The Marshal Meets His Match (22 page)

He pointed his horse toward the man’s house. It was time he pinned Mr. Samuels down on a few unanswered questions.

Chapter Fifteen

T
his time when he knocked on the banker’s door, the housekeeper admitted him into a dark stuffy parlor.

“Can I help you, Marshal?” The banker’s tone belied his offer of helpfulness.

“I have one or two more questions.”

“That seems to be all you have.”

Wyatt ignored the verbal jab. “I talked to your former employee. He has a slightly different account of why he left.” He watched the man’s face closely, but the lack of light in the room made it difficult to read his expression.

“I can only imagine what George Dunn told you.” He sniffed.

“He said you fired him. Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

“Because it had nothing to do with the robbery, and I dislike casting aspersions on a man who isn’t around to defend himself.” The little man puffed out his chest pompously.

“Why did you fire him?”

“He was unreliable, and I could handle the business until I found someone more competent.”

“He said you accused him of stealing.”

“I told him his incompetence was as bad as stealing. As usual, he misunderstood.”

“The townsfolk seemed to think highly of him.”

“They didn’t have to work with the young jackanapes. I fail to see how this has anything to do with the holdup, Marshal,” Samuels said impatiently.

“Why did you shout at McIsaac when he was trying to stop the thief?” Wyatt changed course abruptly.

“What?” The man startled as if struck.

“McIsaac said you yelled something when you saw him start to pull the gun and that’s what caused him to be shot.”

“No. I was trying to
keep
him from being shot.”

“And yet you neglected to tell me this when I first questioned you.”

“I fail to see how yelling at someone during the confusion of a robbery has any bearing on catching the culprit.” Mr. Samuels stood to walk out of the room.

“I have one more question before you leave.” The man was pricklier than a cactus and sourer then a barrel of pickles.

“What, pray tell, can it be this time?” The banker sighed sarcastically.

“What happened to Mr. McIsaac’s gun?”

“His gun?”

“Yes. Mr. McIsaac would like it back, but I didn’t see it at the bank that day, and no one else seems to know what happened to it.”

“I assume it was taken along with the bank’s money. Are we done here?”

“You didn’t see if the bank robber picked it up?”

“I was dealing with my own injury at the time!”

“You’ve been out of town a lot lately. Have you made any progress toward getting the bank reopened?”

“It’s been difficult, but I think I’ve talked a few investors into lending capital to reopen the bank. I should hear word in the next week or so. I’m sure they would be much more amenable should they hear that the perpetrator has been caught. And that was
three
questions, Marshal. Are you quite finished?”

“For now. Thank you for your time.”

The housekeeper ushered him out the door, and he was glad to exit and feel the evening sun on his face. That gloomy house would make anybody cranky. He unwrapped Charger’s reins from the hitching post and led him down the street.

Who was telling the truth? An employee who’d been fired, one everyone else seemed to like, including his new boss, or the banker everyone seemed to find difficult?

One of the more blunt citizens he’d questioned had commented, “He runs a mortuary, not a bank. When he undertakes your money, you never see it again!” Another had said, “He doesn’t run a bank, he runs a natural history museum. Naturally, when he loans you money, you’re history!”

He’d been tempted to laugh at the tongue in cheek answers. Mr. Samuels might not be popular, but didn’t most people fear bankers to some extent, especially if they held the mortgage on your land?

“Howdy, Marshal.”

“Hello, Billy. Danny. Aren’t you tired from the picnic?” The two boys ran up to Wyatt as he led Charger down the rutted street.

“Nah. We’re workin’. We’re private eyes, like Mr. Pinkerton. You need any help with anything?” Billy asked hopefully.

Wyatt had an impulsive idea. “As a matter of fact, I could use your help. Danny, don’t you live near here?”

“Yep. Right over there.” Danny pointed proudly to a two-story home a short distance away.

“I need some information, but it has to be kept strictly between us or it will be useless. I’ll pay for this information.” Wyatt jingled a few coins in his pocket for emphasis.

