Nan Ryan (18 page)

“No need for that,” said Coop, reaching for his hat. He frowned. “I imagine Helen’s told you that Loveless would do just about anything to get his hands on her farm and timberlands.” Kurt nodded. Coop went on, “You’re a new burr under his saddle, Captain. Before you came, he figured Helen wouldn’t be able to hold out another season.”

“He wrongly accused me of theft to get rid of me?” asked Kurt.

“That’s the kind of man Loveless is. Ruthless. Greedy. Determined.” Coop draped a long arm over his gelding’s back and chuckled, but it was a scornful laugh. “And one of the most respected citizens of Spanish Fort.” He sighed, shook his head, and then climbed up into the saddle. “What’s the Bible say? ‘The wicked shall flourish’? Loveless flourishes, believe me. Good to see you again, Northway. Helen, thanks for the delicious meal.”

Kurt and Helen watched the sheriff ride away. When he had turned the big chestnut into the shaded lane and disappeared, Kurt turned to Helen.

“Mrs. Courtney.”

“Yes?” She looked up at him.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“If I did it. If I stole Loveless’s pocket watch.”

“No,” she said, then reached out, impulsively touched his forearm for a fleeting second, and felt the muscles bunch and tighten under her sensitive fingertips. “I don’t have to ask. I know you didn’t.”

The clock mounted in the spire of the First Methodist Church tower was striking four
P.M.
when Sheriff Brian A. Cooper rode back into Spanish Fort. The sheriff went directly to his office, took off his straw hat, hooked it on a wall peg, and ran a hand through his curly red hair.

Idly wondering how long it would take before Niles Loveless showed up, Coop grinned, crossed the small office, circled his scarred desk, dropped into his swivel chair, and leaned back. Without looking down, he pulled the yellow string dangling from his breast pocket and withdrew a small white cotton sack of tobacco.

With fore and middle fingers he plucked a single wheat-straw cigarette paper from a packet inside the pocket. He held the paper between thumb and middle finger, opened the sack with his other hand, and shook some tobacco out onto the paper. He tightened the yellow drawstring with his teeth, put the tobacco back into his pocket.

Then he carefully rolled the paper around the tobacco, put out the tip of his tongue, and moistened the edge of the paper, sealing it. He stuck the cigarette between his lips, struck a match with his thumbnail, and lit it. Drawing the smoke deep down into his lungs, the sheriff sighed, leaned way back, and lifted his booted feet atop his desk.

Before Coop could take a second long, relaxing pull on his newly built smoke, Niles Loveless walked in the door.

“Where is he?” said Niles, frowning, looking down the short hall toward the two jail cells. “Where’s the Yankee? He back there in a cell?”

“Nope.”

“No? Why the hell not? Didn’t you arrest him? Bring him in? I want the bastard locked up for stealing my watch!” Niles Loveless was not used to being thwarted.

Coop slowly lowered his feet to the floor, but remained seated. He placed his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, allowed it to dangle there as he spoke.

“Looks like you got the wrong man. I know Northway. He’s no thief. I’m not locking him up.” Coop squinted against the cigarette smoke drifting up into his eyes. Lowering his voice, looking the other man squarely in the eye, he said, “Nice try, Niles, but no cigar. And no jail cell for an innocent man.”

“He’s not innocent! He’s thieving Yankee trash and—”

“The case is closed,” said Coop with resolute finality. “Now get out of here before I arrest you for bringing false charges.”

Eyes flashing contempt, Niles glared at the stubborn go-by-the-book sheriff. Seething, he said, “The watch! What about my expensive diamond-and-gold watch? My watch has been stolen!”

“You’re wasting your time and mine, Niles,” Coop said, and rose to his feet. “I’m on to you.”

“Why I … I don’t know what you’re implying … you … you have nothing on me!” sputtered Niles Loveless. His face flushed red, he finally whined, “Dammit, how am I supposed to get my watch back?”

Coop lifted on eyebrow. “I’d suggest you have the lackey who planted it for you go back and get it.”

“Damn you to eternal hell!” muttered Niles, and he spun about and stormed angrily out the door while Coop chuckled.

Chapter Twenty

A
s late spring waned toward early summer, the days steadily lengthened. Each dawn the June sun rose a little earlier. Stayed in the sky a little longer. Burned a little brighter.

The balmy, longer days suited Helen fine. More work could get done. More fertile fields could get plowed. More corn and sugar cane and wheat could get planted.

