Charity Read online

  Dennis Sully was forty-two years old and going to fat, but underneath the expanding paunch he still had plenty of grit and gristle. He had never married. He liked his quiet life and the people who surrounded him.

  While Dennis Sully had not had more than a few years of country school, he did have common sense, an easy way with people, and a scalp that itched when he heard a lie. Had he any hair left on the top of his head, it would have stood up as soon as the man who walked through the door that afternoon introduced himself. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. My name is Steven Springer.”

  Not his real name. Hell, thought Dennis, I reckon I don’t have to do much for a man who’s just lied to me.

  Both the front and back doors to the sheriff’s office were left open to encourage a breeze. Will Kaiser, with nothing else to do, was happy to listen to conversations in Dennis’ office. Most talk was about the weather, stock prices, the skyward progress of wheat and corn. Will’s interest was piqued when he heard a strange voice.

  “I am looking for a young woman whom I believe may have taken up residence in or near Charity.”

  Not from around here, Will thought.

  The stranger removed his hat—gray felt that perfectly matched the shade of his suit. He held it with both hands in front of him like a shield to his mid-section.

  “What’s her name?” asked Dennis.

  “Her name is Clarice Madigan.”

  Dennis took a moment after each of the stranger’s answers before asking his next question. “Why you looking for her?”

  “She has taken something that doesn’t belong to her.” Springer had a petulant quality threaded through an apparent arrogance that annoyed the sheriff.

  “Where abouts you from?”

  “Pennsylvania.”

  “All the way from Pennsylvania.” Dennis considered that, rubbing his chin. “What do you do back there?”

  “Family business.”

  Dennis waited, and Steven Springer added, “Dry goods. We’re an old established firm.” He turned the hat a few degrees clock-wise.

  “Must be a pretty important ‘something’ for you to come all this way...from Pennsylvania...yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why didn’t you hire somebody? You look like you could afford it.”

  “It did not occur to me.”

  That, Dennis, decided was the truth. “Well, I haven’t heard the name. What’s she look like? How old is she?”

  “Oh,” Steven Springer said. “Yes. I suppose she might not be using her real name.” He said this with such an air of genuine revelation, Dennis laughed. Springer looked puzzled and offended. After some hesitation, however, he offered, “I have a photograph.”

  Dennis nodded sagely, “Well, that would sure be a help,” and noted the slight reluctance with which the stranger brought out a flat leather wallet from the inside pocket of his suit coat and carefully removed a photograph.

  While the man held the photograph with what Dennis would have described as tenderness, his lips pursed, like Steven Springer suddenly had a mouthful of bitterness and nowhere to spit.

  Dennis took the picture when it was finally given to him and beheld the likeness of a young woman. Unruly hair billowed about her small face. Though she was not smiling, she did not look grim, merely composed. A small nose and delicate mouth. A Slavic cast to her eyes reminded Dennis of many of the fair-faced young women in the Polish settlement of Rennville—two townships to the southwest. Dennis considered the face. Interesting. Intelligent. When animated, probably pretty. He handed the photo back to Steven Springer. “Never seen her before, but if I do, I’ll give you a holler. You stayin’ at Koenigs?”

  Springer nodded and carefully returned the picture to its place in the wallet, which he slid back into his pocket.

  “How long you stayin’?”

  “Till I find her, Sheriff.”

  Dennis took a sip of his cold coffee, grimaced, and thought, That could be a mighty long time. This is a big country.

  “Miss Madigan was traveling with a companion. Her name is Augusta Roemer. Tall. Unattractive woman. Wears spectacles. Brown hair.” He said the word ‘brown’ as if he held the color itself in disdain.

  In his jail cell, Will, hearing the name of his wife’s best friend, cupped his hand behind his good ear and strained even harder to hear.

