by S. A. Glenn
She walked over to him, striving to smile. “Emily came back early, doesn’t need me anymore. I don’t think she’s going to be able to pay me.”
“Why not?”
She sat at the bed’s edge and looked up at him. “She didn’t clear it with the superintendent when she left me in charge, so when she asked him for the funds to pay me, he told her that she had already received payment for the summer schooling in her salary—she spent all the money on her leave—it was just a misunderstanding, I guess, Sam. But at least I got a chance to spend time with the children. That’s what’s important; and that I had a lot of fun,” she explained with a forced smile.
“I don’t believe her story, or that you’re happy with this, Kat! I think she used you!” he stewed about.
“It’s not worth getting upset over. Let it go, Sam.”
“I don’t like her getting away with this! You can’t let people walk all over you, Kat. I’ll make sure she pays!”
“What’re you going to do, Samuel?!” she pled, whisking over to the sill of her door to meet him.
“I’m gonna take care of things, Kat, Just you wait ’n’ see,” he grumbled, dashing down the stairs and slamming the back door behind him.
“Wait, Samuel, wait!”
On the steps of the schoolhouse, Emily Cromwell stood in a figure-flattering, moire outing jacket, with a sophisticated gent in a fine-tailored black suit, black gloves and a white, silk vest. They stood close, laughing and touching each other.
A closed horse-drawn carriage sat in front of the school. A debonair looking man is his fifties stood patiently at the vehicle’s door, wearing a custom-made, solid black suit and white top hat made of beaver.
Closing in on the teacher, Samuel glanced over at the calm, collected man next to the carriage who was cradling a white, silk hat and golden-handled cane in his arms. Samuel suspended his face-off with Emily Cromwell, and stood under a large oak next to the carriage. Clearing his hat away from his head, he dabbed away the sweat on his forehead with his dusty sleeve. As he took shelter in the shade, he studied the schoolteacher and her crony, anticipating his own next calculated move. He was annoyed with Emily Cromwell’s smug demeanor, the way she acted like she was so important, up there giggling, carrying on with no concerns in the world. “But what about Katherine, and how you stiffed her, Emily Cromwell?! You’re gonna pay,” he declared aloud with ire.
The butler at the carriage seemed to be listening to Samuel’s wrathful words, though he didn’t bat an eye or look away from his master.
The distinguished gentleman next to Emily Cromwell turned his attention toward his servant. With a hearty and assured foreign accent he called out: “Fréderic, my good maître d`, step away from the coupe and bring my cane and chapeau.”
Samuel promptly sidestepped behind the tree, avoiding Emily Cromwell’s sight.
“Oui, monsieur Pierre, as you ask,” replied Fréderic, in a heavy French accent, as he made his way with a bold limp toward his master.
“Here you are, Monsieur Pierre.”
“Merci beaucou, Fréderic.”
Samuel peeked around the tree trunk, witnessing monsieur Pierre kissing Emily Cromwell’s knuckles, and giving her a quick peck on her lips.
“Psst! Samuel!” a voice whispered from behind him.
He shifted his head around, his heart skipping a beat from the surprise.
Katherine stood there, hiding behind the horse’s head, and waved Samuel over to her. “Come on, Sam. Hurry!”
The butler witnessed Samuel scurry over to Katherine and watched them sneak away.
“What did you do, Samuel?” Katherine asked, adjusting her hat then fanning her face as they headed home.
“I didn’t do nothin,’ yet. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do, but I’ll do something.”
“Don’t do anything rash.”
“Mm-hm,” he mumbled.
She stopped in the middle of the dusty, summery road and turned to Samuel. She took his hard-working, calloused hands into her delicate, manicured ones. Peering deep into his vengeful eyes, she projected a caring smile, beseeching him with a mellow voice, “Please, Sam. Promise me you will not take this any further. Let it end right now. I will take care of it, Okay?”
Her irresistible loving request softened his hardened heart as his vindictive frown twisted into a cheery smile. He crossed his heart. “Okay, Kat, I promise.”
Katherine awakened late Sunday morning due to the clouded-over sky. She lay there for a moment, listening to the silence of the house, hearing only an occasional rumble of thunder creeping toward town. “Why is it so quiet?” she asked herself, getting up to dress.
She moved toward Samuel’s room. With her ear to his door she heard not a sound. She lightly knocked, getting no response. Opening his door, she found his bed made and him nowhere in sight. Being light on her feet, she glided down the staircase in the tomblike quietness. She pulled the back door open, viewing Samuel wiping off his knife with a handkerchief, leaving a red residue upon it. She stood there, not capable of talking or budging.
Positioned at the redwood table, Samuel looked over at her, laying his knife down, a bit of color still upon the blade. “Hey, Kat. Good mornin’ to you.”
“Good morning, Sam. What have you been doing?” she asked with suspicion.
He reached for a porcelain bowl covered with a cloth. “I was gonna surprise you with breakfast, but I guess you caught me.” He uncovered the mystery, revealing a cluster of juicy blackberries, raspberries and cherries. “I cut out the seeds from the cherries for you.”
