Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  “Been down there already, and he weren’t there.” Theo narrowed his small, dark eyes, fixing her with one of the mean, hate-filled stares she had come to know too well. “I hear you had yourself an accident. And even Bartlett’s gone back to his camp by now. I reckon it’s time to have us that there trial without wasting any more time so’s they can hang ya for your sins right away.”

  The chorus of gasps reminded Faith of the women on the front pews. As much as she’d enjoyed the morning, she doubted any of those lovely ladies would ever spare her the time of day again.

  “I didn’t kill Roger, and I didn’t burn down the cabin.” She decided to try to use logic, even though she’d never known Theo to indulge in the habit. “Why would I want to kill my husband? Why would I want to burn down our business and home? I have nowhere to go now, and no means to provide for myself. I’d never be so foolish.”

  Theo jutted out his chin. “All’s I know is you was trying to steal them mules. I figger you must’a wanted to sell them off. They’re worth something plenty. You’d have enough to…oh, I dunno. Do whatever you womenfolk do with cash.”

  “Really, now, Mr. Nolan,” Olivia said as she strode up to Faith’s side. “That sounded like a most offensive comment. I do hope I misheard you. You can’t be berating a brand-new widow, can you? I’m sure you wouldn’t be so quick to insult Mrs. Nolan.”

  “I figger by offing my brother she at least insulted me, if not lots more’n that. He were my brother, ma’am. M-my brother.” He slapped his worn hat against his leg. “She’s nothing but a killer and a thief.”

  “Has it occurred to you, Mr. Nolan,” Addie offered from Faith’s other side, “that you could be mistaken? That you might be accusing her wrongly?”

  “I know what I know—”

  “Mr. Nolan,” Marshal Blair said, clapping a large hand onto Theo’s shoulder. “I would hope you haven’t made yourself a nuisance with the ladies.”

  Theo shook off the lawman’s clasp. “I thought you said you’d be setting up to try this killer, but it’s been days since we come to town, and you ain’t done nothin’.”

  The marshal leaned against the doorframe. “Well, now, Mr. Nolan. I reckon you know we need a judge to have us a proper trial, don’t you?”

  Faith’s brother-in-law frowned. “I suppose.”

  “See here. I’ve taken it upon myself to send to Portland for one. It could take the fellow some time to travel here to Bountiful.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no other way to do this,” the marshal said. “You’ll have to wait him out. He’ll get here soon enough. That is, if you’re still wanting that trial.”

  “’Course, I want her tried. My brother’s still dead, ain’t he? And she’s out here, having herself a…a…” He glanced around the sanctuary, his gaze pausing at the table. “Is that a ladies’ tea? After she kilt Roger? How long you gonna make me wait to take care of her”—feminine gasps erupted in a furious flurry—“er…to do some kinda justice? She kilt Roger, so she needs to hang.”

  Mrs. Alton stepped up to Theo’s side. “You’ll have to wait at least as long as it takes the good Lord to get the man here, I’ll have you know. God’s time isn’t necessarily our time, but it’s always the perfect time. Now, I’ll thank you to take your leave. The ladies and I are mighty busy with Bible Society business. Unless you’d like to join us in our work?”

  Horror widened Theo’s eyes. “No, no. I suppose I hafta wait, seeing as I cain’t go fetch that judge myself.” He spun around and stalked off, muttering under his breath.

  Faith suspected he’d go find his pal Hector Swope, and the two of them would cook up a fresh serving of their usual trouble. Regardless, she felt a great deal of relief. As long as he didn’t come to look for mischief anywhere in her vicinity, she’d rest much easier.

  Marshal Blair turned to her when Theo had gone a ways down Main Street. “I bought us some time, ma’am. Now it’ll be a matter of me finding who did kill Roger.”

  “You believe me?” she asked.

  The lawman studied her intently. “Can’t say I see a reason why you woulda killed him. And the store?” He shook his head. “It would make no sense for you to light the place on fire.”

  She let out a heartfelt sigh. “Thank you.”

