Katherine

by S. A. Glenn

  “Yeah, Sam, let’s keep that visit between us. We mustn’t tell anyone, okay!”

  “Okay! Let’s seal the deal with a kiss, my smart, beautiful lady.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Standing at the schoolhouse’s entrance in her modern burgundy suit, Katherine waited in the early, balmy Tuesday morning for the superintendent. She was anxious to talk with him about filling Emily Cromwell’s position. Though she knew she might be overstepping due bounds, she also grasped that murder or not, the children needed a teacher.

  Fidgeting with her hair, she observed a stagecoach with two brown horses with white-socks markings pulling up. The driver drew back on the reins, bringing the ride to a halt. Setting the break, he sprang off of the seat, making a solid landing onto the damp-soiled road. He twisted the door handle and opened the hatch. A man with a dark brown suit and hat, tan vest, black tie, and glasses emerged. He stepped out, straightened his attire, tipped the driver and made his way up the path toward Katherine. Katherine put on a sunny smile as they made eye contract. She was nervous, not sure if she should wait for him, or meet him halfway to introduce herself.

  “Good morning, young lady,” said the man with his gentle voice and easy going nature, removing his hat as he hiked up the steps. “What a beautiful day it is turning out to be. My name is Henery Ruskin.”

  “I am Katherine Jones. And indeed it is a beautiful morning. Do you happen to be the superintendent of the school?”

  “Yes, I am. How may I help you?” he inquired.

  “I am here to extend my condolence for Emily Cromwell. She was a wonderful person. What a misfortune it was what had happened to her. It makes me sick to my stomach that a person’s life was worth taking simply to possess some shiny rocks and/or metallic elements. I am so sorry about what transpired.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Jones, for the kind words about her. And yes, it was an appalling crime. I hope the one responsible is caught and dealt with in accordance with the law.” He gave a nod of seriousness.

  “As do I!” she agreed, returning a humorless, downward jerk of her head. “Please, forgive me, Mr. Ruskin. I do not wish to be presumptuous. But I am here to offer my services as a teacher. I worked here three weeks as a substitute for—”

  “That is where I have heard your name before!” he snapped his fingers. “Emily spoke highly of you, said that you are very intelligent, and that the kids love you. I remember now. It is splendid to meet you, Ms. Jones!”

  “I would love to continue teaching here, Mr. Ruskin,” she shared, ecstatic about the benevolent words spoken about her.

  “Oh, I am terribly sorry about the instance of confusion with your pay. It was truly a misunderstanding. I would have paid you anyway, but I simply do not have the funds. Please, forgive me, Ms. Jones.”

  “But of course, Mr. Ruskin, I completely understand.”

  “I guess it is settled, then… You have a job here. When can you start?”

  “Right now, Mr. Ruskin,” she told him with glee.

  “How about Thursday, my eager teacher; there is not any school today.”

  “How embarrassing,” she admitted, covering her eyes. “I am so excited to have my dream come true that I forgot that there is not any school today.”

  “It is quite alright. I love your enthusiasm, Ms. Jones.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The following Sunday after the eulogy, Wranglerites gathered inside the church, attending Emily Cromwell’s funeral. She lay within her opened casket with her arms crossed over her chest and a peaceful look upon her ghost-like face. A beautiful yellow dress covered her lifeless body; a light pink scarf hid the deep, deadly slash running across her delicate neck. Some viewers took notice of the concealed area; others, only of her face.

  Lots of flowers and white flaming candles brightened up the dispiriting atmosphere. Though the murderous passing had the onlookers greatly saddened, and some of Emily’s pupils crying, the setting and God’s words spoken through Reverend Papanikolaou had helped all make their peace.

  Everyone made their way out back to the picnic tables loaded with fruit, vegetables, bread, nuts, smoked sausages, jerky, pies; water, tea, and lemonade. The children ran around playing, giving off a bit of laughter every so often. The adults stood around wearing black or shades of gray, talking among themselves in groups. One group gossiped explicitly about anything to do with Emily Cromwell.

  “I heard she was married to that Englishman,” blabbed Doris, fanning her face. “The one who struck gold three years ago or so… but that he left her for another gal.”

