Rain Shadow(17)

"Thank you, Esteban," the elderly Fredrico said. "You know I take a chill in the evening."

Miguel watched the servant light a stack of prepared firewood and exit.  The blaze crackled pleasantly, and he imagined stretching his legs  toward the fire and enjoying a bottle of port with his cigar.

"Juanita is no longer with us."

Miguel slanted Fredrico a glance. Had she left or died? "I hear pain in your voice."

"It was many years ago," Fredrico said simply.

Miguel puffed on his cigar and pondered his next words. "I have seen that necklace before."

Phillipe straightened. "You must be mistaken. There are no two lockets like that one."

Exactly. "I am certain. A piece of jewelry like that is hard to forget."

"I had it made for her sixteenth birthday," Fredrico explained. "Tell me, Mr. Ruiz, where did you see this locket?"

His eager expression played right into Miguel's hand. "I could find it again."

"I will hire an agency immediately." The eagerness in the old man's voice told Miguel he had struck pay dirt.

Miguel sat forward. "Do you want the necklace or the woman?"

Philippe unfolded himself from his chair and stood behind his father.  "Mr. Ruiz, this is a painful subject. I think it best if we-"

"No, Philippe." Fredrico Avarato brushed a trembling hand over his brow. "I wish to talk about her."

"Perhaps I can be of help to you," Miguel prompted.

The old gent studied the portrait, his eyes misting. "Juanita met a  young man when she was eighteen. A tailor's son, a man of no position or  wealth." His voice was unsteady as he continued. "Juanita was a most  unusual girl, uninterested in jewels or clothing like other girls her  age. Her tastes were simple. The locket suited her well." He turned away  from the portrait of his daughter. "I discouraged her from marrying the  man." He shuffled uneasily in his chair.

"As any father would," Miguel encouraged.

"I have wondered a thousand times over in the years since." He placed  his hand over his son's on his shoulder. "The foolish young man had  dreams of going west and making his fortune. Juanita went with him. I  learned they were married and joined an ill-fated wagon train."

"Did your daughter survive?"

"I didn't believe so. But if you've seen the locket..."

"I have seen it." Miguel stood. "Mr. Avarato. Let me do this for you.  Let me try to locate the locket and perhaps your daughter if she is  alive."

The older man's slate eyebrows rose.

Phillipe stepped from behind his father and perched on the edge of the  desk before Miguel. "Why would you want to do this? We are strangers to  you and your family."

Miguel nodded as though he understood the other man's hesitation. Make  him believe it. Make him buy it. "I know the woman who wears the  necklace."

"Tell us who she is, and we will have our own people look into it."

Miguel gave him a half-smile of regret. "Mr. Avarato, I am a man of my  word. I am in her confidence, and for reasons I cannot disclose, she  lives under an assumed name. If she thought anyone was seeking her out,  she would disappear."                       
       
           



       

"Don't you think we have exhausted every trail in searching for my  sister?" Phillipe interrupted. "This issue is best left closed."

"Phillipe." Fredrico placed a hand on the desk. "I am still the  patriarch of this family. I understand your concern for me. I have  grieved for her all these years, and you think it best I forget." He  opened a drawer and took out a key. "I cannot forget."

From another drawer Fredrico withdrew a strongbox and unlocked it. After  shuffling through the contents, he held up several papers. "I want to  know before I die."

Philippe's dark gaze slid from his father to Miguel, his impotence in the situation an obvious frustration.

"The passenger list," Fredrico clarified. "No survivors were ever  located... but communication from the west was poor." He handed the  sheets across the desk. "Reward probably means little to you, but I will  pay handsomely for any information."

Solemnly, Miguel took the papers. "I will donate the reward to charity."  He glanced through the lists. "I may have a problem," he said  distractedly. "My cash is tied up right now."

"Your expenses will be the least I can do." Fredrico stood and stepped around the desk. "Please, wait here."

