Defiant Rose Read Free

platform. Gripping a dusty valise, he glanced disdainfully at the sign boldly lettered “Mayfair, Kansas.” A sandy-haired boy, spotting the stranger’s elegant greatcoat and general air of wealth, sprang forward from his lounging position on the bench and reached for the case.
    “Mayfair. The end of the earth.” Michael sneered, his face tightened in mockery. “Are there sleeping accommodations to be found?”
    The boy’s nose wrinkled in confusion, and he indicated the hotel. “The Brass Bed is about the best. Ain’t much to look at, but my ma makes the best corn fritters you ever tasted.” He stared at the stranger’s sparkling white shirt, jeweled cuff links, and gold watch chain swinging from his waistcoat. “You staying here long?”
    “Not if I can help it.” Wharton strode toward the indicated hotel, a much neglected Victorian cottage overrun with weeds and badly in need of a coat of paint. “I don’t suppose a bath or a drink might be had?”
    “Howard Applegate, the barber, can get you a bath. Give him an extra quarter if you want hot water,” the boy answered earnestly, sensing the stranger’s animosity. “And the Gilded Cage Saloon has good whiskey.”
    “Wonderful.” Michael groaned inwardly. It was like every other backwoods town he’d visited in the past two weeks. He could close his eyes and visualize the ramshackle hotel, the boorish barbershop where every man’s voice hushed when he entered and demanded such luxuries as shaving cream and soap, the western saloon with its mirrored bar, the smoke-filled interior, and the loutish men scraping just enough money from their weekly wages to buy a pint of beer on a Saturday night. When he opened his eyes, it was exactly as he had pictured, if not worse. At least Dodge City had a card game. Mayfair didn’t look as if its citizens could boast even that entertainment.
    A scarlet and blue poster was tacked to the wall of the feed store, and Michael stopped to read the colorful advertisement. The young boy, hefting the heavy valise, seized upon the poster as a safe topic of conversation.
    “That’s for the circus. Carney’s is in town. The parade starts today at two o’clock.”
    “I know.” The stranger ignored the boy’s crestfallen face and scanned the sign. Of course Carney’s would be here. It was the only reason he was traipsing into this godforsaken place, enduring the horrors of a country inn and the company of rustic America. He mentally pictured this Carney as a drunken Irishman bent on conniving his father out of a small fortune. He’d glanced at the ledger books on the train and had been freshly appalled. Carney had sent a payment every once in a while— guilt money, Michael assumed—but it was barely ten percent of the interest due on the loan. The principle was still intact. Carney had made no honest attempt to rectify the matter. There were no letters, no explanations, no indication that the Irishman ever intended to satisfy the debt.
    Michael nodded in satisfaction. It had taken him two weeks and several aborted attempts to catch up to the circus, but he’d finally managed to do just that. Like most traveling troupes, Carney’s stayed in town overnight, long enough to put on one show and milk the ignorant farmers out of their hard-earned money. It was not that he begrudged the circus a living. It just infuriated him to hear the glowing reviews of Carney’s and see the inactive loan column in his father’s ledgers.
    “Do you know where it is? The circus,” Michael asked patiently.
    The young boy nodded, placing the bag on the hotel step. “They’re setting up on the outskirts of town near the depot. You can get a horse at the livery stable.”
    “Very good.” Begrudgingly the stranger withdrew a coin and placed it in the boy’s hand. The lad stared at the tiny piece, then at the elegantly dressed man before him.
    “Thank you, sir,” the boy said sarcastically. “And at the stables, ask for Buttercup. He’s