The Accidental Lawman (22 page)

How cruel of Hank, she thought, to deliver a newspaper that most likely contained the story of the assault on the Harroway ranch. And yet how telling. Had he included
all
the sordid details of Evan’s death? Had he reported that
he
had killed her brother?

On her way to the cemetery she was certain she could feel the neighbors watching her through cracks between their curtains. With a start, she recognized the Ellenberg wagon as it came rumbling up the street. She hadn’t thought of her friends since Evan’s death. Hadn’t even remembered they existed.

Joe and Hattie sat high atop the seat. Rebekah rode in back with the children. They pulled up alongside Amelia. She was tempted to keep walking as if she hadn’t seen them, but Joe quickly dismounted and helped Hattie climb down from the high buckboard seat. They flanked Amelia before she could walk away.

“Oh, Amelia. We just heard the terrible news yesterday,” Hattie said.

“We came to escort you to the burial.” Hat in hand, Joe shifted uncomfortably.

She wanted to run. To hide. To deny what was happening. Seeing them like this, hearing their words of sympathy made this all too real. Their kindness brought her too close to letting go, to giving in to tears.

“I’m sorry, but…”

Joe would hear none of it. “We’re not letting you go through this alone.”

She hadn’t the strength to argue. The sooner she reached Evan’s grave site, the sooner this would all be over.

By the time Hank walked through the gate in the iron fence that surrounded the small cemetery behind the church, Brand had already begun the eulogy. Hank let his gaze roam over the small knot of people gathered near the open grave. Evan’s casket had already been lowered inside.

The sky was the color of Texas bluebonnets and perfectly clear except for an occasional cumulus cloud drifting by. Hank was thankful Joe and Hattie were beside Amelia like bookends near the yawning grave.

Her heavy black gown was two sizes too large. Through a thin black veil, her skin looked as pale as a lily. She appeared not to be listening while the preacher described her brother as a young man who took the wrong path and had paid the ultimate price for his sin. Instead, Amelia stared toward the wide, empty horizon where heat waves shimmered above the parched earth. She seemed completely unaware of what was going on around her.

The preacher’s words drifted to Hank on the close, humid air.

“In times like this we often ask ourselves, ‘Why?’ Above all we must remember what Christ said. ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled.’

“Today our hearts are troubled as we remember Evan
Hawthorne. We cannot help but ask ourselves, ‘What happened? Why did Evan choose to turn to a life of sin?’

“It’s not for us to know the answers in this lifetime. It’s not for us to cast blame, or to blame ourselves. For now, we must rely on our faith. We must put our trust in the Lord and remember not to let our hearts be troubled. Never forget—the Lord comforts His people and will have compassion on His afflicted ones.”

Though he was there to see Amelia, to try to speak to her in the hope that she’d one day be able to forgive him, Hank had never expected to be at all moved by Brand McCormick’s prayer. Yet the preacher’s words lifted the heavy weight of guilt upon his soul and he was inexplicably comforted.

When Brand finished, Amelia didn’t move, so Hattie picked up a handful of soil and let it sift down into the open grave. Mary Margaret and Timothy Cutter, Harrison Barker and his mother, and Mick Robinson were there. So was Charity McCormick. Each of them tossed a handful of soil into Evan’s grave and then slowly walked toward the gate.

Hank waited until Joe and Hattie escorted Amelia across the barren ground. Rebekah and the children had taken shelter beneath the shade of the only tree in the cemetery.

Harrison Barker approached Amelia first. Hank was near enough to hear Harrison say, “I’m sorry about Evan, Amelia. Truly I am.”

The man seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds, then he added, “Mrs. Washington wanted me to tell you that she’d like you to drop by and tend to little Abel as soon as you’re up to it. He’s had some kind of croup and she’s worried—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help anyone right now.” Amelia’s expression was void of any feeling whatsoever. There was
no anger, not a hint of warmth, either. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from the depths of a hollow cavern. She walked away and left Harrison staring after her.

Hank moved quickly to block the cemetery gate just as Amelia reached it. He nodded stiffly to Joe and then Hattie.

“May I have a word with Amelia alone?” he requested.

Joe did not look on him unkindly. In fact, the sympathy in the man’s eyes was more than evident. Still, Joe hesitated for a moment and asked her, “Amelia?”

She turned toward Hank and refused to meet his eyes. Her gaze fell somewhere in the vicinity of his collar. He thought for a moment she was going to speak, but then she turned away and left him there without a word. Hattie quickly caught up, linked her arm through Amelia’s, and together they headed for an old buckboard not far away. Joe mumbled that he was sorry and went to collect his wife and children.

