by Kay Stuart
“Unsuitable,” Faith suggested. She watched one of Sheriff Walden’s dark eyebrows arch in acknowledgment. Faith squared her shoulders and tilted up her chin. “I am quite aware of what goes on in the back streets,” she declared. Amusement lighted the sheriff’s eyes. “I am a Minister’s daughter,” she finished.
“Maybe you know in theory,” Amos Walden replied. “But I do believe you and your sisters would be shocked at what you found.”
Faith lifted her shoulders as she drew in a deep breath. “Yes,” she replied acknowledging the truth of Sheriff Walden’s statement. The west side of Junction City was not a place to take her sisters. Sighing before giving up Faith admitted her dilemma. “Mr. Cook has been pestering me,” she stated in a rush of words before she could change her mind. “When I saw him standing near the front window I panicked.” Faith felt heat burning her cheeks. Gripping her fingers together she stared at the third button on Sheriff Walden’s shirt. From the movements of his chest Faith was sure the sheriff was laughing at her. When she hazarded a glance at his face his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “You see how it is,” she pleaded before shrugging off her anger. Her situation must be amusing to a man like Sheriff Walden.
“May I walk you home,” Sheriff Walden asked. His amusement was still pronounced when he offered Faith his arm.
“Yes thank you,” Faith replied and placed one hand on the sheriff’s arm. The top of her head barely reached the man’s shoulder. She felt small and protected as she walked beside Sheriff Walden.
Mr. Cook was standing near his front window when Amos Walden escorted Faith pass his store. The man hurried towards the front door before stopping with one hand on the handle. He gave Faith a furious look before turning away. At the end of the road and across the way stood the Baptist Church newly painted white. Here Sheriff Walden halted, “I think you can make it the rest of the way home safely. May I suggest you take Second Street home tomorrow. I might not be available to rescue you from Mr. Cook.” His brown eyes twinkled with a friendly light. The east side of Junction City was the residential area of town. Many fine homes were located along Second and Third streets.
“Yes, thank you,” Faith replied. Her two sisters thanked him also before they turned towards home.
“Mr. Cook is becoming more than a pest,” Faith stormed once they were out of Sheriff Walden’s hearing.
“You don’t think Sheriff Walden is interested in you,” Lydia asked out of the blue.
Faith stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were wide with shock when she turned towards Lydia. “Merciful Heavens! I certainly hope not,” Faith declared. “Wouldn’t that be the frosting on the cake!”
Lydia looked at her sister with concern in her eyes. “You mustn’t swear,” Lydia reminded.
“I know,” Faith said as her emotions deflated. “With Mr. Cook seeking me out at every opportunity all I need is for another man to become interested. I have about decided no man is worthy of my affections.”
Elizabeth and Lydia decided not to comment. Whatever they said was sure to inflame Faith’s temper all the more. “I am going to cut strawflowers and cockscombs and hang them up to dry,” Elizabeth said taking off her bonnet in front the oval mirror. She fluffed her pale gold hair with her fingertips.
“I want to press roses inside a book,” Lydia said. Lydia loved her mother’s sweet smelling red roses. “The weather is turning cold,” she continued. “Rain is sure to ruin mother’s roses before long.” She removed her bonnet and placed it on the table beside Elizabeth’s.
“You two run along,” Faith said. “I will take your things to our room. The sky looks as if it will open up any minute now.”
When Faith walked pass her father’s study the door opened. Phillip Gaines was a tall thin man. His brown hair was in disarray. His long face would never be considered handsome. His nose was hawkish and his brown eyes were overly large and spaced wide apart. “May I speak with you,” he asked.
“Yes Sir,” Faith replied. She lifted the bonnets in her hand before indicating the book satchel under her arm. “May I put Elizabeth’s and Lydia’s things away first. It won’t take but a minute.”
Phillip Gaines was seated behind his large wooden desk when Faith entered his study. The papers spread over the desk indicated her father was working on next week’s sermon. “Is there something I can help you with,” Faith asked.
