The man bounced a nervous glance up and down the road. “Hey there, girlie. What you doin’ out here all alone?”
As she sought a suitable answer, a second man suddenly sat up in the wagon bed. Just as unkempt in appearance as the first one, his narrowed gaze swept over her and made her feel as though bugs crawled under her skin. She needed to escape quickly.
Swallowing the taste of fear that lingered in the back of her throat, she angled her chin high and assumed a bravado she didn’t feel. “I was down by the river—gathering berries. My . . . my husband was to meet me. I thought you might be him.” The lie didn’t roll easily from her tongue. She hoped the Lord would forgive her. She also hoped the men believed her. “But I see you aren’t. So I’ll just—”
The man in the bed leaped out and darted at her. She released a cry of alarm as he snatched her basket of belongings from her arm. He held it aloft to the man on the wagon seat.
“She’s lyin’. There ain’t no berries in here, Lloyd.”
Tarsie reached for the basket, which possessed all of her worldly goods. She couldn’t allow this grubby man to take it from her. “Here, now! You’ll be returnin’ that to me right now!”
The man laughed, holding the basket well out of her reach. “Well, now, ain’t you the feisty little thing!” Quick as a striking snake, he grabbed her arm. She fought against him, but he twisted her arm behind her. Tarsie bit down on her lip to keep from crying out in pain. He had her trapped. Swinging her basket with his other hand, he said, “What you want me to do with her, Lloyd?”
Lloyd tapped a dirty finger against his lips, frowning. “Now that she’s seen us, we can’t just leave her here.”
Tarsie’s mouth went dry. Who were these men? What would they do to her? Oh, Lord, please help me!
Lloyd patted the seat beside him. “Put her up here.”
With a gleeful chortle, the man propelled her across the ground. Fear and her injured ankle made her clumsy, and she couldn’t manage to climb aboard. The man behind her snorted. “C’mon, girlie. Get on up there.” He planted his hand against her backside and gave a heave. Tarsie fell face-first into Lloyd, who caught her arm and helped her sit up. He kept his fingers wrapped around her upper arm, preventing her from jumping down again.
The other man plunked her basket into the back next to a mound of hay, then clambered in. He hung over the seat’s back, grinning. “What we gonna do with her?” His gaze raked across Tarsie, raising memories of the hungry looks men on the streets of New York often cast at her. She knew what he wanted. She shivered.
Lloyd scowled at his buddy. “Sit yourself down, Coot, an’ wipe that eager grin off your face. Folks in town see you pantin’ like that, they’ll wonder what’s got you so all-fired het up.”
The man named Coot set his lips in a deep frown. “Aw, c’mon, Lloyd, why can’t we have a little fun with her? She sure is a purty thing. . . .” He toyed with a loose strand of tangled hair hanging alongside Tarsie’s cheek. She gasped.
Lloyd released Tarsie’s arm and clopped Coot on the side of his head. Coot’s hat flew off, and he yelped in surprise. Lloyd pointed at him. “You know what happens to men who molest women. ’Member ol’ Luther?”
Coot’s eyes flew wide in horror.
Lloyd nodded, his expression grim. “You don’t wanna end up like him. So get your mind offa stealin’ pleasure from this girl an’ remember what we got in that box. You’ll be able to buy all the pleasurin’ you want from women who don’t mind sharin’ soon enough.”
With a maniacal chortle, Coot plunked down on his bottom, facing the back of the wagon.
Lloyd turned to Tarsie. “Now, don’t you be worryin’, girlie. Coot an’ me, we’re . . . on the run, but we ain’t gonna hurt you—not so long as you do what I say.”
“W-what are you wantin’ me to do?”
“Just sit up here an’ make like we’re a man an’ wife comin’ to town for shoppin’.”
Another cackle came from Coot.
Lloyd snapped down the reins, making the wagon jolt forward. Coot’s feet flew in the air and he rolled onto his back, still laughing. Shaking his head, Lloyd apologized to Tarsie. “We gotta get through White Cloud to the Missouri side o’ the river without nobody checkin’ to see what we’re carryin’. Lawmen’ll be less likely to suspect a man an’ wife. So you’re gonna be our decoy.”
