“I hope no one comes looking for us,” Emma said, laying out her ham sandwich. “Or we’ll be in for a short lunch.”
“Oh, it can’t be that someone will need both of us. I’ll go if someone comes.” Anne handed her uncle a boiled egg, along with a small paper packet of salt.
“Thank you, Anne.” Emma brought a couple of chairs forward for them to sit in. “I’m going to miss you come January.”
“So you’ve heard from Miss Fuller?” Uncle Daniel asked.
“Yes, Clara says she’ll be back at the start of winter term.”
“Then that means you’ll have to find a new position, Anne.” Her uncle smiled at her. “Have you started looking yet?”
Anne nodded. “Yes, I’ve written a few letters.” She took a bite of her sandwich so she wouldn’t have to elaborate. She’d sent several letters, all to districts out West. A small school district outside Topeka, Kansas, had recently replied, offering her a job. Their letter requested her to start at her earliest convenience. All she needed to do was make the arrangements, but that would take another trip into Columbus. She laid her sandwich down—the thought had made it suddenly taste like shoe leather. But it had to be done. She glanced at her uncle, trying to remember when he’d said his next faculty meeting would take place. Hopefully it would be soon.
“I heard you found a new stable man,” Emma said between bites of her sandwich.
“Yes,” Uncle Daniel answered, his glance sliding toward Anne. “A very well-trained individual, but it’s only temporary, I’m afraid.”
Anne looked down, concentrating on peeling her hardboiled egg. She’d been so glad to take charge of Scioto again. It had been hard not talking to anyone about her troubles over the past month, but opening up to him hadn’t been the same as it had been at home. Instead of feeling better, she felt worse. She couldn’t understand it. She felt God nudging her to talk to Him. Why, Father? What more is there to say?
Someone knocked on the door, and Emma groaned.
“I’ll see who it is,” Anne said. Instead of the student she’d anticipated seeing, Mike Dixon stood before her. Uncle Daniel caught sight of him and rose from his seat.
“Hello, Mike.” Her uncle joined her at the door. “We were so sorry to hear you’d been let go.”
“Yes, we’ll miss you, Mike,” Anne said, and Emma, leaning back to catch a glimpse of the janitor, echoed the sentiment.
Mike nodded. “Thank you. Dr. Kirby, I was wondering if I might speak to you in private.”
Anne looked at her uncle. “Do you want Emma and me to leave for a moment?”
“No, of course not. We’ll just step out into the hall.” He smiled and shut the door behind him.
“I wonder what that’s about,” Emma wondered aloud.
“Maybe he wants to use my uncle as a reference.” Anne sat back down.
“That can’t be; I’ve heard he has a job.” She wiped her hands on a cloth napkin and folded up the paper from her sandwich. “Did you hear the bells from the fire engine last night?”
“Yes! They went right past our house,” she replied. The janitor’s house burning down last night had been the talk of the students all morning.
“A few of the fellows from George Smart’s boardinghouse ran out to help.”
Anne’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know?”
“George stopped by the library this morning just to tell me.” She blushed.
“I’m glad for you. He seems like a nice young man. Although I’m surprised he didn’t go, too.”
“He would have, but he was away visiting family.” She cocked her head at Anne. “Patrick Howard is a pretty nice fellow, too.”
Anne frowned. “I know.”
“I still don’t understand why you chased him away.” Emma looked at her reprovingly. “You couldn’t ask for a better man.”
Anne was saved from replying by the sudden reappearance of her uncle. “I’m afraid there’s an emergency that needs my attention.” He shrugged into his suit jacket and handed Anne a key. “Lock up my office and place a sign on my door. I’ll have to cancel my afternoon classes.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked. The look of concern on his face alarmed her. “It’s not Scioto, is it?”
“No, my dear, he’s fine. I’ll explain later. Hopefully I’ll be home by dinner.”
Throughout the long night, Peter silently repeated Psalm 23 to himself. He spent the morning keeping Uncle Billy out of trouble with their cell mates. Not long after lunch, they were all ushered to a closed police wagon to be taken to the courthouse. The psalm had kept Peter’s heart at ease until he asked the police officer who rode with them about the judge they were soon to face.
