by Lynda Cox
The Jennings brothers came in the gate as she approached it. They did not step back for her to walk through but pushed by, giving only a grunt of acknowledgment. She put up a hand to stop them.
“Alexander, Aaron, may I speak to you a moment?”
They stopped begrudgingly, both crossing their arms across their chests. Neither wore a hat. Their overalls were tattered. A couple of holes had been mended, but with large stiches, awkwardly. Had they attempted to mend their own clothes?
She cleared her throat. “How old are you boys?” she asked.
Alexander raised a brow and swiped a forearm across his forehead, as if wiping away sweat. “Seventeen.” He stuck a thumb in Aaron’s direction. “He’s fourteen, I reckon.”
“You reckon?” It was her turn to raise a brow.
Alexander squinted at her. “Age ain’t important to keep up with. What’s it matter to you?”
“Our bunkhouse is going to be needed soon to house some men. I thought you two could help our foreman get it ready after you finish your chores here. You two are men enough to do a full day’s work, if you’re not too busy at your own place.”
The boys exchanged a glance, and Alexander shook his head. Aaron moved back, half hidden behind Alexander.
He lived in the shadows. An urge, so strong her muscles twitched, shot through her. She longed to reach for him, to pull him forward, from the shadow of his brother.
Alexander studied her. “Your foreman is that darky.” He shook his head. “We have another job lined up.”
“Another job?” She frowned, puzzled. No one in town could afford to pay these boys for work. “Are you leaving?”
“Nope.”
“Who hired you?”
Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but it was Aaron who spoke first. “Your brothers.”
Alexander turned around and pushed his brother. Caught off guard, Aaron stumbled back, landing on his backside.
Deborah rushed to his side and narrowed her eyes at Alexander. “Why did you do that?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t concern you.”
Aaron ducked his head, as if anticipating another blow, but spoke again. “Your brothers told us not to tell, but I didn’t think it would hurt none, you being their sister.”
Aaron struggled to his feet, and she put out a hand to help him, but he pushed it away.
She stood to her full height, placed her hands on her hips, breathing heavily. “Why would my brothers hire you?”
Alexander spit again. “Ask them.”
“I’ll do just that. Good day, boys.” She marched off.
The Peters farm lay to the east of town and the road into town went by the sheriff’s office. She debated stopping to speak to the sheriff about Alexander’s behavior. Somehow, she was uneasy speaking of her brothers to the sheriff. As she stood, lost in thought, she felt a tug on her sleeve and looked around.
“Calvin! Good morning. I didn’t see you there.”
His gaze did not meet hers. “Where you coming from?”
“From the Peters.” His worried eyes finally focused on her, and she took pity. “Devon is doing fine this morning.”
His eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I bet he’d like a visit from you.”
His gaze traveled to the ground. “Not after what I done.”
“Sheriff Vic told me you probably saved him.”
His face remained withdrawn. “But it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me. I taunted him, just the same as Alexander and Aaron. Well, me and Alexander. Aaron never said much. And that was after Miss Abby told me and Devon to quit fighting. And I’d promised.”
“Sometimes it’s hard for us to keep promises, especially when others are around to help us break them.”
“I never should have listened to Alexander.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“Devon and I used to be best friends. This dumb War ruined everything.”
Deborah wrapped an arm around his shoulder and shared his sorrow. The War had destroyed her relationship with her brothers, but it wasn’t too late.
She smiled down at Devon. “Friendships can be fixed. I bet Devon needs a friend right now. It’s going to take weeks for his arm to heal.”
“Weeks?”
“Yes, but he’s young. His bones will mend quickly and be as strong as ever.”
Calvin looked skeptical. “I’m scared he’ll be mad at me.”
“Hmm ... you’ll never know unless you visit him. And you know what? I left some sugar cookies at his place. I’m betting he’ll share with you.”
Calvin’s eyes remained doubtful. “Maybe, if he’s going to give me a cookie, I need to take something to him.”
“A gift is always a good idea.”
His eyes brightened. “My pa made a checkerboard before he went off to the War. Reckon he’d like that?”
Deborah heart squeezed. “Are you sure it’s something you’d want to give away? If your father made it?”
“I’ll ask my ma. I bet she says yes, though.”
Deborah thought so too. “It sounds like the perfect present. And you and Devon could play a game of checkers together.”
“I’ll run home and get it. My ma might go with me.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Peters could do with some company.” She doubted he heard her. He’d already sped away.
Her heart was lifted. She continued her way, toward the bank, wanting to make amends with her brothers. When she arrived, she tried to open the door, but it was locked.
She didn’t have a key since one of her brothers was always there during the day. She curved her hands against the pane of glass and peered in, seeing nothing.
She banged on the door, calling her brothers’ names. No one answered. A stab of fear ran through her. She moved away, her steps unsure, but a calm settled when she reached the outskirts of town, as if her feet knew this was the way to go.
Isaac and her grandparents knew she was visiting the Peters. Word would have been sent to her if anything had happened. She nodded, comforted by the thought. But where could her brothers be? Maybe they’d all gone to lunch together? Perhaps she should have gone to the Corner Café and checked before assuming the worst.
