by With Heart
“Must be the date she had last night with that cowboy, huh?” Paul said with a wink.
“We did some great detective work last night. But I’ll wait and let that cowboy tell you about it when he gets here.”
“He’s coming back in today? He spends more time here than at the ranch. We ought to charge him rent,” Paul said in a complaining tone.
“All right, you two. I am happy this morning. Happy as a dog with two tails to wag.”
“Are we invited to the wedding?” Adelaide asked with wide-eyed innocence.
“It hasn’t gone that far, but if it does, you’ll be at the head of the list.” Unable to keep the smile off her face, Kathleen went back to her desk determined to get as much work done as possible.
She worked steadily to catch up on the items for the next week’s paper. She wrote the church and school news first, then a story about the local baseball team, who would play their last game of the season next weekend. She had begun to work on an editorial she had started about the need for a benefit for the local Volunteer Firefighters’ Association when a husky gray-haired man came into the office.
“I was lookin’ at the pictures ya got out there of that girl. I was the one who found her. Name’s Kilburn.”
“Hello, Mr. Kilburn. I’m Kathleen Dolan. I took the pictures.”
“It warn’t no accident, miss. I said that when I brung the sheriff out there. That girl was beat up bad and throwed out.”
“The car did run over her—”
“Pete Carroll’s brains is scrambled,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “When he looked at her, he said that she couldn’t a got all that done to her gettin’ hit by a car. Now he’s changed his tune.”
“Perhaps someone changed it for him, Mr. Kilburn.”
“Why’d anyone go and do that? It’s plain as yore nose on yore face. I hit Pete up about it this mornin’. He said Doc Herman looked at her and said she was hit by a car. That’s what he said. ’Course, if Doc said black was white, Pete’d take it for gospel.”
“I wonder why that is. Do you know?”
“I ain’t knowin’, miss. I ain’t wantin’ nothin’ to do with that Doc Herman.”
“Why is that, Mr. Kilburn?”
“He’s got too uppity to lance boils, sew up cuts, or come out to see sick folks. He’s got that nurse to do it all, and she ain’t no doc.”
“He delivers babies,” Kathleen said, and watched his face.
“Harrumpt! I heared tell that he’ll take in a girl what got ruint and not charge her folks a dime. Folks come from all over bringin’ him girls that ain’t wed.”
“Do you know that for a fact?”
“No, missy, I don’t know it fer a fact, but it’s been talked about ’round here for years.”
“A lot of married women come here to have their babies,” Kathleen said softly.
“I ain’t knowin’ ’bout that. When any a my folks get sick, we go down to Vernon.”
“Do you mind if I quote you saying that you think Clara Ramsey’s death was no accident?”
“In the paper?”
“Yes, I’m writing a story about it for next week’s paper.”
“Ya can say so if ya want. I’m sayin’ what I think.”
“I’ll see that you get a copy of the paper.”
“I ain’t sayin’ this just to get my name in the paper.”
“I know that. You seem to be a man of conscience.”
“I ain’t been able to think of nothin’ but that poor girl since I found her.” He anchored his battered hat down on his head. “Got to get back home to Mama. She’s all tore up, too, thinkin’ what happened out there on the road.”
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Kilburn.”
As soon as the man left, Kathleen ripped the paper out of her typewriter, inserted a fresh sheet and began to type rapidly.
The death of Clara Ramsey was not an accident according to the rancher who found her body in a ditch alongside the road last Tuesday morning. Mr. Dale Kilburn, whose ranch is a mile south—
By midmorning she had finished the last page of her story, read it and edited it, and was ready to put it on the hook beside the linotype machine. She looked up. Johnny was lounging in the doorway leading to the back room, watching her. Her heart fluttered with a joyous surge of pleasure, then took off like a runaway horse.
“I didn’t know you were here.” She stood, her eyes bright with happiness at the sight of him.
“You were writing. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’ve got a story from Mr. Kilburn, who found Clara’s body. Do you want to read it?”
