Chapter Five
"Anna, get the porter to bring some boiling water. I have camphor in my bag. Henry's Nelson's inhaler, please. Pocket of his knapsack."
"Got it,"
The porter brought the water quickly and Lisette mixed the camphor with the water. Henry quickly relaxed and took the breathing apparatus in stride.
"Anna, thank you. Your calmness reassures me that Henry is safe in your hands."
She blushed unused to compliments.
Henry finally relaxed and fell asleep leaning on Anna's shoulder.
"It's fine Miz Lisette. Leave him here. I will move him to the sleeper in a few minutes."
"Thank you again."
Lisette went back to her bed and pulled the curtains to hide her tears. Memories of these attacks almost since the beginning of his life. He took them in stride but it broke her mother's heart. Paul suggested on one of his infrequent visits to send the boy to a sanatorium. She slapped him in the face.
She peeked out of the curtains and smiled. Henry and Anna were sleeping soundly in the armchairs. She went over and covered them with a quilt.
"Goodnight, my little man. And my gift, Anna."
She went to sleep easily with the rocking of the train.
(Made of white-glaze transfer-printed pottery, Nelson inhalers first appeared in 1865. The inhaler is filled with hot water, and steam breathed deep into the lungs to relieve symptoms of colds or mild influenza.)
"Drink?"
"Yes. Scotch if you have it,"
Jarrod poured a double for Miller and another half for himself. Nick shook his head no for a refill.
"Did you find the men? My company has a lot riding on this deal. I would like those men brought to justice. Prove we didn't have anything to do with this."
Jarrod eyed him from the matching leather armchair.
"Can you tell me what you told the deputy?"
"Sure Mista Barkley. Met these three men in the lobby. Invited me to dinner and then we played poker at Harry's. Big gamblers. Played the California and Nevada circuits. They went to find women at your Big Annie's establishment. I turned in for the night. I was coming down the hotel lobby stairs yesterday. Heard all the commotion in the street. I followed them. They had their horses out back. Headed east out of town. I ran to find a deputy after I heard what happened."
"They just committed murder and attempted two more killings and they let you follow them." Nick snarled.
"Seriously?" Jarrod raised his eyebrow in disbelief at Miller.
Miller sipped on his scotch, "Bad choice of words, counselor. I wouldn't want to face you in the courtroom. They were in such a hurry, they didn't notice me following them."
"Oh," was all Jarrod said. He watched the man for obvious signs of lying but saw none.
Miller learned a long time ago to tell as much truth as possible. If he could get the upstanding Mr. Barkley on the side of the casino and hotel, the town might accept it.
"Mista Barkley. I see more questions in yore eyes, ask them. I have nothing to hide and neither do my bosses."
"Ok. Tell me about your hotel. Your bosses."
"John Taylor is the owner. Hales from Denver. His son-in-law Paul Franklin from back east. Both work out of Denver, Modesto and San Francisco. The Paramount in San Francisco burned five months ago and is under reconstruction."
"I read about it in the papers. Kitchen fire?"
"Yes. Grease bins."
"The Modesto Paramount and the Denver Paramount are thriving."
"Thriving?"
"Yes that's what I said," in his first challenging tone of the night.
Jarrod sipped on the scotch as Nick ominously walked around behind the man. Miller tried not to appear nervous as Nick bulked over him.
"Why Stockton?"
"Why not? Up and coming city, railroad, a river, freight. You have everything a hotel needs."
"And a casino?" Raising his eyebrow.
"Yes. Respectable men want a parlor to relax in. A gentleman's club of sorts. Your Harry is a nice sort but it's not the upper class establishment your town deserves. For the discerning gentleman."
"How are you funded?"
"Same as any business. Cash, stocks, investors, lines of credit." was a question he didn't expect. If he only knew the house of cards the Paramount was teetering on. If John Taylor even knew—-
"Some folks believe gambling isn't good for a town." Jarrod mused.
Miller laughed, "That preacher for one."
Jarrod didn't return the smile or laugh. Nick squeezed the man's shoulder. He shuddered.
"How long are you in town?"
"A few more days. Making sure the town is on board and all the necessary permits are in line. Mr. Taylor and Mr. Franklin will be down after me."
"Franklin? Any relation to Judge Franklin in San Francisco?"
"Not shore. Don't think so. Will ask him when I see him."
"Sorry to keep you so long Mr. Miller. The Barkley's helped establish Stockton and we have a long history here. My good friend was shot yesterday and a dear friend of my parents, the widow Jones got killed in that alley. By men wanting your casino. I had to ask."
"I wouldn't think any differently myself. John Taylor had nothing to do with those crimes. He is a father and a grandfather himself."
Jarrod nodded and stood up. Miller reached out to shake Jarrod's hand. He reluctantly accepted the handshake.
"Good night Mr. Barkley."
"Good night Mr. Miller."
He reached out to shake Nick's hand. He declined and walked back to the window.
Miller quickly left and shut the door.
"We make quite the team Brother Nick."
"Yep. I don't trust him."
"Me either. Me either."
—&—
Grete and Kai nursed Adolf in their rooms above the bakery. Townspeople had brought him from the alley.
Doc Merar stitched up the wound on the back of his head, "Grete, keep watch on him. He was unconscious and I suspect a concussion. Make sure he takes some broth soon and watch for bleeding."
Kai was terrified remembering his father's demise and now the cousin that had taken them in.
They sat beside him the first night with worry and fear. He woke several times and she gave him bone broth she had stewed downstairs. He had no memory of what happened and seemed disoriented.
The bell rang downstairs and Grete sent Kai down. She had closed the bakery afraid to leave her cousin.
Heath Barkley walked up the wooden stairs with Kai, "Just want to check on Adolf, we have been out searching for the men that did this,"
Grete was changing his bandage as Heath walked in. He was unshaven and his shirt was sweat-stained from the long search.
"Let me help you," and he lifted the older man's head.
Grete wrapped the clean bandage around his head and Heath kept him steady,
"Heath?" He opened his eyes and looked at the Barkley visitor.
"Yes sir. We have been searching for the men that did this. Haven't found them yet."
"Widow Jones."
Heath shook his head. Adolf closed his eyes in distress.
"She was—-uh, fine lady."
"Yes she was."
"Grete, Heath has a sweet tooth. Give him some of your new goods."
"Cousin, I haven't baked in two days but I will tomorrow if you feel better."
"Oh, I liked the shortbread." he said with confusion.
Grete shook her head at Heath.
"Sometimes it happens with a head wound. His thinking will clear up."
She looked relieved at Heath's words.
"Kai, please stay with cousin Adolf. Mr. Barkley, let's get you some coffee."
They walked down to the kitchen and she pulled two spatterware tin cups from the shelf.
"Mr. Barkley? Can you tell me what happened? When they brought him home, I did not understand the stories. It was too fast."
"Please, call me Heath," and he commenced telling her what he knew about the events and how Adolf was hurt.
"Thank you, call me Grete. And please ven, I mean friend to our family. My Danish slips."
"Ven. I like that," he said with a tired grin.
She brought out some day-old bread and spread it with honey butter.
"This is good."
"Thank you." and he explained the events of the past two days.
He finished up his coffee and bread, "I will check with you in a day or so. Going to head home to sleep. But if you need anything, please send word by the boy at the livery or the general store. They come out to the ranch regular,"
She smiled with relief. Heath put on his hat and tipped it.
"Nite. I will be back."