“Not...one...word,” said Luke through clenched teeth. He still had his fists raised, ready to strike. “Whatever you’ve heard is a lie.” He realized he was acting crazy—crazy enough to add fuel to the gossip fires burning around town. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve, and dumb as Sheriff Morris was, he was smart enough to read Luke’s sleeve. But Luke didn’t care. He was sick of Cyrus’ mouth. “I don’t care what you say about me, Cyrus, but I won’t listen to another dirty word from you about Mrs. Rose, you hear?”
Luke had a sudden vision of himself, on his horse, out of work, every worldly thing he owned in his saddle bags, headed out of town southward to Fort Laramie. He liked being a law enforcement officer. He didn’t necessarily want to go back and live with his brothers and pa, though he didn’t mind the ranching life. But he had had all he could take of Cyrus Morris. If he must go back to ranching tomorrow to get away from Cyrus’ daily spew of verbal filth, he was ready. It would not be difficult. What would be difficult would be to leave Mrs. Rose behind, all alone and helpless, on her ranch so very far from town. The thought pained him.
“Put your fists down, you stupid love-struck fool,” said the sheriff, returning his hat to his head. “I won’t say any more about Mrs. Rose, but you keep her out of my office. She gives me dyspepsia.”
Slowly Luke’s hands dropped to his sides. He knew at that moment he would have no more trouble with his boss. He also knew that he had just received all the apology he would ever hear from Sheriff Cyrus Morris. He felt spent but relieved, the fight fizzling out of him like a leak in a soft balloon. After a few charged moments of silence, and not knowing what else to say, Luke pointed to the four-foot-high wooden steps.
“I’d take apart these boards to look for his body, but we would have smelled it by now if it were stuffed in there.”
“True,” said Sheriff Morris, turning back to the church steps. They both stood staring at the steps a few seconds. Sheriff Morris shook his head. “What did his widow say when you showed her the watch?”
Luke hesitated, took a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the steps. The churning in his soul began again. He should have showed Mrs. Rose the watch when he had the opportunity at Aeschelman’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. But he must. But not yet. But he must ...
“I haven’t showed it to her yet.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to upset her. I was hoping to find something over here, some kind of evidence to prove he was really dead, before I rode out to her ranch with it.”
Sheriff Morris regarding him skeptically, but to avoid more scrutiny Luke intentionally stared at the steps, as if he were waiting for James Rose to come oozing out of them like a genie escaping from a lamp. Luke knew anything he said would sound defensive, but he plunged right ahead, feeling he had no choice but to elaborate.
“And I wasn’t sure if it was his when Dunn’s kid brought it in.” While that was technically true, all Luke’s doubts about the owner had been dispelled once Mrs. Rose had provided her husband’s full name. Sheriff Morris, Sam Wright, and Etta Nolan had described it as an expensive gold watch. Luke couldn’t think of a man he knew in town who owned a time piece of such fine workmanship as the one that burned a hole in his pocket right now, except for Edwin Morehouse. And Luke had already inquired: Morehouse wasn’t missing a time piece.
“It’s his.” Sheriff Morris spat on the ground.
“We’re done here. Let’s go,” said Luke, hoping to head off any more uncomfortable questions. He was frustrated at finding nothing near the church that pointed to James Rose, yet he was relieved at finally airing the bad feelings that had been bubbling under the surface for some time between himself and Cyrus. In the morning he would question Reverend Thomas and ask for the key to the sanctuary door so that he could look around the inside by himself. He wouldn’t bother to ask Cyrus to accompany him. Cyrus was convinced that James Rose had perished in the North-East Creek. The sheriff was entitled to his opinion. Luke was convinced of nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Luke woke up in his cramped, dark room at the boardinghouse with a sense of heaviness, and he couldn’t figure out why. Then he remembered the unpleasant business he must tend to this morning. He must question Reverend Thomas and search Ebenezer Christian for clues. Reluctantly he got out of bed, performed his morning ablutions, and then descended the narrow staircase to the boardinghouse kitchen. After breakfast he grabbed the sandwich he had asked Mrs. Byrne to pack for him the night before and headed for the sheriff’s office.
