Three

For at least eight miles Caleb had been riding along Hollow Creek. According to the deed James had given him, the house should be right around here. Trees, tall grasses, and a rushing creek caught his eye, but there was no sign of human life.

Normally the beautiful country full of rolling hills, tree-lined creek bottoms, and swaying grasses would be a welcome change from town life. Today was different. He felt little pleasure in his ride and struggled to see beauty in the surroundings. Even the warm sun on his back did little to soothe his soul. Knowing a dead man who needed burial days ago awaited him left little room for tranquility. He felt only anxiety about what he would find—if he could ever find the home. It didn’t help that yesterday he’d ridden from dawn until dusk taking a rowdy teenager to the county courthouse. And here he was back in the saddle again.

George Oliver, the deed said, paid in full eight years ago. But where was the house? Em said she’d lived there too. There ought to be signs of life by now. Frustrated, he urged Amos on.

Caleb reasoned with himself as he rode, perplexed by the mystery of it all. If George had been living there for eight years, Em couldn’t be his wife, not unless he’d married her later. She said she had worked for him but had received no wages. How did the two end up together? Caleb loved and hated mysteries. Loved solving them, hated being stumped by them.

Trodden grass caught his eye. Looking closer, he knew he’d arrived—a well-worn path led from the creek toward the clearing. Slowing Amos, he turned cautiously up the narrow trail. His heart beat wildly inside his chest, and he could hear it thudding, pulsing through him. He had to remind himself that despite its rhythmic thumping, he alone could hear it.

After jumping off Amos, he walked the path. He took each step slowly, easing his foot down as gently as possible. Looking down at his feet to check his footing, he saw stains upon the grass. Blood.

Up ahead he caught sight of a charred dugout. Early settlers lived in dugouts, usually only for a season until they could get a house built but sometimes longer. He hadn’t seen too many of them around anymore. The few he’d seen were not used as homes. A barn or a chicken coop perhaps, but no one he knew lived in a dugout.

Off to the side of the primitive home stood a small, dilapidated barn. It leaned heavily to one side like an old man bent from age. A sudden gust of wind would surely knock the bedraggled building off its feet. He decided to check it out first. With his rifle tight against his shoulder, he stepped inside only to be greeted by the vile smell of rotting animal dung and something dead. Looking behind a half wall, he saw the remains of a small calf. Caleb stepped back quickly at the site of vermin crawling across the corpse.

Covering his face, he took a few gulps of air and then looked over the rest of the building. There were no signs of any other animals. Nothing remarkable. Tools were few, feed was scarce, and the walls were so full of gaping holes he doubted the structure had provided any real shelter to the animals it had housed.

He left the barn and headed for the dugout. It was collapsing on itself. Blackened earth lay in mounds all around it. The air carried the smell of burned wood—the pathetic dugout had been the victim of a fire.

Caleb approached cautiously, prepared to meet anyone who lurked about. He entered the dugout and no villains pounced on him, but the darkness did assault him. He waited while his eyes adjusted, giving them time to find what light they could. The single room had only one small window. Even after several minutes, his eyes still had trouble determining what the room held. Using his hands to aid his eyes, he felt around the tiny space. A couple steps in and he was already touching the back wall of the small room.

Remnants of furniture were all the fire had left. There had been a table and at least a few dishes, which lay broken on the floor next to the remaining table leg. On the other side of the room he made out what was left of a fire pit cut into the earth.

Caleb kicked his booted foot hard into the wall. It wasn’t right—the pieces were supposed to come together. He was supposed to be able to make sense of it all, but there were no real clues. There was blood on the grass, more and more of it as he walked and explored. A tragedy had happened here. The blood and charred wood testified of it.

Caleb stepped away from the dugout, grateful for the light from the afternoon sun, but even it could not shake the darkness he felt inside. He began walking the property, attempting to regain control of his temper. Convinced he was alone, he stormed about upright and clumsily.

This was his job, and he’d always done it well. Calming his racing heart, he slowed down and let his eyes wander the property looking for anything he’d missed.

A bird caught his eye. It flew through the trees, black wings spread wide. Gliding among the branches. Graceful. Serene. Caleb’s eyes followed the bird until he caught sight of a far-less-enchanting scene. A crawling sensation worked up his spine, followed by an involuntary shiver.

