Joab's Fire

by Lynn Squire

Dixon scanned the sky as though it would provide an escape. It offered none. “I do not think of eternity.”

  “God dwells there.”

  “In eternity?” He scratched his forehead.

  “Well, yes. Though I was actually talking of the heavens, the universe.”

  She must still be feeling ill. Barty had indicated she went, well, a little loco. “Come, Mrs. Black. Joab’s waiting. I’ve brought some fresh bread and barley stew for him.” He pointed to the bulging gunny sack hanging from his saddle.

  She smiled. “He loves barley stew.”

  They walked to the soddy without further word.

  What of eternity? He never much thought about dying, even in battle. To do so would have quelled his courage. Living. Now that was a topic. But eternity? He looked to the black sky with stars set in constellations, pictures with no frames. Did man exist like that—endless even after death?

  They stopped at the door.

  “Sergeant, I know you do not believe as I do, but consider this. If the universe never ends, then could not your soul also have an eternal makeup?”

  She slipped through the door, not waiting for his answer. But her words made their mark. If he believed in eternity, that meant there was no end. No end to his guilt. No end to his secrets plaguing him like some pestilence bent on destroying his peace. His peace. Did he ever have that?

  He ducked his head and entered the musty one-room soddy with a gunny sack of bread and a pot of barley stew.

  At some point, he would have to face the music. What did he believe? And was it truth?

  Chapter 28

  “Joab.” Sarah dropped to her knees by her husband. He looked so ill … his once-firm jaw line now marred with angry scars. The eyebrows that had depicted his strength in their perfect arches were burned away. Yet, never had he looked more wonderful to her. She brushed aside a brown lock of hair. He needed his hair washed. Perhaps tomorrow.

  “You came back.” His husky voice melted away the last of her willful desire to run. How could she have left him in the first place?

  “I have.” She touched his hand. “And I plan to stay.”

  She scanned his scarred body. The puss-filled sores had scabs forming, though the greenish-yellow infection still oozed from under them. She reached to touch the blisters on his face.

  He grasped her hand. “We’ll get through this together.”

  “Yes, we will.” But how? Truth-be-told, she had no idea.

  “Trust God.” A smile quivered on his chapped lips, and his golden-brown eyes brightened.

  “Yes.” The God of the heavens. The God who created the endless universe. Surely that God could help them. “I had wished we were dead, with …” She choked on Rupert’s name. To say it in the same sentence as death—she just couldn’t. “Like our son.”

  His grip tightened. “One day we will be with him.”

  Tears formed in her eyes, and she brushed them away. “I know, but I wanted it to be now.”

  “Our work is not done. Abbadon …”

  Sarah took a sharp breath. That was who spoke to her at the restaurant. How could she not have known him? “He’s here.”

  “He is, but so is God.”

  She shouldn’t tremble at Abbadon’s name. He had no hold over them. But he had nearly deceived her, as he had done others.

  “Sarah, look at me.”

  She looked into the eyes of the man whose strength had been hers for so many years. But he was not to be her strength, was he? She had relied on him, not God. No man could be the perfect protector and provider.

  Joab’s eyes darkened. “He thought to bring me harm through you, didn’t he?”

  She shook her head. “He could never do that. We have God on our side.” But Abbadon had nearly succeeded.

  “We must choose to follow God.”

  Like dynamite, his words exploded in her mind. Had God determined to test them? Was that why all this happened? “What are we to do?”

  He stretched his shaky hand out and touched her face. “Bring God the glory.”

  His caress, light and momentary, stirred within her a renewal. Indeed, she must do all she could to bring God the glory. The God who dwelt in the heavens. The God who dwelt in eternity. She pressed her hand against her chest and searched Joab’s face. “The God who dwells in us.”

  Joab gave a slight nod, closed his eyes, and whispered, “The God who saved us.”

  Sarah bent forward and kissed his brow. “Thank you, Lord, for showing me this, and for bringing me through.” But God, will You restore us?

