Taken for English (14 page)

Belle thrashed and Maura’s hold began to slip.

“I want to know,” Belle said. “Tell me.”

“It’s bad, Belle. Very bad.”

Belle broke free. Maura grabbed for her elbow and missed.

“I’m going to him,” Belle said. “Don’t keep me from him.”

Belle broke into a brisk, determined pace, and Maura followed as closely as her tight shoes and long hem would allow. Belle screamed at the sight before her.

“We’ve sent for the doctor.” Maura bunched up the fabric of her navy skirt in one hand to permit a longer stride. Bile rose within her, and she swallowed it down. John Twigg continued to bleed in the street.

Beside John, Belle fell to her knees. “John, darling, I’m here. I’m here.” She pulled up the hem of her white dress and dabbed at the bleeding and then gently lifted his head into her lap.

Maura’s breath caught at the tenderness before her. Belle cradled John’s head, stroked his face, bent to kiss him, spoke of her love. No man had ever made Maura feel this way. No man had made her see past his flaws to what he could be. What did she know of love? Perhaps nothing. Whatever Maura thought of John Twigg, her friend loved him and would love him to the end. In Maura’s mind, Belle’s capacity for loyalty clanked against John’s undeserving. But whatever John’s faults, he did not deserve to lie in the street this way. The events of the morning did not resemble justice, Maura was sure of that much.

She glanced up the street for any sight of one of the doctors. Would those Amish men really be able to look after Walter and find a doctor? Walter would be fine, she reminded herself. He was barely hit.

John was running out of time.

Squeezing her head between her hands, Maura tried to count the minutes that had passed since the shots. She did not even know who had fired—Lee or Ing. And did it matter?

“The sheriff,” Maura cried out. “Has anyone gone for Sheriff Byler?”

Maura knelt next to Belle, stretching her arms against Belle’s shoulders and leaning her cheek into Belle’s face. “I’m here, too.”

“I’m still bleeding,” Walter said.

Joseph looked again at Walter’s knuckles. “It’s almost stopped.”

Zeke bounded ahead of them and took the steps up to Doc Denton’s porch two at a time. After a quick rap on the door, he turned the knob and stepped through the opening.

Joseph raised his eyebrows in expectation. “Is this doctor related to the store owners?” he asked Walter.

Walter still cradled his injured fingers with his other hand. “Cousin or something, I think. There are so many Dentons and Twiggs around here I can’t keep ’em straight.”

Zeke appeared on the porch. “He’s not here. Nobody is.”

Joseph turned his head toward the blocks they had traversed.

“Pray for that man Twigg.” Zeke thudded down the steps. “Get the boy comfortable on the porch.”

Joseph swallowed as Zeke disappeared around the corner. He found a wide bench with a floral-patterned cushion on the covered porch. “This looks like a good place to wait. Do you want to lie down?”

Walter sat on the bench, and Joseph helped him swing his legs up and stretch out.

“Do you pray, Walter?”

“Sure. I guess. Doesn’t everybody pray when something bad happens?”

“Shall we pray, then?”

“For John Twigg?”

“For you, of course, but yes, Mr. Twigg as well.”

“No thanks.” Walter popped his head up to scowl. “I’ll take my chances. I’m not hurt so bad that I have to do that.”

“Have you no compassion?”

“He might have my daddy snookered with his egg prices, but I don’t trust him. I’d rather work for the Denton brothers any day.”

Joseph leaned against the house with one shoulder. “Do you think you can protect yourself by refusing to pray?”

“I’ve been minding my own business. Look what it got me.” Walter held up his wounded hand. “It’s not fair. It’s fine by me if Crazy Man Twigg gets what he deserves.”

Joseph held his tongue. He had enough discussions with Little Jake while throwing hay down in the barn, away from the ears of their parents, to know that boys this age were stubborn. Even the Amish. Life was not fair. That was not God’s purpose in creating. But Walter would not hear it any more than Little Jake did.

“I suppose your friend will tell Dr. Lindsay to take care of John Twigg first.”

Joseph nodded slowly.

Walter grunted. “Nobody will care that I got shot, too. Even Maura didn’t come with me.”

Joseph cleared his throat. “Mr. Twigg’s situation is quite serious, Walter.”

“I know. I’m just sayin’.”

They fell silent.

“What can you see?” Walter asked after a few minutes.

“Not much,” Joseph said. “It is too far down the street. And there’s a crowd now.”

“I’ll be all right here, you know. If you want to go.”

Did he want to go? Joseph’s people only used guns to shoot what they would eat. A gunfight in the street was beyond his understanding. But he understood that he should not leave a boy alone.

“Let me look at your hand,” Joseph said. “Perhaps it needs fresh bandaging.”

“Well, don’t rip off your other sleeve.” Walter said. “You can go inside and get bandages. Doc keeps them in the back room on the long shelf.”

Joseph suddenly felt exposed and ran his hand up and down his bare arm. He sometimes rolled up his sleeves if he was working in the field with other men, but never in his life had he walked down a street with his arms bare. He unwrapped his dismembered sleeve from Walter’s hand and examined the knuckles. The bleeding had stopped. Joseph pressed gently on the spot that seemed the worst.

