No one else was in the restaurant. Lydia moved to the potbellied stove to warm her hands. “I’m sure you’ve heard Fritz has returned,” she said quietly, her eyes downcast.
Molly came to stand beside her. “What of Curt and Karl?”
“It seems Fritz was under the impression his brothers were here in town.” Lydia took a seat near the stove, and Molly sat down across from her. Was that considered gossip? Fritz had spoken in front of several people, after all.
Molly’s forehead creased, and she reached across the table to take Lydia’s hand in hers. “Are you feeling all right, honey?”
Lydia blinked back tears and attempted a smile. “Of course. It’s been a long time, and it was a shock to see him. That’s all.”
Molly patted her hand. “Thomas set back a couple of plates for you and Mr. Caper. Are you going to eat here?”
Lydia didn’t have much of an appetite, but she nodded. “I will, but Mr. Caper won’t be in today. He told me to bring a plate for him.”
“I’ll go get your food.” She gave Lydia’s hand another pat before she left her.
Lydia sat listless and waited for her food. Seeing Fritz brought back a flood of memories. And he’d barely given her a glance when he’d caught sight of her. Her heart still ached for him, but obviously, he’d never given her a second thought.
Lydia noticed she still wore her coat. She stood to remove it and then smoothed down a crease in her dress. Life was too short to spend pining over one man. She smiled when Molly returned with her plate. The food was delicious, and she determined she’d enjoy every bite.
Chapter Three
Fritz threw his hat on the cot and put a hand on the solid wood wall. He needed a moment to compose himself and to remove the image of Lydia Walsh from his mind. She’d been even lovelier than he remembered.
Sheriff Vic gave a short cough. “Start talking, or I’ll send for the circuit judge.”
Fritz struggled to erase Lydia from his mind as he took a seat on the cot and rested his elbows on his knees. “As I’ve already said, Curt sent me to New York, to apprentice under a friend of his.”
The sheriff gave a snort. “I suppose the people of New York welcomed a Confederate soldier?”
Fritz shook his head. “Of course not. That’s why all the secrecy. I went incognito, tried my best to blend in with all those Yankees.”
Deborah had remained quiet, although her gaze remained on him. She now spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me good-bye?”
“I did bid you good-bye, that day at the bank. Curt did not want to disclose where I was going and was afraid your countenance would unveil our secret before we executed our plan. Our brother thought we needed to learn and invest first, to discover if we could in actuality profit from our investments before we explained to people what we were doing. We hoped others would join in the endeavor.” He made an effort to smooth the planes of his face. Guilt burdened him every day he’d been gone, not only because he left his sister but for leaving Lydia also, for allowing her to think he no longer cared. He tightened the muscles of his jaw and looked away.
A stool scraped across the floor, drawing his attention. Deborah was at the bars again. “I don’t understand why you took the town’s money. It was foolish.”
“More than foolish,” Sheriff Vic said.
Fritz ran his fingers through his hair. “I will attempt to explain again. Curt talked to Karl and me. We decided something must be done, in order to return prosperity to the town founded by our father. He’d heard the Stock Market was doing well after the War and thought we should invest...”
“With the town’s money.” Sheriff Vic’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.
“I know nothing of the town’s money. We had a little saved up, not much, but he told me not to invest right away, not until I learned more. His friend I apprenticed under...”
“The friend’s name?” The sheriff narrowed her eyes and motioned Deborah back to her seat.
“Mr. Daniel Fitzgerald.” He had tilted his chin a notch higher and spoken firmly. The name was a fake one, but he would be on his way before she received information from New York. He flashed a smile at Deborah and tried to convey a message to her. “I’m certain you heard Curt speak of him?”
Deborah shook her head slowly, until she caught his eye. “Oh. Now that I think about it, I do remember the name, vaguely.”
Good girl. “I’ve been working with Mr. Fitzgerald for the past eight months or so. I returned home to consult with Curt and Karl, to discuss with them what they wished to do next. A very simple story, Sheriff. I am sure you understand we would never do anything to harm the town.”
