Broken Pledge

by Marti Talbott

  They were both quiet for a little while, each deep in thought, until Emiline finally spoke, “Thank you for shooting him.”

  “You might not be so grateful once you realize I might have injured you as well.”

  “Yes, but he meant to kill me. He did mean to kill me, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “Once he had his way with you? I have no doubt of it.”

  “I refused his proposal.”

  “I know.”

  Emiline’s familiar ire began to flare. “Were you watching?”

  “If you must know, yes.”

  She glared at his defiant look and slowly began to smile. “You need a new shirt, and I’ve just the cloth. I’ll expect you on Wednesday for a fitting.”

  “Do you mean with pins and things?”

  “I promise not to poke you.”

  Uriah’s smile finally matched hers. “Done then. And should you be inclined to reward me further, you might be a little less annoying.”

  “In what way?”

  “In every way. You do it intentionally, don’t you?”

  She lowered her eyes. “I cannot seem to help myself. And I have decided to attend your church come Sunday.”

  “You don’t think to sit with me, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. I go to church to worship God and one cannot worship properly sitting next to a man who snores.”

  “I do not snore,” he said, abruptly standing up.

  “No louder than a herd of stampeding buffalo.”

  “And what would you know of my snoring? Do you now admit to skulking round my bedchamber at night?”

  “No, I don’t. You snore so loudly, I can hear you from my cabin.”

  Uriah grabbed one of the candles and took hold of the doorknob. “Clear across the road? I find that highly unlikely. Good night, Mrs. Puddifoot. I would wish you a pleasant night’s sleep, but unfortunately, this night I am forced to sleep directly below you.”

  With that, he turned the knob, slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Then he paused. The light of the lone candle flickered across his face as he closed his eyes and waited. “Good night, Uriah,” he heard her say at last.

  He smiled and walked toward the stairs. “Good night – my beloved Emiline.”

  ~The end-~

  Although this book is a work of fiction, it is based on stories my grandparents told of real people.

  Uriah Carson died in 1809 at the age of 73 and is buried next to Mary somewhere in Virginia.

  Tecumseh became chief of the young Shawnee warriors and traveled far and wide in an attempt to get the tribes to unite. He was not successful. He died in the battle of the Thames, October 5, 1813. After his death, General “Mad Anthony” Wayne raided and destroyed village after village until the tribes gave up the land north of the Ohio River.

  In 1788, after great turmoil and after Governor Sevier’s term of office expired, the would-be state of Franklin ceased to exist.

  The Cherokee signed a treaty with Washington and remained in the lower Tennessee Valley, farming and learning the white man’s ways. They remained there until they encountered a plague they could not survive—gold was discovered on Cherokee land. In 1838, Laughing Rain’s only remaining child fled with his family into the Great Smoky Mountains. By so doing, they narrowly escaped the “Trail of Tears” to Oklahoma.

  Gideon Ross took his family to Ohio and continued to help runaways. He carried to his death the papers declaring him to be the lawful property of Hester Wyley Carson.

  In 1792, Kentucky became the fifteenth state.

  By 1793, the French and the British were again at war, opening the doors wide to lucrative American privateering. MacGreagor was among the first to profit. He retired at 81 and died six months later.

  For the second time, the shadow of war passed over America in 1812. Again, the Americans won, this time truly ridding the land of redcoats.

  In 1826, John Carson moved his family to the Indiana Territory. In 1833, and in an effort to finally claim his bounty land, he testified in court. His testimony concerned his service in the Revolutionary War and is the basis for this series of novels. John died in 1845 at the age of 84 ... just sixteen years before the Civil War began. Polly died in 1852, also at the age of 84. They are buried in Rush County, Indiana. One account credits them with twenty-five children, another lists only three.

  Their son, John Samuel Carson, had four wives, the third of which was Sarah La Rue. He was among the first to settle in Jefferson County, Iowa. He fathered twelve children and named his eldest Mahala.

