Then Came the Thunder

by Rachael Huszar

  Lilah’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, good. I was thinking after that big fight you had with her, maybe . . . Well, maybe you weren’t . . .”

  So, Lilah had overheard some of that. “I wouldn’t worry,” Sam said. “It was my fault. I was being a real ass.”

  Lilah snickered. “Why?”

  Why indeed? That was the same question that had been echoing behind all his other thoughts today. “Maybe because I like her,” Sam muttered.

  Lilah eyed him, but didn’t press.

  Sam liked Jessalyn. And Jessalyn belonged to . . .

  He tried again and again, as he had been trying since last night, to remember if Saint Joy had ever told Sam his wife’s name. Maybe there was the slightest chance it wasn’t ‘Jessalyn’, and this was all a case of mistaken identity. Because the odds of Sam coming to this town and immediately meeting his best friend’s wife were ridiculously low. They had to be.

  Former. Former best friend.

  Then he thought of the part of his story he’d neglected to tell Jessalyn last night. He had left the army, yes, but not through official means. He’d deserted. And if he crunched the numbers, that had been about three months and twenty-seven days ago. Amos had died the very night Sam left.

  “You okay over there?” Lilah asked. “You got all quiet.”

  Sam shook his head, trying in vain to clear away his thoughts and realizations. “Just fine.”

  “If you say so. Well, we’re pretty close to the ranches now, just ahead past that old barn. Keep up!” With that, she signaled Buccaneer into a trot.

  Sam let her ride on.

  15

  PLOWING THROUGH THE ENDLESS PLAINS reminded Sam of his ride into Three Willows. The mountains lay ahead of them, and the buildings and trees of town could no longer be seen behind them. Dutifully, Sam followed Lilah, who seemed sure of her path.

  Soon, they came to a fence line that had risen from the grass. The lowing of cattle floated lazily through the air.

  Lilah dismounted from Buccaneer and looped his reins into a quick knot at the hitching post. Sam followed suit behind her. He watched as she placed two fingers to her lips and touched the old, worn carving on the post.

  “What was that?”

  “Hm? Oh, this?” Lilah held up her fingers.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a good luck thing. That little symbol is on all the posts around the ranches. More of a habit than anything else, I guess.”

  Sam bent down to get a closer look at the post. At the center of the symbol was a spiral shape with two sharply angled lines coming out from either side. “What is it supposed to be?”

  “I don’t really know. Jule used to say he thought it looked like an eyeball with wings. Never thought about it that much myself. It’s just something that’s always been around.”

  “Another long-standing Three Willows’ tradition?”

  “Sure is.”

  Standing back up, Sam raised two of his fingers to his lips and touched the post, mimicking Lilah. He didn’t mind playing along. “Good luck, right?”

  Lilah grinned broadly and thumped Sam on the back. “So, where do you want to start?” She pointed at the first fence-line in front of them. “Closest to us here is the Heeley property. Beyond that is my family’s land, then the Bishops, the Meyers, and the Simpsons.”

  Same adjusted his hat, looking out at the land before them, dotted with groups of cattle. “Might as well start here. Seems like as good a place at any.”

  Lilah wrinkled her nose.

  “What was that face for?” Sam asked, chuckling.

  “Noah Heeley is in my class. We don’t get along well.”

  “I see,” said Sam.

  “Beat him in the spelling bee we had at school, though.” Lilah propped a hand on her popped out hip, beaming. Then, as if remembering something, her face fell. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about Noah Heeley in days. It seems like forever ago with all that’s gone on.”

  Sam didn’t blame her. “It’s certainly been a lot.”

  Shaking it off, Lilah ran to the fence and hoisted herself up on the first rung. This girl was unsinkable. “Lucky for us, I’ve known just about everyone who works out here since I was old enough to remember faces. We’ll figure all this out in no time, promise!”

  “All right, then,” said Sam. “Let’s head around to that stable.”

