Hatcher was up before dawn the next day. By the time the sky turned silvery and pink, he’d filled the drill boxes for the last time. As the sun broke over the horizon, he started around the field.
Kate came to the door and stared in his direction. He couldn’t see her expression but guessed at her surprise at him starting work before dawn. He drank in the sight of her, cinnamon-colored hair tied back neatly, wearing a familiar cotton housedress—a mixture of pink and brown flowers. He knew he would never drink his fill of her, yet he wanted to store up memories for the future.
When she waved him to come for breakfast, he shook his head. He intended to finish this job without spending any more time with her. He hadn’t planned to go over yesterday, either, until he saw Mary open the gate of the chicken pen and clap her hands until the birds scattered across the yard.
He’d crossed the yard then. “What are you doing, Mary?”
“Chasing the chickens.” Her tone suggested he should be able to see that for himself.
“Why?”
“Mr. Grey said a bad word about you.”
Hatcher sighed. Everyone he knew and cared about was bound to be hurt simply because he had stayed too long. “You shouldn’t pay any attention.”
Mary’s eyes were awash in tears. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“I must. Someday you’ll understand that it’s for the best.”
She stomped her foot. “I’m tired of being told that.”
He chuckled. “Can’t say as I blame you. But this time it’s true.”
“Then I don’t want to stay on the farm.” She waved her arms, laughing mirthlessly when the nearby chickens squawked and flapped away.
“But where would you go?”
The child didn’t answer.
“Didn’t this farm belong to your poppa? What would he want you to do?”
Still no answer.
“Do you want your mother to marry Mr. Grey?”
“No. I don’t like him. He just pretends to be nice to Dougie and me.”
“Then maybe the farm is a better place to be.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think you should get the chickens back in the pen?”
She shuddered. “I hate chickens.”
“They’re the dumbest thing God made except for rocks.”
She’d laughed and let him show her how to outsmart the birds.
He would miss the children.
He clamped his jaw tight. No point in thinking such things. But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. Matthew eighteen, verse six.
She’d already been offended once because of him. It wouldn’t happen again. He was prepared to sit on the tractor until he finished this field and then move on. Leave them all in peace.
Only when he turned the corner closest to the house, Kate stood at the furrow. He should have known she wouldn’t let him be. Obstinate, headstrong woman. Pity the man who married her.
No way he could ignore her unless he wanted to run over her. He stopped the tractor and waited as she marched toward him.
“I brought you breakfast, seeing as you wouldn’t stop.” She held out a towel-covered plate.
“Not particularly hungry.”
She didn’t withdraw the offered plate. They did battle with their eyes, no words necessary for her to make her message plain. She didn’t plan to take No for an answer.
“You started early today,” she said.
“I’ll finish today.” He left the rest unsaid. Then I’ll move on.
The egg yolks were runny. Just the way he liked them. The bread, freshly baked, soaking up butter. He concentrated on the food, one of the pleasures of life. Good food, good weather, a dry place to lay his head. Simple, everyday things he would find on his travels. What more did a man need?
“I saw how you helped Mary yesterday.” Kate’s voice carried expectation.
He nodded. “Big job to chase chickens.” He knew it wasn’t really what she wanted to talk about, but he offered nothing more.
“You’re good with the children. You’ve taught them a lot.” A long, waiting silence that Hatcher didn’t intend to fill.
“Hatcher, don’t you see how much we need you? The children?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Me?” She sucked in air as if she’d run a mile head on into the wind. “You don’t need to leave.”
She thought she wanted him to stay, but she didn’t know what it meant. The name-calling, finger-pointing, blaming. And that was the least of it.
He’d learned to keep his anger contained by walking away from situations and people. The longer he stayed, the more he let himself care, the more likely his anger would escape his control. One man had already died, others had been hurt in different ways from his vicious anger. He would never put Kate and her children at risk of such ugliness.
He gulped the rest of his breakfast and handed the plate back. “Thank you.” He headed the noisy tractor down the field without a glance at Kate.
It took a great deal of concentration to recite Bible verses throughout the morning, but he would not let his thoughts dwell on anything else.
The hot sun hung straight over his head baking the soil when he saw two cars approach. He recognized Doyle’s. Watched as the man climbed from his vehicle and stared in Hatcher’s direction. He recognized the look. A warning to Hatcher that Doyle had taken control of things.
Why didn’t the man let Hatcher finish so he could be on his way?
Then he saw the insignia on the door of the second vehicle. The law. Was it about to start all over? But he’d done nothing. Hadn’t left the farm except to go to the Sandstrums.
A uniformed man stepped from the second vehicle. The men spoke to Kate, who’d come to the door, then headed toward Hatcher. Kate followed, talking, being ignored as the men strode across the field. The sheriff waved him down. Hatcher stopped the tractor and waited.
“Mr. Jones? Hatcher Jones,” the lawman said.
“That’s me.”
“Would you step down?”
Hatcher hesitated. Whatever it was, he hadn’t done it but from the look on both men’s face, he guessed they wouldn’t believe him. He jumped down and faced the sheriff. “What can I do for you?”
“You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Robbery and vandalism, to start with.”
Who had been robbed? Of what? But he kept his mouth shut. He was a hobo. Had been in jail before. Been accused of worse than this. And one thing he knew, his previous experience would be counted against him.
The sheriff clamped on handcuffs.
“He never left the farm. How could he have done it?” Kate protested.
“We have an eyewitness.”
“Who?” Kate demanded.
“The storekeeper remembers him stopping there before.”
“Did you?” Kate asked Hatcher.
She wondered if he was guilty? If she had any doubt she’d already convicted him in her mind. “What is it I’m supposed to have done?”
