The Sugar Queen Read online

  “What about you, Miss Cooper?” Flynn asked.

  “I happen to like both,” I said.

  “Just like Papa,” Josephine said. “What a great coincidence.”

  Chapter 6

  Alexander

  * * *

  After breakfast, I shooed the children out of the dining room. I needed to talk to Miss Cooper about last night for several reasons, the most important of which was to ask if she remembered seeing anything before or after the gunshots. Harley had not, remembering only the shot and then trying to control the horses. The Higgins brothers had come along minutes after the crash. They’d been at the station to pick up an item sent from Denver. Harley had seen them arrive as he left with Miss Cooper. This kept them from being suspects in the murder of Samuel Cole.

  I looked at Miss Cooper from across the table, helpless as to how to start. Weariness washed over me like a series of waves. I wished for my bed. I wished I didn’t have to go into town and tell everyone at church that my neighbor was murdered in his own yard. I wished Miss Cooper would remain ignorant of the dark undercurrents of our community.

  Just tell her directly, I thought. She’s not a child. “The gunshots that scared the horses were directed at my friend and neighbor. He was found by his wife minutes later dead near his woodshed. Two bullet wounds through his chest killed him.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “No.”

  “He left behind a wife and three young children. Someone in this town murdered him.”

  “But why? Who would do such a thing?” she asked.

  “Do you remember seeing anyone during the drive?”

  “No, it was dark, and I was sleepy. I didn’t wake up until the shots rang out.” She hesitated. “They did seem close, though.”

  “You were near his place. If the weather hadn’t been so bad, you would have seen the lights from his house.”

  “I wish I could help,” she said. “When did you find out?”

  I told her about Rachel showing up at my door. I left it at that. She didn’t need to know how we’d spent the night shoveling away snow and then digging into the cold ground.

  “I don’t want this to scare you,” I said.

  “I’m not scared.” She blinked several times but squared her shoulders. “I am, however, grateful to be living here at the house. Thank you, again.”

  “No need, Miss Cooper. It sets my mind at ease to have you with us.”

  After church, I’d have to go out to see Rachel. For now, I needed to get the children loaded into the sleigh and off to Sunday service.

  Chapter 7

  Quinn

  * * *

  Merry helped the girls and me get bundled up in coats and scarves and hats. When ready, we went out to the covered awning on the side of the house where a horse-drawn sleigh waited.

  Flynn and Cymbeline were already outside, tossing snowballs at each other and making a great deal of noise. Harley, with his left hand in a bandage, stood near a different set of horses from the night before, petting their noses and speaking softly into their ears. Next to him, a little girl in a gray cloak waved to us.

  “That’s Harley’s sister, Poppy,” Josephine said.

  “They’re our friends,” Cymbeline said.

  “I met Harley last night,” I said.

  “Merry likes him,” Josephine whispered.

  “But he doesn’t know I’m alive,” Merry said under her breath.

  Harley held up a hand and reached into the sleigh, then held up my hat. “I’ve saved it, Miss Cooper.”

  “Thank goodness,” I called out to him. “I was about to make my debut in town hatless.”

  He sprinted over to me, presenting it like a crown.

  I snatched it from him and happily set it upon my head, securing it with the pins.

  Harley took off his cap, revealing a head of wavy brown hair. “Little ladies.” He bowed to them, causing them to giggle. He straightened and nodded at Merry.

  “Hello, Merry.”

  “Hi, Harley.” Merry’s cheeks flushed bright pink.

  “Miss Cooper. Are you feeling all right?” he asked me. “I feel terrible about what happened.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I said. Knowing what I did now, I was sure this was true. “Are the horses well?”

  “Yes, they were fine,” Harley said. “You took the brunt of it—popped out of there like a ball from a cannon.”

  I laughed. “I should never have fallen asleep.”

  Poppy had come up behind him, peering around his waist. “This is Poppy,” Harley said. “My sister.”

  “Nice to meet you, Poppy,” I said.

  She bowed her head. “Nice to meet you.”

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Thirteen,” Poppy said.

  Her answer surprised me. She was small for a girl her age.

  “Poppy’s my best friend,” Josephine said as they clasped hands.

  Harley placed his bandaged hand on top of Poppy’s knit cap. “We’re lucky to have such good friends and employers.”

  Poppy and Josephine exchanged a smile.

  Flynn and Cymbeline ran up, out of breath and glowing from the cold and exercise. Snow dusted their coats and boots. Behind me, the door opened, and Lord Barnes joined us.

  “Have you met Oliver and Twist, Miss Cooper?” Lord Barnes asked.

  “We’re giving Prince and Pauper the day off,” Harley said. “Since they had a scare.”

  Flynn patted Twist on his neck. “He’s a good boy, this one.”

  “Papa named them,” Theo said. “After the Dickens character.”

  “I had a suspicion,” I said.

  The children clambered into the sleigh. The boys squeezed into the back seat while Harley helped the three girls into the middle. Lord Barnes held out his hand to assist me into the front row, behind the driver’s seat. As Harley jumped up, Lord Barnes smoothed a blanket over my lap.

