Sundown, p.15
Sundown, page 15
“What’s her name?”
Miles chewed the final piece of candy. “Who?” Miles was trying his patience. “Miss Baker the teacher. What’s her first name?”
“Miss.”
“That’s not a name; it’s like Mr. Jones or Doc Harris.”
“I don’t know any Doc Harris.”
“I was just using them as an example…” Exasperated, Wyatt exhaled. “What does your Ma and Pa call her?”
“They never met her.” Miles’s face twisted in frustration that Wyatt wasn’t understanding.
“Is she pretty?”
“Gosh no, but she’s nice.”
Wyatt gave it one more shot. “What does Travis call her?”
“Yuck.”
“He calls her yuck?”
“No!” Miles stomped his foot. “Travis calls her sugar, or honey. Sometimes, he even calls her baby. That’s yuck. Do you ever call girls names like that?”
Wyatt had called more than one baby, but his favorite remained darling. “If I like them.”
“I guess Travis must like Miss Baker a whole bunch. He calls her baby a LOT! I best be getting back.”
“Let me help.” He lifted Miles onto the mule’s back and handed him the reins.
They started off down the path toward home, and the young boy waved. “Thanks again for the candy.”
“Thanks for the picture.”
Wyatt couldn’t wait to tell Emma what he had just learned. He discovered more from the seven-year-old than he had in his two weeks in Sundown. He didn’t know the teacher’s first name yet but felt confident she was the one with the hanky and the yellow note and could prove Travis was with her when Thornton was shot; prove if she’d be willing to testify.
Wyatt gazed at the late afternoon sun. It was too late to get to town and accomplish all that he’d intended to. He had to fix things with Sam Hampton and Sadie and talk to Emma about what Miles had told him. He had to learn whether Travis had accepted Clint Hackett’s plea deal.
He had to take care of all that and complete final preparations for the trial, but first thing in the morning, Wyatt had to go to church.
CHAPTER 22
Certain he could discover the identity of the woman who could prove Travis’s innocence, Wyatt pulled the buggy up to the church he’d first a week earlier. Organ music played inside. As he climbed the steps, the voices of the congregation sang Nearer My God to Thee. The hymn was his mother's favorite. She sang it sitting on the front porch, holding her Bible and thinking, no doubt, about her husband and oldest son off to war.
The hinges complained with a rusty protest as Wyatt pulled open the heavy wooden door and removed his hat. A shaft of light cut across the interior of the church, illuminating the rows of worn pews filled with people.
Up front, Preacher Taylor waved him in as the hymn continued. When the song ended, Wyatt took a hesitant step forward, his boots echoing in the sudden silence against the vaulted ceiling. Several heads turned in his direction as he made his way up the aisle.
Mostly older folks and families with young children filled the pews. Carrying his Stetson in one hand, Wyatt scanned the congregation as he made his way, looking for an empty space in front. He found one two pews behind the organ where Miss Baker sat.
He sat beside an elderly woman and took a closer look at the teacher sitting at the organ. Miss Baker wore the same glasses and her hair in a bun, and another plain dress, this one gray. She was younger than he remembered, Travis’s age, maybe thirty. She was helping a young boy behind her to find the correct page in his hymnal. Then she began to play, and the congregation joined in singing Rock of Ages.
The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window behind her caught the edges of her spectacles and a silver chain around her neck, casting a warm glow on her face. She wasn’t mousy at all, but she tried hard to appear to be.
The elderly lady beside him gave Wyatt a nudge and handed him a hymnal. Trying to fit in, he joined in the song, “Let the water and the blood…”
After the service, Wyatt shook hands with people he knew and introduced himself to those he didn’t.
Clint Hackett considered town folks as potential clients. Wyatt saw them as possible jurors.
Outside in the still cool morning, he set his tan Stetson on his head and kept an eye on the teacher. He shook hands with Preacher Taylor. “Thank you for your kind words and prayer for my brother.”
