His poor mother! Treated like a servant by her husband even after she bore him three sons. With a wife in Germany, his father never seemed to see Jenny as more than the servant who cared for him and the coveted sons.
Carl knew he’d drifted into a life of drinking—and the other that went along with time spent at the saloon. Merrilee deserved better than that kind of husband.
Bowing his head, he said a prayer for the first time in many years. “Please God, forgive me. I’ve shamed you, myself, and my family. Give me the strength to change. Help me find my way to be a man of principle.”
His voice broke and he sobbed out the last words quietly. “In Christ’s name.” For the first time in a long time, he said that name without it being a swear word.
Chapter 8
The prosecutor arrived by train in the early evening. Cora Olsen waited inside the depot. After all, it was cold outside. The man would surely come into the depot to ask after her.
Her plan was working. The joy she felt made it hard for her to remain composed. She hummed and tapped her foot until Old Amos glared at her from behind the ticket window. Dirty old swine!
While she waited, Cora let her mind drift to other things. Tonight was the dark of the moon. Her wagon was loaded and ready to meet the two Indians. She licked her lips at the thought of more money. Enough so she could finish off Ollie. After selling the business, she would have plenty to start over in Chicago.
Ollie had made the coffee that morning. He had an odd smile as he handed her a cup of it. And the taste! She had been sure it tasted of green beans instead of a rich coffee flavor. He must be trying to poison her!
Yes, her husband had to die soon.
Perhaps…She tapped a finger to her lips. Yes, Carl needed to be released so he could be blamed for Ollie’s death. Otherwise, it might look like someone else had it in for them and set the fire as well.
With her head bent, cradled in her palms, the clearing of a man’s throat nearby startled her. She screeched and sprang up, fingers extended like claws.
The man in front of her retreated a step, alarm marring his handsome face. “Pardon me, Mrs. Olsen. The station master directed me to you. Said you were waiting for me.”
The prosecutor! She quickly smoothed the brocade material of her brown skirt. Hoping to repair his first impression of her, Cora gave a tight-lipped smile and inclined her head. “Yes, since I sent the telegram, I wanted to meet your train and take you to the sheriff.”
The middle-aged man smiled, causing wrinkles to form around his eyes and mouth. Inwardly, Cora preened that she had no such wrinkles. She’d been careful to smile very little. No smile lines for her!
Randolph Perry’s alarm had turned to a cool disdain. He scowled at her and delivered a rebuff. “I do know the way to the sheriff’s office. As the county prosecutor, I’ve been to Idyll Wood before, madam.”
Men always fell into line with her plans. The sheriff had easily obeyed her command to arrest his brother. How dare this man deliver a set down to her. Anger boiled in her. Control! She had to stay composed.
Cora lowered her eyes and wrung her hands. “Forgive my impertinence then. I did want to be sure the man who tried to murder me is the man sitting in jail. What if I was wrong?”
Doubt might free Carl. He had to be out of jail long enough for her to kill Ollie. But with the delivery tonight, she would have very little time to plan and carry out the murder. Why couldn’t people give her a moments peace to rest!
Perry studied her a moment longer before pivoting on his heel. Carpetbag in hand, he stomped out of the depot. She hurried to catch up with his long strides. With this change to her plan, she needed to be at the jail when the prosecutor met with Sheriff Sittig.
By the time she reached the jail, out of breath and in a foul temper, Randolph Perry already sat in front of the sheriff’s desk. With a hard bang, she slammed the door behind her and glowered at the frowning prosecutor. Sittig’s face showed no response to her noisy entrance, typical of the man.
The sheriff rose but stayed behind his desk. “How can I help you, Mrs. Olsen?”
With a hand to her chest, she struggled to catch her breath. Holding up one finger, she signaled for him to wait. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
Enough air returned to her lungs and the words hurried out of her. “I demand to hear your talk with Mr. Perry.”
Perry bristled. “Demand? Where is your husband, madam? He needs to take you in hand.”