Crestfallen, Hank was powerless to do anything but let Amelia walk away.

As Joe and Rebekah reached the gate, Joe paused. He shifted his son to his shoulder. Hank noticed how much the little boy had grown in just a few weeks.

“Give her time, Larson,” Joe advised. “She needs to work through her grief.”

“She’ll never forgive me,” Hank said. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You did what you had to do,” Joe said. Then a look passed between Joe and Rebekah, a look Hank could not decipher. Joe smiled warmly at his wife and she gazed into his eyes with complete trust.

“With time, God heals all wounds. Believe me, my family knows that’s true.” Joe bade Rebekah return to the wagon without him.

“We’ll come into town to visit, make sure she’s all right,” Joe assured him.

“Will you let me know how she’s doing?” Hank asked.

“Of course.” Joe extended his hand. “Just remember what I said. In time, God heals all wounds.”

Before Hank had left Missouri, he was convinced his own grief would never heal—and then he met Amelia.

God led me to her. God brought me here.

God?

The direction of his thoughts shocked him. Was he giving credence to the God he’d never believed in before?

Has God truly led me here, to Amelia? If so, how could He have wanted this for us? Why was it necessary for me to take her brother’s life?

Now his greatest challenge was no longer grief, but carrying the terrible burden of guilt. He thought of the times she’d made him smile, made him think, made him feel and open up his heart again. She’d brought him back to life.

Now he was the one responsible for her sorrow. It was his fault that she was all alone in the world.

Perhaps if he went to Brand McCormick and asked his counsel. Perhaps if he turned to the preacher for answers.

Absently, he thanked Joe. The rancher left to join his family. Hank made certain Amelia climbed into the Ellenberg wagon before he went to look for Brand.

A
week later, Amelia was still inside with the shades pulled low when Mary Margaret Cutter came knocking at the door. Eventually she started pounding, refusing to take a hint and leave. Amelia finally cracked open the door.

“Please, Mary Margaret. I’m not in the mood for a visit.” She tried to close it again.

Mary Margaret shoved her foot in the way.

“Frankly, Amelia dear, I don’t care,” the banker’s wife told her. “You have the contents of covered dishes rotting out here on the porch. Why, it’s shameful. Most of them are past putrid. Mice wouldn’t even touch this food. Open the door, dear, and I’ll bring the dishes in and wash them for you. Then I’ll
think
about leaving.”

Amelia was aware of the dishes lined up along the edge of the porch. Obviously, it hadn’t mattered to folks that she wasn’t eating the consolation food they brought over. What mattered was that they’d done something to make
themselves
feel better about helping her in a time of need.

“Open up, Amelia, and let me bring these things in. Let
me in or I’ll yell for help and everyone within shouting distance will come a-running.”

Amelia backed down and Mary Margaret breezed in. She went to the pump out back, toted water in and started heating it. Watching her bustle around the kitchen made Amelia’s head ache. She’d taken to dousing herself with a few drops of laudanum at night to make herself sleep. Lately she’d begun taking it in the daytime, as well.

Now, while her head was pounding, all she could think about was having a few more drops of laudanum and going back to bed.

She watched Mary Margaret work up a sweat dumping out and scrubbing the food encrusted on other people’s dishes. The older woman’s vigor would have amazed her if she’d been in a better frame of mind. Mary Margaret turned around at one point and said, “You need a bath, Amelia. I’ll fill your tub for you but I’m not scrubbing you down.”

More of a force than Amelia had ever reckoned, Mary Margaret stayed until she’d had a bath and was dressed in a clean nightgown. The woman wouldn’t leave until Amelia gave her word that she’d raise the shades and get on with life.

“People need you, Amelia. People miss you,” Mary Margaret told her.

Amelia promised she’d be all right.

The promise was a lie.

Once Mary Margaret Cutter was out of the house, Amelia drew the shades again and went back to bed.

If He was ever really there, God has deserted me.

Why shouldn’t I turn my back on the townsfolk? What do I owe them? What do I owe anyone? Certainly not loyalty. If God Himself can turn His back on me, then turnabout is fair play.

She no longer prayed. She saw no reason to do so. For the next three weeks, days and nights became one.

On her way out to feed Sweet Pickle early one evening, she noticed the dried flowers and plants in her garden. She thought about salvaging what she could before she lost a full season’s worth of precious herbs she needed for her compounds.

