Now that Tankersley’s rage had dissipated, maybe he would listen to a plea. Colin cleared his throat. “About Rebecca Switzer.”
Full eyebrows arched over a direct gaze. “The sentence stands.”
Colin prided himself on knowing when to make a stand and when to back away.
It was the time to back away.
“Ninety days it is.”
There was no way that woman could get together a hundred dollars in five years, let alone ninety days. Which meant she’d spend the entire sentence behind bars.
I won’t be here to see the sentence out, though. In less than two weeks she’ll be Mulhaney’s problem.
Oddly, the thought didn’t make him feel better.
TEN
Mrs. Diggs had left by the time the sheriff returned to the jailhouse. When the door opened, hope surged in Rebecca. Maybe he had been able to persuade the judge that last night had been a misunderstanding and her behavior this morning a mistake. She and Mrs. Evans both rose from their chairs, and she stood close to the older woman, drawing strength from her kindly presence.
Colin closed the door, removed his hat, and hung it on a hook on the wall. When he turned, Rebecca caught sight of his expression and her head went light.
“He refused. I’m going to stay in here forever.”
“Not forever. Just ninety days. He’s a stubborn fool when he sets his mind to a sentence.”
She sagged, and Mrs. Evans slipped an arm around her waist. “There, there, you poor child.”
Now that her hopes had been dashed, the reality of her situation struck her with force.
“My family—” A sob choked off the word. Papa would be humiliated to discover that his daughter had lost her temper in a most unbecoming manner and been sentenced to jail as a result.
Mrs. Evans led her back to her chair. “I’ll personally notify your kin and explain the situation. And I will assure them that I’ll oversee your meals and—well, you couldn’t be in a finer jail, dear. Colin sounds gruff, and he can be firm, but basically he’s a fine young man and real good company.”
In the process of lowering herself into the seat, Rebecca stood up again. “No!” She clutched at the widow. “No, they must not know I have become an outlaw.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Colin’s direction. “Come now, Miss Switzer. You butted heads with a judge. That doesn’t make you an outlaw.”
She flashed him a frown. “It is hard to see the difference from inside a jail cell.”
“Dear, it’s only ninety days. Goodness, at my age that’s like a night’s sleep, and you must tell your family something. If they hear nothing, they will worry to death.”
Rebecca felt they wouldn’t be concerned to that point, but she must spare them the burden of silence, even though she could do nothing to pardon the shame. Maummi would be fit to be tied, Emma’s condition was delicate, and Papa…she shuddered. She couldn’t bear for Papa to know.
“I will write immediately and explain that I will be gone longer than expected.”
The letter would have to be very carefully worded to not arouse concern, but as Mrs. Diggs said not long ago, Rebecca was good with words.
Mrs. Evans nodded her agreement to the solution. Then she gave Rebecca a sorrowful look.
“My dear, I’m afraid I must open my shop. Sarah Jardine is coming in for a fitting this morning.”
A deepening dread settled over Rebecca. Without the presence of her new friend, she would be truly alone in this dreadful place.
“Of course you must go. Thank you for staying with me as long as you have. I shall be fine.” She tried to steady her trembling lips. “Perfectly fine.”
The wrinkled face turned sorrowful. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Mrs. Evans gathered her into a gentle hug. Surprised, Rebecca stood for a moment with her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. But the warmth of the embrace gave her a sense of comfort that helped to stay the quiet panic that threatened her composure, and she returned the hug.
“Try not to worry, child. Annie won’t let you down. This ordeal will be over soon enough.”
When she had gone, an uncomfortable silence descended on the jailhouse. A quick glance at Colin told her he looked nearly as miserable as she felt. Why? He wasn’t a prisoner. Her suspicions from the courthouse returned. The judge had known what time she arrived in town, and obviously he had been told the circumstances of her joining the ladies in front of the Lucky Dollar Saloon. A guilty look had descended on the sheriff’s face during the court session.
She didn’t filter the antagonism from her tone. “You told Judge Tankersley I came to town to cause trouble.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “From where I was sitting, that’s what it looked like.”
“You are the reason I must go to jail.”
“Oh, no.” His palms rose in front of him to ward off her accusation. “You did that on your own by accusing the judge of dishonesty in his own courtroom. And all that stuff you said about reform? You might as well have put a noose around your own neck and tossed him the other end of the rope.”
Because he was right, Rebecca had no answer, though she wouldn’t have lost her temper if the judge hadn’t accused her of lying about her Amish roots. And she knew where that idea came from.
Well, if she was going to become a symbol of the movement by being in jail, she might as well get on with it. With a glare at the sheriff, she squared her shoulders and stepped to the center of the room, facing the empty cells.
“Which one is mine?”
The words snapped out of her mouth with more force than she intended. Better that than tears, which might rise again if she let go of the fierce irritation she felt toward Colin.
“Take your pick.”
They were identically barren. She selected the one on the far right, because it had a direct view of the front window that let out onto Massachusetts Street. As she marched into it, she grabbed a bar on the door and swung it after her. Better to close herself in than have him do it. The door shut with a metallic clink.