  Dennis remained completely slack-faced. “Augusta. I don’t know. Don’t ring any bells.” He took another sip of his coffee. Dennis Sully liked Gustie the first time she pulled her mare and wagon up in front of his office and announced, “I’m the new teacher. Can you tell me where I might stay until I find a place of my own?” She appeared competent enough. After all, she had got there with all her worldly goods from wherever it was she came from, apparently alone, and yet she had a shy, dazed look, not of a woman who had been sheltered, but more of one who wanted to shelter herself. She wore an expression of resignation that had made Dennis unaccountably sad. He pointed her to the only hotel in town, Koenig’s, and to the livery next door, said he would get in touch with the head of the school committee to call on her later.

  Steven Springer squirmed inside a suit that was too warm for the weather. Dennis assessed him as a man who never went around in his shirtsleeves.

  “I reckon it’s money she took? This Clarice Madigan?” questioned Dennis.

  “My money, the firm’s money. I—we want it back. Sheriff...”

  “Sully,” Dennis cued him.

  “Sully. I didn’t come here to be interrogated. I require your assistance as the local representative of the law.” He looked like he might have added “and civilization.”

  Dennis put his coffee cup down carefully and said with an almost friendly grin, “I’ll keep my ears open and my eyes peeled.”

  Though his face betrayed some doubt about Dennis Sully’s good intentions, he had no choice but to take the sheriff at his word. “In the meantime, you won’t mind if I make a few inquiries on my own?”

  “Suit yourself.” Dennis gestured broadly. “It’s a free country.”

  As soon as Springer was gone, Dennis got up, took a small sip of the cold coffee, made a face, ran a hand over the top of his head, and ambled back to the cells.

  As usual, Will was sitting on the side of his cot. He looked up at Dennis. “Sure didn’t like the sound of that guy.”

  “Didn’t look any better.”

  “Gustie better stay out at her place for awhile and not come to town.”

  “Mm hmm. She probably better.”

  “Don’t you worry, whatever it is, she wouldn’t have taken anything that wasn’t hers. That’s not Gustie. I don’t know who Clarice is. Never heard her talk about any Clarice. I’ll ask Lena. Don’t know what she done, but whatever it was, it’s nothing to do with Gustie.”

  “It wouldn’t be right...well, I couldn’t warn Gustie or anything about this fella. Might be obstructing justice. You never know what this could be about.” Dennis leaned casually against the bars, his arms folded across his chest and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. One hand worried the stubble on his chin. “You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Will replied just as casually. “I’m in no position to obstruct anything much, am I?” He grinned up at Dennis amiably.

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll just talk to Lena. Maybe it’ll come up.”

  “Maybe. What do you want me to bring you back from Olna’s for supper? The fried chicken should be good tonight.”

  “Throw on some biscuits. That would go good.”

  While the gossip flourished in Charity among the people about each other, when it came to strangers—outsiders in fancy suits—folks became grim faced and tight lipped. Gustie had been an outsider. Now, by virtue of the two years they had baked her pies, churned her butter, and entrusted their
children to her care, she was magically, unobtrusively, one of them. That evening, Steven Springer asked everyone in Olna’s Kitchen, where he ate his supper and where he was disappointed to find there was no wine, and could find no one who knew a blessed thing about anybody called Augusta Roemer.

  “You want to be alone with him.” Gustie opened the door for Lena, who carried another pillow case full of clean clothes for Will.

  “Oh, heck. I don’t want to be alone with him. Come in with me, Gustie.”

  In the sheriff’s office, they found Fritz Mulkey at his desk, and Dennis pouring thick black stuff that Gustie presumed was coffee into his cup.

  “Got some things for Will,” Lena announced. “You want to check it?”

  Dennis didn’t smile. “No, Missus, you go right in. Morning, Miss Augusta.”

  “Good morning, Sheriff. Morning, Fritz.”

  “Morning, Ma’am,” Fritz grinned broadly, unabashed by his mouthful of brown, snaggy teeth.

  Will lay on his back staring at the ceiling. His legs were crossed and his arms folded under his head. He scrambled to his feet when he saw Lena and Gustie.

