Silent Night

by A. T. Butler

  “Yes, well …” Santos seemed disinclined to discuss the physical comfort of a suspected thief. “Let’s make this quick. You take the right; I’ll take the left.”

  And quick it was. Other than a bed and a washstand, Benjamin had very few other belongings at all, let alone anywhere that could hide that much in cash. In short order, the two men had touched every single thing in the shed, including overturning the cot on which Benjamin slept and rifling through the pockets of the few pieces of clothing they had found.

  “There’s nothing here,” Jacob said, finally. “There’s no cash anywhere here. He didn’t do this, Marshal.”

  Santos looked at Jacob, not glaring, not agreeing, but simply resigned to the truth.

  Chapter Seven

  Jacob Payne walked with Marshal Owen Santos away from the Towers home, each quiet and contemplative in his own thoughts. From Jacob’s point of view, this seemed to be yet another point in his favor—how could anyone believe Benjamin had stolen that money, especially as said money was nowhere to be found in his belongings.

  But this was not a definitive enough piece of evidence to let the kid out of his jail cell, especially in light of everything else.

  “Marshal,” he began.

  “Don’t start with me, Payne. You know full well that not finding the money is no proof of anything.”

  “No, you’re right. You’re right. I wasn’t going to argue that. It’s circumstantial, but I know it’s not enough. No, I was going to ask you who the eyewitness was that claims to have seen him leaving the telegraph office.”

  They had reached the main street of Tucson then, passed by noisy coaches and laughing children chasing each other in a game of tag. All around Jacob was evidence of joy and freedom. All while Benjamin Wilbourne sat in prison for a crime that the bounty hunter could not believe he had done.

  Marshal Santos turned to face Jacob, his hands on his hips. He was one of the few men that was taller than Jacob Payne, and was currently using that to his advantage.

  “I’ll tell you, Payne, but I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  Santos frowned. “I don’t like this. I don’t like that you’re questioning my authority, but even more than that, I don’t like that we might have an innocent man locked up. I’m going to tell you about the eyewitness, but I need your word that if—or when—you discover information that could exonerate Wilbourne that you come straight to me. I want to make this right if there’s any right to be had.”

  “Of course, Marshal. I wouldn’t think of doing anything else.”

  “And you know that if we are able to prove he didn’t do this, that might not be enough if we’re not able to discover who did do it.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Do your best. I trust you. I can’t do anything more than I am doing, but whatever you find I’ll consider.”

  “I understand, Marshal.”

  Five minutes later, Jacob was on his way to the musical instrument store that sat next to the telegraph office that Benjamin was alleged to have robbed. Though the marshal got an eyewitness statement from the store proprietor there just the day before, Jacob needed to double check. He had some questions.

  Entering the store from the cold outside, Jacob was surprised to find that it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the general store or the cafe had been. Evidently Tucson citizens didn’t need huge expensive pianos at the end of December. Jacob was grateful for this turn of events—it meant that he would have more time to interrogate the witness, and potentially also meant that she would have had more time and space to accurately see what happened next door.

  “Yes?”

  An older, stern voice greeted Jacob as he stood near the doorway to the store. He hurried to remove his hat, while turning to see a tall, ramrod-straight woman with stark white hair entering the room. She was dressed in the drabbest, plainest black gown he had ever seen, even more so than some of the mourning the women in his family had worn.

  The owner of this store was very clearly a no-nonsense kind of woman; Jacob knew he would have to stick to facts to stay on her good side.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. I’m here on behalf of Marshal Santos and I have some questions for you about what you saw yesterday. It’s Mrs. Hyke, isn’t it?”

  She frowned, and clasped her hands in front of her, standing even more straight, though Jacob didn’t see how that could be possible.

  “I told the marshal everything I have to say,” she said dismissively. “And if you’re not here to buy a piano or stringed instrument or anything at all, you’re just wasting my time.”

