Under the Summer Sky

by Lori Copeland

  “We should eat something.” She looked at the café. Hours had passed since they’d eaten the lunch Mae had packed, and with the constant commentary from Missy they hadn’t enjoyed it much. People were coming and going from the café. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.” Jones shifted on the crutch. “But I could use some coffee.” When he paused to adjust his hat, a stocky, baldheaded man in manure-covered boots hurried toward them. His eyes bulged and he squawked like a blue jay.

  “You Jones?”

  “I am.”

  “You own a little red mare?”

  He nodded.

  “Got bad news. Somebody’s stolen your horse. You best head for the livery—the sheriff‘s over there now.”

  Pitching the crutches aside, Jones hobbled after the stranger. Trinity gathered the crutches and caught up. Stolen? The word sent a shock through her. How could it be? The mare had been traveling in a rear stock car. The funny-looking man talked so fast, maybe she’d misunderstood.

  “Sue was stolen?” she called out, trying to keep up.

  “She was, ma’am. Right beneath our noses. Couldn’t stop ’em. Tried. Couldn’t. Sheriff’ll tell you we chased ’em for over an hour, but we lost ’em.”

  “Lost who? Who stole the stock?”

  “Don’t know. Shorely don’t know. Sheriff can explain.”

  Sue. Stolen. It was inconceivable, and it was the worst news yet. That mare meant more to Jones than breathing. If he had ridden out this morning for Chicago instead of taking the train with her, Sue would be with him right now.

  Entering the livery, Trinity latched onto Jones’s arm. “It’s going to be all right. This is a mistake.”

  He was deaf to comfort, and he approached the man wearing a tin star. “What’s this about my horse being stolen?”

  The man turned with a frown. “Did you own one of those horses in the cattle car?”

  “Yes. A little red mare.”

  “Sorry. We’ve had a rash of thievery around here. Seems the stock was unloaded and someone took off with the whole lot. Me and a couple of deputies joined the chase but we lost ’em a ways out of town. Ordinarily I’d say not to worry and I’d think I could get the horse back, but I didn’t recognize this gang. They must be new to the area.” He shook his head. Sweat was trickling down his cheek. “I don’t know what this world’s coming to. A man has to keep what he owns under lock and key these days.”

  Tears blinded Trinity. If Sue was really gone, Jones had lost everything he loved. And he would rightly hold her accountable. She reached out to console him, but he averted her touch and refused to look at her. After a moment, he regained his composure and straightened. She steadied him. Anguish shook him—both physically and mentally. Ten minutes ago she’d assumed things couldn’t get any worse, but they had.

  Jones stood for a moment staring at the empty stalls. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “I’ll leave a name and a place you can wire me if you find her.”

  “That’d be wise, son.” The sheriff laid a hand on his shoulder. “Wouldn’t hold out much hope, but I’ll do the best I can.” Trinity hurried to catch up with him as he hobbled toward the door. Apparently he didn’t plan to stick around to see if the sheriff was successful.

  In her heart Trinity knew this was one of the darkest moments Jones would ever face. Sue was gone, and he must have felt like he was abandoning his best friend. His family. His devoted companion.

  And she knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive her.

  The evening stars had settled overhead when Trinity entered the livery. Jones had disappeared shortly after the news that Sue had been stolen. She longed to search for him, to comfort him, but she respected his loss and his need for privacy.

  She’d taken the time to walk to the bank—that much she could do. From this moment on she was going to take care of herself and lessen his burden. But when she got to the bank, it was only to find that it had closed ten minutes earlier. She’d sat on a bench outside a storefront and waited. When Jones had failed to show up at the café at suppertime, she’d started a search for him.

  She found him at the livery, lost in thought and apparently unaware that she stood in the doorway. Her heart sank when she saw him throw Sue’s saddle over an unfamiliar stallion.

  “Going somewhere?”