  The children were a jolly bunch by the time we set out from the house. Laughter and high-pitched chatter mingled with the jingle of the horses’ bells as we glided through the snow. With the sky a bright blue, brilliant against the white backdrop, it was hard to believe that a blizzard had come through hours before. I turned back to take a good look at the house. Made of red brick, with two large pillars in the front, the house was as pretty as any I’d ever seen, even in the most expensive parts of Boston.

  “However did you build such a beautiful house in this remote place?” I asked Lord Barnes.

  “One brick at a time,” he said. “It took me several years. I brought Ida out from New York after that. She didn’t want to come out here before it was completed.”

  Being this close to him gave me a strange sensation—excited and safe at the same time. Drifts of snow had settled in his dark eyebrows, making them appear white. Fortunately, my arms were firmly tucked under the blanket or I might have been tempted to brush them away.

  I looked away, toward the white field and red barn. “This is like a painting.” I said this as a way to break this magnetic pull between us. Even so, the statement was true. I’d never seen a prettier landscape than the one before me now.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Very much. There’s something so calming about the snow, don’t you think?”

  He nodded, but his eyes lost focus, as if he had slipped behind a curtain. “My late wife hated the snow. She never adjusted to our winters.”

  Oliver and Twist neighed cheerfully as we turned right onto what appeared to be a road of packed snow, made slick by the passing of other sleighs.

  “Ida was from New York,” Lord Barnes said. “She couldn’t understand my love of this place. The way the air is so crisp and sharp and the sky this remarkable blue, even in the winter.”

  “It’s a remarkable blue,” I said.

  A second later, I spotted the smoke from several chimneys before I saw town. “Oh, it’s lovely,” I said, surprised by the quaint brick buildings that lined bot
h sides of a street. Granted, there weren’t many, but enough to make up a town.

  “What did you expect?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” This wasn’t exactly true. I didn’t want to insult him by explaining my perceptions. The town was personal to him. He was invested in Emerson Pass in a way one is when they’ve helped to make something out of nothing. What I’d imagined was a dirty street and a collection of haphazardly constructed buildings, everything centered around the mining operation.

  Beside me, Lord Barnes sighed. “I’ll have to see the pastor before service and tell him what’s happened to Samuel.” The muscles in his face contorted before he hung his head. “I can’t believe Samuel’s gone.”

  Tears came to my eyes at the mournful tone of his voice, the heartache of loss in every word. “Oh, Lord Barnes, I’m sorry.”

  Grief was like this. Out of nowhere, the reality of one’s loss crushed and shoved aside all other thoughts. Seeing a grown man, especially one as dignified yet playful as Lord Barnes, crushed by his grief tore at my heart. I wished there were something I could do. Having lost my father, whom I loved so dearly, I knew there was nothing, short of bringing the person back to life. Still, I asked the question. “Is there anything I can do?”

  His eyes softened. “You have a kind heart, Miss Cooper—crying for a man you never knew.”

  “I know you,” I said. “And it’s obvious what a terrible blow this is. That’s enough to make me cry.”

  He looked away. “I have to find out who did this to him.”

  “Is there a sheriff?” I asked.

  “Yes. Joseph Lancaster. He’s new. Our governor sent him out here.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “We’ve had our share of trouble.”

  I had the distinct feeling there was something Lord Barnes wasn’t saying. As much as I wanted to ask, I stayed quiet. If he needed me to know, he would tell me. Otherwise, I would keep my curious nose to myself.

  The horses went from a gallop to a walk as we entered town. Emerson Pass was nestled between two mountains that rose majestically toward the cerulean sky. I did a quick assessment and discovered a drugstore, dry goods store, post office, and butcher shop on one side of the street. The other had a saloon, the boardinghouse, and restaurant. They were all built of brick and in the same height and style. Attractive streetlamps were placed in front of each building, making a line of soldiers on each side.

  We turned down a side street and there, positioned at a slightly higher elevation than the businesses on the main street, stood a brick schoolhouse. There was a skinny front porch with a bell that hung from the rafters. My chest swelled with pride at the sight of the double doors. “Lord Barnes, it’s perfect.”

  “I think so too.”

  “Will I get to ring the bell?”

  His eyes twinkled at me. “Every morning at nine. After church, we’ll stop by and take a look inside. You can see if there’s anything I’ve forgotten.”

  We continued past the school and stopped in front of a white church with a tall steeple. The walkway had been shoveled, and people were headed inside the red doors. “Did you build this, too?”

  “The men who worked for me did, yes. Do you like it?”

  “I can’t think of a prettier church.”

  “Thank you. We’re proud of it.” He lifted the blankets from our laps and offered his hand to help me down from the sleigh. “Would you mind getting the children settled inside while I talk to Pastor Lind?”

  “With pleasure.”

  He tipped his hat. “Thank you, Miss Cooper. You’ve come just when I needed you.”

  The children had all jumped down by then. Poppy and Josephine waited by the front steps with Fiona between them. Flynn and Cymbeline were over by a tall snowdrift with their heads together, as if discussing their plan for escape. Only Theo remained near. He offered his arm to me. “I’ll walk with you. It’s slippery.”

