The moment when he would decide whether to remain in the motel room he shared with an English man who spent his time flipping channels on the television or to seek quiet solitude elsewhere.
The moment when he would not sit down to dinner with his family.
The moment when he would not lie down in his own bed.
The moment when he would wonder what had become of Elijah Capp and have no way to find out.
The moment he would want to take his little brother to the barn to feed apples to the horses.
The moment he would wish for a glimpse of Annalise’s smile, the turn of her head.
Rufus double-checked that all his own tools were accounted for in the wooden toolbox he had made himself a decade ago, then did a final visual sweep of the room. The afternoon’s labor yielded a satisfactory rank of cabinets. Tomorrow a pair of young hospital publicists would move back into their remodeled work space, while Rufus and the rest of the team began on the next vacated space.
“We’re getting together a group for dinner. Wanna come?” Marcus closed and latched a red metal toolbox.
“Thank you for thinking to include me, but I have an errand,” Rufus said.
Marcus collected four empty Styrofoam cups to carry out of the office. “A man’s got to eat. You might as well use your per diem account.”
“I’m not all that hungry.” Rufus picked up his toolbox. “I’ll walk back to the motel later. It’s not that far.”
Before he left the hospital, Rufus made his way back to the emergency department, just to be sure Ruth was not still waiting for word on Elijah. A harried woman with three droopy-eyed children now occupied the seats where Rufus and Ruth had sat earlier in the afternoon. Rufus approached the desk.
“Excuse me, you had a patient named Elijah Capp today. Was he admitted to the hospital?”
A new clerk had begun a new shift, and she typed some letters into the computer. “We don’t have anybody under that name.”
Rufus puffed his cheeks and let out his breath. “That’s good. Thank you.”
He stepped on the mat that parted the sliding doors and leaned into the outside air sweetened with a flock of blue hydrangea. After a pause to get his bearings, Rufus calculated that the sign he had seen that morning must have been on the other side of the hospital and began to walk around.
Realtors worked primarily in certain geographic areas, he supposed. But southwestern Colorado was spread out, and a Realtor representing commercial property would surely have a larger region. Cañon City was not so far from Westcliffe that he could not find someone to help him.
Rufus rounded two corners of the blockish hospital and found himself where he wanted to be. The old house still had lights on inside.
Ruth ate with nearly embarrassing velocity. The potato soup was hearty, the black bread warm, the meatloaf baked to saucy perfection. Even the roasted broccoli, never Ruth’s favorite vegetable, settled into her taste buds pleasantly. All day long she had thought herself too nervous to think about food
“How about some pie?” Bryan reached for the dessert menu against the wall of their booth.
“I can’t eat another bite.” Ruth protested with two raised hands. “But thank you for all this. The whole day is a blur. I didn’t realize how much better I would feel if I ate.”
“They have peach pie.” Bryan wiggled his brow.
“It can’t possibly be as good as my mamm’s.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t taste it.”
Ruth laughed. “Yes I will. Even I can’t make a peach pie that tastes as good as hers. The pies here probably come out of a box in the freezer.”
“Somebody had to make them and put them in a box.”
She shook her head. “I’m not budging.”
“I hope someday I get to taste your mother’s pie.”
Ruth dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Sometimes she sells them.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
She knew that. She just did not know how to respond to what Bryan was hinting at.
The waitress appeared and offered coffee, which Bryan accepted. Ruth had had her fill of coffee for one day. If she had nurtured hope of sleeping that night, she should decline.
“Last chance for dessert,” he said.
Ruth shook her head. The waitress poured Bryan’s coffee.
“Your family seems really great.” Bryan added cream to his coffee. “I mean, from what you’ve said about them.”
“We’re not perfect.”
“No family is. But it seems like they accept that you’re making your own decisions without freaking out the way Alan’s dad does.”
“I’ve disappointed them, but they love me.”
“How could you disappoint them by being a nurse?” Bryan clinked his spoon against the side of his mug.
“It means I can’t join the church.” Ruth pulled apart the remaining dark roll in the basket and nibbled one half.
“You still believe in God, don’t you?”
“Very much.”
“And you’re trying to do something good in the world.”
“Yes. But the Amish live apart. We…they are not concerned with the English world.”
“Can’t you be a nurse for Amish people?” Bryan held his mug by the rim, ready to raise it to his lips.
“I would very much like to serve the Amish or other groups that do not always have someone to trust when they need medical help. But I still need an English education.”
Bryan shrugged both shoulders. “So you join another church. You keep praying. You keep serving.”
Ruth gave a half smile. If he thought it was that simple, Bryan Nichols did not understand a single rudimentary fact about the Amish. “How’s the coffee?”
He took a long drag on the dark liquid and set the mug down. “This Elijah guy means something to you, doesn’t he?”
“A great deal.” The roll was nearly crumbling between Ruth’s fingers now.
“Like, you’re dating him?”
“No.” Definitely no.
“But you used to.”
“Sort of. Yes. I guess the English would say so.”
