Retribution Read online

  It would have been an understatement to say that Leadville was hopping. Currently in the middle of a silver boom, the town was jam-packed with thousands of speculators and miners vying for space on the wide dirt streets. Men five-deep jostled for dominance, some of them newly rich, day-drunk, and shooting their pistols into the air. City lots that could be had for twenty-five dollars that morning might sell for upwards of ten thousand that night. Emotions and speculation ran sky-high, creating an exciting, combustible atmosphere with murder, robbery, and double-dealing the norm.

  Thankful for her rifle, Claire pushed her way through the crowds to the marshal’s office, garnering looks of annoyance and mild curiosity.

  The dried blood on her skirt probably didn’t help.

  Self-conscious, she’d bunched her skirt with her hands, trying to hide the dark stains, but soon abandoned the effort. Leadville was as close to a lawless settlement as you could get. Most likely bloody clothing didn’t matter, even that worn by a member of the gentler sex.

  She finally reached the one-story, slat-wood building that housed the jail, but the sign on the door told her the marshal was out and wouldn’t be back until later that day.

  Her heart sank as she turned to look at the teeming street. She wanted to rail at all the life and bustle of so many people going about their business as though nothing was wrong. Didn’t they know her family had been slaughtered? Murdered in cold blood by three ruthless, uncaring, and savage criminals who didn’t have the guts to show their faces. Men who used the local tribe as scapegoats for committing heinous acts.

  And what had they gained? They’d ruined anything that might be of value, including the family who lived there.

  Claire fought back tears at the thought of never seeing her beloved husband again. Of never feeling his strong arms around her, nor his soft lips brushing against hers, or his words of love.

  What should I do?

  She could wait for the marshal to return, but that might be hours. She didn’t know anyone in town except the owner of the general store, a banker, and one of the ladies at the milliner’s shop, having been too busy making a home and rearing her children to be sociable. Josiah made most of the trips to town, often bringing one of the older children with him, and Claire had remained back at the homestead to care for Amy. She hadn’t minded. She found most of the townspeople brash and rough and not much for niceties.

  Find Henry.

  Henry Blankenship was head of the First Silver Bank of Leadville and had taken a shine to Josiah and his family. An important and highly respected man in town, Henry would know what to do.

  Claire fought her way through the streets to the bank and muscled the heavy wood and brass door open. She walked in, garnering stares from several men as they took in her disheveled appearance, but she paid them no mind. Inside was calm and somewhat ordered, in contrast to the crowded streets outside.

  She scanned the high-ceilinged room beyond the teller cages, searching for the bank’s vice president. When she didn’t see Henry at his desk, she took her place in line to wait for the cashier.

  “Next, please.” Philip Jenkins, a thin, bespectacled man behind the brass bars, motioned her forward. Claire walked over and placed both hands on the counter to steady herself.

  Jenkins eyed her askance and asked, “May I help you?”

  Claire took a deep breath before replying. “I need to speak with Mr. Blankenship.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Blankenship is indisposed at the moment. Is there something I can do for you?”

  She shook her head, willing the tears not to fall. “No. I—I need to speak to him directly. Now.”

  “I can make you an appointment for next Wednesday, if you like.” Philip Jenkins busied himself straightening the papers splayed out before him.

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Next Wednesday? No. I said I need to speak to him now.”

  He gave her a disapproving glance and shook his head. “Mr. Blankenship is a very busy man.” She was surprised he didn’t add, and he can’t be bothered with an obviously hysterical woman.

  “Then I will wait.” Claire nodded toward the empty chair next to Blankenship’s desk.

  “I really can’t allow—” He took one look at her expression and sighed. “If you must.” Jenkins waved over the next person in line. Claire took her leave and sat down next to Blankenship’s desk.

