A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(89)

Adam laid a different cloth over his face. “Rest in peace.”

RJ stared at his friend. Rest in peace? A blessing of sorts, at least.

Adam packed his things back into his bag. “Mrs. Kinsley, let me help you move to a pallet with your children.”

She barely shook her head, her hand still resting on her husband’s chest. “I will be fine here.”

“But you—but the . . .” Adam motioned to the body. But when he met her gaze, an understanding seemed to pass between them. “I will send help in the morning. Please—”

RJ interrupted him. “I’ll stay. I know it’s not proper, but I’ll stay.”

“But . . .” Adam shrugged. “Walk me out.”

Both horses roused as the men drew near.

RJ raised a hand. “Dawn will be here soon. I assume you’ll tell Reverend Pritchard, and he’ll come right after the church service. I figure we can get that body in the ground this afternoon and help this family begin to heal.”

“I’ll send someone back out right away.” Adam stepped up into the gig, clucked his mare around, and trotted down the lane.

“Mister?”

RJ turned at the voice behind him.

“I can take care of your horse,” John said.

“Shouldn’t you try to sleep some?”

John shrugged.

RJ handed the boy the reins and watched him lead Captain toward the pasture. Tom Kinsley, you must have been a good man at some point to have children like these.

———

They buried Mr. Kinsley later that afternoon after RJ and Jesse dug the grave. Rev. Pritchard read the service with the four Nielsen sisters, Climie, and the Caldwells in attendance. Afterward, Climie offered to stay behind to help, but at first Margaret Kinsley refused.

“We’ve managed this far, my children and I.” Her smile spoke courage.

“And you are so strong, we all know that.” Climie pressed the woman’s hand, looking into her eyes. “But sometimes it’s good to let others help carry the burden for a while. I know.”

Something passed between them, and Margaret’s mouth trembled. She gave a quick nod and squeezed Climie’s hand, a tear trickling down her careworn cheek.

“Lilac and I will be back after chores in the morning, then,” Lark said.

“You always have a place to stay at our house.” Beatrice spoke softly, making Margaret nod.

“Thank you.” Margaret stopped to get a breath. “I will . . . be stronger soon. I want our baby born in this home, the home Tom built for us here. He . . . he wasn’t always like what you saw.”

RJ stood beside her. “If you are afraid of the drive to the Caldwells’ . . .”

She shook her head. “Our Father has always watched over us. Why would He . . . leave now?”

They left Margaret and Climie standing in the doorway side by side, arms intertwined.



Three days later, RJ couldn’t stand it anymore. Leaving O’Rourke in charge of the building site, he left the boardinghouse and headed to the law office to confront Henry Caldwell.

“We’ve got to do something about that liquor tent.” His words came out abruptly, but he was past caring. “I’m coming to you first, sir, or else I’ll go out and shoot up the place myself.”

Mr. Caldwell set aside the letter he had been writing and corked his inkwell, then regarded RJ evenly. “What do you propose? The women have been planning a temperance rally—”

“Rallies be hanged.” RJ flinched. “Forgive my language, sir. But the women of Salton have been doing that because we men—I include myself—have refused to take any action. I’d guess they hope to rally us more than anyone else. And now a man is dead, a family wounded, my employee attacked, and that liquor tent still stands. We can’t wait for more talk. We’ve got to take action before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Well.” Mr. Caldwell stood and reached for his cane. RJ wasn’t the only wounded veteran in Salton. “I must say you make me rather ashamed of myself, young man. But again I ask, what do you propose?”

“That we go out there and confront them, sir. Tell them they aren’t welcome in our town anymore.”

“Technically, they’ve always been beyond the town limits.”

“Anywhere near it, then. I don’t know, but we’ve got to say and do something.”

“We meaning who? Just the two of us?”

“Adam will go, I think—and at least a few more I can round up. But I wanted to speak with you first. I figure you’re the closest thing to a sheriff we’ve got just now.”

“I’d hardly call myself that. But very well, then.” Caldwell leaned on his cane and met RJ’s gaze. “Go and get them, son. I’ll meet you on the way. And tell them to bring their guns.”

By the time they headed out of town toward the liquor tent, their group numbered eight. Henry, Adam, RJ, Mr. O’Rourke, and Isaac McTavish—the drifter had just returned after working on the railroad a spell—and Jesse and William. Though RJ had balked at letting the young men along, they would brook no argument. Mr. Young came too, although RJ could tell the banker hesitated at anything that would drive away folks who might bring business to the town. But an appeal to his sense of leadership and responsibility for the community worked its charm.