Courting Faith

by Kay Stuart

  An elderly man was behind the service counter when Royce stepped inside the general store. There was a family resemblance between the old man and Mr. Morse. “You’re the new schoolteacher,” Mr. Morse Senior said a few minutes later. Everyone seemed to know he was the new teacher before he was introduced leaving Royce to wonder if it was something about him or was he just a new face.

  “Yes Sir,” Royce replied. The next ten minutes were spent filling his shopping list. “When a man wants to do some hunting where are the best places to go,” Royce asked the old man.

  Morse senior scratched is balding head before pulling on his clean shaven chin. His eyes twinkled as if remembering better days. “Now let me see. You being new to these parts I suggest talking with Mr. Cobb the gunsmith. Anyone doing any hunting stops in there. Of Course mule deer is plentiful in the foothills. Bear can be found higher up along with mountain goats. Once shot me an eagle. All kinds of birds available,” Mr. Morse meandered in his speech. “You ever tried snake. Nothing is like snake. The best eating you ever tasted. Women don’t seem to think much of eating snake though. You married?” The old man waited expectantly for Royce to reply.

  “No Sir, haven’t had the misfortune,” Royce said.

  “Misfortune,” Mr. Morse Senior declared grinning. The man was missing two front teeth. “John Layfield is the best man to go hunting with since you don’t know the area,” the old man continued. “Layfield,” he shouted.

  “Yeah!” John Layfield was a man in his early twenties and careless in his appearance. His yellow hair was recently cut and needed washing. His hazel eyes mere dots in his face. The man had no chin but an engaging smile. He was soft spoken. The kind of man the ladies appreciated.

  “Mr. Hargadon was asking about the best place to hunt. I figured you might be going sometime soon and would be willing to take him along,” Mr. Morse Senior declared. He looked hopefully towards the younger man.

  “You the new schoolteacher,” Layfield asked. There was a sneer in his voice. Grinning broadly he looked Royce over critically.

  “Yes Sir,” Royce replied. Layfield was the man that traded Dean’s rifle for a new colt. Royce tried not to appear overly interested in the man. It was plain to see, he was not Barlow but it was a good hunch he knew the outlaw and was probably one of the Barlow Gang. Lady luck was at last shining on him, Royce thought.

  “Going hunting this afternoon,” Layfield said. He did not bother to ask if Royce knew which end of a rifle did the shooting. By his demeanor he was sure he already knew the answer.

  “This afternoon,” Royce replied. “What time. I have a dinner engagement at twelve o’clock to eat with Reverend Gaines and his family,” he supplied and watched Layfield’s eyes turn dark with resentment. Which of the Gaines sisters held the man’s interests, Royce wondered.

  “You eating with Reverend Gaines,” Mr. Morse Senior asked. “Half the young men in Junction City would like a place at his table. His daughters . . .,” the old man stopped abruptly. As if just realizing he was talking about Minister’s daughters. “The Gaines sisters are an attractive lot,” he finished lamely.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Layfield whispered. His features were furious.

  “I am sure Reverend Gaines is only interested in learning how his daughters are doing in school,” Royce replied. “I often get invitations to dinner usually on Sundays,” he added hoping to change the perception. He did not want to antagonize Layfield.

  “Hunting is best in the evening,” Layfield stated a moment later. His resentment still blazed out of his eyes. “I will meet you at the livery stable at three o’clock.”

  “I shall have to hire a horse,” Royce said.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll bring along a horse for you to ride,” Layfield replied.

  Royce did not trust the bland look Layfield gave him. “Thank you,” he said knowing Layfield was up to something. It was not only boys that enjoyed playing pranks. He would just have to deal with whatever it entailed when the time came.

  * * * * *

  Sunshine was warm on his shoulders when Royce walked towards the north end of Junction City. He stopped and looked at the Baptist Church noticing for the first time the evidence of an earlier fire. The walls were freshly painted white but charred boards were visible beneath the paint. Many of the trees surrounding the church had dead limbs. Another incident he would wait to hear about. Royce was developing a long list of events he needed answers too. Patience he reminded as he walked across the road and through the graveyard.

