A Time to Love

by Al Lacy

  Closing her eyes, she said in a whisper, “Lord, please give me strength for whatever I may find.” She then untied the string that held the flap down and eased into a sitting position, emptying the contents of the envelope in her lap. It was a wad of newspaper clippings. They were from the Sacramento Gazette of recent date. She gasped when a headline seemed to leap at her:

  BANKER BLAKE BARRETT CONVICTED OF GRAND THEFT

  Her stomach fluttered as she unfolded the page and saw the photograph of Blake Barrett. He was blond, fair, and very handsome!

  She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth as she read the story of Blake’s arrest and conviction in court, and his fifteen-year sentence to the state prison at Ukiah, California. The same edition told of Haman Warner, the Pacific Bank and Trust Company’s vice president, becoming owner and president of the bank due to instructions left in the late Bradley Barrett’s will should circumstances ever render his son Blake unable to properly direct the bank.

  A photograph of Haman Warner on the same page made her light-headed.

  She felt ill as she read the other clippings, which told of the arrest and pending trial. Two more photographs showed her the real Blake Barrett, who looked almost exactly as she had pictured him in her mind.

  As she gazed at Blake’s face in the newspaper clipping, she began to weep and say over and over, “Oh, my poor darling! How horrible! How horrible!”

  16

  PRISON GUARD GLENN DOMIRE WAITED while Blake Barrett shuffled into his cell after the evening meal and sagged onto his cot. Blake’s ankles were chafed and aching from the chains he wore each day while working in the chain gang.

  “Blake,” Domire said, “I’m sorry about your ankles. In fact, I’m sorry you have to be in this place at all.”

  “Me, too,” said guard Anthony Tubac, drawing up beside Domire. “But think what would’ve happened to us, Glenn, if he hadn’t been put in here.”

  “We’d have gone to hell, that’s what,” said Domire. “We both know this man is innocent, but I’m sure glad he was sent here. I never would have heard the gospel if Blake hadn’t been here and cared for my soul.”

  The sound of cell doors clanging shut echoed throughout the building as the inmates were locked in their cells for the night.

  “I can’t say I like it here, guys,” Blake said, “but seeing Larry Huffman saved before he was hanged … and seeing you two and Charlie Jacobs and Hal Keeney saved is worth it all.”

  “I’ll bring you some salve for those ankles, Blake,” Tubac said. “It’ll be about half an hour before I can get back.”

  “I appreciate it, Anthony.”

  Domire swung the door shut and both guards looked through the bars at Blake for a few seconds, then moved on.

  Blake removed his shoes and socks and began rubbing his right ankle, which hurt the worst. His mind went to Linda as it did a hundred times a day. Why hadn’t he heard from her? He knew by her letters that Linda was a sweet and compassionate person. Certainly she would write to him at least once after she received the wire from Haman.

  Haman. Maybe somehow he had neglected to send the wire! Maybe Linda came to Sacramento as scheduled, learned of his imprisonment, and went back to Boston. If that was the case, she probably hated him by now.

  No! Not Linda. She was such a sweet Christian, and so full of love for the Lord. If she knew he’d been sent to prison she would make some kind of contact. Wouldn’t she?

  A little more than thirty minutes had passed when Anthony Tubac appeared at Blake’s cell door with a small jar in his hand. Blake started to get up.

  “Just stay there,” Tubac said, unlocking the door. “I know your feet hurt.”

  The guard stepped inside and handed Blake the jar. “This salve will not only heal the chafing, it’ll ease the burning sensation, too.”

  “Good. Maybe I’ll sleep better tonight than I did last night. Thank you.”

  “Anything else I can do for you?” Tubac asked, eyeing Blake’s sore ankles.

  “I was about to ask for a big favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Have you got a few minutes?”

  “Sure. I’ll have to lock the door and talk to you through the bars. We aren’t supposed to fraternize with the inmates.”

  Blake nodded.

