by Ginny Aiken
He fell silent.
Eli waited. Then prompted, “For…”
“I don’t know. Why would he want to kill Faith?”
“He thinks she killed his brother.”
Nathan narrowed his gaze, staring at the door through which Theo had left. “Revenge? You think that’s what the box lunch was all about? And he was willing to poison whatever poor soul bought her box lunch, too?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t be sure, but it almost sounded as though he was about to put the blame on someone else. As though he caught himself before he blurted out a name.”
“Could be.” Nathan met his friend’s gaze. “But who?”
“It would seem Theo Nolan has more talking to do.”
He smiled. “And Adam Blair’s the man to make sure he does.”
After Eli left to return to his office at the bank, Nathan watched the judge make his way between the tables in the hotel dining room.
The men who’d watched the disgrace of a trial congratulated the judge. At least four promised to buy him a drink. One waved a bill to pay for his meal. The mood grew more and more raucous, more partylike, and Nathan felt he was about to get sick.
It seemed everyone but Nathan had forgotten what Theo had revealed.
He called again on his determination. The travesty that had taken place at the saloon—a saloon, for heaven’s sake—could not be left to stand. Especially not now. Nathan waited for the judge to find a table before he stepped further into the restaurant.
When the judge took his seat, Nathan approached. “Are you waiting for someone to join you?”
The judge glanced up. “Not at all. I’d be honored if you did.”
“Thank you.” He slipped his coat onto the back of the scarred oak chair, and pulled up close to the worn table. Only then did he meet the older man’s gaze. “I needed to talk to you about…well, about that.”
“I figured you would.”
Nathan was grateful to see sadness in the man’s eyes. As he pondered his choice of words, the judge went on.
“I’d like you to know, and to let Mrs. Nolan know, how sorry I am about it all.”
For a moment, Nathan sat silent, motionless, frozen in place by the man’s unexpected words. “If that’s the case, then, please answer the one question I have.” He waited until the man’s dark eyes met his. “Why? Why didn’t you stop it when you had the chance?”
Judge Hess rubbed his bald head. Then he leaned his forearms on the table and laced his hands. He met Nathan’s gaze full on. “It was out of my hands, son. You saw the mind-set of the men in the court, especially since they were listening to the dead man’s brother.”
“The dead man’s brother…” He laced his fingers, studied the calluses built up by years of hard work. “Do you know what just happened here? Minutes before you arrived?”
“No. I can’t say I do. Does it have to do with the trial?”
“I’m afraid it does.” Nathan told the judge what he’d pieced together from Theo’s careless words. “I think we can safely say that Faith Nolan’s not guilty of attempted murder. How can that be changed, now the jury’s brought back a verdict on something they didn’t know?”
They discussed options, and the judge assured Nathan he would make sure the change would take place. “It doesn’t change the murder conviction. Just because Theo knows something about the box lunch doesn’t mean she’s been cleared of killing her husband.”
“No, it doesn’t. But you can’t believe she’s guilty of that, either.”
The judge sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Our legal practice is for the jury of her peers to decide. They did.”
“But you’re the judge. You were in charge. They would have had to listen to your decision if you’d dismissed the case when Mr. Peterson asked.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that simple. You’re a smart fellow. You must know what would have happened if I had interfered with the natural course of the trial in any way. We would have had our hands full trying to quiet down a riot. When things get out of control like that…why, a man can’t know what kind of violence can happen. I couldn’t run the risk of them taking the law in their hands.”
Nathan scoffed, the sound full of bitterness. “And you think that verdict’s not a matter of them taking the law in their hands?”
“Are you appealing the verdict?”
“I suppose I am.”
“Then I’ll have to handle the matter as per the law. I’ll see to it that it goes through the proper channels.”
Nathan gestured around the hotel restaurant. “Will that stop all of them? Won’t they ignore the proper channels and the law and throw a rope over a branch and hang her?”
His harsh words brought about the reaction he’d wanted. The judge flinched.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bartlett,” the older man said, his expression sincere. “There wasn’t anything I could do. I couldn’t dismiss the case against Mrs. Nolan. If you’re so distressed, I would suggest you take Marshal Blair’s counsel about the only possible way out of this dreadful mess. He spoke to me about it, you know. If you approach Mr. Nolan, offer to pay off Mrs. Nolan’s debts—”
“That won’t change those guilty verdicts in the murder and the theft.”
“No, but it may calm him enough to allow the appeal process to continue. And there’s always the chance one of you will uncover the identity of the real culprit.”
“The real culprit? Does that mean you have doubts about her guilt?”
“Her guilt?” The judge laughed and shook his head. “I doubt that lady’s killed anything greater than a plump chicken for a Sunday supper.”
Nathan felt another chink appear in the icy prison that had encased his heart when the verdict was announced. He looked around at the celebrating diners. “Do you think…?”
“Start with Mrs. Nolan, son. She seems a sensible lady. I’m sure she’ll see the wisdom in the two of you wedding as soon as possible. The rest should fall into place with time.”
“A body would think so, right?” Nathan laughed. “What would you say if I told you I’m ahead of you, sir? I already proposed. She turned me down. Twice.”
