by Jody Hedlund
“Mr. Brady’s not staying here. He’s locked up in jail where he should be.”
The proprietor’s words smashed into her with the power of a cannonball. “Jail?” Her lungs didn’t work, and she could hardly squeeze the word out.
“He’s a murderer. Where else would he be?”
“But he didn’t commit the crime,” she sputtered.
“The sheriff said Mr. Brady is taking full responsibility for the drowned boy. If that isn’t a statement of guilt, I don’t know what is.”
“He’s not guilty.”
“We all think so. And the sheriff is holding him in the jail until the circuit judge comes through here for a trial in a few weeks. We haven’t ever had a hanging, but that’s what folks are saying he deserves.”
Panic rushed through Marianne, leaving her weak and stumbling and dizzy. She reached for the nearest chair and fell into it.
Thankfully at midafternoon the dining room was nearly deserted. Several long trestle tables contained empty tin plates, cups, and bowls from the midday meal, showing the dried remains of a creamy chowder. A few crusts and crumbs littered the table and floor. From previous experience, Marianne knew the disorder would remain there until the end of the day.
The Mayfield Inn hadn’t been the cleanest establishment they’d stayed in during their journey. Marianne had tried not to care about the bedbugs and the sheets that smelled of sweat and someone else’s body odor. But now, after having spent the past week in Elise’s grand home and wearing clean, luxurious garments, she experienced a twinge of disdain for the hotel and immediately felt guilty for it.
She buried her face in her hands and wanted to weep with despair at the news of Drew. What had Drew done? She’d assumed he was coming to Mayfield to identify Ned’s body and investigate the crime. But had he left with the sole intention of handing himself over? And if so, why? He hadn’t been the one to drown Ned. Why would he take the blame for it?
Feeling helpless and with mounting despair, she pushed away from the table and stood. Her legs wobbled, and she grasped the sticky table edge to keep from buckling back into the chair.
“Where can I find the sheriff?” she asked the proprietor, who’d moved to the far wall and was lifting down an empty barrel that dribbled leftover beer onto the floor.
With his directions ringing in her head, she stumbled back outside.
Mayfield was a small community built along the railroad. The land closest to the railroads was the most coveted due to the ease of transporting goods to market. Her brother-in-law, Thornton, had attempted several times to explain the nature of developing a town along the railroad, that most of the land belonged to the investors in the Central Illinois Railroad, given by the government in the form of land grants. In order to pay for the railroad coming through, the investors parceled off land and sold the parcels to farmers. But to attract the farmers, they first needed to develop towns along the railroad.
Whatever the case, most of the Illinois towns were new and still in the process of expanding. While Mayfield was small, it was larger than most others, which was why Drew had made it one of the stops for the placing out.
Dodging puddles and attempting to avoid splashing wagon wheels, Marianne stopped by the train depot and placed a telegram to the only person she could think of who might be able to help Drew. She conveyed the urgency of Drew’s predicament and need for legal counsel. In fact, if Drew didn’t get help, he was liable to end up swinging from the end of a noose.
After sending the telegram, she hurried down Main Street and was muddy and soaked by the time she arrived at an office with a sign over its door that read Sheriff in bright red letters. She entered and tossed off the hood of her cloak. She’d hoped to see Drew somewhere in the room, but was disappointed to see that, besides the sheriff’s desk, the tiny room contained nothing more than a stove with an empty coal box in one corner and a brass spittoon in the other.
The sheriff, who’d been dozing in his chair with his mouth wide open, stood and tipped his hat at her politely. “Miss.”
“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” She paused and waited for recognition to dawn in his eyes.
Instead, he attempted to smooth his long curling mustache with one hand and his vest with the other.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to be brave and say the words she’d rehearsed on the walk over. “I heard you’re unlawfully holding Andrew Brady in your jail. I’ve come to secure his release.”
The sheriff stiffened and regarded her again, this time more closely.
“I’m Mr. Brady’s intended,” she offered.
“That’s right,” the sheriff said, hefting up his belt so that his revolver was well displayed. “You’re the other agent.” He spoke the word agent as if it were a curse.
“I’m here to see Mr. Brady.” She hoped her voice didn’t wobble. She wasn’t used to being so impudent. “Please take me to him.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do that, miss.”
“I insist.”
“He told me he don’t want no visitors.”
“I’m sure he’ll want to see me.”
“He said no one—and he was mighty firm about it.”
“But he didn’t know I’d be coming.”
The sheriff tugged on his mustache, staring at her with his keen eyes. “Fine,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I’ll go ask him. Wait here.”
He disappeared through a door behind his desk. If she’d been braver, she might have gathered the courage to follow him. Rather, she fidgeted with her cloak. She was uncomfortably warm under its damp weight, and she couldn’t quell the sense of doom that had enveloped her since the hotel proprietor’s statement about Drew taking responsibility for the crime.
She peered out the dusty front window, envisioning the children outside the church the morning of the placing-out meeting. Drew had gone inside to confer with the committee. When he emerged later, many of the children had already dispersed throughout town, the youngest ones staying close to her side.
