A fter her conversation with Walter, Dorothy started at the knock on the door an hour or two later. She almost expected Charles Sinclair to greet her with his diabolical grin, but instead his son stood there, appearing all too serious at the first. He pulled off his hat, then smiled at her.
“Good morning, Miss Dorothy. Is your father in?”
She nodded, stepping to one side. Waiting for the feeling of terror that accompanied every interaction she had with a Sinclair. She puzzled when it never fully hit.
Artie Sinclair watched her father from just inside the doorway for a moment, as the older man chipped away at his woodwork. Then he turned, looking down at Dorothy. “How are you doing?”
He spoke in a low voice that she doubted her father even heard, though he hadn’t looked up at Artie’s entrance either.
“I-I am well, sir.”
He continued to search her face for several seconds, as if he wanted to know whether she told him the truth. She realized that proper manners would suggest that she ask a question in return.
She took a deep breath. “And you? Have they discovered the whereabouts o-of your father yet?”
He reacted in surprise at her question. “The second posse has not returned yet, so I have no news regarding my father.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
He bowed his head, turning toward her father again. “Mr. Hodges? You met me last night—Arthur Sinclair?”
Dorothy watched her father continue his carving without even a glance upward. “I know who you are.”
Artie pulled one of the chairs near the man’s seat at the table. “Could I ask you about a few things, sir?”
“You can ask, I reckon.” The man nodded slowly at his roadrunner. “That doesn’t mean I have an answer for you.”
Dorothy took her usual seat beside the cold fireplace, though she didn’t pick up any of her work.
“Mr. Hodges, I know that you owe my father money.” Artie laid his hat on the table. “In his absence, no one seems to be aware of just how much you owe him.”
Dorothy hadn’t expected the topic of discussion. I suppose that he would want to get any money owed to his father, even if he’s gone. It seems awfully soon though.
“What’s your question?” Her father sounded gruff.
Artie tapped the brim of his hat. “I wondered if you could tell me how much you owe him.”
“I don’t have it.” The woodcarver sent one sharp glance in Artie’s direction. “I gave the responsibility of that debt over to Dorothy. She’s taking care of it. I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.”
Artie’s eyes flashed, and his tone grew cold. “Your daughter, sir, does not know how much you owe either.”
The older man halted a mere few seconds before turning back to the roadrunner. “I reckon that I don’t know the answer to that either. I never did understand how interest works.”
Artie sighed, tapping the brim of his hat again. “May I ask why you owed him in the first place?”
The other man shrugged. “Dorothy has to eat.”
His daughter froze. He could never have…used it on me? That much gold… Unless he thinks that his trips to the Superstition Mountains will feed me someday, and he used it to fund those.
Artie didn’t appear to like the answer, but he didn’t argue the point. “Mr. Hodges, I heard that you took a trek into the Superstition Mountains last week?”
“Frequent enough occurrence, I reckon.”
Dorothy frowned.
Artie leaned forward. “My father disappeared last week, Mr. Hodges. We fear that he may have been murdered in those mountains.”
If he expected a reaction, he didn’t receive one. Dorothy didn’t know why, but she shuddered.
Artie pressed on. “Have you heard of his disappearance?”
“I reckon that Dorothy has mentioned it.” He didn’t bother to look up.
Dorothy felt certain that she saw Artie’s eyes flash again. She certainly noticed that he clenched his jaw before speaking once more. “Did she also mention that she is a suspect in the sheriff’s investigation?”
“I reckon that she did.”
Artie’s eyes really did flash this time. He straightened in his chair. “Did you happen to see anyone or anything that might shed light on my father’s wellbeing or why he might have gone into the Superstition Mountains last week?”
The older man shook his head methodically, still carving at a steady pace. He held up the roadrunner toward the window, squinting at the beak. “I haven’t a clue, I’m sure.”
Artie lowered his voice. “You’re certain. It is extremely important. No one else seems to know anything either and your daughter could well be benefited if someone knew something.”
“I’m certain.”
