The Widow's Touch (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella) Read online

  The man didn’t realize she was serious.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You’re here to arrest me, aren’t you, Sheriff?” she called out to him. She walked down the clean white steps of the porch that sharply contrasted against her black mourning clothes. The sheriff stepped from his buckboard wagon and it was his conveyance that gave his intent away. Eloda knew if his only purpose was to call on her, he would’ve ridden his horse. Yet there he was with his wagon, and Jack demonstrated his consideration when she saw the blanket on the seat aside him. She smiled at that. He was worried about her discomfort during a five minute ride although he intended to place her inside a cold, dreary jail cell at the end of their short journey.

  “The doctor gave his report at the inquest, Eloda. It’s not good.” He removed his hat and brushed the dust from it with his hand. “Your argument with the preacher didn’t help your cause. Tilden was in the courthouse first thing this morning and demanded that action is taken against you, and after they reviewed the doctor’s report, Justice Reynolds issued a warrant.”

  Eloda sighed and wrung her hands within her skirts. She gnawed lightly onto her bottom lip and was hesitant to speak. All was quiet and a swell of an early spring breeze wandered through the garden and rattled the oak tree above them.

  Holding her bonnet against the wind, she asked, “And what did the doctor discover that incited a warrant to be issued?”

  “He said he hadn’t ever seen a single body with so many natural and unnatural possibilities for a cause of death.”

  “Then he’s undecided whether it’s murder or not,” Eloda said happily, and her voice sprang cheerfully out like the first flower of spring. “This may not even go to trial.”

  “Well, it would appear the unnatural causes surpassed the natural,” he said, and uprooted all her hope. “The morning edition of the Caroline Tribune is predicting that the trial will begin by next week.”

  “So soon,” she whispered, and Eloda felt weak as her body trembled.

  “I don’t find pleasure in doing this, Eloda. I hope you know that.” He paused for a moment and blew out a burdened sighed. “I believe in a fair and honest trial that has been thoroughly examined before reaching this point,” he said. “This,” he said reaching for the manacles on his seat, “Is nothing more than a sanctioned lynch mob.” He tossed the shackles in the back of the wagon. “I’ve yet to figure out what happened—and this town hasn’t afforded me the opportunity to search that out before they issued the indictment,” he said, aggravated. “I suppose since they are so quick to judgment, there’s a history here and more than I know,” he said, and paused for her response, which she didn’t offer. He then continued and said with the sincerity of someone who was an old friend, “Until you tell me what happened, it makes my stopping their slanted justice difficult.”

  “You must do as your job requires,” she said, and Eloda smiled and hoped it would ease his discomfort. “I’ll not hold this against our new friendship.”

  “I want to help you, Eloda,” he pressed. “If there’s anything you’d like to tell me about the day your husband died, you need to tell me. This town has you guilty, and if you don’t come to your own defense on this matter, it’s going to turn bad.”

  Eloda lowered her head and thought for a moment or two. He looked genuinely concerned, and his adamancy for upholding the legitimacy of the legal process was admirable. Jack Finley was a virtuous and honorable man, she concluded. Eloda thought how unfitting it was that he ventured upon a town that lacked such integrity. It was those merits that had her in serious consideration of trusting him with the details of her husband’s death, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Abiding and enacting the law was in his blood. As he had stated, he was born from a long line of lawmen. No matter how justified her husband’s death was in her mind, she didn’t think the sheriff would be as empathetic to her cause. And if he was willing to understand, she doubted it’d stop him from pursuing a prosecution, or the town’s call for blood. Strangely, she respected that quality about him.

  “No, Sheriff Finley, but thank you just the same,” she finally replied.

  “We best be getting on our way then,” Jack said, disappointed. “A crowd has already gathered at the jailhouse and I prefer to get back before it gets out of hand.”

  “Can I take my paints and canvases with me?”

  He looked reluctant at first but then shrugged. “Sure, it’ll help you pass the time. We’ll put them in the back of the wagon and I’ll see to it you get them after the people clear the jailhouse.”