Avarato left the room, and Miguel met Phillipe's piercing gaze. "Do not  play my father for a fool, Mr. Ruiz. You will find nowhere to hide if  you lead him into a hurtful situation."

"What reason could I have to mislead your father? You must know I would  do nothing to lower my esteem in your daughter's eyes." Miguel glanced  at the papers in his lap and stifled a smile. His stay in Boston was  proving much more pleasant than he had imagined. Researching the wagon  train could be done while enjoying the finest hotels and restaurants.

He ran through the possibilities. Perhaps Juanita Avarato had been  captured by an Indian and Rain Shadow was her daughter. If Rain Shadow  did turn out to be an Avarato heiress, marrying into the family might  not be quite as unpleasant or take as long as he had feared.

The Wild West Show would be in winter quarters now, an additional stroke  of luck. Will Cody didn't spend the winter with the others, and Miguel  didn't need to run into Cody. Miguel's welcome had worn thin by the time  he'd met Rain Shadow, and Will had been ready to let him go.

Rain Shadow had succumbed to his charms easily enough once. He'd make  sure she would again. And, remembering their shipboard romance, he  thought the task would not be an unpleasant one.

* * *

The blazing barn undulated, one moment graphically clear, the next  blurred by shimmering orange waves of heat and, tears. Anton watched  keenly, helplessly. Horrible, tortured screams raised the hair on his  neck and arms. The sound came from inside-from the woman trapped inside  the blazing barn. Heat blasted his face and scorched his eyebrows while a  cool breeze flirted with his back.

The other sound prickled his scalp, sent shudders along his spine and tore the breath from his lungs-a baby crying.

His feet were lead, the earth a gigantic magnet, securing him to the  spot. His hands weighed hundreds of pounds apiece, hanging like window  weights at his sides. Blisters erupted on his face, the skin stretched  and peeled, and still he stood helpless.

And still the baby cried.

The baby.

Anton bolted upright. The coverlet lay twisted around one ankle,  trailing onto the floor. On the night table his pocket watch ticked in  the silence of the dark room.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

His baby. The child he had planted inside a wife who'd never loved him.  Nikolaus' brother or sister. A child who would have been a few months  older than Clara and Seth, Jakob and Franz's two oldest children.

He hadn't had the dream in ages, and he didn't understand why he'd had  it now. The dream wasn't always the same, there were a number of  variables. Sometimes he could barely walk or crawl, but he never got any  closer to the barn. Sometimes he ran inside the building, smoke and  flames blinding him so that he couldn't find Emily or the baby.

But the scene never happened the way it had in reality. The screams had  been Lydia's. Emily had been beyond rescue. And of course, an unborn  baby couldn't cry. And most importantly, he had tried to save her. He'd  fought his brothers like a wild man, and they had prevented him from  getting himself killed.                       
       
           



       

Anton adjusted the coverlet and lay back on the pillow.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

There were so many things he hadn't known about Emily that he wondered  if anyone had ever really known her. He'd never met her parents or seen  the home she'd come from or even heard her speak of herself as a child.  It was as if she hadn't existed until she'd come to him. He'd never  really known her and definitely hadn't understood her. Rain Shadow had  been more direct with her replies to his questions than Emily had ever  been.

Perhaps he could have spared her. Spared their child. There were times  he mused on what their second child would have looked like. He'd always  fancied a house full of tall, blond-haired sons like his parents had.  Once in a while he'd look at Nikolaus and picture a brother alongside  him, a towheaded boy a year and a half younger.

Maybe if he'd built them a house of their own none of it would have happened. Maybe a home of her own would have made her happy.

But he hadn't. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Morning couldn't be far off. Anton willed himself back to sleep. As was  often the case when he couldn't sleep, odd images entered his mind. He  dwelled on things he couldn't fathom why he'd thought of. A picture of  Emily rocking Nikolaus bloomed in his mind's eyes. She had loved their  son. He believed she'd loved him, too, in her own way.