Taken for English

by Olivia Newport

  Eighteen

  June 1892

  Why don’t you let me pick it up for you?” A.G. stood at the bedroom door with his hand on the knob.

  “You don’t even know what I ordered.” Bess Byler cast the gray hat onto the bed and picked up the blue one.

  “I’m sure the clerk at Denton’s Emporium will have a record of the order.” A.G. stepped to the mirror and stood beside his wife. “The blue one, dear.”

  “Aren’t you even curious what I want to pick up?”

  A.G. tilted his head. “Something useful. Something we must have.”

  Bess slapped his forearm. “Don’t tease me. I want to send some blankets to Malinda.”

  “For the children.”

  Bess donned the blue hat. “Of course for the children. It’s cold in Colorado.”

  A.G. chuckled. “Well, it will be, I suppose.” Not in the middle of June, but if he knew Bess, she was planning to add some embroidery or a new border to the blankets she was buying.

  “I haven’t been to Gassville since…” Bess fiddled with her handbag.

  “Since John Twigg was shot.” A.G. stilled Bess’s hand then lifted her fingers to his lips. “Are you sure you want to go?”

  She took her hand back and snapped the latch on her bag. “I refuse to live in fear. If I gave in to that, I would never want you to go to work.”

  A.G. knew Bess sometimes scrubbed the kitchen floor when he rode out to break up a fight, but she would never admit the spit shine had anything to do with his job as sheriff of Baxter County.

  “The wagon is out front,” he said. “I think I’ll take an apple out to bribe that stubborn horse.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Don’t dawdle. I need to go over a few things with Deputy Combs over there, but I want to be back for one of your home-cooked dinners.”

  Outside, A.G. opened his palm and revealed the apple. The horse chomped into it immediately. He glanced at the trim white house with the green shutters, wishing Bess would stay home. Gassville was still jumpy. He did not want his wife in the middle of things.

  Bess pulled the front door closed behind her, and A.G. gave her a one-sided smile. At sixty-three, the sight of her touched a spot inside him softer than ever.

  As he tied up the mare in front of the emporium, A.G. scanned the street. The talk he had with Jimmy Twigg had successfully deterred him from sitting outside his store with a rifle aimed at the emporium, but that did not mean hostilities were calmed. If A.G. could give Bess an uneventful afternoon, though, he would take some pleasure in the day. He held the door open for her.

  Inside the store, A.G. removed his hat and nodded at a few customers as he followed Bess to the counter. “Good afternoon, Leon.”

  Belle Mooney’s father stood in the center of the main aisle with a claw hammer in one hand.

  “How is Belle?” A.G. asked the question softly, deliberately.

  Leon shook his head. “How she could let herself fall into the clutches of the Twiggs, I will never understand. She hardly talks to me, even though we’re living in the same house.”

  A.G. put both hands in his trouser pockets. He kept forgetting to mention to Bess that the left pocket had a hole in the seam. “Give Belle some time. Her loss is still fresh.”

  “It shouldn’t be a loss at all.” Leon gripped the hammer by the claw.

  “Well now, that’s for Belle to decide, isn’t it?”

  “For a man of the law, you don’t have much sense of justice.”

  “For Belle it’s a matter of the heart, Leon.”

  Leon grunted. A.G. patted his shoulder and moved up the aisle to where Bess was running her fingers along a bolt of pink-and-green calico.

  “Why don’t I go see Deputy Combs and come back for you?” A.G. said.

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, I suppose I might be a while.”

  The emporium’s front door swung open before A.G. reached it, and a stranger swaggered in. A.G. slowed his pace to size him up. About six feet tall, he commanded an even larger presence. His brown suit was a recent cut. A.G. did not need his fashion-conscious wife to tell him that. Glancing at Leon, A.G. decided a welcome was in order. He extended a hand.

  “I don’t recall that I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Abraham Byler.”

  The man, not yet twenty-five, tilted his head and raised an eyebrow before accepting the handshake. “Jesse Roper.”

