The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

  The suspects were brought in and seated at the very front, on the other side from the Langfords. The five witnesses—John Farris and his daughter-in-law Jane, David Irby, Captain Ballenger, and Thomas Welsh, from the posse, were all seated in front of Ben.

  With Joseph Welsh, the sheriff, accompanying, the prisoners were made to rise and file across the front before the bar. “You are charged with feloniously, and of your malice aforethought, murdering and robbing a certain Thomas Langford on Wednesday, the twelfth day of December 1798, on the road leading from Kentucky to Virginia through the Wilderness. What say you to these charges?”

  The voice of the big man, who called himself Micajah Roberts, rang out. “We did not do any such thing.”

  The others echoed his words in various ways.

  With a sharp nod from one of the judges, the sheriff made the five sit back down, and they commenced with reading the written statements from the witnesses. Ballenger’s told how he’d first heard of the murder on the 19th or 20th, and at the request of James Blain, the attorney general of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, organized the posse and set out to find those who were suspected of being the murderers. They’d stopped at the house of John Blain—and Ben recalled this well—where they heard that travelers fitting the description they sought had passed nearby, and roughly the route they’d taken in pursing and overtaking them. The statement went on to list the things they’d found in the party’s possession that had belonged to Thomas.

  Ben bit back a smile as no mention was made of the jaunt down the road to find sign of his own would-be attackers.

  Next they read David Irby’s statement of how he and Thomas had traveled together for five days, and how carefully Thomas had recorded their shared expenditures, and specifics of some of them, before parting and agreeing to meet in Frankfort. How Irby learned in Kentucky that Thomas had been murdered on the way, and so he turned back on the Road in order to find out more, and coming to the place Thomas had been buried, he, John Farris, and the man in charge of the burial exhumed the body and confirmed that it was, indeed, Thomas Langford.

  Beside Ben, Mary gave a little groan, and Stephen’s wife Lucy shook her head.

  Next came the statements of John Farris, describing how Thomas had arrived that Tuesday evening, and upon hearing the young man’s name, Farris recalled his acquaintance with him, from Thomas’s youth in Pittsylvania County. He also noted how he’d opportunity to examine the particulars of Thomas’s clothing—no doubt, Ben thought, because of the novelty of new, expensive dress from the East. A few days later, having heard of the murder and inquiring as to the circumstances, he became convinced the person murdered was his own houseguest. He went to the coroner of Lincoln County, where the poor victim had already been buried after the coroner’s inquest, and in company with David Irby and Abraham Anthony, who had done the burying, raised the body and inspected it. His face might have been enough to convince him, but a missing tooth in the front part of the jaw proved most definitive.

  Ben nodded. He knew well that missing tooth, and precisely how Thomas had lost it.

  Jane’s statement gave more details on things belonging to Thomas that were found in the Robertses’ possession. She also testified to how cheerful all appeared together, and how Thomas seemed to be a little intoxicated, and of the last mild disagreement between himself and the Roberts men, where he mentioned the worth of his saddlebags.

  Welsh’s statement echoed Ballenger’s. After his was read, the judges called upon the witnesses to add whatever they would. Both Irby and Farris described the wounds they witnessed on the body—how the skull was split, no doubt by a tomahawk, and indeed part of what helped the drovers realize there must have been violence done on that part of the Road, when their cattle spooked, was the presence of bits of bone and gore on the trail. Hearing Mary’s and Lucy’s sharp intakes of breath, Ben kept himself to a mere swallow against the sourness of his stomach. He knew most of these details but had endeavored to not dwell on them more than necessary.

  Now, however, there was no escaping it. And if anywhere indeed it was necessary, it would be here.

  They described further mutilation of the body, so that beyond complexion and hair color, it truly was the loss of the tooth that proved the key to identifying the body.

  In the silence that lay heavy over the courtroom, Ben glanced at the prisoners. The five simply sat there, all perfectly still except for Sally, whose occasional tremor gave away the state of her nerves.

  “Bring the accused back to the bar,” Judge Huston said. The sheriff did so, and when the five stood there once more, the judge went on, “Do you still deny your involvement in these events?”

  Both men nodded vigorously.

  “Have you anything to offer in your defense?”

  Neither one moved. Huston sighed, exchanged a look with the other two judges, and motioned for them to be seated again while the three of them conferred.

  A few minutes later, Huston spoke. “It is the decision of the court that the accused be tried at the District Court in Danville, come April, and that they be jailed until that time.”

  There would be no visiting by Rachel—at least not until the prisoners were moved to Danville and settled there.

  The court was dismissed, and the sheriff prodded his charges to their feet. Sally shuffled along between the other two women, head down, looking neither right nor left.

  “Such pitiful creatures,” Mary commented.

  “Could they not be induced to bathe and comb out their hair, at least?” Lucy said. “Imagine, choosing to live so.”

  “Actually, it appears that they’ve done both, at least once since we apprehended them,” Ben said, trying to keep his voice mild.

  Both Lucy and Mary stood, mouth agape. Ben gave them a thin smile. “And perhaps such a life was not all their choice.”

