The Accidental Lawman (15 page)

“Not only am I going to have some,” Amelia smiled at Fanny, “but I think you’d do well trying a cup yourself, Sophronia. I know I could use some nerve strengthening myself right now.”

“I have things to do.” Sophronia straightened, smoothed her skirt, raised a hand to her hair and realized her pins had come undone. “Oh, my goodness!” She left the room in a flurry of sound and motion, calling for Sigrid the minute she hit the hallway.

“She doesn’t like her hair to become mussed, you know,” Fanny said. When she saw that Amelia had made a cup of tea for herself, she raised her own cup to her lips, blew across the surface and then took a sip. “This isn’t horrible.”

“I’m glad.” Amelia looked around and pulled up a smaller chair. “What happened today, Fanny. What upset you so? You have been doing quite well.”

Fanny shrugged. A faraway look came into her eyes, and she leaned forward, straining to listen again. Then she sat back and a sly smile crossed her face.

“What are you thinking?” Amelia asked.

“Do you think I’m crazy, Amelia? Sophronia does. She
told me so. She said I’m crazy as a loon, always have been, always will be. She said there’s no hope for me.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Fanny.” Amelia stirred cream into her cup.

“Even
I
think I’m crazy.” Fanny polished off the rest of her tea, turned the cup upside down and shook out the last drop. It landed on her skirt to mingle with the blood droplets. She set the cup down, ran both hands through her hair until it stood up like spines on a hedgehog.

Then she tapped her index finger against her temple, leaned close to Amelia and, in a tone that sent a chill down Amelia’s spine, Fanny whispered, “Sometimes, I’m as crazy as a fox.”

Amelia encouraged Fanny to change into a clean skirt, then prop herself up on a bank of pillows in bed and draw in her sketchbook. Once Fanny was settled and apparently calmer, Amelia bade her goodbye, locked the door and headed downstairs.

Sophronia had pulled herself together and was waiting for Amelia in the formal parlor. She’d changed into a bombazine day dress that to Amelia was as fancy as a ball gown. Not a hair was out of place. The only sign that she’d had a trying morning was the frown still creasing her brow.

“Thank you for coming to the rescue again, Amelia. I was at my wit’s end.”

“Is Lemuel away?” Lemuel Harroway had a far more calming effect on his sister, more than Sophronia, even though the majority of the young woman’s caretaking fell to his wife.

“He’s in Austin on business. Lately, he’s always away on business.” She looked around the elegantly appointed
room and sighed. “I suppose having all of this is worth the time he sacrifices to traveling.”

“I’m sure you miss him.”

“Oh, yes. I can’t wait for him to return so I can explain why I had to take all the lamps out of his sister’s room.” Then Sophronia said, “Tell me about this new nerve powder.”

Amelia shrugged. “I found the recipe in Dr. Chase’s volume of information. Fanny is right about the tincture. It really
is
foul tasting and I think perhaps her system has grown used to it.” She reached into her bag. “I’ve brought you another bottle to keep on hand, as well as a packet of the nerve powder I tried today. It’s mostly valerian and skullcap. Both soothe the nervous system. She seems calm enough now.” Amelia set the items on the table between them.

“Tea?” Sophronia gestured toward the silver tea service on the mahogany butler’s table. The silver was polished to a high shine.

Amelia declined, anxious to head back to town but unable to let herself think about the reason why. She was afraid to put much store in the words Hank had said to her last night as she was unwilling to admit how much they meant to her.

“What brought on Fanny’s upset?” She settled back into the chair opposite Sophronia’s.

“Sigrid unlocked the door this morning and found Fanny in a complete state of undress, parading before the mirror. After a game of cat and mouse, she finally agreed to let Sigrid help her dress. She was pulling at her hair, babbling on to one of her invisible ‘friends’ about escaping this ‘prison’ and I’m afraid I simply couldn’t take it anymore, Amelia. I lost my temper and told her she was crazy as a loon.”

“Why the gun, Sophronia?” Amelia wanted to know.

