“You don’t have to be so smug about it.” She scuttled her chair closer to the bars and lowered her voice in the hopes of putting an end to Hunter’s eavesdropping. “I plan to clear Pa’s name, Bill. I’m hoping you can help me with that.”
Bill’s eyebrows raised a notch until they disappeared beneath the rim of his hat. “Can’t imagine what kind of assistance I could be to you in that regard. I already told ’em your pa didn’t take part in the rustling. No one cared about my opinion then. Can’t imagine much has changed in that regard.”
Meredith remembered the impotent rage she felt when Bill’s eyewitness testimony was tossed aside by the circuit court judge. Judge Arthur Laidlow had arrived in town with his mind already made up on the matter it seemed. Truth and justice didn’t sway him one iota, a fact made obvious by his rulings. Bill had escaped and disappeared shortly after that and she didn’t blame him. Nor had her father.
Best he get gone and stay that way. No sense both of us sitting in this cell waitin’ for the hangman’s noose, Pa had told her. She’d agreed he had the right of it, but she had missed Bill’s comforting presence, the feeling that someone else was on her side. She hadn’t seen him since, though in his letters her father referred to him from time to time indicating they had been in contact.
She slipped one of the strings of her reticule from her wrist and opened it up, fishing inside until her fingers hit upon what she was looking for. She pulled out two folded pieces of paper and handed them to Bill through the bars.
“When Aunt Erma died, I was sorting through her things and came across a letter Pa had sent her early on, shortly after I arrived.”
Bill took the papers and flipped them open. She didn’t bother to ask him if he could read it. She knew him to be an educated man. His mama had run a high-end brothel somewhere in Texas, and she ensured her only son was educated, hoping to give him every advantage she hadn’t had. Unfortunately she’d died of the pox when Bill was only fourteen, putting an end to her dreams.
When he finished perusing the first piece of paper, he let out a slow breath, refolded it along the crease and passed it back to her. “You know what this is?” He asked, indicating the second piece of paper.
She lifted a hand in exasperation. “It’s a page from a ledger of some sort. I kept the account books for Aunt Erma, but I can’t make heads or tails out of this one. The list of items on the left is a jumble of letters. It’s like it was written in code. Do you recognize it? I figured it must be important. Pa’s letter told Aunt Erma to keep it somewhere safe. Why else would he do that if it wasn’t important?”
“Like I said,” Bill told her, his voice more weary than when they first began their conversation. “I’m not sure I can be much help to you.”
“But—”
Bill shook his head, cutting her off. “It was a long time ago, Meredith. My memory ain’t what it used to be. Besides, you really think your pa would want you dredging all this old stuff up? I think for certain he’d rather you get on with your life. Find yourself a good man, settle down and have some babies. Bet he’d smile real proud-like from Heaven to see you bringing up his grandbabies.”
Frustration rippled through her. She’d had dreams like that once, but her foolish heart and rebellious body had put an end to that. What man would want her now when she had already given herself to another? No, she had put that dream away, along with the idea of love. It was a road riddled with hurt and heartbreak and she had no desire to travel down it ever again.
“I’m sorry, Bill. But I can’t. I can’t live here day in and day out, seeing my father’s grave and knowing people believe the man buried there was a thief.”
Bill nodded and fell silent for a moment, staring at his hands. “Do you remember that ole chessboard your pa made?”
She had hoped Bill could help her, that he could shed light on the curious ledger sheet her father deemed important enough to send to Aunt Erma for safekeeping. Her shoulders drooped with disappointment. She was on her own with no idea of how to proceed.
“Yes, of course, I remember,” she said, forcing a smile. “Pa taught me how to play when I was a little girl.”
“Taught me, too. Haven’t played in a dog’s age, though. You still have that?”
“I suppose it’s still out at the homestead. I haven’t been back yet.” Bertram assured her he’d kept an eye on it, but she had put off going there herself. Seeing the place in which she had once lived safe and happy now sitting empty and abandoned only drove home everything she had lost. Sooner or later she would have to—she couldn’t stay at the Klein forever, but she’d hoped the sooner would be more like later.