“Sit down,” Phillip requested. He pushed back his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. There was not an ounce of fat on his lean frame which might explain the boney appearance of his face. He waited until Faith was seated on the straight back chair in front of the desk. The chair was not made for comfort and discouraged a person remaining for a long chat. “Mr. Cook came for a talk this morning,” her father began.
Faith gulped for air. This was not good!
“He asked if he might begin seeing you. He assured me marriage is what prompts his interest.” Phillip Gaines either did not hear Faith’s shocked response to his words or chose to ignore it. Phillip smiled benevolently at his daughter. “As the oldest daughter you are expected to provide assistance to your younger sisters. Mr. Cook is a wealthy man and has a good standing in the community.”
“I loath the man,” Faith replied when she could catch her breath.
“You say that now,” Phillip continued. “In a year or two you will know I am right in suggesting Mr. Cook will make you a good husband.”
Faith pressed her lips firmly together. She wanted to deny her father’s assertions but chose to remain silent. Out of long habit she would not argue the point with her father. Knowing in her heart Mr. Cook would never be suitable for her. “Must I marry,” Faith asked instead. “I have no inclination towards the matter.”
“You must marry,” Phillip replied sternly. “I am not able to provide for your future.”
“The future seems so far off,” Faith replied hoping for a reprieve.
“Take it from me,” Phillip answered. “The future is just around the corner. You don’t want to wait too long. Girls are usually married by the time they are your age. I have been remiss in not seeing to the matter before now. Being selfish I wanted to keep you at home.”
“Mr. Cook is . . . well,” Faith floundered not sure what to say. She did not like Mr. Cook but knew her father would only reply she did not know the man. “If I find . . . if I find,” Faith started over, “Mr. Cook’s attention objectionable. Will you agree to my not marrying the man?”
“I don’t understand your objections,” Phillip replied. “Mr. Cook is likeable. He can more than provide for your keep.”
“Money is not everything. Mother married you because she loves you,” Faith stated feeling she was on safe ground.
“Your mother was not the eldest daughter. She was free to marry the man of her choice. A minister’s salary is pittance. Mary’s father provides her with a yearly income or else we would not be able to manage.” Faith looked at her father surprise widening her brown eyes. She did not know Grandfather Stern provided her mother with a yearly income. “You see why it is important you marry well,” Phillip asked. “When Mr. Stern passes on to his rewards your mother’s income will stop. You must be able to see that your sisters are taken care of in that eventuality.”
Faith felt trapped by her circumstance. “Yes father,” she whispered. At the same time she knew she would never consent to marry Mr. Cook. The man was more than loathsome. He was creepy. She would just have to find someone else to marry. Someone that was more desirable.
Chapter Four
At the end of the day Royce hoped he had not made a fool of himself and wondered if he should expect a visit from Mayor Pillsdale. His investigation into Dean’s murder and the identity of Barlow might end before he could get started.
After closing the outside door to his classroom Royce took a deep breath. The air was brisk with a hint of rain. The sky overhead was gray and growing darker with black clouds moving up from the south. Royce decided to skip his intende
d visit to the Barber Shop. In all likelihood there would be few customers on such a foul day and his goal was to listen to local gossip. Normally a saloon was the place to pickup local news. As a schoolteacher saloons were off limits to him.
He would go to Morse’s general store, pickup supplies and return home. He faced a long night of studying ahead of him and wondered if he was up to deceiving twelve active minds. Marshal Tinsley would advise him to forge ahead and not worry over his mistakes. Still Royce saw his job as teacher looming over him like a dark specter and was determined to do his best. He reached Morse’s General Store and this decision at the same time.
Mr. Morse was behind the service counter when Royce opened the outside door. The man was medium height with blue eyes. His age was somewhere around forty. His brown hair was receding off a wide forehead. Mr. Morse could be Barlow from what little was known about the outlaw. But so could a hundred other men Royce had met in the last few days.
“Mr. Hargadon isn’t it,” Mr. Morse asked. With so few strangers in the area it was easy to assume a new face belonged to the newly arrived schoolteacher.