There were no cotton fields on Helen’s coastal farm. Hadn’t been since Will left for the war. For the past four years there’d been no one to help chop and pick the cotton. And now, with the new punishing federal cotton tax of $15 a bale in place, there was no profit to be made from a small cotton crop.

Necessity had made a practical woman of Helen. She was bent on raising only those crops which would bring the highest price or else would grace her table at mealtime. With Northway plowing and planting the money crops, she had time to weed and tend her garden and to pick the ripened fruit from her orchard.

Helen was out in the orchard on a fine Friday morning in mid-June. She was gathering golden peaches. Her spirits were unusually high. The day was breathtakingly beautiful, the sun warm and welcome on her face. Life seemed good again, worth living. Almost normal. She was half content. She felt safe after years of being constantly afraid.

From up at the backyard came the welcome sounds of shouts, squeals, and laughter from a newly outgoing Charlie as Jolly pushed him back and forth in the swing beneath the old live oak. And, if she turned, lifted her head, and squinted real hard, she could catch glimpses of Northway, wearing a shirt as requested, up at the northern field, expertly guiding the plow down long straight rows behind old deaf Duke.

Helen began to hum softly.

Maybe she’d make a big fresh peach cobbler for supper. Jolly loved peach cobbler, so Kurt and Charlie likely would as well. When the cobbler was baking, she could set up the ironing board between two straight-backed chairs and iron Charlie’s little shirts. After that, she’d churn some fresh butter. And then perhaps later this afternoon she’d lay out a dress pattern on that bolt of fabric Em had brought over several weeks back.

The generous Em had pretended she’d purchased the bolt of material for herself and then hadn’t been able to use it. Helen knew better, but she didn’t let on. She pretended along with her best friend as Em thrust the bolt at her, frowned, and said, “The color’s all wrong for me. I declare, I don’t know why I ever bought it. I’d hate to see it go to waste. It would be perfect for you, Helen, bring out your eyes. Take it, make yourself a dress for the Baldwin County Fair.”

Helen decided she would make herself a new dress out of the crisp sky-blue cotton piqué, but she wouldn’t be wearing it to the Baldwin County Fair. She had no intention of going to tomorrow’s fair.

Everyone in Spanish Fort, and for miles around, would turn out for the fair. It would be the first county fair since the carefree days before the war. The last one had been a lively celebration back in June of 1860. She and Will, not yet man and wife, had gone to the fair together and stayed to the very end.

Helen stopped humming. She stopped plucking peaches from the bough.

Her dress for the fair had been yellow, Will’s favorite color. Yellow with delicate white lace around the low-cut neck and short puffed sleeves. Throughout the long, lovely June day Will had held her hand as they strolled among the bunting-draped booths. At the late afternoon horse race which was always the high point of the fair, she had complained that she couldn’t see over the press of people ringing the track. Will had promptly shocked and delighted her when he’d wordlessly lifted her up to sit on his strong right shoulder.

Helen shivered, remembering.

As if it were yesterday she could recall how intensely thrilling it was to feel his muscular arm clamped firmly over her yellow-skirted knees, anchoring her in place. Laughing, she had clung to the thick blond hair of his head as the field of thoroughbreds flashed by on the oval track and the crowd screamed with excitement.

Abruptly, Helen stopped smiling. She made a sour face. One of Niles Loveless’s blooded beasts had won the race that day. No doubt this year it would be the same. One of Niles’s many expensive thoroughbreds would win again. As if he needed the $100 purse prize money! Well, so what? She wouldn’t be there to see it.

Let Niles win. She didn’t care.

Em Ellicott came to the farm that warm Friday afternoon. Pretty and youthful-looking in a cool summer dress of white muslin and sprigs of green and pink flowers decorating bodice and hem, she wore her dark glossy curls loose and flowing, held back out of her eyes with a pearl-encrusted barrette.

She spotted Jolly and Charlie on the front gallery and rushed forward to meet them. She gave Jolly’s fleshy cheek an affectionate pinch and then she put her hands on her knees, leaned down, and said to Charlie, “How you doing today, Charlie? You and Jolly been having a good time?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, then giggled when Em reached out and tickled his belly.

“You’re my friend too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Charlie. Then, “Do you know the captain?”

“Not yet, but I’d like to meet him. Is he around?”

