A Time to Love

by Al Lacy

  “Sure,” said the driver, dashing up to the porch.

  Linda descended the staircase dressed in a dark blue travel suit with a crisp white blouse and a perky hat that matched the blue in her suit. In her handbag was Haman Warner’s suicide note and the affidavit from Laramie County Sheriff Robert Coffield, confirming that the note was genuine.

  She paused at the door to embrace Sadie and said, “When I come back, I’ll put the house up for sale. As I told you last night, you’ll be welcome to stay on until I actually leave Cheyenne City. But you’ll get a year’s salary to give you plenty of time to find another job.”

  Tears tumbled down Sadie’s round cheeks. “I hate the thought of you leaving, sweetie, but you have to do what you believe the Lord wants you to do. I don’t know how to thank you for being so generous to me.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Linda said, planting a kiss on Sadie’s cheek. “All you have to do is promise to write me once a week after I’m gone.”

  “You’ve got that promise already.”

  “See you in a few days, Sadie.”

  “All right. Tell Blake I’m glad things turned out so well for him.”

  “I will”

  As the westbound train rolled toward the majestic Rocky Mountains, Linda eased back on the seat and looked out the window. She let her gaze stray across the rolling hills of Wyoming. There were large patches of snow, with brown grass showing in between. Green pine trees dotted the hills amid leafless clumps of wild brush.

  Linda smiled as she saw a mother black bear and two cubs moving alongside a half-frozen creek. Her attention was suddenly drawn to a huge bald eagle riding the wind currents high above the hills.

  Though she was physically and emotionally tired, she felt a sense of joy and expectancy in her heart. “Lord,” she whispered, “I want to thank You again that You’re in control of my life. ‘All things work together for good to them that love God,’ You said. I don’t know what You have ahead for me, but I know it will be all right. Thank You for letting things in Blake’s life work out for good, too. Help him not to be bitter toward me for anything. I want us to at least be friends.”

  She scooted a little farther down on the seat and closed her eyes. Soon she was lulled to sleep by the steady rocking of the coach and the perfect rhythm of the clicking wheels beneath her.

  Night was falling by the time the train pulled out of Salt Lake City. Linda made her way to the dining car and enjoyed a well-cooked meal, then returned to her seat and read her Bible for a while.

  Soon she grew sleepy again and eased back on the seat. There was a baby crying somewhere behind her. Maybe someday the Lord would let her be a mother. Of course, first she had to have a husband. Somewhere, she thought, the Lord has someone who will be willing to marry a widow.

  She thought again of the pain and shame she had suffered from the despicable deed of Lewis and Janet. But after everything else she had been through, it was only a dim regret now. She had thanked the Lord many times that He’d spared her from marrying Lewis, who was weak and irresponsible. Sooner or later he would have hurt her, anyhow.

  Because the pain of Lewis and Janet’s betrayal had receded, there was room to love again. She had never felt anything like love in her heart for Haman Warner, even though she had thought he was Blake Barrett.

  Blake. She hadn’t thought of it until this moment, but with Haman dead, this could put a new light on the situation if Blake still felt anything for her. But even if he did, would he want her?

  Once again she recalled Joline’s words of comfort and encouragement: “You will have your time to love. The Lord has the man, the time, and the place. Let Him work it out.”

  She was looking out the window at the stars that twinkled like diamonds against a black velvet sky. “Lord,” she said in a low voice, “could it be that Blake is the man you have for me, after all? I mean, if You worked in his heart, You could fix it so he would want me in spite of my having been married to Haman You are God. You can do anything. Anything but fail, that is.

  “Lord, You know how I feel about Blake, even though I’ve never met him in person. Why do I feel this way unless You put it in my heart?”

  She listened to the sound of clicking wheels beneath her and realized that with each turn of the wheel she was drawing closer to California and to the man she loved. She thought of Psalm 138:8.

