The Blue Cloak

by Shannon McNear

  The other that Ben had not spoken to gave her name as Elizabeth Walker. And lastly was Sally, clearing her throat. “Sally Roberts,” she said, when prompted.

  The men were put in one of the jail’s two rooms, about twelve-by-twelve square, women in the other. Several men set to the task, Christmas or no, of fortifying the men’s side. While Ballenger oversaw the making of shackles for the two men, Ben helped see that the women’s needs were tended to, a fire built and pallets brought, then stepped aside to speak with the clerk of court. The man’s eyes widened when he explained not only his relation to Thomas but the unexpected connection to the situation through Hugh and Rachel.

  “I don’t see any reason not to allow you to sit in on the questioning,” the clerk said. “I’m sure we could use the perspective of another man of law.”

  Ben thanked the man and excused himself to find Ballenger.

  “Thank you for all your help,” the other man said, giving Ben a hearty handshake.

  “It’s my intent to linger awhile,” Ben said, “so if I might assist in any other way—?”

  “I’ll let you know, thank you.” Ballenger scratched his jaw. “So they’re insisting the name is Roberts and not Harpe.”

  Ben shrugged. “Little we can do about that for now. They’ll be tried either way.”

  “Aye. ‘Tis curious, though.”

  At last, there was nothing more for Ben to do, and taking Ivy and Dandelion from the hitching post, he made his way to Stephen’s.

  Over food and a glass of spirits, Ben related the hunt to his cousin. “And what will you do now, return home?” Stephen asked.

  Ben dredged his spoon through the crumbs of his Christmas pudding. “I am determined to see the trial through but would be glad to find lodging elsewhere if my presence is a burden for your household.”

  “Oh, certainly not! ‘Twould be an affront if you stayed somewhere else.”

  “My deepest thanks, then.”

  Stephen released a long breath and sat back, clasping the handle of his cane. “I can still hardly believe this has happened. I never truly knew my brother, but …” His head came up. “You said they found clothing with these people, and various other articles that appear to have been Thomas’s? And his horse?”

  “Yes. They’re sending for both David Irby and John Farris to come identify his effects and give testimony at the hearing.”

  “They plan to bring them before the Quarter Sessions next week?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Stay at least until then, and we’ll see what’s done.”

  At last, when he’d eaten and drunk, and they’d discussed all that could be, Ben retired to his bed. It was good to stretch out on a cot after several days on the cold ground, and he simply lay there for a few moments after blowing out the candle, listening to the sounds of life all about him, in murmurs and footsteps and general creaking of the house. He thought about the faces of the five they’d found that morning and brought in. About Thomas, and his quick grin and generous nature.

  Lastly, he thought of Rachel, and her gift to a friend on her wedding day. If not for that cloak, he’d hope that perhaps they were all mistaken, and there was no certainty of connection at all. But—no, there it was.

  Rachel. Hugh White. The Harpes.

  Thomas.

  And now, himself.

  Sally lay curled, her feet to the hearth, her back to Susan, who claimed the center spot between her and Betsey, when a nudge came to her hip.

  She ignored it.

  It came again, harder. “I know you ain’t asleep.”

  “Leave off, Susan.”

  “I saw you talkin’ to that man who led that horse you were ridin’. Need to be careful, you know.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “And I told him so.”

  “You talked an awful lot though.”

  Sally sighed. “He knows two of the folks who were at mine and Wiley’s wedding.”

  That met with a moment of silence, then, “Huh.” Another silence. “Surprised he didn’t tell me to give up this fancy cloak.”

  Sally curled more tightly, bringing her knees up snug beneath her belly. The baby inside squirmed, seeming to protest the squeeze. “I told him I’d passed it on to you, when you and Big got married.”

  Another soft “huh” escaped the woman. “What would you do that for?”

  Mostly to not make more trouble, but Sally wasn’t going to say it. And Susan’s theft rankled, especially on a night such as this one.

  “I s’pose you’re just tryin’ to make nice, if he knows you’re a preacher’s daughter and all.”

