She shook her head. “I really should get back.”
“Nonsense. We’ll call this an employer-employee business conference, and we really do have things to discuss.”
“I guess I could for a minute.” Honor sat down on the cloth.
Jeth took a place across from her. “Are you all right, Miss McCall? You look a little upset.”
Honor forced a smile, trying to push away all thoughts of Lucas and the brand on Elmer’s mare. “I’m just tired, I guess. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good.” He gave a pained expression mixed with amusement and moved to a different corner of the cloth. “This ground is colder and harder than I expected.”
“You’re right.” Honor giggled. “It is.”
She reached for the tin and opened the lid. The aroma of fried chicken rose in the air. She placed a plate in front of Jeth and handed him the chicken.
“I hate making decisions,” she said offhandedly. “You choose. White meat or dark?”
“Dark.” Jeth grabbed a drumstick. “This looks good.” He took a bite and swallowed. “Tastes good, too. So you hate making decisions, huh?”
Honor blushed. “Maybe hate isn’t the right word.”
“My late wife, Selma, disliked making decisions, too.”
Honor leaned forward. Jeth had never really talked about his wife.
“I thought Selma was never going to give me an answer after I asked her to be my wife. She wouldn’t say ‘yes’ but she wouldn’t say ‘no,’ either.”
“What caused her to finally agree to marry you?”
“I challenged her.” He grinned. “I said, give me an answer now, or forget I ever asked.”
“And then?”
“She said yes.”
Honor smiled. “And then the two of you got married and lived happily ever….” Honor gazed down at the tin of chicken. If only she could retract her words. “I’m sorry. I should never have said that. Please forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you. Don’t think of it again. And we did live happily until…until the day she died.”
His blue eyes looked sad. She wished the subject of his late wife hadn’t come up. Maybe it would be best if she went back to the house before she said something worse.
She got to her feet, brushing a wet clump of dirt from the skirt of her blue wool dress. “I have to go. I have things to do, and I better get started.” Then she realized that Jeth hadn’t mentioned what he wanted to discuss. “We haven’t had our business discussion yet, have we.”
“I would love to have you stay,” he said, “but it’s cold out here. If you need to go on, I’ll understand. We can discuss business later. And don’t worry about the cloth and the food tray. I’ll bring them up to the house when I finish for the day.”
As Honor walked back to the house, she thought about Jeth and his late wife. He must have loved Selma very much, and she must have been devoted to him. And why not? Jeth was a man any woman would be proud to call her husband.
Honor swept through the kitchen and down the hall to Elmer’s door. She knocked, and when nobody answered, she peeked inside.
Elmer Coffee lay in an oversize bed, snoring. A black bucket filled with hot coals had been placed nearby. Water boiled from a pot on top of the coals, and a thin layer of steam filled the room.
Honor backed out and closed the door. She would talk to Elmer when he was awake and feeling better.
She went into Mrs. Peters’s room at the head of the stairs to clean. While sweeping, Honor got down on her hands and knees and reached for whatever dust might be under the bed. She hit something hard. Dragging the object, she discovered a six-shooter and a box of bullets.
She wondered why Jeth’s mother felt the need to keep a firearm under her bed. Were those in the boardinghouse in danger of some kind? Or was this simply a good place to keep a gun?
The pistol in her hands felt heavy. That didn’t surprise Honor. She’d been around guns since she was a little girl and knew how to use them. After cleaning under the bed, she slid the six-shooter and the box of bullets back where she had found them.
As she mopped the hall outside Elmer’s door, waiting for him to wake up, she still wondered about the pistol. Should she mentioned the gun to Jeth? Question him about it? She shook her head. No, she would say nothing.
She was thinking about Jeth’s sky-blue eyes—flecked with a deeper blue she’d noticed—and how they crinkled at the edges when he smiled, and suddenly, an image of Lucas’s blue eyes came to her. Honor flinched. Stepping back, she tripped over the mop bucket, stumbled and almost fell. The metal pail banged the pine floor, the sound reverberating around her. Water spilled, spreading across the hall.
“Mrs. Grant,” Elmer called from his bedroom. “Is that you out there?”
“No, sir, it’s me, Honor McCall. I’ll be right in, as soon as I clean up this mess.”
Chapter Twelve
Honor put the mop in the bucket and pushed it beside the paneled wall near Elmer Coffee’s room. Was Coffee really his name? Or had he acquired the name because he enjoyed drinking that particular beverage?
She’d thought a lot about what she would say to Elmer and still hadn’t come up with a plan. She hoped an idea would pop into her mind once she saw him face-to-face.
Honor turned the white porcelain knob. The door squeaked. Elmer lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. What was it about this man? Being near him always made her wish she was in another place.
She opened the door wide, the way a proper young woman should. “Sir,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
Elmer flinched. In the dim light coming from the window near his bed, he jerked around, glaring at her. “You ain’t Mrs. Grant. I thought she was my nurse.”
“She is. But Mrs. Grant went into town to buy groceries. I thought I would look in on you to see if you wanted anything.”
