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“Dammit, Ivy. I believed you.”
She didn’t respond, but continued to sit there staring up at him. Her face slightly pinched, but otherwise bland.
“What was it? A conspiracy? Were the female staff plotting his death in revenge? Except one of you got frightened and squealed?”
When she continued sitting in silence, he grew more agitated.
“Well? Is that what happened?”
But Ivy simply sat with her chin tucked into her chest in repose.
Lifting his hand he rubbed his fingers hard across his brow and squeezed his lids tightly shut. Then taking a long, drawn out deep and steadying breath, he dropped his hand and shoved it into his back pocket. “The marshal will be here in five minutes.”
Her eyes glazed over and he wondered if she even heard him. Turning to leave, he was brought to a halt by her voice. “Ye asked me to trust ya.”
There was a crack in her voice which nearly had him turning back around and gathering her in his arms. Begging her to tell him the truth. To tell him she had not lied. That she was innocent of all charges. He felt as if he were indeed abandoning her.
Movement from the opposite side of the loft drew his attention. Roy stood there waiting patiently.
Addressing him, he said, “She’s got a bad ankle that’s in need of immediate medical attention.”
Roy gave him a silent nod, but still kept a watchful eye on him. It made him angry. For it was a reminder he had been a fool once more. “Watch her on the cuffs. She’s a talent for picking them.”
“You’re doing the right thing, Sam.”
If it was, then doing the right thing hurt like hell. “Do me a favor, Roy. Wire me once it’s all over.”
Chapter 14
“So, is it true? Are you really the Handkerchief Murderer?”
Ivy cuddled into her dark corner, the only light source coming from a kerosene lantern hanging at the far end of the cell corridor furthest from her. The darkness and tiny space could have driven her close to insanity when she was first brought to her holding cell in Chicago five days before. But amazingly she remained calm, sound. Listless.
She supposed she owed Sam for that.
A feeling of bleakness came over her simply remembering him. Those five days had been unable to ease the grief in her heart. She had wanted to hate him for his betrayal, for leading her to believe she could trust him. But all she could seem to recall was the sweet memory of their lovemaking up in the wilderness.
“They’ve built you a mighty fine gibbet in the jail yard.” The drunk in the first cell told her. “Gone and hung your halter pretty dang high up, they did. Must’ve figured that’d be the closest you’ll ever get to heaven.”
His words, surprisingly, left no terror in Ivy’s heart. Five days ago might have been different. Then she would have wanted to run, as she always had done in the past. But her injured ankle had prevented it. She was forced to remain cooped up in the correctional office's damp basement cell. Now that her foot was feeling better, she should have been contemplating running. Especially with her hanging scheduled for the next morning.
However, calmness had settled over Ivy. Acceptance. When Sam had betrayed her trust, she had been crushed. No other betrayal had ever hurt so much. No other person had she ever loved so great.
The pain of his abandonment had eaten away at her spirit, taken what was left of it. She had cried for the duration of the trip from Canada back to the United States. Then the tears suddenly stopped flowing. As she sat there now, staring dry-eyed at the damp wall in front of her, Ivy supposed she must have finally surrendered. Allowed death to claim her once and for all.
“Word has it; they’re goin’ to use your remains to feed the scavenger dogs roaming the streets.”
Ever since they threw the old drunk in his cell earlier that afternoon, he hadn’t closed his trap even though Ivy hadn’t bothered responding to him once. His words could not hurt her. Nothing could hurt her anymore. She closed her eyes and listened instead to the distant hammering over in the jail yard as the men built the scaffold specifically for her.
Tomorrow it would be over. No more pain. No more loneliness.
Her mind drifted back, as it constantly did, to that morning in the livery loft. Sam’s face permanently scarred in her memory along with his words. The realization the eyewitness was Becky, had stunned her. Though looking back, she shouldn’t really have been surprised. Not after that last conversation she had with Stella. The only question that remained unanswered, was why.
The sound of the heavy iron gate opening at the top of the stairwell, echoed down to the cells. Footsteps descended the wooden steps as Ivy curled further in her corner to await the sheriff as he handed out meals. But the man who stood there was not the sheriff.
“Good evening, Ms. McGregor.” Roy Emerson stood on the opposite side of her cell along with another man. “This is Father O’Malley.”
