Taken for English (32 page)

“So you’re leaving the church?” Guilt swept through her, though she had done nothing to encourage this choice.

“You and I talked about this years ago. It has just taken me longer to be brave than it took you.”

Ruth gulped the tide of emotion. “I think you have been very brave to keep your baptismal vows all this time.”

“I did not make them lightly,” he said, “and I do not break them lightly. But I am not going back.”

She believed him. And she resolved to say nothing more that would suggest he should return.

“Have you spoken to the bishop?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“Your mother will hate having to shun you.”

Elijah gave a careful shrug. “I don’t think our district will be overly strict in their interpretation. It is not the end of the world to eat at a separate table. They can still see me if they want to.”

“Do you think they will want to see you?”

“I hope so. I will want to see them.”

Ruth blew out her breath.

“Do you think Rufus would like to buy my horse and buggy?” Elijah asked.

“Maybe. If he ever gets around to proposing.” Ruth sat on the edge of Elijah’s bed a few feet from him.

“I’ll have to find a new job, of course. It probably shouldn’t be in Westcliffe. I thought I would move to Colorado Springs after Christmas.”

Ruth was due to return to the university in January.

“You don’t have to decide that now.” She ran her hands along her thighs, suddenly aware of how much she was perspiring, and looked around the room.

“Ruth.”

She looked up at him.

“You can choose me or not choose me, but this I have chosen for myself.”

Annie wiped her lunch plate dry and set it in the cabinet. She had looked in the living room four times already for clues about where Leah might have gone. Annie stayed up late and got up early, and still Leah slipped through her grasp.

Not that she could have stopped her.

Leah’s one condition for staying last night was that Annie not ask about where she spent her days. For instance, around old sheds or gasoline cans? Annie could not ask directly, but she needed to know.

The back door opened and Annie glanced over her shoulder, hoping.

Not Leah. Ruth.

“Hey, Ruth.”

“Hey, Annalise.”

“I made tuna salad. Would you like some?” Annie reached for the plate she had just washed and put away.

“No thanks. I’m not hungry right now.” Ruth laid her purse on the kitchen counter, next to where Annie habitually left hers.

“I feel like we should talk about yesterday,” Annie said. “It all happened so fast, and then we didn’t see each other all day.”

“Maybe I’ll just have some water.” Ruth went to the refrigerator for the pitcher of chilled liquid.

Annie handed Ruth a glass.

Ruth poured and then drank. “I wasn’t expecting Leah to be here last night.”

“I know. I wasn’t either. She was here when I came home.”

“And you were ready for her.”

“You knew I had set up the space. Ruth, she needs help.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to be gracious after what she did to Elijah.” Ruth drained her glass.

“I understand.” Annie took Ruth’s empty glass and set it in the sink. “But I have to ask you one question.”

“What is it?” Ruth pushed up the sleeves of her top and scratched an elbow.

“Leah doesn’t just need a safe place to stay. She needs someone to help her sort things out. To sort herself out.”

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?”

“I’m not qualified. She needs a mental health professional.”

“So what are you asking me? I’m not a counselor, either.”

“I need to know how the church feels about mental health. Am I supposed to just pray for her, or can I find someone who will see her?”

“This might be a question for the bishop.”

“I don’t want to ask him if it’s way out of line.” Annie picked up an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and began to polish it on her sleeve. “Have you ever known anyone who saw a therapist?”

Ruth let out a long, slow breath. “Well, I’ve heard of people trying herbs and vitamins, along with prayer and hard work.”

“But not a professional?”

“I didn’t say that. Actually, I think most people—the women, at least—would agree that the mind or spirit can be ill, just the way the body can be.”

“So then it’s all right to see someone?”

“I said
most
people would agree. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Deitwaller is not one of them.”

Annie nodded. “Leah is almost eighteen.”

“But she’s not. The
English
will have laws about this.”

“The bishop’s wife might intervene. Maybe she could talk to Mrs. Deitwaller.”

Ruth rubbed her temples. “Annalise, can we talk about this another time? It’s hard for me to talk about Leah. I know she needs help, but she hurt Elijah. I need some time to see past that.”

“I’m sorry.” Annie set the apple back in the basket. “You were amazing yesterday. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that.”

“You were the one who kept Elijah still while you waited for the ambulance.”

“But it was you Elijah wanted to see. I could tell it meant the world to him that you rode along to the hospital.”

“Did you know he moved out?” Ruth locked eyes with Annie.

Annie cleared her throat.

“Annalise.”

“He told me the day of the training burn. I thought he’d forgotten his hat, but he said he left it behind on purpose.”

“I wish you had told me.”

“Was it really mine to tell?”

June 1892

J
oseph and Maura clattered back to Mountain Home in the cart. He held Jesse Roper’s hat on his lap, feeling its height and breadth, the broad brim, the crown creased deeply and precisely, the starched, proud shape. If Joseph’s own soft black hat had ever had a distinctive shape, it had long ago dissipated into everyday practical use. It exuded nothing but simplicity and humility. He felt no affinity for what Roper had done—which Joseph had seen with his own eyes—but the confidence of the man intrigued him. His people would say it was
hochmut
, pride, that got Jesse Roper into trouble. Joseph supposed it was. But still, what might it feel like to be that sure of himself?

