by Lilly Inman
“And I thought you’d be hard at work, no?” She leaned back and tapped her foot, irritated.
“I was — uhh — I am!” Joe stuttered. “Interviewing the locals. Looking for witnesses.” He scratched the back of his neck, stuffing his hand into his pocket. The corner of a piece of paper poked out. What was he hiding?
Isabelle snatched his hand from his pocket and read the note.
An order slip. For a book. Tales of Medieval France.
Isabelle stared at the paper in her hand, dumbfounded. How did he find a book like this? Joe cleared his throat.
“Could I… could I take that back, please? I’ll need it to collect your gift…” Joe said quietly, reaching out and gently sliding the note from Isabelle’s hand.
She looked up at him, eyes wide in shock. He was smiling. The pair of them burst into a fit of giggles.
“I’m so sorry, Joe. I don’t know what came over me,” she apologised, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess I thought…” she trailed off, her eyes wandering to the window of the general store.
“Jealousy is a vice,” Joe teased, winking.
Isabelle flushed and drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders, pensive. Could she be jealous? Did she really care that much about Joseph? Would other women talking to him really have such an impact on her?
“So much for the surprise…” Joe tucked the note carefully back into his pocket.
“Joe!” They were suddenly interrupted by a man’s urgent call. Up the street, Matthew came running down the steps of the Sheriff’s office. “Joe, get over here!”
All the laughter slid off Joe’s face. He turned to meet Matthew, his expression closed and serious. Ready. “Tell me.”
“The miller’s boy — on the other side of town,” Matthew panted. “He’s been attacked. Hurt pretty bad.” He leaned over to catch his breath.
“Who did it?”
Matthew looked up at him silently, his eyes dark.
The colour drained from Joe’s face. He turned quickly to Isabelle.
“You need to leave here. Go home. Take the horse.”
Isabelle looked warily towards the hitching post. The horse kicked a leg in the dirt. Isabelle bit her lip, anxious.
Joe rested his hands on her shoulders. Looking her square in the face, he encouraged her. “You can do this. Remember what we said.” He touched Isabelle’s cheek softly before spinning around and racing after Matthew.
Isabelle stood alone in the street, one hand raised to her cheek where Joseph’s touch still echoed.
*
Isabelle heard Joe’s heavy footsteps coming slowly upstairs. She’d left a kerosene lamp on for him when she eventually went to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. She crawled out of bed and opened her door an inch.
Joseph stopped straight in the hall. He looked exhausted and turned around, surprised. Spying Isabelle in her nightgown, his eyes darted away.
“Wasn’t expecting anyone to be up.” His voice was rough.
“I couldn’t sleep. Are you alright?”
He nodded. Isabelle darted to her wardrobe and threw on a house coat. She joined him in the hall, silently closing the door behind her. “What happened?” she whispered.
“Break-in down at the mill. Troublemakers looking for heavy equipment, metal. Kid got stabbed.” He swallowed. “Protecting his mother. He’s hurt, badly, but the doctor’s with him now. He’s going to be alright.”
Joe made off down the hall and Isabelle stopped him, hand on the doorknob of his study.
“You’re not going to bed?” She asked.
“Work to do,” Joe said darkly and disappeared inside the room, closing the door tight behind him.
*
Isabelle wandered through the large house, alone.
Joseph was gone. Thrown himself back into his work. He spent every day that week at the office in town, leaving before sunrise and often coming home just to grab a plate of food and disappear upstairs to his study. The Old Man did what he could to keep Isabelle’s spirits up, but he knew she missed Joe.
She missed Joe.
So she wandered through the large house. It’s amazing how vast the place felt without its master’s presence.
Sometimes she would linger outside Joe’s bedroom door, knowing he wasn’t there. What had come over her?
The door to the study was no longer open and inviting. Isabelle remembered the old days, curled up in the armchair listening to Joseph’s quiet murmurs. Her heart twinged.
Every day she passed that door, wondering how he was… every day the door remained closed. Isabelle found herself rudely shut out. She had trouble even trying to smile.
Once she tried the door handle and found it unlocked. She opened the door a fraction. Her heart jumped into her throat and she paused. She let go of the handle and the door swung open. Nobody.
And so it continued, day after day.
Her only consolation was hearing Joe come home at the end of each day. She would lie awake, waiting to hear his footsteps on the stairs. Then she would spring from her bed and rush to the door only to catch a brief sight of him disappearing into the study.
One morning, after sipping another cold coffee on her own, Isabelle went upstairs to awaken the Old Man. She usually glanced towards the study door, as she had grown the habit of doing, hoping to see it open. But today she didn’t have the heart to. She felt empty.
The Old Man woke up blearily. “Oh, that you dear?” He sat up. “Thought I’d heard my boy…”
Isabelle simply shook her head and smiled sadly, helping him sit up. She placed a fresh bowl of water beside him on the night stand and pressed her hand to his forehead. He looked pale.
“I’ll be fine now, dear, thank you.” He brushed her away.
Isabelle exited the room softly and closed the door behind her.
Something in the hallway caught her eye. An unusual beam of sunlight stretched across the floor.
