*Thank you," Frances said.
"As for you and the boy here," Mrs. Judson added, lowering her voice, "Sheriff Malloy and his wife are putting you up at their house."
"That's very kind," Frances said.
Mrs. Judson's eyes widened. "Oh, it's not to be kind," she said. "That robber who was on the train with you—"
"Seth Connally," Frances prompted.
"Yes, Seth Connally. As I was saying, he'll figure it out, if he hasn't already, that the two of you probably had something to do with setting the sheriff after him and his brothers. Since there's nothing to say that this Connally won't come back, the sheriff thinks you'll be a lot safer under his own roof."
Sarah Malloy, who was as soft and plumply rounded as a feather bed, smiled and hugged Frances as they were introduced. "It*s a wonderful thing you're doing, helping to find parents fof orphans and waifs," she said.
"Fm glad 1 was able to rely on the committee," Frances answered. "Fd never have been able to figure out, among all those people, which would be good parents and which wouldn't"
Sarah's eyebrows rose and wiggled, as though she knew secrets no one else could know. "Hummph!" she sniffed. "I'm afraid the committee can be counted on just so far."
"What do you mean?" Frances asked.
"Think about it. Is Zeke CoUey, who owns a feed store, going to tell you not to give a child to a good
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customer, even though he knows the man is after a free farm worker and nothing more? Or will Effie Jerome snitch on her best friend, even though she knows her friend has a temper that can*t be matched and has been known to take a heavy switch to unruly children?"
Frances pressed a hand against a painful knot that had suddenly appeared in her chest. "If Fve made some mistakes, maybe it's not too late to correct them. If you'll give me names—"
Sheriff Malloy tossed his hat at the top of a coat rack that stood just inside the front door of the small, cozy living room. "Now, Sarah, don't go stirrin' up Miss Kelly about somethin' that didn't happen. I was there. I saw who got the children, and they were all good, law-abidin' folk."
"Whatever you say," Sarah said pleasantly. She busily straightened a lacy antimacassar that sprawled over the back of a nearby upholstered chair, as if she wanted to show she didn't really agree with her husband. "Miss Kelly—" She beckoned toward a short hallway. "Put your hat and baggage in the first bedroom. You'll share it with our girls. Eddie can sleep on a pallet in front of the fireplace in the living room. Then join me in the kitchen. I'm making fried chicken and mashed potatoes for supper, and you can lend me a hand if you wouldn't mind."
"Not at all, you are very kind, Mrs. Malloy."
"You may call me Sarah, dear."
"Then please call me Frances," she replied.
Frances made sure that Eddie was comfortable before she went to help Sarah with supper.
"Will Seth Connally come back, like they think?" Eddie asked.
"No, he won't," Frances answered. "He's too
smart to try a senseless act like that." She ruffled his hair as she added, "All youVe got to worry about is how much of Mrs. Malloy's chicken and mashed potatoes you'll be able to eat."
Eddie relaxed enough to smile, so Frances left him and walked into the kitchen.
She had questions for Sarah, but she didn't have to ask them. Sarah wanted to know about every child chosen, and she had comments to make about each set of foster parents. Frances was prepared to learn the worst, but with relief she soon found that Sarah's remarks were no more damaging than the tittle-tattle that went on at church suppers:
"Oh, she makes out to be the frugal one, but it's a fact that she sews fancy lace on her bloomers."
"She won first prize with her apple pie, but it wasn't her receipt at all. It was her sister's."
"A well-dressed feller came 'round, claimin' to be his brother, and didn't he have his nose in the air, but it turned out they weren't brothers at all but second cousins, and the cousin had walked out on a wife and six children."
Sarah glanced sidelong at Frances. **That robber that John thinks might come back—^how did you get to know him?"
"He was a passenger in our car on the train," Frances answered.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "You took up with a strange man on the train?"
Frances ignored the shock in Sarah's voice. "No. I didn't take up with anyone. Half a dozen adults sat in the seats at the rear of our car. Mr. . . . uh . . . Connally was one of them."