  Jacob looked around at the small, cramped room. He couldn’t even imagine the cost she must have incurred to ship all of these instruments out from the east coast. It seemed absurd to simply pay for a piano to be sitting here waiting for a buyer, instead of ordering one from a shop when it was called for. But—he looked back at Mrs. Hyke—he also couldn’t rightly suspect she was a woman who didn’t know what she was doing.

  In a quick moment, Jacob decided there was a reason he would never be a businessman. He elected to not question a single thing that she did for her store.

  Immediately after that thought, he resolved to purchase something from her. Maybe it would warm her to him, and make her more inclined to answer his questions.

  “I understand, ma’am,” he said. “We just had some follow-up questions for you. The circuit judge will be here very soon, you see, and we wanted to make sure the case against the accused is solid. I had been planning to purchase a … um …”

  Jacob looked around at the shop for inspiration. He had nowhere to keep a piano, and no idea how to play any of the other instruments he could see. He turned back toward Mrs. Hyke and his eyes lit on a small pyramid of yellow boxes on the counter next to her.

  “Harmonica,” he concluded. “I was planning on buying myself a harmonica to take with me when I go out on the road after outlaws and I told the marshal I’d be happy to ask you some questions since I was going to be coming here anyway.”

  Mrs. Hyke softened slightly at his pronouncement, but Jacob still knew to be cautious. She was like an injured cat; the slightest wrong move and she would turn tail or hiss.

  “A harmonica?” she asked, dubiously.

  “That’s right. I’ve been missing having music in my life since I came out west—my late wife used to play the piano, you see. A harmonica is a small thing I can take with me.”

  “Very well. I only have one model, but I suppose that will be sufficient for you?”

  “I’m sure it will be,” he averred, stepping up to the counter and the display of instruments. “And, like I mentioned, I wonder if I could ask you some questions about what you saw the other day?”

  Jacob pulled out his billfold as he said that; he was careful to hold it at such an angle that Mrs. Hyke could see that he had plenty of cash on hand to back-up his claim of buying a harmonica. He couldn’t risk having this backfire now.

  She met his eye, then nodded brusquely. “Very well. As I told the marshal, I was here in my shop on the afternoon in question, and I saw the suspected thief walking quickly away from the scene of the crime. His hands were in his coat pockets, and there seemed to be some kind of bulge, as though he was carrying something. I assumed that was the money he had stolen, though I didn’t see anything myself.”

  “I see.” Jacob looked through the front window of the shop. There was only one, though it was large. “And were you standing right about here?”

  “At first, but there was no one else in the store at that time, so I hurried over to the window.”

  From this angle, there was very little of the street that Mrs. Hyke could have seen. Although, if she happened to be looking at precisely the right moment, there was a clear view to the street outside.

  “And, Mrs. Hyke, can you describe the person you saw?”

  “Of course,” she bristled. “He was tall and thin, though perhaps n
ot so tall as you. Dark hair, dark clothes, though not so dark that I couldn’t see he was about covered in dust. Evidently hygiene was not one of his priorities.”

  “Can you tell me anything else about him? Age? Was he smoking? His skin?”

  Mrs. Hyke frowned. “Well, there was only a moment, but I would say he is younger than you though not a child. I’m sorry, at my age it seems impossible to guess anyone’s age anymore.”

  “I understand. Any other detail you can remember?”

  “Well … no, I’m sorry. You mentioned his skin, but all I can recall is that he seemed dirty all over, his clothes and his hair. But … You understand it was so fast.”

  “I understand. And … I’m sorry, Mrs. Hyke, but did you tell the marshal this yesterday? That he was maybe a bit younger than me and the most defining characteristic of his skin was that he seemed dirty? No scars or … other things?”

  Jacob was trying very hard not to lead Mrs. Hyke to say anything in particular, but it seemed utterly impossible to believe that she could have seen one of the only Black citizens of town and not comment on it.