  A.G. heard Leon shuffle behind him, and deep in the store, Lee Denton moved behind the counter. A.G. hoped Lee was not trigger-happy enough to pull a gun on a stranger with the sheriff present.

  “Leon, have you met Mr. Roper?”

  “Don’t you know who he is?” Leon snarled. “What kind of sheriff are you?”

  “Sheriff, eh?” Jesse Roper said. “You didn’t mention that.”

  A.G. turned his empty hands palms up. “I only meant to offer a friendly welcome.”

  Roper laughed and moved up the aisle, pausing here and there to inspect unlikely items. What did a young man like Roper want to do with drawers of buttons and threads? A.G. turned to follow his movements.

  “He’s a Twigg, you know.” Leon made no effort to control his volume. “He’s a grandson of Old Man Twigg. Probably a criminal.”

  Lee Denton stiffened. Abraham Byler winced.

  “Now, Leon, nobody is looking for trouble,” A.G. said. His gaze moved to Lee and held steady.

  Between Roper and Denton stood Bess Byler. She had barely lifted her head at the commotion, but A.G. knew she would have absorbed every detail of the exchange.

  “Mr. Denton,” Bess said brightly, moving toward the counter, “I do believe I would like to look at your special-order book.”

  Lee mocked. “Sheriff Byler, have you considered it might save you some money if you just took your wife to New York to shop?”

  “Lee, are you going to let me see that book or not?” Bess caught her husband’s eye, as if to assure him she did not intend to place an order but only to dissipate tension.

  Leon stared at Roper, who said, “I believe my business here is concluded. Y’all don’t have the items my grandma asked for. Good day, gentlemen.” He tipped his tall black hat at the Bylers and rammed a shoulder into Leon’s on the way out.

  For a moment no one in the shop spoke.

  “Leon, are you okay?” A.G. said.

  Leon grunted.

  “How about you, Lee?”

  Lee nodded.

  “Promise me you’ll keep your pistols out of this if it should turn into anything.”

  “You do your job, Sheriff Byler, and there will be no need for my pistols.”

  “The grand jury might see things differently if there is another incident.”

  Bess set her handbag on the counter with audible firmness. “Mr. Denton, I will thank you not to put my husband in needless danger.”

  Lee’s shoulders sagged. “Aw, Bess, you know how I feel about you two. But I can’t control everyone.” He jabbed a finger toward Leon Mooney. “Him, for instance.”

  A.G. moved toward Leon, who was rubbing his shoulder. “Leon.”

  “Sheriff.”

  “No trouble.”

  “There’s a town dance tonight, you know,” Lee Denton said. “What if this character shows up?”

  A.G. pivoted with deliberation. “Mrs. Byler, what do you say we have a night out? Dinner at the hotel and then dancing.”

  Bess put her fingers to her mouth in feigned shyness. “Why, Sheriff Byler.”

  Maura wore her mother’s gloves, even though she would not last more than twenty minutes with them on.

  She had tried to persuade Belle to come to the dance at the town hall. Weeks ago they had planned to attend and sewed new dresses and purchased hats from Maura’s uncle Edwin’s milliner shop. Belle had confessed her love for John Twigg and hoped they might announce their engagement soon—perhaps even the night of the dance.

  Now Belle barely left the hou
se and wore only dark colors. Maura had spent most of the afternoon cajoling and prodding. She even resorted to heating Belle’s iron to give her new dress a fresh press. But Belle would only shake her head.

  No. No dance. Not with John Twigg in his grave and his killers unaccountable.

  Maura herself did not have a date. She had one, but she broke it the previous week. If she could persuade Belle to go, it would be better to be free to be a companion to Belle, even if neither of them danced. Now Maura was on her own for the evening.

  As soon as she entered the hall, Maura saw that Leon Mooney was supplementing the refreshments with a flask of his own. She licked her lips, removed her gloves, and marched toward the small round table where he sat against the wall, leaning his chair back on two legs.

