A Worthy Pursuit Page 8

  Stephen entered, his eyes quickly scanning the room. Stone captured his attention and silently gestured to Lily’s hiding place.

  The boy’s furrowed brow cleared, and a grin stretched his lips. He jumped forward and crouched down to peer under the bed. “Found you, Lily!”

  “You cheated!” She crawled out and scowled up at both Stephen and Stone. “You got help.”

  “Yeah, well, you cheated, too.” Stephen crossed his skinny arms over his chest. “You know Miss Lottie told you not to come in here. She’s liable to send you to bed with no supper when she finds out.”

  “You can’t tell her!” The scowl immediately transformed into a pair of pleading puppy-dog eyes and a pouty bottom lip. “Please. I promise not to come here again. Please, Stephen.”

  The boy crumpled under the onslaught. “All right, but you gotta do the garden weeding for me tomorrow.”

  “I will,” she vowed. Then she turned her pleading gaze on Stone. “You can’t tell either, Mr. Hammond. Promise?”

  As if he would. He didn’t want the teacher to find out, either. “I promise.”

  “Good.” Her shoulders sagged in relief.

  “We better go,” Stephen said, taking Lily’s hand and tugging her toward the door. Once he had her outside, he stuck his head back in. “Oh, and Mr. Hammond?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Miss Lottie said to remind you that if you’re feeling up to it, you can have dinner with us in the kitchen tonight. Around six.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

  Ready to continue probing for the truth.

  10

  Thirty minutes before the time he was expected for dinner, Stone collected the stationery box the teacher had loaned him, as well as his lunch dishes, and made his way to the house. Never hurt to have the element of surprise on one’s side. To increase the advantage, he didn’t go to the back door but circled around to the front, the door farther from both the kitchen and the bunkhouse. The least likely door for him to use. Then, instead of knocking, he eased the door open and let himself in. All the better to catch them off guard. Get a true picture of what went on in Miss Charlotte Atherton’s house.

  Only, he was the one caught off guard.

  First by the music. An intricate melody filled with twists and turns swirled around him and tugged him toward the parlor. More complex than any popular song he’d heard banged out in a dance hall or saloon. He couldn’t even imagine it in a church setting. Too many notes to follow. Not that he would try. This song didn’t need a human voice to give it meaning. All one had to do was listen to feel the impact.

  “Don’t rush, John,” a feminine voice called out from deeper in the house, probably the kitchen. “Keep a steady tempo.”

  John? The little Chinese kid was playing? Impossible.

  Yet when Stone rounded the corner on silent feet and peered into the parlor, there sat John Chang, his tiny fingers flying over the keys like a master. His expressionless face seemed at odds with the stunning complexity of the music, as if the notes he produced required no concentration and no personal response.

  When Stone had first started investigating Dr. Sullivan’s academy, he’d been aware of the “for exceptional youths” part of the title, but he’d just assumed Keith Sullivan had tacked that on to make his school sound more prestigious and thereby attract a more elite clientele. The one time he’d met the esteemed Dr. Sullivan, he’d smelled a bit too much like snake oil for Stone’s taste. All the right words up front, but slippery underneath. Big promises, little follow-through. Stone knew the type. Collected bounties on a couple in his early days—swindlers so consumed with lining their pockets that they spared little thought for the people whose lives they destroyed in the process. Dr. Sullivan might not deal in magic elixirs, but he still smacked of chicanery. Why else would a supposedly devoted educator shut down his school mid-term? He must’ve found a better way to line his pockets.

  Nevertheless, it appeared that the “exceptional” part of Dr. Sullivan’s academy had not been a ruse. John Chang was the most exceptional seven-year-old Stone had ever seen. Did Stephen and Lily have remarkable talents as well? He studied Stephen, who sat cross-legged on the floor with what looked to be a gutted mantel clock in his lap then lifted his gaze to examine Lily. She looked like any other nine-year-old girl, curled against the arm of the small sofa, engrossed in a dime novel. The teacher had mentioned that Lily was smart, and she obviously liked to read, but did that make her exceptional?

