flames.
An older woman.
Gray hair.
A key hanging around her neck.
May you like
Michael knew her immediately.
His mother had been buried nine years ago.