Ned and Liverpool hadn’t come back for lunch at the hotel. But neither had a few of the other boys who’d apparently skipped the noon meal so they could go swimming. Were they swimming in the same pond in which Ned had drowned? If so, they could give more information on what had happened that day.
She tried to recollect which of the boys had gone swimming. Maybe she could give the sheriff their names, so he could go speak to each one privately.
When the door clicked open behind her, she spun in anticipation, hoping to see Drew. Her heart lurched at the sight of the sheriff standing there alone.
“I’m ready to see him, Sheriff.” She started toward the back door.
He closed it firmly. “Like I said, he don’t want to see no one. Not even you.”
The sheriff’s words froze her feet to the floor. “That can’t be true.”
“He said to tell you to forget about him.”
For a moment, her heart was too chilled to utter a word in response. Drew didn’t want to see her? He wanted to cut himself off from her? How could that be?
Her mind replayed his farewell, and now she understood why she’d been so anxious the past few days. His good-bye had been filled with a finality she’d tried to ignore but no longer could.
“He told me to tell you to make follow-up visits to the orphans you placed,” the sheriff continued. “And I say, while you’re at them visits, you just pack those young’uns up and take them all back east with you.”
So Drew didn’t want to marry her anymore? Maybe he never really had to begin with. Maybe she’d just imagined his eagerness and desire. The chill inside spread to her limbs until she was frigid with hurt and anger. He’d led her on. He’d made her believe he cared about her. He’d even made her like him in return.
She closed her eyes momentarily to ward off the sting of tears. Elise had been right. He’d never said he loved her. He’d only been enamored with the conquest.
Marianne had known from the s
tart of their engagement that Drew wasn’t the type of man to commit. Hadn’t she predicted his fickleness that day on the train when he proposed to her? He’d had fun with the challenge. But when it came down to actually marrying her, no matter how attracted he’d been or how earnest he’d seemed, he was looking for a way out. And now that he’d found one, he was taking it, even if he had to sit in jail to avoid her.
“Very well,” she said, finding her voice. It came out as coldly as she felt. “You may tell Mr. Brady I’ll visit the children, that at least one of us is grown up enough to see the job through to completion.”
She yanked up the hood of her cloak, swung open the door, and stepped out into the rain. If Andrew Brady didn’t want to see her, then she’d make sure his wish came true.
At the slamming of the door, Drew buried his face in his grimy hands and allowed himself to shudder.
“She’s gone!” the sheriff called through the thin wall.
“I heard.”
“She weren’t too happy neither.”
“I could tell.” Drew had clung to every word she’d said from the moment she stepped into the building. The wall between the sheriff’s desk and his cell was as thin as newsprint. He’d held his breath each time she’d uttered a word, drinking in her voice and imagining her beauty like a desperate and dying man.
He leaned forward on the wooden bench built into the wall, which had served as his bed for the past week. The cell was no more than four-by-eight feet, the size of a horse stall. With only one high window set outside the bars of the cell, the place was dark and dank—only magnifying the rancidness of the chamber pot.
The sheriff brought him two meals a day, as well as a basin of water for washing. The only thing he’d wanted was a Bible, something the sheriff had also supplied.
The truth was, he didn’t want to make things worse for Marianne. He’d already made it hard enough on her by letting a relationship develop between them. He should have been more careful. But how was he to know he’d be responsible for the death of another child?
He loathed himself for giving her hope of a future with him, only to toss it all aside. And he loathed himself for hurting her now. He hadn’t wanted to ignore her. He wanted her to come back to his cell so he could pull her into his arms and hold her tight.
As much as he needed her, he’d forced himself to remain quiet and distant. Maybe he hadn’t kept his distance all along like he should have, but he was doing it now. He didn’t want her linked to a twice-murderer. Any association with him would ruin her reputation. Already her job with the Children’s Aid Society was in jeopardy because of him and this murder case. If she lost it, how would she be able to continue her search for her sister?
Drew pressed his fingers against his temple to ward off a headache. What good would it do to see Marianne now? Even if he was exonerated, people would always speculate about him. Brace would have to fire him, and he’d have nothing to offer Marianne.
He needed to let her go. She was better off without him, and she’d realize that soon enough. Before long she’d find someone else and be happy again.
Reinhold. Last week, shortly after arriving in Quincy, Marianne had discovered Reinhold’s whereabouts from Elise. Marianne confided the news to him that Reinhold lived near Mayfield and had asked for her help caring for his sisters once she returned to New York City. And although he’d teased her at the time, he was slightly jealous of the man she’d once wanted to marry.
Drew sat up on the hard bench. “Sheriff, do you know a German immigrant who goes by the name Reinhold Weiss? Works as a hired farmhand?”
“Sure enough do,” the sheriff replied from the other side of the wall, likely back in his chair now that Marianne was gone. “He was the man who pulled the orphan boy’s body from the pond.”
Reinhold had found the body? Marianne’s Reinhold? Drew’s muscles flexed in protest for what he knew he had to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of Marianne finding solace in anyone else’s arms. It was the same reaction he’d had that day they’d gone swimming when she told him more about Reinhold.
