Revealed (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 3)

  Revealed

  Book 3

  Intrigue under Western Skies

  Elaine Manders

  Copyright ©2017, Elaine Manders

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9969228-7-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely coincidental.

  Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by this Author

  About the Author

  For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known.

  -Luke 12:2

  Foreword

  The modern entertainment industry got its start in the Wild West Shows created in the late nineteenth century by Buffalo Bill, Pawnee Bill, Mexican Joe, Red Cloud, Annie Oakley, and others. William Cody, a former buffalo hunter and scout, opened the first Buffalo Bill Wild West Show in Omaha, Nebraska, in 1883.

  Cody was the first to recognize how mesmerized the public was by tales of the Old West. He knew if you want to draw a following, you must entertain them with a good story, and this was the story of that day.

  These shows presented scenes from history (highly fictionalized), along with sharp-shooting, trick riding, racing, and rodeo events. Most traveled from town to town like the circus and attracted crowds of thousands, but some were stationary like the 101 Ranch’s Wild West Show with fans coming from far away. My fictional ranch, Sollano, is roughly based on the huge 101 Ranch of Kansas and Oklahoma.

  The larger than life performers of the Wild West Shows, with their amazing skills, gained large followings and became household names. The best of them gained enormous fame and made a lot of money, as stars do today. They usually took stage names to protect their families’ privacy.

  Eventually, these shows gave way to Vaudeville in the early twentieth century, and from there, the movies and Hollywood.

  Despite their fame and fortune, most of these show people led unhappy lives. There’s a reason for that. While nothing is wrong with good, clean entertainment, when people worship the entertainer, they harm the object of their worship and the culture itself. Only God deserves our worship.

  Chapter 1

  Charleston, South Carolina, 1885

  “I’m sorry as I can be, Miss Katherine, but I can’t give you any more time.” Mr. Holt kept his gaze plastered to the floor.

  Katherine Levinson forced the pleas she’d so carefully rehearsed back down her throat. Mr. Holt was right as the summer rain that beat on her window almost every afternoon. She couldn’t expect him or anyone else to extend charity forever.

  He twisted his derby with gnarled fingers and slowly lifted his eyes. Pity crawled all over his weathered face, compelling her to offer him sympathy, though she was the one losing her home, humble as it was.

  She touched his shirt sleeve, leaning in close enough to catch a whiff of the pipe tobacco he smoked. “I understand, Mr. Holt. You’ve been more than patient. How long…that is, when should we leave?”

  He scratched his balding gray head. “By end of the month. I know you’re in a bad way with your ma sick and all, but Mrs. Holt is sick herself, and without the rent money, I can’t pay her doctors.” His moustache twitched, and his jaw worked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t get the words out. He dropped his gaze back to the floor.

  “I understand,” she repeated.

  Of course she understood. She couldn’t pay Mama’s doctor either, and since there was no one else to take care of her, Katherine had had to quit her job at the hat shop.

  She knotted her hands together. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Holt isn’t getting better. I’ve been praying for her.” As she had been praying for Mama, but God must be looking the other way. She couldn’t blame God either. When things were going well, before Papa died, she’d paid scant attention to praying.

  Mr. Holt had been doing his best to avoid her eyes, but at the mention of her praying, he pierced her with a hopeful look. “Much obliged for your prayers, Miss Katherine. Seems like only the good Lord can help either of us.” He worried his hat for several breaths. “Maybe you can get your church to help you with the rent again.”

  The church had already extended more charity than she could expect. The congregants brought food on a weekly basis, and the church had paid for the rent the last two months. They’d taken their responsibility to take care of a sick widow and her daughter, but Katherine dared not approach them for money again.

  Since that humiliating meeting with the pastor, she’d avoided the church.

  A fabricated response to Mr. Holt hovered on her lips, but she bit it back. The time for some honesty had come. “I can’t ask the church. They found out Rhyan Cason is my brother.”

  Mr. Holt’s shaggy brows rose as confusion registered in his eyes. Then, as if he’d just realized what she said, his mouth fell open. “Rhyan Cason is…your…brother? You mean the rancher from out west? The one who came by here to campaign for Cleveland last fall?”

  With a nod, she recalled how she’d wanted to go to the rally. Not to approach Rhyan, but just to see him in person. Did he look as much like Mama as his photographs suggested? Certainly, he looked nothing like Katherine with her mousy brown hair and pale complexion. She had none of her mother’s beauty, nor did she resemble her handsome father.

  She’d planned on attending the rally, but Mama had gotten sick.

  Mr. Holt’s moustache stretched with his grin. “Well, I’ve heard Rhyan Cason is one of the richest men in the country with ranches all over the west. He’d surely help his sister.” His brows scrunched again. “How come you’re name’s not Cason?”