“My paramedic partner said he was about ready to tell you two to get a room.”
Ruth looked at him blankly. “That sounds like an English expression.”
“It is. Haven’t you heard it? You know…when two people want to be close, they get a room.”
The blush rose through her face immediately.
“I’m sorry.” Bryan set his cup down abruptly and sloshed coffee onto the table. “I didn’t mean…I would never…It’s just what he said. He thought there was something more than friendship. Some kind of electricity.”
“It’s complicated.”
Bryan smiled. “Now there’s an English expression.”
“One that I understand.”
“I’m not doing this very well.” He took the napkin from his lap and sopped up spilled coffee. “I’m trying to say that what you did for Elijah today was awesome. It tells me a lot about the kind of person you are.”
Ruth’s chest pressed in on her lungs. “Thank you.”
“I know I’m being an idiot. But I hope I haven’t blown my chance.”
“Your chance?”
“To get to know you better. To become friends. To maybe, I don’t know, see where things might go.”
His words stunned her. “We hardly know each other, Bryan.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?” He wadded up his soggy napkin. “Okay, this is not that, exactly. It’s more like first cousins once removed….Or maybe perfect strangers…I just want a chance.”
Twenty-Nine
June 1892
Maura looked at herself in the mirror while Belle Mooney fastened the stubborn buttons down the back of Maura’s black dress. The buttons on the broad cuffs would be the next challenge. She had first worn the dress for her mother’s funeral and only a few weeks ago for John Twigg’s.
“My mother bought these buttons at Denton’s Emporium.” Maura smoothed her skirt. “She had a different use in mind. I only decided to put them on this dress for her funeral.”
“I wish you wouldn’t trade at Denton’s.” Belle picked up her hat from Maura’s quilted bedspread. “You know how I feel about them.”
“We’ve both shopped there for years.” Maura sat on the bed, lifted a handkerchief from the nightstand, and brushed dust off the black shoes tied around her ankles.
“That was before,” Belle said. “You saw what they did to John. Vicious beasts.”
Maura sucked in her lips to keep herself from speaking aloud the thought racing through her mind. John Twigg had been far from innocent in the feud between the Dentons and the Twiggs. Instead, she tried another approach.
“The feud is going on too long,” Maura said. “You lost John, and now the whole county has lost our sheriff.”
“Because of the Twiggs. That’s what you mean.” Belle fingered the comb holding her hair in place, adjusting. “It’s not all their fault.”
Maura reached across the bed for her own hat. “Let’s focus on Sheriff Byler’s funeral. Half of Baxter County will be there to pay respects.”
“I’m not sure I should go.”
“Why on earth not?”
“None of the Twiggs are going.”
“Understandably,” Maura said. “They harbored the man who did this.”
“Jesse Roper’s mother is dead.” Belle balled her fists at her sides. “Old Man Twigg is his mama’s daddy. He’s kin.”
Maura stood slowly. “Not to you, Belle. He’s not kin to you.”
“Nearly. If the Dentons had not stolen my chance to marry, he would be.”
Maura did not wish death for anyone, especially not the way John died. But if Belle did not open her eyes soon and see that the Twiggs were instigating harm, her own heart would freeze over in its bitterness.
“Even if he were your kin,” Maura said, “he still shot the sheriff.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Belle’s pitch rose as her face reddened.
Maura moistened her lips. “I’m sorry, Belle. I should not have upset you. Forgive me.”
“I believe I’ve changed my mind.” Belle picked up her soft gray handbag. “I believe I will ride to Mountain Home for the service with my daddy.”
“I thought we were all going together.”
“You have upset me, Maura. You upset me when you try to tell me John was not the man for me. You upset me when you defend the Dentons. I will go to the funeral out of respect to Sheriff and Mrs. Byler because they have been kind to me in the past, but I will ride with Daddy.”
“Even your daddy hates the Twiggs.” Maura regretted the words as soon as she blurted them out.
This was Joseph’s first English funeral and his first time in an English church. He did not go to the viewing the day before, but even Zeke offered no objection when Joseph said he intended to pay respects. At the church in Mountain Home, he sat at the end of a pew in the back. His black suit matched the garb of mourners, and Joseph even removed his hat and held it in his lap during a lengthy eulogy of the beloved sheriff. Joseph learned Abraham Byler had been sheriff for a long stretch then served in the state legislature before deciding he preferred to be sheriff. The county’s citizens had been glad to receive him back to office.
Prayers and a homily followed, before the pews emptied to somber organ music and most of the grieved congregation trailed the carriage carrying the pine casket to the graveyard. Once again Joseph held himself to the edge of the gathering, this time his hat on his head. The brevity of the graveside service surprised him. In his community, the entire congregation would have stood for two hours of sermons and prayers. Here, the minister read from a black book, pronounced “dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” and spoke words of hope and resurrection.