  “Enough of this,” Mrs. Alton said. “I have a lovely luncheon set out on the table. Please do join us.”

  He laughed. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mrs. Alton, ma’am, but I don’t think I’m suited to a sewing party, even if the meal’s wonderful, which I’m sure it is.”

  Her hostess’s eyes twinkled. “I hear you take all your meals at the hotel these days, Marshal Blair. I’m sure I can fix that small problem soon enough. It’s all a matter of finding you a fine wife. It’s about time you settled down.”

  Although the marshal tried to disguise it, alarm hit him hard. “As I said, Mrs. Alton, I’ll be leaving you ladies to your needlework. I have plenty of work waiting on me down at the jail.”

  Olivia and Addie chuckled as he hurried down the front steps. “He does need a wife,” Olivia said. “And I’ve decided I’m going to find him one.”

  “You don’t have enough to do with a husband and two children?” Addie asked her friend, a russet eyebrow raised, mischief in her voice.

  Olivia gave her friend what struck Faith as a secretive smile. “Hm…I can always do a mite more.” She turned toward the table. “Now then, how about if we return to our meal? And the dressmaking bee.”

  Faith closed her eyes briefly. Who knew how the rest of the women would receive her, now that they could no longer ignore all the dreadful accusations Theo had flung her way.

  But when she reached the table, they all swarmed around her.

  “What a horrid man—”

  “How did you survive all that time with those brothers?”

  “And he says you did what to the—”

  “The gall!”

  To Faith’s amazement, not a one seemed to have believed a word Theo had said. They were all outraged on her behalf. Little by little, as the early afternoon unfolded, she began to let go the tension that had been her constant companion for so long.

  But still, she wondered how long that time the marshal had bought would last.

  Chapter 11

  “You recollect me of a bear with a sore tooth,” Woody complained. “Cain’t you find a spot to sit still for a spell? What’s on your mind?”

  Nathan felt a wave of heat spread from the back of his neck up to his hairline. He’d thought he’d hidden his worry from his men. Clearly, Woody had a talent for observation greater than he’d thought.

  “Nothing much.” He stole a glance at his cook and friend. “I’m just thinking. I have to figure out how I’m going to get supplies out here, now that the general store’s gone.”

  Woody scratched his chin through his grizzled beard. “You got a point there. What are you thinking?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to put in that road we talked about and open my own store. In the meantime, I may make Theo an offer for those three mules. I don’t think he really wants them, no matter what he says.”

  “Bah!” Woody shook his head. “There’s something else there. Don’t reckon that lazy Theo’s gonna feed them animals or muck the barn out. Can’t think why he’d be so stubborn about them. Even for the store. All’s I can reckon is he’s wanting the place to set someone up to run the business, and he figgers he’ll take in buckets of gold without busting a sweat.”

  “I doubt anyone’s going to make the place pay besides Faith. She was the one who handled the orders, who ran the store, who stocked the shelves, and she even had to deliver the last load. He’ll never work half as hard as she did.”

  “And about them mules…well, he ain’t come for ’em, you know.”

  “I know.” He resumed his pacing.

  Woody seemed satisfied.

  For the moment.

  More pacing.

  A handful of minutes l
ater, the old logger shoved his chair back and limped to the stove. “Here,” he said shortly. “Have yourself some of this coffee. Y’ain’t gonna sleep none tonight, so you may as well fret wide awake.”

  “Well, that tar you brew sure will keep me from sleeping all night.”

  “Watch what you call tar, son. It’s what wakes you up—”

  “I know, I know. It’s what wakes me up in the morning. Tell you what. How about you go to sleep? I can fret over my finances all by myself. Without need of your foul coffee.”

  Woody nodded. “I’m going. A body cain’t be keeping up with you young bucks without a blink of sleep. Ain’t been too many times lately I been able to get even that much.” He headed off to his room. At the door, he paused. “Ain’t a whole lot going on up here, son. Why’n’t you stay in town and keep an eye on her? Y’ain’t gonna rest until you do.”