  And Mahala was my great-great-grandmother.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A special thanks to A.H. of the Harrodsburg Historical Society, my friend Diana Robinson, who helped with the details, and my grandparents, Lloyd and Mattie McClurg, who took the time to write down all the old family stories.

  Love and Suspicion

  (sample chapter)

  When Tiffany Clark’s car broke down and she was forced to walk to a nearly deserted small town in Iowa, the only person she found was an old man who had not spoken to anyone in years. She soon learned he could speak, he just didn’t, and the reason had to do with the town’s shocking and scandalous unsolved mystery.

  CHAPTER 1

  EARL WOODBURY HAD NOT spoken to anyone in nearly eighteen years, and there wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t understand why.

  He lived in the mansion on the hill with a view of the town, the lake, and a vast patchwork of Iowa fields in various stages of spring planting. Even so, he was seldom home. Instead, he preferred to leave early in the morning, walk down the hill to town, and then walk back when the sun began to go down. The only exception to his self-imposed schedule was bad weather, but that was not a problem on this sunny day in mid-May. In his sixties, Earl liked to wear beat-up cowboy boots, faded blue jeans, and a yellowing cowboy hat, which made him stand out like a sore thumb in his small town. Nevertheless, everyone liked old Earl, even if they couldn’t get a smile or a nod, let alone a word out of him.

  Sometimes he took a stroll up and down Main Street, but more often than not he sat on a bench across the street from the town’s city hall, watching the people or reading the daily newspaper. Occasionally a dog came to greet him, causing Earl to display one of his rare smiles. Other than that, he wore no discernable facial expression at all. At lunch time, he waited for the usual crowd to dissipate before he got up, walked across the street and picked up his fish sandwich, complete with a generous helping of tartar sauce. He never paid for it. Instead, the restaurant sent a bill to Earl’s attorney each month, who in turn added a generous tip and sent a check.

  Indeed, everyone knew why Earl didn’t speak – that is, until the sheriff hired a new deputy.

  FOUNDED IN THE MID-1800s, Blue Falls, Iowa was a peaceful place for the most part. Located in the lower half of the state, the climate was surprisingly mild with the lows in the 40s and the highs in the 80s, plus a brief period in the 100s. Farmers worked the cleared land and happily enjoyed the lakes, woods, rolling hills, and a few more inches of rainfall than Iowans were privileged to in the north.

  The same as any other town that saw a boom of early settlers, older buildings with shared walls marked the center of town and lined both sides of Main Street. The Wells Fargo office and adjoining corrals that once sat at the end of Main Street, were converted to the town’s only bank, which was eventually joined by City Hall, a drug store, and a fast food restaurant. City Hall also served as the courthouse, the jail, the police station, and the Sheriff’s Office, with a large room on the third floor used for town hall meetings. Next door was a large clothing store followed by various small and large shops, and in between was a small park with a pleasant fountain in which children were allowed to play on particularly hot summer days.

  On Earl’s side of the street were still more assorted shops including an aging but well-kept hotel, a full service restaurant, and a beauty/barber shop. Owned by the luckiest man in town, the l
ast building on Earl’s side of Main Street was a garage that offered car repair, parts, and a towing service. In the opposite direction, and less than two miles out of town, was the Woodbury Ceramic Tile Company owned by Earl Woodbury and managed by his oldest son, Michael.

  For years, the highway went right through town and netted the community a great deal of business. Unfortunately, when the state built a four-lane Interstate, it bypassed the town completely. The population dwindled from not quite 20,000 to less than 10,000 and eventually, Main Street turned into two lanes with right angle parking on both sides – that was before the mayor came up with a brilliant idea. He suggested they offer ten acres of county land at a discounted price to anyone willing to establish a business in the community. Furthermore, no city or county property taxes would be collected on the land for the first ten years. It was a sweet deal and several companies took the mayor up on his offer. Since most of the businesses came with employees, the town experienced a massive population explosion, which required housing developments, a new addition to the hospital, a shopping mall, a new school, and bigger profits for local businesses.

