by Barbara Goss
“I’ll be careful. It’s going to be a simple visit for tea and to invite them to church.”
Cameron laughed. “I doubt they’ll come to church.”
While Cameron didn’t like the idea of her playing detective, he did want to give her some freedom. She hadn't been anywhere since she'd arrived except to the meetings. He gazed at her. She was a handsome woman. Maybe he should keep her at home. He also feared that if she found out the truth about the children she’d leave him, so he’d try to make her as happy as he could. Who knows? Maybe they'd fall in love someday. It didn’t seem like such a stretch of the imagination—she was everything he could have ever wanted in a wife.
What would Hannah say if he'd confessed that the children weren’t his? They loved her, so he knew his secret was safe with them. Joe and Bessie were the only others who knew how he’d come by them, and they’d never tell. So, why did he have to tell her? Still, the dishonesty rocked his conscience.
Joe had suggested he confess, but then she’d never trust him again. He’d have to think about it more.
Cameron gave her a slight grin before asking, “Why do you want to try to solve the mystery of who killed Mr. Wilson?”
“Several reasons: so that you can’t ever be accused of letting a killer off and to rid the community of a murderer. None of us are safe with one prowling around, are we?”
Cameron digested her answer before saying, “Promise me you’ll tell me if you find out anything important or you feel threatened in any way.”
“I promise,” she said, crossing her heart with her finger.
Cameron’s next move was unplanned and done completely on impulse; he took both of her hands in his. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Hannah looked up into Cameron’s dark eyes and saw something she’d never seen before: warmth. Is it possible he really cared about her?
He released her hands almost reluctantly and turned back to his desk. “I want a daily report on your activity on the Wilson case.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Cam.”
Chapter Ten
Hannah rode Molly in the direction of the Monroe home, following Bessie's directions. Before Hannah left, she gave Annabelle an assignment and the new nanny explicit directions on how to care for Georgie.
When the Monroe’s house came into view, she saw it as a typical one-floor farmhouse as many were in that area. Cows grazed in the field nearby, and a dog barked fiercely as she approached.
A woman opened the front door, reached out, and swatted the dog to quiet it. Then, she stared at Hannah as she dismounted Molly. “What do you want?” she called out. “I’m not seeing callers.”
Hannah removed a package from her saddlebag. Mrs. Monroe had said she wasn’t seeing callers, but there was a horse hitched beside hers. “I’ve come with a gift and my condolences.” Hannah walked slowly up to the porch. She was about to introduce herself as being new to the area, but then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to let anyone know that yet.
“I’m Hannah Hart. I’ve brought you some freshly baked cookies.”
A man pushed past Mrs. Monroe and told her, “I’ve all the information I need. Thank you, and good day, Mrs. Monroe.”
As the man walked past Hannah, he tipped his hat. “Mrs. Hart.” He mounted his horse and rode away.
Mrs. Monroe said, “I don’t know what you want here. Wasn’t it your husband who got my husband’s killer off scot free?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. He was simply doing his job.” She held out the cookies. “A cup of tea with these cookies would be a nice way for us to get acquainted, Mrs. Monroe.”
“Myra. My name is Myra.” She shrugged and held the door wider so Hannah could enter.
Hannah gazed around the sitting room. “What a warm and cozy room.” She pointed at a colorful afghan on the back of the settee. “What a lovely afghan—did you make it?”
“No. It was here when I moved in,” Myra said. “I think Silas’s mother made it.” Myra pointed at the settee. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring out a tea tray. The tea is already steeped. I was expecting the sheriff to stay for tea, but he just wanted to ask me more questions.” She disappeared into the next room.
Hannah sat on the settee and put her cookies on the table in front of her. She noticed the house seemed well-kept. Myra’s looks had surprised her. She’d expected an older woman, but Mrs. Monroe looked to be about her age. She had bright red hair and fair skin. Though Myra couldn’t be called pretty, she couldn't be called ugly either. Hannah supposed she was on the plain side, despite all her makeup. Her nose was large, her eyes small, and her chin a little pointy.
Myra came into the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and two china cups. She poured the tea. “So, do you live nearby, Mrs. Hart?”
“Not too far, and please, call me Hannah. I don’t get out much because we have small children, but my husband finally decided to hire a nanny for a few hours in the afternoon so I could get out and socialize a little. I’d heard about your husband’s untimely death, so I decided you would be my first call.”
Her words seemed to garner some trust in Myra because she smiled.
Hannah took a bite from one of the cookies.
“Mm—these are delicious," Myra said. "Did you make them?”
“Heavens, no. Our housekeeper made them. I’m not good in the kitchen at all.” Hannah sipped her tea. “I’m sorry about Mr. Monroe. Are you doing all right?”
“He was murdered three months ago, so I’ve adjusted to it.”
“You must get lonely out here. There aren’t any homes nearby,” Hannah said. “You need friends.”
Myra shrugged. “I’m doing all right.”
“I wondered if you’d like me to pick you up for services on Sunday. It would do you good to get out and meet people.”
Myra scowled, threw down her half-eaten cookie, and practically yelled, “I don’t need friends, and I certainly don’t need religion.”
