Chapter 7 - Ask Him About Mary
Hattie wanted to scream.
Instead she tightened the poker across Red’s chest.
“Where?”
Red looked at Gideon.
“Get me off the floor first.”
“No.”
“Hattie—”
“No.”
The force in her voice silenced both men.
She looked at Gideon.
“Bandage my arm.”
He moved instantly.
“Red stays exactly where he is.”
Gideon hesitated.
Hattie gave him a look.
He disappeared toward the cupboard.
Red chuckled.
“She’s got you trained.”
Gideon ignored him.
Hattie’s arm burned fiercely.
The bullet had passed through the outer flesh rather than lodging.
She knew enough about wounds to understand she was lucky.
Still, by the time Gideon cut away the torn sleeve, her hands were shaking.
His were worse.
“Hattie.”
“I’m all right.”
“You were shot.”
“Technically grazed.”
“It’s deep.”
“Can you stitch it?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop looking like I died.”
His face tightened.
Mary.
Hattie immediately regretted the words.
Gideon cleaned the wound.
She bit down on folded cloth while he stitched.
Red watched from the floor.
Nobody spoke.
When Gideon finished, Hattie stood slowly.
She felt light-headed.
Gideon reached for her.
She stepped away.
Pain crossed his expression.
Hattie hated seeing it.
But she was not ready to let him touch her.
Not until she understood.
They tied Red to a chair using rope from the shed.
The broken table remained scattered across the floor.
Gideon placed Red’s rifle and knife across the room.
Then they sat.
Hattie faced her husband.
“Start at the beginning.”
Gideon looked exhausted.
“Mary got sick in January.”
“I know.”
“The first day, she had chills. Second day, fever.”
“And she asked to leave?”
“On the third.”
“Why didn’t you take her?”
“The weather.”
Red laughed.
Gideon’s eyes flashed.
Hattie lifted a hand.
“Let him talk.”
Gideon continued.
“A storm was moving in. The pass was already dangerous. Mary was weak. I thought traveling would make it worse.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked again.”
Hattie said nothing.
“She said she felt something was wrong. She wanted a doctor. I told her morning would be safer.”
His voice broke slightly.
“By morning the storm had closed the pass.”
Hattie understood.
“You blamed yourself.”
“Yes.”
“For all these years?”
“Yes.”
Red shifted in the chair.
“He leaves out the interesting part.”
Hattie turned.
“What part?”
Red smiled.
“Mary wasn’t only afraid of fever.”
Gideon stood.
“Lawson.”
“She was afraid of you.”
Gideon crossed the room.
Hattie moved between them.
“Sit down.”
“Hattie—”
“Sit.”
He did.
She looked at Red.
“You’re going to explain that.”
“Mary had found out something.”
“About the gold?”
“About Gideon.”
Hattie’s chest tightened.
“What?”
Red leaned back.
“Ask him about Fort Laramie.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
Another secret.
Hattie almost laughed.
“How many more pieces of your life am I supposed to drag out of you?”
Gideon stared at the floor.
“I killed a man.”
Hattie went still.
Red smiled.
“There.”
Hattie looked at Gideon.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Why?”
“He was attacking someone.”
“Who?”
“Red.”
The smile vanished from Red’s face.
Gideon continued.
“We were drinking in a freight camp. A man accused Red of cheating cards. They fought. The man pulled a knife.”
“So you shot him?”
“No.”
Gideon looked at his hands.
“I hit him.”
Hattie waited.
“He fell against a stove.”
Silence.
“Died the next morning.”
“That was an accident.”
“Didn’t feel like one.”
“Were you charged?”
“No witnesses willing to testify. Red told everyone the man slipped.”
Hattie slowly turned toward Lawson.
“You protected Gideon?”
Red shrugged.
“He owed me.”
Understanding arrived.
“The claim.”
Gideon nodded.
“For years Lawson used what happened at Laramie whenever he wanted something.”
“Did Mary know?”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“Red told her.”
Red gave a satisfied smile.
“She had a conscience.”
Gideon’s expression hardened.
“She was terrified I would be arrested.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
Hattie looked between them.
“So Mary knew Gideon had accidentally caused a man’s death years earlier. She knew Red was using it against him. Then she discovered gold.”
“Yes,” Gideon said.
“And that made Red more dangerous.”
“Yes.”
Hattie leaned back.
The pieces began fitting together.
“Mary’s note on the map.”
Gideon looked up.
“Do not let Red have this,” Hattie quoted.
Red’s smile disappeared.
“She knew what he would become.”
Gideon stared toward Mary’s room.
“I thought she meant the claim.”
“Maybe she meant more.”
Hattie looked at Red.
“You said Mary wrote everything down.”
“She kept journals.”
Gideon frowned.
“No.”
Red laughed.
“You really didn’t know?”
Gideon’s expression showed that he did not.
“She wrote every night,” Red continued. “Saw her doing it whenever I visited. Little brown book.”
Gideon stood.
“There was no journal.”
“You never found one.”
Red tilted his head toward the fireplace.
“Mary once told me there were places in that cabin even you didn’t know.”
Hattie looked at the stone hearth.
Gideon followed her gaze.
They spent the next hour searching.
Behind books.
Under floorboards.
Inside Mary’s dresser.
Nothing.
Red refused to give more.
Finally Hattie became tired.
Her injured arm throbbed.
Gideon made her sit.
This time she let him.
He brought tea.
Their fingers touched briefly.
Neither pulled away immediately.
“I should have told you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I was ashamed.”
“That is not the same as being dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Gideon met her eyes.
Hattie spoke quietly.
“Mary died because you made the wrong decision during a storm.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“That is not the same as killing her.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
He looked away.
Hattie continued.
“You have punished yourself for years because you believed one mistake made you responsible for everything that followed.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“And now you chose me because you thought I was strong enough that you would never face that fear again.”
He did not deny it.
“You didn’t marry me because I was ugly.”
His face changed sharply.
“You’re not—”
“Let me finish.”
He stopped.
“You married me because you were scared.”
“Yes.”
Hattie nodded slowly.
“I can understand fear.”
She glanced at Red.
“What I cannot accept is lies.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
“No more.”
“You’ve said that.”
“This time I mean it.”
Hattie wanted to believe him.
Suddenly Red spoke.
“Loose stone.”
They turned.
“What?”
He nodded toward the fireplace.
“Third row from the bottom. Left side.”
Gideon approached.
He pressed one stone.
Nothing.
Another.
The third shifted.
Hattie stood despite the pain.
Gideon pulled the stone free.
Behind it was a narrow hollow.
Inside lay a small brown leather journal.
Gideon stared.
For a moment nobody breathed.
He reached inside.
The leather had dried and cracked with age.
On the first page was Mary’s handwriting.
Gideon read silently.
His face changed.
“What?” Hattie asked.
He handed her the journal.
The first line read:
January 4, 1877. If Gideon ever reads this, I pray he can forgive me for what I have done.
Hattie looked up.
Red Lawson began laughing.
May you like
And Gideon Hayes realized the wife he had mourned for years had carried secrets of her own.
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