  “Please, Lord,” she said softly, “let Blake love me as I love him, and perfect that which concerns us.”

  It was a bright, sunny morning in Sacramento as Linda alighted from the train and saw a big man with a sheriff’s badge on his vest. He was standing in an obvious spot, waiting for her to approach him.

  With handbag in one hand and her overnight bag in the other, she moved up to the man and said, “Sheriff Perkins?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling. “And you’re Mrs. Warner.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Here, let me take that bag.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. I’ve got a buggy in the parking lot.”

  They started walking, then Sheriff Perkins said, “Do you have the suicide note and Sheriff Coffield’s affidavit with you?”

  “Yes, sir. Right here in my handbag.”

  “Good. I’ll take you to the hotel where you’ll be staying and let you freshen up; then we’ll talk business in my office. The hotel is just across the street from my office.”

  “Sheriff Coffield said you would make the hotel reservation for me. I appreciate that.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. And the bill will be paid by the county.”

  “There’s no need for that, Sheriff. I can afford to pay for the room.”

  “That’s not the point, Mrs. Warner. We’re just so happy to get this mess cleaned up, and to see Blake cleared of the charges. We’re mighty glad to pay your hotel bill.”

  Perkins helped Linda into the buggy, then climbed in beside her. As he put the horse in motion, he said, “You and I have an appointment with Governor Hammond at three o’clock this afternoon.”

  “The governor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of California?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why do we need an appointment with him?”

  “He’s the man with the authority to set Blake free. He must see the suicide note and affidavit from Sheriff Coffield in order to proceed with Blake’s release.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “The governor is a personal friend of mine,” said Perkins. “I got us the appointment today because of our friendship. Otherwise we’d have waited three or four days to see him.”

  Linda smiled. “It always pays to know the right people, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure doesn’t hurt,” Perkins said with a chuckle. “I was sort of surprised when the wire informed me you were supposed to have been Blake’s mail order bride. He and I are friends, but I didn’t know he had advertised for one.”

  “He was going to wait till I got here to let his friends know about me,” she said.

  “Well, little lady, let me say that he sure picked a good-looking one.”

  Linda blushed. “Why, thank you, Sheriff.”

  “So you’re going to Ukiah to see him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you two have never seen each other?”

  “That’s right. Only photographs.”

  “And Blake doesn’t know you’re coming?”

  “No. He doesn’t even know what’s happened with Haman, or anything. As far as he knows, I’m still in Boston.”

  Perkins chuckled. “Boy I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall when you walk into that prison and meet Blake!”

  Linda’s stomach knotted slightly. Indeed, that was going to be some moment.

  An hour later, Linda left the hotel, walked across the street, and entered the sheriff’s office. She was introduced to deputies John Findlay and Vance Ohlman, then Perkins sat her down beside his desk.

  Linda to
ok an envelope from her handbag and laid it in front of him, saying, “Here’s the suicide note and the affidavit, Sheriff.”

  Perkins removed them from the envelope and looked them over. “This will do it. Now, since we have some time, I’d like to hear how Haman made this marriage scheme work.”

  Linda told Perkins the whole story, starting with being left at the church in Boston on her wedding day. From there, she explained why she had responded to Blake’s ad in the newspaper, then told him about receiving the wires from Haman—as Blake—telling her of his move to Cheyenne City. She explained about the marriage to Haman, her disappointment in thinking he was Blake, and the subsequent end to it all when she found the clippings.

  Perkins shook his head in amazement. “Little lady, you truly have suffered heartaches that would have done most women in.”

  “They just about did, Sheriff,” she said, “but the Lord gave me the strength to get through it.”

  Perkins smiled as he inserted the papers back into the envelope. “When the governor sees these, ma’am, Blake will be a free man real quick.”

  At five minutes before three that afternoon, Sheriff Claude Perkins ushered Linda into the capitol building and down the long hall to the office of Governor Will Hammond.

  “Hello, Matilda,” Perkins said at the receptionists desk.

