Taken for English (39 page)

Annie approached Leah carefully. The girl clutched the envelope, a fist on each end, showing a neat, blockish handwriting.

“I trusted you!” Leah sliced the air with the envelope.

“And I don’t want to disappoint your trust.” Annie put a hand on Leah’s shoulder. “I was not expecting a letter from your friend.”

“I don’t understand. How would he even know you?”

“He doesn’t. I wrote to someone else.”

“You wrote to someone about me? Who?”

“Matthew Beiler. He’s Rufus’s brother.”

“Have you ever met him?” Leah turned the envelope over to look at the back.

“No. But when I first heard your story, I wanted to see if I could help. I wrote to Matthew to see if he knew your friend.”

“I never asked you to do that. I hardly know Matthew Beiler.” Annie watched Leah crumple one end of the envelope

“I didn’t mean to complicate your situation.”

“I didn’t ask you for any of this. All I wanted was help to get to Pennsylvania.”

“I know.” Annie held out one hand. “May I have the letter?”

“Are you going to open it?”

Annie gently took the letter. “I don’t know what it might say, Leah.” Without any idea why Matthew had not simply answered her letter himself, or why Aaron would take it upon himself to write to her, Annie was reluctant to read the letter in Leah’s presence.

“If he tells you why he stopped writing to me, when he didn’t tell me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

All the more reason Annie did not want to open the letter. “Before we talk about that,” she said, “I want to tell you about something.”

“I need to know what that letter says!”

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you.”

“Then open it.”

“Leah,” Annie said, “I made a call today. The clinic here in Westcliffe has a counselor who comes on Fridays. I thought maybe it would help if you talked to her.”

“An
English
counselor? I didn’t ask you to do that, either.”

“I know.”

“I just want to know what is in that letter.”

“So do I. I think we should open it together with the counselor.”

Leah sank into a chair. “What if I don’t want to?”

“The letter is addressed to me.”

“But obviously it’s about me.”

Annie held her gaze steady. “Leah, we’ve worked hard to trust each other. Let’s trust each other with this.”

Leah pounded the table. “I want to see the letter with my own eyes.”

Annie nodded. “With the counselor.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “What time?”

June 1892

B
elle stuck a fork in the sizzling slice of ham, which her father expected for breakfast every morning, and turned it.

“Daddy, your breakfast is ready.” She snatched the toast off the stovetop metal frame and slathered butter on it. “Daddy?”

Belle stilled her movements to listen for footsteps on the stairs. She glanced at the clock. It was early, but her father had risen with the dawn all her life. He would come down the stairs looking for his breakfast any moment. Whether or not they disagreed about John Twigg, her father expected his meals. She held the skillet above a plate and dumped the meat and then set the toast beside it. The coffee needed a couple of minutes to finish percolating.

Leon Mooney had not yet appeared by the time his breakfast was ready and laid out in tidy fashion on a green-checkered cloth on the kitchen table. Belle wiped her hands on her apron and paced down the hall that ran through the house.

“Daddy? Breakfast!”

“Wrap it up,” the gruff reply came. “I’ll take it with me.”

“It’s early. You have plenty of time to eat before going out to the ranch.”

“I’ll lose the trail.”

Belle’s stomach clenched. “What trail?” With fists lifting her skirt, Belle took the stairs like a naughty child.

“Word is Old Man Twigg moved over the state line into Missouri. Jimmy is with him. I’m fixin’ to fetch them both back to Baxter County, dead or alive.”

Belle stood in the doorway of her father’s room. Sitting on the bed, he looked down the barrel of his Winchester. Despite the heat of summer, he wore a jacket with pockets bulging with ammunition.

“Daddy, have you lost your mind?” Belle charged into the room and gripped the barrel of the weapon.

He looked straight into her eyes. “No. You lost yours when you fell for the lies John Twigg offered you.”

Belle tugged on the rifle. “That’s not the way it was, and you know it.”

He easily pulled the gun out of her grasp. “Don’t stand there and defend his kin. You know they had a hand in shootin’ the sheriff.”

“Jesse Roper did that.”

“And his granddaddy helped him shoot his way past the posse. I may not be able to find Roper, but I can catch Old Man Twigg and Jimmy. They’ve run scared, but they are not going to get off scot-free if I have anything to say about it.”

“Does Deputy Combs know you are doing this?” Belle moved to stand in the doorway, even though she knew she could not physically restrain her father.

“It’s none of his business.” He stood up and shoved more bullets into his trouser pockets. “Missouri is not his jurisdiction.”

“Daddy, please don’t do this.”

“The mare just got new shoes. I’ll take her. I know at least three men who will ride with me if I ask them to.”

“Please don’t ask them to. You’re going to get yourselves killed.”

He slapped his hat on his head and gripped his rifle in one fist. “Now how would that be justice, child? Move.”

Woody Woodley slept later and later. Maura kept her head cocked for the sound of his steps, though she doubted he would be up and moving for at least half an hour.

Woody had been seventeen years older than his wife. No one expected that he might be the one to wander through the rooms the couple had shared looking half-lost. His wife’s sudden and brief illness stunned everyone in Gassville, and almost overnight Woody went from an aging but vibrant man to an elderly gentleman to whom everyone offered deference. He sold his ranch acreage to Leon Mooney. Occasionally he made rounds as a hired hand with another rancher to check on a herd, but for the most part he was content to nap and read the newspaper or one of the books Maura brought home from the small library in Mountain Home.

