Leather and Lace

Chapter 26

Stepping into the fresh, crisp air, Casey felt better about the path Morgan had chosen to clear her name. They’d prayed together again, asking God to lead the way and asking for help to accept whatever He chose for them. On the way back to the parsonage, she found it easier to talk about what she could do for the federal marshals. Her burden seemed lighter, as though her dreams were not impossible.

“How long will it take to arrange the meeting with them?” she said.

“I need to speak with Leroy Wilson first. Then I’ll make a trip to see Governor Ireland. Considering how that goes, I can request a meeting with the federal marshals.” He paused. “I don’t like this at all.”

“It has to be this way.” She linked her arm into his, and they both waved at a wagon passing by. “The more I think about Leroy, the more I remember conversations and what he did for the gang. The last time I saw him, he was in his fifties. He smelled worse than the others. Looked like dirt had gotten under his skin and stayed there. His hair and beard were always greasy and scraggly looking, and he drank too much.”

“Why did Jenkins put up with him?” Morgan said. “I thought he booted out drunks.”

“Leroy proved to be the exception. He played up to Jenkins—praised him about how smart he was. That he’d never be caught and one day he’d be the richest man in Mexico. Bragged to the others that there wasn’t an outlaw around who could measure up to Jenkins.”

A lady and her small daughter walked by. Casey and Morgan greeted them and continued on.

“Anyway,” she said once the two were out of earshot, “too much liquor slowed Leroy’s reaction time during a train robbery, and a passenger shot him.”

“He was lucky to get a jail term and not a hanging. I’m afraid he won’t cooperate with me, but maybe he’ll talk to you.”

She didn’t have much hope that the old outlaw would help her receive a pardon. Not that she recalled anything unpleasant in her dealings with the craggy old man. But why should he? “I wish I had a guarantee that all you’re doing will be worth it to you in the end. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Who’s in control here?” he said. “Have faith, Casey. Don’t fret so.”

“Hush. Don’t call me Casey in public.”

“You’re right. I’ve told all the others to call you Shawne. Then I slip up.”

They walked on in silence, while her world spun with the possibilities of total freedom. A crow called, and another flew from a treetop. She’d never cared for those birds. Their feathers reminded her too much of Jenkins’s black hair. Many times she wondered if being caught by the law or Jenkins would end the turmoil raging inside her. A moment ago, her hopes heightened. Now she questioned it all again.

“Oh Morgan, when the gunfire is over and the smoke clears, where will you and I be?”

“Together.”

His firm words nearly shook her. She had to trust. That caused her to shudder, too. The ways of men . . .

“Will you go with me to California?” Morgan said.

“San Quentin? What’s going to stop the guards from arresting me? Or one of the prisoners from recognizing me. I’d—” She stopped her sentence in midair. I have to go. Old Leroy hates Morgan.

“I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me.”

“No. Leroy won’t talk to you without me. I’ll make sure I look like a lady and wear a bonnet that shields some of my face.”

“Honey, you always look like a lady.” He sighed heavily. “This is too dangerous. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She laughed. “You were being smart. Walking down the streets of Kahlerville is dangerous for me.” The idea of walking into San Quentin was madness, but she didn’t have a choice. Morgan needed Leroy’s testimony, and she’d do whatever was needed to get it. “I’ll have to find someone to tend to Sarah. She’s so fragile, and I hate leaving her.”

“We’ll talk to the reverend.”

“And we need a proper escort.”

This time Morgan laughed. “We rode down a mountain in the dead of night without the proprieties of society. As well as I can remember, we had someone chasing us.”

“This is different.” She punctuated her words with a nod. “When the word finally gets out about you and me—and it will—it’ll be bad enough that you’re keeping company with an outlaw. We don’t want the town gossiping about anything else, especially if a federal marshal starts asking questions.” She gave him her best smile. “Do you suppose Jocelyn would take the trip?”

He studied her for several moments with a grim look she didn’t quite understand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

*****

A week and a half later, Casey and Morgan followed a prison guard down a damp, dark corridor to the visitation room, where they were instructed to wait for Leroy. She didn’t feel like talking. Too much rested on the convict’s cooperation. The mere thought that she might not walk out of there or that she might end up in a prison like this one brought the familiar churning in her stomach. Her breakfast threatened to come back up, and her head began to pound. She smoothed her dress and adjusted her bonnet. Repeatedly she deliberated over Leroy’s loyalty to Jenkins and his hatred for Morgan. What had the past few years behind bars done to him?