  “He’s my half-brother. We have different fathers.” She clenched her fisted hands tighter, not wanting to go into the details of how that happened. Indeed, she hadn’t known the details herself until after Papa died last year. And his relatives, whom she’d never met, came to drive her and Mama from their home.

  Afraid her eyes would reveal too much, she turned aside. “He is very rich, though he only has one ranch that I know of. But that’s why the church won’t extend any more charity. They say—and most reasonably—that we’re Rhyan’s responsibility…and I’m sure he would help…except—”

  She swiveled back around so she could judge Mr. Holt’s reaction to the secret she’d kept hidden from the good people at Church. “Rhyan Cason doesn’t know I exist.”

  Mr. Holt stared at her like she’d grown another head. “He don’t?”

  “After my mother remarried, she cut off all contact with her…other life.” She shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t pry. “Please don’t condemn her too harshl
y. She had her reasons.” That’s exactly what Mama had said, though she’d never spoken her reasons.

  His gaze returned to that spot on the floor he’d been boring a hole into, and coughed into his hand. “Well, that don’t seem fair to you or to your brother. But I’ve heard Rhyan Cason is a decent chap. Just write him a letter, and I’ll bet he’ll come for you.”

  Yes, Katherine felt the same way, except Mama was set against it.

  Mr. Holt donned his hat. “It sounds like the solution to your problems, Miss Katherine. Your brother is so well known, I bet you could address your letter to whatever state he lives in, and he’d get it. If you don’t know what state, the post master could probably tell you.”

  “I know what state and the name of his ranch. And I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Holt. I’ll write that letter tonight. But it might take some while to reach him and for him to contact me.” She gulped. “If you could give us a little while more.”

  “I understand. It’ll take me a little while to find new tenants, so you get that letter out tomorrow, and I’ll check back later.” He made his way to the door. With his hand on the knob, he added, “And if your brother could pay the back rent when he comes, I’d be much obliged.”

  The sound of Mama’s coughing reached Katherine’s ears, and she rushed to close the door after Mr. Holt, glad the ordeal had ended. “I’m certain he’ll be glad to.”

  She closed the door and drew in a deep breath that came out like a shudder. Would Rhyan be glad to pay their bills? Would he even acknowledge her letter? True, he had a reputation for generosity—for friends. People he knew. And despite being related, she was a stranger. Worst still, there was bad blood between him and Mama, or rather, between Rhyan’s father and Mama.

  Katherine didn’t know the circumstances because Mama refused to talk about it, but she had abandoned Rhyan when he was a child. It would take an enormous amount of forgiveness for him to take them in, especially when he learned what Mama had done after she left her first family.

  She didn’t know if Rhyan was the forgiving sort.

  Her little writing nook beckoned her, and she padded to the roll top desk. A newspaper lay just under the cover. She lifted the page worn from multiple readings, her gaze dropping to the photograph of her brother. The image was burned into her memory, and it confirmed he belonged to Mama. Her glance traveled to the small photograph at the end of the article. His wife held an infant in her arms in a Madonna-like pose.

  The picture was too grainy to discern her sister-in-law’s features, nor that of the baby. But Katherine already loved her little nephew. She’d give anything to be able to hold and cuddle the baby. Her brother in California had two or three children. She knew nothing else about him, and it was unlikely she’d ever meet him and his family.

  Though she’d never met Rhyan, she felt closer to him because he was famous enough to be written about, and she’d collected every news article she could find. She touched the image of the baby, her chest filling with warmth. She’d grown up as an only child, always envying her friends who had siblings. Now that she knew she had a family, brothers who shared her blood, that empty part of her heart felt less empty.

  Would Carianne Cason be willing to take them in? Katherine knew enough about her brother from newspaper articles to know he doted on his new wife. Her opinion would weigh heavy with him.

  “Katherine.” Mama’s shrill tone jarred the silent room, making Katherine jump.

  Mama hugged the hall’s door frame. She looked ready to drop, but her voice was surprisingly strong. “I forbid you to contact Rhyan. I thought you understood that. I heard what you said to the landlord.”

  When Mama’s fingers slipped several inches along the door seal. Katherine flew across the room and took her by the shoulders. “Mama, you shouldn’t be out of bed.” She reached her arm around her mother’s painfully thin frame and turned her around.

  Mama’s retort was cut short by her hacking cough. Katherine prayed this didn’t herald a long night as Mama fought for each breath.

  Consumption. That’s what the doctor said she had. There was no cure, but he’d assured Katherine people could live many years with consumption if taken care of. Both she and Mama knew good care wasn’t possible, and after Papa died, Mama didn’t want to try. Each episode seemed to get worse.

  Katherine got her frail mother back into bed and waited for the onslaught that would come as soon as Mama regained her breath.

