Then the shadow fell again.
Rachel leaned toward her. “Just a few more days,” she whispered.
Sally hesitated then nodded.
“A few more days, and Lord willing, you’ll be free.”
Her friend would not meet her eyes. “Maybe.”
“At the least,” Rachel pressed, “you’ll have an answer, either way.”
A slight nod was her only reply.
“Missus Roberts, you need to go inside now,” the guard said, but not unkindly.
Rachel handed the babe back into her mother’s arms and quickly, before Sally could protest, surrounded both with her embrace. “I am still praying,” she whispered into Sally’s ear then released her.
Tears shone in Sally’s eyes, and with a tight nod, lips compressed, she ducked back through the door.
Two days later, about halfway through the afternoon, Susan’s trial recommenced. As the affidavits were read and the evidence reviewed, which Ben told her had been presented at the hearing back in January, Rachel felt sick to her stomach. The details of poor Thomas’s death, as observed from his wounds and the Harpes’ possession of his horse and other belongings—Rachel refused to think of them as anything else, despite what they had called themselves. Ben had brought her to the clerk of court and she’d verified to them that their name was Harpe and not Roberts, but because they’d been indicted under the name Roberts, the trial went forward with that.
In the presence of the two judges and twelve jurymen, Susan was called to the witness stand. She stated that she’d no part in the murders and was completely powerless in the situation to stop the men from doing what harm they intended.
The prosecution argued that Susan had been well able to go tell someone that her husband had done wrong, even if she was uninvolved in the murder itself. The defense argued that under threat of retribution, she might have been and likely was unwilling to risk such a thing. In the end, though, the jury handed down the verdict of “guilty.”
Cheering broke out as Susan sat, her back as rigid as ever. One of the judges pounded his gavel and called for order then stated that sentencing would not take place until after the other two women’s trials were accomplished.
As it was the last trial of the day, Susan was led back to her cell, and Rachel and Ben rose with the rest of the assembly. A frown knitted Ben’s brows, reflecting Rachel’s own worry. “Now what will happen? What does this mean for Sally?”
He shook his head. “Let me step aside for a few moments to speak with the prosecution, then the two of us can go for coffee and discuss it further.”
So she waited while he slipped through the crowd and joined the growing knot of men at the bar. Her gaze strayed across the crowd milling through the courtroom and trickling out the doors, lingering on those who had become more or less familiar in the week she’d spent here, but her attention kept being drawn back to Ben, standing at the front, his expression intent and earnest as he talked with the others. For today, he was back in his fine, fashionable coat and breeches, with a white cloth knotted about his neck.
He’d kept the beard, though, well combed and trimmed. The lamplight struck golden gleams from the brown strands of his hair, both on the top of his head and along his jaw. He was possibly the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
Rachel released a breath and turned away. Such an observation was wholly unfitting in the moment. Even if things had shifted between them somehow, after journeying together and offering each other silent comfort at odd moments, it was neither the time nor the place to admire anything but the way he’d extended kindness to both her and Sally. Not only had he shown remarkable consideration for her during their journey, but he’d more than delivered on his promise, so far, to do everything he could for her old friend.
She cast him another glance. A man both fair of appearance and kind. Some fortunate female would enjoy both someday. Rachel hoped fervently that she’d properly appreciate it, whoever she was.
Ben returned to her side, and with a smile that was guarded yet still drew a strange flutter from her insides, nodded toward the door and guided her in that direction.
The crease remained between his brows as they walked. “What is it?” she asked.
He glanced down at her and offered his arm. She took it, trying not to notice the firmness of muscle beneath her fingertips, nor the way the blue of his eyes sent yet another frisson through her insides.
“Depending upon how the trial goes tomorrow for the others, I plan to recommend a retrial for Susan. But we’ll see. They’ll be choosing a different jury in the morning since the original members were committed only through today.” He shot her a tight smile. “So do not worry overmuch for Sally. She’s younger, and likely the jury will find her more an object of pity than anything else.”
“As they seem to have done so far.”
“Yes. The community is quite upset over Thomas’s murder and other killings they suspect are also the work of the Harpes, but for the most part they see the women as hapless victims in this situation. And that certainly works to their advantage.”
Rachel made a sound of assent. There were too many angles to this situation, and it wearied her to contemplate them all. Ben, however, seemed to grasp them well enough.
Back at the ordinary where they were lodging, he called for a coffee service and drew her to the hearth where they had sat so often already. Rachel took a chair, and Ben settled himself opposite her, hands on his thighs, staring into the fire with eyes narrowed before shaking his head and refocusing on her. “Forgive me. So much to consider in this case.”
She smiled a little. “I certainly understand that.”
So she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed in the midst of everything.
“It’s very good of you,” she went on, more to make conversation than anything, “to be here in your cousin Stephen’s stead.”
He smiled briefly. “Stephen hardly knew his youngest brother. He was grown and gone before Thomas was out of skirts. I suppose I was more his brother in that respect, the way I felt I should look after him.”
“And why is that?” Rachel asked.
