Deputy Dewey Finds More Clues

Dewey came rushing back to the sheriff’s office. He jumped off his horse before it came to a full stop. He slapped his hat against his thigh as he entered the door.

“What’s wrong?” Clyde bolted to his feet and dropped the newspaper he was reading.

“It’s what’s right.” Dewey was grinning. “You won’t believe this. That Hilliard fella was into some shady dealing. Got to hangin’ around somebody named Bobby. Whoever he is, he’s done got up and took off in the middle of the night about ten days ago.”

Clyde rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t say. Any idea who he was hangin’ with or where he went?”

Dewey sat on the three-legged stool and leaned forward as Clyde sat back down. His forearms rested on his legs, his hands cupping his knees.

“Couldn’t get his last name but some folks lived by him said that young lawyer was lookin’ for him. Maybe this here Bobby character was in some kinda legal trouble.”

“Did you try to find the lawyer?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t been to work in a couple days. His boss ain’t too happy with him but he wouldn’t tell me why.”

Clyde got up and found the container of toothpicks. He had never been a smoker but he was trying to curb his sweet tooth. He found a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth.

“Did you get the young attorney’s address?”

“I asked. His boss just said he lives in the rooming house. I went there and everybody there was pretty tight-lipped.”

Clyde switched the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Seems pretty strange. Maybe I ought to go rattle some cages.”

Joel’s Trouble; Jason’s Worry

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Joel sat at the bar drinking his sarsaparilla and watching the men at the poker table. Toby, the undertaker, sat next to him.

“Ain’t seen you around much lately.” Toby sipped his beer.

“Nope. Been busy visiting a young lady.”

“Yep. I heered ‘bout that. It’s that copper-headed girl that thinks she’s Injun, right?” He elbowed Joel in the rib.

“Don’t know anything about that, but if you’re referring to the young woman that lives up in the holler near the Bluestone River, that’d be her.”

“Whatcha want with a white girl that ain’t right in the head?”

Joel came off his stool and pulled Toby off of his. “I’ll hear no more of that talk from you or anyone else.” He looked around the room and was met with laughter.

“You’re crazy.” Toby paid his tab and left.

Joel walked to the poker area and stood between the tables. “I’ll brook no slander against the lady. Anybody here got a problem with that?”

Most of the men ignored him, everyone but Kyle Gordon. Kyle stood at six feet, three inches tall, wore bib overalls, a plaid shirt, two weeks of beard growth, and a dusty slouch hat. If he had stood up Joel would have had to strain his neck to look up at the man.

Kyle looked at Joel, nodded toward him, then looked at his cards. He had three aces and two kings, a full house. He studied his opponents briefly. Two of the others had folded. Only T.J. and David were still in the game besides him. T.J. was good at bluffing; David wasn’t. David had raised T.J.’s bet by ten dollars. Kyle called the bet and finished out the hand before he acknowledged Joel.

“Way I hear it,” Kyle began, took a drink of whatever he had on the table, and resumed, “she’s just a decoy. Way I hear it, the senator’s girl is the one you’re really after. So why are you so fired up about that Jackson girl?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Don’t matter who I been talkin’ to. Fact is you’re lyin’ to one of ‘em.” Kyle turned back to the table. David was dealing.

Joel pointed his finger at Kyle’s face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Kyle took another swallow of his drink. “You come home a few nights ago strapped to your horse’s back. Saw someone carry you into the roomin’ house, then put your horse in the barn out back.”

Joel backed up two steps, thought better of it, and stepped right next to Kyle’s chair. His face had turned crimson, then paled to ash gray. “What else have you heard?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Kyle turned directly toward Joel. “I hear lots of things. Then I ponder on ‘em and decide if they’re any of my business. So far I ain’t heard nothin’ that affects me, but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Joel could feel the blood pounding in his head, his heart hammering in his chest. Obviously he had not been as careful and discreet as he had thought. How close were things to unraveling? How could he protect himself from whatever was coming?


Jason rode his paint gelding first to the Jackson place, thinking Fawn may have gone back to her barn, a place of familiarity. He dismounted, dropped the reins so Nomad could graze, and opened the barn door. It was dark inside. There was no smell of manure or fresh hay so she obviously had not been there in a while. Midnight Sun came from behind the barn where he had been grazing. He nickered as he approached Nomad and rubbed noses with him.

