Courting Trouble

by Deeanne Gist

  Harley’s shock was evident. ‘‘I didn’t attack her, she attacked me. Look what she done with her fingernails!’’ He pointed to the tear in his trousers. ‘‘She ruined my brand-new pants. And she grabbed my arms, too, shakin’ me so hard I thought my eyeballs were gonna fly right outta my head. When I broke free, she jumped on me. I tried to get away, but she wrestles better than all the boys at the Home.

  And she cheats, too.’’

  Katherine gasped.

  ‘‘When clawin’ me didn’t work, she bit me.’’ He pulled up his sleeve with his teeth. Moon-shaped punctures decorated his arm. ‘‘See? Everybody knows yer not allowed to bite when yer wrestlin’.’’

  Papa kept his expression firm, but Essie could tell the boy’s outrage had struck a chord with him.

  ‘‘A woman can do anything she wants if a man is attacking her,’’ Papa said gently.

  ‘‘But I weren’t attackin’ her, she was attackin’ me!’’

  ‘‘Sir,’’ Melvin interjected.

  ‘‘Sir,’’ Harley repeated.

  Hamilton looked down at Katherine. ‘‘You bit him? Why did you bite him?’’

  Turning almost purple, she jumped to her feet. Harley reacted as if he’d been shot, stumbling back, then darting to Melvin and taking cover behind him.

  ‘‘Don’t let her git me, Sheriff. She chews up nails and spits out tacks.’’

  ‘‘Harley,’’ Essie hissed.

  Katherine yanked her cloak together and strode out the door, slamming it behind her.

  ‘‘She’s overwrought,’’ Hamilton said in a conciliatory tone.

  Melvin put his hand on Harley’s shoulder and nudged him back to where he had been.

  Papa studied the boy for a long, quiet moment. Harley looked down, scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot.

  ‘‘You see those pictures there?’’ Papa asked, pointing to the Wanted posters tacked up on the wall behind the sheriff ’s desk. ‘‘That fella on the left? He stole something that didn’t belong to him. When he’s caught, he’ll be hanged.’’

  Harley’s eyes grew large.

  ‘‘The one toward the middle? He shot a man. When he’s caught, he’ll be hanged.’’

  Tears rushed to the boy’s eyes.

  ‘‘The one next to him? He attacked a woman. When he’s caught, he’ll be hanged.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I didn’t.’’ Tears spurted from his eyes, and he covered his face with his cuffed hands.

  Essie felt her own eyes water.

  ‘‘Lock him up, Sheriff. I’ll have a decision before nightfall.’’

  chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘‘WHAT ARE YOU GOING to do?’’ Essie asked, following Papa out of the sheriff ’s office.

  The activity on this end of the street was minimal, with an occasional carriage or pedestrian passing by. Papa’s rig sat parked beside the building. The town stray, Cat, darted out from underneath it, startling Essie. Meowing, the tabby wove a figure eight between her ankles.

  ‘‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’’ Papa answered. ‘‘I haven’t decided.’’

  ‘‘He’s only a child.’’

  ‘‘If he’s old enough to steal, he’s old enough to suffer the consequences.’’

  ‘‘Reasonable consequences.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to think all my decisions are reasonable.’’

  The door opened. Hamilton escorted Mrs. Vandervoort down the steps.

  ‘‘How’s Mr. Vandervoort?’’ Essie asked her.

  ‘‘Worried about Harley,’’ the woman said, the space between her thin gray eyebrows crinkling. ‘‘He feels worse about all this than the boy, I think. I told him he should have known better than to sneak up on a hunter like that.’’

  ‘‘It wasn’t Ludwig’s fault,’’ Papa said.

  ‘‘Well, he could have gone about it differently, is all.’’

  ‘‘He’s mending all right, though?’’ Essie asked.

  ‘‘Yes, dear. Don’t you worry. The bullet merely winged him. The doc says he’ll be fine in no time.’’ She nodded to the two of them, then allowed Hamilton to walk her to the judge’s chaise.

  ‘‘Papa?’’ She touched his sleeve, stalling him.

  ‘‘I won’t discuss it with you, Essie. And I don’t want you telling the boy that Vandervoort is alive.’’