  “We’ve been over this a hundred times, Katherine. Can’t you wait until I die?” She paused to fill her sick lungs. “I don’t have much time. I’m certain this sickness is payment enough for my sins.”

  She dropped her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes like all strength left her unable to keep them open. “After I’m gone, you can go to Rhyan with my blessing. He has a good heart, I assure you. He’ll take you in and give you all the things you need and more. He can do more for you than your papa could. It won’t be long now. Just hold on awhile longer. Surely my jewels can cover our needs a little while more.”

  She was right. They had been over this more times than Katherine could count. “He would help you too, Mama. If he has a good heart, he can forgive you for—everything.”

  “For betraying him? It wasn’t that I abandoned him and Jonathan. I promise Rhyan I’d take him with me. I used him to spy for me. I turned him against his father. I did worse than I can even admit to you.” She grabbed Katherine by the arm and pulled her down over the bed. “Even if he could forgive me, I can’t face him. Am I not suffering enough?”

  Katherine squeezed water out of a cloth into the wash basin and wiped her mother’s forehead. Worry tightened her throat, but she managed a smile. “God doesn’t punish people by making them sick, Mama. Good people get sick all the time.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? Promise me you won’t contact Rhyan. Just let me die in peace.”

  “You’re not dying, Mama.”

  Mama raised up on her elbows. “Stop it, Katherine. Stop pretending and promise me.” She drew in a deep breath and heaved, her face contorted in pain—or fear.

  From experience, Katherine knew Mama would have to clear her lungs. She grabbed the basin just in time. Watery blood spewed as her mother hacked over and over.

  Dots of red sprayed on Katherine’s white shirtwaist. On the sheets. On the wall.

  Katherine dashed back and forth, emptying the basin and bringing more water, mopping the mucus and blood until she didn’t know how Mama had the strength to cough. The attack seemed to never end, but abruptly Mama collapsed on the pillows, and her labored breathing returned to normal.

  After changing the sheets and washing the wall, Katherine sat with her sleeping mother for how long she didn’t know before reaching assurance the episode was fully spent.

  Was Mama right? Was her death imminent? She could go for several days without an attack, although not a day went by that she didn’t go into a hacking cough. The doctor said that was good for her, though, and recommended good food and fresh air. The air was free, but the good food was not.

  Katherine prepared the best dishes for Mama and ate what she didn’t, which was most of it. Getting Mama to eat anything was a difficult task. She seemed determined to hasten her own death.

  At the bedroom door, Katherine sent one final anxious glance and made her way to the small parlor.

  It hadn’t always been this way. She’d grown up in relative luxury. Stretching out on the room’s lone sofa, she closed her eyes and envisioned the big, white colonial house that had been her home until Papa died. Her bedroom was larger than this parlor and kitchen combined. She’d slid down the bannisters of the wide staircase until she was really too old for such antics. She had friends and a Mama and Papa who adored her and each other.

  Servants took care of the house and the family. She’d had a governess until she went away to finishing school.

  The headmistress had come for her during dancing class with the alarming news Papa
had had an apoplexy.

  She returned home to find her dear Papa, who’d lavished his love as much as his possessions on her since she was born, didn’t even recognize her. Or Mama. He’d remained in that state for almost a month before giving up the ghost.

  Shocked and grief-stricken, she couldn’t imagine a worse thing in the world, even though she knew Papa was in a better place.

  But worse did happen.

  The day after Papa’s funeral, before he was even cold, as Mama pointed out often in the days ahead, a lawyer appeared at the door. Mama acted like she expected him. Of course, Papa would have had a will and a lawyer to explain their circumstances.

  Except there was no will. And the lawyer, Mr. Jenkins, didn’t represent Mama. He was trying to explain that when a knock sounded at the door.

  Elmira Levinson, a silver-haired woman, probably in her sixties, and her cousins, two tall gangly men, barged in, announcing they were Papa’s nearest kin.

  Katherine had heard Papa speak of Elmira, his only sibling, before, and he made it clear he didn’t care for her. Mama drew her arm around Katherine as if for support. She must have guessed Elmira’s purpose because she blurted her anger at the sight of the woman.

  “How dare you come in here. Gerald would never have welcomed you in this house while he lived, and I won’t either. Leave immediately.”

  Elmira merely sneered, casting a knowing glance to the lawyer. “You have explained to this harlot where she stands now that poor Gerald has passed.” Katherine gasped at the veracity of Elmira’s words. Never had she heard such disrespect. The idea of coming into Mama’s home and calling her a harlot.

  “Please understand, Mrs. Cason, since Gerald Levinson left no will, neither you nor your daughter have an inheritance.”

  Why did the man address Mama as Mrs. Cason? He must have her confused with some other woman. Elmira had doubtless forgotten to tell the lawyer Papa was married to Mama.