  Imogen opened the front door when he knocked. “Come around back,” she said stepping onto the front porch. “I told Faith to expect one extra for dinner but did not tell her it was you.” Royce gave her a questioning look. “It is much nicer to sit outside when the weather is nice. We won’t have too many more days to enjoy the sunshine.”

  Royce waited until Imogen was seated before taking the wooden chair opposite her.

  “I know who you are,” Imogen said leaning towards Royce. Her words were softly spoken. “Marshal Dean said he has a saddle pal named Royce,” she added in undertones watching Royce’s face for his reaction. She was disappointed. Leaning back in her chair she waited for Royce to confirm or deny what she said.

  Royce did not know how to respond to Imogen’s insinuations and was glad his shock over hearing her words had not registered on his face. It was too early to trust Imogen with his true identity.

  “You needn’t say anything,” Imogen continued. “I know George is . . . was a Territorial Marshal. He told me so. He also said his assignment was finished here.”

  “When did Dean tell you this,” Royce asked his words urgent.

  Imogen smiled sadly. “First I want to tell you I was the one that found George not father. We had arranged to meet. He was set to arrest the man he had come after and planned to leave the following morning,” Imogen caught back a sob. Her brown eyes glowed with unhappiness. “I want the man found and killed,” she exclaimed.

  “He will hang,” Royce said. “But you are confiding to the wrong man. You should be telling all of this to Sheriff Walden.”

  Imogen shook her head no. “George did not trust anyone,” she added softly. Royce might be protesting his identity but she knew she was correct. Royce Hargadon was a Territorial Marshal. “After I found George I came back to the house and told Father. He went out the backdoor and located the . . . George’s . . . body. Then Father went to find Sheriff Walden. I think the sheriff knows one of us sisters was there. Just not which one of us.”

  “Foot prints,” Royce suggested.

  “I never thought of that,” Imogen replied lifting her shoulders in a deep sigh. She was a beautiful woman. The kind of woman George Dean would find attractive. “I’m sure Father didn’t either or he would have wiped them away.”

  “Has Sheriff Walden asked you or your sisters any questions,” Royce asked.

  “He hasn’t asked me any. As for Faith or Valerie I’m not sure. He may have,” she replied. “He seems interested in Faith. Do you think he will question us?”

  “Walden said he was waiting on Marshal Tinsley. The longer he waits the colder the trail becomes,” Royce retorted. Not completely able to hide his frustration. Faith again. Her name kept coming up in connection with Barlow. What did she know and how important was her information.

  Royce doubted Dean had given Imogen any real information. But he set about trying to prove his hunch was correct. “The fact Mr. Dean was a Territorial Marshal interest me,” Royce said in a casual way. “What deep secrets did he confide to you? Not that it matters,” he added hastily.

  “You can keep up your pretence,” Imogen replied. A smile brightened her features. “George told me something Faith said got him thinking.”

  “Did Marshal Dean say what it was,” Royce asked holding his breath until Imogen answered.

  “No,” Imogen admitted. “Only that they were talking about Miss Ferguson and her brother Milton.”

  Royce already
suspected Milton Ferguson of being tied in with Barlow. Imogen’s words only confirmed his suspicion and did not really help him. “Did you mention Mr. Dean was a Marshal to anyone? Say to one of your sisters,” Royce asked.

  “No,” Imogen was adamant in her reply. “I knew how dangerous it would be if anyone found out.”

  “Someone did find out,” Royce declared. “The reason he was killed. Did Dean tell you why he was in Junction City.”

  Imogen’s brown eyes darkened with unshed tears. She nibbled on her bottom lip trying to regain her composure. “George said he was in Junction City looking for an outlaw leader. He did not say who or why.”

  “Ever hear of Barlow,” Royce asked knowing he was tipping his hand. But, he was sure Imogen knew more than she was confiding.

  “The man responsible for robbing the train last Wednesday night,” Imogen asked.

  “The same man,” Royce answered. “Dean figured Barlow was living a double life. By day an upright citizen of Junction City and at night an outlaw and train robber.” He heard Imogen gasp for air. Her cameo complexion turned gray in appearance. She locked her fingers together on her lap and took several deep breaths. “Miss Gaines,” Royce asked with concern in his voice. Not sure Imogen was not going to faint. Dean had not informed her of the man he was after. No one could fake such a reaction.

