explained to her—overly melodramatically and in blistering detail, in Lenora’s opinion—who it was that had carried her unconscious self from the floor of Johnson Ebenezer Christian Church to their buggy blanket spread on the ground outside the sanctuary in full view of the entire assembly. Thankfully, Lenora had virtually no memory of her dreadful humiliation. But seeing Deputy Davies again, and in such close proximity, kindled her imagination keenly. She blushed again. He was so tall and handsome. Why couldn’t she have been rescued by some ugly, flat-footed farm hand and been spared all the drama and gossip associated with the so very attractive, so very eligible deputy?
Deputy Davies’ desk was spread with official-looking documents, as if he had been reading before Lenora entered. In the center was his lunch from the boarding house, slabs of roast beef, overcooked and dry but nesting on thick slices of freshly baked white bread. The sandwich sat untouched in the middle of a piece of waxed paper. In the small, enclosed office the tang of dill pickle was sharp.
Sheriff Morris sat at his desk, bent over a coffee cup and nothing else. Steam from the cup twirled silently upward. Sheriff Morris did not stand up.
“It’s been several days,” said Lenora, not moving away from the door, “I thought it appropriate that I should enquire.”
“Have a seat, Mrs. Rose,” said Sheriff Morris.
Luke brought a visitor’s chair and set it by the sheriff’s desk as before. Lenora thanked him. He nodded and returned to his desk.
“I’m sure you realize by now, Mrs. Rose, that we did not find your husband’s body in the creek,” said Sheriff Morris, cupping his hands around his coffee.
It took every ounce of Lenora’s strength to hold back a saucy I-told-you-so. She snapped her lips together to keep her tongue from escaping. If sprung from its cage it would mate with the monster of injustice now loosed in her soul and produce offspring meaner and more feral than a herd of wild boars. She simply nodded.
“I sent four good men downstream. They searched clean up to Clearmont. Day and a half of riding each way. Found nothing.”
“Please do provide me their identities that I might properly extend my gratitude,” said Lenora.
“Deputy Davies will see to that,” said Sheriff Morris, gesturing absently toward Luke’s desk.
Lenora glanced toward Deputy Davies. Their eyes met and he nodded in agreement. Lenora felt a little zing within, as if her heart were a taut, vibrating string, and an unseen hand had just plucked it. For the first time she saw that Deputy Davies had beautiful eyes, gentle brown and full of kindness. His skin was an earthy tone, probably from hours in the saddle. He was handsome of form, but it was beauty from within that—
What kind of a trollop thinks such thoughts in grave circumstances such as these? Horrified at her heathen inclination to lasciviousness, Lenora abruptly turned back to the sheriff.
“And the next step of your strategy is, sir?”
“My deputy is preparing a message. We’ll send someone to all the towns downstream of the North-East.”
“What kind of schedule do you foresee for this endeavor?” asked Lenora.
“You mean how long?”
“Yes.”
“Depends.”
Sheriff Morris stood up and walked to the wood stove. He poured himself another cup of coffee and returned to his desk, but not before attacking a pesky itch in a singularly masculine section of his anatomy. Lenora held her breath, expecting that any second the crotchety old fart would, with equal grace, deposit something warm and wet into the cuspidor parked near his desk. She noted, wryly, that he failed to offer any liquid refreshment to his guest. After the raunchy exercise she had just observed at the wood stove, she deemed his oversight a blessing.
“Depends on what, sir?” asked Lenora.
“On the others.”
“Please explain your reasoning, Sheriff Morris.” Heaven help us. Drawing information
Deputy Davies’ desk was spread with official-looking documents, as if he had been reading before Lenora entered. In the center was his lunch from the boarding house, slabs of roast beef, overcooked and dry but nesting on thick slices of freshly baked white bread. The sandwich sat untouched in the middle of a piece of waxed paper. In the small, enclosed office the tang of dill pickle was sharp.
Sheriff Morris sat at his desk, bent over a coffee cup and nothing else. Steam from the cup twirled silently upward. Sheriff Morris did not stand up.
“It’s been several days,” said Lenora, not moving away from the door, “I thought it appropriate that I should enquire.”
“Have a seat, Mrs. Rose,” said Sheriff Morris.
Luke brought a visitor’s chair and set it by the sheriff’s desk as before. Lenora thanked him. He nodded and returned to his desk.
“I’m sure you realize by now, Mrs. Rose, that we did not find your husband’s body in the creek,” said Sheriff Morris, cupping his hands around his coffee.
It took every ounce of Lenora’s strength to hold back a saucy I-told-you-so. She snapped her lips together to keep her tongue from escaping. If sprung from its cage it would mate with the monster of injustice now loosed in her soul and produce offspring meaner and more feral than a herd of wild boars. She simply nodded.
“I sent four good men downstream. They searched clean up to Clearmont. Day and a half of riding each way. Found nothing.”
“Please do provide me their identities that I might properly extend my gratitude,” said Lenora.
“Deputy Davies will see to that,” said Sheriff Morris, gesturing absently toward Luke’s desk.
Lenora glanced toward Deputy Davies. Their eyes met and he nodded in agreement. Lenora felt a little zing within, as if her heart were a taut, vibrating string, and an unseen hand had just plucked it. For the first time she saw that Deputy Davies had beautiful eyes, gentle brown and full of kindness. His skin was an earthy tone, probably from hours in the saddle. He was handsome of form, but it was beauty from within that—
What kind of a trollop thinks such thoughts in grave circumstances such as these? Horrified at her heathen inclination to lasciviousness, Lenora abruptly turned back to the sheriff.
“And the next step of your strategy is, sir?”
“My deputy is preparing a message. We’ll send someone to all the towns downstream of the North-East.”
“What kind of schedule do you foresee for this endeavor?” asked Lenora.
“You mean how long?”
“Yes.”
“Depends.”
Sheriff Morris stood up and walked to the wood stove. He poured himself another cup of coffee and returned to his desk, but not before attacking a pesky itch in a singularly masculine section of his anatomy. Lenora held her breath, expecting that any second the crotchety old fart would, with equal grace, deposit something warm and wet into the cuspidor parked near his desk. She noted, wryly, that he failed to offer any liquid refreshment to his guest. After the raunchy exercise she had just observed at the wood stove, she deemed his oversight a blessing.
“Depends on what, sir?” asked Lenora.
“On the others.”
“Please explain your reasoning, Sheriff Morris.” Heaven help us. Drawing information
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