The Blacksmith of Bright Star, Texas

"I also had my lawyers do some investigation into your background when Mrs. Richardson called on me to say I'd hired an excellent worker and that she didn't like losing you. I know about Daley, and I know my husband caused it just as sure as if he'd been the one to swing the club. I've just done for you what I would have done had Daley been my brother.

"I don't want to blame you for this, but it's the only way for both of us. If I was arrested and tried, you'd have to testify in court and my lawyers would make you out to be a common whore who seduced my husband and drove me insane enough to kill him. If they arrested you and put you on trial, I'd have to reveal eveything Alexander did, and that would be bad for me and for both family's business relationships."

"I don't know where I would go."

"Katherine, America is a very big country. Go to Chicago. Chicago is big enough you can just blend in. After a month at most, the New York Police will stop looking for a lone Irish girl. They have too many other crimes to solve. I imagine Daddy can help with that as well, once I tell him the truth.

"The only person you need fear is Alexander's father. Alexander is...was his only son, and now he won't have an heir to continue his business. The police will stop looking for you, but he won't. Find the Irish in Chicago. They've been there for a long time, and they help each other. You'll be safe enough if you don't attract attention. Now, go."

Half an hour later, Katherine had packed everything she owned into the small traveling case Allison gave her, and was walking to the train station. The pouch of gold coins was hanging inside her dress from a belt at her waist. She hadn't counted it yet. She'd only taken out six of the double eagles to pay for her train fare.

The train left an hour later, and Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She was leaving New York and that seemed safe. She didn't like the idea that Allison was going to blame her for Alexander's death, but in a way she understood. Allison was older and not pretty at all. She and Alexander might have been happy if he'd just tried, but instead he chose to leave her alone most days and evenings as he met with his current lover. Allison had forgiven him once. When he didn't keep his promise, she had resolved the situation by the only method likely to have been successful.

Katherine knew Allison would probably spend the rest of her life alone in that big house on Fifth Avenue. At her age, it wasn't likely Allison would find another husband. Katherine was sorry for the woman, but also grateful. Allison had given Katherine the only help she could give while still protecting her own future.

}{

Katherine had grown up in a frugal household, and she was smart enough to know the gold coins would soon be spent if she allowed it. Once in Chicago, she found a room in a boarding house in the Irish community, and then found work in a laundry. It was back-breaking work lugging wet clothing all day long, but it paid enough to buy food and settle the rent.

She was protective of her fortune. Knowing it was not safe to leave it in her room, Katherine sewed the rows of pouches, each just large enough to securely hold a double-eagle, to wide straps of the same material. Once she fastened the loops and straps that held them to her thighs and suspended them from her waist, Katherine became her own walking bank.

After three months she felt safe enough to treat herself to a night out at one of the local pubs. She didn't drink whiskey like the men did, but she enjoyed the sounds of the music from Ireland and the laughter of the people. It was almost the same as being back in the little village where she and Daley grew up.

A week later, just as Katherine walked in the door of the laundry, the laundry owner caught her arm and led her into his office. Katherine listened intently as he told her of two men who had come to the laundry as he was closing up the night before. They were asking about a Katherine O'Devlin

"They said they were from the New York City Police Department, and that you were wanted in New York City for murder, but I know Chicago hoodlums when I see them. They were thugs who work on the railroad. That coal dust doesn't wash off your hands, and their hands were filthy. I have no idea who sent them, but when I said I'd never heard of a Katherine O'Devlin and I had to close up, they told me they'd be back when all the women were working. They said if they found you, they'd burn down the laundry to teach others not to lie to them.

"I said they were welcome to come back and I'd introduce them to all the women, so they left. Katherine, those were bad men, and if they find you, bad things will happen to you. You need to go home, and then leave Chicago as soon as you can. If they ask enough people, they'll find you.

"Oh, there's one more thing."

He opened a side drawer in his desk, and removed a small derringer with two barrels, one on top of the other, along with a box of cartridges.