  ‘‘Why not?’’

  ‘‘Because he could have been killed. I want Harley to remember for a long, long time what it feels like to rob someone of his life.’’

  Much as she hated to burden Harley with such heavy thoughts, she knew Papa would brook no argument from her. ‘‘All right, then. If you think it’s best. But you’ll be lenient with your verdict?’’

  He put on his hat. ‘‘I’ll see you at supper.’’ Then he headed to his shay and left her standing on the street with no clue as to how he would handle the matter.

  ————

  Uncle Melvin locked the cell door behind Essie. Frigid temperatures from the rugless floor seeped through the soles of her boots as she approached the cot. There was no blanket, no pillow, no nothing. Only Harley, curled up tightly and facing the wall.

  She didn’t know what to say, yet she understood what it was like to feel all alone. Sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed, she stroked his hair, his arm, his back. Slowly, tension eased from his little body.

  He rolled over, his eyes swollen and red. ‘‘I hope they hang me.’’

  ‘‘Don’t say that.’’

  ‘‘I mean it. The only thing worse than a orphan is a cracksman.

  And now I’m both.’’

  ‘‘Listen to me.’’ She gathered his hands in hers. ‘‘You did something you weren’t supposed to and you’ll have to suffer some consequences. But once you’ve fulfilled your obligations, you’ll get to start over, fresh and new.’’

  ‘‘There ain’t no such thing as startin’ over. Folks got long memories. Everywheres I go, they’ll be whisperin’, ‘That there’s Harley North, the murderin’, area-sneak.’ See if they don’t.’’

  No matter how badly she wanted to argue with him, she knew there was some truth to what he said.

  ‘‘What other people think doesn’t matter.’’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘‘ ’Course it matters.’’

  She propped her hands on either side of his prone form, bracketing him. ‘‘You are very mistaken, Harley North. All that matters is what Jesus Christ thinks. Remember all those Bible stories you’ve heard in Sunday school, where Jesus met up with sinners? Do you recall what He told them?’’

  The boy said nothing, but he was listening.

  ‘‘He told them that what had happened in the past was not of consequence. It was their new relationship with Him that mattered.

  You are just as valuable to Christ right this moment as you were before any of this happened.’’

  As are you.

  The thought was so strong, so powerful, that Essie stilled, listening to her own words echoing in the silence.

  ‘‘Not of consequence . . . just as valuable . . . before any of this happened.’’

  What Harley had done was nothing compared to what she had done, though. Or wasn’t it? Didn’t the Bible say one sin was no worse than another? Was she really as valuable to Christ now as she was before?

  An overwhelming sense of peace and affirmation poured through her. And she knew. She knew she most certainly was.

  ‘‘Jesus don’t care nothin’ about me. If He did, He would’ve gave me a mama and a papa.’’

  ‘‘He did give you a mother and father. They just went up to heaven sooner than most parents do. But He cares about you, Harley. And if you tell Him you’re sorry and you truly mean not to steal or sneak again, then He’ll forgive you. Completely and totally.’’

  ‘‘I am sorry,’’ he whispered. ‘‘And I won’t never do that again.’’

  She pulled him up and into her embrace. ‘‘Then tell Him, Harley.


  In the quiet part of your heart, tell Him what you just told me.’’

  And while she hugged him against her, she, too, confessed and repented. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, basking in the unfathomable knowledge that in the only way that really mattered, she was no longer ‘‘ruined.’’ But was instead as pure and as white as the newly fallen snow.

  And if that was how the God of the Universe saw her, then who was she to argue?

  ————

  Melvin cut short her visit with Harley. He didn’t give any reasons, but she guessed he wanted the boy to have a taste of life behind bars.

  Papa shut himself in his office, asking that he not be disturbed. At suppertime, instead of joining Mother and her, he put on his coat and hat, then left without sharing his destination.

  Essie quickly finished her meal, put on a simple woolen jacket and skirt, then went down to the State Orphan’s Home to find something clean for Harley to wear. Ewing had not yet returned from Cryer Creek, and the Worthams displayed concern over what was to be done with ‘‘that North boy.’’

