Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

    
 
T
he sheriff rode off to the prearranged meeting place to catch up with Elgerson and they planned to gather a few men and start out at first light the next day towards the shack. He wrestled with the information the girl had given him, hoping to come up with some possible reason Finn Morgan might be involved.

      When he caught up with Elgerson he asked the man’s opinion.

      “Finn Morgan? Are you sure it was Morgan?” Timothy asked, as surprised as the sheriff. The two men rode side by side toward the home of the next man who was joining their posse to check the shack.

      “She said he told her his name was Finn and that he was at the train station,” the sheriff confirmed.

      “Finn Morgan keeps the Hawk Bend Station alright and it’s not terribly far from your cabin and that shack we’re going to check out,” the lawman continued.

      “But Finn’s not much brighter than a child, Ben.” Elgerson reasoned. “How and why would he possibly want to hurt Rebecca? The man’s got no history of bothering any woman that I know of.”

      “That’s what I can’t figure, Tim. She talked about a woman up there, too. She said her name was Bedra.”

      “Bedra? That’s even odder. Are you sure that’s right?” Elgerson asked.

      “Girl says she’ll never forget the name. Just the mention of it seemed to upset her so much that she took off into the house, white as a ghost, before I could get a description out of her.”

      “Was she alright?” Elgerson was concerned that Rebecca had behaved so oddly. Maybe the visit from the sheriff was too much for her. He tried to remember her ordeal and thought he probably had been too hard on her. He thought he had better finish up his business and check on her.

      “I expect so, just upset was all. I sure would like to question her again though. If I knew what train she was on we might be able to pinpoint the time better. From what your boy said, she’s not even sure herself how long she was in the shack. Maybe next time I talk to her it’d be a better idea if you and the boy were there. She seemed fond enough of you on the dance floor last night, Tim,” the sheriff smiled slyly.

      Elgerson thought that however Rebecca had behaved while dancing wasn’t her demeanor now. He hoped that by the time he returned, her mood would have improved.

      The men and the boy finished their roundup of the men for the following day’s investigation and Ben left Elgerson and Mark and headed into town to ask around about Finn Morgan. Maybe there was something someone knew about the man he was unaware of.

      Elgerson stabled the horses while Mark played in the yard with his bicycle and then headed inside, unsure of what awaited him. Birget said she had last seen Rebecca in the rose garden inspecting the flowers. Timothy returned to the yard in search of the girl.

      “Your roses have aphids,” Rebecca informed him as he approached her slowly.

      “They have what?” he thought it best to ease into the topic he needed to discuss with her.

      “Aphids.  Look.” Timothy squatted down beside her and inspected the rosebud. Seeing nothing but a bud and some fuzzy green leaves, he looked at her, puzzled.

      “Aphids, these tiny green bugs.” Rebecca rubbed the tip of her finger against the blossom and brought the microscopic creature up to his face. She laughed quietly as the man nearly crossed his eyes trying to focus on the tiny insects.

      “What can those little things possibly do?” he really wasn’t terribly concerned with the bugs.

      “They’ll kill the roses,” Rebecca informed him. “If you don’t mind I could make a spray from some red pepper that might get rid of them.”

      Elgerson couldn’t imagine why on earth she felt she needed his permission for something so simple. To his way of thinking the girl was welcome to anything she liked.

      “Rebecca, if you want to spray the roses you certainly don’t need to ask me. Maybe you can just get a gardener to deal with them. If you’d like to spray them yourself you’re free to go right ahead. You certainly don’t need permission from me.”

      “They’re not my roses, Timothy,” she replied quietly.

      The man scratched his head beneath his hat. He didn’t care much about the roses anyway. The only attachment he had to the fussy flowers was that his wife had felt that they made the property seem ‘more civilized’. He considered that possibly Rebecca had a particular love for roses, but that still didn’t explain her preoccupation with the plants. He’d never thought that the roses really ‘belonged’ to anyone except possibly Corissa.

      “My wife had them put in, Rebecca,” he remarked. Memories of his late wife rushed back to him. So many summer nights he’d stand in the garden watching over the hill for her return and he often was reminded of her if he caught the scent of a rose, even now.

      Rebecca watched Timothy’s face darken and cursed herself for upsetting him again. She decided to try to explain to him more calmly than she had been able to in their conversation of the morning.