  If only Sally could somehow be separated from the others …

  Mary turned to her brother-in-law. “Has Stephen spoken to you about serving as prosecuting attorney for the trial as well?”

  “No, but if he has no one else he’d rather have in that capacity, I would be honored to do so.”

  Of course it would be better for Ben to not serve in that role, for several reasons, and he held his silence, waiting until Stephen should comment on the matter.

  Stephen rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “I’d no one else in mind, nay. So if you do not feel it would be too much a conflict of interest—”

  Judge Todd nodded, and the two shook hands, then Todd turned to Ben. “I would, of course, welcome whatever help you are able to give.”

  “Of course,” Ben murmured, but he’d so many conflicting thoughts in his mind at the moment, he’d need solitude and silence to sort them out before he committed himself to anything in particular.

  Chapter Eight

  Word carried down from Stanford of the hearing, and how on the next day, the murder suspects were moved to Danville for trial in April, but Rachel heard nothing from Ben. She tried not to fret, but her heart sank more by the day.

  A letter came from Reverend Rice, with a vaguely worded response about a wife’s duty being with her husband and fervent prayers offered on her behalf and Wiley’s, in the expectation that the Holy Ghost would bring a renewal of repentance, if Wiley’s baptism and faith were true. In great frustration, Rachel folded the missive and tucked it away among others.

  It was near the middle of January, on an afternoon with a snowstorm howling across the wilderness, when a greatcoated figure stepped inside the post, borne on a gust of wind. In the middle of recording an entry in the accounts book, behind the counter, Rachel cast the visitor but a glance, catching a gleam beneath the wide-brimmed hat and the moment of hesitation before he stamped the snow from his boots. Something in the man’s movements seemed familiar, but such was the case with so many who passed through.

  She finished writing the entry and looked up again as the man pulled off his hat and offered a half smile over the edge of a fr
ost-covered muffler. A little jolt went through her. Ben!

  With the recognition came a rush of warmth, and she hastened to tuck her quill into its bracket and cap the ink while he pulled off mittens and unfastened the greatcoat.

  Dan reached him first, popping out from behind a shelf where he’d been busy with inventory. “Ben Langford! Good to see you.”

  They shook hands, and Ben reached up to unwrap the muffler. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of tethering my horse in your stable.”

  “Oh nay, you’re more than welcome! Will you stay the night as well, or have you other lodgings?”

  He cast a quick glance at Rachel, who held back a little, feeling suddenly shy. “I would not presume …”

  “It’s no presumption,” she blurted. “We’d be saddened if you didn’t stay.”

  His smile flashed again, full and warm, and Rachel realized why he looked so altered. He’d gone from clean shaven to growing out his beard.

  Was it lack of opportunity, or was he choosing to look more like the men of the frontier? Regardless, she thought the difference quite pleasing.

  Not that her opinion mattered one whit.

  He shook out the muffler and looked back at Dan, somber once more. “My deepest thanks. I’d be very happy to accept your hospitality a second time.”

  Dan grinned. “Wonderful! Rachel can help see to whatever you need, aye?” He angled a look her way, and she nodded, feeling her cheeks reddening.

  Her brother disappeared again into the shelves. She turned to Ben. “I’m so sorry—”

  “I am sorry—” he began.

  They both stopped, laughing.

  “You go first,” Rachel said.

  “No, please—you,” Ben said.

  She took a breath, finding herself noting again the slight changes a month had wrought in him. “I said so already, but I’m so sorry about your cousin.”

  He gave a slow nod that was half a bow. “And I am sorry I haven’t yet responded to your last letter. There is”—he drew a deep breath—“much to tell you.”

  It was a quiet afternoon, as such happened there at the station on a winter’s day, so Rachel not only saw him seated at the fire with coffee and a sweet roll, but she was able to sit down as well.

  “Am I keeping you from your work?” he asked, before a hearty bite of the bread.

  She shook her head, smiling a little as his eyes closed and an appreciative hum escaped him.

  He chewed and swallowed, his mouth curving sheepishly. “My apologies. Today’s ride seemed especially long.”

  “None needed,” she murmured, and while he devoured the rest of the roll, poured herself a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar from an earthenware service on the mantel.

  In very short order, he sat back, curling both hands around his mug. “You will doubtless want to know first about Sally.” He blew out a breath. “I am not even sure where to begin.”

  Rachel waited, sipping her coffee.

  “I did relate your message when we met. She was moved most deeply. She also seemed cautiously willing to cooperate with the inquiry into Thomas’s murder—and who knows how many others—at least at first. Later, however, she avowed it impossible to speak against the men, that they watch her too closely. The older of the women as well.”

  Ben’s face appeared more drawn and grave as he spoke. Rachel could not imagine that involving himself in his cousin’s murder would be anything but taxing, and the strain showed itself clearly. “Are Micajah and Wiley guilty, do you think?”