  Stone peered a little closer, trying to decipher clues he had little context for interpreting. Maybe he needed to see her in her element. After all, he’d thought John was just a quiet kid who liked to stick close to the house until he’d seen him at the piano.

  “Mr. Hammond!” Lily’s squeal of delight soared through the room and brought the music to a jarring halt. John’s hands hovered above the keys as Lily threw aside her paperbound book and jumped to her feet.

  Stone grinned at the girl and stepped more fully into the room. “You don’t need to stop, kid,” he said, nodding in the boy’s direction. “You play real well. Do you know another song?”

  “Play the moon one that Miss Lottie is teaching you,” Lily urged. “That one’s so pretty.” She started humming a three-note pattern and swayed in rhythm before holding out the sides of her dress and executing a fancy turn.

  “It’s not pretty. It’s sad.” Stephen frowned at Lily. “Makes me feel lonely.”

  “Only when Miss Lottie plays it,” Lily argued. “Besides, that’s part of what makes it so pretty.”

  Stephen rolled his eyes in Stone’s direction as if he hoped for commiseration regarding the illogical nature of females. Stone managed to hold in his chuckle. Barely.

  Turning her back on Stephen, Lily poured all her power of persuasion onto John. She leaned against the piano and dug out the puppy eyes. “Please, Johnny. It’s my favorite.”

  The poor kid didn’t stand a chance, though he put up a good fight. “I don’t know all the right notes yet,” he said. “Miss Lottie is making me read the dots on the page for that one.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” the girl insisted. “You’ve heard Miss Lottie play it, and we all know you can play any piece you want once you’ve heard it. You don’t need the sheet music.”

  Stone looked from Lily to John to Stephen, but none of them seemed to think her statement the least bit outlandish. They acted as if such talent were normal.

  John heaved a sigh and adjusted his position on the bench.

  Lily clapped and beamed a smile so wide it filled the room. “Oh, thank you, Johnny!” Then she dashed behind the bench, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed for all she was worth.

  John pulled a face and groaned, but he made no attempt to push her away. Stephen rolled his eyes again. Lily just laughed and danced across the rug. The three acted more like siblings than classmates. Of course, that’s how they’d been living for the last couple months.

  The music started up again, a slow song with deep tones and a beat that seemed to keep the piece moving forward. It was a much simpler tune, yet the boy played it hesitantly, his gaze scouring the empty space in front of him as if for directions.

  Then all at once, Miss Atherton appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. She raised a brow at seeing Stone there but didn’t comment on his presence. Instead, she crossed the room to stand behind John, placed her hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, and exhaled a long, steady breath.

  “Feel the music, John.” She spoke so quietly, Stone almost missed it. “Remember? Let it move from your ears . . . through your mind . . . down into your heart . . . and then out your fingers.”

  The boy visibly relaxed. The notes became less stilted.

  “Better,” she praised. For a moment, her fingers mimicked John’s, playing out the notes upon his small shoulders. Then they slid off and disappeared into the folds of her apron. Leaving her pupil to carry on without her, she stepped away from the piano.r />
  Stone met her halfway across the rug. “I thought I’d return your writing desk. Oh, and the plate from lunch.” He held out the stationery box to her, keeping the dish in place on top of it with his thumbs. “I appreciate the use of both.”

  Miss Atherton accepted the items then immediately handed the stationery box to Lily. “Take this to my room, please.” The girl gave a little huff but then grabbed the box and scampered off. The teacher turned back to Stone. “I understand that Dr. Ramsey volunteered to post your letter for you.”

  “That’s right. He took it with him last night. Seemed like a trustworthy fellow. Should I be concerned?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh no. The doctor is a fine man. Extremely responsible. I’ve no doubt your letter has already been delivered to the post office. I just . . . I wondered how you planned to occupy your time while you wait for a reply.”