Ben sniffed. “Gratitude for my aunt and uncle taking me in after my parents died, I expect. I never thought overmuch about it.”
Coffee was brought in, and the dusky-skinned maidservant bobbed in response to Ben’s thanks.
He was unfailingly kind even to the Negros.
Rachel bit her lip, turning away from where that thought led, and took the cup that Ben poured. He settled back with his own and eyed her over the rim as he drank, then lowered his cup. “Regardless, yes, Stephen very much wished to be here. I am sorry he and his family took ill and could not come, but more so that they were unable to extend you the hospitality I had promised your brother.”
Rachel felt her cheeks warming—why did that always happen at the most inopportune times? “Oh—it was no trouble to camp with the others for one more night.” She angled him a small smile. “As long as it didn’t discomfit you?”
He snorted. “No. I bore much worse while on the hunt back in December, I assure you.”
Their eyes met, but when Rachel’s face heated further, she turned away, sipping her coffee. Of course he wouldn’t find such an experience enjoyable, so she’d not admit it was their amiable lingering at the campfire each night that she’d treasured.
And again, she couldn’t let herself dwell on such things, when Sally’s future hung in the balance over the next few days.
The trial for Elizabeth Walker was the first on the docket the next morning, and Ben could find nothing noteworthy in the proceedings, which led quickly enough to an acquittal. Sally’s followed immediately after, once Betsey had been taken back to the cell and Sally brought out.
Ben could feel Rachel’s anxiety from where she sat beside him as if it were his own. And indeed, his own gut seemed tied in knots. Such an exercise in folly, and yet not, this putting women to trial for Thomas’s awful death—women who
doubtlessly witnessed it but Ben was sure had not participated or colluded in it. Whether, however, they were culpable merely by their reluctance to speak against the men was another thing entirely.
Sally too was acquitted, however, and stood at the bar, jouncing her newborn at her shoulder and swaying a little as the verdict was read. Beside him, Rachel sighed and put both hands over her face.
The defense then rose and requested a retrial for Susan. That was granted, and set for the next day.
As Sally was led out—arrangements had to be made for hers and Betsey’s actual release—Rachel turned to him.
“Now we see what they do with Susan’s case tomorrow,” he said, before she could even ask.
That evening, the ordinary was full of talk about the trials, what could be done for the women, how Susan had avowed, along with the other women, that if given the chance, she only wanted to return to Knoxville and begin a new life.
He and Rachel had no doubt that it was true, at least from Sally’s lips. The desperation on her face when she’d said it to Rachel and Ben after her acquittal—the tears of obvious relief—were convincing enough. Of the other two, it remained to be seen. Ben had heard stories while in law school of folk who, accustomed to the roughness of a particular life of lowness, were unable or unwilling to choose otherwise when offered the opportunity.
And these women, and their history, were very much an unknown, even now.
He was unsurprised however when a speedy acquittal came for Susan the next day. The courtroom broke out in excitement, with the wail of Susan’s baby rising above all else at the sudden tumult. The woman’s gaunt face was wreathed in smiles as she patted the child to soothe her, while nodding her thanks to the jury and judges.
This part was over, and perhaps the Harpe women truly would have a new start. Now it remained to recapture the men.
The craving to be part of that chase rose up in him with a hot bitterness that Ben could rarely recall feeling before, if ever—and that likely would never sleep until Thomas’s murder was well and truly answered for.
As the women were being outfitted for their journey south—clothing, blankets, food, and even an old mare equipped with wicker panniers for carrying the babies—Rachel was likewise packing to return home.
She and Ben would be part of those following behind the women, partly for their protection and partly to see that they did indeed intend to follow through on what they said. They wouldn’t travel right with the women, despite how Rachel had argued for that, but would trail a bit behind. Rachel was undecided on whether she’d only go as far as Daniel and Anne’s, or whether she could find escort all the way to Knoxville and home, if Anne decided they no longer needed her for a while.
Early in the morning, the women were led to the edge of town and directed back down the Road toward Cumberland Gap, still the best route south into Tennessee. Mounted on a chestnut gelding that Ben told her had been Thomas’s—Stephen had apparently sent it up from Stanford for her use—Rachel sat waiting with the others as Sally and her companions started off into the mist, then they slowly set off as well.
They took an easy pace, almost a dull one, so as to stay just out of sight if not hearing of the women. Rachel glanced over at Ben, who seemed uncharacteristically subdued.
Should she inquire after his state of mind, or would that be prying, even after their apparent closeness these past several weeks?
Finally she could bear it no longer. “And what are your thoughts this morning? You’ve been very quiet.”
He stirred as if caught woolgathering, and gave her a quick smile. “I apologize for my distraction.”
“I imagine you must have much on your mind,” she said.
He smiled again, but thinly. “It is so, I admit.”