Then she asked herself why.

Why should I care?

The way she saw it now, she’d served the Lord, served the town, served Evan and her father all her life. For
what?

Worst of all, she’d been fool enough to fall in love with Hank Larson.

Where had any of it gotten her?

She went back inside and locked the door.

She had no idea how many more days had passed until the outside world finally intruded again.

“Amelia, open up!”

Hank. Would the man ever give up? Even through a laudanum-induced haze she recognized his voice every time he’d come calling. She’d been able to ignore him, but today he was pounding on her door so hard that the sound rattled around in her brain.

“Amelia!”

She tried covering her head with her pillow but to no avail. Finally she grabbed a wool shawl off a nearby chair and dragged herself through the front parlor. She jerked the door open, not because she wanted to see or talk to him, but to end the pounding.

Even in her drugged state, she recognized the shocked expression in his eyes.

“Let me in,” he demanded. “I’ve got something for you.”

She tried to slam the door on Hank. but her movements were sluggish and inept. He braced his forearm against the door and shoved it open.

“Go away,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to see you. Please, leave.”

She thought he was about to give up, but before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her by the wrist, tugged her out onto the porch and planted himself in front of the door.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“It’s not seemly for me to come in, so you have to come out.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“You’re covered from your neck to your toes.” He looked her up and down.

With both hands, she pulled the edges of her shawl together over her nightgown and blinked against the brilliant sunshine. She’d forgotten it was summer. Forgotten about everything except the one thing she didn’t want to remember—Evan’s death.

When Amelia answered the door, Hank tried to hide his shock but failed miserably. It was amazing how much she’d changed in so little time. If they’d both been walking down Main Street, he might have passed her by without even recognizing her.

Her skin was sallow. Her usually bright green eyes were clouded, devoid of their usual sparkle. Her auburn hair was knotted and lank around her face and thin shoulders.

It was all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms and carrying her away from this house where she’d buried herself as surely as she’d buried her brother.

His mind raced as he ticked through his options. The Ellenbergs would take her in. So would the McCormicks. Or the Cutters. Hattie would likely help her the most. Hattie had suffered more shock and grief than anyone he’d known. Surely that God-fearing woman could help Amelia come to her senses.

“I need to go back inside,” she whispered.

He barely heard her. Her throat sounded rough from lack of use. She stood there compliant, staring at her bare toes as they peeked out from beneath the flounce of her nightgown.

“You need to hear me out,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care. I brought you something.” He reached into his pocket. Felt the smooth, cool metal and wrapped his hand around it.

“Here’s your father’s watch.”

She didn’t say a word, merely looked at the gold timepiece lying in his palm.

“Take it,” he urged.

“Where…where did you find it?” she whispered. She reached for the watch, took it in her hand and stared at it.

“A rancher brought it in to the newspaper office when he saw your father’s name engraved inside. Said he bought it from a drifter. After he read the stories in the paper about the Perkins Gang, he felt sure someone in the family might want it back.”

Hank didn’t add that he’d paid the rancher what the man had given for the timepiece. He didn’t tell her that he had memorized the inscription inside the watch cover.

To my dear husband, Esra Hawthorne, on our wedding day, from your loving bride, Camilla.

A long, awkward silence hung between them before
Hank said, “Amelia, there’s nothing I can do or say to change what’s happened. I didn’t intend to kill your brother. I
had
to in order to protect Sophronia Harroway. I know if you were thinking clearly, you’d understand.”

“I asked you to help him.” She stared down at the watch, refusing to look at him.

“I would have, had he not been holding a gun to a woman’s head!”

He thought she couldn’t get any paler but she blanched at his words. Instantly furious at himself for losing his temper, he was afraid she was going to pass out. He grabbed her upper arms. She shook him off with more force than he thought someone in her state could muster.

He took a deep breath. He’d come here to see what, if anything, he could do to help. No one had seen her for days, not since Mary Margaret Cutter barged her way in.

No one had been successful at getting her to answer the door. Brand McCormick and his sister had called, but Amelia ignored them, even when they’d knelt and prayed on the front porch. Finally, after the rancher brought him the watch, Hank had the opening he needed.

“Everyone is worried about you,” he told her.

“Tell them not to worry. Quote me in your paper.”

“I can understand why you hate me, but not your friends and neighbors. They care about you. They need you. And you need them.”

She tugged the shawl tighter and glanced over his shoulder at the door behind him. He wasn’t about to budge.

