Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  She often wondered what on earth could be important enough for Roger to bring to the loft where they slept. Surely it would have been safe enough if he’d left it in its place on a shelf or stacked in a corner of the general store. She’d never understood, because she’d never dared to sneak a furtive peek, and Roger had never said.

  At any rate, she’d always known tidiness didn’t last long.

  In contrast, this room…why, it was lovely. In a manly sort of way.

  The bed, so neat and fluffy and comfortable-looking, drew her further into the room, right up to its side. She leaned down and untied the laces of her boots. When she’d lined them up in the corner nearest to the bed, she went on to undo her brown flannel skirt, slip out of it, and place it over the arm of the rocking chair. Her muslin blouse followed.

  Once she stood in only her chemise, soft cotton petticoat, and black stockings, Faith pulled back the quilt and slipped into the bed. To her amazement and delight, the mattress was a deep, full featherbed. The softness welcomed her as she sank in.

  The pillows, also filled with soft feathers, bore a pleasant scent, fresh and slightly piney, outdoorsy. She couldn’t help but wonder if it came from some soap or grooming lotion Mr. Bartlett used. It was his bed, after all. She liked it very well.

  Feeling safe and cradled, Faith barely managed a “Thank you, Father” before she fell asleep.

  “You know I’ve never been one for wasting precious daylight work hours by sleeping,” Nathan muttered to Woody. He’d met up with the older man when he’d gone to check on Theo in the bunkhouse. As the older man went to speak, he held up a hand to stop him. “That’s why I’m still awake. I know, I know. I should at least try and get some sleep. The night was a tough one, I’ll agree.”

  One of Woody’s bushy gray eyebrows rose. “Seems to me you hardly need a body to have yourself a conversation, seeing as how you think you know what I’m thinking so well.” When Nathan sputtered, Woody chuckled. “Had ya going, didn’t I? It sure was an irregular night, all right. But was there something else you woulda done?”

  The two men stood outside the door to the bunkhouse, the brisk breeze snaking down their coats’ necks and up their sleeves. Nathan cast a glance toward the mouth of the trail. “Of course not, but it was draining. And now we’re losing a day’s work, since I can’t push my men to work without sleep. That’s how loggers lose limbs. Even their lives.”

  With a one-sided shrug, Woody leaned against the wall to the left of the door, his posture almost too easy to fool Nathan. Moments later he got around to speaking again.

  “Don’tcha find it some interesting how them mules follow her ’round the mountain? Seems they think they’re hers. But Theo Nolan, he sees them as his inheritance. Man’s gotta wonder what’s what.”

  Back to the subject of their guest. Not surprising. “I suppose if one looks at it from the legal side, then Theo will inherit whatever Roger owned. That means the mules are his, no matter how much they love the Widow Nolan.”

  Woody’s beard jutted out with the stubborn cast of his jaw. “Uh-huh, but can you believe him when he says he wants them animals to keep up with the business? Don’t recollect you ever talking about meeting with him or doing any kinda business with him when you went to the general store. It was always Roger or his missus you talked about. He’s always been too busy walking in and out of Marshal Blair’s jail cells, that one.”

  It was Nathan’s turn to shrug. “Theo’s going to have to find a way to earn money. Might as well continue what he and his brother started.”

  “Hmph! Don’t know if that one’s ever done an honest day’s work in his lazy life. Don’t know if he’s about to start now, either.”

  Nathan chose to avoid that kind of speculation. “I have noticed how well the mules respond to Mrs. Nolan.” He paused, wondered if he should voice his suspicions. “I’ve been afraid the brothers have roughed up the animals. What if the reason they like Mrs. Nolan so well is because she’s the one who’s shown them the only kindness they know?”

  “Oh, fer heaven’s sake, Nate. Of course, Roger and Theo’s been too rough with them. Forget about worrying about them three mules. I was just getting roundabout to it. This has not much to do with them, and you know it. It’s that little girl what worries me. Did ya see all that blood dried up on the back of her head? Blond hair don’t hide much, you know.”