The sheriff held up a hand, a broad smile creasing his usually solemn face. Unease built in her at the smile. “Sounds like a good idea to me. I was just about to tell Mr. Perry an interesting fact. I’d like for you to hear it too.”
The sheriff didn’t bring her a chair. Perry didn’t bother to offer her his seat, either. The insult was not lost on her. With her position in the community, their behavior was intolerable. Sittig must be replaced in the next election.
No, she wouldn’t be here then.
Her thoughts of revenge were shoved aside as she focused on the sheriff’s words. She coached herself to focus and see her plan to the end.
“And you can see, Perry, she signed the statement. The problem with her story is,” here the sheriff paused. Perry leaned forward in anticipation. Fred’s words had Perry’s face twisting in confusion. “Carl can’t whistle.”
Cora stiffened. She thought everyone could whistle. If she hadn’t wanted him out of jail, this twist would have sent her into a tantrum. As it was, she struggled to appear concerned.
The prosecutor put a hand up and rubbed his temple. “Explain what whistling has to do with the situation.”
Sittig nodded and then pointed at Cora. “She said the man who set fire to her home whistled. It couldn’t be Carl since he can’t whistle. Simple enough to understand and a point that should clear him.”
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“So, you see Randolph, it’s all about gossip. I can’t release him. Not until the gossips spread around the bit about whistling.” Fred ground a fist into his palm. “That mob might still be ready to lynch my brother otherwise.”
Randolph Perry looked doubtful but nodded his agreement. “There’s something off about that Olsen woman. What do you know about her?”
Fred rubbed his jaw. “That’s the rub. She’s got a sterling reputation.”
The other man leaned forward, his brow wrinkled. “I hear a but in your voice. What is it?”
“I stayed close to her after the fire. She smelled strongly of kerosene. Strong enough to be the one who set the fire.” He paused to let the notion sink in. “The spot that burned was close to the window. Now kerosene was spread along the base of the house like I’d suspect in arson.”
Fred saw doubt stamped on Perry’s face. When the man spoke, his question came as no surprise. “Why would the woman want to frame your brother?”
Satisfaction hummed through Fred’s veins. The prosecutor had opened the topic for him. “It has to do with the reason Carl was beaten about eighteen months ago. He saw Mrs. Olsen involved with something illegal. That’s why I asked Matt Brandt to be here.” He pointed at the Indian agent. “The Potowatomi are being sold alcohol.”
Brandt spoke up then. “The law that forbids bringing alcohol onto Indian lands is still in effect. The Potowatomi have a right by treaty to the land where they’ve settled. Makes it illegal for anyone to supply the Indians with whiskey.”
As he silently considered what he heard, Perry’s face told Fred that he would pursue the matter.
At that point Perry insisted on speaking with Carl. Fred unlocked the cell and led his sleepy brother into the room, sitting him by the stove. “You can question him while he warms up. Those cells are cold.”
Randolph Perry stood and moved first to stand close to Fred. In a whisper, he asked, “Does he understand enough to answer my questions?”
The whisper carried to Carl who answered for Fred. In a steady and deep voice, he revealed his deception.
“I’ve recovered my wits, Mr. Perry. Just haven’t let anyone in town know to keep myself alive.”
Scowling at the older brother, Perry moved to the stove. Sitting himself across from Carl, he gave him a stern look. “What gives you the idea that someone will harm you if you don’t act crazy?”
Carl told about the night of his beating. He explained about the wagon filled with liquor and the two Indians who paid the masked person. “I’d recognize her voice anywhere. She has a funny way of stretching out the e sound. I think she does it for effect. Wants to sound condescending. Anyhow, it was definitely Mrs. Olsen.”
Fred took over the conversation then. “I’ve seen her leave more than once with a wagon, always during the darkest phase of the moon. Followed her to the end of my jurisdiction and saw that she always heads in the direction of the Potowatomi land. It’s why I called in Brandt.”
