Deke put his forehead to Flapjack’s and was rewarded with a whinny. “I beg to differ. Flapjack’s smarter than a whip.”
****
Dessa prayed for a miracle as she struggled up hill in the darkness. Her oil lantern swayed with her waddling steps. She needed to inspect the hayloft.
Her husband had been reared a Quaker and while, sadly, he hadn’t followed their beliefs he had built his barn in their style. Built into a hill, the barn was two stories. The lower half housed the animals, and at one time had been home to a team of horses, a sturdy mule, and two cows. Only one cow remained, and Suki was sleeping. The upper half of the structure held the hay, as well as the wagon, a sleigh, and various plows and tools Ori had used when he’d farmed and tanned hides for trade—the honest living he’d earned before drink had taken him over and he’d turned to schemes and plans for making a quick dollar instead of old fashioned hard work.
After his death all the animals and equipment had been sold or traded to pay his debts. Other than Suki, she retained only the sleigh, the ramshackle wagon, the mule, and a plow.
Could Ori have secreted a fortune here?
She opened the barn door and slipped inside. Only a sparse layer of hay remained in the hayloft. She scanned the walls for something, anything.
She thought back to the fateful day when Ori’d returned home, shot, and bleeding. He’d been gone over a year, but she’d nursed his wounds like the faithful wife she had always been. He’d revealed precious little about the origin of his injuries or the reason he’d returned. He’d been getting better, on the road to recovery, and Dessa had decided the moment he was well, she was returning home to Kentucky. She’d sent her cousin, J.J., a telegraph to come and get her and her children.
But his wound had suddenly blackened and gangrene set in. The doctor gave her laudanum to ease his pain. Knowing his prognosis, Ori downed the whole bottle when she’d gone to town with the girls. J.J. had arrived and instead of carting her home, he’d dug a grave.
It had been while J.J. was with them the girls came down with scarlet fever. Thank God, J.J. had been there to help. He’d fetched the doctor and even paid his fees.
After they knew the girls would live but were too weak to move, J.J. plowed and planted a small garden. He’d given her enough money to get by and made her promise to let him know if she needed help again. He’d said he’d come back before the baby came. So far she hadn’t seen him. Silently, she willed J.J. to her. More like her brother than her cousin, J.J. had always been there for her.
If she could get to town, she’d send him a telegram.
Hefting the large pitchfork, she strained to move remaining hay from the bin. She crawled into the hay bin and bent to the hiding place underneath. She hadn’t looked in the small hole dug into the earth and hidden by the wooden bottom of the hay bin in years. Her fingernails broke as she hastily pried the flat wooden top open.
If a strong box had been here at one time there was nothing left now. Only a dusty, web-filled hole greeted her. A hiccough became a sob that dissolved into bitter tears. Her grief shook through her stirring her child from its slumber. The infant protested with several kicks bringing her back from her despair. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. She had to find a way out for her children. This child deserved a chance as did her two sleeping daughters. She didn’t know how, but she would find a way, she had to.
Chapter Two
The sound of a rider approaching in the night alerted Dessa to danger. She dried her tears and grabbed her pitchfork just before there was a knock on the half-closed barn door.
“It’s mighty late for a social call.” She spoke loudly hoping whoever it was would go on their merry way. Instead, the man opened the door and walked inside. Silhouetted in moonlight, he removed his hat in a respectful gesture.
“Ma’am.” He bowed his head.
She recognized Sheriff Jonah Beckett more from his lanky stance than anything else. She relaxed a little.
“It’s mighty late to be feeding the animals.”
Tell him, tell him everything. No, I can’t. Even if he does get Blake, there are two more Henry brothers.
“I wasn’t feeding the animals. I was out here getting old feed sacks. I make them into pinafores for the girls.” That was kind of true, but mostly not.
“Mrs. Courtland, we know Blake Henry was here earlier in the evening. And know you’ve been keeping time with him.” The sheriff’s gaze dropped to her belly.
Dessa stiffened with pride. She put her free left hand over the baby. “And?” She could see what he was thinking.
