Chapter Two
"What?" La'akea, a hardworking, beautiful, Polynesian woman Jeremiah had married while on a trip to one of the many Polynesian Islands with one of his friends, lay in the crook of her husband's arm staring at him. He'd just admitted more than Parker Jensen had been playing poker with marked cards. "You talked to Nick Barkley, and you only gave him your first name?" The astonishment she felt shown in her eyes was as clear as the full moon that was hanging outside the room they'd rented.
"First, Nick Barkely's never seen my face. Yes, we talked twice during the war, but I was hidden from his view both times. I dare say he wouldn't have been able to guess my age correctly if asked." He went on to remind her how young he'd said they'd all been the first time he and she talked about the Civil War. "I met a nine year old drummer boy once." Shaking his head, he added, "Second, what would I tell him? Words spoken to me from the only woman I ever called Mother on her deathbed?" Jeremiah sat up, as did his wife.
Sliding her arm across her husband's upper back, his wife rested her hand on her husband's shoulder. "What about the small journal in Papa Shaw's desk?" She had seen her husband read from it more than once after her mother-in-law had confessed everything her late husband had told her.
"He never recorded any names or locations, just what he'd done out of desperation to help Mother. Why he risked writing any of it down is beyond me. What was I supposed to say to Nick Barkley?"
"And yet you are going to Stockton. You're going to use his offer of a job as a way to get onto the Barkley ranch without raising any suspicion." La'akea feared for her husband. Not for his physical safety, but for his emotional wellbeing. He'd had the rug pulled out from under him when Mama Shaw-as La'akea called her- had confessed everything her dying husband had said. It was a wonder Jeremiah still claimed knowing them.
As if he read her mind, Jeremiah said, "I know men, good men, who have done a ton of good…and yet people will drag their name through the mud and make them out to be something they never were….simply because they made one, very bad, decision. Matthew Shaw wasn't a bad man. He was desperate, and desperate men often don't use our maker's gift of being able to think for themselves very well. As far as Barrett goes, let's hope he doesn't have a photographic memory. After all, he only met me once -and that's been a number of years ago. On top of that, the one time we did talk, I had short hair and was clean shaven."
"What about the rest of the Barkleys?" La'akea asked as she ran her fingers down the side of his face.
"What about them?" Jeremiah turned his face towards his wife. "No one in the family will know me. Why would they?"
La'akea sighed as she rested the side of her face on her husband's shoulder. After a few minutes had passed, she sighed again. "You can't change the way you walk, your eye color and your other mannerisms." She paused and then asked, "The war hasn't been over all that long, not really. What if Nick Barkley remembers you?"
Jeremiah, who had tried to push those exact thoughts aside, rubbed his forehead and let out a frustrated sigh. "I just told you, he never saw my face during the war. I was always behind something the few times we talked. He'd have to remember my voice. If he does that, I'll deal with it if that happens. What else can I do?"
"Change careers," La'akea answered, half way serious. The Shaws had made sure her husband got his education… in spite of what his current appearance might say to other people. Thanks to them Jeremiah also had the ability to go into another line of work without a problem.
Jeremiah smiled as he turned and pulled his wife closer to him. "I can't do that, not yet anyway. I don't take a job only to quit before it's finished. However," he began laying his wife down, "I do take an occasional break."
While Jeremiah was busy with his wife, Nick was lying awake in the room the bartender had rented to him. His mind was on the card game…more specifically on the stranger who had stopped a thief in his tracks. 'Where have I seen you before?' Nick threw his legs over the side of the bed, stood up and walked to the corner window. Since the room he was renting was on the second floor, at the front of the building, he had a perfect view of the empty street below. The only sign of life was a stray dog that was trying to get into some garbage that was in barrel that sat in an alley. The site itself would have meant nothing-except it triggered a long forgotten memory.
Nick, dressed in his Lieutenant uniform, stood in an alleyway. Due to his mission, he'd had to wait for the cover of darkness to go into town. Only problem was-it had made it so he hadn't been able to eat, something he hadn't been able to do since eight o'clock that morning. Needless to say he was hungry. He thought he was going to have to skip another meal only a man had poked his head out of one of the buildings and surprised him by not alerting anyone to his presence and telling him there was food in the trash can. "Only threw it out because the customer who ordered it left without notice, and it was time to close. But, it hasn't been in there that long, and nothing's been put on top of it." Nick could hardly stomach taking any food out of a trash barrel, but the war was getting bad and food was getting hard to come by. However, when he reached into the can, a voice at the front of the alley stopped him.
"I wouldn't take any food out of there, no matter what the chef said." Nick turned but could see no one. He turned back to the can only to the words spoken again. This time he looked towards a side window. While he could see no one, he just knew the voice was coming from inside the window. He was amazed to see a couple of apples and some jerky being tossed gently out of it. "That should help you some, sir."
Nick moved quickly, not only to get the food but in hopes of seeing who had helped him. By the time he got to the open window, all he saw was an empty room and its partially opened door.
"Thanks for the food, mister." Nick said, hoping whoever had spoken was behind the door; he was.
"Name's Shaw," the voice then warned Nick not to trust the chef and told him to get out of town as soon as possible. "Rebs heading this way," Then he heard the sound of departing footsteps.
Nick stiffened as he realized it had to be Jeremiah's voice he recognized not his face. Why else would that particular memory come to back to him? Though, it irritated him that the memory lacked the sound of the man's voice, along with the age he guessed him to be at the time. If only he'd been able to talk to the unseen person more. 'I've got to talk to him in the morning, just have to!" Nick went back to the bed, hoping to be able to get a decent amount of sleep.