He must have felt her gaze, because he looked up from the path. “Something wrong?”
That was his question more often than not when he came in from working. He seemed to grow more anxious as the end of her pregnancy drew closer.
“No, I wanted to meet you. Supper is ready when you are.” She saw dampness darkening his sleeves and collar. He never failed to clean up before he came in. August opened the screen door and lowered his head to kiss her. Warmth surged through Loyal’s veins. She might be sluggish about her chores and sometimes so tired she fell asleep immediately following supper, but August’s kisses cleared her mind.
“Something smells good,” he murmured when he pulled back. “I’m not sure if it’s you or your cooking.”
She smiled. “You’ll have the opportunity to sample both.”
He laughed softly. “I look forward to it.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he steered her toward the kitchen. “I’m afraid my grumbling stomach takes precedence at the moment.”
“Papa’s waiting. He’d be suspicious if we deviated to the bedroom,” she teased. “Wait. Someone wants to say ‘happy birthday.’”
She took his hand and guided it to her stomach, where the baby moved with enthusiasm. August’s smile returned as a hand or foot met his palm.
“So strong.” His voice was filled with awe as he met her gaze. “You remembered. I thought I might get away without hearing it.”
“Of course I remembered. I even have a surprise for you.” She tugged at his hand. “Come on, before Papa eats without us.”
A half-hour later August’s birthday dinner had mostly vanished. Chicken bones were piled on the platter, the dishes containing the sides were empty save for juices and melted butter, and only the thinnest cake sliver remained in the pan.
“I’ll have to work twice as hard tomorrow if I’m going to keep wearing the same clothes, sweetheart.” August put his hand over hers, caressing the back with his thumb. “This is one on the finest birthdays I can remember.”
Her smile faltered. He couldn’t have had many good ones. “I hope everything was alright.”
“More than alright. You did real good.” He sat up a little straighter. “I have something for you, though, if you’re of a mind to see it.”
Her curiosity sparked. “What is it?”
He glanced at Papa. “I wouldn’t want to outshine this fine meal. Perhaps I should wait to show it to her.”
Papa looked as curious as she felt. “You could, but there’s no guarantee of tomorrows, August.”
August gave her another charming half-smile. “I suppose there’s truth in that. Wait here.”
She watched him exit through the backdoor, in the direction of the barn. “What do you think he’s doing?”
“No telling, Loyal. Patience is a virtue. We’ll know soon enough.” Papa stood and refilled his coffee mug. “Can I get you anything?”
“I couldn’t eat another bite. I should clear away these dishes.” She placed her silverware on her plate, reaching for August’s as well. A big dinner meant more to clean up, but he looked so pleased by her efforts, she felt the trouble was worth it. “Do you mind blowing out the candles and lighting the lamps?”
She put the scraps in a bucket and pumped water into the basin, adding a few slivers of soap. The door opened again and August entered the room, a big boxy object in his hands.
“Are those the blankets I made?” She laughed as he settled the cradle on the floor. The tiny bed was made with the blankets she’d hunted for earlier. The cradle rocked in a gentle motion, barely making any sound on the hardwood floor. All it lacked to make it complete was a sleeping baby.
He grinned, ducking his head. “They are. I wanted it to look perfect when I showed it to you.”
“It’s beautiful. When did you finish it?”
“The stain dried two days ago. I waited to make sure it wouldn’t smell up the house before I brought it in. Do you like it?” The slightest hint of worry colored his question.
“Do I—for heaven’s sake. You couldn’t have pleased me more.” She touched the satiny-smooth finish. “Our child will rest easy in it.”
He looked like she’d hit him with the iron skillet and she realized what she’d said. Ours. What must he think about that?
Papa cleared his throat. “I think he will.”
“Or she,” Loyal reminded him.
“I believe I’ll sit outside a while, enjoy the evening air.” Papa paused, directing his gaze at August. “You did a fine job. Couldn’t buy anything so nice in a catalog.”
