Chapter 5
Ben had a better grasp of the situation after interviewing the Pinkerton Agents, but he didn’t like the conclusions his mind was formulating. So, when he finally had the opportunity to pull Roseanna Sherman Danbury aside, he was more harsh than he intended. “Who are those children?” he demanded.
“My sons,” the girl retorted, obstinately lifting her chin. “Caleb, Arthur, Jacob, and Sebastian.”
“You expect me to believe that? How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“I am seventeen, if you must know,” she snapped.
“The agents upstairs say you are only their nanny, and I’m inclined to believe them.”
Roseanna snorted. “Do you think I had Sebastian tucked up my sleeve or stashed in the pocket of my cloak?”
Sheepishly, Ben grunted, “’Course not. But the other three? They are the Matthews’ children.”
“Correction. Gerald Matthews is their father, but Astrid Colbert Matthews is not their mother. I am.”
“That’s preposterous! You weren’t much more than a child when the oldest was born,” Ben retorted, his scowl breaking across cheeks flushed with anger.
“I was eleven when I was sent to the Matthews home as a chambermaid, and it didn’t take long for Gerald to target me with his ‘affections.’ His wife is barren, and the man wanted sons to carry on his name.”
Going absolutely still, Ben tried to keep the fury inside him. However, he exploded from the chair and slammed a fist on his desk. “You are lying! Agents Orville and Gilbert said as much.”
Tired of being intimidated by bullies and liars, Roseanna rose and narrowed her gaze on the irate man. “Look at my eyes. What do you see?”
“A money-grubbing thief intent on destroying a family for her own gain.”
Planting her hands on the desk and leaning in, Roseanna said, “My Pa called us his ‘bluebelles’ because of the color of our eyes. A gentleman on the stage called them cerulean. But what makes them unique is the navy ring around the iris. Take a close look, and then go look at my sons, Sheriff. I want to know what you see.”
Swallowing hard, Ben backed away from the confrontation and turned his gaze toward the door which separated the office from the living quarters. He knew what he’d see. Ben had noticed the unusual eye color from the start, but he entered the back room and crouched near the oldest two boys. “What’s your name, son?”
“I’s Caleb,” the oldest answered.
“And where’s your Ma?”
The boy shrugged. “You tooked her.”
“What about your Pa?”
“Don’t got one a those,” the boy answered with another scrunch of his tiny shoulders. “But Ma said we’d get one.” Then, a light began to glow in the little fellow’s remarkable blue eyes. “Hey! Are you my Pa?”
Eyes widening, Ben didn’t have time to brace himself before the child jumped up and barreled into his chest. The force of the impact knocked the unsuspecting lawman to his backside, and Hilda burst into laughter as the two tumbled into a pile.
Unwilling to miss out on the fun, little Arthur promptly dropped his tiny hiney on Ben’s stomach and wiggled his wet bottom until he got comfortable.
Lifting Caleb’s body off his face with an overhead press, Ben looked at the new arrival getting situated on his belly and scrunched his nose. “Hilda. That child smells funny.”
The older woman’s barked laughter brought Roseanna into the room, and she shushed them all. “Please don’t wake the babies,” the tired mama admonished.
“I concede your point, Miss Sherman. Now get them off me,” Ben pleaded.
Hilda shook her head and giggled. “Don’t do it, Rosie. Make him take it like a man.”
Roseanna’s lips began to twitch even as she tried to hold onto her frown. “Come, boys,” she finally whispered. “Our new friend, Hilda, brought a few molasses cookies and some milk. Come sit at the table while I finish talking to the Sheriff.”
“I wanna play wif Pa,” Caleb whined, dodging Ben’s shadow until Roseanna shooed him back toward the table.
“Not now, little bear. Ma needs to get some things settled.”
On their way out of the room, Ben pulled the soiled material of his flannel shirt away from his skin and wrinkled his nose.
“Why did my son just call you ‘Pa?’” Roseanna quietly demanded as they were reseated around the desk.
Rolling his eyes, Ben begged the Almighty for patience. Then he clamped a palm to his forehead and rested his head in his hand. “I gotta tell you, this is the darndest mess I’ve ever seen.”
“Sheriff!?”
“Calm down, Miss Sherman. The boy thinks you came here so I could be his Pa.”
“I meant Arnold Danbury,” Roseanna corrected.
“I know that. But I didn’t get the chance to explain to the boy before this happened,” he answered, pulling at the wet fabric clinging to his belly.
Huffing out a breath, Roseanna gingerly sat down in the hard wooden chair. “So, do you believe me now?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Ben admitted.
“Very well, one more exercise for you then,” the miffed woman sighed. “Go ask Arnold’s murderers what color Mr. Matthews’ eyes are. Then make sure to ask them about his wife’s as well.”
He wanted to refuse for many reasons, but Ben had to admit Miss Sherman’s unusual eye color was something he’d never seen before. In certain light, they seemed almost violet. Stop mooning over a beautiful girl, and do your job , his mind scolded.
Then his conscience prompted, You can’t fear the truth, even though it paints an ugly picture, Benjamin. Do your due diligence, and go question those agents!
“Alright, Miss Sherman. Back in the other room with you while I go speak with Orville and Gilbert.”