  “I found out that that gal was married, as well, and that she and the Englishman were with child together,” hinted Edith, shaking her head with judgment.

  “Oh, my stars!” exclaimed Pearl, covering her mouth in shock. “You know what I heard?” she asked.

  “What, Pearl?” uttered Doris and Edith in unison, with looks of disbelief on their faces.

  Pearl glanced from side to side, leaned in closer and motioned for the others to crowd in. With a quiet and serious voice, she circulated, “I heard that Emily Cromwell was murdered because she owed money to someone, that there were two people involved in the atrocity.”

  “Where did you hear this absurdness, Pearl?” asked Austin, the fourth member of the compact group, shaking his head in absolute doubt.

  “From that man right there!” She pointed out at an older gent standing at attention by himself in the shade of an enormous elm.

  Everyone in the circle directed their attention toward the stranger, interrogating him with their watchful eyes.

  “Who is that man?” asked Doris, squinting.

  “I’ve never seen him before,” stated Edith, bringing her lorgnette up to her athirst eyes.

  Austin shrugged his shoulders, displayed his hands, palms up, and shook his head side to side. “Nor have I,” he disclosed.

  “He came in driving a fancy carriage. He’s with that handsome soul,” stated Pearl, indicating his position with her wrinkled, old finger.

  Sara, Katherine, Samuel and Reverend Papanikolaou were gathered under the gazebo, talking about the Lord and his reasons for allowing tragedies to occur. As the reverend ended his thoughts, the handsome man that Pearl pointed out, strolled up the steps. They all took notice of the fashionable fellow; the three of them welcoming him with warm smiles; but Samuel only exhibited careful eyes.

  “Bonjour,” said the fellow with a noteworthy French accent. Entering their circle and removing his hat, he resumed. “Sorry for the intrusion—”

  “Not at all. Please, join us, my friend. I’m Reverend Papanikolaou. Everyone calls me Papa.”

  “That is most kind of you, Papa,” he answered, taking his hand. With a humble coolness, he removed his black moire chapeau, exposing his neatly cared-for, slicked-back, dark hair. “Please, allow me to introduce myself: The name is Pierre… Louis Cory Pierre.”

  “And these fine folks are Mss. Sara and Katherine Jones, and Mr. Samuel Lee, Katherine’s boyfriend,” said the reverend, extending the greetings.

  “Ah! Matâmes Jones. What beautiful sisters you two are,” he expressed, taking Sara’s hand, meeting it with a kiss.

  “I’m her mother!” Sara explained with a grin, curtsying at his charm.

  “No! But of course not! You look much too young for that. Please, Madame, pardon wa for the error.”

  “No harm done, Mr. Pierre,” replied Sara.

  “And Mademoiselle Jones, the daughter. I see where you have captured your comeliness,” he complimented her, looking over at Sara, winking with an artful smile.

  “Delighted to meet you, Monsieur Pierre,” said Katherine, curtsying.

  “Ahhh! Palet vu France?” he inquired.

  “I speak a little bit of French, Monsieur Pierre.”

  “And this if y
our beau, Monsieur Samuel Lee!” affirmed Monsieur Pierre, gazing upon Katherine with a steady stare. Merging with Samuel, he stated, “What a stunning young man—a lady’s man. I see why this demoiselle is at your side, Monsieur Lee. It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” he declared, displaying his hand.

  Samuel wasn’t sure about what all the man had said, hearing English and French words he did not understand. Feeling uneasy about the overwhelming friendliness of the newcomer, he became suspicious of him. Meeting Monsieur Pierre’s handshake with a smile so that the others don’t think of him as rude, he said, “Good to meet you, sir.”

  Doris and the rest had been watching Monsieur Pierre and the others mingle, wondering what they were talking about. Being bored with that group, they focused back on themselves.

  “You know,” said Doris, breaking their nosey concentration, “that Katherine, Sara’s girl; well, she’s been away a long time. What do we really know about her? Things were fine here in Wrangler till she showed up! Isn’t it strange how she worked at the school, teaching for a few weeks, then—?”