  Matilda smiled and rose from her desk. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. And this is Mrs. Warner?”

  “Yes. Linda Warner, meet Matilda Jones.”

  “Welcome to California, Mrs. Warner,” Matilda said.

  The name “Mrs. Warner” made Linda feel sick, but she masked it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” she said, having noticed Matilda’s wedding ring.

  “The governor is ready for you … please come this way.”

  Matilda escorted them to the governor’s office and introduced Linda.

  Will Hammond was a tall man of sixty with a thick shock of silver hair and bushy eyebrows to match. He welcomed Linda and his old friend Claude Perkins, bidding them sit down in the chairs facing his desk.

  “I want to tell you this young woman’s story, Governor,” said Perkins. “It will make you appreciate her very much, I guarantee you.”

  “I’ve allowed plenty of time for this meeting,” said the silver-haired man. “Go right ahead.”

  Hammond listened intently as Perkins told Linda’s story, up to the point of her agreeing to come to Sacramento in view of becoming Blake Barrett’s mail order bride.

  Perkins shifted on the hard chair and said, “Now, Will—I mean, Governor—”

  “Forget the formalities, Claude,” Hammond said. “I’m sure Mrs. Warner won’t tell anybody we called each other by our first names.”

  “I promise,” Linda said with a smile.

  Hammond looked at Perkins. “You were saying …?”

  “You’re aware of the situation with Blake Barrett—his arrest and conviction?”

  “Of course. Blake’s doing time at Ukiah.”

  “That’s right. For a crime be didn’t commit.”

  Hammond’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Tell me more.”

  “That’s why we’re here. Let me finish the story.”

  It took Perkins another ten minutes to tell of Haman Warner’s inheriting the bank because of the stipulation in Bradley Barrett’s will, and of his underhanded purchase of the bank in Cheyenne City and wicked deception to marry Linda. He then explained how Linda had found the condemning clippings and taken them to Sheriff Bob Coffield, and of Warner’s arrest and suicide.

  Hammond’s face showed the impact the story was having on him.

  Sheriff Perkins slipped some papers out of an envelope and handed them to Hammond, saying, “Here’s the proof you need that Blake Barrett is an innocent man.”

  Hammond read the suicide note and Coffield’s affidavit, then laid them down and said, “I had a feeling Blake was innocent all along. But like everyone else, I had to accept the jury’s verdict.”

  He smiled at Linda and said, “I’ll send a wire to Warden Hall to release Blake immediately.”

  “Sir …” Linda said tentatively.

  “Yes?”

  “Could I ask a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “I agree that the warden should be wired immediately and that Blake should be released. But … but would you ask the warden not to tell Blake until I arrive? I’m catching the early northbound train in the morning. I’ll arrive in Ukiah at ten-thirty. If someone from the prison could pick me up, I’d very much like to be there when Blake is told he’s a free man.”

  Hammond nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make it very plain in my wire. The warden will understand and comply.”

  Perkins rubbed his palms together. “Someone will have to pick us up, Will. I’m going with her. Blake’s a good friend of mine. I’d like to be there to greet him when he walks out of that place. That is, if it’s all right with you, ma’am.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Linda said. “You don’t want to be a fly on the wall after all—is that it?”

  Perkins laughed. “I’ll just be me! We’ll make that trip together!”

  A dazzling smile lit up Linda’s beautiful face, and her scarred heart beat double time.

  Tomorrow, for the first time, she would see the man she loved. And she would watch him go free!

  Early the next morning at the Ukiah State Prison, Blake Barrett prepared himself for another day on the chain gang. Breakfast was over, and he had ten minutes in his cell before he and his new cell mate would be taken outside, put in chains, and carried in a wagon somewhere away from the prison for the day’s labor.

  Jason Pugh, the new cell mate, watched Blake remove his shoes and rub salve on his ankles. Pugh had only been on the chain gang for two days.