Convinced that Mrs. Olsen needed to be watched, Perry suggested posting a guard near her home to spy on her movements. Fred and Brandt exchanged a look of frustration. With a long drawn out sigh, Fred ran his hand through already mussed waves.
“Tonight’s the dark of the moon. I can post a deputy to watch her, but I think we need to be ready to follow her. Matt can arrest her in the act of selling the stuff.”
The men formed a plan and waited for inky darkness. While Carl and Brandt played a game of checkers, Fred and Perry slipped down to the Biergarten. They’d discuss the whistling twist to Carl’s case. Enough gossips would be there to hear and pass it on.
Chapter 9
The road ran straight from the farm to town. It would be easy for her to find her way into town. She was sure she remembered the way from her arrival three days prior.
Amazing that in only three days she could feel such a sense of home and belonging. Her husband had given her this wonderful family. She needed him with her to make it complete. And he needed her. Some inner sense worried that he was in danger tonight.
Merrilee saddled the gelding, thankful for her riding lessons. She worked with ease around the horse and soon would be headed for her husband. Hopefully, Holder or one of the girls would find her note before they missed her and became worried.
At the mouth of the lane, she looked to her left and then her right. She tried to picture herself in the sleigh as Holder directed the team into the lane. Which direction had they come from?
The moonless night made it more difficult to connect her memories with the land around her. Suddenly confident that the farm lay south of town, she turned left and prodded the horse into a canter.
Focused on the road, searching the darkness for ruts or other dangers, she missed the sound of the other horses until the riders were upon her. One pulled alongside and yanked cruelly on her horses bridle. The other raced ahead of her and stopped his mount across the road, blocking her.
“Hello, Merrilee,” a familiar voice hissed. “How convenient that you came out tonight. We were growing cold while we watched that pitiful farm.”
Reginald Dyer sneered while William wheezed a laugh from the horse blocking the road. She’d escaped them. Had already married. What did they want with her?
The last time she’d heard his voice, the man was planning her rape. Controlling her rising panic as she realized how vulnerable she was on this dark, lonely road, Merrilee forced out a question with a trembling voice. “Why did you want to watch the farm? I don’t understand why you’re even in Wisconsin.”
Reginald reached a hand and pinched her cheek. Hard! “We need you. Seems I didn’t hide my past well enough. You’ll inherit the money that should be mine.” He growled the last words, making both horses dance nervously.
Releasing his hold on her horse’s bridle, her stepfather pulled Merrilee from her saddle and into his lap. With her secured in front of him, he took off in the opposite direction. When he called to William, his voice seemed eerie in the silence of the black night.
“Come on. Let’s get her to town to catch that midnight train.” Without waiting for the younger man to reach him, Dyer whipped his horse into a gallop.
Nothing her stepfather said made sense to Merrilee. She pushed for details.
Softly, she voiced her question. “What were you hiding? I don’t understand the comment about your past.”
When he spoke, her stepfather’s voice dripped with contempt. “The lawyer found out about my marriage to William’s mother. He has proof that makes my marriage to your mother invalid.” He squeezed her cruelly then.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. When his arm eased, she inhaled deeply. Pain knifed her with the breath.
She should drop it. His statement shocked her so that she couldn’t resist asking, “William’s mother? You mean you married your sister?”
“You haven’t figured out yet he’s my son and not my nephew. No, his mother’s not my sister.”
Merrilee had met the woman. She’d come for a visit, introducing herself as Reginald’s younger sister. The fond touches between the two had seemed almost obscene during her time with them. They made sense now.
Words from her verse flashed in her mind. Be strong and courageous. Safe or not, she pushed for more answers.
“None of what you’ve said explains why you’re here. I’m married. You can’t undo it.”
“Tsk, tsk. You were a naughty girl to marry that farmer when you had already married William. Happily, I brought your marriage certificate with me. That should convince these yokels.”
She gasped at that. “I did no such thing.”
