Jarena nodded. “It was from Aunt Lilly. She said she had gotten word from some distant relative in Georgetown that we moved to Kansas, and she asked Pappy to let her know about life on the frontier. Pappy’s afraid she might want to move out here, so he said when I write to her, I’m supposed to tell her what a hard life we’re having.”
“Doesn’t he want her to come visit?” Truth asked. “I’d like to meet her.”
“Pappy says we’re not going to be in any hurry to write back—says Aunt Lilly is filled with the devil.”
“What’s that mean?” Truth whispered.
“Voodoo and witchcraft. He said he doesn’t want anyone around who believes in such things—kinfolk or not.”
Truth shivered. “I don’t think folks would take kindly to someone practicing voodoo in Nicodemus. I’m having enough trouble just trying to figure out the white folks here in Hill City. Did you meet Mr. Wyman when they came to Nicodemus?”
“Yes. We didn’t talk much, but he seemed nice enough. He appeared particularly pleased when he discovered I was your sister. I must admit that for a man of obvious means, he seemed quite contented among our scraggly group. And he talked to Pappy with an ease that surprised me.”
“What’d they talk about?” Truth’s insistent tone surprised Jarena.
“I didn’t hear all of it, but Pappy said he liked him and that he was a well-spoken young man, though I do recall Pappy saying there was something about Mr. Wyman—something he couldn’t quite figure out.
I did hear Mr. Wyman mention he was setting up his newspaper in Hill City and that he was planning to print a paper for Nicodemus, too.”
“He’s up to something, Jarena. That man has something on his mind besides a newspaper. He’s always coming into the kitchen and talking to me. He even asked me if I would be interested in writing some articles for the paper.”
Jarena swelled with pride. “You see? Your education is going to help you more than you ever anticipated. And I must admit your grammar has improved immensely since you’ve been living with the Boyle family.”
“Jarena, you’re not hearing me.” Truth scooted her chair across the plank floor until there wasn’t enough space to force a piece of paper between them. She kept her voice to a whisper. “He’s been making advances toward me.”
“Advances? You mean . . .”
Truth bobbed her head up and down, her features creased into a tight frown. “But I put him in his place the other day when he came out here to the kitchen with his sweet-talk. Told him I knew what he had in mind, and I wasn’t going to be a part of it. I said he best stay out of the kitchen, but I don’t know if he’s going to heed my words.”
“Have you told the Boyles about his behavior?”
“I’m scared to tell them. What if Mr. Wyman says I’m lying and Dr. Boyle believes him? They might send me back home. Pappy needs every cent of the money I’m earning here. I don’t want to lose my job.”
Jarena grasped her sister’s hand. “Do you want me to talk with Dr. Boyle—or Pappy? You know Pappy would never forgive himself if something happened to you, Truth.”
“No. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now that Mr. Wyman’s started up his newspaper, he’s not around much, and I heard him tell Dr. Boyle he’s making arrangements to stay at the hotel until he can build a house for himself. I’ll be fine. Promise you won’t say anything.”
Jarena hesitated for a moment. “If you’re certain that’s what you want, but I’m not sure remaining silent is best.”
“I am. Please don’t make me regret I told you. Now, let’s talk about something else—tell me about things at home. What’s Grace been doing? And you? And why didn’t Charles come along with you instead of Thomas?”
“Actually, I came with Thomas. He wanted to talk to Lieutenant Boyle, and I asked if I could ride along with him. I haven’t seen much of Charles lately. Each time we’re together, we seem to have a disagreement.”
“I never did think you two were suited. Thomas would be a better match.” Truth gave her sister a broad grin. “How come Thomas is talking to Lieutenant Boyle?”
“He’s considering joining the Army.”
Truth rocked back in her chair. “Then I guess you best not plan on jumping the broom with him.”
Jarena shook her head slowly. “No, I suppose not.”
The sound of the men’s voices drifted down the hallway. Jarena held a finger to her pursed lips to silence Truth. When she heard Thomas agree to depart for Indian Territory in two days, fear gripped her with an intensity she’d not known since their mother lay gasping for breath on her deathbed.
