“Did your mother grow herbs too?”
“No, sir. She grew roses.”
“How did Faith learn about herbs?”
“Books. She says that’s the best way to learn about things.”
The sheriff angled his Stetson to shade his eyes from the sun. “You enjoy reading?”
“Yes, sir.” Adam squinted up at him. “We read every night after supper.”
“We?”
“Faith and I read to Cora.”
“Would your sister let me come by some evening and listen?”
“No, sir. Faith dislikes men.” And Adam didn’t want the sheriff around spying on him or upsetting Faith.
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “That must have made her husband uncomfortable.”
Adam looked at his feet and called himself an empty-headed idiot. He wasn’t supposed to talk about Faith’s husband. His big mouth could ruin everything if he wasn’t careful.
“Something wrong, son?”
“No, sir. I was . . . I was thinking that Cora might tell you a story, but it’ll be so crazy you won’t understand it. The last story she told was about a flying snake named Lester who gave Cora a ride over a rainbow and turned them both into butterflies so they could live in my mother’s rosebush.” He glanced up to see if the sheriff had that squinty suspicious look on his face, hoping his story had smoothed over his mistake. The sheriff’s grin relieved him. “I told Faith that Cora must have eaten jimsonweed. It makes a person hallucinate.”
“You don’t ever eat those type of plants, do you?”
“No, sir,” Adam said between clenched teeth. He hated that everyone always thought the worst of him.
“Good.” The sheriff clapped his big hand on Adam’s shoulder and drew him to a stop in front of the barbershop on Water Street.
A man even taller than the sheriff stepped into the rutted street to meet them. “Where have you been hiding?” the man asked. “I’ve been by your office twice this morning.”
“I’ve been training my new deputy” The sheriff patted Adam’s shoulder.
Although he was joking, a thrill rushed through Adam. He couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to be a strong, respected lawman.
“This is Adam Dearborn,” the sheriff said. “Adam’s sister bought Colburn’s mill and is opening a greenhouse business. Adam, this is my oldest brother, Radford.”
The man was taller and leaner, his hair darker and his eyes lighter, but he and the sheriff looked like brothers. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grayson,” Adam said.
To his surprise, Mr. Grayson reached out and shook his hand. “You’re the youngest deputy I’ve ever met, Mr. Dearborn.”
Adam tried to smile, but it hurt too much, knowing a position like the sheriff’s was beyond his reach. He shook Mr. Grayson’s hand, then stepped away while the men talked.
Women blushed and smiled as they passed by, especially at the sheriff, but he and his brother just nodded in their friendly way and kept talking about timber.
Adam leaned against the warm red bricks of the two-story building, wondering how it felt to be greeted like that. The sheriff’s brother had been nice to him, but that was because Adam was with the sheriff. If he’d been alone, the man wouldn’t have noticed him at all. No one ever noticed a prostitute’s bastard. And for Adam, it had been safer to be unseen.
When the sheriff finished talking with his brother, Adam crossed Main Street with him, then walked a block down Temple Street, the one that cut between the parks. Adam was proud that he was remembering the street names and learning his way around his new hometown.
They entered a brick building with two square towers on the front, and he wondered if the sheriff locked criminals in the towers but didn’t dare ask. Inside they passed a small room with iron bars on the door. It looked dark and cold there, and Adam was suddenly glad the sheriff hadn’t locked him up.
At the next room, a note had been tacked to the door. The sheriff pulled it free and unlocked the door. A huge wooden desk squatted in the middle of the office, with papers scattered over its surface. The sheriff read the note, laid it on the mess on his desk, and plunked the jar of balm on top of it. “Looks like I’ve got a busy afternoon,” he said.
“What is all that stuff?” Adam asked.
“Arrest warrants. Complaints. Tax notices. Town meeting notes. Court papers.” The sheriff shrugged. “The usual.” Adam wrinkled his nose, and the sheriff laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. Give me a couple of bank robbers to chase any day.”
Adam gawked. “You chase bank robbers?”