“Yes Sir,” Royce replied. He glanced out the store’s front window and decided he had time for a short visit before the sky opened up. Mr. Morse was not married therefore had no children in school. For a moment Royce was not sure what to discuss.
“There’s going to be a Fall Celebration in a couple of weeks,” Mr. Morse declared. “And a tent revival at the Baptist Church,” he added as if the church meeting was an after thought. “Ever do any shooting or riding,” the man asked coming back to the subject he found most important. “I’m taking entrees for the up coming events.” He moved tobacco around in his mouth before leaning over and spitting into a pail behind the counter.
“I’ve done some shooting,” Royce admitted in a friendly tone. “I am not sure I qualify to shoot against other contestants.”
Mr. Morse scratched his head wondering why a schoolteacher always used so many words when yes or no would have sufficed. “We do have some mighty good shots in the area. Milton Ferguson has won the Marksmanship Contest the last five years in a row. Last year he hit a bull’s eye every shot. This year Roger Cobb has agreed to put up a Springfield rifle as first prize hoping to stir up more competition,” Morse announced with pride. “Of course the rifle ain’t new. But you should see it,” the man pointed a long boney finger towards the front door. “He has it on display in his front window.”
“Front window,” Royce asked thoughtfully.
“Of course you don’t know Roger. He’s our gunsmith. Five doors down across from the Stage Station,” Morse exclaimed. “I wouldn’t mind owning the rifle but I’m no match for most of the men around town. Beings I work in a store I don’t need to know much about guns and shooting.” Royce wondered if Morse was emphasizing his inexperience on purpose. Deciding the man warranted closer scrutiny. “Can I sign you up,” Morse asked pleasure sounding in his voice. The man might not be handy with a gun but he was eloquent in his persuasiveness. “The entry fee is fifty cent,” he added as if the cost was of no consequence.
Royce paid his entry fee and received a number written on an orange piece of paper. Then he watched as Mr. Morse moved to the front store window. A Blackboard stood so passersby’s could read what was written on it. “Didn’t catch your name,” the storekeeper said.
“Royce Hargadon,” Royce spelled his name for Mr. Morse.
“Never heard the name before,” Mr. Morse explained.
“No reason you should,” Royce replied. “My Pa and I have a one horse ranch down by Clear Valley. I teach to help make ends meet.”
“Ranching is a hard life,” Mr. Morse agreed. “If draught don’t burn up the grass snow will freeze your cattle to the ground. Beings you are a rancher how about entering the calf roping contest. Or maybe bronc riding.”
“No thanks,” Royce replied. “I haven’t a horse with me and to rope a calf takes team work. I sit on the horse and he does all the work.” Mr. Morse laughed. He knew enough about rounding up cattle to know the importance of having a good horse. “As for bronc riding I leave that to younger men. My bones are getting too old.”
The first drops of rain were falling before Royce unlocked the school’s side door. Thunder rolled across the heavens followed by bright flashes of lightning. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to his living quarters. Someone had been inside while he was gone. There was no noticeable disturbance. Everything looked to be just as he had left it. Royce was a man of habits and those habits told a different story. He knew someone had searched through his belongings and found nothing. His Marshal’s badge was pinned inside his left boot. He carried no papers relating to his assignment. After today we would see that any communications from headquarters were burned.
In the kitchen Royce put away his supplies before starting a fire in the cook stove. He made coffee and fried bacon and eggs in a skillet. His meal eaten and kitchen cleaned he opened his text books. He had never been a good student. He knew the basics, reading, writing and mathematic. He knew the multiplication table but division was troublesome. Something he seldom used. How did you divide a cow in two or three parts unless you slaughtered it first. On the other hand if you sold ten cows at thirty dollars a head you needed to know how much the cattle buyer owed you.
By Friday Royce thought his brain was on fire. He would never make a good teacher. Getting through a lesson was about all that he accomplished. What his students were learning was anybodies’ guess. What he needed was help. But he was suspicious of Miss Ferguson after her comments about Lydia. It was too soon to take anyone else into his confidence.
