by Lisa Harris
Pickles? Mr. Carpenter had been serious?
❧
Five hours, six hundred pickles, and countless pots of boiling water later, Mrs. Carpenter suggested they stop for a meal of ham, beans, biscuits, and a sampling of a previous batch of their homemade pickles. Tara tried to hide her aversion to the cured cucumber, quite certain she had no desire to look at another pickle let alone eat another one as long as she lived.
Mr. Carpenter’s wooden chair squeaked beneath him as he sat down at the dinner table, causing Tara to wonder if it would hold up under the man’s slight weight. Like the Carpenters, everything in the whitewashed farmhouse was old-fashioned, shabby, and worn. The walls were covered with faded paint; the mahogany furniture, with its carved feathers and eagle medallion ornamentation, most certainly came from another century. Even the cookstove was an outmoded cast-iron beast that was slower than yesterday’s stagecoach.
Mr. Carpenter stabbed a piece of ham with his fork. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor this afternoon, Miss Young.”
Tara fidgeted in her seat across from him. She had hoped that her duties would be minimal, giving her time to follow up the clues in her aunt’s diary, but she was beginning to fear that wasn’t going to be the case.
She forced a smile. “Of course. I’d be happy to do anything you need me to.”
He helped himself to a second serving of beans while his wife fluttered in and out of the kitchen making sure they had everything they needed. “The post office was closed by the time I went to fetch you last night, and I have a letter that needs to be mailed.”
Tara wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, wondering if she’d just received the answer to her prayer. “And you’d like me to take it into town?”
Mrs. Carpenter sat down at the table, a second jar of opened pickles in her hand. “It’s an easy drive into town, but the wagon is hard on poor Thaddeus’s joints.”
For the first time all morning, Tara’s smile was genuine. “I’d be delighted to help. I’ll have to change my clothes and freshen up a bit first—”
“Of course, my dear.” She exchanged glances with her husband. “There are a few eligible bachelors in town, and I remember how important it was to make a good impression as a young woman who had yet to step into the joys of matrimony.”
Tara scooted her chair back and shook her head. “Oh, but I didn’t come here to find a man to court me. I came here to…” She stopped herself before the word gold slipped off her tongue. “To work for you, of course.”
Mrs. Carpenter reached out and patted her hand. “Just don’t be thinking that we won’t give you any time off. We know how important it is for young people to enjoy themselves.”
Mr. Carpenter nudged his wife with his bony elbow. “If I’m not mistaken, our Miss Young has already found herself a possible suitor. Remember I told you last night that a stranger saved her from a drunken scoundrel at the station?”
Tara gasped. “Why, I don’t even know who that man was—”
“You did mention to me that he was handsome, Thaddeus.” Mrs. Carpenter cocked her head and smiled. “Ahh, new love. There’s nothing sweeter.”
Tara shook her head. “I really don’t think—”
“Don’t mind my dear wife, Miss Young. She’s a bit of a romantic, I must say, and she always manages to find a way to play matchmaker, don’t you, dear? After fifty years of marriage, I suppose she simply wishes the same happiness we’ve found on others.”
Tara closed her mouth. The last thing she wanted in her life right now was her own private matchmaker, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. She watched as Mrs. Carpenter leaned toward her husband and whispered something in his ear. He caught her hand and laughed.
“My wife just reminded me of our own courting days.” Mr. Carpenter’s gaze never left his wife’s face. “Ah, the good Lord was gracious to bring us together. He may not have ever blessed us with children, but He’s allowed us to live out our days on this earth together.”
Tara crushed the napkin between her fingers, as something stirred within her. The love between the Carpenters was obvious, and she couldn’t help but find herself growing attached to this odd yet endearing couple. Her own parents loved her, but they spent most of their time running the family business and staying involved in various patriotic activities.
With the last bite of her meal gone, Tara washed the dishes and changed her clothes before heading toward the barn. Making her way gingerly across the hay-strewn shelter, she once again questioned her sanity for coming to Iowa. At home, she would have stepped out the front door of her house and straight into an awaiting carriage. But Browning City was a far cry from Boston.
At least she’d been taught how to drive a wagon back in Boston and wasn’t completely helpless. Even riding had been done with little effort, though, as the stable boys would get the horses ready for her. Holding her gloved fingers against her nose, she followed the cheerful whistles of Sampson, who was cleaning out one of the stalls with a wide smile on his ebony face.
“Mr. Sampson?”
The man continued his tune, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was calling him. She’d almost forgotten. The farmhand was partially deaf. She regarded the dusty floor and raised the hem of her skirt an extra inch for good measure before taking another step closer.
Tara eyed the pale mare in front of her and raised her voice. “Mr. Sampson?”
The horse’s head jerked toward her and its ears laid flat. Tara stumbled backward and slammed into a wooden post.
“Miss Young…” Sampson held up his hand to stop her before approaching the animal with quiet, soothing words.
He stroked the horse’s shoulder and turned to Tara. “Horses scare easy, miss. Never come near ’em from behind. You’re liable to startle them.”