The judge blinked. “You don’t say! Well, well, well. She’s a spunky one, too, isn’t she? Try again, son. Don’t give up. It’s the only hope I see to stop the inevitable.”
“I understand.”
The judge chuckled. “And to wind up with a splendid woman at your side for the rest of your life. I’d say she’s well worth the fight for her heart.”
Nathan nodded slowly. He was coming to that conviction himself.
Now to persuade the lady to say yes.
And to make sure Theo backed down.
Reeling from all the notions buzzing in his mind, Nathan left the hotel and headed toward the Whitman home. While he’d started out opposed to courting Faith on account of all he already had on his plate back at the camp, by now he’d come around to the other side. It struck him as the only chance they had to keep Faith alive.
He only had to convince the stubborn lady of the validity of his plan. He had but a handful of weapons in his arsenal. One of the most powerful ones was the lady of the house where he was staying. He suspected Olivia Whitman would be more than happy to nudge her new friend toward the institution of marriage, since she’d hinted the notion buzzed in her own, very busy, mind.
He mulled over his options, especially how best to approach Olivia and win over the right amount of her help and none of her tendency to “solve problems,” as she called her actions. One of the soldiers who’d testified at the trial, Sergeant Graves, walked past him outside the hotel, arms loaded with a stack of heavy woolen point blankets. The sight of the yellow, red, blue, and green stripes against the creamy white background sparked something to life in his memory, and he watched the fellow march inside.
For a moment he considered what he should do next. Should he follow the man and see what he was up to? Or should he first take a look at t
he wagon tied at the hitching post, an Army insignia clearly visible on one side. Instinct told him to start with the wagon.
As soon as he reached it, his suspicion was confirmed. The vehicle was loaded with a stack of items that looked mighty familiar to him. If he wasn’t much mistaken, he’d found his missing supplies. Saws, tools not normally associated with the military but much needed by loggers and by the occasional construction crews that abounded in the fast-growing Bountiful, filled a corner of the wagon. The two massive iron cooking pots that Woody had asked for rolled loose between a crate of dried beef and a sack of beans. A barrel of nails, which the camp needed for repairs to the buildings on account of the continual damage caused by the strong winds, sat right behind the driver’s seat, and Nathan now knew that if he toted up the number of blankets the sergeant had carried into the hotel, he’d find they matched up to the ones he’d ordered but never received. How had the Army men wound up with his supplies?
He turned to head back in the hotel to get his questions answered and noticed two large barrels on the wooden sidewalk next to the wagon. Whiskey, and lots of it. He wondered how that had come to be loaded up with the other things, especially since he never would order spirits. He didn’t drink, and didn’t allow any at his camp. He couldn’t imagine Captain Roberts allowed it at the fort, either. So why would his sergeant have such a large supply of the stuff?
As he turned toward the hotel, Sergeant Graves walked out. When the man caught sight of him next to the wagon, he stopped, a hunted look on his pale face. With a sudden show of bravado, Sergeant Graves hitched up his trousers and swaggered close.
“What are you wanting with our wagon, there, Bartlett?”
“Not a thing,” he answered, crossing his arms. “I am wanting an answer about my supplies.” He gestured toward the wagon. “My missing supplies.”
The sergeant blinked. “I don’t know nothing about your supplies. You might could talk to Metcalf over to the mercantile about ’em.”
“You can stop that foolishness, Graves.” Nathan dropped his easy stance and voice. “You know I didn’t order and pay for these things at the mercantile here in town. Because they were close, and because they had the mules to get most anything up the mountain, I always ordered from the Nolan brothers. That’s where these supplies came from.”
He shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “I know nothing about the Nolan brothers and their store.”
“You know enough to have gone drinking with them. Could these barrels of spirits have come from them?”
The brown eyes bounced from the door to the hotel to the wagon, from the schoolhouse across the street to the new structure going up right next to it, to the dirt on the road, to the dusty boardwalk—anywhere but at Nathan.
“Dunno where it came from. Captain told me to load it up, give Folsom his things, and get the money Folsom owes the captain. Fellow owes him a whole lot.”
“Folsom owes your captain money.”
Sergeant Graves nodded. “Sure thing. Folsom, the fella who owns the hotel.”
“And the captain sent you to bring all this to Folsom?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I reckon this isn’t the first time you’ve brought him a wagonload.”
Unease rolled off the man in waves. “No, sir.”
“And he’s promised to pay the captain…but hasn’t?”
Graves laughed. “Yeah, he’s hard to squeeze a penny from. He pays, but he’s slow, you know?”
Nathan nodded. He was in the process of coming to know. “Tell you what. Let me give you a hand hauling some of the heaviest stuff inside. I’m sure you can appreciate some help.”
Relief brightened the man’s face. “Sure can appreciate the help. Here. Let’s start with the barrel of nails. They’re the worst of all.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes. “I’ll help you with the nails, but how about we start off with one of the barrels of drink.”
For a long moment, Graves considered Nathan’s words. He shrugged. “Fine by me.”
