Felicity stiffens. That’s not fair, but the message is for Edwin. This isn’t like an Amish community, where a youngster slipping off to hang out with the English may be cause for concern. Edwin knows she isn’t enviously eyeing our lifestyle. She’s forming a valuable relationship that benefits the entire First Settlement. A relationship he wouldn’t want to jeopardize.
That doesn’t mean Edwin appreciates the threat, and his gaze hardens as he says, “Understood,” and then turns to me and says, “May we speak somewhere private?” in Mandarin. That makes Dalton’s lips twitch in amusement. It’s an obvious brush-off, clumsily done, which proves Dalton’s annoyance hit its mark. Edwin knows he’s overstepped by showing up. Good.
We’ve only gotten a few steps when Kenny appears on the path ahead. Despite the leg braces, he moves steadily, but I don’t fail to notice the way Edwin’s gaze sweeps over him, landing on the rifle under Kenny’s arm.
“Your militia, I presume?” Edwin murmurs. “The situation has indeed declined.”
“Grandfather,” Felicity says under her breath. It’s a warning. Telling him he’s embarrassing. I have to smile slightly when his face tightens at the rebuke. Felicity may act the dutiful granddaughter, but she knows how to herd him, just a little.
“Everything okay?” Kenny says, nodding at the newcomers. “I saw them out here an hour ago, and we’ve been keeping watch. I know Felicity is allowed in, but I’ve never seen him.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
Despite Edwin’s sarcasm, this is the militia Rockton needs. Someone who recognized that the two people hovering on our outskirts did not pose a threat and therefore did not need to be confronted.
“Kenny?” I say. “I’m going to take Edwin and Felicity to the station. Could you ask Phil to join us? And Petra’s roommate, please?”
At that Dalton nods, his eyes glinting. He wondered why I’d let Edwin off so easily. Now he has his answer.
“I’ll stop by Petra’s,” Dalton says. “Kenny, you can grab Phil.”
They head off together down another path as Storm and I lead Felicity and Edwin into town.
* * *
One advantage to the rapid turnover in Rockton is that most people don’t notice when the status quo changes. If we started allowing more picnics and hikes, they’d presume there’d been a reason why we hadn’t during their first year. It also means we can walk into town with a stranger and people only glance over in curiosity. As the only witness to twenty years of town history, Dalton tells me he can count on one hand the number of times a stranger passed the town borders. It’s not exactly a regular stream now, but people do come, and the council isn’t saying much about it, so we see no reason to sneak Edwin in the back door.
People have seen Felicity before, and so they only glance over with nods, their gazes resting on Edwin perhaps thinking that if not for his clothing, he would no more match their idea of a forest dweller than she does. He’s small but straight-backed and still strong, a gray-haired second-generation Chinese-Canadian who’d been a lawyer before coming to Rockton.
I don’t know Edwin’s exact history with the First Settlement. There are no records from that time—Rockton has always been cagey about its backstory. Edwin is cagier still—if I asked how he came to the First Settlement, he’d wonder what I hoped to gain from the information and, with the lack of records, how he could tailor his story to suit.
I know he’s been in the First Settlement since near its inception. I’ve heard a couple of variations on the story, the prevailing one being that he founded it, though Dalton’s grumbled that it seems more likely Edwin slid in and took over after the hard work was done.
With Émilie’s arrival, I have a way to get the truth. If Dalton is the witness to Rockton’s recent past, she is the archives. Of course, I could just ask her about Edwin. I have a feeling, though, that this will be much more interesting.
I take Edwin and Felicity to the police station and start coffee. As I make it, I tell him what happened to the tourists. I don’t see any point in dissembling. The information I wish to temporarily withhold is the death of the settlers. Obviously, I don’t care to give him more ammunition for his “riling up the hostiles” rhetoric, but more than that, well, someone staged their deaths to look like hostiles did it. That someone had a reason, and I suspect it was less about hiding murder than about laying a crime at the feet of the hostiles.
Look at these savages. They’re running wild, slaughtering hunters and tourists and settlers. Someone needs to do something about them.