  “Yes,” he said, in a voice weary and worried. “I saw the blood. You heard her. All I could get from her when we found her was that she’d hurt herself during a disagreement with her husband.”

  Woody jammed his fists on his hips. “You wanta tell me what kinda disagreement knocks a lady out like she said, and leaves her bleeding on the floor like the deer a body’s hunted for the coming winter’s eats?”

  He winced. “Only a…fight of some sort can do that kind of damage.”

  “And now that there Theo is dead set on seeing her blamed for stealing when she ain’t done nothing but suffer and try to do right by a man who’s done nothing to earn it.”

  Nathan nodded. “Seems to me, if a man mistreats his wife, the woman he vowed to cherish and protect, then what’s to stop him from dealing out even worse punishment to his pack animals?”

  “There’s nothing would stop ’im. And that explains why them mules are so fond of Missus Nolan. To say she stole ’em is just plain nonsense.”

  As serious as the situation was, Nathan couldn’t stop a smile. “They sure are fond of her. They even broke out of their pen—twice, more than likely—to be close to her. I can vouch for it. The first time I helped Roger round them up. That male’s the most ornery critter I’ve ever met.”

  “He’s a mule, ain’t he?”

  He chuckled. “He is, at that. But if Theo was part owner of the store, and the mules are part of the business, it seems he owns them whether they like it or not. The law will take his side.”

  “You doing like ’im, and calling her a horse thief, now?” The bearded chin jutted out again. “I can see that dirty Theo Nolan doing that, but I’m wanting to think a mite better from you.”

  It took Nathan a great deal of determination to control the shudder that threatened to shake him. “Be careful using terms like that so easily. I’m not calling her a horse thief. Theo is the one trying to. But if it does come to that, then this ugly mess could turn out uglier still in the end. Around these parts, horse thieves are thought pretty much the lowest of the low. Some think even hanging’s too good for them.”

  “Who you telling, Nate?” Woody shook his head, disgust on his features. “I been out here since pretty near before you were born. I know a man needs his horse to survive out here. A body steals something as big as a feller’s horse, why he might as well leave him to die.” He ran his fingers through the low ruff of hair on his nearly bald head. “But it’ll take a whole lotta talking to prove to me she’s stole as much as a pin from them Nolan brothers, never mind three ornery mules.”

  Mrs. Nolan’s fate wore heavy on his mind. “Do you think a woman would be treated as harshly as a man accused of such a crime?”

  “I’d like to think folks out here would have themselves a load more sense than to do something so thick-headed. But…” He shook his head. “Sometimes, a body can’t find no accounting for some’s foolishness.”

  Chills wracked Nathan. The notion didn’t even bear considering; it was too hideous for words. The image of the slender widow burned in his mind again. She’d already borne more than he cared to imagine at the hands of the crude brothers. Would she be forced to face even more? This time, would the last living Nolan brother demand her life in trade for the ownership of three mules?

  “Do you think Theo’s accusations come from grief?” he asked. “The fellow did lose his brother.”

  “Dunno. Do ya think that fool man thinks his sister-in-law’s responsible for Roger’s death?”

  “I don’t know how anyone could think that, under the circumstances. But regardless what he thinks, it seem
s he’s determined that she pay for his brother’s life with hers.”

  A painfully short time after her eyelids closed, raised male voices not too far away roused Faith from a deep and peaceful sleep. She faced a momentary disorientation, since she didn’t recognize her surroundings at first. But only too soon she remembered. As the images sped through her thoughts, she wished she hadn’t woken up. Who would want to find herself confronted by the consequences of all that had happened?

  At least she didn’t have to go out there, where the men were. Certainly, not yet. The latest spurt of belligerent discussion on the opposite side of the door sounded as though it came from Theo Nolan. She had no desire to see him so soon again—if ever. But if she stayed in Mr. Bartlett’s bed much longer, anyone could come looking for her. She didn’t want that.

