Sundown

by Jade Laredo

  “Perhaps some fresh air might do you some good?” Wyeth suggested, patting his daughter on the hand. “Besides, I need some company while I have a smoke.

  The moon bloomed full, bright and yellow. Beneath its unearthly glow, Arabella sat with her father upon the porch swing, listening to cricket’s chirp, which occasionally masked the faraway sounds of a bustling saloon.

  “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

  At the start of his voice, Arabella pulled her gaze away from the evening sky, and focused on the outline of her father’s shrouded face. She could see the whites of his eyes as they glittered, and a whorl of smoke from which he slowly puffed on a cigar.

  “If you’re referring to the hold up,” Arabella returned. “I’d rather not.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded. Taking another puff on his cigar, he leaned back against the porch swing. “Tell me about that day in Sharpsburg.”

  Arabella stiffened at his request.

  For years, she would shut out the horrific memories of that day as if she had hidden them away in some dark crevice of an emotionless cave. Dropping her chin, she swallowed hard before speaking.

  “I remember the artillery fire, it started the evening before. The Yankees pounded shell throughout the night. The battle began when the morning sun cracked just above the horizon.” She recalled, extracting images and sounds from the back of her mind. “Aunt Flora, Aimee and I crouched in the root cellar. We covered our ears from the loud explosions, which hammered around the house. For nearly twelve hours, we huddled there, thinking we were going to die. It had to be the longest day of our lives. When it was all over, we crawled out of the cellar not prepared for what we’d find.”

  Arabella paused.

  Shaking her head, she swallowed hard.

  “It’s so funny,” She continued with a brittle laugh fully immersed in her vivid recollections of that fateful day. “Little did we know even more terrifying than bullets and shell fire was the thousands of wounded dying soldiers covering our cornfield.”

  Arabella took a deep breath. Turning to her father, she shook her head.

  “That day at the farm,” She began whispering. Pausing, she shook her head as if to shake the ghastly memory from her mind. “I unfortunately learned everything I never wanted to know about men. It was all so terribly overwhelming, sifting through the dead and wounded taking only those we knew would survive.”

  “Did you have an army physician?” Wyeth asked, tossing his cigar, he leaned forward and folded his hands.

  “No.” Arabella replied. “Not right away. For the first few hours, we did everything ourselves. Aunt Flora boiled water and tore makeshift bandages from our linens, while I managed the water rounds, tending the dying soldiers still lying in the cornfield. I gave them sips of water, holding their hands while they talked about their loved ones, and then when it was time, we prayed.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  Arabella turned to her father, a single tear slipped down her cheek. Shaking her head, she furrowed her eyebrows and drew in a painful gaze.

  “I was a fourteen year old girl, Poppa.”

  “I know.” Wyeth returned his voice strained. “I had no idea the war would end at your doorstep. I should’ve been there for you.”

  There was another moment of silence. Taking a deep breath, Arabella looked back at the stars which shown even brighter now the moon had moved further away into the evening sky.

  “Why did you leave me, Poppa?”

  “Guilt.” Wyeth confessed. “The doctor told us your momma couldn’t have another baby. She had too many complications with your birth. He explained to us that it was wise for us to abstain from having any more children. Your momma knew the risk. Afraid of the consequences, I pushed her away. One night we got into a heated fight about our intimacy, and well your Momma convinced me everything would be all right. I should not have listened to her. Nine months later, she died right alongside the baby. I have carried that burden for nearly fifteen years. Every morning when I wake, the pain is still fresh in my mind. So much so I could not abide to look at you because, you reminded me of her. What I did, it was selfish of me, but grief does strange things to a man. I was a coward, Bella.”

  “I don’t think you’re a coward.” Arabella murmured. “Look at you now. You’re the Sheriff of Sundown for Pete’s sake.”

  “I’m the sheriff all right.” Wyeth nodded. “One who’s figured the only way to fight his internal guilt was to prove himself a man by putting his life on the line.”

  “I’d rather you not.”