Who’s bellowing that demand the loudest? The old man sitting in our police station. He has the most reason to stage a hostile attack. Stack a few more logs on the fire he’s already set blazing under our asses.
I hold out a cup of coffee. Edwin only looks at it disdainfully.
“I do not drink that,” he says.
Felicity reaches for the mug, but Edwin’s hand shoots out to block her reach. “Neither does she.”
She reaches past him and takes it.
“Do you prefer tea, Edwin?” I say. “I have a special blend here we got from the Second Settlement.”
His eyes narrow. “Is that your idea of a joke, Casey?”
I shrug. “I just thought you could use a cup. I hear it’s very relaxing.”
“Humor does not become you. For a woman, jests mean you will not be taken seriously.”
“Or it means I’ll be underestimated,” I say as I settle in with my coffee. “I can tell a few jokes if you like. Perhaps the one about the old lawyer who walks into an armed camp confident he has the upper hand.”
“You’re in far too fine a mood today,” Edwin grumbles. “That, too, is unbecoming. It tells others they can take advantage of you.”
“Nah, it just means that I am, at heart, a nasty bitch who takes far too much pleasure in the discomfort of those who’ve pissed her off.”
“If I seem uncomfortable to you, then I might suggest—”
The door swings open, and in walks Émilie. Her gaze goes first to Felicity, eyebrows knitting in only the briefest flash of confusion before she smiles and gives a queenly nod. Then she turns to Edwin. She stops, and I hold my breath.
“Sheriff Dalton?” Émilie says, her voice ice. “Please remove this man from Rockton. He is contravening the terms of his banishment.”
19
“Banishment?” My brows shoot up in mock horror. “You never told us you were banished, Edwin. Well, this is awkward.”
His look warns that I have lost ground here. I meet it with a level stare that tells him he already lost that ground when he decided to treat us like incompetent children. I have a feeling that’s the way he’s accustomed to treating law enforcement. Some lawyers are. Some people are.
Yes, we’re public servants, but that doesn’t mean you can insult and pester us to the point of interfering with the job your taxes pay us to do. Also? Edwin isn’t paying taxes. We aren’t his law enforcement team to kick around.
“Be careful on your way home, Edwin,” I say. “It’s windy today. I remember when I was a kid and a windstorm blew down a huge tree in our backyard. It fell partly into the neighbor’s yard. Dad hired a company to clean it up, but they were busy after the windstorm. The neighbor wouldn’t stop pestering, so my dad hired another company, at a higher price, and sent the neighbor a bill for the difference.”
Felicity frowns, wondering why I’m telling this story. Then she realizes and pulls back with a nod. Edwin gets it right away and only sniffs, “Did your parents take an ax to the tree before it fell?”
“No,” I say. “But it had been leaning precariously. They were trying to figure out a way to remove it safely. One could argue they waited too long, but when they discussed the matter with the neighbors, they offered no help. Just told us that, however we handled it, the tree better not fall on their side of the fence.”
“As charming as this analogy is, Casey, I don’t believe it actually fits our situati
on.”
“Mmm, no. I believe it does. You’ve never offered to help us deal with the hostiles, Edwin. They aren’t a new threat. We’ve been trying to figure this out, and you just sit there and warn us they’d better not attack your people. Which they never did before we ‘set them off’ by refusing to let them murder us, right?”
I lean forward. “Tell me that you’ve never lost people to the hostiles before.”
“I am here to help,” Edwin says through his teeth.
“Yes,” Émilie says. “I believe we’ve heard that one before. Shall we tell them why you were banished, Edwin?”
Dalton turns on her. “Are you sure, Émilie? Maybe you should wait. It’s not like we need this information. Not like the council wasn’t very aware that we were in communication with Edwin and didn’t bother to mention that he had been banished.”
Dalton walks to his desk. “You can both leave. Felicity? If your grandfather had something to tell us, you’re welcome to stay behind and speak for him. But Casey and I have work to do, figuring out what the fuck is happening in the forest, and what to do about it to keep our residents safe.” He meets Edwin’s gaze. “Our residents. They’re the ones who pay our wages. You’re just the old man who sits on his porch banging his cane.”