“Thank you, sir.” August looked twice as stunned by the compliment.
Papa kissed Loyal’s cheek and left through the front room. She stepped around the cradle and took August’s hand.
“There’s hope yet for the two of you.”
“I wonder.” He shook his head. “Who’d have thought we’d see this day?”
“Miracles happen, August. I think you’d have learned it’s true by now. Our love is one.”
He looked at her, eyes a darker shade of blue than she’d seen them. “When you said ours, what did you mean?”
“It might be confusing if you want the baby to call you papa. Perhaps you could go by pa, or dad,” she suggested.
“Not uncle?” he clarified.
“Not uncle.”
August put one hand on her stomach when he kissed her. Family. The word made her heart light as a bird in flight.
17
Loyal shifted her weight, wishing she’d stayed closer to the wagon so she could sit. Papa’s congregation gathered for the dedication of the parsonage and to assist with moving the new furniture inside. Today, he’d leave the farm. In a way, she would miss having him near. Though he and August weren’t always friendly, there had been peace between them since August’s birthday. She supposed the house was a bit small for three adults and a coming baby.
Papa ended his prayer and the church members cheered. The boxy little house still smelled like new wood and paint. Glass windows reflected sunlight, beaming brighter than lanterns. No signs remained of the parsonage that had sat there before. The new house would offer Papa a fresh beginning.
“I think we can spare a chair if you want to sit while we move the rest of his belongings inside,” August said.
She smiled, grateful she’d married such a thoughtful man. “If it’s no trouble.”
“I’ll be right back.” He crossed the lawn and spoke with the woodcrafter who had brought the wagonload of furniture out.
The furniture had been a surprise, a donation from an anonymous source. No one had confessed to buying it, and none of the woodcrafters would tell who’d ordered it.
A moment later, he settled a chair in the shade for her. “There you are. We’ll have all this finished in a bit. Then we’ll go home and you can put your feet up.”
Loyal lowered herself into the chair and smiled when he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re too good to me.”
“If it hadn’t been so important to you and Gideon, I’d have made you stay home today.” The seriousness on his face told her he meant it. “Rest.”
She watched the ropes holding house furnishings to the wagon come off and men carry the things inside. Through the open windows, she heard Papa instructing them where everything should go. He was particular about the arrangement, asking them to move it this way or that. She smiled and rubbed her stomach absently. August looked at her each time he came out. Loyal waved from her shady spot. As much as she wanted to see how it was taking shape, she stayed beneath the tree, content there until someone came for the last kitchen chair.
The ring of horseshoes on the road drew her attention. Sheriff Fowler, flanked by two deputies, rode toward the parsonage. None of them were members at Papa’s church and she wondered what they were doing here. A small cart driven by an old man followed at a short distance.
August and Papa emerged from the house. She glanced at her husband’s face and saw he had gone stark white.
After all his encounters with Fowler, it was no wonder. Struggling to her feet, she didn’t reach August’s side before Fowler signaled his men to stop.
“August O’Dell, you’re under arrest.” Fowler dismounted and took iron manacles from his saddle.
“Why?” Loyal cried.
Albert Carroll tottered down from his cart. He hobbled toward the sheriff and August. “Do you remember yet, boy?”
August ignored him. “What’s this about, Fowler?”
“My cattle. Six years ago, I had twenty head of Hereford cows in my pasture. I saw you ride away after stampeding them. Scared them so bad, they broke the fence and I never saw them again. Before I could make a report with Sheriff Fowler, I heard you were gone. Run off like the guilty man you are.” Carroll’s rage burned in his words and in his cold blue eyes. “I saw you that night, on the painted horse you used to steal from the livery. I’ll have retribution for my cows, O’Dell.”
Loyal gasped and Papa steadied her with a warm hand.
August recoiled. “I didn’t steal any cattle, Mr. Carroll. Not then and not since I’ve been back.”