He shook his head and tried to loosen his hold on Marianne. He had no right to her. If he couldn’t be there to help her, then he wanted her to have someone.
“Could you get word to Reinhold that I’d like to meet with him?” He forced himself to say the words.
The sheriff hesitated before answering. “You ain’t planning to question Reinhold and try to talk your way out of the murder, now, are you?”
“No, sir. Just hoping to find a good man to take care of the woman I love.”
Love? The word slipped out before he could think about what he was saying. Was it true? Did he love Marianne?
He cared about her more than any other woman he’d known, even more than Charlotte. Of course, at the time he’d believed that he loved Charlotte and was devastated when she’d canceled their wedding.
Charlotte had been a bright flare in the sky who had lit up his world for a little while. But the intensity of all he felt for Marianne was like an explosion of the sun that would never diminish but would continue to burn within him forever.
He held back an agonized groan. Yes, he loved Marianne. And because of how deeply he loved her, he wanted to provide her with someone who could comfort and care for her in his place.
Marianne had once loved Reinhold. Even if she’d transferred her feelings to Drew temporarily, perhaps she would switch them back to Reinhold—especially once Drew talked with the young man and convinced him what a treasure Marianne was.
Chapter 20
The telegram weighted Reinhold’s trouser pocket more than a handful of heavy coins. It didn’t jangle as he plodded down Main Street, but he was conscious of it with every step he took nonetheless.
His boots were heavy in the muck that remained after the past week of rain. Almost as heavy as his heart.
Tante Brunhilde had finally responded, had likely had one of his brothers post the telegram. He was relieved to hear she still had his two sisters living with her. But she’d only agreed to keep them if he sent her more money every month. And only until autumn. In October, she’d made arrangements to marry a distant cousin who would be arriving in America. This cousin was in need of a wife for his children and had agreed to marry Brunhilde when he arrived.
His aunt explained that if Reinhold didn’t make other provisions for the care of his sisters by the time her new husband arrived, she’d have no choice but to put the girls into an orphanage. Between her own children and those of her new husband, they would have enough mouths to feed and didn’t need two more.
Reinhold was glad his sisters were safe for the time being. But that meant he had four months to figure out something else for them. Of course, he’d hoped to be able to put a down payment on the land for his own farm by autumn. But after Higgins had stolen his savings, Reinhold had to start saving all over. And now that Higgins had the extra cash, he’d be able to purchase the land first.
Holding in a sigh, Reinhold stopped, kicked his boot against the wooden step, and dislodged some of the mud before banging his other boot. Even if by some miracle he managed to earn enough to beat Higgins to the land, it would take time to build a house. In his wildest dreams, he didn’t know how he’d ever have the means or ability to take care of his youngest sisters by October. Besides, how would he be able to work and take care of two little girls?
It was an impossible situation. Yet he couldn’t abandon his family, couldn’t let his sisters be split up and possibly shipped off on a train to go live with strangers. Didn’t his brothers also deserve a chance to live free of the dangers of the city?
Reinhold pushed open the door and stepped inside the building.
“Ah, there you are.” The sheriff uncrossed his legs from where they were resting on his desk and dropped them to the floor with a thud. “Took your sweet time coming into town, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff.” Reinhold stuffed his hands in his pockets and once agai
n felt the weight of the telegram against his fingers. “Just haven’t had the chance this week.”
He wouldn’t speak ill of Mrs. Turner in front of anyone, but privately he was irritated that she’d complained to her husband regarding Reinhold’s trips into town. She’d convinced Mr. Turner to give him more work, saying that if Reinhold had enough time to ride to town every other day, then he had too much free time.
The sheriff stood and stretched. “Well, come on then. My prisoner has been asking to see you all week, and I’m tired of hearing his yapping.”
Reinhold didn’t need the sheriff to explain further. The whole community was talking about the murdered orphan and the suspect, Andrew Brady. Of course, after Liverpool’s description of what happened that day, it was difficult to refute his claim that Mr. Brady was the one responsible for Ned’s death.
Mr. Brady had gone out to the pond to call the boys back for the meeting. He’d been mad at them for disobeying his instructions to stay in town. He’d had strict instructions not to swim, and when he found the boys in the pond, he became agitated. The sheriff had visited several other orphans who’d been swimming that day and confirmed Mr. Brady’s anger toward them for swimming after he expressly told them not to.
Not only had Mr. Brady been upset about their disobedience with the swimming, but he’d also supposedly gotten angry with Ned, who refused to go through with the placing out. The two started arguing after the younger boys headed back to town. Liverpool claimed Mr. Brady shoved Ned, who’d slipped and fallen, hit his head on a stone, and died upon impact. Liverpool said he’d been scared Mr. Brady would hurt him too and so ran off. And now everyone speculated that once Ned was dead, Mr. Brady dumped the body in the pond to hide the evidence.
Accident or not, Reinhold agreed with the sheriff and others in town that Mr. Brady didn’t deserve to be working with orphans, especially because the sheriff also learned Mr. Brady had lost one of the orphans earlier in the trip during their stop in Benton. One of the younger boys had wandered off and was later rescued by a squatter.