The Edge of Town by Dorothy Garlock

driving in at any minute forced him to blurt out what he had come to say.
     
     
    “Julie … would you go with me to the picture show or out to Spring Lake some night?”
     
     
    His head was tilted to the side. Julie could feel his eyes on her face. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could scarcely breathe. They were alone in the dark. Her thoughts were so muddled that she couldn’t remember exactly what he had said.
     
     
    “If you don’t want to go, I’ll understand. It’s Walter, isn’t it?”
     
     
    “You’re not like … your father,” she said quickly.
     
     
    “God, I hope not. Walk with me over to the pen to get my horse.” He reached for her hand, holding it lightly to give her a chance to withdraw it. When she didn’t, he drew it up into the crook of his arm, holding the back of it pressed to his side. She slipped her hand from his arm when they reached the pole corral and he missed the warm touch.
     
     
    Had he gone too fast, been too intimate?
     
     
    “Joe asked me to come to the ball game tomorrow afternoon.”
     
     
    “You don’t have to be invited. It’s open to anyone who wants to come.”
     
     
    “How about going out with me next Saturday night?”
     
     
    “All right.” Julie wondered what he would think if he knew that she had never been asked out on a date.
     
     
    “We’ll go wherever you want to go, to the picture show or to the dance.”
     
     
    “May I decide later?”
     
     
    “Sure. I’ll have to give Jason a ride in the car before we go. I promised him.”
     
     
    “He’ll not let you forget it.”
     
     
    “Thanks for the fudge.”
     
     
    “You’re welcome,” she said softly.
     
     
    Evan opened the gate. “I hear your father coming. I’ll let myself out the back gate. Good night, Julie.”
     
     
    “Good night, Evan.”
     
     

Chapter 7
     
     
    T HE RED LIGHT WAS ON . It was the signal for Chief Corbin Appleby to call the telephone operator or come to the office. Hung in the center of the line stretched across Main Street from the telephone office to the hardware store, the light shone for only the second time since Corbin’s swearing in three days ago.
     
     
    Diane Ham, the telephone operator, had turned the signal on yesterday when the county supervisor wanted the chief’s input on the room they were remodeling in the basement of the courthouse to use as a temporary jail while a more permanent facility was being made ready.
     
     
    Chief Appleby hurriedly passed the people milling around on the sidewalk in front of the stores. The revival meeting had just ended, and a number of cars were parked along the street. To the folks who came to town only on Saturday night, it was a chance to visit with friends and get caught up on the news. The crowd parted to allow the new police chief to pass, then their eyes followed him to the telephone office.
     
     
    Mrs. Ham looked up when the chief came in the door but continued to talk into the mouthpiece that hung around her neck.
     
     
    “Chief Appleby is here now, Mrs. Reynolds. I must hang up so I can tell him what you’ve told me.” Mrs. Ham, a petite blonde, widowed by the war, pulled the plug from the switchboard. “Mrs. Reynolds says that something is going on in the house across the street from hers. Otto Bloom and his wife are fighting. Their little boy ran over to tell her that his papa was beating his mama. Mrs. Reynolds says hurry. He has hurt her before and could kill her this time.”
     
     
    “Where do they live?” the chief asked on the way to the door.
     
     
    “Two blocks toward the river from the corner and a half block north. Mrs. Reynolds will be waiting in the yard,” Mrs. Ham called as Corbin shot out the door, letting it bang shut behind him.
     
     
    Corbin could run a half mile without breaking into a sweat. He liked to run. During his high school days he had been state champion in the mile and long-distance races and had considered training for the