“What’s going on here?” asks a voice from the door. Phil enters carefully, his gaze sweeping those assembled. Kenny wisely lifts a hand in farewell and retreats.
“Edwin and Émilie would like to speak to you, Phil,” I say. “While you do that, we’ll be at the clinic, talking to April.”
“Casey,” Émilie says. “I understand you and Eric are both upset at being caught in the middle—”
“ ‘Upset’ isn’t the word,” I say.
“Fucking fed up with everyone’s fucking bullshit,” Dalton says.
“I feel as if I’ve missed something,” Phil murmurs.
I turn to him. “Did you know that Edwin was banished from Rockton? That he was forbidden to set foot in it again?”
“No, but I’m sure . . .” His gaze travels across us, and he clears his throat. “I was about to say that I’m sure, whatever his crime, the council now considers him harmless, or they would not allow you to have contact with him. I will, however, amend that to the sincere hope that whatever he’s done is moot, given that they have allowed communication.”
No one answers . . . which is an answer in itself.
Dalton growls under his breath, and when a voice says, “Sedition,” everyone is caught off guard, turning toward the last person in the room we expect to speak.
Felicity.
“My grandfather was accused of sedition,” she says. “Inciting the residents of Rockton to rebel against the authority of those in charge.”
“Ah, sedition.” Émilie crosses the room and stands in front of Edwin. “Your chair, sir.”
His brows shoot up.
“Give me your chair. I’m tired of standing.”
He snorts. “We are of an age, Émilie. I am certainly not ceding the only chair to you.”
“Really? I am the weaker sex, am I not? That’s what you always told me. You were very clear about that.”
Felicity’s gaze swings on her grandfather, who deftly ducks it.
“My opinion has changed—” he begins.
“Has it? Truly? Then you will cede the chair out of deference to my authority.”
Edwin glowers at her. Then he slowly rises . . . and she takes the chair, shoves it behind the desk, and sits on the front.
“Gather ’round, children,” she says. “Let me tell you a story of sedition. Such a lovely word. Such a noble cause.” She turns to Felicity. “Did your grandfather tell you the nature of his rebellion?”
Felicity nods. “When residents founded the First Settlement, they wished to trade with Rockton. The town refused to allow it—they didn’t want anyone living in the forest. My grandfather arrived during the dispute. He saw the First Settlement’s point and attempted to help them. For that, he was exiled. The First Settlement took him in and made him their leader.”
Émilie’s lips twitch in a humorless smile. “Seems you left out a few details, old man. Or, should I say, a few bodies?”
“What?” I turn to Edwin.
Émilie continues. “Our lawyer friend here did not intervene in the dispute by arguing eloquently in favor of trade. You see, at that time, Rockton had a far more trusting nature. We kept our hunting rifles in a communal chest, for anyone who cared to hunt. Edwin emptied that chest and gave the guns to the settlers, who invaded Rockton, took the residents hostage, and made their demands. When Rockton’s leaders refused, they were both shot. Murdered.”
“What?” I say, wheeling on Edwin. “You killed—”
“Not me,” Edwin says. “You know that, Émilie. You were there. You and your husband. The three of us negotiated a peaceful settlement.”
“Negotiated? You have such a charming way with words.” She looks at us. “Edwin held a rifle to my husband’s head. I had a handgun that Robert bought me after the first death threat over our political views. Edwin didn’t expect that gun, and he sure as hell didn’t expect a woman to pull it on him. He laughed at me. I put a hole through the wall, singeing off a few of his hairs, and he decided perhaps we really should talk after all.”
“I was trying to talk all along, Émilie. No one was listening until I pointed a gun at your husband.” He glances at us. “The deaths were a mistake. My mistake, because I put guns in the hands of idiots. Yet Rockton refused to talk to us, and we grew desperate.”
