Joe answered him with a smirk. “If you don’t take care of it, I will. I’ll hire a bulldozer to push that son of a bitching fence back over the property line.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Then I’ll send you the bill.”
Ed’s face turned red and he took a step forward. “That’ll cost me thousands,” he screamed. “Damn it—it’s two fuckin’ feet over the line!”
Joe turned with a shrug and began to walk away. “Suit yourself. Either you move it and save yourself some money, or I’m calling in a dozer.”
“Everyone in town knows what you’re doing,” Ed yelled after him. “And they’re all sick of you and your family trying to ride roughshod over this community.” He stopped and spit on the ground. “You’re no better than your daddy or old Jacob.”
Joe lurched around to face him. “Get the hell off my land!”
Ed wheeled toward where Kate stood and stomped right by her without looking her way. A minute later his pickup peeled out of the driveway.
No . . . no, she couldn’t let this happen. She had to help Joe find a way out of this mess without losing respect.
“Joe,” she said after following him into the office.
“Not now, Kate,” he said in a rough voice.
“We need to talk,” she persisted.
She jumped at the sudden sound of his hand slamming the desk.
“I said not now,” he growled between clenched teeth.
Shoving her fear to the side, she cautiously went up to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Joe,” she said gently, “calm down.”
He glared at her and she dropped her hand.
“You can’t do this. Think of the repercussions. There has to be another solution. What’s two—”
“It’s two feet of my land.” A vein on the side of his neck began to throb. “I can do whatever I want.”
“I have to live here, too, Joe. And I want to raise my children here. Do you want everyone in this community to hate us?”
“What I want,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “is a wife who knows her place and quits meddling in things that don’t concern her.”
Kate’s anger chased away her fear. “Meddling? That’s what you call it?” she fumed. “It’s nice to know that giving you all of my money and turning myself into your mother’s personal slave—”
Before she could react, Joe’s hand lashed out and struck the side of her face. Shocked, Kate backed away, nursing her cheek.
His anger deflated and he held out his open palm. “Oh God, Kate . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean—”
Kate didn’t wait to hear the rest. She twisted away from him and ran.
Chapter 12
Summer 1890, the Krause homestead
Hannah sat quietly in the corner of her kitchen, rocking slowly back and forth. The body of her husband lay in the bedroom while two doctors examined his mortal remains. Occasionally, soft voices would drift into the kitchen from behind the closed door—too faint for Hannah to hear their words.
The undertaker, with his cooling board, was on his way. Once the doctors were finished and the inquest had been held later this afternoon, he’d begin preparing Jacob for his burial. Some of the men had already rearranged the furniture in the parlor. Jacob’s coffin would remain in that room until the day of the funeral, then Jacob would take his last journey and join his first wife in the family’s burial plot.
She looked toward the dining room. Sheriff Winter, Charles Walker, the county attorney, and Dr. Arthur Morgan, the county coroner, sat gathered around the table. Their faces were somber, and a couple of times, Hannah had caught them watching her.
From out of the window, she could see the rest of the neighborhood men, who’d been drifting in all morning, gathered over by the barn. Children, Willie included, played marbles nearby. She was thankful for that. At least Willie was engaged with his friends and not in the house with his dead father.
The womenfolk from the surrounding farms had taken over her kitchen and flitted back and forth, offering the men coffee and sandwiches. How anyone could eat with a body in the next room was beyond her. Thinking about it made the bile rise in her throat.
Her mouth twisted in a frown. Some of these women, like Fannie Thompson, Martin’s wife, were her friends. But not Grace Rosenthal and Bessie Schwab—they’d come to satisfy their curiosity. She watched in disgust as Bessie ran her finger along Hannah’s plate shelf. Holding her dusty hand out to Grace, Hannah saw her eyebrows lift in disapproval.
She turned her head back toward the window. She didn’t care. They’d always thought she was a shoddy housekeeper and now they had proof.
Her attention wandered to the apple orchard beyond the barn. Since she was now a widow and could hold property, the farm would probably come to her. Joseph wouldn’t like that. He’d want her gone, but she had to think of Willie’s future. She gave a soft snort. How ironic. This place had never been anything other than a symbol of Jacob’s success, and he’d always delighted in holding it over their less-than-successful neighbors. To her, it was only a roof over her head and a place to raise her son. The house and the farm had meant nothing—and now the homestead might belong to her.
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Fannie’s hand on her shoulder.
“Hannah,” she said quietly, “Reverend Green is in the parlor.”
Hannah scowled. After the first time Jacob had raised his hand to her, she’d gone to the reverend for help. Instead, he’d quoted platitudes and lectured her on her wifely duty of providing comfort to her husband. When he moved on to chiding her about airing her family problems to outsiders, she’d left disheartened and never went back.
Her stomach tightened in panic, and her eyes sought an escape.
Fannie squeezed her shoulder. “You have to see him.”
“No, I don’t.” She shot out of the chair as quiet fell over the kitchen.
“Hush,” Fannie hissed, her eyes darting over her shoulder to where Grace and Bessie stood listening. She stepped in front of Hannah, blocking the two women’s view. “Do you want them telling the neighborhood that you’re hysterical?”
