D orothy laid her hat on the bed and then dropped down with a sigh. The walk to and from church had been full of far too much thought. Usually, she sang or recited Scripture on the way, as her father had stopped attending with her when she turned sixteen. Today, she hadn’t been able to get the debt or the note out of her mind. She certainly didn’t feel like singing.
I probably ought to have gone over Scripture as I walked. One of the Psalms would have been better than the thoughts I actually went over in my head.
She lay on her pillow, staring up at the rough ceiling, listening to the sounds of wildlife drifting in through the window. She couldn’t see the scuttle and scurry of the lizards and quail, or the patter of the roadrunner and bunnies, but she knew them by their sound.
Her eyes had begun to close and her mind to drift away, when a voice startled her. She couldn’t be sure who spoke, but the exclamation couldn’t have been anything but human.
She sat upright and listened. No one usually wandered near the shack and her father did not make exclamations as he walked. She thought she could hear a shuffle outside, then froze when the front door clicked.
“Dorothy?”
At the sound of Charles Sinclair’s voice, Dorothy grabbed her hat off the bed and bolted through the window. Her heart pounding, she hurried around the back of the house. As she rushed, she tried to decide whether she ought to stay still or make a run for it. She didn’t have long to make a decision.
“Dorothy! There you are!”
The young woman tripped on her own feet and dropped her hat.
With the smile of a gentleman, Charles Sinclair bent and retrieved it for her, though he didn’t hand it back. “I thought that I’d missed you.”
Dorothy clasped her trembling hands and tried to prepare if the need arose to pull her knife. She had left it in her belt when she lay down on the bed. “M-Mr. Sinclair.”
“Yes. It’s me.” He seemed to notice the knife as well and stared at it rather intently. “Joe is still in the Superstition Mountains, I see.”
“Yes, sir.” How did he know—oh. I told his son.
He smiled again, raising his eyes to her face once more. “Do you know for how long?”
“I couldn’t—couldn’t say for sure. He could be back any moment, really.”
The man nodded. “Where are you headed off to, Dorothy? Could I escort you anywhere?”
Dorothy’s heart pounded harder at the mere thought. “No, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m not going anywhere.”
He watched her, still with a smile, for far too long of a moment. “I’m glad I didn’t miss you. Since Joe isn’t here, I’ll just have to give you the message, my dear.”
She shuddered at the endearment. “Message?”
“Yes. Message.” He inspected the hat carefully. “This is rather old, isn’t it? I seem to have seen it before.”
Dorothy swallowed, hardly clear enough in mind to even pray.
Charles Sinclair looked up. “Did it belong to your mother, by chance?”
Dorothy nodded.
“I thought so.” He still wore that ever present grin. “I seem to remember her wearing it around Goldfield. Ah, that was a long time ago now.”
Dorothy wanted to ask him what message he had for her, but she also feared it.
Of course, his message could be to hurt me or something equally sinister.
He looked up from the hat again. He watched her for another long moment, and it took everything she had not to shudder once again.
“When is your daddy coming back, Dorothy?”
“I—I don’t know. It could be any moment.”
“Or not for a week?”
His tone of voice prompted the young woman to take a step back. She tried to loosen her arms, her hand ready to go for her knife. “It could be any moment, sir.”
He nodded again, still grinning. “Don’t go anywhere, Miss Dorothy. I still haven’t given you my message.”
Dorothy swallowed and nearly choked. “What is your message, sir?”
His eyes grew cold, along with his voice. “Offering the ring as partial payment was a poor attempt. An attempt, but poor. It hardly scratches the surface of your father’s debt. Hardly scratches it at all.”
Dorothy’s heart sank further.
“I want you and your father to meet me in Apache Junction on Saturday. At the Pavilion.”
“You–you want me to come with him? I don’t—”
The man shook his head, cutting her off. “You will come because that’s what I told you to do.” He stepped closer to her, and she quailed. “You are not in a position to argue with me, Miss Dorothy.” He lowered his voice into a more menacing tone than she had yet heard. “I have the power to completely ruin your young life. Don’t make me do it.”
Dorothy’s heart pounded in her ears, and she willed her hands to hide their shaking. Dear Lord, I wish Father would come home. Or that someone else would come out this way. Protect me, I pray Thee.
Charles Sinclair watched her for another long moment, turning the hat around and around in his hands.
Dorothy didn’t move, nor did she dare look away.
The man finally grinned again. “Saturday in Apache Junction. And if your daddy hasn’t returned yet, make certain that you still show up.” He gave her the hat and tipped his own. “I’ll see you then, Miss Dorothy. I’ll see you then.”