“I carry it every time I go into her room. Ever since she told me that her ‘friend’ wanted to kill me. She said the voice told her that once I was ‘taken care of’ she would be free.” Sophronia shook her head and presented Amelia with her profile as she turned to stare out a nearby window.

“One of her invisible ‘friends’ wants to kill me. It terrified me so that I threatened to have her committed to the insane asylum in Austin as soon as Lemuel returned. I told her that he wouldn’t mollycoddle her if he knew she wanted me dead. She insists it’s not her but the shadow man who has plans for them both.”

“She mentioned him to me.”

Sophronia shrugged and traced the lace on her skirt with her fingertips. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Amelia. Life is so unfair.”

Amelia was tempted to remind Sophronia that aside from caring for Fanny, life had been far from unkind to her. Fanny was a trial, but when treated gently and watched over with care, she could be handled. Amelia suspected Sophronia would always feel lacking until she let the Lord into her life.

“The one thing I’ve always wanted has been denied me,” Sophronia said softly. “Does your Dr. Chase’s book contain anything that will help me conceive, Amelia?”

Amelia shook her head. “No suggestion other than red raspberry leaf tea. If I hear of anything, you’ll be the first to know.” She paused for a moment before she said, “Have you ever tried prayer, Sophronia?”

Sophronia finally met her gaze square on. “Do you really believe, Amelia, that if there was a God in heaven, He would create someone like Fanny? What kind of a God would put me into a gilded cage filled with so many
sacrifices—no children, an insane sister-in-law to care for, a husband who is never here?” She shook her head. “No, Amelia. I don’t believe prayer is the answer. I refuse to believe in a God who doesn’t play fair.”

As Isaac drove her back to Glory, Amelia couldn’t fathom how Sophronia or Hank could walk the road of life without knowing that God was beside them all the way. How did they exist in a world without God to turn to in times of not only sorrow, but delight?

From God all blessings flow. She truly believed, as sure as she was sitting here sweltering under the hot Texas sun, that God was with her. He was her strength. It seemed so clear to her, so simple; without Him, there was nothing.

She said a prayer for the women in the Harroway household. And then she said one for Hank. Perhaps with God’s help, he would realize that his heart was capable of infinite love. Perhaps one day he would realize there was room enough in his heart for him to love her.

H
ank felt more like a prowler than a sheriff as he closed Amelia’s barn door and headed back through her garden toward the front of the house.

He’d walked up and down Main Street that morning, ostensibly to chat with folks and dig up any news fit to print. He had stopped by the church, by the hall, spoken to Reverend McCormick, all the while secretly hoping to run into Amelia. Eventually he gave up pretending to be interested in anything else and headed for her house.

She’d left all her windows open—it had grown suffocating out—and the doors were unlocked, as well. He’d tried the knobs and called out to her, peeked in all the windows, but couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten very far with Sweet Pickle staked in the shade beside the barn.

The notion that she might be in danger entered his mind.

He tried to warn himself that his writer’s mind was running away with itself, but he had nearly worked himself into a lather and was standing on Amelia’s front porch with his hands on his hips and his hat shoved back
when she came riding up in a spit-shined black rig that had set someone back a fortune.

He bounded off the porch, intent on helping her down as soon as the buggy stopped, and was rewarded with a smile the minute she laid eyes on him. Within seconds, that smiled faded into concern.

He took her hand. She stepped out of the buggy. He retrieved her heavy bag for her and she bade the driver thanks and farewell.

“What is it, Hank? Have you news of Evan?”

Her brother stood between them like a haunting shadow that was never really gone.

“No news at all. Where were you? I came to see you and when I found you weren’t here, I worried.” He paused, tugged at his collar.

“I was summoned to Harroway House,” was her only explanation.

“Harroway House?” He pondered a second longer and added, “Any connection to Emmert Harroway, Glory’s founder?”

“His son, Lemuel, lives there with his wife, Sophronia, and his sister.”

“I haven’t met them.”

“They don’t come to town.”

“I guess I’m not the only one around here who doesn’t go to Sunday church meeting.”

“No. You’re not.”

“Are you upset with me?” Hank pulled off his hat, dusted it with his shirtsleeve and then put it back on. “Are you upset about last night?”

