by Linda Ellen
Averting her gaze back to her husband and the sheriff, she saw Tobias give a quick nod of agreement to his boss and turned, heading out a side door. Before Pauline could even wonder where he was going, he was out of sight.
Immediately, information filtered back to her position near the outside wall. “Sheriff Dave just sent the new deputy after the thief.”
“I’ve heard talk about him. Name’s Tobias Keller. He’s a local boy, but left years ago and was taught everything he knows by his grandpap, the man they call the Wyatt Earp of Champaign, Illinois.”
“Well then, if he’s anything like his granddad, he’ll bring back his man.”
As Pauline listened to the murmurings of the others, a strange kind of pride welled up inside her chest upon hearing the compliments lavished upon her new husband.
“He’ll bring back his man.”
With a smile, she turned to file out the door with several ladies, following the doctor’s orders that everyone clear out and let him do his job.
An hour later, excitement remained high as the boarders sat together around the dining room table, talking about the incident and their speculations as to the details of how such a thing could have happened—and right out there on the street when it wasn’t even fully dark yet!
Suddenly, they all heard one of the front doors open and seconds later Henry Mester, the man Iris had said worked at the newspaper, came striding into the room.
“Did you find out anything, Henry?” bespectacled Milton Hicks, the history teacher at the secondary school, asked eagerly.
Mester gave a nod. “Sure did,” he mumbled as he sat down at his place at the table. Then, he removed a small notebook from his suit coat’s inner breast pocket and flipped a few pages.
“Seems that the young woman—said she is eighteen years of age and her name is Mary Robinson—had met the young man on the J. Houston and had struck up a friendship of sorts. She said she was being careful about her money, as she had heard pickpockets frequent those steamers. Well, she was wearing black ankle boots that laced up the front. She had put her money there for safekeeping, concealed under the tongue, but had inadvertently told the man about it. She soon found out that had been a mistake, as he had pulled a knife and demanded her money. When she said no, he knocked her down and grabbed for her shoe. With the knife, he had sliced the laces to get at the paper money, and when she had tried to jerk away, the knife had slipped and sliced her leg. Undeterred, he had snatched the bills and fled into the night.”
“My stars!” Iris gasped. “How awful! That poor thing!”
“Yes, it is, but what was such a young girl doing traveling alone on a riverboat like that?” Mrs. Haggler wondered. “And—why isn’t she dressed decently? She is wearing men’s clothing, for pity’s sake!”
“Yes, something doesn’t seem right,” her husband agreed. Turning his attention back to Henry, he asked, “Did she know the cad’s name?”
“She said he only told her his name was John.”
The others lapsed into giving their own opinions of the situation, and Pauline stayed quiet. Although she was concerned for the girl and the cut on her leg, she was more concerned with the fact that her husband had gone off alone in hot pursuit of an obviously dangerous criminal. She could only hope that the others were right when they assured Deputy Keller would bring back his man.
Oh, Tobias…please be careful!
Toby held back a sigh of weary frustration as he hunkered under the roof of a narrow porch, for the most part, out of the drizzling rain.
It must be nearing nine o’clock. I wish this guy would make his move. I’m tired, wet, and downright uncomfortable, he fumed silently.
The intrepid deputy had followed the orders of his sheriff and hightailed it down to the wharf in pursuit of the thief. After obtaining a few fruitful leads from several bystanders, it was clear that the perpetrator had climbed aboard the Belle of Brownville, the town’s new steam ferry, in the nick of time for its last crossing of the night.
Eager to be involved in nabbing a criminal, one of the local toughs had quickly volunteered to run Toby across to the Missouri shore in his small rowboat. They had made good time with the strong-muscled youth rowing vigorously.
After securing the lad’s promise to stay put at the river’s edge in case he had further need of his services, a few more local witnesses had been quite willing to help Toby track the miscreant to a small, seedy tavern near the waterfront, appropriately named The River Rat.
Since then, having decided to wait it out chiefly because he wasn’t exactly sure of the description for the man he sought, other than dark hair, no hat, and wearing a dark suit of either blue, black, or brown, Toby had been hunkering next to a building across from the saloon. One of the witnesses at the wharf had mentioned, however, that Toby would know his man by a slight limp.
“Come on. I don’t plan on staying out here all night,” he grumbled under his breath.
Looking around, he spotted a wooden box, which he dragged over and settled onto, making his vigil a bit more palatable. Wiping his face with his bandana, he adjusted the Stetson to protect as much of his head and neck as possible and hunched forward, berating himself for the tenth time that he hadn’t thought to grab his sheepskin jacket before he lit out. Decidedly uncomfortable, he set his sights on the door of the establishment. I’ll give him thirty more minutes and then the heck with it, I’ll go in after him.
Resting against the side of the building, which he had gathered was some sort of warehouse, he heartily wished he was back at the boarding house once again, enjoying the fire in the big buck stove, sipping coffee with the others…but especially with a certain beauty who happened to, at least for now, share his name.
