Love in the Balance (22 page)

“Humph
.
”
Carrie jerked her chin down and tore a piece of bread off her loaf.

“I’m glad you decided to visit,” Prue said. “I want to hear all about your journey. Will you and Mr. Pierrepont be staying in Lockhart long?”

“I hope so.” Molly cast a furtive glance toward the land-office door. “Is Mr. Travis in?”

Prue nodded. “My break is over. I better return to my desk. Do come by after hours.” She slipped to the staircase.

Molly studied the door with the etched glass. She would have sworn she’d never knock on it again. Her heart hammered as she approached, but she schooled her features to show confidence and poise. She’d been as nervous the first time she’d interviewed with Mr. Travis, and she’d done splendidly.

As she raised her fist, she saw a dark form move on the other side of the glass. Before Molly could knock, the door swung open to reveal the scowling face of her former supervisor.

“Mrs. Pierrepont, I presume. To what do we owe the honor?”

“I couldn’t come to town without calling. How have you been?”

Mr. Travis didn’t appear to trust her friendliness and stared with suspicion. “As you know, we’re shorthanded, so I need to make the most of every moment.”

Molly looked over her shoulder as Carrie entered the room.

“Since you’re shorthanded, I’d be glad to fill in—temporarily, of course.”

Carrie gasped. “Mrs. Midas wants a job?”

Mr. Travis shook his head, sending ripples through his jowls. “Why do you want to work? Does Mr. Pierrepont approve?”

Molly steadied her voice and spoke clearly. “He’s out of town. I’d work until he joins me.”

“Your newlywed husband sent you home to find employment?” He folded his arms across his chest and rocked from toes to heels, apparently enjoying her discomfort.

Mr. Travis wouldn’t hire her. She saw that clearly now. He wanted her to grovel, but there was no reason for her to humiliate herself any further.

“On the other hand, thank you for your consideration, but I think I’ll rescind my offer.” She almost dipped a pert curtsy. “I’ll be going now.”

Molly could feel her stomach tightening. Not only had she lost a husband, she’d also lost her job. With a flash of her pink-and-black-striped train, she hurried out the door—directly into Judge Rice’s path.

“Mrs. . . . er . . . I’m sorry, Molly, I can’t recollect your married name. I hope you’ve returned to good tidings over your father’s health. I am on my way to dinner. Would you like to accompany me so I can hear how my old friend Thomas is doing?”

Dining with men was unacceptable now that she was married, but that shouldn’t include the honorable septuagenarian. The gentleman’s sky-blue eyes twinkled, causing Molly to smile. If he remembered her interference with Fenton and Prue, he didn’t hold a grudge.

“Thank you for the offer.” She took his arm as they made their way to the restaurant. “Father is not well, I’m afraid. His first bout of heart spasms left him weak, and this weekend he’s had a setback. We worry that any spark of excitement might be detrimental.”

The judge patted her hand. “The line between health and death seems a fine one at my age. One misstep and you’ve suffered a broken hip, one frigid night and pneumonia has bound your lungs, but I’m not convinced the situation is as haphazard as it seems. Your father isn’t at the mercy of an ill-timed word or startling noise. He’s in God’s hands.”

He opened the door of the restaurant and allowed her to enter before him. At times like these Molly appreciated every etiquette lesson her mother had forced on her. During most meals with local families, her comportment went unappreciated, but such skills were never noticed as much for their display as for their absence.

The judge ordered for them and then turned his kindly attention to her.

“So the bride of the year has returned to our inconspicuous corner of the world. Tell me, dear, where all have you been? Did you visit the family back East?”

“Do you know the Pierreponts?” Molly leaned forward, not wanting the women at the next table to overhear their conversation.

“I know of them. I admit I’m surprised their son was allowed to wed without a substantial to-do, but perhaps they are more sensitive to the impulsiveness of true love than they’ve been portrayed.”

Molly straightened the silverware on her napkin. What had she expected? Did she think she’d walk into town, reclaim her job, and join the dance as if she’d never missed a step? She picked up her fork and toyed with the greens placed before her. Turns out, leaving had been the simple part. Coming back was proving to be much more difficult.