“We’ve traveled to San Quentin for a reason,” Morgan said. “And we won’t go home without what we need. A statement from Leroy Wilson adds that much more to your defense.”

The clang of keys beating against the metal door rang like a bad omen. The guard unlocked the area separating the prisoners from the visitors.

I hope I never hear the same sound against a door for me. Oh Lord, is it wrong to ask Your help? I understand I should have left Jenkins when Tim and I first joined up. I understand a whole lot of things now. Sometimes my life is so horrible that I wonder if I can ever be respectable. She shook her head. She had God right beside her, and she had Morgan.

A sideways glance revealed his confidence. A tousle of amber-colored hair fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. She took a moment to appreciate his calm and handsome face and the square chin that gave him a determined look. His eyes were what she treasured most—the color, the brilliance. She loved this man. If only she could rid her memory of what men had done to her in the past. She loved him in her heart, but her heart and body were frozen, unable to respond to his love.

A much-aged Leroy and a guard entered the small area. The old outlaw looked tired and more hardened than Casey remembered. Line upon line dug in around his face as though his deeds had branded him. From his sunken jawline, she gathered he must have lost the rest of his teeth. Four years hadn’t affected his memory, because his small beady eyes immediately reflected a strong dislike for the lawyer who had led his prosecution and proved instrumental in his sentence at San Quentin.

“I ain’t got anythin’ to say to you, Andrews.” He spit through the metal bars dividing him from Casey and Morgan. For a moment he leered at her—the cold look of lust.

She’d nearly forgotten his crude mannerisms. Strange how being among respectable folks caused her to forget outlaw ways. Rose and her girls weren’t much better. They swore, drank, and ate like the hardest men.

“Sit down,” the guard said. “They’ve come a long way to see the likes of you.”

“You can’t make me talk to him.” The old man snorted like a pig. “What do you want to do now? Get me hanged?” He peered up at the guard. “Might as well take me back to my cell.”

Leroy failed to glance her way. He has no idea who I am. Do I interrupt? Expose myself to the guard? Or let Morgan handle this?

“Calm down, Leroy. Just hear me out.” Morgan’s voice rang smooth and even. “All I’m asking is a few minutes to talk.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to you ’bout nothin’. Leave me be, Andrews. Yer wastin’ yer time.” He pulled his bent body up to stand.

Morgan glanced at the guard, but the stoic, uniformed man didn’t offer any assistance. Leroy faced the lawyer defiantly and again asked the guard to take him back to his cell. Jerking the outlaw around to face the door, the guard escorted him from the visitation area. The door creaked and slammed shut, echoing as though it sealed Casey’s fate.

Morgan pounded his fist onto the narrow ledge before him. He clenched his hand until his knuckles glared white. His face reddened. Fury threatened to explode through the pores of his skin. He took a deep breath, and for several minutes he paced the floor until the frenzy of the moment no longer creased his face.

Casey waited. He had to calm down before she could help him reason through what had happened. He’d been so sure about battling it out verbally with the old outlaw and leaving the prison with a signed document, but Leroy never gave him an opportunity. All this way for nothing.

Watching Morgan sink back into the chair, she deliberated what to say. Perhaps nothing until he was ready. The room smelled musty, nearly suffocating. Telltale odors of unwashed prisoners lingered in the room much like the cheap, sickly sweet perfume of the soiled doves who worked the pleasure palaces. Old sounds and smells and the taste of whiskey washed over her. She’d do anything to keep from being locked up in a place like this. She’d rather be dead.

She glanced at the ceiling and studied the spiders in the corners. Their lacy webs continued on and on in an endless pattern. Their weaving was purposeful. They didn’t allow anything to stop them.

She considered the brief meeting with Leroy Wilson. The prisoner needed an incentive to listen—or rather a bribe so enticing he’d be a fool to pass it up. Some things naturally require more effort than others.

