BEFORE:
Returning to the Morgan Ranch, Adam waited for the Pinkerton to reemerge.
Days passed, transforming into a week, then two, and then three. The Pinkerton never showed up, but someone else did. It was a lazy evening when he and Will in the company of a handful of other hands congregated in the bunkhouse to preoccupy themselves with a few friendly poker games. It was sitting on the edge of his bunk, the small, wooden table that resided at the far end of the room pulled over to the side of it to provide a stable, flat playing area, that Adam watched Morgan's foreman purposely enter the room. No one else seemed to notice the man's sudden presence; Adam could not have remained oblivious to it had he tried.
Maybe it was his restlessness, the bundle of nervous energy that seemed to take up permanent residence in his chest that made him heed the man's presence. Maybe it was because he knew he should be dealing with the recent changes to his life in a different way than he was; he should have been taking a solid step into the future, instead of avoiding the past. Or maybe it was something else completely.
Something was wrong; he could sense it, feel it somehow. There was something about the way the foreman was looking at him that invited Adam's stomach to turn. The Pinkerton had not shown up to collect the rest of the payment. What had he done instead?
This was it, Adam thought. He'd done it now. All this time he wasted, staying in place like an idiot, allowing the days to pass while he remained hesitant to make a decision until someone else finally made one for him. And really what was so bad about that decision, anyhow? About Pa knowing what he was doing or where he was. About his father possibly coming after him to apologize—or not. Maybe having his father come after him would be enough of a declaration of wrongdoing, at least at first.
As soon as Adam experienced the thoughts, he knew they were flawed. He and Pa were too alike to allow for such things. Stubborn and willful and sometimes downright obtuse. There would be no apology, no returning to the past and the way things once were. It could not be, because what had happened between them would live on forever. Even if they never spoke of it, it would always be there. Pa's terrible words would live on, echoing inside of Adam's mind, and Pa's belief in what he himself had done where Peggy was concerned would never shift or change. He would never admit he had been wrong, because he believed he was right, and Adam knew his father had been wrong, so he could never pretend he had been right.
Pa was wrong to try to stop Adam's friendship with Peggy. He was wrong to spring to Will's defense over that of his son after Laura's death. He was wrong to believe the rumors and the lies generated by Laura's scandalous diary. He was wrong to advocate for Peggy to remain in Will's supervision over the people who loved her. And he was wrong for judging Adam for taking the little girl to San Francisco. To Aunt Lil and Eddie who loved and would care for her.
Oh, there was that anger again, seething, and dangerous, burning like the heat of the desert sun as it spread the distance between his stomach and heart. His father was wrong; he would never be right, and that was why things would never be the same between them. Adam did not want them to be. Not if he was the only one who was condemned for his faults. Maybe he had not done things completely correct where his relationship with Laura was concerned. Maybe he had lingered a bit too close to Peggy after her mother had married Will. But that did not make him a criminal. It did not make him less righteous of a man, and it did not make his father right about anything.
Coming to a stop in front of the table, the foreman looked between Adam and Will. "Cartwright," he said, "the boss wants to see you."
"You're gonna have to be more specific," Will said.
"What?" the foreman asked, unamused by the interjection.
"We have the same last name," Will explained. "Which of us does he want?"
"Seeing as how you're a package deal, you both need to go."
Looking at each other briefly, Adam and Will abandoned their cards. They followed the foreman's silent lead out of the bunkhouse, into the main house, and to a grandiose room in the back of the first floor. It was an arrangement that had always struck Adam as odd. Why Morgan preferred an office where people had to traipse through the house in order to speak to him was anyone's guess. One would think it would be better closer to the front door. For whatever reason this one was not, and though he was still angry, Adam felt a rush of dread. A room at the back of the house meant there was no quick exit should a man need to abruptly take his leave.
Hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, he squared his jaw as he finally entered the room, stealing himself for whoever, or whatever was inside. He expected his father—or word from his father communicated through his boss. Who he saw and what he heard was someone and something else entirely.
Sitting behind his desk, Morgan was not alone in the room. In the corner of it, his hands clenched behind his turned back as he gazed upon the various pictures hung on the wall, was a man Adam did not recognize.
"You want me to sit this out, or stay?" the foreman asked Morgan.
"You can go," Morgan said. "Shut the door behind you. Lord knows, we don't need word of this getting around."
"Word of what?" Adam asked.
Morgan shook his head. It was not until the foreman left and the door had been closed that he began to speak. "That drive you took a few weeks ago, what happened on it?"
