by Kay Stuart
Mrs. Gaines ushered her daughters from the parlor leaving Reverend Gaines to entertain their guest. Royce got the impression it was not a completely congenial task and wondered to which of his guest he objected. Sure every father viewed a suitor for his daughter’s hand an intruder. Royce did not count himself in this category. As soon as he found the murderer of George Dean and identified Frank Barlow, he would go back to headquarters and forget about his time spent in Junction City.
Small talk inside the parlor only added to everyone’s discomfort. Reverend Gaines while adapt at handling a congregation knew very little of life outside the church. He was ill-equipped to handle the situation. Until Mr. Cook had approached him seeking Faith’s hand in marriage he had not given thought to this eventuality. Now that the time had arrived Mr. Gaines looked forward to his daughters marrying. Life would be much simpler. He was looking to his golden years when he no longer had to worry about the cost of flour or bacon. He welcomed a time when his meager salary would supply all his humble needs.
Robert Morse asked Sheriff Walden about the antique pistol he had won which started the conversational ball rolling. Walden knew a good deal about firearms. His appreciation for the Revolutionary War pistol was genuine. The three men talked while Reverend Gaines listened.
Imogen opened the parlor door and announced dinner was served. The three men lined up along one side of the table. The three Gaines’ sisters sat opposite them. Elizabeth and Lydia at the end of the table near their mother. Few words were spoken during dinner. Robert Morse was the most comfortable of the three men. Sheriff Walden and Royce feeling like fish out of water struggled with their table manners.
After dinner Elizabeth and Lydia volunteered to wash dishes and clean the kitchen. Imogen took Sheriff Walden to the backyard where they sat talking. They were soon joined by Robert Morse and Valerie.
“I must be going,” Royce said feeling he had over stayed his invitation.
“I will walk you to the front door,” Faith offered. She followed Royce onto the front porch. The light in her brown eyes telling him she had something on her mind. Faith locked her fingers together in front of her as she stared towards the cemetery. “I hope I am not being too forward,” she said after a brief span of time.
“No ma’am,” Royce replied soberly. “You do have something on your mind.”
Color rose on Faith’s cheeks then receded. “Yes,” Faith began only to fall silent. “Father,” she smiled hoping to take the sting out of her words. It was so difficult to know what to say. She did not want to hurt Mr. Hargadon’s feeling still she felt she must be honest. “Father insists I marry Mr. Cook,” she said in a rush of words. “I . . . well . . . I feel I must tell you. This is all too embarrassing,” Faith heaved a deep breath and rushed on. “You see, Father says I must marry to my advantage. Being the oldest daughter, you see.” Suddenly her throat closed up. Faith tucked her chin and would not look at Royce.
“Do you love Mr. Cook,” Royce asked in what he hoped was a brotherly tone. He was not thinking of Faith’s admission but on George Dean and his investigation. Dean’s letters indicated Faith possessed information he must obtain if he was to track down Frank Barlow.
“I loath the man,” Faith replied truthfully. “Only . . . only . . . it sounds heartless of me. Mr. Cook is a very wealthy man and he is interested in me.” Faith wished she had not brought up the subject of Mr. Cook but Mr. Hargadon was too nice a man to give false hope.
Royce placed his fingers under Faith’s chin and raised her face until he could look into her troubled eyes. “Your marrying Mr. Cook is your father’s idea and not yours,” he asked.
“I am the oldest daughter,” Faith replied in her defense. “Father expects me to see my sisters are provided for.”
“He is not able to provide for your younger sisters,” Royce asked, intrigued when he knew he should not concern himself with this matter. Perhaps it was the sadness in Faith’s voice. The feeling she was a captive of circumstances beyond her control.
“Ministers do not earn enough to keep body and soul together,” Faith replied honestly. “I believe schoolteachers make even less.”
Royce found he was irritated by Faith’s remark about schoolteachers. She had placed him as a second class citizen unworthy of her affection. He admitted he was attracted but had not gone beyond this fact in his thoughts. Faith telling him he was not worthy only heightened his interest. This irritated Royce as much as his first thought.