  Dozens of men milled about the lobby of the cavernous building—well-to-do investors, rough-looking miners, dandies in fine clothes—all acting as though they were on some kind of important business and couldn’t be delayed. Their conceit left her cold, reminding her that life was raw, a matter of survival, and that nothing would ever be the same again. A veil had lifted, giving her a glimpse of reality—no longer sheltered in her role as wife and mother.

  She waited for the better part of an hour before Henry Blankenship made an appearance. Before he could reach his desk, Jenkins pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. Both men’s gazes flickered toward her before they resumed their shared conversation. Claire rose from her chair as Blankenship finally joined her.

  “Mrs. Whitcomb. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze took in her bloody skirt, but politeness stopped him from remarking on her appearance. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered her to a back room, murmuring, “My dear woman, what has happened to you?”

  Relieved to have someone to lean on, Claire’s shoulders inched down. She fought the tears welling in her eyes and allowed herself to be guided to safety.

  Blankenship closed the door behind them and led her to a heavy wooden chair. He produced a handkerchief and handed it to her, which she used to dab at her eyes. The smell of wood and leather and a trace of cigar smoke gave her a sense of masculine protection. Her old life in Philadelphia was like that—civilized, peaceful.

  Safe.

  He drew up another chair and perched on the edge of it, concern etching his face. “What on earth happened? Where’s Josiah?”

  She lost the battle with her tears. She wiped angrily at them as they fell, and haltingly told him of the attack.

  “The children?” he asked, a hard set to his mouth.

  She shook her head as fresh tears tracked down her cheeks. “Gone. Everyone’s gone.” Hopelessness descended on her, as she fought through overwhelming panic.

  “My God.” His expression was one of disbelief. “They killed the children.”

  Claire nodded and continued to dab at her eyes, her misery settling like an anvil in her stomach.

  Perspiration beaded on Blankenship’s forehead. He produced a second handkerchief and wiped it away. “And you’re certain the attack wasn’t the result of savages?”

  “Absolutely certain. The man I killed wore a wig. Ride with me to our property and you’ll see. I didn’t…bury him.”

  He winced as though he felt her pain. “You’re certain you want to return? Won’t seeing the shell of your home be a terrible price to pay? The marshal and his men can take care of things for you.”

  After seeing my family slaughtered? She was certain there couldn’t be anything worse. “I’m sure.”

  Blankenship took a deep breath and exhaled. “Then we must go immediately.” He stood and offered his hand. “I will alert the marshal and let him know we require his services.”

  “The sign on the door said he would be gone until this afternoon.”

  “Ah. Well, then, I shall inform his deputies. They’ll know how to get a message to him, and can stand in for him if he’s unreachable.”

  Claire nodded and rose from the chair. “Thank you, Henry. I—I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You made the right choice.” Blankenship smiled sadly as he took her hand in both of his. “You’ve had a terrible shock to the system, Mrs. Whitcomb. I and the townspeople are here for you.”

  The sun banked low on the horizon when the small party of four arrived back at Claire’s homestead: Claire, Henry Blankenship, and Eli Sutter and Joe Pendergast, two deputies from town. The house, now a charred ruin, still smoldered, proof of what had once been a home. The rock chimney towered above the wreckage, its shadows stretching from the damaged front porch to the old pine. The Beast and the metal laundry trough were the only other survivors, both blackened from the fire.

  Blankenship dismounted and walked over to the four freshly dug graves. He removed his bowler hat and bowed his head. Eli and Joe removed theirs, as well. All fell silent in respect for the dead.

  Blankenship was the first to speak. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mrs. Whitcomb.”

  Claire nodded. The grief caught in her throat. “Thank you.”

  He turned toward the skeletal remains of the house. “Show me the cur you shot.” His voice rose in righteous anger. “I want to see the kind of man who could do such a heinous thing to a God-fearing family.”

  Claire slid off her mount. “He’s just over here.” She walked to where she’d left the body but stopped, confused. She searched the ground, her panic growing.

  “What’s wrong?” Blankenship advanced toward her, a look of concern on his face.