  I smiled down at him. “Thank you, kind gentleman.”

  He beamed up at me. “You’re welcome, Miss Cooper.”

  Chapter 8

  Alexander

  * * *

  I knocked on the door to Pastor Lind’s office. “It’s Barnes, Pastor Lind. May I have a moment?”

  “Come in, come in.”

  Taking a deep breath, I entered, then closed the door behind me. Lind sat behind his desk. He was a small, round man with thick white hair that sprouted from his head in unruly clumps. He had a handlebar mustache and thick eyebrows and wore a pair of round wire-framed glasses that perched on the end of his nose. The office smelled of coffee from the cup next to a notebook containing his handwritten sermon. He claimed it made him a better orator if he consumed a cup right before services began.

  “Lord Barnes, to what do I owe this pleasure?” His hazel eyes gazed at me from over his glasses. I always had the urge to push those flimsy glasses up to where they belonged. They agitated me, perched like that on the bulbous part of his nose.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news,” I said.

  He tutted as he leaned forward over the desk. His thick brows came together to form a long white caterpillar. “What’s happened?”

  Simon Lind and his wife, Pamela, were in their fifties and had spent most of their lives building churches in small towns like Emerson Pass. Lind had wanderlust. Pamela had told me he could never be happy in one place. Once the church was built and the flock firmly settled in the pews every Sunday, he grew restless. When they’d come through here to visit, looking for a new place to build a church, I’d made him a deal. I’d help them build a church and rectory and pay him a decent salary even during years when donations were scarce, but he needed to commit to staying. His wife, worn out from the years of moving, had convinced him to take my offer. Five years later, it was as if they’d always been here. She’d made the rectory across from the church into a pretty home, with flowers and a vegetable garden during warm months. Pam Lind had such a green thumb she kept half the town in tomatoes and beans during July and August. She’d told me once that her inability to have a child had fueled her need to grow living things. “Cucumbers and tomatoes are no substitute for a child, but they can at least feed other women’s sons and daughters,” she’d said to me once.

  Now I turned my hat around and around in my hands. To say the words would make them real, and I suddenly wanted to put that off for as long as possible. “Samuel Cole is dead. Someone shot him last night.”

  Lind snatched his glasses from his face and rose to his feet. “Do we know who?”

  “No idea. I can’t help but think it has something to do with Rachel.”

  Lind walked behind his chair and wrapped his hands around the back as if he might fall. “Has there been recent trouble?”

  “Not that I know of.” I told him about my conversation with Samuel regarding his will. “Maybe he was worried about someone trying to harm him. Why else would he have come to me now? He wasn’t a man who thought about his mortality.”

  Lind chuckled. “No, he was more concerned with living than what came in the hereafter.” He quickly sobered. “Poor Rachel. How is she?”

  “Bloody devastated and terrified.” I apologized for my rough language, but Lind brushed it aside. A preacher on the frontier couldn’t be too particular about his flock’s crusty ways.

  “I can imagine she would be,” Lind said. “If this is about race, then we’re going to have to do what we can to protect them.”

  I leaned against the wall and rubbed my tired eyes. “She and Susan are all alone out there.” Other than Susan, Samuel had never trusted anyone enough to hire help. “Rachel will have to pay three men to do the work Samuel did alone.” I thumped the back of my head against the wall. “He kept them isolated out there. Samuel didn’t want her or the kids to leave their property and go into town. He’d never admit it to me, but he was afraid for them.” I looked back at Lind, who watched me with sympathetic eyes. “He should’ve been more careful. He should have come to
me for help.”

  “A man like Samuel doesn’t want his friend harmed because of his own trouble. He most likely was trying to protect you.”

  I took my handkerchief and pressed it against my stinging eyes. “It’s hard to imagine him anywhere but traipsing about the woods.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lind said. “For you and for Rachel and those kids.”

  “I have to figure a way to protect them.”

  “Tell me what you need. Pamela and I are here.”

  I thanked him, even though I knew deep in my bones that trouble waited around every corner for Rachel now. All she had was me to protect her, and I wasn’t sure how to do that. No amount of money can fix hatred.

  Chapter 9

  Quinn

  * * *

  The simple church pews and pulpit that hung over it were made of pale fine-grained wood. Whitewashed walls with tall paned windows framed the winter scene outside. The floor was made of wide planks of oak. A spectacular cross made of a dark wood hung over the front. A faint scent of wood shavings hung in the air.

  “Is the church newly built?” I asked Josephine as we walked down the aisle toward the front.

  “No, Papa had it built for Pastor Lind five years ago,” she said. “But the cross is new. Harley made it from a fallen tree he found last summer.”

  The Barnes children and I took over the entire front row of the left side with a space left for Lord Barnes. I had the two little girls next to me. Josephine and Poppy were on the other end with the twins between us. As we waited for service to begin, Fiona and Cymbeline started poking each other.

  “Stop it,” Fiona said.

  “You stop it,” Cymbeline said as she poked her sister on the shoulder for the third time.

  Fiona began to cry. “That hurt.”

  I lifted Fiona onto my lap. “You’ll both keep your hands to yourself from now on or you’ll be punished.”