      “Timothy, please try to understand. You have been so sweet to me. You’ve given me so much, you and Mark. Your boy saved my life and took me in. He fed me your food and gave me his own clothes. I was so vain and complained about them so horribly that you spent a fortune having a wardrobe made for me.”

      Timothy studied the girl’s face in the soft light of the afternoon sun.

      Rebecca watched him listening to her closely and struggled to continue.

      “You included me in your party and I behaved horribly by making a spectacle of myself and from what Birget told me you took me upstairs and made that poor girl sleep in the chair all night to watch over me. You’ve fed me and put me up in the hotel. I have nothing, Timothy, no means of repaying you. I’m trapped here with nothing to do but rely on your support. Please understand.”

      Timothy took exception with her last remark, struggling with her reasoning.

      “Rebecca, I never expected anything from you. If you think you’re trapped here then why didn’t you ask me to send you on while we were in town?”

      The man’s remark only seemed to make everything worse.

      “Don’t you see?” she replied again. “I don’t want to ask you for anything.”

      “Then maybe you should,” the man replied. “It was never my intention to trap you at all.”

      “No.” Rebecca was frustrated. “You haven’t trapped me, circumstance has. Your home is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Tim. Stavewood is like heaven, you must know that. I’m honored that you have brought me here, but I cannot ask you to let me stay here. I’ll only be in your way.” Rebecca thought of how the man seemed so uncomfortable with her in Octavia’s presence. Maybe he belonged with the big girl, although Rebecca could not see how. It was not her choice to make.

      Timothy sighed and considered the girl’s point of view.

      “Rebecca,” he began. “I brought you here because…” the big man searched for the right words, relieved that the girl had not burst into tears. “Because you had no place to go that I knew of. You had no clothing and no money and I couldn’t very well just send you off.”

      “I don’t want your pity, Timothy. I’m so sorry.” Rebecca stood up and headed for the house.

      Timothy caught her by the arm, unwilling to let her walk away until he could make her understand.

      “Rebecca, it is not out of pity, certainly. You needed help and I helped you. It’s just that simple. If you wish to leave you are welcome to at any time. If you want to stay you are welcome to that as well. Mark is so taken with you and I…” the big man’s voice trailed off. He fought for the right words, realizing that he wasn’t sure himself exactly what it was he felt for her. “I have no problem with you being here.”

      Rebecca was disappointed, although she told herself that she should not expect more from the man. That was the whole problem with the situation. She decided to let the subject drop.

      “Then I will spray your roses tomorrow.” She stood before him, not wanting to leave and unsure if she should stay.

      Timothy decided he had better broach the subject and explain why he had come looking for her.

      “Rebecca, I spoke to the sheriff this morning and he’s still got a few questions for you.”

      Rebecca sighed.

     “I know that the ordeal was terrible for you and it’s upsetting for you to remember what happened.” Timothy tried to choose his words carefully.

      Rebecca wished that was the only problem.

      “Something just doesn’t make sense,” he continued.

      Rebecca braced herself, wanting to face the man and not run off childishly.

      “I know Finn Morgan and I can’t see him having any part of this.”

      “I’m not sure that he did, Tim.” The girl swallowed hard.

      “And the woman. I thought I knew everyone who lives in the area. Maybe she was just passing through, or she might have something to do with the robberies. It’s just puzzling. We’re headed up at daybreak to check out the shack and then Mark and I will bring the chickens down. We’ll probably close up the cabin, too, at least for the season.”

      “You’re going up there?” Rebecca was apprehensive. She didn’t know how many beside Bedra were involved and she was suddenly worried for the man.

      “We’ve got to check it out and find out who the woman is that took you up there. What if she were to take someone else? She could have gone after Mark up there. Mine isn’t the only place of its kind. There are families living back in those woods.”

      Rebecca had been so concerned that her secret would be discovered that she hadn’t even considered that others might be at risk. The thought of anyone else lying hurt in the shack terrified her and the emotion of the thought showed clearly on her face.

      “I understand why you have to go up there Tim. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt, that’s all.”

      Timothy was certain there was something the girl was not telling him. He decided that her color did not look good and they should continue the discussion of the abduction after his return.

      “It’ll be fine,” he tried to drop the subject. “If I were too concerned I wouldn’t take Mark up with me to bring back the chickens.” He refrained from mentioning that he planned to leave the boy and an armed man at his cabin while the rest of the posse investigated the shack.

