Robbie and Taron

by Abagail Eldan

  She introduced herself, they shook hands, and he offered her a seat.

  “I’m the lawyer not only for your husband and brother-in-law, but also for you,” Mr. Bradford said, resuming his seat.

  “Do you really think I need a lawyer?”

  “The sheriff said you knew your husband was a horse thief.”

  “My husband said he was not a horse thief. He said Mr. Stewart rebranded the horses and claimed them for his own.”

  “Your husband did tell you then?”

  “Yes, but ...” She blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter about me.”

  The lawyer observed her coolly. “We can only hope the judge will be lenient.”

  She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue. “That’s not why I came to see you. I have a witness.”

  “A witness? To what? Not the murder, surely?”

  “Not exactly, but ... well, I’ll let him tell you.”

  She fell silent and leaned back until Walter knocked on the door and came in. He’d made an effort to clean up a bit — he must have wet his handkerchief in the watering trough for his face was wiped free of tobacco stains.

  She motioned him to sit in the other chair. He eyed it as if it had been a snake but finally sat down.

  “Tell Mr. Bradford what happened on Saturday,” she prompted.

  “Yes, please tell me.” The lawyer leaned forward, his elbows propped on his desk.

  Walter told the story with a minimum of help from Robbie. When he finished, Mr. Bradford looked from one to the other.

  “That is only circumstantial evidence. I’ll need something concrete before I can bring that before the judge.”

  Robbie nodded. “I will have concrete evidence for you, by tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Well, I hope so. The judge is arriving the day after. He’ll hear the evidence and pronounce sentence.”

  The lawyer’s words left a sinking feeling in her stomach. But she would not give up, no matter what.

  They said their goodbyes, and Mr. Bradford escorted them out.

  In front of the office, Robbie turned to Walter. “I want to visit my husband and then I need to ...”

  Walter raised a hand to interrupt her. “You need to go back and eat that fine supper Miss Libby’s cooking.”

  “Yes. I can take time for that. But then I need to ...”

  “Rest. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, Miz Babbitt. Not in your condition.”

  “Condition?”

  He took out a dirty handkerchief and blew his nose before he answered. “Must’ve been wrong. Thought you was ’specting.”

  Her mouth gaped open for a second. “What? You think I’m going to have a baby?”

  He nodded his head.

  She stared at him for a moment before she realized he was right. A baby! She thought she felt sick from all the stress and worry. But no, she was going to have a baby. Well, baby or not, she couldn’t rest now. She would rest after Taron was acquitted. “I’m going to visit my husband while we’re here and then go back for supper,” she said decisively.

  “Mind if I wait out here?”

  “That will be fine. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She didn’t like the idea of entering the jail alone, with that mangy-looking sheriff and his smelly deputies. But she could do it, and she did although she didn’t tarry long, not entering the cell this time. She only wanted to see Taron, to touch his hand through the bars, to tell him she was sorry. She’d never once thought he could have killed anyone — she simply wanted to know why he hadn’t told her what he was accused of. But now she knew — Edward Stewart had been murdered on Saturday. He didn’t say much but smiled as he listened to her. His anger dissipated quickly. Ander, on the other hand, raised a hand in greeting without smiling, narrowed his eyes, and watched her. She’d gotten off on the wrong foot with her new brother-in-law, but hopefully, she could put things right.

  And she left and went back to the James house to eat supper. The butterflies in her stomach made it difficult to get the food down. Something would have to break soon to relieve the stress, or she feared the baby would suffer.

  Sorrow and doubt filled her. If she couldn’t save Taron, at least she’d have the baby to remember him by — providing the judge didn’t send her to jail and take her baby away. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to fall.

  “Anything wrong?” Libby asked.

  She managed a smile. “No. I’m fine.”

  She looked down at the plate of stew. Libby had over filled her plate. She took a couple of more bites but could only pretend to eat more. She drank her milk and then folded her hands in her lap, waiting politely for Libby and Brother James to finish eating. At least polite on the outside. Inside, she was impatiently waiting to be off on her mission.

  Brother James cleared his throat, and she glanced in his direction.

  “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, a little firmly, as if he’d already asked.

  “Yes. Walter will take me when he comes back.”

  Libby frowned at her. “Do you think that’s a good idea? You’ve had a busy day already. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “No, I must go now, before the body ...” She abruptly stopped. These people would not understand.

  “The body?” Brother James raised his eyebrows.

  Heat rose to her cheeks. They would try to stop her from doing what she had to. “I mean before ...” She broke off and sighed. “I have an errand to run,” she finished lamely. Her gaze darted from one to the other. “It’s something I must do today, as quickly as possible.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Brother James said.

  “No, no. I can manage on my own.” They would be appalled at her when they found out. She cleared her throat. “I’ll have Walter’s help.”

  “It will be dark soon, and you’ll be out alone with a man — will you at least let my daughter accompany you?”

  Libby’s eyes brightened, and she placed a hand on Robbie’s arm. “Please. I promise to stay out of your way.”

  Robbie placed her own hand on top of Libby’s. “I’ll be glad of the company. But when we get there, you’ll have to stay in the wagon with Walter.”

