CHAPTER 27

Libby locked the door of the emporium and pulled the shade.

“Good night, Florence.”

“Good night, Miz Adams. I’ll see you in the morning.” Florence slipped through the storeroom and out the back door.

Libby lifted the ledgers off the counter and took them to her desk in the back room. Usually she spent an hour or so on the books after closing, but not tonight. Trudy had invited her to supper. It seemed her friend’s latest way of coping with Rose’s overbearing personality was to have company to diffuse the conversation. Trudy had offered to hold the meal later than their usual supper hour so that Libby could join them after she closed the store at six.

She went back for the cash box and opened the safe.

Wild pounding on the back door startled her. She shoved the ledgers and cash box into the safe and shut the door then straightened, her heart thumping.

“Libby?”

She exhaled and hurried to let Isabel in. “What is it, dear? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Papa. He’s been in a fight or something, but he won’t tell me what happened.” Isabel’s tears had dried on her blotchy face, and her hair hung all aflutter from her displaced hairpins.

Libby pulled her into the dim storeroom and closed the door. “Come sit down and tell me all about it.”

“I … I didn’t want to bother you, but I didn’t know what else to do. He insulted me. My own father. I can’t bear to stay there, Libby. I just can’t.”

“Oh my dear.” Libby drew her into a gentle embrace and patted the back of her serviceable gray cotton dress.

Isabel sobbed on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have things to do.”

“It’s all right.” Libby considered whether she should tell Isabel of her dinner plans. If she delayed much longer, Trudy would worry and come to check on her. But Ethan was also an invited dinner guest. In his capacity as sheriff, he might be able to suggest a course of action for Isabel. “My dear, please don’t upset yourself so. I’m due at the Dooleys’ for supper, and I’d like you to accompany me. I’m sure Trudy and Hiram won’t mind one more guest, as we’re already planning a party of five.”

Isabel lifted her head. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you could. In fact, I’ll take a quart of milk and some peanut brittle as our contribution.” Libby turned toward the main room of the emporium. “Wait right here while I fetch the items.”

Isabel continued to protest, but Libby prevailed, and a minute later, Isabel’s coiffure repaired, they set out together across the street. Libby carried the small milk can and a box of shells for Trudy’s new pistol, and Isabel brought the box of peanut brittle.

“I shouldn’t have come to you at the dinner hour.”

“Nonsense.” Libby shifted the cool milk can to her other hand. “One must act when the crisis occurs. Now, what do you think really happened?”

“I don’t know, but when I asked questions, Papa became angry and … I cannot call it anything short of abusive.”

Libby tsked and waited for more information.

“I’ve been desolate these past few weeks, I’ll admit. Papa doesn’t seem to pay attention to me anymore. Of course, if I don’t have his meals ready, he notices. But he takes nearly all of his lunches at the Fennel House now. I make breakfast in the morning and supper at night. But half the time he’s late for supper—sometimes very late. And sometimes … sometimes he imbibes. More than he should.” Isabel’s blue eyes with their pale fringe of lashes blinked anxiously.

“There, dear. It’s a rare man who doesn’t do so now and then.” Libby recalled her own Isaac spending the occasional evening at the Spur & Saddle, much to her consternation, but she’d grown used to his habits for lack of a means to change them. “We adapt, don’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose you are right. We do what we must.” Isabel let out a deep sigh. “I should be used to his ways by now, but since Mama died, he’s treated me rather shabbily, I think. Tonight he … he commented on my single state and hinted that no man would ever look twice at me.”

Libby shook her head, new animosity toward Cyrus rising in her breast. “It’s unconscionable, my dear.” To think it was one thing, she told herself, but for a father to say as much to his daughter, especially a daughter who had shown her diligence and devotion, kindled her ire. More than ever, she was glad she had rebuffed Cyrus’s advances in the months following her husband’s death. Isabel need never learn about that. “Does he know you have fixed your affections on a certain man?”

“Oh no! If he knew that, I expect he would ridicule me even more and tell me how unsuitable I am for the gentleman.”

“You know that’s not true. You would make any man a good wife.”