  Stone stepped closer to her, catching a glimpse of Lily running back into the room out of the corner of his eye. “You know exactly what I plan to do, Charlotte.” He spoke in a low murmur. Her mouth gaped just a touch at his use of her Christian name, but he was tired of the forced formality between them. It was time for her to accept that the barriers needed to come down. No more holding him at arm’s length and keeping Lily away from him. “I plan to convalesce and enjoy your hospitality. Maybe help out with some chores around the place.” He gave her a pointed look. “Spend time with the kids.” The tiny lines between her brows warned that a frown was coming, so he quickly steered the discussion to less threatening ground. “I never imagined I’d be treated to such an impressive concert. John has a rare talent.”

  “Yes. He does.” The frown lines didn’t completely disperse, but pride sparked in her eyes, thawing the frost that had started to collect around their edges. “They all do. In their own way.” She nodded toward Stephen, who had managed to completely gut the clock during their short conversation. “He’s taken that clock apart and put it successfully back together three times now. Faster each time. And each time he finishes, the clock ticks down perfect time. It didn’t run at all when we first arrived here.”

  “And Lily?” Stone asked.

  Charlotte glanced down to a spot near his right elbow and smiled. “Let her read a story with you, and you’ll see.”

  A small hand wormed its way into his oversized paw and gave his arm a tug. “Come on, Mr. Hammond. Come read a story with me. It’ll be fun.”

  His fingers closed reflexively over Lily’s hand as he allowed her to lead him to the sofa. It felt strange, foreign, to have something so tiny and delicate curled in his fist. His hands were made to wrap around a revolver or rifle, the hilt of a knife, or the horn of a saddle. They were made for subduing lawbreakers, not reading stories with little girls. However, something shifted in his heart the moment she placed her hand so trustingly in his. Something soft yet fiercely protective.

  He had the power to change this child’s life. For better or for worse. What if he made the wrong choice? The thought sent a shudder through him. The girl was obviously happy here with her teacher and friends, but would that happiness last? Hiding, living on the run, took its toll on a body. How many times had he cashed in on a bounty because a man got sloppy after turning to drink to deal with the stress of always looking over his shoulder? Charlotte might have created a warm little nest for her chicks here, but that nest could become a prison over time. Lily deserved better than that. But was a rich grandfather necessarily better? Would he love her, care for her? Or would she simply be another pawn for him to control, a bauble to display until she grew old enough to be bartered in marriage to the highest bidder?

  God, I can’t decide this on my own. Show me the right path to take, and give me the courage to take it.

  “Mr. Hammond? You all right?” Lily’s bright blue eyes peeked up at him from where she sat on the sofa, her forehead crinkled in concern.

  Stone shook off the heaviness of his thoughts and grinned. “Sorry, squirt.” He plopped down beside her, noting that the illustrious Miss Atherton had retreated back into the kitchen while he’d been wool-gathering. “My mind got away from me for a minute there. Now, what’s so special about the way you read?”

  Her mouth quirked. “Nothing. I read just like anybody else.” She handed him the dime novel she’d been engrossed in earlier then turned her back and rested her spine against his arm. She pulled up her knees and leaned the side of her head against the sofa’s back cushions. “It’s what comes after the reading that makes me special, according to Miss Lottie.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem that special to me, but it is lots of fun. Especially with bounty hunter stories.” She twisted her head around and grinned at him, her enthusiasm contagious. “You start, then I’ll show you.”

  11

  Unsure what he was supposed to do, Stone thumbed back the book cover that featured a man who reminded him a bit of Daniel Barrett, his old partner from the early days. The flaming red hair was brighter than the dark rusty color of his friend’s hair, but the title of the novel, Dead-Eye Dan and the Dastardly Duel, aroused his curiosity—and his suspicion.

  Stone turned to the first chapter and started reading. “‘Dead-Eye Dan hunkered behind a boulder at the top of Widow’s Canyon, his rifle at the ready. He’d been trailing the Gatling Gang for five days with nothing but a pouch of jerky, hardtack, and his faithful horse, Ranger, to keep him going.’”

  Ranger? Dead-Eye Dan was Daniel Barrett! Stone barely contained a snort. Did Barrett know he’d been immortalized in print? He couldn’t wait to rib his old friend. He’d have to find himself a copy of this book so he could wave it under Dan’s nose.