  “I didn’t’ know she was doing that,” interrupted Edith.

  “Yeah, she was,” answered Doris.

  “Tutoring, I believe,” Austin stated. “I heard Jed say something about his boy and a couple of other younglings needing help with their academics; said Sara’s girl was taking on the chore. Jed’s boy told him she’s real nice.”

  “—but anyway,” continued Doris. “Then when Emily Cromwell returned she’s murdered.”

  “Oh, Doris!” replied Austin. “You can’t possibly consider that Sara’s dau—”

  “And guess who the new teacher is?” Doris replied, cutting in on Austin. “Katherine Jones!” she answered herself.

  “Oh, pooh, Doris!” stated Austin. “Don’t you be starting any foolish rumors, woman!”

  “I don’t knooowww,” stated Edith with a glazed-over look in her eyes. “We need to keep an eye on that Katherine.”

  Monsieur Pierre continued his cordiality with the collective, changing his cheerful mood into a dour one. “This démarche against Emily is quite troubling!” he exclaimed, taking a seat on the bench and lowering his head in despair. “How could someone commit such a vile feat, Papa?”

  “How did you know Emily?” questioned the reverend, sitting next to the grieving man, placing his hand upon his shoulder.

  “She and I were—how should I say—an item,” he gently explained with a sultry flash in his uneasy eyes. “She and I shared tele maque together. I miss that emotionally appealing liaison with her. That insouciant way that she conducted herself gave me a new hope. She had such a joie de vivre. Her eagerness was refreshing. Oh, Papa! These distasteful emotions of mine are overwhelming. What must I do in order to keep from losing myself to bitterness?” He peered up at Reverend Papanikolaou; a tear ran down his cheek and dripped off of his chin onto the redwood flooring, instantly absorbing into the thirsty wood.

  “My son, all hope is not lost. There is a greater one. May I share it with you in a short prayer? I can recite it in French, if you wish.”

  “Please, Papa,” he begged, pulling out a handkerchief from a pocket within his frock coat, dabbing his runny nose.

  “Very well.” The reverend grabbed his bible, flipped through it, then stopped on the fifth page. Clearing his throat he began reading a passage in French. “Car Dieu à aime le monde qu’il a donné son Fils unique, afin que quiconque croit en lui ne périsse point, mais qu’il ait la vie éternelle.”

  “Merci beaucou, Papa,” he said, cracking a smile. “So whosoever believes in Jesus Christ shall not parish, but have everlasting life. I must remember that. It is hard sometimes, Papa.”

  “Have faith, Monsieur Pierre.”

  Samuel stared at Monsieur Pierre’s nearly evaporated tear on the floor.

  “So how long did you know Emily, Monsieur Pierre?” inquired Sara, sitting on the other side of him and gazing upon him with compassionate, blue eyes.

  “We met one year ago, Madame Jones, at a charming pied-à-terre on the plateau—what a beautiful hotel it was, with a spectacular view of the countyside. She was walking in the parterre when she stopped to smell the flowers. How alluring the fragrance of the yellow jonquil is.” He peered into infinity to recall the past reminder. “Sorry for my reverie,” he apologized, snapping back into reality. “But every time I catch a scent of jonquil, Emily’s smiling face enters my senses.

  “I do not know what came over me, but all I know is that, when I saw her face light up as she enjoyed the sweet odor of the clustered flowers, I had to meet her. I made my way toward her, acting like I did not see her. And when I got close, I crouched down next to her—and that is when our sights met for the first time. Her sapphire eyes rendered me unable to speak. She captured my soul. ‘Are you well’? she asked me. ‘Please, sir… come sit with me,’ she said as she took my lonely hand into her care. We sat on the bench between the flower beds, talking for several hours. Ever since that marvelous day, she and I had longed for one another. But being hundreds of miles apart was rough on us, so I moved to the outskirts of Wrangler into a magnifique mansion, but now she is gone,” he uttered, his head dropping in sorrow once more.

  “I’m so sorry, Monsieur Pierre,” Sara stated, taking his unaccompanied hand into her custody. “That account of your past together was very romantic. Keep it alive in your thoughts and she will always be with you.”