“The mayor is the police and judge,” he said gruffly.
“What’s he like?”
“He won’t go easy on you if he thinks you’re guilty. Now be quiet.”
Uncle Billy glared at the officer. “You watch yourself! That’s my lieutenant you’re talking to.”
“And who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m General William Tecumseh Sherman.” The officer and the other prisoners laughed. “Don’t believe me? General Grant will confirm it.” The old man reached into his pocket, but Peter quickly stopped him.
“The general needs his rest, sir.”
Uncle Billy didn’t look pleased but left the mouse in his pocket, much to Peter’s relief.
His heart pounded as they were marched into the courtroom. Mayor Walcutt was a gruff-looking man with a long goatee, a mustache, and a stern eye. But as he worked through the cases brought before him, Peter saw that he was a fair-minded man, only fining or imprisoning those who truly deserved it. The man right before him had beaten his wife in a drunken stupor. The woman came before the judge to plead on her husband’s behalf, but Mayor Walcutt wasn’t swayed. His eyes turned to black coals as he stared down at the man, saying, “I only wish it were within my power to sentence you to the same beating you gave this woman who came to intercede for you.”
Peter’s case was called, and as he walked up to stand before the mayor, he glanced out over the gallery. Harvey Pryce was there, along with Frank Morris, but Mike Dixon’s and Professor Kirby’s presence surprised Peter. He felt both relieved and mortified. Mike would certainly tell the judge the truth, but Peter wanted to hide in shame from Dr. Kirby. What must the professor think of him?
“Mr. Peter Ward?”
Peter looked up at the judge’s stern face. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been accused of assault and burning down a log house belonging to The Ohio State University.” The mayor’s eyebrows drew together. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, sir.”
The mayor looked down at the papers before him. “Mr. Harvey Pryce, please step forward.”
Harvey did as he was told. “Yes, Your Honor?”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, I’ve recently been hired as janitor up at the university. Frank and I were moving my things into the janitor’s cabin when Ward here starts getting nasty and hits me.”
The mayor took a long look at him. “Is that how you got the bruise on your jaw?”
“Yes, hurts like the devil, too.”
“And you have a witness who can verify this?”
Harvey motioned to Frank. “Yes, sir.” He looked back at his friend, who hadn’t moved, and said, “Come on, tell the judge what happened.”
But Frank looked from Harvey to Peter then to the mayor and got up and walked out of the courtroom. Someone cleared his throat, and Peter turned. Both Mike and Dr. Kirby had risen from their seats. “If you will forgive me, Mayor Walcutt, Mr. Dixon and I would like to speak on Mr. Ward’s behalf.”
Frowning at Harvey, the mayor nodded. “I think that would be very helpful, Mr.—?”
“I am Dr. Daniel Kirby, a professor at The Ohio State University. This is Michael Dixon, who, until recently, was the janitor for the university.”
The mayor l
istened carefully as Mike described exactly what happened the night before and what Harvey had said and done to provoke Peter. “I won’t lie and say Pete didn’t want to let him have it, but he never touched Harvey.”
“Then how did Mr. Pryce get his bruised jaw?” Mayor Walcutt asked.
“Him and Frank decided to go drinking last night, Your Honor. We both heard him suggest it to Frank before they left the cabin.”
“I see.” The mayor looked at Harvey, who was looking anywhere but up at him. “Very well, I’m satisfied that Mr. Ward did not hit Mr. Pryce. But there is the burning of the log house to consider.”
“I can vouch for this young man’s character in that regard,” Dr. Kirby said firmly. “He has been a guest in my home, and I am convinced he would not do such a thing.”
“Oh no,” Peter blurted out. He’d replayed over and over in his mind everything he’d done last night and suddenly realized what happened. He felt the blood leave his face. “I think I started the fire.”
Dr. Kirby looked at him, incredulously. “What do you mean?”