Artie stood, retrieving his hat. “If you remember anything, Mr. Hodges, I would appreciate if you would pass it on to myself or Sheriff Wright.”
The woodcarver did not respond. Artie turned to go, nodding for Dorothy to follow him outside.
“Is he always uncommunicative?” He seemed angry, if Dorothy were to judge by his expression and the way he swung his hat, but she heard no sign of it in his voice.
She glanced back at the closed door. “Father doesn’t always say a lot.”
“That is an understatement.” Artie shook his head, flinging his hat against his leg. “What he did say conveyed nothing useful to anyone and very little concern about anything.”
Dorothy spoke low. “Th-that is just how Father is.”
Artie faced her. “His daughter is suspected of murder . One might think that I care more about that fact than he does—and it’s my father who may have been murdered!”
Dorothy winced, but she couldn’t argue in her father’s defense and wouldn’t say anything else.
Artie noticed, sighing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pain you.”
She shook her head. It’s not him who pains me.
He seemed to want to move on. “Have you noticed your mysterious prowler about since yesterday?”
Dorothy looked around them involuntarily. “I-I heard him.” She wished she could forget him.
Artie sighed again. “Are you all right with your father? Are you safe?”
Dorothy couldn’t lie, but neither could she say what she thought he might want to hear. “I’m as safe as I can be.”
Artie clearly showed concern over her reply. He moved to make eye contact with her. “Miss Dorothy, if you need help in any way, please let me know.”
Dorothy had to scramble to know how to respond. “Th-thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”
Why would he want to help me…How would I even ask him? I don’t know where to find him generally.
Artie nodded, putting his hat on his head as he turned to go. Three paces away, he retraced his steps. “Could I pray for you, Miss Dorothy?”
Her eyes must have widened to their fullest extent. “P-pray for me?”
“Would it bother you?”
It depends on who you’re praying to.
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
He doffed the hat once more, bowing his head. Dorothy followed suit, but when he began praying, she couldn’t help glancing toward him a few times. He certainly claimed to be talking to the same God that she did.
The girl never remembered hearing anyone pray for her before. Her father mentioned once or twice that her mother had, but no one else, to her knowledge, had ever thought to do so.
That anyone should pray for her surprised her. That it should be a Sinclair and that he would sound as earnest as he did, left her in something akin to awe.
Artie prayed for her protection, her endurance during the investigation, peace, and that justice would prevail. One portion of his prayer would replay over in her mind afterward.
“Father in Heaven, I ask that You would protect her whether she is alone or with others; whoever has been following her, I ask that if they have any evil intent that You would thwart them and rout their plans. Let her not be afraid but know that You hold her in Your hands.”
When he finished, Dorothy found that she wanted to cry, though she couldn’t have explained why. She raised her head, trying to know what she should say. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”
Artie half smiled. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Dorothy watched him go until he became difficult to spot among the cacti and mesquite. A rabbit hopped by, reminding Dorothy that she ought to pay more attention to her surroundings or go back inside. She chose the latter.
Her father still sat in his place, carving away. He didn’t look up, but he shook his head as Dorothy entered.
“Forward young fellow.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say, Father?” She had heard him but thought she must have missed the context of his statement.
Her father nodded toward the door. “Young Sinclair. Forward fella. I wouldn’t tell him anything whether I had information or not.”
Dorothy sank into her chair, pulling her mending onto her lap. “His father is missing. He must be concerned.”
Joseph Hodges shook his head. “The world is better off without the likes of Charles Sinclair. The world would be better off without the entire Sinclair family as far as I can tell.”
Dorothy couldn’t agree. It seemed wrong. She further couldn’t bring herself to think that the world would particularly be better off without the man whose prayer she had heard a few minutes before and who had stayed with her for hours the day before so that she wouldn’t be alone.
Besides, even if every one of them is a rascal, loving my enemies would not translate into my wishing for their deaths. She looked across the room at her father again and sighed. Of course, Father wouldn’t know that…Or mightn’t be able to do it. One needs Christ to love one’s enemies. It’s awfully difficult without Him.