by Naomi Finley
“The men being Silas and his men,” I said with conviction. “Until now his moves have been flawless, leaving no real proof to link the robberies back to him. So why leave evidence behind now? Do you think he’s threatening you?” I turned my attention from the mask in Ben’s hand to Bowden.
“Maybe. He killed my most trusted slave and what else can I think besides it was a direct strike at me?” His tone was tightly controlled.
“It would appear so. But why? You’ve made it clear you’re leaving. What threat can you possibly hold now?” Ben said.
Bowden’s brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make any sense. The man’s unreadable.
“We have good reason to suspect it belongs to the men responsible for the attacks on folks, but the mask isn’t any real evidence. Before we gather a posse, we need to know what else he has planned.” Bowden uncrossed his arms, and his palms gripped the edge of the desk.
“What do you intend to do?” Ben said.
“Outsmart him.”
A kernel of fear somersaulted in the pit of my stomach and my hands twisted in the folds of my skirt. “How?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will, and he’ll pay for all he’s done. If I have to hog-tie the bastard myself and drag him to the constable and the lynch mob with his crimes nailed to his empty chest, I will. Or I’ll take my last breath trying.”
I clambered to my feet. “You…you mustn’t. We must use wisdom and not do anything rash. We all feel the loss of Gray and want nothing more than for the ones responsible to pay, whoever they may be.”
The sting of Bowden’s laugh made indignation flare in my chest, and I glared at him through pooling eyes.
Catching himself in the misery transforming him, he ceased his laughter and grew serious. “I’d be saddled up and gone already if that was my intent. But I won’t lie: the thought crossed my mind. I wanted to go charging into his place and snap his murdering neck, but then he’d have the upper hand and know we were onto him.”
“What if someone left the mask because they wanted Silas to get caught?” Ben, who’d remained quiet for most of the conversation, said.
“Who’d do that?” Bowden said as we turned to him.
“Someone within his gang. Three men attacked us on the road; one was a larger fellow, and he followed the orders of the leader without much hesitation.”
“Caesar.” I breathed the name, repressing a shudder. “Why would he risk his life to help us?”
A blanket of thoughtful silence swathed the room. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart.
“Sometimes…” Bowden’s anguish-filled voice cut the silence. “A man can only see so much before it changes him…”
“WE’LL BE BACK BEFORE THE sun sets,” Ben said to Tillie some days later as I descended the staircase dressed in my riding attire. To lift my spirits from the slump I’d fallen into, Ben had suggested an afternoon ride.
Moments later, saddled up, we rode across the field and away from Livingston. We passed Whitney and Knox’s homestead and the yearning for her company heaved a sigh from me. I pulled alongside Ben as we slowed our horses to a trot. “Why do people have to get married? Can’t they just be content with the way things are?” I pouted.
Ben chuckled. “Most ladies dream of their wedding day.”
“She promised she’d never get married and leave me. And she, of all people, I believed spoke the truth. She and I were supposed to grow old together at Livingston. I really should be angry at Knox, seeing as he is the one responsible for melting her frosty heart.”
“Here I was, hoping you’d grow old with a husband and give me some grandchildren.” Ben craned his neck to look at me.
I blushed. “There was a time I thought children wouldn’t be part of my future—”
“Sailor wouldn’t have anything to do with your change of heart, would he?”
I thought of the beautiful, chubby boy I loved more with each passing day. “He’s special.”
He shook his head in disapproval. “The love you hold in your heart for the boy is dangerous. But no amount of warnings from me and those around you has stopped your affections from growing.”
“He needed me…” I pleaded.
“He needed a mother. Any woman in the quarters would have cared for the boy.” His tone was gentle but firm.
“I know, but Jethro trusted I’d do right by him. He deserves to be loved—”
“And the fact that his knees never hit the floor to crawl isn’t loved enough?” he said with raised brows.
“Again, I concede your point.”