“’Course, if’n you knew what we had, you might just wanna stick with us. Then you’d be rich, too!”
“Coot, you talk too much.” Lloyd shot a glare into the back of the wagon, then looked at Tarsie again. “Chances are the law’s already moved on. We been layin’ low, bidin’ our time to cross over to Missouri. But just in case, you’re gonna be a good girl an’ playact like we’re just any other man an’ wife goin’ about our business. Understand?”
Tarsie glanced at Coot as he sat up, whirling around to pat the pile of hay. Some of the hay slipped, revealing a glimpse of something made of black iron. Tarsie squinted at the patch of black. “What is that?”
Lloyd barked, “Cover that thing, Coot!”
Coot snatched up a wadded quilt from near his feet and tossed it over the pile of hay. Using the mound as a pillow, he linked his hands on his chest and closed his eyes.
Tarsie turned forward, examining the stern set of Lloyd’s whiskery jaw. Men on the run, hiding something from view. She’d fallen in with thieves! And they intended to use her to outsmart the law. She couldn’t be a party to something illegal. Clutching her hands together in her lap, she searched her mind for a means of alerting the authorities to these men’s unlawful activities.
Lloyd shifted on the seat. His unbuttoned jacket swung back, and she spotted the butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband.
Tarsie swallowed, her throat so dry it ached. Lloyd had protected her from Coot, making her believe he didn’t want to harm her. But if she double-crossed him, would he seek revenge with that pistol?
38
All right, girlie. Now just act natural,” Lloyd hissed through gritted teeth as he guided the team down the middle of White Cloud’s busy main street.
Tarsie searched the faces of people bustling here and there on the boardwalk, praying someone—anyone!—might meet her gaze so she could signal for help. But, caught up in their own needs, no one so much as glanced at the wagon rolling by. She held to the seat, her breath emerging in tiny puffs of panic. What should she do? If she boarded that ferry and accompanied these two ruffians to the Missouri side, they’d have no further need of her. No matter what Lloyd had said, what would keep him from doing away with her?
The wagon creaked along, passing places of business, and a swinging sign caught Tarsie’s attention: SHERIFF OFFICE. Lloyd must have seen it, too, because he flicked the reins to hurry the team. She only had one chance.
Gathering all her courage, she grasped the brake handle and jammed it forward. The wheels groaned, the wagon jolted, the horses reared up while nickering in protest, and Lloyd grabbed at her hands. She held tight whimpering in fright. He raised his fist, his snarling face only inches from hers. “Girlie, whatcha think you’re doin’?”
Ducking from his swinging hand, Tarsie let out a shriek that brought half a dozen men running. Lloyd yanked out his gun. Coot bolted from the back and took off. Tarsie scrambled over the edge of the seat, crying out, “Help me! Help me!” A shot rang, shouts erupted, and fear claimed Tarsie. With one more whimpered plea for help, she fainted in the street.
The minister—he’d introduced himself as Reverend Mann—sat on a straight-backed chair outside of Joss’s cell with a Bible draped open over his knee. For nearly an hour, he and Joss had talked, and the man’s patient response to each of Joss’s questions calmed the frayed edges of Joss’s heart. But Joss had one question left unanswered.
Cross-legged on the cold floor inside the cell, Joss curved his hands over his knees and met the minister’s steady gaze. “Why am I in here? I didn’t steal that safe. It’s not fair to be locked up. If
God can do anything, He could’ve kept me from being arrested. Why didn’t He?”
Reverend Mann licked his finger and flicked a few pages in his Bible, then gave a nod in Joss’s direction. “Listen to this. From the eighth chapter of Romans—‘For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.’”
Joss scratched his head and released a rueful chuckle. “Those’re real pretty words, Reverend, but I’m not sure what they’re saying.”
The man leaned forward, bringing his face very near the bars that separated them. “What I believe, Joss, is often God allows things to happen that are confusing to us to give us a chance to discover if we really trust Him or not. If we could understand everything, why would we need faith?”
Joss stared hard into the minister’s face, letting his words soak in. “So you’re saying my sitting in here is kind of a . . . a test? A way for God to find out if I trust Him or not?”