“I hate to ask but is that Blake Henry’s child?” His voice softened as if in regret.
“My husband died in April. This is his child.”
“There’s a lot of talk back in town about you and Blake Henry.” Jonah prodded. “You should know not all of it’s good.”
She snorted. “You mean none of it’s good.” She laid down the pitchfork and walked into the light. The lawman’s eyes narrowed.
“You been crying?” Nothing got past Beckett.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “I’m ready to deliver. I have two young daughters. I barely have enough to feed them. I am unable to go to town and unable to hunt for game. It’s Christmas. It sure would be nice if someone would offer a hand, but no, all people can do is point a finger. I am alone, Sheriff. I need help.”
Beckett let out a heavy sigh. “And Blake Henry? Isn’t he helping?”
“He was my husband’s business associate. Not mine.” She sniffed back the threatening tears. “He sure isn’t helping.”
“Let me escort you back to the house. Tomorrow I’ll make sure my deputy, Deke Ramey, brings you and your girls out some food and finds someone to look in on you.”
“Thank you, Sheriff, but ain’t nobody going to want to look in on me. Truth or not, to them I’m Blake Henry’s woman and nobody’s going to help me.”
Chapter Three
Deke checked his saddle bags one last time. He’d packed a change of clothing in preparation for his trip to Angel’s Landing. He was ready for this assignment, ready for the challenge, but it didn’t seem Sheriff Beckett felt the same. Even now Jonah, paced back and forth like a wild animal cornered and seeking a way out.
“You send me a telegram as soon as you get to Angel’s Landing. Then get some food and hightail it out to the widow’s. Don’t let her know you’re staying in the woods keeping a watch on the place.” Jonah paused. Was the look on the sheriff’s face worry or concern?
“You know if you don’t think I can do this, send someone else.” Deke tried to keep the bitter edge from creeping into his voice.
The sheriff sighed. “It’s not that. If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t send you.” Jonah looked down at the floor. “It’s just...this is a dangerous situation, and you’re going in alone. I hate sending a deputy, any deputy, into a situation like this. There are so many things that could happen.”
“I’ll watch my back.” Deke threw his shaving kit into the bag and closed it.
Jonah gave a snort. “You better, your sister will kill me if anything happens to you.”
“I will, boss.”
Deke knew this was a chance to prove himself. Prove he was worthy of the badge he wore on his chest.
“I wouldn’t push this, but that woman got to me. I felt so bad for her.” Jonah paced again. “Ain’t no one else going to help her, if we don’t.” He sighed. “If she truly is on her own she’s in a bad situation. I know the Henry brothers are your kin and all...” Jonah scratched his forehead and never really finished the thought.
Deke smirked. “Not on paper they ain’t.” Ethan was his father, but his ma had given the credit to her first husband, hence his last name. Jonah was worried the widow was doing the same thing—expecting Blake Henry’s child, but giving the credit to her dead husband.
“I would go if I could.” Jonah didn’t need to say anymore.
; Their posse hadn’t been without merit. They’d had information. Blake Henry had definitely been spending time with Odessa Courtland. Her husband had been one of Blake Henry’s planners, a go to man.
Now this woman apparently was ready to drop a baby and her younguns needed food. Henry had been to see her several times according to the town’s folk, and talk about town was the kid was Blake Henry’s, but, if that was the case, he’d have supplied the woman with the necessities. There must be something Henry wanted from her, and she wasn’t talking. Deke would watch her house and keep a look out for Blake Henry. If it was something important, Blake would show up again, and he would be waiting.
He grabbed the bag he’d packed with necessities for a few days’ stay in Angel’s Landing and hoped it didn’t take a week. It would have been nice to be home for Christmas, but this was his job, and his uncle needed to be captured.
Flapjack was ready, saddled, and waiting by the post at the jailhouse. Deke walked past Jonah who eyed him with something that looked a bit like envy. Deke’s mouth twitched. It probably was killing the sheriff to have to sit this one out. “I’ll do my best, Jonah.”
