Relief washed over her face as she gave a quick nod. “And if the law refuses to get involved?”
“I don’t really see how they can, under the circumstances, but if they do refuse, you will need to wait for us at the hotel.”
She opened her mouth as though to argue the matter, then suddenly acquiesced. “Very well, Dr. Quincy. I can see the wisdom in that.”
Charles’s sigh of relief echoed Trent’s as they said farewell to Mrs. Saunders and left.
On Friday afternoon, a sense of anticipation ran through Charles as the three of them boarded the train.
He listened to the chug of the engine as it pulled out of the station, but in his mind’s eye he was seeing his fist explode into Edward Saunders’s face. Shock ran through him as he straightened in his seat and glanced around, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He’d never been a violent man. In fact, he had no patience with those who were, like Saunders. Of course he was upset over the injustice and cruelty heaped upon Jeremiah and his mother. But physical violence wasn’t the answer.
Father, forgive me and please deliver me from this anger. He waited, expecting instant peace to flow over him, but the anger remained, like a rattlesnake coiled in the pit of his stomach, poised to strike.
He scooted down in the seat and tried to sleep, but sleep eluded him. Sighing, he reached into his satchel and retrieved a notebook. He worked on class assignments until the train pulled into the station at Rome.
They walked the half block to the hotel and signed in. Mrs. Saunders immediately went to her room to freshen up and change. Charles and Trent took their single bags to their room and came back down. Upon inquiring, they found Mr. Dade, the lawyer, having an early dinner in the immaculate dining room. He invited them to join him at his table.
Charles and Trent both ordered coffee, but waited for Mrs. Saunders to come down before they ordered dinner.
The dinner conversation with Mr. Dade was more than satisfactory. He said Saunders had no legal claim to the farm whatsoever and the man would do well to gather his gear and leave without a fuss. A deputy would accompany them to the farm after dinner.
After the meal, Mrs. Saunders rode with Mr. Dade in his buggy while Charles and Trent rented horses from the livery stable.
Accompanied by Jess Williams, the deputy, they pulled into the farmyard just after darkness had fallen. A lamp burned in the cabin window.
They stepped onto the porch and Mr. Dade lifted his hand to knock, but Mrs. Saunders stepped forward.
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Dade. After all, this is my home.” She turned the knob and pushed open the door.
A short, balding man jumped to his feet. “Faith!” He glanced around at the men with her. A look of fear crossed his face, quickly replaced by cunning. “I’ve been worried sick. Where did you disappear to?”
Faith Saunders planted her hands on her narrow hips and glared at him. “A better question is why did you lie to me, Ed?”
“About what, sis?”
“I’m not your sister and you know what you lied about. Mr. Dade is Frank’s lawyer. He has the will leaving the farm and everything else to me and Jeremiah. You lied.”
“Aw, Faith. I was just teasing you. I was gonna tell you the truth soon. And wouldn’t you have been happy?”
“I don’t believe you, Ed. I’d also like to know what you did with the gold and the cash you stole from me.”
His face went ashen. “Hey, I didn’t steal nothing. I was using that money for supplies and stuff.”
“Well, hand the rest over.”
“There ain’t nothing more left.”
“Ma’am, if this man stole from you, you can press charges and I’ll lock him up.”
Faith looked at the deputy, then back to Ed. “No. I just want him out of my house and off my property.”
Wasn’t she going to mention him beating Jeremiah? Charles stepped forward. “There’s also another matter.”
“Who are you? And what lies have you hatched up to add to my sister-in-law’s?”
Charles felt that anger rise up again and he wanted to smash his fist into the sneering face. Forgive me, Lord, and help me, please. He turned to the sheriff. “He’s been beating his nephew for over four years, since the boy was nine years old.”
The deputy frowned. “Do you have proof?”
“Scars all over the boy’s back and shoulders. It’s bad. Very bad.”
“There’s nothing I can do until I see some proof. If you’ll bring the boy and let me see him and talk to him, maybe I can throw this thief in the hoosegow. Maybe not. Depends on the proof.”
“But he’ll be long gone by then,” Charles protested.