  Everyone was thrilled – except Michael Woodbury. Michael was quite possibly the most handsome man in town. He was tall, kept in good physical shape, had wavy brown hair with a touch of distinguishing gray on each sideburn, and had the kind of captivating blue eyes most did not wish to look directly into for very long. Soon, a used car lot, a condo high-rise, a shopping center, three real-estate offices, two jewelry stores, and the branch of a national shipping company sprang up between the town and the Woodbury Tile Company.

  Instead of welcoming the progress, Michael complained about the noise, the dust coming from dirt roads that had not yet been paved, and the way heavy equipment always seemed to be parked right behind his car at quitting time.

  A construction lull offered less than a month of peace and quiet before Terrell Office Supply Company bought the land between Interstate 80 and the Woodbury Company. Jerry Terrell built a two-story warehouse with an enviable state-of-the-art packing system, and added a small shop in front to sell products to the locals. Michael grumbled and groaned about the noise and the dust to anyone who would listen, but he held his temper in check.

  At last, Terrell Office Supply Company was finished and everyone relaxed.

  Yet, there remained one glaring problem. The height of the Terrell building made it impossible for anyone to see Michael’s roof-mounted billboard from the Interstate. Hopping mad, Michael was forced to raise the billboard up another fifty feet. That was an end to it, or so everyone thought, until Terrell employees began to park in the Woodbury parking lot.

  Michael had had enough and the fight was on!

  Next came an application from a company specializing in prefabricated houses. Naturally, the town voted to pay the expense of establishing freeway on and off-ramps that could support the weight of fully loaded semi-trucks. It was worth it, they all agreed at a town hall meeting. After all, the community was growing, business was booming, and everyone who wanted one had a job.

  To Michael it meant more noise, more dirt, more people parking in his parking lot, and his modest trucks having to wait in line to get on the Interstate.

  Michael stormed out never to attend a town hall meeting again.

  As the town grew, so did the Sheriff’s office.

  Rod Keller had his own reasons for choosing to live in a small town rather than the big city. A cop in his late twenties with six solid years of experience, he soon got tired of chasing and capturing criminals just to have the lily-livered judges set them free. His collars averaged six-to-one when it came to convictions, but it was that one – a guilty as sin baby killer that really galled him.

  Therefore, he secured a position as Deputy Sheriff for the county of Lowland, Iowa and proudly wore the standard issue uniform. It consisted of dark brown pants, a tan shirt, a slender brown tie, a gold sheriff deputy badge with blue lettering, a gold insignia on each of his collar lapels, and a brown hat. Being the new guy, he inherited the evening shift which pleased him. He expected the dull and boring graveyard shift, but one of the other deputies had worked it for years and liked it that way. Rod’s shift started at 3:00 in the afternoon and ended at11:30. His duties included patrolling assigned areas, making arrests, responding to calls, and tending to accidents on Interstate 80. Everything else was handled by a police force that numbered five, not counting the Police Chief.

  HE DID NOT KNOW THEM well yet, but Rod liked his boss, Sheriff Otis Pierce, and the other two deputies, Wayne Griffin, and Victor Stonebrooke. With three full-time and three part-time deputies, the sheriff could stay in the office where he was needed most. The three shifts overlapped just enough for Rod to spend half an hour a day with each of the other two full-time deputies. Victor Stonebrooke, a married man with three young children, had the day shift. His specific duties included manning the school crosswalks, mornings and afternoons, at the newly built elementary school just outside the city limits.

  Soon, they would be getting another new hire to take Deputy Wayne Griffin’s place on the graveyard shift. Unmarried and only a few weeks away from being old enough to retire, Wayne Griffin wore the same uniform with a few variations. He preferred an unbuttoned brown vest and off-white hat instead of a brown one. No one seemed to mind. Too old to chase a lot of bad guys, Wayne spent his nights checking on the welfare of various farmers and their families, many of whom were his friends. When the cows got out or something didn’t look just right, it was Wayne who notified an always grateful farmer. In his official capacity, Wayne also attended most of the teen functions such as school dances, sporting events, bonfires, and school picnics.