The sheriff was eyeing him. “You look downright puny. They don’t have food in New York?”
Fritz laughed. “Yankee cooking will do this to you. I can’t wait to sit down to a good homecooked meal.”
The sheriff still frowned at him. “Why haven’t you written? No letters have been received.”
“Curt’s instructions. He feared those New Yorkers would find out who I really was. As you so wisely pointed out, the people at the New York Stock Market would not take kindly to the likes of me.” It was a flimsy lie but would have to do.
The sheriff fell silent for a moment. Fritz took the time to give Deborah a reassuring wink. She returned a weak smile before straightening her back. She searched his eyes again and gave a nod, as if arriving at a decision.
The sheriff stood. “And you say you had no idea Curt and Karl robbed the bank?”
Fritz stood also and moved closer to the bars and to the sheriff. “I know my brothers. I cannot believe they robbed the bank. There must be another explanation. Please release me, and I will discover the truth.”
The sheriff looked down and scuffed the toe of her boot on the rough cobbled floor. “I can think of no other explanation. And since you disappeared at the same time, I cannot rule you out as an accomplice. I will need to corroborate your story.”
Deborah rose and stood beside the sheriff, taking her arm. “It’s obvious Fritz does not know why Curt and Karl robbed the bank. Please let him go, Vic. At least let him stay with us.”
“With us? You and the sheriff?” Fritz asked, momentarily confused.
“I moved into the house in town, and the sheriff has moved in with me, to oversee my courting.” A blush rose to his sister’s cheeks. “I have a fiancé.”
Fritz couldn’t help but smile when Deborah cheeks turned redder. “And who is this young man?”
“You don’t know him. His name is Chance Hale.”
He struggled to keep his features from revealing his feelings. He had to get out and get out now if Curt and Karl had a chance to survive. “I’ve heard of him,” he managed to say with a minimal gritting of his teeth.
With a look of defeat, the sheriff unlocked the cell door and swung it open. “Come on. I reckon Deb’s right. I can watch you at the house.”
He snatched his hat from the cot and settled it on his head. He took Deborah by the elbow and walked her out ahead of the sheriff. While Sheriff Vic locked up, he whispered into his sister’s ear. “Get Klint to come by the house as soon as possible.”
Deborah only had time for a short nod before the sheriff joined them on the sidewalk. “Let’s get going.”
With a quick glance at Fritz, Deborah placed a hand on the sheriff’s arm. “I must stop by the bank first.
“Don’t tarry. I need your presence at home,” the sheriff said to her.
Deborah nodded and gave her brother a hug before she walked away with determination in her step.
“Don’t make me regret this, Fritz,” the sheriff growled.
That was exactly what he was going to do.
Chapter Four
Lydia gave a gasp when Deborah came in the bank. She’d not expected to see her again so soon. Lydia touched her hair, made sure it was in place, and ran a tongue over her dry lips. She anticipated the arrival of Fritz, but Deborah was alone. Of course. Sheriff V
ic would not release him so quickly, not until she’d made inquiries.
Deborah smiled, but her glance went beyond Lydia. “Is Mr. Caper in?”
Lydia nodded. “He’s in the back. Do you want me to tell him you’re here?”
“No. I’ll go back.” Her eyes darted around the room before settling on Lydia again. “We are alone, are we not?”
Lydia frowned, worried. “Of course.”
Deborah must have seen her apprehension. She gave a short laugh. “Seeing Fritz has me in a tizzy.” She gave a soft smile. “Vic is letting him go home. I would extend an invitation ...”
Lydia could not bear to hear Fritz did not desire her presence. “I understand,” she said, quickly.
Deborah gave her another smile, of pity, Lydia was sure, before going to the back room. Lydia knew she shouldn’t do it but could not resist the urge. After Deborah shut the door, Lydia crept to it, held her breath, and pressed her ear against the wood panel.