“I need Mrs. Grant.” He coughed. “Tell her—” He coughed again. “Tell her to come in here as soon as she gets back.”
Honor nodded. Then she just stood there, wondering how to say what she needed to say. “I—I saw your horse a while ago.”
“She ain’t hurt or nothing, is she?”
“Your mare’s fine. And there’s plenty of hay and grain in the pen with her.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “What about water?”
“The water trough’s full to the top.”
His face relaxed. “That’s good.”
Honor cleared her throat. “The brand on that gray mare of yours looks different from any I’ve seen around here. Did she come from somewhere else?”
“I bought her from a man what was on the road from Falling Rock.” His voice sounded gravelly, and he coughed several more times into his hand. “Said he was going to Pine Falls.”
“Pine Falls? That’s a long ride from Falling Rock. Why do you think he was going there?”
“He said he come a-lookin’ for somebody. His niece.”
Honor stiffened. Lucas. She tried to swallow but couldn’t.
“Why was he looking for his niece?” Honor managed to ask at last. “Was she lost?”
Elmer shook his head. “Runned away. That’s what Mr. Scythe done said. He was hoping to bring her back home.”
“So how did you end up with his gray mare?”
He glared at her. “What business is it of yours, missy?”
Missy. Lucas had called her by that name. She forced herself to swallow, then lifted her head. “I just wondered,” she said calmly. “That’s all.”
“Well, since you’re itchin’ to know, he said his mare was tired and couldn’t make it all the way to Pine Falls in her condition. So he sold his mare to me and went right to the depot in Hearten and bought a ticket on the stage. Why, he was done gone in less than an hour.”
“You didn’t tell him where you live, did you?”
His eyes were full of suspicion. “Matter of fact, I did,” he said. “What’s it to ya?”
Honor clenched
her hands into fists to hold in her anger. “Well.” Her breath caught; she could hardly say more. “It’s like I said. I was curious, that’s all.”
“Curious, huh? Well, it ain’t any of your concern, but the mare was done bred when I bought her. Mr. Scythe wants to see the colt after the mare foals. Maybe buy it.”
“You—You mean he’ll be coming here?” Honor felt the blood drain from her face. “To—to the boardinghouse?”
“Reckon so.”
A wave of terror swept over her. Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. She needed to control her emotions—at least enough so that Elmer wouldn’t notice.
“The mare should foal by Christmas,” Elmer explained. “And Mr. Scythe said he’ll be back this way to see the colt after the first of the year.”
Honor swallowed, hoping to dissolve the bitter taste in her mouth. Lucas was coming back to Hearten around New Year’s Day. She must be gone before then.
Jeth had gathered the tablecloth and all the picnic gear and carried it inside before going back to work. In the kitchen, he’d looked for Honor. Then he heard her talking to Elmer and assumed she must be busy.
Walking back toward the field behind the boardinghouse, he glanced at Elmer’s gray mare. Honor had looked toward the horse pens several times while they were talking earlier. He wondered what she had found so fascinating and why she had seemed nervous. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her—kiss her—until all her fears disappeared.
Was he beginning to care more for Honor than he should? He knew she wasn’t the kind of woman the Bible said he should be looking for as a future wife. And yet…
Most merciful Father, he prayed. I know You want me to help this young woman, but You also know that she pleases me greatly. I would like to make her my wife, Lord. If there is any way that my desire for her can result in Christian marriage, let it be, I pray. In any case, not my will but Thy will be done.
Lucas had inspected the chest of drawers in his room a dozen times, searching for the pearls. On Wednesday afternoon, he tried again. This time, he threw the four drawers upside down on the floor. But when he looked under them, the pearls were still not there. He pushed one of the oak drawers out of the way with the toe of his boot. It landed in a nest of dirty clothes.
Lucas had been unable to find the pearls, and he hadn’t found a job to replace the one he had lost. More and more now he thought about the Kline’s silver coffeepot and tray—the one they had gotten as a wedding gift. How much might those items be worth?
Lucas had expenses. Besides robbing people, what else could he do to get the money he needed? How could he survive without at least a pint of whiskey every day?
He reached under his bed for a bottle and his hand touched something soft. More dirty clothes. He cursed when he realized his last bottle was gone. At least he had what was left in his flask.
The mere thought of liquor made him thirsty. His hands were shaking again as he reached for the flask on the table by the bed and drank.
One swallow was all he could have now. Gotta make it last, he thought. He put the flask back on the table.
Stealing from the pastor and his wife no longer seemed like a dim possibility. It appeared to be his only alternative.
Through a man Lucas had met at the saloon, he’d lined up a buyer, a Mr. Scott. All that remained was to go in and take the silver objects without getting caught. The Klines would be attending church tonight, Lucas knew. There’d never be a more perfect time.
That evening, Lucas stood behind a tree outside the Klines’ home, waiting until they left for the Wednesday evening service. At last, the couple walked out their front door, looking like shadows in the semidarkness.
“Did you remember to lock the door?” Lucas heard Mrs. Kline ask.
