Detective Dalton leaned forward. “I understand your frustration, but I must build a persona for Mrs. Wellington so I can have a better picture at finding her. Now, did the former Mrs. Wellington ever disappear like this?”
Never. Martha was an obedient wife, to an extent. After Jared and Loyd’s death, Martha turned like General’s father—depressed and nervous. Martha was confined to bed and prescribed laudanum. She drank that bottle like it was water.
Heirless after his sons’ deaths and married to a pathetic wife, General had to get rid of Martha. One of the free slaves, Myra of fourteen years of age, couldn’t read. General gave her a bottle of cyanide, and she never knew the difference. The sheriff strungthe child up without a second thought, ignoring her cries and pleas of innocence.
“None at all. She was ill, confined to her bed.”
Detective Dalton wrote in his notebook. “And Mrs. Josephine Wellington? Has she run off before?”
General leaned his neck to the side until he heard a satisfying pop then did the same to his knuckles. It took a whole year before Josephine got pregnant, and the reason why it took so long was because she was devoted more to helping impoverished Negros than to her own husband.
“Can we please move on to April tenth? What are you, a nosy journalist?” General hissed through his front teeth.
Detective Dalton’s lips flattened. “Very well. But I’d still like to know you and Mrs. Wellington’s domestic situation. Was she happy?”
“Happy?” General spat, giving a daggered glare. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I mean, was she content here? Sometimes women just want time alone, to get away.”
Fury boiled, fuming out General’s nostril, hot like fire. This was none of Detective Dalton’s business. Josephine was mad, mad enough that she blamed three failed pregnancies on him. She said it was because he beat her, but that made General beat her more. She was too frail to endure the pain from the blows of his fists and too stupid to learn from her mistakes. He wouldn’t be surprised if she ran off, embarrassing him further.
“Happy as can be.” One more stupid question, and General might break this man’s neck, regardless if he could move his legs or not.
“I’m trying to get a sense of her traveling fare. Wilmington is a long and expensive trip. Did she have any assets of her own?”
General’s mind thought back to one of his most favorite days, the day he put Josephine in her place. Her face was flushedwith anger, cheeks burning red and eyes wide with anger, her features taut with resentment. She charged at him, fists flying, pounding against his chest the moment she learned he had sold her beloved plantation home. Since she didn’t give him an heir like Stephen Callahan promised, General had sold off her land, the land he promised to save in exchange for an heir.
Stephen Callahan had been healthy, but the heart attack was sudden—perhaps too sudden. Maybe the grief overtook Stephen like it had General’s own father, or possibly someone tampered with his brandy. Either way, it was a miracle for the timing.
“None. I sold her plantation years ago.”
Detective Dalton took a moment to write in his notebook. “And you say she went to see cousins in Wilmington?”
“Distant,” General corrected. “There’s no record of any relatives there. Josephine has no one. Only an elderly aunt who is old and out of her mind.”
Detective Dalton continued to write. “Did your wife take a cab or a carriage from here?”
“It would have to be a cab. We have only used our own drivers, but according to the staff, they were off duty.”
Detective Dalton continued to write until he closed his briefcase along with his writings. He stood from the desk. “That would be all.”
General’s brows raised. “That’s it? All you got was enough information to write a book.”
“I told you, I needed to know as much information as I could about your wife in order to find her,” Detective Dalton explained, his notebook secured under his arm. “We don’t have much to go on, given that you claim she doesn’t have relatives in Wilmington.”
Hot breath exhaled out of General’s mouth as he groaned. He pointed straight in the man’s face. “You better come back with something good. Or else you won’t see the light of day.”
Detective Dalton’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He picked up his hat and took a bow, not bothering to try for a handshake. “Good day, General Wellington.”
General watched as the man left the room. General was one step closer. One step to teaching Josephine a new lesson. She had broken too many rules, and she wouldn’t get away with it. Perhaps this would be a warm-up until he got to the bottom of the second mystery—why he was in this bed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Willow Grove, Montana; Early September 1872
Josieremovedthekettlefrom the stove and poured Rose a cup of tea. The cabin smelled like coffee early in the morning and again in the evening, so a cup of tea was a nice change. Though Josie liked coffee well enough, there was something more comforting about a warm cup of tea. It reminded her of home—the way her mother used to set the table with fine china and serve tea to their house callers. Those days felt like a lifetime ago. Mama always took pride in welcoming company into their home, and for a brief moment, Josie could almost feel her presence again.
Taking a quick look out the window, Josie grinned, watching Paul and Andy play with the children in the front yard. Lillian,wearing a wool coat that was too large for her, struggled to keep up with the others. And little Gideon was now using those chubby legs of his to participate, waddling after them a circle. Josie’s chest tightened with dread, exhaling a soft sigh.If only they could play with other children their age every day.That depended on whether the town ever reopened the school. It broke Josie’s heart to know the neighboring children wouldn’t have educational opportunities like Asheville did, but that was what separated the wild frontier from civilization.