"I bought this two years ago after I was robbed, but I've never used it. You take it with you. All you have to do is cock this hammer, point, and pull the trigger. It won't be very accurate unless you're close, but if you are, it'll put a man down with one shot."

The only train leaving that night was going to Sedalia, Missouri. Katherine didn't know where Sedalia was or what was there, but when the train pulled out of the station, she was sitting by a window in the second car and watching the street lights of Chicago fade into the distance.

As the wheels of the train clackety-clacked away the miles, Katherine pondered her situation. The story of Alexander's death had reached all the way from New York to the Chicago newspaper, and she had followed it until other items replaced it.

Allison had cooperated with the police in their investigation, stating that her housekeeper, one Katherine O'Devlin had shot her husband when he attempted to force his attentions on her. The police were canvassing the Irish neighborhood for her. Of course, they found no Katherine O'Devlin. She was already on her way to Chicago by then.

The funeral had been lavish, and the final article was about the massive headstone Alexander's father had commissioned for the grave. After that, the story dropped from the first page into non-existence.

Katherine was certain Allison had kept her word. It had to be someone else who was looking for her, and in her mind, only one person would want her found -- Harrison Smythe. Allison had said as much, and her words were coming true.

Her name had been recorded when she purchased the train ticket in New York, so finding her destination would not have been difficult. Harrison Smythe had businesses in Chicago and owned part of the railroads to the west, so he would have the connections required to hire men to look for her there.

Katherine regretted using her real name when she purchased a seat on the train that was now taking her to Sedalia. She should have been smarter, and she wouldn't make that mistake again...if there was an again.

The stress of the day and the clacking of the wheels on the rails soon had Katherine nodding. She slept through the miles of Illinois prairie until the sun peeped through the windows of the car the next morning. That evening, she stepped off the car and onto the rough wooden platform of the station in Sedalia.

}{

New York had been the metropolitan center of the East and Chicago was frantically growing in its attempt to match it. Sedalia was a hell-hole of cattle pens that reeked of manure, and it seemed that the dirt streets were always filled drunken cowboys and railroad men. As a result of the military base that had been established there during the civil war, Sedalia was also the home of scores of prostitutes.

Katherine had dipped into the small pouches she kept strapped to her thighs for a hotel room and board for a week. She then began looking for employment.

It would have been very simple to join the women who lived in the same hotel. They spend most of their days sleeping. Their evenings were spent doing what one girl called "churning butter". They made a nice income, but much of that income was spent for their room and board. Katherine wanted no part of that.

The employment she found was washing up the dishes for the hotel kitchen. After a month, she began helping the cook when mealtimes were hectic. It was hard work, but it paid her enough to live without dipping into the reserve in the purses between her thighs. The owner of the hotel, Jacob Hartley, increased her wage when she began cooking some meals by herself.

Her peace in Sedalia didn't last as long as in Chicago. She was washing the dishes from the noon meal when she overheard a conversation between the desk clerk and another man. The man claimed to be in the employ of The Pinkerton Detective Agency and said he was looking for a red-haired Irish girl who went by the name of Katherine O'Devlin.

The desk clerk, a timid little man named Horace, was so frightened he could barely speak. He stammered, "y-y-you'll have t-t-to talk with the o-o-owner, s-s-sir." I...I just take care of the desk."

Jacob came out of his office to see what the commotion was about, and the man repeated his statement.

Jacob stroked the beard on his chin.

"Well, now, Mr....I don't believe I got your name, Sir."

"George Brady, Detective George Brady."

"Well, Mr. Brady. I have... Oh, before I start, would you happen to have any identification. It's not that I don't trust you, but in a town like Sedalia...well, since the railroad came here, we have all sorts of strangers coming to town claiming to be this or that or the other thing. We had one last week claiming to be a purchasing agent for the railroad and he wanted to buy a month's supplies on credit. Now, about that identification...

The man reached inside his coat, but instead of a badge case, he pulled out a revolver.

"This is my identification. Now is there a Katherine Devlin upstairs?"

Jacob stroked his beard again.

