Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  “You’ve near run a rut in the middle of Main Street, what with that crazy marching you been doing,” the marshal told him. “You’re no longer in the Army, this ain’t bringing Judge Hess here any quicker, and it ain’t doing Missus Nolan any good. Take it easy, man.”

  Nathan blushed and raised the collar of his coffee-brown coat up for protection from the nippy wind. “I can’t say as I feel anything but sympathy toward Faith.”

  Adam arched a brow, that half smile wiggling his fancy, full mustache. “You sure that’s all you’re feeling? Wouldn’t be wrong if you have feelings for the lady, you know.”

  “That’s not it at all.” And yet, Nathan’s conscience tweaked him. He pushed the pang aside. “She’s had a rough time of it for years now. I saw the sadness in her eyes, a time or two, but there was nothing I could do. She always said she was fine.”

  “The lady’s got starch and gumption,” Adam said, the smile gone. “I understand what you’re saying, but there ain’t much a body can say when she’s the only one around when the church collection box goes missing. I can’t find a thing to say she didn’t do it.”

  “But you haven’t found the box, or the money, or anything that says she did, either, have you?”

  “Other than her presence in the church,” Mr. Peterson said, injecting himself into the conversation. “That’s hard to overcome, Mr. Bartlett. Do believe me, please. I’ve spoken to just about all those who live in Bountiful, trying to find the one person who might have seen someone else go in and out of the church. Or the dog. But nothing so far. No one saw anything.”

  Acid churned his gut again. “I see. But…why? Why would a God-fearing lady do any of it?”

  No one answered.

  No one had to.

  No one could.

  In the distance, a whirl of dust announced the approach of the coach. The judge was nearly there.

  As the coach came closer, Nathan caught an unexpected sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and gaped at the sight of the women of Bountiful, led by Mrs. Alton, marching straight toward him and his companions. Each lady wore a right grim expression, and determination accompanied their steps.

  Shocked into silence, Nathan nudged Adam, who still stood at his side. “This does not look like a friendly, welcome-to-town committee.”

  The lawman’s eyes opened wide. “Not a welcoming party by any measure. They look more like a wagonload of trouble to me.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Eli asked.

  Nathan gestured with a thumb over his shoulder.

  His friend turned. “Oh, no. There’s my wife. We’re in for trouble.”

  Eli grabbed Josh Tucker’s shoulder, and swiveled his friend to face the female flock. The livery owner’s face blanched.

  Reverend Alton took a step toward his wife.

  Mrs. Alton didn’t slow her steady pace.

  “What, pray tell, is all this about?” the man of God asked.

  “This, my dear man,” his wife responded, chin in the air, “is the town’s conscience. We’ve met, discussed the situation, and come to a decision.”

  She looked to her right and to her left, to Olivia and to Addie. The younger women nodded. So did the others in the delegation.

  The gray-haired ringleader nodded right back. “Since there are too many unreasonable men determined to believe the worst of our dear Faith, we’re here to let this judge of yours know that things aren’t merely as you men say they are.”

  Marshal Blair turned to the reverend’s wife, a hopeful light in his gaze. “Have you found a witness to the theft at the church?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Has anyone confessed to tainting Mr. Parham’s box lunch?” he asked.

  Olivia sidled up to Mrs. Alton’s side. “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time—”

  “Most important,” the marshal said, “has anyone uncovered a credible culprit in the murder of Mr. Nolan and the arson at the general store? At this point, the best way to guarantee her innocence is to present a real culprit to the court.”

  Silence descended. Only the hoofbeats of the team pulling the coach into town disturbed the uneasy hush.

  Then, all at once, each woman began to object.

  “There’s no reason—”

  “Not a one of you believes she did it—”

  “Theo Nolan’s guilty of slandering a good woman—”

  “We’ll have that list of names you want soon enough—”

  “You might want to see about a room at the hotel again, Jeremiah Alton.”

  The men hurried to object.

  The coach rolled up to a stop at the scene of the uproar.

