Chapter 7
Cherryville, Louisiana
As Kyle and Michael drove back to Cherryville, they didn’t talk much.
Kyle was lost in his thoughts. Of all the things that they could have stumbled onto that might account for Alice’s sister not contacting her, this was not one he had considered.
And yet, based on his own experience since heading out to Texas, he felt that maybe he should have listed it among the possibilities.
Even so, kidnapped by bandits and held prisoner in her own home? Good heavens.
His biggest worry was how to get Chrissie and her husband out of there alive and in one piece while getting the rest of them back on their journey uninjured too.
And what would happen then? Would he go on his merry way despite how deeply he was coming to care for Alice?
Could he just go on? Would he stay here and abandon all his dreams in Unity?
Would Alice stay here to be near her sister?
“Kyle, could you please just talk to me?” Michael asked.
“Sure,” Kyle said. “But why did you say it like that?”
“Because you’re making a strange mumbling noise in the back of your throat, and it’s driving me insane.”
“Sorry,” Kyle said. “I didn’t realize I was doing it.”
“I figured,” Michael said. “So, what are you thinking?”
“That I really like Alice, and I want this to work out,” he said plainly.
That made his friend chuckle.
“I’m glad,” Michael said. “I thought you would end up growing old with no one but a town full of folks who like you and a bunch of horses.”
“That’s not bad,” Kyle retorted. “I’m a very fortunate man.
I have been blessed with a fantastic community and the opportunity to do work I love all day long.
Having Alice in my life would be one more blessing.
” He sighed. “She seems to like me fair enough, but I don’t know if she would even consider trying Unity as a home.
You know, to give us time to get to know each other before anything. ”
“Well, we are going on to New York when the new train arrives, and she might be on that train too, if we rescue Chrissie and then Alice heads back home. So she could always get to know you better on the train ride out east,” Michael said.
“And I think after you help to save her sister, she might look favorably on you.”
That turned his mind back to the more pressing matter. “How are we going to save her sister, exactly?”
“I think we need to approach this situation with great caution,” Michael said. “I mean, what are the bandits hoping to accomplish with this kidnapping? They had to know that, at some point, people would start wondering about the whereabouts of Jason and Chrissie. Right?”
It was very strange. “Perhaps they’re planning something in the area and Jason and Chrissie just somehow blundered into their path?”
Then a memory came sliding into Kyle’s mind and he let out a bark of a laugh. “You know … I wonder if this is connected to some possible outlaws I saw in Grunnersberg the other day.”
“Outlaws?”
“Yes, at the bank. But Alice chided me for making assumptions about folks based solely on their appearance,” Kyle said with a sigh. “She said I was being judgmental and unfair.”
“She said what?” Michael said in surprise. “But you’re the fairest man I know. If you say they looked out of place and suspicious, I believe you.”
“Well, she doesn’t know me like you do,” Kyle pointed out.
“So, you doubted yourself because the girl you like said something negative about your observations?”
“Something like that,” Kyle said, not wanting to admit out loud that that was exactly it.
The pat on his shoulder came with surprising force since Kyle and Michael were sitting so close on the driver’s seat.
Kyle was pushed forward, and the air came out of his lungs in a puff.
He yelped as his ribs protested. He was starting to doubt they were actually cracked because they hurt a lot less than a few days ago.
But they were definitely badly bruised, at the least.
“Sorry,” Michael said.
“It’s fine,” Kyle said.
Michael was about six inches taller than Kyle and a good deal stockier too. Kyle guessed that sometimes his friend forgot his own strength.
“Okay,” Kyle said, deciding to get them back on track. “So, when we get to town, we should find somewhere to sit and observe the folks coming and going without being suspicious.”
“Exactly,” Michael said. “Did you see anywhere when we were driving in?”
Kyle shrugged. “The saloon had large windows. That was about the only place, unless we go and sit on the bench by the general store or the sheriff’s office.”
“Let’s go with the saloon. We can have lunch and maybe even overhear some interesting conversations.”