Jason came out of the barn and rubbed Sun’s neck. He was dirty and had leaves and twigs stuck in his mane. So, if Sun was home, where was Fawn? And why was the halter still hanging from Sun’s neck? It wasn’t like Fawn to leave her horse unattended. His pulse quickened. His heart disquieted.

He walked to the creek to see if there were any fresh hoof prints or footprints. There were none. He scratched his head, perplexed. Where could she be?

The house was nearly finished. All that was needed was the inside walls, doors, windows, and furnishings. Jason smiled as he considered how all of the neighbors were working hard on making new furniture. A couple of the men were even buying paint to make the place homey and appealing once it was done. He and his father were making the kitchen table and chairs.

He reeled his thoughts back to finding Fawn. Where could she be? He prayed. “Lord, You know where she is. Please help me find her,and please let her be okay. Most of all, please show her that You are the answer she’s been looking for all of her life. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

He mucked out Sun’s stall, removed the horse’s halter and hung it on its peg. Then he went back outside and swung his leg up and over the saddle and turned his horse toward the river. “Lord, I’m depending on you to guide me.”

The First Skirmish For Fawn’s Soul

Fawn awakened to the sound of thunder. She arose and stretched out the kinks in her legs and back. Sleeping on the ground with nothing but pine needles and leaves from the previous autumn did not create a comfortable bed. She brushed the dirt and debris from her clothing and combed her fingers through her hair, trying to get out the tangles and leaves. Midnight Sun grazed nearby.

A flash of lightning near the opposite bank told her the rain was not far off. She dashed to the water to see her reflection. The paint from the day before was still evident. Good.

Midnight Sun began to prance as the thunder clapped overhead. Fawn grabbed his lead to keep him from running off. “It’s alright, Sun,” she spoke gently as she stroked his head. “We will go home now. This is not a good place to be.”

The sky dumped its buckets as large drops of rain pummeled Fawn and her horse. She led him to a thicket where some maple and tulip trees made a canopy overhead. “Thank you, earth spirit for providing shelter.” She shivered in her wet clothing while worshiping her ancestors and their gods. She knew they would take care of her.

Lightning struck a tree a few yards away. Midnight Sun spooked, jerked his lead free from her hand, and bolted. He galloped off, leaving Fawn alone under the tree.

She ran after him. “Sun, Sun. Come back.” She couldn’t keep up. She dropped to her knees and wept. Great Spirit, where are you? Earth spirit, why have you left me? Despair gripped her soul, the demon squeezing tight. He whispered in her ear. “Your gods have left you. You’re all alone. We have you.”

She shook her head. Was she losing her mind? Where did that evil voice come from? Why is this happening to me? Why are my ancestors abandoning me? Have I not done what they wanted? Did I not fast, and pray, and worship them? There is no kiva anywhere near here. Our tribe is scattered. What else could I do? What else could I do? She wailed.

The rain slackened and slowed to a drizzle. A gentle breeze sloughed through the trees. Fawn did not see nor hear the battle between Despair, Slither, and God’s warriors Toth and Kenya.

Cryer and Morror sat each one on a shoulder, hissing in her ears. Cryer was the smallest demon. He could almost squeeze one tiny wing into Fawn’s left ear. “You’re all alone. No one knows where you are.”

Morror moaned in Fawn’s right ear. “Your ancestors have left you. You don’t fit into their world. You could just…”

A gleaming gold sword slashed at him. He tumbled to the ground in fright but was not harmed. He was brushing himself off when a giant silver being stood over him with its sword drawn and pointed right at Morror’s throat. “What is your name?” the being demanded.

Morror rose to his full height of two feet and found when he stretched forth his wing, ever so slowly, he still could not quite reach the giant’s knee. His voice quavered though he tried to sound tough. “Morror. What’s yours?” He tried to laugh but it came out as a squeak.

“I am Kenya.” He continued to point the sword scant inches from the demon’s throat.

Morror laughed. “You are called after the great warrior who led the children of Israel into the battle of Jericho. I thought you had been beaten there.”

Kenya moved his sword a fraction of inch closer to its opponent. “You were obviously misinformed. You have two choices here. You can leave this young woman alone, or you can be killed and cast into outer darkness. Which shall it be?”

Morror squeaked, “You may be a giant but you cannot kill me.”

Kenya’s sword touched the demon’s throat. “I’ll happy to demonstrate my skills, little morose one.”