  Everyone fell silent again.

  Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want the judge to think of Faith’s case as some silly notion from the foolish residents in a small town. A man had been murdered and a woman stood accused of the crime. She could hang for it. Even for the supposed theft of the mules, if Theo succeeded. Truth was, in these parts, mules were almost as valuable as horses, but only to a man who worked. No one could accuse Theo Nolan of hard work.

  “Heaven help us,” Mr. Folsom, the owner of the hotel, muttered as he joined the men. “Looks like Bountiful’s womenfolk have decided to join that unnatural Susan Anthony woman. Think how impossible they can make life for us if they follow in her misguided footsteps. Let’s hope this trial is over quick, and that Nolan woman is taken care of.”

  Nathan frowned. “I don’t think it’s a matter of ‘taking care of’ her, Mr. Folsom.”

  “Maybe not, Mr. Bartlett, but things in this town are mixed up enough as it is.”

  “Mixed up?” Eli asked.

  “Sure,” the hotel owner replied. “We’re not a real proper town, you know. We’re practically not here yet.”

  “That makes no sense,” Eli responded. “The bank is here, as is the mercantile, the bakery, the milliner, the blacksmith—plenty more. And there are many, many farms and ranches spread out all over the county. Make yourself clear, Folsom. I don’t understand.”

  “See? We’re all standing here, eating dust, waiting for a coach to roll in. If we were a proper town, why, we’d have a railroad and station for folks to wait at for a real train. Thought you said we’d have a spur line in town a while back. Where’s that railroad, Whitman? I only seen a short run of track so far. Not enough for nothing.”

  Eli shook his head. “Give it time. The railroad’s coming to Bountiful, but it takes a great deal of work to lay track. What are you in such a hurry for?”

  The hotel owner spat on the dirt road. “I’m trying to run a business in this sorry little town, but I can’t even get the basics a hotel needs regular-like.”

  “Last I checked,” Nathan offered, “Metcalf’s Mercantile sells all those houseware needs.”

  “Not all I need,” Folsom countered, “and not enough for all the rooms, the tables—you know, linens and dishes and…and—well, all a hotel needs to serve its customers.”

  “A little patience,” Eli said. “Have a little patience, and the spur line will be done. You’ll see.”

  “Patience! It’s not as if I can even bargain with them Nolan brothers anymore, now Roger’s dead and the store’s gone. Even though they charged a pretty penny, I could get some of what I needed from them, now and again…”

  The hotel owner shook his head and continued muttering. As disgusted as he said he was with the town, however, he didn’t budge from the middle of the road, and “ate dust” like all the others as the coach drew to a stop.

  “And now all this nonsense with Mrs. Nolan,” Folsom added. “A judge from Pendleton to deal with a troublemaker. Hope he doesn’t take his time tying up this business.” He gestured toward the furious women. “Look at all what she’s managed to do while jailed up. She’s dangerous, I tell you.”

  “Dangerous?” echoed a rotund gentleman in a black suit and brocade vest as he descended the coach. “Who might be dangerous in this lovely
little town?”

  The boom of his surprisingly loud voice cut through the commotion, capturing the attention of everyone, including the ladies.

  As the group looked around, the sound of running footsteps came from around the corner. “It’s about time ya got ’round to getting here,” Theo called out to the judge. “There’s still some as say she ain’t done nothing, but I tell you, she’s gone and kilt my brother Roger. She burnt down my store, too, stole my mules, and fed another fella her poisoned food.”

  “Theo,” Nathan said, hoping to rein in the out-of-control situation. “You don’t know any of that. There could be any number of explanations to all that’s happened, and that’s why the trial will be held, to hear evidence for and against.”

  Theo crossed his arms and jutted his jaw in belligerence. “Who’s to say you weren’t part of that there woman’s plans all along? A course, ya wanna say she ain’t guilty. But it all’s happened.” He turned and gave the gathered townsfolk a triumphant smirk. “She’s pert near ruined me, near kilt that fella from the bank, and then she went and stole the church’s collection monies, too. Plus, Roger’s dead, burnt to a crisp. Ya still wanna say she ain’t done a thing? Bah!”