He pulled his mount to a stop and looked at me. “But it won’t change what’s already in your heart.”
I smiled. Choosing not to answer, I tugged on my reins to lead my horse down a narrow opening in the woods. He cursed and his horse fell into single file behind mine. We wove our horses in and out of fallen trees and brush until the wooded area parted and expanded into a sun-drenched meadow. I reined my horse to a stop, and Ben moved his mount in beside mine.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said.
He mumbled his agreement and we sat in silence, engrossed in the beauty.
“Willow?” Ben’s voice was quiet, as if in thought.
“Mmm…”
“I think you should get away for a while.”
I twisted to look at him and read the intensity in his eyes.
“You’ve had too much on your mind for too long. It’d do you good to release some of the burden and worries you carry, which are a lot for a young woman. Also, I think it’d be wise—”
“If I wasn’t in the mix of whatever you and Bowden are up to,” I finished for him.
He brushed some flies from his horse’s mane with his hand. “Yes.”
Most days, running away was all I wanted. With Whitney married and soon to be preoccupied with the responsibilities of her own home, and Bowden leaving and taking with him what was left of my heart, the thought had often entered my mind. I dreamed of running off to England to find Callie, but with all the uncertainties about Silas, I couldn’t go. Lately, out of self-pity and a bushel full of regrets, I’d resolved that happiness wasn’t part of my future.
“I’ll think about it.”
At the far end of the meadow, a red buck stepped out. His head erect and ears attentive, he cautiously scanned the surroundings before lowering his head. We watched quietly as he fed on the tall grass until I said, “Do you think you’ll ever marry?”
Taken aback by the direct question, he turned bewildered eyes on me before he expelled a long breath. “I suppose if the right woman ever came along and I found things in common with her, I might consider marrying for companionship.”
“But not for love?”
“Maybe. I don’t know what the future holds. But it’s hard for me to imagine loving anyone like I did your mother. It seems unfair to marry a woman without letting her know that my heart will only truly belong to another. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to see you happy. You’ve spent your whole life protecting me and not enjoying even the smallest things in life. It’s time for you to take care of you. I’m not a child anymore; I don’t need you to hover in the background waiting for me to break.”
“What if I’m simply enjoying the time I never got with you?”
“I, too, enjoy our time together—immensely, in fact. When Father was harsh, I’d run to my room crying, and I’d dream of a father like you.”
“Speaking of happiness, what about you? Don’t you think it is time you secure some for yourself?”
I shrugged and returned my gaze to the meadow. Could I marry out of convenience? A lifetime spent as lonely as I felt now seemed dreary and long.
A reflection of the sun on metal or glass drew my eyes to the left. I leaned forward in my saddle and squinted to get a better look.
“Do you see that?” I pointed.
Ben turned his head to the cluster of trees at the far end of the meadow and shielded his eyes with a hand. Wi
thout waiting for his reply, I nudged my mount in the direction of the trees. Ben’s mount fell into position behind mine.
As we drew near, I dismounted when I spotted the object hanging from the limb of a tree. Still holding the reins, I froze as I took in the ground at the base of the tree. A makeshift cross made out of two branches and twigs marked a grave smoothed over time. The cross was lopsided, as if it’d been made in a hurry and hadn’t been sturdy enough to hold up to the elements.
I cast a glance at Ben as he dropped to the ground. His jaw locked, he swept his eyes over the woods before he crept closer to the burial. I grabbed his arm as we trudged onward.
At the tree, fear strummed every nerve in me as Ben reached up and grasped the two slave tags entwined with what appeared to be a locket. Vomit rose in my throat as he turned them over in his gloved hand and the knowledge of who they belonged to dropped in my stomach.
“It’s them,” I said.
“Who?”
“The Widow, Ruth, and William.”
“You can’t be sure without checking these tags with the town,” he said, for my sake. He’d never stop trying to protect me. Did he think I was so fragile?
“I gave this locket to Mrs. Jenson one year as a Christmas gift.”