  Chapter 29

  Dixon considered leaving the Blacks’ soddy after depositing the food by the door. He didn’t want to interfere with the reunion of husband and wife, but Joab mentioned Abbadon. The Blacks knew the stranger, and from that short exchange between them, they didn’t consider him a friend.

  He swung back inside and stopped. Sarah’s blonde hair hung over her husband. She whispered words Dixon couldn’t hear, words meant only for her husband.

  Common courtesy would have him leave.

  He tugged on his collar. Common courtesy didn’t have a crime to solve.

  Dixon pulled his gauntlets off and banged them against his dark blue trousers. He could come back tomorrow. No doubt, Abbadon would still be around.

  Sarah’s shoulders shook as though she were weeping.

  He really should leave, but would Abbadon cause more harm to them if he didn’t find out the connection and work to solve this mystery?

  He was a fool. Fact was, he despised the white-cloaked stranger and wanted to bring him down now. That was no reason to interrupt. “I—I’ll leave the food here, by the door.”

  Sarah turned and brushed a tear from her cheek. “Oh Sergeant, forgive me.” She pushed off the ground.

  “No need. I should go. Let you two have some privacy.” He gripped his gauntlets. Just turn around and head out. What purpose did it serve to pursue a line of questioning at this moment? He stepped back.

  “Please don’t go.” Joab lifted his hand and beckoned him to come. “It’s time we talked.”

  Dixon stepped toward him. “I don’t want to interfere. I mean, you two haven’t seen each other …”

  “And we will see plenty of each other in the coming years.” Sarah motioned for him to sit on the crate by Joab. “When all this trouble came about, I didn’t want to believe he was here.”

  “I don’t understand.” Dixon’s back relaxed. He hadn’t noticed how tense he’d been. Truth-be-told, he didn’t want to go back to his office. He didn’t want to face another night chasing past demons. “How do you know Abbadon?”

  “Sarah, could you put those blankets behind my back?” Joab pointed to a pile by the stove. “I’d like to sit up.”

  Dixon supported Joab’s back while Sarah placed the wool blankets behind him. Joab seemed to have gained a great deal of strength the past day. Perhaps his time with the pastor had been good.

  “Twenty years ago,” Joab closed his eyes, “my father had hired a man—a brilliant man. He had a way with figures and a way with the farmhands. Our farm prospered, but Father began to suspect things weren’t quite what they seemed. He noticed some of the hands growing distant, only answering him with a word or two.”

  Dixon leaned closer. So there was something underhanded behind all this.

  “Fall of 1896, I think, there was a fire. Burned our barns, but the fields and house were untouched.”

  Quite likely Abbadon was a repeat offender. He’d have to see if the NWMP could trace his activities.

  “That could have devastated Father, but he was no fool.” Joab opened his eyes and studied the ceiling. “When he started to suspect Abbadon was squirreling a bit away from the farm revenue, he did likewise. Saving whatever income he could spare and investing it elsewhere. Abbadon’s embezzlement must have gone on for a few years, but Father had no solid proof.”

  Abbadon was too smart to leave a trail, the devil.

  “You see, Abba
don intended to buy the farm from my father. He offered Father three thousand dollars to become his partner.” Joab looked past Dixon as though seeing a scene play out on the dirt wall behind him. “Father told him no, but Abbadon threatened to destroy him. He claimed he’d ruin my father and gain the farm.”

  Joab’s gaze returned to Dixon. A fire burned in them, but not with the anger that Dixon saw the night Abbadon visited Joab. “A deposit of stone containing jasper was rumored to be on our property, and Abbadon claimed he found a diamond on the farm.”

  Diamond? Highly unlikely. Jasper, however, was different, since the gemstone had been found around Lake Huron. “So that was why he wanted the property.”

  “Yes.” Joab coughed, causing his body to tremble. Sarah pulled a blanket up under his chin. “But when Father refused to make him a partner, he left, taking the hired men with him, and, Father believed, with at least five thousand dollars worth of stone from our property, but he couldn’t prove it.”