The door of Joseph’s study was wide open.
Isabelle was drawn towards it automatically. Her heart pounded in her chest as she grew closer.
“Joe?”
No reply.
The room was empty. What a surprise. Isabelle turned to leave, a feeling of emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Then she caught sight of something in the armchair. A book.
She had completely forgotten. Tales of Medieval France.
Isabelle curled up in the armchair, welcoming the familiar leather under her touch. She cuddled the book to her chest and felt the tears welling up. A piece of paper peeked out from under the cover. The note was scrawled in Joseph’s spiky black handwriting.
Something to keep you company until I get home.
She read there until the shadows of the day grew long.
Chapter Thirteen
Joseph felt the strain on his body just as much as he felt it on his mind. He knew he couldn’t keep going on like this forever. His muscles ached. He was lonely. He needed to find a solution… for Isabelle. She’d never asked for a life like this.
He wasn’t spending much time at home these days, and he was rarely at the office in town either. His days were taken up with visiting local shops and businesses, interviewing residents and travelling to and from nearby townships to speak with other lawmen. Not to mention all the standard daily law and order tasks necessary to keep the peace in a small town.
He was alone in tracking these dangerous criminals, repeat offenders. Alone and inexperienced.
And people were getting hurt. Under his guidance.
Joseph paced around his office, shaking his head. He felt responsible for the break-in at the mill, and for all the serious crimes committed before then. It was his duty to protect the citizens, but here they were, forced to live in a permanent state of danger. At least while this group of criminals were still hanging around.
Matthew arrived at the office just in time to catch Joe on his way out.
“Joe, where are you off to now? You look exhausted. Why don’t
you go home? Let me do something for you.” The young man clapped Joe on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me.” Joe shrugged him off. “I’m going to head down to the mill. See how the boy’s getting on.”
“Come on, isn’t that something I could do? You need to get some rest, Joe.” Matthew looked him up and down, concerned. “Get out of your head for a while. Let go. I can take care of the witness statements for now.”
“I’m doing just fine. Everything is… under control.” Joe turned to leave but paused. “Matthew… you shouldn’t spend so much time here at the office. You got a young wife and baby at home. You should be with your family. Keeping them safe.”
“I could say the same for you,” Matthew replied quietly.
*
Isabelle walked up the steps to the house, her heart pounding. She had finally received it. The long-awaited letter. She’d recognised her father’s handwriting.
Inside, she called out a greeting to the Old Man and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom straight away, swiftly closing the door behind her. Now she had a place where she could be alone with her thoughts. She slowly tore open the envelope. Her fingers trembled.
Isabelle,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know you're going through some hard times right now, but please, don't give up. It was a hard decision for you to leave home. Know that I am so proud of you.
Although I do miss you, it is any father's greatest hope to see his daughter married and taken care of. Rest assured that any trials and tribulations you're going through right now will ease with time. Remember: open yourself to love.
Your brother and sister send their affection, and your mother too. Wherever she may be.
Isabelle sat back on her bed and took it all in.
It is any father's greatest hope to see his daughter married and taken care of.
She remembered how his eyes had brimmed with joyful tears when she had accepted Mr. Cartwright’s invitation to Close Ridge. Isabelle reminded herself why she was here.
She jumped when someone knocked at the door.
“Yes?” she called, springing from her bed and rubbing her eyes.
The Old Man inched the door open and poked his head round. His kind eyes crinkled — he always seemed pleased to see her.
“Hello dear,” he said. “I’ve put some water on to boil. I thought you might like some tea.” His expression changed to one of concern when he noticed her red-rimmed eyes. “Oh, it looks like that tea was a good idea.” He entered her room and sat down heavily on the bed, asking, “May I?”
Isabelle had stuffed the letter under some folds of the blanket and it slipped out onto the floor. She snatched it up hurriedly.
The Old Man watched her, worried. “Everything alright at home?”
Isabelle nodded and tried to smile, swallowing hard. Her lower lip trembled disloyally, giving her away. The Old Man instinctively opened his arms and scooped her in for a hug. “Oh, dear."
“It’s just my dad. He always knows the right things to say,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Fathers do that.”
The old man chuckled but a look of sadness clouded his eyes. “It must be hard for him to have a daughter so far away.”
Isabelle cast her eyes down. “He can handle it, he’s strong. I wish I had some of his strength…”
“You do, dear.” The Old Man’s eyes crinkled with kindness as he lifted Isabelle’s chin with his finger. “You do.”
“Do you think… do you think Joe might stop working so much one day?” she asked.
“I would hope so! I’d never dream of leaving a beautiful young woman like you unattended with a devilish old man like myself!” They both chuckled and Isabelle felt the weight in her chest lift slightly. It was good to have someone to confide in. She only hoped that Joe might take that role one day.
“I wonder — would you mind speaking to Joe for me? I just can’t get through to him. But something needs to change.” She shook her head. “It’s too hard.” Her voice wobbled dangerously and the Old Man rubbed her back. “I thought that, maybe if it came from someone else, a parental authority, that might make a difference.”
The Old Man smiled. “I shall certainly do my best.”
