Buckeye Dreams (50 page)

“Not guilty, sir.”

The mayor looked down at the papers before him. “Mr. Harvey Pryce, please step forward.”

Harvey did as he was told. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Well, I’ve recently been hired as janitor up at the university. Frank and I were moving my things into the janitor’s cabin when Ward here starts getting nasty and hits me.”

The mayor took a long look at him. “Is that how you got the bruise on your jaw?”

“Yes, hurts like the devil, too.”

“And you have a witness who can verify this?”

Harvey motioned to Frank. “Yes, sir.” He looked back at his friend, who hadn’t moved, and said, “Come on, tell the judge what happened.”

But Frank looked from Harvey to Peter then to the mayor and got up and walked out of the courtroom. Someone cleared his throat, and Peter turned. Both Mike and Dr. Kirby had risen from their seats. “If you will forgive me, Mayor Walcutt, Mr. Dixon and I would like to speak on Mr. Ward’s behalf.”

Frowning at Harvey, the mayor nodded. “I think that would be very helpful, Mr.—?”

“I am Dr. Daniel Kirby, a professor at The Ohio State University. This is Michael Dixon, who, until recently, was the janitor for the university.”

The mayor listened carefully as Mike described exactly what happened the night before and what Harvey had said and done to provoke Peter. “I won’t lie and say Pete didn’t want to let him have it, but he never touched Harvey.”

“Then how did Mr. Pryce get his bruised jaw?” Mayor Walcutt asked.

“Him and Frank decided to go drinking last night, Your Honor. We both heard him suggest it to Frank before they left the cabin.”

“I see.” The mayor looked at Harvey, who was looking anywhere but up at him. “Very well, I’m satisfied that Mr. Ward did not hit Mr. Pryce. But there is the burning of the log house to consider.”

“I can vouch for this young man’s character in that regard,” Dr. Kirby said firmly. “He has been a guest in my home, and I am convinced he would not do such a thing.”

“Oh no,” Peter blurted out. He’d replayed over and over in his mind everything he’d done last night and suddenly realized what happened. He felt the blood leave his face. “I think I started the fire.”

Dr. Kirby looked at him, incredulously. “What do you mean?”

Peter locked eyes with Mike. “It was so stupid of me. After you left, I got cold. I put a couple of logs on the fire, and while I was straightening up, I—I think I moved the wood box too close to the stove. Then I fell asleep.” How could he have been so stupid? Mike had warned him about putting anything flammable too close to the stove, in case it overheated. He looked up at the judge. “It was an accident.”

The mayor looked carefully at him. “I believe you, son. But I will need to hear what the fire captain says.” He looked at Professor Kirby. “I will release him to you, Dr. Kirby.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I am confident you will find everything just as Mr. Ward described.”

Peter’s hands shook with relief as the bailiff removed the handcuffs. He looked up to thank the mayor but found the gentleman looking at Harvey.

“Mr. Pryce,” the mayor said. “I should have you arrested for what Mr. Dixon just told me about you giving Mr. Ward a timber lesson.”

Harvey looked up at the judge, his dark eyes wide.

“Sir, please,” Peter said. “I’m fine now. Let Mr. Pryce go.”

“This man should be brought to justice, Peter,” Dr. Kirby said.

“I know, sir.” But it wasn’t the desire to remain anonymous that moved Peter now. He felt God nudging him to show Harvey the same mercy as the professor had shown him. “I haven’t always been the man I am now. I was given a second chance, sir. Harvey deserves one as well.”

“Admirable, young man, admirable,” the mayor said. “Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Pryce.”

Harvey looked so angry, Peter thought he might burst into flame. But he only glared at him, saying nothing, as he rose and stalked out of the courtroom. Dr. Kirby, Mike, and Peter started to leave when Uncle Billy’s name was called.

Peter stopped short of the courtroom door and looked back. His friend shuffled up in front of the judge and pulled off his worn forage cap.

“Is Uncle Billy your real name?” the mayor asked.

“Well, no sir,” Billy said. “That’s what the men call me. My name is William Tecumseh Sherman.”

Peter quickly strode forward but not in time to stop his friend from pulling out “General Grant.” Mayor Walcutt’s eyes grew large, and a woman in the gallery screeched.

“Sir, please, I don’t know what the charges are against him—” Peter began.

