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Dear Diary,
Judge Foster is a most vexing man. His good looks are no match for his manners, though I hate to admit that the rise of color in his cheeks makes my heart flutter. I hope it will not be the undoing of me.
Mrs. Livingston's was lovely, just as the judge had promised it would be. There were several other boarders, an assortment of men and women, old and young. Harriet didn't have much chance to speak with them but she was comforted in knowing that she was not alone in such a large house.
Harriet had been most taken aback by the judge's behavior yesterday. She could not begin to fathom what that business with the sheriff had been about; she only knew that it had colored his cheeks and caused a thin film of sweat to descend upon his brow.
It had looked good on him.
Judge Foster appeared to be one of those men who looked remarkably handsome the more his temper rose. Her own Joseph had been similar. That was not to say she wanted to upset him, only that his temper was not a particular turn off for her the way it might be for other women.
Mrs. Livingston, a good-natured woman of sixty with two grown children who had moved away long ago, ran the house as though each guest were a member of her family. After breakfast, Harriet waited in the parlor for the judge to come and inform her of his decision but nine o' clock surfaced and still, he had not shown himself.
"Can you tell me how to get to the Bowman house?" she asked Mrs. Livingston, who gave her an encouraging smile along with directions. It turned out the house was just on the other side of the boarding house; you could see it from the front lawn if you strained enough. She began walking the path leading up to her sister's home, and her breath caught in her chest as the house came into view. Her sister had done well for herself.
Sarah's home was magnificent. A large brick structure that held two floors and at least a dozen rooms. The woods that surrounded the home gave it an air of privacy even though it was just off the main street that ran through town. A long white path set for a carriage ran the length of the lawn, from the main street to the home itself. A wide wraparound porch pulled it all together. Two small children were playing not far from it.
Sarah was sitting on the porch now. She waved at Harriet's approach, her face lighting up. It had been many months since Sarah had snuck out of their home in the middle of the night to become a mail order bride. Harriet held Issie carefully between them as the two sisters embraced.
"You look well," Harriet said to her eldest sister as they sat down to tea.
"As do you." They sat together in silence a moment, so much to say and yet not finding the words. It was overwhelming being here.
"I could hardly comprehend your letter when I got it," Sarah said. "Do you really intend to marry Judge Foster?"
"I do," she said, "unless he has changed his mind."
"Why would he do that?"
Harriet looked toward Issie, who had been settled into an old bassinet that had been taken out of storage. "I did not tell him about Issie before my arrival."
Sarah's eyes widened. "Well, that was foolish of you." It wasn't meant as an insult, just an elder sister chastising her younger one for being silly.
"I know," Harriet said. "I fear Judge Foster will not have me now. He is to give me his decision today. I thought I would have it by now. He seems a very no-nonsense type."
"Indeed, he is."
"Do you know him well?" Harriet asked.
"Well enough." Sarah grimaced. Something in her face gave Harriet pause.
"Do you not like him?"
Sarah tilted her head to the side. Her hair was lighter than Harriet's own. She was twenty-seven now, her birthday having passed not long ago. Harriet could still remember her at sixteen, bossing her and Henry around. Henry often liked to say that Sarah should boss Harriet about but leave him be, as he was a boy and the older twin by a full two minutes.
"It is hard to like someone who wants to see your sister's husband hanged," Sarah finally replied.
Harriet's tea cup began to rattle. "Hanged? What do you mean? Why would the judge wish to see your husband hanged?"
Sarah shook her head. "Not mine. Carrie's."
Something in Harriet's mind clicked. "Oh, no... yesterday the judge became quite riled with the sheriff and his deputy over a matter I did not fully comprehend. I was paying so little attention that the name he used did not sink in."
"What name?"
"Fred Connor. That is Carrie's husband, is it not? The one who saved her from the stagecoach robbers?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes, although Fred was one of those robbers himself when it all started but that no longer matters. He has retired his ways. What did the judge say of Fred?"