  “Somebody’s got to watch over this town.” Wyeth chuckled with a confidant nod. “I’d just as soon let that be me.”

  Arabella rolled her eyes. Turning the corner of her cheek, she tried not to laugh.

  “Glad you’re here, Bella.” Wyeth murmured. He placed his hand over her hand and patted gently.

  “So am I, Poppa.”

  The incessant ticking of a mantle clock reminded Arabella another minute passed. Two weeks seemed like a lifetime.

  Now, the past few minutes seemed like an eternity.

  “How many were there?”

  Jack Rafferty.

  Arabella tilted her chin, eyeing the Pinkerton agent warily. She did not like the man. Nor did she care for those penetrating black-Irish eyes. Like a hawk, he stared at her with an intense scrutiny. Dropping his chin, he released a labored breath, and asked once again.

  “How many were there?”

  “Three, maybe … four.”

  “Which one took you hostage?”

  Arabella examined the various sketches placed before her. Each sketch looked like the next. Each face covered with the same bandanna, she found it hard to tell one man from the next. Exasperated, she exhaled impatiently.

  “For God’s sake, but the man blindfolded me.” She leaned back, fidgeting restlessly in her seat. “How would I know?”

  “Did you get a name?’

  “Hoss.”

  “Any other names?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Miss Gentry.” Jack drew in his breath, practicing meticulous persistence. “You were alone with the man for nearly a full day. Please tell me this isn’t all the information you can spare?”

  “Mr. Rafferty.” Arabella emulated the man’s impatience. “I’m sorry if I seem lacking as a credible witness, but I must insist you stop this badgering, and at once!”

  “He’s quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”

  Arabella felt her pulse rise and her throat constrict. Taken by surprise, she gaped at the agent dumbfounded. Narrowing her gaze, she sent him a baleful glare.

  “No?” He continued facetiously, giving her a cat-traps-mouse grin. “Then it would seem our wayward Lothario has spared you his southern charm.”

  “I hardly find this amusing.”

  “Oh? Well then, I must apologize for my forthright nature, but if you’ll allow me to expound a bit further on the suspect.”

  “Go on then, if you must.” She crossed her arms and released a taxing sigh.

  “Long before the war Lukas Shelton was the eldest son of a cotton fortune, very well-known for his scholarly intellect and dashing good looks. Despite his genteel background and Thespian notoriety, he entertained one superfluous flaw. Jack paused, eyeing her with a waning smile. “Quite gifted with a silver-tongue, Luke Shelton had a penchant for seducing young women.”

  “Enough.”

  Arabella jerked her head around at the sound of her father’s voice. Wyeth stood in the jailhouse entry, resting his shoulder against the doorframe. The afternoon sun gleamed down his broad shoulders, bouncing off his silver star, which perched precariously on his vest. Shifting a boot, he made his way toward his desk.

  “My daughter has finished.” He clipped his wintry voice firm and decisive. Standing next to Arabella, he placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps it’s best you find someone else to interrogate.”

  Arabella lifted her
chin.

  She met Jack’s skeptical gaze. Starring long and hard, he strummed his thumb against the edge of the desk. With one hand, he brought his palm down on the desk none too lightly, and then pushed back from his seat. With bare-knuckles, he leaned over, casting one last daunting look.

  “Very well.” Jack nodded. The guarded man slid his hat over his head and sauntered toward the jailhouse door. There, he paused. Looking past his shoulder, he fixed his heated gaze on her and continued with warning. “God forbid you’re hiding something. For your sake, I should hope the hell it is not true. Sheriff, we’re finished for now.”

  Arabella watched as the troublesome Pinkerton agent exited the jailhouse door. She listened to the echo of his heavily booted steps as they slowly dissipated, leaving behind a wary stillness. After a long moment’s silence, Wyeth cleared his throat and pulled his hand away from her shoulder, heading for the door, he paused.

  “Whatever happened between you and that fugitive dies here and now, do you understand?”

  Arabella held her breath.

  By answering her father, she admitted nothing but the truth. Instead, she stood to her feet and dusted her skirts before following him to the door.