  They made their way into town and the sheriff was right, they rode into a great commotion. She heard the crowd before she saw them. The people yelled and jeered from afar and shouted their harsh words of retribution.

  “It’s all right, Eloda,” he soothed out to calm her. “We’ll take the alleyway and enter through the back entrance.”

  She nodded her head but silently fretted over the crowd’s excitement and what could come of their anticipation once she arrived. Considering the hatred that spewed from the mouths of the men outside the jail, and the condemnation of the preacher, she had a right good reason for concern. Jack turned the horses and from the corner of her eye she saw a group of men who started building the framework for the gallows.

  “They have already decided my guilt as well as punishment,” she whispered, and her hands twisted nervously at the silk of her skirts. “It would seem that my trial will only be a formality, Jack.”

  Jack followed her stare towards the group of men who busily crafted the wooden death beams. Jack watched her and Eloda tried not to appear overly worried, although inside she felt trapped and panicked. Jack didn’t say a word, but he outstretched his arm and clasped her hand into his own, comfortingly. His eyes relayed understanding and she no longer felt alone. Eloda immediately relaxed and her fear lessened.

  It was quieter in the back of the jailhouse building and only indistinct mutters from the people at the front met their ears. Stepping off the carriage she examined the building. She had never taken the structure into much consideration until that moment. It was a small, one-story limestone block building which weather and time had sorely deteriorated

  “They’re back here,” a man hollered and pulled her from her musings.

  Jack snatched her hand and drew her into the one-room jail house and secured the door without incident. Eloda looked around at her surroundings and shivered. Until her trial concluded, it was the place she would call home. It was basic as jailhouses go, she figured. A roll top desk crafted in mahogany sat in the corner and matched the cane seated chair and bench aside it. Around the corner of the desk there was a private alcove separated by a partial stone wall, and she saw an edge of a cot. She wondered if the sheriff or his deputy planned to stay all night while she was there.

  Eloda turned and viewed her cage. It housed a narrow cot that was embedded inside the limestone wall and Eloda suspected it had been used by more than its fair share of guests. Two walls of dull stone enclosed half her cell, while thick, black iron bars finished the frame on the other two sides. A chamber pot and a bucket for washing was the remainder of its contents. The lodging was unsuitable for even the lowliest guest, let alone someone who had fine linens on her bed and a water closet to take care of necessities.

  “Don’t worry, most of the time I won’t even find need to lock it,” Jack said. “I don’t reckon you’ll try to escape.”

  “I would not place any wagers on that,” she said, faintly, and looked inside the cell. She then managed a halfhearted smile. “It’s even worse than I expected.”

  The door flew open and the wafting cries of the crowd roared in with the wind, along with Jonathon James. Eloda startled, but Jack pulled her protectively behind his back and withdrew his gun from its holster.

  “If you haven’t any business of the law with me, you can just go on back out. I won’t tolerate trouble here today,” Jack warned.

  Jonathon defensively r
aised his hands and shook his head. “I’m not here to stir up trouble, Sheriff. I’m here to offer my services to Eloda, that’s all.”

  The sheriff snorted out his disbelief and cautiously deposited his gun back into his holster.

  “If I can have a moment with Eloda, I can explain why I’ve come.”

  Sheriff Finley scrutinized Jonathon from head to toe, slowly and carefully, and Eloda assumed he was making sure he wasn’t armed. When Jack turned and silently asked Eloda for her permission, she nodded her approval. She wasn’t overly sure what Jonathon was all about and was hesitant to even know. Jack walked to the other side of the room but kept a vigilant watch on Jonathon when he approached her.

  “Despite our differences, you’re well aware that I’m the best attorney in these parts,” he quietly said.

  “Am I to believe you’ve come to offer representation for me to have a fair trial?” She shook her head and lightly laughed in disbelief.

  “Yes, that’s exactly why I have come.”