  “I left him here.” She indicated the spot where the man with the wig had fallen. The body was gone. She dropped to her knees and pawed at the earth, searching for something, anything that would show the others that someone had been there. The earth had been scraped free of grass and blood, leaving only packed dirt.

  “Grief has a way of confusing the mind,” Blankenship said gently.

  Claire shook her head. “No. No, I shot him,” she said, pointing at the ground, “right there. He fell from his horse. I beat him with my rifle…”

  Eli and Blankenship exchanged a worried look.

  “You beat a dead man?” Eli asked, surprise creeping into his voice. Joe shifted nervously.

  “I was… distraught.” The word didn’t begin to describe how she’d felt, but her upbringing mandated understatement.

  “Of course you were.” Blankenship helped her to her feet. “You need some rest. You’ve been through a terrible, terrible tragedy.”

  “But I have nowhere to go.” The crushing realization that she was homeless tunneled its way through her. All she had left in the world were the two horses, her rifle, the clothes on her back, a burned-out husk of a home, and a worthless claim. She’d have to sell their land.

  The land they’d spent their savings on.

  Blankenship put his arm around her shoulders reassuringly. “Now don’t you worry about that, Mrs. Whitcomb. We’ll sort it all out.”

  Claire nodded, unable to speak. Where had the dead man gone? She clenched her fists in her skirt pockets. A wad of material reminded her of the handkerchief she’d used on the man’s neck. She pulled the material free and held it up.

  “I used this to wipe his neck.” She offered it to Blankenship. “The brown stain came from the man I killed.”

  Blankenship took the handkerchief from her and studied it before handing it to Eli.

  Eli folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I’ll keep this safe for when we find the men who did this.” He leaned over and said something to Joe. Joe nodded and took off toward the barn.

  “Will it help?” Claire asked.

  “That all depends on what the stain represents,” Eli said.

  “I just told you. It was some kind of face coloring to lead me to believe he was an Indian.”

  Eli spat on the ground and wiped his chin. “Beg to differ, ma’am. Looked like it coulda been blood on that kerchief.”

  “What? No. I told you it was some kind of—”

  Joe reappeared, holding Claire’s bloody shirt. He handed the garment to his boss.

  Eli’s expression hardened. “Whatcha got there, Joe?”

  “Found it bunched up in a corner of the barn. It was underneath the hay, like someone wanted to hide it.”

  Eli narrowed his eyes. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  “I told you—” Claire took a step toward the two men. Joe straightened and drew his gun.

  “That’s far enough, ma’am.”

  “That blood is from my children.” She choked back a sob.

  “Why’d you hide it?” Eli asked.

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of wearing it…”

  “It was because of the guilt of killing your family, wasn’t it?” Eli gave her an accusing stare.

  “You can’t be serious.” A spark of fear ignited inside Claire. She looked to Henry Blankenship for help. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  Eli shrugged. “Mebbe you and the mister had a fight or something. Mebbe you didn’t want him to put the place up for collateral.”

  “What?” Claire shook her head. She couldn’t make sense of his words.

  “Tell her, Henry.”

  She turned to the banker. “What is he talking about?”

  Henry Blankenship frowned at Eli before he turned to Claire. “You know about the claim, Claire.”

  Disbelief bubbled up inside her. “You mean the property we own?”

  Blankenship sighed. “Surely you were aware that your family was in dire straits. Your husband took out a second loan using the claim as collateral.” He added in a quiet voice, “He was unable to make the payments.”

  “We what?” Cold shock slid to her gut. “No. No, he would have told me—” Dire straits? Josiah had never indicated they were in financial trouble. Indeed, just the opposite was true. He’d been upbeat and excited to work their claim. It was too much for her to take in. She closed her eyes, trying to come to terms with what Henry had said.

  Eli gestured to his deputy. “Joe, I’m gonna need you to take Mrs. Whitcomb here into custody.”

  Joe took a step toward Claire, but Claire backed away, looking from Joe to Eli, and then to Blankenship.