  Sally snorted softly. “Don’t make no never mind anymore what I was.”

  Susan gave a chuckle. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Chapter Seven

  Though the Court of Quarter Sessions was not to meet for a little more than a week hence, it was still a busy few days. Ben saw the summoning of witnesses and sat in on the questioning of the women, one by one, with his own paper and ink to hand, alongside Mr. Green, the clerk.

  They brought in the taller first, who also appeared to be the older. She swept in, wrapped in blue wool as if she’d a right to it. A burn rose in Ben’s throat. He didn’t for a moment believe Sally’s assertion that she’d gifted the thing away, so soon after receiving it herself. Her response to his mention of Rachel was too strong to not affirm more sentiment than she was willing to admit.

  He’d not yet revealed his connection to Thomas to the Harpes, but most likely it was but a matter of time before someone mentioned it in their hearing. Would he even be allowed in on the proceedings if they knew he was a blood relation? Perhaps best to remain quiet about it and just say he was there as additional counsel.

  “And you are—?” asked Ballenger, seated beside Ben.

  “Susanna Roberts,” she said. “Wife to Micajah Roberts.”

  Ben studied her. Black hair, braided roughly, once-pale skin roughened, no doubt, by the cold and wind. She was not pretty, could not even be called handsome, but she smiled at Ballenger as if she thought she were.

  “When and where were you married?”

  “September 5, 1797, in Blount County, Tennessee.”

  “Do you understand why you and your husband are being held?”

  She tipped her chin until she was fair looking down her nose at all three men. “I do.”

  Green twirled the quill between his fingers. Ballenger snorted. Ben held his peace.

  “Did you help in the murder of Thomas Langford?”

  She just gazed back with that maddening little smile. Ballenger shook his head, and Green bent to write again.

  Ben kept his eyes on her. This one would yield nothing, he was sure.

  “Did you witness his murder?”

  No response.

  “Did your husband murder him?”

  She shifted her gaze to Ben, and the smile widened. Again, as if she thought she were pretty and could somehow sway him.

  He refused to look away, refused to move. Doubtless those dark eyes had indeed witnessed the hapless Thomas’s last moments—but seeing justice done meant keeping himself objective.

  At least in the face of the accused.

  “Is there aught you require for your comfort at this time?” Ballenger asked.

  Her gaze came back to the militia captain. She shook her head.

  “Very well.” Ballenger motioned to the guard. “Return her to the jail, and bring the next.”

  The second woman once again introduced herself as Elizabeth Walker, then with a coy smile, “You can call me Betsey.”

  Betsey was smaller and more delicate than Susanna, fair where the other woman was dark. Ranging the wilderness had not been kind to her either. Her blue eyes lacked the brightness of Sally’s, and her face some of the younger girl’s winsomeness.

  “And whose wife are you?”

  Her smile went almost predatory. “Either, as it suits me.”

  Ben’s stomach turned, and the guard at
the door shifted. Green’s quill fluttered, then he dashed down a word or three. Ballenger sighed, more heavily than before.

  He asked her the same questions he’d presented the first woman, with a similar lack of response, except that she denied having participated in the murder. Ballenger sent Betsey back and had Sally brought.

  She glanced around the room once when entering then seated herself and kept both hands and gaze in her lap.

  “Name, please?”

  The slightest hesitation, then, “Sally Roberts.”

  “And you are married to—?”

  “Wiley Roberts.”

  Ben watched the color rise in her cheeks and noted the shudder that shook her. What must she have endured in the short span of such a union?

  Ballenger must have had similar thoughts, because he clasped his hands before him and leaned forward a little in his chair. “Tell me, Missus Roberts, how did you find yourself in such company?”

  The blue eyes snapped upward, wide. “I did not know he was bad until after I married him.”

  The militia captain tapped his thumbs together. “Did you help in the murder of Thomas Langford.”

  A simple shake of her head.

  “Did you witness his murder?”

  The woman’s face went completely white, and she tucked her head.