  “I am alright,” Imogen whispered. She brushed tears off her cheeks. “I know about you because George . . . I am sorry,” she wailed fighting for control over her pent up emotions. “George asked me to marry him. I haven’t told anyone. Not even Father.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed brokenly. “That’s the reason he told me about you. He said if ever I needed someone and he was not around. I was to look up his Saddle Pal. George only gave me your first name, Royce.”

  Royce felt clumsy. Women and tears were not something he had learnt to deal with. He reached for his handkerchief, passed it to Imogen and watched silently while she mopped up her face.

  “George said you were quiet around women,” Imogen said after she had gotten control over her emotions. “He also said you were the best Marshal he ever ran across. I want Barlow killed,” she reiterated her features furious. “I don’t want to wait on God’s judgment or the law.”

  “I can understand how you feel,” Royce replied. “I plan on catching the man. I will let the law do its job. Hanging is slower than a bullet,” he added softly. “Gives a man time to think and sweat the outcome.”

  Imogen gave Royce a watery smile. “We must go in to dinner,” she said. “Father is expecting you.”

  Royce looked dubiously at the dining table. He was not use to white tablecloths and linen napkins. “Mr. Hargadon,” Reverend Gaines said extending his right hand. “I am glad you can join us.” He indicated the chair adjacent his on the right. “Make yourself at home. Don’t let my daughters intimidate you. Women can be fussy,” he added with a smile. “I learnt a long time ago to enjoy my food in spite of all the glamour.”

  “Thank you Sir,” Royce replied. Imogen took the chair next to him. Valerie was seated in the next chair. At the end of the table Mary Gaines picked up her napkin and with a twist of her wrist the cloth opened before she placed it on her lap. Lydia was seated adjacent her mother and across the table from Valerie. Elizabeth was across from Imogen leaving the chair facing Royce vacant.

  Faith’s voice preceded her into the dining room, “Is everyone here?” She stopped abruptly when she saw Royce. Her lips tightened into a straight line. Royce pushed back his chair and stood. “Sit down Mr. Hargadon,” Faith said. “If you stand each time I come into the room you will look like a Jumping Jack,” her words were friendly while her look was frosty.

  Color rose in Royce’s face.

  Faith cocked her head to one side and studied his reaction to her words. She had never witnessed a man blushing before. The reaction was intriguing. She set a bowl of mashed potatoes and a platter of roast venison on the table in front of her father. A moment later this was followed by a bowl of cooked summer squash and another of green beans. Mr. Gaines filled his plate while Faith returned from the kitchen with a basket of biscuits. She sat on the vacant chair and folded her hands in her lap. More than a few words rushed through her mind all of which she could not say. Not yet at any rate but Imogen was going to get an ear full after Mr. Hargadon left!

  “How are you settling in,” Mr. Gaines asked.

  “Comfortably,” Royce replied conscious everyone was listening to what he said. Lydia gave him a friendly smile her eyes telling him to have courage. He had often said those words to the girl over the past week. He gave Lydia a quick wink as if they shared a secret. The rest of the meal went better. The Gaines sisters talked about subjects more congenial to young women while he and Reverend Gaines talked about Junction City and its many citizens.

  “I always have a pipe after dinner,” Reverend Gaines said pushing back his chair. “Will you stay for a while?”

  Royce stood also. The meal had been deliciously cooked and he had over eaten after days of cooking his own meals. “No thank you,” Royce replied with regret. “A Mr. Layfield has been kind enough to offer to take me hunting this afternoon. If I want to eat three meals a day I have to supplement my teacher’s salary with hunting.” He noticed Reverend Gaines’ sympathetic smile.

  “John Layfield,” Faith’s voice was high pitched. A frown puckered lines between her eyes. “Don’t trust the man,” she declared. “He has a mean streak a mile wide.”

  “Faith,” Reverend Gaines chastised gasping in surprise. He was shocked by his daughter’s critical announcement.