She remembered the paint horse August used to ride. He had taken it from the stable on more than one occasion, during and after the time he worked at the livery. Loyal couldn’t imagine him stealing cattle.
“I know it was you, and I have proof.” Carroll tamped his cane against the ground.
“What proof?” August demanded.
One of the deputies tossed a hat at August’s feet.
“Look familiar?” Fowler asked. He nudged it with his toe. “You and those coachman’s hats.”
“You can’t prove it’s his,” Loyal protested. Her throat was dry and fear gripped her hard enough she worried she wouldn’t be able to stand much longer.
“No?” Fowler bent and picked up the hat. He held it by the crown, displaying the band inside the brim. It had August’s initials written in faded ink at the front.
August staggered back a step. His face was ghostly white. “That is mine, but I lost it before I left Wilson. I bought a new one with my first earnings in New Madrid. I never knew what happened to this one.”
“You lost it when you ran those cattle off! I found it, O’Dell. Now you’ll pay for your thieving ways!” Carroll pointed at him. “Arrest him, sheriff.”
“I don’t know anything about the cattle.” August looked at Loyal. “I never laid eyes on them. I don’t even remember the old codger.”
Loyal tried to step between her husband and the sheriff, but Papa held her back. “Why now? All this time has passed. Anyone could have ridden that horse and found August’s hat.”
“He can tell his attorney, Mrs. O’Dell.” Fowler rattled the manacles. “Now stand back. We’re going to town.”
August looked as though he wanted to bolt. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying he wouldn’t try it. Fowler would shoot him without a second thought.
“Loyal, I didn’t do it.” August’s voice was rough and when she opened her eyes, she saw the pleading in his expression.
“I know. Go with the sheriff and we’ll get this settled. There’s nothing to worry about. I believe you.”
There was everything to fear. Last time he’d been in Fowler’s company, he’d come home battered. The situation was worse now—the corn crop was a few weeks away from maturing and the baby wouldn’t wait for the end of a trial before it came. It might be months before this was settled. Worst of all, stealing livestock was punishable by hanging.
It felt as though a giant hand squeezed the air from her lungs as the sheriff restrained August’s hands behind his back. Papa kept his arm around her shoulders and she feared her legs would have given out if he hadn’t. She watched in silence as the lawmen made August walk past the church members. Head down and shoulders hunched, August didn’t look back at her as they left the churchyard.
“There’s an explanation for this, Papa. August didn’t steal those cattle.” Much as her feet and back hurt, Loyal paced the small kitchen in her father’s new house. She clasped her hands together. Instead of waiting for something to happen, she needed a plan—needed a lawyer for her husband. They could go over the details of what had happened before August left Wilson. Someone with legal expertise would clear the matter up in no time.
“He has a reputation for taking what doesn’t belong to him.” Papa sat at the table, drinking from a coffee mug.
“He had a reputation. He’s not the same person,” she snapped. “August is innocent. I know it in my heart.”
“It’s possible you have a blind spot.”
She faced him. “You can’t talk that way. He needs good character references and you’ve got to be one. You’ve seen him the last few weeks. He’s a good man. I can’t stay here any longer. I have to help him.”
“You can’t drive the team. Anything could happen.” Papa set his cup down. “I forbid it.”
She wanted to tear her hair out. “In case you’ve forgotten, forbidding me to do anything doesn’t work. I’m married now. You can’t stop me. And you didn’t see how he looked last time he came home from jail. They’re not kind men.”
“Loyal, do you believe with all your heart that August is incapable of stealing cattle?” Dark brown eyes held hers. “Remember, he was once a wild young man who didn’t care for anyone but himself.”
“With all my heart.” Her voice broke. “I can’t lose him, Papa.”
He pushed the chair away from the table. “I’ll drive the wagon.”
* * * *
August stared at the dirty floor between his feet. He tried to keep his mind blank—he knew how most cattle thieves’ lives ended. Coming back to Wilson township was a mistake. For all the good he’d experienced, the bad outweighed it tenfold.