“I know you’ll do your best to save your brother’s life, and I will do my best to save his soul.” Preacher Taylor was clearly reluctant to testify at Travis’s trial. Perhaps the minister had a soft way of saying what happened.
“Thank you for making me feel welcome. I enjoyed your sermon.”
The minister winked and lowered his voice, “Sin and drink, a winning combination.”
A young boy wearing blue shorts, white shirt and a Bowler hat holding his mother’s hand passed the two men. The boy looked up at his mother. “What’s fornication, mama?”
She pulled him along. “Ask your father.”
Friendly and engaging, Miss Baker was huddled with the same group of women as a week earlier.
Wyatt nodded toward the cluster of women. “How long has Miss Baker been the schoolteacher?”
“She replaced Miss Crosby, who must have taught you two years ago. Unfortunately, Miss Crosby left town with that gambler from Cheyanne. Scandalous, scandalous.”
Until now, Preacher Taylor hadn’t seemed like the judgmental type.
“We were careful when we hired Miss Baker. She’s hardly what some might call a floozy. We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Miss Crosby.”
He wanted to ask Miss Baker’s first name but couldn’t figure out how to do so without sounding like a lawyer cross-examining a witness.
Miles had described her with the innocence and simplicity of a lad no more than seven. Bless his little heart, the boy missed the mark by a country mile- and so had Wyatt until now. Beneath those spectacles and that hair pinned up as tight as a drum, Miss Baker was as pretty as a peach in summertime and possessed the kindest of eyes that would warm even the coldest of hearts. Indeed, she was a catch, right up Travis’s alley, just waiting for someone with the good sense to see it.
Wyatt caught up to her. “I have a buggy. I could give you a ride home."
She clutched a simple locket that hung from a silver chain. “If I got into your buggy, I wouldn’t have a job by morning.”
“Why’s that?”
She looked around to see whether anyone was listening. “It’s in the contract I signed. Accepting a ride with a gentleman is grounds for dismissal, same as all the other rules, like breathing.” She glanced nervously in the direction of the minister and a group of church ladies. “Now, good day, Mr. McCrea; please don’t follow me.”
What else was in the contract? He couldn’t let her get away. He didn’t even know her name. Wyatt reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the white hanky. “Did you drop this?”
With a look of irritation, Miss Baker turned and stared at the hanky. Her mouth fell open and her eyes glistened. “I thought I lost it.” She took a step toward Wyatt and took the hanky. She closed her eyes, held the material to her bosom, and whispered, “This was a gift from Travis.”
The teacher stuffed the hanky in a dress pocket and whispered again. “Meet me on the porch of my house by the school in an hour. If we’re outside, no one will think anything about it.”
She spoke loud enough for the church ladies to hear. “Nice to see you again, Mr. McCrea.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss…”
“Baker, Ellie Baker.”
She was E! At long last. She had her hanky, and he had the yellow love note in his pocket.
Wyatt felt a mighty urge to holler, but instead, he tipped his hat like a gentleman and ambled over to the buggy. He was on the brink of unraveling a web of questions that had plagued him through many a sleepless night. Most pressing of all were the riddles that danced in his mind: Why in the Sam Hill had the teacher not stepped forward when they clapped the irons on Travis? And what kind of mischief was it that made him reluctant for her to testify? He was aching for those answers, yet deep in his bones, he wondered if knowledge alone could snatch his brother from the jaws of death?
CHAPTER 23
Wyatt drove the buggy past the school he attended for a single year after he and Travis moved to Sundown. Town folks were strolling along the path, enjoying the cool morning.
He pulled up beside the house the town provided, where Ellie Baker was rocking in a chair and crocheting a pattern on her lap, appearing ten years older than he knew her to be. She peered at him over the top of her glasses, “Mornin’, Mr. McCrea.”
Wyatt climbed down. “Howdy, Miss Baker.”
“You can call me Ellie.” She held up a white pattern, approximately twelve inches square, she was crocheting. “Need a doily, Mr. McCrea?”