  “Here you go, Will. Some fresh clothes. Put your dirty things in here, and I’ll pick them up tomorrow.” Lena couldn’t fit the bag through the bars of the cell. She began handing each item—pants, shirt, underwear—through one by one. She folded up the pillow case and handed that through last. Gustie could feel Lena’s shame and wondered why she wanted anyone to see this.

  “Hello, Will.”

  “’lo, Gustie. Nice to see ya.”

  Lena looked lost as she stood there, her eyes fluttering everywhere but through the bars at her husband. Will scratched his neck. “You know, Gustie, there was some fella here yesterday looking for you.”

  “What?” Gustie was surprised. “Who? What did he want?”

  “Said his name was Steven Springer.”

  Something was familiar about that name, but she couldn’t place it. Lena twined two fingers around a bar.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Don’t know. Couldn’t see him. The sheriff could tell you that.” Will’s hand drifted to the bar just above Lena’s fingers. Gustie knew it was time to leave them alone.

  “I’ll ask him then.”

  She left Will and Lena touching fingers through the iron barrier between them and slipped back into Dennis Sully’s office.

  “Someone was looking for me?”

  “Yup.” Dennis made a sucking noise on his teeth and turned to his deputy. “Fritz, you wanna go down to Olna’s and get our dinner? I’ll take the beef and gravy, Will the same. Extra biscuits for him.”

  Fritz said, “But it’s early yet...”

  The sheriff got official. “Don’t want her to run out of biscuits. Go on now.”

  “Yup,” Dennis repeated as Fritz closed the door behind him. “Know a Steven Springer?”

  “No. Not that I can remember.” Gustie sat in the same chair Lena had sat in the day before. She frowned. Something about the name nagged at her unpleasantly.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Pretty fancy duds. Suit, hat, gloves, all to match. Must have cost a penny or two. Said he was from Pennsylvania.”

  Gustie felt a coldness at the back of her neck. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Well, he wadn’t exactly lookin’ for you. He was looking for somebody else he said you was with. A Clarice Madigan.” The sheriff saw Gustie go white. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She asked again, “What did he look like?”

  “Kind of pale all over lookin’. Thin. Beady blue eyes.”

  Gustie felt herself trembling and hoped the sheriff wouldn’t notice.

  He did. “You sure I can’t get you something? Have some coffee. It’s bad, but it’s wet.”

  “No. Yes. I’ll take a little. Please.”

  He poured her half a cup. “Thank you,” she said. She gripped the cup tightly.

  “You know this guy?”

  “Yes. His name isn’t Springer.”

  “Didn’t think so.” The sheriff took a sip of his coffee. Gustie took a sip of hers. It made her own coffee taste like spring water.

  Dennis gave her time before he asked, “What’s his name then?”

  “Madigan. Peter Hawksworth Steven Madigan the Second, to be precise.”

  “You mean there’s another one like him?”

  “No, probably not anymore.”

  “Just a joke. Bad one. Where’d he get Springer from?”

  She knew now why the name Springer was familiar. “His mother’s maiden name.”

  “You know a fair bit about him.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  “He said he was looking for this Clarice Madigan. That she had taken something that belonged to him.”

  Gustie’s blood surged in the opposite direction flushing her throat and face, burning the roots of her hair. She growled, “He’s a liar.”

  “I thought that, too.”

  Another pause.

  “He her husband?”

  “No.” Gustie placed her cup on the desk.

  “Are you in any danger from this fella, Gustie?”

  “Not the kind you mean, Dennis. Nothing you can help me with.”

  “You sure?”

  Lena came through the door, her face a picture of bewilderment. “Dennis, Will says the judge is coming tomorrow. I thought you said next month.”

  “I got a wire this morning. He’s early. Don’t know.”

  “What are we going to do?” Lena was ready to panic.

  “Will will have to stand for the hearing. The judge will decide if there’s enough evidence to hold him over for trial or not. If there is, he’ll set bail, maybe. If Will pays it, he is let out of jail to wait for trial, which would probably be the next time the judge comes through.”