“I know you will.” Jonah gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and Deke tried not to rankle. He was twenty-five now, not some green fifteen-year-old who’d come into the jail filled full of buckshot. He wanted Jonah to trust him and quit treating him like a kid.
Deke looked to Jonah, noting how the crinkles at the edge of his eyes had deepened over the years. He knew Jonah was pushing forty, and around these parts that was getting old for a sheriff.
“Look, if you get into any trouble, get out of there lickety split.” Jonah grinned. “Cordie’d kill me if something happen to you, and you’re my only deputy on the lean side of thirty so keep your head and watch out for that uncle of yours.”
“Sure thing. I’ll check back in five days. If not, I’d appreciate if you’d come looking for me.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“Shoot, as pretty as you say that widow is I might just move on in myself.”
****
A day came and went. Sheriff Beckett’s help never arrived. Dessa’d gone to bed more drained than ever after another round of futile searching. She felt as if she’d barely closed her eyes, gritty and swollen from all the tears, when a loud sound woke her. In her semi-conscious state, she registered splintering wood and several loud thumps. She sat bolt upright in bed and listened. There was a muffled voice that seemed to come from the non-functioning fireplace in her bedroom. A string of cuss words she was glad her girls couldn’t hear floated to her. She was too scared to move, too scared to scream. There was a man in her chimney.
The full moon spilled its light into her room, but it wasn’t enough to light the recesses of the hearth at the opposite end of the room. Orion had scrimped on the materials and made the chimney of sticks and mud; as a result, the chimney had caught fire back when Hannah had been a baby. Orion had promised he’d repair it. When the snows had blown in the open hole, he’d covered it with a board. Repair day had never dawned. Now, apparently, someone walking across the roof of her little house had fallen through the rotten board.
Another curse made her wince and drew her to reality. Whoever he was, he must be stuck. With as little noise as possible, Dessa lit her kerosene lamp. The sound of little bare feet slapping the floor told her the girls had heard the commotion and were on the way.
Light filled the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Before she managed to check out the chimney, she was assaulted.
“Ma!” Hannah scurried up into her bed. “Was that a clatter? Did Saint Nicholas get here early and the roof fall in?”
A clatter? She barely registered the question, but, yes, it certainly was a clatter, and more. She paused shaking the sleep from her muddled brain. Hannah thought Saint Nicholas had landed on the roof. She had to give Hannah credit, had he landed, it probably would have sounded like that.
Leah followed on her sister’s heels.
“Get in this bed both of you and don’t move a muscle. I have to go check this out.”
The girls stared, round eyed at her.
“But Ma, you might scare him off, and then we won’t get any presents.” Leave it to Hannah to reason that.
Odessa walked to her wardrobe and withdrew a loaded rifle from the top. It was just a squirrel gun, but could do damage nonetheless.
“I don’t think St Nicholas is here.” She frowned and told her daughters. Was it Blake Henry or one of his men? It almost had to be. Blake Henry had given her five days. Surely, he wouldn’t go back on his self-imposed deadline. Wasn’t there supposed to be some honor among thieves or something like that?
“Do you think he sent out a scout?”
That was a thought. Someone to check up on her.
“An elf scout to make sure all the chimneys were clear?” Hannah put one finger to her lips. “Hmmm. I bet that’s it.”
She tried not to let her inner anxiety show to the girls as she whispered. “You two hide under this bed, and don’t come out until you hear me yell your names—your full names.” She paused. “If I just yell Hannah and Leah, you two stay put. Ya hear?”
“Yes’m.” Both girls nodded.
Odessa put a finger to her lips and moved to stand on the floor and angled the lantern so its light reached the recessed fire place. It seemed all her blood drained to her toes. A man’s boot-clad feet dangled above the hearth of her defunct fireplace like a limp pair of booted dungarees on a clothes line.
Leah pointed and gasped. “Look at the boots. It is Saint Nicholas. See?”
“He’s not in fur.” Hannah murmured.