Her heart became tender, relieved that such an innocent act was committed. “How wonderfully sweet you are, Sam.”
“Just takin’ care of my one and only.”
“Awww,” she romantically expressed with her mouth full of the delectable delight. Picking between her teeth with her pinky nail, she asked, “Are you ready for church?”
“I’m ready.” He threw the cloth onto the table.
“We’ll eat these on the way there,” she decided, grabbing the bowl.
They slipped quietly into the church and sat next to Sara. The coverage of dark clouds gave a welcomed coolness to the worshipers as they attentively listened to Reverend Papanikolaou’s sermon on the two most important commandments.
At the end of his speech he set down his cherished bible, a sad look forming upon his benevolent face. Silently gazing down at the black book with its golden letters, he breathed in deep, releasing it with a nod of disapproval. He then stared out at his concerned followers, dread in his voice. “As you all know,” he started off, “I thrive on bringing tidings of joy, but I cannot do that at this gloomy moment. I must be the bearer of bad news.”
The town people turned, gazing upon each other with faces of uneasy states and blended interests.
Reverend Papanikolaou resumed. “Marshal George Epp came to me early this morning. There has been a wicked crime committed in our God-fearing town. Apparently, there was a robbery—jewelry was stolen—as was a precious life.”
Everyone searched the crowd.
An old, widowed woman sitting in the church’s center stood, and took one last intense glance as she encircled the place with her wide open eyes. “It’s that teacher lady!” she cried out.
The once-quiet congregation buzzed with questions and imperceptible gossip.
“Now, quiet down, everyone. Please!” Reverend Papanikolaou begged, motioning with his hands to retain order.
The townsfolk returned their attention to the reverend.
“Unfortunately, Clara, you are correct,” he told the grief-stricken widow.
“What happened to her? Who done it?” a hardy voice demanded from the last row.
“The marshal doesn’t know who’s responsible, Benjamin,” the reverend an
swered. He placed the bible into his grasp as though to give him strength. “Now, please, everyone brace yourselves for what I’m about to say: she was killed with a sharp object—her throat was cut.”
“Oh, my lord!” a somber voice called out.
“Jesus be with her,” another spoke up.
“Everyone, one last thing,” pled the reverend. “The marshal wants to speak with each and every one of you. Try being home today so he’ll get to the bottom of this, okay?”
A flow of nodding heads and affirmations filled the hallowed house.
“Good. Now, before I conclude the services, let us pray for Emily Cromwell. Please, bow your heads.”
A great silence packed the church as parishioners awaited his encouraging and scared gospel, all lowering their heads.
“Our Father in heaven,” started the reverend, “take care of our much loved friend, Emily Cromwell; she was an inspiration to all who knew her. She was kind and compassionate, always willing to help out any of us who needed her arts in the world of teaching. Show her the divine mercy and understanding of the loving God that you are. Let her rest eternally with you in our glorious kingdom.”
Samuel and Katherine looked at each other, and clenched their hands tight, their faces, guilt-ridden.
The reverend continued. “Forgive the sinner; for he or she knows not what he or she has done. We all pray for the soul of the person who harmed Emily Cromwell; that it may not be found by the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is A-bad’don, but in the Greek tongue hath his name A-pol’ly-on; but recovered by you, our Father in heaven, if it will be your will. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
“Amen,” echoed everyone.
“Now, for you, Clara, to help ease your troubled mind…” said the reverend. “Do you remember when Emily helped you plant your garden when you fell down and injured your hip?”
“Yes, Papa, I remember. She turned the soil, then planted carrots, corn, radishes, and cabbage. It took all day. She cooked for me that night. And after that she read me to sleep. I tried to pay her, but she wouldn’t accept a cent. She told me that I was very important to her, that I deserved more than she could do for me. She made me feel needed. I had been feeling down for some time since I hurt myself, but she took away the darkness and drew open the curtains so the light could help me see that life was still worth living. I was eighty-three and she made me feel like my life was renewed. I will miss her dearly, my good friend, Emily Cromwell,” she smiled.
“She brings that light to all of us, even in her passing,” said Benjamin.
“May the Lord our God be with us all. I hope to see everyone next week in good spirit,” finished reverend Papanikolaou.
The shuffling of feet and hushed speech filled the air as the careworn churchgoers exited out into the overcast morning. A steady wind blew dust as a man’s hat flew off of his head. He chased it down a desolate street as the parishioners left for home to gain answers from the marshal.
Samuel, Katherine, and Sara followed the crowd down the sidewalk, Sara spoke of the incident. “Who would do such a thing? Nothing like this has ever happened in Wrangler. The world’s getting crazy! Are you two okay? You haven’t said anything.”
“We’re fine, Mother. Just shocked about what happened.”
“Yeah, shocked, ma’am,” Samuel confirmed.
Samuel and Katherine stood at the redwood table, behind the restaurant. “What if somebody noticed you hanging around at the schoolhouse yesterday? “They’ll say you—” Katherine stopped talking as hard-soled footsteps grew louder from inside the restaurant.