Amelia shook her head. “I’m just tired. I think it’s the heat. I was up at dawn watering the garden and the sun is already drying out my plants again.”

“Have you had a midday meal?”

She shook her head no.

“Let’s go see if Mrs. Foster is still serving.”

She’d never dined at Foster’s Boardinghouse. Walking in with Hank had been awkward to say the least. Before he had asked permission to court her, conversation with him—if not always cordial—was at least easy. On the way down Main Street she’d been hopelessly tongue-tied.

Hank, on the other hand, chatted all the way. He was excited about going out to the Ellenberg place to interview Rebekah. He was confident that within the week he’d find someone to take over as sheriff and, after last night’s events at the masquerade, two more merchants had taken out advertisements in the
Gazette
. If he noticed her nervousness, he didn’t let on.

Laura Foster was most gracious, welcoming them in for luncheon.

“There’s always room at my table for you two, and if there wasn’t I’d make room.” Laura’s laughter was infectious. Once seated at the table across from Hank and surrounded by Laura and her boarders, Amelia relaxed.

“Amelia was telling me about the Harroways,” Hank mentioned between tender bites of pot roast, carrots and potatoes. “I know Emmert Harroway was the town’s founder, but didn’t realize his descendants still lived in the area.”

“I’ve been here almost four years now and I’ve never met them.” Laura passed a boat of steaming gravy. “What are they like, Amelia? Why don’t they come to town?”

Amelia declined gravy and passed the dish to a widow seated on her right. The war had taken the woman’s
husband. Now, ten years later, she’d decided to move to California to join her kin. The boardinghouse was a temporary stop.

Amelia thought about how much she could tell the gathering without revealing anything about Fanny’s nervous condition.

“Lemuel Harroway’s holdings are extensive. He’s away much of the time on business. Sophronia, his wife, is of Spanish decent through her great-grandmother, I believe. They have a lovely home.” She took a bite of carrot, looked up and caught Hank smiling at her across the table. His dark eyes studied her carefully. The heady warmth his expression radiated was so intense that she nearly choked when she tried to swallow.

Her heartbeat danced triple time and, as if he knew he had the power to make her pulse race, Hank winked at her across the table. Her cheeks instantly flamed. She could feel them burning something fierce. Suddenly unable to take another bite, she dropped her gaze, set down her fork.

The conversation flowed around her. Someone at the table had heard that Harroway House was a mansion.

“I remember now.” Laura tossed her head, rolling her deep blue eyes toward the ceiling as she concentrated on a memory. “I overheard something at the mercantile one day—someone said they keep an insane Harroway woman locked upstairs in the attic.”

“Locked in?”
The war widow was suddenly quite interested.

“Is that true, Amelia?” Laura asked.

She decided it was better to squelch unfavorable gossip with a dose of truth than to deny anything.

“Fanny Harroway is Lemuel’s sister. She has a nervous condition and she’s
not
locked in the attic.” Amelia
couldn’t help but picture Fanny crouched on the floor in the corner clutching the glass shard, blood dripping from her palm. It would be a while before she forgot the wild look in her eyes.

“How does this nervous condition manifest itself?” Hank wanted to know.

Amelia finally felt safe meeting his gaze again. The startling warmth was still there, but his innate curiosity was back. She concentrated on that.

“She often becomes agitated and upset,” Amelia added.

Laura shrugged. “So do I. No one better dare lock me up.”

Hank laughed.

The guest persisted. “Surely there must be more.”

“Nothing I can relate,” Amelia told her.

As if aware of Amelia’s discomfort, Laura changed the subject to the weather, talking about how one day it was spring and the next they were suffering the sweltering heat of summer.

Though no one brought up Fanny’s condition again, Amelia thought about her throughout the rest of the meal and as they enjoyed fresh sliced melon for dessert.

I wasn’t talking to you, Amelia. I was talking to them.

Amelia considered herself a sensible woman. She wasn’t taken to flights of fancy, nor did she often let her mind wander, but as the conversation flowed around her, she went over and over her conversation with Fanny. At times the girl seemed absolutely sane while speaking of the shadow man.