"But he must have talked to you. He must have
told you what he plaimed to do." Sarah was so intent on hearing what Frances had to say that the chicken pieces sputtering and sizzling in the pan began to bum.
Frances wrapped a towel around her hand and slid the large, heavy iron skillet to one side of the stove. Sarah, embarrassed, jumped to turn the pieces so that they would brown evenly.
Knowing that Sarah would keep after her until she answered her questions, Frances said, "He told us just before he left the train. He was going to take Eddie hostage. I stopped him."
"My land!" Sarah exclaimed. "Weren't you afraid?"
"Yes, I was."
"And aren't you afraid now that he might come back?"
Frances thought a moment. Seth was intelligent, and there had been much he'd learned as a soldier— when to hide and when to pick the right time to make his move. He wouldn't return to Harwood for her. It would be too dangerous for him. If he came for her, it probably would be after she'd arrived back home . . . alone. Yes, she decided. That would be the time and the place. Frances knew this just as certairUy as if she had received a mental message from Seth. Cold chills ran up her backbone, and she shivered.
"There, there, I knew you were afraid," Sarah said with satisfaction, "but you don't have to wony. Where else could you be safer than in the sheriff's own home?"
Soon the Malloys' two daughters were called inside to supper. The older, about fourteen, Frances guessed, had washed at the pump by the back door.
but it was obvious that the younger, who must have been no more than seven, had settled for some hasty splashes at her face, leaving streaks of dirt.
"WeVe got company," Sarah said. She moistened one end of a towel and scrubbed hard at her squirming daughter's face.^
As she helped'carry platters of food to the sturdy table that filled one comer of the living room, Frances saw with surprise that she and Eddie weren't the only guests for supper.
A brawny man with a gray beard slowly unwound his long legs and raised himself from a low upholstered chair to greet her.
"I'd like you to meet Sheriff Duncan, from over in Clay County, Miss KeUy," Sheriff Malloy said. "I've been fillin' him in on Seth Connally, in case he shows up in western Missouri."
Sheriff Duncan's voice rumbled deep within his throat. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Kelly. We'll do our best to catch Connally. Don't you worry none."
*Thank you," FYances murmured. She fumbled with the chair where Sarah directed her to sit, hoping that she wouldn't be asked about Seth.' What could she tell them? That he was a bitter, unforgiving man bent on revenge? No. There was more than that. There was still goodness within Seth. He had proved it when he had done as she'd asked and hadn't taken Eddie.
Sheriff Malloy sniffed appreciatively at the steaming platter of fried chicken, bowed his head, and said a very quick grace.
Plates were passed to be filled, and Frances was gratified to see that Eddie began eating without hesitation. He appeared to be bouncing back from the
hurt of not being chosen at this first stop. He'd be in good spirits tomorrow, she was sure.
During dinner the two men dominated the conversation. Between mouthfuls, Sheriff Duncan began talking about the robbery of the Clay County Savings Association back in February.
"It was one of the first bank robberies for Frank and Jesse James and their gang," Sheriff Malloy added.
"Now, wait. There's some doubt the James gang were the ones who done it," Sheriff Duncan t
old him. "We've got witnesses that swore Frank was in Kentucky at the time and Jesse was home sick in bed."
"Nobody on the scene recognized the James brothers?"
"Oh, sure. We got witnesses who'll swear the boys were there. We just have to figger who's tellin' the truth and who isn't"
Eddie, obviously fascinated by what the men were saying, looked back and forth from one to the other. Frances sighed. This was not the kind of conversation an impressionable young boy should be hearing.
Sheriff Malloy chuckled. "Maybe you should get Wild Bill Hickok into it. You heard what just happened over in Springfield, didn't you?"
"About him shootin' somebody named Tutt who won Bill's watch fair and square in a poker game?"
"Yeah. The way I heard it, the next day he stood at the comer of the public square, right smack in the middle of the city, and waited two hours for Tutt to come by. Called him out and shot him in the heart."
