Lorelei was pulling the first batch of pies—recipe number twenty-three, as per Emmett’s instructions—out of the oven when the marshal knocked on the door. She nearly dropped the pie tins.
Would she be arrested for poisoning the men? Had they fallen seriously ill before the marshal’s arrival?
She hurried into the foyer. Her father and the marshal were headed toward the parlor.
“Wait, Da, Emmett is resting.” She laid a hand on her father’s arm and addressed the marshal, whose steel-gray handlebar mustache extended almost across his entire face. “Marshal Day, the men who attacked me, are they all right?”
The marshal looked down his nose at her. “They’ve been transferred to the jail, sicker than dogs, Miss Boyd. Would you like to explain that?”
She hung her head, heart pounding. “I put Otto’s morphine in the pies they ate. I thought it would knock them out so I could escape, and then Emmett—Mr. Dewey—arrived and they hit him over the head.”
“Quite ingenious of you,” the marshal’s mustache twitched. “You realize they could press charges against you?”
“That’s absurd,” Da boomed. “They took her hostage.”
“I agree, Mr. Boyd, but it could be argued that she attempted to murder them.”
“I’ll go speak to them in the morning,” Lorelei said.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Momma insisted, coming up behind Da.
“Momma, I must. I regretted putting the morphine in the pies before I even got them out of the oven. And you don’t understand. They all had such sorrowful stories. They need work, and they can’t find it.”
Da and the marshal harrumphed. “I can’t find a way out of work,” Da grumbled under his breath.
“Da, you know how things are. They’ve all been riding the rails since they were children. No one has ever given them a chance to make anything of themselves.”
The other side of the marshal’s mustache flickered, reminiscent of a cat’s tail. “And to soothe your guilty conscience you’ve determined to take on that role yourself?”
“Lorelei …” Momma reproved. “These are dangerous men.”
Lorelei gripped her mother’s hand. “They are what society and circumstance has made them. Isn’t it our Christian duty to show mercy to those who are less fortunate? And besides, we’ve a harvest coming and no one to bring it in. We could offer them gainful, if temporary, employment.”
“But they attacked you!” Da interjected.
“And I poisoned them … on purpose. I think that makes us even. I could have killed them. Please, Da, you can come with me. Talk to them yourself. If you feel it won’t work, if we simply can’t give them a chance, I’ll accept your decision.”
Momma’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so proud of you, my dear.”
Da cleared his throat. “Marshal, if you could arrange a meeting tomorrow before the Apple Pie Days festivities begin, we’ll be there to speak with these men.”
Lorelei smiled. “Thank you, Da.”
“I’ll see to it,” the marshal said. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “And, Miss Boyd, I look forward to sampling one of your pies again this year. Without any additional ingredients, I hope.”
“We’ll save you a slice, Marshal Day,” Lorelei said.
“Do you need to speak with Mr. Dewey?” Momma asked.
“No, ma’am, I don’t believe so. If he wants to press charges against the men, he can do so when he’s feeling better.”
“I’m going to check on him,” Lorelei said, excusing herself.
Emmett probed the egg-sized lump on the crown of his head with a tentative touch. The swelling was beginning to subside after several applications of ice. His head still throbbed, but he could see straight now and didn’t feel like he was going to lose his breakfast. In fact, he was beginning to feel hungry, which he counted as a good sign.
“You must have a hard head,” Lorelei said from the doorway.
He smiled a crooked smile. “And that’s a good thing. If I didn’t, I might not be here.”
She frowned and crossed the room. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault you got hurt.” She sank onto the ottoman, and he wished she would kiss him again.
“Nonsense. It’s no one’s fault but that tramp who conked me over the head.”
“I need to talk to you about that.”
Emmett heard the discomfort in her voice and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away, and he was glad. “What about them? I thought I heard the marshal arrive. Are they in jail?”
“Yes. And I’ll be going in to visit them tomorrow.”
Emmett raised his brows. “Why?”
“Because I want to hire them, at least during the beet harvest, if Da approves. They need a chance. They need mercy.”
He looked at her. “All right. It’s not as though you need my approval.”
She pulled her hand away. “I wanted to let you know. If you want to press charges against them, that will change my plan.”
“Lorelei, if you can forgive them, I can, too.” He squeezed her fingers, and she offered him a smile.
“I need to get back to baking if I’m to have all those pies done in time for the contest tomorrow.”
“And for Jimmy. Don’t forget to save a slice for Jimmy.”
“I won’t. Do you think you’ll be well enough to attend?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“All right, then,” she said, rising to leave. She paused at the door. “Why pie number twenty-three? Why did you pick that one?”
He offered her an easy smile. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, after the contest.”
She left the room, and he sank back into the pillows. In the morning he would wire his mother and tell her he’d finally found the woman he wanted to marry. He’d build her a house on Otto’s land and let her grow every variety of apple tree she could find.