For new readers to this story, I linked Chapter 1. Chapters 2 - 4 are linked under September, 5 - 10 under October, 11 - 18 under November, and 19 - 25 under December.
Destination Hope – Book 5 – Reconciliation
A Novel By:
Charles J. Patricoff
Copyright © 2014 by Charles J. Patricoff. All rights reserved.
Chapter 26
Hooked
The saloon backroom door opened and an employee of the establishment stepped into the cigar smoke filled chamber. Holding a potential winning poker hand, Mayor Jason Merritt recognized the urgency etched on the messenger’s face. Irritated that the situation could force him to fold, he peered above his reading spectacles. “What is it, Sammy?”
“I have a word for you, your honor.” Samuel Nelson’s eyes shifted upward at the ceiling.
Jason grasped the coded meaning. “I’ll be with you in a minute. It’s my draw.” He extracted one playing card from his hand, laid it on the table face down, and tossed a twenty-dollar gold piece into the pot. “I’ll take one, Boyd.”
Richard Boyd dealt his boss the requested card from the deck and leaned back against his chair. “That’s a pretty steep bet.”
Jason kept his head angled down, eyes fixed on his cards. Sammy cleared his throat. With the distraction, Jason examined the other players—Mr. Sherman, a man ten years Jason’s senior and whose boxy face looked like it had been in one too many scraps, and Mr. Tyler, a snappy, braggadocios dresser who claimed to play poker all along the mighty Mississippi River from New Orleans to St. Louis. Jason picked up the issued card and studied its potential. Perfect. Over one-hundred dollars rested in a disheveled pile near the table’s center. “It’s to you Sherman.”
Mr. Sherman, sitting to Jason’s left, glanced at his cards, then at his three other fellow players sitting at the green felt covered round table, sighed and tossed his cards. “I’ve got nothing.”
The next move shifted to Richard Boyd. He had prospered under his boss’s management of the reconstructing burg. He examined the stack of added wealth and picked up four, five-dollar gold pieces. “I’ll see your twenty,” he said, picking up one ten-dollar coin and flipped it into the pile, “and I’ll raise you ten.”
Mr. Tyler nodded. Now, as a local builder, he had grown accustomed to losing big in these sessions so he could secure other favors from the mayor. He tossed thirty dollars into the heightening stakes and challenged, “Call.”
For the first time this hand a slight grin escaped from Jason’s face. He matched the last bet and laid down a pair of eights, then two aces—spades and clubs. “Beat that, boys.”
Mr. Tyler threw down a pair of jacks. “Close, but no cigar for me. You beat me again, Mr. Mayor.”
“What do you have, Boyd?” Jason asked.
The moment of truth arrived. Boyd held a winning hand—four queens. He glanced at the pot before him. More than two hundred dollars would put him further down the path of personal independence he desired.
“Hurry up, Boyd. I’ve got other business requiring my attention.”
Boyd laid his cards face down and said, “You win, Mr. Mayor.”
Jason took a long, satisfying pull on his cigar. “Thank you, gentlemen. I thoroughly enjoyed this afternoon, but duty calls.” He pushed his chair away from the table, scrapping the wood floor. “Sammy, will you see to my winnings?”
“Yes sir. They’ll be waiting for you when you are ready to retire to your office.”
“Thank you, Sammy.” Jason scanned his still seated friends. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me?”
Almost in unison they said something like, “Of course, sir.”
“Do you want me to stay here—wait for you, sir?” Richard Boyd asked.
“Yes, Richard. I hate to take you away from your lady friend on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, but I would appreciate it if you’d stick around a little longer.”
“I’m at your service, sir.”
Jason shuffled around the table, heading for the room’s exit. Sammy opened the door for him and slipped to his right. As Jason reached the threshold he pivoted and said to Boyd, “Thank you, Richard. I don’t know, but I hope I won’t be long.”
Boyd nodded.
The two other players rose.
Jason Merritt left for his unplanned meeting.
