Merrick stood up straight and leaned on his pitchfork. "Since when did you become Aristotle?"
"Since never. I'd have to be blind not to see how irritating you find Julia. And I just got to wonderin' why."
For the third time, Merrick grunted. He continued leaning on his pitchfork, his eyes focused on nothing, deep in thought. "What am I going to do?" he finally asked. "She won't listen to reason. She won't stop interfering. I can't arrest her just for being a giant pain in my ass."
Walt stood up as well now, and looked across the aisle at his friend. "Have you tried talking to her?"
"Of course I've talked to her. I feel like I do nothing else but talk to that damned woman these days."
And then Walt said the wisest thing he'd perhaps ever said, "Aye, but have you listened?"
Twenty-nine
Julia and Betty kept their ears and eyes open for days after the fire, looking for signs that others in town had noticed James' female silhouette when he was outside his home in his nightshirt. James, who they continued to refer to in the male form, as that was his preference, was feeling the loss of his home keenly. But more than that, Julia could see he was convinced he would have to move away.
Betty had found him an old suit of Christopher's, as she’d promised, and in the early light of Friday morning, she altered it so that he could wear it that day. He was also offered the spare room in the Mitchell's living quarters, though he declined.
"I think that would be a bit awkward, Betty," James said, while standing on an ottoman so she could pin the hem of his trousers. "Christopher is a perceptive man. He'd figure out that something was going on. This is why I tend to stay out of relationships. I'll ask Walt if there are any rooms at the livery. I can't afford to stay at the Finnegan's hotel."
The watchmaker buried himself in work; he was at the store every time Julia went to check on him. He had always been a bit closed off with her, but now was even more so. He could hardly look at Julia, and soon she began to feel her presence was more of a burden than anything else.
When he wasn't working, Hunter hovered over the site where his little home had been. He had picked through the ashes and found some pieces from the clocks that were in his home; two pendulums, some gears, a clock face, twisted and melted.
On a Saturday evening in late October, Julia found Merrick and Walt in Finnegan's restaurant. Walt pulled a chair out for her as she approached.
The men were eating their evening meal in the restaurant, as they so often did. Without wives to cook for them at home, and left to their own devices, both men preferred to pay for their main meal of the day. Merrick was a dab hand at baking bread, but that was where his culinary skills stopped. Walt never seemed to care about food one way or the other. He ate what was put in front of him, and did so indiscriminately. Julia wondered how he'd grown so big without any interest in fuel.
Julia splurged and ordered the special from Caroline; leg of lamb with boiled potatoes. The men were finishing their meals. Merrick chewed a piece of ham and watched Julia remove her gloves. She looked up at him. This was the first time they'd spoken since their argument at the livery, barring the few moments at her front door the night of the fire. Julia noticed a little anxious fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
"Any idea how the fire started?" she asked, mostly because she wanted to know, but also partly because she wanted to see Merrick's reaction.
Merrick gave her a cool glance and then looked at Walt. Julia followed his gaze and saw the blacksmith arching one eyebrow at his friend. Julia wasn't sure what that was about but when Merrick spoke he seemed to be making an effort to sound calm. "Nope. But my guess is it didn't start in Hunter's wood stove."
"Why do you say that?"
"Hunter said he saw the flames out the bedroom window first. It was the crackling that woke him up. Another minute or two and he'd have been singed down to his bone marrow."
Julia shuddered at the imagery.
Merrick continued, "And the stove was one of the only things left, of course. The ashes in it were minimal. Hunter obviously kept it clean and tidy. And I've no reason not to believe him about when he saw the flames. Although we," he nodded his head toward Walt, "had a look at what was the back of the house, and couldn't see anything that indicated foul play."
Julia opened her mouth to speak, but Merrick continued.
"But, given what Hunter has been through recently, I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone started the fire. He seems to have made an enemy here in Horse." Merrick put his fork and knife down on his plate, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and leaned back in his chair. He looked steadily at Julia. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"No, sir." She smiled, happy not to be forced to lie. She knew other things she wasn't telling Merrick, like the specifics about Hunter's gender, for example, but she was still at a loss about who meant him harm.
Merrick cast a weary glance at her. "Why do I so often get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?" He seemed less frustrated tonight and more resigned.
Julia looked over at Walt. He winked at her.
Caroline set Julia's supper down in front of her. Along with a glass of amber liquid she hadn't ordered. And a glass each in front of Merrick and Walt.
"What's this?" Julia asked.
"Compliments of Mr. Anker." Caroline stepped aside and revealed the rancher sitting with his wife at a table tucked into a corner of the room.
The three recipients of Anker's generosity raised their glasses to him. He nodded and raised his back.
When they'd each taken a sip, Walt set his glass down and asked Merrick, "Any progress on finding Julia's attackers?"
The constable nodded slightly. "I suspect they were drifters, unfortunately. I had a telegraph message this morning about a similar happening in Lumby last night. A woman taking a walk after supper was grabbed by a fellow."
The hairs stood up on Julia's arms. "What happened?"
"Nothing, luckily."
