“Being that we were married, I thought it was my right to have my way with her when and where I saw fit,” he loftily explained. He puffed out his chest and raised his chin several degrees.
“And the liberties you tried to take were unspeakable!” Eloda spat out and glared at him.
“Well, the dress you wore made them,” he said, and pointed at her breasts, “Look almighty inviting, so I accepted the invitation.”
Eloda charged towards him and had planned to slap him again, but Jack moved way too fast and grabbed her by the waist and prevented her from going forward.
“Settle down,” he softly ordered. When she didn’t comply, he looked down and glared at her, but she glowered right back and tried to pull away.
“He’s despicable,” Eloda hissed out through clenched teeth.
“Don’t force me to lock you up,” he harshly whispered.
“Locking her up is a damn good idea,” McCrady said under his breath.
“So after you attempted to…touch her, she pushed you?” Jack asked, and Eloda still struggled under his grasp.
“There was no attempting to it,” he bragged. “Hell, I grabbed myself a nice handful! Probably my best childhood memory,” he said proudly. “Trust me, Sheriff; it was damn well worth her busting my leg in that fall.”
At first Jack looked appalled by the man’s declaration and then he shook his head. But Eloda noticed a smile urged to find release from his lips when she looked at him again. “And that is what you plan to testify in court?” Jack asked.
“Sure am, word for word,” he confirmed. He raised his brows and looked at Eloda for her reaction.
“I’m sure you’ll be the prosecution’s best witness,” Eloda murmured and rolled her eyes.
“If there’s nothing else to add, that’ll be all,” Jack said to him, and after he released Eloda, Jack walked Charles McCrady to the door.
“What about my wife?” Charlie asked.
“Eloda?” Jack asked. That time, he did smile.
“Yes,” he said. “Can I take her home to my ma’s house until the trial?”
Jack turned around and looked at Eloda, but she quickly stepped inside her cell and pulled the cell door shut.
“Don’t believe the lady wants to go, McCrady,” Jack replied, and he closed the door shut the moment Charlie stepped over the threshold, cutting his words of rebuff off as it latched shut.
Jack walked to Eloda’s cell and leaned his back against the rails. Looking over his shoulder, he looked through the sheets and smiled at her. “If that’s the best the prosecution has to offer for witnesses, I’m thinking you have little to fret about.”
“I suppose so,” she rushed out, still angered at him for not believing in her innocence.
“You haven’t asked about what happened today at your home,” he said when she said nothing more.
“Wasn’t sure it was my business to ask.” She raised her head slightly and looked at him without appearing overly eager or anxious. He was right, though, she wanted to know.
“As you stated, they didn’t know anything. All twelve in service didn’t hear or see anything whatsoever that related to your husband’s death or even notice him missing until you reported it to my office,” he said in disbelief. “Seems peculiar, huh?”
“Not particularly,” she shrugged, and walked to her canvas and paints and continued painting what she had started earlier in the day. “My home isn’t exactly modest in size, Sheriff. Aside from that, my husband and I lived rather dreary, uneventful lives, so I’m sure the servants didn’t pay much mind to our daily lives.”
He didn’t speak for a while but looked around the privacy sheet and continued to watch her. She persistently looked busy with her painting and attempted to appear unaffected by his presence. But she felt him watching her still. Despite being frustrated, she felt nervous and self-conscious.
“Is there anything else?” she finally asked and hoped he’d take her words as a dismissal.
Jack turned around and rested his forearms between the bars. “I wasn’t trying to say I thought you were guilty, Eloda,” he said softly. “I’m just saying I don’t know.”
Jack looked over at Frank who sat with a stick and knife, whittling at his desk. “How about heading over to Sally’s and bringing us back some supper?”
“Was waiting for you to say that,” he said with a stern nod. “About ready to eat my hat,” Frank replied, and he grabbed his jacket and shot out the door like a bullet. A few townsmen hollered derogatory comments at Eloda through the door when Frank left, but the room fell silent again once the door shut.
Jack looked back into the cell and watched her again. “About last night,” he began.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Eloda interrupted. She didn’t look at him and noted that her painting strokes that came soft and subtle moments before had quickly turned harsh and erratic.
“Being a lawman is my life,” he explained. “I can’t allow a woman to get in the way of that.”
Eloda closed her eyes and took a few breaths. He was trying to be sincere and she at least owed him the courtesy of her attention. She laid her brush down and walked to him, only the bars stood between them. “I didn’t kill Mister Timmons,” she said gently, but emphatically.
He extended his arm through the bars and it appeared that he was going to reach for her hand, but he stopped, and instead, gripped the bars with both hands in tight fists. “I want to believe that.” He looked at her and added, “But you’re hiding something, Eloda. I’m not a fool, so don’t play me as one.”
His knuckles whitened from squeezing the bars so tightly and Eloda decided not to cross him. She reached out and laid her hands gently upon both his fists.
“I never thought you to be one,” she said.
