Chapter 4
Weary beyond endurance, Ben set up his cot in the alcove formed by the staircase overhead and prayed for a good night’s sleep.
With one end of his makeshift bed tucked firmly against the door leading into the Sheriff’s quarters, Ben considered Miss Sherman and her children adequately contained. Miss Sherman , his inner voice reminded. Not Mrs. Danbury.
While Ben believed his mentor had the best of intentions when it came to the young woman, the tired man could barely believe that Arnold Danbury had been hoodwinked by the kidnapper.
Then again, he was also slightly confused by the charges against Roseanna Sherman. The Pinkerton Agents he had locked up insisted that the girl was only the children’s nanny. But how could that be when she’d so obviously given birth to at least one of the boys?
Hilda Grosspointe thumped a fist against the heavy wooden door and waited for Ben to grant her entrance. Shifting the heavy basket she carried to the opposite hip, the impatient woman began to tap her foot.
Cracking the door open, Ben issued a wide yawn as he squinted at the early morning visitor. “What is it?” he groggily mumbled as he rubbed the sleepy sand from his eyes.
“Been to near every house in Roses Briar already. Got some diapers and a few other things here for those poor little lambs.”
“Lambs? You mean the Matthews’ children?” the befuddled man asked.
“Just move on out of the way, Benjamin. It ain’t getting any warmer out here, and I still have to make Arlo’s breakfast before he opens the post office.”
“Food. I need to get food for my prisoners.”
“That you do. So run along to the café and see what Otille has on the menu board.”
Rushing back to his cot, Ben grabbed his hat and coat from the floor nearby. “Don’t leave until I get back. I can’t leave that woman unsupervised since she’s not locked up.”
Stomping her foot in exasperation, Hilda grumbled, “And just where do you think she’s going with a newborn and three little ones? Ain’t another stage through here until next week.”
“Don’t matter! Just don’t let her or those boys out of your sight. She’s a wily one.”
Grumbling under her breath, Hilda shoved aside the flimsy cot as soon as the new Sheriff left. “Dadburn man. Don’t know a thing about a thing,” she huffed before knocking lightly at the only entrance to the private quarters. “Mrs. Danbury? I got some things for you and the children.”
Wincing at the young woman’s appearance, Hilda quietly moved into the room when the door opened. “Tough night?” she gently asked.
“Poor little Jacob is feeling rather feisty about the new baby.”
Offering an understanding nod, Hilda patted the young mother on the shoulder. “My boys were all born about two years apart, but it didn’t make no never mind. It always caused a ruckus in the ranks when someone new would show up.”
Violet shadows underneath the new mother’s eyes marked a sleepless night, and Roseanna could only nod in exhaustion. “My Ma, sisters, and cousins were around when Caleb and Arthur were born, so I had lots of extra help. But it was different when Jacob arrived.”
“Well, don’t you worry. I’m here to lend a hand. And as soon as that knuckleheaded Chauncy boy gets back with your breakfast, I’ll run home. Once I got my Arlo fed, I’ll come on back and help.”
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Grosspointe.”
“Pshaw. None of that ‘Mrs.’ this and ‘Mrs.’ that, child. I’m just plain old Hilda.”
A flash of a smile flitted across the tired girl’s face. “Then I guess that makes me plain old Rosie.”
“Glad to see you got a bit of sass, girl. You’re going to need it if those polecats upstairs have any say about things from here on out,” Hilda warned before accepting the sleeping newborn from his mother. “Now. Remind me. Who is this tiny fellow?”
“It’s not official yet, but I favor the name Sebastian. Bach was my father’s favorite composer, although he had little opportunity to enjoy his music,” Roseanna explained.
“And the others?” Hilda asked.
Roseanna pointed to the oldest boy. “Caleb is three and a half. Next is little Arthur. He just turned two a few weeks ago. And Jacob will be one shortly after Christmas.”
“Good heavens, girl! You are a fertile Myrtle! But you aren’t much more than a child yourself!”
A rueful smile crossed Roseanna’s face. “Just a brood mare for a wealthy man, it seems.”
“Pshaw! What a thing to say,” Hilda vehemently objected.
Dejectedly, the young woman shook her head. “No. It is true. That’s why those men upstairs shot Arnold. He dared stand in their way.”
Face falling, Hilda nudged the downcast mother into a chair. “Surely that can’t be true,” she whispered. “The Pinkertons are meant to uphold the law.”
“Justice and the law can be two very different things,” Ben sighed as he stepped into the room. He moved toward the table and sat a wicker basket down alongside a large, covered kettle. “I need to take some of the oatmeal and biscuits to the other prisoners, but when I get back, we need to talk.”
Acknowledging the request with a stiff nod, Roseanna dashed away the wetness clinging to her lashes.
“He really is a good man, you know. Got some big shoes to fill, though, and Ben’s still a bit wet behind the ears,” Hilda said, her eyes catching Roseanna’s.
“Men have their own notions of right and wrong, and women have no say in the matter.”
Too practical to protest, Hilda could only pat the sad girl on the shoulder before she left.