The sheriff laughed. “Only twice.”
“Gosh.”
“I was teasing you, son. I dislike the paperwork for my job, but I don’t want any robberies of any kind in my county.”
“Yes, sir.” Adam hung his head and followed the sheriff back outside.
As they crossed the wide grassy Common, Sheriff Grayson nodded to the men they passed, and lifted his Stetson to the ladies. Adam imagined himself Duke’s son, a prince walking beside a king, instead of an unwanted bastard scurrying out of the way so he wouldn’t soil anybody’s clothing.
He was so busy admiring the sheriff’s badge as they entered Brown & Shepherd’s store, he ran into a man with a chest as hard as a brick wall. His eyes flashed upward, and he saw that he’d run into the sheriff’s brother. “Sorry, sir,” he said, quickly stepping aside.
Mr. Grayson gave him a pleasant nod, but Adam barely noticed. Standing beside the man was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was as tall as he was, and she looked straight into his eyes, smiling with such warmth that he felt as if she’d hugged him.
Girls never smiled at him. Not ever. In Syracuse he’d rarely left the yard of the brothel or explored outside his own neighborhood, but when he had, everyone knew he didn’t belong near them. They would lift their noses or turn away, pretending not to see him. He didn’t belong there, and he knew it.
“This is my daughter, Rebecca,” Mr. Grayson said, putting his arm around the girl. They both had dark hair, but Rebecca’s brown eyes were shades darker than her father’s, and her smile was much friendlier. “Rebecca, this is Adam Dearborn, who has just moved in at the old Colburn place.”
“Why, that’s just down the street from us.” Her smile widened, and she extended her hand. “Welcome to Fredonia, Adam.”
His name had never sounded so important. He’d never felt his heart bang in his chest so hard, not even the time one of Iris’s johns had caught him peeking in the brothel window. He raked his hair out of his eyes and reached to shake her pretty white hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, but his voice cracked and it sounded like he’d said, Pleased to MEET you.
Rebecca laughed, but it was a warm sound, and she gave his hand a secret squeeze.
Her father drew her away. “We need to get home before your mother accuses us of dallying all morning.”
She nudged him in the ribs. “You’re just rushing me home because you want me to help you clean the livery.”
“You’re getting too smart for me.” A smile made her father look much friendlier, but it was the love in his eyes that jolted Adam. His own father would never look at him like that. He didn’t know the man. Didn’t know his name. Didn’t even know if he was alive. Didn’t care either.
He didn’t!
“It was nice to meet you, Adam.”
He nodded to Rebecca, then curled his trembling fingers into his palm, wanting to trap the tingling sensation and keep it with him forever.
“I’ll see you two at supper,” the sheriff said.
Rebecca waved good-bye to him, but her big brown eyes were looking right at Adam as she stepped outside with her father.
The sheriff’s lips quirked up. “Looks like my niece intends to be your friend.”
Girls like Rebecca didn’t befriend boys like Adam. He opened his mouth to tell the sheriff that, but realized for the first time since coming to Fredonia, no one knew
he was a prostitute’s kid. They only knew he was Faith’s brother, and she was a respectable widow running a respectable business.
He could be like everyone else here. He could have friends, play ball, go swimming in the lake in the summertime. And someday, maybe he could even have a secret sweetheart like Rebecca.
The possibilities made his heart leap. A newfound sense of freedom filled him with hope.
“Come on, son, it’s time to make your apology to Mrs. Brown.”
The sheriff could have punched him with his big fist and hurt him less than the sudden regret twisting Adam’s gut. How could he have been so stupid as to steal a brush? Thieves weren’t any more welcome in a town like this than prostitutes or their children.
“Sheriff Grayson?”
The sheriff turned back, his dark eyebrow arched in question. “Thank you for not telling your brother what I did.”
“This business is between you and Mrs. Brown. It doesn’t concern my brother.”
“I won’t . . . I swear I won’t do anything like this again,” Adam said, fumbling for words, wanting to undo his mistake. All he wanted now was to make himself over into a man like the sheriff, a man worthy of a girl like Rebecca Grayson.
