Logan (Bachelors And Babies Book 2) Page 7

  “Come and give your Papa a kiss, my angel.”

  Dutifully Annabelle kissed his pudgy cheek.

  He didn’t speak to Jemma, he rarely did.

  “What have you been doing today, darlin’?”

  “I lit the grass near the cabin and it all burned up.” She clapped her hands. “It was so exciting Papa, all those beautiful flames.

  “You should have stopped her.” He glared at Jemma.

  “I tried to. She just kept saying you told her I had to do anything she asked me to.”

  “Quite right, my angel is to be given anything her heart desires. Off you go home now gal. And you don’t know anything about the fire if anyone should ask.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Foster. I’ll see you tomorrow Annabelle.”

  “All right, you can take me out for a ride when you come over tomorrow.”

  Jemma was glad to get away from them. She hurried around the back to a small paddock where her pony grazed. She didn’t have a saddle, they couldn’t afford one. Grandpa was always promising to buy her a beautiful one, with soft leather and silver trim. It was a dream, unlikely to ever come true, no harm in letting him think she believed him, though.

  The summer sun was shining brightly even though it was late afternoon. The Foster ranch had a long tree lined drive, but once out on the road, it became hot and dusty. She could still smell the burnt grass. One of these days Annabelle’s fire lighting escapades would end in tragedy. As sure as God made little green apples.

  She arrived home to no welcoming smoke drifting up from the stone chimney of the ramshackle house in which they lived. The front portion of the place was unlivable, as the ceiling had fallen in. Grandpa had put up a solid wall between this section and the back part where they lived in two rooms.

  He always slept in the kitchen while she had the small bedroom. The house kept out the elements and was a roof over their heads was the best way to describe it. Still, it was home. The housekeeper at Fosters would sometimes give her a few cast off pieces of carpet or curtaining, so the place was comfortable enough.

  If her grandfather wasn’t away working for someone else, he was trying to clear their paddocks so he could run more stock and plant crops. Most of the paid work he did was for Mr. Foster or one of his friends, another reason why she had to put up with Annabelle’s tantrums. No-one dared stand up to the Fosters, they were just too powerful.

  Inside the small kitchen, Jemma spied a piece of white paper sticking up between two cups. Even before she read it she knew what it would contain. ‘Be away for a few days. Horse buying trip for Foster.’

  It was said by the locals her grandfather had the best eye in the district when it came to the selection of good horses.

  She didn’t mind staying on her own, it was the only way of life she knew. By the time she milked the cow, saw to the chickens, then fried herself a couple of eggs for supper it was dark.

  The sound of hoofbeats had her jumping up and reaching for Grandpa’s old rifle. He always carried the Winchester with him when he spent time away from home, but this old gun could still shoot, and she knew how to use it to good effect.

  Booted feet on the back porch caused her to raise the rifle. No-one ever came to their place.

  “It’s Sebastian Foster.” He was more dangerous than a rattlesnake.

  “We need to talk with you, Jemma,” said Daniel McGregor who worked for the Fosters.

  Daniel stepped inside, followed by Mr. Foster who mopped his face with a handkerchief.

  “About the fire, Jemma,” Mr. Foster said. “I want you to say you started it accidentally.”

  “Me! Annabelle did it on purpose.”

  “Listen to him Jemma, this is serious,” Daniel said. “Mr. Foster wants you to say you lit the fire if the sheriff should ask you.”

  Mr. Foster wrung his hands. “Annabelle has done this before. Only little fires, which didn’t do any harm. I can’t risk any scandal or they won’t take her at the Ladies Academy. I’m relying on you Jemma to save Annabelle’s reputation.”

  “And what about me? I might go to jail.”

  “You won’t,” Mr. Foster scoffed. “If you are charged, which is highly unlikely, my lawyer will get you off.”

  “Do it, Jemma. I’m sure Mr. Foster would make it worth your while.”

  She wondered why Daniel was fighting so hard for the Fosters when he only worked for them.