  Back at the jail, Essie dipped a comb into a basin of water, slicking down Harley’s black hair. He wore ill-fitting pants and a blue percale blouse she had brought for him. It showed little wear, and no wonder. No boy in his right mind would want to be dressed in it. The blouse had a ruffled sailor collar, a double-ruffled front, and ruffled cuffs.

  ‘‘I look like a girl,’’ he said, tugging at the collar and poking himself with the ruffles on his cuff. The tension in his face suggested he was worried about much more than his attire, however.

  ‘‘It is a very becoming blouse,’’ she said. ‘‘Any mother would be proud to have her son wear it.’’

  ‘‘Then how come she gave it to the orphans?’’

  Ah. Smart boy. ‘‘You be sure to answer with respect when you address the adults. Understand?’’

  ‘‘Who all’s comin’?’’

  ‘‘Same as before, I imagine.’’

  She smoothed down his collar just as the sheriff ’s door opened.

  The Crooks, Mrs. Vandervoort, and Papa entered. The ladies wore the same costumes they’d had on earlier, though Mrs. Vandervoort had taken the time to iron hers.

  Both women immediately sought Harley out with their gazes.

  Katherine looked him up and down but gave no indication of her thoughts.

  When Mrs. Vandervoort saw his shirt, though, she pressed a hand to her heart and said, ‘‘Awwwww. Doesn’t he look precious?’’

  Papa assisted the ladies into chairs while Melvin unlocked the cell and handcuffed the boy, ruffles and all.

  ‘‘Essie,’’ Papa said, ‘‘you will sit here with the other ladies.’’

  She stiffened, not wishing to leave Harley to face everyone alone.

  ‘‘I’m fine, thank you.’’

  ‘‘It was not a request.’’

  Melvin placed a bentwood chair next to Mrs. Vandervoort. Essie gave Harley’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then settled herself into the proffered chair.

  ‘‘Harley North,’’ Papa began, ‘‘I have found you guilty of stealing, guilty of shooting a man, and guilty of manhandling a woman. Any one of those offenses would be plenty serious on its own, but all three put together are very condemning, indeed.’’

  Essie clasped her hands in her lap and held her breath. Harley swallowed.

  ‘‘When considering my options for your sentence, I did take into account that you returned the goods you’d stolen, minus one bullet, and that you did not intend to harm Mr. Vandervoort and that you felt you were acting in self-defense with Mrs. Crook.’’

  Katherine gasped and, with face flushing, frowned up at Papa. He didn’t even notice.

  ‘‘As it turns out,’’ he continued, ‘‘Mr. Vandervoort did not die.’’

  Harley’s mouth fell open. ‘‘Are ya sure?’’ he asked, his voice cracking.

  ‘‘Quite sure. He could have, but the Lord spared him.’’

  The boy immediately turned to Mrs. Vandervoort. ‘‘He didn’t take off his boots at the Pearly Gates?’’

  She shook her head.

  ‘‘I’m right glad about that, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Me too, son,’’ she answered quietly. ‘‘Me too.’’

  ‘‘Does this mean you ain’t gonna hang me?’’ he asked Papa.

  ‘‘I am not going to have you hanged.’’

  Harley sneaked a glance at Essie. She wanted to give him a wink, but she didn’t dare.

  ‘‘Thank ya, sir,’’ he said, returning his attention to Papa.

  ‘‘There will be consequences for your actions, though.’’

  He puffed out his little ruffled chest. ‘‘I’m ready, sir. Just say it straight out.’’

  ‘‘Very well.’’ Papa slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘‘With Mr. Vandervoort incapacitated, his missus will need help around their place. So from sunup to sundown, every Monday through Friday, you are to take care of anything and everything that Mrs. Vandervoort asks of you, for as long as it takes for Mr. Vandervoort to recover.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘And on Saturdays, you will do cleaning and sorting and running for the Crooks at the Slap Out.’’

  The boy was not nearly as quick to respond to this sentence. He looked at Katherine, then at Hamilton. Neither offered him any encouragement.

  ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ he repeated, a bit more subdued this time.

  ‘‘On Sundays, you will go to church, then finish out the day doing chores at the Orphan’s Home.’’