  He drew the belly cinch tight. “Sorry, Trinity. I can’t stay around here. I’m heading out.”

  “The doctor said you weren’t supposed to ride…”

  “I know what the doctor said.” He jerked the flap over the cinch. “I’m leaving.”

  She stepped into the dim interior and stood for a moment, letting the silence say what she couldn’t. Running away was never the answer. He was so withdrawn from her—from the world.

  “It will be dark soon.”

  “Dark never stopped me from riding.”

  “You’ve never ridden with a shot leg before.” Venturing closer, she paused, allowing ample space between them. “I stopped by the bank earlier.”

  He moved to the stallion’s flank and tightened the straps on his bedroll. Apparently the livery had supplied his needs for the three-day ride.

  “It was closed,” she continued. “I’ll have to return tomorrow morning.”

  “The doctor’s wife arranged for your room at the boardinghouse.” He fastened another strap, preoccupied. Her heart ached. He looked like a small boy who’d lost his best friend.

  “Jones…”

  He shook his head. “I know. Thanks.”

  She could have reminded him that she knew a little about loss. Her parents. Pauline, someday soon…but somehow the comparison paled. Sue was closer than kin. And Trinity barely knew Pauline. Until a week ago her aunt had only been a name.

  Sue had been his best friend.

  His hand paused, and after a moment he said quietly, “I know you expected me to see this through, but I can’t.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. There’s no explanation. I just need to get out of here. You’ll be fine. The banker will give you the box and you can take the next train out of here.”

  “Wednesday. There’s a train on Wednesday. I’ll be back in Dwadlo that evening. I purchased my ticket earlier.” She didn’t mention that she’d bought it with the last cent she had. She was no longer going to rely on him. She could take care of herself. “I can do this alone.”

  Her heart was shedding a bucket of tears, but she refused to burden him further. He’d been good to her—too good. And now he was riding off with an injury that could endanger his life. But she couldn’t stop him from leaving. She couldn’t stop his pain. She had no say over his life, no matter how much she wanted that privilege.

  “Of course you can do this alone.” He turned back to the saddle. He was not going to let emotion override his loss.

  She stepped closer and rested her hand on his forearm, but he jerked away.

  “I understand your need for privacy, but…”

  “But nothing! If I hadn’t stuck around to help you Sue would still be with me!”

  His accusations stung, but she continued. “I agree, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know the sacrifice this trip has cost you, but…but bad things happen.”

  “Not to Sue. She’s been bitten by snakes, tangled with opossums and wild dogs, and always she managed to pull through. Now she walks down a ramp and a bunch of men steal her and she’s gone.” He turned angst-ridden eyes on her. “Why? Why Sue?”

  “I don’t have an answer.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “I don’t know why my parents left and never came back. I don’t know why your stepmother was so hateful. I don’t know why Rob had to die so young while Pauline has lived so long. I don’t know, Jones. All I know is that the Good Book says each of us has an appointed time.”

  He didn’t answer, and her gaze moved to the saddle. “How are you going to mount?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  He’d manage. With an injured thigh and more gr
it than good sense. He was so blinded by grief that he wanted to die, but she’d fight him on this.

  “What about my land? Our transaction?” Now wasn’t the ideal time to remind him of her problem, but maybe if she stalled long enough he’d come to his senses.

  “I’ll ride by the place on my way out. If the property meets my standards the railroad will wire you the sales price. It’ll be waiting for you in Dwadlo when you get a clear deed.” He looked at her with a hardness in his eye. “You’ll get your money.”

  He was a stubborn, prideful goat. “Why must you take out your hurt on me? I didn’t steal Sue.”

  “If I hadn’t spent my time getting you out of hot water every other day, I would be long gone from here. And I’d still have my horse.”

  She had never seen him so mean-minded and harsh. “You don’t know that, and I never asked for your pity.”

  “No, it’s the railroad’s money you want.”