Morgan's expression was indecipherable, his voice stern. It ground on Adam's nerves as he began to feel whatever solid footing he had found begin to crumble. Morgan was not looking at him; his attention was set on Will. Whether this was merely a coincidence or something more telling Adam was not yet sure.
"What do you mean?" Will asked, his face contorting with confusion as he looked between Adam, Morgan, and the man who still stood with his back facing them in the corner of the room. "We rode with the other drovers, delivered the cattle, and then came back."
"It was that straightforward?" Morgan asked.
"Yes," Will said.
"What happened outside of that?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what happened once you delivered the herd?"
Adam did not like the direction the conversation. He was not comfortable with Morgan's skepticism of Will, or the way the man had yet to look him in the eye. He was probing for something. Patiently waiting for an explanation that had not been offered. Whether it would or not was yet to be seen, as was the purpose of the man's presence in the corner of the room. Something was very wrong here.
Will shrugged. "Nothing."
"You ate dinner with the crew," Morgan said, obviously already privy to that fact. "And then what did you do?"
"We had a few drinks," Adam answered, finally forcing Morgan to look at him.
Eyes narrowing, Morgan nodded. "And then what?"
"What do you mean?" Adam asked.
"I mean, who hired the girl?"
"The saloon gal?" Will said. "That was me. What's the problem with that? I didn't take you for the kind of boss that protests what his hired men do on their own time."
"I'm usually not," Morgan said.
"What's different about this time?" Adam asked.
Morgan looked at Adam, then at Will, and then back at Adam again. "I think you already know," he said. "And you better not make me tell you if you do."
Adam was not in the mood to give into a threat, or volunteer more information than was necessary. "We delivered the herd," he said. "Ate with the other men. Will and I had a few drinks in a neighboring saloon, then he took the woman back to our room, and I took a walk. There's nothing else to know."
"There is," the man in the corner of the room said. Turning around finally, he cast Adam a skeptical glance. He seemed to be around Will's age. He was tall, muscular, and formidable; the only notable things about him were his mustache and the star pinned prominently on the outside of his coat.
"Sheriff," Adam said.
"Marshal," the man corrected. "Marshal Weston if you want to speak in particulars, which, I assure you, you do."
Will cast Adam a wary glance, neither of them comfortable with the turn of events. Why would a marshal seek their company? What was the question he was not asking? What were the answers they could not give?
"Particulars on what?" Adam asked.
"That gal," Weston said.
"What about her?"
"She's dead."
Eyes widening with shock, Adam's mouth fell open. "No," he whispered absently. He had expected his father, or word from him. He had anticipated news of the Pinkerton. He never could have imagined this.
"Yes." Weston looked at Will. "I'd start talking if I were you."
"You think I killed her?" Will asked. He was as taken aback as Adam was, his fear transforming into indignance.
"You hired her," Weston said.
"Yeah, not to kill her. Adam, tell him I didn't kill that woman!"
"His opinion doesn't hold any weight with me," Weston said.
"Why not?" Adam asked.
"Because, for all I know, you are as guilty as he is."
"Will didn't kill her," Adam said, his eyes shining stubbornly. "Neither did I."
"Then why did you leave early instead of spending the night?" Weston asked. "Why did you run?"
Will looked at Adam and Adam avoided his cousin's gaze. They had left early because they had been running from something, but it had not been this. Adam knew the time had come to tell the truth, becuase continuing with lies would come at too high of a cost.
"I wanted to leave," he said. "It was my decision. I didn't want to be there anymore. I guess, I didn't really want to be anywhere anymore. I wanted to go somewhere where I wouldn't be found."
"Spoken like a true criminal," Morgan said. Sitting on the edge of the unfolding conversation, he seemed to have picked the perfect moment and words to pack the most punch.
And Adam did feel like he had been punched, right in the gut, a hit that seemed intent on bringing him to his knees. Listening to Morgan's words, he did not hear the proprietor of the Morgan Ranch, he heard his father instead. Look at yourself, Adam, his father's damaging statements sang bitterly in his mind. Take note of who you really are. What is wrong with you?
"I didn't do anything wrong," Adam said as he held Morgan's gaze with his own. "But, when I tell you the truth, you're going to think I did."
"What's the truth?" Will and Weston spoke in unison, their duplicate question remaining unnoted by Adam and Morgan.
"I was in a hurry to leave that night," Adam explained. "I didn't want to be there anymore because, well, the thing I was actually running from finally caught up to me. My father caught up to me, in the form of a Pinkerton man."
Will looked at him, his eyes wide. "Shut up, Adam," he implored, his voice a low, insistent hiss. "Don't you dare say another word."