Pauline… The sparkle in her eyes when she had thanked him for helping her get the tutoring position, not to mention the light touch of her fingers on his arm, had shot a stimulating tingle clear down to his toes. How did this girl affect him so fiercely? Never in his adult life had simply the mere sight of a woman, the sound of her voice or her innocent touch, made his senses buzz with such a fierce response.
Was this just physical attraction? I’ve only known her a matter of days... Whatever this phenomenon was, it sure was strong. And it involved more than just his male anatomy. His heart was already ensnared. Is this love at first sight? I never believed that could really happen…but here I am. I can’t get her out of my mind. With a derisive snort, he heard the voice in his head that sounded a great deal like his grandfather, order, Well, you’d better keep your mind on your work, son. A deputy can end up dead from the distraction of a pretty face and a swishing skirt, and don’t you forget it.
Shaking his head to shoo away images of his lovely bride, he refocused on the building across the darkened street.
From his position, he could hear the sounds of clinking glasses, ribald jokes, raucous laughter, and the higher pitched voices of what he figured were saloon girls. Prostitutes. That thought put a decidedly bad taste in his mouth and without conscious awareness, he turned his head and spat toward the muddy alleyway. He’d never, even once, been tempted to avail himself of such an opportunity. Admittedly, there were places almost this bad in Champaign, and he’d been in a few on deputy business. He’d had soiled doves rub up against him and whisper phrases in his ear that would have turned his face beet red in his adolescent years. But just the thought of being with a woman like that turned his stomach. His grandfather had explained in detail how many of those women were infected with diseases that were not to a man’s well-being. True, the women had most likely gotten the disease from a man to start with, but it was a vicious cycle, and not one he wanted to perpetuate.
But a woman like Pauline…his bride…she had him thinking husbandly thoughts… sweetheart thoughts… lovers’ thoughts… Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss those pink lips. Would she taste as sweet as she looked? Would she sigh and press closer, filling his arms and his senses? From
the few scant times he’d been in close proximity to her, she had smelled of lavender and honey and he’d wondered what sort of toilet water she used. Whatever it was—
Just then, the door of the River Rat opened and two men came out, staggering slightly with their arms around one another’s shoulders. Instantly, Toby’s whole body went on high alert, all thoughts of toilet water and sweet kisses gone with the wind.
The two men were mumbling and snickering together as they slowly headed in the general direction of Toby’s hideout. One man, he noticed, had a slight limp. Dark hair, no hat, dark suit of clothes... This had to be the man.
Tensed and ready, Toby stayed perfectly still and waited for just the right moment.
As the two got closer, he began to make out their conversation.
“…tart thought she was worth her weight in gold, but I turned the tables on her, you bet I did.” Elbowing his companion in the ribs, he cackled, “Left her hollering like a stuck pig. Aww, but all’s I got for my troubles was my sawbuck back plus two more.”
“Hobbs, you done spent that much in the Rat!” the other man guffawed.
“Yep. Easy come, easy go,” the man named Hobbs chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to find me a place to flop for the night and then move on at first light. Them’s across the river might even send somebody out lookin’, if they don’t figure out first that their damsel in distress is just a workin’ girl who got pinched of her fee from her latest John. They oughta figure it quick though, dressed as she was in gents’ clothes.”
The second man laughed and slapped the first man on the back. “Well, Hobbs, good luck to ya. I’d invite ya home, but the little woman don’t take kindly to overnight guests she don’t know.”
“No worries, Peters,” the man with the limp answered. The two parted ways and, much to Toby’s relief, his man headed toward the alley.
When Hobbs was within four feet of him, Toby stepped out from the shadows and cocked his revolver.
“Hold it right there, mister.”
Chapter 8
I t was Sunday afternoon. Pauline had enjoyed a pleasant morning, starting with yet another delicious breakfast prepared by Iris, followed by her joining the other residents of the boarding house on their short walk to the church. This included her husband, but excluded Henry Mester, as he had said he had a deadline on the robbery turned stabbing story that he had to fulfill.
Pauline had delighted in the uplifting service at Pastor McKnight’s church. First Baptist was a charming, frame building with a warm, open beamed ceiling and long, arched windows that let in the bright spring sunlight. A wide center aisle ran from the door to the altar, separating long, polished, hardwood pews. A tall, slender man in a brown suit, blessed with a bold, deep voice, led the congregation in rousing renditions of the beloved hymns, Blessed Assurance and Glory to His Name. Pauline happily noticed he was accompanied by the melodic tones of an upright piano that was skillfully played by one of her new friends, Dottie Plasters.
The familiar songs helped to make Pauline feel right at home as she blended her soprano with the smooth alto of Iris, standing to her immediate right, and Tobias’ rich baritone to her left. His singing voice was much like his speaking voice, and it pleased her ears as it seemed to glide past their openings and fill her entire being with a warmth and a tingling sensation she couldn’t define. Sharing a hymnal with her husband had been one of the many things she had taken pleasure in during the service—that, and sitting next to him once the song portion had concluded. Glancing to the side periodically, she was also pleased to see that he not only had brought his Bible to church with him, but seemed well versed with the text, quickly found the correct book and verses mentioned by the pastor, and seemed to pay attention to the topic. That he was a man obviously accustomed to attending church was just more icing on the cake regarding her new husband.