“Do you think they will follow his lead?” Jason asked his companion.
“Yes. As you’ve said, they are simple-minded fools. They’ll do whatever he, or any other strong leader, says. They can’t think for themselves. It’s incredible that people believe they should have the right to vote.”
Jason smiled. “It’s something we can use to our advantage, my dear.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“All we have to do is follow the rules. Don’t worry; time is on our side, Miss Guthrie.”
Marah began the now all too frequent violent cough. “I don’t have time to waste, Mr. Mayor.”
“Then I suggest you enjoy the remainder of this lovely day and let me worry about Tuesday’s election.”
“But Jason…”
Jason Merritt held up his hand. “No, no my dear, you mustn’t let any of this concern you. We have the votes to carry the day.” He winked. “Trust me.”
“Seems like I’ve waited long enough.” She coughed again.
“One step at a time, my dear.” He crossed the redesigned hotel bedroom’s floor and gave Marah a reassuring hug. She allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. He stroked her near waist-length black hair. “Maybe you should get some rest this afternoon. It sounds like that cold you’re fighting might be getting the best of you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Marah said in a softer, submissive tone.
“Go on now,” Jason said as they released their embrace. “I’ll see you later. I have some other matters that require my attention.” He paused. “After your nap, can you have dinner with Mr. Boyd this evening?”
Marah had grown accustomed to her surveillance role. “Of course. Is there anything I need to say or do?”
“No, just make sure he’s still interested in you.”
Marah gave a flirtatious wave. “That’s easy.”
“Good. Now get along; I have work to do.” He rubbed his chin. “However, if I think of anything, I’ll send a note.”
Marah gathered her overcoat and purse. “The back stairs?”
“I think it would be best. I think our Mr. Boyd remains entertained in the hotel’s bar. We wouldn’t want him to see you and imagine that you’ve become disloyal to him.”
Marah nodded, offered a toothy grin, and gave Jason a quick peck on his cheek. “See you tonight?”
“As always.”
Marah twirled and shut the door behind her. Jason listened at the door as the sound of Marah’s footsteps faded. He muttered, “Two birds with one stone.”
“This cable is from the mayor…official business.” Richard Boyd handed a sealed envelope to the telegraph operator. “The mayor has authorized a five-dollar bonus to the delivery boy if he is able to find and deliver the message to its recipient tonight. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, sir,” the train station’s telegraph operator said. “Do you want a signed, dated, and time-stamped receipt to assure that its intended did receive it?”
Boyd had never thought about this idea, but he pretended to be annoyed at the question. “Yes, of course. Isn’t it obvious? We’re not going to hand over a bonus without confirmation that its terms have been met.”
“Very well, sir. And to whom should I deliver the confirmation?”
Again, Boyd pretended an offense. “To the mayor’s office, you twit.”
The telegraph operator held a stone-faced expression as he remained seated and offered an unexpected kind response. “All right, then. Since this is a rush communication, I better get to it. Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, and I must say, it’s about time the mayor had your full cooperation.”
The wide-eyed nod let Richard Boyd know the operator had received his subtle threat. The Morse code expert said, “I’ll see to it, sir.”
“The mayor extends his personal gratitude.”
With that, the transaction culminated, and Boyd strolled toward the train station’s main entrance and exit. Now it’s time for dinner with that poor widow, Mrs. Parker.
Once again, Miss Marah Guthrie donned her mourning disguise. She took a dainty sip of her wine and, with her lips almost touching the glass, said in the most “Southern Belle” tone she could muster, “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Mr. Boyd.”
Boyd took a bite of his buttered, fresh-baked and still warm, French bread and through a muffled voice said, “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Parker. I am surprised your courier located me in time. And please, we’ve been seeing each other for some time now…call me Richard.”
“You’re easy to find, Mr. Boyd—Richard.” She pretended to blush, waving her black, parchment-thin fan before her face.
“How so?”
“You’re never far from your…master, his honor, the mayor,” she poked.