Relief flooded Isabelle and she smiled. “Shall we have that cup of tea, then?” She helped the Old Man to his feet and they walked together to the door. The Old Man paused.
“Isabelle, just a moment.” His face grew solemn. “There is something you must know if you are to stay here with us at Close Ridge. About Joseph.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Old Man took a deep breath.
“Joseph is not my son.”
A chill ran down Isabelle’s spine and she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, her brow furrowed. She didn’t understand.
“He came to me at twelve years old,” the Old Man continued. “He’d just lost both parents.”
Isabelle felt a lump rise in her throat. Joe had been orphaned.
“I’m sorry, Isabelle. We should have told you. It’s still hard for the boy, you know. Even after all these years…”
Isabelle placed a hand on the Old Man’s arm. “It’s OK, Jim.”
“I was Head Sheriff at the time. My wife had passed away, and —”
Isabelle let out a sad moan, her hand at her chest. She looked at him with such big, sad eyes that the Old Man stopped speaking and wrapped his frail arms around her.
“Long time ago now, dear.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, we had this big house, I mean, I did, and it just felt so empty. The boy risked being sent off to another territory, probably would’ve ended up running for the Pony Express. Would’ve killed him. So I took him in.” His wrinkled face was weathered with memories as he drifted into the past. “Certainly kept me on my toes, he did.”
Isabelle squeezed his arm. “You did the right thing,” she said. “And look at him now. Following in your footsteps,” she grinned.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was rigorous enough, but that work ethic of his… he gets that from his father,” the Old Man laughed.
Isabelle’s face took on a serious expression. “Thank you, Jim. For letting me know,” she said quietly.
Chapter Fifteen
Joseph’s knees and hips ached as he climbed down from his horse. He gazed up at the stars as he stretched. Still no further forward with this criminal gang. The Marshall had sent another letter. Joseph’s insides squirmed.
He looked towards the house. They’d left a light on in the kitchen.
Taking care to let the door close softly, he entered the kitchen and found he was not alone. Isabelle sat at the table, opposite the door. She looked up from the newspaper she’d been reading.
“Oh, you’re back. Hey,” she said softly. “I wondered when you might get home.”
He grunted a greeting and went to the stove, serving himself from the pot. Steam rose from the plate as he slung his vest on the table.
“Thanks for heating this up for me. Forgot how nice hot food was,” said Joe in between two mouthfuls.
Isabelle smiled. “You know, I can help you more. Re-heating your meal is one thing, but why don’t you let me work with you on the case? We could go over your notes together tomorrow, if you’d like.”
Joe looked up at her, curious. “You… want to work on the case?” He raised his eyebrow. Now there’s a funny idea.
“Sure. Why not?” Isabelle fidgeted with the Sheriff badge from his vest.
Joe laughed into his plate. “You want to work on the case. It’s not like some of your stories, you know. There’s some real hard stuff in there. This place isn’t like Philadelphia. Too many men think they can get away with being on the wrong side of the law out here. Real criminals. Real crime.”
He took a great gulp of water and pushed away his plate, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Look at you, you’re exhausted. Why can’t I help you? We could be partners.” Isabelle grinned, shining his sheriff
badge on her sleeve. She pinned it onto her blouse. “How do I look?”
“Real pretty. Now pass that over.” Joe feigned disinterest but couldn’t ignore the feeling that rose in his chest as he saw her proudly sporting his badge. He shook his head, chuckling to himself, and carried on eating.
“I am here to become your partner, Joseph.”
He looked up in surprise at the sudden sternness of her voice, then looked away quickly, unsure what to say.
“You can count on me for support.”
“Thank you, miss.” Joe brushed her off and drank from his cup. She rolled the badge across the table, impatient.
“You can tell me anything.”
Joe continued wolfing down his meal, avoiding her eyes.
“I know about your parents, Joe.”
Everything stopped. Joe sat back in his chair. That familiar pain in his heart crept back inside his chest.
The look on Isabelle’s face made it clear to him that she’d gone too far and she knew it. “I — I’m sorry,” she stuttered.
Joseph cast his eyes down, his expression firm. “My parents are gone and they aren’t coming back.”
Isabelle reached across the table to touch his hand but he drew back sharply. He shot her a dark look and left the room.
Chapter Sixteen
The lamplight flickered as Joe forced the door closed behind him. Isabelle found herself suddenly alone in the kitchen and shivered.
She waited in silence a few moments longer, hoping to hear Joseph’s heavy footsteps coming back downstairs. Nothing. She dropped her head in her hands.
Had she gone too far? What had she done wrong? She just wanted to help.
With a heavy sigh, Isabelle stood up and slowly cleared away Joseph's dinner plate. Climbing up the stairs, she listened carefully for any signs of life. No movement. At the top of the hallway, she noticed a soft light coming from under the door of Joseph’s study. She hesitated outside her bedroom door, peering down the hall. Should she go to him?
Isabelle’s fingertips fumbled the corner of her father’s letter, tucked away in her pocket. Her father’s words came back to her. Open yourself to love. A lump rose in her throat. She reminded herself to stay strong.
