People stared at her and whispered behind gloved hands. Fearing what they might say aloud, she kept her distance. But it wasn’t the whispers that bothered her. It was the sideways glances and questioning looks. As if they were convinced they had a killer in their midst.
Mrs. Fields always greeted her and Jesse with warm regard. She had even invited them to attend church socials, but Grace continued to shy away. The preacher’s wife was only trying to be kind, and Grace didn’t want to cause her or the church any trouble.
Jesse never complained, but neither did he mingle with other boys his age. He stayed clear of the swimming hole outside of town and never joined in a game of rounders. After school let out for the summer, he did his chores in the morning and rode into town to read law with Brock. Despite her concerns, he also made “Brock for Judge” handbills and posted them all over town.
Not only had he passed her in height, but also she hardly understood what he was talking about much of the time. All those big words he used . . . five-dollar words, Brock called them.
During all that time, she tried keeping a respectful distance from Brock, even at church. It was as much for her peace of mind as for his career. Men had been the source of all her problems; it was better to stay away from them. Stay away from Brock. Better for both of them.
But the decision didn’t come easy, and more than once Jesse caught her pacing the floor at night, struggling with herself. She didn’t want to hurt Brock, but neither did she want to lead him on. The only way she could trust herself to do right by him was to turn down his constant invitations.
Jesse accepted her lame excuses for the late-night pacing without comment, but his eyes told her he knew better.
Brock collapsed into the chair behind his desk on that hot August day. Every bone in his body ached. “How many crying babies did you rock this time?”
Jesse raised his head off the back of his chair and wiped his sleeve across his damp forehead. “Three. How much butter did you churn?”
“Enough to cover every slice of bread from here to Boston.”
Jesse giggled. “Never thought being a campaign manager would be so much work.”
Brock sighed. It was work, all right. No one could get himself elected so much as a dogcatcher in Lone Pine without beating the bushes for every last vote. The locals weren’t interested in his Harvard degree. They wanted to know what he knew about mining and if he could milk cows, plow fields, and repair fences. In other words, he had to prove he was one of them.
He held out his newly callused hands and groaned. The problem was that his opposition, Joseph Maxwell, was one of them. The man also had no qualms about bribing voters with liquor. Brock didn’t think much of Maxwell’s methods, but plying whiskey had to be kinder to the hands than wielding hammers.
“Mrs. Albright said she’d ask her husband to vote for you,” Jesse said.
“You did good, Jesse. Now, if they would all do what they say . . .” He still had as much chance of winning the election as a grasshopper surviving on an anthill.
Jesse frowned. “You don’t think they’ll vote for you?”
“You can’t always go by what people say. That’s the first thing I learned as a lawyer. You can pretty much count on at least a quarter of the statements made by eyewitnesses to be false.”
Jesse thought for a moment. “Is that why Mr. Haddock lied on the witness stand?”
Brock’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about? Lied?”
“He said Billy-Joe picked up his winnings and left the saloon.” Jesse hesitated.
“Go on.”
“But Ma said he lost all his money.”
Brock sat forward, his muscle aches forgotten. He knew what Grace had said, but Haddock?
“You must have misunderstood.”
“No, I heard him say it. It was right when that fight started.”
“The fight?” He’d never forgotten his promise to Grace to find her husband’s killer. But so far his efforts had revealed nothing. Now, thinking back to Haddock’s testimony, he jumped out of his chair and reached for a file-cabinet drawer.
Miss Watkins had done such a poor job recording testimony he’d given her notes only a cursory glance. Now he carried the file over to his desk and sat down, quickly thumbing through the pages until he came to Haddock’s testimony. There were gaping holes where she’d missed large sections of what each person had said but, praise the Lord, she got that part of his statement down. There it was, clear as day: He picked up his winnings and left.
The most essential part of the testimony and he’d missed it. He couldn’t believe it. The question was why had Haddock lied?
“You’re brilliant!” he exclaimed.
Jesse grinned. “Like Moses?”
“No, that’s me. You’re brilliant like Abraham Lincoln.” Brock pressed his fingers together and an idea began to form. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.
“Did I ever tell you about the time that Mr. Lincoln cross-examined a witness who testified to seeing a murder committed by the light of a full moon?”
Jesse shook his head.
“Mr. Lincoln pulled out an almanac and proved that there was no full moon on the night in question. The witness immediately confessed and was arrested. Rumor had it that Mr. Lincoln substituted an almanac from another year in order to show the jury there was no full moon that night.”
“Do you think that’s what he did?”
“Probably not. After all they did call him Honest Abe. Still, it’s a good trick if you can pull it off.” He tapped the desk with the palm of a hand. “A very good trick.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRACE LOOKED UP FROM THE WASHTUB AS JESSE DROVE the horse and wagon helter-skelter into the yard. Dirt flew from beneath the wheels and squawking chickens scurried out of the way.
She glowered up at him. “Jesse, what in the name of heaven is the matter with you? You came charging in here like buckshot.”