“Don’t call me that.” Morror shrieked. Cryer landed beside him at the same instant.

“No,” Cryer wailed. He looked at Morror. “Let’s go. We’ll report back to Ashtaroth. He will send the troops to take care of this one and the other. It isn’t our job.”

Morror leaned over to help Cryer to a standing position. Toth arrived at that moment.

“What took you so long?” Kenya asked him.

“I was watching to see if our enemy had any other minions enroute to the girl. She must be pretty special to the Master if Ashtaroth is sending these two. They’re supposed to wear her down so the next antagonizers can destroy her. That’s why our Master sent us.”

Cryer and Morror were whispering. The sky turned an eerie blackish green with darker splotches swirling in it. Toth and Kenya turned their attention to the imps before them. Toth used his sword to bat Cryer through the air while Kenya slashed Morror’s leg, disabling him. Morror limped away, wailing as he went, seeking to hide in a tree.

The two angels then stood ready to fight as they sent out a signal for reinforcements.

Frienemies: Fawn Sleeps While the Battle Starts

This is just the second half of the chapter.

Fawn had been gone for three days. She had fasted, drank little water, and was getting feverish, delirious, and weak. Wrapped in a blanket she had taken with her, she sat on the ground, propped against a tree trunk. Black carpenter ants crawled under the blanket, into her clothing, and began biting her. She jumped up, sweeping at them, stripping her clothing off. She stumbled into the icy river, which had not warmed up much as it was still early May, until the only thing above water was her head.

Time seemed to fade away. She had no idea how long she had been in the water, but her fever grew weaker. She became aware that her body needed nourishment and water. The river was a clear stream and she scooped some of the cool liquid in her hands. She choked on the first gulp and reminded herself to slurp instead of gulp.

Still standing the river, her gaze traveled the shoreline. There was no sign of anyone near. Energized by the cold water and her shivering body, she bolted back to where she had dropped her clothing, made sure everything was free of ants, dressed, and went searching for food.

There were places along the river where cattails grew in the shallows. They were about six to eight inches tall she guessed. She picked three of them, peeled the bulbs and ate them. Perhaps she would save the heads and take them back to the Gardner place to be roasted and eaten later, like corn on the cob.

It was not the best thing she had ever eaten but it would do. After the third bite her stomach rebelled at the raw roughage. She gagged and retched.

Defeat and discouragement bowed her back, causing her head and shoulders to stoop as she trudged back to her horse. Her feet dragged and stumbled as she led Midnight Sun away from the river and into the woods. She found a spot that still had a layer of pine needles and leaves from the winter. After checking the area for any kind of ants and seeing none, she removed the blanket from the horse and laid it on the ground.

As she drifted into a troubled sleep her only thought was I’ve been abandoned and I’m all alone.

The angel bent low and gently brushed her brow. “Sleep little one,” he whispered. Fawn heard nothing but the screaming in her head.

“Is it time yet, Lord?” the gleaming white being asked. There was no time for an answer.

A sulfurous black shape drew its machete-like sword. “You will die now,” the shape hissed at Tal.

Tal waited for the command, then shifted his position as he drew his gleaming sword. “On the contrary, fowl spirit; it is you who will die this day.”

The dark shape raised himself up at the same moment Tal struck. The loathsome demon ducked and tumbled through the air, positioning himself for a rebound.

Tal changed his stance and awaited his chance. “What is your name, foul spirit?”

The demon smirked and stuck out its tongue, licking its lips as if in anticipation of a good meal, or a good fight. “Slither” was his answer.

Tal laughed. “Yes, I can see why. Slither toward me if you dare.”

Slither jumped forward,lurching at the same time, arm outstretched, slicing the air with the machete. He missed. Tal did not. With a screech and an ebbing wail, Slither tumble away in a fog of sulfuric vapor.

Tal knew others would come. He stood guard and waited for reinforcements.

Frienemies: Chapter Thirty-Nine

“This has got to stop,” Nana shouted. “She can’t keep running off like this.”

Ellen hugged her friend. “I know you’re worried, but she probably just needs some peace and quiet. Fawn isn’t used to all of this commotion. Give her some time.”

Nana wasn’t convinced. “Maybe, but Ellen, this is the second time she’s taken off and disappeared, not tellin’ anybody where she was goin’. I’ve a mind to take her over my knee; I don’t care how old she is.”