  He raised his flask and gave an unpersuasive grin. “So, you could not convince my daughter that she ought to come to the town dance and enjoy herself.”

  Maura shook her head and sat down. “I tried.”

  “Thank you for that, anyway.”

  Leon put his flask in the pocket of his suit jacket. Maura wondered how much he had consumed.

  “Who are you going to dance with?” he asked.

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “No one, I expect.”

  “A pretty woman like you?”

  “In fact, I don’t think I’ll stay long. I felt obliged to come for some reason, but I wonder if I shouldn’t be with Belle tonight.”

  “She won’t have you,” Leon said. “She would tell you to go home.”

  Maura had to agree. Still, the evening held no attraction for her now.

  Leon let his chair legs down, throwing his weight on the table. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Who?” Maura looked around.

  “Roper. Jesse Roper. I’ve been asking around about him. He is Old Man Twigg’s grandson, or the grandson of his brother, or something like that.”

  “Oh.” Maura glanced at Leon’s pocket. He did not disappoint. He tipped the flask all the way up this time and his head back, telling her he had emptied it.

  He scraped his chair back and stood up.

  “Leon.” Maura put a hand on his forearm.

  He shook it off. “Roper!”

  The tall stranger strode slowly across the hall and halted in front of Leon, feet shoulder width apart. “Watch your mouth, Mooney.”

  Leon jabbed a finger in Roper’s chest. “You people destroyed my daughter.”

  Roper knocked away Leon’s arm.

  “All the Twiggs are the same way,” Leon said.

  “My name’s Roper.”

  “Makes no difference. You have their blood.” Leon’s eyes widened in fire.

  Maura stood. “Leon, why don’t we go get something to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry.” Leon stared at Jesse Roper.

  Maura put on the too-small gloves just for something to do. Helpless was not her favorite feeling.

  “Isn’t that the sheriff?” Joseph tilted his head down the street. “Must be his wife. I don’t believe I’ve seen them together before.”

  Zeke narrowed his eyes and shifted the dry goods package under his arm. “Joseph Beiler, you are giving in to distraction.”

  “I’m just curious. Beiler. Byler. Wouldn’t you be curious if you met someone named Berkley or Buerkli?” He followed the progress of the sheriff and his wife and started walking in the same direction.

  “Joseph, are you doubting your faith?”

  Joseph’s head snapped around. “What would make you say such a thing?”

  “When the bishop chose you for this mission, you did not want to come. You came in demut, submission. But now I don’t recognize what is in your mind.”

  “Have you heard from the bishop?”

  Zeke stopped walking. “No.”

  “Then I am doing nothing wrong. I am still in submission, awaiting the bishop’s will.”

  “We have the beans we came into town to buy,” Zeke said. “We should go back to the livery and start the pot boiling.”

  “And now I don’t recognize what is in your mind,” Joseph said. “You have always been the friend to show me that God might smile once in a while.”

  “I still believe that.” Zeke pressed his lips closed and breathed out through his nose. “All right, then. But I am hungry. I will go start the beans.”

  “I won’t be long. I would simply like to meet my distant cousin.”

  Zeke laughed. “You’re making up stories.”

  The Bylers were well down the street by now, and Joseph lengthened his stride to catch them. Everyone said his family held their heads in a distinctive way. Was it his imagination that Abraham Byler also shared this trait? Or that he seemed gentle and affectionate with his wife the way Joseph’s father was with his mother?

  The sheriff paused in front of the town hall and leaned his head in toward his wife, saying something that made her laugh. He held the door open for her, and the building swallowed them up.

  The forbidden building. Or was it? It was just a hall. The sign tacked to the door said, MUSIC AND DANCE. Perhaps it was not so different than a Sunday night singing at home. An English singing.

  Joseph pulled the door open.

  Maura nearly lost her balance scuttling away as Jesse Roper raised one giant fist, threw Leon against the wall, and held him there by the front of his shirt.

  Maura gasped, and conversation around them halted. Few heads turned when the hall’s door opened, but Maura felt the draft and allowed herself a glance.