George.

At least he suspected it was George. High in an old oak tree, a blood-stained man was hanging, swaying slightly in the breeze. Bile rose in Caleb’s throat, threatening to escape. He spit the putrid taste from his mouth and instructed himself to stay in control.

Everyone dies, he reminded himself. He’d seen death before. He didn’t like it, but he’d seen it and he’d taken care of it. Today would be no different.

Up the tree he crawled, armed with a knife to cut the man down and a pistol in case whoever had the audacity to do this returned. Getting to George was no easy task—the tree branches weaved around one another, braided in the most inconvenient way. Whoever had taken the time to do this vile act was trying to accomplish something or send a powerful message. Or was it a threat? Caleb didn’t know what the men were trying to say, but what he read was, This isn’t over.

Once he got George cut down from the tree, Caleb went to work digging a grave. He picked a spot close by but not in the way of the paths. Minutes became hours before he had a hole large and deep enough to house the man’s body. Caleb’s muscles were burning, sweat dripped from his forehead. The work of digging a grave was no easy task. He found a meager amount of humor picturing that scrawny girl digging. She’d thought she could do it. Maybe she could have, but he had trouble believing it.

Before throwing dirt on the body, he took a thorough look at it. No pleasure came from it—in fact, the sight of death always left him with a sinking feeling. But being able to tell Em what the man looked like would confirm that it was George. He had gray hair and green eyes. A thick scar ran under his jaw; it was old and had mended itself poorly. He looked to be in his fifties, maybe even sixties, and just like Em had said, multiple bullet wounds dotted his chest. In the man’s pockets Caleb found nothing but a piece of tobacco. Unable to find anything else on the man, Caleb laid him to rest, covering him in both dirt and rocks to keep the animals away. Then he marked the grave so Em could return and mourn if she so desired. The burial had taken longer than Caleb had wanted, but it needed doing and he’d done it.

Down by the creek he bent low and splashed water on his face and hands. He scrubbed them hoping to wash away the scent of death. Then he turned back and looked at the house and the land. Whoever had killed George and shot Em might know she was still alive. This was all more serious than he’d thought—his town, his people could be in trouble.

He left the creek and walked back in the house hoping he’d missed a clue, but there was nothing. Not one blasted thing. He always found something, usually something everyone else had overlooked. “That sheriff can solve puzzles no one else can,” the men around town would say. The pieces just had a way of coming together for him. Today was different. Lots of pieces, but no way to attach them. There had to be something. Something he’d missed.

Back in the barn, he spotted a small loft and crawled up into it. Mindful of its bent frame, he proceeded slowly. A well-worn blanket and folded nightshirt sat on the dusty floor. He grabbed the nightshirt, stuffing it into his pack. Two people had lived on this piece of land for years, so there had to be more.

A bit of straw lay in a mound near the loft’s wall. Brushing at the straw, he searched through it and discovered a pile of sticks. He picked them up and realized they were sticks, but they were no ordinary ones. Little twigs wound around one another in the shape of little people. He had found so little worth taking back and had room for these, so he put them in his pack with the dirty nightshirt. Hoping to find something else, some clue in the hay, he moved it all around, sifting through it bit by bit, but there was nothing else.

Unsure where to look or what he was looking for, Caleb began walking the property for the spot Em had mentioned—the place George would go when he returned from his trips. He searched for hours but found only trees and grass, rocks and shrubs. The sun was creeping low on the horizon and he knew he had to either camp for the night or head back. Reluctantly, he mounted Amos. A fresh grave, a tattered nightshirt, and a bundle of sticks. That was all he had to show for his day.

“Let’s go, Amos,” he said as he coaxed the horse away from the property.

“Uh . . . hello . . . Eliza,” Caleb said. “I’m sorry to come by so late. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I . . . I’ve come to see Em. Is she around?” Caleb leaned against the door frame, watching the light from the oil lamp dance across Eliza’s face.

“Of course she is. She doesn’t leave the house. But why must you speak to her at this hour?” Eliza drew her lips into a tight line. “Nothing has changed since you saw her last except that she has finally left her sickbed and taken a bath.”

“I didn’t come to check on her health. I’ve been out to her place and need to ask her some questions. It’s important, too important to wait.”

Footsteps sounded from inside the house, growing louder as someone approached the open door.