      “Timothy?” Rebecca asked in a quiet voice.

      “Yeah?” He could see that the girl seemed somehow resigned. Maybe there was something she had decided to tell him after all.

      “Why do you have to collect eggs every day?”

      “Pardon me?” The big man was sure he could not fathom the girl’s mind.

      “The eggs. They have to be collected every morning. Why? Mark said it is because there’d be too many chickens and no breakfast, but I’m sure there’s something more.”

      Timothy smiled at her strange question. Her rendition of the boy’s explanation was amusing, if not entirely correct.

      Rebecca studied his face intently, pleased that she detected a smile.

      “If you leave the eggs, Rebecca, it’s true many would hatch. But if you don’t take them away the chickens will stop laying. Most fowl will keep trying to have chicks and so, if you remove the eggs you’ll keep getting more eggs.”

      Satisfied that the mystery of the eggs was solved with Timothy’s reasonable explanation, Rebecca smiled sweetly at the man.

      “I’m not sure what that has to do with aphids though,” Timothy quipped and Rebecca giggled softly.

      “You know, Tim, neither do I.” Timothy and Rebecca walked back towards the house as Mark watched them from the yard. They walked in an easy manner and he decided that they must have resolved their differences and called out to them so they could watch his demonstration of the bicycle.

Chapter Twenty-Two

    
 
M
ark
coaxed the woman onto the bicycle. “It’s fun!”

      Rebecca had watched the boy ride the bicycle easily around the yard, but Timothy looked so silly on the thing she announced that she was afraid of the contraption and would likely kill herself if she tried.

      “Pa can hold it for you so you don’t fall. It’s easy! Pa just is so uncoordinated.”

      “I beg your pardon, boy!” The big man folded his arms across his chest, taking exception with the boy’s remark. “I can ride a horse or a log for that matter, better than any man in the territory. No coordination, bah!”

      “No, wait!” Rebecca put her open palm up in front of her. “If your father has no coordination as you claim, then how could I possibly trust that he won’t let me fall?”

      Timothy growled at the girl. “Get on!” he thundered, “and we’ll see who has no coordination!”

      Rebecca was enjoying Mark and Timothy playing with the bicycle so immensely that she elected not to mention that she had a friend that had owned one. One afternoon they had spent hours as he taught her how to balance herself and how to tuck her skirt up beneath her to keep it clear of the pedals. Once she found the secret she had ridden the contraption about the yard for hours. It had been a while since that day, but Rebecca was sure she could easily do it again.

      The girl decided it was time to stop feigning ignorance and show what she could do.

      She stepped over the frame carefully and pretended she didn’t know what to do with her skirt. Mark conjectured that maybe there was some way that she might try tying her skirt to one side. Rebecca pretended to be inspired by his suggestion and pulled up the center of her skirt between her legs as she had done with her friend, tucking it beneath her against the seat. Timothy raised his eyebrows, and the display of her trim ankles did not go unnoticed as he stood waiting for Rebecca to finish her elaborate preparations, and enjoyed the show. He smiled as he waited to be called to hold the bike upright. She had laughed so heartily at his own attempt that he was seriously looking forward to repaying her for her teasing.

      When she finally appeared to be ready, Mark signaled to his father that it was his turn to hold the bike and Tim took hold of the seat firmly.

      Rebecca put a foot on one pedal, then the other and teetered on the vehicle for a foot or two, then pedaled feverously, riding swiftly away from the boy and his nearly stumbling father.

      “You’re right, Mark,” she yelled as she rode off. “It’s really very easy!”

      Timothy was dumbfounded. The girl had taken right off on the thing and pedaled back expeditiously, her hair flying out behind her. Then she pulled the vehicle up, sliding in the dust with her cheeks bright pink, panting softly and giggling hard.

      He told her to get off the machine and straddled it himself, but at every attempt to straighten out the bike the wheel began to wobble back and forth violently and he had to keep putting down his feet to keep from toppling over. Mark and Rebecca nearly rolled in the dirt, hysterical with laughter as he turned the device around and tried to ride it back, only increasing the amusement for the pair as they fell into one another laughing uncontrollably.

      Birget walked out into the yard to announce supper and found Mark and Rebecca convulsing with such violent laughter they could not explain what had taken place. Timothy parked the bicycle in the stable and stomped across the yard into the house. Rebecca and the boy staggered into the dining room, unable to contain themselves, still falling into one another and wiping their eyes.