" Detective Brady, I can assure you there is no Katherine O'Devlin upstairs. If you'd like, we can go wake all the girls and you can ask them their names."

Jacob grinned.

"I could ask one or two to entertain you for an hour or so as well...if you're so inclined."

The man's voice sounded enraged.

"I don't want no whore. I want Katherine O'Devlin. She's here, maybe not in this hotel, but the bitch is here. She took the train here from Chicago. There any other places in town she might be?"

Jacob smiled.

"You might try one of the saloons down the street. They're open all day and night and the girls work in shifts. That's my guess for where she is, if she's in town. That's where most of the young girls work. The cowboys and railroad men pay more when they're drunk. If not there, try the boarding house behind the last hotel. Last time I talked with Hiram, he had a dozen or so young girls living there."

Katherine heard the man mutter something about coming back if he didn't find the girl, and then the hotel door slamming shut. After what seemed to be half an hour, but was really only a few minutes, Jacob walked though the kitchen door.

"Katherine, did you hear all that?"

"Yes."

"I don't know who he was, but he doesn't work for Pinkerton's. Men from Pinkerton's were here last year investigating one of the railroad men for threatening people who didn't want to sell their land. They just talked to people until they gained their trust, and then asked how one would go about buying some land. The people filled them in on what was going on with the railroad man. We didn't know who they were until they handed the Marshall a federal warrant and took the man responsible back to St. Louis.

"A Pinkerton detective wouldn't just come right out and say he worked for Pinkerton. He'd just ask some questions that could mean anything until he was certain he'd found what he was looking for. He'd also show his badge when asked instead of pulling a Colt on me.

"I don't know what you did or didn't do, Katherine, and I don't care. You've been nice to everybody, and you're a hard worker. I'd like for you to stay, but unless I've misjudged him, he'll be back and he'll be mad because he hasn't found you. The new stage to Dallas leaves in about two hours. It'll take him at least that long to get through all the saloons and the boarding house. You need to be on that stage."

Katherine went to her room and packed all her belongings for the third time, then walked back to the lobby. The stage left Sedalia an hour and a half later with a young, pretty woman with red hair named Abigail O'Gracy wedged in the center seat between a fat man who hadn't bathed in a while and a frail woman who kept sneezing from the dust of the road.

}{

As Katherine sat on the hotel bed in Bright Star, she felt tears welling in her eyes. Would this never end? She was tired of constantly moving to keep ahead of Smythe's thugs and of fearing they would find her no matter what she did.

Then she took a deep breath and shook her head. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself. Alexander had behaved just as she planned he would and would have taken advantage of her. She had encouraged his conduct by seemingly innocent words and actions. Katherine's intention had been to kill him. Allison was just better prepared and faster. In Katherine's mind, she was almost as responsible as Allison.

That was in her past and she'd already come to grips with it. She couldn't change it, nor would she if she had the chance. She needed now to think about the future, and right now that meant finding employment. She couldn't keep using gold coins without arousing suspicion about their origin.

Katherine walked to the window, leaned out and looked both ways up and down the single street. The same businesses she'd seen in the other small towns through which the stage had traveled were there -- a blacksmith's shop at the edge of town, a general store, an undertaker, a bank, and the hotel. There was no saloon, but with the stage, there probably would be one soon. The partially erected buildings of the stage line sat beside the blacksmith's shop, but only men worked there. The only other buildings were the church at the end of the street and the Marshall's office at the other.

None of these businesses promised employment opportunities. It was possible the general store might need a clerk, but it looked small enough to be operated only by the owner.

Meals were cooked and served in the hotel, but Katherine had become leery of repeating things she'd done in the past. The men looking for her had tracked her to Chicago and then to Sedalia because she used her real name. It was not hard to imagine those same men knew of her past employment and would search for her in the same surroundings.

Her thoughts were disrupted by the happy shouts of two young boys running down the middle of the street in a game of tag. Katherine smiled. Boys were the same in America as in Ireland, full of energy and always using that energy in play. She'd seen the same character in the Richardson's son. She'd had to be stern with him when the teacher came or the boy would have been off to the back yard instead of doing his lessons.

