Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (27 page)

Yet Ben's euphoric feeling sank as the taxi drove closer. He gripped the door handle, afraid to open it.

A police car was parked in front of the bus and a policeman stood outside the door, talking to their bus driver.

"What did the guys do this time?" He paid the taxi driver and then strode up the bus.

"Hey, officer, is there a problem?"

"You Ben Stone?"

"Yeah?" A cold sensation traveled down his body. "Oh man, no one's hurt are they? I told those guys to watch themselves."

The officer shook his head. "It's nothing like that. I'm here because there's a warrant out for your arrest."

"My
arrest
?" Ben took a step backward. "I'm sorry, there must be a mistake."

The officer shook his head and pulled a print out from his pocket. "It says right here that five years ago you were acquitted for the death of Jason Robinson. The deal was you didn't have to spend any time in jail as long as you continued to write letters to teens."

"Yeah, that's right. I've been done that. I've done it every week since I walked out of jail."

"I don't think so, son. Your parole officer's the one who put out the warrant. Seems the letters have been stopped for over a month."

Ben turned to the bus driver. "Frank, can you tell them? I've written the letters. In fact I gave them to you to mail. You can vouch for me—"

Frank lowered his head, and Ben's stomach sank to his knees.

"Man, I'm sorry." Frank turned and took two steps to the dash. He opened a compartment and pulled out a small stack of mail. Returning, he handed it to Ben. "I've been meaning to find a post office, but you know how Roy is about sticking to a schedule."

Ben stared at the letters in Frank's hands, then he took them and turned to the officer. "You can see what the misunderstanding is, officer. I'm really sorry about this. I'll make sure they make it into the mail tomorrow."

The officer shook his head. "That's not going to work, Mr. Stone. I'm not the judge and jury here. I'll take those letters for evidence, but I'm afraid I'll have to take you in. It'll be up to the judge in L.A. to decide."

"So . . . I'm under arrest?" Ben swallowed hard. Roy's fury filled his mind. It had been a simple mistake . . .

"I'm so sorry. I can testify." Frank looked from Ben to the officer and back to Ben again. "I'm so sorry."

The officer lifted a hand. "I'd be happy to take your statement, but right now I need to ask Mr. Stone to follow me to my car."

Ben sat in the small interview room of the Los Angeles jail staring at a two-way mirror. Did anyone watch from the other side?

When he'd first been driven away in the police car panic overtook him. What about the tour? All the fans who'd already purchase tickets? The media?

Sure enough, when he exited the L.A. airport in handcuffs, the media was waiting. Cameras flashed, questions shouted.

Ben scrunched down in his chair and lowered his face into his hands. "What have I done?" He'd set out to lead a quiet life in Montana, and he ended up on the road. He'd wanted to be part of a community, to build friendships and become a friend. Instead he stood on stage and spoke to crowds. His deepest conversation lately had been with Denny. And then—just when he'd decided to reach out to Marianna—this happened.

How could he go to her now?

"God, are You there?" he whispered into the still air of the room.

Ben didn't know when he'd get out. Didn't know where he'd go and what he'd do when he did. He studied his hands. They weren't the hardworking hands that he'd had in Montana. He didn't recognize them anymore. He didn't recognize himself either as he looked in the mirror. Maybe God didn't recognize him either, with his long hair and trendy clothes. What would Marianna think if she saw him like this—looking like a rock star and sitting in a jail cell? She wouldn't believe it.
He
couldn't believe it.

The door opened. Ben glanced up just in time to see Roy stride in. It wasn't hard to spot the disapproval on his face. He tossed an
L.A. Times
newspaper onto the table in front of Ben.

"Have you read today's headline?"

Ben shook his head. "This isn't the Holiday Inn. It's not like they serve me coffee and a paper in the morning."

He dared to glance down at the paper. It was opened to the Entertainment section and an image of his face filled most of the page. "
Every warm jail cell needs a good wife?"
the headline read.

"Ha ha, very funny." Ben folded his arms in front of him.

Roy sat across from him. "What were you thinking, Ben?" He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "How hard is it to find a post office and drop the letters into a slot?" Ben saw more questions flint through Roy's eyes. Questions he didn't ask. Had word got back to Roy about other things—how he "testified" on the stage? Roy studied him as if trying to figure out who this stranger was.

"I messed up."

With the declaration, Roy's squared shoulders softened and the hard jut of Roy's chin lowered a notch. He ran a hand through his graying hair. "It's not the end of the world, I suppose."