“Are you certain?”
I reached for the locket. Removing my glove, I used my fingernail to open it. Inside, the image had faded of the painted bunting bird I’d cut from a bird book. Mrs. Jenson, a lover of birds, had watched and studied all the different species and would often pass on her knowledge to me. And as a nine-year-old, I’d thought the locket with the cut-out was a splendid gift. I recalled how she’d gathered me into her arms and kissed the top of my head, saying over and over, “You’re a darling girl, young Willow.” She’d stepped back and handed the locket to Ruth and lifted her once-blond tresses so Ruth could put it around her neck. “I’ll treasure this forever.” Tears had dampened her gray-blue eyes.
I turned to the marked grave and dread and horror filled me as I took in the broad extent of what lay before me. The past year of niggling and suspicions came to rest on the cold hard facts. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Silas Anderson had murdered the widow and her slaves and laid claim to her property. An icy chill scurried up and down my spine and raised even the roots of the hair on my scalp. “He wanted her property so bad that he was willing to commit murder,” I said without taking my eyes off the grave.
Ben bent in front of the grave, balancing on his heels. “And again, the evidence is left that could lead back to him. There’s no way he’d leave this for anyone to find if he wanted the story he’d concocted to remain intact.”
“Maybe he thought no one would pass this way.” My words seemed feeble even to myself. I wanted nothing more than for all of it to be part of a horrible nightmare.
Could our theory about Caesar warning us be true?
“But to build a cross to mark a grave is done out of reverence. Something murderers don’t do.”
“We need to bring Mr. Sterling here. This proves Silas is guilty of murder.” I strode toward my horse. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed he hadn’t moved. “Come on; what are you waiting for?”
“We can’t bring this to the constable and the posse until we are certain.” He stood and turned to me. “Silas murders the widow and her slaves with the motive to be closer to Livingston and you. We believe he intends to win you over and obtain your fortune, but I believe there’s more to this story than simple greed.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not certain.” He helped me up on my horse before mounting his own. His eyes shifted over the meadow, taking in every inch of it as if memorizing our surroundings. “Something tells me there’s a greater plan in the works, and we can’t let Silas know we’re onto him until we figure out what that plan is.”
Nausea rumbled in my stomach and fear of what exactly Silas’s plan was terrified me to the very core. “If we hadn’t paused to take in the view, I’d never have noticed the reflection of those in the sunlight.” I looked at the tags and locket he clutched in his hands. “And we’d never have stumbled onto the grave.”
“Charles said he spotted someone watching him.” His shoulders sagged with an invisible load that rested on his shoulders.
My heart drummed in my chest. “Y-you think Silas could be the man?”
Ben nodded grimly. “I don’t like this at all. I’ve got a feeling his plan has been in the works long before his arrival in town. The man moves in next door. He proves to not be a lover of slavery, which he thinks will win favor in your eyes. Bowden meets with an accident that could’ve very well ended his life. Then you and Bowden drift further apart, and Silas comes asking to court you. It has troubled me for a while, but until now there’s never been any solid information to solidify my questions. If we intend to make him pay for his crimes and figure out the grand scheme he has planned, we need more information.”
“So you and Bowden keep saying. How do you suppose we go about that? And whose life does he mold in the palm of his hand in the meantime while we try to figure this all out?”
“The question we need to be asking ourselves is who stands in his way?” He kicked his heels into his mount’s sides, and the horse charged off the way we’d come.
His question controlled my thoughts the entire ride home, and my nerves pinged by the time we got there. Who was next on Silas’s list and when would he strike next?
Back at Livingston, I dropped to the carriage stone and handed my reins to a stable boy, mumbled a thank-you, and hurried after Ben into the house.
“Send someone to fetch Jones immediately, and find James,” Ben said, and strode down the corridor to the study.
“Yes, Masa.”
“Close the door,” Ben said when I followed him into the study.
