A slight exaggeration. Though Hal had mentioned his wife when he delivered Rebecca’s lunch, for the most part he had sat tongue-tied behind the desk while she ate. Hal shot her a grateful look.
“You have been discussing me?”
“Oh, no. Not discussing you,” Hal assured her. “Just…talking.”
“Your husband speaks so devotedly of you that it has made me long for the time when I will be reunited with the one I love.” Rebecca took Mrs. Evans’ handkerchief from the waistband of her apron and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
The woman’s icy resolve thawed a fraction. “Oh. You have a husband?”
“Not a husband.” Suspicion returned to the gaze fixed on her, and Rebecca went on to explain. “Not yet, but soon. He is the most handsome, the most hardworking, and the most wonderful man in all of Kansas.” She didn’t hold back, her emotions pouring like fresh spring water. “And I would be with him this moment if it weren’t for this dreadful misunderstanding.”
The front door opened to admit Mrs. Evans. Draped over one arm was the soft knit blanket that had covered Rebecca’s bed last night, and the other arm was looped through the handle of a laden basket.
She smiled. “Abigail, how nice to see you. How are you, dear?” Without waiting for an answer, she addressed the deputy. “Hal, I’ve brought a few things to make Rebecca more comfortable.” She raised the arm with the blanket in his direction, an inquiry on her face.
Hal’s brows knitted together. “I don’t know, ma’am. The sheriff didn’t say nothin’ about making her more comfortable. Maybe you ought to wait till he gets back.”
“Nonsense.” The basket swung when she pointed in Rebecca’s direction. “This cell might be fine for brigands and drunkards, but certainly not for a lady. You can’t expect the poor child to sleep on a bare bunk. She has certain needs not shared by a man.” She turned a smile on Abigail. “Tell him, dear.”
She nodded. “That’s true enough, Hal. You’ve only to look at my bureau and yours to see the difference. Why, mine is overflowing, while yours is barely half full.”
The tip of Hal’s ears turned pink. “But, honey cake, this is a jail. It ain’t no woman’s bedroom.”
“It is now,” Mrs. Evans sent a private wink toward Rebecca. “And as such, it is entirely unacceptable.”
“Well…” Hal glanced toward Rebecca and then back at Abigail. “I guess maybe a few things would be all right.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Evans turned to swing the door open and call outside. “You can bring everything in, boys!”
To Rebecca’s delight, the first of a small troop of boys filed into the jailhouse, each with an armload of “necessities.”
Sighing, the deputy stepped back when Abigail started to assist.
“Stay outta the way, Hal. This is woman’s work.”
“Gladly, sweet cakes.”
The man stepped to the wall and crossed his arms.
The stale odor of the empty stockyards assaulted Colin when he approached the railroad office. The stocks stood empty, row after row of boxed-in pens stretching past the outskirts of town, the soil dry and uneven inside from thousands of cattle hooves that had tromped through over the years, ever since the railroad came to Lawrence. The coming summer would see a fair number of herds sent this way, though not nearly as many as in years past. The number of cattle driven north for shipment back east had dropped off as ranchers attempted to grab whatever land they could and build fences to establish legal occupancy, thereby dividing the open ranges and cutting off the cowboys’ easy access to the north. Between the land rush and the railroad companies expanding their rails in the south, the days of the great cattle drives were drawing to an end. Colin considered that an inescapable sign of progress, but a sad one.
He looped Gus’s reins around a post in front of the office and took the stairs two at a time. The man behind the ticket window glanced up when the door opened.
“How do ye, Sheriff?”
“Just fine, Pete. Just fine.” Colin approached the window. “Were you working last night when the five forty pulled in?”
“Yes, sir.” The little man’s lips gathered in disapproval. “Ten minutes late, she was. Pulling a full load and running a little sluggish because of it.”
Colin slipped the poster out of his vest, unfolded it, and laid it on the counter facing the railroad agent. “Did you see this man get off?”
Pete picked up a pair of spectacles and set them on the bridge of his nose.
