Chapter Twelve
Right on time, ClarenceJones arrived at the post and telegraph office with a sack of mail.
“Afternoon, Landry,” he said, heaving the sack onto the counter. “No packages today.” The man was still dusty from the road—even his red hair had taken on a brown shade. He took it upon himself to personally deliver the mail after seeing any stage passengers and their belongings from the coach. It always made Beau believe the man saw the mailbag as a passenger itself.
After a quick conversation about the road into Last Chance and one particularly prickly passenger, Jones saw himself out and Beau set to work going through the bag of mail. Faith had gone to visit a friend in town at Beau’s urging. He doubted she would stay long; her responsibility toward the post and telegraph office too often outweighed anything else in her life. But he was glad she felt secure enough to leave, even if just for a short while.
He smiled at a letter addressed to Faith. It appeared to be from Mississippi, and she would be happy to hear from her mother. He set that one aside as he continued to flip through the envelopes, gathering those addressed to the same people into smaller stacks to make it easier to hand out when they came asking. He worked quickly, knowing by now that once folks saw the stage pull in, it wouldn’t be long before they started arriving to ask after any mail.
Beau added another envelope addressed to the lawyer, Mr. Purcell, to a small stack, and then turned his attention to the last piece of mail.
It was addressed to him.
He immediately recognized Maman’s handwriting on the envelope, ever elegant and unhurried with each letter perfectly formed. He sliced open the envelope and began to skim through the letter before folks began arriving for their mail.
She congratulated him on his nuptials and said she would send along a gift for Faith soon. There was news of relatives and neighbors, one of his sisters was expecting another baby, an old widower Beau presumed had long been sweet on Maman continued to pay her visits, and then—
Beau stopped halfway through the paragraph and began to read it again.
I ought to have relayed this information to you sooner, but I saw no need to worry you. However, since I am writing, I thought I should go ahead and apprise you of what happened two days after you left. After an outing that Saturday, I returned to find that someone had forced his way into our home. Nothing appeared disturbed, save for your bedroom. I am sad to say that I found it in a sorry state, with furniture overturned and your drawers emptied. Thankfully, I do not believe a thing was taken. I know not for what the intruders were looking—money, perhaps? Jacques supposed our arrival interrupted them and they scattered before they could search the rest of the house.
Beau pressed his fingers to the paper as his mother’s words replayed through his mind. It could be just as she said—a simple intruder forcing his way into a fine home while a widow was out with her new gentleman.
But it was all too odd—onlyhisroom and nothing of note taken at all.
It had to have been friends of Desroches, searching for . . . what precisely? Evidence of where Beau had gone?
What if they returned?
The door opened, and Mrs. Purcell, the lawyer’s wife appeared. Beau slid the letter back into its envelope and pressed it into his pocket as he greeted her. Beau had learned quickly that there was nothing Mrs. Purcell loved more than gossip, but thankfully her latest news about some lady or another was quickly interrupted by Mrs. Darcy the sheriff’s wife, Mr. Jarrod whose wife was responsible for all the good food at the diner across the road, and a steady stream of other townsfolk.
With the stack of mail now greatly diminished and no one currently waiting, Beau immediately went to the telegraph machine. He tapped out a short request addressed to his oldest friend in New Orleans, asking him to check on Maman. The telegram sent, he sat back and ran his hands across each side of his head. Why hadn’t he prepared for something like this? Why had he assumed they’d give up searching for him once it became clear he’d left town?
What if they hurt Maman?
He stood abruptly and paced across the room to the fireplace. He’d never forgive himself if that happened. Surely they wouldn’t. Unless they suspected she knew where he’d gone. Although some time had passed since the break-in Maman had mentioned, about six weeks. If they hadn’t returned yet, then perhaps they would leave her be. She hadn’t mentioned anything else untoward that had happened in the time between that and when she’d written the letter.