  “I thought I had. He didn’t ask specifically the same questions, though, so perhaps I told him other details. The man’s gun or something similar.”

  “A gun,” he repeated. “You’re positive about that. You saw his gun. Could you describe it?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no.” She waved at him dismissively. “I haven’t any use for a gun. I just know that I could see his holster on his hip, with the butt of some kind of weapon poking up out of it.”

  Jacob nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Hyke. This has been very helpful. We’re very grateful to you.”

  “Will you need me to testify?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll do our best to make this as smooth as possible for you. But the marshal or myself might come back to discuss that further.”

  “Very well.” She was nothing if not matter-of-fact. “I aim to be an upstanding citizen of this territory I’ve chosen as my home. If I am needed, I accept that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But, please, Mr. Payne, don’t be interrupting my work and my customers any more than necessary.”

  He stifled a grin, handing over the necessary cash to purchase the musical instrument he had promised.

  “I won’t, ma’am.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jacob Payne left Mrs. Hyke’s store with his mind whirring. Through all of his investigation, he kept discovering more and more clues that Benjamin Wilbourne was innocent of the charge of theft for which he was currently sitting in a jail cell. In spite of all of this, Jacob knew that it wasn’t yet enough to free him.

  Adding doubt to the conviction was one thing, but doubt was not evidence of innocence.

  Jacob would need something more definitive—something like discovering the actual perpetrator. Finding the cash would be even better.

  But he had no idea how to do that.

  All he had was a rough description from Mrs. Hyke, and the same small circumstantial clues that also pointed to Benjamin Wilbourne.

  Who in town had come into a lot of money in the last day or two? Who in town had been (or had a reputation for being) dirty and unhygienic? Who would smoke or not notice if they dropped a button?

  There were too many questions to answer.

  And on top of that Jacob now owned a harmonica.

  Jacob laughed to himself, as he walked through the cold winter street of Tucson. He hadn’t learned anything new worth taking back to the marshal. No, what he needed right now was a hot meal and some time to think over all he had learned and what his next step would be.

  Turning left at the next corner, Jacob made his way to the San Xavier Cafe. He had plans to meet Bonnie there, one of the few times they would be eating together instead of her waiting on him as he ate.

  He wondered if she would want to continue to work if he were to propose.

  The thought almost stopped him in his tracks. He stumbled briefly, recovering his balance as he thought over this realization.

  Jacob didn’t want to be grabbing dinner at the cafe, even if his sweetheart was waiting for him there. Jacob wanted to be heading to his own home, his own warm fire, where he could share a meal with his wife. Or, maybe he could even wait on her. Lord knew the woman deserved to be treated the best he could offer.

  That settled it. Maybe it was the cold night; maybe it was the thought of being innocently accused; maybe it was simply that enough time had passed and he was ready. But there in the middle of the Tucson street, just at sunset, Jacob Payne decided the time had come and he would propose to Bonnie Loft.

  He would not stall any longer.

  He could not risk losing her.

  Jacob arrived at the cafe, threw open the door and immediately locked eyes with his love. Though every bone in his body screamed at him to take her in his arms, he knew he didn’t want to embarrass her in public with any display of emotion she might not be ready for.

  Instead, he waved, smiled, and began to cross the room to her to share their meal.

  No sooner had he taken a few steps into the cafe, than Jacob felt a hand on his shoulder. As he was turning to see who wanted his attention, Pastor Ambrose stood next to him.

  “Mr. Payne! I’m delighted to find you here. Miss Loft suggested I might, and as usual she was right. Come over to the bar.”

  He sat heavily on a stool while Jacob remained standing. He was puzzled. He looked over his shoulder to where Bonnie was giving him a quizzical look.

  “What can I get for you boys?” Mickey asked, appearing behind the bar.

  “I’m meeting Bonnie,” Jacob said, pointing over his shoulder and hoping the pastor would take a hint.