Maura sat alone at the unadorned kitchen table with a second cup of coffee and an open Bible. The verse her heart focused on that morning, Psalm 34:14, was simple, straightforward. “Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.”

The Bible spoke so simply and beautifully. The people of Gassville could fill two churches, and everyone would nod assent to these words. Why, then, could they not live at peace with each other?

The back door opened and Walter sauntered in. He inspected the empty griddle. “I don’t smell any food.”

“I haven’t started yet.”

“Uncle Woody’s not up?”

“I like to make his breakfast fresh when he’s ready.”

“Got any blueberries? Mama just made plain griddle cakes.”

“You mean your mama fed you and you’re still coming here looking for breakfast?”

“That was an hour ago.”

“It’s time you learned to make your own pancakes.”

“Women’s work.”

“Well, not this woman, not this time.” Maura picked up her coffee cup, now nearly empty. “Pour me some coffee.”

“If I do, will you make me some blueberry pancakes?”

Maura eyed him. “You might just have to take your chances on that bargain.”

Walter lifted the coffeepot from the stove.

The back door flung open again, and Belle burst through. Maura nearly turned the table over getting to her feet.

“Belle! What in the—”

“Daddy’s gone crazy. Just plumb crazy. I can’t stop him.”

Maura’s heart pounded. “Stop him from what?”

“He wants to chase Old Man Twigg over the state line.” Belle gasped for breath. “Dead or alive, Daddy said. He’s going take other men with him if they’ll go.”

“What’s so crazy about that?” Walter put the coffee back on the stove. “I’ll go with him.”

Maura flashed disapproval. “Walter, I think it would be best if you held your tongue.”

Walter pulled out a chair, dropped into it, and crossed his arms to sulk.

“He’s serious,” Belle said. “Maura, I take back everything I said yesterday. Every word. You’re the only person I can depend on. I don’t think I have a friend left in this whole town.”

“You have me.” Maura stepped across the small kitchen and wrapped her arms around Belle. “You always have me.”

“You have to help me.” Belle sobbed into Maura’s shoulder.

“Of course I’ll help you. This madness has to stop.” Maura expelled heavy breath. “I’ll find Joseph. He’s been riding with the men looking for Roper. He’ll know where their sentiments lie.”

Belle trembled. Maura nudged her toward a chair.

“You stay here,” Maura said. “Walter, pour Belle some coffee. When my daddy gets up, you tell him…tell him I might be gone for a while.”

Outside the house, Maura felt the tremble rise within her.

Joseph left his bedroll open.

“The horses are rested.” Stephen pushed his spare shirt into a saddlebag. “There is nothing to keep us from going.”

“Except Joseph,” Zeke said. “He is not ready.”

Joseph swirled the last of his coffee in a tin cup and reached for the pot hanging over the morning fire.

“Joseph,” Zeke said, “if you do not come with us now, you will only have more to explain later.”

“Maybe I do not have anything to explain.” Joseph burned his tongue on the coffee. Zeke would not be happy with his answer.

“The bishop. Your parents. My sister. Your little brother.” Zeke ticked off several more names on his fingers. “Are you planning to simply disappear from their lives?”

“Of course not.” In time, Hannah would recover and marry someone more deserving of her affections, but Little Jake was a sensitive boy.

“The bishop, Joseph. Are you in submission?” Zeke poured water on the fire and kicked dirt onto the remaining embers.

“Must you ask?”

“You ask Stephen and me to leave you here. Alone. Where is the community that will guard your faith?”

“I am not saying I will never go home. Just not now.” Joseph swallowed more coffee.

“This is about Miss Woodley.” Stephen hung his tin utensils from a saddle strap. “You have let her cause you to stray.”

Joseph’s back straightened involuntarily. “If I have strayed at all, Miss Woodley is not the cause. Do not look for someone to blame where there is no one.” He was loath to leave without expressing himself to Maura Woodley and awaiting her response, but no, she had not caused him to stray. He bore his own responsibility. She might yet meet the hope in his heart with her own dream of peace.

A stir in the livery yard drew all three black-suited men around to the front of the stables, Joseph first, followed by Zeke, and then Stephen with the horses. Maura Woodley sat on her restless dark mount without pulling the cart. Joseph rushed to hold its bridle.

“You must come, Joseph,” she said. “Belle’s father is going to get himself killed if somebody doesn’t stop him. He’s going over the state line after Old Man Twigg.”

“What can I do?” Joseph held the horse still and looked into Maura’s fiery brown eyes.

“Joseph!” Zeke’s tone was as sharp as Joseph had ever heard it. “Stay out of this
English
business. It is nothing to do with you. Get your bedding and we’ll go.”

“You’re leaving?” Maura’s brow creased, and her disappointment stabbed him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Where is Leon now?” Joseph focused on Maura’s need rather than Zeke’s indignation.

Maura waved a hand. “Gathering his forces.”

Zeke swung up onto his horse. Stephen settled himself in his saddle then handed Joseph the lead to the third horse.

Galloping horses found their rhythm in the street.

“It’s Leon,” Maura said.

“And three others.” Joseph named Leon’s co-conspirators.

“Joseph.” Zeke’s voice carried questions, warnings, and disappointment.

“Please, Joseph,” came Maura’s soft plea. “They need your message of peace.”