  “My father suspected Lord Dunsbury was in on Abbadon’s deal.” Sarah toyed with her blouse. “You see, our farms were beside each other, and the stone was believed to have been taken from the fields adjacent to my father’s.”

  Joab rested a hand on her lap, and she covered it. By the expressions on their faces, there seemed to be more to this story. To accuse a lord of criminal activity …

  “The Lord Dunsbury from Belgravia, London?”

  “Yes.”

  Dixon paced. Lord Dunsbury was visiting the Premier in Calgary. True, he wasn’t considered the most honest man. But he was wily, and he had a great deal invested in the territory. When the west opened up, he was quick to make the most of the coal mining prospects.

  Dixon swallowed a groan. Abbadon obviously knew something of his own mistakes surrounding the Duck Lake Massacre. If Abbadon used that information to discredit Dixon, there would be no way of indicting the man with wrong. Lord Dunsbury would use his influence and Dixon’s name would be mud. “What reason have you to believe that Lord Dunsbury was a part of Abbadon’s plan?”

  Sarah paled. She looked at Joab as though hungry for relief. Joab nodded to her, and her lips parted. A tear trickled down her cheek. “I nearly married him. He courted me for my father’s property. At least, that is what my father believed.”

  “But that is not enough to connect him with Abbadon.”

  “I found him talking with Abbadon in a hollow between our properties.” Joab grabbed Sarah’s hand and winced. “I overheard him say that once Sarah was neatly placed in his townhouse in London, he’d return to establish the mine. Then Abbadon said he’d take care of her father.”

  “And you didn’t go to the authorities?”

  “Lord Dunsbury owned the authorities.”

  Dixon growled. Of course the man would take care of that. “So how did you get out of the mess without losing the farms? Or did you?”

  “What Abbadon didn’t know,” Sarah smiled at Joab, “was that our parents had already agreed on a partnership and were moving to Sudbury to build a copper mine. They sold the farms to the fools and gained something even better in return.” She and Joab chuckled.

  “So why is he out here?”

  “There were no diamonds and no more jasper on the farms.” Joab frowned. “Abbadon wants vengeance. He tore up the land trying to find the jasper and ruined it for farming. The land became useless and unprofitable. He became the laughingstock of Barrie. No one would deal with him after that.”

  “I doubt you could ever prove Abbadon had anything to do with …” Sarah choked. “Rupert’s death or the fire.”

  “Everything Abbadon did to my father seemed almost supernatural. The fires, the unbelievably large harvest and animal production each year he was there, and many other things. We all thought he was a miracle.”

  “But he was a hideous threat. And now he’s doing it again.” Sarah ran her hands over her head then clutched them on her lap.

  The scent of fresh bread wafted from the sack in the corner, a promise of a good meal, but Dixon had lost his appetite. “I need to go. I nearly gave up, but perhaps if I search his room, I’ll find something.”

  “You have no cause to.” Joab’s face twisted. “He’ll make you pay.”

  “What you have told me is enough. He has motive. I believe I can establish means, and his very presence implies opportunity.”

  “He’ll ruin you.”

  Dixon walked to the door, laid his hand on the latch, and took a deep breath. “I’ve done that myself.” He stepped outside. For the first time since Duck Lake, he was prepared to face his past. If he could bring Abbadon down, even at the cost of his own reputation and most likely his job, he would—for Joab’s sake.

  Chapter 30

  Dixon unbuttoned the top of his red serge as he stepped into his office. The night air lacked the bite he needed to settle his nerves. Abbadon, it seemed, controlled an information ring far more efficient than any government agency. If the wire from Fort Calgary was right, the man had something on everyone, and yet no one seemed to be able to nail him with a blackmail charge. Likely, he didn’t use financial blackmail. He probably used the information to play mind games, thus influence his targets to do his bidding at their own volition. Dixon was glad he waited for that information from Calgary. It would give him more firepower come time to arrest Abbadon.