Peter locked eyes with Mike. “It was so stupid of me. After you left, I got cold. I put a couple of logs on the fire, and while I was straightening up, I—I think I moved the wood box too close to the stove. Then I fell asleep.” How could he have been so stupid? Mike had warned him about putting anything flammable too close to the stove, in case it overheated. He looked up at the judge. “It was an accident.”
The mayor looked carefully at him. “I believe you, son. But I will need to hear what the fire captain says.” He looked at Professor Kirby. “I will release him to you, Dr. Kirby.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I am confident you will find everything just as Mr. Ward described.”
Peter’s hands shook with relief as the bailiff removed the handcuffs. He looked up to thank the mayor but found the gentleman looking at Harvey.
“Mr. Pryce,” the mayor said. “I should have you arrested for what Mr. Dixon just told me about you giving Mr. Ward a timber lesson.”
Harvey looked up at the judge, his dark eyes wide.
“Sir, please,” Peter said. “I’m fine now. Let Mr. Pryce go.”
“This man should be brought to justice, Peter,” Dr. Kirby said.
“I know, sir.” But it wasn’t the desire to remain anonymous that moved Peter now. He felt God nudging him to show Harvey the same mercy as the professor had shown him. “I haven’t always been the man I am now. I was given a second chance, sir. Harvey deserves one as well.”
“Admirable, young man, admirable,” the mayor said. “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Pryce.”
Harvey looked so angry, Peter thought he might burst into flame. But he only glared at him, saying nothing, as he rose and stalked out of the courtroom. Dr. Kirby, Mike, and Peter started to leave when Uncle Billy’s name was called.
Peter stopped short of the courtroom door and looked back. His friend shuffled up in front of the judge and pulled off his worn forage cap.
“Is Uncle Billy your real name?” the mayor asked.
“Well, no sir,” Billy said. “That’s what the men call me. My name is William Tecumseh Sherman.”
Peter quickly strode forward but not in time to stop his friend from pulling out “General Grant.” Mayor Walcutt’s eyes grew large, and a woman in the gallery screeched.
“Sir, please, I don’t know what the charges are against him—” Peter began.
“He bit me,” said a voice from the gallery. A man with a bandaged hand stood up. “He brought that vermin into my saloon, waving him around, asking people to buy a cigar and a drink for ‘General Grant’ there.”
“That Reb tried to capture the general!” Uncle Billy exclaimed.
Peter shook his head. He’d done that again? “Sir, please, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.”
“That much is clear,” the mayor said. “Do you know his real name?”
“Give me just a moment, sir.” Peter gave Uncle Billy a salute. “General, do you have your papers on you?” Peter had thought he’d seen Uncle Billy with official-looking documents on more than one occasion but had never gotten a good look at them. He prayed he still had them.
Uncle Billy looked doubtfully at him. “Why do you need my papers, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t, sir, but this gentleman does.” Uncle Billy’s frown deepened, and Peter grasped for an explanation. “It’s … official business, sir. Spies have been seen in the area.”
Slowly, the old man pulled a worn set of papers from inside his shirt. He handed them to Peter, who handed them to the bailiff. Mayor Walcutt took them and read the name he found written there.
“Harold Albert Cooper, sergeant for the Union Army, discharged June 1865.”
The words had a dramatic effect on Billy. He began to shake uncontrollably and raised his hand to his forehead. His eyes swam, and he looked miserable and confused. Peter’s heart tightened, and he laid his hand on his friend’s back. Dr. Kirby walked forward.
“Mayor, under the circumstances, I don’t think a normal sentence is called for.” The professor’s face was even graver than his voice.
“You’re right, Professor,” Mayor Walcutt replied. “Anything else would be an insult to the men I commanded in the war.” The mayor looked up at the man Billy had assaulted, who nodded agreement, but Peter didn’t care for the fear and distrust in the man’s face. It wasn’t as if Uncle Billy could help what was wrong with him.
“I’ll send word to Dr. Finch and see what can be done.” The mayor nodded to the bailiff, who gently took Uncle Billy out a side door.
