No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(38)
“Besides, I can’t imagine some outlaw manipulating her. She’s as tough as they come. She doesn’t have children or other family the man could use as leverage against her. That was the reason she joined us in the first place. She had no one left to care for after her husband died, no purpose. Taking in lost young women, teaching them to find their inner strength, and showing them they have value has become her mission. I can’t imagine her jeopardizing that.”
“Yeah, she didn’t really strike me as the furtive type.” Malachi rubbed a hand over his jaw. His still-whiskered jaw. He’d taken his turn with the bathing tub last night—they all had after getting covered in soot and mud while fighting the fire—but he’d foregone shaving this morning, too intent on examining the area around the church before the sun had fully risen.
What would he look like without the stubble? Less outlaw and more gentleman? Somehow she doubted it. Malachi had always possessed an edge, a touch of wildness that came from surviving on his own for so long. A shave and fancy clothes wouldn’t tame him. Nothing would. Not completely.
Emma cleared her throat and ordered her thoughts back to her list. “Katie seemed genuinely upset by the prospect of our attacker nosing around the farm. I don’t think it likely that she’s involved, either, but I can’t be certain.”
Malachi walked around the front side of her desk and clasped the back of one of the chairs she had offered him earlier. His arms stiff, he leaned forward and met her gaze. “What about Helen? I didn’t actually meet her when we were at the chicken farm.”
Emma had to glance away from the shining chocolate brown of his eyes. Staring into them was far too distracting. “Helen goes out of her way to avoid men. She chose to work for Betty so she could be removed from town, from the chance of encountering Mr. Porter or any other man who might wander in unexpectedly. She only attends church because it is required of all the ladies who live in Harper’s Station, but she sits sandwiched between Betty and Katie the whole time and leaves before the last amen fades from the rafters. I don’t believe she’s said a single word to Brother Garrett since she’s been here, and he’s about as harmless as they come.”
Mal levered himself back up to a full standing position, though his hands still grasped the chairback. “So she’s a viable candidate.”
Emma frowned. “You don’t think the fact that she’s terrified of men precludes her involvement?”
Mal shrugged. “Maybe. But she’s secretive. A loner. Skilled at avoiding people. That would make stealing the turpentine an easy matter. Besides, fear is a powerful motivator. Perhaps she’s terrified of men because she’s being controlled by one. Or maybe it’s not men she’s afraid of but people from outside the community. People who might recognize her and question her reason for being here.”
Emma’s stomach cramped. She hated this. Hated questioning the motives of women she considered family. Hated imagining the worst when her natural inclination was to hope for the best and do everything in her power to bring about favorable outcomes. But to find a favorable outcome in this situation, she had to suspect the worst of her neighbors, her friends. Only one morning in and it was already wearing her down.
“Hey.” Mal’s voice rumbled close to her ear.
When had he come around the desk?
His hand settled on her shoulder, the warmth from his fingers passing through the edge of the puffed sleeve to travel down the length of her arm. “I know this isn’t pleasant, Em, but I need a basic understanding of who the residents are. If it’s too upsetting for you, I can ask the aunts instead.”
“No. I’m fine. Really.” She managed a small smile. “I want to do this. It’s my responsibility. It’s just disheartening to look at the people I love through such a suspicious lens.”
“Until I met you, that was the only lens I knew existed.” The soft words shot straight through her heart, but before she could respond, he patted her shoulder and stepped away. “Tell me about the garden ladies.”
“The . . . um . . . garden . . . yes.” Good grief, Emma. Get your head on straight. He’s going to think you a complete ninny. “That would be Flora and Esther.”
Mal looked at her a bit oddly but thankfully made no comment about her scatterbrained recital. Then he frowned slightly. “Didn’t you tell me Flora was the one who encouraged everyone to leave after the shooting at the church? Seems her goal and the goal of the attacker line up pretty well.”
“Perhaps,” Emma conceded, “but she wasn’t the only one eager for people to leave. Many others voiced the same concerns. And why wouldn’t they? The man shot at them. Any sane person would consider leaving to be the safer option. I, myself, encouraged many of the women to leave.”
Mal rubbed his chin. “Okay, but if you combine her desire to get people out of town with her familiarity with the garden area, which is where I found the turpentine, that give us more than ample reason to add her to the suspect list.”
“I suppose.” Emma underlined Flora’s name, then moved her pen up to underline Helen’s, as well. As she did so, another memory surfaced. “You know, Flora was reluctant to leave the site of the fire last night. And she was lingering around the garden fence.”
“She could have been waiting for everyone to leave so she could retrieve the turpentine without witnesses,” Malachi said. “You sending her back with Miss Adams foiled that plan.”