Jesse was out of breath and sweat poured down the side of his face. “Mr. Moses,” he said and stopped to correct himself. “I mean, Mr. Daniels wants to see you.”
She stuck the plunger into the tub and wiped her hands on her apron. “If he wants to see me, he can come here.” She’d promised to deliver Mr. Porter’s wash to him first thing the following morning and she was already behind.
“No, he can’t.” He jumped from the wagon and raced to her side. “Come on, it’s important.” He practically dragged her away from the washtub. “Hurry!”
“Wait!” She dug her heels in. “I can’t go into town looking like this.” The front of her frock was wet and strands of hair had fallen from her bun.
Jesse tugged on her arm. “There’s no time to waste.”
Grace threw up her hands. “This better not be one of your tricks.” She pulled off her apron and tossed it into the back of the wagon before climbing into the passenger seat. “And I won’t have you driving fast! You hear?”
She had barely settled in before Jesse grabbed the reins and urged the horse forward at such a quick pace that she was thrown back against the seat.
They made it into town in record time. No thanks to Jesse, they also made it without mishap. Brock stood waiting for them in front of the sheriff’s office.
Mercy, just the sight of him made her quiver inside. Nevertheless she managed to scramble down the side of the wagon without letting on how he affected her.
“What’s all this about?”
“You’ll see.” Winking at Jesse, Brock caught her by the elbow and escorted her into the sheriff’s office.
Bower greeted the three of them from behind his desk and tossed a nod at the empty chairs.
“Sit.” Brock released her arm. “Don’t say a word. And that includes you, Mr. Lincoln.”
Grace’s stomach tightened. “Am I in t-trouble?” she stammered. She had nightmares about going back to jail.
“Not you,” the sheriff said. “But someone is.”
Brock nodded.
“I think we know who killed your husband.”
Her mind froze on his words. Could it really be true? Had she heard right?
The door flew open and she clenched her hands tight. Mr. Haddock walked into the office and glanced at Grace before turning to the sheriff.
“I was told you wanted to see me.”
Bower lifted his feet off the desk and sat forward. “Sorry to trouble you, Haddock. Daniels here needs some clarification on your testimony.”
Haddock’s face paled. With his protruding lips and stony-eyed stare, he looked like a fish about to take its last breath. “I thought . . .” He cleared his voice. “I thought the trial was over.”
“Oh, it’s over all right,” Bower assured him. “But you know how these Philadelphia lawyers are. Have to dot every i and cross every t.”
Mr. Haddock sat down on the only empty chair and fidgeted with his collar. The chair had been arranged in such a way that he faced the four of them, much like a witness on the stand.
Brock leaned forward. Elbows on his lap, he rubbed his hands together. He looked relaxed and all friendly-like. “You said in your testimony that Mr. Davenport was playing faro when Mrs. Davenport approached him. Is that correct?”
“Yep. That’s right.”
“After exchanging a few words with her husband, she then left. Is that correct?”
He nodded. “That’s . . . uh . . . correct.”
Brock slapped himself on the knee. “I guess that’s it then. I just wanted to clarify the timeline.”
That was it? Grace barely managed to hold her tongue. He dragged her away from her wash for this?
Mr. Haddock stood, clutching his felt hat. “I’m glad I could be of help.”
Brock stopped him with a raised hand before he reached the door. “Just one more thing.”
Haddock turned, his face another notch whiter. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take your seat again?” Brock said. “This will only take a minute.”
Haddock returned to his seat, but his body was rigid as a lamppost.
“Would you mind telling us again what happened after Mrs. Davenport left the saloon?” Sensing something in Brock’s demeanor, Grace leaned forward.
Haddock must have sensed it too because sweat broke out on his forehead. “Nothing much happened.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his head. “Like I said in court, Billy-Joe picked up his winnings and left.”
“Picked up his winnings,” Brock repeated, emphasizing every word.
“Will . . . will that be all?” Haddock’s gaze circled the room like a horse trying to escape a corral.
“Yep, that’s it,” Brock said.
Haddock stood with an audible sigh and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Jesse jumped up. “You dropped something.” He held up a gold coin.
Haddock’s hand flew to his vest pocket. Too late, he realized his mistake.
“It’s not mine,” he said. “I don’t own a gold coin.”
“Are you certain about that?” Brock asked, standing. “Maybe you better empty your pockets.”
Haddock’s eyes widened. “My . . . my pockets?” he sputtered. He shot a beseeching look at the sheriff. “He can’t order me around, can he?”
Bower shrugged. “Philadelphia lawyers.”
The veins on Haddock’s neck stuck out like thick blue ropes. He reached into his trouser pocket and threw a money clip with a small wad of bills onto the sheriff’s desk.
“Don’t forget your vest pockets,” Brock said.
Haddock grimaced and ever so slowly emptied the rest. The right-hand pocket of his vest revealed a gold coin.
Grace jumped up. “That’s . . . that’s Billy-Joe’s.”
Bower was now on his feet, his casual air abandoned. “Are you sure?”
