Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  She quickly told the lawman about the mules, the broken fencing, and how dear they were to her. She also told him how they’d tracked her down during her escape from the burning building.

  She noticed how his luxurious mustache twitched when she named the mules, evidently stifling a chuckle. Purcell, Mr. Bartlett’s newest lumberjack, didn’t fare as well. He barked out a laugh. His employer’s swift glare made him throttle any further outbreak of humor.

  But when she described Lazy’s antics in detail, especially his tendency toward dawdling, and how he’d lagged behind Maisie and Daisy in the woods, Marshal Blair let out a laugh. Even Mr. Bartlett and Woody joined in.

  She smiled. “They’re quite clever at times. One has to spend time with them and give them a chance. They’re lovely companions.”

  “I must say,” the marshal said when he’d stopped laughing. “It does look as though you’ve bested the Brothers Grimm. They had the Pied Piper of Hamelin, and we have us the Pied Piper of mules.”

  “Huh?” Theo said. “Ain’t seen her with no pies for them mules, even if she does bake a nice pie every oncet in a long while of Sunday suppers. Her apple pies’re right good.” He narrowed his eyes. “I just know I seen her stealing the—er…my mules in the woods. See, I owned half of all’s what is Nolan property. That means them mules is mine, all mine, seeing as how Roger’s dead now. She was stealing them, and I want her arrested.”

  Again, Marshal Blair tried to keep from laughing but failed. “What makes you say Mrs. Nolan was stealing the animals? I only heard about runaway mules.”

  “Why, she was hiding ’em, I tell you. I found her chasin’ ’em off when we was about to see ’em. I reckon she was going to wait with the mules in them woods there until light, thinking no one would find them, woods being so thick and dark. Then she’d run off and I’d never see none of them ever again.”

  How could any reasonable soul take his accusations seriously?

  The marshal ran a hand over his full mustache, then crossed his arms. “See here, now, Theo. I don’t know how I can do something like arrest a lady, you know. It’s right irregular. Especially since I don’t see where she stole anything—”

  “You telling me,” Theo said, his voice menacing, his face contorted with ugly rage, his steps deliberate and threatening as he approached the lawman, “that you’re gonna listen to her? She’s no better’n the girls at that fancy Lillybelle’s Palace down to Pendleton. She done wed Roger for all he had, and she’s now taking off with the most val-u-ble things he has left, now he’s dead and burnt.”

  “Now, Theo—”

  “Don’t you go now-Theoin’ me,” he cut in. “Tell me now, Mister Marshal Blair. You gonna take my word on her crimes, or are you gonna take the word of nothing more’n a preacher-cleaned-a-wedding floozy? You gonna take the word of nothing more’n a—er, a…woman on this here matter of my brother’s death?”

  Chapter 8

  How anyone could come to the conclusion that Faith Nolan had stolen anything simply because she and the mules had run from a raging blaze, Nathan didn’t know. He did know, however, that she didn’t belong in Bountiful’s small jail. Faith was too delicate, too lovely for such rough quarters. He glanced over to where she now sat on the sofa. They’d been arguing over the matter for hours and she looked pale and should be resting, but he didn’t know how she could under the circumstances.

  “Is your mind made up?” he asked Marshal Blair. He couldn’t take one more round with the stubborn Theo either. “You’re going to listen to him and arrest Faith—er…Mrs. Nolan?”

  The lawman raised his hands up near his face in a gesture of frustrated surrender. “Do you hear the”—he cleared his throat loudly—“injured party backing away from any of his claims?”

  Nathan pinned Theo in place with a pointed stare. “I’m afraid he refuses to see reason.”

  “Ain’t so,” Theo objected, aggrieved. “I see every single last reason why the marshal here has to take her in and lock her up. My brother’s dead, ain’t he? And she said herself there weren’t no one but her there and she don’t know that she didn’t kill him. That makes her guilty, don’t it?”

  Nathan turned back to the marshal. “If you do feel the need to take her back to Bountiful while you sort this out, I must insist on at least some allowances, seeing as Faith—er…Mrs. Nolan is…well, a lady, and not some common criminal.”