“Eliza! I told you not to open the door for anyone. Not while Em is here and the town’s not safe.” Abigail gave a gentle rebuke.

“Oh, Mama, I’m not a child. Besides, it’s the sheriff. We’ve never been safer.” Eliza’s voice carried no hint of remorse.

Abigail shook her head but said no more against her daughter.

“Ma’am, I’ve come to see Em. I’m sorry to come at such a late hour.” Caleb questioned his own impatience. Perhaps he should have waited until morning.

“You’re always welcome regardless of the hour. We just want to be cautious. You must understand that,” Abigail said from inside.

“Your mother’s right,” Caleb said to Eliza. “Until this is settled, you can’t be too careful.”

Eliza laughed. “I knew it was you or I never would have opened the door.”

“Please, come in. I’ll get Em for you.” Abigail gestured inside.

Eliza reached for his arm and led him into the house. She continued holding his arm as he stood waiting for Em.

“Are you going to come to the social? I have a new dress I’m saving to wear. You really must see it,” Eliza said.

“A new dress? Well, now, I wouldn’t miss that. Better save me a dance or two so I can see how it looks spinning around the dance floor.”

“I’ll do my best, but in this dress I’m sure to be noticed a little more than normal.” Eliza batted her eyes at him. She knew how to get attention in any dress. “But if you ask real nice, I’ll tell the other boys I’ve promised you a dance.”

“I haven’t been to a social yet where you haven’t had a whole string of men waiting to lead you onto the dance floor. Lucky I’m seeing you now before I have to stand in line.”

“They’re all just the boys I grew up with. Dancing with you is much more exciting.” She squeezed his arm. “You are always my favorite partner.”

“My mama would be happy to hear it. She was always telling me that someday I’d be glad I knew how to dance. I’d be honored to dance with you at the coming social.”

“I’ll tell all the other boys you asked me before the dance even started. They will be green with envy. It’ll be such fun. Find me early though. I can’t promise to save you every dance, and I hate to be stuck sitting out because you haven’t found me.”

He smiled down at her. “I’ll find you first thing.” He certainly hadn’t come to the house expecting this piece of luck. “I’ll be counting down the days.”

Abigail returned, her eyes drifting to the arm Eliza still had linked through the sheriff’s. “Eliza, why haven’t you asked our guest to sit?”

“Sorry, Mama. We just got carried away talking about the coming social. Do sit down, Sheriff.”

“Em has been retiring early. Her strength is slowly coming back. I woke her and she’ll be down in just a moment.” Abigail smoothed her skirt as she sat.

“I’m sorry you had to wake her. I didn’t mean to cause a problem.” He shifted from side to side. “Where’s Abraham?”

“He received a new shipment late in the afternoon and wanted to have the shelves stocked before he opens in the morning. It was a big order. A bit of everything. He is always worried someone will need something and he won’t have it. I expect him to be along shortly.”

“He works too hard. I hope he at least knows we are all grateful that he does carry a bit of everything.” Caleb fiddled with the band on his hat. “If he’s not back when I finish here, I’ll stop off at the store and see if I can give him a hand.”

“That’s very kind of you. He so often does more heavy lifting than he should.” A fog of sadness passed across the good woman’s face. “If only the boys were here to help.”

A door creaked above them. Abigail rose. “I’ll help her down the stairs. I worry so about her falling and reinjuring herself. The dear girl is so frail. It just breaks my heart thinking of the life she must have led.”

Abigail looked worn and tired. Caleb stood quickly. “Allow me,” he said and then proceeded to the stairs without waiting for a response.

Em stood at the top of the stairs about to descend.

“Hold up, Em. I’m here to give you a hand. Hasn’t even been a week yet since you were hurt.” In three giant steps Caleb was up the stairs and at her side. Holding her arm, he could think nothing but how fragile it was—just skin and bones, like a delicate bird. His hands were so large, so strong. He’d dug a grave and felt little effect from it. How different he was from her. Ever so carefully, he held her arm as he guided her down the stairs.

“Thank you, Sheriff. I’m certain I could manage fine, but Abigail worries, and I hate to cause her any grief. She’s been so kind to me.” Her arms remained thin and weak, but her voice was stronger than before.