“That would look lovely, along with the other two in Travis’s house. Please call me Wyatt.”
“There’s some wood on the side of the yard.
People like to talk, but if you chop me some wood, people might think you stopped by to give a lady a hand.”
Wyatt gathered up several logs that had been cut into two-foot lengths and set them in front of the porch. He grabbed the axe, leaning against the wall of the house as he organized the questions he had to ask.
Wyatt loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He set up the first log in front of him and gave it a whack, splitting the log in half. He wanted to ask why she hadn’t come forward to provide Travis with an alibi. As a lawyer, however, he knew it was best to start out with easier questions before venturing into the deeper waters in search of the truth.
Wyatt took one of the halves and split it in two. “Did you send me a telegram in Sacramento?”
“I did, but I couldn’t sign it Ellie Baker, so I told Willie to make it appear like it came from Sheriff Black. Since he was a former student, he gladly helped me.”
“So, Willie knew it came from you?”
“Of course, he knew.”
The kid could lie like the best of them. He’d make a good politician someday.
“How did you meet my brother?”
“We met at the general store. Travis queried me about the best material for horse feed, feigning ignorance as if he hadn’t a clue, but I played the part of the naive simpleton under the spell of that easy smile and the warm, sparkle in his eyes. It had been ages since anyone had cast me a glance quite like that as if I were not just another face milling about in the crowd but rather a woman worth a moment's time and consideration.”
She took off her glasses for a moment and wiped tears from her eyes. “I showed him the material I would recommend. He said something funny. I laughed. He was mighty kind and friendly. People in Sundown are polite but not what I’d call friendly. When I finished my shopping, your brother offered to help carry my bags to the house. By the time we arrived here, I knew he was interested and I in him.”
As two ladies approached along the road in front of her house, Wyatt took the other half log and split it in half. “Morning, ladies. Lovely day.”
“A little early to be chopping wood, isn’t it?” one of the ladies said.
“Never put off ‘til tomorrow what you can accomplish today, I always say.”
“Good luck tomorrow, Mr. McCrea,” she said before they continued on their walk.
With the women out of ear shot, Wyatt spoke again. “But there was those pesky morals clause in your contract.”
“No drinking, smoking, no makeup and of course, no entertaining men alone.” She set down her crochet work, pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to Wyatt. “The contract. I figured you being a lawyer and all that you might be interested in it, and why my… friendship with your brother had to be a secret.”
Wyatt wiped his brow and unfolded the paper. “You are prevented from being seen in public with men, unless accompanied by a chaperone… dress modestly… no jewelry… no dancing… marriage is strictly prohibited and will result in immediate termination.”
He gave the contract back to her. “How is a teacher supposed to get married with prohibitions like these?”
Ellie let out a laugh, the kind that starts with pain and ends with laughter. “The only time I felt like myself was when… was with Travis.” She pulled the hanky from her pocket. “Thanks for this. Travis gave it to me for my birthday. Wherever did you find it?”
“In Travis’s buggy.”
Even from ten feet away, Wyatt could see the woman blush. She picked up the doily and began to crochet. “Travis began to attend church, not just to see me. Preacher Taylor became a comfort to your brother, especially when they talked about the war. When the service ended, Travis and I would talk for a few minutes each week, and after a while, we made plans to meet at his ranch. We didn’t have to be so careful there as long as my visits remained secret.”
Three more ladies came strolling down the path, so Wyatt set up another log and split it in half.
The three ladies slowed, their eyes sweeping between Wyatt and the teacher with the doily on her lap. “Mighty kind of you, Mr. McCrea. Mornin’, Miss Baker.”
Ellie waved back, “Mornin’ to you, Mrs. Hook.” As they walked on, Wyatt lowered his voice “The mayor’s wife?”
“She’s very sweet, unlike the mayor.” Ellie went back to crocheting.
Wyatt split another half in half. “If you don’t mind me saying it right out, you and Wyatt fell in love.”
