Courting Faith

by Kay Stuart

  Mclean’s Office was dark. The printing press was silent. The blackboard out front did not contain any new headlines. Royce stopped to pull out his pocket watch. He flipped open the case then held the timepiece up to one ear. He was constantly forgetting to wind the thing. Often wondering why he bothered to carry a watch in the first place since it seldom had the right time. It was certainly not ten o’clock. He pulled out the stem and stood turning the metal dial until his watch started ticking. He would have to ask someone for the correct time.

  Roger Cobb was behind his workbench when Royce opened the front door to the Gunsmith Shop. “Be with you in a minute,” he called without looking up.

  “No hurry,” Royce replied.

  “Mr. Hargadon,” Cobb greeted. “What brings you here?” Royce heard the unsettled tone in Cobb’s voice and wondered at the reason.

  “I heard you are one of the School Board Members,” Royce replied.

  Cobb put away the pistol he was working on. Wiping his hands on an oily rag before standing. “What do you want to know,” he asked.

  “You might think my question is strange,” Royce said, “Considering I am new in town.”

  Cobb picked up his cane and limped to the front of his shop. “I assume it has something to do with school since you mentioned my being a School Board Member,” Cobb replied. His frown darkened his fair complexion. His blue eyes looked strained.

  Royce raked his fingers through his brown hair before settling his hat back on his head. “It is really about Miss Ferguson,” he said slowly. Hoping his reluctance to talk on the subject would cause Cobb to open up. He could almost hear the man’s mind grinding away. “She is the most disagreeable person I have ever met. Her teaching leaves much to be desired. I was wondering why she has been retained under these circumstances.”

  Roger Cobb studied Royce for a long moment before making up his mind. “I petitioned against retaining Miss Ferguson when her contract came up for renewal. I am not happy about some of the reports my daughters are bringing home. Mr. Pillsdale and Mr. Hardin overruled my concerns.”

  “What did Doctor Thomas and Reverend Gaines have to say,” Royce asked.

  “Doctor Thomas agrees with me. I think he has heard pretty much the same reports I have been getting,” Cobb replied. “Reverend Gaines had no opinion one way or the other.” There was a touch of bitterness in Cobb’s voice at this admission. The man had hoped Reverend Gaines would have stood with him and Doctor Thomas on the necessity of removing Miss Ferguson from her position.

  “I understand Reverend Gaines can be vague at times,” Royce retorted hoping to keep Cobb talking. He wanted specific reasons. Something that would reinforce his distrust in the woman.

  “You teach her former students. What do you think,” Cobb asked. He was curious about Royce speaking out so bluntly about Miss Ferguson’s teaching methods.

  Royce raked his fingers through his hair and decided to be honest. “I find it puzzling that my students have no assigned grades. Their level of education is all over the map,” Royce said shaking his head. “In one subject they excel while in another they are far below standard. They can do mathematics but can not read. They do not know England from Greece or Canada. They do not know the Declaration of Independence from the British Magna Carta. They could not tell me who James Madison is. I remember one student saying he was a famous outlaw not a former President of the United States. You see what I mean. It is all very puzzling and I am wondering why Miss Ferguson has been retained all these years.”

  “Most families are only concerned with their children learning to read and write. More than half of the town’s children go to school for a couple of years before dropping out.” Cobb remained quiet for so long Royce thought the man was not going say anything more. “I have two daughters in Miss Ferguson’s class. I can’t say much for fear she will find out I have spoken. Since I made my objections known both my daughters are having a difficult time in school. I would take them out only I don’t have anyway of teaching them at home. My grandfather started the school and now I find myself helpless to do anything about what is going on. I am one member on a five member board.”

  Royce left the Gunsmith Shop convinced he was correct about Miss Ferguson. She was somehow tied in with Frank Barlow and that was the reason she was being retained as Junction City’s schoolteacher.

  Dusk came early during the fall and winter months. The sun was inching down the horizon when Royce crossed the watery road. He stopped and scraped mud off his boots before opening the door to the Sheriff’s Office. Walden was seated behind his desk.