“Ah, there’s some controversy with the family, I assume?” The judge laid his napkin on his lap. “It’s none of my business, but you might find me a sympathetic listener. Between my age and my profession, not much surprises me.”

She studied his lined face and kind smile. First things first.

“More than sympathy, I need a job.”

Judge Rice’s head popped back and a bushy eyebrow rose. “I was wrong. You did surprise me. Go on.”

“Since Father’s spell, he’s been unable to work. I thought marrying Edward would give us the money to save the business. That has not materialized as I expected. A . . . er . . . a family friend is helping Father at the mill, but I don’t see how that can be a long-term solution. I’d like to find employment, at least until Edward returns and perhaps we can better fund my parents. At the very least, I don’t wish to be a burden on them.”

Taking a sip of water, his eyes never left hers. He handed his salad plate to the waiter to make room for the entrée. “And when is this Edward Pierrepont returning?”

“I don’t know.”

His fork froze, pinning the filet to his plate. “Being a judge, and a lawyer before that, taught me that to find the correct answer, one must ask the correct questions. Did he tell you to expect his return?”

She slid her hands under the table and picked at her fingernails. “On the contrary, I’m to forget him. He said perhaps he’d find me someday, but he left little hope that his plans included a reunion.” She shrugged, opened her mouth to say more, and then closed it again.

“And so you bravely carry on and pretend your rich husband will return at any moment. After all, to share your fears for the future would strain your father’s health.”

She nodded.

“See, I
am
a good listener.” The older man tore a piece of bread from his roll and chewed it thoughtfully. “And yet, there’s something amiss. A family like the Pierreponts would honor their son’s commitments, even if they disapproved.”

“I’m sure they are unaware. He said at the time that he risked their displeasure, but by then we—” Molly stopped. By then she’d been compromised? She wouldn’t test Judge Rice’s unflappability. “By then our course was set.”

His silverware clicked delicately against his plate, reminding Molly that she’d yet to touch her food. Her stomach rumbled. As little as she wanted to eat, she didn’t know when or where she’d get another meal. The money Edward had left her wouldn’t last forever.

Finishing before her, Judge Rice tapped his fingers on the tabletop, as if playing an invisible piano. “Your story interests me. It’s one I’d like to do some research into, if you don’t mind. It’d be a simple thing to contact the Pierrepont family.”

“I’m not sure. We were traveling in the family coach, and it was commandeered in Cheyenne. I never saw him after that. I hope Edward is mending rifts. I hope that he’ll win their approval and then come for me, but I don’t want to interfere with his plans.”

The judge’s eyes softened. Molly didn’t like it. She knew him to be brilliant, shrewd. Of all the cases he’d presided over, all the pleas directed toward him, she didn’t like the thought that her situation merited his pity.

She pushed her plate away. “As I said, the course I choose to follow is that of the dutiful wife and daughter. My husband is beyond my assistance for a time, but my parents are not. If I heard correctly, Prue McGraw won’t be the stenographer for long. Have you found a replacement?”

“You know stenography?”

She nodded briskly. “Prue taught me.”

He looked doubtful.

Molly dug into her bag and pulled out her trusty journal. She flipped to an empty page and grasped her pencil stub. On the train, when she’d gotten bored, she’d practiced in the passenger car. She’d gained confidence since her last lessons. An ornery smile worked its way across her lips, and she even dared to wink at the old judge, earning a startled chuckle.

Next to their table sat two women, one whom Molly recognized as a local horse trader’s wife. Tuning out the background noise, she let her pencil skim the page as the ladies prattled rapidly.

“We have a hard enough time making ends meet without someone stealing our colts. They should string him up.”

“And they caught him red-handed?”

“
Um-hum
. Now I don’t feel an ounce of pity for him, but what about his wife? She has five children to take care of without his help.”

“He’ll be served three meals a day in jail while his family starves.”

Molly didn’t have to look to know a pitying shake of the head had accompanied the last statement.

“It’s too bad the whole family suffers.”

“Especially the children.”

When her page was half filled, Molly wordlessly slid it across to the judge. He pulled out a pair of spectacles and squinted over the curious squiggles.

“This appears to be the genuine article. Unfortunately, we have a man completing the training that would certify him as a stenographer. He might not be as skilled as you, but he’ll be certified.”