“Come on outside to the garden with me,” Ellen said. “You can sit on the bench and tell me where the weeds are. It will do you some good to get outside in the sunshine. We can pray out there where no one but the birds and squirrels will hear us. God knows exactly where Fawn is. She’ll be alright.” Her voice was gentle as her lips parted in a half smile. Then she took Nana’s left elbow and helped her toward the back door. Nana held her cane in her right hand.

Nana’s expression warred between anger and worry. I know worry is a sin, Lord. I know I can trust You, but I don’t know what you’re gonna haveta do to get Fawn’s attention. I don’t wanna see her hurt anymore. Her chest heaved a heavy sigh as pain stabbed her back in her effort to straighten her spine. She quickly remembered her arthritis and gave up standing straight.


Joel awakened disoriented with his head splitting and his eyes aching. Where was he? He tried to sit up by using his left elbow to prop him up. He seemed to be in his own bed. As soon as he was halfway to being in an upright position his stomach lurched and he fell back into a prone position. He rolled over toward the side of the bed and retched. When his stomach was emptied he wiped his mouth with the blanket, laid back, and covered his head with his pillow to block out the light.

Two hours later he awoke again, thirsty and anxious. He tried to recall the events of the previous day. How did he get home? The last thing he remembered was arguing with Angel in the barn when someone hit him from behind. If he didn’t know how he got home then he obviously didn’t know how he got in bed either. What day was it? Was he supposed to be at work or was it a weekend? His head pounded with each unanswered question. He needed to find Angel. She surely knew what had happened. He sat up slowly and put his feet on the floor while he continued to sit on the bed. Pushing himself gently to a standing position with his hands, he found his feet would not support him. He slumped back onto the bed.

I can’t even get myself a drink of water was his last thought before drifting back to a troubled sleep. His dreams were filled with vague scenes of fire, property destruction, and being pulled in opposite directions by faceless people. He awakened some time later to find himself tangled in his sheet with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet at the top.

The thunderous rapping at the door sobered his mind somewhat. He fumbled to put on his pants while mumbling for the caller to wait a minute. Yelling was out of the question. It would have produced a whopping headache.

He opened the door to a retreating back. “May I help you?” he croaked.

His employer turned and came back. “Been drinking have you?”

Joel’s right hand attempted to comb his hair as he spoke. “No, sir.”

“Looks like it to me. If it’s not the drink then what is it?” He was a short man with thin brown hair, a graying mustache, and a paunch that mocked his otherwise reedy frame.

“I got attacked from behind while at a meeting. Got knocked out and somehow ended up here and in bed. What day is it?”

“Two days since you last graced the office with your presence. You were not scheduled for any meetings since then. What have you been up to?”

Joel realized they were still standing at the door. He opened it and waved his employer into the room. He motioned to a chair against the wall while he himself sat back on the bed in his boardinghouse room. With his head held in his hands, elbows on his knees he tried to think of a reply.

“It was an unscheduled meeting, sir. A lady in distress wished to speak with me privately. Apparently it turned out to be an ambush.”

His employer tapped his left foot on the floor. He was not a man who liked to raise his voice. It mattered not. His tone was full of ice, his words like shards of broken glass. “This is your last chance, young man. You either come to work as scheduled or you seek other employment. If you do not show up tomorrow, do not come back at all. You will not get a recommendation from me. Good day.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Fawn still sat by the river with Arctic Sun drinking from the water’s edge. Memories assaulted her spirit. When she was ten years old the year was 1868. She, her mother, and Nana visited the graves of their fallen men. The journey had been arduous. The roads were nothing but mud tracks from the early morning rain. Wagon wheels slipped and spun causing the horse to strain forward and sometimes misstep. Along the way they still passed broken muskets, canons, canteens, and pieces of uniforms from both sides of the conflict. Tears could not be contained as grief gripped their hearts.

Burned out cabins and clapboard houses dotted the countryside. Some of them had blood stains on the doors and house exteriors. There were blood spatters still on the ground in some places, a constant reminder of the war that divided families and pitted brother against father, neighbor against neighbor.

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She did not understand why the war had been fought. Why could people not just let each other live as they pleased? She asked her mother.