“Cleon Benton,” he read. “Wanted for robbery of the Yuma Bank, and cold-blooded killing of three honest men.” He looked up, eyes made even wider by his lenses. “He sounds as mean as they come. You think he’s in Lawrence?”
“I hope not, but I have a witness who was on that train and says she saw him get off here.”
“Would that be the woman you have locked in the calaboose?”
Apparently everybody in town knew about the little Amish girl. Did they all think him a fool for locking her up? “That’s her.”
“I saw her get off the train. Fine-looking woman. Nice figger. Lame, though. Walked with a limp.”
Colin tapped on the poster to redirect the man’s wandering attention. “Did you see him?”
Pete picked up the poster and pulled it closer, almost to his nose, and then he held it out at arm’s length.
“Why, I swan. I believe I did. There was a man looking something like this that got off. He looked a bit different, though.”
Exactly what Rebecca had said. “He has a beard now?”
“Yes. And his hair was longer than this fella.” He squinted at the poster again. “Might be the same.” He removed his glasses and slid the poster back across the counter. “You’d have to ask the conductor to be sure. He’ll be back through town in a week or so.”
“Much obliged, Pete.” Colin refolded the poster and slipped it back inside his vest as he exited the railway office. A week. If Benton had gotten off that train, the town wouldn’t have a week.
Maybe it wasn’t Benton. Or if it was, maybe he’d turned over a new leaf. There had been no unusual town activity except from the women, and that was beginning to be a normal nuisance.
His imagination was playing tricks on him. He wanted to get out of here so badly he was conjuring up trouble.
With a snort, Colin swung up into his saddle. Maybe the river would start running north too. And pears would grow on apple trees.
With a gentle tug on the reins, he turned Gus toward Ohio Street. There were several small liveries in town, and he intended to check them all. And the boardinghouses. If Cleon Benton had landed in Lawrence, he’d find him and put a stop to whatever the outlaw had planned.
Thirteen more trouble-free days, Lord. That’s all I ask.
A bad feeling balled up in the pit of his stomach as though it was fixing to stay for a while. With a notorious outlaw hiding somewhere in Lawrence, thirteen days seemed like a long time, even for the Lord.
The sun’s warm rays were beginning to touch the chimneys on the west side of Massachusetts Street when Colin left Gus at the livery stable. He nodded his thanks to Billy as he handed him the reins and headed for the jailhouse. Activity on the busy street had dropped off, as it always did in late afternoon. He gave an absent greeting to the people he passed, his mind on the conversations that had occupied his afternoon.
Benton had not hired a horse at any of Lawrence’s liveries. Based on that fact alone, Colin would have doubted Rebecca’s and Pete’s accounts. What could a man do without a horse? He might not need it in town, but whatever he had planned would include a fast getaway. Maybe the man on the train only looked like Benton.
But then Colin had stopped at a few boardinghouses over on Louisiana Street. At the fourth, he’d found the verification he sought.
“Yes, that man rented a room here last night.” Mrs. Sawyer, proprietor of the Sawyer House, had nodded in the affirmative when she saw the poster. “He came in on the train all the way
from California, he said.”
Excitement had prickled along the back of Colin’s scalp again. “Is he here?”
“No. He said he only needed a bed for the night and left this morning right after breakfast.” Her eyes rounded when she read the words on the poster. “Are you sure this is right, Sheriff? He seemed like such a nice man. Soft spoken and polite. And he paid cash.”
Colin shook his head. “He doesn’t plan to come back?”
“Didn’t mention a word about it. ’Course, you never know.”
Benton had woken early, eaten a hearty breakfast, and left. Mrs. Sawyer did not see which way he went.
“You’ll send word to me if he shows up tonight?”
“I will, Sheriff. Sure you won’t have a piece of mince pie and cold milk?”
“Thank you, ma’am, but it’s getting late and I need to be moving on.”
When he approached the jailhouse later, the door opened. A woman exited, her skirts swishing with every step. Colin recognized Abigail, Hal’s wife. He stepped up to hold the door for her and with his free hand tipped his Stetson.