  Together, they walked around to the tall stable structure a few yards away. From what little Sam knew about the ranch business in Three Willows, it was apparent that the Heeleys did well for themselves. Their stable was decked out with windows and a nice paint job, and the size of their herd was vast.

  When they entered, the stable was mostly empty. Sam assumed most of the ranch hands would be out on patrol or checking the stock. But towards the back, a figure was at work shoveling hay.

  Lilah cupped her hands around her mouth. “Mister Andrews!” she called out. Then, when he showed no sign of having heard her, she yelled louder. “Hey, Bill!”

  The man straightened up and began making his way towards the entrance.

  “Papa says Bill Andrews is the best calf wrangler in Three Willows,” Lilah said.

  Sam wondered about that. Bill Andrews was no spring chicken. He had a thick graying mustache that looked like he could brush horses with it.

  “Good morning, Miss Lilah. Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Been a while, hasn’t it?” Lilah said.

  “You look so grown up,” said Bill, looking Lilah up and down.

  “Oh, hush.” Lilah rolled her eyes, grinning. “I do miss it out here.”

  “Seen your father bring Charlie out a few times. Never too early to work, right?” Bill’s expression grew somber. “Heard about what happened to that little pipsqueak. We’re all hoping he heals up fast.”

  “I appreciate that, Bill. I’ll pass that on to Mama.”

  Bill took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “Were you looking for Mister Heeley?”

  “I was wondering if I might ask a few questions of you, sir,” Sam said, extending a hand. “Name’s Sam Brooks.”

  Bill shook his hand. “Pleasure.”

  “I’ve only just come to Three Willows myself, and I’ve been looking around for work. D’you like it out here?” Coming right out and asking about the recent attacks wasn’t likely to help him earn this man’s trust. Sam knew that without a little bit of trust, getting the information they were after would be impossible. Lucky for him, strangers were his specialty.

  “Work’s honest. Pays well. Consistent. I’ve worked with the Heeleys for years, but any of the ranch families are sure to treat you right, so long as you work hard,” said Bill. “You certainly look familiar enough with the outdoors.”

  Sam laughed. “That I am. Helped out at a few farms up north. Never worked a ranch, though.”

  “You pick it up fast,” said Bill.

  “Hopefully the business won’t suffer much?”

  Bill quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why would it?”

  “These attacks I’ve been hearing about in town.”

  “Oh, that,” Bill said. “Hard to say. If it keeps up, things might get bad around breeding season, depending on how much we’ve all lost. But if Mamie Piper is putting a hunting party together, I’m sure that will be the end of it.”

  “She’s that good a shot?”

  Bill smirked. “She’s an interesting woman. And more handy with a gun than she looks.”

  “Miss Piper usually throws together a hunt during Christmas,” Lilah said. “It’s a big deal in town.”

  “Partner of mine has already signed up,” said Bill. “He’s pretty convinced there’s a wolf behind these attacks.”

  “What do you think it is?” Sam asked.

  Bill reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, I’m not sure.”

  “Have you seen something, Bill?” Lilah asked.

  �
�Once. Just the aftermath, I’m afraid. I’ll admit, I don’t know much about wolves, but to take down a steer like that, all slashed up? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “That’d have to be some wolf.”

  “Sounds like you’ve had it rough,” Sam said.

  “That was a strange night, all right. What with a steer getting slain and that storm coming out of nowhere.”

  At his side, Lilah gasped.

  Sam kept his face neutral. “A storm?”

  “Yep. We get big storms all the time out here, but you can usually see them coming. That night one just kicked up. Frank and I had to wait it out in the old barn.”

  This was exactly what they’d been hoping to hear. A connection between a storm and an attack meant they were closer to finding out what had hurt Charlie.

  “Have there been other storms like that?” Sam asked.

  Bill shrugged. “Nothing that unusual that I can remember. Things can get weird when you’re on night watch. Gets too quiet. Smallest of things can play tricks with you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Sam had spent enough nights alone in the desert to know exactly how unsettling night could be.