Once the sermon began, she had a feeling the text—out of Matthew 25, regarding the command to extend Christian charity to those less fortunate—had been prompted by the events of the previous evening. Most likely, Pastor McKnight had heard some of the grumblings among the townspeople concerning the way the visitor to their town—who had been attacked right in the middle of Main Street—had been dressed in an odd fashion and therefore, somehow, this made offering help an option and not a mandate from Scripture. Although Pastor McKnight was not the kind of preacher to yell fire and brimstone, his easy delivery of truths still stepped on a few toes and made more than one congregant squirm under the conviction of the Spirit.
After church and a hearty meal consisting of tasty beef stew and cornbread, Pauline was now relaxing in the parlor of the Larson House, sipping coffee sweetened with honey and doctored with a liberal dose of cream—and wondering how she would spend the rest of the day. She had hoped Tobias would stay around and that perhaps they could go for another walk, but he had excused himself right after lunch and went out the door with merely a tip of that black hat.
With a soft sigh, Pauline took another sip of her coffee. A heartbeat later, Cora Haggler came through the front door. “There’s something not quite right about that girl,” she announced to the parlor at large.
Pauline knew the woman had volunteered to join a group of ladies from Reverend McKnight’s church to help the poor, unfortunate stabbing victim feel a little more comfortable and accepted. They had gotten together quickly after the service and each woman had agreed to give something toward a collection for the girl, consisting of several dresses, toiletries, and items that she would need, and bring them to the boarding house. The committee had delivered the donations, and taken along a bowl of the delicious stew prepared by Iris. Merle Furney, who owned and operated the Star Hotel, had reluctantly agreed to house the young victim in a room while she convalesced, but he had flatly refused to foot the bill for feeding her.
“What do you mean, Cora?” Iris asked as she came into the parlor from the direction of the kitchen, wearing an apron she had donned over her best gingham dress. She placed a plate of oatmeal cookies, baked the previous day, on a small table between the blue and gold matching settees.
Cora sat down on the one facing the door, next to her husband who had been reading a copy of the newspaper from Lincoln, The Daily State Journal, and leaned closer for him to kiss her cheek.
“Oh…I can’t exactly put my finger on it…” Cora paused with a tired sounding huff, tilting her head to one side as she tried to articulate her thoughts. “She didn’t seem to want to answer our questions…” she began as she reached toward the low table in the center and picked up a cookie from the tray.
“What sort of questions?” Iris queried.
“Oh, you know, the usual…where she’s from, how long she’s been traveling, why she was dressed in men’s clothing—”
“Did she answer that one?” Allan Cole interjected, looking over the top of a copy of the catalog The American Tailor, and Pauline stifled a laugh that—of course—the town’s resident tailor would ask about her clothing.
“Yes, she said someone had stolen her belongings out of her stateroom and all she could find to put on were the clothes she’s wearing.”
“That is odd,” Iris agreed. “Why didn’t a female passenger on the boat give her something…and why, for heaven’s sake, would someone steal a woman’s clothing and personal belongings?”
Each of the residents made eye contact with one another in turn, answering with shrugs, as Pauline pondered silently what the girl had been doing at the time of the robbery that she didn’t have even one outfit to wear. She had no reticule with her, not even a nightdress. Odd, indeed.
“She had answered our other questions in a kind of vague manner,” Cora continued. “She said she’s from Lincoln and she was traveling on her own. But then Mary Jane asked her about her family and she abruptly told us all that she had become fatigued…actually, she said, ‘I’m tired now’, and promptly turned over on her side and presented her back to us!” Shaking her head at the memory, she ended, “Afte
r that, there wasn’t much for us to do but leave her alone to get some rest.”
“Not the friendly sort, then, is she,” Milton Hicks observed. “One would think she would be a little more inclined toward common courtesy, being alone in a strange town as she is, injured, and without two bits to her name.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Cora agreed, lifting the last bite of her cookie at him in salute.
“What did Deputy Keller say after he caught the attacker and brought him back last night?” Monroe Haggler asked, causing all heads to swing toward Pauline. She blanched a bit under their steady regard, and felt her face and neck begin to warm.
Clearing her throat, she carefully lowered her cup to the small table next to her chair and unconsciously clasped her hands as she admitted softly, “I didn’t get to speak to him. It was late and…I had already retired. I heard him come into his room sometime after midnight.” Glancing around as the others nodded, she added, “I’d hoped to talk with him today, but…” she shrugged a shoulder, knowing they had all seen him get up from the table and leave the house earlier.
“He’s probably over at the jail, helping Sheriff Plasters interrogate the prisoner,” Teacher Hicks surmised. “I heard they took him to see the girl and she screeched to high heaven that he was the man who robbed and attacked her. Looks like they’ve got him dead to rights. I sure wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when Judge Farrington comes back from his trip next week. Think they’ll have a quick trial? How much time will he get for robbery and attempted murder?” he asked, his eyes brimming with anticipation as if he were discussing the plot of a dime novel. At that thought, Pauline’s own eyes twinkled as she pictured her sister, Olivia, jumping right into the middle of the conversation.