CHAPTER
30
Streaks of orange and pink splashed the morning sky in a welcoming design as Jarena walked out to greet the new day. Taking only a moment to rub warmth into her arms, she added a mound of buffalo chips to the waning fire in the limestone pit outside their dugout. With winter now behind them, she’d taken to cooking outdoors, yet this morning the colder temperatures of March had returned. After settling a pot of water atop the grate, Jarena quickly poured a batch of cornmeal mush into a skillet and sighed. She had long ago wearied of preparing the same dull fare each day.
Ezekiel chuckled softly as he walked outdoors. “I see you ’cided to shiver out here in the cold rather than put up with the stink of them buffalo chips burnin’ inside the dugout.”
Jarena wiped the sleep from her eyes and nodded. She hadn’t taken the time to wash up before starting the fire, deciding to wait until it was a little warmer. Besides, Pappy would fuss if his breakfast wasn’t ready on time, and nowadays he wanted to start work mighty early. “I’ve got your food ready for nooning,” she said, handing him a folded cloth containing last night’s leftover cornbread and a jug of water that would stave off his hunger until he returned home.
When they heard the clomping of approaching horses, her father peered off to the south. “Wonder who that could be.”
Jarena squinted and cupped one hand above her eyes. “They’re white—all of them.”
Jarena waved at a few of their neighbors emerging from their hillside dwellings. The small group of settlers gathered together in the center of town and watched as the horses trotted between the dugouts and then encircled them. The riders sat atop their fine-looking animals and stared down at the tattered half-starved residents with an air of authority.
“We’re looking for a man—he’s colored like all of you.” The rider’s words were filled with the same disgust that shone in his eyes. Rising in his stirrups, he searched their faces. “I know he’s here. I give you my word that there won’t be any trouble if you just turn him over to us. We’re looking for Thomas Grayson.”
Jarena’s blood chilled as she heard the man say the name. Now she knew who they were! These were the men from the railroad station. Because of Thomas’s unexpected kiss, she’d not gotten a good look at any of them, but these must be the same men. Thomas had been correct. They’d not given up their search, though she wondered why they hadn’t appeared in Nicodemus long ago.
Her father approached the men with a surprising calmness. “Ain’t nobody by that name livin’ in Nicodemus. Why don’ you fellas be on your way? We don’ want no trouble. We’s just tryin’ to make a life fer ourselves out here on the prairie. Ain’t nothin’ here you’s looking fer.”
The man tugged on his expensive jacket until the fabric aligned to perfection. “You think I’m going to believe you, old man? You think that because you tell me Thomas Grayson isn’t here, I’m going to nod my head and ride out of town?”
Ezekiel folded his arms across his chest. “Might as well, ’cause it’s the truth. You ain’t gonna find nobody by that name living in this here town.” The other settlers murmured their agreement.
With lightning speed, the man tugged his foot from the stirrup and kicked Ezekiel with a force that sent the older man reeling. Jarena shrieked as her father fell with blood dripping from his forehead.
Jarena knelt by her
father as the other settlers raced to their homes. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and dabbed at the blood. Her father rolled up onto his elbow but still looked dazed.
The leader leaned over from his horse, grabbed a clump of dry sunflower stalks, and shoved the ends into the fire outside the Harban dugout. “Search these dugouts!” The leader used the flaming stalks to set fire to several nearby dwellings as his cohorts followed his instructions.
The frightened townspeople huddled in small groups as they watched in terror.
The men emerged from one of the dwellings a short time later. “He’s not in any of those miserable holes. We been in all of them.”
Their leader pointed at the nearby Francis dugout. “You didn’t check that one.”
As the rider neared the Francis dwelling, Charles emerged from the doorway with his father’s rifle in hand. He stood in the morning light, transfixed by the brightness and sights that assailed him. Disbelief filled his dark eyes as he took in the flames blazing from the dugout roofs. His eyes darted about, and as he lifted his rifle, a shot cracked through the morning air and met its mark.
