by Izzy Hunter
‘Go and find Henry a clean shirt. You don’t mind if the boy goes into your home, do you?’ He asked Mona.
She shook her head. ‘No. Wesley, there should be a row of clean shirts in the bedroom.’
‘B… Bedroom?’ Wesley stuttered, blushing again.
‘Oh for goodness sake, boy,’ said Sanders. ‘It’s just a room. Go on,’ he said, waving him away with his hands. When Wesley had left, Sanders looked at Mona again. ‘You need a strong cup of tea.’
‘I need something strong but it ain't tea,’ she told him, then frowned at the grin spreading across his face. ‘What?’
‘Ain't? You’re turning native,’ he said with a smile.
‘Maybe I am,’ shrugged Mona. ‘It's not a bad thing, is it?’
‘Not at all, my dear. Not at all.’
Mona left Sander’s establishment soon afterwards. The old clockmaker promising to get Wesley to help him take Henry back home. As Mona crossed the dusty terrain of No Hope, she patted down her black trousers and dark shirt, then tentatively touched the cut on her temple. The pain had almost gone but a scar would remain. Sure she’d get curious looks from the people in the saloon but most of them were wise not to go troubling their Sheriff if they knew what was good for them.
She pushed open the doors to the saloon. The place was busier than when she left it. The smoke was thick. She could barely make out who was playing the old piano at the far end of the room. A couple of men she didn't recognise occupied Mona's usual table. One wore a black derby hat that had seen better days.
As she weaved her way to the bar, most people acknowledged her presence with a raise of their drink or a nod of the head. She had bloody well earned the respect the townsfolk gave her so she was happy to revel in it.
‘Henry not with you, Sheriff?’ Amos, the saloon owner asked, already pouring her a large glass of Jerky, so-called because the after-effects if you drank too much.
Mona leant an arm on the counter. ‘He’s occupied at the moment. Thank you,’ she added as Amos handed her over the glass of murky brown liquid. She took a large swig, grimacing at the after-taste.
Someone approached the bar and stood next to her. The man was tall, grey-bearded and wore round, dirty spectacles. His clothes weren't much better. ‘They say your Deputy was shot,’ the man said, nodding at Amos to fill his empty glass. ‘At the bank.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mona, looking up into the small, brown eyes of Dig gory Flay, the town’s tanner. ‘He’ll be all right.’
‘Course he will,’ said Amos, listening into the conversation. ‘Henry’s a big, tough fells.’
‘I'll drink to that.’ Mona raised her glass to his words, then she looked at Dig gory again. ‘Don’t suppose they know who the boy was?’
The tanner shrugged his shoulders. ‘If so they’re not saying. Best ask Miss Bartram. Find out who wasn’t in school today.’
‘I think I’ll do just that… tomorrow. I’m too tired and thirsty, tonight. Besides, if the kid ran away, he’ll be long gone by now.’
‘Your call,’ shrugged Diggory, taking his freshly-poured drink from Amos. He nodded at Mona before heading back to his table.
The space vacated by the tanner was filled seconds later by a short woman, dressed all in black, and with a severe grey-brown bun. Despite the woman’s outward appearance, Mona found her to be one of the nicest and caring people in the town.
‘Why, Mrs Fontaine,’ Amos declared, bushy eyebrows raised in surprise, ‘We don’t normally see you in here at this time of the evening? Girls having a night off?'
The brothel owner shook her head. ‘Too damn quiet is what it is. Got most of 'em cleaning the place, in the meantime.’
‘What about him and his friend?’ Mona asked, looking towards the table where the newcomers sat. The one in the hat was nowhere to be seen, but his friend was throwing back his drink and looking around him. He caught sight of Mona and raised his glass in a toast.
Mrs Fontaine watched the man then grimaced. ‘He came in earlier but his friend made him leave again before he could choose a girl.’
‘Maybe they’ll come back later when they’re both drunk,’ Mona offered.