At the bottom of the stairs Em turned to face him. She was wearing a dress he presumed was one of Eliza’s. Deep blue with little white flowers. The fabric hung on her. She lacked the comely curves of Eliza. Her hair was braided and looked different, not as dull as before. He could tell from its gleam that she had washed the layers of dirt from it. Good feminine soap had left a trace of its flowery scent with her. Still the same girl but improved.

“I was out at your place today. I know it’s late, but I think we should talk.”

“All right. I’ll tell you what I can, but like I said before, there isn’t much to tell.”

Abigail and Eliza approached.

“Would you two like to sit at the dining table? Come this way. It’ll be quieter in there, and I’ll bring another lamp. We’ll let you two talk. Eliza can help me in the other room with my yarn.”

Once seated, Caleb was ready for some answers. It wasn’t every day that he found an old man hanging in a tree. The horror of finding him there came back to him. The revulsion he’d felt only spurred his need for answers.

“Like I said, I was out at your place. Took me the whole morning to find it. I did though. The dugout was just a charcoaled ruin. I searched inside and found nothing but an old table leg and a few bits of broken dishes,” he said, his voice rising. “You lived there. You must know something about all of this.” He brought his fist down hard on the table. “They burned the place and you act like you know nothing. You’ve got to know something about all this.”

Putting a finger to her lips, Em spoke. “You’ll wake the girls if you keep talking like that. You’re right. I did live there. I lived there for nearly seven years. I slept in the barn, fixed the man meals from whatever food I could find or that he brought in when he was around. We rarely spoke, and when we did it was just about the laundry or the animals. I know nothing.” Em pulled her long braid over her shoulder and twirled the end back and forth in her hand. “I’ve no reason to keep anything from you.”

“How did you end up there? Why of all places would you live there? In a barn? Was he a relative?”

Why wouldn’t she tell him more?

“What does that have to do with any of this?” Em snapped back at him.

“If I don’t know the whole story, how am I supposed to figure this mess out?” He set his hat on the table. “Look, it’s my job to keep this town safe. A person’s dead. I found him swinging in a tree. You told me yourself that you were shot and left for dead. Everyone’s at risk until I take care of this. So start thinking.” He wrung his hands together.

“Swinging in a tree?” She put a hand over her mouth. “He was lying facedown when I left. They were back. They know . . . they know I’m gone.”

“Who are they? Why do they care about an old man and . . . and . . .”

“Why would they care about me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Why would they care about a girl who’s not much to look at? If I were a beauty it might make more sense. Is that it? Am I right?”

“Yes—no. Yes, I suppose. No. That’s not what I mean.” Caleb couldn’t meet her eyes. Frustration filled him. This conversation was not going how he needed it to. An entire day spent on this and he’d gotten nowhere and now this. It was vexing.

Em sucked her lip in and sat very still. He watched her, surprised by the look on her face. No longer expressionless, her face was marred in pain. He had never hurt anyone. Sure, he’d raised his voice from time to time, but she didn’t need to fear him. Then he heard his words over in his head. He’d said yes when he should have disagreed. But she’d been the one to label herself. He pressed his hands against his throbbing temple. “I didn’t mean what I said. It’s just—you don’t look like you’ve eaten enough in some time. That’s all.”

He stood up, pushed his hands into his pockets, and paced the room. “I can go and we’ll talk about this another time. It’s been a long day and we aren’t getting anywhere right now.”

How could I be so rude? he lamented as he continued to pace.

“No, sit,” she said quietly without meeting his gaze. “Just sit down and I’ll try to help.” She paused a moment before continuing, her voice quieter. “I am plain. I got a good look at myself in the mirror the other day. Even with a few square meals in me, I’m still plain. I don’t expect I’ll ever be anything more. But I’m certain that’s not what you came to talk about.”

Caleb wished he could put the words back into his mouth. He wished he hadn’t agreed with her even if there was a measure of truth to it all.

He cleared his throat. There was no going back in time, so he pressed on. “When I got to your place, the dugout was burned and George was swinging. He had been shot just like you said. I cut him down and buried him. I marked the grave so you’ll be able to find it. It’s covered good, so there’s no need to worry about animals. I’m pretty sure it was George, but just to be sure, did George have green eyes and a scar under his jaw?” He ran a hand along his own square jaw.

“That’s him. I often wondered where he earned that mark.”