Tara stared down at her handbag. “I’m sorry. I—”
“And always make sure the horse sees ya before comin’ near. They ain’t aggressive, but they does frighten easy.” He looked at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, miss. After a few weeks of livin’ here, it’ll be easy for ya.”
Tara grasped the edge of the post behind her, feeling foolish. There was no hiding the fact that she was a city girl. Even from an uneducated farmhand.
She cleared her throat and raised her chin. “Mr. Carpenter wanted me to go into town for him. I have driven a wagon before.”
Sampson’s broad smile showed off his white teeth. “Give me five minutes, miss.”
“Thank you, Sampson.”
The broad-shouldered man set down his shovel and went back to whistling his tune. Strange how a man could appear so happy when his job was nothing more than mucking stalls and working in the field.
True to his word, Sampson had the wagon hitched and ready in a few short minutes. Perched on the narrow bench, Tara was overcome with a feeling of freedom for the first time since leaving Boston. The pungent smell of vinegar that had permeated the Carpenters’ kitchen as they poured the boiling brine over the dozens of green cucumbers was now replaced with the faint scent of wildflowers that dotted the landscape as she headed toward town.
Tara smiled. Her aunt’s journal was tucked safely in her bag, and she was finally ready to put the first part of her plan into action. Armed with the name of one of her aunt’s informants, she was determined to track down the whereabouts of the missing gold.
She reached up to ensure that her summer garden hat, with its spray of flowers, was perched securely atop her head. Feeling the need for an extra measure of confidence, she’d chosen to wear one of her favorite dresses, a gray poplin walking dress trimmed with two flounces and paired with a matching short jacket edged with lilac trim. Making a good impression on the sheriff was the first step in her plan to extract the necessary information from the lawman. Honesty, beauty, and a bit of womanly charm had always proven to be a highly persuasive combination.
Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the sheriff’s office
. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. The sheriff sat at his desk, engrossed in a stack of papers.
Tara cleared her throat and stepped up to the small room that wasn’t even half the size of her sitting area back home. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sheriff.”
The middle-aged man looked up, rubbing his graying beard with his fingertips. “Sheriff Morton. Good afternoon.”
The lawman stood, knocking over his chair in the process. He stumbled to pick it up, then scattered the pile of papers with his elbow. “Excuse me, please, I…I’m not usually quite this clumsy.” A dark tint of red covered the man’s cheeks as he hurried to pick the papers up.
Once he had collected the items and placed them back on his desk, she reached out and shook his hand. “My name is Tara Young, and I can’t begin to say how pleased I am to meet you, Sheriff Morton.”
“Really?” Fiddling with his pencil, the man sat back down and peered at her over the top of his octagonal lenses. “Please have a seat. The pleasure is definitely all mine.”
She sent him her most flattering smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re from out of town?”
“I’m from back east, actually, Boston. I just arrived in town last night.”
“Then you must be the Carpenters’ relative who’s come to help them out.”
Tara’s brows rose. “I see that word spreads quickly in a small town like Browning City.”
“That is one of the potential drawbacks of living in such a quiet community, but to most of us, the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages.” The sheriff laughed. “What can I do for you?”
Tara clutched her bag against her chest. “I know you must be terribly busy with your work protecting the good citizens of this town—”
“Please.” He held up a hand of protest. “Don’t worry. There’s always time to assist a beautiful young woman such as yourself.”
“You’re too kind.” Tara leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Since you are a man of the law, I hope I can be assured of your complete confidentiality in what I’m going to ask you.”
The sheriff removed his glasses and raised his thick brows. “But of course. I wouldn’t be able to uphold the law if I was a man who couldn’t keep confidences, now would I?”
Tara nodded. “I’m happy to hear you say that, because what I need to discuss with you is rather…delicate to say the least.”
He set his pencil down. “I’m listening.”
Confident she now had the man’s full attention, Tara continued. “My aunt, who sadly passed away suddenly last year, worked as a spy for the North during the recent War Between the States, and in reading through her journal, I came across some entries that, well, I simply couldn’t ignore.”
“Entries about what?”
“A cache of gold stolen from the Union army that is rumored to be buried somewhere in the area.”
Sheriff Morton leaned back in his chair and let out a deep belly laugh. “I hate to disappoint you, Miss Young, but I’ve heard more rumors about that missing gold than there are jackrabbits in our cornfields. Not too many years back a woman arrived in town who believed her father had a role in the heist, but no pot of gold ever turned up. Even the government claims that it exists, but I’ve been sheriff here for nearly thirty years, and I can promise you that if you go after that gold around here, you’re only going to be chasing ghosts. There’s no gold. Least not in my territory.”
Tara ignored the sting of disappointment, but she wasn’t finished yet. “I’ve got a name.”
The sheriff cocked his head and eyed her warily. “A name? What do you mean?”
“My aunt mentions a man named Schlosser in connection to the gold.”
“Schlosser. Richart Schlosser.” He rubbed his beard. “If I remember correctly, Mr. Schlosser moved away three or four years ago. Lived on a farm a few miles out of town. All I can suggest to you is that you talk to the land agent and see if he has an exact record of when the family lived here. But if you ask me, you’re better off spending your time caring for the Carpenters rather than chasing some alleged pot of gold.”