‘Oh I’m past caring… for tonight, anyways. I’m going to get drunk and then I’m going to seduce a young fella,’ she added, winking at Mona.
Mona laughed. ‘Well, I’ll join you on the getting-drunk part,’ she said, swallowing more of her Jerky.
Mona lasted until she had downed her fourth Jerky, then left the brothel owner to charm one of the young bucks in the saloon.
Stepping outside, Mona paused as the cool air hit her. The sky was littered with stars, and the moon sat large and bright. She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill through her thin shirt. She would have to commission a warm coat from Fortitude McClure, the town’s tailor.
‘So you’re the Sheriff, then,’ a male voice called out. Mona turned to seek the source. A small orange glow appeared from the shadows, followed by a man she didn’t recognise.
Mona casually lowered her arms again, all the better to grab her gun if need be. ‘That’s right,’ she said.
The man stopped a safe distance from her. It was the stranger who'd raised his glass to her earlier. He was younger than she first thought. Needed a shave, too. His five o’clock shadow more prominent in the moonlight.
‘You’re not from around here. Your accent...'
‘English,’ she answered. ‘What about you, stranger? Where are you from?’
The man shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said, exhaling slowly and looking around. ‘I was hoping to maybe settle down in a nice little place such as this,’ he paused, as if waiting for a reaction from her. When he didn’t get one, he went on. ‘But as from where I’m from, I’m a Minnesota boy, born and bred. So, a lady Sheriff, huh? That’s progressive, I guess.’
‘Who says I’m a lady?’ Mona asked, then regretted it. That was the drink talking.
The man chuckled. ‘Oh, the folks round here seem most impressed with you. And a little afraid. Should I be afraid of you, Sheriff?'
‘Depends if you’ve been a bad boy.’ Oh shut up, she told herself.
Another chuckle. ‘Well, Sheriff. It’s been a delight to meet your acquaintance. I best get back to my friend. He gets a bit silly when he’s had too much to drink. Good night.’
She didn’t respond, but watched him disappear back into the noisy saloon.
When she got back to the small house she and Henry shared, Henry was lying on their bed, beneath the blankets. His eyes were closed but she loomed over him, anyway. ‘I’m back, my love,’ she whispered.
His eyes swiftly opened. He hadn’t been asleep at all. She hoped he hadn’t been waiting too long. He raised a hand and stroked her cheek tenderly. She put her hand over his. His skin was warm.
‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she said, her eyes beginning to sting. He shook his head and gave her a concerned look. ‘I’m fine,’ she answered. ‘A little tipsy, I’m afraid.’ Henry grinned and raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, aping his smile. ‘Maybe I should suggest to Mrs Fontaine that she open a brothel for women,’ she teased.
Henry shrugged his shoulders, in a that-could-be-a-good-idea way.
‘But you’d only get jealous,’ she added, biting her bottom lip suggestively.
He nodded his head firmly and grabbed her, pulling her down onto the bed next to him. She snuggled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, bringing the blankets over them both. She could feel the vibrations of the clock-work through his chest. When she had first lain against him after that terrible accident, she had found the sensation creepy and odd. Now it had become a reassurance that he was working, for want of a better word. Her breathing started synchronising with the faint tick-tock of his innards as she fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
The two cells which served as the town's jail lay empty ever since Mary Wilkins had attacked her husband with a rolling pin and very near killed him. All because
he'd wet the marital bed at least once a week. A subsequent visit to the doctor afterwards revealed that poor Mr Wilkins had an infection which he was still being treated for.
When Mona stepped into the jail house, she found one of the cells currently being swept. Connor Pemberton had been a man without much of a future, unless you counted dying of alcohol poisoning before too long, when Mona first met him. She'd seen a spark of intelligence in him and offered him a job as her Steward. At first, he thought she was playing a prank on him. That was until she'd hauled him into the jail house, sat him down at the front desk, and ordered him to take down the details of the three people she’d just arrested. He’d committed to his job honourably. Several townsfolk had since passed comment that the Ireland-born youth was a changed man.