Dr. Kirby, his hand on Peter’s arm, guided him to the door. “Who is Dr. Finch, sir?” Peter asked. “He’s not the poorhouse doctor, is he?”
“No,” the professor replied, his eyes thoughtful. “Dr. Finch is the superintendent of the Columbus Asylum for the Insane. You can be sure your friend is in good hands.” He took a deep breath and then looked at Peter. “Now, young man, we have a great deal to discuss.”
Chapter 10
Good afternoon, Miss Kirby. How is Scioto doing?”
Anne looked toward the voice. Patrick Howard stood at the bottom of the steps of the Main Building.
Sighing inwardly, she made her way down to join him. “He’s doing very well, Mr. Howard.”
“It’s fortunate your uncle found someone to care for him so quickly. But he didn’t mention who it was.”
Anne bit the inside of her lip before answering. “Oh—it’s someone who came down from Ostrander a few months ago.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask more. To spare Anne’s reputation, Uncle Daniel hadn’t wanted it known that she was performing a man’s job.
“A family friend, then?”
“Yes,” she answered brightly.
He nodded and looked behind her toward the door. “Where is your uncle this afternoon? Don’t you usually walk home together?”
“Yes, we do. He was called away around lunchtime. Some sort of emergency, but he didn’t say what it was.”
“I hope it wasn’t anything serious,” Mr. Howard said. “Do you think it had something to do with the fire at the janitor’s house last night?”
Anne blinked. “I wouldn’t think so. But—”
“But what?”
“Well, Mike Dixon came to speak to him just before he left.”
Patrick Howard nodded. “Then it must be about the fire.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I heard they arrested the janitor’s assistant for it,” he explained. “Didn’t your uncle help him get the job?”
“Yes, he did.” Anne’s brows furrowed. Why on earth would Mr. Ward burn down the janitor’s house? She knew he’d lost his job when Mike lost his, but she had never imagined him capable of something so violent. She shrugged. “I’ll find out when I get home. He’s sure to be back by now.”
“Would you like me to escort you? I can make sure the new man is treating Scioto properly.”
Anne gritted her teeth as she reminded herself that Mr. Howard had no idea who the “new man” was. “No, thank you. It’s not a very long walk, and I can assure you that Scioto is just fine.”
Mr. Howard looked resigned. “I see,” he said. Stiffly, he tipped his bowler hat. “Please give your uncle my regards.”
Anne watched Mr. Howard walk south toward his boardinghouse. One more young man finally chased away. Tears pricked at her eyes as she wondered if she shouldn’t reconsider everything. Was spinsterhood her only option? Memories of last month’s visit to Columbus sharply asserted themselves. No, for everyone’s sake, this had to be done. Besides, how could she court, or especially marry, someone without telling him the truth about herself? You tried that with Sam, remember? See how that turned out?
Dusk began to fall as she walked into the house. She poked her head into the kitchen, and Mrs. Werner told her Uncle Daniel was out back with “that horse of his.” Chuckling, Anne went to change, eager to make her way to the stable. Even though her conversations with Scioto weren’t as helpful as they used to be, working in the stable was still something of a balm.
Uncle Daniel was standing outside Scioto’s stall when she came in. “Good afternoon, my dear.”
“Hello,” she said, giving him a hug. “Now, what was all the fuss about today?” She checked Scioto’s feed bin. It was empty, and she looked inquiringly at her uncle.
“He’s already been fed,” he replied with a slight smile.
Anne walked to the tack room and returned with the grooming kit.
“I was called away to the courthouse.”
“The courthouse?” Anne let herself in the stall. Scioto gently nudged her in greeting. She slid his halter on and secured the lead. “Why? Did it have to do with the fire at the janitor’s house?”
“As a matter of fact, it did.”
She was about to ask what happened when she ran her hand over Scioto’s coat. Turning, she looked at her uncle in consternation. “Don’t tell me you groomed him as well? I thought your arm was still a little stiff.”
Buckeye Dreams Page 37