(A single mother trying to do her best by her daughter finds out that the Wild West was a little wilder than she previously imagined.
This story first appeared online in 2008 under the title "Her Day in Court." I restore the original title here.)
Caitlin Murphy’s heart pounded as she raced backstage, ignoring the applause coming from the main room of the saloon.
“Big crowd, Miss Caitlin. Mr. Sullivan will want you to do an encore.”
Caitlin looked up to see the puppy-dog eyes of Hank, the saloon’s janitor, who also doubled as the theater’s stagehand. Past middle age, Hank was as gentle as a child and on the simple side. Caitlin did not like playing the gentle soul for a fool, but she was desperate.
“If he comes looking for me, would you please tell him that I have a headache or something.” She would have said womanly troubles, only it would have embarrassed the stagehand so much he would not have been able to talk.
“Well, alright Miss Caitlin. But he’ll be awfully sore.”
“You’re a dear, dear man, Hank.” She went on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. No harm done, as she would not be staying in the saloon another night. “Oh, and if anyone else comes looking for me, I’m not receiving any callers.”
Without waiting for a response, Caitlin picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs. She slammed the door behind her, her eyes scanning her room frantically for Molly, her daughter.
The eight-year-old’s emerald eyes looked up from the book she was reading. Homer. In the original Greek. The surprise on her face faded in just a moment.
“Papa.”
Caitlin nodded. Somehow Molly always knew. “You know where the travel bags are. Get Momma’s out. We’re going on a trip. Maybe to San Francisco this time. I bet there are a lot of books there you haven’t read yet.”
Molly simply nodded, and began wrestling a carpetbag from the closet that was almost as large as she was. She was beaming again by the time she got her own bag out of the closet and onto the bed. “Oh! I may get to practice my Cantonese. That could be fun.”
“Good girl.” Caitlin ducked behind her dressing screen and willed her pulse to calm enough so she could change from her stage clothes to traveling clothes. Stupid. She was so stupid. Just because they had had a few months of relative security here in Cottonwood Falls, she shouldn’t have started hoping that David would have given up his hunt for Molly. David thought of Molly as his, and he always said he took care of what was his.
Caitlin struggled with a final hook on her dress and then went to the cashbox on the nightstand. Good. Enough to buy two tickets to anywhere. They might even be able to change trains once or twice to throw off the scent. If they had time. Caitlin stuffed a third of the money into a purse and then divided the rest among her garters and the front of her dress.
“Now then, a few final things for me and a note for Mr. Sullivan asking him to sent the rest when we’re–”
A knock at the door. “Miss Caitlin? Caitlin Murphy?”
Caitlin bit her bottom lip so hard she drew blood. No denying it now. No one in this town knew her by that surname. Maybe if she let Molly out the window, she could stall long enough for her daughter to get to safety. She didn’t think David had anyone in the street watching the alley.
The knock sounded again. “Miss Caitlin? I am very sorry to disturb you, but it’s most important that I speak with you. It’s about your daughter.”
Caitlin clenched her fist, about to smash the window when, Molly moved forward. Before Caitlin could react, her daughter opened the door. Caitlin was there in a shot to pull her daughter away, but the damage had been done.
The man standing in the doorway was the same one who had spooked her in the audience with the way he had been studying her. He was incredibly short, just shy of being a dwarf, and dressed in a very new, very expensive brown suit. A golden watch chain gleamed from his vest. Pudgy hands played with the brim of a bowler hat, which had uncovered dark brown hair neatly combed, parted on the right. The lamp in the room glistened off eyeglasses so thick that they obscured the color of the man’s eyes.
He ignored Caitlin completely at first, and instead offered Molly a profound bow. “Salve, puella bela.”
Molly laughed and gave a little curtsey. “Salve, magister animarum.”
The little man chuckled in turn and looked up at Caitlin, to find her Derringer aimed at his head. Caitlin watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Madam–”
“Your specs. Take them off.”
The short man’s Adam’s apple bobbed again. “My eyeglasses?”
The Derringer made a cold figure eight in the man’s forehead. “I’m not joking, mister. Take them off. Now.”
With a quick glance aside to Molly, the small man did as he had been ordered. He blinked up at Caitlin with watery eyes. Eyes that were a perfect chestnut brown.
Caitlin felt her legs relax, but she kept her gun fixed on the man. “State your name and your business. Quickly.”
“Smith. Mr. John Smith, esquire.”
It was Caitlin’s turn to be surprised. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Indeed. I’m here about your daughter, Miss Caitlin.”
Caitlin’s fingers tensed against the Derringer. “I told her father that he would never get his slimy–”
“You misunderstand me, Miss Caitlin. I am indeed here about Molly. But as her advocate. And yours. I, or should I say, certain parties who have contracted my services, want to ensure that you have the complete and legal custody of your daughter. In perpetuum.”
The Derringer trembled. To be free of David. To stop living on the run. It sounded too good to be true. “The girl’s father... I’m not sure he sets much store by courts or laws.” Caitlin studied the small man carefully before she continued. “He certainly doesn’t recognize the authority of any judge around here.”
The lawyer smiled and replaced his eyeglasses. “Trust me, Madam. He will recognize the jurisdiction of this court. Or the penalties will be far more severe than a fine or a night in jail.”
Trust. So easy to ask for, so hard to give. Molly’s father had asked Caitlin to trust him. And then he had shown his true colors. Literally. Oh, there was something compelling about this Mr. Smith, but Caitlin had learned long ago to put no stock in the words men said in the upstairs rooms of saloons.
A tug at Caitlin’s skirt. “Momma.”
Caitlin pressed her daughter against her hip. “Yes, my heart. What do you think of Mr. Smith’s offer?”
“I think we should go with him.”
Caitlin sighed and looked down into her daughter’s shining eyes. Still, Molly had a skill at reading people far beyond Caitlin’s own. She had never been wrong before. The Derringer disappeared back into Caitlin’s dress.
“Alright, Mr. Smith. We’re already packed. Where’s this court of yours, and how long will it take to get there?”
Smith took out his pocket watch and opened it. The device looked impossibly large in his small hand, and Caitlin had never so many dials and hands on a watch before. “Just a moment or two, Madam. If you would take my hand, and Molly yours.”
Well, she should probably shake on the deal, even if she still had her doubts. Why that meant the man couldn’t answer a simple question, she didn’t know. But Caitlin grasped Smith’s right hand and made sure Molly had her left. Her girl was staring up at the ceiling, almost as if she were trying to see something above the roof in the night sky beyond.
A faint tingle ran up Caitlin’s spine, and her eyes went wide. “What–”
She didn’t have time to finish. Smith did something with his watch, and it felt like a trapdoor opened under Caitlin. Her stomach sickened as if she were falling, falling, falling. Only the trapdoor had opened above her. She was surrounded by a million spinning stars. And she cursed all men and all lawyers under her breath.
The falling sensation stopped suddenly in a cool burst of blue light. It took Caitlin’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit chamber. The black of the walls was so intense that it hurt the eyes to look at them for too long. The room was so high that Caitlin could not see the ceiling. Directly in front of her was a rounded podium at least twice her height, at which sat three robed and hooded figures.
(To be continued...)