It was a beautiful, early August morning in Wyoming Territory. Puffy white clouds, wispy around the edges and thin in some places, fat in other places, floated peacefully across a deep blue sky. The temperature was moderate, and soft northerly breezes promised to keep pedestrians from becoming too hot toward noon. Main Street bustled with shoppers and teamsters. Merchants kept their doors open to catch the fresh air and, hopefully, the interest of passersby.
Luke looked down the street wistfully. A pristine morning like this wasn’t fit for questioning his pastor about evidence found on church property of a crime in which the minister could possibly be implicated. No, a morning like this was the perfect backdrop for a buggy ride into the country and a picnic with a pretty lady. His thoughts and eyes turned eastward to Mrs. Rose, alone on her ranch nine miles from town. He wondered what she was doing at that moment. He wondered what she was wearing. He wondered if her hair was loose, hanging down her back, shimmering in the sun, or if she had it pulled back into a soft knot as she often did. Her motherly condition would be evident soon. It occurred to Luke that being in a family way—even with another man’s child—could not detract from Mrs. Rose’s beauty. Pregnancy accentuated her womanliness.
Luke shook himself. It was not only vain, it was wrong to woolgather about Mrs. James Rose. She was still married to that phantom rancher, that ghost, wherever he was. Irritated, Luke silently cursed his lot. James Rose’s stupidity had caused problems for a lot of people in this town, most of all his innocent wife. Why did the foolhardy rancher have to go and get himself killed or lost or killed and lost and create this blasted daily temptation for Luke? The strain, mentally and physically, of having Mrs. Rose so close but out of reach was killing him.
Sam Wright needed checking on. Luke resolved to stop torturing himself with thoughts of Lenora Rose and keep his mind on his work. In a few minutes he was turning the handle of the door to the sheriff’s office.
“You’re in early,” said Luke as he shut the door behind him with a click.
“I wanted to be here when you got in,” said Sheriff Morris from his desk, “to catch you before you went out to pester Reverend Thomas.” Sheriff Morris chewed mindlessly on a piece of straw, the exposed end dancing up and down as he spoke.
The day was too pretty to take up Cyrus’ insult. Besides, Luke smelled fresh coffee—the real stuff, unlike the dishwater Mrs. Byrne served. Now that was odd. Cyrus had made the first pot of the day. Customarily he left women’s work to his deputy. Luke hung his hat on the rack behind his desk and walked to the stove to pour a cup.
“Why?” said Luke.
“Sheriff Clarke sent word. A rider came in last night from Fort Laramie. Clarke asked me to loan you to him for a spell. They’re still having trouble with Indians along the Trail. The garrison is moving out and his new deputy hasn’t shown up.”
“What do you mean moving out?”
“The Army has ordered the bulk of the soldiers at Laramie to expeditions along the Trail. They can’t afford to leave many behind to keep an eye on civilians.”
Luke stopped pouring and stared at the sheriff. Luke’s pa and brothers were members of the civilian settlement at Laramie. “How bad is it?”
“Cheyenne are still kicking up dust down there. Sioux and Lakota too. A few settlers have been killed in the last month.”
Luke knew that settlers in the Laramie area had grown accustomed to the Army’s presence. Si
nce 1849 farmers, ranchers, and townsmen had lain their heads down at night in peace because of the security afforded by the presence of American soldiers. At first the fort was manned by U.S. Army recruits. But during the War of the Rebellion, Laramie’s Union soldiers had been called upon to fight the Confederates, so state volunteer regiments were posted to Fort Laramie. Now, once again, the Army would be sending men in and out of the fort to deal with Indians. It unnerved Luke to think of his pa and brothers fending for themselves on the wide open prairie. Indians were stealthy, ruthless, and bitter, especially the Sioux, who had suffered many losses under Red Cloud a few years earlier.
“That leaves little protection for the settlers around Laramie,” said Luke, thinking aloud.