Jesse picked up the coin and turned it over. “Ma’s right. This was his lucky coin.” He held it so everyone could see the dent in Lady Liberty put there by an enemy’s bullet.
Brock stood directly in front of Mr. Haddock. “Mrs. Davenport testified that her husband had the coin with him the night he was killed. So the question is, how did it end up in your pocket?”
Haddock gaped at him but he didn’t say a word.
“Allow me,” Brock said. “Stop me if I’m wrong. You were correct in saying that Billy-Joe took his winnings and left. But that was later that night. Earlier, he left his winnings on the table when he went outside to talk to his wife. He lied when he said he lost his pay. The truth is, he was on a winning streak.”
Bower rubbed his palms together. “Is there anything you care to add to that, Haddock?”
Realizing he was cornered, Haddock’s eyes took on a crazed look. “I . . . I didn’t mean to kill him. Honest.” He rubbed the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I needed to pay taxes on my farm or I’d lose it. I asked Billy-Joe for a loan but he refused.”
“So you shot him.”
“I didn’t mean to.” He turned to Grace. “It was an accident.”
Grace stared at him, speechless. Was she dreaming? Could it be that the nightmare was finally over?
The sheriff seemed to think so. He plucked the key off a nail. “I guess it’s time to show you some of our gray bar hospitality.”
While the sheriff led Haddock to the jail in back, Grace tried to make sense of all that had happened. “I . . . I can’t believe it,” she whispered.
“Believe it,” Brock said, his voice warm as the summer sun.
“But . . . but how did you know he had the gold coin?”
“I didn’t know. Not for sure. But when Jesse pointed out the discrepancy between his testimony and yours, I recalled he kept putting his hand in his pocket during his testimony. So we decided to try a little experiment.”
Jesse’s eyes shone like two new pennies. “We got the idea from Abraham Lincoln.”
“We? We?” Brock teased.
“But why would he keep the coin?” she asked. “It was the only thing that could put him at the scene of the crime.”
Brock shook his head. “Who knows? Maybe he thought it would bring him luck. Don’t forget, the coin saved your husband’s life during the war and he was on a winning streak the night he died.”
“The coin didn’t save him at the end,” she said.
Brock laid his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, and that one simple gesture nearly melted her heart. “No, but it helped my partner and me catch his killer.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
A WINDSTORM ANNOUNCED THE COMING OF FALL BY bombarding Lone Pine for two days. When the wind finally stopped, it left a layer of dust and pine needles on the porch. Grace wielded the broom and wished that memories of Brock could be swept away as easily as the debris.
He was never far away from her thoughts. Of course, it didn’t help that Jesse idolized the man. It was Mr. Moses this and Mr. Moses that. To hear Jesse tell it, Brock was somewhat of a hero in town for catching Billy-Joe’s killer and was very much in demand as a lawyer.
“I believe you won the battle of the porch.”
“Brock!” She swallowed in an effort to still her pounding heart. “Why are you sneaking up on me like that?”
“Sorry, but you can never be too careful around a lady with a weapon.” He closed the distance between them and stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. His smile made her heart race.
“I didn’t see you at church Sunday and you haven’t been to town. Jesse said you haven’t been sleeping well. So I thought maybe this would help.” He pulled a newspaper from beneath his arm and held it up for her to read. The headline read: HADDOCK FOUND GUILTY.
Haddock insisted it was an accident, but the jury didn’t buy the lie. For that she was grateful, but the verdict brought her no joy. No amount of justice would bring Billy-Joe back or make up for the mistakes of her past.
“Your name has been cleared,” he said. “There’s no longer any doubt about your innocence.”
She smiled. Another prayer answered.
“That means that Jesse can hold up his head.”
“Jesse always held up his head. He’s always been proud of you.”
His penetrating gaze made her look away. “And I’ve always been proud of him.”
Brock folded the newspaper and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “Now that it’s over, I wonder if perhaps you’d do me the honor of accompanying me to the church social this Saturday.”
She leaned the broom against the house. “Not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She narrowed her eyes. Did she really have to spell it out? “You have an election coming up.”
“And?”
“And you don’t need to be seen with a woman who’s . . . used.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re not used, Grace. Far from it.”
Hugging herself tight, she battled her raw emotions. “I’ve had three husbands. If that’s not used, I don’t know what is.”
He pulled off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “We both have things in our pasts we regret.”
“Me more than you.” She moistened her lower lip. “I used to think that a man could fix my problems. That marriage was the only way a woman could survive.”
“Marriage is a gift from God,” he said.
She scoffed. “Some gift. In any case, my marrying days are over. Husbands ain’t caused me nothing but trouble.”
His brow knitted. “The trick is to marry for the right reasons. I’d . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’d like a chance to show you what those right reasons might be.”
Her heart squeezed tight. “You . . . can’t mean that.”
“I do mean it, Grace. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”
She shook her head and backed toward the door. He placed his hat on his head and his foot on the lower step. “Please, Grace. Hear me out. I want to prove I’m worthy of being the first man you marry out of love. That would make me husband number one in God’s eyes.”
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