“Tell me about it.”
Unable to keep her feet from going to him, she crossed to the doorway. His eyes feasted on her face.
“Tell me I didn’t dream last night,” she whispered, her hand on his chest.
“What did you dream?” he teased.
“That you and I . . . that we—”
“That we what?”
“Johnny Henry!” she scolded. Both hands were against his chest, now, pushing him back out of sight of the front window. She tilted her face, her eyes smiling as her hands and her arms encircled his waist. “Don’t . . . tease me, you nitwit!”
Johnny’s face was creased with smiles. Oh, Lord, he is beautiful, and sweet and dear and thank you, God, for bringing me here!
He lowered his head and kissed her, softly, gently, and quickly.
“Hey, there, cut that out!” Paul’s voice was stern. “We can’t be having such as that going on in our pressroom.”
“It’s been going on in this pressroom for three or four years when you thought I wasn’t looking,” Johnny retorted. “You kiss Adelaide every chance you get.”
“Yeah, but . . . Addie and I are adults.”
“I’m not forgettin’ that you owe me the price of two tickets to a picture show. And where’s that two bits you owe me?”
“What are you two talking about?” Kathleen kept her hand on Johnny’s arm as if she was afraid he’d disappear if she wasn’t touching him.
“A while back he offered to pay if I’d take you to a picture show. Now he’s trying to chicken out.”
“Well of all things! You had to be bribed to take me out?”
“I was going to take you anyway; but if he was dumb enough to offer to pay, I wasn’t going to turn it down.”
The smile in his eyes and on his lips was real.
Chapter Twenty-three
At noon Kathleen and Johnny walked down to Claude’s and ordered hamburgers. Seated at the end of the counter they watched Claude at the grill and listened to Gene Autry singing “Red River Valley.” Johnny put a nickel in the jukebox and soon Bing Crosby was crooning, “I don’t know why I love you like I do, I don’t know why, I just do.” His hand beneath the counter searched and found hers.
“Well, well—” Claude brought the hamburgers and lifted his brows up and down several times. “What’s going on here?”
“None of your business, you nosy old goat,” Johnny retorted angrily, but he was smiling.
“Knowed it the minute ya brought her here. Ya was lookin’ all cow-eyed then.” He wiped his hands on his apron and glanced at the other diners before leaning close to say in a confidential tone, “You owe me, son. My burgers draw pretty girls like flies.”
“What do you want, Claude? My arm or my leg?”
Claude’s face had lost its grin when he spoke to Kathleen. “You’ve stirred up a hornets’ nest, miss, with those pictures in the window. Some of the merchants are wanting to boycott the paper. The sheriff says she was hit by a car.”
“Dr. Herman says it was an accident. We think she was murdered—beaten, thrown out of the car, and run over.”
“Doc says folks won’t come here and buy goods if they think a murderer is running loose.”
“If they withhold advertising because we’re trying to get to the truth about a poor girl’s death, then we’ll fight back with a story tha
t will shake up this entire county; and the merchants might find themselves being boycotted by their customers.”
Claude’s laugh was as dry as corn shucks. “Ya got ya a little fighter here, boy. Hold on to her.”
“Pressure was put on the Gazette to accept his decision that what happened to Clara was an accident. Why? Don’t you want to know why he was so anxious to do that? It isn’t because people won’t come to town. That story won’t wash.”
“Town’s got a clean record compared to some.”
“They had a hijacking, but I guess they didn’t want it on the record,” Kathleen said drily. “Johnny will find out what happened to Clara. He worked with my uncle to track Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow and the result was—”
“Kath! Hush!” Johnny hissed.
“What’s this?” Claude said.
“Nothing. She’s been listening to her uncle’s tall tales.”
“I thought for a minute we had us a hero here.”
Kathleen was almost giddy with embarrassment. Her eyes glittered with both anger and despair. A customer came in, and Claude moved away. She couldn’t look at Johnny. With fingers that trembled, she picked up a slice of pickle Claude had placed on her plate.