As the shouts of the boys faded into the distance, Katherine wondered that they were not in school as well. It was then she realized she'd not seen a school in Bright Star, not even on the outskirts of town.

If she could convince the townspeople they needed a school, she might have a solution to her problem. She had attended school in Ireland, and had watched or listened to most of the lessons the private teacher had taught to the two children of the Richardsons. She could teach the same lessons, she thought, and the town would pay her a small amount for the service. It would probably not be much, but if it was enough to pay her room and board, it would be sufficient.

When she went down for dinner that evening, she asked the desk clerk if there was a school for the children in town and the surrounding farms.

He shook his head.

"No, ma'am, there ain't. People been wantin' one, but ain't no teachers want to come here for what we can pay."

Katherine smiled. I'm a school teacher, and I would. Who would I talk to about starting a school?'

The desk clerk scratched his neck for a second.

"I suppose Mayor Johnson. He owns the hotel, but he's gone home for the evening. You can probably catch him tomorrow though."

Katherine went back to her hotel room and started planning what she'd say to the Mayor to convince him. After thinking about it, she realized she didn't have much in the way of formal training, but thought that since Bright Star wanted a school, maybe she could convince him that what she had would be enough.

}{

For the first morning in days, Bird awoke with a roof over his head. It felt a bit strange to not see the sun rising, but he knew it was there. The single window in the front wasn't black as it had been when he went to bed. Instead, it was the light blue-gray of morning, the blue-gray that told Bird the sun was just over the horizon to the east and rising quickly.

Bird stretched and then threw off the blanket. After putting on his boots, he went outside and relieved himself behind the blacksmith's shop. Then, he went to his wagon for his coffee pot and supplies. His flint and steel soon had tinder burning on the blacksmith's forge, and once it was burning well, Bird carefully raked some of the old coked coal into the small pile of pine sticks so it would light. Half an hour later, the coke was burning nicely and his coffee pot was gurgling.

As the sky brightened to purple and then to brilliant blue, Bird chewed on the antelope jerky from his supplies and sipped his coffee. It wasn't the breakfast he'd have had back in his cabin in Gritts, but it was food and he'd grown accustomed to it over the past few days.

As he ate, Bird surveyed the blacksmith's shop that would hopefully soon be his business. He recognized the skills of the man who had once worked there. The hand-forged tongs for handling white hot metal had well-formed handles and worked smoothly with little slack in the rivet that joined the jaws. The hammers, flatteners, and hot chisels all bore the marks only the blacksmith's hammer could have left, but each was as good or better than Bird had ever seen.

In the center of the shop and about four feet from the apron of the forge was the anvil, but this was no ordinary anvil. Bird's anvil was old and the edges of the face were chipped. This anvil was nearly new, and though it bore the red rust caused by lack of use, the face and horn were perfect in shape and finish. Bird picked up a rounding hammer, held the end of the handle between his thumb and forefinger, and lifted it a foot off the anvil face. Then, he let the hammer head fall while pivoting between his fingers. The hammer rebounded almost nine inches on the first bounce, then almost four, then two, then one and finally made several little rebounds before coming to rest on the face.

Bird was startled by the voice behind him. He turned to see the stage wrangler smiling.

"Done that same thing myself. It's a sweet anvil, ain't it? His widder said it come all the way from England. Them numbers there tell how much it weighs. She didn't know how to read 'em, but she said her husband told her it weighs three hundred and seventy two pounds. You won't be knockin' that'un over, no matter how hard you hit."

"I reckon not:, said Bird, "if I get the chance to use it."

"Well, Marshal Dunbar'll be in the jail by now. Go talk to him an' see what he says."

Bird started up the street looking as at ease as he could, but inside, he was fearful. The few people on the street at that time of morning were the men who ran the businesses in town and a few farmers driving their buckboards to the general store. The farmers all wore homespun wool and frowned when they saw him. The business owners all wore store-bought and were also frowning.