Carsten and his ma sat at the table eating her tasty biscuits and beans without speaking. Although common foods for ranchers on the trail, Carsten doubted theirs tasted so good. He ended up with seconds and thirds of the beans plus four biscuits. After all, he was a growing boy.
“How are Edmund, Kit, and Amos?” Ma asked.
“Edmund and Amos are well. Kit couldn’t join us today. He had to help his pa with branding. Edmund, Amos, and I had a good time cooling off in the lake and chatting some afterward.”
“You have such good friends.”
“You say that every time I get together with them.”
Ma smiled. “I know. Can’t I be glad about something many times over?”
“I suppose.” He chewed his lip. “Do you have friends?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
Ma set her fork down and stared off into the distance. “I’m the wife of an armed robber and had no clue what was going on. The few friends I had before your father’s arrest have abandoned me.”
Carsten hung his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about Pa sooner. And tried to stop sooner myself.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s Foster’s fault. Him and his criminal-minded family. I don’t blame you. You were a child doing what your father told you to. You didn’t know it was wrong. And even after you realized it was, you looked up to him as you should have been able to.”
“Did you know about Pa’s father and grandfather when you married him?”
Ma finished chewing her bite of biscuit. “You mean their criminal activities? I knew they’d both spent time in jail but didn’t know the extent.”
“If you had, would you still have married Pa?”
Ma took a deep breath and looked up at him with her big brown eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Carsten moved the last forkful of beans around on his plate. “I’m glad you did, or I wouldn’t be here.”
Ma laughed. “So am I, Carsten.” She let out a long breath. “We should clean up the food.”
The door burst open as she stood. Ma screamed, and Carsten jumped up and moved between Ma and the intruder.
“Who are…” The words stopped in his mouth as the town marshal came into view. Alone. “What is going on?”
“You need to come with me, Carsten.”
“Why?”
Marshal Lydick pulled out the handcuffs. “You ought to know why. You stole a few things today.”
“That’s not possible,” Carsten said.
Ma came closer and put a hand on his arm as he spoke.
“I was in town for a short time, and unless Luella had something to do with it, I couldn’t have done anything.”
“What about at the print shop?”
Carsten swallowed hard. Not from guilt, of course, but he didn’t want Ma to know. “I ordered something. That’s all.”
“You didn’t take anything?”
“No! I don’t steal anymore.”
Marshal Lydick narrowed his eyes. “All the evidence points to you, so I’m going to have to take you in, at least overnight, until we can clear this up at the trial.”
“No!” Ma exclaimed. “He didn’t do it. You can’t take him.”
“Before I go, search for the stolen items,” Carsten said. “I’ll consent to a search as long as you don’t break anything.”
Marshal Lydick scowled. “You’ve had plenty of time to hide it.”
“I’ve been busy all day. And there aren’t many places on this property to hide things.”
The marshal grumbled but did as Carsten asked and searched everywhere.
While he did, Carsten took his ma aside. “He’s gonna take me in regardless. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. But in the morning, you should go to the Bar X and talk to Mr. Raskins. He’ll be able to help you and should have ideas on helping me. And you can ask Amos to keep an eye on the crops if I can’t get out in a couple days.”
Ma held his face in her hands. Under normal circumstances, he hated when she did that, but today, he was more than willing to allow it. “I will pray for you,” she said. “We will get through this.”
He tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. Instead, he hugged Ma tight until he saw Marshal Lydick approaching.
“Nothin’ in the house, and it better not be in the barn.”
“What am I supposed to have stolen?”
“I won’t reveal that to the thief.” He pulled out the handcuffs again and took a step closer. “We’re going to the jail, where you will spend some time while I investigate.”
Tears streamed down Ma’s face. “Please don’t do this.”
“I have to, Mrs. Whitford.”
Ma sank onto a nearby chair and bowed her head.
“I’ll make this right, Ma. I’ll be out soon.” Carsten jerked against the marshal pulling him out the door. “They can’t have anything concrete on me. I didn’t do this.”
“Shut up,” Marshal Lydick growled. “Come on. We have to get to town.”
“Ma, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Carsten glanced behind them as they reached the door.
Ma still sat at the table, her head bowed. Her mouth moved almost imperceptibly, and Carsten knew she was praying. Just one more hug. He needed her arms around him one more time, but the marshal pulled him in the opposite direction.
What was going on? Why was this happening? Who had accused him of stealing?
The marshal stopped near one of the two horses out front. He helped Carsten mount a horse and tied his handcuffed hands to the pommel of the saddle. The marshal then took the reins in his hands and mounted his own horse, holding Carsten’s reins as a lead rope.
The whole, slow ride to town, Carsten fumed. How could this be happening? He had never been outright accused of something he didn’t do. He hadn’t taken anything from either shop he’d been in. Not a tiny corner of paper, not even a written quote as to how much his wall hanging would cost. Stealing wasn’t something he would do anymore. It wasn’t even his style of robbery. If he were to steal something—not that he would now, but if—it would be at dusk, not morning. And it would be in a house, not a shop.
The marshal seemed intent on not listening to him, though. Ever since the day his father had been arrested and it was learned that Pa had been stealing for years right under the marshal’s nose, Marshal Lydick hadn’t been the same. He’d become broody and discontent. Carsten didn’t know who else had seen this in the marshal, but apparently, now that someone else was stealing, it was Carsten’s turn to be accused. It made sense, in a way, for the marshal to go after the only other person in town who’d stolen before, but Carsten had changed, too, but for the better. Did no one see that?
So here they were. Riding into town very uncomfortably. He’d heard of criminals getting tied to a saddle like this but never thought about how much it would hurt one’s back. Carsten was thankful it was a quiet time of evening in this part of town as people ate their own dinners. There would be few, if anyone, to see him riding in resembling a criminal. He had enough problems with people thinking of him as a lawless man without them seeing this.