Eddie gasped, and his mouth dropped open.
"When's Bill going to be up for trial?"
"I don't know, but chances are he'll be acquitted Tutt could have been lucky and got off the first shot"
Frances put down her fork. "He killed a man over a watch?" she asked indignantly.
'There was an argument somewhere in there, too," Sheriff Duncan said.
"No matter," frances said. "He killed a man. He should go to prison."
"We're talldng about WUd Bill Hickok, ma'am," Sheriff Duncan said in surprise. "He's pretty well known for helping to bring law and order all the way into Kansas. Surely you've heard of him."
"Yes, I have, but it doesn't matter how well known he is," Frances said. "A murderer should go to jail."
Sheriff Dimcan spoke slowly, as though he were trying to explain something difficult to understand. "But it wasn't murder, ma'am. It was a call-out Either man could have shot first Bill did. Tutt didn't It was as simple as that."
Eddie nodded solemnly, along with the men.
"Kill or be killed?" Frances asked. 'That's not what life is all about"
Sheriff Malloy broke in by speaking to his friend. "Women don't understand these things," he said. "I think Sarah's even given up tryin'. So there's no use explainin'."
Frances glanced at Sarah. "I'm very tired," she said. "May I please be excused? Eddie, too?"
"I'm not tired," Ekidie said. He edged his chair a little closer to Sheriff Duncan's.
"Yes, you are," Frances told him. "And we have to rise early tomorrow to get under way."
Sarah said, "Make yourself comfortable in the girls' room. The girls will share the bottom half of the
trundle bed. You take the top. Til make a pallet for Eddie near the fireplace."
"But Tm not sleepy," Eddie complained.
"Good," Sarah said. "Then you can help the girls wash the dishes."
Satisfied that Eddie wouldn't be subjected to an evening filled with stories about outlaws, Frances left the room. After she removed her tightly laced corset, she happily rubbed her back and sighed with relief. She changed into a nightdress and robe and washed her face and arms. It was the first time she'd been able to change her clothing since she'd left New York City.
Before she crawled into bed under one of Sarah's neatly pieced quilts, Frances opened her journal. In the light from an oil lamp she wrote about what had happened on the train, and she wrote about the children who had been chosen. Then she wrote about what she had been longing to write about but had pushed aside—her love for Johnny.
Johnny and Seth — they're so much alike in spite of being Union and Confederate in their feelings. If they had met on a battlefield, they would have tried to kill each other. If I tried to point out similarities, they'd hotly deny they had anything in common. Yet both are wrapped up in cocoons of resentment and hatred. Nothing else seems important to them. Seth's goal is revenge, and I pray that Johnny doesn't take the same path.
Johnny refused me, so in turn I refused him. Was I right to do so? I don't want to lose him. I can't.
Isn't love stronger than hatred? I just hope that somehow I'll have the chance to prove this is true.
At midmoming, after a hearty breakfast, Frances and Eddie returned to the depot, accompanied by Sheriff Malloy.
He plopped down on the platform a heavy basket of fresh biscuits, cheese, and apple cake that Sarah had packed for the children and surveyed the area around the depot. "Sarah doesn't understand I can't be a packhorse and a watchdog, too," he said. "You don't see Connally around, do you?"
"No," Frances answered.
The sheriff kept his eyes on the window in the small building and added, "FU just have a quick look-around."
Many of the children had already arrived. Frances greeted them eagerly, then thanked the kind people who had given them shelter for the night.
Soon all the names on her list had been checked except one—that of five-year-old Walter Emerich.
"I can't leave without Walter," Frances told Sheriff Malloy. "Is there someone we could send after him?"
The sheriff smiled and pointed up the road. "There's Jake and Effie Kleinhurst coming now, and they've got a little boy with them. Is that Walter?"
"Yes," Frances said. "Thank goodness!"