“You won’t be asking him now. The man’s dead and buried. My guess is there are quite a few questions that would have been easier to ask him when he was standing on his own two feet.”

“Only I didn’t know to ask them then. Thank you for burying him. It was the right thing to do and I am grateful. It wouldn’t be fitting just leaving him.”

“I can’t say I enjoyed it, but it was my duty.”

She looked up then and found his eyes. “Thank you.”

“The barn was still standing. I found a few things in the loft.” He reached in his pack and pulled out the nightshirt. She snatched it from him and tucked it on her lap under the table. Her downcast cheeks flushed a soft pink.

Then he pulled out the sticks and set them on the table.

Her pink cheeks turned crimson. She reached for one of the stick people, running her frail finger over the curve of the wood. He wanted her to look up. He hoped to be able to read something in her eyes. Moments passed, neither of them speaking.

At last he asked, “Was there anything else you were hoping to have? I looked but found nothing else.”

“No. This is all.”

Making sure his voice was gentle, reminding himself that this was not just a crime to her, it was personal, he said, “You say you were there seven years. Did you live in the barn the whole time? Even through the winter?” No one deserved such treatment.

“I did. It was not so unbearable when there were animals in there. The smell was bad, but they added some warmth.”

“I imagine your time with the Howells has been a welcome change?” Caleb wanted more answers, but something inside him told him to tread softly.

“It has been indeed. I’ve spoken more in the last four days than in the last seven years combined. How could I not with Mae and Milly around? It’s strange to think I spent so many years wondering when I’d be able to leave and where I would go, only to suddenly find myself here in this beautiful house with the kindest people.” Em brightened as she spoke. The blue of her eyes matched the color of the azurite the town displayed so fondly in the civic building. “It’s like a dream.”

“I wish you could live the dream and not think of the past.” He leaned toward her. “Tell me, though, when George was gone, where did he go?”

“Usually he said he was going to check his traps. He never came back with much. I’m not sure where he went.” She shrugged. “I kept my distance and it worked out all right.”

“Why didn’t you leave? Why stay?” Caleb rested his elbows on the table.

“I did once, but I was so lost I ended up back where I had started. I didn’t know my way around there at all. I had no map, no supplies, no money. I used to be able to navigate the big city, but put me in a grove of trees and they all look the same. George never knew I had tried to get away. He told me if I stayed until he died, he’d leave me his land and money. Although I doubt there is much money, considering how little we usually had to eat. I suppose I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave. Besides, there are not many ways for a girl to get land and money. I passed the time dreaming and praying about a life away from there. I never thought it’d be a gunshot wound that would finally lead me away.”

“I’ve never seen a gunshot wound as a blessing. In your case, though, perhaps it was.” He smiled. “Did he bring friends home with him ever?”

“Not often. When he did, I stayed out of the way. I’ve seen what men can do when they’re drunk or lonely. I stuck to the barn. I wish I could tell you more. Honest I do. But the truth is, I lived a lonely life these last seven years. The days were pretty much the same for me. I was just surviving until I could find Lu—whatever was next for me. Surviving, it’s what I do.”

“The Howells won’t let you settle for just surviving. Better get used to the idea that you’re living now.”

He pushed himself away from the table and stood. Amos needed a bucket of oats and he still had to check in with the deputy. And before all that, he’d committed to helping Abraham unload his delivery.

“Has the doctor told you when you’ll be up to traveling?”

“He said two weeks when he first came, but he’s been pleased with my progress, so it could be sooner.” Em stood.

“We need to get back out there and search the spot you say George would go to. There’s got to be a clue out there somewhere.” And maybe along the way she’d fill in the many blanks about her own story.

“I’ll do all I can to help you. I don’t wish any harm on anyone. The Howells have been so good to me. I’d never want anything to happen to them—not ever, but especially not because of me,” she said, her eyes professing her sincerity.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll watch out for you and for them.” He picked up his hat. “You work on getting yourself well.”

“I will.”

They said their goodbyes. Then she silently headed for the stairs, insisting no one needed to assist her.

Caleb apologized again for the late hour and reached for the door only to have Eliza sneak in by his side. Having her so close, he felt less tired. Reluctant to leave but knowing he should, he said, “Miss Eliza, Amos needs me, but I’ll be looking forward to that dance at the social.”