“We know how to keep secrets,” Billy said defensively. “We didn’t tell anyone you made Miss Meri fall in the creek. Besides, private eyes don’t go around spilling the beans about their cases.”

Wyatt eyed them thoughtfully. They were such a familiar sight around town people paid them little attention unless they wanted an errand run or some small task done. The boys might prove valuable eyes and ears at times when sight of the marshal would put people on their guard.

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do.” Wyatt leaned close to the boys and spoke quietly. “I want you to watch Mr. Samuels’s house. Let me know if you see anyone visit him or if you see him leave with a bag like he’s going out of town. Can you handle that?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t try to follow him or sneak up on him. Go about as you normally do, and just keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Can you follow that to the letter?”

Billy and Danny nodded, taking his instructions very seriously. Wyatt pulled out two half-dollar coins and handed one to each boy.

“Our first paying case.” Billy clutched the coin proudly, awe filling his voice.

“We won’t let you down, Marshal.” Danny solemnly shook Wyatt’s hand, and Billy followed suit. Both boys hurried off, talking to each other in low guarded voices, and Wyatt returned to his office to relieve Jonah, wondering if he would regret his impulsive decision.

It stormed hard that night, and the McIsaacs didn’t show up at church the following day, but Pastor Willis reminded the congregation to pray for them: the anniversary of Mrs. McIsaac’s death was coming up later in the week.

As the week progressed, Wyatt missed seeing Meri every day but resisted riding out to the ranch to see her. Instead he kept his hands busy with his duties and his mind and heart busy in prayer. He prayed that God would help him bring the bank robber to justice, and that He would heal Meri from her mother’s loss.

When Billy and Danny breathlessly showed up on his doorstep early one morning, Wyatt began to believe the first prayer was close to an answer. Little did he guess both prayers were about to be answered almost simultaneously.

* * *

Meri was grooming the fourth horse of the morning when her father stalked into the barn. She could tell by the way he walked he had something on his mind but ducked her head and pretended not to see him, continuing to comb snarls out of the horse’s tail. But the comb was plucked from her hand.

Her father calmly untethered the horse and turned him into the paddock.

“I wasn’t done with him,” she protested.

“Yes, ye are.” McIsaac led her over to a wooden bench. “Sit.”

Since his order was reinforced with a gentle, irresistible push, Meri sat.

He turned, folded his hands behind his back and paced a few steps before coming back to stand in front of her, planting his feet determinedly. “It’s high time ye dealt with whatever’s bothering ye.” He spoke kindly but firmly.

“Nothing’s bothering me.” She tried to speak convincingly, but her father’s eyes bored into hers, and she glanced away uneasily.

“Do not lie to me, lass. Ye’ve nearly driven everyone crazy this week. If ye’re not bossing the hands around on some new project ye’ve thought up, ye’re hovering ‘til I trip over ye, or ye’re pacing back and forth sighing up a windstorm.”

“I am not.”

“The fences on this ranch have never been in as good a shape as they are now, thanks to the men trying to get away from the next crazy scheme ye’ve cooked up. Ms. Maggie is upset because ye’ve rearranged every cupboard on the place, and even though Dr. Kilburn cleared me to return to riding, ye nearly panic every time I even think about going farther then the front porch.”

McIsaac sat down beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her stiff body into a hug as he continued talking. “I don’t know why we lost Catriona so soon, and there will always be a hole left by her passing, but, lassie, it is okay to move on. It’s okay to be happy again. Mither would be the first to tell ye she’s happier and healthier with her Savior than she could ever be down here. I’m not saying the grief over her loss will ever be completely gone, and that’s okay. But yer anger is not okay. It’s an infection that keeps eating away at yer insides, and until it’s dealt with, ye won’t get better.” McIsaac stood and gave a short whistle.

Barnaby entered the barn leading a saddled Sandy. How had they managed that without her noticing?