“People around here don’t know anything about that part of my life.”
“Why? Are you ashamed of it?” Kathleen pressed her lips tightly together and half turned so that he couldn’t see her face.
“I just don’t want my business spread around.”
“Do Adelaide and Paul know that you’ve worked with the Federal Bureau from time to time?”
“They know that I go away sometimes for a while.”
“I’m proud of what you did. I didn’t think that I would offend you by telling Claude. Evidently I was mistaken.”
“Let’s drop it.”
“There is a lot we have to learn about each other.”
“Yes,” he said dejectedly.
They finished the meal in silence. Kathleen decided that this man she loved was far more complicated than she had imagined. It wasn’t until they were walking back toward the Gazette that Kathleen spoke.
“I don’t understand why it’s so important to Doc Herman to hush up what happened to Clara. Could he have had anything to do with it?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I keep thinking about the baby buried out on the Ramsey plot. It was buried before Hazel knew anything about it.”
“I see the wheels turning in your head right now.”
When he grinned down at her with that unfettered look of love in his eyes, happiness flowed over her. They would have their ups and downs, but if they loved—
“Do you think we should—?”
“Look in the box? I thought about it.”
“Oh, my. It gives me goose bumps to think of it.”
“I’m thinking Clara came home pregnant and had her baby at the clinic. Doc paid her for it and she left town again. Didn’t Hazel say that someone owed her money?”
“She did. Do you think Clara went back to the clinic to hit them up for more?”
“She could have.”
They were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn’t notice the man who got out of a car parked in front of the Gazette and stood waiting for them. With her hand tucked into the crook of Johnny’s arm she felt his steps slow, looked up, and saw Barker Fleming.
“Hello, Mr. Fleming.”
Barker tipped his Stetson. “Hello, Miss Dolan. Johnny.”
Kathleen wasn’t sure, but she thought Johnny grunted a reply.
Barker stepped over to the car and opened the door. A small dark-haired boy slid off the seat and got out. Two girls several years older than Emily got out of the backseat. One girl wore a pink-checked gingham dress, the other blue-checked. The boy was dressed in duck pants and scuffed shoes. All had the dark hair and eyes of their Cherokee ancesters.
“These are my three youngest,” Barker said proudly. The flickering of his eyes from the children to Johnny betrayed his nervousness. “They’re having a holiday from school. This is Lucas.” He touched the boy on the head. “The girls are Marie and Janna. This lady,” he said to the children, “is Miss Dolan, who works for the newspaper. And this is Johnny Henry, the All-’Round Cowboy, I told you about. I saw him ride at the rodeo.”
“Gol . . . ly!” Lucas took a couple of steps forward and looked up at Johnny with hero worship in his eyes. “Gol . . . ly!” he said again. “Can I see your spurs? Do you have a lasso? Gol . . . ly!”
“Daddy, can’t he say anything but Gol . . . ly?” the older girl complained. “He’s so . . . dumb.”
“Yeah, he’s dumb,” the younger girl echoed.
“He gets carried away once in a while,” Barker explained patiently to the girls, “But he is not dumb.”
Lucas didn’t seem to care if his sisters thought he was dumb. He was still looking expectantly up at Johnny.
“Yeah, I got a lasso,” Johnny finally mumbled. He reached out and tousled the boy’s hair.
“Can I see it . . . sometime?”
“Sure.”
“Daddy! I can see his lasso . . . and his spurs.” Lucas grabbed Barker’s hand.
“He didn’t say anything about spurs,” Marie said irritably, and rolled her eyes.
“The girls are tired from the trip. Lucas slept part of the way.” Barker opened the car door. “Hop in,” he commanded. “I’m taking them out to stay with Mrs. Howland—”
“Daddy, it stinks out there,” Marie whined.
Barker ignored his daughter’s complaint. “Howland is manager at the tannery. They live about a quarter mile south of the plant. I’ll be back in say . . . an hour?”
