Chapter 11
By midafternoon, Ben felt as if the jail house had become the social center of Roses Briar.
Hilda’s departure was quickly followed by Otille’s arrival with beans and cornbread. “Didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you,” the woman rushed to say as she set the cast iron pot on Ben’s neat desk. “There should be enough in there for two meals. Just return the pan and basket tomorrow morning when you come for the prisoners’ breakfast.”
The whirlwind blew out as quickly as she’d come, and Ben took a deep breath of the delightful aromas. He’d been feeling a little blue, considering he couldn’t join his family for turkey and all the trimmings. But with a few small gestures from the townsfolk, Ben’s appreciation for the people of Roses Briar grew.
“More coffee?” Roseanna softly called from the doorway of her room.
“Sure. And I suppose I should hand off all this food so you can keep it warm.”
“My goodness. What is all this?” Roseanna exclaimed as everything was handed over.
Ben offered a brief explanation and smiled when the young woman’s face lit up.
“I haven’t seen this much food since . . . well, ever, I think,” the excited girl enthused. “At least not for me,” she added. Then, her face clouded. “What should I do with the oatmeal I made?”
“No need to waste anything, ma’am. We’ll have the oatmeal and biscuits you made for breakfast, plus everyone can have a hard-boiled egg. And we’ll keep the cinnamon rolls for a special treat later.”
Pleased with the suggestion, Roseanna accepted the last of the food and disappeared back into the living space. “I’ll get things dished up,” she offered before closing the door.
Huffing out a sigh of relief, Ben moved back toward his desk and pulled out the daily logbook. Although it wasn’t an official requirement, Arnold had insisted it was necessary to keep all the details fresh.
Flipping back to the last entry, Ben began to read Sheriff Danbury’s words.
Horace Dunlap arrested for disorderly conduct, Nov 12 at the Railyard Saloon. Released Nov 13 after paying a fine of $2 and restitution of $0.96 for broken glassware.
Squatter questioned by Deputy Chauncy the morning of Nov 13, no evidence of missing goods reported stolen by mill owner Oswold Jenkins. Investigation to continue.
Telegraph indicating precious cargo transport on morning stage.
Nothing was unusual in the entries until Ben got to the last notation. Had his predecessor ridden out to meet the stage because he was anticipating Roseanna’s arrival, or had something else compelled him to provide an escort?
Interrupted by another blast of cold air, Ben’s head jerked up when the office door swung in on a heavy gust of wind.
“Good morning, Judge. You are up bright and early.”
Harlan Lemke winked. “I’d say you’re familiar with the adage ‘Early to bed, early to rise?’”
That made Ben’s lips twitch. “My Ma named me Benjamin Franklin Chauncy. And I can assure you, that particular saying is one of her favorites.”
The older man brushed the snow from his coat and removed his Derby. “Might I hang these by the stove?”
“Of course. There are a few open pegs. I’ve got to take breakfast up to Orville and Gilbert,” Ben answered as he picked up the tray. “But I’ll be back down shortly.”
“Take your time, Sheriff. I’m going to review my notes again before we begin, so I’m in no hurry.” A few minutes later, the pretty little blonde the judge had interviewed the day before popped her head out of a door tucked beneath the staircase.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, your Honor?”
“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Danbury.”
“We have oatmeal and biscuits if you’d like something to eat,” the shy girl offered.
“No, thank you. I took my meal at the hotel before coming over.”
When a baby began crying, the young mother gave a harried nod before ducking back inside and closing the door.
When Ben reappeared on the stairs, he looked around. “Everything okay down here?”
“Just fine. The prisoners?”
“I really don’t know what to make of those two,” Ben sighed. “The younger of the two, Baxter Orville, insists the other shot Sheriff Danbury. But Ambrose Gilbert? He’s unreadable. And he refuses to answer any questions.”
“I spoke with Linus Wright this morning before coming over here. Neither of the prisoners upstairs has requested his assistance. Is that correct?” the judge asked.
The attorney in question had indeed offered his services to the suspects, but Ben was under the impression that the prisoners expected their employer to provide legal assistance. Yet, when he explained the situation to the judge, something felt off.
“These fellas have been in Roses Briar about six weeks, and Orville has already proposed to one of the local women. His fiancé, Pernelia Jacquish, just happens to work for the railroad representative – Simon Rassbach,” Ben explained.
“That doesn’t sit right with you?” Harlan questioned.
Ben picked up his cold cup of coffee and took a long drink before answering. “Nothing about this sits right with me,” he said as he plopped down on one of the unoccupied chairs across from Judge Lemke. “I found a notation in the daily logbook this morning. Arnold’s last entry mentioned he expected precious cargo on the incoming stage, and I assume that’s why he rode out to meet it. Do you think he meant Roseanna and her sons, or was there something else those men upstairs were after?”
“Was anything else reported missing?” Judge Lemke asked, intrigued by the strange case.
“There was a small transfer of funds being transported from a bank in Clear Water Falls to the account holder here in Roses Briar. But Simon Rassbach seemed less concerned with his lost money than he was with Miss Sherman’s arrival,” Ben related.
Harlan propped his elbow on the desk and then dropped his chin into one hand. A few seconds passed, and then he sat up again. Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, the judge leaned back and contemplated the ceiling. “Any hard feelings between the former Sheriff and Mr. Rassbach?”
Ben shrugged, and then his tired mind kicked into gear. Lifting the logbook from the corner of the desk, he flipped through several pages before finding the notation he sought.
Attended meeting of the Town Council. Called upon to break tie concerning modifications to the town charter. Arrested three agitators after the meeting was dismissed. Fined $5 each and released.
“Names?” Harlan prompted.
“There aren’t any listed. The men weren’t from around here,” Ben advised. “But I do recall something that seems mighty interesting in hindsight.”
Before he’d elaborate, though, Ben walked to the door and looked out at the snowflakes dancing in the chilly air. However, the weather wasn’t what held the lawman’s attention. Instead, the stretch of track leading up to the depot and loading docks seemed to captivate him.
Impatient, the judge joined the other man and looked out the window toward the north. “What do you see?”
“The railroad scrip those muscle-bound gorillas were carrying,” Ben answered. “I’m not sure if the Sheriff saw it. And it didn’t mean anything to me at the time. We see it a lot around here – that’s how the Great Valley Railway pays their employees. But, maybe . . .” he turned and scuffled back toward the desk. After grabbing both coffee cups, he went to Roseanna’s door and knocked quietly.
“Yes, Sheriff?” the woman asked as she slipped into the office.
“Any chance you have more coffee?”
“Of course, I’ll be just a minute though. I’m trying to get the babies down for a nap.”
Ben groaned. “Tell ya what. Just give me the pot, and I can brew more out here if we want it.” He had what he needed within a minute, and the exhausted man plunked the kettle atop the pot belly stove.
“You alright, son?”
After pouring a cup and taking a sip of the hot brew, Ben sighed in relief. “I am now, sir.”
That made the judge chuckle. “Long night?”
“No night. My mind just wouldn’t shut off.”
Harlan gratefully accepted his re-filled mug and then cornered the restless Sheriff. “Now. Back to the men you arrested in September.”
“Welllllll,” Ben sighed, drawing out the word. “I don’t like the picture that’s coming together in my head.”
Getting comfortable, the judge sat, propped one foot against his opposite knee, and gestured for the other man to continue.
“It’s just that there seem to be a lot of coincidences, sir. And they all point back to the same person – Simon Rassbach.”