“Almost immediately.”
“Why not quit your teaching job and get married?” Ellie took a measured breath. “There are… complications.”
Wyatt sent another log in front of him. “I figured as much.”
“I wasn’t exactly honest with the school board. You see, I have a son, Ezra, Ezra Fields.”
“You were married.”
“I am married, Wyatt. At least, I think I am. Would you like some water?”
Ellie Baker, married. “I’d be obliged.”
Her story just got more complicated, and he felt there was more to come, but she clearly loved Travis. Was she prepared to see him hanged to protect a harmless indiscretion?
“Here you go.” She came down the steps and handed him a tall glass.
The water was cool and satisfying. He drank half in one gulp and set the glass on the edge of the porch.
She pulled a photograph from her pocket. It showed a young man in a formal school uniform. His skin and his eyes were dark. He looked a lot like Amos’s boy Miles. “He’s at a boarding school in Boston.”
He gave the picture back, stunned by the news about a husband and her son. “Why Boston?”
“I’m getting to that, and you’d better get back to chopping.”
She held her picture to her chest and clutched the locket around her neck. “I was teaching in St. Louis when the war broke out. The term ended, so I volunteered to become a nurse for the union army. One night, a neighbor brought an injured man to me at my house. His name was Caleb Fields, a runaway slave. He had a broken leg and was thin as a rail, so I agreed to take him in and nurse him back to health. He was the kindest man I ever met.”
The picture of Ellie’s secret began to take shape. “Caleb’s older brothers had escaped and moved to Canada. That was his plan as well. He never stopped talking about it. People were starting to talk, so we got married, but he never quit talking about Canada.” Wyatt watched Ellie as she revealed her story. Wyatt had fancied, in his typical ignorance, that Travis had merely strayed into the clutches of a married woman, but lo and behold, the depth of their connection was an intricate maze of its own. There she stood, a woman wed to a man, a former slave no less, bearing a son of mixed race living back east.
What a curious weave that fate had spun.
Now, he had a glimmering insight into her silence and the caution that weighed heavy on Travis. The cold, hard truth would be a mighty destructive storm in her life. A prime soft-spoken lady, hitching her wagon to a runaway slave? That knowledge would send the good people of Sundown into a tizzy fit to raise the roof! Scandalous, as the folks round these parts were as judgmental as a preacher in a church full of sinners.
When Preacher Taylor appeared on the road with a cane and his limp, Wyatt finished the water and handed the glass back to her. She took it to the house as he continued to chop wood.
Preacher Taylor stopped beside him. “You’re a good man, Wyatt McCrea. Just like your brother.”
“My brother’s a better man than I’ll ever be.” When Ellie came out of the house, the reverend tipped his cap, “Howdy, Miss Baker.”
“Preacher.” She sat and began to crochet.
“Don’t work him too hard. He has court tomorrow.”
“Not much more,” she said, as the reverend limped down the path.
Ellie sat crocheting for several minutes while Wyatt carried wood and stacked it beside the door.
When he returned, he picked up the axe, and she continued her story. “One day, Caleb’s brother turned up and spun tails of wealth and riches in Canada and jobs for the taking. Caleb was hooked, but I refused to go. I loved my house and the town back then. For days, we fought something fierce, and then one day, he was gone. A few weeks later, I found out I was going to have a baby. I wrote him a letter. He sent me money and begged me to come to Canada. In the fall, Ezra was born. The money continued for two years and then stopped as suddenly as it started. I wrote, and the letters were returned to sender.”
“If it’s been that long, your husband is likely dead. You’re probably a widow.”
“If I didn’t think Caleb had died, I’d never gotten involved with Travis. In my heart, I know he’s dead, but I can’t prove it, can’t even look into it without arousing suspicion. If he's dead, Travis and I could get married and bring my son here from Boston.” She shook her head. “I made my peace with that years ago. Caleb was a good man, would have made a good father.” She laid the crocheting down.