  “She is a crook, all right,” Theo muttered. “Common or uncommon don’t make no difference to me.”

  Nathan clenched his fists, but didn’t let himself be drawn in another time. “Don’t you agree?” he asked Marshal Blair as if Theo hadn’t spoken.

  Wariness narrowed the marshal’s eyes and furrowed his brow. “What kind of allowances were you thinking, there?”

  “You can’t seriously consider taking a lady like her to the jail. It’s no place for her, no offense meant to you and your deputy.”

  “Right, right. I agree,” the marshal said. “What do you suggest?”

  “That you find someone who’ll take her in, perhaps a family to help her at this time.”

  Blair rubbed his chin. “Know anyone who’d take kindly to housing an accused killer?”

  Nathan sucked in air. “I’d have to think on that a bit.”

  “You see my problem, then.”

  “I never said it would be easy.” He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “I don’t suppose anyone ever told you your job would be, either.”

  “You’re right there, too. No one did. But it doesn’t solve our problem, now, does it?”

  Nathan thought over the residents of the small but growing town of Bountiful. He didn’t imagine Faith had remained especially close to anyone in town after her marriage. She’d once mentioned she rarely made it even to Sunday services. It would seem Roger had kept his wife practically a prisoner in that cabin.

  “We all know that Reverend Alton’s a decent man, right?” he said at last.

  Murmured “Sures” and “Yeses” flew around the room.

  “We can also say no one doubts he’s an honest, upright man of God, right?”

  “’Course he is, Nate,” Woody blurted out. “What are you saying? Are you wanting to ask the preacher-man to turn himself into the lady’s jailer or some such nonsense?”

  “Not exactly, but he and his wife might take in Mrs. Nolan, if only for a spell while this all gets sorted out. Surely Mrs. Alton could use the help, especially with winter setting in.” Everyone knew Mrs. Alton was afflicted with a bad case of rheumatism.

  “Hey!” Theo yelled. “Visiting the preacher ain’t no punishment—”

  “Well, now,” Marshal Blair drawled, a slight smile tipping up the ends of his mustache. “Don’t rightly know if we should be thinking along the lines of any kind of punishment yet. Nothing’s been proven against the lady. She deserves to have herself a jury decide the matter, as the law of the land requires.”

  Theo frowned. “What land you talking about, Marshal?”

  “This great land of ours, Theo. The United States of America.”

  Nathan’s shoulders eased a fraction. He allowed himself a glance at the newly minted widow, and saw an echo of his own relief bloom across her pretty features. The pinched look she’d been wearing for long hours now smoothed into the more familiar beauty of her calm, even features, her forest-green eyes, and her lovely, gentle smile.

  “Well, then,” he said. “Seeing as we’re all agreed, now”—he turned toward the massive cook-stove, where Woody had been stirring something that smelled good and savory—“why don’t you dish up some of what you’ve been making there, Woody? I’m sure everyone’s tired after all the excitement, and at least for myself, I wouldn’t mind an early bedtime.”

  “Meaning we should head out for Bountiful early, as well,” the marshal said.

  “Well, good mornin’, Martha!” Woody muttered. “It’s about time someone showed some sense hereabouts.” He clomped to a cabinet next to the iron stove
, shaking his shaggy head. “Seems like all of them’s gone pure mad, Lord. Whoever’s heard of jailing a lady?”

  Theo pulled out a chair and sat for the first time in a long while. “He don’t know what he’s saying. If she didn’t kill my brother, who did? She done kilt him, set the house alight to hide what she done, and then tried to steal my mules on top.”

  His words gave Nathan pause. Even though he was certain Faith had no more killed Roger Nolan than she’d tried to steal the three mules, Theo’s certainty sent a pang of unease straight to his gut. What if—

  But, no. He couldn’t be such a fool as to let a well-known drunk’s disgraceful claims muddy his mind. He cast a glance at Faith, noted the direct way she met his gaze. She didn’t strike him as a person intent on hiding some dreadful truth.

  No, he couldn’t stomach even the suggestion that Faith might have had a hand in her husband’s death.