They rode back into Cherryville and right up to the saloon. They tied the horse and cart up to a hitching post by a water trough.
Kyle eyed the building dubiously. It was the kind of place that needed some upkeep, but no one seemed inclined to do it.
The paint was peeling off in sheets, curling under the sunshine and rain.
Rust ran red down the wood from the nails hammered in the walls and everything about the place seemed warped and out of shape.
The name on the faded sign said it was the Sugar Mill Saloon.
There was a plaque by the door that proclaimed the premises were owned by Morris Milling and that the right of admission was reserved.
“Probably to keep the riffraff out,” Michael said as he opened the door and went in.
The saloon was in better shape inside than out. The bar counter was a large slab of polished wood that ran the length of the room. There were several small round tables dotting the room, with chairs set around them, and the place smelled strongly of soap and a little of old beer.
The patrons of the place were mostly older men. They sat with pints on the tables in front of them, and all watched Kyle and Michael walk to the bar. It was unsettling to have about eight eyes on him. Kyle wondered what they were staring at. Surely this town saw the occasional stranger.
“Howdy,” the barkeep said. He was around Kyle’s height and weight, but he had the beginnings of a paunch hanging over his belt. He smiled warmly. “Oh, don’t mind the staring gang,” he said, looking past them at the men in the bar. “Their mothers never taught them no manners.”
And just like that, all the staring stopped.
“It’s no problem,” Michael said. “We’re just passing through and thought we would stop for a bite to eat and maybe a pint.”
“I can do both if you like,” the man said. “My name’s Sylvester, and my wife Henrietta makes a mean stew.”
“I’m Kyle. This is Michael, and that sounds perfect,” Kyle said with his most disarming grin. “Can we take a seat by a window? I get a little worried about my horse. I like to make sure she’s okay.”
“Sure, go right ahead. I’ll draw your pints and bring your stew in a minute,” Sylvester said.
They thanked him and moved to an open table by the window.
They took seats so that they could each see a side of the room and either up or down the street outside. Sylvester brought the beers shortly after and Kyle took a sip.
“It’s good,” he said with a surprised frown. “I have to be honest—I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Me either,” Michael said, taking a sip of his.
For a while they sat in silence, just watching people come and go.
It was mostly folks making deliveries of some nature or another.
They drove up in carts and delivered a couple of kegs of beer to the saloon, which Sylvester took possession of.
Across the street, the leather shop had a couple of customers, and the general store next to it had a delivery down the alley on the side of the building, plus a handful of customers going in and out of the front door.
Everything in the town seemed normal, peaceful, happy even.
Cherryville looked a lot like Grunnersberg, or even Unity back home would look like one day.
People stopped and talked as they met each other on the street, and there was nothing that made Kyle think there was anything amiss.
Well, almost nothing.
Everyone looked around a lot, like they were watching out for something. Mothers with small children in tow seemed to keep a closer eye on their offspring than Kyle had seen in other towns where the children ran freely.
He watched two mothers, both with small children around four years old, talking on the street.
The women clearly stood so they could see their little ones at all times.
The children played quietly together on the sidewalk.
Kyle didn’t know much about kids, but he thought that at that age, he’d have been running amuck with his friend, not huddling close to his mother’s skirts.
Maybe that wasn’t as odd as Kyle thought it was. What did he know about parenting anyway?
He turned to watch two men who met a third, and they all shook hands. They spoke for a couple of minutes. In the time they spent talking, they all checked the road about five or six times.
Sylvester arrived with their bowls of stew, and Kyle turned his attention from the window.
“This looks like a peaceful town,” he said brightly. “It’s such a nice place. We’re real glad we stopped here.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure glad to hear that,” Sylvester said.
“We are proud of our little town.” No sooner had the words left his lips than the proud light in his eyes faded and he seemed to have an inner debate with himself.
Then he leaned on the table and spoke softly.
“Although I feel I should warn you that there is a slightly disturbing element in our town lately. They aren’t locals, and we’re not sure where they came from, but our sheriff has assured us that it will all be dealt with soon.
So, please don’t judge us on their behavior. ”