  “I’ll give your grandfather this piece of land if you say you lit the fire,” Mr. Foster went on. “It was an accident. I’ll have a word with the authorities and we can hush it all up.”

  “You won’t get into trouble,” Daniel said. “Mr. Foster will give you this land free and clear, with paperwork and everything.”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about coming into work tomorrow. I’ll put a little extra in your pay.”

  “Come on, Jemma, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Daniel said. “Think of your grandfather. He’s getting old. He won’t need to go away for work anymore.”

  “That’s right, I’ll make sure he gets a monthly wage for life. Can’t be fairer than that.”

  She was wavering. Grandpa was getting old and they did need somewhere to live.

  “Are you sure they won’t put me in jail?”

  Mr. Foster chuckled. “Of course not. It was only a grass fire. Anyway, if they did, and I’m sure they won’t, my lawyer is the best in the country. He’d have you out before the day was ended.”

  “All right, I’ll do it. What do I say?”

  “You lit a campfire and the wind sprung up and it raced off, even though you tried to put it out,” Mr. Foster said.

  “What about Annabelle?”

  “My daughter will say it was an accident, too. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Jemma didn’t like lying, it wasn’t as if any major damage had been done. The cabin and land belonged to Mr. Foster. She couldn’t understand why the sheriff would be involved anyway. It wasn’t as if anyone was hurt.

  “Where’s the skirt you were wearing?” Daniel asked.

  “I took it off, the back part of it was scorched; the flames nearly caught us.”

  “Give it to me, Mr. Foster said. “I’ll get it repaired for you, or if it can’t be done, I’ll get you a new one. Can’t be fairer than that.”

  She went into her bedroom and retrieved the gown. The hem at the back had been scorched. She didn’t think the marks would come out. There again, a talented seamstress could fix it. A new gown would be nice. She inwardly hoped it wasn’t fixable.

  Jemma didn’t sleep well that night. Guilt for the lies she might have to tell, and loneliness kept her awake. The mournful howl of a dog sent shivers down her spine.

  If she didn’t have to work at the big house tomorrow she could do a few extra chores here. Mrs. O’Dwyer, the housekeeper at the Foster ranch, had only a couple of days ago, given her a large piece of red and white checked material, which she would make into curtains. They only had three small windows to cover. If her grandfather could get extra money, which he sometimes did, she might ask if she could buy a couple of yards of lace trim. Mr. Orlando at the mercantile bought any extra eggs she took in. She could make up any shortfall with that. On the rare occasions she bought a few candy sticks, he always gave her an extra one for free.

  Shortly after lunch, as she was finishing off the sewing, she heard horses’ hooves on the hard dirt out back. Glancing out the window, she saw Sheriff Mayfield and Judge Tyson.

  “Jemma, are you there?”

  “Yes.” She stepped on to the porch. “Howdy, Sheriff, Judge.”

  “Where’s your grandfather?” The sheriff’s expression was grim. He was usually a cheerful soul. Judge Tyson always looked as if he’d been sucking lemons.

  “Did you light a fire and burn the cabin on the Foster place?” Judge Tyson asked.

  “Jemma, this is serious, be very sure before you answer.”

  “Um. Yes. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to
do it.”

  “Arrest her, Sheriff. You’ve heard the words from her own mouth. Arrest her and get her into a jail cell, or you’re likely to have a lynching on your hands when word gets out.”

  Why anyone would want to lynch her for lighting a fire, which burned down an empty cabin?

  “You better pack a few things to take with you,” Sheriff Mayfield said.

  They really did intend to put her in jail. She gnawed her lower lip.

  “Hurry up,” Judge Tyson snapped. “I’m a busy man.”

  Her heart pounded with fear now as they left the house. Mr. Foster’s lawyer will make things right, she kept on telling herself this as they rode toward town.

  The main street was silent, devoid of people moving about, although a few curtains moved. All three of them dismounted outside Sheriff Mayfield’s office. Once inside, the sheriff threw his hat on the desk.

