Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,87
less signed for them,” Uncle Lance declared.
“Exactly! Clint said they’d been watching together when other deliveries had come, but Papa said he knew nothing about it. Don’t you see? Clint was lying. That means he must be involved. He comes to Portland and Salem whenever he wants on government business. He could easily have arranged all of this.”
“She’s right.” Uncle Lance got to his feet. “No one outside our family knows Adam better than Clint Singleton. And he knows the reservation and the people there better than anyone save Adam. He also knows that Adam is part Cherokee. One of the few who know that outside of the family.”
Connie shook her head. “And I’m sure our family would never have spoken of it to strangers or acquaintances.”
Uncle Lance’s expression darkened. “No, but something else comes to mind. When Lakewood was still alive, he forced the medical college to dismiss Faith because she was . . . supposedly part Indian. Lakewood had learned that her father, Isaac Browning, whom Connie’s brother was named for, was a quarter Cherokee. Whoever told him didn’t realize Faith was adopted by Isaac and Eletta Browning, so that rules out family. Clint must have been the one who told Lakewood.”
“That ties Lakewood and Singleton to each other, if that’s the case,” Major Wells added.
Connie knew her uncle was being very careful to avoid revealing Faith’s half-Cayuse heritage.
“At the time,” Uncle Lance began, “we wondered who could possibly know and have told Lakewood, but at the same time not realize Isaac Browning wasn’t her biological father. This makes so much sense.”
“And if Singleton was coming here, posing as Adam Browning,” the major said, “he could have easily pulled it off. He knew Adam rarely left the reservation, so it wasn’t much of a risk that someone would question or recognize him.”
“Exactly. And in the beginning, he would have known through the family about Nancy and her husband, Albert Pritchard. At least enough to connect with him.” Lance shook his head.
Not only was Connie’s father in jail because of Clint, but Tom was at the reservation. She knew Clint saw Tom as a rival. He’d made more than one comment about Tom being in love with her. What if Clint decided to have Tom killed just to be rid of him?
She jumped up. “You have to protect Tom. Clint hates him.”
“There are already several companies of soldiers at Grand Ronde. No one is going to hurt anyone at this point,” Wells replied. “Clint’s father, Senator Singleton, has made a stop there on his way home to California. He’s an avid supporter of the Indians and is even traveling with a newspaperman.”
She shook her head. “His father being there won’t stop Clint from hurting Tom, if he has a chance. He’s jealous of him.”
“Clint sees Tom as competition for Connie’s affection,” Uncle Lance explained.
“Tom’s in love with me. And though it’s taken me much too long to realize it, I’m in love with Tom.” Connie hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, but now that she had, she knew they were the truth. She loved Tom. Loved him more than life itself, and the very thought of losing him was too much to handle.
“I’ve got a supply detail heading to the reservation first thing in the morning,” Wells declared. “I could arrange for them to secretly pass information to Tom and for a group to escort him back to Portland. We could even say that he’s under arrest.”
“Clint would probably like that,” Uncle Lance said, looking at Connie. “That should solve the problem.”
She nodded, but already she was trying to figure out how she could be a part of the army detail. Now that she knew she was in love with Tom, she had to see him again. Had to tell him how she felt.
“Now if we can just figure out who the mysterious Mr. Smith is,” Wells said, shaking his head. “We believe he’s the top man—the one holding all the purse strings. The one who ordered Seth beaten and those others killed.”
The name sounded familiar, and Connie tried to recall where she’d heard it before. Then it came to her. “Smith—that was the name I heard the night Clint caught me spying on the delivery. Someone asked where Mr. Smith was. I always presumed the Indians were asking about someone who should have been with the boat men.”
“But what if they were asking for someone there on the reservation?” Uncle Lance suggested.