  “Oh, I’ve already eaten,” the pastor said. “I just need a word with Mr. Payne and then I’ll free up my seat.”

  “See that you do,” Mickey said sullenly, before moving to help the next man over.

  “Can I help you with something, sir?” Jacob asked Pastor Ambrose.

  “You can.” Pastor Ambrose turned so his body was completely facing Jacob. “You can. I need you, Mr. Payne. I don’t think there’s anyone else I can turn to.”

  Jacob heard the desperation in the man’s voice; past the flattery, it was clear he really was hoping for the bounty hunter’s help.

  “Is there something wrong with the manger I built?”

  As he asked that, he felt another, smaller, hand rest on his other side. Jacob turned to see Bonnie Loft standing with her face lit up in expectation.

  “Bonnie! I’m sorry. The pastor here waylaid me on my—”

  “No, no, don’t worry,” she assured him. “I just wanted to see if there was anything I can do. I’m sorry. I was the one who told Pastor Ambrose he would find you here.”

  Her gentle smile made him feel to bursting with admiration. For a brief moment, Jacob felt self-conscious that he had only just moments before decided to propose to this wonderful woman, but now in the bright light and crowd of the cafe it seemed too crass, too bold.

  “I’m glad he found you,” she continued.

  Jacob blinked in surprise and looked back and forth between his two friends. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing, nothing,” the pastor assured him. “That is, nothing that’s not fixable. It’s just that … well, we seem to be short a person for our Nativity play tomorrow. I know you’re generally a busy man, but Bonnie assured me that you would love to do it.”

  “I’m sorry … I …” Jacob stuttered. He glanced at Bonnie who nodded at him encouragingly. “You need me to what? I don’t understand.”

  “We need a Joseph,” Bonnie blurted out.

  “A Joseph?” Jacob repeated.

  “Joseph,” Pastor Ambrose said. “For the Nativity play. Marshal Santos had promised to do it but he now tells us that the circuit judge will be in town right when we plan to be holding the performance. We need another tall man, someone with presence and honor, to play the role of Saint Joseph, husband
of Mary, in the Nativity play. You were our first choice.”

  “Me? Joseph?”

  “And you’re not planning on leaving town again, right, Jacob?” Bonnie asked hesitantly. “I know that’s what you had told me, but I also know that you might need to change your mind.”

  Jacob’s mind spun at all the commitments he had tied himself to and all he still needed to accomplish in order to free Benjamin Wilbourne. But, then, how could he say no to Bonnie?

  “I would so love if you were able to help with this,” she said. “I’ll be there the whole time, helping with the costumes.”

  “Costumes?”

  All three of them turned to the fourth voice, the man who was inserting himself into their conversation. It was Clifford Pierce, talkative as ever.

  “You’re not thinking of putting this man in a costume, are you, Pastor?” Pierce laughed and clapped a hand to Jacob’s shoulder.

  He felt surrounded, pressure from all sides.

  “Why, yes, Mr. Pierce,” the pastor said. “I think he’d make a wonderful Joseph.”

  “As you say. But if you’d like, I’m happy to set aside my shepherd’s robes to step up. Only if you need me to, that is. I just want to serve the Lord where I’m needed most.”

  “You are going to be in the Nativity play?” Jacob asked, shocked.

  “I certainly am,” Pierce responded with faux indignation. “Coleman and me and a couple other fellas agreed to help out. It’s all for the glory of God, ain’t it? I’m not one to be too proud to take on a little ol’ task for the church.”

  At this pronouncement, Jacob happened to catch a glimpse of Bonnie’s face—she was proud and admiring, listening to this other man’s willingness to help. Jacob knew he couldn’t let her down. Though he still didn’t know how he was going to be able to prove that Benjamin Wilbourne had not robbed that telegraph office, Jacob reasoned that by the time the Nativity began, the judge would already be here. He would have to solve this problem before he needed to get in the costume either way.