“Hello, Miz Lawson. You look lovely this afternoon.”
The look that overtook her features when she recognized him made Colin step backward. If he’d been a bug, she would have squashed him beneath her boot.
“Sheriff Maddox, you should be ashamed!”
Colin could only stare. “Me? Why?”
“Arresting such a charming and vulnerable young woman as Rebecca.” She tilted her nose in the air and stared at him. “And then to incarcerate her without even the basic necessities. It’s outrageous. I hope you’re happy.”
With a toss of her head, she flounced off. Colin stood with his hand on the door handle, watching her departure. Basic necessities? What was that supposed to mean?
Shaking off the encounter, he stepped around the door and across the threshold.
And stopped at the sight that met him.
The jailhouse had been transformed.
Correction.
The cell on the far right had been transformed.
Color blared from behind the steel bars. Bright blankets and hand-stitched pillows covered both bunks. A small ornate table rested against the wall beneath the window, with a lacy tablecloth and a tray with a teapot and fancy cups, and a rocking chair was nestled between the foot of the nearest bunk and the cell bars.
And…was that silver cutlery he saw reflected in the soft glow of lamplight?
Inside the cell and standing on a chair—his desk chair, he noted with increasing disbelief—stood Deputy Hal Lawson, his arms above his head as he fussed with putting a frill-covered curtain in place across the iron bars. On the floor beside him another deputy, John Callahan, stood with his arms full of fabric, feeding it up to Hal a bit at a time.
Colin took in the scene with growing disbelief. Then his bellow filled the small room.
“What in tarnation is going on here?”
TWELVE
Rebecca turned a frown on the sheriff when his shout rang in the room. Amish men never raised their voices. They met each circumstance with a peaceful countenance and voiced their thoughts only when they could maintain a soft-spoken equanimity. She much preferred that to this unseemly display.
Mrs. Evans, who had been overseeing the hanging of the curtains, left her vantage point in the center of the cell and walked toward Colin.
“Don’t take on like a wounded moose, Sheriff. We’ve only brought a few things to make our Rebecca’s stay more comfortable.”
“A few things?” He pointed at the tea tray. “You have turned my jail into a ladies’ boudoir!” He glanced toward his deputy, who had paused in his work. “Hal, what are you doing?”
Hal pointed at the elderly lady, who stood with her hands folded in front of her, projecting an atmosphere of serenity.
“She made me.”
Colin’s color rose when he looked at Mrs. Evans. “This is a jail, not a boardinghouse.”
The second deputy, John, turned a shy smile toward Rebecca before he spoke. “These cells were made for outlaws, Colin, and for men. You can’t expect this woman to be treated like a…a prisoner.”
“She is a prisoner.”
“I know, but….” The man’s voice faded.
“Take this stuff down. She’s broken the law and she’s not going to get any favors here. Understand?”
Rebecca opened her mouth to speak in her defense, but Mrs. Evans stepped forward.
“I can hardly believe you’re taking on so over a few comforts. If I am not mistaken, there was nothing in the judge’s directive that said our Rebecca must live in uncivilized surroundings.”
She might have been scolding a child. Rebecca hid a smile. Colin’s mouth opened a few times before any words came out. When they did, his tone was softer, with more respect.
“But, ma’am, that’s a rug.” He pointed toward the cell’s floor. “Jails don’t have rugs.”
Rebecca glanced at the beautiful floor covering. When word spread that Mrs. Evans intended to furnish her cell, Mrs. Diggs had sent it over along with a set of soft pillows that were far more luxurious than anything Rebecca had back home in Apple Grove. In fact, she felt a little guilty, even sinful, for the opulence of her new surroundings. Amish lived plainly and simply. There was nothing plain or simple about this cell now. Why, the furnishings were nicer than any she’d ever seen anywhere.
Mrs. Evans replied evenly, “And when Rebecca is gone, the rug will also be gone.”