  “I cannot say this in a court of law, of course, or anywhere it might be set down as record, but it does appear very likely that they committed at least this murder. Probably more.” Ben sighed. “So likely that I fear for Sally, whether she’ll escape conviction as an accessory.” He scooted forward in his chair, elbows on knees. “It’s clear she’s unhappy. That she fears both men, and would wish to be free of the situation if she could. But persuading her to have enough courage to speak out …”

  Rachel sat hunched, cup in one hand and the other folded across her mouth. Lord God, what can we do here? How do I best pray for her?

  “Not that I blame her dread,” Ben added. “There is a most unwholesome feeling around the two of them, indeed over the entire party. I actually first encountered the men myself just short of Crab Orchard.”

  A sound of surprise and dismay escaped Rachel, and he shot her a rueful smile. “No doubt I should not have attempted to make the journey alone, but I had need of haste if I intended to catch the posse before they set out. Only the grace of God and my very fast and surefooted horse saved me from disaster.”

  Rachel could only shake her head, wide eyed.

  “That said, I can attest that they are …”

  “Intimidating?” Rachel supplied.

  He nodded. “Exactly so. Even for someone who does not fear anything lightly.”

  She supposed he was speaking of himself but didn’t want to pry further. “It would be ungraceful of me to say that I never felt completely at ease with Wiley or Micajah, but—” She winced, remembering the wedding and a handful of times she’d had to do business with them at her father’s post. “So, what now? Word reached us already about the hearing, and the trial being set in Danville.”

  He spread one hand, palm upward. “For now, we simply wait.” He looked at her as if considering something. “I’m not sure your going to visit her would serve anything, but perhaps we can arrange it, once the weather clears.”

  “Oh, could we? And maybe—just maybe, I can help persuade Sally—”

  She stopped, thinking of Reverend Rice’s letter.

  “Did you hear back from her family?” Ben asked, as if he knew the bend of her thoughts.

  “Aye.” Rachel told him the gist of it. “You’re welcome to read it, later.”

  Ben nodded, fingering the edges of his beard. “Perhaps … perhaps it would help if I wrote to him myself. I cannot see how he’d fail to aid her in whatever way possible, once he fully understood the gravity of the situation.”

  “I would hope. I didn’t give him many specifics in my letter, but I wasn’t sure how much he’d have heard before now.”

  “Apparently not enough.”

  The strength of feeling in Ben’s voice startled Rachel. “I would think,” she said slowly, “that you’d be most concerned for seeing Wiley and Micajah answer for their crimes, not … not so much helping Sally in the situation.”

  He shook his head. “I confess, I feel very torn between the two. But no woman deserves to live as she’s been forced to, when it was through little choice of her own.” His gaze came up, sharply. “She said to us that she did not know he was bad when she married him.”

  A pang echoed through Rachel’s breast at the words. “No. None of us did.”

  Ben’s eyes held hers, full of understanding and sympathy.

  Once again, Ben stretched before the hearth on a pallet made from a straw-filled tick and several wool blankets. Surprisingly warm and snug, and yet—he could not sleep.

  Rachel had given him the letter from Sally’s father. He alternated between mentally composing a reply and wondering whether he should travel to Knox County and speak to the man himself. This was January. The trial would not take place until April. Theoretically, he had plenty of time.

  He also needed to sit down and compose a letter to Uncle Ben. The older man had written, expressing shock and sorrow over Thomas’s sad fate and Ben’s part in it all. It was no more or less than Ben expected.

  His uncle’s letter did not, interestingly enough, include an appeal for Ben to come home and leave all the legal proceedings to others. Not that he would have heeded it.

  The fire gave a crackle and a hiss. Ben turned over on his side and settled the blankets more firmly over himself, but his eyes simply would not shut, and he watched the flames while his thoughts swirled.

  A sound behind him brought his head up. Rachel tiptoed out of her room, swathed in a dressing
gown with her hair in a thick braid trailing out from under a ruffled cap and tucked inside the robe. She shut her door, and seeing him looking at her, hesitated before padding across the floor.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said apologetically, “and thought I’d make tea. Would you like some?”

  Ben scooted to a sitting position. “I would, thank you.”

  She moved to the kitchen and filled a kettle with water then brought it to the fire and hung it there to heat.

  “I wasn’t asleep yet either,” Ben said, as she crossed back to get cups and a closed tin.

  She set those items on a platter with a silver sugar bowl and carried them to the hearth. “I was hoping to not disturb you.”

  “Not at all.”

  He made himself more comfortable as she reached for a chair. She sank into it with a long sigh, staring into the fire. “I cannot stop thinking about Sally,” she whispered after a few moments.

  “Little wonder, that,” Ben said.

  Her eyes shimmered in the firelight. Tears, which he also well understood. “I keep thinking … perhaps there is aught I could do to help her in all this. Certainly I must try.”

  Her words struck an answering echo in his heart. All those years he’d endeavored to keep Thomas from trouble—no, just from outright ruin. That he’d bring as little shame as possible upon Uncle Ben.

  And now, this. After a month, he still could scarce believe it. What had Thomas been thinking, to part ways from David Irby in such wild, untamed country, where he knew practically no one and nothing about the customs of folk here? Ben himself had found it foreign enough, although not entirely uncomfortable.