  “Now what?” he asked the Judge.

  “She needs to write out a confession and sign it.”

  “She’s only seventeen, she should have legal advice. I don’t advise this, Jemma.”

  All she wanted to do was get this mess over and done with so she could return home. “I’ll do it.”

  I lit the fire on Mr. Foster’s property. It was an accident. I didn’t mean for the cabin to catch fire. Signed Jemima Lawrence.

  “Is this what you wanted, Judge?”

  He skimmed over it.

  “Yes. I want her held in the cells here until tomorrow morning.”

  “But, Judge….”

  “If you want to keep your job, Sheriff, you’ll do as I say. Mr. Foster is a powerful man with friends in high places.”

  “Tell Mr. Foster I’m here. He knows what happened. He’ll get his lawyer to help me.”

  “Mr. Foster left Larriet early this morning,” Judge Tyson said.

  “Well, Annabelle, she was there with me.”

  “Don’t go involving that sweet child in your evil schemes. Besides, she left with her father.”

  “Well, Daniel McGregor, he’ll tell you.”

  “Why would he want to help you when you murdered his sister-in-law?”

  “Murder!” she shrieked. “Sheriff, what’s he talking about.”

  “Alice McGregor was in the cabin and never made it out.”

  A black veil came down over Jemma’s eyes.

  The next thing she remembered was water being poured into her mouth by Sheriff Mayfield. She spluttered and almost choked.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Jemma. I warned you to be careful what you said to the Judge and not to sign any papers. You’ve virtually handed yourself over to the hangman.”

  “Oh, no! Alice McGregor was burnt to death? I didn’t know, I swear it.

  “I tried to tell you. I warned you.” He wrung his hands. “You lit the fire that killed her. What possessed you to do such a thing?”

  It hit her like a lightning bolt. Mr. Foster wouldn’t do anything to help her. He had lied and betrayed her to save Annabelle. He must have known someone was in the cabin. She licked suddenly dry lips.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll have to lock you in the cells.”

  “Sheriff, I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t do it.”

  “You admitted it in front of a Judge. Signed a confession.”

  “I didn’t know anyone was killed. I wouldn’t have confessed otherwise.”

  “Judge Tyson is Sebastian Foster’s cousin, a gambler always in need of money. A dangerous combination, Jemma.”

  “They tricked me.” Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Daniel McGregor came to the house with Mr. Foster. He’ll tell you.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t.”

  ‘He’s gone, too?”

  “Yes. You’re in a lot of trouble. I believe you. Annabelle Foster has lit several fires over the last couple of years. It was always hushed up. Foster is a ruthless sonofabitch who would do anything for his gal.” He marched up and down the office. “He’s bribed a lot of people in this town to keep their mouths shut about the goings on at his ranch.”

  “You have to help me. Please. I didn’t even light the fire, Annabelle did. I tried to put it out and scorched the hem of my dress.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “How? Mr. Foster took the dress to get it repaired.”

  “No, Jemma, not repaired. It will be used as evidence against you.”

  “I didn’t do it.” She told him everything that had happened, and the tears poured down her face as she spoke. “Can you help me?”

  “I don’t know whether I can. There is so much evidence against you. I do know a lawyer. He isn’t very experienced, but I’ll see if he would be prepared to help you. The case against you is strong. I don’t know what he’ll be able to do for you. Ask for leniency because you co-operated, your young age, maybe.” He trailed off.

  “Do what you can, Sheriff. I was stupid and foolish to believe all Foster’s lies. He won’t give my grandfather the land or the money. Will he?”

  “I doubt it. He used your affection for your grandfather as leverage to get you to do what he wanted.”

  “And I fell for it. What about Daniel McGregor?”

  “He’s obviously been paid off by Foster. It’s the only thing I can think of. His own sister-in-law? Well, he mightn’t have known she died in the fire to start with, then he got in too deep to back out. Either that or he’s a callous sonofabitch. I’ll have to leave you, I’ve got things to do. My Deputy will keep an eye on you. I promise to do what I can for you, Jemma, but I think it might be too little too late.” He walked off muttering.