"I was drinking on the wharf," Adam continued, unaffected by his cousin's interjection, as he looked between Weston and Morgan. "He made me aware of his presence, told me my father had hired him to find me. I didn't take kindly to the idea of being found. So, I went back to the hotel, Will and I packed up; we left that woman in the room and headed out."
"Was she alive?" Weston asked. If he believed what Adam was saying, he gave no indication.
"I believe so."
"You saw her?"
"She was under a blanket, but yes."
"Alive?"
"As far as I know," Adam said.
"But you're not sure," Weston said flatly.
"Well…" Adam hesitated.
He was as sure of the fact that the woman had been alive as he was that providing further details would only prove the opposite. He had not really seen her, her body or face. She had been completely covered by the blanket, and he had been in too much of a rush to verify her condition. Why would he have? What reason would he have had for doing such a thing? Still, she had to have been alive, because there was no blood in the room, no evidence of a struggle, or anything else. He did not think Will had killed her, but that did not mean Morgan or Weston would. What did that mean for Will, or himself? And if Will had not killed her then who had?
The Pinkerton, he thought almost immediately, not really understanding why. Still, something inside of his gut urged the suspicion was correct. The man had admitted to following and watching Adam; he was the only one who could have known that he and Will had left early and on their own. Was this why he had never shown to collect the rest of what he was owed?
"That woman was alive," Adam said, punctuating the firm statement with a nod. "I saw her. She was fine when we left."
"You're sure?" Morgan pressed.
"I'm sure," Adam said, the convicted words going unbelieved by everyone in the room.
"I'm sure," Weston echoed skeptically.
"Me too," Will said as he cast his gaze upon the floorboards.
Adam thought his cousin could not have looked any more culpable for the crime he was being accused of if he tried. Morgan looked at Weston whose attention did not waiver from Adam.
"What now?" Adam asked. It was more a demand than a question. "What happens now?"
Weston expelled an exaggerated breath. "Well, now that woman is dead, and, according to witnesses, you were the last two men with her before she died. Her body was found in the room you procured for the night, lodging that you abandoned for some unknown reason hours after it was paid for. You come off as pretty smart, why don't you tell me what that looks like?"
"I already told you, there was another man," Adam said. "The Pinkerton."
"Shut up," Will hissed again.
"That your father hired to find you," Weston provided.
"Yes," Adam said. "What about him?"
"What about him?" Weston snorted.
"Aren't you interested?"
"Not particularly. True or not, I wouldn't be pushing it either way if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Because it doesn't bode well for you either way. Do you have any idea the kind of people the Pinkertons are, or the type of people they're hired to track down?" Weston tilted his head. "They're good at what they do, there's no denying that. Very effective group, that one, but no father is going to hire them to track down his son, not unless he doesn't care about the condition in which he's brought back, not unless his boy has already done something wrong."
"I didn't do anything wrong," Adam seethed. "I just didn't want to be with my family anymore."
"Just like you didn't want to spend the night in that hotel room," Weston said. "Like I said, the story doesn't bode well for you. Either it's a blatant lie, adding another man to the situation to take attention away from you, or it's true and your father hired a man to track you down like a criminal."
Expression hardening, Adam's eyes flickered with indignance. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know innocent men do not run away, no matter what they're being accused of," Weston said. "From their family, or otherwise."
The statement was as true as it was condemning. Adam knew he and Will were in trouble—real trouble—and worse: they were alone. He thought about his father then, his brothers, too. He thought about Eddie and Peggy and Lil. How was he ever going to explain this? How was he ever going to retell the events that had led him to this predicament in a way that did not cast him in a poor light? He should be looked upon poorly, he thought. He had chosen the path of a coward, the indecision of an uncertain, hesitant man. He shook his head in disgust. He had not been uncertain or hesitant a day in his life. What had he been doing? Just who the hell had he thought he was? Running from the complications his decisions had created? Running away from the people he loved?
He loved Eddie and Peggy—and maybe even Lil a little bit too. His past was with the family he left behind in Nevada; his future was with the women in San Francisco awaiting his return. How long would they be left waiting? What would they do if he never came back? He thought of Peggy immediately, the way she had clung to him when they were saying goodbye. Her eyes had been full of tears, her face pinched with agony as she refused to let him go. He had picked her up, held her tight, as though she was a much younger child than she was. He had not known what else to do; there had not been any other way in which to soothe her at the time.
"Promise me," she had urged tearfully, her face pressed up to the side of his neck. "Promise me you'll come back, that you're not just going to leave like everyone else does."
Even back then, it was as though she knew what he had not yet, that despite his assurances otherwise, he would not be coming back. His pain and fear would paralyze him, leading him further and further away, until the distance between then and now became too far to span. Until he made an asinine decision that would cost him everything he had left.