Isabel pinched up her features and shook her head. “I would try if given the chance, but that’s his point—I shall never have a chance unless a blind man comes to town.”

Libby’s heart wrenched. While not a beauty by any means, Isabel could not be called ugly either. Many women with fewer physical charms had found husbands. Still, she had a hard time picturing Isabel happily married to the rough blacksmith. Surely the teacher needed the companionship of a more educated man. Of course, that sort of man was rare in Fergus. They reached the path that led around to the back of the Dooleys’ house, and Libby led her to the kitchen door.

She prepared to apologize to Trudy for being late but caught her breath when Hiram responded to her knock. He’d forsaken his usual flannel and wore a fresh cambric dress shirt, as he did on Sundays. His damp hair lay parted neatly to the side, and he met her gaze squarely, something he’d had trouble doing a few months ago. His frank smile sent a flutter through her stomach.

“Oh. Good evening, Hiram.”

He nodded. “Hello. Glad you could come.” His gaze slid past her to Isabel. “Evening, Miss Fennel.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Libby said quickly. “I brought another guest without asking the hosts’ permission.”

“That’s fine. Come on in, ladies.” Hiram swung the door wide and called over his shoulder, “Can we throw another plate on, Trudy?”

His sister came toward them and held her hands out to Isabel. “Of course. Welcome, Isabel.”

“I apologize for barging in with Libby. If it’s too much—”

“Don’t be silly. We’re happy to see you.”

“Thank you. Oh—” Isabel held out the box of peanut brittle. “Compliments of Mrs. Adams.”

“I brought some milk, too,” Libby said.

“Thank you very much.”

“I’ll take it to the root cellar.” Hiram took the can from Libby’s hands and slid out the back door.

Ethan leaned against the far wall, obviously feeling at home. He straightened and nodded at the newcomers.

Libby smiled at him. “Hello, Ethan.”

“Evening, Libby. Good to see you again. Howdy, Miss Fennel.”

“Oh please, it’s Isabel.” Her face again flushed, but she looked less haggard than she had on her arrival at the emporium.

“This is for you,” Libby said, handing the ammunition to Trudy. “For your new gun.”

“Oh thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Trudy kissed her cheek then scurried about, fetching an extra plate and cup from the cupboard and silverware from the sideboard.

“Where’s Rose this evening?” Libby asked.

Trudy shrugged and laid the flatware on the table. “She’s gone out to eat with a gentleman.”

“Indeed?” Libby glanced at Isabel and saw that her face had paled. Perhaps she feared Rose had snared the man she had her heart set on. It would be a shame if Griffin entangled himself with Mrs. Caplinger.

“Yes, we were a bit surprised.” Trudy turned to the stove, her long, straw-colored braid swinging out behind her.

“Not Dr. Kincaid?” Libby hazarded. “Did Saturday’s picnic take?”

Ethan chuckled. “No, she went to eat with someone else who was at the picnic.”

Trudy opened the oven. As Hiram came through the back door, she lifted out a pan that held a plump, roasted chicken. “I never would have thought she’d patronize the Spur & Saddle.”

Hiram said, “Ha. She doesn’t seem to object when some man is paying for her dinner.”

Trudy’s brow furrowed. “There, now. Let’s not fuss about Rose. She’s an adult, and she can decide whom she wants to eat with and where.”

Libby’s curiosity prickled, but her manners prevailed. Instead of inquiring outright for the name of Rose’s escort, she asked, “How can I help you, Trudy?”

“I think we’re ready. Just bring that dish of squash over, would you?”

Libby found the steaming dish on the back of the cookstove and took it to the table.

“Here, Isabel. You sit next to me,” Trudy said. “It’s lovely to have you in town this evening.”

Isabel looked bleakly at Libby. In the flurry of being seated, Libby had let go the reminder of Isabel’s woes—especially when Hiram pulled out a chair for her kitty-corner from his own. But as soon as Ethan had asked the blessing, she deemed it time to explain her guest’s presence.

Hiram picked up the fork and carving knife and sliced a piece from the chicken’s breast. “Miss Fennel?”

