you some questions about your sister.”
“My sister’s sleeping,” Jesse whispered. “She’s gone to visit the doctor.”
“Has she now. Who told you that?”
“Auntie. Auntie says the doctor’s gonna help Lill wake up.” The sheriff looked up at Rebecca, who nodded.
“Do you know who made your sister tired?” the sheriff asked.
Jesse shook his head.
“Two nights ago, when your Auntie had gone to the fair, did you see anyone, any stranger?” The boy shook his head again. “Or hear anything unusual?” Another shake.
“When’s the last time you saw your sister on the night your Auntie was gone?”
Jesse wrinkled his nose. “When she touched out my candle,” he said.
“And the next day . . .”
“The next day I was protecting her, waiting for Auntie to come home.” Jesse squinted at the sheriff. “When’s Lill gonna wake up, Mister?”
The sheriff sighed and got to his feet. “I’m not too sure, young fellow,” he said. “I’m not too sure.”
The boy looked on the brink of tears, and this time Lincoln knelt down beside him. He rested his hands on either side of the boy’s shoulders. Lincoln’s large hands and long frame almost seemed to swallow up the slight boy.
“Can you do us all a favor, son, and take good care of your Auntie in the meantime?” Lincoln said with a kindly smile. “She’s going to need all the help you can give her.”
Jesse nodded solemnly. Prickett looked as if he wanted to continue the interrogation, but the sheriff said to him, as an aside, “It’s best to leave it there for now. We can always come back later if we have more questions.”
A few minutes later, the five of us were back in Francis’s carriage. As we bounced along the rough track through the rolling prairie, Prickett said, “Don’t print this, Francis, but she’s guilty. I’m certain of it. We’ll find the proof, one way or another.”
CHAPTER 7
The prosecutor’s words echoed in my mind as I lay in bed that night unable to find sleep. Rebecca’s answers had sounded evasive, to be sure, but she was obviously suffering from strain and shock. She was the one who’d taken her relations in out of the kindness of her heart. How could Prickett possibly believe she’d had something to do with her own niece’s murder?
“What?” said Lincoln from next to me in our bed.
“Sorry, did I say something aloud?” I said. I looked over and saw through the dim refracted light of the moon that he was lying on his stomach, his head turned toward me on his pillow.
“You’ve been muttering for a few moments now,” he replied. “About the terrible scene in the barn, I think. And the widow.”
“I’m awfully sorry if I’ve woken you,” I said, whispering so as to avoid disturbing Hurst and Herndon sleeping in the next bed over. I shifted my frame under our bedsheet, and my foot grazed against Lincoln’s bare ankle before finding a new place of repose. “It was terrible, wasn’t it? And I can’t figure out why Prickett’s convinced the Widow Harriman was responsible for the girl’s murder.”
“She didn’t exactly help her own cause by the way she answered their questions,” Lincoln said. “Or didn’t answer them.”
“I know she didn’t. But it’s obvious she’s innocent. Though I can’t imagine who could have done such a horrible deed.”
“Nor can I,” said Lincoln. “There are several mysteries about this afternoon.” He blinked his eyes and said with a yawn, “Though one should be easy enough for you to clear up.”
I glanced over at him in surprise. “What’s that?”
“The basis for your unusual interest in the Widow Harriman.”
I looked away and up to the ceiling, determinedly avoiding his gaze for fear that mine would give away the truth. “I don’t think it’s unusual at all. A fellow storekeeper has suffered a grave loss. Trying to do what I can for her is a simple matter of trade courtesy. Besides . . . that girl . . . she was about the same age as my younger sister Martha.”
Suddenly I sat bolt upright in bed and shouted out, “Good God—Martha!”
“What is it?” asked Lincoln, looking alarmed. In the other bed, Hurst sat up, looked over through blank eyes, and collapsed back onto his pillow.
Once I collected myself, I explained quietly to Lincoln. My father had written at the outset of the summer to say he had finally given permission for Martha to visit Springfield. Martha had been clamoring for such a trip for years to see not only me but also her close