“He bit me,” said a voice from the gallery. A man with a bandaged hand stood up. “He brought that vermin into my saloon, waving him around, asking people to buy a cigar and a drink for ‘General Grant’ there.”

“That Reb tried to capture the general!” Uncle Billy exclaimed.

Peter shook his head. He’d done that again? “Sir, please, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.”

“That much is clear,” the mayor said. “Do you know his real name?”

“Give me just a moment, sir.” Peter gave Uncle Billy a salute. “General, do you have your papers on you?” Peter had thought he’d seen Uncle Billy with official-looking documents on more than one occasion but had never gotten a good look at them. He prayed he still had them.

Uncle Billy looked doubtfully at him. “Why do you need my papers, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t, sir, but this gentleman does.” Uncle Billy’s frown deepened, and Peter grasped for an explanation. “It’s … official business, sir. Spies have been seen in the area.”

Slowly, the old man pulled a worn set of papers from inside his shirt. He handed them to Peter, who handed them to the bailiff. Mayor Walcutt took them and read the name he found written there.

“Harold Albert Cooper, sergeant for the Union Army, discharged June 1865.”

The words had a dramatic effect on Billy. He began to shake uncontrollably and raised his hand to his forehead. His eyes swam, and he looked miserable and confused. Peter’s heart tightened, and he laid his hand on his friend’s back. Dr. Kirby walked forward.

“Mayor, under the circumstances, I don’t think a normal sentence is called for.” The professor’s face was even graver than his voice.

“You’re right, Professor,” Mayor Walcutt replied. “Anything else would be an insult to the men I commanded in the war.” The mayor looked up at the man Billy had assaulted, who nodded agreement, but Peter didn’t care for the fear and distrust in the man’s face. It wasn’t as if Uncle Billy could help what was wrong with him.

“I’ll send word to Dr. Finch and see what can be done.” The mayor nodded to the bailiff, who gently took Uncle Billy out a side door.

Dr. Kirby, his hand on Peter’s arm, guided him to the door. “Who is Dr. Finch, sir?” Peter asked. “He’s not the poorhouse doctor, is he?”

“No,” the professor replied, his eyes thoughtful. “Dr. Finch is the superintendent of the Columbus Asylum for the Insane. You can be sure your friend is in good hands.” He took a deep breath and then looked at Peter. “Now, young man, we have a great deal to discuss.”

G
ood afternoon, Miss Kirby. How is Scioto doing?”

Anne looked toward the voice. Patrick Howard stood at the bottom of the steps of the Main Building.

Sighing inwardly, she made her way down to join him. “He’s doing very well, Mr. Howard.”

“It’s fortunate your uncle found someone to care for him so quickly. But he didn’t mention who it was.”

Anne bit the inside of her lip before answering. “Oh—it’s someone who came down from Ostrander a few months ago.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask more. To spare Anne’s reputation, Uncle Daniel hadn’t wanted it known that she was performing a man’s job.

“A family friend, then?”

“Yes,” she answered brightly.

He nodded and looked behind her toward the door. “Where is your uncle this afternoon? Don’t you usually walk home together?”

“Yes, we do. He was called away around lunchtime. Some sort of emergency, but he didn’t say what it was.”

“I hope it wasn’t anything serious,” Mr. Howard said. “Do you think it had something to do with the fire at the janitor’s house last night?”

Anne blinked. “I wouldn’t think so. But—”

“But what?”

“Well, Mike Dixon came to speak to him just before he left.”

Patrick Howard nodded. “Then it must be about the fire.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I heard they arrested the janitor’s assistant for it,” he explained. “Didn’t your uncle help him get the job?”

“Yes, he did.” Anne’s brows furrowed. Why on earth would Mr. Ward burn down the janitor’s house? She knew he’d lost his job when Mike lost his, but she had never imagined him capable of something so violent. She shrugged. “I’ll find out when I get home. He’s sure to be back by now.”

“Would you like me to escort you? I can make sure the new man is treating Scioto properly.”

Anne gritted her teeth as she reminded herself that Mr. Howard had no idea who the “new man” was. “No, thank you. It’s not a very long walk, and I can assure you that Scioto is just fine.”

Mr. Howard looked resigned. “I see,” he said. Stiffly, he tipped his bowler hat. “Please give your uncle my regards.”