“Perhaps.” Reverend Mann sat up, closing the Bible. “Or maybe He needs you here for some reason we don’t yet understand.” He smiled gently. “God’s ways aren’t our ways, Joss. Sometimes He uses unexpected means to bring about His will. But I do know this.” He stretched his hand between the bars and placed it over Joss’s shoulder. “Everything He does is out of love for us. It’s to make us stronger or draw us closer to Him. Don’t question His love, Joss. Trust Him. Will you do that?”
Joss let his head sag. “I’ll try. But I gotta tell you, I’m going a little crazy in here, worrying about things. If they send me to prison, what’ll happen to my young’uns?” He’d once wanted to send them to an orphanage. Now he feared that fate awaited them. His chest ached. God had to let him out so he could be a real father to Emmy and Nathaniel.
He bounced his face upward to look at the minister. “Would you ride out to the black settlement and check on my children? They’re staying with Simon and Ruth Foster. Tell ’em . . .” He gulped, a fierce sting attacking the back of his nose. “Tell ’em I miss ’em and I’ll be with ’em again as soon as I can.”
Reverend Mann squeezed Joss’s shoulder and pulled back. “Sure I will. Anything else you need?”
I need someone to read Tarsie’s note for me. He pushed to his feet and reached for his pocket. But when he spoke, other words spilled out. “I need a good lawyer, I think.”
The reverend rose, tucking his Bible into the crook of his arm. “I’ll look into that for you.” He stuck out his hand, and Joss shook it. “I’ll be praying for you, Joss. You hold on to your faith now, you hear? God has a plan for you, and one day you’ll look back at this time and understand why you had to sit here. I’ll come see you again tomorrow, all right?”
Joss hoped he wouldn’t be there tomorrow, but he said, “Sounds good.” His fingers grasping the cool iron bars of the cell, he watched the minister leave.
Tarsie sat next to Deputy Pierce on the seat of the wagon, her basket in her lap and the Whitfield’s safe pressing against her leg. Behind her, in the wagon’s bed, which resembled a large birdcage with its metal bars stretching up the sides and across the top, the two men who’d hauled her into their wagon as a decoy now slumped against the wall of the cage. She sensed their murderous glares on her back, but she refused to turn around and look at them. Such a sorry sight they were in their filthy clothes and darkly whiskered faces, their ankles circled by iron bands bearing thick chains that rattled with every bump in the road. The clanks, such eerie sounds, made Tarsie shiver, even though the midafternoon sun beamed down brightly.
She hadn’t wanted to return to Drayton Valley, but the White Cloud sheriff insisted she’d be called upon to testify when the men went to trial. Since the theft took place in Drayton Valley, the trial would also take place there. So here she sat—after finding the courage to leave, she was being carted back.
Lloyd’s and Coot’s capture would set free the man they’d previously arrested for the theft of the safe. The sheriff in White Cloud indicated a worker from Tollison Vineyard had spent several days in jail already, apparently falsely accused. Tarsie imagined how eager the innocent man would be to escape a dreary cell. As much as it would pain her to see Joss, the children, and Ruth and Simon again—and then leave them again—at least she’d have the chance to do something good. She consoled herself with the knowledge as the wagon rolled steadily toward Drayton Valley.
When Deputy Pierce drew the wagon to a halt in front of the sheriff’s office, a man with a silver badge on his chest approached from the Drayton Valley café, carrying a tray. He glanced into the back of the cage and grimaced. “Here already? Just got the wire a couple of hours ago about these fellas being apprehended. Didn’t figure they’d arrive until tomorrow.”
The driver wrapped the reins around the brake handle and hopped down. The keys on his belt rattled. “Sheriff Travers was eager to be shed of these two. Figured Mr. Tollison was eager to get his safe back, too.”
“Reckon you’re right about that,” the man on the boardwalk said. He bobbed the tray. “Only thing is, I didn’t get food for three prisoners.” Then he grinned, shrugging. “’Course, if we’re lettin’ loose the one we already got, we won’t have to feed him, so these two can share his meal. C’mon in.”
Deputy Pierce assisted Tarsie to the ground. The arrival of the caged wagon attracted attention, and a small crowd began to gather in the street. The deputy ignored the onlookers and escorted Tarsie into the office, leaving the two men to be gawked at like a pair of circus animals. Despite the scare they’d given her—as well as their illicit activity—Tarsie experienced a pang of sympathy for them.