  As she considered her limited options, the conversation outside became a full-blown argument. She had no idea what the disagreement was about, but it didn’t take a particularly clever person to suspect it might have something to do with her and the events at the general store. For the first time in her life Faith chose cowardice over courage and burrowed deeper into the comfort of the bed.

  From the relative safety of her warm cocoon, she strained to make out the words. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t clearly hear what was being said. Curious, probably too curious for her own good, and frightened about her immediate future, she pushed aside the covers and tiptoed to the door.

  By that time, however, the men had lowered their voices, and she still couldn’t catch the gist of the conversation, but there did seem to be a new and authoritative voice added to the mix. That could only mean one thing.

  Marshal Blair had arrived.

  Faith’s heart began a steady, increasingly hard pounding in her chest. Her temples started to throb again, and the rhythmic beat quickly rendered her lightheaded. Fear was a dreadful emotion, one that she wanted to eliminate, but she found it impossible to do. Theo had a mean streak as deep and wide as Roger’s had been, and he wanted to punish her. She was sure his vindictiveness stemmed from more than the supposed theft of the mules.

  Theo blamed her for not saving Roger’s life. He wanted someone to blame.

  “…I tell ya!” Her brother-in-law’s voice was unmistakable. The volume had risen with each word, and she was only too familiar with his ill will. Theo was out for blood.

  Her blood.

  The time had come to put an end to her distasteful cowardice and confront her accuser. With that fact firm in her mind, Faith dressed, and then laced her boots back up. She stepped up to the washstand to splash cool water on her face. She dried off with the length of towel hanging over the washstand’s dowel rod at the right of the basin, undid her braid, and ran her fingers through her hair until she reached the blood-encrusted strands. Distaste made her stomach churn. Determined to get on with things, she dampened the hair until it softened again, and then she used the towel to daub off the mess. Once it felt as though she’d cleaned off the worst of it, she wove her hair into the usual plait. When ready, Faith squared her shoulders. Chin up, she strode to the door, and then on into the midst of the gathered men. Her approach put an immediate end to their discussion.

  All eyes focused on her.

  Fear again fluttered in her middle, but one more time, she called on the disgust she now felt toward the weakness she’d demonstrated for three years to help her force it aside. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m glad to see all of you gathered in one place. I do believe the time has come to put an end to the foolishness that led to your meeting here today.”

  “Foolishness!” Theo shoved his chair away from the table. One of the legs caught a rough edge on the puncheon floor, and the chair fell with a clatter.

  He ignored it. “You can’t tell me it’s fine to go killing my brother, and then jist call it silliness. See?” He turned to the sturdy gentleman with keen silver eyes. “I toldja she was evil. She kilt Roger, burnt the store, stole my mules, and now goes and says it’s all silliness. She’s gotta pay for all she’s done. We hang murderers and horse thieves in these here parts. You’re always so full of your job, Marshal Blair, so, here. Do it. See to it she hangs for her crimes.”

  He was accusing her of murder now? Nausea swirled in her throat. Still, Faith couldn’t let Theo see any sign of weakness in her. She squared her shoulders. “I can’t imagine anyone believes I harmed my husband, much less that I’d try and steal the mules.”

  Theo stood and approached her. “Is Roger dead?”

  What was he up to now? “Yes.”

  “And you was in the cabin, right?”

  Again, she answered. “Yes.”

  “Really, now,” Mr. Bartlett said, “is this—”

  Theo glared the logger silent as he took another step toward Faith. “Was anyone else in the cabin with you and Roger?”

  She’d reached the end of her patience. “This is silly. You know I was the only person with Roger after you left the cabin.”

  He spun, faced the other men, arms opened wide. “See? She done said it herself. If Roger died, it’s on account of her. He didn’t do himself in, and no one else was there what coulda done it. Arrest her, Marshal Blair!”

  Faith gasped.

  Woody clomped to her side.

