Chapter 7
Ben tossed and turned all night long, and when morning arrived with a loud banging on the office door, he grunted his displeasure. “I may never get a full night’s sleep again.”
“Urgent telegram,” Arlo said as he quickly handed off an envelope before hurrying back to his own office. “Hilda said to let you know she’ll be over in about an hour.”
Acknowledging the information, Ben waved goodbye and hurriedly closed the door against the bitter winds. There was snow in the air, and he hoped the fat flurries wouldn’t hamper Thanksgiving celebrations the following day. The knoll across from the Sheriff’s office was already dusted white and the ruts in Clear Water Road appeared frozen solid.
Moving to the stove against the back wall of the office, Ben stirred the embers before adding a few more small logs. Then he lit one of the lamps and carried it to his desk. The floorboards were cold beneath his woolen socks, and for a moment, Ben wondered about the woman and her children. He hadn’t thought to check the woodbox in Sheriff Danbury’s quarters, and Ben hoped the little family was warm enough.
As soon as he was settled in his chair, Ben slit the envelope open and withdrew the telegram. “Holy Hannah,” he yelped after scanning the message. Leaping up, he hurriedly straightened the office and dressed. However, before he could leave, he needed his Deputy!
Hilda accepted the basket containing the prisoner’s meals and thanked Otille for bringing it by.
“The Sheriff was sure in an all fired hurry when he stopped by this morning,” the café owner said.
“He’s preparing for the circuit judge. Judge Lemke sent word this morning that he’ll be by this afternoon to swear in the new Sheriff and take care of some other business.”
“Do you suppose that ‘other business’ has anything to do with Arnold Danbury’s funeral?” Otille asked.
“Heavens to Besty! I plum forgot. Otille, where is my head? I’ve gotta get that poor girl ready for her husband’s funeral. If you see the Jacobson boy, send him over. I’m gonna need him to fetch water, so Rosie and her children can get washed up.”
“What about the other two? The ones upstairs,” Otille chirped. “You can’t leave them unattended!”
“Landsakes, what a tangle,” Hilda squawked. “Who do we know that might come?”
Color blossomed on Otille’s cheeks. “There’s that new fellow that just opened his shop near the paper mill office. Heard a few customers say he’s a right handy shot.”
“You mean Mr. Voght, the gunsmith?”
The name, spoken without any special care, still sent a delightful shiver up Otille’s spine, and she nodded vigorously.
Hiding a knowing smirk behind her hand, Hilda pivoted and busied herself with the basket of food. “Hmm. I think he would do. Would you mind stopping by and asking if he’d be available to keep watch while I take Mrs. Danbury to the funeral then?”
“Of course. Aksel can leave his twin in charge of their store while he guards the prisoners,” the younger woman answered on a breath as she hurriedly turned to the task.
“Aksel, is it?” Hilda chuckled under her breath, happy to see her sweet friend so animated. “Well, who’s to say love is only for the young?”
The long, low building wasn’t easily identifiable as a church from the exterior, as the building was originally a makeshift warehouse for the railroad. However, the citizens of Roses Briar had taken great care to transform the interior into a suitable house of worship. The simple pine pews were shined to a warm, golden glow that matched the finely crafted pulpit. And the recently completed altar welcomed all who would come.
But Roseanna’s eyes missed all the loving details added to the space. Instead, she focused on the simple pine box that sat at the head of the center aisle. “Oh, Arnold. I’m sorry Pa got you mixed up in all this,” she whispered before laying her palm on the lid of the casket. “I didn’t mean to bring you harm.”
She felt the new Sheriff’s presence before she saw him, and Roseanna stiffened as Ben Chauncy stepped in beside her. “What do you want?” she wearily asked. “Can’t I have just one moment to grieve?”
“You didn’t even know him,” Ben answered, perplexed by the woman’s sadness.
“Arnold was my father’s friend and compatriot. And Pa trusted this man with my life and the lives of my children,” Roseanna softly replied. “Arnold knew what I was, and he still accepted me. He treated me with honor – coming to meet me with joy and not the grudge I expected.”
“He was a good man,” Ben said, his voice tight with emotion. “When my Pa died laying rail across the Eau Claire River, Arnold made sure my family had enough to eat. I always thought him and my Ma would eventually make a go of it,” he ended with a bitter laugh.
“You were close?”
“Spent the last five years working alongside him in one way or another.”
“If you’ll be seated, it’s time to begin,” the pastor said as he stepped up beside the coffin.
Ben gave a curt nod and towed Roseanna toward the pew where Hilda and the children were waiting. “Who’s watching my prisoners?” he growled at Hilda from the side of his mouth as he stared straight ahead.
“Left Aksel Voght and his Colt six-shooter in charge.”
It was a sensible choice that Ben couldn’t find fault with, so he relaxed his shoulders and got on with the business of grieving a great man.