  He looked at Blake’s red, chafed ankles and said, “Is that what mine are gonna look like in a few more days?”

  “Yes. But you should have seen these ankles before Anthony gave me this salve. I’ll let you use it when you want.”

  Pugh closed his eyes, dreading what was coming.

  Blake had just finished tying his shoes when doors began to rattle along the corridor and guards assembled inmates for the chain gang.

  Anthony Tubac appeared at the cell door and unlocked it. Both men stood up from their cots and moved forward as Tubac opened the door.

  Smiling, Tubac said, “Not you, Blake. Jason, c’mon out.”

  Blake’s brow furrowed. “Not me?”

  “Nope. You’re staying here today. No chain gang for you.”

  “I’m not complaining, Anthony, but why?”

  Tubac grinned. “I can’t tell you. Just enjoy the rest.”

  As Tubac closed and locked the barred door behind Pugh, Blake said, “You did this, didn’t you? You used your influence with the warden to let me have a day of rest.”

  “Wish I could take the credit for it,” Tubac replied, “but I can’t. All I can tell you is that I had orders not to send you out on the chain gang today.”

  Blake watched the men filing out of the cell block for the day’s hard labor, and said, “Thank You, Lord. I don’t know what brought this about, but I sure can use the rest.”

  Blake had read three chapters in the Gospel of Mark that morning, and it was nearly eleven o’clock as he lay on his cot in the cell, thinking about Linda Forrest and praying that the Lord would let him hear from her. It wasn’t like the sweet girl he had met through correspondence to just ignore him. And it wasn’t like his friend Haman to ignore him, either. Something was wrong, but there was nothing he could do about it until they had the telegraph lines in the Midwest back in service. Then he would have Anthony try again to make contact with Linda or her parents in Boston.

  Blake could not give up on Linda. She had captured his heart by her letters, and he had to believe that there was something keeping her from writing to him.

  “But what is it, Lord?” he asked. “You know what it is. Please let me hear from her.”


  Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Seconds later, they stopped at Blake’s cell. He looked up to see Anthony standing there.

  “Let’s go, Blake.”

  Blake rose to his feet. “Go? Go where?”

  “Warden Hall wants to see you.”

  “What’s he want—“

  “You’ll see. C’mon.”

  Warden Clarence Hall was seated at his desk when Anthony ushered Blake through the door. He stood up and offered his hand across the desk. “Good to see you, Blake.”

  Blake shook his hand, puzzled at the warden’s demeanor. Hall was usually a gruff man.

  “Nice to see you, too, sir,” Blake said.

  “Sit down, Blake,” said Hall, gesturing toward the chair positioned in front of his desk.

  Blake eased onto the chair, glancing at Anthony, who stood behind him, and wondering why he was still there.

  The warden leaned forward, putting his elbows on top of the desk. “I have some very good news for you.”

  “I could use some, sir.”

  “Well, this is the best news I could possibly give you. In a few minutes you’re going to walk out of this prison a free man.”

  Suddenly it all seemed like a dream. Blake shook his head as if to clear it. “Pardon me, sir?”

  “Your time in this prison is over. You’re leaving to begin a new life as of today. You have been cleared of the crime for which you were sentenced here. Anthony tells me you’ve said all along that you were innocent, and now we know that to be a fact.”

  Tears flooded Blake’s eyes. As he wiped them away, he thanked the Lord in his heart for this miracle.

  “We knew this would be quite a shock to you, Blake,” said the warden, “albeit a pleasant one. As soon as you can change into your regular clothes, you’re free to go.”

  Overwhelmed, Blake said, “But what happened, Warden? How did my innocence come to light? Who was the person who framed me?”

  Hall smiled. “Someone has come to the prison with your friend Sheriff Claude Perkins. That person and Sheriff Perkins will answer all your questions for you and take you back to Sacramento with them.”

  “‘That person?’ Is it Haman Warner? Has Haman come with the sheriff?”