  “Come in,” Walden greeted. “I saw you go into Cobb’s a few minutes ago and thought you might want to see me next.” He pushed a cup of coffee across his desktop towards the vacant chair.

  Royce felt comfortable inside the sheriff office. He hooked a boot around a chair leg pulling the chair away from the desk before settling onto the seat. “First off, since I’ve been in Junction City there hasn’t been any activity in the warehouse across the road from the school,” Royce said. “How does Mayor Pillsdale make a living?”

  Walden tilted back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. He was certain he was looking at one of Marshal Tinsley’s lieutenants. Just as sure Hargadon would not admit as much. “When Pillsdale ran for Mayor the man decided he needed to be more accommodating. Citizens didn’t like his big freight wagons rumbling through town at all hours of the day and night. After it rains the loaded wagons cut deep ruts in the road making it nearly impossible to pass. Children and dogs alike played in the puddles left behind. More than one irate mother wagged her finger under Pillsdale’s nose threatening to boycott any goods he brought to town.” Walden settled in for a gabfest. “Pillsdale built new warehouses and moved his freight business to the west edge of town. His freight wagons use a private road that bypasses town. Subsequently, he was elected Mayor.”

  “The large warehouses behind Job Randall’s Blacksmith Shop,” Royce asked.

  “Pillsdale keeps Job busy shoeing mules. Looking after his teams and wagons in general,” Walden replied. “What else brings you my way?”

  “You’re not young enough to have attended school under Miss Ferguson,” Royce said. It was more a statement than a question.

  “I’ve heard about Miss Ferguson,” Walden said. “I wouldn’t send one of my children to her school. If I had any,” he added. “Why do you ask?”

  “Curious,” Royce replied.

  Disbelief crossed Walden’s face. “Cobb has voiced his complaints,” Walden said. “There is a difference between spanking a child and beating one.” Royce leaned forward in his chair. Walden had his full attention. “I take it that is not what started your speculation.” Royce’s reaction could not be feigned.

  “No,” Royce admitted. “Remember, I teach her former students.” He settled back in his chair and picked up his coffee cup. “In my opinion, she is not much of a teacher. Which set me to wondering why she has been retained all these years.”

  “So you are interested in learning about the School Board Members,” Walden guessed clearly puzzled by Royce’s line of enquiry.

  “I came by to ask about Bob Hardin,” Royce replied.

  “Hardin is a School Board Member,” Walden said. If the man was a Territorial Marshal as he suspected. Why was he concerning himself with School Board Members. “Jill Hardin is his daughter.” Walden stood to refill his coffee cup. The potbellied stove warmed the office. Opening the metal door he put two pieces of wood into the stove before lifting the coffee pot off the top. “His son left school last year. There is an older daughter also. I would say Hardin is in his late thirties. He runs a few hundred head of cattle on a ranch south of town. If you were to ask me I’d also say he appears more prosperous than his circumstances warrant. I’ve looked into the man but wasn’t able to find anything crooked in his dealings.”

  “In other words there is smoke but you haven’t been able to locate the fire,” Royce replied.


  “A nice way of putting it,” Walden admitted. He returned to his chair and tilted back on its hind legs. The chair groaned under his weight. Amos Walden was a big man. His lean muscular size would intimidate most men. “What does this have to do with Miss Ferguson,” Walden asked.

  “Cobb said he tried to get the School Board not to renew Miss Ferguson’s contract. Hardin and Pillsdale disagreed while Doctor Thomas agreed with Cobb. I now see why. If Miss Ferguson is mistreating her students Doctor Thomas would know.”

  “But there is more,” Walden retorted.

  “I am not sure,” Royce replied suspecting he was tipping his hand. He believed he could trust Walden yet he hesitated to confide too much. Barlow was known for his craftiness. The fact that George Dean was murdered had a chilling effect on sharing too much information. He now knew Imogen Gaines was aware that Dean was a Marshal. Walden knew as well. Who else had found out and was this, the reason Dean was murdered.

