Taken for English (3 page)

“Don’t worry about it,” Annalise said. “What should I tell Elijah? Better yet, go talk to Elijah yourself.”

Ruth moistened her lips. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“If you’re going to live in Westcliffe for the whole semester, you can’t avoid Elijah.”

“I know. Not completely. I’m going to be living in town with you and driving around if I need to. I’ll just run into him from time to time.” Ruth shook water off her hands and reached for a dish towel.

“Are you sure you don’t want to live here at home with your own family?”

Ruth moved her head slowly from side to side. “I would only be flaunting my
English
ways. I can come to church and see my family, but I can’t keep a car here. I can’t get up from the breakfast table every day to go do something my mother does not want me to do. I can’t come here in my scrubs.”

Annalise reached for Ruth’s hand. “I think your mother has found her peace with your decision not to join the church. She loves you. And she knows how much you love God.”

“Still, I can’t live here. Thank you for letting me use your spare room.”

“Of course.”

“I feel nervous that Rufus has been gone so long,” Ruth said. “I’m going to go find him.”

“What about Elijah?”

Ruth pulled off the apron covering her denim skirt and long-sleeve gray T-shirt. “Please tell him I’m not going to the singing. He has to accept that I can’t.”

Two fire trucks rumbled past Ruth in her blue Prius as she turned off the main highway and into the new subdivision where Karl Kramer was building homes. Visually following the trail of smoke to the afflicted house was simple. Ruth parked the Prius and proceeded on foot to where two Custer County sheriff’s cars cordoned off the end of an unfinished block.

She spotted Rufus’s hat, his height lifting it above the gawkers, and she made her way toward him. He stood with Tom and two men she did not recognize who wore fire-retardant jackets and helmets.

“Ruth, what are you doing here?” Rufus had turned and seen her.

“I was looking for you.”

“This is my sister, Ruth,” Rufus said to the two young men.

“Bryan,” one of them said.

“Alan,” the other supplied.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Ruth took in the scene beyond them. “Well, I guess the circumstances are not so nice.”

Bryan cracked a smile. “Then I hope there will be other circumstances.”

A blush rose in Ruth’s neck. She felt its warmth as she met her brother’s eyes.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Bryan’s eyes were still on Ruth. “But you are not dressed like the other Amish women I’ve seen.”

Ruth swallowed. “I’m not baptized.” She slid her palms down the side of her long skirt.

“So you’re…not Amish?”

“It’s complicated.” Ruth looked away.

“Maybe another time, then.”

Ruth’s gut burned.

Alan raised a red locked box in one hand. “Quit your flirting, Bryan. We need to get this place secured and start collecting evidence.”

Bryan nodded. “I’ll take the kit.”

Alan held the box beyond his grasp. “Don’t think you’re going in there alone and getting all the credit.”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “You’re so competitive.”

May 1892

R
oast beef satiated his taste buds before he conceded the necessity to chew, which Sheriff A.G. Byler did slowly. He swallowed the bite and with deliberation took another. His lunch, though delicious, did not please him nearly as much as the movements of his wife at the other end of the kitchen table.

“Are you going to your office today?” Bess thoughtfully smoothed a length of blue twill flat against the table.

“I’ve managed to lollygag all morning,” A.G. said. “I reckon I’d better check on the state of lawlessness in Baxter County before my afternoon nap.”

“Abraham Byler, don’t make jokes.” Bess picked up a pair of scissors and opened and closed them three times above the fabric. “You’ve been gone for two weeks, and nobody trusts your deputy if things get heated.”

“They knew where to send a telegram in Colorado.” Stroking his pointed white beard, Abraham considered whether to indulge in his last bite of mashed potatoes before or after he finished his meat. “If Deputy Combs got in over his head, somebody would have let me know.”

“Well, we’re back in Arkansas now, and sometimes I think the Wild West is more civilized than Baxter County.” She waved the scissors again.

“You’re exaggerating.” He pointed at the cloth. “Are you planning to attack that innocent piece of material?”

Bess put the scissors down. “I’m trying to decide if it’s enough for a romper for little Ransom. I think I’ve got some green that would be adorable on the twins.”

“We just got home last night.” A.G. scooped up the potatoes. “We haven’t even been outside in the daylight, and already you’re fussing about what to send to Malinda’s children.”

“I know their sizes now,” Bess countered, “and their personalities. You don’t really expect I would let that information go to waste. They grow so fast. I have to do this soon.”

He nodded and smiled. “Ransom sure did laugh himself half to death playing horsey on my knee.”

Bess tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “You’re as smitten as I am.”

He felt the light in his own eyes. “You were a beautiful sight with those grandbabies Earl and Pearl in your arms.”

“I hope Mack and Malinda find what they’re looking for in Colorado, because it sure is a long way from home. I don’t like being separated from my daughter. Three babies, and we only just saw them for the first time.”

“They’re working hard.” A.G. scraped his chair back, picked up his plate, and moved to set it in the sink. “At least our boys are not too far away. We won’t wait so long for the next visit to Colorado. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Bess pointed the scissors at him. “Will you make it to Gassville today?”