  All through that night, images of Roger’s lifeless body and of the raging fire showed her no mercy at all. They returned to haunt her time and time again, no matter how hard she’d tried to banish them, how hard she’d prayed for the Father’s peace to fill the remaining hours of her night. She heard the crackle of the flames, smelled the stench of burning wood, felt the intensifying heat.

  Would she suffer from these visions the rest of her life? However long that might prove to be?

  True, she hadn’t loved Roger, but she’d never wanted to see him harmed, and the sight of his dead body had hit her hard. Horror and grief and sadness filled her once again, tears burned her eyes. The loss of what might have been ached in her heart, and the tears fell.

  Roger was dead. What a lost life he’d led.

  If she, who had been hurt so badly by her husband, had never wanted him dead, then who could have done such a hideous thing? The Army men had left; she’d heard them herself. And Roger hadn’t begun the argument until he was certain Theo had made it a fair bit down the trail to town. Roger always made sure no one, not even his brother, was near enough to witness their confrontations.

  At no point could she have done something so vicious as to strike Roger’s head with an iron poker. The notion purely turned her stomach. To hurt someone…to end a life…

  How could Theo think that kind of evil lay in her heart? He’d only ever taken notice of her when he’d wanted food or more coffee, so why had he become so dogged about her supposed guilt? If nothing else, he did know she had never done him or Roger any harm, and goodness, she’d had ample opportunities. She could have poisoned them any number of times, if that had been her intent. Could grief at the loss of his brother blind him to such a degree? Faith didn’t think she’d acted that foolishly when Mama and Papa died.

  As the light before dawn woke her, she shook off her grief and melancholy with strong determination. She washed with the water, soap, and a piece of toweling provided on the washstand, then dressed. Now that she was ready for the day, she couldn’t wait to start down the mountain and then over the road to Bountiful. Anything was better than being the only woman in the camp’s world of men.

  Well, to be fair, neither Woody nor Mr. Bartlett seemed too quick to condemn her. And the marshal struck her as trying to keep a level head in the midst of the situation. Still and all, a lone woman in a crowd of men always stuck out. And Faith didn’t much care for the way that kind of visibility made her feel.

  More than one of Mr. Bartlett’s loggers looked at her in ways that made her uneasy. She’d been unable to escape that kind of scrutiny when Woody had served the evening meal the night before. The men had inspired the wildest urge in her to run. After all, she no longer benefited from the protection her married state had provided.

  After she wove her hair into two skeins and coiled them into a coronet at the top of her head, she slipped out of Mr. Bartlett’s room. A few feet away, Woody stood before the stove, a large wooden spoon in one hand and a folded red-and-white towel in the other. A wave of heat and delightful aromas swelled toward her from the hot stove.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “’Morning, ma’am. Did you get yourself some rest last night or were you too worked up to do more than wrassle your covers?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Sleep didn’t come until late and not too easy.”

  “Are ya ready to face the folks out to Bountiful?”

  “You don’t think they’re likely to listen to Theo, do you?”

  The old logger gave the fragrant contents of the large skillet another stir with his spoon before he turned to face her. “Wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Missus Nolan—”

  “Please.” She held up a hand, stopping him. “Now that Roger’s gone, please don’t call me that. I’d be honored if you’d call me Faith.”

  His wiry gray mustache gave a wiggle, and she thought it signified a smile. “I can sure do that, ma’am—er…Miss Faith. I do understand. I most certainly can. Do that, I mean. For you.”

  It hadn’t been a smile, not when his words had come out in such a tight, choppy way. It seemed he’d been trying to restrain his anger, anger perhaps toward Roger for what he had done to her.

  He knew.

  It appeared Woody knew how badly Roger had hurt her. Shame sent fingers of heat into Faith’s cheeks. She didn’t think she could bear the pity.

  “I would like to go see the mules.” She turned, then stopped partway to the door, but didn’t face him. “I wouldn’t want to head out and have Theo think again I was trying to make off with them. I don’t see anyone else up yet who could vouch for me.”