“It is just . . . well . . . I think Lydia has set her mind on making a match between you and me. She adores you.” Faith’s blush turned a deeper red. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings but you see even if I wanted . . .,” Faith stopped surprised by what she just about revealed. She did find Mr. Hargadon attractive and if it was not for her father’s insisting she make a good marry would find Lydia’s matchmaking worthwhile. It could not happen. A pain started in Faith’s chest and spread. Perhaps it would be better to tell Mr. Cook she would marry him.
“All is not what it appears,” Royce said his voice gruff. “Do not rush into a mistake Miss Gaines.” Faith felt pain behind her eyes at his sympathy. “A young woman should never marry for convenience unless she desires to do so. Time has a way of working out problems.” With this remark Royce stepped off the front porch. He tipped his hat to Miss Gaines before walking away. His thoughts were a jumble of impressions. Not sure why he was angry over Faith’s revelation.
Chapter Eight
Royce stopped in front of the Newspaper Office and read the bulletin board out front. MAIL STAGE ROBBED was the week’s banner headline. Royce read the posting a second time before it penetrated his thoughts. He was still disturbed over Faith’s revelation her father wanted her to marry Mr. Cook. And her admitting she loathed the man.
When Royce looked through the window Mclean was behind his desk writing an article about today’s fair. “What’s this about the Mail Stage being robbed,” Royce asked coming into the Newspaper Office.
Mclean looked up, removed his spectacles and cleaned them on the tie he wore loosely around his neck. “Newspapers are two cents,” the man stated. Mr. Mclean was abrupt in his speech. Royce wondered how the man went about collecting the news with such an abrasive manner.
“Right. Two cents,” Royce replied and retrieved to copper pennies from his front jean pocket. Taking the folded newspaper and tucking it under one arm Royce asked once again. “When was the robbery?”
“Wednesday night,” Mclean answered in his abrupt way of speaking. “Over by Cooper Creek.”
“That’s about forty miles from here,” Royce said. His mind was working on another problem. His letter home was on the stage when it was robbed. Was that a coincidence. Thursday morning was when he saw the stranger enter Miss Ferguson’s home. Was there a connection.
“More like forty five,” Mr. Mclean replied.
“Is it normal for the Mail Stage to be robbed,” Royce asked. He sat on the corner of Mr. Mclean’s desk settling in for a talk.
Mclean rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hadn’t thought of that angle,” he admitted. “I don’t reckon the Mail Stage has ever been robbed. Doesn’t carry anything of value. There were three passengers aboard. One of them could have been the target.” Mr. Mclean shuffled through a stack of papers on top of his desk. “Let’s see.” He read through the list of names. “It is not likely one of these men carried much on them,” he admitted a few moments later. “Mr. Cook was on his way to Rim Rock to see his sister. I’ve never known Mr. Cook to carry more than a few dollars on his person. Mr. Cowen is a whiskey drummer. The man has a wife and seven children that keeps him poor.” Mclean paused for a moment.
“The third man,” Royce asked.
“Don’t know him,” Mclean admitted.
“Name,” Royce asked wondering if all of this information could be gathered from the article Mr. Mclean had written in his newspaper.
“Stage driver did not know. The name the man gave over at the Stage Sta
tion was Jesse Hancock. Why are you interested?” Mr. Mclean asked.
“Curiosity is one of the hazards of being a teacher,” Royce replied casually deciding he had asked enough questions. He would read Mr. Mclean’s article first then later ask any questions he felt necessary.
Royce skipped the boy’s horserace. In his rooms above the school he read through Mr. Mclean’s article on the stage robbery a second time. Pacing back and forth across the floor, Royce looked out over the Elementary School building at Miss Ferguson’s house. Was his letter the real reason behind the mail robbery. There was nothing incriminating in the letter. Unless the code was broken yet Royce wondered if his days were numbered. Would he be found lying dead somewhere like George Dean.
