It was probably unprecedented for someone representing the law to seek out an attorney for the guilty party, but Ajax wasn’t entirely sure whose side he was really on. Molly needed legal help, and Avery Martin was the best in town. Not to mention, his wife was a friend of the accused.

  Avery could hardly believe he was hearing correctly. “Molly Reynolds? Just came from Boston, friend of my wife, staying at Miss Mabel’s—that Molly Reynolds?”

  “The one and only.”

  “A horse thief?”

  “It would seem so. Can you do somethin’ for her?”

  “Let me get my wife first and we’ll be right over.”

  Ajax nodded gratefully. “Office is unlocked. I’ll be over right after I finish up at the telegraph office.”

  He wondered briefly if he had left the spare set of jail keys in the top drawer of the desk. Not a wise security measure. Any determined friend of the prisoner could easily find it and help to break her out. Why did he keep fantasizing about ways for this prisoner to escape?

  By the time he got back, Beatrice and Avery were huddled around Molly’s cell. Beatrice was visibly shaken.

  “Ajax. How can she stay in this awful place?”

  “We’ll keep her as comfortable as we know how.”

  “But a lady needs privacy. How’s she supposed to get dressed and undressed, with everyone able to look inside her cell?”

  Avery hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’ll get over to Aunt Mabel’s, get some big sheets and hang them up on every side. And she can pull them back and fasten them with rope when she’s of a mind to be seen.”

  “We’d appreciate that.”

  Ajax left reluctantly. If there was a plan, he wanted to hear it. On the other hand, there was that whole lawyer confidentiality thing, some secret way of beating this charge that they didn’t want to disclose to the authorities. He certainly hoped so. If anyone could help her out, it was going to the Martins.

  Back inside, both Beatrice and Avery were flabbergasted at what Molly seemed to be saying.

  “He was threatening to hurt you—to violate you—so you stole a horse because you thought you’d be safe in here?”

  “He has to leave town next week. And he’ll have to leave without me. And he won’t be able to touch me. I’d rather be in here a whole year than to have that happen to me.”

  “Avery. Is she going to be in here a whole year? Could that possibly happen?” Beatrice asked anxiously.

  “A whole year? No. That seems very unlikely,” Avery said quietly. “I uh . . . have to look into the matter. Look at the local statutes. Precedents. Embezzlement and tax evasion are more my specialties than horse theft. But I will figure it out as quickly as possible. It will be my top priority. You have my word on that. In the mean time, do not speak to anyone about stealing this horse. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll bring some books, so you can pass the time,” Beatrice promised.

  “Could you also, if it’s not too much trouble, get my trunk of clothes over at Miss Mabel’s? I’ll need them here, and she’ll be wantin’ to rent my room out.”

  “Of course. You just try not to fret. Avery will think of something.”

  Avery had far less confidence in his abilities in this matter than his wife did. But he didn’t want to frighten either one of them.

  “I will . . . get the answers. That I can promise you.”

  He coaxed her into the necessity of leaving, and Molly assured them she would be fine. As they headed for Avery’s office, they saw Ajax riding back to the jailhouse with an armful of sheets. At least Molly wouldn’t be alone for long.

  They both liked Ajax, although they were quite aware that he was in a peculiar position as far as their friend, Molly, was concerned. Was he ally or adversary? Obviously, he was just an upright young man who was doing his job. Molly, dear friend though she was, was clearly at fault. If only he and the sheriff could know why she had been driven to such desperate action.

  After Ajax got back to the office, he quickly set about putting up the makeshift curtains to protect Molly’s cell. They were hung up from the inside, so that she would have primary control over pulling them back, with an easy opening near the door for entering. Molly watched in gratitude.

  “That’s so much better. I don’t suppose I’ll be changing clothes at all tonight, since Beatrice can’t get my clothes to me till tomorrow. But this is going to make a big difference in having a comfortable stay. And if she can bring over the books she promised, I’m sure I’ll be as fine as can be.”

  She almost sounded as if she had just landed at a relaxing hotel. Maybe she needed to pretend that she wasn’t in as much trouble as she was, but Ajax couldn’t pretend anymore.

  “Why’d it have to be a horse? Did you really need a horse? I can’t see that you did. Better to stab a man in the shoulder than to steal a horse.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “A horse is worth an entire year’s salary for most men. It’s essential for their livelihood. For their freedom. Better to chop a man’s hand off than to steal his horse. At least it ain’t . . . at least it ain’t a hangin’ offense.”

  She hadn’t known. That much was clear from the expression on her face.

  “Hanging offense! What? No. That man got his horse back. I . . . I know he was angry. But he got his horse back. That’s not something that anyone would want to hang me for.”

  Ajax paused at the door of the cell, not wanting to look at her.

  “I’ve witnessed the hanging of three different men for horse thievery. Each time, the horse got recovered. But that didn’t change the crime. Or the law. And you know who actually hangs people in this town? I do. That’s my job. You understand? That’s my job. And I ain’t got no say in the matter.”