A week had passed and Royce was no closer to discovering Barlow’s identity. Pulling a piece of paper out of his desk drawer he began making a list of the men in and around Junction City that he had met and fit Barlow’s description. Medium height, brown hair, blue eyes and was probably in his early thirties. After writing down the twentieth name Royce pushed back his chair and stood. His brain was hurting and he ran tapering fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. This was an exercise in futility. He did not know enough about Barlow to accurately know what he was looking for. The past week had been a waste of time and effort.
With his hands rammed into the hip pockets of his suit trousers Royce looked through a classroom window at the road running along side the school. Each day after school he had visited the town’s businesses. Talked to everyone he encountered from Mayor Pillsdale who had a lot to say about everything. The man was a tyrant and expected everyone to tow the line he drew in the road. Royce had never been one to be intimidated by authority.
Mayor Pillsdale would be at the top of Royce’s list except the man was short and round with graying hair and wore a moustache and Van Dyke goatee. Still his suspicions were aroused about the Mayor and he vowed to look further into the man’s business dealings.
Today Royce decided to visit the sheriff’s office. An introduction and a friendly hello from the new teacher. A chat over a cup of coffee. He did not expect to learn much on his first visit. Like most lawmen Sheriff Walden was not a talker. A sheriff did set the tone for the rest of the community and Royce could feel the undercurrents. Something was not right. Of course this could be Mayor Pillsdale’s doings. Royce admitted he did not like the Mayor and waited to get a feel for the town before visiting with Sheriff Walden.
“Hello,” Mrs. Gaines called from the open front door. Her straw bonnet was decorated with paper flowers the color of her blue dress. She wore a crocheted pearl white shawl over her shoulders and carried a wicker basket over one arm. “Mr. Hargadon,” she said pleasantly.
Mrs. Gaines crossed to his desk and placed her burden on one corner. Royce cursed his carelessness. He had left his list of names lying in plain sight. “Mrs. Gaines,” Royce greeted hoping to draw her attention to him.
“Bounty from our vegetable garden,” Mrs. Gaines explained. “Now don’t thank me,” she said before Royce could open
his mouth to do so. “Lydia has taken a liking to you. That is thanks enough.”
“Lydia is a sweet child,” Royce replied.
“Yes,” Mrs. Gaines said. “But not everyone agrees.”
“She is not backwards if that is what you are worrying about. But she is easily intimidated and rather than assert her rights she chooses to become silent.” Royce spoke his opinion fervently.
Mrs. Gaines’s features softened. She was still an amazingly beautiful woman though Royce was sure she tried to hide this fact by dressing demurely. After all, she was a Minister’s wife. “Lydia is a different child at home,” Mrs. Gaines replied, “Talkative and happy.”
Royce cleared his desk without demonstrating any importance to his action. Shoving the controversial paper into the top drawer and closing it. He would burn it later. Mrs. Gaines’ interruption reminded him how important it was to be careful. Marshal Dean had been murdered. Royce could not be sure he was not under suspicion. His next slipup could cost him his life.
“I will see Lydia brings your basket home Monday after school,” Royce said in a dismissive tone. It was time to end his conversation with Mrs. Gaines without being too obvious. “I am on my way downtown. May I walk you home,” he asked.
“No thank you,” Mrs. Gaines replied.
Royce closed and locked the school door. He noted Miss Ferguson standing behind the Elementary School build looking their way. Was the woman prone to gossip or was curiosity what prompted the woman’s vigil. Royce decided to give her a salute by tipping his hat in her direction. Acknowledging her presence, “Good day Miss Ferguson,” he called.
“Good day,” Miss Ferguson replied.
He watched as Mrs. Gaines crossed the space between the two schools heading towards Miss Ferguson before turning towards town. Mrs. Gaines could handle any questions Miss Ferguson asked about their meeting. “I brought Mr. Hargadon a basket of vegetables,” he heard the Minister’s wife say. “How is your garden doing?”