  She knew bitterness drove his hurtful words, but they still stung. “That’s not true.” She faced him, her anger rising. Heartache made him lash out, but he had no cause to distrust her intentions. She’d grown fond of Sue as well. She’d miss the animal. And she’d miss Jones—and at the moment the thought of him leaving made her envy the stolen horse. He adored Sue. He would move heaven and earth to have the mare safe. But he was willing to ride away from Piedmont, leaving Trinity without a backward glance.

  And when he did, it would destroy her. What had she done? Once self-reliant and happy, she was reduced to a simpering, hopeless wreck of a woman who’d fallen in love with a man who loved his horse more than her.

  The man has never once indicated that he loved you, Trinity told herself. He’s saved your hide more than once, but never professed any feeling other than the need to leave.

  She stepped back. “I’m sorry you think my feelings for you are so superficial.”

  He reached for the reins and mounted up. She could tell it took a great effort, and the agonizing image made her turn away until he was seated. Pain flared on his features, but he trained himself to remain stoic. “I hope you find your deed. Tell Tom and Mae I’ll stop by the next time I’m in the area.”

  She swallowed against the tight knot in her throat. And what about her? Would he ride away and pretend they’d never met, never shared the past week?

  Reining the horse, he walked the animal out of the livery. She followed to watch his back retreating down the street, his posture slumped on the rented horse. He pulled his hat down low and never looked back. This is the last time I’ll ever see him, Trinity thought.

  Drawing on her last ounce of pride, she prayed. Let it be so, Lord. Let me learn my lesson. I will never find love—the lasting kind—this side of heaven. I’ve often accused You of forgetting about me, and now, well…If You truly love me, make him turn around and come back.

  She wanted love. She wanted it from God and she wanted it from Jones. From the day her ma and pa had ridden off there had been a missing ingredient in her life. She didn’t know much about unconditional love at the tender age of five, but she knew about it now. Tom and Mae gave that love to each other in a way she’d never experienced. Seeing them together, sharing their laughter and happiness, had stirred something inside of her that she wasn’t sure she could ever quench.

  God was in His heaven. Her faith might be small, but she held onto hope, however faint. The man she adored was riding away from here and there was nothing she could do to stop him. He kept riding slowly away from town until his figure disappeared in the shifting shadows of tumbleweeds and rock formations. She had her answer.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she nodded sharply and spun on her heel to walk to the boardinghouse. She’d tried depending on someone else, and it had been a mistake. It was back to managing her life on her own.

  Apparently, God wasn’t watching.

  Twenty

  Trinity took her first step toward regaining her independence the following morning. She sat on the bank steps and listened as the clock tower struck nine. The faint stirring of the clerk’s purposeful movements as she flipped the hanging sign from Closed to Open brought her to her feet. Shaking the folds of her dress, she tidied her hair and prepared to go inside.

  Last night had been the worst in her life. Lying awake for endless hours, she’d finally crawled from the sheets and dressed, even though dawn hadn’t come yet. Her thoughts no longer centered on the deed. The piece of paper didn’t matter unless Pauline needed the funds to live out her last days more comfortably. A blanket of melancholy settled around her shoulders, heavy and nearly smothering. But she was going to see this through to the end.

  Her stomach growled. She’d had no money for breakfast.

  “Good morning!” chirped the fashionable clerk dressed in dark calico. “Mr. Price will be right with you. Can I offer you a cup of cold water?”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  Momentarily the banker appeared, his hand extended. “Miss Franklin. So good to see you again.” He led her to his desk, piled high with papers. “I trust all is going well?”

  “As well as can be expected.” She sat down, fanning her face with her hand. Even with the windows open to the morning the building felt stuffy.

  “Of course, of course. I understand that your aunt has rallied?”

  “For the time being. She’s still very weak.”

  “But what a fighter!” He smiled. “Well, I suppose you’re anxious to retrieve her property.”

