Chapter 3
When the rail had been laid along the Eau Claire River five years earlier, a small encampment had unexpectedly taken root. Originally nothing more than a field full of tents for the building crew of the Great Valley Railway, Roses Briar grew up along the curve in the track.
And while the tiny hamlet retained its status as a supply depot and warehousing hub for the railway, the small community was rapidly becoming home to more than the company store and a few saloons.
However, the railroad representative, Mr. Simon Rassbach, still seemed to consider the town his personal fiefdom. And when Rassbach heard about the young woman’s arrest, he thundered into the Sheriff’s office, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
Ben let the man rant and waited until the whirlwind ran out of hot air. Then, he stood and escorted the red-faced fellow to the boardwalk. “Duly noted,” he allowed before closing and locking the door.
“I’m not through with you!” Rassbach screeched.
“That may be,” Ben hollered back through the closed door. “But I got a dead sheriff, one injured prisoner, a sick baby, two small children, and a pair of rotten Pinkerton agents to tend to, so you’re just gonna have to wait your turn.”
The pompous man went silent, and it took several seconds before Ben heard Rassbach stomp away. Whether the other man had come to his senses or not, the newly promoted lawman wasn’t sure. But Ben wasn’t a master of diplomacy – at least not like Sheriff Danbury had been.
“Well, son. We’ve got a problem,” Dr. Rooney announced as he descended the stairs.
Turning his back to the closed door, Ben leaned against it and gave a weary sigh. “Now what?” he testily asked.
“That babe is a might early, and he’s going to need someplace warmer than that jail cell, or he won’t make it.”
“A might early for what?” Ben mumbled in confusion.
“Mrs. Danbury said she wasn’t expecting him for another three or four weeks,” the physician advised.
Rubbing at his blood shot eyes, Ben tried to wake up. But he’d been going for the better part of thirty-six hours, and there wasn’t much clicking between his ears at the moment. “You’ve lost me, doc.”
“Deputy . . .”
“Sheriff,” Ben corrected. “Got promoted yesterday morning when the stage came in.”
Dr. Rooney gave a subtle nod in acknowledgment. “Alright. Sheriff,” he agreed before continuing. “Mrs. Danbury and her sons need a warm place to rest and recover. The newborn might make it with the proper care. But if you leave them all locked up in that cold, damp cell, I won’t be responsible for the outcome.”
Ben blinked and then rubbed his tired eyes. “You care to run that by me again?” he eventually stammered.
“What has you confused?” the disgruntled doctor questioned as he moved toward the potbelly stove in the corner. After tipping a bit of the black sludge from the coffee pot into a cup, he handed it to the newly minted sheriff.
“Newborn. You said, ‘newborn,’” Ben answered after taking a sip of the strong brew. “That baby was sitting up and making an unholy racket yesterday when I left. And it definitely ain’t no newborn.”
That made the doctor chuckle. “No, I’d say not. Little Jacob has a fine, strong set of lungs. Unlike his Irish twin.”
“Irish twin?”
Dr. Rooney smiled. “Just an odd designation given to children born during the same year.”
“Doc, I’m plumb bushed. Can you speak slowly and use small words?” Ben grunted, rubbing at the ache developing between his eyes.
A deep laugh rumbled through the physician’s chest, and he nudged the exhausted man toward a chair. “Sheriff Rooney’s wife gave birth while she was locked up in that cell of yours last night. Hilda found them this morning when she brought a bit of breakfast for the prisoners. But I guess she figured there wasn’t much anyone could do until you got back with the key.”
Ben felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and the coffee he’d swilled turned into a sea of acid. Staggering to his feet, he thumped up the steps and peeked into the iron cage. One very tiny, fragile looking woman. And count them - one . . . two . . . three . . . FOUR children.
The room at the back of the Sheriff’s office was a fair size, but as Ben looked around, he began to wonder how his mentor, Sheriff Danbury, figured on taking care of a wife and four young children in the simple quarters. Although that wasn’t his biggest concern.
Moving the young woman and her little boys from the jail cell to the living space was done out of necessity. Ben needed his jail cells for the fellows he’d arrested for the murder of his friend. And he certainly couldn’t be expected to house both men and the wane looking woman in the same space!
“Will this do, Miss Sherman?” Ben questioned after helping the new mother settle.
Roseanna offered a brief nod, her downcast eyes hiding her humiliation and fear. But her voice was firm when she spoke. “My name is Mrs. Roseanna Danbury, Sheriff. And these are my boys, Caleb, Arthur, and Jacob. And I believe I will call this new little one Sebastian.”
A tad off-kilter, Ben watched the young lady a moment and then frowned. “The Pinkerton Agents I have locked up upstairs claim that they were trying to capture you when Arnold was shot.”
Moving slowly toward the small table near the pot belly stove, Roseanna carefully sat down and tucked the newborn closer to her chest. “I do not know what those men intended – only that Arnold was waiting for us at the top of the hill before we descended into the valley the creek runs through. He introduced himself and rode alongside the coach, speaking of the preparations he’d made for us.
“Arnold and my father served at Shiloh together. And my Pa’s intention, before he died, was that I should become Sheriff Danbury’s wife. However, Pa died before the arrangements could be made, and we,” she said, gesturing to her small family, “were taken to Philadelphia.”
Flummoxed by such an arrangement, Ben considered Roseanna’s statements with suspicion. “Why would your father betroth you to Danbury? I mean, don’t get me wrong – the Sheriff was a good man. But what would a Union officer want with a Confederate wife?”
Her blue gaze swept over the sparsely furnished room before landing on the three little boys playing near her feet. Then she lowly admitted, “My Ma is a Confederate sympathizer, but my Pa fought for the Union. He was injured at the Battle of Cedar Creek in the fall of ’64.”
“One of the agents – I think it was Orville – said they’ve been waiting for you since you left Baton Rouge.”
Roseanna heard the accusation in the lawman’s voice, and she didn’t really care. “I was born in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, Sheriff Chauncy. My father was a Union officer, and the man who fathered my children is a prominent banker in Philadelphia. I am as much a Yankee as you are. My Ma’s choices, and her sympathies, are her own.”
“Then what were you doing in Baton Rouge?”
“Praying for a miracle, sir.”