“You’re . . . um, not usually at these kind of things.”
“I’m a friend of the family.”
“I know you rode with the captain, but that’s a different thing.”
“I suppose it is.”
More chairs scooted out and in, the noise of the settling guests still a bit loud. The piano player was still at work, too. The tune he played was softer, background music, a song Josiah did not recognize but could still hear. He pulled himself forward and mustered a quick look down the table. The seat next to Pearl was still empty . . . and she looked just as distraught as she had previously.
“That was quite the spectacle today your Rangers put on, wasn’t it?” Farnsworth said.
“Um, what? Oh, you mean the Comanche Donley escorted into town?”
“Yes. Darn near scared the daylights out of the entire city. Most of our fine citizens have never seen an Indian close up.”
“I’m not sure that was Donley’s intent. Scaring them, I mean.” Josiah was still not sure what Donley’s true intent was, other than to make a spectacle of himself—a matter at which the Ranger excelled.
“It most certainly was his intent to scare everyone. Didn’t you follow him down to the square?”
“Where?”
“The Capitol. He walked that savage right up to the governor’s office.” Farnsworth lowered his voice at that point, realizing that Governor Coke was clearly in earshot of their conversation. “The governor relieved the Ranger and his two partners of duty right then and there.”
“What happened to the Indian?” Josiah asked.
“You haven’t heard?”
“No. Tell me he hasn’t escaped.”
“Hardly,” Farnsworth said. “The Rangers—or ex-Rangers—still have custody of him, claiming ownership. They are putting him on display at the Opera House tomorrow at noon. Two bits a person. Can you imagine paying good money to see a Comanche shackled and snarling?”
“No,” Josiah said, looking away from Farnsworth. “I can’t.” He was not surprised in the end at Donley’s ploy. Making money off an Indian was a distasteful thought, but Donley had always seemed to be involved in money transactions in one form or another. When Scrap raced Missy, Donley was the first one to collect the bets, and the winnings and losses.
Josiah chewed on the information he’d just learned from Rory Farnsworth and started to wonder about the broader consequences of Donley’s action. But in reality all he cared about was the fact that he had persuaded Scrap not to have anything to do with Donley’s charade. Scrap would surely be on the bad end of the stick if he’d joined up with the other Rangers as they presented Big Shirt to the governor.
The crowd grew silent as one more person made their way into the dining hall, drawing Josiah’s attention away from his thoughts and hunger.
Captain Pete Feders walked into the room, head up, a stoic look on his scarred face, dressed in a semblance of clothes that looked like a uniform but bore no epaulets, tassels, or medals. There was not one speck of dirt to be seen on the man’s clothes. Even his boots shined like a mirror.
Feders walked right behind Josiah, and made no acknowledgment of his presence.
The captain had his eyes on one thing: Pearl. He sat down immediately next to her, said something into her ear that only she could hear, then took her hand softly into his.
Pearl quickly yanked her hand away from Feders’s grasp, and glared across the table at her mother, whose demeanor had changed from bored ambivalence to bemused contentment, once Pete Feders strutted into the dining hall and took his place next to Pearl.
The mystery of the empty chair was solved, and Josiah was not the least bit surprised to learn whom it had been saved for.
CHAPTER 30
Josiah stared at the plate full of food. He had lost his appetite even though it was the prettiest plate of food he had ever seen. His senses were overwhelmed. The smells wafting up from the table were like nothing he had ever experienced before—vegetables lathered in butter and unknown spices, more kinds of breads than Josiah knew existed, deep red wine in crystal glasses instead of beer or coffee in tin mugs, and beefsteak cooked to perfection, emitting a familiar but refined aroma, one that would never be found at a campsite. Still, he could not bring himself to eat.
“What’s the matter, Wolfe?” Rory Farnsworth said.
“Nothing.”
“Sure, and President Grant is your long lost uncle.”
“Might be.”
“You’d be sittin’ up at the head of the table if that was the case.”
Josiah glanced toward Pearl, though he couldn’t see her clearly, just her tight profile. “It’d take more than that for me to be sitting up there.”
“Yes sir, looks to me like you’d have to be a captain in the Rangers, a man of fine stature instead of . . .”
“Instead of what, Farnsworth? An uneducated man like myself? A meager sergeant with little to show for his life?”
Josiah had seen how Farnsworth looked at him on arrival, judging him head to toe, knowing his clothes were the best he had but nowhere near the best that could be bought. His pants were so tight at the waist he could hardy breathe when he sat down. But still, he did not regret his decision to return the suit of perfect clothes to Pedro. He might have fit in and been more comfortable with his appearance, but he wouldn’t have known how to move or who he really was.
Rory Farnsworth’s face turned red as the bowl of pickled beets that sat in front of him. “I didn’t mean anything, Wolfe. I just meant . . .”
Josiah cut him off again. “I know what you meant.”
The sheriff pushed his chair back, the beef on his plate half-eaten. “I need some fresh air,” he said, standing up, wiping his mouth with the white cloth napkin, and throwing it on the plate.
Josiah watched Rory Farnsworth exit the dining hall. He felt bad but not too bad. He liked Farnsworth and was glad to have had his help in the past, but there was never any doubt that the two men were separated by the worlds they both walked in, just like Josiah and Pearl were.
The misunderstanding was another perfect example of why Josiah felt he shouldn’t be sitting in Fikes’s house at all. He should be home with Lyle, or out on the trail with Juan Carlos, bringing Liam O’Reilly to justice. After a brief touch of the gun on his hip, the Frontier Colt, he was reminded of Billie Webb, and he wondered about her fate, and the baby’s. He hoped they were safe.
Farnsworth’s father looked across the empty seat at Josiah with a questioning, then judgmental, look.
Josiah shrugged his shoulders and started to pick at his food with a heavy silver fork, ignoring the banker and his snobbish glare. He figured he might as well not let the food go to waste. The way things were going he’d never be invited back to the house again. Not that he minded.
The meat tasted like nothing that had ever crossed his tongue. The steak seemed to melt in his mouth before he could finish chewing. Surely, the cow was butchered just prior to cooking. The taste of the meat was a quick addiction.
Polite chatter surrounded him, but now that he had started eating, everything, including Pearl and Pete Feders, faded from his view or concern.
He ate the whole steak without stopping, without being concerned about his manners, whether he was using the proper fork or not. When he looked up, he realized a few people were staring at him. He smiled back at them and picked up the fine crystal glass that was filled with the deep red wine and drank it all down in one gulp. He wiped his mouth and let the smile stay on his face.
