“Are you worried?” A smile played on his lips.
“Yes. You know I am.”
His face grew more serious. “Everything will work out. I promise.” He fell silent, concentrating on his breakfast.
Robbie frowned at him. “Tell me why we can’t leave.”
“You might misunderstand ...”
“I married you for better or worse.”
He was a faster eater than she was, and he finished and pushed back his plate. He got up to fetch the blue enamel coffee pot from the stove and refreshed both their cups.
She had to know, now that they were husband and wife, what he was doing here, in the middle of nowhere. Maybe she should have asked before they married, but it was too late for that. She had married a stranger, and that’s not what marriage should be. So she had to ask, no matter how afraid she was of his answer.
She swallowed her bite of pork before she spoke. “Why are we hiding?”
He wrapped his hands around his own cup, looking into its depths. “You are flesh of my flesh. But everything happened so quickly. That day I saw you sitting on the rock, like ...”
“An angel sent from heaven?” she suggested with a laugh.
His face grew solemn. “I was going to say a mythological Siren, a seductive creature who would lure me to my death.”
She was shocked. “I would never do anything to harm you.”
“I know. But sometimes we harm others unintentionally.” He blew across the hot coffee and took a sip.
Her face grew hot. “You think you made a mistake by marrying me?”
“Maybe ... I don’t know.” He passed a hand over his face.
She spoke quietly. “What of me? I studied my entire life to be a doctor. And now I’ve thrown it all away to be here with you. Was that a mistake?”
He sighed. “Probably. And it’s my fault. You should not have given up your dreams for me. I never should have brought you here.”
“Taron! Please don’t say that! I would do it all again!” Tears sprang to her eyes. A moment ago she’d been so contented, and now misery washed over her. Her fork clattered to her plate. Taron was at her side in a moment, on his knees, kissing away her tears, his being, his essence slipping into her, comforting her.
He kissed the back of her hand. “I love you and will never leave you. I will never break my promise.”
She leaned into him, into his warmth. “And I will never forsake you. No matter what.” She drew in a steadying breath. “But please tell me why we can’t leave.”
After a moment, he returned to his chair, swinging it around backwards to straddle it, laying his arms across the top. “My brother is in jail at Feeble Creek.” He paused and watched her.
She nodded, as if she fully understood the situation. “And? Why is he being held?”
“He’s to hang in a few days, when the circuit judge arrives to pronounce sentence. He’s already been tried and convicted by the town folks; the judge will just make it legal.”
“How long has he been in jail?”
“A few months. The circuit judge died — natural causes, he was almost eighty. They had to wait for a replacement.”
“What is your brother accused of?”
“Stealing horses ... from a guy named Stewart.” He paused. “And the thing is ...” He took a deep breath and looked away. “... they think I’m guilty, too. I managed to get away, but I’ve been staying close, hoping I could help my brother some way — help myself, too.”
Her heart leapt to her throat. “Taron! We can’t stay here.” She pushed back from the table as if to flee that very second. “We need to go somewhere they can’t find you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t leave my brother.” He rested his chin on his folded arms. “I had no business dragging you into this. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She tilted up her chin. “We’ll get your brother out of jail somehow and clear your name, too.”
“Oh? So you think we didn’t do it?” He raised his head, his grin lopsided.
“You didn’t.” She put force behind her words but was suddenly unsure.
“Well, you’re right but it doesn’t matter. The horses were stolen from us and rebranded. We were trying to get back what was rightfully ours. Unfortunately, the law is in Stewart’s back pocket.”
She was no longer hungry. She rose and carried her plate to the slop jar and raked its contents out for the young pig Taron kept behind the stalls. She put her plate in the dishpan and washed the few dishes they had dirtied. Taron finished his coffee and gave her his cup to wash.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said. He gave her a peck on the cheek and left.
The cabin seemed so empty without him. It was the first time he’d left her since they’d married. If he cleared his brother’s name and himself in the process, and they moved to town, he’d have to get a job and leave her every day. How would she endure it?
She finished tidying up and then dressed. She grabbed her shawl and went outside. A straight-back chair, grayed with age, deer-hide stretched over for the seat, sat on the front porch. If they stayed, Taron would have to get another chair so they both could sit and enjoy the view. From here, she could see the river and their old campsite, the wagon still there, appearing smaller than a child’s toy. And beyond that the valley stretched for miles.
She sighed and rose from her chair, taking one long last look down the mountain, looking for any sign of Taron. Nothing moved except a hawk swooping down to catch a field mouse.
Her stomach growled, and she entered the cabin. Taron had covered the left-over biscuits and salt pork with a dish towel and left them on the back of the stove. She fixed a plate and sat down at the table to eat.
But worrying thoughts kept her from fully enjoying the meal.
Chapter Eight
Taron arrived back before the sun set. She heard him coming and opened the door to let him in. He kissed her, his lips cold and went to the wood stove, pulling off his gloves, and rubbing his hands together. She took his gloves and coat, hanging his coat on a nail by the door and placing his gloves on the table.
