Hannah walked back and forth across Willie’s room, her black silk dress rustling with every step and her boots clicking on the plank floor. She stopped and tugged at the scratchy crepe collar. This was her best dress and she hated it. Jacob had purchased it for her when her father had passed five years ago, and had spent more on it than he had on all her other clothes combined. Scowling, she continued her pacing. He hadn’t wanted her to show up at her father’s funeral looking like a poor relation, so he’d parted with the money for the dress. Now she’d have to wear the damn thing for the next year.
She mopped her face with a black-edged handkerchief. Between the stench of mothballs emanating from the dress and the heat, she felt faint. She had to have some air and strode to the window.
“Hannah, you can’t,” Fannie called from across the room.
“I can’t breathe,” Hannah replied, pulling back the curtains and rolling up the shade. She grasped the window and threw it open. Fresh air blew into the room and Hannah closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. When she opened them, she noticed the men standing in the shade of the old oak tree.
Clarence Schwab looked up and saw Hannah. Disdain crossed his face.
Fannie tugged her away from the window, then pulled down the shade. “You have to keep them closed out of respect for Jacob,” she chided. After leading her to a chair in the corner, she motioned for her to sit down. “This pacing isn’t doing you any good.”
Hannah sank into the chair and bowed her head. “This inquest is taking hours. It’s obvious what killed Jacob—a knife.”
Fannie knelt next to the chair and placed a hand on Hannah’s knee. “But they need to learn the events that led up to his death.”
Hannah’s head shot up. “I don’t like them questioning Willie.”
“They must. Willie was in the house last night, too.”
“He’s only a child.”
“But he might have heard something.” Fannie patted her knee and rose. “Once you’re finished testifying, they’ll return him to you.”
“And until then,” Hannah sniffed, “Grace Rosenthal is with him. She’s as harsh as her daughter.”
“Willie’s fine, Hannah. You mustn’t worry.”
Hannah stood and crossed to Willie’s dresser. She picked up the music box that her sister, Ida, had sent him for Christmas and ran her hand over the smooth finish. Mindful of Sheriff Winter’s warning not to discuss the investigation, and with Abe Engel standing in the hallway guarding the door, Hannah lowered her voice.
“What do you think about the men who Charles Walker,” she said, referring to the county attorney, “picked to serve on the jury?”
Fannie shot a look over her shoulder at the door, then crossed to Hannah. “Harry Rosenthal will use it to show how important he is,” Fannie whispered, “but Martin and Walter Bauer will keep him in line. They’ll want to find the truth.”
“I’ve already told them the truth,” Hannah cried.
“Shh,” Fannie said, placing a finger on her lips, “Abe might hear you.”
“But—”
A knock on the door cut her off.
“They’re ready for you now, Mrs. Krause,” Abe called from the hallway.
Hannah carefully placed the music box back on the dresser, smoothed her skirt, and left the room.
With the drapes and blinds drawn, the light in the dining room was subdued and shadows clung to the corners, but Hannah saw each of the men gathered around the table clearly. Martin, Walter, and Harry sat in a row with Dr. Morgan at the end. Martin and Walter both leaned forward with their arms resting on the table. Their faces wore the same somber and determined expression.
Harry leaned back in his chair with arms folded over his large stomach. His expression was anything but somber. As he watched Hannah, his eyes glinted with skepticism and he appeared ready to dismiss whatever she had to say.
Hannah looked down at her hands clutched tightly in her lap and prayed for this to be over.
She looked up at Charles Walker, standing in front of her, and steeled herself for his questioning. Slowly and calmly, she repeated her movements of the previous night.
Yes, they’d had supper, then Joseph and his father had spent the evening talking while she straightened the kitchen and prepared to do the baking. Yes, she’d retired to bed after Jacob. Yes, she’d gone to Willie’s room. No, she hadn’t noticed anything unusual on her way up the stairs. Yes, she’d spent time with Willie then returned to the kitchen. Yes, the back door had been open. No, nothing had been missing.
“And it was at that time you discovered Mr. Krause?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“I really don’t remember—I think I screamed, then Willie came running into the room.”
The attorney picked up a sheaf of papers lying on the table and glanced at them. “Your stepson, Joseph Krause, testified that he found you sitting in the kitchen.”
“Yes—yes,” Hannah stammered, trying to remember how she and Willie came to be in the kitchen. “I didn’t want Willie to see his father.”
“After Joseph arrived, you sent Willie upstairs and Joseph for Sheriff Winter?”
She nodded and inhaled deeply. Thank God this was about over.
“Were you aware of Mr. Krause’s disagreement with Peter Ziegler?” he asked, catching her off guard.
“Ah no.”
“So you weren’t aware that Mr. Ziegler questioned your husband’s friendship with his widowed sister, Minnie Voigt?”
“What!” Hannah’s mouth dropped in shock. “Are you implying—”
“I’m not implying anything, Mrs. Krause,” he said hastily as he looked at the paper again. “Did you and Mr. Krause ever have disagreements?”
A sudden movement from the far corner of the dining room caught Hannah’s attention as Reverend Green stepped out. Her attention darted to Charles Walker, then back to Reverend Green.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mrs. Krause,” the county attorney insisted. “Did you and your husband have problems?”
“Occasionally,” she replied in a low voice.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Krause. I didn’t hear you.”
Hannah lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“Did he ever strike you?”
“Yes.”
“Willie? Did he ever strike Willie?”
“No.”
“So you were the one who bore the brunt of your husband’s temper . . .” He paused. “Did you ever fear for your life?”
She stared at the attorney defiantly. “No, Jacob knew he’d be punished if he killed me.”
“But he wouldn’t be punished for striking you?”
“Not unless I made a fuss.” Her attention traveled to Reverend Green. “And I was encouraged not to do that.”
He scratched his head. “Let me understand your situation, Mrs. Krause. You willingly accepted your husband’s treatment?”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” she replied quietly.
At her words, the attorney’s attention stole to the knife lying on the table in front of Walter. His thoughts were as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud.
“I—I—” Hannah gasped.
“Did you know of his plan to divorce you?”
Joseph had told them about his father’s intent. Hannah fought to regain her composure. She turned to Dr. Morgan. “May I please have a glass of water?”
Reverend Green hurried from the room and returned a moment later. He handed her the glass, and she took it without meeting his eyes. She took several sips, then placed the glass on a small table next to her chair before returning her attention to the county attorney.
“I never discussed divorce with my husband.” She met his stare head-on. “The first I heard of it was today, and I only have my stepson’s word that it was something my husband was considering.” She looked pointedly at the knife. “I’ve never seen that knife before and I did not kill my husband,” she declared firmly.
“You want us to assume that your stepson might be mistaken concerning your husband’s plans?” Charles Walker lifted an eyebrow. “Might we, also, assume that he was mistaken,” he said and glanced down at the paper, “when you made the statement—I quote—‘then I’m glad he’s dead’? ”