As Jake Kleinhurst stopped the wagon, his wife jumped out, not waiting to be helped. She picked up her skirts and ran through the dust toward Frances. She was a small, thin woman, and she shyly ducked her head as she said, "I'd thought about asking for one of the children, but I wasn't sure if we should or not. I didn't know how it would turn out. What if the child wasn't happy? Or what if Jake and me weren't happy?"
In the distance a train whistle blew, and the chil-
dren clustered more tightly around Frances. Jake, with Walter in tow, hurried to join his wife. "Come out with it, Effie," Jake said.
Effie Kleinhurst raised her voice and spoke rapidly. "Please, miss. Walter is the child Jake and I have dreamed of having. Please . . . it's not too late, is it? May we take Walter to raise?"
Frances smiled at Walter. "Is this what you'd like, Walter?"
"Yes," Walter said, and he raised his arms to Jake. "Pick me up, Papa," he said.
"I'll vouch for the Kleinhursts," Sheriff Malloy told Frances. "They've got a good-size farm, and they'll make the boy happy."
Jake's face reddened with pleasure. "I'm gonna get Walter a pony," he said.
Frances rummaged through her carpetbag, found the right papers, and, with the Kleinhursts' help, filled them out just as the train chugged into the depot.
She hugged Walter goodbye and helped the other children up the steps into one of the cars. "It's a short trip," she told them. "We'll be in Springbrook soon after lunch."
While the children settled into their seats, Frances quickly glanced around the car. Don't be ridiculous, she told herself as she realized she'd been looking for Seth.
Sheriff Malloy put the heavy basket next to the rack for baggage and shook Frances's hand. "You be careful, now, y'hear?" he said.
"I will," Frances told him.
"I'm wiUin' to bet you haven't seen the last of that young man."
Frances didn't answer, but she secretly agreed. Last night she'd been sure that Seth would wait until
she'd arrived home—^that is, if he decided to put in an appearance—^but now she wasn't so positive. Seth was impulsive, and he would be angry. It was possible that he'd intercept her en route.
"The conductor's goin' to watch out for you, and I telegraphed the sheriff's department near Spring-brook to keep an^eye on you and the boy while you're there," Sheriff Malloy assured her.
*Thank you," Frances said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "But I don't think we'll have any trouble."
"Maybe not," Sheriff Malloy said, "but it's best to keep an eye out for it and head it off before it gets started."
Irrationally, Frances wanted to laugh after he left the railway car. The sheriff sounded as if he were reporting an approaching storm. In his own way, Seth is a storm, she realize
d, and for the first time she wondered what she'd say or do if he suddenly appeared.
The twelve children making the second lap of the journey were quiet and almost too well-behaved. Frances knew they were worried about having to go through the selection process a second time, and she wished it were in her power to ensure that every one of them would find a happy home. She told them stories she invented on the spot; she sang to them; and she made up riddles. She played a form of "I Spy with My Little Eye" with the farm animals and objects they could see from the windows, but those who joined in did so halfheartedly. It was obvious that their minds were on the coming ordeal.
At one point Frances felt that she was being watched, and she glanced up quickly. Near the back of the car, on the aisle, a pair of eyes looked back at her from under a flat, broad-brimmed black hat.
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The man sat slumped down in his seat, his legs stretched out under the seat in front of him. A tattered Confederate jacket lay across his chest as a blanket, and its collar hid the lower part of his face,
Seth? Frances looked away. For a moment she felt faint, and her hands trembled.
"Miss Kelly, I'm hungry," Daisy complained
Her voice broke the spell, and Frances pulled herself back to the job at hand.
Frances opened the basket and let Aggie pass the food to the children. Frances's mind raced. FU ignore him. The man couldn't be Seth . . . or covM he? If he is Seth, why is he here? What does he want? Maybe — if he is Seth — I can convince him, to give himself up.
Frances gave a small groan. She couldn't bear not knowing. There's only one thing to do, and that's confront him, she thought
She straightened and took two steps down the aisle before she saw that the man had left She walked to the empty seat, looking for Seth's familiar carpetbag, but there was no sign that anyone had ever been there.
Circle of Love Page 10