“Which is why Clarke asked me to send you. We’ve got plenty of volunteers in this town who are accustomed to helping when there’s trouble. The settlement outside Fort Laramie has been depending on the Army for protection for years. Clarke needs someone to help him train civilian volunteers.”
“What happened to that fellow Clarke hired?”
“His new deputy? He was scheduled to arrive two weeks ago, a recruit from someplace near Fort Collins. He never made it. No one’s heard from him.” Sheriff Morris pushed himself away from his desk and stood.
Luke still hadn’t taken a sip of his coffee. He stared at his cup, eyes fixed but seeing nothing, his innermost thoughts paralyzed by this news. He couldn’t leave now. He hadn’t found James Rose’s body. And Mrs. Rose was depending on him to obtain a death certificate. Above all else, every eligible man in and around Buffalo would rush to court Mrs. Rose if and when she made the decision to declare her widowhood by donning mourning attire. He couldn’t be stuck at Fort Laramie when that happened. He just couldn’t.
“You look like someone smacked you over the head with a cutthroat trout,” said the sheriff. “Snap out of it, boy.”
Coming to himself, Luke stepped away from the stove so that the sheriff could reach the coffee pot. “Didn’t anyone from Laramie telegraph Fort Collins to find out what happened to him?” asked Luke.
“Of course they did,” said Cyrus. “The Fort Collins telegraph operator confirmed that the kid set off for Laramie a few weeks ago. That’s all they know.”
“I can’t leave now. I’m close to finding out what happened to James Rose.”
Sheriff Morris rolled his eyes and contorted his face into a look that signaled his patience was being tried, grievously tried. “Luke, why can’t you get it through your thick head that James Rose is dead? D-E-D-D.” Sheriff Morris nearly spat out the letters. “He drowned the night he rode his sorry ass into a prairie storm to get away from his wife. The fish got him, Luke.” His voice rose a few notches. “There’s nothing left for you to find. Now pack up your stuff and get your horse ready,” the sheriff said, shouting now. “I don’t want to hear that bastard’s name anymore!”
“I just need another couple of days.”
“No! What you need is a slap upside the head, you idiot. You been mooning over the man’s widow since the day she first sashayed in here. Getting ordered to Fort Laramie is the best thing for everyone. Her included. And it will be paradise for me!”
Luke was silenced by this turn of events. He should have been angry at Cyrus’ dressing down, but shock had subdued his emotions for the moment. Not only that, there was too much truth in Cyrus’ assessment of his motives to object, at least not with any credibility.
“What about interviewing Reverend Thomas?” Luke tried again.
“Question him when you get back.” Sheriff Morris sat down again at his desk and leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his desk, fingers wrapped around the cup. He pulled the much-chewed straw from his mouth and shoved it into his shirt pocket, for later.
“When will that be?” Luke still stood by the stove, too stunned to make his way to his desk.
“I don’t know.”
“Is Judge Stillman at Laramie now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has the garrison already left the fort?”
“I don’t know.”
Luke walked to his desk and sat down. He looked dazed. “I can be ready in two to three days. There’s some things I need to tend to first.”
“You’re leaving in the morning.”
“What?”
“I put up Clarke’s man at the Occidental. Barthel Hughes. Goes by Bart. He’ll accompany you to Laramie. I’d send you today but he told me he has other business in town to take care of. He said be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow.”
“You heard from Sheriff Clarke a while back, didn’t you?” said Luke, growing disgruntled as the details of a conspiracy began to take shape in his mind. “Seems to me he would have sent you a telegraph weeks ago if he wanted your help.” Surely the rider Sheriff Clarke sent from Fort Laramie was not Cyrus’ first knowledge of his colleague’s need for a deputy. Sheriff Clarke would have telegraphed his request to Fort McKinney, a ten-minute ride from Buffalo. And Clarke wouldn’t have needlessly jeopardized one of his men by sending him on a two-week trip through Indian Territory unless he was certain Cyrus would send Luke back with him. Cyrus had been sitting on this information for a while. Why?