  The cell door clanked shut, and Anthony pressed his face to the bars. “What can I do for you, Blake?”

  “You’ve heard of advertising in newspapers and magazines back East for mail order brides, haven’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, let me tell you my story.”

  “You sent for a mail order bride?” Anthony said, looking surprised.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Blake told Anthony Tubac the whole story about meeting Linda Forrest by mail, and of their plans for her to come to Sacramento to become his mail order bride. He explained that he had asked Haman Warner to send a wire to Linda and tell her what had happened and to ask her to write him at the prison.

  “So you see, Anthony, I’ve heard nothing from Linda, and nothing from Haman. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “That would be enough to drive a fella out of his mind,” Tubac said. “Too bad the warden has this rule about no wires or letters going out from inmates till they’ve been here six months. What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping that possibly you might try to persuade Warden Hall to bend the rules a little bit because of my situation, and let me send a wire to Haman. I’ve got to know what’s happened with Linda.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Tubac. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll give it my best. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

  When Blake returned to his cell after another day of work in shackles, he pulled off his shoes and applied more salve to his ankles. He was just finishing when Anthony Tubac stepped up to the barred door and said, “Good news, my friend. Warden Hall has granted one wire, but only one.

  “Great!” said Blake, rising to his feet. “Can I send it now?”

  “You can’t send it,” said Anthony. “I have to send it for you.”

  “Oh. Well, all right. Can you do it now?”

  “It’s ten minutes after four. Will Haman Warner still be at the bank?”

  “Oh, sure. Even though banks close at three, the work goes on until five. He’ll be there. He’s the owner and president of Pacific Bank and Trust Company in Sacramento.”

  “Okay. I’ll send the wire and wait for his reply. See you in a little while.”

  While he waited, Blake sat on the cot and prayed, asking the Lord to make things all right for sweet Linda, and to let him somehow make contact with her. She had to hear it from him that he was innocent.

  Almost an hour had passed when Anthony finally returned. “The news isn’t good, Blake. The return wire was from a Chester Hamilton, who is now the owner and president of the bank. He said Warner sold the bank to him several weeks ago. He left Sacramento almost immediately, and nobody in town knows where he went.”

  Blake’s heart seemed to stop. Why would Haman sell the bank? he asked himself. And why hasn’t he been in touch with me in all this time? His mind was awhirl with questions. What was going on? Had Haman wired Linda as he promised? Or did she come to Sacramento and learn that the man she was to marry had been convicted of grand theft and been sent to prison for fifteen years?

  “Blake, I’m sorry.”

  “No fault of yours,” Blake said. “Would … would you try to talk the warden into letting you send one more wire for me?”

  “He wouldn’t do it, believe me. But I can send a wire from me anywhere I want. Who should I contact?”

  Blake’s features brightened. “Send it to Linda’s father, Nolan Forrest. I’ll write the address down for you.”

  Blake went to the cell’s small table, picked up a stub of a pencil, and wrote the Forrests’ address on a scrap of paper. He handed it to Anthony through the bars and said, “Explain in your wire that you’re a friend of mine, and ask
the whereabouts of Linda. If she’s there, ask if she knows about me and will write to me and let me know how she is.”

  “Will do,” said Anthony. “Be back as soon as I can. Since they’re three hours ahead of us in time, I may not hear back till tomorrow. You’ll probably have to go to supper before I get back, but I’ll let you know as soon as possible what I find out.”

  Blake thanked him and sat back down on the cot. Linda’s face came to his mind’s eye. If only he could make contact with her! Somehow, though he had not met her in person, he had fallen in love with her. His heart yearned for her, and he knew he wouldn’t have peace until she could hear it from him that he was innocent … that he loved her and was sorry for what had happened to destroy their plans for a life together.

  Blake was in the mess hall eating supper when he saw Anthony Tubac come in the door and scan the room. The other inmates at the table looked quizzically at the guard as he came to their table and leaned close to Blake and said, “I’ll see you at the cell later.”