Hannah took a deep breath. “No, but I’m not talking to Reverend Green.” Her gaze traveled the room. “I can’t stand this, Fannie . . . I’ve got to be by myself. Tell Reverend Green that I’m outside praying for Jacob’s soul.”
With her head down, Hannah left the kitchen and hurried outside. She didn’t stop until she reached the apple orchard.
A soft, hot breeze whispered through the trees, and free of the oppressive house, Hannah closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of ripening apples. She had no intention of praying for Jacob. She didn’t care if the weight of Jacob’s sins bound him to this earth forever. He’d earned it.
A delicious sense of freedom bubbled inside of her. She never had to deal with Jacob’s anger again. Tossing her head back, she spread her arms and spun in a circle, just like she’d done as a child.
A voice stopped her midspin.
“I want to talk to you,” Joseph said from the edge of the orchard.
Hannah dropped her arms and folded them primly at her waist. “If it’s about the funeral, we’ll talk after the inquest.”
“It’s about the farm,” he replied, walking toward her.
“Now’s not the time.”
“Yes, it is.” His lips tightened with determination.
“It’s not seemly,” she insisted.
“Neither is spinning around like a kid.” He grabbed her arm and began to pull her deeper into the orchard.
She jerked away and skidded to a stop. “You will not touch me.”
Joseph held up his hands and stepped back. He smirked. “Pa had a will—” He paused dramatically. “It names me as Willie’s guardian.”
She gripped her stomach while her breath left her in a hiss. “No.”
Joseph’s smirk became a smile. “Yes. Pa didn’t think you were a good influence. He wanted Willie to grow to be a man.�
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“A man,” Hannah said, dropping her arms to her sides, “who sees no harm in using his fists to settle disagreements?” She straightened and lifted her chin. “I won’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me. Children belong to their fathers, not their mothers.”
“His father’s dead, so Willie belongs to me.”
Joseph gave a nasty laugh. “After reading Pa’s will, a court might not agree, especially after they hear about your ‘unnatural attachment’ to your son.”
“You’re mad,” she exclaimed. “There’s nothing ‘unnatural’ about a mother caring for her son.”
“That’s not what the neighbors think.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
“You will when they testify against you in court.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Remember the scene you caused at the school board meeting after Miss Rosenthal had punished Willie at school? You wanted the woman fired.”
“His punishment was too severe,” she said indignantly. “He was whispering and she had the gall to whack him on the side of his head with a book.”
“I don’t think that’s the way Miss Rosenthal would tell it on the witness stand.” Joseph shook his head slowly. “You’ve always been a troublemaker, Hannah. Refusing to be a proper wife, shooting your mouth off about things that don’t concern you.” He snickered. “You have enemies, and they’ll all stand against you in court.”
“We’ll see about that. My brother-in-law is an important man, and he’ll stop you from taking Willie.”
Joseph sobered. “Now, Hannah, I never said I wanted Willie.” He stroked his chin. “I want my own family and he would be in the way—”
“Get to the point, Joseph.”
Sticking his hands in his pockets, he leaned against an apple tree and studied Hannah. “I might be willing to let you have Willie if you let me have the farm.”
“Impossible. Willie deserves his share of this land,” she said in a sweeping motion. “It’s his birthright, too.”
Joseph exploded. “His birthright? What has that kid ever done around here?” He shoved away from the tree. “He’s been mollycoddled since the day he was born and has never done a lick of work.”
“He’s a boy,” Hannah said quietly.
“I was a boy once, too, and nobody ever stopped Pa working me half to death,” he answered, his voice full of bitterness.
“I tried, Joseph—when I first married your pa—and I got the worst beating of my life . . .” Her voice trailed away as she pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“But then Willie came along and he was more important.” He puffed out his chest. “I probably should thank you for not interfering—Pa was hard, but it made me strong.”
Sadness for the little boy who’d got lost in his father’s violence tugged at her.
“Oh, Joseph, I know it was hard losing your mother and—”
He shook a finger in her face. “Don’t you speak of my mother,” he said in a threatening voice. “She was a lady.”
“I’m sure she was,” Hannah said, trying to calm his anger, “I only meant that I’m sorry—”
“I don’t need your pity,” he yelled. A malicious look stole over his face. “You’re the one to be pitied. Pa was making plans to divorce you—”
“What?”
“That’s right.” He chuckled. “He didn’t want you and your ways spoiling his chances in the election. He was taking you back to your mother’s house and dumping you like a bucket of slop—” Stopping, he watched Hannah’s reaction. “He was going to tell everyone you’d run off.”
His words hit Hannah like one of Jacob’s blows.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” He swaggered toward her. “You never would’ve seen your precious son again.”
The abuse hadn’t been enough for Jacob. He’d planned on stealing her only reason for living. Cold rage enveloped her and she faced Joseph with a freezing glare.
“Then I’m glad he’s dead.”