‘Morning, Sheriff,’ he said brightly, pausing in his sweeping to greet her. ‘I heard about Henry. Is he all right?’
‘Morning, Connor,’ Mona replied, hanging her hat up on one of the coat hooks behind the desk. ‘He’s fine. Just resting.'
Connor nodded. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have any trouble today.’
‘I'm sure you could handle it, Connor. Any troublemakers would quake at the mere sight of you,’ she teased, looking at the scrawny man.
He gave her a pointed look, though smiled. ‘Quake with laughter, I’m sure,’ he replied.
‘Don’t put yourself down,’ she countered, taking a seat and resting her legs on the desk. ‘That’s my job.’
‘You’re in a good mood today, if you don’t mind me saying.’ Connor continued the sweep of the cell.
‘If it’s against the law to be happy, please feel free to lock me up.’
Connor laughed. ‘No, it’s not illegal. Not to my knowledge, anyway.’
‘Oh damn,’ Mona said suddenly, getting to her feet.
‘What is it?’
‘I need to go to the school,’ She grabbed her hat and placing it firmly on her head.
‘Why?’
‘The boy who shot Henry, he looked school age. I need to find out what boy was absent yesterday.’
‘Want me to come with you?’ Connor asked, a little too eagerly. It wasn’t really something that needed two people but it wouldn’t hurt to have her Steward show up at the school with her, show everyone this was serious business.
‘Sure. Just smarten yourself up a little. You’re an officer of the law, after all,’ she said, glancing at the shirt tails which hung over his trousers.
Connor came out of the cell and leant the broom against the wall. He hastily tucked in the shirt tails and gave himself the once over. ‘That do you, Sheriff?’
‘Very handsome,’ she nodded.
Connor followed Mona out of the jail house, smiling.
The school had a name. It was one of a list of things Mona had implemented when she’d become Sheriff. She’d argued that being called “The No Hope School” wasn’t the best name to inspire the students who attended. So, there had been a compromise and Mona was invited to officially open Hope School. A small vestibule stood to the front of the school. Inside, a door on each side led off to a class room, with the third one directly ahead. About ten pupils averaged each class. Ages four to ten in the left class. Eleven to fifteen in the class on the right. And the third class catered for sixteen years old and up. There was an unwritten rule in No Hope that the third class also cater for any adults who wished to receive additional schooling. No one had yet taken up the offer.
Mona approached the middle door, guessing the boy belonged to this classroom. Through the thin walls, she and Connor could hear the children reciting their five times table aloud. She refrained from interrupting them for a moment and listened.
‘…four is twenty. Five times five is twenty-five. Five times six is thirty. Five times seven is thirty-five…’
She waited until they’d finished and then rapped on the door, not waiting to be asked in before stepping over the threshold.
Nine students sat behind wooden desks. Their teacher - Mr Woods - stood by a large square blackboard at the front of the class, wiping the white chalk writing off with a duster. He stopped when he saw who was visiting.
‘Morning, Sheriff,’ he said, bowing his head slightly. Mona regarded him for a moment. He had been a face she’d recognised in the saloon the previous night, rather worse for wear. At least he had sobered up enough to teach, though that raggedy brown beard he wore did him no favours. His comb-over was awry, too. Perhaps Mona would have to have a word with the headmistress about the behaviour of her teachers.
Mr Wood turned to his students. ‘What do we say to the Sheriff, children?’
‘Good morning, Sheriff Mona,’ the students said in a dull sing-song.
Mona bit back a smile. This took her back to her own school days. Perhaps the bored-sounding greeting was a universal and timeless one.
‘Good morning, children.’ She noted they didn’t bother greeting Connor, who stood to the side of her. ‘I hope you’re all behaving and taking in what Mr Woods here is teaching you.’
‘Yes.’ Another bored drawl from the class.
‘Glad to hear it. Now, I have something very important to ask you. I’m here on official Sheriff business and it’s vital you tell me the truth.’
