Tell her.
“He’s dead, ma’am.”
“Dead?” Her face paled.
“Dead,” he repeated.
“How?”
“Shot.”
“Shot?” When she repeated the word, her expression was blank, void of understanding.
“With a bullet.” He pantomimed a shooting. “Gun. Shot.”
She choked on her husband’s name. “Giovanni? Dead?”
Kase nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Who would want to shoot Giovanni?” she asked. “Why?”
“It was an accident. He was standing out on the sidewalk and was hit by a stray bullet.” Kase spoke slowly and watched the girl try to absorb all he was saying. “He died quickly,” Kase added, hoping to offer some comfort, however small. “Probably didn’t even know what hit him.”
The honey-gold eyes suddenly flooded with tears that intensified their strange color. For a moment, he could only stare.
“Ma’am?”
A shudder racked her frame and the loosened lock of hair unfurled farther, cascading over her shoulder and down the bodice of her gown. He followed its fall, then looked away.
He could tell by her lost expression that she was having problems voicing her thoughts. When the pool of tears began to stream down her unmarred complexion, Kase stood up, suddenly uncomfortable at having to witness her sorrow.
“I’ll get you a room at the boardinghouse for tonight,” he quickly decided for her, “and you can be on the train again by tomorrow noon.”
Kase stood, then turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the girl wiping away tears with the sleeve of her gown. Should he offer her the comfort of an arm about her shoulder? Stymied, he stalled, toying with the edge of his desk. Would she want him touching her? He glanced over his shoulder. She was crying softly, her head bowed, her face hidden behind her hands.
Propriety be damned. If ever anyone was in need of a warm, sympathetic touch it was this slip of a girl in borrowed clothing.
Kase stepped over to her and reached out awkwardly, drew his hand away, men extended it again and gently patted her shoulder. He wished she would scream or cry. Anger he could deal with. Hysteria he could fight to calm. But these silent, pitiful tears left him feeling more than helpless.
“Ma’am?” He found himself moving to kneel before her again. “Mrs. Audi?”
She lowered her hands and stared at him as if suddenly remembering she was not alone.
“I... I am sorry. I am so... so...” She shook her head, searching for words. “I come from so far, wait so long to be with Giovanni.’’
He watched her wrap her arms protectively against her rib cage as if to shield herself from further pain. “Three years,” she stopped to catch her breath, “three years I wait to come to America. When I am leaving, Guido said, ‘You will be back, Rosa. You will see.’” She shook her head as if to deny this Guide’s words. “I take the ship across the ocean and am sick all the time. I am afraid in New York. I ride the trains, always taking care to find the right one.”
Unable to make much sense of her rambling, Kase offered silent comfort. The girl who had referred to herself as Rosa became increasingly upset as she spoke.
“... There is no Broken Shoe, only Busted Heel. And the man says, You come the right place? I say yes. Then when I say... Giovanni’s name... he says, go see the marshal.”
She stood up so abruptly that she nearly knocked Kase off his feet. Stepping around him, she began to pace the room. Kase stood and watched, feeling helpless.
“What I am going to do?” Shouting now, she turned on him, her hands raised in appeal. “What?”
Kase stepped back and shrugged. “Go home.”
“Home?” She looked as if he’d struck her.
He felt as if he had.
“Well, not right now, of course. For tonight you’ll stay at Matheson’s and tomorrow you’ll go home.” So saying, he rested his hands on the gun belt that rode at his hips.
The tears started again and she squared off to face him.
“Home?” She fairly
“He’s dead, ma’am.”
“Dead?” Her face paled.
“Dead,” he repeated.
“How?”
“Shot.”
“Shot?” When she repeated the word, her expression was blank, void of understanding.
“With a bullet.” He pantomimed a shooting. “Gun. Shot.”
She choked on her husband’s name. “Giovanni? Dead?”
Kase nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Who would want to shoot Giovanni?” she asked. “Why?”
“It was an accident. He was standing out on the sidewalk and was hit by a stray bullet.” Kase spoke slowly and watched the girl try to absorb all he was saying. “He died quickly,” Kase added, hoping to offer some comfort, however small. “Probably didn’t even know what hit him.”
The honey-gold eyes suddenly flooded with tears that intensified their strange color. For a moment, he could only stare.
“Ma’am?”
A shudder racked her frame and the loosened lock of hair unfurled farther, cascading over her shoulder and down the bodice of her gown. He followed its fall, then looked away.
He could tell by her lost expression that she was having problems voicing her thoughts. When the pool of tears began to stream down her unmarred complexion, Kase stood up, suddenly uncomfortable at having to witness her sorrow.
“I’ll get you a room at the boardinghouse for tonight,” he quickly decided for her, “and you can be on the train again by tomorrow noon.”
Kase stood, then turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the girl wiping away tears with the sleeve of her gown. Should he offer her the comfort of an arm about her shoulder? Stymied, he stalled, toying with the edge of his desk. Would she want him touching her? He glanced over his shoulder. She was crying softly, her head bowed, her face hidden behind her hands.
Propriety be damned. If ever anyone was in need of a warm, sympathetic touch it was this slip of a girl in borrowed clothing.
Kase stepped over to her and reached out awkwardly, drew his hand away, men extended it again and gently patted her shoulder. He wished she would scream or cry. Anger he could deal with. Hysteria he could fight to calm. But these silent, pitiful tears left him feeling more than helpless.
“Ma’am?” He found himself moving to kneel before her again. “Mrs. Audi?”
She lowered her hands and stared at him as if suddenly remembering she was not alone.
“I... I am sorry. I am so... so...” She shook her head, searching for words. “I come from so far, wait so long to be with Giovanni.’’
He watched her wrap her arms protectively against her rib cage as if to shield herself from further pain. “Three years,” she stopped to catch her breath, “three years I wait to come to America. When I am leaving, Guido said, ‘You will be back, Rosa. You will see.’” She shook her head as if to deny this Guide’s words. “I take the ship across the ocean and am sick all the time. I am afraid in New York. I ride the trains, always taking care to find the right one.”
Unable to make much sense of her rambling, Kase offered silent comfort. The girl who had referred to herself as Rosa became increasingly upset as she spoke.
“... There is no Broken Shoe, only Busted Heel. And the man says, You come the right place? I say yes. Then when I say... Giovanni’s name... he says, go see the marshal.”
She stood up so abruptly that she nearly knocked Kase off his feet. Stepping around him, she began to pace the room. Kase stood and watched, feeling helpless.
“What I am going to do?” Shouting now, she turned on him, her hands raised in appeal. “What?”
Kase stepped back and shrugged. “Go home.”
“Home?” She looked as if he’d struck her.
He felt as if he had.
“Well, not right now, of course. For tonight you’ll stay at Matheson’s and tomorrow you’ll go home.” So saying, he rested his hands on the gun belt that rode at his hips.
The tears started again and she squared off to face him.
“Home?” She fairly
Similar Books
