Sean Donovan (The Californians, Book 3) (13 page)

Sean had not missed one word of the conversation
that had transpired in the next room. How did his wife
expect people to react to his walking around town a free
man, when most of them believed he should be six feet
under ground? He felt sorry for her, since she obviously
had more on her hands than she had bargained for. The
thought troubled him.

But then without her, Sean would be dead. The sobering thought was enough to bring the young man back to
the task at hand. He stepped back out into the store and
waited for Charlie and Pete to notice him.

"Does it fit?" Pete asked, since Charlie seemed capable of little more than staring at Sean with his new
haircut.

"I think the next size up, if you have it."

"Sure enough."

Sean disappeared back behind the curtain. Charlie
wandered around the store then, and with Pete's help,
picked up various items that she thought Sean might need. A special pleasure rose within her at his surprised
look of gratitude when he watched Pete wrap their purchases.

Fifteen minutes later husband and wife were once
again back on the street. Tucked safely under Sean's arm,
in a wrapped parcel, were two pair of pants and three
shirts, underclothes, socks, a comb and brush set, a
razor, shaving mug and brush, and five handkerchiefs.

They received their fair share of curious stares, but
no one appeared to be malicious. Even so, Sean was
relieved to see the livery come into view. Charlie threw
open the doors, and Sean headed toward the forge. The
small ovenlike room was already comfortably familiar to
him. Here there were no hostile or speculative looks.

The morning slipped away in quiet work. Sean found
Charlie more than able as an assistant farrier. She seemed
to know what a horse was thinking and second guessed
movements on more than one occasion. Some horses
tended to rest their weight on the man shoeing them. To
call this a heavy burden was a gross understatement.
Charlie had a little trick of pushing her small fist into the
horse's flank. Most of the animals got the message, and
Sean was able to go on with his work without gasping for
air. They were just finishing with a high-spirited twoyear-old when a young girl appeared with a tray.

"That's our lunch," Charlie said by way of explanation, and after securing the horse, led the girl to a crate.

"You can put it here, Lucy. Tell your mom I'll be in to
pay my bill tomorrow."

The young girl, with a few covert glances at Visalia's
resident outlaw, exited as silently as she had arrived.
Charlie washed and set out their food while Sean had a
quick wash himself. The crates were in the stall closest to
the rear doors. The high separation wall of the stall
shielded them from the people passing on the street, but still allowed the breeze from the back doors to reach
them.

Sean looked eagerly at the food before him. Charlie
must have been watching since she spoke up immediately.

"I've told the hotel to double your order for both lunch
and supper. It might be more than you want, but then
it'll be here in midafternoon if you're hungry."

"Thank you, Charlotte." Sean reached for his napkin.
"It looks great."

And indeed it did. Large slices of ham nearly obscured
one plate and the mix of carrots and potatoes was making Sean's mouth water. A jug of water, although not
cold, was more than refreshing.

Sean, after laying his napkin on his knee, simply
bowed his head and silently thanked God for the food.
He had already reached for his fork and knife before he
looked over to see Charlie watching him, her own fork
halfway to her mouth.

"What were you doing just then?"

"Praying. Thanking God for the meal."

Sean couldn't hold back a smile as Charlie's head
tipped back and she examined the rafters of the livery.

"Do you think Someone really heard you?" Her voice
was sincere.

"Yes I do," Sean answered with surety, and Charlie
went on to eat her food. Her face, still framed by her hat,
gave nothing away.

Franklin Witt did not have a personal grudge against
Sean Donovan. In the hours following the hanging,
however, he could think of little else except that he felt
cheated. At first he was angry that Donovan hadn't
swung from a rope; and then he got to wondering if
maybe Sean could be of more use alive. The thought
nagged him until he decided to see Duncan with an idea.

"What can I do for you, Witt?" Duncan asked as the
suave banker entered his office first thing one morning.

"I've been thinking some more about Donovan." Witt
forestalled Duncan with a raised hand when it looked
like he was going to interrupt.

"I know you think I'm wasting my time, but the truth
is, it's my time and he's still the best lead we've got. I'd
just like to talk to him once more."

Duncan looked doubtful, and Witt hurried on.

"No strong-arm stuff, Duncan. I just want to appeal to
him as one citizen of Visalia helping another."

Duncan could see how distasteful that last sentence
was for Witt and in all honesty he couldn't say as he
blamed him. The men talked about the bank robberies a
moment more, and then Duncan assured Witt that he'd
at least think on the idea.

"You have heard what a good worker he is, haven't
you?"

"Yes, Duncan, I'll give him that. He does seem to be
faring far better than I ever imagined, but I've got one
more thing I need to say before I go. If that bank is hit
again in the very near future, it won't matter if you're his
alibi, you know there will be a lynch mob. Think on that,
would you, Duncan?"