  A gust of refreshing wind fluttered papers on the banker’s desk. “My,” he said, glancing toward the darkening sky. “It appears we might be in for a bit of rain.”

  Returning his attention to the desk, he shuffled through a stack of papers and came up with a single sheet. His eyes perused the document. “Box two. My, my. One of the oldest boxes in the establishment.” Pushing back in his chair, he motioned for Trinity to follow him. She stood and trailed to a closed door at the back of the room. Inserting a key in the lock, he smiled. “It feels almost like Christmas morning, doesn’t it?”

  He was always so helpful. So polite. A thought struck her so forcefully that she almost recoiled. The man claimed to have been a close friend of Rob’s, but she didn’t know that for certain. Rob had never mentioned him in his letters. What if Rob had left her more money…and he’d kept it for himself?

  You’re exhausted, Trinity. Your mind is working overtime.

  But he could be wicked. He could be planning to harm her. Everyone knew that Wilson’s Falls was a prime piece of property. The water rights alone were worth a fortune, and with her and Pauline out of the way the banker would have a clear path to manipulating the deed for his own use.

  What if he was playing her for a fool, keeping her on a wild goose chase when he knew exactly where the deed was located? He could have the missing document in his possession and be slyly biding his time until Pauline passed away.

  He could be taking her into a deep, dark cellar from which she’d never return.

  Fear was causing these crazy assumptions! Panic played havoc with her reasoning. The clerk was upstairs and would stop him—if she wasn’t in on the treachery herself. But even if her theory was correct, Pauline still legally owned the property. Unless the banker was truly the worst sort and had powerful connections, her imagination was working overtime.

  A soft gasp escaped her. Rob could have lost the deed to the banker in a card game. Her brother hadn’t been a fool. He’d known the land’s worth, but men took foolish chances when they gambled. He could have lost a wager, signed the deed over to the banker immediately, and then waited for Pauline to pass…but that would mean Rob had known they still had living kin and not told her. He could have been so ashamed of his actions that he banked on Trinity never finding out about the betrayal.

  Hope failed her. The thrill of expectation had ridden away with Jones. Each passing day with him had been like a parlor game—exciting, frustrating, but always full of anticipation that the missing d
eed would appear. She felt tears welling up and swallowed them back, her mind centering on the day Jones had stuffed her in the barrel. But try as she might, she couldn’t conjure up that same seething, righteous anger she’d felt then. All the memory produced was more tears.

  The door swung open and a hush fell over her. A set of narrow steps led down into a dark, musty-smelling vault. Fear snatched her breath.

  The banker didn’t appear to notice. He descended the stairs carefully, wiping cobwebs away with his bare hand. She shuddered. When he was halfway down, he turned and removed a lantern from the wall. A match flared and illuminated the blackness. He glanced up. “Coming?”

  “Can you…can you just bring the box upstairs?”

  A frown creased his features. “There are so many stored down here. It’s clean, Miss Franklin—just a bit damp and musty.” He extended his right hand, holding the lantern in the left, then looked around her and spoke to the clerk who was peering after them. “Kathleen, would you care to run to the café and get us a cup of coffee? I’ll listen for customers.”

  “Of course, Mr. Price.” The clerk left the bank and the door slammed shut.

  Swallowing her building hysteria, she went down the first step, and then the second. Lantern rays cast jagged shadows along the dirt walls. She deliberately made her mind blank when her foot touched the third step.

  There were twelve steps, but it felt like a thousand.

  Eventually her boots found solid ground. The black pit was every bit as horrific as the other cellar she remembered. Her gaze traveled the mud-packed walls lined with rows of shelves. The black boxes were numbered, but they weren’t arranged in any kind of order.

  “I’m afraid my father wasn’t much for keeping order,” the banker apologized. “There was no one better with accounting and numbers, but organization wasn’t his strong suit.” He paused to hold a piece of paper up to the lantern light. “Says here your aunt’s box is somewhere in this section of shelves.”