  Gustie looked at her friend and knew exactly what she was thinking. There was no money for bail or anything else.

  “I’ll take you home,” Gustie said, getting to her feet.

  Lena just nodded and sucked on her forefinger. Already she was thinking what she could do, but Gustie also knew that Lena’s options were thin.

  Lena went out the door and Gustie followed her, turning back to the sheriff, “Do you know where Peter Madigan is now?”

  “Well, seems like nobody was much help in town, so I reckon he’s out checking around some of the farm places. Maybe going over to Argus. Funny how people around here don’t seem to have any recollection of you.”

  Though Gustie did not feel like smiling, she was suddenly filled with a sweet affection for the whole town of Charity.

  “Gustie,” the sheriff ran a hand over his shiny head. “Me and Fritz, one of us is always here. Don’t get yourself in a jam.” Gustie nodded and was out the door.

  She trotted Biddie so fast down the side streets that Lena, forced to hang on to her seat, complained, “What’s your hurry?”

  “I’ve got some things to do. I have to go out of town again. You will be fine for the hearing. I’ll be back before the trial, if there is a trial. They don’t have anything but circumstantial evidence. With a good lawyer...”

  Lena snorted. “Phaw! Where we going to get a lawyer?”

  “Isn’t there a lawyer in Charity?”

  “Two of ’em. So what? I can’t afford a lawyer, Gustie.” Lena’s eyes were swimming in tears. She repeated in a thin voice. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”

  Gustie had no time for comforting words or gestures. She turned Biddie up the winding road to Lena’s house.

  “Two lawyers? Who are they?”

  Lena wiped her eyes. “John Anderson and Pard Batie. Pard’s supposed to be the best, I hear, but it makes no difference to us.”

  “Whoa, B
iddie.” Biddie came to a stop and blew the dust out of her nose with a loud snort.

  “Where you going, Gustie? Is it to do with that man looking for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you in trouble, Gus?”

  “No. Lena, don’t worry. You and Will—you’ll be all right. Now take your groceries.”

  “Gustie, I’ll pay you back for these things. You know I will.”

  “Don’t be silly, Lena. All the meals you’ve cooked for me? I owe you more than this. Cook for yourself now, and get some sleep. You look a fright.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. You do. Look nice for the judge tomorrow. It can’t hurt. Judges are human.”

  Lena brightened and patted a wisp of her hair into place.

  Gustie raised the dust driving Biddie back toward the center of town. She hitched her to the rail outside the Charity Farmers and Merchants Bank, hoping she wasn’t too late to find Lester Evenson still in his office.

  Cecil Helwig, the teller, told her Lester was about to leave. Could she please come back first thing in the morning?

  “No, I can’t come back in the morning.” Her sharpness left Cecil wide-eyed and clearing his throat. She softened her manner. “Is he here? I need to see him now, please. It won’t take long.”

  Lester, in a loosened tie, suspenders and shirtsleeves, came out of his office, his suit coat draped over one arm. “Miss Roemer.” He beamed upon seeing her. “A pleasure.” Lester extended his hand and Gustie returned a firm handshake. “I haven’t seen you in quite a while.”

  “Lester, I need to talk you. I’ll be brief.” Lester checked the clock on the wall, took a split second to access his priorities, and said, “Come in, please.”

  Lester Evenson managed the Charity Farmers’ and Merchants’ Bank. He was the only other man in Charity besides Doc Moody to own more than two suits. He knew that in a community as small as Charity, his business would prosper only to the extent that he kept his mouth shut. Once inside his office, those who came to him with money or in need of money might just as well have been closing the door of a confessional behind them.

  Half an hour later, Augusta and Lester were shaking hands again. She clutched a sheaf of papers under one arm, and a heavier purse swung over the other. She left Biddie where she was and walked the two blocks west across Main Street to Pard Batie’s office. In another half hour, she was without the papers and tying her mare to the rail in front of O’Grady’s General Store.