She came to the rise and stopped, glancing back toward the town. She hesitated. Why had her brothers hired Alexander and Aaron? And then for the bank to be closed and the Brokken General Store. Maybe there had been trouble at the store—the railroad was being laid through town and the store had more customers than usual. Maybe one of the men working on the railroad had gone into town to make trouble. But then the sheriff would have been called to take care of it.
She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d not heard the sound. A cougar, moving so silently, so swiftly, even if she’d been paying attention, it was doubtful she would have heard it.
She held her breath when it fully emerged from the undergrowth. It walked toward her. The cat stopped about twenty feet from her and sat. It watched her as she watched it.
The tawny body radiated strength. White dusted the end of its muzzle and the inside of its flicking ears, turned toward her. Instead of fear, Deborah only felt an awe at the beauty.
Her own reaction surprised her. Fear should have coursed through her veins. Instead, she was mesmerized by the depth of the green eyes. She should drop her gaze, in case the cougar thought she challenged it, but she could not tear it away.
Black smudges over its eyes reminded her of something, a glimpse at the edge of her memory that slipped away before fully realized.
When the cougar snarled with a flash of white fangs and bounded back into the trees, the spell was broken.
Light filtered through the tree branches, long stripped of their leaves, right on the spot where the cougar had sat. She breathed deeply as if she’d had a religious experience.
It took a few moments for her feet to begin moving again, toward the ranch, and a few more moments before she fully emerged
from her trance-like state, convinced that the cougar was a sign. A sign of what, she had no clue.
She continued toward the ranch, her feet slipping in the mud, and then began to run.
Chapter Seven
“Isaac!” As Deborah entered the barn, dust motes flew, visible in a haze of orange light that found its way through every chink in the wall.
Isaac emerged from a stall, slapping at his clothes and stirring the motes into a greater frenzy. “Miss Deborah! What’s wrong?”
“A cougar ...” She shook her head, to clear away the vision.
“A cougar?” His eyes widened.
She struggled to ease her ragged breathing. “I’ll tell you about it in a moment. My brothers have locked ...” Her heart raced away. She licked her lips and counted each breath.
Isaac leaned against the stall and pulled out his pipe.
She frowned and spoke again. “The bank was closed. I don’t know why.”
He peered at her, his head bent to draw on the pipe, his eyes calm. He shook the flame of the match away. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. Have you checked with your grandparents?”
“No ... but I will. But they’ve never ...” She paused to reconsider. She’d tell Isaac of the cougar, not speak of her brothers. “I stopped at the rise between here and town.”
He nodded. “A nice view of the town from there.”
“A cougar came out of the woods. It sat down, not twenty feet from me.”
He frowned, creating a furrow of lines across his smooth face. “But it didn’t attack you?”
She waved a hand. “No. It didn’t attack, only watched. And I wasn’t afraid as I watched it, too.” She tilted her head and considered his face from the corner of her eye. He blew out a puff of smoke, and the smell drifted to her. “Do you think it meant something?”
At her question, he chuckled. “To you or the cougar?”
She smiled tentatively. “What did it mean?”
He shrugged. “In all my years, I’ve never heard of a cougar attacking a human. I don’t think it was sizing you up for dinner.”
“But was it spiritual?”
“I don’t have special knowledge into such things.” His voice still held amusement.
“Surely you've heard something about cougars?”
Isaac put a hand to his chin and scratched briefly at the stubble. “I've heard that some tribes consider them an evil omen. Others just the opposite.” He shrugged.
“That doesn’t help.”
“Often, maybe always, evil and good exists within the same event. If you think it is a sign, maybe that was it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will give you an example. When David was a young shepherd boy, he faced a lion. Would he consider that good or bad?”
“Bad, I suppose.”
“I’m sure he was afraid, and yet it prepared him to meet Goliath on the battleground. He learned to trust God. Bad times come upon us, threaten us, and yet they may be preparing us for something more.”
A stab of fear shot through her. She did not want anything bad to happen, no matter how strong it might make her. The War had been bad enough. She’d had enough of the conversation.
She gave Isaac an almost nonexistent nod, as if her agreeing with him might tempt fate. “I’ll go speak to Grandmother. She may have heard from my brothers.”
“If you’re worried, we could go back to town ...”
Deborah appreciated his offer, but she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. And I’m not worried so much as curious.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.” He turned back to his chores, and she continued up to the house.
Her grandparents had not heard from her brothers. And why would they? They were grown men, and unrelated to her grandparents, as her grandmother repeatedly told her when they’d been growing up. Why her grandparents did not treat her brothers as their own grandchildren seemed strange to Deborah.
She’d always felt sorry for her brothers. No one wanted to be rejected by members of their household, blood kin or not. Deborah sighed, remembering when Curt fell from the oak tree he was climbing. Papa had not been there that day. Grandfather had taken him to the doctor, at least he’d done that much. Sam Bailey had been the doctor at the time. Her grandfather had left her brother there, all alone.