  “What does this have to do with George Dean’s death,” Walden asked. He stood and walked to the front window. A film of smoke and grease dimmed his view of the road in front.

  “Murder,” Royce corrected. “Dean was murdered because he was on to something and Milton Ferguson is the cornerstone that holds everything up,” he confided hoping he was not making a huge mistake. “I know for a fact the man is neither the halfwit he pretends to be nor does he walk with a limp.”

  “Are you sure,” Walden demanded. He had been sheriff of Junction City for five years and deputy two years before that. Seven years was a long time to know a man and be deceived.

  “I saw him as plainly as I am seeing you,” Royce replied. Walden paced across the sheriff’s office. “I didn’t trust you because you were the only man to know Dean was a Territorial Marshal. I wanted to come to my own conclusions on certain matters before I said anything.”

  “What makes you think you can trust me now,” Walden asked.

  “Imogen Gaines,” Royce replied and watched shock register on Walden’s face.

  “Imogen. Miss Gaines,” Walden hastily amended clearing his throat. He had come to the conclusion he was in love with the young woman and was trying to generate enough gumption to say as much. To know she had faith in him was encouraging.

  “Imogen Gaines is very perceptive,” Royce continued. “She knew Dean was a Territorial Marshal. She guessed I was the first time we met.”

  “So I am alright because Miss Gaines approves of me,” Walden asked bewildered.

  “Among other things,” Royce replied. “Now let’s get back to Hardin. I told you the reasons I am interested in the man. What can you tell me about him?”

  “In light of what you said about Milton Ferguson I am no longer certain about the man,” Walden admitted rubbing the back of his neck. He knew Hardin and Ferguson or at least thought he did until a moment ago.

  “Has Hardin a private income or does he live off what his ranch brings in,” Royce asked. This was the key question. Where did Hardin get his money. The answer to this one question often decides a man innocence or guilt.

  “As far as I know Hardin does not have another income,” Walden said seeing the reasoning behind the question. “The man lives too well for working a few hundred head of beef.”

  “What does Hardin look like,” Royce asked.

  “If you’re thinking he might be Frank Barlow you can forget it. The man is stocky built. Can’t be more than five foot four inches tall. He does have brown hair but so does half of Junction City.”

  “So I am back to square one,” Royce said as he stood. “I don’t know which one of Junction City’s citizens is Frank Barlow. I don’t want to scare Barlow off. Men like Hardin and Ferguson are replaceable.”

  “Barlow would just resurface someplace else with other men to do his dirty work,” Walden concluded.

  Royce left the Sheriff’s office with his insides churning. Until he could identify Barlow it was next to useless to suspect anyone of being a gang member. He mentally added Bob Hardin to his growing list of suspects. Would he still be around when this case was concluded or end up like George Dean. In a six foot grave to be mourned over by the lovely Gaines sisters. A chilling thought!

  Royce walked across the road in the gathering dusk and unlocked the school’s side door. The room was still warm from a fire in the potbelly stove that stood in the corner of the classroom. Royce climbed the stairs to his rooms above. In the darkness he felt for the slip of paper he had placed over top of the door. It was still in place. There had been no visitor while he was away.

  He cooked supper and cleaned the kitchen afterwards wondering what Faith was doing. He visualized her sunny face with an amused smile tilting up the corners of her lips, her eyes warm and friendly. The attraction was there. His impulse the evening before had been to kiss her. Would she have doubled up her fist and punched him. The thought was as intriguing as the thought of kissing her. Until he remembered Faith telling him her father expected her to marry Mr. Cook of the Feed and Grain.

  Mr. Cook was going to be his next suspect Royce decided before shaking his head at his absurdity. Still, he would ask a few questions around town about Mr. Cook.

  Standing at the window Royce stared across the Elementary School’s roof. Miss Ferguson’s house was in total darkness. If the woman was home there should be a light shining through the parlor window. What was Miss Ferguson up to and how did it fit into the case he was building against her younger brother. Only time and patience would reveal the answer.

  Royce watched Miss Ferguson’s house until after midnight then he left off his vigil and went to bed. If Miss Ferguson did not return by morning he was going to have an additional fourteen rambunctious children to teach.