Colin’s gaze rose again to Hal, whose arms were high above his head as he fixed the curtain in place. “Will you stop that? Curtains are not a necessity.”
Mrs. Evans eyebrows arched high. “They most certainly are. A woman needs her privacy.”
“They’re done anyway.” Hal lowered his arms and got off the chair. He and John stood back and admired their handiwork.
Colin shook his head. Rebecca found herself shamelessly enjoying his discomfiture. She went to the small table Abigail had kindly supplied and touched the side of Mrs. Evans’ teapot to test the temperature. Still warm. With a guileless smile, she lifted the pot and held it toward the sheriff.
“Can I tempt you with a cup of tea?”
From the deepening color of his face, she thought he might explode, but with an obvious struggle, he gained control before replying. “No, I would not like a cup of tea.” Not a shout, but the words were spoken in a voice quivering with barely controlled anger.
With a glare for his deputies, he walked into the cell, snatched up his chair, and set it down behind his desk with such force that Rebecca thought the wooden legs might crack. His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you two have something productive to do? Like your jobs, if you want to keep them?”
Hal and John tipped their hats at the ladies. Then they strapped on their gun belts and headed for the door.
“Thank you for helping,” Rebecca called after them.
“Yes, ma’am. Yore welcome.” Hal closed the door behind the men’s retreating backs.
“It’s time for me to go as well, dear.” Mrs. Evans bent to pick up her empty basket and then straightened. “I’ll be back later. Is there anything you need me to bring?”
Rebecca opened her mouth to answer, but Colin interrupted with, “How could she possibly need anything else? It’s all in there with her already.”
She gave him a dour look and then smiled at Mrs. Evans. “You and the other women have been most kind. Thank you.”
A veined hand waved in dismissal. “The women of the movement take care of their own.”
When the door closed, Colin rounded on Rebecca. “I thought you said you weren’t part of their organization.”
“I wasn’t.” She leaned out of the cell and caught hold of the bars to pull the door shut. “But now I am.”
She turned her back on his darkening expression and surveyed her surroundings. The floor covering was as brightly patterned as any quilt and cushioned her step. The c
overings on the bunks were soft and cozy, the pillows plump and decorated with lovely needlework. Yes, this was much, much nicer than anything she had at home. Fingers of guilt tapped at the edges of her conscience.
I am on rumspringa.
A smile twitched her lips. What was rumspringa without a few luxuries that would be forever out of her reach after she returned home to join the church?
Ignoring Colin, she poured the last cup of tea for herself and settled into Abigail’s cushioned rocking chair to enjoy it.
Clouds blocked out the moon when Colin returned from his nightly walk. The scent of rain was in the air. All seemed well in the streets of Lawrence, though he had not ventured much beyond Massachusetts Street. It didn’t sit right with him to leave Rebecca alone in her fancified cell for very long, especially with Benton hovering somewhere nearby.
An unsettled feeling gnawed at him. He’d alerted his deputies to keep an eye out for the outlaw, but the day passed with no sightings. It seemed Benton had walked out of the Sawyer House and vanished.
Colin didn’t think he could be that fortunate.
He opened the jailhouse door and was met by the warm glow of lamplight. The curtain had been pulled back and latched to one side, giving him a clear view of the cell’s interior.
Rebecca sat on the rocking chair, her head lowered over a piece of stitchery. She worked with such focus that she hadn’t heard the door, and he paused to study her. The soft light turned her white kapp yellow and brought out a chestnut gleam in the thick strand of hair that had come lose from its binding to hang down her shoulder. The smooth skin of her cheek shone like fresh cream. Such a homey sight, even viewed through the bars of a cell, loosened the knots that searching for Benton had tied in his gut.
Her head rose. Spots of pink appeared on the creamy cheeks when she saw him.
Embarrassed to be caught staring at her, Colin turned away to shut the door and hang his hat on its hook.
“Alice seemed pleased at the compliment you paid her fried chicken when I took the tray back to her.” He walked to the desk. “She told me to ask if there’s anything special you want for supper tomorrow night.”
A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove) Page 10
