“George Dean said you were . . . how shall I say. Disappointed in men,” Royce said when Faith did not continue.
“Disappointed!” Faith’s voice rang clear. “I was hopping mad at the male race. A few days before Mr. Ferguson had tried to kiss me. I had bruises on my arms where he held me while I struggled against his hold. When I did get loose I punched him in the face. Not slapped mind you but punched. My hand was still sore. The skin on my knuckles was broken. I kicked him as well. Not once but several times. My foot still hurt when I walked. If my screams had not brought a crowd I might have done more harm to the man. As it was Miss Ferguson said it was my fault. She called me a few names I won’t repeat.”
“Was that at the same time,” Royce asked. Something Lydia said stuck in the back of his mind. He would remember what it was later.
“No not until the following Saturday. We met in front of the general store. She was . . . I won’t say what I started to say.” Faith tilted up her chin her eyes were now fiery red as she looked at Royce. “To get back to your question.” Faith breathed rapidly as she tried to control her thoughts. “I refused to let Mr. Dean walk me home. I avoided the man from then on. We met again a few days before his death. I can’t think why Father was out walking when he discovered Mr. Dean. It is not like Father. He said he was having trouble sleeping. Still . . .,” Faith did not finish what she was going to say. “You can’t think Father has something to do with Mr. Dean’s death!”
“No,” Royce replied. So Faith did not know it was Imogen who discovered Dean’s body. Mr. Gaines was protecting his daughter from any bad publicity.
Faith took one last deep breath. “Mr. Dean seemed different the last time we met. I can’t explain what I mean other than to say he acted almost brotherly.”
This comment interested Royce. Faith had said brotherly and he knew George Dean had asked Imogen to marry him which would make Faith his future sister-in-law. Faith was perceptive. What she said to Dean might not mean anything to her. A trivial matter that set Dean to thinking and coming up with the correct answer. Perhaps it was hopeless after all. What Faith said seemed to have no bearing on Marshal Dean’s murder.
Chapter Nine
With the kerosene lamp setting on the corner of his desk Royce crafted another letter home. He was careful not to mention events he had written about in his first letter. He was not to know his last letter was the target of the Mail Stage robbery. After hours of deductive reasoning he had come to this conclusion. He was under suspicion and now must be on guard.
The lamp made a pool of light over the desktop. A cool wind was blowing outside the schoolhouse windows and through the cracks. Branches on the tall oak that grew at the corner of the building were brushing against the roof making scraping noises. Stars were shining in a black sky. The moon hidden behind gray clouds gave out very little light.
Royce walked to one window and stared out at the ribbon of road running along side the school. The warehouse across the way was in total darkness. Restless, he walked pass student desks to the other side of the schoolroom. Here the world outside the window was shrouded in darkness by the tall oak tree. Returning to his desk Royce dipped his pen in a bottle of ink and paused before deciding to relay the events of today’s Town Fair. He could weave the important names into his narrative. A son reassuring his father he was getting on quite well in his new surroundings. A person casually reading the letter would not notice the important names were slightly larger than the rest of the writing. Or that he dipped his pen into the ink bottle just before writing the name. He was cautious to start each sentence in this manner. The first word appeared darker. At a glance this seemed systematic.
He told of Imogen Gaines coming in last in the Ladies Horserace. John Layfield was the first person to shoot in the target contest. The shots in Layfield’s target fit inside a silver dollar setting the standard for the rest of the contestants. Milton Ferguson took third place.
Royce cleaned his pen and laid it aside. He had heard horses approaching. The clip-clop of hooves sounded loud in the stillness of the late hour. Reaching towards the lamp he turned down the wick. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness. In his rooms above the school Royce looked out over the roof of the Elementary School building at Miss Ferguson’s house on the hill. Deep shadows covered the ground. He raised one window and listened. The night air