“God is comforting when you have suffered a loss.”
Myra stood. “I think you should leave. Evidently, no one told you I worked at Lilah’s Place. I was a prostitute.” She laughed. “And you want me to walk into a church service?” Myra snatched the cup from Hannah’s hand. “Out with you!”
Hannah’s ride home was somber. Had she gone about it in the wrong way? Should she have tried to make friends first before asking her to church? Maybe she’d do better tomorrow when she visited Mrs. Wilson.
That evening, after the bedtime rituals had been done, Cameron asked Hannah to walk with him around the grounds. She grabbed a shawl and walked with him along the dark lane toward the road.
“How did your visit with Mrs. Monroe go?” he asked.
Hannah grimaced. “Not well. She threw me out even though I’d brought her cookies.”
“Threw you out? She didn’t lay a hand on you, I hope. I’d sue her for that.”
“No, she just screamed for me to get out.”
Cameron took her hand as they walked, but Hannah wasn’t sure if it was out of sympathy or fondness. “Did you ask her too many question about the murder?” he asked.
“Goodness, no. I hadn’t even started with the questions. I invited her to church, and that’s what set her off.”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t take it personally. I hear she’s quite an ill-mannered person, and that was one of the nicest things I’d heard about her."
“She certainly was ill-mannered,” Hannah said and they turned to walk back to the house.
"When I had to question her before the trial, she wasn’t rude, but she was not helpful either. She just stuck to her story that her husband had gone to bed with her, and when she was awakened by the sheriff pounding on her door, he was no longer there.”
“The sheriff was just leaving as I arrived. He walked right past me, and she never introduced us. I only knew who he was by his badge.”
“He never introduced himself?”
“No, all I got was a slight tip of his hat, but he did call me Mrs. Hart. How did he know my name?”
Cameron shrugged. “It’s a small town." He lifted her hand to mouth and kissed it. “Shall I call him out for it or sue him?”
Hannah was pleasantly shocked. She smiled, gently reclaimed her hand, and laughed. “Neither, but I hope I’ll have better luck tomorrow with Mrs. Wilson. Have you heard anything about her?”
Cameron leaned against the porch railing. “I met Chloe Wilson on a few occasions and found her to be cooperative while she was still in shock. It was easy to believe her story until she said she had never woken up, had never met Monroe, and had no idea why he was lying dead in her bedroom.”
“You don’t believe her?” Hannah asked.
Cameron shook his head. “I don’t know. I did when I was talking to her, but later, I thought she might just be a good actress or defending her husband. I did, however, believe Wilson when I was with him. My doubts formed when I wasn’t with him. He had such a convincing way of telling his story.”
“How do you mean?”
“When someone is accused of something they didn’t do, their first reaction is anger, and he was angry as a newly-castrated bull. I thought it was anger because he'd found a half-dressed man in his wife’s bedroom, but later when I talked to him, he’d calmed down, but he still swore that he had nothing to do with the murder.”
“Wait,” Hannah said, “Monroe was half-dressed?”
Cameron nodded.
“How befuddling.”
Mrs. Wilson answered Hannah’s knock with curiosity but also a smile. “Hello. How can I help you?”
“I’m Hannah Hart, and I’ve brought you some cookies. They’ll go perfectly with a pot of tea.”
“Oh, your husband is the one who helped to free my Charles. I’m Chloe—do come in.”
Chloe Wilson was a petite woman with hair as black as a raven. She was pretty, but would have been more so without so much rouge on her cheeks. Chloe led Hannah through the sitting room to a kitchen table, and Hannah put the plate of cookies on the table while Chloe brought out the teacups and saucers, and poured hot water from a kettle on the stove into a teapot.
“We’ll let it steep for a few minutes,” she said.
“I’m sorry about the ordeal your poor husband had to go through. You must have been a nervous wreck,” Hannah said.
“No, I was in shock. I woke up to find a half-clothed dead man on my bedroom floor.”
Hannah’s hands flew to her cheeks. “I can’t even imagine how that would feel.”
“Charles knew right away that I had nothing to do with the man, bless his heart.” Chloe jumped up and poured their tea. “Take care, it’s hot.”
Hannah was intrigued. She had to ask, “How did he know?”
“First of all, he had to wake me up. Who would ax a man and then fall asleep? Also, I was wearing my favorite flannel nightgown, and when Charles and I... um get together, I always wear either my black or pink silk gown. He knew that if I’d had something planned with the dead man, I wouldn't have worn flannel. Besides, he knows I love him.”
Hannah sat speechless, gently blowing on her hot tea.
Chloe continued, “I sat up and screamed. In my sleepy mind, I was confused and said, ‘What did you do to that man?’ Once I woke up completely, I saw that Charles had no blood on him, and he still had his satchel in his hand and his hat on.”
“Well, I won’t use his exact words, but he said, ‘What happened in here?’ He was as shocked as I was.”
“Had you never met Mr. Morgan before?”
“Never. I’ve heard that his wife had also worked at Lilah’s, but by the time I'd started working there, she had already left to get married. In fact, Lilah gave me her room.”