They don’t trust him anymore, but I do.

He doesn’t want anyone to see him.

He lives here.

There was something so covert about the way Fanny spoke, such a fanatical light in her eyes that Amelia
couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, Fanny might have actually witnessed that affected her troubled mind in such a way that she’d twisted the truth into a figment of her imagination.

Fanny often talked of hearing voices in the past, but they were just that, disembodied voices that whispered to her, taunted her.

Either Fanny’s condition was growing worse or—

Suddenly she realized Hank was thanking Laura for a fine meal and digging in his vest pocket for coins. Amelia laid her napkin alongside her plate and prepared to leave, bidding Laura good-afternoon and sending her compliments to Rodrigo in the kitchen. She was glad to hear from Laura that his thumb had healed nicely.

Hank walked Amelia home again.

“Surely you have business to attend to,” she told him when they reached the newspaper office.

“I publish one page per week if I’m lucky, Amelia. That’s hardly a pressing deadline.”

“Are you working on your novel?” It was his dream, she recalled. His passion to write a fictional story of the West had brought him to Glory.

“I’ve been collecting my thoughts and making notes. Serious writing doesn’t always involve the physical act of writing itself. Sometimes I’m working when I’m just staring into space.”

Amelia laughed. “I wonder if staring into space will get my garden watered tomorrow morning? Or my laundry done?”

“Staring at nothing and calling it work is a gift given only to writers.”

“We all have different gifts, according to the grace that’s given to us. At least that’s what the Bible tells us.”

They walked along in silence until Hank noted, “You seem preoccupied.”

“You’re an educated man. Are you familiar with mental infirmity?” she asked.

“You think I might be mentally infirm?”

“Of course not. I was just wondering if, as a writer, you’ve ever come across any research or written about someone who was. I’m confounded by Fanny Harroway’s condition. She seems to be growing worse.”

“In what way?”

“She is convinced that someone has been visiting her at night. She’s not only spoken to him but seen him. He has asked her to keep the visits a secret. Before this, she always claimed the voices were only in her head.”

“Did she describe this
someone?
”

Amelia shook her head. “No. She calls him the shadow man.”

As they walked on, he matched his stride to her shorter one.

“Is it possible she might actually be talking to someone, a ranch hand perhaps?”

“I don’t know how anyone could have gotten to her.”

“So they do keep her locked up in the attic? This sounds like a Nathaniel Hawthorne tale. By the way, was he any relation to you?”

“No, he was not. Not that I know of. And no, they do not keep Fanny locked in the attic.”

“But they do lock her in.”

“In her room.” She pictured the shattered lamp globe. “For her own safety. The door is locked and there are bars on all the windows. Only her family has access to her.”

Something dark and forbidden about the situation had escaped her earlier and now that something was teasing
the edges of her mind, a suspicion she either couldn’t grasp—or refused to.

“What if she really is hearing voices?”

“Are you serious?”

“What’s to say Fanny isn’t telling the truth? At least as she sees it? Or maybe—” he reached around Amelia to open the gate for her “—maybe someone is actually visiting her at night and talking to her.”

“In her head?”

“No, in person.”

“Who?” Amelia wondered aloud. “No one has access to her save the maid and her family.”

“We’ll probably never know. Still, I’m very intrigued. What a story—”

Without thinking, Amelia caught hold of his coat sleeve. “Surely you wouldn’t think of going to interview anyone at Harroway House, would you? I would never betray their trust—”

He reached for her and Amelia caught her breath. Was he going to kiss her again?

All he did was innocently tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. Still, it was enough to make her weak in the knees.

“I would never take advantage of anyone’s heartache, Amelia. I hope you don’t think I’m that kind of man.” He placed her hand on his arm and covered it with his own.

“No, of course not.” She couldn’t deny that he’d been more than kind to her in regards to Evan. Even in the story of the holdup, he’d reported only the facts. There was no embellishment, no editorializing. She truly didn’t think he would cash in on her or anyone else’s heartbreak.

She only hoped that he wasn’t the kind of man who would someday break her heart.