“Down at the field,” Charlie told her. “He works all day.”

“Does he?” said Em. “Well, perhaps I—” She stopped speaking, looked up. Helen stepped out onto the porch. “I’m here to help with the sewing,” Em announced, giving Helen a hug. “I’m going to make sure that new blue dress is ready for tomorrow’s …”

Her words trailed away when Helen gave her a quick, cautioning shake of her head, her blue eyes signaling Em to say no more. It wasn’t until the two friends had retired to Helen’s bedroom and were seated on the floor, laying out a dress pattern on the blue cotton piqué material, that Em asked why she was not supposed to mention the Baldwin County Fair in front of Charlie Northway.

“Because he isn’t going,” said Helen.

Em made a face. “I suppose that means you don’t intend to go either.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me to that fair.”

“Helen Burke Courtney, you promised me six weeks ago you would attend the fair!”

“Yes, well that was six weeks ago. That was before …”

“Before the Yankee?”

“Yes.”

Em gave a loud sigh of exasperation. “You’ve got to stop this foolishness.”

“What foolishness?”

“Hiding out because of your Yankee,” Em said. “You’ve done nothing wrong, so stop acting guilty. Come to the fair. You’ll be with Coop and me the whole time. You’ll see, people will start to thaw toward you before the day ends.”

“Maybe,” Helen admitted, bending over to cut along the edge of the pattern they’d laid out on the spread blue pique. “I really don’t care anything about going to the fair.”

“But you should!” Em scolded. “You should care. It’s high time you started caring about things again. Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Helen sighed, stopped cutting the fabric, and looked up.

Em smiled and said gently, “Helen … the war’s over and Will’s never coming back. He’s dead, Helen. Will is dead!”

“No,” said Helen, stubbornly shaking her head, just as she always did. “No, don’t say that … don’t …”

“I will say it! He’s dead. You have to face it, you must! Will is dead. You are not. You have to go on living.”

Helen sighed wearily. “I am living.”

“No, you’re not. You’re breathing and eating and sleeping, but you aren’t really living. Oh, Helen, don’t you understand? Your whole life’s ahead of you and I can’t bear to see you waste it.”

Helen finally smiled at her dearest friend. “Let me get this straight. If I don’t go to the Baldwin County Fair I’ll be wasting my entire life?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant and you know it. Lord, you’re pigheaded at times,” Em said, frowning. “Just think it over, will you? And let’s get this dress finished in case you change your mind!”

The two spent the afternoon working on Helen’s new dress. When finally Em announced she had to leave—that she should have gone an hour ago—the blue piqué dress was as good as finished, save for being hemmed. Thanking Em for coming and for helping make the dress, Helen walked her down toward the barn where the waiting Ellicott carriage was parked.

Helen frowned and stiffened when she caught sight of Kurt coming around the barn. What was he doing back from the fields? There was still a good two hours of daylight left. It wasn’t quitting time.

Em saw Kurt too.

“Your Yankee?” whispered Em. “Introduce us.”

“Now, Em.”

“You heard me,” Em hissed.

Helen had little choice. She called out to Kurt. He came forward to meet them.

“Captain Northway, I’d like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Miss Emma Ellicott. Miss Ellicott is engaged to Sheriff Cooper.” She turned to Em. “Em, Captain Kurtis Northway. He and Coop know each other from the days of the war.”

“Miss Ellicott,” Kurt said, took her hand in his and shook it warmly. “Coop’s a lucky man. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Captain,” said Em, smiling. Then, immediately, “I was just saying to Helen, you both should come to the Baldwin County Fair tomorrow. Coop and I will be there. We could all get together and—”

“Em, the captain’s not interested,” Helen interrupted, scowling at Em. She flashed warning eyes at him. “Are you, Captain?”

“We all stay pretty busy around here,” said Kurt.

“Everyone needs a day off now and then,” said Em, as Helen firmly clasped her arm and propelled her to the carriage.

“Good-bye, Em.” Helen practically shoved her inside. “Give my best to your folks.”

“Sure enough,” said Em. She stuck her head out the window and said, “Captain, has Helen told you about the fair’s horse race? Coop and the rest of the men seem to enjoy the race more than anything else. Some fine thoroughbreds compete. The prize money’s not much—a hundred dollars, winner take all—but big side bets are made, I’m told. If you don’t care for horse races, there’s all kinds of good food, and then tomorrow night there’s a dance at the …”