Chapter 5
At six o’clock in the evening, Duke left his deputy Sam Wade in charge and walked down Water Street toward home. The sun cast a golden sheen across the huge windows of Faith Wilkins’s new greenhouse, and he wondered how he could have overlooked such an obvious change in the building.
He shook his head, cursing his shoulder. Like a nagging toothache, the pain was distracting him to the point of madness. The doctor said to rest it and let it heal, but how long would that take? It had been a month since he’d tangled with Arthur Covey and injured his shoulder. He clenched his hand around the small jar of balm, hoping it would work as well as Faith and Adam claimed. Because if it didn’t, his career was in trouble.
Maybe he should stop by the greenhouse again to check on the gas line. His feet slowed, but his brain ordered him to quit making excuses and keep walking. Radford and Evelyn were expecting him and his mother for supper. And he had chores waiting after that.
Lowering his tense shoulders, he crossed the bridge over Canadaway Creek, then lengthened his stride and headed out on Liberty Street.
In less than five minutes, he approached their house and livery, a place that felt like home to him. Duke lived with his mother in her house just beyond the apple orchard, but they both spent many evenings at Radford and Evelyn’s house, carrying on a tradition that began with Evelyn’s and Duke’s parents.
His mother and father had been close friends with Evelyn’s parents, William and Mary Tucker, and the four of them raised their children as one family. Duke and his brothers and Evelyn had tromped from their house to hers, exploring every tree, creek, and stone in between. When Evelyn’s mother died, Duke’s mother opened her loving arms to the girl. Evelyn’s father treated Duke and his brothers like his own sons. William and Radford even went through the war together, and came home with a deeper bond between them, both men forever changed from their experience. Evelyn had planned to marry Duke’s brother Kyle, but her heart chose Radford. That upheaval had shaken the foundation of their family, but they’d held on.
Evelyn’s parents, and his own beloved father, were now buried in a shared family plot behind Evelyn’s home. Those left behind had grown closer despite all the heartache.
Duke and his brothers owned their father’s sawmill now, each of them contributing what they could to keep the business healthy. Kyle and Boyd ran the mill full time. Radford owned the livery, but dedicated two days a week to their sawmill business. When Duke wasn’t busy with his duties as sheriff, he gladly spent his time working with his brothers. He loved the smell of pine and sawdust, and the hard, honest work, but he was relieved he didn’t have to go there this evening. He wanted to sit on Radford and Evelyn’s porch, drink a glass of cold tea, and give his throbbing shoulder a chance to settle down.
The livery sat back from the road with a small paddock behind it where Evelyn trained her horses. A sprawling oak stood in the front yard and shaded the deep porch on their two-story home. A long fieldstone fence girded their property, and was a favorite hiding place for their sons William and Joshua.
As Duke had come to expect, his nephews popped up from behind the fence like well-trained soldiers, aiming their sticks and shooting at him a dozen times before he could grab for his carefully unloaded revolver. He would never draw it from his holster, of course. Not ever. Not even knowing he’d meticulously cleared the cartridges from the chamber.
With a loud groan, he clutched his chest and fell to his knees.
The boys let out a victory whoop. Seven-year-old William planted his hands on the fence and vaulted over, followed by four-year-old Joshua, whose chubby, little boy body forced him to claw his way over the stones.
Duke fell on his good side, let the jar roll away from him, then put his hand over his revolver and turned so the boys couldn’t pounce on his sore shoulder.
William ran toward him, then stretched out his skinny frame and flew through the air like a gangly bird. He landed hard on Duke’s chest, wrenching the shoulder in spite of Duke’s effort to protect it. Gads, that hurt! Joshua barreled across the spring grass and tumbled onto Duke’s head. The two boys grunted and tussled and tugged until Duke surrendered.