  Brother James cleared his throat. “How long will you be gone, Mrs. Babbitt?”

  “Perhaps two hours, possibly more.”

  Libby pushed her chair back from the table. “Papa, may we be excused?”

  “Yes. The sooner you two get going, the sooner you’ll be back.” And he shooed them away.

  Robbie freshened up and arrived back downstairs before Libby and pulled back the curtain to glance through the window. Walter was waiting as he said he would be. Libby came down the stairs a few minutes later, her face beaming as if she was going to meet a beau.

  Robbie watched Libby go into the parlor to tell her father goodbye. After Libby gave him a quick peck, he got his pipe out, filling it with tobacco as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Her heart ached for a moment as she remembered her own father. Whether it was her father’s memory or Brother James’s demeanor, something calmed and strengthened her. If Brother James wasn’t worried, she wouldn’t be either.

  She straightened the shawl on her shoulders, picked up her carpetbag, and followed Libby through the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  The wagon pulled to a stop in front of a store, its windows dark. The neighboring saloon was brightly lit, its light spilling out to show them the Closed sign in the window.

  “The body is in here?” Robbie asked, puzzled. “This place sells furniture. Why did you bring us here, Walter?”

  “Ain’t no funeral parlors ’round here like back east. This place makes coffins so this is where they bring the dead.”

  Robbie’s back ached and her feet were tired. This had been a wasted trip. She’d thought the body would be at the Stewart house. She wasn’t sure what she’d planned to do when she got there, but she knew she’d have figured something out. Now she was stymied, and he
r energy depleted. She put her hands to her aching back and moved in the seat, stretching her muscles to relieve the pain.

  She shook her head in defeat. “I thought families took the bodies home.”

  “They do and Mr. Stewart will,” Libby said from behind her. “But he’s commissioned a fancy coffin. It’s only been three days since Edward was killed and Mr. Barney, that’s the man who makes the furniture, said it would take four days to make the coffin.”

  “Good thing the weather has been cool if they keep the body in there.”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Walter said. “The body ain’t in the store. It’s ’round back, in the shed.”

  “Oh.” It took a moment for her to digest his words. The back would be shrouded in darkness, and the shed locked up as tight as the store. No need to get her hopes up, but she still had to try. “Walter, would you see if the shed is locked?”

  Walter’s eyes widened. “You want me to go behind there, into pitch blackness, and check the shed that’s ahousing a dead man?” He shook his head vehemently.

  “I’ll do it,” Libby said.

  Before Robbie could react, Libby had jumped from the wagon and scurried into the alley by the store. She was back in a few seconds. “It’s open. What now?” She looked up expectantly at Robbie.

  Robbie moistened her bottom lip, hesitating. Was what she planned to do illegal? She didn’t think so but wasn’t sure and should have already considered the ramifications. She didn’t care. Illegal or not, she had to do it. It’s was the only way to save Taron. “I’ll need light,” she said.

  Walter jumped down and rummaged in the bed of the wagon until he emerged with a kerosene lantern. He lit it and came around to help Robbie down. Libby took the lamp from him, and Robbie reached under the seat to get her carpetbag.

  “Libby, stay here with Walter. I can do this myself.”

  “What exactly, Mrs. Babbitt?” Walter asked. “I ain’t waiting here while you alone ...”

  Robbie held up a hand. “This may be illegal. I will not allow you to help.” She reached for the lamp, but Libby pulled it away.

  “Walter and I are adults. We will make our own decisions. Right, Walter?”

  Walter nodded vigorously. “We gonna stick with you tighter than a tick, Miz Babbitt.”

  Robbie hesitated and then nodded once. “Well, I could use your help. Can you get the wagon around back?” she asked Walter.

  “Naught to do but try.” Walter grabbed the horses’ bridle to turn the wagon around.

  Robbie and Libby walked ahead, Libby holding the lantern high.

  “What should we tell folks if anyone catches us here?” she asked Robbie.

  “I’ll do the talking.” She’d tell the truth. That’s all she could do.

  When they arrived at the shed, it was as Robbie feared — much too small to meet her needs. Walter brought the horses to a stop.

  “I’m going to have to bring the body out and lay him out here, on the wagon.”

  Walter didn’t speak, but his eyes bulged almost from their sockets.

  Libby’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “I’m going to dig out the bullet.”

  Walter’s mouth gaped open, but Libby smiled. “Let’s get to it. Walter and I can pick him up, can’t we, Walter?”

  He hesitated but then nodded. “Guess so, if I get the light end.”

  Libby laughed, and they went to work. It was difficult to maneuver a dead body, but they managed.

  By the time they had the body in place, Robbie had retrieved the scalpel and forceps from her bag. “Before I begin, will you two be willing to swear to what you’ve seen here tonight?”

  Libby smiled. “Of course! Folks need to know.”

  Robbie smiled back. “Thank you, Libby.”

  “You mean you want folks to know ’bout this?” Walter asked, his jaw slack. “I thought you said it was illegal?”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Bradford to make sure it’s not before I ask you to testify.”

  “Testify?” He sighed deeply. “I’ll do it if I need to.” But he didn’t appear happy about it.