  The women let out a chorus of aggrieved cries.

  The men countered with calls of alarm.

  “Well!” exclaimed the judge. “What have I walked into?”

  “Trouble, sir,” a man Nathan didn’t know suggested. “And from the looks of it, that there woman sitting in our jail is cooking up more. She’s already gone and done this”—he gestured toward the angry ladies—“and she’s likely provoking our women further still, to riot, even. It’s time to get this trial done and over with afore she gets all our women…ahem…wearing trousers and running things.”

  Fear struck Nathan, unlike anything he’d had to face since the end of the war. He feared for Faith’s safety. He feared for her life.

  Before he could say a word, Theo scoffed. “Ya mean it’s well past time Faith Nolan hangs!”

  Chapter 17

  As if having to be dragged through the charade of a trial wasn’t ghastly enough in and of itself…

  Faith’s final plateful of indignity was dished up when Bountiful realized no location in town was large enough to hold all the interested onlookers other than the just built and about to be opened Golden Door Saloon.

  Never in her life had Faith thought she’d be forced to set foot in a place like that. Now her future—her life itself—would be decided in a saloon. At least the establishment hadn’t begun its sordid trade as yet. She didn’t know if she would have managed to tolerate the stench of spirits, so reminiscent of her worst moments at Roger’s hand.

  As she was washing up to go out and face that mob of men, the memory of the courageous women of the town, far fewer in number than their menfolk, made her smile. Even the lady from the butcher shop had joined the others in their support. She wondered if they’d attend the trial…in the saloon.

  Disgust made her stomach roil.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Nolan?” Marshal Blair asked.

  Faith jumped at his silent appearance outside her cell. She ran a hand over her neatly combed and pinned hair, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down to a more normal rate. “I can’t imagine what more I could do to prepare myself, Marshal Blair.”

  His keys clanged in the hollow jail as he unlocked her cell. “I’m right sorry to have to do this, but the judge made it clear.”

  Marshal Blair held up a set of handcuffs. The thought of the walk through town filled Faith with horror. As he put them on, the chill of the cold metal sped straight to her heart. Oh, Lord, don’t abandon me now.

  The marshal took her elbow to help her out of the cell, and then to escort her all the way down Main Street to the saloon at the far end of town. To Faith’s amazement, the street was eerily empty. On the one hand, she rejoiced she didn’t have to face anyone while the marshal led her like that, shackled like any common criminal. On the other, she feared she knew where every last one of those respectable residents of Bountiful would be found.

  When they reached the saloon, she found her suspicions confirmed. A number of men milled around the entrance. As soon as they saw her, they hurried inside. At her left, the marshal let out what sounded to her like a most irritated lungful of air.

  She glanced at him.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Nolan.” He shook his head. “I rightly do wish there was something else I could do.”

  “Don’t take it to heart, sir. You didn’t accuse me, and whoever did do the crimes is cunning enough to hide their tracks remarkably well. Most proper folks don’t have anything to hide, so they usually don’t have to learn to cover up things as well.”

  “You’re as gracious as I feel you’re honest, ma’am. And innocent, too. I pray the Good Lord helps us prove it today.”

  “Amen!”

  He chuckled. But on the boardwalk in front of the saloon, outside the door, he stopped and released her arm. With the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he smoothed his ample mustache. He struck her as unwilling to go inside, and, at the sound of the animated prattle within, so was she. When it became abundantly clear they could no longer delay the inevitable, the lawman hitched up his gun belt and sent her a questioning look.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  As they walked inside, everyone grew silent. Faith’s entrance seemed to hold them all in thrall. The room itself felt as charged as the air before a thunderstorm’s first flash of lightning. Her shoes tapped loudly against the fresh-milled boards of the floor. She kept her gaze lowered to those boards, unwilling to see any more condemnation, unwilling to reveal how close she was to tears.