  After a few more questions and pleasantries, Sam and Lilah departed the Heeley ranch and made their way to the next.

  “That was perfect, right, Sam?” Lilah said, excitedly. “That’s what we were looking for, right? Connections between the storms and the attacks?”

  “Yep.” A connection was one thing, but the conclusion it led to was another, and that conclusion still felt out of Sam’s reach.

  As Lilah hoisted herself onto Buccaneer’s back, Sam found his gaze drawn to the strange good luck symbol carved into the marking post. The longer he looked, the more it seemed like the spiral was moving, endlessly twisting in on itself, sucking everything deeper and deeper.

  16

  JESSALYN AND ROGER STEPPED INTO the empty town hall. The dark wooden floorboards creaked beneath their feet as they walked around the rows of chairs set up in the atrium. Jessalyn was familiar enough with the building from her various meetings, both work and pleasure, with Ebenezer. She was, however, unaware of a room that stored the sort of records that Roger had described.

  “I had no idea we had any sort of archive here in town,” she said, as she followed Roger.

  “I suppose it is more of a niche interest,” Roger said.

  “Under different circumstances, I might be able to use the material for future lessons. Reading about the town’s history might be interesting for the students.”

  “I agree,” said Roger, nodding. “Unfortunately, there might be an . . . uh, access . . . problem . . .”

  “Access?” Jessalyn heard the breaks in Roger’s speech, a familiar sign that he was nervous. Before she had time to question him, however, he turned to her and presented the door they had reached.

  “Oh, look! We’re here,” he said.

  Jessalyn looked at the door. It was a door she knew well. Dark stained wood, a well-worn brass handle, and a name plate reading ‘Ebenezer Carson’. She looked at Roger. “This is Mayor Carson’s office.

  Roger rushed on, speaking quickly, “It is!”

  “You said these records were kept in the town hall, not the mayor’s office.” Suspicion creeped in as Roger looked back at her.

  “Must have slipped my mind! Please do forgive my lack of specificity. I don’t believe Mayor Carson’s in, but it’s polite to knock all the same.” Roger rapped on the door three times before turning the handle and throwing it open.

  “Roger—” Jessalyn started, but cut herself off.

  The door from the atrium led into the waiting and lounge area, filled with several plush chairs and some bookshelves for guests to peruse. Mayor Carson’s actual office lay beyond another door that was situated behind a small desk where the mayor’s secretary sat.

  A desk that was currently occupied by Grace Templeton. She was staring at the two of them, rightly startled by Roger’s sudden entrance. Her eyes were red and the skin around them looked swollen.

  “Oh, my goodness, Miss Grace,” said Roger, equally startled. “What are you doing here?”

  Grace wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and tucked a limp blonde curl behind her ear. “Um, just . . . trying to get some work done.”

  “Don’t you want to be with your family today?” Roger asked gently. “Surely Mayor Carson hasn’t requested you come to work.”

  “No, no, he hasn’t. I . . . I wanted to get out of the house. Mama’s in a terrible state, and my father’s got his hands full tending to her. Jule and his wife are watching the little ones, Lilah ran off somewhere, I just . . . needed a break.” Grace looked so tired. When it came to the Templetons, Jessalyn’s sympathies often rested with Lilah, but seeing Grace like this, Jessalyn’s heart went out to her, as well.

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Roger. “There’s no shame in that. Anyone would feel overwhelmed by what has happened. You are always free to ask for space, should you need it.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Shaw,” Grace said, managing a small smile. “Um, Mayor Carson is out at the moment, but is there anything I can do for you? And, uh, Miss Joy?”

  Jessalyn didn’t quite know where to look. Grace had witnessed the altercation between her and Margaret earlier today. Unlike Lilah, she wasn’t sure of Grace’s feelings regarding the incident.

  Roger stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, Miss Grace, Miss Joy and I were wondering if we might acquire the key to the records room from you.”

  Grace’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “There’s a . . .” Roger cleared his throat, “matter we wish to research.”