  He let himself out and let the curtain encase her in solitude. When he heard the sobbing begin, it was more than he could bear. He leapt on his horse and thundered away as fast as possible, as if he could outrun the horrific duty that was soon to stare him in the face. Hanging that sweet, beautiful girl. How was he going to be able to live with himself?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Inside her cell, Molly cried until she didn’t have a single tear left inside her. How could she have been so stupid? She had allowed herself to panic and to act so quickly and so desperately that she had never had a chance to weigh the full consequences of her actions. She had never imagined such a horrible punishment. But she was from Boston and was used to a very different way of thinking about things. Horses were important, yes, but not more important than the lives of young women.

  She wished she could convince herself that she had been misinformed, but the distress that Ajax had been in left no doubt that he was telling her what was really going to happen. And who would know better than someone who worked for the law? No wonder he had been so angry with her, knowing as he did how she was throwing away her life.

  And what a short life it was going to be. She was going to turn twenty-five in less than two weeks’ time. She had even assumed that maybe her new husband might be a sentimental man who would do something special for her birthday. Her family never had. All her hopes and dreams had rested in this marriage. She had allowed herself to think that it would provide just a bit of the affection and care that had been missing from her childhood home.

  Now she was only going to have been alive on this earth for twenty-five years. Twenty-five years sounds like a long time, but somehow, it felt as if she had never had a chance to live at all. It felt as if she was just at the start of life and had only taken the first small step of living by coming to Cheyenne. Because what she experienced in Boston didn’t feel like living, certainly not now that she’d had the tiniest glimpse of what it might really feel like.

  Death is supposed to be a faraway thing when you are young, so far away that it is only the death of others that you think about and are affected by. Not your own death. Not something that won’t happen for another fifty years. Old and gray. Didn’t she deserve the right to be old and gray?

  She remembered her feeling of hopelessness after her father had taken her savings away from her. She knew at that moment that her life was going to be endless misery and monotony—a ruined, wasted existence. And now her ruin was coming true. She hadn’t escaped it, as she had foolishly thought she could. The failure of her life had finally caught up with her, as hard as he had tried to run away from it.

  Later, when Ajax came to give her a dinner tray, she was lying on her bed with her back to him. He knew that she was awake, and he knew that there were no words in the world that could provide her with any comfort. But he was compelled to try.

  “Avery Martin has got to be the best lawyer in all of Wyoming Territory. Smarter than anyone in this whole town. He’s a good man to have on your side. You . . . you’re gonna have lots of people on your side.”

  He couldn’t say how much he was going to be one of them. She didn’t move, and Ajax left the meal, knowing it would grow cold. He had a few sobering arrangements he had to tend to.

  There were two assistant deputies assigned to their office, Bill Larson and Edgar Bartlett. They were committed to joining any posse when needed. They also had to make themselves available for overnight duty at the jailhouse. Whenever there was a prisoner destined for hanging, the jail had to be guarded, night and day. Especially night, because that’s when the desperate friends of the prisoner were most likely to try and bust him out of jail. Molly seemed like the last person in the world who was plotting for a prison break, but protocol had to be followed. Ajax alerted Bill and Edgar of when they would each have to take their night shifts on the hard cot inside the sheriff’s office.

  Beatrice tried to compose herself as she shakily made her way to the jailhouse. Her husband had informed her of the most likely dire consequences of Molly’s actions. How could this be happening to a friend of hers? She felt as if she had failed Molly in some way, as if there were something she could have done to protect her.

  Her husband had told her that he would do everything possible to look into all similar cases and see if something could be done. Until then, he had advised her to provide as much comfort to Molly as she could. To that end, she had a small pile of books with her—something to take Molly’s mind off her dreadful surroundings. And she would not talk about death. She would try to distract Molly’s attention toward other, more uplifting matters.

  But as it turns out, all Molly did want to talk about was death.

  “I keep thinking about all the things that I’ll be missing. I’ll never marry. I’ll never have a child. Those are things that everyone does, rich or poor. It’s just something you’re supposed to experience in life.”

  “I know. But a lot of women back east will never have those things, because of so many men gone after the war. Oh, what a foolish thing for me to say. I know that’s not of any comfort.”

  “No. I do need to be reminded not to feel so sorry for myself. Not everyone has a good life. Not everyone can be happy. But there’s something about life, you know. Even an unhappy one. Because whether or not it’s true, you will always hope for things to get better, and that hope becomes the good thing in your life.”

  “I remember that. When we met at the sewing factory, I was feeling very low about my life and everything looked so bleak. How could I have known there was all this happiness waiting out here for me?”

  “Tell me about it. Please. This is the closest thing I’ll get to happiness. Maybe you could share a bit of yours with me.”

  Beatrice tried to hold back the tears. “Of course. Anything.”

  “Tell me what it feels like to be in love with a man. I can tell how much you love him. It’s all over your face. But when did it happen? How did you know? And how could you tell when he felt the same way? What did he say? What did he do?

  Beatrice took a deep breath. She owed this to her friend, who would never have been in this city or in this predicament if she hadn’t been trying to locate herself near Beatrice, her friend who now would never experience love, but so desperately wanted to know what it felt like. This was the least that she could do for her.