‘Is this to do with the Deputy?’ Mr Woods asked. The children whispered to one another in excitement, but their teacher soon shut them up with a stern look.
‘Yes,’ she said, then turned to the students again. ‘The Deputy was shot in the line of duty yesterday, during a bank robbery. The thief was a young boy, looked about fifteen years of age. I'd like to know who was missing yesterday afternoon. Around 2 o'clock.
All nine faces looked towards the clock above the blackboard. She hoped they knew by now how to tell the time.
‘I was absent myself yesterday, Sheriff,’ Mr Woods said. ‘I was feeling unwell so Mrs Bartram covered the class.’
Oh, you were ill, were you? Not ill enough to stay away from the saloon, though, Mona thought.
‘Perhaps you could ask her.'
‘Perhaps I will,’ Mona said. A student stood up, a pale, blond-haired boy.
‘Yes, Jimmy?’ Mr Woods asked. ‘You know anything about this?’
The boy nodded, studiously avoiding the gaze of his classmates. ‘Yes, sir. Matthew Reedus. He weren’t here yesterday and he aint here today.’ To his credit, the boy looked far from happy at having to reveal this information.
‘Wasn’t and isn’t, Jimmy,’ Mr Woods corrected him.
Mona glared at the teacher. Who was he to correct the boy when he had failed in his role as teacher. ‘Mr Woods, are you meaning to tell me you didn’t even notice one of your students was missing today?’ she demanded.
The teacher looked taken aback that he was in the wrong. ‘I’ve… um…’ he began, dashing to his desk and lifting up sheets of paper. ‘I’ve not yet taken the register, Sheriff.’
‘That’s very remiss of you, Mr Woods,’ Mona said pointedly. ‘Surely the register is the first thing you do at the start of the school day. And besides, you normally have ten children in your class. Are you telling me you cannot remember the faces of ten children, Mr Woods? Ten children you teach every day?’
‘I… I … I…’ stuttered the man, but Mona wasn’t finished.
‘Come here, Mr Woods. I want to smell your breath.’
A chorus of ‘Eww!’ rose up from the children. Mona wasn’t looking forward to smelling it herself but she couldn’t go back now. Besides, she was too angry with the teacher.
‘You’d best do as the Sheriff asks, Mr Woods,’ Connor piped up. ‘Unless you want to spend a night behind bars.’
The teacher was red-faced. He crossed over to Mona and stood before her, arms folded. Mona leant forward. The stench of alcohol was prevalent.
Mona turned to Connor. ‘Go and fetch Mrs Bartram. Tell her she’s going to have to take this class again today.’
‘Sure, Sheriff,’ Connor said, pulling open the door.
&nb
sp; Mr Woods face had turned a deep puce colour. ‘So you’re arresting me for being absent yesterday?’ he asked bitterly.
‘No, Mr Woods,’ Mona sighed. ‘I’m not arresting you. I’m ordering you to go home and sober up. Have a bath. And stay away from the saloon, tonight. This isn’t a good example to set the children.’
She watched the teacher, as he started quivering with restraint anger. ‘It was a sorry day you became Sheriff of No Hope,’ he hissed, just as Mrs Bartram walked in accompanied by Connor.
‘Mr Woods,’ said the large lady. ‘Do as the Sheriff says and go home.’ Connor must have filled her in on what was going on.
‘But, Martha,’ Mr Woods began, trying to get his colleague to side with him.
‘But nothing, Geoffrey. You have a liking for liquor I do not much care for. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. The headmistress is all for kicking you out, but I told her to give you another chance. Don’t make me regret it.’
Mr Woods, speechless, looked at the students who were watching with surprised delight. This was one of the most exciting school days they’d ever had, a teacher getting a telling off.
‘Fine,’ Mr Woods said. He yanked his coat off the back of his chair. ‘You teach these dumb kids. I quit.’
At once the children cheered as Mr Woods stormed out of the room. Mrs Bartram let the children continue for a moment longer. ‘All right, children. Settle down, now.’