“Until you can tell me what you’re hiding, I’ll not risk my reputation.” He slid his hands away from hers and stepped back. “I’ll help you in the ways I can, but I’ll not jeopardize my badge when you can’t trust me.” He reached for the keys that Frank had left in the keyhole of her cell and turned it. The loud clatter of the lock mechanism echoed in the room. “Trust works both ways, Eloda.”
Eloda thought on his words for a moment. Her desire for him came just as strong as it had the night before, and she wanted him, but she wouldn’t be given an ultimatum. She understood why he felt the way he did. Being from a family of lawmen, and him being so proud, he’d not want to be the one who blemished their family name. She’d have felt the same way, she silently admitted.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered. “There’s nothing more I can tell you.”
It was then the door opened and Jack turned and rested his hand on the hilt of his gun believing it may have been one of the rowdies outside the door, but he relaxed his hand when he saw the boy enter.
“What are you doing here, Andy?” Eloda asked.
“Ma told me to bring you this,” he said, and he raised a basket that sent an aroma of freshly baked goods into room. He looked at the sheriff for his permission to give it to her, and after Jack nodded, he walked to Eloda. “Biscuits and marmalade,” the boy said.
“That was almighty kind of her to go to such trouble,” Eloda said. She lifted the cloth that held in the heat and she inhaled a deep whiff. “Smells delicious,” she added. She sat the basket on the cot and returned to look at the boy. “I’m glad you’ve come. I want you to tell your mother to go to my home and ask for Mrs. Fletcher.” The boy looked at her queerly. “She’ll set her to work at a decent wage,” she added.
“Truly, Mrs. Timmons?” the boy asked, surprised and excited. But his smile dropped and he lowered his head. “You’d do that, even after…” His words trailed off as he gazed over her cell and then back to her.
“Yes, now go on and get home. Tell her to go first thing in the morning, and tell her I thank her kindly for the consideration in sending this,” she said and raised the basket.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“And Andy,” she called after him before he left. “Once I’m found innocent,” she said, and then Eloda looked at Jack. “And I will be found innocent,” she firmly added. “I’ll see to it that you have a chance to prove your worth by offering you a fair wage to work at the ranch as well.”
The boy ran back to her cage and wrapped his arms around her through the bars. “Thank you, ma’am!” he said happily, and the boy turned around and ran out the door.
“Whether you killed your husband or not,” Jack said as he walked towards her, “I do believe you’re a good woman with a big heart.”
“Yes, and it’s big enough to overcome any breakage,” she said quietly. Eloda turned around and returned to her painting, but less bothered that he stayed and watched after her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The court has ordered that you wear them,” Jack argued, and the manacles in his hands clanked and echoed in the room.
“I’ll not go to my husband’s funeral in those,” she fervently stated. She turned her back to the bindings and faced Jonathon who came to accompany her to the funeral.
“Eloda,” Jonathon sighed, “You must go or else the chosen jurymen are going to get a preconceived notion that you do not care about your dead husband. It is imperative to your defense that you are in attendance and play the grieving widow.”
“I’ve seen the jurors,” she scoffed. “There’s not one that hasn’t already decided my guilt years ago.”
“And unfortunately, as of last year, the new law states that we cannot exclude a person for having a pretrial opinion or impression. I tried having the trial moved to another jurisdiction without success.”
“I shouldn’t be standing trial at all; it’s a travesty,” she muttered.
“I’ve argued and tried to invalidate the indictment, Eloda, and that was without success as well.” Jonathon shook his head. “The evidence is straight and clear. This is going to trial in two days, whether you want it to or not. Being so, you need to go to the funeral and pray you gain some support and sympathy from your bereavement.”
“And how do you propose I do that? Cry?” she asked.
“Cry, wail, fall to the ground in a fit of vapors, whatever it takes,” Jonathon said. “Until you see a semblance of empathy in the faces of those who come, you haven’t a chance of an acquittal.”
Jonathon was right. It was in her best interest to go and show remorse. Eloda thought hard on how that would be accomplished. Tears weren’t something easily mustered for her husband, no matter how hard she tried. In their time of marriage, as well as his death, he had given her more than enough reasons to be thankful he was gone.
“All right,” she said in resignation. “I’ll wear them.” Reluctantly, she turned to Jack and raised her arms in front of her and he placed the restraints around her wrists.
“Think of another loss,” Jack softly suggested as he clamped the iron cuffs shut around her wrists. “Someone you loved and lost; a grandparent or a parent. Think of them today.”
“My father,” she said, and lowered her head and sadly nodded. “I’ll try to think of him on this day.” Her father died shortly before her first marriage nearly fifteen years ago, but the pain of his loss was still fresh in her mind. He was a dear and loving man who raised her alone from the age of three after her mother had died. Any other man of his elder years would have shirked his responsibility onto someone else, but not him. He cared for her as well as any mother could, but eventually the infirmities of old age had taken him away. She missed him greatly but Eloda was thankful he wasn’t alive to see how the town had displeasingly taken to her since his death.
Jack checked and made sure the manacles were secured in place and then positioned his warm hands onto hers. He gently squeezed and her hands trembled. But when he smiled, it quickly relaxed her.
“It’s going to be all right. You can do this. This is the only chance you have to even the unfair odds against you, Eloda. Don’t allow this town to convict you by their prejudice.”