  Mr. Bartlett crossed his arms and squared his jaw to rocklike firmness as he watched Theo.

  The marshal, a man who all in Bountiful considered wise and willing to suffer no fools, narrowed his eyes. “I’ll admit it’s a strange situation here, but I don’t know that I have enough details to do such a thing. What exactly did happen, Mrs. Nolan?”

  In the calmest voice she could muster, Faith went over everything she could remember about the day before. She told about her trip up to the logging camp with the supplies, she told of her return, she mentioned Theo’s presence, and she told of the time she spent out in the barn with the mules.

  She even mentioned her argument with Roger.

  That caught the lawman’s attention. “What were you quarreling about, ma’am? It’s important.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she daren’t look at Woody or Mr. Bartlett or the red-haired logger she’d heard called Matt. “Well, sir, it’s not quite so simple. You see, Mr. Nolan—my husband, late husband—ran the general store. And…well, I’d made a decision to do something that affected the store and he didn’t approve.”

  “Did you know he wouldn’t approve when you decided to do that…thing?”

  Faith’s cheeks felt on fire. “Yes, sir.”

  “See?” Theo said again. “She was up to no good all along.”

  Her brother-in-law’s comment irked her mightily. “If anyone was up to no good, why, it was Roger. And maybe you, as well.”

  A gasp.

  A sputter.

  Feet shifted.

  A chair creaked.

  But no one spoke.

  She went on. “Roger had done some things I couldn’t approve. Things that were wrong, that went against all that is good and honest and righteous. I couldn’t go along with him and still face myself, much less God, every morning. I had to right his latest wrong. My husband didn’t much like that.”

  Mr. Bartlett made an odd sound deep in his throat. “Did he…did Roger strike you?”

  Shame made her shrink in place. How could she tell a man so confident, so strong, that she’d been too weak to stand up to Roger? How could she face him, knowing she’d stayed with a brute because she’d had nowhere else to go? How could she tell him she and Roger had argued over the supplies he himself had ordered and paid for?

  How could she tell anyone how cruelly Roger had dealt with her, how his hand had connected more often than not?

  She couldn’t.

  “No, sir. Roger didn’t strike me.” Not that last time. “I was near the hearth, and had the fireplace poker in my hand. He reached for it, and—ah…well, I stumbled and fell. I don’t know what happened after that, seeing as I lost consciousness after I struck my head. By the time
I came to, Roger was on the floor, and a whole lot of blood had pooled all around him. I have no idea how that happened. I was unconscious.”

  “Now, ain’t that convenient?” Theo said, his sarcasm jabbing at Faith.

  “No,” she countered, her gaze firmly on the marshal, “it’s truly most inconvenient. I can’t give an accounting of those minutes, more than likely close to a half hour, where somehow Roger died.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Marshal Blair said. “You’re right about that. It would indeed be most helpful if you could tell us what happened. Are you sure you didn’t strike your husband with the poker?”

  “Not while I was conscious, I didn’t. But since I was out for a bit, I can’t say exactly what I did. Still and all, I don’t think it’s likely I got up, took the poker from him and cracked his head with it, then went back and lay down where I fell against the hearth. All with no recollection—”

  “Aha!” Theo exclaimed. “She jist said she don’t know what she did. Can’t have it both ways, Faith. You hafta know you didn’t kill Roger or you can’t know you dinnent kill him.”

  “Well, there goes the farm,” Woody added, not quite helpfully.

  The marshal looked around the room, clearly taking note of the various responses. Then he turned back to Faith. “What’s this about stolen horses?”

  She took a deep breath, shook her head. “There are no horses involved, sir. And there is no theft involved, either.”

  “Sure is, Marshal Blair.” Theo’s smarmy grin vanished right off his face. “There’s the thievery of val-u-ble livestock taken place here.”

  The marshal’s gaze never left her face. “In your own words, if you please, ma’am. Tell me what all this is about stolen horses—or livestock, whichever it rightly might could be.”