Earlier, I’d found a worn pair of trousers in the laundry pile. I lay them out, trace their shape, ready the panels. The crank hums, the needle darts, and thread binds cloth. By the time I finish, the trousers are plain and sturdy. I hold them to the lamplight, inspecting the seams.
At first light, I walk to the stables with the new trousers under my arm. “Gideon,” I call.
He raises his head from the horse he’s grooming. “Miss Alice?” He wipes his hands and hurries over.
“I’ve got something for you,” I say, offering the folded pants.
He takes them with both hands, awed. “These are for me?”
“Of course. I think they’ll fit better now that you’ve grown.”
Before he can respond, boots thunder across the yard. Lucas barrels in, breathless.
“Gideon! Mr. Sherman needs shackles and a chain. Quick!”
The trousers fall onto a hay bale as Gideon bolts into a stall. He returns with heavy iron and hurries out. I follow.
Inside the inn, the scent of copper thickens the air. Joseph and Virgil drag a man from their wagon—injured, limp, skin gone pale. Blood blooms across his shirt. His boots scrape the steps as they haul him to an empty guest room.
“Chain him to the bed,” Joseph orders.
Gideon obeys, fastening a shackle around the man’s wrist and looping the chain through the bedframe, leaving roughly five feet of slack.
“What are you doing?” I move toward Gideon.
Joseph grabs my arm and yanks me back. “He could be dangerous,” he snaps. “We can’t take chances.”
“That’s no excuse for cruelty!” The words erupt from me. “He needs a doctor, not chains.”
A flash of movement—Joseph’s hand strikes my cheek.
“Calm yourself, woman.” He jerks his chin at Gideon. “Keep her out of the way.”
Gideon approaches. “Are you all right?”
I force a smile. “Just startled.”
“Maybe some fresh air’ll help,” he says.
We sit on the porch. My cheek still burns. The fields waver in the afternoon gold.
Joseph appears. “Back to work, son.”
“Yes, sir.” Gideon hesitates.
“We found him under suspicious circumstances,” Joseph says. “Fits the description of a known criminal. Until we know more, we’re being cautious.”
I say nothing.
“He needs care,” he adds. “That’s where your strengths lie. Can you put aside your hurt feelings and help, or are your sensibilities too delicate?”
“If my sensibilities are so delicate, why would you have me alone, tending to a dangerous man?”
He scoffs. “He’s quite helpless, Alice. I’d be surprised if he lives through the night. There’s nothing he can do to you in that state, and I’ve no time to play nursemaid. ”
No matter the man’s crimes, the thought of such an awful death aches in my ribs. I lift my chin. “I will see to his care.”
“Good. And keep it quiet.”