They rolled off, then ordered him to get up and get moving. He scooped up his jar of balm then marched to their prison, which was behind the railings of the front porch. Their eyes flashed with excitement, and it struck him that jail was just a game for his nephews, as it had been for Duke and his brothers at that tender age. But it wasn’t a game for a boy like Adam Dearborn. The boy’s tense, drawn face when he’d seen the barred cell earlier said he knew jail was a looming possibility for his ultimate future.
But not if Duke could prevent it. Adam was an intelligent boy in need of a firm guiding hand.
Radford was lounging in a chair with his feet propped on the handrail, grinning like a happy, satisfied man. “It’s nice to see the rascals clobbering someone else for a change,” he said.
Duke leaned his hips against the handrail and rubbed his shoulder. “Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you invite me over.”
Radford’s grin deepened. “Nonsense. I like having my brothers around. That’s why I’m inviting Boyd and Claire to supper tomorrow and asking Kyle and Amelia to come by the night after.”
Duke’s snort drew a laugh from their mother, who was sitting on the porch holding Radford’s seven-month-old daughter Hannah, a dark-haired beauty who was drooling and chewing on her fingers.
“Uncle Duke, come wrestle,” Joshua said, tugging on Duke’s leg.
“Let him be, son.” Radford hauled Joshua onto his lap and tickled him into a wild giggle. “You boys go wash your hands. We’ll be eating soon.”
Joshua squirmed free and charged into the house, bumping into his mother’s legs and nearly upsetting the tray in her hands. Evelyn stood with the door open and looked straight at Duke.
He lifted his hands. “I’m not responsible for Joshua’s mad dash into the house.”
“What mad dash?” Evelyn carried her tray of drinks on to the porch. “If the boys aren’t running, they’re sleeping.”
“Or yelling and fighting,” Rebecca said, carrying a heaping platter of fried chicken and plump biscuits outside.
“You have no right to talk about bad behavior, young lady, after buying Mrs. Brown’s last licorice stick and leaving me without a single one,” Duke said.
Rebecca set the platter on a low table in the center of a group of chairs. “The early bird gets the licorice.” She leaned over and gave him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.
“And the pretty girl gets the new boy in town.” He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her into a one-armed hug. “I see you’re not saving that pretty smile for your daddy and your uncles anymore.”
&
nbsp; Her cheeks flamed, and she shot an embarrassed look at her father.
Instead of smiling, Radford wore a puzzled look, as if Rebecca’s shiny black hair had just turned orange.
Evelyn poked Duke’s ribs and pulled Rebecca free. “Don’t start on her. She gets enough grief from her two brothers.” She brushed Rebecca’s thick braid behind her shoulder. “Would you bring the plates out?”
With a look of gratitude, Rebecca raced inside.
Duke scowled at Evelyn. “You ruined a perfectly good bout of teasing,” he complained.
She looked unmoved. “I know what it’s like to be outnumbered by nasty little boys.”
“I was never little.”
She laughed and picked up the jar of balm. “What is this?”
“Love balm. I rub it on a woman and she falls madly in love with me.”
She plunked the jar down beside him. “What a waste. Every woman in town already loves you.”
“Not the pretty widow who made this balm,” he said, nodding at the jar. “One Faith Wilkins just opened a greenhouse in Colburn’s old gristmill. I stopped in to . . . welcome her to town, and for some reason that made her nervous.”
“Maybe she’s hiding a criminal in her house,” William said— so sincerely Duke didn’t dare laugh at his nephew.
“I worried about that, too, Will, so I went right inside her greenhouse and looked around. Didn’t find a thing but herbs and flowers in there.”
“Maybe she’s a witch,” the seven-year-old whispered, wide eyes blinking.
“You know, she did have a big cauldron in the greenhouse. She didn’t seem like a witch, though, and she’s awfully pretty.”
William’s nose scrunched. “Oh. Well, witches have boils and warts and—”
“William, tell your brother and sister to come eat.” His mother gave him a gentle nudge toward the door, then went to sit by Duke’s mother. “I can’t imagine why your barging into her greenhouse would have made the lady nervous,” she said to Duke.
Wendy Lindstrom Page 4