Duncan sat very still as Witt rose and left the office. He
was right; there was no doubt in that. But right didn't
make it fair. Of course, no one ever promised this life
would be fair. It looked like Duncan would have to talk
with Sean about the robberies whether he wanted to or
not.

Sean and Charlie settled into a pattern of sorts that
saw them through the rest of the week. Lunch was always eaten in the livery, on the crates that served as a
makeshift table and chairs. In the evenings they ate at
the small kitchen table and then moved into the tiny
living room where Charlie would usually repair a bridle
as Sean read silently.

As soon as Charlie found out that Sean liked to read,
she had the newspaper sent over. He was quickly seeing
how trusted she was in town. Food, laundry, and even
the newspaper were delivered without question.

By Saturday Sean was feeling a very definite change
taking place in his body. The hours spent with a hammer
in his hand pounding iron and pulling the bellows once
again became easy.

Both Sean and Charlie went to Sadie's for baths Saturday evening after supper. On the way home Charlie told
Sean the livery was closed on Sundays.

"Every Sunday?" Sean was visibly pleased.

"Yes. It used to be open every day all year, but business is always slow on Sunday, and the hotel has a small
stable at the rear of the building for folks coming in on
weekends. So all I do now is feed and water morning and
evening. The doors are shut all day. Sometimes I take a
buggy out if one of the horses hasn't had much exercise,
but that's not really work."

Sean loved it when she talked to him. It didn't happen
often, but when she did open up she usually had a lot to
say. And then, he'd watch as an unsure look would pass
over her face as though she had said too much, revealed
too much of who she was.

"Oh!" Charlie's voice told him she had just thought of
something. "I always eat Sunday dinner at Sadie's, so
we'll be going there around noon."

'Are you sure that invitation is extended to me?"
Regret rose deep from within Sean and shone in his dark
brown eyes.

They had arrived back at the house now and Charlie
stood in the kitchen looking with great compassion at
him. "Sadie likes you. I can't say that all the people in the
boardinghouse are going to welcome your presence, but
what Sadie says, goes. She told me tonight when we left
that she would see us both tomorrow."

Sean was pleased by the invitation, but more than a
little wary. He had no desire to cause trouble for Charlie's
aunt. His presence at the boardinghouse dinner table
would be like inviting it in through the front door.

Sean and Charlie had no more time to discuss Sunday
dinner because someone was knocking on the door. It
was Duncan.

"I'm sorry to disturb you on a Saturday night, but I
need to talk with Sean."

Charlie held the door wide and Duncan removed his
hat and stepped into the room. Charlie gestured both
men into the living room and followed, taking one end
of the sofa. Sean sat next to his wife, and then looked to
Duncan who had taken the chair.

"Franklin Witt was in to see me this week," Duncan
began without preamble. "He'd like to talk with you,
Sean. He's holding out a faint hope that there's something you overlooked that might lead us to Hartley."

"I told you all Iknow, Duncan."

"I'm sure you did. Witt would like to talk with you
anyway. I think it might be a good idea, if for no other
reason than to give him some peace of mind."

Sean looked at Charlie, who had tensed when Duncan
mentioned Witt and then Hartley. Husband and wife
stared at one another for a moment, and Sean would
have given much to know what she was thinking.

Duncan didn't stay long, but before leaving he arranged for Sean to come to his office on Monday at 8:00.
"By the way, Sean, bring Charlie with you on Monday.
There's no reason for her to stay away."

"All right, Duncan. Goodnight."

Sean shut the door and turned to find Charlie on the
threshold between the kitchen and living room. Again
Sean watched her, wishing he knew her thoughts, or at
least what to say.

"I'm pretty tired.-l- think I'll go to bed."

"Are you all right?" Sean could not hold the question
back.

"I don't know," Charlie answered, wondering herself.
"Witt just isn't one of my favorite people, and I don't
want to see you used by him."

Not knowing how to answer, Sean changed the subject. "If you want I can get up and do the chores in the
morning. You could sleep in."

"Thanks, but I'm an early riser. Goodnight, Sean."
"Goodnight."

Three hours later Charlie was convinced that this was
anything but a good night. She'd tossed and turned for
what seemed like days. Never had she known such a
myriad of emotions over anything in her life, and certainly never a man.

She had stood and watched Sean pound iron into
horseshoes and then those same hands, as gentle as
those of a nurse, slid tenderly along her bruised jaw.

And again, when she had nearly fallen in the general
store, he had grasped her arm ever so lightly, but with
enough strength to let her know she wouldn't fall.

It had taken until the next day for Charlie to find out
that Sean had only thrown one punch before Murphy hit
the floor. And then those same hands, lightly clutching
his napkin, had paused to pray before eating.