The brass doorknob turned and the squeaking door swung open. Samuel acquired a sour taste in his mouth, wishing not to be present for this unwanted guest—but there he was—the marshal with his worn-out, ten gallon hat with a bullet hole in it, harsh stare, dark black mustache hanging over his lip, six-pointed badge, guns in holsters, and those leather boots with the shiny, silver spurs.
Stepping out from the kitchen, he shut the door behind him, advancing two steps. Removing his hat he said with a sturdy voice, “Howdy, ma’am. You’re Sara’s daughter, right?”
“Yes, sir. My name’s Katherine.”
“Marshal George Epp. Pleased to meet you. And you are Samuel Lee, right, sir?”
“Yes, sir,” Samuel nodded, taking the man’s hand, dying to be elsewhere.
“Well, I’m sure you two know why I’m here.”
“Emily Cromwell,” Katherine offered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s horrible what happened. Have you figured out who did this?” asked Katherine.
He scratched his head and placed his hat back onto his head. “The only thing I can figure is that maybe it was a robbery gone bad. I believe it took place last night or early this morning. A small coffer was found on her bedroom floor. The struggle took place in the living room; that’s where she was found, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Throat cut!”
“Oh, my gracious!” Katherine expelled.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I get carried away sometimes.”
“It’s quite alright, Marshal. I’ll be fine.”
Samuel’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw the knife and towel with redness on them sitting in plain sight. Deciding to knock them off of the table out of view, he casually moved his hand toward the items—then lightning struck behind him, giving off an instantaneous clap of nerve-wrecking thunder. In his fright, Samuel executed his plan, pushing off the towel then the knife that once penetrated his stepfather’s heart.
Screaming at the crash of the hair-raising thunder, Katherine watched Samuel.
But so did the marshal. “What was that?” he grilled Samuel, being a rubberneck.
“What was what?” Samuel asked.
“You dropped something,” said the marshal, making his way around the table.
Katherine fell to the floor and gave out a hideous yell. “MY ANKLE! OH, GOD. MY ANKLE!”
Immediately, the marshal darted over to her rescue, kneeling at her side.
Samuel quickly took hold of the cloth, stuffed it down his trousers then folded up his knife and dropped it into his back pocket. He hurried over to Katherine’s other side, holding her hand as the marshal examined her injury.
“Oh! Ouch! Ouch!” she cried as he touched the area.
“Can you stand, ma’am?”
“I think so, Marshal.”
“Here, Kat, sit,” Samuel told her, pulling out a chair.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll be fine, now,” she squeezed her ankle.
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” The marshal focused back on the side of the table. He walked over to it, crouched down, and searched the area. Cupping his chin, he confessed, “I guess I was mistaken.”
Samuel shrugged his shoulders and shook his head side to side as he displayed his hands, palms up.
“Well, back to my investigation. Did either of you know Ms. Cromwell?”
“I worked as a substitute teacher for her from June 13th till July 4th.”
“I see. Was she sick or something?” asked the marshal.
“No. She wanted to visit her folks in Idaho since she hadn’t seen them for some time.”
“Hmmm. Interesting. And what about you, Mr. Lee, have any contact with her?”
“I was with Katherine when she first met her, just said ‘Hello’.”
“Understood,” replied the marshal, gazing up into the cyan-colored clouds, holding his hat as a gust of wind struck. Concentrating back on them, he asked, “Anything else you can tell me that might be helpful? For instance: Did you see anyone around her you don’t know? Or maybe hear something that perhaps leads to her death?”
Samuel held tight onto his hat. H
e developed a look in his eyes and began telling the marshal about the foreigner. “I saw—”
Katherine intervened with her eyes, shaking her head no.
“You saw what, Mr. Lee?”
“I saw or heard nothing, sir. Sorry,” Samuel replied, taking heed to Katherine’s warning.
“Well, then. I guess there’s nothing else for me here. If you two think of anything that might help me—”
“We’ll let you know, Marshal,” finished Katherine with a pleasant smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. And good to see you again, Mr. Lee.”
“You too, Marshal, sir.”
The marshal peered into the sky once more. “Looks like we’re gonna get hit with some bad weather. I best be getting on my way, folks. Take care, now.” He stepped out from the overhang—then it hit—a downpour of pea-sized hail. He dashed off.
Katherine jumped up from the chair and leapt under the roofed area, taking refuge from the bombardment of ice. “That was close… and in more than one way, I might add!” she declared, removing small lumps of ice from her hair.
“Are you alright. Can you stand with your ankle?”
“You mean this ankle?” she asked with a big grin, hopping around on it like a madwoman.
“I thought you done twisted it, Kat. What’s goin’ on here?”
“It was a diversion so you could stash that stuff. I’m fine.”
“Good thinkin’, Kat. I thought it was just luck…”
“Luck that I hurt myself?” she joked, falling into his arms, smiling up at him.
“You know what I mean! But I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad too that you stopped me from talkin’ ’bout goin’ to see you know who,” he whispered.