Isabel’s hands shook as she held her plate out toward the platter.

“Trudy, I insisted that Isabel come with me,” Libby said, “because I thought it was time she made known her concerns about her father—at least to Ethan, and I know you and Hiram will be discreet if she consents to tell you, too.”

“Of course. You’re among friends here, Isabel.” Trudy shot a look at her brother, and he nodded gravely.

Isabel set her plate down before her and stared at the chicken. “I … I don’t want to burden anyone. You’ve all been kind to me….”

Libby reached over and squeezed her hand. “My dear, you’ve undergone a long period of stress and ill treatment. I think the sheriff should know.”

Isabel caught her breath and flicked a glance at Ethan then stared at her plate again. Her eyes shone with tears.

Ethan leaned forward and spoke softly. “Miss Fennel, you may speak to me as a friend or as an officer of the law, whichever you prefer. Whatever you say will not go beyond these walls. Unless, of course, it bears on a crime. In that case, I can’t promise.”

She nodded, and a single tear fell onto the linen napkin in her lap. “It’s all so complicated and … sordid.”

Trudy caught Libby’s gaze, her eyes wide with alarm. Libby’s lips twitched in a rueful smile. She kept her hold on Isabel’s hand until the young woman began speaking again.

“My father … ever since Mama died, he’s acted cold and aloof toward me. He’s grieving, of course, and I overlooked much, knowing that.”

Trudy made a sympathetic sound in her throat.

Isabel hauled in a breath. “It’s been worse this spring, though. Since my Uncle Kenton came the first time.”

“Your uncle?” Trudy asked. “You mean Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“I first saw him at the box social. Ethan said he was a relative of yours.”

Isabel nodded her assent. “I hadn’t known he existed, you see, until a few weeks ago.”

Everyone was silent for a long moment. At last Libby said, “Isabel told me this some time ago, but I felt it was best to keep it to myself. This Kenton Smith showed up out of nowhere, claiming to be her mother’s brother, and Cyrus accepted him as such. Isabel, however, was stunned, and her father broke the news to her that they’d never told her about him because he has a criminal past.”

Trudy nodded slowly, staring at Libby, then switched her gaze to Ethan.

“I met him Saturday,” the sheriff said. “Cyrus introduced him as his brother-in-law, and I knew he’d let Smith settle in at the old Martin ranch. But I didn’t know he’d been in prison. May I ask what for?”

Isabel stared at him blankly. “I don’t know. Papa wouldn’t tell me. He wouldn’t tell me anything. And Uncle Kenton went away, and I didn’t know where he’d gone. You see, Papa didn’t tell me he was out at the ranch either. He let me think Uncle Kenton had left the valley. And I wondered …” She faltered and glanced at Libby. “Anyway, he came again last week. I … he …”

Libby patted her shoulder. “There, dear, it’s all right. You can tell the sheriff.”

“He and Papa had words. And Uncle Kenton left again. I didn’t see him again until the box social.”

Ethan nodded and rubbed his chin. “Hiram and I saw him again briefly on Sunday afternoon. We rode out to tell Wilfred Sterling he can’t claim Milzie Peart’s estate.”

“Oh?” Libby asked. “You got conclusive news?”

“Seems so to me. I telegraphed the territorial governor’s office in Boise after I got the letter from Frank’s sister. She’s married but never had any children. And there was one more Peart sister, but she died before she was twenty. Mrs. Cochran, who wrote the letter, said that despite what this cowpoke Sterling told me, Frank didn’t have any nephews.”

“How about that.” Libby nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes. Wilfred Sterling wasn’t too happy. He still claims there’s been a mistake, but I let him know I’d be watching to make sure no one tries to squat on the land or anything like that.”

“I wonder how he came to work for my uncle,” Isabel said.

“So do I.” Ethan helped himself to one of Trudy’s icicle pickles. “And now Mr. Smith is courting Mrs. Caplinger.”

“What?” Isabel stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “I guess we didn’t mention it. The man Rose is dining with tonight is your uncle.”