Morgan had never been a man prone to give up easily. Today his efforts had failed, but what about tomorrow? She flatly refused to walk out of San Quentin beaten and depressed without a fight. Leroy could be convinced to talk to them.

“Don’t give up.” She studied Morgan’s face. “We need to ask God for wisdom.”

“I’m not beaten. That old man thinks he won today, but he hasn’t seen the fighting side of me.” He rose from the hard wooden chair. “I’m taking you to the ferry, and then I’m heading straight for the warden’s office. Tomorrow he’ll talk to me or face the biggest regret of his life.”

The next morning, Morgan and Casey again seated themselves in the visitation room and waited for a guard to bring Leroy into the area. After the experience of the day before, Morgan had requested a different guard who had the reputation of keeping the convicts in line. This time Leroy would sit there until Morgan finished.

The old prisoner took one look at Morgan and stopped in the doorway. “Told ya yesterday, I ain’t talkin’ to ya. I’ll send ya an invite if I change my mind.”

The guard, a stocky man who looked no better than most outlaws, shoved him down into a chair. “Wilson, you’ll stay here and listen to this man, or I’ll make it real tough on you. Do you understand?”

Morgan thanked the guard and settled back in his chair. “I may need you to make sure he listens to what I have to say,” he said to the guard.

“Or what?” Leroy said.

“You might break this partition between us and try to slit my throat or harm this lady.” Morgan smiled.

“I could, providin’ I had me a knife.” Leroy wiped his whiskered chin. He glanced at Casey and squinted.

I do look familiar to him.

“Maybe so.” Morgan was unbelievably calm, reminding her of how still the prairie lay just before a twister. “But we’re going to talk first. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Like what?” Again the old man’s attention swerved in Casey’s direction.

“You help me, and I’ll help you.”

“How can you help me?” Irritation wrinkled Leroy’s brow.

“By talking to the warden and recommending parole if you cooperate with me.”

Casey saw the confidence in Morgan’s face, but she knew he feared the same outcome as the previous day.

Leroy cocked his head. “You’re lying. Somethin’s in this for you.”

“How will you know unless you hear me out first?” Morgan leaned back in his chair.

Leroy blew out an exasperated sigh. “State your business, Andrews. I ain’t got all day.” He sat sideways on the straight-backed chair, as though he might spring from the room like a trapped animal.

“Well, since you’re such a busy man, I’ll get right to the point. I need your help in getting a pardon for one of Jenkins’s gang.”

“Where were they when I needed ’em? Now yer wantin’ me to help ya? Yer crazy.”

Not a trace of emotion touched Morgan’s features. “This person is innocent. Wasn’t even around during the train robbery or some of the other jobs you pulled.”

“Who is it?” The convict peered down his nose.

Morgan glanced up at the guard. “Could you let me have a few moments alone with Mr. Wilson?”

He nodded. “The warden said you might ask for that.” He stepped through the metal door. “I’ll give you five minutes. No more.”

“Agreed.” When the guard disappeared, Morgan leaned in closer to Leroy. “I want to prove Casey O’Hare is innocent of robbery and murder. Don’t you recognize her?”

Leroy squinted at Casey and chewed on his lower lip. “Is that really you, Miss Casey?” The soft manner in which he spoke her name eased the anger etched into his face.

“Yes, Leroy, this is me. I haven’t seen you in a long time.” Her heart thumped faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

Leroy grinned and displayed a toothless mouth. He whipped his attention to Morgan. “And what did you say you’re gonna do for me?”

Morgan cleared his throat. “Told you before, recommend parole. I’ve already talked to the warden, and he’ll draw up the papers if you’ll agree to help Casey.”

“I want it in writin’.” Leroy rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

Morgan opened his leather satchel for pen and paper and waited until the guard reappeared. “If you can write all this down for Leroy to witness, I’ll sign it, too.” The uniformed man unlocked the door separating them and took the writing material. All the while, Morgan continued to talk to Leroy about the latest news from the outlaw trail.

“I’m tired of your jawin’. Now what did you want me to say about Casey O’Hare?” He gave Morgan his full attention. “What they pinnin’ on her?” Thank goodness he understood the risk she had taken in coming there. Her stomach still felt strange.