“I witnessed the ceremony myself. Along with William’s mother, of course. I’m sure the law will support us in reclaiming William’s runaway bride.” His low chuckle held such menace that she tried to pull away from him. He caught her as she tipped to the side of the horse.
Giving her a shake, he tightened his arm around her middle. “Now behave! We’re rescuing you. Taking you back to a life of privilege. I just need the money and we’ll disappear from your life.” Something about his words implied he might not leave her alive when he did disappear.
More words from her verse flitted into her mind. “For the Lord thy God is with thee.”
She gave up struggling. On her own she could do nothing. Clenching her hands together tightly, Merrilee silently prayed.
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They followed from a distance. Now that the wagon had stopped, the men trailing it abandoned their horses and approached silently by foot.
Images of his nightmare came back to Carl. That same dream he’d suffered through night after night had been a memory. He recognized the area and saw the wagon just as it always was in his dream. Packed with jugs of whiskey.
Mrs. Olsen, dressed as a man and wearing a mask, climbed down. Even in the heavy darkness, Carl saw her receive a rolled wad of what he assumed was payment for the alcohol.
At that moment, Fred and two of his deputies moved in from the trees behind Cora Olsen and the men she met. Carl heard the click as the lawmen drew back the hammers of their pistols. Cora and the two men stiffened.
At Fred’s command, they raised their hands. As they did so, Carl saw one of the men turn to face his brother. Before Carl could shout a warning, Fred’s bullet went through the man’s hand. His unfired gun dropped from his now useless fingers.
Deputy Kloha climbed onto the seat of the empty wagon, evidently belonging to the men who’d planned to receive the whiskey. After Fred and Matt Brandt tied the men and bandaged the bleeding hand, they hoisted the two into the back. By lantern light, they could see the two were white, not Potowatomi.
Still, the men and Cora had a load of whiskey on land belonging to native peoples. That was a crime for which they’d answer. Perry and Brandt would make sure of it.
Fred hissed Carl’s name, drawing his attention. “Get in the back of the wagon and guard those two.”
Carl shook his head. “I’m planning on heading to the farm. My wife must be in a panic by now.”
Fred mov
ed to him and gave his brother a shove before thrusting a shotgun into his hands. “I can’t spare you so you can give your wife a little snuggle. Get in there and help us!”
Cora Olsen glared at Carl. Behind the gag Fred tied on her to stop the foul language and shouting, she muttered. From the look of blame she directed at him, Carl figured she was saying this was all his fault.
Meeting her eyes, he allowed a slow grin to spread across his face. It pulled at the scars on his temple that remained from the beating. No matter, he still felt like he’d won in this war she waged against him.
The night sky lightened by the time they reached town. When the wagons stopped in front of the jail, Brandt and Perry announced that Mrs. Olsen and the two men would travel by train to the county seat. Wanting to see the business finished, the group of men continued with them to the train depot. Fred’s two deputies agreed to travel along with Perry and Brandt to guard the prisoners, but Fred wanted to watch them leave. To be sure the matter was settled.
Carl stood at the end of the wagon and reached a hand to Mrs. Olsen’s elbow to steady her as she stepped out of it. She pulled away with a growl that was smothered by the gag. If her hands weren’t bound, he knew she would have struck him. The woman looked and sounded like a cornered badger, always ready to fight.
Tired of her nonsense, he prodded her in the back with the shotgun barrel. Giving out high-pitched shrieks, she stomped forward. Carl followed and stood on the platform behind her.
Behind him, a woman gasped and cried his name followed by a moan of pain. Not wanting to take his eyes off the prisoner, he called for Fred. “I need you to guard your prisoner.”
Once his brother moved close, Carl slowly turned to look at the people behind him. Blinking his eyes, he wondered if he was trapped in a bad dream.
Two men he didn’t recognize held onto his wife’s arms. She struggled even while the older man squeezed her arm hard enough to make her wince.
With a roar, Carl swung the shotgun toward the older man. “Let her go or I’ll shoot!”
A Keeper For Christmas (Spinster Mail-Order Brides Book 12) Page 7