“Daddy—”
“Girls, we had this settled before we left home. Hush your complaining and get in the car. We’ll eat dinner at the restaurant and spend the night at the hotel.”
“Oh . . . goody.” Janna clapped her hands.
“I want to stay with Mr. Henry,” Lucas said.
“Some other time,” Barker said patiently.
Kathleen moved away from Johnny and went to the car. She leaned down to speak to the girls.
“’Bye. Nice to have met you.”
“I wanted to see your typewriter,” Marie said sulkily.
“You can see it when your daddy brings you back.”
“’Bye, Mr. Henry,” Lucas called. “Ya won’t forget?”
“No.” Johnny shook his head as he spoke. He stood as if his feet were stuck to the sidewalk.
After the car moved away, Kathleen put her arm through Johnny’s.
“You can say one thing for Barker Fleming, he has beautiful children.” Her eyes laughed up at him. “Let’s go tell Adelaide and Paul about our idea.”
“What idea?”
“About what’s not in that box out at the cemetery, my dear and beautiful man.”
“Now I know your brains are scrambled.” His voice was stern, but his lips were smiling.
• • •
If Adelaide and Paul noticed that Johnny didn’t address any of his remarks to Barker Fleming during the afternoon session in the pressroom, they attributed it to the fact that he was jealous of the man.
After being introduced to Barker, Judy had gone upstairs to Adelaide’s apartment to bake a cake.
“She took homemaking in school and is a good cook,” Adelaide explained, and sat down where she could see if anyone came into the office.
Kathleen started from the beginning and told Barker about being hijacked before she reached town and about the sheriff refusing to arrest the men despite the fact that she and Johnny could identify them. She related every encounter she’d had with the sheriff, the doctor, and the records clerk at the courthouse.
“Birth, death, and arrest records have not been made available to the paper,” Paul explained. “Time and again Adelaide has tried to get these records only to be told they are not yet recorded. They haven’t been sent over, and at ti
mes the records office door has been locked. I think Kathleen took them by surprise when she got in the other morning.”
Kathleen’s chart showing the names and dates she had copied from the public birth records was placed on the table. The discussion then centered on the unusual number of women who came to Rawlings to have their babies.
“Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Dallas, Fort Worth; Denver, Colorado? All these women came to Rawlings to have their babies? Unbelievable,” Barker exclaimed.
“Almost two hundred over a fifteen-year period,” Kathleen said. “Mr. Dale Kilburn was in this morning. He’s sure that Clara didn’t die from being hit by a car. During the conversation he told me that it had been rumored for years that unwed girls came to the clinic to have their babies.”
“We need to have more than rumors,” Barker said. “It seems to me Dr. Herman has a stranglehold on the whole county. Do you have an extra copy of the names and dates of birth you got from the records department?”
“Judy made a copy for you. Her parents, or rather the people who now say they are not her parents, Mr. and Mrs. DeBerry, live in Fort Worth. They were disappointed in Judy when it became apparent that she had Indian blood. Judy said she heard Mr. DeBerry say something about getting his money back.”
“She’s a sweet girl. Paul and I have become quite attached to her,” Adelaide added.
“They told her that they’d gotten her here?” Johnny asked.
“She had seen her birth certificate and heard Mr. and Mrs. DeBerry discussing the fact.
“Her name is there on the list.” Kathleen said, pointing to it. “Baby girl born to Mr. and Mrs. Donald DeBerry, Fort Worth, Texas. Attending physician, Dr. Darrell Herman.”
“Darrell Herman and Louise Munday are selling babies out of that clinic,” Adelaide said staunchly. “I think that’s why he wants Clara’s murder declared an accident. He’s afraid that the state or Federal Marshals will get wind of it, come here to investigate, and maybe turn up something about what they are doing.”
“Doc Herman goes to Oklahoma City quite often for medical meetings. There may be a connection there,” Paul said.
“That’s right.” Adelaide said as she suddenly remembered. “Flossie said he was there last week.”