"Only that he wished the deputy to go to Kansas City and search for him. And Carrie."
"Good, then they should not be found."
Harriet's breath stuttered. "Do you mean to say that you know where they are?"
"Not precisely, no. Carrie would not tell me for my own protection. But I have a general idea."
"Say nothing to me about it," Harriet said, twirling her hair. "Have you any chocolate?"
"I'm afraid not," Sarah replied. She took a breath. "I'm sorry to cause you trouble but you should know the truth of Judge Foster before you marry him."
"What truth?"
"He will see Fred hanged though he is an innocent man. He is convinced it was him who killed his wife, though we know that to be untrue."
"How do you know that?"
"Because Fred saved my life and that of my husband's. He is not a killer."
"What of the rest that Carrie wrote me? The thieving and such."
"That, I'm afraid, is all factual. But murder? Never." She offered more tea but Harriet declined. "The judge will not be satisfied with just Fred's neck, however."
Her heart plummeted to her stomach. "What do you mean?" she breathed.
"He seeks Carrie as well."
Harriet dropped the teacup. It shattered into a dozen pieces. "Oh, my word. He wants to hang our sister?"
"No," Sarah said, quickly kneeling to clean up the mess. Harriet tried to help and Sarah waved her off. "Only to see her stand trial for helping Fred escape his cell."
"When Carrie wrote me about that," said Harriet, still shaking, "I thought it was one of her stories. She always did like to exaggerate the truth of a matter."
"I fear it is no exaggeration. She is guilty of the crime but, in her defense, Fred would have died had she not intervened."
Harriet nodded, attempting to make sense of it all.
"Where is your husband now?" Harriet asked.
"At the bank. He shall be home for supper." Sarah looked out toward her stepchildren and smiled. Her hand absentmindedly went to her belly and began to stroke it.
Harriet gasped.
"You are with child!" she cried, delight playing at her lips.
Sarah turned her eyes to her and nodded, her face bright.
"I have only just found out this last week. It's still early. Carrie will beat me with hers."
Harriet smiled. "Yes, she wrote to tell me of the matter. She has written surprisingly often for someone in hiding, and I see now that she has left out a great many details, such as this escape you've mentioned. I knew only that her husband was an outlaw, not that she was one as well."
They sat in silence a moment, watching Emma and David, who were seven and five, play together. The girl kept trying to get him play Graces but the boy refused, saying it was a girl's game. Harriet looked to Issie. Soon she would be playing like that, too.
"I should get back," Harriet said, rising. "Judge Foster may wish to see me, and we have much to discuss."
Harriet had begun to doubt their arrangement the second Sarah informed her the judge wanted Carrie in jail. Even if he wanted to marry her, how could she marry a man who had it in for her youngest sister? Carrie was only nineteen... and with child. She did not belong in jail.
The sisters said goodbye and Harriet strolled slowly back to Mrs. Livingston's. As she came around a massive pine tree, she saw Judge Foster sitting out on the porch. He stood as she approached.
"Good day," he said.
"Good day. I had thought you'd come earlier."
"Forgive me, I was called briefly to the courthouse on business." He descended the three steps from the porch and approached Harriet with a soft smile on his face. She found it irritating. In fact, just looking at him made her irritated. She did not care how charming his smile was or how kissable those lips might be, she could not abide the fact that he meant to jail her sister.
"I have come to a decision regarding our marriage," he told her, still smiling.
"Oh?" she asked, thinking the judge a fool for not being able to tell she was upset. She bounced Issie in her arms.
"Yes, we will proceed as planned. You are right, one more child will not matter so much, especially since you'll be caring for them all yourself." His smiled widened, as if he'd just done her the greatest favor in the world.
"Thank you for your kind offer," she said, "but I've come to a decision as well."
"Oh?" he asked, his smile faltering ever so slightly.
"Yes. I shall never marry you, for you are a worse liar than I!"
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