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Hargadon,” Miss Ferguson’s squeaky voice preceded her into the Secondary School building.

  Royce stood and left his desk not wanting to be trapped by the woman. “Yes,” he answered. “I hope you are feeling better,” he added. The woman did look pale.

  “Yes, thank you,” Miss Ferguson replied. Her blue eyes watched Royce with an intense light.

  “Now that the weather has turned cold you must remember to wear your shawl,” Royce replied hoping he sounded conciliatory. The woman was wearing a long sleeved dark brown dress. The high lace collar was buttoned up to her throat with the long sleeves ending with a bit of matching lace at the wrist. “It is quite brisk out this morning. Is there something I can do for you,” Royce continued while in his mind he was seeing a trail of damp muddy boot prints across Miss Ferguson’s porch. He also realized he had not thought of her bedroom. Sure he had left prints on the hardwood floor. There was nothing he could do about it now.

  “If you do not already know I want to inform you that school will be dismissed early today,” Miss Ferguson replied.

  “Dismissed early,” Royce asked his puzzlement genuine.

  “There is to be a funeral,” Miss Ferguson replied haughtily, “This afternoon. The town always turns out for a funeral.”

  “I wasn’t aware there had been a death,” Royce admitted wondering why Miss Ferguson seemed to appear delighted by the prospect.

  Miss Ferguson placed her hands together in front of her ample bosoms. “A vagrant,” she replied looking down her nose at Royce. “No one I know.”

  Royce wondered why he felt Miss Ferguson was lying. What could the death of a vagrant have to do with her and if she was acquainted with the person why lie about it. “What time is the funeral,” Royce asked and was rewarded by Miss Ferguson lifting her shoulders as the woman took in a deep breath.

  “Two o’clock is the usual time for funerals,” she replied her words sharply spoken. “I have not heard otherwise.” Usual time. The statement sounded cold hearted. As if people lived and died and were buried on schedule. Two o’clock for funerals. “I will ring the bell dismissing classes,” she informed him.

  “Yes. Thank you,” Royce replied and moved to the front of the classroom. Chills were l
ooping down his spine. There was something not quite human about Miss Ferguson and he realized it was her total disregard for human suffering. Women were supposed to be the gentler sex. Miss Ferguson’s cold approach to death was chilling.

  Royce watched Miss Ferguson walk across the schoolyard. The woman did not possess a graceful bone in her ample body. She lumbered like an ox. He shook his head sadly before going back inside his classroom. He should pity Miss Ferguson. A woman of her nature and looks would never attract a husband. She was doomed to teaching school until age caught up to her and she must retire.

  “Good morning,” Elizabeth greeted. Lydia looked at Royce shyly. Since the day of the Fair Lydia had withdrawn into herself. Was it due to Superintendent Hervey’s coming visit or something Royce had said or done. He hoped it was not the latter.

  “There was a death,” Royce asked. Being the Minister’s daughter Elizabeth would have more information.

  “Yes Sir,” Elizabeth replied. “A Mr. Hogan. He just arrived in Junction City a few days ago. He has a little girl that is staying with us.” The girl Royce had seen on Monday. The child had opened the front door. “The funeral is at two o’clock today,” Elizabeth finished.

  “Miss Ferguson was just here and informed me,” Royce replied. No more was said as other students arrived. He would ask Faith about the man’s death and about the little girl. She had seemed vaguely familiar. The name Hogan meant nothing but he met lots of men and unless there was something particularly interesting about Hogan. Royce was not likely to remember him. Besides, he was better at remembering faces.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Once it was learned that Reverend Gaines had taken in Mr. Hogan’s orphan daughter. The citizens of Junction City were quick to offer help. Faith wondered if it was really out of kindheartedness or curiosity before scolding herself for being uncharitable. Mrs. Bloom arrived early Wednesday morning with a brown wrapped package of dresses her two daughters had outgrown. “No one seems to know how old the poor thing is,” Mrs. Bloom apologized. “I do hope something will fit.”