His gaze shoots Dalton’s way, waiting for sarcasm. Dalton says nothing. He’s trying very hard not to look at me. Dalton knows exactly what’s going through my head. I want to sneer at Edwin, to give him the reaction he expects, but I cannot. Because once upon a time, I took a gun to persuade someone that I was serious, to force him to listen to me. And then, when he didn’t, I pulled the trigger, and I will never stop regretting that. Bringing that gun had been a stupid, immature move from a stupid, immature kid.
A kid who would have only been a few years younger than Edwin and Émilie at the time.
“Émilie?” I say, as evenly as I can. “How close is that to the truth?”
She doesn’t answer.
“If it was not the truth,” Edwin says, “would I still be here? Would they have settled for banishing me? Left me in charge of the First Settlement, where I could plan my next assault on Rockton?”
Émilie says nothing.
“We were not in charge here,” Edwin says. “Émilie, Robert, myself . . . Back then, we were considered children, errant youths who’d stumbled into trouble at home and now needed the protection of responsible adults. We chafed at that. We were idealists, and we thought we could do better. I attempted to do better by helping the settlers, which was something we all wanted.” A meaningful look at Émilie.
“Yes,” she says. “The three of us wanted that. However, only one of us put guns in the hands of people who didn’t want peace. They wanted Rockton.”
Edwin nods. “I underestimated their capacity for violence and overestimated their intelligence. The result was a tragedy. I do not deny that. No more than I deny the fairness of my sentence.” He looks at us. “Robert argued my case, despite . . .”
Another look at Émilie.
“You held my husband at gunpoint,” she says, each word coming slow, old fury igniting in her eyes. “I don’t care if you didn’t plan to pull that trigger. All I saw was a friend holding a gun on my husband, threatening to shoot if he didn’t get his way. I will never forget what that felt like. I will never forgive you that moment.”
“I understand,” Edwin says. “I hope you and Robert had many years together—”
“Don’t.” She spits the word, glaring at him.
“Whatever you think I’m doing—”
“You’re subtly reminding me that Robert did not die, and that we went on to a happy and long life together. You’re suggesting that my reactio
n was merely a moment of panic. A moment that I have lived a thousand times in nightmare, and if you want to see that as feminine weakness—hysteria or the vapors, perhaps—then you do that, but do not patronize me.”
“All right. Then I apologize sincerely, Émilie, for the pain I caused you.”
Dalton glances at me. We’re both uncomfortable here. So is Phil. Felicity just looks confused. She’s watching her grandfather the way one might watch a loved one displaying characteristics that suggest a mental break . . . or alien possession. Edwin is apologizing. He is admitting to mistakes. For her, I suspect, this is a first, and it is unsettling.
Does Edwin even remember that Felicity is here? I don’t think so. Not Felicity, not Dalton, not Phil, and not me. Neither does Émilie. We are witness to a private conversation, and the only thing that kept me from slipping out earlier was the understanding that they need to have this talk, and even a subtle departure might disrupt that.
Also, I want to understand what happened here. What happened between them, and what Edwin did. Whether I can trust either of them. What sort of people they really are.
I have cleared a peephole into their psyches, and I see something far too uncomfortably close to a mirror, at least in their past selves. Idealistic, impulsive, reckless, overconfident, convinced that they’re doing the right thing . . . and making a horrible, tragic mess of it.
Edwin is right. If the past leaders considered him a serious threat, they’d never have allowed him to retreat into the forest. They set him up to be the leader there, because they trusted he’d learned a lesson and also that he hadn’t intended for his “revolution” to leave bodies in its wake.
“Is Émilie right?” I ask after a moment of awkward silence. “Did the settlers want to take over Rockton?”
Edwin sighs. Felicity pulls out the chair, and he sinks into it.
“That is the problem with supporting a group you are not part of,” Edwin says. “You aren’t privy to its secrets. When I arrived in Rockton, it was during a time of rising political idealism, especially among the young. I’m certain you can’t see it now, but I was right in there, supporting causes and championing the underdog. We wanted to save people, particularly those less fortunate than ourselves.”
A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel Page 17