  Outside, the vibrant sky rolled back like a royal blue carpet. Gazing at its vast wondrous expanse, the warmth of the afternoon sun grazed her face, soothing away the worry she felt etched there. Feeling her heart constrict, she heard an inner voice chastise her imprudent sense of reason.

  You little fool.

  Luke Shelton took more than just her innocence.

  Yes, he was an outlaw who had stolen her heart. Splintered with regret, she realized she had no choice, but to move on.

  A nearby bell chimed. Caught off guard, Arabella set aside her troubled thoughts and spied a small group of women standing at the schoolhouse steps. They waited for her, of course. Picking up her pace, she followed her father with increasing dread.

  “You’d best watch out for Mamie Hartley.” Wyeth instructed. “She’s not one you can trust. As for the rest of the town council, you’ll find them very agreeable.”

  Arabella nodded her head thankful for her father’s advice. The town council came forward. Everyone was smiling save for one woman whose eyes roved over her like a suspicious feline. No doubt, the insufferable woman was none other than Mamie Hartley.

  After greeting each council member, she and her father followed the elders into the church where refreshments waited. Eurilye Martin, the banker’s wife, offered her a generous plate of scones and a teacup of lemonade.

  “Lemons are hard to come by these days.” Eurilye smiled. “But we thought it entirely acceptable since this is such a special occasion. Sundown hasn’t had a schoolmistress for a while now.”

  Arabella nodded her thanks. Nervous, she found a bench, taking her seat expectantly. Her father sat down beside her, sharing an assured smile while she sipped at her lemonade. Slowly, the council took their seats.

  “Miss Gentry, we’d like to welcome you to Sundown.” Mamie Hartley forced a brittle smile. Clasping her hands, she came closer until she stood a few feet away. “I think it’s best if we get right down to business. There are a few questions the council would like to ask you.”

  Arabella nodded her head.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “How long had you been teaching in Maryland?”

  “Four years at a local seminary school for young women.”

  “And in your father’s absence with whom did you reside?”

  “My Aunt and uncle, my mother’s family.”

  “Miss Gentry.” Mamie Hartley paused. Her eyes grew big, almost cow-eyed. “Could you please explain to the council why you have remained a spinster?”

  Arabella felt her lips thin.

  She found the question entirely too personal, and unacceptable. Lifting her chin, she eyed Mamie Hartley with distaste.

  “What does my marital status have to do with teaching?”

  Mamie Hartley returned a likewise stare.

  Miffed by the younger woman’s boldness, she cleared her throat. “Your marital status is of the utmost importance in reaching the council’s decision.”

  Arabella looked at her father.

  Sympathetic to her plight, he nodded his head, encouraging her to continue. Shrugging her shoulders, she gave a lengthy sigh.

  “Very well.” She murmured. “My fiancé died during the war, and I never had the heart to find another.”

  The silent strain, which permeated the room and the humiliation of it, was unbearable. Arabella swallowed back a lump, which caught in her throat. She watched as a very uncomfortable Mamie Hartley looked over at Eurilye Martin who then nodded her head.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” The older woman offered with a lame sense of sympathy. “However, there’s another matter of importance, one that raises questions about propriety.”

  “Propriety?” Arabella piped. She stood to her feet and placed her hands on her hips, directing her intensity toward Mamie Hartley. “What would any of you know about my propriety?”

  “During the holdup at Owl Creek,” Mamie interrupted. Not one for usually backing down. “I heard while the outlaws were pummeling for loot, you stood by in defiance, putting the rest of the passengers at risk.”

  It was true she had been defiant.

  Nevertheless, what woman would not do so when her livelihood was at risk? The locket meant the world to her. It signified a lifetime long since gone, and she would not let go of it, even if it meant her life. Arabella turned so she faced the council, ignoring Mamie Hartley’s indignant stance.

  “Would you have me cower like a braying mule?” She began her voice cool and surprisingly collected. “Why would anyone in their right mind stand by and allow some lowlife criminal take away their dignity? God as my witness, I met no harm to the other passengers on the stage. Dare I naught say the truth for fear of losing a teaching position?”