Lottie was distraught herself and wrapped in her own thoughts and grief. She looked at her ten-year-old daughter and saw a weak and frightened little girl, a Shawnee who should be more mature than to ask such a question. “What a stupid question. Our decisions all affect each other. You need to learn this. Like when you wear your Shawnee clothes to a white school. Then you come home crying because they were mean to you. What did you expect? You as much as told them you wanted nothing to do with them.” Lottie turned her head away from her daughter and looked at the passing countryside.

Silence reigned for several minutes as Fawn sat and wept in silence.

But Lottie heard her sniffling. “Stop that right now. You have nothing to cry about. Save your crying for the families who have lost everything in this crazy war.” She again turned to watch the countryside.

Fawn stole glances at Nana who sat on her right in the wagon. She had remained silent but Fawn noticed Nana’s soft expression as she patted Fawn’s hand. Nana usually managed to make Fawn feel better but not this time. What was wrong with the question she had asked. Was she supposed to understand war? She had just returned last week from spending two years with her white cousins in Harper’s Ferry. The gory details of the hanging of Frederick Douglas still made her feel ill. Her cousins had laughed and mocked her about her squeamishness.

Fawn’s habit was to retreat to her Shawnee heritage whenever she felt nervous, frightened or upset. It always seemed to make things worse but she couldn’t seem to help it.

As she sat on the rock ruminating, it occurred to her that maybe she didn’t respect her heritage enough. It wasn’t enough to dress in the clothing, which had all been destroyed in the recent fire; she needed to live Shawnee. That had to be why her prayers weren’t being answered, why her ancestors were not answering her or helping her. They felt she was not sincere in her devotion to them. She would prove them wrong.

She wandered the woods along the water looking for wild onions and other plants she could use as dyes. She would paint her face and pray. She would fast and seek the wisdom of her elders. She would sacrifice her own comforts, forsake her friends if necessary, if that would bring her the peace she craved.

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Frienemies: Chapter Thirty-Seven

Fawn took Arctic Sun out for a ride. It had been three days, or had it been longer? She had lost track of time. They both needed exercise. Melanie and Sarah Beth had wanted to join her but she really needed to be alone. Two weeks crowded in a house with five other people plus her grandmother while waiting for their house to get finished. Sure they were friends, and they were kind, but the close proximity put her in a position to hear conversations that were none of her business. She felt like an interloper and an eavesdropper. She was a burden, an intruder upon the lives of her friends. The thoughts crowded her mind, pushing against each other, then seemed to race around each other. She leaned forward, clinging to Sun’s neck as he galloped, his mane and forelock flying in the wind.

The late morning air was crisp. The scents of pine, lavender, and wild hyacinths wafted on the breeze. Sun slowed to a canter, then a trot, and finally a walk. Now and again he would stop and munch on the grass and bushes that lined the path between the Gardner place and Pine Trail Road. They rode down Pine Trail Road and turned down River Trail Road toward the Bluestone River.

Once on the River Trail they stopped and Fawn dismounted. She had ridden bareback with not so much as a halter. Now she walked beside him, patting his neck and combing his mane as she talked to him.

“You’re lucky, Sun. Your routine doesn’t change much and you don’t have to feel like you are a burden to other people.”

The horse nickered and bobbed his head.

“You don’t have turmoil around you. No one treats you like a charity case. You are accepted for who and what you are.”

He munched more shrubbery. Nothing seemed to daunt him or give him any cause for concern. Envy filled Fawn.

“I know the Gardners don’t think of us a burden. Neither does Mr. Browning, but that doesn’t change the way I feel. Now we’re getting a new house built that we cannot pay for. And I contribute zero to this world.” She hugged Sun’s neck and jumped back on. With no one around to see her skirts fly up in the air as she straddled his back, there were no opinions to worry about. They took the rest of the trail to the river where Sun could get a fresh drink of water and Fawn could find a rock to sit on and muse.



Bluestone River, Mercer County, WV

Photo by Thomas E. Dye


Angel sat on a bale of hay in the barn. Joel stood across from her,his blood pressure rising.

“I don’t know what you expect. I’ve done all of your dirty work and nothing is going right. You have the deed, which you already knew about. I am done. I will not forge a legal document. You are not worth my career.”

Her chocolate eyes bored into his blue ones. She leaned back with a beckoning look and reached out her hand. “I told you, Joel. I own you. I know things and I can ruin your career. There is nothing you can do about it.”

He reached out to strike her but drew his arm back. She would relish it. The vixen thrived on conflict and being in control. Yet she was not willing to risk her own pretty neck.