Loyal’s horrified expression when Fowler had explained the crime burned across his memory. She’d looked at him with fear so cold, it almost froze his blood. What would she do if they hanged him? Jeremiah’s will made no stipulations for her in case the farm failed. Leaning his head back against the rough brick wall, he wondered about making one of his own. There was money; she’d be fine for a while with it. Perhaps her father would take her in again now that they were on better terms.
Grief arched through him, bitter and sharp. Both the O’Dells dead in the space of a few months and neither of them much help to Loyal. A judge would never find him innocent, not with Carroll’s testimony and evidence.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. This was his punishment for the trouble he’d caused as a boy. He’d been warned he’d end up in a hangman’s noose one day. For all the effort he’d made to straighten his life out, he hadn’t changed the outcome.
Shouldn’t have come back. Should have kept on at the logging camps, the selfish part of him whispered.
“O’Dell. Visitors.”
A deputy unlocked the cell door and dropped a chair on the floor inside the iron bars. August looked up hoping Loyal hadn’t come down here to demand his release. A tall man in a suit entered first, followed by his wife. Manners dictated she should be at home, too far along to make social calls in public. He choked back dry laughter. Visiting one’s husband in jail hardly counted as a social call.
“August,” she said, relief in her voice. “Have they hurt you?”
“No, I was a good boy.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I brought help. This is Clark Stine, an attorney. He’ll prove you didn’t steal any cows.” She sounded fierce and settled beside him on the bunk chained to the wall. “It’s going to be alright.”
Loyal’s determined attitude didn’t belong in this cell. Her presence only made him feel worse.
Stine was perhaps ten or fifteen years older than August, his sandy brown hair graying, but neatly trimmed. He carried a book of paper and a pencil. He took the seat opposite them. “Mrs. O’Dell explained the situation. We should start with what happened around that time. As much detail as you can recount.”
Aug
ust straightened his back. “I need to clear up some things before we get into this.”
“Certainly.” Stine nodded.
“I need a will.”
“August, no.” Loyal griped his hand so hard, it hurt. “We’re not discussing what might happen. Not at all.”
“We have to face the possibility, sweetheart.” He forced the words out. “I want to make sure you get everything that’s coming to you.”
“We can discuss the matter of a will, Mr. O’Dell. First let’s talk about what happened before you left the area.”
August swallowed the lump in his throat. Stine didn’t make promises about getting the charges dropped. He plowed straight ahead. It should have bothered him, he supposed, though it didn’t.
“I did take the pinto horse more than once. I worked at the livery for a few months and it was a fine piece of horseflesh. Buddy Coleman knew about it and he never raised a fuss, because he knew I wouldn’t let any harm come to it. If there was one thing I respected, it was animals.” He lowered his gaze again. “I’d been in trouble for stealing other things. Usually food or not paying for drinks at the saloons. Starting fights and sometimes for selling illegal alcohol, but cattle…”
He trailed off. Unthinkable. “I never committed a crime I thought I’d get hanged for.”
Stine made notes in his book. “Alright. You have a record and Mrs. O’Dell explained your relationship with Sheriff Fowler is strained at best.”
“Mrs. O’Dell minces words if that’s what she’s saying. Fowler and I have a long history. He has good reason to dislike me.” He closed his eyes, cursing himself for being such an ignorant boy.
“What’s your relationship with Mr. Carroll like?”
“I don’t remember him. If we’ve ever met, the memory didn’t stick. I saw him at Gideon Redfearn’s church a few weeks ago. He accused me of stealing then, but I couldn’t place him.”
“I see.” The pencil tip scraped against the paper. “The sheriff claims the event happened on November 10th, 1875, around dusk. There was enough light left for Mr. Carroll to make out your horse and your hair color. Does that date seem familiar?”
The Wrong Brother's Bride Page 17