  “Even so, you went with him.” Mamie blurted.

  “I’d no choice.” Arabella returned. Turning around, she eyed the scheming woman with an assertive smile. “Better me, than your son, Edward, isn’t that right, Mrs. Hartley?”

  Mamie Hartley balked. At that same moment, Eurilye Martin stood to her feet and faced her fellow board members.

  “Well, I for one agree with Miss Gentry.” The banker’s wife encouraged. “We’re all tired of those brigands. They have been stirring up chaos for almost a year. It’s time to stand up to their antics.”

  “We’re working on it, Mrs. Martin.” Sheriff Gentry spoke for the first time. His smile turned cold, almost calculating. “Believe me ladies. I know a lot more than you think.”

  Arabella stared at the Sheriff of Sundown.

  Suddenly again, her father took on his other persona.

  No longer an endearing parent, she stared wordlessly as his eyes met her with guarded interest. Whatever he knew, she sensed it had something to do with her. Disregarding her father’s scrutiny, she gave an eager little cough, forcing a brittle smile toward Mamie Hartley. For the moment defeated, the mercantilist wife cleared her voice and seethed.

  “All those in favor of Arabella Gentry as schoolmistress of Sundown, please say aye.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Curse his rotten luck.

  If there was one thing he could not stand, it was definitely holing up, and feeling caged like a wildcat.

  Two weeks seemed like a prison sentence. The only thing, which kept his thoughts sane, was the delectable image of his hostage. Envisioning her dark auburn-hair and bewitching bottle green eyes sent his pulse spiraling. He hated leaving her behind. Any sane man would have stayed, but he, Luke Shelton, wanted man in six counties had no other choice but to abandon the woman to the wild. Furious, he grit his teeth, feeling his heart quicken at such a despairing thought. He was a wanted man, dead or alive. Now how in the hell did he end up in such a fractious predicament?

  Yes, he had held up a bounty in payrolls, he
had rustled some horses, and even lifted a few willing skirts, but he had never physically harmed a single soul. To his amazement, the price on him and his gang’s head doubled with each passing day, and the notion of wanted dead, more so than alive stifled his patience.

  Leaning back in a portico chair, he ran a hand through his russet mane while scanning the heavens above. It was hotter than Hades on the western plains without a hint of cloud to cover the brilliant blue sky. In the distance, rolling hills stretched for miles on end, not a rider within sight. Impatient, he began to fidget in his seat, craning his neck as far as the eye could see.

  Damn but Jake, what was taking so long? He had sent his younger brother to town early this morning and still there was no sign of him.

  “What’s got you riled?”

  Luke whirled around.

  With hand on pistol, he eyed the youngest of his brothers with precise calculation. Trigger Shelton stood in the doorway. His cobalt-eyed gaze seemed the least bit concerned as he turned a lazy smile.

  “Trig.” Luke released a rattled breath. “Don’t you ever sneak up on me like that again, you hear?”

  “Where’s Jake?”

  “Hell if I know.” Luke muttered.

  Trig guffawed. Shaking his head, he descended the porch, and kept on walking with purpose.

  “Crazy old cuss is probably drunker than a stinking mule skinner. I warned you should have sent me instead.”

  “Where the hell are you going?” Luke demanded.

  “Fire me off a couple rounds.” Trig grumbled. “I can’t stand this damn blasted idleness.”

  Luke did not have the heart to say no. Usually, he did not allow for calling unwanted attention, but given the circumstances, he had no choice but to make an exception.

  Since their older brother Cole’s tragic death, the kid seemed withdrawn, yet strangely driven to a point of deep-seeded distraction. It seemed the only thing, which mattered to the kid was his handy pistol.

  “Luke!”

  The sound of Jenny’s voice trilling made him lurch in his seat once again. He turned around, finding her standing at the front door, resting a basket on her protruding belly. With an apologetic smile, she winced, and then said softly.