  Nathan didn’t respond. There wasn’t much to say. As usual, with his homespun way of seeing the world, Woody had identified the problem without Nathan spelling it out.

  He knew Theo had stayed in town after he’d returned to the camp. The younger Nolan brother wouldn’t drop the matter of the trial. He was too cussed a…well, mule.

  Olivia and Eli had tried to persuade him to stay with them until Adam Blair heard back from the judge he’d contacted. But Nathan wasn’t one to shirk his responsibility at the logging camp. And Mrs. Faith Nolan wasn’t his responsibility.

  Even though it sure felt that way.

  He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her while he continued to cut down trees without a care in the world.

  The box lunch auction had been postponed after the accident that injured both Mrs. Alton and Faith. In spite of the warm friendship the Bible Society ladies had extended her, she hadn’t wanted to attend such a public town event. But she hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse her hostess would accept. Or Olivia.

  “You must get your mind off your troubles,” her new friend had insisted one afternoon as they put the finishing touches on two of Faith’s new dresses. “It’s not right to stay inside and do nothing but fret yourself into a sickbed. And since you do need to eat, all you have to do is make two or three servings, then pack it all in a box, and tie it up with a pretty ribbon bow. Who knows? One of the local fellows might buy it and sweep you off your feet.”

  “Olivia! I couldn’t possibly. You know I’m still in mourning. For at least a year.”

  She scoffed. “Never you mind that, Faith. You’ve lived out here most of your life. Those things don’t matter so much in the West. You need a husband, that much I can see. And all these lonely fellows…well, we have few unmarried ladies in Hope County. I’d say that’s the perfect recipe for a wedding.”

  Memories of her marriage struck fear in Faith’s heart. “Not at all for me. I’ve learned those kinds of basic needs aren’t what make for a good marriage at all. Don’t forget. I already walked down that path. Waiting for the Lord, that’s what works. But honestly, I don’t think He’s going to have me wait for a future husband. Not after I made such a mess of things the first time around.”

  “That’s your fear talking.”

  “What’s wrong with learning from your mistakes?”

  Olivia hadn’t been able to counter that nugget of wisdom. By the same measure, she hadn’t been able to extract a promise from Faith about the upcoming auction. After a bit, she’d stopped pushing. Faith’s relief had been almost palpable. She hadn’t wanted to make more statements only to have Olivia take them apart, word by pointed word.

  But she wasn’t about to go.

  Which determination got her absolutely nowhere, since on the Sunday chosen for the rescheduled event, Faith found herself walking to the church across the wide yard between the two buildings, Mrs. Alton on her one side, Olivia on the other. All three carrying the lunches they had prepared.

  “You do know you’re a mite persistent, right?” she asked, resignation in her voice.

  Olivia’s smile could have lit up the entire sanctuary. “My very dear Mr. Whitman tells me so all the time.”

  Faith shook her head. “Poor man never had a chance when you moved into his house.”

  Olivia pulled up to a stop, strong feelings clear in her serious expression. “Please tell me you’re not saying I set my cap for the man, Faith Nolan. Because I’ll have you know I did no such thing. It all happened as I told you—”

  “I surrender!” she said, laughing. “A woman can’t even make a silly comment without you pestering her into a stern discussion.”

  Olivia shrugged. “A woman can’t give up when she knows she’s right. Especially after town wags leveled that exact accusation at me back when it all took place.”

  When they reached the church, they set the lunches on a table outside with the others. As the women took their seats in church, Olivia with her family, and Faith with Mrs. Alton, Olivia’s words continued to wend their way through her efforts to focus on Reverend Alton’s sermon. Was God trying to tell her something through her friend’s words? Was she giving up too easily?

  Had she given up in the face of Roger’s mistreatment too quickly? Had she tolerated the intolerable? Then again, what could she have done differently?

  Before Faith knew it, the service was over. She had no idea what the reverend had taught, or even what hymns the congregation had sung. Guilt struck, and she confessed her failing to her heavenly Father, asking forgiveness for her distraction.