“Murder, train robbery—a whole list of things. You’ve seen the wanted posters.”

Leroy whipped his gaze around the drab room. “She ain’t never done nothin’, at least not while I rode with Jenkins.”

“What did she do for the gang?” Morgan’s implication startled her. A surge of anger trailed up her spine. What did he mean by that?

“I thought you wanted a pardon for her,” Leroy said.

“I do, but I have to know what she did do for Jenkins.”

Morgan, didn’t you believe me? The old hurt caused her to ache all over. Surely he had a reason for this.

“Just like I said, nothin’. Most times she just rode with us, so’s folks would see her with all that purdy hair and face. Jenkins liked that, ’cause he claimed she was his. But when it came to jobs, she refused to help. Why, she stayed back at the camp most times unless Jenkins was in a fit. Then he made her ride along to watch the horses or somethin’ like that. Miss Casey was a good girl, yes sirree. She never shot nobody or stole nothin’. All she did was bandage us up and cook.” Leroy stared at Morgan triumphantly. “So if you’re figgerin’ to get me to say somethin’ bad about her, forget it. I’m no fool, Andrews. You’re trying to get her in prison, too—or hung.”

Morgan shook his head and tilted back his hat. “I can’t trick you, can I? I have a hard time believing a woman riding with Davis Jenkins all those years wouldn’t earn her keep, but of course she was Jenkins’s woman.”

She clutched her hands tightly in her lap. She desperately wanted to believe Morgan had a good reason for the questioning. Later she’d find out why. Now she needed Leroy’s statement.

Contempt spread over Leroy’s face. “Jenkins just thought he owned her, but I knew better. She hated him.”

“Would you be willing to write a letter stating what you just told me?” Morgan said.

Bless you, Morgan. I’m so sorry.

“I don’t read or write good.”

“The guard will write down what you say, word for word. Then he’ll read it back to you. You can make a mark, and he’ll witness it.”

“Got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“I meant what I said. I’ll tell the warden you helped me. He’s already assured me of recommending parole,” Morgan said.

Leroy swung his attention toward her. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you see in this lawyer, but if I were you, I’d stay away from the likes of him.”

Thank you, Leroy.

A short while later, Casey and Morgan took in the fresh, fragrant air of a California winter day. For a while, she thought the stagnant smell of the prison had penetrated her whole body. And Leroy Wilson—she’d forgotten how he never bathed. But right now she could kiss him.

“I’m sorry about the questioning,” Morgan said. “We simply needed additional character references. He hates me for a good reason, and he got a full measure of my bitterness.” He paused. “I made sure he got a stiff sentence. At the time I felt hanging was too good for any of Jenkins’s gang. I wanted them to suffer . . . for Kathleen.” He patted her hand. “But yesterday’s gone. We have today and all the tomorrows we’re allowed.”

The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter, or maybe it was God’s blessings illuminating their souls. Morgan whistled a nondescript tune while they walked to the ferry that would take them across the bay to San Francisco. There, Jocelyn waited at a hotel. Casey leaned into his strong shoulder. “I admit I was ready to come after you myself. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset without waiting for an explanation. You were wonderful.”

He chuckled. “Wonderful, huh? I thought you might tear me apart right in front of Leroy and the guard.”

She smiled. “I strongly considered it. Fought it really hard.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll wade through this mess, and it will be worth it.”

“I can’t wait to tell your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am, anything for my lady.”

The train ride back to Kahlerville proved uncomfortable. The black soot settled upon their clothes, and the food tasted terrible. But for Casey, it was a time of victory. With Leroy’s testimony safely tucked in Morgan’s satchel, she had hope.

“I think we’re having an early Christmas,” Morgan said one morning midway through the journey home. “I think we celebrated early.”

“I agree,” Jocelyn said. “I’m anxious to get back home and start baking, but what you two received from Mr. Wilson is the finest gift.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Morgan turned to Casey and gathered up her gloved hand. “I wanted a Christmas wedding, like the reverend suggested, but I guess I’ll have to wait.”

Casey felt her pulse race, not in anticipation of the wedding, but in eagerness for all the legal matters to be over. Perhaps someday she’d busy herself with thoughts about Christmas baking, gifts, and family celebrations. But not yet.