  Tubac’s countenance told Blake that something else was wrong. He lost his appetite and shoved his plate away.

  He had been back in the cell about ten minutes when Tubac appeared at the bars.

  Blake leaped off the cot. “What is it, Anthony?”

  Tubac shook his head. “I couldn’t get the wire to go through from our telegraph key in the office, so I went into town to the Western Union office. They told me the Midwest is getting all kinds of blizzards. Telegraph lines are down over a stretch of over five hundred miles. It’ll be months before service can be restored.”

  Blake nodded solemnly. “Well, thanks for trying, Anthony.”

  “I don’t know near as much as you do about the Bible, Blake, but from what I’ve been reading, it appears that the Lord allows difficult and unpleasant things to come into our lives so we’ll draw closer to Him and trust Him more. Right?”

  “That He does,” Blake said.

  “Well, what you’re going through is sure difficult and unpleasant, but from what I can put together, the Lord says if you stay close to Him, pray a lot, and trust Him, it’ll turn out all right.”

  Blake had to smile. “You’ve learned a lot in your short time as a child of God. I’m proud of you.”

  When Anthony was gone, Blake sat down on his cot, took off his shoes and socks, and began applying salve to his ankles, which were looking better. “Lord,” he said, “I have to admit my faith has grown a bit weak lately. But Anthony’s right. I’m going to stay close to You, pray a lot, and trust You to make all this turn out right. You are the God of the impossible. You can bring it about no matter what the circumstances are.”

  Linda rose from the floor beside Haman Warner’s trunk and stuffed the clippings back in the brown envelope. She wrapped the string around it and carefully descended the steep stairway from the attic, then hurried toward the bedroom. She heard Sadie come in downstairs from her marketing.

  As she stood at the dresser mirror and looked at herself, she hardly recognized the face that looked back at her with its huge, almost opaque eyes gazing out of a pale face.

  She gave herself a mental shake and tidied the strands of hair that had loosened around her temples, then picked up the brown envelope. As she descended the stairs she heard Sadie singing a hymn as she put away foodstuffs in the pantry.

  Linda wished she could slip out without saying anything to Sadie, but that would worry the dear woman. She went toward the sound of Sadie’s singing and stepped into the kitchen. The portly woman’s back was toward her at the pantry door.

  “Sadie, dear,” Linda said softly to avoid startling her.

  Sadie turned to greet Linda, then frowned at what she saw. “Honey, what’s wrong? You’re so pale! Are you sick?”

  Linda shook her head. “No, I’m all right. I—”

  “You don’t look all right. Come to the table and sit down.”

  “Sadie, I can’t. I have a very important errand to run. I’ll be back after a while.”

  Suspicion dawned in Sadie’s eyes. “Have you found out something about the mister? You have, haven’t you?”

  As much as Linda loved and trusted her dear friend, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Sadie what she’d found. The important thing was to get to the sheriff’s office. “I … I can’t tell you anything right now, Sadie. I must go. I love you.”

  With that, Linda disappeared into the hall.

  Sadie blinked, shook her head, then turned back to her work.

  Linda walked fast toward Cheyenne City’s business district. The wind was cold, causing her to pull up the collar of her coat around her ears.

  She thought of the damning evidence she carried in the brown envelope and found herself getting angrier at Haman Warner with every step. She deliberately slowed her pace and forced herself to breathe deeply. That lying hypocrite! she thought. No wonder he kept fouling himself up! Nobody can be a perfect liar!

  She turned the corner onto Main Street. The Laramie County sheriff’s office was on a corner three blocks away. With every step she had to fight her burning anger toward Haman Warner. But when she reached the door of the sheriff’s office, she felt surprisingly calm.

  Pausing for a moment, she looked up and down the street on both sides, making sure Haman was nowhere in sight. She glanced at the Great Plains Bank sign two blocks farther down the street, and her mind went to Blake Barrett languishing in that California prison as an innocent man.