Her lips curved, but she turned her face away. How weary he must be of all of this—she certainly was, even after the happy tears she’d shared with Sally the night before over the prospect of returning home, especially with the arrival of a letter from her father, expressing his shock and sorrow over the bad straits Wiley and Micajah had gotten themselves into, and the hope and joy of embracing their first grandchild. Rachel was so ready to see Sally back to her family, and to possibly return to her own, although—
No, she’d not let her thoughts go there. She’d discharged the thing she’d come here to do. And Ben, in all his generosity, had helped her accomplish it, truly had assisted Sally every way he could and then some, and now—now he could devote himself to pursuing Wiley and Micajah.
“Thank you again for all your kindness with Sally,” she said.
“You are—most welcome.”
She noted the wording—not my pleasure or it was nothing, because, well, they both knew it was not nothing, nor had it been enjoyable. “Once we reach Dan and Anne’s, then, will you rejoin the hunt?”
He nodded tightly, his expression grim.
Her heart sank a little further. “I’m sorry you’ve been kept from it so long.”
His silence stretched, and feeling his eyes upon her, she turned her head and met his gaze. The blue eyes were somber, but not cold. “Rachel. I’m truly glad to have been of service to you—and Sally.”
The look held her, until her heart pounded and her throat thickened. “This cannot have been easy for you,” she managed to get out.
He drew a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. “It has arguably been the hardest thing I’ve ever faced, short of losing my own parents. But your friendship has done much to help me bear it.”
All she could find presence of mind for was a tilt of the head, not even quite a nod. “For me as well—although my burden in this has been far different from yours.”
His expression softened, and with a short nod of his own, he shifted in the saddle and then refocused on her. “I wonder … when all this is finished, and justice is finally served for Thomas … might I call on you?”
“Well, of course,” she began, without thought—then the formality of his words struck her with such force she had to clutch the saddlebow to keep herself upright. “Wait—surely you don’t mean—why would you want to?”
He smiled then, with such sweetness she could not breathe. Mercy, the unfairness of such a thing wielded by so beautiful a man as Benjamin Langford.
“And don’t you dare tell me it’s because of my uncommon beauty, or any other such rubbish, because then I might just set heel to this fine horse you’ve loaned me and make the ride straight to Dan and Anne’s without your help, or anyone else’s.”
The words simply fell from her lips, and she caught her breath in horror that she’d actually spoken them, but Ben doubled over in the saddle with a long, gusty laugh. “My word, Miss Taylor,” he choked out, “you are a remarkable woman indeed.”
Her face burned, but she muttered, “I’m sorry. I just hear too much of that rot from fellows at the post, freshly back from a long hunt and half out of their heads with the loneliness of it.”
Ben laughed again, wiping his eyes. “No … I will be most careful then, to … not tell you such things. Although,” and he slanted her a glance, half imploring, half teasing, “I assure you it would not be untrue.”
The heat in her cheeks swept her entire body. She opened her mouth to reply and could not.
“I own, however, that it would be most frivolous of me to cite that reason only. But if you would find such attention unwelcome …”
“I would not,” she murmured, a little too quickly and sharply for decorum, she was sure.
The smile played about his mouth again. “Well then. Let it suffice to say for now, I have so appreciated your friendship, I am reluctant to see it end.”
Blast that betraying flush across her cheeks. “I—also—am reluctant for that.”
Again that brilliant smile, and such a warmth in his gaze that she could not quite meet his eyes.
They were both silent for a long time after that.
That evening, they stopped and camped when Sally and her companion
s did, just past Stanford. Ben had warned Stephen that they might not have the leisure to stop—though he heartily wished they did, because in addition to the burning need to find Thomas’s killers and haul them back before a court, this discovery of Rachel’s openness to his attentions begged to be explored.
It had been a risk, for sure, to speak of calling on her—and he was careful to clarify that apprehending the Harpes was paramount—but the sudden, sweet shyness on her part was wholly adorable.
Did she think herself so unworthy of his attentions? He supposed it could be so, but social standing as he’d known it in Virginia seemed not to matter here. In fact, so many things he’d been taught to regard as important were of no consequence in this country, and the freedom of it quite took his breath away. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to return—at least not to stay. And a woman like Rachel was certainly sturdy enough of mind and heart to weather a life on the frontier. While distressed by the destitution of the Harpe women, Rachel had not shrunk from extending graciousness to her old friend, no matter the circumstances of her present situation.
Quite unlike the fluttering disapproval of his cousins and in-laws. Ben wasn’t sure he could live with that anymore, even if he wished to.
He was also not unaware of the risk involved in seeking justice for Thomas, nor that he’d nothing to offer Rachel until all that was settled. He’d not wanted to send her back to her family, however, without letting her know of his interest, regardless of how long it might be before he could truly act upon it.
And Lord help him, he’d spoken the truth—he did not want their friendship to end.
It was almost disappointing, the way their comfortable conversation had turned to quick glances and shy smiles, throughout the day and into the evening. She seemed more open around the fire that night, however, edging closer to him as the other men gathered and talked.
They cast Rachel plenty of admiring glances, and speculative looks Ben’s way. He was only too glad to have Rachel near and let them draw what conclusions they may, if it protected her.
The Blue Cloak Page 13