Ben sighed. "So tell me the damage."

"Well, your tour's cancelled, but we expected that to happen. They got one of the old Backstreet Boys who's trying to resurrect his career to take your place. You know, Ben, you screwed up, but the law chose to make an example of you. They ran with it. If you would have been in Montana and missed some letters you might have gotten a phone call. They blew it out of the water because of your newfound fame." Roy cleared his throat. "So we're going to help them."

"Excuse me?"

"I've talked to the judge and we're setting up a press conference." Roy glanced in his watch. "Someone should be here in ten minutes to take you to the shower and give you a clean jail cell uniform." Roy pursed his lips and nodded. "Prison-cell orange is a good color on you."

Ben raised his hands. "Wait, wait, you want me to talk to the media about this? Won't it hurt my good-guy image you've worked so hard to build?"

"Actually no. I want you to tell the truth. I want you to tell everyone how you messed up and how you've changed. I've heard that you shared a little about it at yesterday's concert. You can do it again."

For the first time since he saw that cop car, the burden on Ben's shoulders lightened. "Really? You know I'm going to mention God."

Roy smiled. "Well, I heard lots of people last night give Him the thumbs up, so that might not
be too bad."

L
evi walked from the field to the house, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. The scent of soil clung to him but he didn't mind. It felt good to work hard and know that he was providing for his family.

He and Naomi's father, Mose Studer, had been putting seed in the ground. They'd been out since sunrise, and now it was nearly dark. Their only breaks the whole day had been dinner and supper, which Naomi's younger sister Charity had brought out to them in metal pails.

Levi walked into the house expecting to find Naomi in her room asleep. Instead she was sitting in the rocking chair. She rocked ever so softly with Samuel asleep against her chest. Her dress was damp near her collarbone, beneath the baby's open mouth. Naomi's long red hair was down as if she'd been brushing it out and hadn't had the chance yet to put it up in her sleeping kerchief. Naomi looked up and smiled at Levi as he entered.

He stopped short and sucked in a slow breath.

"What?" Her eyes widened. "Is something wrong?"

He neared her and pulled a simple dining room chair closer so they sat knee to knee. "No, nothing's wrong at all. I—I just don't think I've ever seen you look so beautiful."

Pink tinged her cheeks, causing her freckles to disappear. "I don't think—"

"Shhh . . . Levi lifted a finger and placed it to her lips. "Don't argue with me. I know yet what I'm talking about."

She nodded, smiled, and adjusted the baby so she was cradling him in her arms.

Levi reached out a finger to stroke his son's smooth skin, then realized his hands were still dirty. Soil clung to him. He should go get washed up, but he wasn't ready to leave them—not just yet. "Has Sam been good today?"

"
Ja
. Nothing to deserve a talkin' to yet."

They sat there in quiet comfortableness, content to marvel over the baby.

After having Samuel, Naomi had moved to the dawdi haus, too. She had taken his old room, Marianna had the guest room, and Levi slept on the couch. When he was able to sleep, that is. When he wasn't wide-awake and overwhelmed at being a father and, soon, a husband.

He stood. "Be right back."

After washing up and changing his clothes, Levi returned and reached toward Samuel. "May I?"

Naomi nodded. "
Ja
, that would be nice. I never realized such a tiny little guy could get so heavy."

With slow movements and tender hands, he took the slumbering baby. Samuel's breathing quickened but his eyes remained closed.

Levi settled his son in his arms. "So, I was talking to your dat today."

"
Ja
, what did he say?" Naomi moved the laundry basket and found her sleeping kerchief. With precise movements she pinned it on her head.

"He said that we can get married now. If it's all right with my parents, we can go ahead and set a date."

"Really?" She turned and pink again flushed her freckled cheeks. Then she bit her lower lip with her perfect, white teeth. "Your parents, they won't have a problem with it, will they?"

"No. They wondered why we were waiting. Of course they don't know—" Levi halted his words, but he could tell from Naomi's face that she knew what he was going to say: "
They don't know that Samuel is not my son."

The thing was, Levi felt like this boy was his. He knew he'd protect him with his life. He was ready to commit to Naomi. Ready to commit to Samuel too. As far as he was concerned, the boy would never know any father but him.

He'd see to that.

Ben followed the officer to the mini-stage they'd created in the police precinct and sat in a gray metal chair. Two dozen reporters fanned around them, their cameras set. He looked to Roy and then back to the crowd. They told him he could start when he was ready.