  “Did your husband murder him, or assist in the murder?” Ballenger had gentled his voice this time.

  If she could have folded in on herself, Ben thought she would have.

  “Would you be willing to testify against him?” Ballenger asked softly.

  A tremor coursed through her, but again, she gave no answer.

  The big man blew out a heavy breath. “We cannot help you if you aren’t willing to work with us.”

  Her eyes flickered to Ben, and he gave her the barest nod. Still she kept silent.

  “What of your family, child?”

  Her lips parted, trembling for a moment. “My daddy—he would tell me to be a good wife and do as my husband bids.”

  Ballenger swallowed so forcefully Ben could hear it. “No daddy worth his salt would want you to stay in such a situation. Not when there’s murder been done.”

  Her eyes lifted, met his, then Ben’s. It was like a mask had slid over her features, for now she was calm, almost emotionless. Not with the same degree of detachment the other women had displayed, but very nearly.

  Ballenger leaned forward again. “If you aren’t willing to speak for your own sake, what about for the babe you carry? Do you not want better for the little one?”

  Tears welled, and she bent her head once more. At last, she shook her head, scrubbing her cheeks. “I can’t. They—won’t let me. Susan watches me, even when Wiley and Micajah aren’t around. You just—don’t know how bad it is.”

  Ben had to unclench his teeth and force himself to take a deep breath. Ballenger was shaking his head again, and Green looked stricken.

  After a long moment, Ballenger sat back. “I hope you will reconsider and let us help you.” He nodded to the guard, who stepped forward to usher her from the room.

  Sally rose, started to turn, then hesitated and looked at Ben, her blue gaze still swimming. “Tell Rachel I’m sorry.”

  “We are praying for you, still,” he said.

  He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say that, but the words seemed to bring her comfort. Her mouth firmed, then with a quick nod, she let the guard lead her away.

  The three of them exchanged glances after the door shut. “Should we even bother to question the men?”

  Ben shook his head slowly. His stomach soured at the very prospect. “I think not. Let us gather evidence and speak with the witnesses when they arrive, and then present all of it in court.” He pushed back from the table, capped his ink, and wiped the quill while Green did the same with his own then gathered everything into his satchel. “If you need me, I’ll be at Stephen’s. I’ve letters to write.”

  He stared at the sheet of vellum where he’d penned the date, “Dear Rachel,” and nothing else. With a deep sigh, he raked one hand through his hair, slowly, massaging the scalp in an effort to relieve the ache there.

  It should be a relief that they had the Harpes—or Robertses, or whoever they were—in custody. That Rachel’s friend Sally was here, in relative safety, with deliverance from her situation within reach. But the cold knot in his belly would not ease, and he knew not why.

  He closed his eyes, but those tear-filled blue eyes haunted him. “They’ll never let me … you just don’t know….”

  Gritting his teeth, he dipped his quill and began writing again.

  I pray this finds you well. It is with mixed feelings I relate to you that we have apprehended the party of which we spoke. They claim to go by the name of Roberts, but the youngest woman is indeed your friend Sally. She is as well as can be expected, and most grateful for your continued prayers.

  Quill still in hand, he scrubbed the other palm across his face.

  What was he doing, trying to help a woman who could be party to the murder of his own cousin?

  God … You are my God. My soul thirsts for You, my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land….

  He knew that wasn’t the exact wording of the scripture, but they were the only words his heart could seem to find in the moment.

  Help me here. Give me the words I need, not only for Rachel but Sally as well. And—if it is possible—do deliver her from this circumstance.

  Another swipe across his face, and fingers through his hair, and he returned to the letter.

  Her situation is precarious, to be sure. The case is to be heard next week at the Court of Quarter Sessions, and I will know more of what shall be done for her, after, but in the meantime, if I may ask a favor—please do write to her family and see if they are willing to welcome her back, should the opportunity arise.

  In the meantime, I remain

  Yr most obednt srvt

  Benj Langford, Esq.