  Instead of a steady stream of departing churchgoers, all the congregants in the church bustled around the sanctuary, helping to move the pews out of the way. A number of long, sturdy tables were brought in from various neighbor homes and set up in the large room, then covered with snowy-white tablecloths. A mountain of cleverly decorated box lunches was stacked in front of the altar, and as soon as the flurry of setting up was done, butterflies swarmed in Faith’s middle.

  Her nerves made swallowing difficult.

  Even though it could prove mighty embarrassing, she decided she hoped no one would buy the box tied with ribbons of green-and-white gingham left over from a dress Olivia had helped her daughter fashion over the past summer. Faith didn’t think she could abide making light chatter with someone who’d later boast he’d broken bread with a vile killer.

  Even though she’d killed nobody.

  As Faith fretted in silence, a rustle of whispers erupted in the church when the door opened again and in walked five men in military attire. She recognized Captain Roberts and Sergeant Graves right away. Olivia had mentioned that an invitation had gone out to the nearest post. It would seem the soldiers were interested in home-cooked luncheons and female companionship. This, even though they’d missed the Sunday service. Faith thought a couple of the military men with the captain and sergeant looked familiar, and reckoned they might have shopped at the general store or visited Roger once or twice before, joining the officers on their buying trips—trips that often turned into…more. Her husband hadn’t been particular about drinking companions.

  Amid the hubbub of greetings that surrounded the arrival of the soldiers, the gathered congregants settled out into two groups, the men on one side of the sanctuary, and the women on the other. Reverend Alton led the auctioneer, Bountiful’s carpenter, Mr. Tom Bowen, to the front, and in minutes, the event got started.

  “What have we here?” Mr. Bowen asked in his booming voice. “It’s a right pretty lunch, and I can say it smells awful good. I might could be talked into skipping lunch with my family for this fried chicken—”

  “Thomas Bowen!” a plump lady in a nice blue dress trimmed in gray lace exclaimed. “Stop your nonsense right this minute, or you might find yourself without a dinner from now on.”

  “Aw…Irma,” he said, pretending to be chastised, but his eyes revealed his mischief. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, darling. You know I’m partial to your cooking. It’s just that…” He shrugged. “We have us some right good cooks here in Bountiful, it seems.”
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br />   Somewhat mollified, Irma gave a loud “Hmph!” and retreated to her chair.

  The men on the right side of the sanctuary laughed.

  The women echoed Irma’s exclamations of disgust.

  “Let’s see now…where was I?” Tom made a great show of forgetfulness. “Ah, yes! I’m seeing who the lucky fella will be what’ll buy this lovely lunch. Who’ll offer me five cents to start the bidding? And remember, the money’s for a good cause. Our ladies want to continue to supply missionaries with copies of the Good Book, so’s they can reach unchurched folks in China.”

  Chatter broke out as some of the men gathered to stand in a small crowd in front of Tom. Eventually, Sergeant Graves began the bidding. Tom’s voice carried throughout the large room, his antics amusing the attendees, as he teased ever-​increasing amounts for the brightly decorated lunches. He displayed quite a talent as an auctioneer, as he interspersed his sing-song patter with laughter and additional commentary. For the most part, husbands bought their wives’ concoctions. Those purchases elicited scant attention. It was when only the last few lunches were left at Tom’s side that everyone’s keen interest was piqued.

  Those remaining boxes were the ones known by most to have been packed by the few unwed ladies in the area. Only five boxes had yet to be sold. One of them was Faith’s green-and-white bow-bedecked offering. A queasy sensation sloshed around her middle. She gave the front doors a longing glance. She would much rather be just about anywhere but here.

  For the first time since the auction had started, Tom Bowen fell silent. While he’d held on to his audience’s attention with his humor up until then, his sudden silence was even more effective. The overall hubbub in the church slowly died out.

  “Well, now,” the carpenter said when a fly might have been heard bat its wings. “I see we’ve arrived at the best part of the auction. It’s the single ladies’ turn to charm us men—er…the unmarried men among us with their cooking charms.”