Julia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Merrick continued. "It just happened that this woman had her dog with her. A great big wolf-like thing, apparently. I guess the man who tried to attack her hadn't noticed the dog, but when the dog saw him touch his mistress, he launched himself at the guy and nearly tore him apart."
"Good for that dog," Walt said.
"Exactly. The dog got his message across; when Lumby's constable went to look at the location of the fracas this morning, there was blood on the ground. The woman screamed at some point and the dog let go. But whoever this guy was, he's got some wounds he'll need looked at. I've alerted the doctors in the area and south to Penticton, so maybe he'll be dumb enough to visit one of them and we can nab him."
"Just one guy this time?" Walt asked.
"They think so. Either that or number two hadn't moved out of the shadows yet, and when the dog attacked he wisely took off. Anyway," he turned to Julia who was taking a sip of her whisky, "whoever they were, I don't think they were local. I know that doesn't make it much better, but I think the chances of another attack are slim to none."
"That is some comfort," Julia said, reluctantly remembering her encounter. A thought occurred to her. "On the night of the dance, one of the men used my name. If they were drifters, how do you think they knew?"
"That's been bothering me as well. It's why I wanted to question the men at the surrounding ranches. But," he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, "I don't have an explanation. It was dark and you were alone, so no one else used your name while you were outside, correct?"
Julia nodded.
"My guess is that they'd seen you in town earlier in the day or on another day, and found out who you were then. I expect they were lying in wait for a woman to go alone to the outhouse. And when you appeared they were able to use your name to intimidate you. It must have been unsettling to hear it."
This wasn't a question, but Julia nodded.
"I'm sorry i
t happened, but as I said, I think it was an isolated event. Keep your eyes open over the next little while, though, and let me know if you see anyone resembling those men."
Julia pushed her plate away. Even though she had only eaten half her meal, her appetite was gone. She was reminded that for the past few days she had been trying to distract herself from her fears about what had happened the night of the dance by focusing on James Hunter’s problems. Merrick’s update brought home to her again the fear she was trying to avoid, and though it was good news that the men were probably not local, she found herself feeling unsettled.
Thankfully, a distraction arrived in the form of Gerard Anker and his wife. "Hard at work, I see, Constable." The rancher clapped Merrick on the shoulder, and smiled, teasing.
Anker wanted to know about the fire. He hadn't been there for the event and he and Mrs. Anker had just seen the blackened remains of the house as they'd driven into town that afternoon.
"Isn't it terrible?" Mrs. Anker said to Julia in her strongly- accented English. "That poor man lost everything."
She seemed to want to continue to collect any details from Julia, but her husband took her arm. "Come now, dear, we must be going." Gerard Anker pulled on his hat and a pair of deer-skin gloves, preparing for the wagon ride back to the ranch. "We need to get back before dark. I forgot to bring a lantern."
Anker shook Merrick and Walt's hands and, as he had done at the ranch, lifted Julia's hand to his and kissed her fingers.
Sabine swatted his arm playfully. "Stop flirting, Bärchen. We must be going."
The couple left, and Julia took another sip of her whisky. She curled her nose with distaste when she put the glass up to her face.
"Are you going to just grimace at that or can I have it?" Walt asked.
Gratefully, Julia pushed the glass over to him. She turned to Merrick, "What do you know of Walter Meddy?"
"The baker? When I don't have time to make my own, I like his bread. Why?"
"At the game the other night," Julia noticed herself shying away from using the word 'poker', "it was you guys who mentioned that Meddy kept losing to Hunter. I talked to him the other day..."
At this Merrick groaned. He rolled his head back and took a deep breath, and then leaned forward again.
Julia continued, undeterred by his irritation, "...and he was rude to us - Betty was with me - and he seems like a grumpy, unhappy person. But physically violent? Somehow I don't think so. He's as soft as the dough he works with. But he said the strangest thing the other night at a dinner party the Joneses had. He said that when I found out who Hunter really was, that I’d know who beat him. Does that make any sense to you?”
Merrick was still leaning forward, watching Julia with an expression of dismay on his face. When she stopped talking and looked at him, he couldn't seem to find the words to speak. They stared at one another for a moment and then Merrick said, "Do you not have a classroom to teach?"
Julia looked puzzled. "Right now? No. Of course not. It's…" she looked at the large grandfather clock that stood in one corner of the dining room, "quarter past seven. School got out hours ago."
Merrick continued to glare at her. Julia hadn't seen him quite like this before. "I don't mean right now. I mean, shouldn't you be focused on something else other than doing my job for me? You have a job, right? The city employs you to teach the children. Have I got that right?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm.
Julia fidgeted in her seat, and her color began to rise. She'd angered him again after a brief respite.
"I just think," Merrick said, "that if you're being paid to do one job, you shouldn't be gallivanting off and doing another."
"Well, I..." Julia began.