“It is true, you can ruin my career, but not without Daddy Dear finding out what you have been up to. You are as much at risk as I am. If I go down, you go down.” He snapped a twig he had picked up. He wished it was her neck.

Angel smiled as the door opened and Hank came in. “You silly boy. Did you think you were only working for me?”

Joel didn’t get a chance to see who hit him from behind before he was knocked to the ground, dragged out of the barn and tied across his horse. The animal’s reins were loose enough to let him move his head. With a thump on the rear Joel was on his way home.

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Frienemies: Chapter Thirty-Six

A Gloom Reflected

Rain had stopped progress on the Jackson house for three days. The relentless deluge took its toll in a landslide that blocked Route 20 between Lerona and Pipestem. Work on the railroad between Athens and Hinton had come to a screeching halt. Tempers flared and fists flew at the tavern. Joel wasn’t hurt badly. He gave worse than he got, and it had been worth it to get away from Angel. There was nothing in life more irritating than a bored woman. And Angel was bored. She was the reason he went to the tavern in the first place. Well, that, and he was in the mood for some arm wrestling and dart throwing.

Angel paced her room, wearing a track in the braided rug her grandmother had made. Frayed threads poked up between the once neat rows of coiled scrap material. She looked around her room, stopping in mid stride.

The heavy brocade drapes did nothing to elevate her mood. Gloomy clouds and gloomy surroundings created a morose atmosphere. She walked to the window and yanked the drapes open. As the rain pounded the roof and pelted the window bolts of lightning split the sky and stabbed the ground. Two bolts collided and struck the Virginia pine that stood in the center of the six-tree border twenty feet from her window.

The tree split as it smoldered but did not catch fire. She jumped back in shock and stared as the electricity from the strike tingled through her body and made her raven black hair stand straight out. Yet she could not make herself move. Never had she seen a storm like this one.

Conscience pricked her. I deserve to die. God is giving me a warning because I killed my little brother. But I didn’t mean to, God. You know I didn’t.

Yes you did, her soul answered back. You hated him because your mother loved him more than you. Admit it.

Laughter bubbled from somewhere deep within, but it wasn’t funny. Was she a monster? Was God really giving her a warning? She had heard people say that God punishes the wicked, and she knew in her heart the adjective applied to her.

But if my parents loved me I wouldn’t be wicked. I would be sweet and nice. I would not have to find ways to punish myself and hurt others in the process. But I have a right to happiness. I have a right to be loved. But no one has ever loved me. I am too evil to love. So I will do my worst.

She reached up to close the drapes again. A figure stood outside, its back to her, looking up at the sky. The person wore no protective coat or hat; he seemed to be welcoming the storm. Then the figure disappeared. Was it real or was she losing her mind?

She closed the drapes and lit the lantern beside her cherry four-poster canopied bed. She took off her dress and put on her night clothes, then burrowed under the covers and hoped morning would bring sunshine. Another day of this rain may prove to bring huge problems for someone.

Picture 415

Photo by Thomas E. Dye

Frienemies: Disappointment

Her brows furowed with worry as Fawn paced the living room.  Deep sighs repeatedly escaped her lips, although she was unaware of them. She crossed and uncrossed her arms across her chest. It had been almost two weeks since her interview and there had been no word since then. Her brow furrowed with worry.

Joel arrived just after lunch. She watched him dismount his horse. There was no smile as he approached the house.

She thrust the screen door open and stepped outside.

“What’s wrong?”

Joel stutter-stepped at the abrupt meeting. He removed his hat, hung his head, and answered while averting his eyes.

“The people in Pipestem heard about your troubles here. They are afraid those troubles will follow you. They have decided not to hire you until the culprit or culprits have been arrested.”

“I knew it. I just knew it.” She wailed. The weight of frustration pressed on her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Rent would soon be due again and how were they to pay with no income? She turned away from Joel, hiding her tears.


Michael and Deanna Wiley had been praying for Fawn and her situation daily, pleading for God’s intervention. Now they knelt together beside the green and cream-colored hand-embroidered chair in the library, their throats were raw from the fervent choked back sobs. This was the prayer chair, handed down from Deanna’s mother, given to her on the day she and Michael were wed. It held the tears of two previous generations of prayer warriors. Though the material had become thin in some places as tears dimmed the colors of the scripture verses that had so painstakingly been sewn in, it still served its intended purpose.