  A quick glance through her lashes revealed Judge Hess in a large, upholstered leather armchair at the farthest end of the room. Before him, someone had placed a table, and two plain wooden chairs were arranged a few feet away on either side. Marshal Blair led her to the one on the right.

  Hand on a Bible, she was sworn in, and the proceedings began. She forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on Judge Hess. The judge started out by questioning Theo, who sat in the witness chair and told the same story he’d been telling from the outset. When he was finished with her brother-in-law, the judge motioned for Mr. Peterson to cross-examine the witness.

  At first, Mr. Peterson took Theo back over the answers he’d given, apparently trying to see if he could rattle the man off his rigid view of events. But then, in a sudden turn, he changed his line of questioning.

  “Tell me, Mr. Nolan,” he said, “who were the gentlemen at the cabin the night your brother died?”

  Theo blinked. “Huh?”

  “How many men were at the cabin that night, and who were they?”

  Faith leaned forward a mite, and saw Theo rub his forehead. He squinched his features in a sure sign of concentration—or at least a mighty effort to concentrate.

  “Um…I think it were three of them, maybe one…two more,” he finally said, shrugging. “It was a while back, you see. I cain’t be expected to recollect what all went on other’n my brother dying and her being the only one there.”

  Mr. Peterson continued. “We can start then with the names of those three you do remember, if you please. Who was there?”

  “Let’s see…” Faith’s brother-in-law muttered. “It were Private Fowler…and I think Sergeant Graves. Oh, and the other feller, the boss out to the fort. Um…I think his name is Robert or Roberts. Cain’t be all so sure.”

  “Were they frequent visitors at the cabin?”

  The silence stretched as Theo sat with his eyes shut tight. As the minutes crawled by, a titter broke out in a corner of the room. Then another from a different quarter. After another bit, the hiss of whispers swished louder and louder from one end to the other of the saloon.

  “Captain!” Theo exploded. “It were that Captain Roberts feller what was there that night. They’re all upstanding soldiers, not killers like her.”

&nbs
p; Someone let out a loud “Harrumph!”

  Nervous laughter burst out.

  Chairs squeaked.

  Mr. Peterson removed his spectacles, wiped the lenses with his white handkerchief, and then gestured toward Theo with the spectacles. “Tell me, if you will, Mr. Nolan. How did three military men come to be so friendly with a simple storekeeper? Were they there to do business? It would seem it was fairly late in the day—well into the night, it would seem—too late, perhaps, for any regular kind of shopping.”

  Theo shifted in his chair and his cheeks reddened. Faith wondered how he would handle explaining how the soldiers had spent time drinking vast quantities of liquor with him and Roger on more than one occasion.

  “Ah…sure!” he cried. “They bought…um…things. That’s it, things for that there post of theirs a coupl’a times.”

  “How late did they leave that night?”

  Theo’s eyes opened wider. “How’m I s’posed to know? I weren’t busy watching a clock the whole time. They left. It were nighttime. You cain’t be saying nothing bad ’bout ’em. They’re fine, decent fighting men, you know.”

  Perhaps they were, but Faith knew they were also military men who’d left their post more than one time to drink into the wee hours of the night with the Nolan brothers. And perhaps they placed an order or two while they were at it.

  “How long after these upstanding soldiers left did you leave?”

  “Um…er…well, I dunno. A while. I maybe could’ve slept a spell.”

  “So you were there, with your brother and Mrs. Nolan. The three of you. Otherwise alone.”

  “Nothing new there. Did it all the time.”

  “But this time, when it was all over, your brother was dead, the store in flames, and your sister-in-law had a wound on her head. You’re the only one who walked off perfectly fine.”

  “Fine!” he yelled. “I ain’t fine. The store’s gone, and I ain’t got no home. That ain’t fine, mister. Oh, and Roger’s still dead.”

  “We all know something happened. What we need to show is exactly what.” Mr. Peterson came within inches of Theo. “Did you and your brother have a falling out that particular night?”