I obeyed and then took a seat in an armchair.
Ben tossed the locket and tags onto the desk before resting his hands on his hips. His posture stiff, he turned and chased the floorboards. I sat nervously watching him, and each scuff of his boots made my heartbeat quicken. Engrossed in his mood and the worry lining his face, I jumped when a knock struck the door minutes later.
“Jones, come in,” Ben said without waiting to see who it was.
Jones’s head peeked around the door. “You asked for us?”
“James is with you?”
“I’m here, Masa.” Jimmy stepped into the room.
“I want you to go to the Armstrong Plantation and tell Mr. Armstrong I need to speak with him. And for God’s sakes, be careful,” Ben said in an authoritative tone.
“Sho’ thing, Masa.” Reading the urgency in Ben’s face, Jimmy turned and ran down the corridor.
After he was gone, Jones asked, “What’s the issue, boss?”
“Willow and I happened upon a marked grave not far from here, between the Jenson plantation and our property line.”
“I don’t recall no family plots in these woods.” Jones’s brow rippled in puzzlement.
“There isn’t. The earth has settled around the grave, and if it were not for Willow’s keen eyes, we’d never have found it.” Ben handed Jones the locket and tags. “The locket belongs to the widow woman, and we believe the tags are those of her slaves.”
“Anderson?” Jones’s posture stiffened.
“We’ve reason to believe he killed the widow for her land and didn’t want to leave behind any witnesses.”
Jones’s confusion grew. “She didn’t own but a small piece of property, and had nothing of real value.”
“He needed the land as a way of being closer to Livingston and Willow,” Ben said.
Jones eyed me, enlightenment reflected on his face. “That’s what Mr. Armstrong’s been suspecting.”
“When have you been speaking to Bowden?” I said.
“Off and on since Mr. Hendricks passed away. When you returned from the North and you,” he said to Ben, “were across the ocean, Mr. Armstrong asked me to keep an eye ou
t for you until Mr. Hendricks’s return.”
“That was him I saw you talking to down at the dock the night I went to fetch Henry from the quarters?” I said.
“Reckon so. He told me not to tell you because you’d bring down the wrath of God on him if you got to thinking he thought you couldn’t take care of yourself.”
Warmth swirled in my chest with the realization of just how far Bowden would go to protect me, even with the difference in our views.
Hours later, Bowden, Jones, Ben, and I had formulated a plan to out Silas Anderson. We all knew the risk involved, and though I felt my part was being reined in by Bowden and Ben’s attempts to protect me, I’d do as instructed to ensure nothing went awry.
OUR PLAN, IF WE PULLED it off, would pin Silas to the masked men and the attacks on the townsfolk, along with the murders of the widow and her slaves.
“Outsmart him at his own game,” Bowden had said.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m so happy you could join us for a luncheon.” I ascended the front steps a week later when Silas rode into the yard.
Today I’d paid extra attention to my appearance. Dressed in a butter-yellow afternoon frock, I’d had Tillie pull my corset so tight it pinched my flesh, but smoothed me from my waist to my bustline. The neck scooped daringly low, and the off-the-shoulder style revealed more skin than I’d ever been comfortable with. My hair swept to the side and cascaded down over one bare shoulder. I was every bit the alluring bait to capture the unsuspecting Mr. Anderson.
“Miss Hendricks, I was delighted, yet surprised, to receive your invitation.” He dropped to the ground with a thud, and the repugnant smile he provided never carried past his lips.
“I suppose you would be, after my dreadful behavior in town.” I lowered my lashes to brush my cheeks, overcome with feigned shame. “I was beside myself with worry over a friend I’d run into in the general store. You may recall her from the Abbottses’ Christmas banquet: Josephine?”
“I’ve seen her and the Carter woman together.”
I released a long sigh and lifted my eyes to look at him with a hand placed to my breast. “I’m afraid she’s terribly unhappy, and seeing her so upset and not herself was too much for me to bear.”