  “What are you doing? Henry?” she asked, her gaze skating to the banker’s. “Stop him.”

  Henry Blankenship spread his hands. “Calm down, Claire. I’m certain this is just a big misunderstanding.” He turned to Eli and Joe. “Gentlemen. The woman has lost her entire family. Do you really think she had anything to do with it?”

  Joe stood motionless, waiting for Eli’s instructions.

  Eli shook his head. “Seems pretty straightforward to me, Mr. Blankenship. There’s four freshly dug graves, blood-covered evidence that she hid inside the barn, a bloody kerchief, and a crazy story about so-called marauders dressed up like savages, but no body.” He shot a glance at Claire. “And, she’s the sole survivor of a so-called raid on the homestead. If her story about them outlaws is true, why’d they leave her be?”

  Claire looked from Blankenship to Eli, then back to the banker. “You’re not serious?”

  Eli spat tobacco juice on the ground and leveled his gaze at her. “Seems to me we got us a female Jesse James.”

  Chapter 4

  “You think I killed my family?” Claire would have laughed if the notion hadn’t been so bizarre. Joe moved in, coming toward her. She shot a glance at Rose, wondering if she could get to her rifle before he caught her.

  Blankenship stepped between them, blocking Joe’s access. “Now, gentlemen. Let’s use some sense here.” He looked at Claire, then at the two men. “Does this woman look like a killer to you?”

  Joe frowned and nodded at her. “She already confessed to killing a man and then beatin’ hell out of him. What if that’s just a story to throw us off the scent?”

  Blankenship made a show of looking around him. “Do you see a dead body anywhere?”

  “That’s not—” Joe began.

  “What about the freshly dug graves?” Eli asked. “And the family’s financial trouble? If her family’s dead, the property would belong to her.” He nodded at Claire. “You heard her yourself. She didn’t know anything about the second loan. Why wouldn’t her husband tell her?”

  “Why would I bury them if I killed them in cold blood?” Claire asked, certain now of the two men’s intention to take her into custody. Preposterous as the charges were, frontier justice was rarely just. The chance that she’d hang from the gallows was slightly better than her chance of going free. She backed up toward Rose, slowly closing the distance.

  Blankenship drew his revolver and aimed it at Joe. “Don’t take another step, gentlemen.”

  Eli put his hand on his gun and gave him a warning look. “You’re interferin’ with the law, Blankenship.”

  “What if I take responsibility?”

  “What do you mean?” Eli narrowed his eyes.

  “I mean if you release her into my care, I’ll guarantee that she’ll appear in court when the time comes. Until then, she’ll be my ward, so to speak.” He glanced over his shoulder at Claire. “I’ve an empty bedroom for her to use.”

  “Won’t people talk?” Joe asked.

  Eli added, “What if she escapes?”

  “I assure you, I will nail all the windows shut and lock her inside her room, negating any worries you may have of her escape.”

  Claire continued to edge toward Rose. She couldn’t find her family’s killers if she was locked up in Blankenship’s house, and she’d be damned if she was going to allow these men to dictate what would happen to her.

  Even with Blankenship’s offer of help, she’d hang for sure.

  When she judged the distance to be close enough she sprinted the last few feet to her horse, grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and her skirt with the other, and threw herself into the saddle. Blankenship shoved Joe to the ground as Eli drew his weapon. Claire spurred Rose and headed straight toward them. She turned sharply at the last moment, throwing Eli off balance so his shot went wild. Joe recovered too late and missed her by a wide margin.

  Heart in her throat and tensing for the sting of a bullet, Claire bent forward, her head inches from Rose’s mane, and urged the mare on.

  She cleared the property at a full gallop, heading cross-country toward Leadville. She didn’t know where else to go. She’d figure things out once she got to town and lost herself in the crowds. In the meantime, the sparse trees didn’t give her much cover. The only thing on her side was a head start.