“Sorry, dear. I guess I forgot again.” Reverend Kline turned back toward the door. “We don’t have much time. The service starts in thirty minutes, and I still need to look over my sermon. Do you really think locking up is necessary?”
“Yes, I do. The sheriff said locking doors prevents crimes. We certainly wouldn’t want to make it easier for a sinner to sin, would we?”
“No, of course not.” He started up the steps to the front porch, then glanced back. “I won’t be long, and then we can be on our way.”
With shaky fingers, Lucas pulled the flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and took a swallow. He wanted more, but he restrained himself. When he put the container back in his pocket, his hand touched the cork from one of his bottles of whiskey. Lucas always kept a cork or two in his pocket for luck—a habit he’d learned from his pappy. He felt safe knowing the corks were there.
The minister locked the door and turned toward his wife. The couple moved through the yard gate and down the street toward the church on the corner.
As soon as they were out of sight, Lucas went around to the back of the house, opened a window and crawled inside.
The house was dark. He dared not light a lamp. Lucas took one step and his foot hit a solid object. He tripped and fell forward, landing on the hard floor. He wasn’t hurt, but he’d made a loud bang. The neighbors might have heard something.
Maybe he would light a lamp after all. The soft glow shouldn’t invite much attention. It was better than stumbling around in the dark.
All at once, a Scripture verse from his childhood came into his mind. Something about letting your light so shine before men that they may see your good works. He chuckled. Good works. He pulled a match from his pocket. Yes, stealing was wrong, but for him it was necessary.
He felt around for the table where he remembered seeing an oil lamp. After more fumbling, he found it. He lit the lamp and grabbed its base and then moved from room to room with the light, looking for the silver objects.
Thirty minutes later, he had found what he had come for, plus a few other expensive-looking items. He wrapped them all in a bed sheet, carried the load through the window and placed the bundle beside the outer wall of the house. Then he went back inside to put out the lamp.
Outside again, he lifted the sack of stolen goods over his shoulder and hurried back to his room.
Around midnight, a loud rap sounded at Lucas’s door. Mr. Scott had arrived, as expected.
Holding a lamp in one hand, Lucas opened the door, and the man stepped inside. Mr. Scott was tall and fearsome looking, with a bald head and a missing front tooth.
“S-sit there,” Lucas stammered, indicating the only chair.
“I’d rather stand. What have you got for me?”
“Silver and a little gold.” Lucas opened the sheet and spread out the items on the bed. He picked up the coffeepot and shone the lamp so Scott could see the gold inside. “This is genuine silver and the pot is lined with gold. The spoons, forks and knives are silver, too. How much will you give me for the pot and the tray?”
“Throw in the silverware, and I’ll give you ten dollars.”
“I expected more.”
“That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
“I…I guess I’ll take it.”
“That’s a smart answer.” Mr. Scott pulled out a money clip and started counting out the bills. He put ten dollars in Lucas’s hand, then wrapped the sheet around the items again and cinched the bundle into a makeshift sack. “Let me know when you have more to sell.”
“I will.”
Mr. Scott threw the sack over his shoulder and started to walk off.
“One more thing—” Lucas said.
“Yes.” The man half turned, displaying his broad chest at an angle.
Lucas felt intimidated, but he refused to stop now.
“I’m here in Pine Falls looking for my niece, Miss Honor McCall, and ain’t been able to find her.” Lucas cleared his throat. “I think she took the stage some weeks back—the one what was robbed between here and Falling Rock. I need to find the driver of that stage and the man who rode shotgun. Mr. Carter down at the depot won’t tell me nothing. Can you get me the
names of everyone on that stage and where they live? I need to know in the worst way.”
“I can find out, all right, but it’ll cost ya. Are you willing to pay?”
“I’m willin’, but ain’t able right now. I’m still lookin’ for a job, you see.”
“As soon as you find one or steal more things to sell, let me know. I’ll have information for you by then. And I sure enjoyed doing business with you.”
After Mr. Scott went out the door, Lucas moved toward the table where he’d left his flask. His boot hit something, and he shone his light on the floor. Harriet’s Bible lay where he’d dropped it.
He never intended to visit another church and doubted he would be able to sell the Bible anywhere else. For sure, not to Mr. Scott. Still, he’d keep trying. He put the Bible on the table next to his flask, then opened the flask and drank. He’d earned the right to finish what was left. After all, he now had the money to buy more.
Ten dollars. As he thought about it, he realized his success as a robber was not as sweet as he had believed it would be. He wondered what the Bible meant by letting folks see your good works. The only works Lucas showed were bad ones.
Honor crossed the cold, windy field leading from the boardinghouse to the church. Her brown snow boots crunched on the icy ground, and she pulled her coat tightly around her.
Jeth had delivered her bundles and boxes to the church for the country fair soon after daylight, when he drove there in the wagon. All she had to carry was her purse and a flour sack containing a few other items she would need.
“The church sponsors a country fair to raise money for the orphanage every year,” Belinda Grant had explained a week ago, after breakfast one morning. “Everybody in Hearten is invited. This year’s theme is Winter Wonders.”
Molly Noble Bull Page 15