  “Thank you.” She set to work, directing Libby to move the lantern closer or farther away when needed. The light threw grotesque shadows around them as she worked. Walter stayed back, in the darkness cast by the furniture store.

  After a short while, she retrieved the bullet and held it to the light. “What do you think, Walter?”

  He stayed where he was. “I think you ladies are crazy!”

  “I mean what kind of bullet is this — from a revolver?”

  He stepped into the circle of light to peer at the bullet. “Nah. That’s from a derringer.”

  “Not a revolver?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Walter, there’s a jar in my bag. Will you get it for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He drew out the jar and removed the lid.

  She placed it inside with a satisfied smile. Well, it may not be enough, but it should cast some doubt on Taron’s guilt. “We need to get the body back into the shed,” she said, exhaustion washing through her.

  They put the body back in place, replacing the blanket that had covered it. Walter turned the horses around and Robbie and Libby led the way again, out of the alley and back onto the street.

  “Hurry up, Walter,” Libby said, as soon as they settled in their places. “Robbie’s pale. We need to get her home.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He clicked his tongue and slapped the horses with the reins as if he couldn’t get them home fast enough.

  Robbie grabbed her seat and held on, the cool air refreshing on her cheeks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Robbie and Libby waited on the wooden sidewalk, shivering a bit in the chill morning air, and watched the lawyer approach.

  Mr. Bradford tipped his hat. “Good morning, ladies. You’re out early this morning.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open for them to enter.

  He offered them a chair, and then he settled in, his elbows on his desk, fingers linked. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  Robbie smiled. “We did a little digging last night and found something interesting.” She lifted the lid from the container and set it on his desk.

  His eyebrows drew together. “What’s this?”

  “This, Mr. Bradford, is the bullet that killed Edward Stewart.”

  “How do you know that?” His eyes narrowed at Robbie.

  Libby answered. “We got the body last night, and Mrs. Babbitt removed it.” Her eyes were shining.

  “What? You two ladies did that?” His face drew up as if he’d eaten a lemon. “Very unseemly,” he murmured.

  Robbie waved a hand. “I only want to know if this can be entered as evidence? Was it illegal?”

  Mr. Bradford leaned back in his chair and didn’t speak for a moment, glancing from Libby to Robbie. “You two ladies did this alone?”

  Libby shook her head. “Not entirely. Walter was with us.”

  “Ah, Mr. Thornberry. Not the most reliable witness.”

  Robbie frowned at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “Can this bullet be used as evidence?” she repeated again.

  A wry grin appeared on his face. Then he sighed. “This evidence was not gathered properly. However, I don’t know why it can’t be used — that’s up to the judge. But then again, how will it help our case?”

  “My husband’s gun is a revolver. This came from a derringer.”

  “Can you prove your husband did not own a derringer?”

  Robbie blinked at him. “I’ve never seen one.”

  “Ah, yes. But such men —” His mouth twitched as if he had bitten into a green persimmon. “—such men often carry more than one gun.”

  “Such men?” She was indignant.

  “I’m not saying he’s guilty, but men who strap on guns are usually gunslingers, and that will not be in his favor.”

  Robbie fell silent. How well did she really know her husband? She loved him with all of her being but did she
know him?

  Libby leaned forward. “I’ve seen Mr. Stewart with a derringer.”

  The lawyer waved a hand dismissively. “That proves nothing.”

  Robbie leaned back in her chair.

  “We did all of that and this won’t help the case?” Libby asked, directing her question at the lawyer.

  Mr. Bradford shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t see how it can help. And if that’s all, ladies, you’ll have to excuse me.”

  Libby shook Robbie’s arm. “Are you ready to go?”

  Robbie had been deep in thought. She stood and Libby followed her lead. “Thank you, Mr. Bradford. Good day, sir.”

  He escorted them to the door, and they went out.

  Robbie hesitated a moment.

  “Where to now?” Libby asked.

  “I’d like to see my husband.”

  “I’ve never been inside the jail. Are there murderers in there?”

  “There are a couple of rough looking men in the other cells. You might not want to go in with me.”

  “Of course I want to go in ... I mean, unless you’d rather I didn’t.” Libby watched her with anxious eyes.

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  Libby grinned. They walked over to the jail and entered.

  Today there was only the sheriff and one deputy who leaned back against the wall in a wood chair. He let the chair’s front legs hit the floor but he stayed seated. The sheriff had his feet propped on his desk and didn’t bother to move.

  “May I see my husband?” Robbie asked the sheriff.

  He spat into a spittoon before answering. “Reckon so.” He jerked his thumb at the deputy who rose and led them into the holding area with the three cells. Taron jumped to his feet when they entered. Ander caught a glimpse of Libby, and he followed his brother to the bars.

  “You look pale,” Taron said as soon as the deputy had left.

  “She needs rest,” Libby offered. “She’s been overdoing it.”

  Robbie had forgotten Libby. She introduced her to Taron and Ander.

  Taron acknowledged Libby’s words but kept his gaze on Robbie. “What have you been overdoing?”

  “I’ve been to see Mr. Bradford, the lawyer.”