She’d been confused, fearful, convinced her brother had died when Grandfather returned alone. Isaac had left immediately and fetched him home. Curt’s arm was in a sling, and he’d sulked for days. After that, he’d treated her grandparents with disdain, and who could blame him?
These were her grandparents. If her mother had not died giving birth to her, life would have been much different for the boys. Her guilt trailed her like dirty feathers on a beaten banty rooster.
She sighed. The past had to be put aside, and the present lived.
She went upstairs and changed out of her dress she’d worn to town and scrubbed at the stains.
AFTER SUPPER, HER GRANDPARENTS went to the front porch. Her grandfather enjoyed an after-dinner cigar, but Grandmother did not allow him to smoke inside. Deborah stayed in the kitchen, to tidy up. When she heard the pounding of hooves, she ran to the front door and opened it.
Young Calvin pulled his horse to a stop. Her grandparents were on their feet.
Her grandfather spoke, a frown on his face. “What is the matter, young man?”
Calvin took a deep breath, and his words tumbled out in a rush. “There’s been a shooting, and your brothers, Miss Deborah, they done something.”
She stepped forward. “What? What did they do?”
His wide eyes went to her grandparents. “I don’t rightly know. But there’s a big ruckus.” He kicked the horse in its sides and was off.
“But who was shot?” Deborah called after him.
He either did not hear her or ignored her. Her gaze remained on him until he vanished from sight. Isaac came up with the wagon.
“Get in,” he said without preamble.
Deborah turned to her grandparents who had both sat back down. “We’ve got to go. Now.”
“You go see what that young man was talking about,” her grandmother said. “Probably a bunch of nonsense.”
Deborah started down the steps.
“Get your shawl. You’re going to catch your death of cold.”
Deborah darted inside and came out to hear her grandmother fussing at Isaac.
“You should have brought the buggy. That wagon is going to shake my granddaughter to death.”
Isaac did not answer but slapped the reins as soon as Deborah sat down on the seat beside him.
Darkness had fully gathered when they reached the edge of town. More people were on the wooden sidewalks and spilled out into the street. Molly, the restaurant owner, stood solemnly on the corner, not speaking as Isaac brought the wagon to a stop. Gwynn, the undertaker, and Lavendar, who sometimes helped at the hotel, came to Deborah when she jumped from the wagon unassisted.
The lanterns had been lit, displaying the small group of people who had gathered.
Lavendar placed a hand on Deborah’s arm. “My dear, what has happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Deborah shook her head. “I don’t know. Calvin came out to the ranch. He said someone had been shot?” She held her breath until Gwynn spoke.
“Alexander. A chest wound, but not fatal. He’s been taken to Miss Abigail’s.”
Deborah began breathing again. Isaac had taken her elbow, steadying her. “But what of my brothers? Where are they?” She was afraid to ask if one of them had shot Alexander.
Gwynn shook her head. Other folks had pushed in closer.
Sophia, the owner of the hotel, was the next to speak. “Your brothers are gone. They were gone before Alexander was shot.”
Deborah was confused. “But who shot him? And why?”
Sophia looked past her. “The sheriff. She thought he had a gun. Turned out it was only a broom. She couldn’t tell in the shad
ows behind the store.”
Deborah felt more confused than ever. “Where’s the sheriff? I need to speak to her.”
Sophia shook her head, her eyes still evasive. “She’s gone after your brothers.”
“Can someone please tell me what is going on?”
Sophia shrugged. “No one is sure.”
Deborah glanced around. They’d stopped in front of the bank, and the shade was still drawn.
Deborah headed toward Miss Abigail’s, shaking off Isaac’s hand. No one followed her. She gave a cursory knock on the door and let herself in. Aaron, his eyes wide, was seated on a divan in the front room.
Abigail was behind the teak bar, perusing her medicines. Deborah spoke without preamble. “What is going on? Why was Alexander shot?”
Abigail came around the corner of the bar and took her by the elbow to guide her into another room, closing the door behind them. “Please keep your voice down. Alexander is in considerable pain and is still awake.”
“Why did Sheriff English shoot him? And what do my brothers have to do with it?” Deborah’s hands shook, and she clasped them in front of her.
“Alexander and Aaron were in the back of the General Store, loading a wagon with supplies. Vic was out, making the rounds, and heard them. When she went around back, she thought Alexander had a rifle. It turned out to be a broom.”
Deborah frowned. “Were they stealing from the store?”
“No. Turns out they had a key. They were carrying out orders from your brothers. They were to load the wagon and drive it out to Yellow Rock by morning.”
“But why? That makes no sense.”
Abigail licked her lips before she spoke again. “There’s a small cave, not big enough for much, but the Jennings were told to unload the supplies there and then to erase all signs they’d been there. Your brothers paid them fifty dollars.”
Deborah continued frowning. Miss Abigail had not made sense yet.
“No one’s sure ... Vic stationed a couple of folks to guard the bank until she got back and could investigate, but she thinks your brothers may have ...” She paused and searched Deborah’s eyes.
“You mean she thinks my brothers may have taken money from the bank? That doesn’t make sense. They run the General Store and the bank ... Why would they rob their own bank?”