Bess Byler stepped forward to throw the first handful of dirt on her husband’s casket as it was lowered into the gaping fresh ground wound. Two young men, whom Joseph supposed to be her sons who lived nearby, hovered at her elbows. Bess’s face wrenched and paled, but she did not cry aloud.
Walter stood between his parents in a black suit he had outgrown. The ill-fitting clothes were not what captured Joseph’s attention, but rather the ill-fitting expression on the boy’s face as he watched the sheriff’s widow release her husband to God. Walter’s expression overflowed with remorse. Joseph wondered if he had even told his parents what he had done.
The assembly slowly turned and staggered back toward the church, where members of the ladies guild had stayed behind to arrange food and refreshment.
Joseph watched Maura Woodley stifle her sobs and put a gloved hand on her father’s arm to gesture that he should go ahead. She remained at the grave, on her knees in the grass now. Walter stood stiff as his parents moved with the congregation.
Putting an arm around Walter’s shoulders, Joseph nudged him toward Maura. “I think Walter has something he would like to say to you.”
She lifted a tear-streaked face, questioning.
Walter shook his head, but Joseph kept the boy pointed toward his cousin.
“Walter?” Maura stood up.
“Jesse Roper made fun of me,” Walter blurted. “He treated me like a child.”
“What are you talking about?” Maura’s eyes moved from Walter’s to Joseph’s.
“I was there when the boys were shooting cans. I’m the one who told Deputy Combs they would all be at Digger Dawson’s.”
Maura’s breath caught. “Did you shoot?”
“No. He wouldn’t let me.”
“You should not have been running around with Jesse Roper, but they were breaking the law. You did nothing wrong in reporting them.”
“I just wanted to get back at him.”
“I grant that your motive was questionable.” Maura put a hand to the side of her face.
“If I hadn’t said anything, the sheriff would not have gone looking for Roper.”
From Joseph’s close-up viewpoint, Walter’s face looked as though it might crumble into sand.
Maura glanced at the still open grave at her feet. “This is not your fault, Walter. You have some growing up to do, but you did not cause this.”
Relief oozed out of Joseph. He turned Walter toward the church. “Go on. Find your parents. Let them take you home.”
The boy stumbled then found his gait.
Joseph turned to Maura. “I am sorry for your loss. I did not know Sheriff Byler personally, but he seemed a kind man who only wanted peace for your people.”
She nodded, and he saw her struggle to swallow. Wordless, they walked side by side toward the church but at an ever-slowing pace.
“They did not catch him, you know,” Maura finally said.
“Roper?”
“Several posses went out that same day and in the days since, but he got away. How can one man escape twenty or more?”
“Perhaps he had help.”
Maura ceased forward progress altogether. “Do you truly believe that?”
“It would be an explanation.”
“Yes, I suppose it would. A friend of the Twiggs, a change of clothing, a borrowed horse. He could be anywhere.”
“And if they do not find him?” Joseph asked. “Is it the way of your people to hunt this man down?”
Maura blew out her breath slowly. “It is our way to bring justice whenever it is possible.”
“Is justice not in God’s hands?”
“You ask complicated questions, Mr. Beiler.”
“Do I?” Joseph meant only to understand the English ways.
“If he crossed Bald Dave Mountain into Missouri, he could go into Indian Territory. Change his name. Change his whole life. Just never come back here.” Maura resumed slow steps. “Wh
at must you think of this feuding? It makes little sense to me. I can only imagine what your impressions are.”
“My people do not always get along,” Joseph said, “but we do not shoot at each other.”
“And justice when there has been a wrong?”
“Our tradition teaches forgiveness. Justice is for God to decide. Whatever happens is Gottes wille. God’s will.”
“That it is God’s will for Jesse Roper to get off scot-free is a hard pill to swallow.”
“ ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ ”
“I can see you are quite persistent, Mr. Beiler.”
“My people are persistent in peace.”
Maura looked toward the church. “We should at least go in and have a cup of coffee.”
“Kaffi,” Joseph said. “I wonder if people of all churches soothe their difficult moments with a black bitter drink.”
A smile escaped her lips even on this somber day. “The truth is, I do not care for coffee. I drink it to be polite.”
“Perhaps they will have tea,” he said.
“Or church ladies’ punch.”
“Lemonade with too much sugar.”
She laughed, for one second, then sobered.
“I am sorry,” Joseph said. “I do not make light of the occasion.”
“No. Of course not.” She had no doubt of his sincerity.
“Please forgive me.”
“I am guilty as well. I laughed.” Maura’s forward motion did not display her reluctance. “Sheriff Byler was a man of good humor. He would have agreed with you about the lemonade.”
“I wish I had had the opportunity to know him better.”
“Even though he was an English lawman?”
“Even so.”
“I’m so worried about Belle.” Maura put one hand over her eyes for a few seconds. “I’ve offended her. She would not even ride to the funeral with me.”
“This is a difficult day for many people,” Joseph said. “You will speak again on another day.”
“I am not so sure. She has always been the more sensitive one, but she has turned a new corner in refusing my company. I cannot seem to say anything right.”
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