“Hey!” Walter retracted his hand.

“Sorry.” The knuckle likely was broken. “Perhaps I will have a look around for those bandages.”
And some kind of splint
, Joseph thought.

“Hurry up, then.” Little Jake’s tone haunted Walter’s voice.

Belle’s shoulders trembled under Maura’s touch. John Twigg’s blood spilled over them both.

“Belle,” Maura whispered. “I know how much you care for John.”

“John, my dearest love,” Belle murmured. She gently mopped the persistent wound.

“I’m sure the doctor is coming.” With no such certainty, Maura forced stability into her voice. “Just a few more minutes.”

Belle had held steady so far, but Maura felt the tremble morph into wracking sobs.

“We’re going to get married, John,” Belle managed between gasps. “You promised me. I’m holding you to it.”

With one hand on the middle of Belle’s back, Maura took in the scene around them. Movement had halted, as if players took their marks on a stage. No one else was within ten feet of John Twigg, but every person from every shop or office seemed to have come out and lined the streets. It was not hard to spot Zeke Berkey trotting back toward the wounded man.

He shook his head.

Maura’s heart lurched as she stood to meet him.

“The doctors were both out on calls,” Zeke said, his voice low. “Dr. Lindsay’s son went for him.”

Maura allowed herself a deep breath. “Mr. Twigg is not long for this world.”

“No, I think not.
Gottes wille.”

“What is that?”

“God’s will,” Zeke said.

Maura put her hands on her hips. “Pardon me, Mr. Berkey, but I am not at all persuaded that is the case.”

She turned toward Belle’s moan.

“I will get justice for John.” Belle’s voice had turned to iron. “I will find out who did this and he will hang.”

“Belle, no.” Maura knelt beside Belle again.

“It’s what John would want.
Will
want. I will do everything I can.”

“Right now, let’s just worry about John.” Maura gestured toward Zeke. “Mr. Berkey said the doctor is coming.”

With heavy breath, Maura looked again at the gathered townspeople. Ing and Lee Denton stood outside their store, pistols raised, cocked, and pointed, though John Twigg was no threat now.

But he came from a large family. His father owned one of the largest ranches in Baxter County, and John would not be the only Twigg in the family’s store.

“We have to do something,” she whispered to Zeke.

“The doctor is—”

“Not for John. We’ll have a riot on our hands any minute now. The Twiggs will do exactly what Belle is talking about—find justice on their own terms.”

“You know your own town.”

“Stay with Belle.” Maura took charge. She stood and faced the Denton brothers. “Put those guns away.”

“No, ma’am,” Lee Denton said.

“Can’t you see what you’ve already done?” Maura marched toward them. “We don’t need any more bloodshed.”

“That’s up to the Twiggs,” Ing Denton said. “But we’ll be ready when they come.”

Joseph hustled down the street. Walter’s father had heard about the shooting and turned up looking for his son. Joseph left them both sitting on the bench outside the doctor’s office, Walter’s hand freshly if awkwardly bandaged. He heard Miss Woodley’s voice.

“All of you,” she shouted, “form a line around the emporium!”

“You want us to be target practice for the Twiggs?” one man objected.

“You’re already standing in the street gawking at John,” Maura said. “You might as well be useful. Line up. Lee and Ing, you stand behind the line.”

“Now, Maura—”

“Do it!” she snapped, and the crowd turned itself into a human barricade.

Mesmerized by her authority, Joseph stepped into place between two men in
English
suits.

“Here they come,” one of the men muttered.

From the far end of town, dust rose in robust clouds as horses’ hooves churned up the road.

“Who are they?” Joseph whispered.

“John’s kin. Those two in front are his brothers, Billy and Jimmy.”

“Do they always ride with rifles across their saddles?” Joseph asked.

Maura took her place in the barricade, which now stretched all the way around the Denton Emporium. Joseph inched toward her.

“Your cousin,” he said, “is going to be all right. His father is there now.”

Maura nodded. “Thank you. Now if we can just keep anyone else from getting shot today.”

Joseph watched the Twiggs circle around John. Billy slid off his horse and lowered himself into the stain of blood soaking into the street and put an arm around Belle.

“What time is it?” Maura asked.

“I do not wear a watch,” Joseph answered.

“How many minutes?” she said. “How long has he been lying out there like that?”

Joseph swallowed hard. “Nigh to thirty minutes, I would say.”

“That’s a long time to lie in the street like a half-butchered hog.”

“Does he yet live?” Joseph had supposed John was dead already.

“Honestly, I don’t know. The blood stopped spurting, but there is a lot of it.”

The Twigg gang circled again, staring into the line of townspeople with hard, unbending expressions.

Another horse galloped in and broke through the Twigg huddle.

“It’s Dr. Lindsay,” someone said.

The doctor knelt with his black bag. Belle’s face wrenched with hope. In only a moment, though, Dr. Lindsay looked up and shook his head. On his horse, Jimmy Twigg raised his rifle to his shoulder.

“No, Jimmy, no!” Maura screamed.

Twigg held his pose as Billy and Belle stood and stared at the crowd. “Sheriff Byler had better show up soon.”