“How did that man get in your room, do you suppose?” Hannah asked.
“I left the door unlatched. I knew Charles would be home soon. He’s a traveling salesman and is often out of town.” Chloe took a sip of her tea and took one of the cookies.
Hannah was glad that Chloe was not only friendly but extremely talkative.
“These are excellent cookies—did you make them?”
“No,” Hannah confessed. “Our housekeeper made them.
“All right.” Hannah began to figure the scene in her head. “So, the man came into your house and just died on your bedroom floor?”
“Extremely unlikely. To be honest,” Chloe said, taking another cookie, “the sheriff did a lousy job. Your husband would make a better sheriff.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Charles and I noticed right away that there was very little blood on the floor under the man. The sheriff said there wouldn’t be much until the ax was removed from his head.”
“Is there a doctor in town to confirm that?”
“No,” Chloe answered. "We had one, but he left due to a lack of business. So many people are leaving Hunter’s Grove. The town council is trying to find a new one for us. At least, that’s what the undertaker said.”
Hannah was confused. “So, who agreed with the sheriff that the lack of blood was due to the ax not being pulled out of the man’s head?”
“The undertaker, Horace White. Your husband brought this all up in court. He’s a wonderful lawyer.”
“How many people know when Charles is out of town?” Hannah asked.
Chloe tapped her fingers on the table. “Let’s see… Elsie Kepler, our nearest neighbor— Charles makes sure she’s informed in case I need anything. I guess anyone acquainted with Charles and what he does for a living would know. He’s lived here going on five years. Oh, and the sheriff is always informed so he can keep an eye out on the house.”
“Did your Charles know Mr. Monroe?”
“Yes. This is a small town, and both men have lived here for years. They weren’t friends, and Charles said if they passed in the street they would merely nod. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to the man.”
“I’ve really enjoyed your company, Chloe. I don’t have many friends here in Hunter’s Grove. I hope I can count you as one,” Hannah said as she stood.
“I’d be honored,” Chloe said.
“We usually go to church services—would you like us to pick you and Charles up on Sunday?” Hannah said as she moved to the front door.
“I think I’d like that, but I’ll have to talk to Charles about it and let you know.”
Chapter Eleven
Cameron had begun to look forward to coming home to a family. He spent less time at the office than he ever had before. He’d even begun to enjoy the bedtime ritual, as well as having the children at the table for meals. He had to admit that they were well-behaved, and his wife was doing a wonderful job with them. He’d been afraid that Bessie might not like having to take orders from his wife, but she didn’t mind at all. He could tell that Bessie liked Hannah.
He listened in one morning while Hannah gave Bessie her weekly instructions. She didn’t sound bossy or arrogant. She even stopped several times to ask Bessie’s opinion, such as, “Do you think the silver needs polishing or can it wait until next week?” His admiration for Hannah grew each day, and she made very few demands on him other than that he spend more time with the children and going to church.
Cameron remembered some of the letters he’d received from his ad in the Matrimonial News. Several of the women had children, but their letters didn’t strike him as special. Hannah’s letters were exceptional, and he knew that, children or not, she would be the one. Her handwriting was beautiful, her grammar and spelling couldn’t have been more perfect, yet it was her sincerity that made her stand out the most. Hannah's passion for life virtually jumped off the pages.
Strangely, when he first saw Hannah, he thought she was pretty but not beautiful. She was slim, and he knew she had a shapely figure, even through all the petticoats, so he was more than pleased with her looks. Lately, she’d begun to appear beautiful to him. Maybe it was the country air or happiness
. She seemed happy—mostly with the children. He often wished she’d look at him the way she looked at them, or that she smiled at him the way she smiled at Annabelle and Georgie. Perhaps he still needed to loosen up more and try to win his wife’s affection. What had he done to win it so far? Not a thing. He’d think of something.
During their evening walk, Hannah told Cameron about her visit with Chloe Wilson. “I like her, and I think we’ll become good friends.”
“Hannah, she was a...a—”
“The magic word is was, Cameron. She’s a happily married woman now. It’s God’s job to judge, and besides, she and I just sort of hit it off.”
Cameron stopped walking and took hold of her shoulders gently. “You can’t be friends with a woman that can’t even walk in town without people crossing to the opposite side of the street. She isn’t considered a decent woman.”
Hannah crossed her arms in front of her and frowned. “Are you afraid my friendship with her will be bad for your election?”
“I am afraid of that, yes, but I also worry about your reputation as my wife.”
“I’m going to visit her again next week. I invited her and her husband to church services.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t do that.”
“I want to hear her story. I read about a young woman who'd been sold to a brothel when she came out of an orphanage. Not every woman is bad because she does what she’s forced to do. I’m glad she ended up happily married.”
Cameron figured it wasn’t going to help his courting if he continued to argue with her. She was a strong-minded woman and not the type a man could control. She’d do what she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he removed his hands from her shoulders. “I’m also afraid if you walk into church services with her, everyone will think badly of you. I don’t want your feelings hurt.”
Hannah smiled up at him. “I can handle it.” She turned to walk back to the house.