Boyd snapped, defensively. “He’s not my master.”
Having obtained the desired reaction, Marah said, “Well, since we met, it seems you follow him everywhere and do all he asks of you.” She attempted to balance a sweet and sour tone. “I had hoped you’d choose to be more of your own man.”
Boyd slapped the table, causing his fork to fall off. Ignoring it, with a defiant countenance he almost shouted, “I am my own man.”
As momma used to say, a woman can always outsmart a man, and catching one is easy, a lot like fishing. Now it’s time to cast the bait. “Do you still want to return to your old home in Georgia?”
“You know I do. But, as I told you, I have to save enough money to redeem the land my parents had to forfeit because they couldn’t afford to pay the county taxes. I’m close but I still have a way to go.”
“Do you still want me?” Sarah asked with a coy tone.
“Of course I do.”
Dinner arrived. Meat remained scarce. However, the locals had learned how to make the most with their limited resources. The waiter recommended that the couple try the pulled pork special. It came, smothered in a tangy sauce and topped with a shredded cabbage concoction he called slaw.
With his retrieved fork, Boyd took a quick, sampling taste-test. “This is quite good.”
The waiter offered a slight bow. “Enjoy your dinner. If you need anything, just ask.”
After the waiter left, Marah said, “I have a proposition for your consideration. My late husband left me…let’s say…in good financial condition, by today’s standards. If you are interested, we could leave this town together.”
Richard Boyd almost dropped his forkful of creamy cabbage and saucy pork. His eyes sparkled. His voice failed to hide his excitement. “When?”
Marah let a reassuring smile rise, like the sun on a clear day. “Tomorrow night.”
Boyd’s jaw dropped. “Why so soon, Denise?”
He’s interested. It’s time to set the hook. Marah said, “I’m afraid if we don’t go right away, it will never happen.” She pouted. “Please.”
Several awkward moments of graveyard silence passed. Boyd’s eyes shifted. He searched the restaurant as if seeking help from one of the perched stone gargoyles watching each patron’s every move. He began to wring his hands with his napkin. He stuttered, “I-I-I don’t know, Denise, darling. It seems like a lot to ask of me right now.”
“We could start a new life, together. You’d be able to recover your land. I can assure you, we would have plenty; we won’t want for anything.”
Boyd wagged his head and kept repeating, “I don’t know.”
Marah let him swim for a few minutes. She kept her eyes glued to his, searching for his acceptance to her proposal. She smiled each time his eyes met hers. At least he’s thinking about it. The next time his eyes landed on hers, she offered the warmest, sweetest, most inviting smile. He can’t resist any longer. He can’t come up with a reason to reject me.
Boyd stuffed a forkful of drippy meat into his mouth. He chewed, hard as if this might be his last supper, or he was calculating his entire altered future. He swallowed, took a drink of whiskey, and let its warmth provide a false sense of bravado. He said, “All right. I’ll do it. I’m your man. We’ll have to get married right away.”
Hooked. Now, I’ll reel him in to my boat. Marah concluded the transaction demurely. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Boyd—I mean Richard. I promise you, you’ll never live to regret your decision.”
Boyd took another bite. This time he hummed as if he enjoyed the taste. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Tomorrow, after dark, meet me inside the new church. I’ll have my wagon and the things I’ll need on board. There should be plenty of room for anything you want to bring.”
Boyd shook his head. “Why the church? It makes no sense.”
“Don’t you see? The church is on the way out of town. It’s a quiet location, no one will disturb us as we pack your things, and we can take our time to get… organized.” She grinned.
Boyd sat like the proverbial bump on a log. Either I broke him or his silence means he’s about to retract his decision.
“Talk to me, Richard.”
It took another eternal second, but Boyd snapped out of his apparent trance. “I’ll be there.”
Marah responded in kind. Landed. Tomorrow, he’ll be filleted, and pan-fried in a buttery sauce.
Thanks for reading. I hope I can have chapter 27 ready before the end of the year.
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