“That’s all he said.” Deborah’s voice was faint, but Lydia’s hearing was excellent.
“Thank you, Miss Brokken. May I take the afternoon off?” As usual, Mr. Caper’s voice held a touch of amusement.
“Fritz said as soon as possible. Please hurry.” The doorknob was turning, and Lydia scurried to the front.
She made it behind the counter before Deborah fully emerged and spoke to her. “Mr. Caper has some business to attend to. I trust you can handle the customers this afternoon?”
“Certainly.” Lydia kept her head bent over the ledger, as if balancing accounts. She didn’t glance up until Deborah left.
Mr. Caper came out only moments later. For once, his gaze did not linger on her as if he had donned blinders.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be returning, Miss Walsh. You will be able to close tonight if I am unable to return?”
Although Deborah had given her a set of keys two months ago, this was the first time she had been entrusted with closing the bank. “Yes, sir. I can take care of everything.”
His eyes fully focused on her, his face serious. “I believe you can. Thank you for all you do. If I have failed to express my appreciation in the past, please forgive me.”
Lydia was taken aback. It was as if he were telling her good-bye. As far as she could determine, Deborah had only asked Mr. Caper to come by her house to see Fritz. Inexplicably, a tear came to her eye, and when she smiled, her bottom lip quivered. Modestly, she said, “I simply try to do my best, Mr. Caper.”
He inclined his head toward her. “And that’s more than most.”
He gave her a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes before he squared his shoulders and marched out.
She swallowed hard and blinked away the tears. She didn’t have a clue what was happening, but she understood what her job entailed. She picked up the pen, her hand poised above the inkwell, said a quick prayer, and bent her head to her work.
FRITZ GLANCED AROUND the house he had once called home with his two brothers. The changes in only eight months amazed him. The house was cleaner than he’d ever seen it. When he’d lived there with his brothers, Mrs. Glinty had been hired to clean twice a week. Her arthritic limbs had kept her from keeping the house in pristine condition. Now, all the surfaces gleamed, and the house smelled faintly of pine.
He got a fire started in the fireplace while the sheriff put on a pot of coffee. When she emerged from the kitchen, she’d donned an apron, at odds with her outfit of men’s britches, white blouse, and vest. The edge of the star peeked from the edge of the apron. She’d not removed her gun, and the outline of the holster was clearly visible.
“I hope you like your coffee strong,” she said.
“The stronger, the better,” he replied. Being in the house flooded him with memories. More than likely, he would never return, and he walked around the room to peer at the paintings of his family his father had commissioned.
He remembered the maypop wars, and the time the young brothers had taken turns riding the boar, until their father had admonished them. They’d chewed sour Indian cane and stripped honeysuckle flowers from the vine to catch drops of sweet nectar. Once, he and Karl had pulled down a young pine tree for Curt to climb on. When Fritz and Karl had let go, the pine tree flipped wildly before snapping in two, sending Curt flailing through the air. They’d been at the shooting house, by the lake, and luckily, Curt landed near the bank that had been muddied and softened from the hooves of the cattle. Once they’d been assured their brother survived, all three had fallen in a heap, rolling in the mud, and topped it off with a swim in the lake.
He sighed heavily, turned away, and approached the fireplace.
The sheriff observed him, her eyes solemn. “I’ll scrounge up some food. How would eggs and sausage suit you?”
“Fine.” He took a seat next to the fireplace, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and linked his fingers.
The sheriff still studied him, as if he was an insect on the end of a pin. “I’ve got to tell you, Fritz, that you seem despondent, and that makes me nervous.”
He searched for a reason to explain his melancholy. He cast her a sideways glance. “It was a shock to learn my brothers robbed the bank, although I do not believe for a moment they did so.”
She nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “It seems more than that is bothering you.”
“You have me under arrest. And if that’s not enough reason for you, Deborah is engaged to Chance Hale.” He couldn’t help his lip curled when he said the name. He straightened in the chair and smoothed the planes of his face.