“How long before he can begin?” Molly leaned forward. Her days on the train had been filled with such uncertainty that having a place to go each morning would seem an inexplicable comfort, even if it wasn’t permanent.

“Not for a few months, but he isn’t guaranteed the job. You could perhaps intercept him—that is, if I can convince the commissioner that we’re desperate.”

Placing his napkin on the table, the man scooted his chair back. “If you aren’t otherwise engaged, we could test your services this afternoon. Sheriff Colton and I have an interview you could record for us. Transcribe the notes and have a report ready by tomorrow. I’d consider it a half day’s work, and then we’d go from there.”

Molly beamed. God hadn’t forgotten her. He’d even prepared her with the skills she needed to survive.

“An interview?” She widened her eyes. How she loved being in the know. “Another job applicant?”

The judge waved her suggestion away. “Oh no. Nothing like that. It’s a deposition with a murder suspect—and I think you know her.”

18

Cold chills ran down Molly’s back as they approached the squat stone structure. The prisoners’ friends and family were milling around the prison yard, gathering before the barred doors that lined the outside walls and waiting to visit with those detained. What did a family do when the breadwinner was removed? Could one of these women be the unfortunate mother of five she’d heard about at the restaurant? Molly hadn’t forgotten the terror of having no provider for her family. Look how desperately she’d acted.

She ducked through the entry to the jailhouse, even though the rock opening was ten feet high. Oh no. Stinky. Molly pressed a lilac-scented handkerchief to her nose to combat the dank smells of unwashed prisoners.

A cursory inspection of the room revealed no one of Molly’s acquaintance and definitely no women. A young ruffian sat on the wooden bench next to Sheriff Colton’s desk, and the two men in the iron cages had their backs turned toward the outside door. Her curiosity overpowered her fear. Having never seen someone in the state of incarceration—only manacles in the courthouse—Molly peered through the dim light. She didn’t realize she was staring until one looked over his shoulder and pulled a face at her.

“Oh!” Embarrassed, she covered her mouth before any more unplanned utterances could escape.

Sheriff Colton laughed and offered his chair to her. “So you want to try your hand at stenography? We’ll let you practice. I think you know Mrs. Tillerton.”

Easing her bustle between the arms of the sheriff’s chair, Molly didn’t even look up. “Yes, I’ve met Mrs. Tillerton, but I don’t know that she would claim my acquaintance.”

A woman’s voice sounded from the bench, tired but clear. “I haven’t met a lot of people here, but last I checked, keeping to yourself isn’t a crime.”

Molly froze. Did that boy speak to her? Confused, she looked for another possibility. There was no one else. She sputtered.

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Tillerton. I would have spoken to you directly had I seen you.”

Buckskin clad, wearing a loose green duster and a bandanna bunched over her neck and chest, Mrs. Tillerton didn’t answer. Her hands twitched as her eyes lingered on the pistol lying on the desk in front of Molly.

“You’ll get your gun when we’re ready,” Colton said, “and not a moment before.”

Since entering, Judge Rice had been observing the woman from the doorway. Now he stepped forward and presented himself. Even Molly couldn’t miss her flinch as he extended his hand. Strange behavior for a woman who was brave enough to dress like a man. Molly would rather fight a mountain lion than be caught in britches, yet Mrs. Tillerton’s reaction didn’t seem to be the manner of someone who was avoiding pain, merely preparing for it.

“Mrs. Tillerton, since finding the body on your property, we’ve given you ample opportunity to come in for a deposition,” Judge Rice said. “Unfortunately, you’ve chosen to ignore our summons.”

“I told you everything I knew about it already, which is nothing.”

Her delicate features and voice were at odds with her general appearance. Colton cleared his throat and nodded at a blank pad of paper. Goodness gracious! Molly had forgotten why she was there. Pushing the pistol aside, she straightened the paper before her and caught up on the interview.

“You can’t disregard a court summons, and Sheriff Colton doesn’t appreciate having a gun pulled on him when he goes to serve court papers,” the judge said.

Mrs. Tillerton shuffled her feet, causing Molly to wonder what kind of shoes she wore. Men’s boots?