  “Oui, Oui, madame. And merci beaucou for your sweet tenderness.”

  As Sara and the reverend comforted Monsieur Pierre, Samuel pulled Katherine to the side and spoke quietly into her attentive ear. “Kat, when I went to the school to see Emily Cromwell, this was the guy talking to her. I think he’s the last one to see her alive! What if he killed her?”

  “But he seems like such a nice guy, Sam. Why would he?” she whispered back.

  “I don’t know… but somethin’s just not right… I can feel it!”

  “He seems sincere to me, Sam. I think he’s just a man whose world’s been turned upside down by this hardship; and he’s not sure what to do or how to act.”

  “You can trust him if you want. I don’t!” He crossed his arms.

  “Let’s leave it alone for now. We can’t tell anybody you saw Emily and him the day of the murder. Then the marshal will get involved and we’ll both be suspects in her death. Remember? Plus, the marshal might find out who you are, and then you’ll be in serious trouble! We have to keep all of this to ourselves. We can’t afford to say anything. We’ll just go on with our lives, being together and happy. Please, don’t worry about Monsieur Pierre. He is not the killer! Trust me.”

  “I reckon you ain’t gonna give a choice, now are you, Kat?”

  “Nope!”

  They returned to the group.

  Samuel required information, so he pried a bit. “How long have you lived in these parts, Mr. Pierre?”

  “Let me think, Monsieur Lee. Ah, Oui. I have been here for two months and three days.”

  “And what do you do for a livin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

  “Not at all, Monsieur Lee. I am retired. In France I was a charge’d’affaires, a diplomat who substituted for the ambassador. And I also helped out with other small political jobs; however, about three years ago, I inherited a large sum of money from an uncle who I had never met, and I became a nouveau riche—a person newly rich—that is how I was able to come to this wonderful country of America and become one of its citizens. I then bought my home. But, back to being retired. I invest my money in many châteaux across France and produce a variety of delicious wines.”

  “Interesting, sir.” Samuel replied. He paused, removed his hat, wiped his forehead dry with his sleeve, and then placed his hat back in place. “Have you spoken to the marshal about Emily’s death? Maybe you can help him find t
he one that took Emily’s life.”

  Monsieur Pierre was silent for a good moment. “I know I must speak with the law, it has been a grueling past few days. I will have a visit with the marshal tomorrow. I only needed a bit of time to compose myself, but now it is time to face reality!” He stood, straightened out his clothing, folded his handkerchief embroidered in gold with the initials “LP”, and then placed it into his pocket. “Merci beaucou, all of you. I must go and take care of business. It was a pleasure meeting everyone. I hope to see all of you again.”

  “You’re more than welcome to attend the service with us,” offered the reverend. “It’s every Sunday from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m.” He shook Monsieur Pierre’s hand.

  “Merci beaucou, Papa. I will do that. Monsieur Lee, Matâmes Jones, au revoir,” he told all as he headed toward his shiny, black cabriolet.

  CHAPTER 21

  FALL

  1869

  Throughout the final days of October came a vicious downpour that stripped away the trees of their luminous colors. As the days darkened earlier, the nights became cooler, and the sounds of the nocturnal jumping and crawling creatures ceased.

  It was the 31st, All Hallow’s Eve, and the sun had gone under the horizon. The evening star glimmered boldly in the western sky with an endless splender as the blue blackened. The moon crept through the bare branches of the trees, appearing like shadowed figures of deformed fingers, bringing a sense of evil upon the misty dusk.

  Spirited children had gathered into a circle, sitting inside a fenced-off graveyard. Gravestones of many types protruded from the holy ground. Most of the headstones were merely a foot tall, but the white crucifix stood ten feet high, towering for all to see. The juveniles nestled up to ward off a bitter wind that chilled their bones. The younglings were there for a scarefest, being promised to have a fright of their lives. Already being wary, they talked quietly, waiting for the horror.

  The oldest of the kids spoke with a hauntingly eerie whisper. “Okay, everyone, settle down, for tonight is the time for spirits to make themselves known.”