This can't be happening, he thought. This can't happen. Not now when he finally knew what he needed to do. What he wanted to do. What he should have done the second he left the argument with his father and Nevada behind. One way or another, he needed to go back to San Francisco, to Peggy and Eddie and Lil. The traumatic goodbye he and Peggy had shared simply could not be their last. He was the most steadfast influence in her life; he could not be yet another person who let her down or validated her worst fears.
He had let her down before. The missed Fourth of July picnic when he and Laura had been friendly, the broken promise of remaining her close friend after Laura had married Will.
"Promise this doesn't have to change anything," Peggy had urged, dressed in the pale pink dress that had been fashioned for her mother's wedding day.
Adam had not wanted to make the promise; he had not intended to speak with the little girl at all—at least not that day. In the company of his family, he had sat through the wedding ceremony; he had not intended to endure the reception. There were just too many adverse thoughts masquerading as emotions to make such a thing attenable.
Sitting in the church pew, he had felt more than just on display as the townsfolk did not try to conceal their curious glances. What was he going to do? What did he really think of his cousin marrying his formerly betrothed? He could feel the silent questions circle the air, making the large room feel claustrophobic and small. He could not wait to get out of it, and eventually he did. Foolishly, he had thought he had slipped away unseen. He had not; Peggy had followed him to where he had left Sport.
"Promise we'll still be friends," Peggy had added, her eyes pleading, her voice shaking with panic. "Promise you won't just go away like everyone else does."
It was a foolish promise to make, impossible to keep given the situation. What had once been appropriate simply was not anymore.
"Peggy—"
"Promise!" She was nearly crying then, her panic palpable, the emotions driving her insistence much less clear. She threw her arms around him, hugging his waist impossibly tight. "Promise!" she pleaded. "Promise-Promise-Promise…!"
Her words sounded in his ears like a haunting mantra, making him feel off balance and slightly mad. Everything about this moment was wrong. The setting, the question, and Peggy's tone of voice. Something was very wrong; if he would have been a wiser man, he would have taken note of it and thought of the right questions to ask. He should have done anything other than what he eventually did.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—to put an end to her repetitive cries. Even now he could not account for the words he had said: "I promise."
She clung to him even harder then, her cheeks sodden with tears that would dampen the front of his shirt, and he held on to her, not because he wanted to but because he did not know what else to do. She pulled away eventually, her anxiety seemingly calmed. He wiped her tears and sent her back to the wedding reception, her mother, and Will. It was not until she was gone from view that Adam realized she had not been the only one to follow him.
On the sidelines of the interaction, Adam's father had lurked. Pa had seen and heard the whole thing. He made no mention of the promise, how impulsive or cruel it had been. He did not need to; they both knew what had happened was wrong. If Adam's vow had not been a lie, the passing of time would transform it into one. There simply was no way it could be fulfilled. Adam couldn't remain friends with Peggy any more than he could have married her mother. Things had changed, and now habits and relationships would have to change too—he had always known that.
"What happens now?" Ben had asked his son, his brown eyes full of sadness. Even at the time, Adam had thought the question foolishly asked. What was the purpose of asking questions they both knew the answers to?
Looking back, it was so easy to understand that evening had been the beginning of something he could not have conceived of at the time. Shaking his head to clear it of the memory, Adam looked at Marshal Weston and wondered if this evening was yet another beginning he would not be able to understand until it had long passed. What would become of this? Of him? Of Peggy if he broke his word? Of Eddie if they never married? Of his father and his brothers if he never saw them again? He could not disappear—not like this.
"What happens now?" he asked, firmly echoing his father's previous question, though he was certain he already knew the answer. Nothing good ever came from conversations like these—at least not for the people whose behavior was under suspicion.
"I'm taking the two of you into custody, and back to the coast," Weston said. "A judge and jury will decide what happens to you after that."
Clearing his throat, Morgan elicited the attention of both Adam and Will. "I suppose this goes without saying," he said, "but I'm going to say it anyway. You're both fired. If you happen to be found innocent don't come back. I don't want to see either of you again."
There was nothing left to say, and nothing left to do but peacefully allow Marshal Weston to take them into custody. There would be time allotted for talk later, once the marshal took them back to the tiny, rough coastal town to be tried for a crime they had not committed, once they were either convicted or found innocent, set free again or… not. Throughout it all—the conversation that had just taken place and the ones that would come after—Adam would remain steadfast and certain of two things: his hatred of his father for the things he had done, and his hatred of himself for what he had not.
TBC