Sheriff Vic placed her hands on her hips, and her stance became rigid. “You know him?”
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t know the name?”
“Let me tell you one thing,” she pointed a finger and took a step toward him. “That War is over. We’ve worked hard the last few months to get this town united, to get people working together again. If you stay here, you’ll forget what side you fought on during the War. Do you understand?” She inched so close that if she’d wagged her finger a bit more, she would have hit his chest.
“I understand,” he lied. There was no need getting involved in an argument that might get in the way of his mission. And it was not simply the fact Mr. Hale fought in the Union army. He had been a Sharpshooter. Fritz had been a fair shot himself and volunteered as a sharpshooter for the Confederacy. Aiming at unsuspecting men filled him with revulsion. And yet, obviously, Chance Hale had not been bothered by it. Mr. Hale continued throughout the War, killing, perhaps, hundreds of men, with not a prick of his conscience. Good men. Men whom Fritz had called friends.
But there was more to his dislike of Chance than that, if he dared admit it to himself.
Chance had gone head-to-head with him, on Fritz’s very first outing, outshooting him and scattering his men. Three good soldiers had died by Mr. Hale’s hand that day, and four more wounded. Only one of Fritz’s shots had found its target. No, it had not been Mr. Hale, but another of the Unionists who had derided Fritz’s shooting, as if it had been a competition instead of war.
Fritz had requested a transfer soon after that.
While Fritz’s thoughts were wandering, the sheriff still talked. “Your sister loves that man, and Chance has shown only the highest respect to her, to me, to others in this town. If you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me.”
He nodded and lifted his hands as if defeated. But he was not through with Chance Hale. When he had an opportunity, he would deal with him. For now, he could not spare the time.
Sheriff Vic seemed satisfied with his reaction and went into the kitchen. He stretched his legs out. For a moment, he imagined a few days of rest. No, he could not afford to tarry even a day. With time short, he got up and strode to his room, to wash and change. He didn’t know when he’d have another opportunity.
After he washed up and packed a bag, he heard Deborah come in the backdoor and speak to the sheriff. He met her in the foyer where she hung up her bonnet and coat.
“Is Klint on his way?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. After a quick glance over her shoulder, toward the kitchen, she moved closer. “Tell me what’s going on. Where have you really been?”
He shrugged. “You heard what I told the sheriff.”
“I heard.” That stubborn Brokken look came on her face, and her eyes locked with his.
“I can’t tell you more—not now, not here.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
A knock came at the front door, and Deborah, after casting him a look, went to answer it and returned with Klint, who looked his normal cheerful self.
“Who in blazes is that?” the sheriff yelled from the kitchen.
“It’s Klint. He came to tell me about a problem at the bank,” Deborah yelled back.
Fritz blinked at her, amazed how easily she lied to the sheriff. He didn’t greet Klint but took his arm and pulled him to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
Deborah followed, and Fritz pointed to the sitting room. “Wait in there and watch for the sheriff.”
Deborah shook her head. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Fritz didn’t have time to argue. Time was growing shorter. He motioned Klint farther down the hallway, toward the window at the end. Deborah stuck to them like a tick.
Turning his back on his sister, Fritz dropped his voice. “Klint, can you get ready tonight? I want to head out by sunrise. We’ll leave from the livery.”
Klint nodded and didn’t ask any questions. The amusement had left his eyes, replaced with a steely determination.
“What?” Deborah hissed. “You’re leaving? You just got here.”
Fritz sighed heavily. For a moment, he gazed out the window, at the bare apple tree, before he faced his sister. “I’m going back for Curt and Karl.”
She nodded, as if she’d known. “Where are they? And why do you need Klint?”
He ignored her first question. “He has special skills I can use.”
When Fritz started back to the sitting room, Klint caught his arm. “Wait. I know someone with even better skills.”
Brokken Brother: Novella (Brokken Road Romance Book 5) Page 2