Rebecca stood in the center of the cell and turned in a slow circle, examining her prison. It was about the same size as her bedroom back home, though there were no clothing hooks on the wall, no shelves for her kapps and folded aprons, no colorful quilt to give the room a much-needed touch of cheer. A cot-style bunk against each side wall left an open area in the center, and the bare wooden floor was rough and dirty. She suppressed a shudder. How often had the floor been swept? Or the rough wool blanket that lay across the bunk been washed?
She turned to find Colin watching her through the bars.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Curiosity colored his tone and the speculative stare he’d fixed on her.
She didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded.
“You were telling the truth, weren’t you?” His gaze swept her dress and kapp. “You are Amish.”
Finally. Her chin shot upward. “I do not…pull men’s legs.”
He folded his arms and studied her. “So the real reason you came to Lawrence is to chase down this Jesse Montgomery?”
His choice of words brought uncomfortable warmth to her cheeks. She was not chasing Jesse down. She was merely making sure their love had an opportunity to fully blossom.
He must have noticed her blush. The grin that widened came dangerously close to being a smirk. “Had a spat, did you? A lover’s quarrel?”
“We did not quarrel,” she replied with some heat.
“Then why did he run off?”
She didn’t intend to discuss Jesse with someone who had proven himself disinclined to believe her, especially not when he stood there watching her with open disdain. With a toss of her head, she turned away and stared at the wall.
“All right. Then answer this. What did Mrs. Evans mean when she said your ordeal would be over soon and ‘Annie won’t let you down’?”
Having opened her mouth far too often this morning, Rebecca clamped
it tightly shut. No doubt he would hear of her part in the peaceful protest soon enough.
Whatever that part might prove to be.
She backed up and lowered herself to the edge of the bunk, determined to maintain silence on the matter.
“Fine,” he said. “But it’s going to be a long ninety days, Miss Switzer, so you might as well climb off of your high horse and be pleasant.”
Sitting down on the bunk, she crossed her arms. Oh, she would be pleasant. She would be so pleasant he would be praying for mercy.
Colin sat at his desk and tried to ignore the young woman in the cell to his right. She was perched on the edge of the bunk, stiff as a sheet in the wind. Every so often he glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye when she rearranged her folded hands in her lap or, once, when she fingered one of the laces that hung from her white kapp. He would have sworn she was staring at him, but when he looked up her gaze was fixed on the wall to the right of the front door, papered with wanted posters. She was a stubborn one. Where had Annie found an Amish woman to fight her war?
He rose from his chair and went to the front window for the third time in the past quarter hour. Massachusetts Street bustled with activity. Riders on horseback could be seen, intent on business or other activity in town. Wagons rolled by, and ladies nodded to each other as they strolled from the shade of one store’s awning to another. The two-story buildings lining the town’s busiest street cast no shadow with the sun almost directly overhead. Almost lunchtime. Colin would have to run down to the diner and arrange to have meals brought in for his prisoner. Ninety days. He shook his head. Brutal. Why had Tank decided to make a lesson out of this woman?
A noise behind him made him turn. Rebecca had risen and stood near the cell door, her gaze fixed on something across the room. “Sheriff? Who is that?”
Colin followed her gaze to the wall of wanted posters. “Which one?”
“That one.” Her arm extended through the bars to point. “The one with the mustache.”
Almost every outlaw on the wall had a mustache. He crossed the floor in a couple of steps and tapped one. “This one?”
“No. Two over from him. The one with the pointy chin.”
He stepped back, studied the pictures, and located a pointy chin.
“This? That’s Cleon Benton. Looks like a sweet-faced little boy, doesn’t he?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Tell me about him.”
“Cleon?”
She nodded. “Yes. Who is he?”
“He’s far from an innocent. He’s wanted for killing three men while robbing a bank down in Arizona Territory a few years back. And then he robbed a stagecoach. Shot the driver and four passengers.”
“I saw him recently.”
“Benton?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Cleon hasn’t been seen in these parts for more than two years. Word has it he’s down along the Mexican border. He doesn’t show himself often. Too many people would like to collect the bounty for turning him in.”
Her gaze fixed on the poster. “Pointy chin. Stocky appearance. A large black mole near his right eye. I saw him on the train yesterday.”
A tingle itched beneath Colin’s scalp. Benton was a notorious outlaw and mean as a snake. If he was heading for Chicago, he was up to no good. He snatched the poster off the wall and stepped closer to the cell.
“Look again. Are you certain?”
She studied the picture and then nodded confidently. “He’s older now and has more whiskers on his face, but that’s the man I saw on the train. I’m certain.”
Colin’s mind raced. The train was headed for Chicago and would have arrived there sometime this morning. He’d notify the authorities, and maybe they would have a good chance of capturing the no-good outlaw.
He turned and grabbed his hat off the wall. Setting it on his head, he reached for the door handle.
“I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?
Irritation flared. He wasn’t accustomed to explaining his errands to a prisoner.
“I’m going to notify the Chicago authorities, Miss Switzer. Okay?” Street noise invaded the jailhouse when he opened the door.