  Harley frowned. ‘‘When do I get to go fishin’?’’

  ‘‘There will be no free time. In addition, until further notice, you will spend your nights in the jail.’’

  His eyes widened and he glanced at the cell. ‘‘By myself?’’

  ‘‘By yourself.’’

  He looked at Essie, his eyes full of fear. Her heart squeezed, and she gave him a reassuring nod.

  ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ he whispered.

  ‘‘At the end of your sentence, it will be up to the Worthams to decide if you will be welcomed back at the Orphan’s Home or if you will be reassigned to the Poor House. I imagine much of their decision will be based on how well you do your duties for the Vandervoorts and the Crooks.’’

  Harley’s lip quivered, but he did not cry.

  ‘‘Do you have any questions?’’ Papa asked.

  ‘‘How long am I punished fer?’’

  ‘‘Until Mr. Vandervoort is completely healed.’’

  ‘‘Am I supposed to go to the Slap Out and play checkers fer him, too?’’

  Mrs. Vandervoort gave a hint of a smile.

  ‘‘No,’’ Papa said. ‘‘That will not be necessary.’’

  ‘‘I don’t have no more questions, then.’’

  ‘‘Very well. You will spend the rest of this day and night in the jail, and come morning you will report to Mrs. Vandervoort’s house.

  Do you know where it is?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘Then these proceedings are over.’’

  ————

  Essie began again at the top of the page, trying once more to concentrate on the words of Robinson Crusoe. But her eyes kept straying to the parlor windows closed tight against the night air. The brocade drapes were parted, allowing the glass panes to reflect back a wavy image of the room.

  She thought of Harley in that dark cell all by himself. She’d taken him a pillow and several quilts, but she still wasn’t convinced he’d be warm enough without a stove or fire.

  So far away was she in thought, that she had no notion of Ewing’s presence until he was standing before her.

  ‘‘Oh! My goodness. You’re back.’’ She put the book aside and stood, looking to see who had shown him in, but the two of them were alone.

  He took both her hands. ‘‘I returned as soon as I heard.’’

  ‘‘Heard? You mean word has traveled all t
he way to Cryer Creek about Harley?’’

  ‘‘No. Father sent me a telegram.’’

  She nodded. ‘‘How long have you been home?’’

  ‘‘About an hour. I went straight to the jailhouse.’’

  ‘‘How is he?’’

  ‘‘Putting up a good front but scared to death underneath.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Ewing.’’

  He squeezed her hands. ‘‘Come sit on the porch with me?’’

  ‘‘Let me grab my cloak.’’

  She had planned to sit in one of the rattan rockers, but Ewing steered her to the porch settee, then settled in next to her.

  ‘‘Tell me what happened,’’ he said.

  She relayed the story, ending with Papa’s all-work-and-no-play determination. They sat knee-to-knee, Ewing’s arm stretched along the back of the two-seater. During the telling, he had captured a tendril of her hair at the nape, coiling it and uncoiling it with his finger.

  ‘‘I think having Harley work at the Vandervoorts’ will be just as good for them as it will be for the boy,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Yes, I had that same thought.’’

  ‘‘He’s not going to like working for the Crooks.’’

  ‘‘That will be good for him, too, though. He needs to learn he can’t charm everyone.’’

  His finger strayed from her hair to her neck, grazing it lightly.

  ‘‘How are you holding up?’’

  Light from the parlor window behind them sliced his features in half, revealing only the right side of his face. The shadowing accentuated the angles and planes of his visage, calling attention to his masculinity.

  The feathered caress of his finger began to coax a response from her that had heretofore been absent. Was it simply because her body now knew what it was missing and any man could rouse a reaction from her? Or was it Ewing himself that prompted this feeling?

  ‘‘It’s been a long day, that’s for certain,’’ she answered.

  ‘‘You rode your bike through town.’’

  She stiffened. ‘‘It was an emergency. I had to get to Harley as soon as I could and I didn’t have time to saddle Cocoa.’’

  ‘‘I heard that you weren’t even wearing a split skirt. That you hiked up your hems, exposing your ankles and calves.’’

  ‘‘Who told you that?’’