  “There are things about everyone that are a little peculiar. I’m no exception. In fact, the people I worked with in Boston thought I was highly peculiar. But there are some things about yourself that can’t be changed. It’s who you are. And when I showed Avery who I was . . .”

  “He didn’t mind?”

  “It was better than that. He loved my peculiar things. How I tell the truth a little too bluntly. How I hate snobbery and refuse to hold someone high because of how much money they have. How I want women to step forward and accept responsibility for what happens in their town. Believe me, most men would have done their best to mold me into something quite a bit more docile and conventional. But Avery didn’t just tolerate my peculiarities. He fell in love with them.”

  Molly sighed. The exquisite happiness of her friend was enough to satisfy. It was so vividly described that it felt very close to having experienced it herself.

  Beatrice continued, “Being a mail order bride, I never thought I’d have the satisfaction of hearing an honest to goodness marriage proposal. But if you break off your engagement with a man who loves you, it forces him to declare himself in a way that you will remember for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh, please. You never told me about the proposal. Tell me everything you can remember.”

  And so the afternoon passed, with Molly trying to soak as much vicarious enjoyment of youth and love and bursting optimism for the future as her friend held within her. Beatrice pulled herself together and obliged her friend in every way possible. Thank goodness she had so many good memories to share. But what injustice that Molly would never have her own stories to tell.

  *****

  Avery had volunteered his aunt’s wagon to take Molly’s trunk over to the jailhouse. Beatrice met him at the boardinghouse, and Miss Mabel let them into Molly’s room.

  “This don’t make no sense,” Miss Mabel said. “I talked to that girl. I don’t think there’s a bad bone in her body.”

  “Of course she aint’ bad. But she did somethin’ stupid, and I cain’t figure out what she was thinkin’. She stole a horse. I’m the one who caught up with her. And she didn’t seem to have much of a plan. She wasn’t even trying to get away. It was the darndest thing. Just sittin’ as pretty as you please, almost as if she wanted to get caught. But nobody wants to get caught.”

  “She wanted to get caught,” Beatrice said. She couldn’t bear to have anyone questioning Molly’s morals or thinking she was a thief—especially these good people. Ajax and Miss Mabel both took a seat.

  “Go on,” Miss Mabel said.

  Beatrice told them everything. Molly’s awful family. Roy Ellwood Butler’s forged ad, Molly’s refusal to marry him and his violent threat of retaliation. Finally, how an unpremeditated moment of utter panic had caused a sweet law-abiding girl to leap on a stranger’s horse in order to have herself put where Roy Butler’s brutal hands could never touch her. And how her ignorance of Western law had landed her on death row, from which Beatrice’s husband, the smartest lawyer in the world, had doubts that she could ever be rescued from.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Miss Mabel said in a rare state of shock. “I’m gonna go and fix that girl a plate for supper. Ajax, you take it over to her, ya hear?”

  Ajax nodded numbly. Every harsh thing he had said to Molly about Roy was flooding back to him.

  “I never gave her no credit. I shoulda been able to see the kind of lady that she is. And I should have done somethin’. I should have done somethin’ to protect her. Because that’s my job—protectin’ good people.”

  “I felt exactly the same way. What could I have done to prevent this? I wish I had tried to meet him before she came out here. Then I could have warned her. I just assumed that everyone’s ending was going to as happy as mine. Her twenty-fifth birthday is next week. . .”

  Beatrice’s voice faltered. Ajax’s whole body felt like it was being jabbed with burning needles. Was Molly’s life really going to end in a gruesome hanging, all for trying to protect herself? He wanted to put his fist through a wall, he was so frustrated. No, it was actually Roy Butler he wanted to put a fist through, and never had he felt more insufferably constrained by the badge on his chest.

  He delivered the trunk of clothes and the meal to Molly in silence. She understood. How could he see her as anything but a thief? But there was a comfort in having her things around her. And the delicious meal from Miss Mabel was ravenously devoured. Ajax was glad to see it. She had only pecked at the meals that Mrs. Olson had provided. They were good enough for most prisoners, but not this prisoner. She deserved a little something to cheer her day, if only a juicy pot roast and mashed potatoes.

  “You like it?”

  “Your aunt’s a wonderful cook. I’m surprised that she wanted to send me anything. You must have told her . . . what I did.”

  “It was more like Beatrice just told the both of us what you did. And why you did it. Miss Reynolds, why didn’t you tell me? Do you know how awful I feel about all those stupid things I said to you? Do you know how badly I want to take them all back?”

  “You said, ‘Here I was thinkin’ that a skunk like Roy Butler was too good for a fine, beautiful young lady, and here it turns out you’re two peas in a pod.’”

  “You got yourself an uncommonly good memory. Yes, I’d like to take it back. Every word of it.”

  There’s something about a death sentence that pushes away shyness and propriety.

  “Including the part about me being a fine, beautiful young lady?”

  Ajax was flustered. “That was the only correct thing that came outta me. ’Course, any man with a set of eyes and ears could have made the same observation.”

  “But they haven’t.”

 

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