Sheriff Morris looked up. “You have too many distractions here to do your job. You can concentrate better in Laramie.”
Luke gave Cyrus a forty-five caliber glare.
“Besides, Clarke needs you more than I do.”
Competing desires wrangled in Luke’s soul. Above all, he wanted to stay in Buffalo and finish his investigation of the disappearance of James Rose. He must find that body! And the thought of being so far from Mrs. Rose was like having a hunk of his flesh torn off. But there were other considerations that complicated his decision. Refusing a direct order from the sheriff to transfer to Fort Laramie might make matters worse for Mrs. Rose. Townsfolk would interpret insubordination as proof that he had put his supposed relationship with the widow above his responsibilities to uphold the law. She would be more scandalized than she already was.
On the other hand, he was a free man. He could tender his resignation today and be quit of all these restrictions and out from under Sheriff Morris’ thumb. But that scenario, thought Luke glumly, would only reinforce popular opinion that he prized Mrs. Rose above his duties. And without his badge, he wouldn’t have authority to continue his investigation.
Aside from these immediate arguments, it might actually suit his purposes to leave for Fort Laramie now. He might have an earlier audience with Judge Stillman. Mrs. Rose did not have much time left to argue her case. And it would be a good idea to check on the welfare of his family. He hadn’t seen or heard from them since March when he first arrived in Buffalo.
“I’ll be ready at dawn,” said Luke.
“Take the afternoon off,” said the sheriff. “Give you time to say good-bye to your lady friend.”
Luke refused the bait. He didn’t make eye contact with Cyrus or respond one way or the other. Instead he stood and reached for his hat. “I’ll be at the boardinghouse taking care of business there. I’ll come back later tonight to clean up my desk. Remember to look in on Sam.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sheriff Morris with a dismissive wave of his hand.
#
Lenora stood in her kitchen holding the ten yards of folded daffodil silk in her arms, trying to figure out how to cut out a dress pattern without the benefit of her mother’s long dining room table. This would be her first attempt to cut and sew a dress since she had lugged the overstuffed trunk of frilly all-new frocks from New York over four years earlier. It was high time she had something new and pretty to wear, even if she was limited to the few plain silks available at Aeschelman’s. She could sew better than most, but cutting out ten yards of fabric on her small kitchen table presented a daunting task. She was eyeing the broad rag rug on the floor of the front room when she heard the sound of horse hooves amble into the yard.
Hastily she laid the still-folded silk on the
kitchen table and walked to the front room to peer through the window. At the same moment that she recognized Luke’s horse, which he had tied to her porch post, she heard a knock at the front door. She threw off her apron, smoothed her hair, pinched her cheeks to make them pinker, and heart pounding with girlish expectation, walked to the door and opened it.
“Deputy Davies,” she said, truly surprised, “What brings you all this way? Do you have news?”
“Good morning, ma’am,” said Luke, removing his hat. “Yes, I have news. But before we speak I’d like to clean up at your pump. I’m covered with dust. I only knocked on your door to let you know I was here. I was afraid you’d see my horse and be alarmed.”
“Of course. One moment and I’ll fetch you a towel.”
Lenora shut the door. In a minute she opened it again, and in her hands she held a clean white towel and a bar of heavily perfumed soap. Luke took them from her, thanked her, and headed for the pump by the barn. In a few minutes he returned, face shining, hair damp, carrying his coat and hat, and smelling like a Grecian spa. He stowed his hat and coat on his saddle before laying the damp towel and bar of soap on the edge of the porch. Lenora was seated on the backless porch bench, waiting. With a quick but mirthless smile Luke wordlessly sat down beside her, taking care that a respectable distance of several inches separated their hips. Luke leaned forward and kept his eyes on his clasped hands, resting his elbows on his thighs.
A few seconds of awkward silence followed in which Lenora was keenly aware that she hadn’t been so physically close to the deputy since their memorable buckboard ride through town many months ago. Only this time, his nearness was not intimidating. In fact, to Lenora it had a comforting quality.
Crazy Woman Creek Page 22