The couple held hands as they prayed.


“Lord Jesus,thank you for bringing this young woman into our lives. Though the community has rejected her as our teacher for now, we are trusting You to work in this situation. You know her needs even better than she knows them herself, Father. Please use her circumstances for Your honor and glory, drawing her to Yourself and snatching her from the enemy’s grasp.”

Deanna took her turn. “Jesus, we thank You and praise You that You know all things, the beginning from the end. You are such a great and mighty God, and You poured out Your own precious blood that we might have a new life, an abundant life, as Your word promises. Thank You for having a purpose and a plan for our lives. Your thoughts toward us are for good, and not of evil, to give us an expected end. Please save Fawn’s precious soul, so that she might find the joy and peace that Your word promises. Help her to see how much You love her. In Your most holy and precious name, amen.”

Annette came tip-toeing into the room and stood silent until the praying stopped. She stepped between her parents and stretched her eight-year-old arms to each of them.

“Why are you crying?” she whispered.

Deanna wiped her tears and hugged her child. She stroked the blond tresses as she replied, “Because Miss Fawn is going through some hard times and we want God to help her.”

The little girl put her hands on each side of Deanna’s face and leaned in close.

“Then shouldn’t I be praying for her too?” Her eyes were pools of concern. “You told me the Bible says where two or more are gathered together Jesus is right in the middle.”




Wishing all of you a very happy Thanksgiving. Thanks for visiting. If you like what you read please share on FB, Twitter, and other social media. Or send me a note on Twitter. Blessings.

Obviously the photo above is not a couple holding hands, but it is a picture of my husband and me. I have no photos of people holding hands and praying so this was the best I could do.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dewey arrived back at the sheriff’s office, jerked on the reins to bring the horse to an abrupt halt. He jumped from the wagon and ran into the office. The sheriff wasn’t there. Great. What was he supposed to do with the body? He took off his hat and scratched his head as he looked around. No solution came to mind. Molly was expecting him within the hour. This just could not be happening again.

He stepped outside and stood on the boardwalk. The undertaker’s shop was four blocks down the street. Would it be quicker to walk or unhitch the horse and ride? Walking, he decided, a brisk walk.

Where in the world was everybody today? Toby wasn’t there. He walked around back. “Toby, you here? Come on; I need to talk to you.”

“Hang on, I’m comin’.”

Dewey paced. “I got a date, Toby, and a dead body. Don’t know who it is and don’t know what to do with it.”

Toby came around the corner of the building, wiping his hands on a rag that looked as if it needed cleaning before his hands ever got to it.

“Where’s the body?”

“In the wagon in front of the office.” Dewey started to walk off, expecting Toby to follow.

“Hold on a minute,” Toby said, still rooted to the spot. “How big is it?”

“How big is what? Oh, the body. Well, come on and look at it. I didn’t measure it.”

Toby sprinted to catch up, wheezing and sneezing as he came. “Give an old man a break, will ya?”

Dewey looked at him. “You ain’t that old; ye’re what? Forty?”

Toby nodded his head, his short but pointy gray beard touching his shirt front. “Pert near.”

They arrived at the wagon and Dewey unhooked the gate.

Toby peered in. “How’m I s’posed ta see if’n it’s all wrapped in burlap?”

Dewey reached in, grabbed the burlap and yanked the bundle until its end hung over the edge of the wagon. Both men started gagging and coughing. Dewey backed up.

“Good night. What’d you do? Dig it up out of a swamp or somethin’?”

Dewey grunted. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Drive it on down to my place. Can’t bury it ‘til we identify it, though. Reckon somebody be lookin’ for ‘im.”

“Hop on. I’ll give you a ride back.” Dewey shoved the bundle back in, hooked the gate back and jumped into the driver seat. Molly was not going to be happy.

Dewey leapt off the driver seat, ran to the back of the wagon and pulled on the body until it was in a position to be picked up and carried. He put the kerchief over his nose and mouth, then slung the body over his shoulder and deposited it behind Toby’s shop. He ran back to the wagon.

Toby was sauntering back to his shop. Dewey passed him like a rabbit passing a snail.

“You cain’t leave yet,” Toby hollered as Dewey passed. “There’s papers ta be filled out. I need. . .”

“No time, Toby. You’ll get it later.”

