The wash tubs stood on the back porch where Faith and her mother had left them. Clothes were still soaking in water.
“Come inside,” Faith invited. Sheriff Walden nervously removed his hat handing it to Faith. She hung it on the rack inside the backdoor which contained coats and bonnets. “Do make yourself at home. Mother keeps a pot of coffee warming on the stove and cups are in the cupboard. I will be back as soon as I wash my hands.”
Sheriff Walden watched Faith and Laurie disappear through a door. He could hear their murmurs as he followed Faiths instructions, located a cup and poured coffee.
The small room contained a washstand. Setting on top was a porcelain bowl and pitcher of warm water. Laurie watched curiously as Faith poured water into the bowl and picked up a bar of soap. After lathering soap on a washcloth she washed her face then rinsed out the cloth and removed the soap. “You next,” Faith said and handed Laurie a clean washcloth. She watched as the child imitated what she had done. “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” Faith instructed. Under all the dirt and grime Laurie was a pretty child.
“What would you like to eat,” Faith asked.
Laurie stared at her clean hands and humped her shoulders up and down.
“How about bacon and eggs,” Faith suggested knowing most children like eggs.
Laurie looked up. Tears were running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. “Pa is dead isn’t he,” she asked.
“Yes,” Faith said simply.
“I got to go to him,” Laurie replied. “He ain’t got no body but me.”
“After we eat,” Faith said feeling inadequate. She was waiting for her father and Mother to return. Then the decision what to do with Laurie could be made.
Sheriff Walden pushed back his chair and stood when Faith entered the kitchen.
“We are having bacon and eggs,” Faith announced. “Do you want some?” She pulled out a chair and motioned for Laurie to sit down. Sheriff Walden looked like a man uncomfortable in his duties. He wanted to ask Laurie questions and was apprehensive his probing would cause tears. Men never liked tears, Faith remembered.
“Thank you,” Walden said, “Just coffee.”
After opening the firebox on the stove and putting in wood. Faith went to the back porch and came back with a bottle of milk. She poured Laurie a glass. “You have questions,” Faith asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Walden gave her a grateful look. He had been wondering how to open the conversation. Dealing with women was tricky. Dealing with children was nearly impossible.
“Did you see the man that shot your father,” Faith asked. She stood at the table breaking eggs into a bowl. Hoping her presence would reassure the child.
Laurie bit her bottom lip. Her eyes were dark with fear. She nodded her head yes. “There . . . there were three of them,” she whispered leaning in her chair so that she was closer to Faith.
“Do you know them,” Faith asked. Hoping Sheriff Walden would not scold her for interfering. Laurie was afraid and she wanted to comfort the child.
Laurie opened her mouth then closed it. Her breathing was raising and lowering her shoulders showing just how agitated the child was.
“You have seen the men before,” Faith guessed.
Laurie bobbed her head. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Where did you see them,” Faith asked. She cut strips of bacon and placed the strips in a heated skillet before turning back to Laurie. The child was silently crying.
“In . . . In Cooper Creek,” Laurie said. “Some men rode up and Pa told me to stay in the wagon. I peeked out and saw them. They were the three men that shot Pa.”
“Do you remember anything about them,” Faith asked. She glanced towards Sheriff Walden and he nodded his head encouraging her to continue.
Laurie was considering Faith’s question. She scrunched up her face and nibbled on her bottom lip. “One had a funny looking horse,” Laurie said after a few minutes.
Faith looked at Sheriff Walden. She was not sure what to ask next. “Funny how,” Walden asked.
Laurie’s shoulders rose and fell. “It was all,” she struggled to come up with a word to describe what she wanted to say. “Poke-a-dotted,” Laurie declared.
“Poke-a-dotted,” Walden said, mystified.
Faith searched her mind wondering what Laurie meant. Surely with four younger sisters she could come up with an answer. “Big spots on his coat like a pinto,” Faith asked.
Laurie shook her head no. “Little spots.” She held up one hand and made a circle using her fingers. “Poke-a-dots,” she insisted again.
“What color were the poke-a-dots,” Faith asked. Hoping more information might jar her memory.
“I don’t know,” Laurie replied, “Just poke-a-dots!”
“Brown, black, red,” Faith asked. Laurie’s face registered a blank as she shrugged her shoulders. It was plain the girl did not know the different names for colors. “Can you show me,” Faith asked. “Is there something in this room that looks the same.”
Laurie looked about the room. Her face was scrunched in concentration. “There,” she said after a time. Pointing to a scarf Imogen had knitted their father using black and white yarn. The two colors were mingled together.
“Sam Turner,” Walden said. “He rides a speckled gray horse,” he looked at Laurie, “A horse with poke-a-dots.” A smile widened his lips. “Thank you,” he said. Laurie’s father had refused to answer his questions. Men of his caliber, right or wrong stuck together. Mr. Hogan had chosen to take the names of the men who shot him to his grave.
Standing, Sheriff Walden walked to the backdoor and retrieved his hat. “Thank you,” he told Faith. “I am not sure anything will come of it. Sam Turner has a lot of friends who will swear the man was twenty miles from here when Mr. Hogan was shot. I won’t reveal it was Laurie that informed me.”
“I understand,” Faith replied.
“Good day,” Sheriff Walden