The two of them picked up the first barrel of whiskey, and together they carried it into the hotel. Eyes fixed on the front desk, Nathan saw the moment Folsom took note of who was coming in with Graves, a heavy barrel of whiskey between the two of them. A moment of panic lingered in the hotel owner’s gaze, but then he stormed out from behind the desk.
“What’s the meaning of this, Bartlett?”
Nathan nodded to Graves. They set the sealed barrel down, its contents sloshing and slapping against the wooden sides. Graves scurried back outside.
“How about you tell me what it really is about? I know where these things are from, and I know where they were meant to go in the first place. Seems a whole lot of folks are handling supplies I ordered a while back. Tell me, Folsom. What’s your part in this?”
“Well, for one thing, that whiskey ain’t mine.” He jutted his chin. “That there goes to the fort. Dunno why Graves woulda brought back in what he just hauled out.”
Nathan had suspected as much. “And how is it you ended up with the exact blankets I ordered from the Nolans? Not to mention every other item that I paid for in advance that never arrived.”
The hotel owner began to fidget, twisting his hands together, glancing around the entry hall of his establishment. “Well, it’s like this…er…Metcalf don’t stock the point blankets regular-like, on account of them costing too much and taking too long to get shipped into town. So I have an…arrangement with the captain out to the fort. He brings me blankets and other supplies I need at the hotel, and I trade ’em for…well, for cheap spirits that I can get easy.”
“That’s a lot of cheap spirits for a fort with only a handful of soldiers stationed there these days. They’ve mostly gone with the Indians to the reservations, haven’t they?”
Folsom shrugged. “Not all of ’em. They’re still rounding up the Indian stragglers. Some of them Indians are still burning down homes after they steal the folks blind, you know. ’Specially after they’ve had too much drink—”
When the hotel owner realized what he’d said, he fell silent and refused to speak another word. He didn’t have to. Nathan thought immediately of Faith’s parents, how they had died. Something dark and evil had been going on. It involved the Nolan brothers, the men at the Army post, and the hotel owner. Faith had clearly had no part in it, other than suffering the consequences, he thought grimly.
He spun on his heel and headed toward the table where he’d last seen the captain. It was time for a blunt talk with the man, preferably in front of Judge Hess, and better yet, with Adam Blair close by.
If that conversation didn’t flow as easily as it should, seeing how much Nathan had learned, well, then, his fists had an itch to help the words come out. The urge shocked him.
And here he’d thought himself so far above violence.
“Lord,” he said under his breath as he strode between tables to the farthest corner of the room. “I gave you my word I wouldn’t again take part in hurting another soul, but I don’t know if I can stop myself today. Help me, Father, to do your will.”
As he approached the captain, his gaze locked on the military man’s face. His prey rose out of his chair, knocking it over in his rush. The clatter brought all conversations in the room to a close.
Nathan didn’t slow down.
When he was only inches away from the crooked wretch, he broke the heavy silence. “I saw your wagon outside. I also had an interesting talk with Mr. Folsom and Sergeant Graves. How about you explain your scheme to the folks here today? Won’t do you much good to try and hide all what you’ve done.”
The judge walked up to Nathan’s right side. “What’s this all about?”
“Nathan?” Adam stopped at his left.
“I have a wagonload of evidence outside, every item I paid Nolan for that never arrived. I also have two witnesses.” Nathan nodded to where Folsom stood beside the sergeant. “I believe we’re looking at our killer, arsonist, maybe even petty thief
. Oh, and attempted killer, too. Seems he tried more than he succeeded, by the grace of God, seeing as Faith is still among us, and Lewis Parham, as well.”
The plump judge’s mild expression was no more, and in its place a thunderous frown lined his hairless brow. “I suggest you best start talking. And someone here needs to get word to the fort near Pendleton, too. We need the Army, and quick.”
The captain looked to Folsom, but from the hotel owner’s expression it was clear he wasn’t about to help. Faced with clear, concrete evidence and the unyielding power of the law, Captain Roberts folded back into his chair, a look of devastation on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.”
“How did you expect things to turn out when you broke the law?” Nathan shook his head. “A lot of laws?”
“There’s only five of us out to the fort,” he said, lending more strength to his words. “The Indians…well, there’s not many, but the ones left, they have no intention of going easy to the reservation. We don’t have the force to deal with many of them…”
“What does that have to do with the whiskey and my supplies?” He wanted more answers, all of them, but Nathan knew it would go better for him if he went one at a time. The captain looked like a broken man.
“They like to drink. When they do enough, they don’t fight back so much.”
The judge glared. “The Army condones breaking the law, and selling liquor to Indians?”
Shame colored Captain Roberts’s face. “They don’t know. That’s why we’d always bought spirits from Nolan…or Folsom here.”
That made a twisted kind of sense, trying to keep their lawless behavior hidden from the Army’s eyes. More of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “You traded my order to Folsom as partial payment for the whiskey you felt you needed.”
The captain nodded, an apologetic expression on his thin features as he glanced at the owner of the hotel. “Nolan didn’t have my whiskey that day. When I met up with my men at the Nolans’ store, I knew I had to talk to him about the delay. The time before, I’d taken the blankets and tools and things, but they weren’t going to help us with the men we had to move to Idaho. We needed the whiskey.”