“And you’ll be staying with me the entire time?”
“Yes, Jonathon and I will stay at your side and Frank will be keeping an eye open for anyone who might use this opportunity to enact pretrial justice.”
“Do you really think that may happen?” she asked, startled.
“There’s been constant chatter about hanging you to save the county the expense of a trial,” Jack admitted.
She reckoned the fear she felt inside must have stricken across her face when Jack tightened his squeeze on her hands and warmly smiled at her again.
“Both Jonathon and I will be standing very close to protect you,” he added. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Why?” she asked as she turned to Jonathon. “Jack’s the law, so I understand why he’s willing to be my buffer, but why would you risk harm to yourself by staying at my side?”
Jonathon looked down at Eloda and regarded her face thoroughly and quietly. A wounded smile barely lifted his lips. He didn’t say anything for several moments.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” Eloda added. “I’m eternally grateful for all you have done for me, and there are not enough words to relay how appreciative I am.”
“After taking your case, I went home and began rummaging through my father’s belongings,” he finally said. “Until then, they had gone untouched since the day he died.” Jonathon turned and looked at Jack. “Can you give us a couple minutes?”
“I’ll go check the streets outside and make sure all is clear,” Jack said, and he grabbed his wool coat from the hook, checked his gun, and left.
“I found some correspondence between my father and you,” Jonathon admitted.
“You read our private letters?” she asked, unnerved by the invasion of privacy.
Jonathon lowered his head and nodded.
“And there was something within them that gave you a change of heart?”
“My father had great hatred for me,” he said, and his eyes welled up with unshed tears. “He discovered early in my life that I had a preference for men, and that’s where his anger stemmed and stayed rooted until his death. Only until recently did I realize that nothing would have changed that.”
“I’m sorry, Jonathon. I know how painful that must be for you,” she said and reached for his hand and comforted him. After all the love she received from her own father, she couldn’t imagine the heartache felt in having a parent’s love taken away. It certainly had to have been devastating for him.
“You could have taken great advantage by that,” Jonathon continued. “Instead, your letters begged my father to reunite with me. And when he spoke of rewriting his will to make you his beneficiary before marriage, you asked him not to do it, and again, pleaded with him to have me included.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were hurting enough, Jonathon. I believed by my telling you that your father still refused you after I challenged his decision would have only hurt you more.”
“I wouldn’t have treated you so dastardly after my father’s death had I known.”
“It’s the past, Jonathon. I harbor no ill will towards you, truly.”
“Nor I against you,” he said. Jonathon crooked his head to the side and smiled. “Now that we have put this matter aside, we shall let the community see our friendship as well, and pray they, too, see the goodness inside you.”
“It’s time to go,” Jack called through the crack of the door. “The procession is about to begin.”
Exhaling loudly, she lowered her veil and slid her hands into her black lace gloves. “All right, I’m ready.”
Eloda, Jack, and Jonathon walked behind her husband’s coffin as it was carried in the transparent, horse-drawn funeral carriage to the Timmons Family Cemetery. A large crowd followed behind them for the mile march, and many who were in attendance had barely known him. Eloda supposed more showed up to scrutinize her actions than in paying t
heir respects, as Jonathon and Jack had earlier described.
They reached the cemetery and it had taken twelve gentlemen to lift her husband from the carriage to his burial ground. At one point they nearly dropped him and the spectators gasped.
Aside from the wind that rustled the dresses of the women, silence reigned in the cemetery when Reverend Tilden walked to the casket that sat near the open grave.
His eulogy was surprisingly brief. And more to her astonishment lacked a single insult or accusation in her direction. She suspected Jonathon had a hand in keeping him in check, which she was thankful.
A nudge to her rib reminded her that she needed to show some sign of grief. Eloda looked at Jack and rolled her eyes in response, but used the handkerchief in her hand and dabbed at invisible tears. She surmised it wasn’t enough when Jonathon elbowed her from the other side, hard.
As the final prayer left the minister’s lips, Eloda fell to her knees and laid her body over the top of Peter’s coffin. Loudly, she moaned, “Peter! Oh, Peter!” she called out at his casket and caressed her hands affectionately over the smooth curves of his ornately crafted casket.
Eloda heard Jonathon tell a gentleman next to him, “She has been inconsolable since she’s been incarcerated. It was then and there she realized that Timmons, her dear loving husband, was truly gone from her life forever. Rather sad, it is,” he said, woefully.
She wailed again, loud.
“The poor, dear widow,” the man painfully exclaimed. “I had no idea!”
“Yes, even I could no longer turn my back against her. She cries day and night and prays to God that he will somehow return to her.”
She heard the man that Jonathon addressed relay the information to the man next to him, and the next fellow after that, and it wasn’t long before she heard the multitude of people humming with saddened, exaggerated stories of her grief.
Eloda wailed out again, and one by one, people approached and offered their respects and laid their hands comfortingly on her. She accomplished her task. With one last agonizing howl, Eloda fell over in a shammed, dead faint.
The Widow's Touch (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella) Page 5