  She took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and entered the sheriff’s office.

  Sheriff Bob Coffield was in his late forties, a tall, rugged individual with abundant salt-and-pepper hair. His heavy mustache was almost totally gray. He was sitting at his desk in the inner office when there was a knock at the door.

  “Yes, Darren?” he called. His booming voice carried easily to the next room.

  The door swung open, and Deputy Darren McGivens said, “Sheriff, there’s a pretty auburn-haired lady out here who would like to see you. She says it’s very important.”

  Coffield rose to his feet. “Send her in.”

  The sheriff mentally agreed with the deputy when Linda came through the door. Indeed, she was pretty.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Sheriff Coffield. Please sit down.”

  Deputy McGivens retreated to the outer office, closing the door behind him.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, ma’am.

  “I’m Linda Barrett—“Linda stopped abruptly when she realized her name was actually Linda Warner. The thought made her stomach lurch. “I’m Linda Barrett, Sheriff. I—”

  “Oh, yes! Blake Barretts wife. My wife and I have our checking account at your husbands bank. He seems to be a fine man. I heard that his fiancée had come from back East somewhere, and that the wedding had taken place after a couple of weeks. What can I do for you?”

  Linda brought the brown envelope into view. Keeping a steadiness in her voice that she didn’t feel inside, she said, “Sheriff, what I’m about to show you involves my husband, and it’s not good. He came here from Sacramento, California. But he’s not Blake Barrett. His name is Haman Warner. I only found that out about an hour ago.” As she spoke, she opened the envelope and dumped its contents on the desk.

  The sheriff frowned, then put his attention on the newspaper clippings.

  “You will note the photographs with their names under them, Sheriff Do you see the one that says Haman Warner?”

  “Yes,” Coffield replied, blinking in amazement. “That’s the man who recently purchased the Great Plains Bank.”

  “Correct. And on the same page is a picture of the real Blake Barrett, who now sits in the Ukiah State Prison in northern California for something he didn’t do. There are two other pictures of Blake Barrett in there.”

  Linda waited quietly while Bob Coffield carefully read each and every clipping. When he read them again, he said, “Mrs.—Oh, I see now why you paused when you introduced yourself. You really aren’t Mrs
. Barrett. You’re Mrs. Warner.”

  “Yes, and sick at heart to learn it,” Linda said levelly.

  Coffield nodded, thought on the situation a moment, then said, “There’s definitely been some skullduggery by Mr. Warner. It looks to me like he stole the twelve thousand dollars himself and framed Blake Barrett so he could legally take over the Pacific Bank and Trust Company.”

  “Exactly,” said Linda. “That’s the way it looks to me.”

  “First thing to do is wire Sheriff Claude Perkins in Sacramento,” said Coffield. “I’ll tell him what Warner has done. I might get a reply right away, and on the other hand, it could be a while. Would you like to wait, or should I come to your house when I get a return message?”

  “I’ll stay here as long as it takes, Sheriff. I’m sure not going home without you as an escort.”

  Coffield tugged at his mustache. “I see your point. You wait right here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Linda sat alone in the sheriff’s private office and prayed. “Lord,” she said, “I realize You knew about this whole thing. Thank You for answering prayer and letting me find out about that vile man I’m married to. Poor Blake! What a terrible thing to be unjustly accused of a crime and to have everything taken away from him, even his freedom. Then Haman, that low-down skunk, took Blake’s place with me. Oh, ughh-h-h! Lord, please let this thing be handled swiftly, so it’s Warner behind bars and Blake Barrett breathing free air! Please let justice be done!”

  Barely an hour had passed when Sheriff Coffield returned to the office. He tossed his wide-brimmed hat on a clothes tree in the corner and hung his sheepskin coat next to the hat, then sat down behind the desk. “I got through real quick, ma’am, and got a reply back from Sheriff Perkins.”