Rebecca’s voice stopped him. “Okay, but Benton isn’t in Chicago.”
Skidding to a halt, he turned to face her. Dread sprouted in the pit of his stomach. From the expression on her face, he knew what she was going to say, but he prayed he was wrong.
“You just said he was on the train.”
“He was.” Her hands clutched the bars of her cell door. “He got off when I did. He’s here, in Lawrence.”
ELEVEN
Colin strode to the livery stable, his mind on Benton. He started to pass the diner, but then he remembered dinner was coming up and Miss Switzer had to be fed. One or two of his deputies usually stopped in for a bite to eat about this time.
A woman stood at a tall worktable against the far wall. She glanced up from cutting a thick slice of pie.
“Howdy, Sheriff. Stew’s good today. Can I get you a bowl?”
“Sounds good, Alice. Why don’t you put it on a tray with a piece of that pie.” He scanned the patrons seated at the small tables scattered around the room, and spied the person he sought. “Hal will take it over to the jail as soon as he finishes his dinner. Put it on the town’s account.”
The man stood, shoved a crust of bread in his mouth, and rounded the table. “I heard we have us a permanent prisoner, Colin.”
A man seated at a full table spoke up. “Yeah, and I heard it was a woman.”
“The way I heard it,” one of his tablemates said, “it was a whole bunch of women, and the sheriff arrested them for singing hymns in the street.”
From across the room, someone remarked, “It takes a brave man to round up a whole herd of singing women, don’t you know?”
Male laughter joined and grew louder. Colin raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. Their good-natured teasing didn’t set well today. “Go ahead. Laugh it up.”
To Hal, he said, “Do me a favor, would you? Take that tray over to the jail and stay there until I get back.”
The man chuckled. “I heard she’s a right pretty gal. My wife won’t take kindly to me sitting alone with another woman.”
Hal’s wife was known for having a jealous streak a mile wide.
“Tell Abigail that Miss Switzer is Amish. That should quiet her down.” He turned toward the door. “Is James in the telegraph office?”
Hal nodded. “He was when I walked by half an hour ago.”
Outside, Colin crossed the street and rounded the side of the two-story brick building that housed Randall’s Livery, Feed, and Stable. The stables were out back, and for a small weekly fee he boarded his horse there. He caught sight of Billy, the young man who took care of the business for Mr. Randall.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” he called. “I’ll saddle Gus up for you.”
“Thanks, Billy.”
When Colin approached his horse’s stall, Gus thrust his head eagerly over the gate to accept his hand. Colin obliged by rubbing the velvety muzzle, speaking in a low, soothing voice, his mind busy. What would Benton be doing in Lawrence? Whatever his reason, it meant trouble. If he’d arrived last night, then he must be keeping a low profile, or word would have spread through town like fire through a woodpile. The townspeople had been preoccupied with his clash with the women last night and this morning. The gossips only had so much tongue space to go around.
If Benton had arrived on the train, that meant he didn’t have a horse.
Billy returned with his saddle. They led Gus out of the stall and together lifted the load in place.
“Billy, have you had any out-of-town customers recently?”
The young man stooped to grab the girth beneath Gus’s barrel.
“No, sir. Business has been a mite slow these days.”
Colin frowned. Randall’s wasn’t the only livery in town. He needed to ask around to see if Benton had inquired
about hiring a horse anywhere else.
Easing into the saddle, he nodded. “Much obliged.”
The lunch tray balanced on her knees, Rebecca had just taken the last bite of savory stew when the jailhouse door opened and a woman swept in. She stood inside the doorway, alert eyes moving as she scanned the room. By her smooth skin and robust figure, Rebecca judged her to be only a few years older than her own seventeen years. Papa would say she looked like forty miles of bad road, but not unkindly. Deep-set eyes and a hawkish nose would forever deny her of claims to beauty, but her lips were full and her waist trim beneath the lace and ruffles of her dress.
The young woman caught sight of her, and her eyes widened. Seconds stretched as they stared at each other through the cell bars. Rebecca had no idea why the stranger should dislike her, but the woman’s lips pressed into a disapproving line.
“Sugar bun!” The deputy who had introduced himself as Hal rose from Colin’s chair and walked around the desk. “What are you doing here?”
Her gaze focused on the prisoner. “The boy delivered your message, and I came to see for myself.”
The possessive way she snagged his arm answered Rebecca’s question. With something akin to wonder, she realized the young woman didn’t dislike her. She was jealous of her husband’s affections.
Rebecca set her spoon down and moved the tray from her lap to the bunk beside her. With a dab at her mouth with the napkin, she rose and came to stand by the cell door and calmly returned the young woman’s frank stare, her expression carefully pleasant.
“Come and meet Rebecca.” Hal urged her toward the cell.
The woman sent a sharp glance sideways. “Rebecca?”
“Miss Switzer, sugar bun. You know. The prisoner.”
Rebecca winced at the term.
“This here is Abigail Lawson.” He offered a tentative grin, and his throat convulsed repeatedly. “My wife.”
Rebecca dipped her head in a sedate nod, like Maummi at her most composed.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Your husband speaks well of you.”
A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove) Page 9