Jarena gasped in horror as a pool of red colored Charles’s shirtfront and he slowly dropped to the ground. His mother rushed up and fell to her knees beside him as the gunman rode past them and shot another bullet into the air, startling a team of horses attached to one of the wagons.
“The wagon! My little William’s in there!” Effie Beyer’s screams echoed across the prairie as she raced after the frightened team of horses. The wagon careened perilously, and William’s cries for help matched his mother’s frantic shouts. She screamed at the boy to sit down so he wouldn’t fall out. The riders laughed as they watched the young boy’s terror and his mother’s maniacal attempts to intercept the frightened team of horses.
“That crazy woman thinks she’s gonna catch up with that wagon,” one of the men hooted.
“Grayson ain’t in this town. Let’s get out of here.” Their leader waved his gun and turned his horse toward the east. “Wyatt! Where you going?” he yelled as one of his men rode off after the runaway team. “Get on back here. We’re not gonna wait on you!” He fired another shot and then watched Wyatt for a moment before he turned to the other men. “Let’s go—far as I’m concerned, he’s on his own.”
Jarena grasped her father by the shoulders. “Let me help you to your feet.”
“I’s all right. Go see ’bout Charles. Don’t look good, and Lula ain’t in no shape to be carin’ for him.”
Jarena hesitated when she noticed blood now soaked the cloth she’d applied to his forehead. “Hold this tight on the wound. Are you certain you’ll be all right?”
The plaintive cries of Lula Francis and Effie Beyer assaulted Jarena’s ears as her father shooed her away to care for Charles. “I’m fine. Go on now.”
Ezekiel followed Effie and John Beyer toward the approaching horseman. Their young son sat in front of the man who’d chased after the frightened team of horses. The broad-shouldered man handed the boy down to Effie, who sobbed her thanks before promptly turning to scold her wayward child for playing in the wagon.
The man swung down from his horse and handed over the team of horses to Ezekiel. “The hitch broke. Wagon’s likely going to need repair. I’m terrible sorry about what happened here.”
Ezekiel handed the reins to John Beyer and then turned his attention back to the rider. “Iffen you’re truly sorry, would you at least tell me what this is all about? We’re all thankful for the boy’s safe return. Ain’t nobody gonna do you no harm.” Ezekiel extended his right hand, still holding the cloth to his head with his left. “My name’s Ezekiel Harban.”
“Wyatt Pell.” The man shook Ezekiel’s hand and then followed along until they were inside the Harban dwelling.
Ezekiel pointed to one of the log chairs in the dugout. “Just what was it you fellas was thinkin’ to accomplish by yer actions?”
“Clifton Mowry—he’s the fellow that was riding the black mount—he’s determined to find Thomas and return him to Louisiana.” Wyatt’s voice was laced with a deep southern drawl.
“Sounds as though you might be from Louisiana, too,” Ezekiel ventured.
The man nodded. “We’re all from Louisiana—known each other since we were young boys. All the same, I don’t hold with what’s going on. Clifton’s gone too far this time.”
“What you mean, gone too far?”
“Shooting innocent people and setting homes on fire. It’s crazy, but he’s afraid the truth is going to come out and he’ll be charged with murder. That’s why he’s determined to find Thomas.”
Ezekiel removed the bloody cloth from his head and replaced it with a clean one. “I still don’ understand.”
Wyatt pressed the brim of his hat back and forth through his fingers. “It’s a long story, but I’ll try to explain. You see, Clifton is an only child and his mother died years ago. His father was wealthy. He owned a large cotton plantation that mostly escaped the perils of the war. Sharecroppers who once were slaves continue working the plantation, and Thomas was one of those sharecroppers. It was Thomas who found old Mr. Mowry’s dead body—I’m talking about Clifton’s father—and delivered it to Clifton at the big house. Thomas said he found the body along the riverbank where he’d gone to fish. That was his first mistake.”
Ezekiel leaned back in his chair. “Hard to fault a man for doin’ a good thing, but I know you’s right. He shoulda jest left the body laying on the riverbank.”
