Chapter 29
Christmas Eve, 1869
The tables in Ottile Seymour’s café were filled with bright, happy faces, and she was thankful for the friends who gathered to help her get through the first Christmas without her parents.
However, the festive gathering ground to a halt when Atlas Washington appeared at the side door. “Sorry to bother you like this, Ottile. But a group of men just road into town from the East, and I’m mighty sure one of them is Simon Rassbach.”
Aside from Arlo Grosspointe, Ben was the only other man in the room. “Tell me what you saw, Atlas,” the lawman said as he gestured the fellow toward the back corner of the café.
“Can’t be sure it’s Rassbach. They’re all bundled up, so I didn’t see his face. But I’d know that stallion anywhere, and I ain’t ever seen another man ride that horse,” the blacksmith explained.
That was enough confirmation for Ben, and he began to fire off questions. “Where’d you see them? How many are there?”
“Only saw four coming in on Lake Road, but that don’t mean there aren’t more. They turned down First Street West, and I’m not sure where the men went after that. But I spotted those horses in the alleyway between Warehouse 1 and the back row of company housing. Looked like Frank and Ina Tyson’s place.”
Ben looked around the space, noticing that Atlas’ family had arrived with him, and that provided a little relief to his racing mind. “Guess if anyone saw you come over, they’d just assume the Washington family was joining us for the meal.”
Smirking, Atlas tapped the side of his head with one finger. “My thoughts exactly. Birdie says I oughta use what God gave me more often.”
Chuckling, Ben’s wry grin gave credence to the idea. “We all should,” he admitted. “It’d make our wives' lives so much easier.”
“Well folks, let’s finish up with the meal and go do some caroling,” Ben called to the room.
“No more than an hour,” the Sheriff reminded as the two groups diverged. “Then we’ll meet back at the café. My group will head East, and Atlas will take the rest of you to the West. And make it convincing, folks. We’re just having fun, right?”
Hilda groaned. “Jemima, your boy has an odd sense of adventure.”
The two groups of carolers chuckled, and Ben’s youngest sister piped up, “Just don’t let the Sheriff sing. He can’t carry a tune without a bucket!”
And on that bright note, Ben’s odd idea of surveillance was put in motion. By the time everyone arrived back at Otille’s café an hour later, their numbers had grown.
“Perfect,” Ben enthused, counting another dozen men in attendance. “Let’s enjoy some coffee and cookies while we put some sort of plan together.”
“There’s movement outside Adam McCall’s place,” Cob Jacobson gasped as he hurried into the brightly lit café.
The errand boy’s father stood and made his way through the celebrants. “You sure, boy?”
“Pa, there’s too many of ‘em to be mistaken,” the adolescent reassured. “And there aren’t any lamps lit anywhere else in that whole building.
“There wouldn’t be,” newcomer Conroy Flannery said. “Miss Unger and I are here, and the tailor returned to his family home for the holiday.”
“What were you doing out there, Cob?” the Sheriff asked, coming alongside the boy and putting a hand on his shoulder.
Pulling at the stiff collar of his best shirt, the boy ducked his head. “It’s pretty warm in here,” he stammered, his gaze darting to the carpenter’s daughter, Cornelia.
Ben stifled a chuckle and directed, “Tell me exactly what you saw. No guessing, only things you know for sure.
Cob nodded and took a deep breath before beginning. “Like Mr. Flannery said, the tailor’s shop, his bookstore, and Miss Unger’s confectionery are all closed up tight. So it’s pitch black over there. But the Railyard Saloon is all lit up, so I could make out a few fellas lurking around.”
Several men moved to the windows and watched the intersection outside.
“Bit of a glow coming through the upper windows at Rassbach’s office,” Bjorn Jacquish called at the same time Arlo Grosspointe announced, “Got two shadows heading toward the depot.”
Ben felt the boom before he heard it, and all of their plans went out the window. “Get those shutters closed,” he demanded, pointing to the heavy wooden planks used to keep out the cold.
“What was that!?” Hilda demanded, scowling at the plaster dust still raining down on them.
“The bank,” Arlo guessed. “That’s the last position of the two heading toward the rail line.”
“I locked the delivery door,” Otille said, rushing back into the dining room from the kitchen. “But there aren’t any shutters on the windows in there.”
“You can bet there’s eyes on this building,” Atlas growled. “So how we gonna get out?”
“The basement,” Otille said matter-of-factly.
Jemima Chauncy put two fingers to her lips and issued a shrill whistle. “Quiet down,” she demanded before turning to the café owner. “What do you mean, ‘the basement,’ Otille? There’s no outside access to the cellar.”
The younger woman shrugged. “There is here. Mr. Gustafson at the newspaper office lets me use his cellar for cold storage. And his basement connects to the one under the book bindery.”
“Everyone downstairs then,” Ben urged. “If there’s men out there watching this place, I ain’t gonna take any chances of them finding anyone here.”