Merrick held up his right hand, stopping her. "Tell me this: Did Mayor Billy and the other town council members hire you to be my assistant but forget to tell me?" He didn't wait for an answer, barreling on, his voice getting deeper and more growly with every sentence. "Because if they did, I have a hell of a lot of paperwork on my desk that I'd like help with. Do you know how to work a telegraph machine? Because I could use some assistance on that front as well. What about brands? Do you know how to register cattle brands? I'll bet you do because you seem to know everything else about my job. How about this," he pulled his napkin off his lap and threw it on the table, "I'll take a well-deserved day off tomorrow and go hunting. You can manage the office and deal with whatever problems arise during the day. How about that? The door will be unlocked in the morning and you can just let yourself in and have a grand old time. Right? Good."
Merrick pushed his chair back and stood up. Without looking at Walt or Julia he left the table. He grabbed his hat from off the hat tree near the front door and left the restaurant, closing the door more firmly than necessary behind him.
"Oh my," Julia said, not sure whether to be embarrassed or amused. "I seem to have ruffled some feathers." She looked at Walt. "Again."
Thirty
Something had been gnawing at Julia's mind all morning. She woke early, a good hour before she needed to get up. Unable to get back to sleep she went to the school early to work on lesson plans. Whatever it was that was bothering her subconscious would not come to light. She focused her attention as much as she could on the lessons, hoping that, as with an animal of prey, if she was still and quiet enough it would come out into the light. So far she'd had no luck.
Just before nine o'clock, the children began arriving. She got them settled and tried focusing on working with each of them. Elsie Campbell, a normally bubbly and vivacious seven year old was fighting a cold, and had an upset stomach. After jollying the child along for a while, Julia finally gave up and let her lie down on the mat with a blanket and feather pillow she kept in the classroom for just such emergencies. The girl fell asleep almost instantly.
The rest of the morning passed as most schooldays did; she helped with problems when students encountered them, encouraged those who were not swift learners, challenged those who had the ability to stretch, and wiped a few noses. Elsie's cold seemed to be threatening to sweep through the room and Julia had no doubt that in a day or two she'd be down to just one or two students, the rest laid up at home. When one person in their company got sick, the others almost always did as well.
At noon, Julia released the fidgety inmates, requesting that they spend at least twenty minutes outside. She hoped the fresh air and movement might cleanse the cold bug from some of them. When she checked on Elsie, the girl was flushed, but sleeping peacefully, so she left her.
Julia sat at her desk, staring out one window, willing the tickle in the back of her mind to come forward.
"Miss?" It was John Purvis, an eleven year old with a surprising passion for math.
Julia looked up, "Yes, dear?"
John pulled his cap off as he entered the classroom, but he was still wearing his outdoor coat and gloves. “May we take the croquet set out of the shed?"
"Certainly, John. Just be sure to put everything back when I call you in."
He disappeared before she finished her sentence.
The tickle in her subconscious had gotten stronger while the boy was standing there. She felt it the way you feel a word on the tip of your tongue that you can't quite reach. She became very still, even widening her vision, looking at the wall but seeing nothing. She pictured John again; his cap folded in his gloved hands, his short leather boots, his little buttoned overcoat that was too big, a hand-me-down from his older brother, Steven.
It came.
Julia leaped out of her chair and trotted to the alcove between the classroom and the front door, where the hooks for coats and hats lined the walls on both sides. She grabbed her long wool coat and stuffed her arms into it as she ran down the schoolhouse steps.
"Katherine," she called.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Keep an eye on things for five minutes. I'll be right back."
"Yes, Miss."
Running in a corset is no easy task. Julia had to slow t
o a walk several times on her journey, which infuriated her. But her lungs had very little room to expand under the stiff boning, and she certainly didn't want to pass out.
She finally reached the watchmaker's shop and pushed her way through the front door. She didn't notice the bell tinkling to announce her arrival.
"Mr. Hunter?" she called out.
The shop was silent. She called out again and stood still, listening. Her breath was coming hard and it was difficult to hear over it.
She slipped around the counter to the spot where she had found Hunter last time, grateful he was not there again. Immediately upon going through the door to the back of the shop, she knew she was probably too late.
Once again the workroom was in disarray. Clock gears and tools were scattered on the floor. Hunter's work stool was toppled over, lying on its side. She picked the stool up, unconsciously returning things to order.
Hunter would not voluntarily leave things in this state. She knew that.
The back door was closed, but on second glance Julia saw that it was standing just outside the frame. It was not latched.
She took three long strides and pulled the door open, stepping out into the yard. Silence. No movement.
Julia trotted all the way to the back of the yard, and glanced right down the narrow dirt track that ran behind the buildings on this stretch of Main Street. Nothing.
She glanced left.
Just turning the corner was a small wagon. She saw the back of Hunter's head in the passenger seat, his posture stiff with fear. Beside him, Gerard Anker held the reins and drove the horse on.
***
"Walt!?" Julia's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, her rib cage aching to be allowed some room. She had run from the watchmaker's shop down the dirt track to the back of the livery.
Walt had left the week's Horse Gazette on the workbench in the tack room. She tore a page off the paper and grabbed a pair of scissors lying on the bench. There was a stubby carpenter's pencil there too. She grabbed that and wrote 'Gerard Anker' on the paper, running over the lines multiple times to make her words visible over the newsprint.
Horse With No Name Page 17