  “Sheriff Byler!” she called out.

  Jesse Roper leaned his face within inches of Leon’s and glared. “You keep your mouth shut, you brainless bigot.”

  “If I don’t?” Leon glowered.

  A stone sank in Maura’s stomach. Had Leon no sense at all?

  Roper responded by shaking his fist, shuddering Leon against the wall. “I’ll blow your head off the next time we meet.”

  “The sheriff is coming.” Even Maura’s loud announcement did nothing to deter Roper. She tracked the sheriff’s direct progress across the hall.

  Sheriff Byler approached with his usual calm. “Mr. Roper, I suggest you put Mr. Mooney down now. We’ll chalk this up to too much drink, shall we?”

  With a downward thrust, Roper put Mooney back in his chair and turned on his heel to march out of the hall.

  Mooney shook his fist. “You haven’t heard the end of this.”

  Nineteen

  Annie had hardly swallowed her breakfast on Wednesday morning before she was on her bicycle. She had no reason to go watch the training burn—other than the smoldering sensation in her stomach that Leah Deitwaller had not removed her sparse belongings after all. The pedals spun hard and fast as Annie leaned into them with all her weight to keep her speed up even on inclines. She had the day off from working at the shop and figured it was better to be sure Leah did not need further prodding than to later regret not going.

  As early as Annie was, the fire department was earlier. Four water trucks circled the old house. Firefighters in full garb milled around, some still with morning coffee in their hands. Annie laid her bike down in the browning fall meadow floor well away from the house and proceeded on foot. All she wanted was to be sure, absolutely sure, that Leah was out of the house and not sleeping through the bright dawn. It would only take a minute to slip in through the front opening and look in the back rooms. If the cat bowl was gone, Annie would be certain Leah had cleared out just as she promised she would. Annie had her eye on the empty door frame now. She needed another few moments and she would clear out of the way herself.

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there.” A yellow-suited arm of a firefighter fell like a gate in front of Annie.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Annie said.

  The helmet atop his head swung from left to right. “No, you won’t. No one is going in at this point.”

  “You don’t understand.” Annie rubbed her palms together. “A young woman
was squatting here. I saw her things the other night. I just want to be sure she got out.”

  “We walked through the house last night and again this morning. No one is in there.”

  “And no sign of a cat? Just a kitten? Black and white.”

  “No cat. No woman. No anything. It’s just an abandoned structure that the owner is happy to have removed.”

  Annie peered at what she could see of the young man’s face behind his gear. “Aren’t you the man who came to see Ruth Beiler out at her family’s farm?”

  He snapped his head up. “I might be. Who are you?”

  “Annie Friesen. Ruth and I are friends.”

  “Then, yes, I am the man who came to see Ruth. Bryan Nichols. She told me about you.”

  Annie pulled her skirt away from her hips on both sides. “I guess my story is pretty obvious. I up and joined the Amish.”

  “She said you’re from Colorado Springs. Me, too.” Bryan relaxed his posture but maintained his position between Annie and the house. “Where did you go to high school?”

  “Doherty.”

  “Me, too. We’ll have to form an alumni chapter. My friend Alan can join us.”

  A vague image floated through Annie’s mind of what her own classmates’ faces would look like if they knew she had joined the Amish church. A few of them did know, in fact, and all of them had chosen not to remain in touch. When Annie closed her Facebook and Twitter accounts, she had cut herself off from those years.

  “I just want to be absolutely certain my young friend is out of the house,” she said.

  In the passenger seat of her supervisor’s vehicle, Ruth approached the abandoned house. Already spectators were gathering in clumps, many of them sitting on the hoods of their vehicles or on blankets on the ground to await the excitement. Ruth had mixed feelings. Witnessing the burn might well impress on her the urgency of treating burn victims, but she was fairly certain she already understood that principle. In her lap was a textbook on treating burns and a checklist of standard protocol for making a patient stable enough to transport to a burn center as far away as Denver.