Kate answered before the sheriff could explain. “They say you robbed Mr. Anderson’s store.”
“Did a pile of damage at the same time,” the sheriff said, pushing Hatcher ahead of him off the field.
“Did you stop there at any time?” Kate asked, keeping at his side.
“I went by when I first came to town.” The one and only time. He and three other hobos had picked through the garbage in the alley hoping to find something useful. Preferably edible. The owner had chased them away. He hadn’t been to town since.
He hadn’t even known the man’s name. Mr. Anderson, huh? Wonder what he was supposed to have taken. And what he’d damaged.
“I understand you’ve been staying in that shanty over there. Let’s have a look.” The sheriff pushed Hatcher in that direction.
Kate continued to hop at Hatcher’s side, trying to look at him and keep up. She fired questions at him and the other men. “Whose accusing Hatcher? What proof do you have? This is all wrong.”
Hatcher ignored her. Would they need or want proof? He knew Doyle wasn’t interested in the truth. He just wanted to get Hatcher out of the way. Punish him because Kate had defended him. And he couldn’t say whether the sheriff wanted the truth or an easy scapegoat.
They reached his tiny quarters. Doyle burst through the door first.
His hand on Hatcher’s handcuffs, the sheriff followed.
Kate remained at Hatcher’s side. Doyle stepped to one side and waited for the sheriff to do his job.
Hatcher’s belongings were rolled into a bundle.
“Were you planning on leaving, Jones?” the sheriff asked.
Hatcher didn’t answer. The less he said the better. Besides, it was obvious he intended to move on.
But Kate had no such qualms. “It’s no guilty secret he meant to leave as soon as the crop was in. He would have finished today if you hadn’t interrupted his work.”
“So he had it planned. Maybe meant to leave without finishing but couldn’t leave the pretty lady,” the sheriff mocked as he flipped open Hatcher’s belongings and started to paw through them.
A jangle of coins and a wad of money rolled out.
The money wasn’t his, though Hatcher didn’t expect anyone to believe him. Someone had planted it. But who? Doyle? Was that what brought him to the farm last night? But why? He knew Hatcher was leaving. He posed no threat to the lawyer.
“What do we have here?” the sheriff demanded. “Care to explain this?”
Hatcher glowered at the man. He wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t lay the blame where it seemed most likely to belong—at Doyle’s feet. Not when Kate seemed bent on marrying him no matter how much she said to the contrary. He couldn’t ruin her chance of happiness. Not that it mattered. No one wanted the truth. No one would believe his innocence. He tried not to see the shocked look on Kate’s face. She’d have to believe whatever she wanted.
“You can try explaining it to the judge.” The sheriff jerked him around and not caring how the cuffs dug into his wrists.
He let the sheriff push him roughly into the back of the car and rode silently back to town, where he gave nothing but his name in way of a statement before he was shoved into a cell. The door locked behind him.
He stood behind the bars of the six-by-six-foot cell and stared hard.
Verses he’d memorized raced through his brain. Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood; so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife. Proverbs thirty, verse thirty-three.
He’d let his anger break forth too many times. It had caused strife. Death. Be ye angry and sin not. Ephesians four, verse twenty-six.
But his anger had led to sin. Even before it led to the death of another man. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God. James one, verse twenty.
God demanded repayment for Hatcher’s anger and the death he’d caused. He’d known for ten years he would pay. Now was the time. He’d prepared himself for it. Just didn’t think he’d care so much.
That was his mistake. He’d let himself care about Kate, her children, her happiness. After Doyle’s first visit he knew he should move on. But he’d let his caring get in the way.
He rubbed his sore wrists and spun around. The narrow cot with its thin mattress would be hard and uncomfortable but he’d spent ten years getting used to sleeping on everything from rocky ground to wet snow. He stretched out and closed his mind.
“I want to see him.”
Hatcher kept his eyes closed as Kate’s demanding voice rang through the jail. Keys rattled and she was admitted to the cell block.
He heard her firm, hurried steps stop in front of the bars confining him. But he didn’t stir, kept his breathing deep and slow.
“Hatcher, we have to talk.”
He didn’t move a muscle or a hair.
“Come on. Stop faking it and pay attention.” She waited but when he refused to acknowledge her presence, she didn’t let it deter her. “I know you didn’t do it. I’ve seen the way you handle yourself. Whatever happened back when you were accused of murder, I know you didn’t do that, either. You wouldn’t hurt anyone. The court was right when it declared you innocent. Same as I know you didn’t rob the store or anything else they say you did.”
“Shouldn’t you confine yourself to the facts,” he murmured, without opening his eyes.
“What are the facts?” she asked, quietly pleading for an explanation. She waited a few seconds for him to answer.
But he wouldn’t. The less she knew, the better.
“I am going to find out what really happened in Mr. Anderson’s store.”
He leaped from the cot, took the two steps that brought him to the bars and grabbed one on either side of her curled hands. “I don’t want you getting involved. Find someone to finish putting in the crop. Go home and look after the children. Stay away from me.”
She jerked back, her eyes wide. Surprised. Hurt.
Good. Better she should accept the truth about him and leave him alone.
Then her expression softened. Her eyes smoldered and she gripped the bars tighter, jammed her fists against his.
He stilled himself to keep from jerking back but he wouldn’t let her see that her touch meant anything.
It didn’t.
He wouldn’t let it.
“Hatcher. I am going to find out what really happened.” She stepped back totally unaffected by his best scowl. “You won’t be able to do anything about it.” She tapped the bars. “You’ll be busy here.”
And she left. Left him fuming. Powerless to do anything. Just like she so joyously pointed out.
Stubborn, stupid woman. She had no idea what she was getting into.