“Ye always seem to think better on the back of a horse, and I think part of yer problem is that ye haven’t had a good ride in a week or more. Sandy’s ready, and yer hat, canteen and rifle are on the saddle. Go, take Sandy for a run, and don’t come back ‘til ye’ve had a heart-to-heart talk with yer Heavenly Father.”

McIsaac pulled Meri up from the bench and laid the reins in her hands, looking into her eyes for a couple of heartbeats. “Be careful, and pay attention to yer surroundings—”

The familiar warning was one she’d heard since childhood.

“—but it’s time to face whatever ye’re running from.” He kissed her on the forehead, turned and walked out of the barn.

Meri looked at Sandy who shook his head up and down as if to say “Hurry up, let’s go.”

“All right,” she muttered grudgingly. She swung into the saddle and guided the horse outside.

Sandy hit their favorite trail at a smooth lope, but the familiar thrill of the horse’s smooth rhythm and the sense of freedom were missing.

The anniversary of Mither’s death was only two days ago. How can Faither tell me to get over it? How can he be okay when I feel so stuck, so rotten?

Her father had been sad on the anniversary of her mother’s death, but it was not the despairing anger she felt. Anger?

Yes. She’d been angry. A lot. She’d tried to tell herself it was grief, but if she were completely honest with herself, it looked and acted a lot more like bitter resentful anger.

She turned Sandy off the trail, and the horse snorted his surprised displeasure at the sudden change of plans. “Sorry, boy.” Meri patted his shiny blond neck. “I think it’s time I faced something.”

A half hour later Meri dismounted, flipping the palomino’s reins around a decorative spike atop the cemetery fence. The wrought-iron railing didn’t enclose the entire grounds; it extended partway up the slope, ending just past the ornate marble crypt near the tree line. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, cringing as it protested with a metal-on-metal squeak, and entered the burial ground. She slowly walked past each gravestone, reading the names as she passed, delaying the inevitable. All too soon she reached her mother’s headstone.

Catriona McIsaac

1825-1882

Beloved Wife

Beloved Mother

Beloved Child of God

The cold gray stone could never communicate the true meaning of the life it represented.

Meri felt a tear run down her cheek, and wiped it away in surprise. She hadn’t shed tears since the funeral. Even when her burning eyes and aching throat had begged for the cathartic release, her eyes had remained stubbornly dry. She sank to her knees in the soft grass.

“Oh, Mither. I miss you so much it hurts.” Another tear slid down, and all the grief and anger of the past year boiled up with it, refusing to be contained any longer. “God, why did you take her? You could so easily have healed her! Why did You let her die?”

The sound of the vicious words rocked her back on her heels. She’d never spoken the questions aloud, but they had festered just below the surface slowly infecting her whole being.

Meri finally accepted the truth that had been gnawing at her spirit since Pastor Willis’s sermon. “I have been so angry with You, Lord. You could have healed Mither of pnuemonia, but You didn’t and I couldn’t accept that. I’ve blamed You for her death. I’ve been angry and bitter that You allowed that to happen to us, to me, and that anger has become a barrier pushing me away from You.”

As confession cleared the windows of Meri’s soul, the tears began to flow in earnest. “Father, You say that all things work together for good to them that love You. I don’t understand how Mither’s death is good, but she was Your child, and I know You love her more than I ever could. Forgive me for being angry at You, for acting like a spoiled child who gets mad when things don’t go my way. I’m tired of fighting You. I’m tired of being angry and hurting all the time. Please forgive me.”

Sobs shook her shoulders and tears poured, but as she cried out to a loving Heavenly Father, long-lost peace began to seep through the cracks in her heart, softening the hardness and restoring what bitterness had choked out. Long minutes passed before her tears began to dry, and snatches of Scripture watered peace deep into her soul.

A few more tears leaked out as she pictured her mother in Heaven at Jesus’s feet. She had focused entirely on what she had lost when she should have been focusing on what her mother had gained. Her father was right. Mither was happier with her Savior than she could ever have been here on earth.