Tara frowned at the man’s last comment. Beauty and charm might give her an advantage at times, but it seemed they did little to ensure one was taken seriously. She stood and stepped behind the chair. It was time to end their conversation.
“I do appreciate greatly your taking the time to talk with me about this, Sheriff.”
“I’m at your service any time, Miss Young.” He stood and moved to the edge of his desk where he tapped his fingers against the hardwood. “There is one other thing, I almost forgot. I have the man who attacked you last night locked up in the jail. He’s slept off his stupor, and I’ve given him a thorough lecture. Unless you feel compelled to press charges…”
“No, please.” The last thing she wanted to do was make an incident out of the situation. “I think I’d rather put the entire episode behind me.”
Tara nodded her thanks, then stepped out onto the boardwalk. While she was embarrassed over her reaction toward the drunken man and would rather forget the discomfiting moment—except perhaps the encounter with the handsome stranger—she was even more disappointed about the sheriff’s reaction to the gold. Of course, she wasn’t certain what she had been expecting. At least the visit wasn’t completely in vain. She’d seen the land agent’s office on the outskirts of town, and would take the time to inquire after the whereabouts of Mr. Schlosser once she delivered Mr. Carpenter’s letter.
Tara crossed the street toward the post office, careful to avoid the patches of black mud that filled the street. She secured her hat with one hand as a gust of wind tried to blow it off her head. The last thing she needed was her summer hat to end up with a thick coating of Iowa mud.
At the edge of the boardwalk, an envelope fluttered to the ground in front of her. She caught it, then searched to find its owner. Her heart thumped as she looked up into the toffee brown eyes of the handsome stranger who had rescued her the night before.
❧
Aaron gazed into the familiar face of the woman who’d filled his dreams the night before, and he somehow managed to stammer an awkward,“good morning.”
Her bubbly laugh sounded as light as the tinkling of a bell. “It’s already afternoon.”
“Of course.” Aaron frowned, feeling suddenly foolish over his obvious display of nerves.
She held up one of his letters that had blown out of his hands. “Is this yours?”
He took the envelope, allowing the tips of their fingers to touch in the exchange. “Thank you. I was on my way to post the letters and there was a gust of wind…”
For a moment, an awkward pause hovered between them. Of course, she knew that. Aaron swallowed hard, wishing he didn’t feel quite so happy to see her. With his information coming straight from Washington, his arrival in Browning City had been planned out in detail. He was to arrive, spend the morning mapping out the town and its occupants, visit with the sheriff, then interview those he felt might have information regarding the events that led up to the disappearance of the gold five years ago. His itinerary didn’t include falling for the first beautiful woman he encountered. Not that he’d actually fallen for her. But it was true that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.
He tapped the envelopes against the palm of his hand. “I hadn’t expected to see you again.”
She lifted the edge of her skirt and stepped onto the boardwalk. “Actually, since Browning City is no metropolitan center, I would think that the odds of us running into each other were actually quite high.”
“True.” He took off his Stetson and followed her toward the post office. “I wanted to apologize for not introducing myself properly last night. With all the commotion, it seems as if I completely forgot my manners.”
She stopped, turning to face him as a slight blush crept up her cheeks. “It’s only natural that the formalities would get pressed aside in such a situation.”
The explosion of a gunshot ripped
through the afternoon air as a bullet ricocheted off the painted sign above their heads. Aaron grabbed her arm and shoved her through the doorway of the post office out of the line of fire.
Four
“Are you all right?”
Tara nodded as she stared into the face of the man who had managed to prevent her from harm for a second time in twenty-four hours. She crouched inside, beneath the window of the post office, willing the shots to subside. Someone screamed. The window shattered above them, sending thick shards of glass across the wooden floor.
“Fear thou not; for I am with thee. Fear thou not; for I am with thee…” She repeated the scripture over and over, mumbling the words aloud.
Aaron crouched next to her, leaning on his palms. “Isaiah chapter forty-one?”
She nodded at his question, surprised he knew the verse. “So you believe in God?”
“Especially at moments like this.” He pulled his gun out of his holster and checked the barrel. “I’ve faced death a time or two in my life and know that I don’t want to leave this world without the hope of spending eternity with Him.”
A gun fired again, exploding through the afternoon air like a blast of dynamite. Tara struggled to breathe. While she, too, believed as a Christian that the good Lord would one day take her home to live with Him forever, she hadn’t expected that moment to be now. There were still a few things she wanted to take care of on this side of eternity first.
She lowered her head and tried to take a handful of slow, deep breaths. Aunt Rachel would have strutted out the front door of the post office and given the gunman a severe tongue-lashing for his disrupting the afternoon of the good citizens of this town. Her father would have found a way to disarm the man before marching him to the sheriff’s office. She, on the other hand, was ready to hang up her fiddle and run. If the odds weren’t so overwhelmingly high that she would get shot in the process, she had half a mind to do just that.
The lawman beside her lifted her chin with his thumb and caught her anxious gaze. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”