  Rachel scanned the words, sank onto a stool, pressed the page to her breast for a moment. Sally—found, and safe, or reasonably so. Oh Lord, may it be so!

  She read the letter again, more carefully. She would be glad to write to Sally’s parents, of course. And—would it be possible for her to visit Sally, perhaps? Ben didn’t say outright that Sally was in jail, but Rachel knew already, since all the news from up the road was about nothing but those ragtag travelers who had been caught and brought in by the posse from Stanford. Speculation was rife over how many more deaths might be attributed to the rough pair of men.

  Some were shaping up to be more than speculation. It still turned Rachel’s blood cold to think that Sally’s own husband could be a murderer, not once but several times over.

  And that Sally herself had likely witnessed the horror.

  Ben hadn’t expected to hear back so quickly, but Rachel must have written and sent her reply the moment she’d received his last letter. It came the day before the Court of Quarter Sessions was to convene, and although he might have taken the time to dash off a quick reply of his own, tomorrow would better inform him on what that reply should be.

  The next morning dawned gray and somber, a reflection of Ben’s own mood. He’d reminded himself a dozen times that nothing about this hearing depended upon him. These folk had proven themselves more than capable this past week, assembling witnesses and weighing evidence. At best, Ben had merely supplied confirmation of what others recognized, and yet—he could not bring himself to sit idly by and let others do all the work. Not with the knowledge of Thomas so freshly in the earth, and the horrible state in which he was found. Nor of Sally’s ghostlike countenance and demeanor since the questioning.

  After the arrival of David Irby from Frankfort, Thomas’s traveling companion for the first five days of their journey, and the Farrises from over the Rock Castle River, all the Robertses’ belongings were once more collected and laid out, and between Irby, the Farrises, and Ben, various personal effects and articles
of clothing were positively identified as Thomas’s. The pocket book, where Thomas had faithfully recorded all expenditures made between himself and Irby, so that they might settle them evenly. A shirt, breeches, and short coat, marked with Thomas’s name. His greatcoat, which the women had been allowed to keep until the hearing. Half a dozen other items—and of course there was Thomas’s horse Dandelion.

  Not a word of admission about what Thomas’s fate had been, in their company. The silence alone was chilling.

  Irby and Farris had written out their statements, but both, and Jane as well, were expected to testify at the hearing.

  Early, before the first case was to be heard—this was a quarter session, after all, since the district court met only in April and September, so several cases were on the docket—Ben walked alone to the courthouse. On the way, he stopped to look in on the prisoners. The men were still sleeping, but the women were awake, if quiet. Sally looked up, met his gaze through the barred window, then shook her head a little and turned away.

  In the courthouse, the clerk, Green, beckoned him to one of the side rooms, where three men assembled. “These are our quarter session judges,” Green said, “Hugh Logan, William Montgomery, and Nathan Huston. And this is Stephen Langford’s cousin, lately come from Virginia himself—and also lately admitted to the bar.”

  Greetings and handshakes were exchanged all around, and the men expressed their sorrow over Thomas’s death and assured Ben that they would do their best to see the truth borne out at the hearing.

  Ben smiled and thanked them. He wasn’t sure whether such a warm welcome was due to his kinship to Stephen and the deceased Thomas, or by virtue of his own status as a man of law, but he’d accept it gladly.

  After a few minutes’ conversation about mostly inconsequential matters, Ben excused himself to go find a seat in the courtroom. Though he knew nothing of the other cases, he was curious to see how things were done here.

  All proved to be smaller matters, and by the time they were completed, nearly all the town turned out to hear the details of the murder that had been done and whether these ragged travelers had been arrested for good reason. Stephen and his wife Lucy came and took seats on the bench reserved for next of kin, along with Stephen and Thomas’s sister Mary, who had traveled down from where she had been staying with her husband’s brother and family, since her widowhood nearly two years before. Ben tucked in next to Mary. Her brother-in-law Thomas Todd, also a judge and serving now as prosecuting attorney, sat directly in front of them all and nearest the bar.