“Clifton immediately went to the authorities and told them Thomas was the killer and that his father’s gold watch and money were missing. He said he’d seen Thomas with the watch. Of course, the authorities believed Clifton, and they brought out the dogs to help find Thomas. Someone must have told Thomas he had been accused, because he was already gone by the time the posse got to his place. After a few days I think everyone knew Thomas wasn’t the killer, but we didn’t want to call Clifton a liar. He’s one mean fella. Your life is much easier if you just go along with him.”
“I surely knows that fer a fact,” Ezekiel said, pulling the cloth from his forehead to see if the bleeding had stopped. “But how come you decided Thomas was innocent?”
Wyatt stared at the floor. “Old Mr. Mowry was tightfisted with his money, and Clifton always had to fight for every cent he got from the old man. He complained incessantly about his father’s miserly ways and was always saying he didn’t think the old man would ever die.”
“But that don’t ’splain what made you decide Thomas didn’ do it.”
Wyatt looked up and met Ezekiel’s eyes. “No, it doesn’t. From the beginning, I said Thomas could have just taken the watch when he found the old man dead along the riverbank, but nobody listened. After all, Thomas was colored and had been a slave on the plantation—Clifton told the sheriff Thomas was likely attempting to get back at his father for the years he’d lived in slavery.”
“Why didn’t Clifton jest let the law take care of matters? Why’s he out here chasing down someone so far from home?”
“Clifton and his father fought all the time over money, and I guess the old man thought his son might kill him. He put a clause in his will providing that if he died under strange circumstances, Clifton was not to inherit his estate unless someone else was convicted of the crime.”
“So that’s why he’s so determined.”
Wyatt nodded. “Clifton promised all of us a large amount of money to help him bring Thomas to justice. When we first started out, I truly believed Thomas might be guilty. Later, when I saw Clifton in possession of his father’s pocket watch, I confronted him. He said the watch was one he’d recently purchased—not the one that had belonged to his father. But I knew he was lying—it wasn’t a new watch. I think he knew I didn’t believe him, but I was afraid to argue any further. Guess the truth is, I wanted the money he was offering, too. My family lost everything in the war—we were burned out. I thought the money would be enough to begin a new lif
e. Not a good reason, but the only one I’ve got.”
“How’d you ever think you could trust a man that would kill his own pappy?”
The Southerner shrugged. “Didn’t give it much thought. I figured he’d be afraid we’d turn on him.”
Ezekiel arched his eyebrows. “And you weren’t afraid he’d kill you, too?”
“Not too smart, I guess.”
“You’s right about that,” Ezekiel agreed. “One more question.”
“What’s that?”
“What took you so long to get here? You was seen down in Ellis over a month ago.”
Wyatt appeared startled by Ezekiel’s remark. “How’d you know that? Thomas is here, isn’t he?”
Ezekiel wagged his head back and forth. “No. He’s not, but I’m not gonna lie to you. He was here, and we expected you long ago. He never told me what dis was about, but I figured you gave up the search weeks ago.”
Wyatt nodded. “We met a young fellow at the livery. Clifton asked if he knew Thomas and told the fellow Thomas was wanted for murder. The boy said he didn’t believe Clifton. That Thomas wouldn’t kill anyone. Clifton threatened to pistol-whip the fellow if he didn’t tell us where Thomas was living. The boy relented and said Thomas told him he was heading for Colorado. We followed and made inquiry at every little town or way station along the route we figured he would have taken. Finally, after three weeks of looking, we turned back. We happened upon a farmstead outside of Ellis owned by Jeremiah Horton. He told us Thomas had worked for him and that he was living in Nicodemus. We tried to talk Clifton into going back home, but he’s like a man possessed. He won’t rest until he’s found Thomas. I figure he’ll come back to Nicodemus since Mr. Horton told him he knew for a fact that Thomas lived here.”
“You can search this place. Like I told you, Thomas lived here, but he’s gone and not expected to return.”
Ezekiel walked Wyatt Pell back to his horse and made sure his neighbors allowed the man to leave town safely.
When Wyatt’s form was just a tiny spot on the horizon, Lula Francis’s scream echoed from inside the Francis dugout.
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