“Sheriff Bradley?” Deputy Pierce stuck out his hand to the man who rose from behind a large wood desk in the corner of the office.
“That’s right.” The two shook hands, their faces solemn. Then Sheriff Bradley’s gaze flicked to Tarsie. “Is this the young woman who notified the sheriff?”
Deputy Pierce nodded, urging Tarsie forward. “Yes, sir. Sheriff Travers took down her statement in White Cloud.” He withdrew several crumpled papers from his shirt pocket and placed them on the desk, then gave Tarsie an approving look. “Wish I had a medal to give her. Took a lot of courage, hollering like a banshee. One of the fellas started shooting—injured one of our deputies.” He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “But if those men had made it to Missouri, we might’ve never found Tollison’s safe. We owe this little lady a mighty debt of gratitude.”
Sheriff Bradley raised one brow and looked Tarsie up and down. She wanted to hide, knowing how unkempt she appeared—no better than the two thieves in the wagon outside. But she forced herself to stand square-shouldered and unashamed as he reached for the papers and unfolded them. Scowling, he perused the written account she’d given the sheriff in White Cloud, his lips moving silently as he read. Suddenly his startled gaze bounced to meet hers. “You’re Tarsie Raines?”
Surprised by the vehemence in his voice, she offered a weak nod.
“Tarsie Raines was reported missing five days ago.”
Tarsie drew back, an odd feeling creeping through her middle. “B-by whom?”
The sheriff rustled through a disorganized stack of pages on his desk. “Joss Brubacher.”
Hope rose in Tarsie’s chest. Joss had reported her missing? Then he’d at least been concerned about her. Could it possibly mean . . . ? As quickly as it had risen, the elation crumbled. No doubt he only wanted her to care for the children so he wouldn’t have to. She hung her head, battling tears.
Sheriff Bradley read the paper, underlining words with his finger. “Said you went out the night before and didn’t return. He came in here demanding we start a search.”
Tarsie swallowed. “I’m sorry to have caused trouble. I . . . I just intended to . . . move on.”
Slapping the pages onto the desk, the lawman grunted. “We thought he made it all up to get us all scouting for you so he could make his es
cape while everyone was focused elsewhere.”
Tarsie lifted her head, confused. “His escape?”
The sheriff snagged a silver loop holding a brass key from a peg on the wall and marched toward a door on the back wall of the office. “Guess he was telling us the truth all along. And it’s time we let him out.”
Realization exploded through her mind. She rocked in place, desire to see Joss battling with the despair of another parting. Desire won. She darted after the sheriff, wincing at the ache in her foot, her heart pattering three beats for every step she took.
Behind a wall of bars, Joss sat on a little cot with his elbows on his knees. He rose when the sheriff charged through the doorway, resignation sagging his features. Then his gaze shifted to her, and his jaw dropped. He dashed forward, grabbing the bars. “Tarsie?”
The sheriff jammed his thumb in Tarsie’s direction. “Guess it’s a good thing she took off. She stumbled upon two men with Tollison’s safe in tow. That means you’re free to leave . . . with our apologies, of course.” He unlocked the door and stepped back.
But Joss didn’t move. He stood inside the cell, wide eyes pinned to Tarsie’s face. He seemed to have aged in the past few days, thick whiskers dotting his cheeks and chin, new lines of worry etched across his brow. But the scowl she’d come to expect didn’t appear. Instead, a sheen of tears brightened his eyes. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
Sheriff Bradley balled one fist on his hip. “You comin’ out of there, or you want to stay with the two hooligans we’ve got waiting in the wagon?”
Finally Joss moved. Not toward the door—not toward freedom—but toward Tarsie. Slowly. Deliberately. Each footfall echoing in the rock room. Tarsie sucked in her breath and held it, watching Joss’s slow approach. His eyes roved her face, and heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered her tousled hair littered with bits of dry leaves. She lifted one hand to smooth the stray wisps, but he took one giant step forward and captured her wrist. He held it, his fingers smooth and warm, while she wondered if he counted her pulse beats.
A Home in Drayton Valley Page 29