Marshal Lydick tugged Carsten off the horse, took him inside, and shoved him into a jail cell. Once he locked him inside, the marshal said, “Put your hands through the bars, and I’ll take the cuffs off.”
Carsten did as he said.
“I need to go make my rounds, but I’ll be back, so don’t think of trying anything.”
“Like what? I’m innocent, so it’s best to stay put until you realize that. Or prove it.”
The marshal narrowed his eyes and shook his head as he left.
Carsten was alone. In a jail cell. No one to talk to. No one to distract him from thinking too much. There wasn’t even a drunk in the cell next to him.
He lay down and stared at the filthy ceiling above him. A musty, sweaty odor surrounded him, and he gagged. Did he want to know if the blankets had been washed recently? Probably not.
Maybe this was God’s way of punishing him for the horse four years earlier. He’d known then it was wrong to take it for a ride.
Carsten had always loved palomino horses. Their light-brown coats and cream manes and tails were so handsome. Sure, they looked dirty faster than other horses, but what did that matter? Horses needed to be groomed often anyway.
One day when he was fourteen, Carsten wandered home from Kit’s and saw the horse ground tied near a small camp. No one was around, so Carsten gave in to temptation and took a short ride on the beautiful mare.
A few days later, when he was in town, he heard someone say that the owner of a palomino mare had died. Since then, it had torn him up to think it might have been his fault. Had the owner returned to his camp and found his horse gone and died from shock? Or died from lack of water because he didn’t have a horse to ride to the nearest river? Carsten couldn’t know and never would.
He sat up and rubbed his temples. The stone walls in this cell combined with the air cooling down outside made the skin on his arms prickle, but he actually didn’t mind. He liked to think the cold helped his guilt, but it didn’t really.
He stood and paced the small room. It was six strides by six strides. At least for Carsten. Back and forth, around in a square, diagonal in an X. He did them all.
Was this how a caged animal felt? No animal should be caged. They were innocent of anything and yet people put them in enclosed spaces so they could go look at them.
Carsten tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. His lungs only let him take short, shallow breaths. He clenched his fists. For the first time, he wanted to punch something. But there wasn’t anything safe here to punch without hurting himself.
He yelled in frustration, picked up the cot, and threw it against the wall as hard as he could. He closed his eyes and concentrated on expanding his chest and forcing himself to take deep breaths. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t take anger out on objects or people.
After a minute of deep breathing, he opened his eyes and unclenched his fists. The cot was a sturdy piece of work and had survived his abuse. The thin mat and even thinner blanket were both on the grimy floor. He sighed. As Ma always said, there were consequences to your actions.
Carsten picked up the cot and put the thin mattress on, then sat. He had to adjust his thinking. Do something to get his mind off where he was. His arrest.
Someone had taken something from the print shop. It hadn’t been him, but many people in town apparently didn’t believe that. So what did the mystery thief take, and who else could have been there around the time Carsten had?
If he could get out of here, he would investigate. From what the marshal had said, it didn’t sound like he would even try to prove Carsten innocent. He thought of asking his friends to help but decided against it. He couldn’t drag them into this. He had to do it on his own.
The only easy, and logical, item to steal from the print shop was paper. But why steal paper? And how would you hide it from them and the others walking through town? ’Course, you’d only have to hide it while in the store. The first question still applied, though. Why steal paper? It wasn’t all that expensive, and anyone who used a lot of it would be able to afford it. Unless a kid needed some for school and was too poor to pay for it. But then, why go to the print shop when the General Store would be easier to steal from? Would the marshal lie about the place?
Carsten sighed. Was there something else in the print shop he missed when he was in there? Did they have special pens? Who knew? Not him. Maybe it was one of the samples that got stolen. He hadn’t accidentally grabbed one and kept it with him, had he? No. Ma would’ve noticed—and the marshal would have found it. And all Carsten had put on the table when he got home were the brown paper packages he’d gotten for her.
Well, maybe he would have to enlist his friends to help him after all. As he thought about it, a knot formed in his stomach. He couldn’t endanger them, but it was more than that. Last time he’d asked someone for help, it ended with him stuck in the mud without anybody to help him. Besides the man running away after allowing him to fall there in the first place. His friends were great and all, and he definitely trusted them, but not as much as he knew he should.
He needed to change that but didn’t know how. He also needed to figure out why he didn’t trust them. Or maybe he just needed to figure out something. Anything.
He stood and paced the cell again but stopped as a thought popped into his head. He hadn’t prayed in over a year. How could he forget such a simple thing? He was a Christian and should be talking to God daily. Guilt gnawed at him. He hadn’t prayed or read the Bible for at least a year.
He needed to get back into the habit of reading the Bible, but that wasn’t going to happen until he got out of jail. In the meantime, he could try his hand at praying again.
“Hi, God. It’s me. I haven’t talked to You in a while. And now that I am, I don’t know what to say. I’m in a bit of trouble right now, as I’m sure You know. I didn’t do what they say I did. But I don’t know how to convince them of that. Maybe You can help with that. Want to put some of the evidence out there for them to find?”
A forced laugh left his mouth. Like anyone would even see the evidence for him. “If that’s possible, anyway. I don’t know what else to do here. How can I prove to people that I’m different from when I was stealing things? Or is that something I’m supposed to leave up to You, and that’s why it hasn’t been working recently?”
Carsten sighed. It had been a long day, and he needed to try to sleep. He moved the blanket and lay down. As he pulled the coarse covering over him, he breathed another short prayer. “God, help me get some sleep tonight. Despite everything that happened today. Thanks.”