“Nope.” Leah agreed. “He doesn’t look chubby neither.”
“But alls we see are legs.”
“Girls, hush,” she reminded, and they clamped hands over their mouths.
Dessa felt her stomach lurch at the sight of study black boots attached to well-muscled legs. Then a bit of hope, who else knew she was here? Oh no, it would be just like J.J. to drop in at Christmas time unannounced. As quickly, she panicked. The man was obviously unconscious. But regardless, she couldn’t leave him stuck in the chimney.
“J.J.?” She stood and held the lamp toward fireplace. She hedged a bit closer, turning toward the bed to signal her chattering daughters to keep still and silent.
She moved closer still. Her bare feet fairly froze on the cold plank floor. She shivered in her plain muslin nightdress. She grabbed a worn quilt she’d laid aside for the birthing and wrapped her upper body in it. “J.J.” she asked again. This time the legs stirred and she jumped. Her heart sped off like a scalded cat. Lord have mercy. She put her palm to her chest.
“No, ma’am.” A strained voice answered. “My name is Deacon Ramey. I’m a sheriff’s deputy.”
The sheriff had mentioned a Deke Ramey. “What are you doing in my chimney?” Her voice sounded gruff and grouchy, but there was a man in her chimney...
“It’s a long story, ma’am. One I’ll be very happy to share with you, but I really need to get out of here. I’ve cut my leg, and it hurts something fierce.”
“How do I know you’re a deputy? You might be some robber come to take all we have?” She hissed at him still trying to still her speeding heart.
“Ma’am, please. Help me.”
The please stopped her. Maybe this wasn’t one of Henry’s men. She doubted the word please was in their vocabulary.
“Not until you explain how you fell in my chimney.”
“There was someone on your roof. And I ran after him. I didn’t know I was running over a patched up hole...” He paused as if he couldn’t continue. Even muffled as it was, his voice was edged with pain.
He didn’t sound like a robber. Neither was his demeanor that of hardened man. He sounded young, eager. She liked the quality of his voice. But now was not the time to be soft.
“Here,” he gave a grunt. “Reach up and get this. Can you see my fingers?” He was t
alking to her again.
“Yes.” She did see them, and her lantern light glinted on a metal object.
“It’s my star.”
Dessa reached up the old chimney, willing her hand not to tremble. The fingers that met hers were calloused and sinewy. She clasped on to something cold and metallic. She pulled her hand free to inspect the object—it was a tin star. “How do I know you didn’t take this from a dead man?” She called up the chimney.
“Because...I didn’t.” He moved and a few drops of blood fell to the hearth.
How was she ever going to get him down? Maybe down wasn’t the option. Up, she needed to move him up.
“I think I can help you. I’m going to drop you a rope, and then you can pull yourself out with it. You think you can do that?”
“I think that’s a mighty fine idea.”
She donned one of her husband’s old calico shirts, grabbed the rope she’d kept in her room to pull on in her labor, and headed out the door. With as much speed as her pregnant body could muster, Dessa lumbered up the hill.
She tied a stout knot around the oak tree and walked across her roof to the broken board. “You still OK?”
“That depends on your definition.”
Slowly, Dessa fed the rope down to the man.
That twisted piece of cord was a marvelous sight to behold. Deke pushed with his left leg. He couldn’t contain his pain and yelled as he pulled his right thigh off something metal sticking out from inside the chimney. He let loose a few more choice words about inept construction and tried to ignore the fire in his right thigh. This was as bad as being shot. He reached with his left hand and pulled his body up the rough rope. He wished for his leather gloves as his right hand reached and pulled his body up a little more.
“Sir? Are you able to climb?” The widow’s melodic voice called down the opening.
“I’m working on it.” He grunted again, his left hand gripped, and he pulled his body upward, pushing off with his good leg. His right thigh was one hot mass of fiery pain. He didn’t want to look at the damage; that was coming. Deke now could see moonlight filtering down to him. When it was blocked, he lifted his head to see a shadowed face.
Down the Chimney Page 2