      “Enough!” Timothy bellowed. “I’ll not be ridiculed by the two of you any further!”

      The tearful pair tried to compose themselves and sat at the table unable to look at the man for fear they could not contain their laughter.

      He’d watch them both attempt to keep a straight face and peer at them sternly while trying to enjoy his supper with some degree of dignity. Eventually the two surrendered to his stern looks and settled into their meals.

      After supper they retired to the study and sat beside the fire while Rebecca read to Mark from the recently published
Pudd’nhead Wilson.
The boy had squeezed into the wide chair beside her, the two of them whispering and giggling occasionally in Timothy’s direction.

      Once Timothy had sent the boy off to bed, Rebecca paced the room, touching the curtains absently, and idly pulling books from the shelves. Timothy looked up from his papers, distracted by the girl, attempting to ignore her restlessness.

      When she gasped loudly he dropped the documents onto his lap, trying to figure out what she was up to now. Rebecca had discovered a long forgotten box in the corner of the room that had once belonged to Mark’s grandmother. Rebecca stood peering into it, holding her face, as if it contained some mysterious terror.  Timothy was compelled to leave the comfort of his chair and see what the fuss was all about.

      He saw nothing in the huge old box except a few balls of yarn and some needles.

      “Is there a mouse?” He could not see what was so startling within the box.

      “Did this belong to your wife?” she asked cautiously.

      “No, I believe it was her mother’s. No one’s touched it in years. I’d completely forgotten it was here or I would have disposed of it.”

      “Disposed of it? Oh, Timothy, please no!”

      “It’s just some yarn and other bits of things. You’re welcome to them if you like.” It seemed silly to him. Relieved that she had not uncovered some ravenous vermin, he returned to the warmth of his chair.

      Unable to figure out the girl’s fascination and concentration having become impossible, he watched her over his papers as she lifted each item out of the box as though it were rare and priceless.

      Rebecca ran her fingertip along each of the knitting needles. There were two sets fashioned of fine quality whalebone and a third of highly polished mahogany. In a small, lacy bag was a pair of delicately carved bone tatting shuttles, equal in size, but each distinct, bearing intricate scrimshaw designs. One featured the image of a wild rose, the other a delicate bouquet of violets. Rebecca inspected them carefully, holding them up to the light, and squinting at them through one eye, delighted to find that the tips met perfectly, with no space for fine thread to unwind too quickly.

      Timothy watched Rebecca’s reverent examination of the box’s contents. He had seen women with their knitting before, although he had never watched it closely. He could not imagine why anyone could find it as fascinating as Rebecca obviously did now. He suspected there were other boxes about the place, likely in the attic, which Rebecca might find just as entertaining.

      “Rebecca if that old box is so fascinating to you, have one of the girls take you up to the attic tomorrow. There’s probably more of that kind of thing up there. You’re welcome to all of it if it pleases you.”

      Rebecca set the shuttles back into the box and leapt across the room, grabbing his neck from behind the chair and kissing him on the cheek. Timothy was shocked and embarrassed by her display.

      She stepped around to face him and balanced herself against the edge of the table.

      “The pieces are beautiful! I’d lost my knitting at the train station and I have missed it so.” She threw her hands up to his neck and planted herself boldly on his lap. “Oh, Timothy, you can’t imagine! I’ve been so lost without it and if I could just get out my needlework I’d feel so much better! Thank you so much!” She kissed his cheek again.

      Timothy was quite uncomfortable with the girl planted so intimately upon his lap. Her cheeks were glowing with excitement and her engaging pleasure at the discovery had certainly made her excited enough to forget herself. Timothy was confident that if the girl did not remove herself quickly he would undoubtedly be forced to remove her himself for fear of embarrassing the both of them.

      She gazed into his eyes with gratitude as Timothy let his forgotten papers fall to the floor, fighting off the profound effect the girl was having on his self-control. He attempted to shift his legs underneath her, wondering how she could not notice his intense discomfort and, as his restraint was overcome, he stood up suddenly, setting the girl to her feet and turning away from her. He stood with his back to her, certain that his display of interest would be all too apparent and announced that he was going to bed.

      “Good night, Timothy,” she whispered, ashamed at having been so bold in her excitement.

      The ache of being overcome with his natural desire for the young woman, and his many years without the company of a woman sent him stiffly walking up the long flight of stairs.