“I’m not in the mood to help anyone,” she said.

“Then use this time to help yourself.” He’d mourned Tricia and the baby. He missed them and always would, but not like this. He’d been angry. He’d lashed out at friends
and family and finally left Saint Joe and some of his painful memories behind. But he hadn’t been self-destructive.

Frustrated, at a loss for words, he took off his hat and raked his hand through his hair.

“I’ve been meeting with Reverend McCormick,” he admitted, hoping it would help. “A couple of nights a week, in fact.” Hank shrugged and leaned back against the door frame, folded his arms across his chest. “Three weeks ago, if anyone would have asked me if I thought I’d ever believe in the power of knowing the Lord, I’d have laughed in his face.”

He could tell he had her attention when she whipped her gaze up from her toes and met his eyes. Brand McCormick had counseled him with John’s words from the Bible.

Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God.

“I’ve struggled, Amelia. I’ve wrestled with my guilt night and day.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, Hank?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want your pity. I want your understanding. You are a woman of faith, Amelia. You know better than I, that if you turn your heart to the Lord, you’ll find the comfort you need. Trust in Him to help you heal.”

“How dare
you
preach to me, Hank? You who never set foot in a church
before
.”

“I don’t mean to preach. I want to help. I took your brother’s life. Don’t make me responsible for taking your faith, Amelia.”

“What do you care?”

He took her hands in his, forced her to look him in the eye.

“I care because I love you.”

She tried to pull her hands from his grasp, but he held on tight.

“I love you, Amelia. So do the people in this town. We love you and we’re all worried about you. God has finally helped me realize I can’t do this alone anymore. I’ve turned to the only One who can help me. I don’t know any other way to help you than to beg you to look deep within yourself, remember who you are, remember to turn to ‘the One who comforts His people and will have compassion on His afflicted ones.’”

This time when she tried to pull away, he let her go. There were unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. He watched her waver, thought she would finally give in to her pain. Instead, she held her head high, her shoulders straight, and stubbornly dashed away her tears with the backs of her hands.

He knew it was too much to hope that she’d tell him she forgave him. That she still loved him.

But he never expected her to say, “If you’ve said your piece, then I’d kindly thank you to get off of my porch and leave me alone.”

Amelia walked inside before Hank was off the porch. She shut the door and stood in the dim light with her father’s watch clutched in her hand.

Her reticule was hanging on a hook on the hall tree. Unfortunately, she caught a glimpse of herself in its oval mirror before she dropped the watch inside. Deep shadows filled the hollows beneath her eyes. Her hair was matted and lank, her mouth drawn into a hard line.

She reached out and touched the glass surface. When the woman in the mirror pressed her fingertips to Amelia’s, she knew it was but a reflection of herself. No,
not of myself, she corrected, but what I’ve become since Evan’s death.

I killed Evan. I’m the one who shot him.

I killed your brother.

Hank’s words pierced her heart. Reason seeped away. Anger erupted, as fast and furious as the tornadoes that ripped through Texas during storm season. She covered her ears, rushed through the house, flung open Evan’s bedroom door. She hadn’t been in his room since she’d chosen his burial clothing. In just a few short weeks, the closed space had grown musty.

The few possessions he hadn’t taken with him were lined up on his chest of drawers: his shaving mug, a set of cuff buttons, a pair of suspenders he never wore. With a sweep of her arm, she shoved everything off the top of the bureau but felt no satisfaction as they clattered to the ground.

One by one, she opened the drawers, grabbed handfuls of clothes and threw them every which way. She ran to the bed, tore off the spread and the sheets, balled them up, stomped on them. She pushed over a small bedside table. A glass lamp fell to the floor, shattered.

The sound of breaking glass rent a hole in the haze of her fury as successfully as a slap. Gulping in air, she looked around at the chaos and found herself wondering what had happened. Who could have done such a thing?

Then she slowly crumpled to her knees atop the pile of bedding.

She was as insane as Fanny.

Leaning her head back against the mattress, she closed her eyes.

And saw Hank’s face.

I care because I love you.

So do the people in this town.

If he cared so much, if he indeed loved her, how could he have killed her brother? And now he had turned to the Reverend McCormick for counseling, turned to the Lord, searching for a way to ease his guilt.

Before Evan died, she would have been overjoyed with Hank’s newfound faith. She would have considered it a blessing. Recalling the day he’d driven her out to the Ellenberg ranch, she remembered he’d said, “I don’t want to hear
anything
about God.”