Chapter 13
Hannah walked back and forth across Willie’s room, her black silk dress rustling with every step and her boots clicking on the plank floor. She stopped and tugged at the scratchy crepe collar. This was her best dress and she hated it. Jacob had purchased it for her when her father had passed five years ago, and had spent more on it than he had on all her other clothes combined. Scowling, she continued her pacing. He hadn’t wanted her to show up at her father’s funeral looking like a poor relation, so he’d parted with the money for the dress. Now she’d have to wear the damn thing for the next year.
She mopped her face with a black-edged handkerchief. Between the stench of mothballs emanating from the dress and the heat, she felt faint. She had to have some air and strode to the window.
“Hannah, you can’t,” Fannie called from across the room.
“I can’t breathe,” Hannah replied, pulling back the curtains and rolling up the shade. She grasped the window and threw it open. Fresh air blew into the room and Hannah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. When she opened them, she noticed the men standing in the shade of the old oak tree.
Clarence Schwab looked up and saw Hannah. Disdain crossed his face.
Fannie tugged her away from the window, then pulled down the shade. “You have to keep them closed out of respect for Jacob,” she chided. After leading her to a chair in the corner, she motioned for her to sit down. “This pacing isn’t doing you any good.”
Hannah sank into the chair and bowed her head. “This inquest is taking hours. It’s obvious what killed Jacob—a knife.”
Fannie knelt next to the chair and placed a hand on Hannah’s knee. “But they need to learn the events that led up to his death.”
Hannah’s head shot up. “I don’t like them questioning Willie.”
“They must. Willie was in the house last night, too.”
“He’s only a child.”
“But he might have heard something.” Fannie patted her knee and rose. “Once you’re finished testifying, they’ll return him to you.”
“And until then,” Hannah sniffed, “Grace Rosenthal is with him. She’s as harsh as her daughter.”
“Willie’s fine, Hannah. You mustn’t worry.”
Hannah stood and crossed to Willie’s dresser. She picked up the music box that her sister, Ida, had sent him for Christmas and ran her hand over the smooth finish. Mindful of Sheriff Winter’s warning not to discuss the investigation, and with Abe Engel standing in the hallway guarding the door, Hannah lowered her voice.
“What do you think about the men who Charles Walker,” she said, referring to the county attorney, “picked to serve on the jury?”
Fannie shot a look over her shoulder at the door, then crossed to Hannah. “Harry Rosenthal will use it to show how important he is,” Fannie whispered, “but Martin and Walter Bauer will keep him in line. They’ll want to find the truth.”
“I’ve already told them the truth,” Hannah cried.
“Shh,” Fannie said, placing a finger on her lips, “Abe might hear you.”
“But—”
A knock on the door cut her off.
“They’re ready for you now, Mrs. Krause,” Abe called from the hallway.
Hannah carefully placed the music box back on the dresser, smoothed her skirt, and left the room.
With the drapes and blinds drawn, the light in the dining room was subdued and shadows clung to the corners, but Hannah saw each of the men gathered around the table clearly. Martin, Walter, and Harry sat in a row with Dr. Morgan at the end. Martin and Walter both leaned forward with their arms resting on the table. Their faces wore the same somber and determined expression.
Harry leaned back in his chair with arms folded over his large stomach. His expression was anything but somber. As he watched Hannah, his eyes glinted with skepticism and he appeared ready to dismiss whatever she had to say.
Hannah looked down at her hands clutched tightly in her lap and prayed for this to be over.
She looked up at Charles Walker, standing in front of her, and steeled herself for his questioning. Slowly and calmly, she repeated her movements of the previous night.
Yes, they’d had supper, then Joseph and his father had spent the evening talking while she straightened the kitchen and prepared to do the baking. Yes, she’d retired to bed after Jacob. Yes, she’d gone to Willie’s room. No, she hadn’t noticed anything unusual on her way up the stairs. Yes, she’d spent time with Willie then returned to the kitchen. Yes, the back door had been open. No, nothing had been missing.
“And it was at that time you discovered Mr. Krause?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“I really don’t remember—I think I screamed, then Willie came running into the room.”
The attorney picked up a sheaf of papers lying on the table and glanced at them. “Your stepson, Joseph Krause, testified that he found you sitting in the kitchen.”
“Yes—yes,” Hannah stammered, trying to remember how she and Willie came to be in the kitchen. “I didn’t want Willie to see his father.”
“After Joseph arrived, you sent Willie upstairs and Joseph for Sheriff Winter?”
She nodded and inhaled deeply. Thank God this was about over.
“Were you aware of Mr. Krause’s disagreement with Peter Ziegler?” he asked, catching her off guard.
“Ah no.”
“So you weren’t aware that Mr. Ziegler questioned your husband’s friendship with his widowed sister, Minnie Voigt?”
“What!” Hannah’s mouth dropped in shock. “Are you implying—”
“I’m not implying anything, Mrs. Krause,” he said hastily as he looked at the paper again. “Did you and Mr. Krause ever have disagreements?”
A sudden movement from the far corner of the dining room caught Hannah’s attention as Reverend Green stepped out. Her attention darted to Charles Walker, then back to Reverend Green.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mrs. Krause,” the county attorney insisted. “Did you and your husband have problems?”
“Occasionally,” she replied in a low voice.
The Widows of Braxton County Page 8