What did Faith know and how soon could he expect to learn whatever information she possessed. Her revelation about Mr. Cook still sent his temperature skyrocketing! Mr. Cook had been on the stage when it was robbed. The thought burned a hole in Royce’s mind. John Layfield had mentioned Mr. Cook the day they went hunting together. Was the man a member of the Barlow gang. It was time Royce asked some questions of Faith. Until today’s revelation he had decided to take Faith into his confidence. Now he paused. Imogen had known Dean was a Marshal before the man’s death. Would she admit knowing as much if she was in cahoots with Barlow and what about Faith.
Royce felt caged inside his rooms.
The bull riding contest was underway when Royce joined the crowd behind Mr. Cook’s Feed and Grain. Bleachers were erected outside the corral fence so spectators could watch. From the size of the crowd every citizen in Junction City must have turned out for the event.
Bobby Smith rushed towards Royce. “I won,” Bobby shouted. He waved one hand. A five dollar gold piece was between his fingers.
“The horserace,” Royce asked. “Good for you.” He shook Bobby’s hand. The boy seemed to sprout over the weeks since school had started. His dusty jeans were inching up his ankles and the long sleeves on his shirt no longer reached his wrists. His new height slimmed the boy’s frame and narrowed his face.
“Come meet my folks,” Bobby said and led the way to where Mr. and Mrs. Smith were seated on the bleachers. The two boys and a girl seated with them Royce had seen playing on the school ground. Taking a place between Bobby and Mr. Smith, Royce watched the next bull rider wondering why any man would put himself through such punishment. He could understand bronc riding. At the end of your grueling time in the saddle you had a horse to ride. He had yet to see a man riding a bull down the road.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the young man’s time lapsed. It seemed they had their winner. A skinny youth with a shock of red hair and the bluest eyes Royce had ever seen. The grin on the lad’s lips reached from ear to ear as he limped out of the corral. The bull was maneuvered into a holding pen. “That’s Hank,” Bobby said. “He’s the best bull rider in these parts. He won two weeks ago over at Cooper Creek’s Fair.”
“He lives at Cooper Creek,” Royce asked trying to remember the importance of Cooper Creek. The next instant he was watching the tall skinny young man with more interest. Cooper Creek was the place the Mail Stage was robbed. Maybe he would take more interest in bull riding and ask Hank a few questions.
* * * * *
Faith glanced towards Mr. Hargadon and felt heat surge into her cheeks. Why had she ever mentioned Mr. Cook’s proposal to the man. Would she never learn to hold her tongue! It was too embarrassing! Only afterwards did she realize she was insinuating Mr. Hargadon had designs on her. The man had never indicated as much. Now . . . now she was unable to look at Royce without remorse. At the time she had felt she was doing the right thing. She moaned out loud causing Lydia to give her a speculative look.
“Faith,” Lydia asked.
“Never mind,” Faith replied. She would not confess her stupidity to Lydia or to anyone else. Worse still, Mr. Cook had joined the family group. True, he was talking to her Father but Faith was not deceived. Mr. Cook’s idea of courting would include winning her father over to his way of thinking. Once her father was persuaded then the man would turn his attention to her. Well, Faith was determined not to be fooled by the man playing nice. There was a mean streak in Mr. Cook. She had seen it in the way he treats his customers. Conceited, Faith thought before changing her opinion to arrogant. Mr. Cook was arrogant. Then she went on to list some of the other traits she attributed to Mr. Cook. Arrogant, haughty, superior, mean, cruel and vindictive all traits Faith found irritated her sensibilities. Pausing in thought, Faith tried to calm her increasing agitation.
The bull riding contest ended.
“Hank won,” Lydia said.
Faith used the roar of the crowd to cover her escape. Escape it was for Mr. Cook had stood after looking in her direction. She was gone before anyone knew of her intention. She rushed across the open field and caught up to Mrs. Houston
“May I help,” Faith asked. The woman was trying to corral her five excited children. The oldest boy was seven and the baby girl was five months old.
“Oh! Thank you,” Mrs. Houston replied as she headed towards the town’s business district. “It is time I put the children down for their naps. Naptime is the only time I have a few minutes to myself,” she confessed breathlessly.
Faith glanced towards the bleachers noting Mr. Cook standing next to Lydia and looking her way. He would never follow while she was carrying Mrs. Houston’s baby in her arms. Another fact Faith had overlooked. The man despised children.