There was no time for him to go home and clean up, but he had expected this to happen. It always did. He had his change of clothes in the sheriff’s office. The bath house was next door.

A group of young boys was hanging around the livery.

“You there,” Dewey called.

The boys looked at him but didn’t move.

“Who wants to earn a dollar?”

They all came running.

“I can only pay one of you,” he said.

Six boys at once clamored, “I do.” They all stuck their hands out, eagerly awaiting such a large sum. One boy stepped forward and looked up at the deputy. He was the only one who did not have his hand out.

“What’s your name, son?”


Dewey pulled a dollar out of his pocket and held it in his fist. “How fast are you at running?”

Joey wasn’t one to brag so he hesitated. The other boys answered at the same time. “He’s the fastest boy in school.”

“Yeah,” another boy said. “Nobody can catch him when we play tag.”

Dewey laughed. “Well, that settles it, then. Joey, I need you to go down to the mercantile. Do you know where that is?”

“Sure. That’s where we go to buy candy and stuff.”

“Good. There’s a lady that works there named Molly.”

Joey nodded his head. “I know Miss Molly. She always gives us an extra piece of licorice.”

“I will give you this dollar if you go as quick as you can and tell her I am going to be a few minutes late, but I am coming to pick her up. Will you do that?”

“You bet I will.” Joey held out his hand, received the dollar and stuck it in his pocket. Wow. A whole dollar. He would buy each of his friends one piece of candy. The rest would go in his piggy bank towards a new yo-yo or a bag of marbles.


Dewey drank in Molly’s appearance as if the rest of the world paled in comparison. Her blue dress seemed to shimmer a little as she moved toward him, its full skirt swaying with each step. Her silky dark blond hair was curled and hung in a cascade from a shiny clasp on the back of her head. He stood mesmerized for a few moments before he approached her.

He hadn’t worn his hat tonight since there was no good place to put it when he wasn’t dancing. He held out his hand and she lightly placed her left hand on top of his right.

“May I have the honor of this dance?” he said after swallowing the lump in his throat.

Molly curtsied slightly and lifted her eyes to his. “You may,” she said.

Dewey led her to the dance floor as the fiddlers began to play a lively tune.

After three dances the couple was a little breathless. Dewey led her to the refreshment table where they each got a cup of cider and stepped outside.

Molly led Dewey to an area where they could be seen but not overheard. They found a bale of hay to sit on.

“I heard some people talking in the store, Dewey. I don’t know if any of it is true, but thought it might bear investigating.”

“What did you hear?” He couldn’t stop smiling as he looked at her.

“Dewey, this is serious. It was two men and….”

A hard hand clapped Dewey on the shoulder. “How ya doin’?” Seth Raines bellowed.

Dewey turned to look at his friend. He stood and the two shook hands.

“Doin’ just fine, ‘til you showed up,” he laughed. “What’re you up to?”

“Aww, nothin’ much. Hangin’ around town, pokin’ my nose in other people’s business. You know me.”

“Seth, this here’s Molly Brandt. Molly, this is a good buddy of mine, Seth Adams.”

Seth walked to Molly and offered a handshake. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

Molly smiled politely and said it was nice to meet him, too.

“Well, Seth, it’s good to see you, but I really want to spend some time with Molly here. My job seems to keep getting in the way.”

“Sure, no problem. See you around.”

Seth left and Dewey sat down next to Molly again. “Where were we?” He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull it away.

Her green eyes were soft as she looked at him. “There were two men. They come in probably a couple times a month.” She took a sip of her cider.

“One of them said something about a house burning down. The other fellow told him to be quiet. It made me nervous. I turned away so they wouldn’t know I heard.”

Dewey’s eyes registered shock, then turned hard. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. I only heard it day before yesterday. I haven’t had an opportunity to tell anyone until now.”

“I’d sure like to know who those two fellas were. I need to tell Clyde.”

Molly’s eyes opened wider. “Of course,” she said, excitement bubbling in her voice. “I don’t know his name, but he was tall, wore pointed toed boots, and smoked a pipe. He comes in fairly often. Oh, I wish I could remember his name.”

“It’s okay, Molly,” Dewey said. “I’ll find out. Thank you for telling me.”

“Well,” she smiled demurely. “I couldn’t let somebody get by with a crime, could I?”

He was tempted to kiss her right there, then thought better of it. It would not be appropriate.

He stood up and took her hand in his. “Shall we go back to the dance?”