  Eloda looked at Jack and he cocked his head and raised a skeptical brow. Shrugging his shoulders, he sat at his desk, and pretended not to pay attention. Although Eloda noted he attempted to look busier than he ought.

  “And your offer comes about, why?”

  Jonathon leaned down and whispered for only her to hear. “What you announced in church yesterday,” he mumbled quietly. “About me and the Reverend,” he added for understanding. He swept a shaky hand in his thin, dark hair and she detected a hint of perspiration on his brow.

  “Oh,’ she said. Eloda prevented the smile that tugged at her lips when Jonathon gave himself away. She had discovered the indiscretion of the preacher when she walked into the church on a weekday. At first glance, she had thought the unknown gentleman was praying before the minister and she nearly approached and knelt as well. But she quickly realized that she was mistaken. Eloda had quietly left unseen and hadn’t spoken of that day until the preacher forced her hand. Yet she hadn’t a clue that it was Jonathon who was partaking in those depravities with the Reverend Tilden.

  “Despite what you may think, I have a respectable reputation to uphold, Eloda,” he appealed under his breath. “I’ll give you the best defense possible if you give me your word that you’ll keep silent about what you know.”

  Eloda thought for a moment. Admittedly, he was an exceptional attorney with a record of notable victories. She also considered that the support of her deceased husband’s child could greatly improve her odds with public opinion.

  “Eloda,” he pressed. “You receive a fair and honest defense, and I receive your secrecy. I believe that is a fair bargain.”

  “All right, Jonathon. I’ll agree, but this better not be a ruse to assure the town that I’m sent to the gallows. If you waylay my trial in any way, I’ll see that you regret it the rest of your life.

  “That’s not my intention, I promise you,” he said, adamantly.

  Eloda nodded and held out her hand. “Then I agree with your terms, Jonathon.”

  He accepted her hand into his and slightly bowed his head to her.

  “Then let’s get started,” he said. Jonathon walked to the bench that sat aside the sheriff’s desk. It squeaked against the stone as he slid it to the other side of the room until it sat next to the jail cell. He offered Eloda a seat when he waved an inviting arm to the bench. Once she sat and straightened her skirts, Jonathon took the seat beside her.

  “Now, about your defense,” Jonathon said, and he looked her straight in the eye. “With your well-known tendencies to speak your mind in this town, I feel that no law has ever been created to suit you better than the insanity plea.”

  Jack chuckled and quickly covered his mouth. “My apologies,” he offered. “Just something I was reading,” he lied, and he vaguely pointed at some papers that were laid upon his desk.

  Eloda pursed her lips towards the sheriff and then returned her attention back to Jonathon. “As I am not a lunatic, I’ll not accept that plea. I am innocent, and I’ll not consent to pleading to anything less than that.”

  “Eloda,” he said, frustrated, “The statement at the inquest specified that Mister Timmons more than likely died of a broken neck from being thrown from the steps or he died of the gunshot wounds. And the doctor is highly suspecting that it was both causes. He believes you shot your husband and then proceeded to throw him down the steps where he finally fell dead from a broken neck.”

  “But that’s only speculation. That’s not what happened,” she countered.

  “Then what did happen?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. He just…well, he just died,” she replied.

  Jonathon rose from his seat and looked down at her. “Well, Eloda, until you can trust me with the truth, you make building a good defense difficult.” His head lowered to his chest and he had sounded honestly sincere.

  “There’s nothing more I can say,” Eloda whispered.

  “Think about it tonight,” he suggested. “I’ll come back in the morning and we’ll begin a plan of strategy. A night in here may change your view,” he said and looked at their surroundings, resting his gaze on her jail cell. “Perhaps you’ll have more insight to the events of that night.” Jonathon walked to the door and after he tipped his hat, he left.

  “So, he’s Reverend Tilden’s Mary, eh?” Jack asked as he walked to her.