“You were gone a long time,” she said.
“Miss me?”
She went into his outstretched arms, and he held her close for a moment.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” He took a seat at the table.
She had fried some more of the pork and brought him a plate she’d kept warm on the back of the stove. “Where did you go?” she asked.
“Into Feeble Creek.”
“Into town? Was that wise?”
He shrugged. “Any coffee?”
She poured him a cup and placed the coffee pot back on the stove to stay warm.
He ate in silence, and she watched him. Something had happened, she could tell.
“Robbie, there’s something you need to know ...”
Before he finished his sentence, the door banged open, and the room filled with burly men. Robbie gasped and jumped from her seat. The smell of unwashed bodies filled the air.
One of the men pulled Taron from his chair and twisted his arm behind his back.
Another man flung open his coat to reveal a sheriff’s badge on his chest. “Taron Babbitt, I’m arresting you for the murder of Edward Stewart.”
“Murder?” Robbie cried. She turned to Taron. “I thought they were after you for stealing horses.” Realizing she’d said too much, she clamped a hand to her mouth.
The sheriff faced her, forcing her to take a step back. “So, he admitted to you he’s a horse thief?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “He was being accused of horse theft.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Same thing. Makes you an accomplice. Jeff, write that down. We’ll need it when we go to trial.”
Her heart beat wildly in her throat. She tried to move around the sheriff, to get closer to Taron but one of the men blocked her path. Taron shook his head at her, his face placid, devoid of emotion. Men w
ere moving around the room, going through their possessions, yanking things from the shelves.
The sheriff pointed to the man he’d called Jeff. “Get the horses. They’re probably all stolen.”
“Two of them were my father’s,” Robbie said.
The sheriff looked at her, his eyes cold. “So you say. You’ve been consorting with an outlaw. Your word means nothing.”
Her carpetbag, still holding Papa’s money, was hidden under the bed. Surely they’d find it. She aimed a kick at the sheriff’s shins.
He grabbed her by the wrist. “We’re taking you, too. Men, finish up. Let’s go.”
Taron’s wrists were cuffed, and he was led out first. The remaining men pushed Robbie toward the door.
“But my things ... I need my clothes,” Robbie said. She was ignored, forced to keep moving. She noticed with relief her carpetbag was still under the bed. She’d come back to get it later, if one of these men didn’t beat her to it.
She was roughly shoved on a horse with one of them who stank of tobacco juice and worse, and they rode down the mountain, away from the cabin.
The jail was small, about the size of the cabin and filled to capacity. Robbie could barely move, crowded in with the deputies, the sheriff, and Taron. One of the men took her arm, pulled her away from the others, and moved toward the doorway in the back wall.
The outside door opened and Brother James stepped in and faced the sheriff. “A word, Sheriff?”
“We’re a little busy.”
Brother James cleared his throat. “You cannot put a respectable woman into a cell.”
The sheriff looked him up and down. “And you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my jail.”
The man who held Robbie tightened his grip, and his unshaven, unwashed face contorted into a sneer. He yanked her roughly.
Brother James gasped, and he straightened his shoulders. “Come Sunday, my congregation will know how you treat respectable ladies.”
The sheriff frowned at him and then studied the floor for a minute. He then pointed to Robbie and the man holding her. “Let her go. We know where to find the preacher if she disappears.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
One of the men grabbed the preacher’s arm and jerked him toward the door. The other man herded Robbie in the same direction. They were pushed out the door and onto the wooden sidewalk.
Miss Elizabeth waited for them and took Robbie’s elbow when she stumbled. “Father! We cannot allow them to get away with treating a woman like this!”
Robbie opened her mouth to thank her and her father. Before she could, bile rose in her throat. She moved hastily away, barely making it to the end of the wooden sidewalk before vomiting.
Miss Elizabeth was by her side, offering her handkerchief.
Robbie felt dizzy and faint. She was exhausted and ached in every bone from the long ride, but she managed a smile. “Thank you.”
Miss Elizabeth peered at her. “You’re pale. Father, we need to get her home.”
“Yes, yes. The sooner, the better,” Brother James said. He whistled at a man sitting on a wagon near the jail. “Walter!” He led the way over. “Can you spare a few minutes of your time? We need to get this young lady to our house.” He indicated Robbie.
“Sure! Y’all climb in.” He hopped off the seat to help the ladies into the back of the wagon. When they were settled, he climbed up and turned around to face them. “Going to be a might bumpy.”
Robbie was beyond caring. Things had gone from bad to worse. She had married a man accused of murder! And the sheriff was going to charge her with being an accomplice, unless he could be persuaded otherwise.
But she would never leave Taron. Never! She closed her eyes, endeavoring to stay calm, but that only increased her nausea.
The wagon came to a halt, and the two men solicitously helped her into the house. It was a small although much bigger than the cabin. Downstairs was a parlor, dining room, and kitchen. A narrow staircase, right inside the front door, led upstairs.
“We have a spare room,” Miss Elizabeth said. “I will help you get settled in if you need help.”