  He placed his sidearm on the smoking table and eased himself into the wooden chair by the fireplace. With stiff fingers, he loosened his cross-belts and tugged on his black leather boot. Nothing felt better at the end of the day than to remove your boots in front of a warm fire. Good thing he started it before stabling his horse. He wiggled his toes. The hot coals made for a warm hearth. Steam rose from his socks as he set the heels of his feet down on the stones.

  “Dixon?” Mrs. Clumpit’s voice came from outside his office door.

  “Come in.” He smiled. Would she stay for a while? Used to be, when her husband was alive, they would visit to well past midnight. But that was years ago.

  The office door dragged along the pine floor. “I brought you some supper. Thought maybe you’d be late, so I kept it warm.” Her beautifully sculptured face smiled with a deep peace he often wondered at.

  She was always thinking of others. That’s what made her such a good hostess. He drew in a long breath. “Smells good.”

  Her gray eyes reflected the light from the fire, making them appear as stars in a fair sky.

  Dixon stood to take the tray from her. “Do you have time to visit while I eat?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but her eyes danced at the suggestion.

  He scratched the stubble on his chin. She used to look like that when Jethro teased her. “Course, if you’re uncomfortable or ‘fraid of gossip …”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. Her hand landed on his sleeve and, while he liked the sensation it brought him, he knew it bordered on dangerous. She was the widow of an old friend and former NWMP Officer. Memories of Jethro left no room in their relationship for anything but friendship.

  “They already do. Matchmakers in the entire county have us pegged.” She grinned then removed her hand to cover her blush.

  He looked down and suppressed a smile. He’d seen the old ladies whispering outside the restaurant before, but it was harmless.

  “Most know, though, that you and Jethro were close. It only seems natural you’d watch out for me.” She settled in the chair beside him and fluffed her skirts about her ankles.

  She fit that room; dressed in gingham, with whiffs of brown curls puffing out of her bun and delightful fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She looked the part of a pioneer. Her face was beautiful and filled with strength, the kind of strength an officer needed by his side.

  Dixon cleared his throat and picked up the fork by the plate. “I bet you miss him.”

  She looked into the fire and her eyes softened. “I do, every minute of the day. But the hurt is passing and the memories are taking on a kind,
sort of gentle reminder of what love can be.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “He thought the world of you, you know. Ever since he first met you at Fort Carlton.”

  Dixon gripped the fork, holding it inches away from his mouth. The tantalizing smell of pot roast now turned his stomach. Fort Carlton was a place he’d rather forget. Why’d she bring it up? “Oh?”

  She rubbed her lips together, as though trying to keep herself from saying something.

  He lowered his fork to the plate. “Something on your mind, Ruth?” He liked the sound of her first name rolling off his tongue. Would she be offended?

  The corner of her mouth turned up in a sad little half smile. She stole a look at him, and then quickly looked away to the west wall. “Abbadon is entertaining the folks tonight with music. Can’t you hear?”

  Dixon paused. The sound of a guitar and a bass voice filtered through the clapboards. It sounded like Abbadon’s. Other voices joined it. With the stranger so occupied, it would be a good chance to examine his room.

  “He knows things, you know.” She looked back at him. Sad eyes, trying to send a message, but what was it?

  Dixon rubbed his wool socks along the pine floor beneath his chair. How much did she know about Duck Lake? Jethro had been there. He’d always suspected Jethro knew something about his secret trip into town, but the man never said anything. Never revealed any knowledge, even of Dixon’s part in the fire at Fort Carlton—which he was certain Jethro knew about. Surely his secret died with the constable. “What sort of things?”

  She jumped to her feet. “I should return, before people start talking.”

  Dixon stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is something the matter?”

  She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, and then headed for the door. “Be careful, Dixon. Abbadon’s charmed the community, but he’s a devil at heart.” With a sweep of her skirts, she flew through the door like a startled dove.

  Dixon’s fingers dug into the back of his chair. Something was up, and he needed to act. He grabbed his gauntlets and his pith helmet. Tonight he would examine Abbadon’s room, with or without a warrant.