didn’t even send you a likeness of him to remember him by!”
“That’s because I didn’t need a likeness.” She did not choose to clarify that her actual memory of Jake Scully had dimmed over the years—that all she could truly remember was that he had been tall and well dressed, and that with a single glance of his sober, gray eyes, he had made her feel safe from the gunshots that had robbed her of the life she had known.
Lacey added solemnly, “I owe Uncle Scully more than I can ever repay.”
“But you shouldn’t waste your life caring for an old man when you’re so young.”
“I owe it to him, Marjorie.” Lacey silently added that she owed her grandfather a debt, too—to return to the place that gentle, decent man had loved so she could clarify memories that had become confused and distorted by the violence of that night long ago and put an end to the nightmares that still haunted her.
Lacey turned at the sound of a summons at the door. She pulled it open to see little Amy Harding standing solemnly in the hallway.
“The carriage is here, Lacey.” Amy’s eyes were moist. “Mrs. Grivens said to hurry or you’ll miss your train.”
Lacey was conscious of the footsteps following her as she carried her suitcase down the staircase toward the front doorway.
Tears, hugs and sincere, loving words behind her, Lacey stepped up into the waiting carriage. She looked back as the conveyance jerked into motion and she waved at the solemn group gathered in the doorway of the boarding school.
The carriage turned the street corner, and Lacey took a breath, wiped away a tear and determinedly faced forward. She had told Marjorie the truth. She needed to go “home” because she had obligations she could not ignore.
Lacey withdrew her grandfather’s worn Bible from her reticule. She scanned the text, taking comfort from the familiar passages and the small illustrations her grandfather had drawn on the page corners when they had read together.
Her attention shifted back to her well-tended hands.
Yes, her hands were trembling—because she had no idea what the future held in store.
Weaver, Arizona
1882
Lacey looked out the window of the stagecoach as it bumped and swayed along the rutted trail. She glanced at the harsh, dry land bordering both sides of the narrow expanse, then at the rise of mountains in the distance outlined against a brilliant blue sky devoid of a single cloud. She breathed deeply, aware the heat of the day was climbing.
She recalled the carriage ride to the train station in New York, through streets that were neatly cobbled, where well-dressed pedestrians hurried to meet their needs in a city that bustled with activity. Somehow, she had not expected that that uneventful ride would initiate an endless, uncomfortable journey that had not yet come to an end.
Lacey did not choose to recall the countless times along the way that she had doubted the wisdom of making the journey alone. She had not taken into consideration that the passing years would have dimmed the memory of a wild country where civilization was held partially at bay by longhaired, thickly bearded and heavily armed men—a place where she stirred surprised attention and whispered comments wherever she went.
Despite the tedium and discomfort of the journey, however, Lacey found herself somehow shaken at the thought of her arrival in Weaver, where she would meet up with a past she suddenly realized she hardly remembered.
Lacey looked at the unpaved trail ahead, then glanced up at the shadowed mountain peaks in the distance. Why was it that everything looked so unfamiliar to her? Why had the ten years she had been away dimmed all clear memory of this place?
The sound of a crackling blaze echoed unexpectedly in her ears. She felt the heat…the flames…the smoke…the fear. She saw the faded image of her grandfather’s body.
Yes, all clear memories had dimmed…except one.
Lacey closed her eyes. She clutched her small Bible tightly in her hand.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
Lacey looked up, focusing for the first time on the disreputable-looking fellow seated across from her. Like the two other rough-and-tumble male passengers presently sleeping, his hat was stained, his beard was overly long, his clothes were worn and the gun at his side was exceptionally large—but the concern in his bloodshot eyes was obviously sincere.
She replied, “I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”
“We’ll be getting to Weaver, soon.” The fellow frowned and added, “If you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am, Weaver is a fine little town, but it’s not accustomed to ladies like you.”
Lacey almost smiled. “I was born in Weaver—or thereabouts.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going home.”
The fellow nodded. “Been gone long, ma’am?”
“Awhile.”
He nodded again. He looked at the Bible in her hand. “Going to join Reverend Sykes, are you?”
“Reverend Sykes?”
“I hear he’s a fine man and real dedicated to his work in the church.”
“I’m sure he is, but I don’t know him.”
The fellow’s frown deepened. “You’ll be having somebody meet you in Weaver, I hope.” He stammered, “I mean, it’s a fine little town, but…well…”
Lacey stared at the unkempt fellow more closely. Because of his questionable appearance, she had done her best to ignore him and the other two occupants of their coach when she boarded. Now, glimpsing the man inside his unappealing exterior, she was oddly warmed by what she saw.
Lacey replied with a smile, “Someone will be meeting me. His name is Jake Scully. Do you know him?”
“Jake Scully.” The fellow blinked. “He’s…you…I…”
He took a breath, then continued with a tip of his soiled hat meant as an introduction, “My name’s Pete Loughlin, ma’am. I’ll be spending some time in Weaver, and I want you to know I’ll be at your disposal if things don’t turn out the way you expected.” He paused, adding, “I hope you’ll remember that, ma’am.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Loughlin. My name is Lacey Stewart, and I thank you for your concern.”
“Everybody calls me Pete, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I’ll certainly remember your offer, Pete.”
His face reddening unexpectedly, Pete averted his gaze toward the window and ended the conversation as abruptly as it had begun. With no recourse but to follow his lead, Lacey turned to the Bible in her hand, silently embarrassed that she had been so harsh in her first assessment of the dear fellow. She looked down at the page to which she had inadvertently turned.
Judge