  “Oh, fer goodness’ sake!” He shook his head. “Some fools are so blind they can’t see the tips of their toes but for their noses. You go right on ahead, Miss Faith. I know you won’t be running nowhere. Not if you never did run from Nolan hisself during all them years. You are the sort who do what you say you will, aren’t you? Even when it ain’t so easy a thing to do.”

  She turned and drew a trembling breath. “Mama and Papa put a lot of stock in saying what you meant, and then expected you to follow through with the word you’d given. This moment…well, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d want to put myself into a worse position than the one I find myself in. A fugitive straight off is guilty of a crime. My only crime is that I married Roger Nolan.”

  “Amen to that, ma’am.”

  His enthusiasm made her smile ruefully. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll be waking up the men in…oh, how ’bout half an hour or so? They’ll be hungry, so I figger I better be dishing right up oncet I do. I’m not seeing my way clear to you leaving us without a meal in yer belly, either, so don’t go telling me none of that ‘I’m not hungry’ nonsense.”

  Faith laughed outright then. “How can you know me so well? We only met yesterday.”

  “When a body’s knocked around God’s Earth long’s I have, something’s gotta have rubbed off on him along the way. You get to learn to read folks real good when you have to count on ’em. If you can’t know who’s right and who’s wrong, why, then you sure ain’t gonna be living long, are you? Not out here on this land, you’re not.”

  She started walking toward the cabin door again. “And you think you know which I am—the right or wrong kind?”

  “It ain’t nothing like me thinking I know what you’re like, Miss Faith. I know you’re the right kind. You didn’t hurt that Roger Nolan any more’n I did.”

  At the door, she turned a bit, arched a brow. “And what about the mules?”

  He stared for a second…two. “That there’s a mite harder to read, ain’t it? But if I was the betting sort of fella—and I’ll have you know that I’m not, never have been, neither—I’d have to say you haven’t taken half of what the Nolans owe you for all the grief they’ve piled on ya these long years. Hmph! Even three mules don’t add up near to that. ’Sides, them mules love you just as much as you fancy them. And you didn’t take them nowhere, did you, now? I figger Nathan had it right. I recollect the day he came home
so late at night saying he spent all that time helping Roger round ’em up. Did Roger ever fix that fence what Nathan said was broke?”

  She shook her head.

  “There you have it then, Miss Faith. They ran away, sure as sure is.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you, Woody. I appreciate your trust. I know how dear trust can be, and how hard it is to come by. I won’t betray it.”

  “I know you won’t.” His voice quivered with emotion, but as fast as she took notice of it, he cleared his throat. “Now go on out there to your critters. I was them, I’d sure be missing you right about now.”

  The strangest urge to hurry over and hug the crusty gentleman filled her, but she knew she’d embarrass him if she did any such emotional thing. Instead, she hurried out the door and across the clearing. The rosy tones of dawn and the crisp, evergreen-scented breeze made the day feel fresh and new and full of promise.

  She hoped it didn’t bring her any more trouble. After all, how much could a body bear before she broke under the weight of it all?

  The Good Lord only gives you as much as He’s sure to help you to bear, Mama used to say. Some days it proved mighty hard to believe.

  As she let herself inside the lean-to shed at the back of the largest building in the camp clearing, a trio of greetings rang out. The mules’ welcome warmed her heart. Faith practically ran to Maisie, threw her arms around the sweet girl’s neck, and finally let the floodwaters fall.

  She wept in huge, harsh sobs. She cried for her situation, for the nightmare her marriage had been, for the loss of loving parents who’d wanted nothing but the best in life for their only daughter, and died working to give it to her. She wept for her lost illusions, for her dreams of a loving husband and dear little ones at her knee, for her uncertain future, for all those times when Roger had hurt her but she hadn’t let herself cry.

  Maisie’s bristly coat absorbed the moisture, leaving no trace behind. When her misery was spent, she went to the other two, and spent a moment with each. She wondered if they were the reason she hadn’t curled up into a lump of hurt months and months ago, and…well, she didn’t know what followed that notion, what she would have done. She merely knew the three sweet animals had saved her from madness.