  “But you’re not allowed in the records room, Reverend Shaw. Not alone.”

  Aha. That explained Roger’s overly nervous demeanor, didn’t it?

  The preacher looked aghast. “That’s—!Wh—I’ve been in there before! And I’m accompanying Miss Joy.”

  “Reverend Finley and Mayor Carson were both with you, then. I have a list of who’s approved to take out the records’ room key. And you aren’t on that list. Neither is Miss Joy,” Grace said bluntly.

  “It really is vital we gain access to that room,” said Roger.

  Grace began to rise from her seat. “If you don’t mind waiting, I can go find Mayor Carson and have him open it up for you.”

  “No!” Roger shouted.

  “You’re acting real strange.”

  Jessalyn held in a sigh. She decided to step in rather than watch Roger flounder in the hole he’d dug for himself lying by omission. “Grace, listen,” she said. “I know things are tense right now, but if we can get into that room, it might help us figure out what happened to Charlie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mister Brooks, your sister, and I didn’t see what happened, but we know the story the Founders are telling the town is a lie,” said Jessalyn.

  Grace looked down at her hands. “Lilah was saying the same thing . . .”

  “Can you help us?”

  “It would mean a great deal,” Roger added.

  The girl took a deep breath, then reached down and opened a drawer in her desk. Carefully, she pulled out a heavy-looking silver key and offered it to them. “All right. But you might want to make it quick.”

  Roger eagerly took the key from her. “Ah, bless you, Miss Grace.”

  “Thank you very much, Grace.”

  Grace nodded, then looked Jessalyn in the eye. “Just . . . tell Lilah to be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Roger held open the office door to Jessalyn, and shut it behind her as she stepped inside.

  “Well, that went smoothly!” Roger said, returning to a chipper tone, quickly stepping to the opposite wall. “Now, if I might direct your attention to this corner, here—” Jessalyn watched in disbelief as Roger pulled a large wingback chair away from the wall.

  “Roger.”

  He re
ached up, struggling to unhook a cumbersome landscape painting from its nail. “. . . sort of behind . . . all of these things . . .” he panted, lowering the heavy painting to the ground, “then we can . . . open up the records room.”

  “Roger!” Jessalyn folded her arms across her chest.

  “Yes?” Roger said sheepishly, looking very much like a misbehaving student caught in the act.

  “When you mentioned ‘access problems’ before, were you perhaps referring to the fact that the records room is not a public space, but is, instead, a secret room in Mayor Carson’s office?” She couldn’t help raising her voice.

  “Secret room? It’s not a secret. I knew about it,” Roger said, unconvincingly.

  “You’ve rearranged half the furniture in here to reach the lock.”

  “Ah.” Roger fiddled with the key in his hand. “I suppose. Perhaps this does look suspicious.”

  “Mm hmm. Why did you lie to me?”

  Roger slumped a bit, and turned the key over a few more times. “This was something I knew about. I am attempting to contribute to the team. I regretfully lack the street smarts of your . . . desperado compatriot.”

  Did he mean Samuel? For some reason, Roger was comparing his own actions and knowledge with Samuel’s. Jessalyn didn’t know why he would do something like that. He had to know she trusted his ideas and advice. Joining the investigation wasn’t something he’d had to do, but he’d volunteered anyway. That mattered more to her. “Roger,” she said, “it’s not a contest.”

  Roger shrugged and looked away. “I don’t think I trust him.”

  There was an echo of herself in that comment. Jessalyn knew more than anyone, Samuel wasn’t the easiest man to trust, especially after a rough first impression. His teasing could be merciless, and it often carried him away. Still. She thought back to his expression after she’d told him of Amos’s death last night. Even though he’d provoked her into anger, he had seemed contrite afterwards. He wasn’t unfeeling. He’d gone to great lengths to help Charlie, to help Lilah. To help Jessalyn, herself. In fact, he had quite the heart.

  “Samuel’s a good man, Roger.” And as she said it, she realized she believed it. “If you can’t trust him, then trust me.”