“You will ruin your pretty dress,” Mrs. Houston said after taking another deep breath. She successfully had her children under control at last.
Faith looked at the sleeping baby in her arms. Her hair under a white cap was blond. Her face looking like a cherub was rosy pink with sleep. “I don’t mind,” Faith said softly “If you don’t mind I will carry her home.”
“You are a dear,” Mrs. Houston replied. One of her sons decided to explore the alley between the general store and the bakery while his mother was distracted. He came back pulling a large tabby cat by the tail. The animal was loudly protesting the harsh treatment. “Johnny let go!” His mother shouted letting go of her young daughter’s hand she hurried towards Johnny.
Johnny drug the cat by the tail the distance of another few feet. A wide smile was displayed on the boy’s impish face. “Ain’t he funny sounding,” the boy called. The next moment the cat turned and swiped at Johnny’s hand. Red whelps appeared. It was now Johnny howling while still refusing to release his captive.
“I told you,” the irritated mother said. “Now see what has happened.” She took the boy’s hand and looked at the bleeding scratch marks. At the same time the cat bolted for the alley. He ran into packing crates knocking them over as he disappeared from sight.
“A lot of hot water and soap will keep away infection,” Faith advised. There was something beguiling about the little boy’s tears. It was then Faith realized the child had green eyes. Why she should think of Mr. Hargadon was disconcerting. Faith hardened her resolve not to think of the man again.
Mrs. Houston lived in a small house on the east edge of town. A wooden fence surrounded the yard. The yard in front was worn bare by little feet. A porch swing was suspended from the front porch’s ceiling. Providing a place where Mrs. Houston could sit and watch over her children at play. “I tried planting flowers,” Mrs. Houston said as she pushed open the gate. “I do love flowers,” she added wistfully. “My ma always grew lots of flowers when I was a girl. The place seems kinda lonesome without cheery blossoms to greet me.”
“Mother grows Zinnias in an old wash tub,” Faith said following Mrs. Houston into the yard. “If you like I will bring you some seeds. Mother says Zinnias are so tough we girls could not kill them off.”
“Zinnias,” Mrs. Houston said as if she could see flowers blooming along her front porch. “That is very kind of you. Yes, I think I would like some seeds. Charles was saying the other day the milking pail has sprung another leak and it is time to b
uy a new one. I will save the pail and plant Zinnias in it next spring. Thank you.” Mrs. Houston took the sleeping baby in her arms. “I would ask you in,” she began embarrassed by her lack of curtsey.
“The children are ready for their naps,” Faith replied. “I will come for a visit another time.”
Faith made her way along the eastside of Junction City. Hoping Mr. Cook was not looking for her. The white church appeared and Faith gave a sigh of relief. “Miss Gaines,” the male voice startled her. Mr. Hargadon was sitting on the front steps of the church.
“Oh!” Faith whispered hoping her cheeks were not as fiery red as they felt.
“May we talk,” Royce asked.
“I . . . I,” Faith stuttered noticing the intense look in Mr. Hargadon’s green eyes. “Yes. If you like.”
Royce stood and walked towards the graveyard. He knew where Dean’s marker was located. “You were right when you asked if I knew George Dean,” Royce said standing in front of the man’s marker. His hands were in the front pockets of his denims. He still wore his holster. After learning of the Mail Stage robbery he had decided it was time to keep his revolver on him.
“A friend or family,” Faith asked.
“Friend and colleague,” Royce answered.
“Then you are a Territorial Marshal,” Faith stated. She was not really surprised. Mr. Hargadon was . . . what? Too confident to be a schoolteacher. Too aggressive. Too superior male. All of the above and more. He did not appear to be a man content to spend his time behind a school desk teaching children.
“You are not surprised,” Royce declared.
“Not really,” Faith replied. “Some of what Elizabeth has said makes sense,” she added softly.
Royce looked embarrassed for a brief moment. “I told Tinsley I could not pull it off,” Royce defended and heard Faith’s soft laugh. “It has been too many years since I sat in a classroom.”