Anne watched Mr. Howard walk south toward his boardinghouse. One more young man finally chased away. Tears pricked at her eyes as she wondered if she shouldn’t reconsider everything. Was spinsterhood her only option? Memories of last month’s visit to Columbus sharply asserted themselves. No, for everyone’s sake, this had to be done. Besides, how could she court, or especially marry, someone without telling him the truth about herself?
You tried that with Sam, remember? See how that turned out?

Dusk began to fall as she walked into the house. She poked her head into the kitchen, and Mrs. Werner told her Uncle Daniel was out back with “that horse of his.” Chuckling, Anne went to change, eager to make her way to the stable. Even though her conversations with Scioto weren’t as helpful as they used to be, working in the stable was still something of a balm.

Uncle Daniel was standing outside Scioto’s stall when she came in. “Good afternoon, my dear.”

“Hello,” she said, giving him a hug. “Now, what was all the fuss about today?” She checked Scioto’s feed bin. It was empty, and she looked inquiringly at her uncle.

“He’s already been fed,” he replied with a slight smile.

Anne walked to the tack room and returned with the grooming kit.

“I was called away to the courthouse.”

“The courthouse?” Anne let herself in the stall. Scioto gently nudged her in greeting. She slid his halter on and secured the lead. “Why? Did it have to do with the fire at the janitor’s house?”

“As a matter of fact, it did.”

She was about to ask what happened when she ran her hand over Scioto’s coat. Turning, she looked at her uncle in consternation. “Don’t tell me you groomed him as well? I thought your arm was still a little stiff.”

“It is.”

“Then who groomed him?”

“I did.”

Anne stepped out of the stall. A handsome young man came down the stairs that led to the stable man’s chambers above. He was wiping his freshly shaven face with a towel, and his chocolate-brown hair looked as if it had been recently trimmed. He flung the towel over his shoulder, his green eyes taking hold of hers. She stared at him, struggling to figure out just where she’d seen those eyes before.

“Anne,” her uncle said. “Surely you remember Mr. Ward.”

“Mr. Ward?” she breathed. No, it couldn’t be. Could it? Was it possible that all that hair had covered up such a handsome face?

He smiled, and Anne thought her heart would stop from sheer exhaustion. “At your service, Miss Kirby; as you can see, I do more than kill spiders.”

His meaning quickly shot through her addled thoughts and brought them to order. She frowned. Handsome or not, why was he doing her job? And him a criminal! She crossed her arms. “I thought you also swept rooms and fixed gas pipes, not to mention burning down houses.”

Her uncle frowned. “Anne.”

“Patrick Howard told me they arrested him last night for burning down Mike’s house!”

“The charges were dropped,” Uncle Daniel replied sternly. “Mike came to get me today because he knew Mr. Ward was innocent and wanted me to speak with him on Mr. Ward’s behalf.”

“Then how did it burn down?”

“It was an accident,” Mr. Ward replied. “I’m afraid I left the wood box too close to the stove. I fell asleep, and the stove overheated.” He looked at her uncle with sincere eyes. “I can assure you that won’t happen here, sir.”

Uncle Daniel smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Of course not; I know you’ll take good care of Scioto.”

“But he’s a janitor, Uncle Daniel,” Anne countered.

“Actually, Mr. Ward is a man of many talents,” her uncle said. “Ones that will no longer go untapped.” Anne saw the look he and Mr. Ward exchanged.

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Ward smiled slightly. He turned his green gaze to her once more. “I have to compliment you, Miss Kirby. You’ve done a good job.”

“Yes, Anne was very thorough,” her uncle said. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved to have the responsibility taken out of her hands.” Anne swung around to look at him. “You do remember agreeing you’d do the job only until a replacement could be found.”

“Yes, but—”

“Now, I believe Mrs. Werner is nearly finished with dinner and I’m famished,” her uncle said before she could protest further. “It’s been a long day.”

Anne, watching Mr. Ward walk into Scioto’s stall and pick up the grooming bucket, felt a slight sense of betrayal as the horse nudged him just as he’d done to her a few minutes earlier. He smiled, and she saw the regard he already held for the animal as he gently stroked Scioto’s neck. He put the grooming kit away then held the door open for her and her uncle and followed them out.

She was surprised and more than curious that her uncle insisted Mr. Ward eat with them. Ben had always eaten with Mrs. Werner in the kitchen—when he’d been around. She also noticed the way her uncle looked at the young man every now and then. Seeing him now, clean shaven, she didn’t see how he’d reminded her uncle of her cousin.