  Rod had only been on the job three days when he noticed an old man sitting at a lakeside picnic table staring at the waterfall. It was the same old man he had seen resting on a bench across the street from city hall the day before, so he parked his car and went to see about him.

  “You okay, old timer?” His question was met with a slight nod and nothing more. “I’m Rod Keller. What’s your name?” The old man ignored him completely. Rod gently asked a few more questions, received no replies, and by the way the old man was dressed, assumed he was homeless.

  Therefore, Deputy Rod Keller arrested Earl Woodbury.

  The grins on the faces of people who began to gather as Rod helped a cuffed Earl out of the back of his patrol car, did not worry the deputy, although he did think it a bit peculiar. Nevertheless, he ignored them and proudly took his very first arrest into the Sheriff’s office.

  In the office entrance, a large pegboard held wanted posters, while the opposite wall displayed various certificates, awards and official licenses. In the corner of the room was a water cooler and a table that held paper cups, a coffee maker, stir sticks, and the usual assortment of condiments. Four wooden chairs with curved backs faced a counter, behind which a smirking uniformed woman worked. Rod ignored her too. Spread out on the counter were various clipboards, chained pens, and two computers, one of which peculiarly showed nothing more than the billboard mounted atop the Woodbury Ceramic Tile Company.

  Rod knew the drill, told Earl to stay right where he was, and started to fill out the arrest log on the other computer.

  “What’s this?” a shocked Sheriff Otis Pierce asked the moment he came out of his office and spotted handcuffs on Earl’s wrists.

  Rod’s southern accent was a little more pronounced than usual when he answered, “Vagrancy. I found him sitting out by the lake.” The female dispatcher’s smirk turned to a giggle.

  “Vagrancy?” the incredulous sheriff asked. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Take the cuffs off him.”

  “But...” Rod tried. The demanding scowl on the sheriff’s face dictated that he do as he was told without hesitation, so Rod walked behind Earl, pulled out his key and removed the cuffs.

  “You’re in trouble now,” the grinning dispatcher mumbled as she returned to her desk and pretended to be working on her
computer.

  The sheriff took hold of Earl’s elbow, helped him sit in a wooden chair that was so large it nearly swallowed Earl up, and didn’t let go until he was safely seated. “He hurt you?” Sheriff Pierce asked. He was relieved when Earl shook his head. “You’re losing weight again. Don’t your housekeeper feed you well enough?”

  Earl simply shrugged.

  “Oh, I get it, he can’t talk,” Rod muttered.

  “No, you don’t get it,” said the still annoyed sheriff. “Earl Woodbury once owned half the town. He retired a few years ago and usually sits across the street from the courthouse so he can keep an eye on things.”

  Rod bowed his head. “Sorry Sheriff, I didn’t know.”

  Sheriff Pierce disregarded his new deputy’s comment. “Earl, you want him to take you back to the lake?” Earl shook his head so the sheriff asked, “The bench?” This time Earl nodded.

  Deputy Rod Keller extended his hand and helped Earl stand up. “Mr. Woodbury, please accept my apology.” The old man didn’t nod or smile, which made the wrinkles in Rod’s forehead sink even deeper. He shot a slight glare at the giggling dispatcher, opened the door for Earl, and followed him out.

  “Come right back,” said the sheriff. “We’ve got some talking to do before you go back out on the road.”

  “Will do,” Rod answered.

  Sheriff Otis Pierce glared at the looky-loos on the sidewalk in front of the office until they began to move along, and then watched the deputy walk Earl back across the street. Disgusted with himself, he again shook his head. “My fault, I should have warned the kid.” He was still watching when Earl sat down, and while the deputy waited until a car passed in front of him before he hurried back toward the office. Sheriff Pierce glanced at the still smiling dispatcher. “Well, you didn’t warn him either.”