  What kind of fool was she to have believed Foster, knowing how ruthless he was? How he would do anything for Annabelle, even send an innocent person to be hanged.

  Annabelle had always been troubled, with see-sawing moods. One minute happy and laughing, the next sad and weeping or vicious and cruel. She had cost several cowboys their jobs by telling her father they had behaved inappropriately toward her. Another time she had hit the cook over the head with a heavy frypan and knocked the woman unconscious.

  Jemma sat on the hard iron bed staring into the next cell, thankfully it was empty. No-one came near her.

  Time passed, she didn’t know how long although the sun was setting, as she could see the sky through a small window high up in the wall.

  A clatter of crockery was followed by the Deputy. “I’ve brought ya supper, Miss. Sylvie over at the diner did a nice stew.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ya have to stand back when I open the door, Miss.”

  “I’m sitting on the bed.”

  “Just sayin’.” He placed a tray containing a plate of stew and two pieces of buttered bread and a cup of coffee.

  “Where’s Sheriff Mayfield?”

  “He’s gone off after stage coach robbers. I’ll pick this tray up in the morning. Good evening, Miss.”

  A stage coach robbery? There had never been one in all the time she lived here. Crime was rare except for a few drunken fights between cowboys. Could this be a ploy by Foster’s men to get the sheriff out of the way because he was sympathetic to her plight?

  She was letting her imagination run away with her. No matter how sympathetic he was toward her, he could do little with such damning evidence against her. “God, why are you doing this to me?” she cried out in anguish. No answer, there was only silence, grim and forbidding now it was dark.

  She ate the stew because she was hungry and needed to keep up her strength. If only her grandfather would come home; he would find some way to help her.

  After a night of tossing and turning on the hard bed, Jemma knew if she looked as bad as she felt, she would indeed be a terrible sight. Daylight seeped in through the small window. She dreaded to think what this new day had in store for her.

  The Deputy came in with fried eggs and bacon with a cup of coffee.

  “Where’s the sheriff?”

  “He’s not back yet.”

  She forced t
he food down her throat in case nothing else was offered later in the day.

  Later in the morning, Jemma was shocked when Judge Tyson and two other men walked in. The men wore their guns slung low on their hips, probably gunslingers hired by the judge to scare her.

  “You’re being taken to Sioux Falls. There’s a Federal Judge there and you’ll be presented to him.”

  Her position was going from bad to worse.

  “Where’s Sheriff Mayfield?”

  “Out doing his job,” Judge Tyson said. “You go with her, men. If she gives you any trouble, shoot her.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  After serving twelve months in prison, Jemma was released having been granted a pardon. A witness had apparently come forward and corroborated her story.

  “Goodbye and good luck,” the guard said, handing her the pitiful bundle which was all she had left in the world. Daniel McGregor had written saying her grandfather had not returned from the horse buying trip, having succumbed to a heart attack on the trail. Sheriff Mayfield had retired and moved to Colorado to live with his widowed sister.

  She breathed in the fresh, clean air, drawing it deeply into her lungs, and felt the warm sun on her skin. Would the fetid smell of the prison ever leave her? The perishing cold winter nights and rancid food had nearly killed her. Her heart was so full of bitterness she wondered why it didn’t rise into her throat and spill out of her mouth. She had truly served her time in hell.

  In the pocket of her faded blue dress were train and coach tickets to get her home and twenty dollars.

  A year of her life taken away, and they thought it was only worth twenty dollars.

  As Jemma alighted from the coach in Larriet, Daniel McGregor met her. She wanted to scream at him, berate him for the way he had tricked her into confessing to lighting the fire when it had been Annabelle, but she felt too weak and beaten down right now.

  “Howdy, Jemma,” he said. His shoulders were slightly hunched, guilt perhaps? “You look so white and ill.”

  “Prison pallor they call it.” She gnawed her lower lip. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to collect you.”