“I’ll check on the tanyard and swing by the jail here in Mountain Home. Then I suppose I’ll ride over to Gassville.”

“I ordered some buttons at Denton’s Emporium more than a month ago. Will you check on them while you’re over that way?”

He dipped his head of wavy white hair. “That I can do.”

Bess’s face clouded. “Gassville seems to give you plenty of trouble these days.”

“Child’s play.”

“I’m serious, Abraham. I’m anxious what news you’ll hear.”

“You worry too much.”

A.G. caught the back screen door before it had time to slam and walked around the side of the stone bungalow out to the street. On the side of the road, he paused to inhale deeply. His promise not to wait so long to take the train back to Colorado was as much to himself as it was to Bess. He did not intend for his grandchildren to grow up not knowing who he was. They were so little they would not remember this visit when he laid eyes on them for the first time. Colorado was a long way, but it was not the edge of the world.

He exhaled and took the first steps toward the center of Mountain Home.

“Why, Sheriff Byler,” a female voice said. “I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

Abraham smiled at Mrs. Taylor, who hung a damp rug over the railing of her front porch. “Yes, ma’am. First day home.”

Mrs. Taylor fanned herself with a church bulletin. “Come Sunday I’m sure the children in your Sunday school class will be glad to see you.”

“I hope so. I know I’ll be glad to see them.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“I left him with the boys at the tanyard.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to have you back.”

He sauntered toward town, reveling in the comfort of being home among the familiar landscape of northern Arkansas and ready to pit its undulating green beauty against rugged red Colorado at the first challenge. After two terms in the state legislature, the kind people of Baxter County had welcomed him back as sheriff, a post he had filled before. He was as glad to have the job back as they were to have him.

His tanyard was at the edge of town. He employed two young men to keep the hides rotating through the lye mixtures, but periodically he liked to satisfy himself that the work was done properly. An hour later, on his own horse again and just three short blocks from the sheriff’s office, A.G. looked up and winced. His hope to get through his first day in peace was headed for a crash.

“You have to do something before someone gets hurt.” Twenty-four-year-old Maura Woodley shook her dark curls but managed to keep her forefinger from wagging. He was the sheriff, after all.

“Well, now, Miss Woodley,” the sheriff said, “let’s suppose you tell me what this is all about. I’ve been out of town, you know.” He patted the neck of his horse as he slid out of the saddle.

“I do know.” Maura set her jaw. “I’m sorry not to welcome you back more graciously, but really, you must do something.”

Sheriff Byler kept walking, leading the horse, and Maura fell into step beside him.

“I’ve left my cousin Walter with my cart,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I can’t leave him unsupervised for too long. You know what trouble he gets into.”

“Has Walter been stirring things up?”

“No. It’s far more serious than that.”

Finally he stopped walking and turned to her. Sheriff Abraham Byler was the calmest man Maura Woodley had ever met—sometimes too calm. This situation required firm action. Maura pulled off her white gloves and gripped them both in one fist. The gloves were too small and made her fingers itch, but her mother had paid a dear price for the gloves before her death two years ago. They were hand-stitched lambskin. Maura made a pretense at wearing them because they had been her mother’s.

“I don’t want Belle to get hurt,” she said. “She’s my best friend, and I’m afraid she is going to get caught in something dreadful.”

“Belle Mooney has always had a level head,” the sheriff said.

“Not when it comes to John Twigg.”

“Perhaps she sees something in him that you do not.”

Maura slapped her gloves against an open palm. “It is more a matter of what she does not see. The man is unstable.”

“Now let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“You know it’s true as well as I do.”

“Then why have you come all the way from Gassville to tell me?”

His calmness infuriated her at that moment, and she did not speak.

“It’s the Dentons again, I imagine,” Sheriff said.

“Yes. The Dentons and the Twiggs used to get along so well.” Maura slapped her gloves again.

“John was happy working for the Dentons for a long time.” Sheriff tied his horse to a post.

“Something went wrong, and his father thought giving John his own store to run was a good idea. It’s getting out of hand.”

“They might still sort it out.” He reached a finger under his beard to scratch his chin.

“John remains an unstable sort.”

“Perhaps.” Byler lifted his eyes and raised his brow. “Didn’t you say you left Walter with your cart?”

“That’s right.” Maura followed his line of vision and sighed. The thirteen-year-old was coming out of a shop. “Walter.”

The boy turned red. “Sorry, Maura.”

“What am I going to tell your father? And what have you done with my horse?”

“I tied him up tight. I promise.”

“I asked you to stay with him.”

Walter kicked a bare toe in the dirt. “I know. Sorry.”

Maura turned to the sheriff. “I’d better go see about my horse and cart. My father was quite specific about what he wanted me to bring back from Mountain Home.” She scowled at Walter. “Everything had better still be there.”

Sheriff Byler touched her elbow. “Now, Miss Woodley, you know we don’t have that kind of petty crime in Mountain Home. You say hello to your father for me.”