  “Oh, shame on you for eavesdropping,” Eloda smiled, and she playfully jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “This room doesn’t provide much space for privacy.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” she said. “And that brings me to ask what I’m to do about some privacy while here? As I don’t wish to crinkle my dress whilst I sleep, I will find need to sleep in my chemise.”

  He gazed down at her and his eyes looked as though they wanted to devour her. She swallowed hard and wetted her dry lips. She wasn’t sure what manner of thoughts she had placed within his mind, but she imagined they weren’t to be shared.

  She realized her back was pressed hard against the jail bars when Jack leaned towards her. Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly sighed aloud. The moment that she thought—no, hoped— he was going to reach out and kiss her, Jack reached around her and opened the cell door.

  “You’re going to lock me up now?” she asked, more than disappointed that she misread his intent.

  “Not yet,” he said. He grinned as if he read her mind and knew her shameful thoughts of wanting him to kiss her. “Just want to show you something,” he added. He walked into the cell and reached for the folded bed linens that were neatly placed on the cot. “I asked Frank to bring a few of these. You can knot them on the top bars and make a privacy curtain.”

  “And you,” she asked. “Will you be staying the night here as well?” She nodded toward the cot that was partially hidden by the separation wall.

  Jack nodded his head and Eloda forced herself to release the pent up breath she held.

  “And Frank, your deputy, will he be here too?” she asked.

  He slowly shook his head from side to side.

  They’d be there alone, just him and her. For some curious reason the thought made her nervous. He made her nervous. Eloda started feeling light on her feet and began taking slow, deep breaths. When she did, Jack regarded her with a curious, raised brow.

  “That is a new look on you, Eloda,” he said.

  “A new look?” she asked absently, still unsure if she felt scared or excited at the thought of spending the night alone with Jack Finley.

  I believe this is the first I’ve seen you look…well, fragile.”

  “I’m far from fragile,” she quietly said, and Eloda was nearly ashamed that her voice came out so weakly.

  Jack leaned down and brushed a loosened hair that strayed and made way across her face. The touch of his finger as it grazed across her cheek caused shivers to surge through her. His eyes smiled down at her and she felt as though the small room had instantly halved in size.
/>   “Don’t worry,” Jack said, and he softly lifted her chin with his finger. “I’ll not tell anyone there’s glass to be broken beneath the stone,” he whispered. He then winked and sealed his vow. He stepped away and walked to his desk. Sitting into the cane seat of his chair, he drew back his chair, propped up his feet atop the desk, an unfolded a newspaper.

  And there he sat, silent, until night fell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Night had long fallen and Jack still sat at his desk shrouded in papers and unshared thoughts. He had said little to her other than when he asked if the meal Frank had brought them was to her liking. Yet other than that, he remained distant and quiet for hours.

  “I’m going to prepare myself for bed,” she said, quietly, and she wasn’t sure if he heard. She began attaching the sheets onto the bars when she noticed from the corner of her eye that he was looking at her. His expression brightened and conquered the solemn look he had displayed most of the evening.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” he finally said. Jack gathered a cigar from a cherry wood box that sat on his desk and he walked to the front exit. “I’ll just be right outside the door if you need anything.”

  When the door closed, Eloda breathed out sharply. She had been holding it since the moment she saw him watching her. The man was making her daft. Never before had she become such a dolt around a person, especially a man. She always had the control, but with Jack Finley she felt as weak and innocent as a newborn kitten.

  After the sheets were placed on the bars, she removed her black mourning dress and pulled the pins from her hair. She allowed her long, brown tresses to flow freely down her back. Using the hair pins, she hung her dress from the bars and hoped the creases would flatten by morning. To accommodate the low neckline of her gown, her chemise’s collar hung low as well and exposed the ample mounds upon her chest. The thin linen offered an unseemly view of her wares and Eloda knew she’d need to cover herself before the sheriff returned. She looked around and searched for another sheet to use as a makeshift shawl, but there wasn’t one to spare. Instead, she rested on the narrow cot and covered herself with the woolen blanket. It prickled against her fair skin, yet she gritted her teeth against the urge to scratch.