Maura seemed to have lost her reluctance to disturb the postburial gathering. By the time they reached the church, the crowd in the church hall had thinned. Ladies were stacking dishes and carrying them out of sight. Deputy Combs sat with Bess Byler and her two sons.

“It is too bad Malinda could not come from Colorado,” Maura said. “I suppose the journey would take too much planning with twin babies and a three-year-old.”

“By God’s grace, her sons are with her.” Carrying Roper’s hat, Joseph followed Maura’s march across the hall.

Combs shot out of his chair at the sight of the hat. “Where did you get that?”

“We found it,” Maura said.

Combs snapped toward Joseph. “Were you hiding evidence, Mr. Beiler?”

Joseph hardly knew how to answer the accusation and said nothing.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Deputy Combs.” Maura took the hat from Joseph. “I just told you we found the hat. It was sitting on a post at the edge of White Ledge Ranch, clear as day. I will not insult you by suggesting any of your men would have missed it had it been there two days ago.”

Bess Byler shrugged off her sons and stood up. “Then you think somebody was sheltering Roper?”

Maura nodded. “At the very least, he was hiding out on the property.”

“Looks that way, Bess,” Thomas said. “I’ll go out and ask some questions of the owners and any hands working the ranch.”

“That was our intention.” Maura gestured to Joseph. “But once we found the hat, we felt we should come right back.”

Joseph was uncomfortable with Maura’s use of plural pronouns. The intention had been hers and the choice to return hers.

“Maura, you should not have gone out there alone,” Thomas said.

“I was not alone,” she snapped back. “Mr. Beiler was with me.”

“And unarmed. What good would he be?”

Joseph’s spine straightened. “With all due respect, Deputy, twenty men with guns did not save your sheriff.”

Bess reached out and touched Joseph’s forearm. “My husband would have liked you. Even though he was a man of the law, he was not quick to resort to guns.”

“Obviously Roper left his hat on purpose,” Maura said. “He wanted someone to find it. Even though he was not here long, everybody knew how he flaunted that hat. He is not a man who makes mindless mistakes.”

“Well, he made a mistake in shooting our sheriff.” Thomas looked at the widow. “Sorry, Bess. I will get some men on this right away. We have a new starting point.”

“We won’t give up, Bess,” Maura said. “We will bring Jesse Roper to justice.”

Joseph stepped back from the group, away from the enticement of Maura Woodley’s
we
.

In Gassville on the following Monday, Maura lingered outside her uncle’s shop. The day was stifling. She could not decide whether she was more miserable indoors or outdoors. The task of checking her uncle’s accounts for the previous month was unfinished, so she would have to return to the stuffy back room at some point. For the moment she would have welcomed the slightest hope of a breeze.

Old Man Twigg stomped down the street toward Maura, bearded and bareheaded. Maura considered retreating into the shop, but clearly he was aiming for her and would only follow.

“I heard you had my grandson’s hat.” Gruff hostility shot through his words.

Maura took one step back toward the shop’s doorway. “I found it, if that’s what you mean.”

“I want it.”

“I don’t have it,” Maura said. “You’ll have to speak to Deputy Combs. It’s evidence.”

“It’s a hat, that’s all,” Twigg said. “It’s all I have left of my grandson, and he was all I had left of my daughter. I want it.”

“As I said, you’ll have to speak to Deputy Combs.” Even as she spoke, Maura wondered how well Combs would stand up to Twigg. He spoke with determination about finding Sheriff Byler’s killer, but Jesse Roper had not been the first person on the other side of the law to intimidate Thomas Combs.

“They sent another posse out after him, didn’t they?” Twigg glared at Maura. “He’s just a boy.”

Maura returned the glare. A posse had ridden out Saturday night and not yet returned. “He shot the sheriff, and the way I hear it, you were there making sure he got clean away.”

He harrumphed. “They won’t find him.”

Finally he moved on, stomping his way toward the post office.

Maura leaned against the door frame and let herself exhale heavily. Roper’s mother must have been John Twigg’s sister. The old man had lost two grown children in recent months. While she was sorry for the deaths, Maura refused to let that sway her feelings toward Twigg’s part in the murder of a man she considered her friend as well as her sheriff.

Perspiration trickled into one eye, and she delicately wiped it clear. When she opened her eyes again, blinking three times rapidly, she started to call to Joseph across the street.

Before the sound left her mouth, she realized it was not Joseph. The man was dressed identically to Joseph and Zeke and was about Joseph’s height with a similar build. But his hair was dark and trimmed shorter than Joseph’s. He could be nothing other than a third Amish man in Gassville, standing in the street holding the reins of his horse.

She crossed the street to greet him. “Welcome to Gassville, Mr.—”

“Bender,” the man replied. “Stephen Bender.”

“Mr. Bender.” Maura double-checked the cut of his black suit. “May I be so forward as to inquire whether you are seeking Mr. Beiler and Mr. Berkey?”

“Ya,”
Bender said. “The bishop sent me. Do you know where they are lodging?”

Maura nodded. “Behind the livery. I will take you there.” With one hand, Maura indicated the way.

He led his horse, and they walked the blocks to the stables at the end of Main Street. Mr. Bender was not given to conversation, Maura decided. Her attempts at offering openings for him to say more about himself were met with brief replies. She remembered Joseph’s nervousness when she first approached him and how long it had taken him to find his words. She supposed that this young man was equally unaccustomed to conversing with an
English
woman. At least this time, Maura had the advantage of knowing something of the Amish people.