  Lily must have taken his pause as permission to take over, for she started reading, picking up where he’d left off. “‘The posse out of Rockdale had given up their pursuit two days ago, leaving Dan to track the gang on his own. But he didn’t mind. Dead-Eye Dan worked better alone, sniffing out trails like a bloodhound, and getting ahead of his quarry. That was how he came to be on the ridge overlooking Widow’s Canyon.’” Lily pitched her voice low, as if not wanting to give away the intrepid Dan’s hiding place.

  Stone turned to smile at her . . . and froze. Lily wasn’t reading. She wasn’t looking at the book at all. She still had her back pressed against his arm, her head facing the piano.

  “‘Hoofbeats echoed from the west. He’d been right! Billy Cavanaugh and his gang of outlaws had circled back.’”

  She read . . . no, quoted the book word-for-word. Not a single mistake. How many times must she have read this story to be able to repeat it so flawlessly?

  “‘He’d found the small box canyon yesterday while scouting,’” she continued, “‘and Dan’s gut had convinced him it would be the perfect place for a hideout. Sheltered. Hidden. A small creek at the back to provide water for horses and men alike. So he’d taken a chance and positioned himself on high ground and waited for the gang’s return. His gut had been right. But then, Dead-Eye Dan’s gut was always right.’” Lily tipped her head back until her eyes met his. She grinned. “Your turn, Mr. Hammond.”

  “How many times have you read this story, squirt?” Stone kept his tone nonchalant, careful to mask his astonishment.

  Lily shrugged. “Just once. But that’s all I ever read anything. Well, except the Bible. Miss Lottie says the Bible is different because God helps you see new things in it each time you read it. Not quite sure what she means by that. I can see the Bible pages in my mind just like I can see the pages of my dime novels and read them there, but she still likes me to read from the actual book sometimes.”

  Stone said nothing, just tried to absorb what the girl had said with such casualness. She’d only read the book once? And she could quote it verbatim? He couldn’t fathom such a thing. “You see the pages in your mind?” he asked.

  “Yep. It’s kind of like a photograph, I guess. I see it once, then I can look at it later, whenever I want, inside my mind. It’s not that different from what John can do with the
piano.” Lily turned around in her seat, obviously tired of craning her neck to look at him. “Miss Lottie says we’re not to brag about the tricks we can do, though. Especially if we start attending the school in Madisonville next term. She says it’s not kind to make other people feel bad if they take longer to learn something. It doesn’t make them dumb, it just means they have to work harder.”

  Stone schooled his features into a serious mask. Nice to know he wasn’t dumb, just a hard worker.

  “Once”—Lily leaned in close as if imparting a secret—“Miss Lottie told me about a boy at the academy who could do really hard arithmetic problems in his head without writing anything down. He got so used to it coming easy that when his teacher tried to show him how to do problems that were even more difficult, he didn’t understand them right away and got fed up and quit. Left the academy. Miss Lottie says that if God gives us a gift, we have to culti . . . cultivate it.” Lily grinned over the accomplishment of recalling the correct word then gave him a look that had Charlotte Atherton written all over it. “That means work hard at helping it grow.”

  Stone nodded. “It sounds like Miss Lottie is a good teacher.” A woman who seemed to believe that teaching character was as important as teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic. A point in her favor.

  “She’s the best!” Lily bounced on the sofa cushion. “She gives us our lessons every morning after chores. Well, except for yesterday. But that’s because you showed up. You threw off her schedule. Miss Lottie’s real fond of schedules. I’m surprised she let you stay.” Lily tilted her head and considered him, as if finally questioning what he was doing here.

  Time for a diversion.

  Taking Dead-Eye Dan in hand, Stone fanned the pages to a random spot in the middle. “‘Dan dove behind a fallen tree as a hailstorm of bullets rained down around him. The Gatling Gang had come by their moniker honestly, laying down rapid fire that mimicked the output of the famed war gun. Unruffled by the deadly flurry, however, Dan flipped onto his back behind the log and reloaded his Henry repeater with methodical precision. The six-gun at his hip sported full chambers. The knife on his belt was razor-sharp and ready for action.’” Stone’s voice trailed off, cueing Lily.