“Thank you,” she said. As sick as she felt, she remembered her manners and turned to the man the preacher had called Walter. Walter had followed them in, his eyes brimming with curiosity.
She held out a hand. “Thank you, sir, for giving us a ride.”
“You’re welcome. And if there’s aught else I can do, just holler!” He shambled out.
Brother James bowed a little when he took her hand. “Young ladies, I know you can make do without me. I’m going to lie down in the parlor for a bit.”
Miss Elizabeth gave her father a nod and became all business. “Let’s get you up the stairs, Mrs. Babbitt. You look like you’re ready to collapse.”
“Please call me Robbie.” She went up the stairs ahead of her and hesitated at the top.
Miss Elizabeth indicated a door. “That’s the guest room.”
It was a small room, barely big enough for a single bed, small table, straight-back chair and a small chifforobe. Miss Elizabeth opened the chifforobe and pulled out a dressing gown.
“This should fit. I’ll bring up something to eat.”
“Thank you.” She had no appetite but she’d do her best.
Elizabeth left, and Robbie changed into the dressing gown.
A bowl and pitcher set on the table, and Robbie poured water into the bowl and washed her face and hands. She was so tired! All she wanted to do was to stretch out on the bed and sleep.
Miss Elizabeth returned with a tray she deposited on the chair.
“Miss Elizabeth, you’ve been so kind.”
“You can call me Libby,” the young woman said with a smile.
“You and your father have gone the extra mile to take me in like this. And I was so relieved when I saw your father at the jail ... Did you know I was going to be there?”
“The sheriff got up a posse to go after your husband, and I was worried sick about you! I persuaded Papa to go with me to the jail and wait. If you hadn’t shown up with them, I was going up the mountain to get you.”
Robbie looked into the pretty girl’s face, awed at her determination. “I don’t know how to thank you!”
“No need to thank us. It was our privilege.” Libby turned back the cover and smoothed the sheets for her.
Robbie slid into bed and leaned against the headboard. Libby set the tray on her lap.
“If there’s anything else you need, just call.” She slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her.
Although it was difficult to get it down, Robbie ate half of the potato soup. The soup was delicious, but her stomach was in an uproar. It had been a long time since she’d felt this sick. The hot tea calmed her and soothed her stomach. When she finished, she thought of taking the tray downstairs but decided she was too tired. Instead, she set the tray back on the chair. She fluffed her pillow and stretched out her aching body and closed her eyes.
She had to get back to the mountain, to see if her carpetbag was still there and see if Papa’s money was still inside. One of the deputies might have taken it in the commotion. If she set up a medical practice, she’d need every cent of that money. If Taron wasn’t released — a sob escaped her lips, but she had to face facts — if he wasn’t released, she’d have to somehow support herself. And with her training, she could do it, but she needed her money.
And she also needed to see Taron. She must see him, go to him, no matter what, to make sure he was unharmed. She trusted neither the sheriff nor his deputies.
She prayed fervently. As tired as she was, sleep would not come.
Chapter Nine
The next day, bright and early, Robbie told the James family she was going to visit Taron. Brother James insisted on accompanying her, and she was glad of his company. He waited in the outer office while the sheriff led her through to the jail cell.
Taron looked the same as ever. His face lit up when he cau
ght sight of her. “Robbie!”
The sheriff unlocked the cell. Taron pulled her into his arms despite the catcalls and whistles from the other two cells. The sheriff slammed the door with the metal bars shut behind her. She held Taron tight. She would go to the gallows with him; she could not live without him. When a cough came from behind Taron, she released her hold. She and Taron turned as one to face a man who looked remarkable like Taron.
He had the same expression, the same jaw line, but he was shorter by a good two inches, and slimmer. His eyes were hazel, not the warm brown of Taron’s.
“Your brother?” she asked.
“Yeah. My kid brother, Ander.”
She shook his hand politely but distractedly while looking around for a private place to speak with Taron. There wasn’t one. The cell was tiny, barely holding them and the two cots with a disgusting looking bucket in the corner. The other two cells were occupied with men holding onto the bars, their knuckles whitening. They eyed her with avid interest.
Robbie ignored them and concentrated on Taron. “The sheriff didn’t hurt you?”
“Nah. He didn’t rough me up, not much anyway.” His brow furrowed. “Are you ill? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
He nodded as if he believed her. “I’m glad. I’m sorry about all of this, sorry you’ve been dragged into —”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. She sought to control her voice, to speak calmly without choking up. “Why did you tell me you were accused of horse theft?”
He blinked at her. “What?”
She leaned in closer to whisper. “The sheriff said you murdered Mr. Stewart.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No ... but I wondered why you didn’t tell me you were accused of murder.”
He raked his hair back. His eyes hardened. He’d never looked at her like that before. “You think I could kill someone?”
Ander moved forward with a look of concern on his face. “What’s going on?”
Taron turned away from Ander and from Robbie.
Robbie pressed her lips together and focused on Ander. She shook her head. “Nothing is going on.”
Robbie and Taron Page 4