  “It is the truth Father,” Faith stated. “Mr. Hargadon needs to hear the truth if he plans to go hunting with Mr. Layfield.” Faith turned towards the kitchen before her father could tell her she must be charitable. Faith believed her father’s head was too often in the clouds but refrained from saying as much.

  “Dear me,” Reverend Gaines said. “I’ve never heard Faith talk as she did now. Dear me,” he repeated.

  “I will walk you to the front door,” Imogen offered. More convinced than ever that Faith had taken a liking to the new schoolteacher.

  “Mr. Hargadon,” Lydia said shyly.

  Royce turned towards the young woman. “Yes Lydia,” he said his voice a soft purr.

  Lydia took a deep breath. “Faith is right,” she said turning a bright fiery red. “Don’t trust Mr. Layfield.”

  “I won’t,” Royce replied. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” Lydia said bowing her head shyly.

  Royce extended his arm and Lydia wrapped her hands around it looking up at him with trusting eyes. Faith watched with surprise darkening her brown eyes. Then she heaved a deep sigh confused by her onslaught of conflicting emotions. It could not be jealousy! She barely knew the man. Besides which, Mr. Hargadon was a schoolteacher. He earned very little in the way of a salary and her father expected her to marry wealth. Mr. Hargadon was not a suitable candidate to replace Mr. Cook. On the other hand, Imogen was not the eldest daughter and could marry anyone she chose. Heavy hearted Faith returned to the dining room and started stacking dishes.

  Valerie looked up from her task of washing dishes and gave Faith a questioning look. “Mr. Hargadon is nice isn’t he,” she said softly.

  “What,” Faith asked. Her mind had been miles away dreaming up dreams that could never come true. Why did it have to be Mr. Hargadon she found attractive. Father would never approve. Approve of what Faith asked. Surely she was not thinking more of Mr. Hargadon than as a suitable husband for Imogen.

  Chapter Six

  Dressed in a brown checkered shirt and denims Royce strapped on his gunbelt tying the leather thong around his thigh. He removed the revolver, hefted it in one hand before opening the cylinder and checked the load. Six cartridges filled six spaces. Next, he ran his fingers along the back of his gunbelt to make sure each loop contained a bullet. Royce was a man heading into danger and it paid to be cautious. He
did not trust John Layfield. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on ends whenever he was around the man. His instincts were working overtime. Lydia was right. John Layfield was a dangerous man. Royce had ridden down this trail before. It was part of his job.

  The greater part of his job was facing down desperadoes. The rest was brainwork and Royce found this part of his job the hardest nut to crack. He was a man of action not reflection.

  His black hat shading his green eyes, Royce closed and locked the school door. For a moment he stood and watched as a breeze moved children’s swings in the schoolyard. Once again telling himself he was a fool. Instead of concentrating on Layfield his mind had homed in on Faith Gaines. The school swings moving in the breeze reminding him of children playing. He had never thought of marrying. The thought of fathering children scared him worse than the prospects of facing Barlow and his gang of killers all alone. Yet, Faith had set his mind to wondering what it might be like.

  Royce crossed the road. Two blocks down he turned west heading towards the back streets of Junction City. At the Blacksmith’s Shop Job Randall was before his forge working. His hammer ringing out as it struck against iron. The man paused in his work and gave Royce a friendly wave. Royce waved back. The road between the Blacksmith’s Shop and Mr. Cook’s Feed and Grain Store was lined with less savory establishments that catered to man’s baser instincts. Hitching rails along the road were filled with horses. Voices floating on the afternoon breeze were often coarse mixed with shrill laughter. Royce hurried pass the saloons glancing in the open doors. Scantly dressed ladies hung onto cowhands’ shoulders. Their painted faces looking like hundreds of other women he had seen over the years. Their suggestive stances were nothing new. Their shrill laughter part of the game they were playing. It was a game. A pretence. They offered hollow love to lonely men.

  John Layfield and Milton Ferguson were waiting at Dial’s Stable when Royce crossed the road. Layfield looked up and then did a double take. At first he did not recognize Royce. His face registered surprise when he did. Then he noted Royce’s tied down holster. Tinhorns and tenderfoots did not tie down their weapon.